The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 26

There was in the time of King Lewis the Twelfth a young lord named d'Avannes, son of my lord Albret, who was brother to John, King of Navarre, with whom d'Avannes lived for the most part. And he at the age of fifteen years was so comely and graceful that he seemed made for nothing but love and admiration, which indeed were given by all who saw him, and notably by a lady living in the town of Pampeluna, in Navarre. And she being married to a man of great riches lived with him after such a virtuous fashion that, though she was but twenty-three years of age, her husband being hard on his fiftieth year, the manner of her dress was more that of a widow than a married woman. And no man ever saw her go to marriage or feast but that her husband went with her, for she put his goodness at so high a price, that she preferred it to the beauty of all other men. And he on his side, finding his wife to be thus prudent, was so assured of her that he put into her hands all the charges of his house. So it fell out that on a day the rich man and his wife were bidden to a wedding among their kinsfolk; and thither also to do honour to the marriage came my lord d'Avannes, who loved dancing as was natural in one who therein excelled all the gallants of his time. And after dinner, when the dances were beginning, the rich man prayed d'Avannes to dance, who asked him whom he would that he should lead out. He replied to him: "My lord, if there were a prettier woman, and one more at my command than this wife of mine, I would have you take her, but since it is not so be pleased to dance with my wife." This the young prince did, being still so young that he took more pleasure in the figures of the dance than in the ladies' beauty. ​But his partner, on the contrary, thought more of the grace and comeliness of d'Avannes than the dance, but yet so prudent was she she made no appearance of so doing. And when supper-time was come, my lord d'Avannes bade farewell to the company and went home to his castle, whither he had for fellow the rich man, riding upon his mule. And as they fared upon the way the rich man said to him: "My lord, you have this day done such honour to my kinsfolk and myself that it would be great ingratitude in me if I did not put myself altogether at your service. I know, my lord, that such as you, who have severe and miserly fathers, often need more money than do we plain folk, who by reason of our small household and good economy think of nothing but heaping up riches. And God, having given me a wife according to my desire, has not willed to make my paradise altogether in this world, since He has not granted to me the joy that a father has in his children. I know, my lord, that it would not become me to adopt you as a son, but if it were your pleasure to consider me as your servant and declare to me your small occasions, up to the sum of a hundred thousand crowns of my substance, I will not fail to succour you in your necessities." At this offer d'Avannes was mightily pleased, for his father was all that the other had painted him, and so thanked him, naming him his father by adoption.

From this time the rich man so loved my lord d'Avannes that morning, noon, and night he ceased not to inquire if he needed anything, and concealed not from his wife his devotion to the service of the young lord, for which she did but love him all the more, and henceforth d'Avannes had all things that he desired. Often did he go and see the rich man, to eat and drink with him, and when he found him not his wife gave him all he asked, and moreover spoke to him so prudently, admonishing him to be wise and virtuous, that he feared and loved her above all other women. She, having the fear of God always before her eyes, held herself content with sight and speech, wherefrom honourable and virtuous love draws its delight, and in such sort did she that she gave him no cause to judge her love for him other than a sisterly and Christian one. And while she kept her love fast within her breast, d'Avannes, who by the rich man's aid went always magnificently, came to ​his seventeenth year, and began to seek out the ladies more than his custom had been. And though he would fain have loved this prudent dame, yet the fear he had lest he might lose her friendship, if he discoursed love-talk with her, made him keep silence and seek his pastime in other quarters.

So he addressed himself to a gentlewoman near Pampeluna, who had a house in the town, and was married to a young man whose sole delight was in horses, hounds, and hawks. And d'Avannes began for love of her to give a thousand entertainments as tournaments, races, masks, banquets, and the rest, at all of which he would have this young lady; but since her husband was a man of fantastic complexion, and her father and mother, knowing her to be both beautiful and gay, were jealous of her honour, they all kept her so straitly that my lord d'Avannes could get no more of her than a word snatched amid the dances. And this, although he knew from the little talk they had had together, that nothing was wanting to the plucking the fruit of their love but a fit time and place. Wherefore he went to his good father the rich man and told him that he had a great desire to go on a pilgrimage to Our Ladye of Montserrat, and prayed him to keep in his house all his retinue, since he was fain to go alone; and all this was granted him. But the wife, who had within her breast love, that great soothsayer, forthwith suspected the truth of the journey, and could not refrain from saying to d'Avannes: "Sir, sir, the Ladye you adore dwells within the walls of this town, so I beseech you above all have a care for your health." He who feared and loved her, blushed so red at this that, without speaking a word, he confessed the truth, and so set forth.

And when he had bought a pair of fine Spanish horses, he dressed himself after the fashion of a groom, and so disguised his face that none would have known him. The gentleman, husband to his gay lady, seeing the two horses and d'Avannes leading them, forthwith would buy them, and after that he had bought them, looking at the groom who led them so well, asked him if he desired to enter his household. My lord d'Avannes told him ay, and that he was but a poor groom who had no craft save the care of horses, but that he could do so well in this that his master would be mightily pleased with him. ​Whereat the gentleman was very glad, and gave him authority over all his horses; and when they were come to the house, he told his wife he was going to his castle in the country, and that he commended to her care the horses and the groom. The lady, as much because she had no better pastime as to do her husband a pleasure, went to see the horses, and looked upon the new groom, who appeared to her somewhat well-favoured, but she knew him not. He, perceiving that he was not known, did her reverence in the Spanish fashion, and in kissing her hand squeezed it so hard that she knew him; for many a time in dancing had he played her this trick, and from that moment she thought of nothing save how she might best be able to speak with him apart. And this she accomplished that same evening, for being bidden with her husband to an entertainment she feigned to be sick and so unable to go with him. He, not wishing to fail his acquaintance, said to her: "Since you will not come, sweetheart, I pray you have a care to my hounds and horses, so that they want nothing." This charge his wife found mighty pleasant, but, making no sign, she replied that since he would not employ her in greater matters, she would let him know by these smaller ones how she desired to do him pleasure. Hardly was her husband out of doors before she went down to the stable, where she found something amiss, and to take order with it she sent so many of the men one way and the other, that she remained at last alone with the head groom, and fearing lest someone should come upon them, said to him: "Begone to the garden and wait for me there in the summerhouse at the bottom of the alley." So quick was he to do her bidding that he had not leisure so much as to thank her. And when she had taken such order with the stables she went to the kennels, where she was so diligent to see that the hounds were well entreated that she appeared from mistress to have become maid; and afterwards, having returned to her room, found herself so weary that she lay down on the bed, saying she desired to rest. So all her women left her, except one whom she trusted, to whom she said: "Go to the garden and make come to me him you shall find at the bottom of the alley." The maid went and found there the groom, and led him forthwith to her mistress, who caused the wench to go outside and keep watch for her husband's coming. My lord d'Avannes, seeing ​himself alone with his mistress, doffed his groom's gear, took off his false nose and false beard, and not as a fearful groom but as the brave lord he was, without with your leave or by your leave, boldly got to bed with her, and was received as the prettiest man of his time should be received by the fairest and gayest lady in the land. There he, stayed until the master returned, at whose coming, taking again his mask, he left the place he had won by his craftiness and guile. The gentleman, on entering his courtyard, perceived how diligent his wife had been to obey him, for which he heartily thanked her. "I do nothing but my duty, sweetheart," replied she. "True it is that if one did not keep watch over the varlets there would not be a hound that had not the mange, or a horse well fed and groomed; but now that I know their idleness and your wishes, you shall be better served than heretofore." The gentleman, who was fully persuaded he had chosen the best groom in the world, asked how he appeared to her. "I confess," answered she, "he does his duty as well as any you could find, but he needs our eyes upon him, since he is the sleepiest varlet I have ever seen."

So for some while the husband and wife lived in better agreement than they had before, he losing all his former jealousy, since in like manner as afore she had loved entertainments, dances, and assemblies, so now was she attentive to her household, contenting herself with wearing only a dressing-gown over her shift in place of taking four hours to deck herself out, as had been her custom. And for this she received praise from her husband and all men, who knew not that the stronger desire had cast out the weaker. Thus, under the cloak of hypocrisy and virtue, lived this young gentlewoman so voluptuously that reason, conscience, order, or measure found no more any place in her. But this the youth and delicate complexion of my lord d'Avannes could not bear any longer, insomuch that he grew so pale and thin that without a mask he were well disguised. Yet the mad love he bore this woman so blinded his senses that he strove to accomplish works too great for Hercules, until at last constrained by sickness, and advised to that intent by the lady, who liked him better sound than sick, he asked leave to return to his kin, which his master gave him with great regret, making him ​promise that when he was made whole he should come back to his service. And so d'Avannes went his way, and on foot, for he had but to journey the length of a street, and came to the house of the rich man, his father by adoption. And there he found the wife alone, whose virtuous love for him was not at all lessened by the reason of his journey. But when she saw him, that he was so thin and pale, she must needs say to him: "I know not, my lord, how it fares with your conscience, but your body hath not taken much benefit from this pilgrimage; and I strongly suspect that your travail by night hath done you more hurt than your travail by day, for if you had gone to Jerusalem on foot you would have come back more sunburnt, but not so thin and weak. Take good account of this one, and worship no more at such shrines, which, in place of raising the dead to life, bring the living almost to death. I could say more to you; but if your body has sinned it has been so shrewdly punished that I do not desire to add any new trouble." When d'Avannes heard this he was not less sorry than ashamed, and said to her: "Mistress, I have aforetime heard that repentance follows on sin, and I have well proved it to my sorrow. And I pray you to pardon my youth, that could not be punished save by making trial of the evil it would not before believe."

The dame, changing the matter of the discourse, made him lie down on a fair ted, where he stayed fifteen days, only living on restorative medicaments; and so well did the husband and wife keep him company that he always had the one or the other with him. And though he had done foolishly, even as you have heard, against the will and counsel of this prudent woman, yet this did not at all lessen the honourable love she bore him, for it was ever her hope that, after passing his youth in these evil ways he would cleanse them and love virtuously, and so should be all her own. And for the fifteen days he was in the house she talked with him to such purpose that he began to abhor the sin he had committed, and looking at this woman, whose beauty surpassed the strumpet's, and knowing more and more the graces and the virtues that were in her, he could contain himself no longer, but one day, as it grew dark, laying aside all fear, thus began: "Mistress, I know no better means of becoming as virtuous as you desire me to be than the being altogether in love with virtue: prithee tell me whether ​you will give me all the help and favour that lieth in you to this end?" The lady, very glad to hear him speak after this sort, answered him: "I promise you, sir, that if your love for virtue is as great as it ought to be in such a lord, I will help you in your endeavour to attain it unto the utmost of the power that God has given me." "Now, mistress," said d'Avannes, "be mindful of your promise, and understand that God, unknown of men save by faith, hath deigned to take our sinful fleshly nature upon Him, to the end that, in drawing our flesh to the love of His manhood, He might also draw our spirits to the love of His Godhead, and so has willed to use visible means, to make us love by faith the things that are invisible. In like manner, this virtue that I desire to love all my life is an invisible thing and only known by its effects, wherefore it is needful that it should take some bodily form that it may be known among men. And this it has done, clothing itself in your flesh as the most perfect it could find, wherefore I believe and confess that you are not alone virtuous but very virtue, which I, seeing it veiled beneath the most perfect body that ever was, desire to serve and honour all the days of my life, putting behind me all other vain and vicious love." The lady, who was both glad and astonished to hear him talk after this fashion, concealed her delight, and said to him: "My lord, I dare not reply to your theology, but since I am one that is slower to believe good than fear evil I beseech you cease this manner of talk; for if I believed it I should be but lightly esteemed of you. I am well assured that I am a woman, like any other, and imperfect, so that virtue would do a more wondrous thing in transforming me into it than in putting my form upon it, save only that it wished to be unknown in this world, for, under such covering as mine, it would stand in small peril of being revealed. But for all my manifold imperfections I none the less bear you as great an affection as any woman can, and love God and her honour, but this love shall not be manifested to you until your heart receive that patience required of a virtuous lover. And in that hour I shall know well what words to speak, but meanwhile think that you do not so much love your own good, yourself, and your honour, as do I." My lord d'Avannes, fearful, with tears in his eyes, strongly entreated her that, for surety to her words, she would kiss him, but this ​she refused, saying that for him she would not break the customs of the country. And while they were disputing as to this the husband came in, to whom said d'Avannes. "My father, so great has been the goodness of you and your wife towards me, that I beseech you always account me for your son." To this the good man willingly agreed. "And for a surety of it," said d'Avannes, "grant me to kiss you." This he did. Afterwards he said: "If I were not in fear lest I should transgress the custom of the country, I would ask the same of your wife my mother." At this the husband commanded his wife to kiss him, which she did without any appearance of liking nor yet of misliking. And so the fire which words had kindled in the heart of this poor lord was increased much the more by the kiss as earnestly desired as, on her part, cruelly refused.

Then my lord d'Avannes went to the castle to see the King his brother, to whom he told very brave stories of his journey to Montserrat. And there he heard that the King was minded to go to Oly and Taffares, at which, by reason of the length of the journey, he fell into great sadness, and was resolved to try, before he set out with him, whether his lady bore him no better will than she appeared to do. To this intent he fixed his lodging in a house in the street where she lived, which house was an old wooden one, and in bad repair. And towards midnight he set it afire, the report of which was so noised abroad throughout the town that it came to the rich man, his father by adoption. And he asking from his window where was the fire, was told that it was the house of my lord d'Avannes, whereupon he went forthwith with all his household thither and found the young lord in the street clad only in his shirt. Filled with pity for him he took him in his arms, and, folding him in his robe, led my lord to his house as quickly as he was able, and said to his wife, who was in bed: "Here, sweetheart, is a prisoner for you, treat him as myself." No sooner was he gone than d'Avannes, who would have been mightily pleased to be treated as her husband, leapt lightly into the bed, hoping that the opportunity and the place would make this prudent dame change the manner of her discourse; but he found to the contrary, for as he got in at one side of the bed she got out at the other. And putting on her a loose robe, she sat at the bedside, and said to him: "Was it your thought, my lord, ​that opportunity could change a chaste heart? Trust me that as gold is refined in the furnace, so a chaste heart in the midst of temptation grows more steadfast and virtuous, and the more it is assailed by the heats of passion the more it is chilled. Wherefore be assured that, if my mind had been other towards you than I declared it to be, I should by no means have failed to find ways and means, of which, since I willed not to use them, I made no account. But I pray you, if you would have my affection continue towards you, put away not only the wish but the thought of ever finding me other than I am." In the midst of this parley her women came to her, whom she bade bring all kinds of sweetmeats, but for the time he knew not hunger nor thirst, in such despair was he at having failed in his undertaking, and fearing likewise that this manifestation of his desire towards her might take away all familiarity between them.

The husband, having taken order with the fire, returned and entreated d'Avannes to stay for that night in his house. And in such sort was that night passed of him, that his eyes were more employed in weeping than in sleeping, and very early in the morning he gave them farewell while they were in bed, and in kissing of the lady plainly saw that she took more pity for the sinner than anger for the sin, and thus was another coal added to the fire of his love. After dinner he set out with the King for Taffares, but before departing he went yet another time to say good-bye to his father and the lady, who, after the command of her husband, made no more difficulty in kissing him as her son. But be assured that the more her virtue hindered her eyes and face from making manifest the flame within, so much the more did it increase and become unbearable; in such wise that, not being able to endure the war in her heart between honour and love, the which she had always determined never to, reveal, and having lost the consolation of seeing and speaking with him for whom she lived, she fell into a continuous fever. And the cause of this was a melancholic humour operating after such a fashion that the extremities of her body became altogether cold, whilst her inwards were in a perpetual heat. The physicians (who have not in their hands the health of men) because of an obstruction which rendered the extremities cold began to be grievously afear'd for her, and ​spoke to her husband, counselling him to advertise his wife that she was in the hands of God, all as if they that were sound were not. The husband, loving his wife with a perfect love, was so sad at their words, that for consolation he wrote to d'Avannes, entreating him to come and see him, for he hoped the sick woman would be bettered by the sight of him. And as soon as he had received the letter, d'Avannes made no long tarrying, but came post haste to the house of his father by adoption, and on entering in thereto found the serving-men and serving-women sorrowing greatly, as was meet for such a mistress. At this my lord was so astonished that he stayed at the door, being as one who sees a vision, until he saw his father, who, as he embraced him, wept so sore that he was not able to speak so much as a word. And he led d'Avannes to the room where was the poor sick woman, and she, looking upon him with her languishing eyes, took him by the hand and drew him to her with all her feeble might. And as she kissed him and took him in her arms, she made marvellous lamentation, and said to him: "O, dear my lord, the time has come to put an end to all concealment, and for me to confess what I have taken such toil to hide from you. And it is this: if your love for me has been great, believe me mine is no less: but my grief has been more grievous than yours, since I have hidden my love against my heart and my desire. For understand that God and my honour would never have me declare it to you, since I feared to increase in you what I was fain to diminish; but be assured that the no I have so often said to you was so" dolorous a word to me that it has brought about my death. And with this I hold myself content, that God hath given me the grace to die before the violency of my love hath done shame to my conscience and good repute, for smaller fires have brought higher houses to the dust. And again I am content for that before I die I am able to declare to you my love that it is equal to your own, save that the honour of men and the honour of women are not like to one another. And I entreat you, my lord, henceforth to fear not to address yourself to the most noble and the most virtuous ladies, for in such hearts dwell the strongest passions and the most wisely governed; and the grace, comeliness, and virtue that are in you will not let your love be in labour for nothing. I crave no ​prayers of yours to God for me, since I know the gates of paradise are not shut to true lovers, and since love is a fire that punishes lovers so well in this life that they are set free from the sharp torment of purgatory. Farewell, my lord; I commend into your hands my husband, and pray you tell him the truth concerning me, that he may know in what manner I have loved my God and him, and come no more before mine eyes, since henceforth I would fain think of nothing but of gaining those promises given me by God or ever the world was made." Thus speaking, she kissed him, and clung to him as best she could with those feeble arms; and the lord, whose heart was as dead with pity as hers with grief, without power to say a single word, went from her sight to a bed that was in the room, and there several times swooned away.

And after this the lady called her husband, and when they had parleyed one with the other in seemly sort she commended d'Avannes to his care, assuring him that after himself he was the most beloved of her; and, kissing her husband, she bade him farewell. Then was borne to her the Holy Sacrament of the Altar, after that she had taken extreme unction, both of which she received with the joy of one sure of salvation. And seeing that her eyes waxed dim, and her strength abated, she said with a loud voice: "In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum." At this cry my lord d'Avannes raised himself from the bed, and, pitifully looking upon her, saw her give back with a gentle sigh her glorious soul to Him from whom it had come. And when he saw her to have passed, he ran to the dead body, which when living he had approached with fear, and fell to kissing and throwing his arms round it in such wise that hardly could he be drawn away, whereat the husband marvelled greatly, for he had never thought him to have loved her in this manner; and saying to him: "My lord, it is too much," he led him away. Then after for a long time lamenting her together, d'Avannes told him all the passages of their friendship, and that till she was nigh a-mort she had never shown him any sign save of great severity. At this the husband grieved all the more for her he had lost, and throughout his whole life did service to my lord d'Avannes. But he, from this time, being now only eighteen years old, went to Court, where he lived a long while without wishing to see or speak ​with any woman, for the grief he had for his mistress; and for more than ten years he wore black.

"Behold, ladies, how different is a good woman from a wanton, and how variously love manifests itself in them; for the one died a glorious death, and the other lived all too long known of men as a shameless and wicked strumpet. And as 'precious in the sight of God is the death of his saints,' in like manner is the death of a sinner evil." "Of a truth, Saffredent," said Oisille, "you have told us as fine a tale as could be found, and whosoever knows the people as I do will find it still better, for I have never seen a more honest gentleman, nor one of a better grace, than the aforesaid lord d'Avannes." "Believe me," said Saffredent, "this was a good woman, who, to show herself more virtuous than she was at heart, and to conceal the love reason and nature willed her to have for so brave a gentleman, allowed herself to die rather than take the pleasure she secretly desired." "If she had had such a desire," said Parlament, "she would have found ways and means to show it, but so great was her virtuousness her desire never went beyond reason." "You can paint her," said Hircan, "according to your pleasure, but I know that a worse devil always sends the other out, and that a gentlewoman's pride always inclines her ratter to pleasure than to the love and fear of God. And their clothes are so long and so interwoven with deceit that one never knows what is thereunder; for if vice brought them dishonour as little as it does us, you would find that Nature is as complete in them as in us; but since they dare not have the pleasure they desire, they have changed one vice into another and a worse, which they deem more honourable. This is a vain-boasting cruelty, whereby they think to get them an everlasting name, and glorying in their resistance to vice, the law of nature (if indeed anything natural is also vicious), they make themselves like to inhuman and pitiless wild beasts, or rather to devils, in whose pride and crafty malice they have a share." "'Tis pity," answered Nomerfide, "you have a virtuous woman to wife, since not only do you make no account of virtue, but are fain to show that it is vice." "I am well content," said Hircan, "that my wife is not a scandalous woman, nor do I myself wish to be a scandalous husband; but as to chastity of hearty we are children of Adam and Eve, wherefore, when, we ​curiously examine ourselves, we have no need of fig-leaves; wherewith to cover our nakedness—nay, rather should we make open confession of our frailty." "I know well," said Parlamente, "that we all stand in need of God's grace, being we are clothed with sin; but yet our temptations are not like to your temptations, for if we sin through pride none takes harm therefrom, nor is there any stain on our hands or our bodies. But your pleasure lies in die dishonouring of women, and your honour is to kill men in battle, these being two things plainly contrary to the law of God." "I confess," said Geburon, "you have ground for your position, yet has God said: 'Whosoever looketh upon a woman to lust after her, hath already committed adultery with her in his heart;' and again, 'Whosoever hateth his neighbour is a murderer.' Do you think, then, that women are more free of these texts than we?" "God who judgeth the heart," said Longarine, "will give sentence on it, but 'tis a great thing that men cannot accuse us of aught, for such is the goodness of God that, if there be none to make accusation against us. He will by no means condemn us; and so well knoweth He the frailty of our hearts, that He will even love us for not putting our evil thoughts into action." "Prithee, now," said Saffredent, "let us leave this disputation, for it savours more of a sermon than a story; and I give my vote to Ennasuitte, and entreat her to make us laugh." "Of a truth," said she, "I have no fear of failing therein, since as I came along I had chosen a very fine relation for this day; but a certain one told me a tale of the two servants of a princess, and so pleasant was it that from mere laughing it made me to forget the sad and pitiful matter I had in hand, the which, therefore, I will put off for the morrow, since now my face would be too joyous for you to relish melancholy."