The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 3

Since, ladies, I have ofttimes desired to be a fellow in good-luck with him of whom I am about to tell you, I will declare to you that in the town of Naples, in the time of King Alfonso, to whom lust was as the sceptre of his kingdom, there lived a young gentleman of such honourable character and so fine an address, that for these merits of his an aged widow gave him her daughter to wife. And she yielded in nowise to her husband in beauty and graciousness, and there was great love betwixt these two. But on a day in Carnival time, the King, as his custom was, went masked about the different houses, each one striving to make for him the best fare and welcome. And when he came to the house of this gentleman aforesaid, he was received after a better fashion than anywhere else; so fine were the sweetmeats, so admirable the singing, and above all, the bravest lady the King had ever set eyes on. And she, at the end of the entertainment, sang a song with her husband in such sort that it did but increase her beauty. And he, beholding in that body of hers so many perfections, did not set such store on the good accord between her and her husband as not to ponder how he might best break it; but the difficulty lay in the great love that he perceived they bore one another, wherefore he kept this passion of his as secret as he was able. But in some way to ease it he gave many entertainments to all the lords and ladies of Naples, and at these the gentleman and his wife were by no means forgotten. And since a man believes ​what he desires, it appeared to him that this lady's eyes promised well for him, if it were not that, her husband was present. So to try how he stood with her, he sent the husband on some charges of his to Rome, so that he might be away fifteen days or three weeks. No sooner was he gone than his wife, who had never before been without him, was filled with great grief, in which she was so comforted by the sweet remonstrances and gifts of the King, that not only was she consoled for her husband, but more than this was well content to live without him. And before the three weeks were come to an end she was grown so amorous of the King, the thought of her husband's return gave her as much discontent as before did his departure. And so, as not to be altogether shut out from the presence of the King, they agreed together that when the gentleman went a-hunting to his country house, she should advise the King of it, so that he might safely come and see her, and so privily that her repute, of which she was more tender than her conscience, should take no hurt.

In this contentment the lady kept herself, and her husband being returned she received him in such sort that, though he had been told that while he was away the King had had to do with her, he would not have believed it. But as time went on, that fire which so hardly can be concealed began to show itself, and in such fashion that her husband began to suspect her for a strumpet, and keeping close watch, was well nigh assured of it. But for the fear he had that he who had done him this great harm might, if he showed any suspicion, do him a worse, he determined to dissemble, thinking secret grief better than to make hazard of his life for a woman who loved him not. All the same, in the dolour of his heart, he was fain, if it might be, to cry quits with the King, and knowing that women, and notably those of noble mind, are more easily to be moved by grief than love, he made free one day, in speaking to the Queen, to tell her it was a mighty pity she was not better beloved of the King. The Queen, who had heard about the King and his wife, said to him: "One may not have both honour and pleasure at once. I am well advised that I have the honour, and another the pleasure, but she who has the pleasure has not the honour that appertains to me." He, understanding well to what intent these words were spoken, ​replied to her: "My lady, with you honour is inbred, for you come of such gentle blood that no title, be it Queen or Empress, can increase your nobility; yet your beauteousness and gracious ways so well deserve that you should likewise enjoy pleasure, that she who has robbed you of it hath done more ill to herself than you, since for a glory which is in truth her shame, she misses as much delight as you or any woman in the realm could desire. And I dare swear that, if the King's crown was fallen off his head, he could satisfy a lady no better than myself; and sure am I that if he would satisfy such an one as you, he would do well to change his complexion for mine." Laughing, the Queen replied to him: "Though the King be of more delicate complexion than you, yet I am so well satisfied with the love he bears me that I prefer it to any other." Then said the gentleman: "My lady, if it were indeed so, you would by no means move my pity, for I know well that the honourable love of your heart would content you, if there were in the King an equal love toward you; but God has wisely taken this from you, so that not finding in him that which you desire, you may not make him your god on earth." "I confess to you," said the Queen, "that the love I bear the King is of such sort, that in no heart but mine can love he found like to it." "Pardon me," said the gentleman to her, "you have not sounded the depths of all men's hearts, for I say unto you there is one who hath toward you a love so great that your love for your husband beside it would show as nothing. And as he beholds the King's love failing you, his own grows and increases in such a fashion that, were it your pleasure, you would be paid in full for all your griefs."

The Queen began, as much from his words as from his countenance, to perceive that what he said was from the depths of his heart; and it came into her mind that he had longwhile striven to do her service, so that he was become sad and melancholic. And this she had thought to be by reason of his wife, but she was now well assured that it was for love of herself. And so love, that when it is not feigned is quickly to be discovered, let her know for certain that which had been concealed from all men. And looking upon the gentleman that he was by far more worthy of love than her husband, and seeing that he was forsaken of his wife as she was of the King, hard pressed by grief ​and jealousy of her husband, and by her love for the gentleman, she began to sigh forth with tears in her eyes: "My God, can it be that for vengeance' sake I shall grant that which no love could win from me." The gentleman, understanding well the intent of what she said, replied: "Vengeance is sweet, and sweeter when it slayeth not an enemy, but giveth life to a true friend. I think that the time is come for you to put away that foolish love for one who regardeth you not; and a true and reasonable love shall drive from your heart all fear, which never is able to dwell in a virtuous and noble soul. Let us lay aside the grandeur of your estate, and see in ourselves the man and woman who of all the world are most deceived, betrayed, and mocked of those whom they loved with a perfect love. Let us be avenged, not so much to give to our enemies their deserts, as to satisfy that love which, for my part, I cannot longer keep contained and live. And I think, if your heart be not harder than rock or adamant, you must feel within you some spark of that fire which I can no more keep concealed. And if pity for me, who am a-dying for love of you, do not stir in you some love for me, natheless love of yourself should do so. For so perfect are you, that you are well worthy of the love of every honest heart, yet you are contemptuously entreated and abandoned by him for whose sake you despised all others."

The Queen hearing these words was so confounded that, for fear of showing by her face the trouble at her heart, she took the gentleman's arm and went forth into a pleasaunce that was nigh her chamber, where for a long while she walked up and down without speaking a word to him. But the gentleman, seeing her to be half-won, when they reached the bottom of the alley where none could see them, made declaration of his love in a very effective sort of way, and finding themselves both at one on this matter, they played their mystery of Vengeance, and liked it better than the mystery of the Passion. And there it was agreed and determined that, whenever the King should be at the gentleman's house with his wife, he should be at the palace with the Queen; so the cozeners being cozened, they would all four have a piece of that cake which two thought to keep to themselves. This treaty executed, they gat them back, the lady to her room and the gentleman to his house, each ​with such a good satisfaction for what they had done that all old griefs were forgotten. And the mislike which they both had aforetime to the King's going to see the lady was turned to a good liking thereat, insomuch that the gentleman went more than his habit had been to his house in the country, which was distant about half-a-league. And as soon as the King was advised of his going away he straightway would go off to the lady; and the gentleman, when night was come, would go to the palace and enjoy the easements of the King's deputy with the Queen. And all this done so privily that none knew of it. Which going on some time, the King being of public estate, could not well contrive to conceal his share in the matter, and all the world was aware of it, and mighty compassionate toward the poor gentleman, so much so as to make horns of derision at him behind his back, which he saw very plainly. But, such was his humour, he took more delight in these horns of his than the King's crown; and the King one day seeing a stag's head in the gentleman's house, did himself take occasion to say, with a laugh, that the stag's head was very well placed. So the gentleman, who had as sharp a wit as the King's, made write beneath the head in this wise:

And the King, when he came next to the house, inquired of the gentleman what was the intent of this, to whom he replied: "If the secret of the King be hidden from the stag, it is not fitting that the secret of the stag should be revealed to the King; but be content to know that not all they that wear horns have their hats lifted off thereby, for some are so soft, that they would distress no one, and he carries them best who knows not that he has them." The King easily perceived by these words that the gentleman knew of what passed between him and his wife, but not a tittle did he suspect him and the Queen, for the better that she liked the life the King led the more she pretended to the contrary. So for a long time they all lived in this fashion, till old age took order with them.

"See, ladies, this relation, in which I freely show you how, when your husbands give you buck's horns, you may give ​them hart's." Ennasiutte began to laugh, and say: "Saffredent, I am well assured that if you loved as you did afore, you would bear to carry horns as high as oaks, if, you might vent your passion; but now those hairs of yours are whitening, it is time for your desires to call a truce." "Fair mistress," said Saffredent, "although she whom I love hath taken from me every hope, and age hath weakened my strength, yet as great as ever is my goodwill. But since you have reproved me for this my honourable desire, I give my vote to you to tell the fourth novel, that we may see if you can draw any example therefrom wherewith to refute me." And during this discourse a lady of the company must needs laugh, for she knew that the one who took the words of Saffredent to herself, was not in such wise beloved of him, that he should bear for her sake horns, or shame, or anything else. And Saffredent perceiving the lady laughing understood, and was content, and so let Ennasiutte talk as she would, and she thus began:

"Ladies, to the intent that Saffredent and this company may know that all women are not like to the Queen of his story, and that those who are ready to risk all, do not in every case gain all, and moreover that I may declare the judgment of a certain lady, who esteemed the grief of failure in love harder to bear than death itself, I will tell you this history, in which you will find no names, since it is so fresh in recollection that I should fear to displease some of those very near akin."