The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 31

In one of the lands subject to the Emperor Maximilian of Austria there stood a monastery of Grey Friars, the which was in great esteem. And hard-by it was the house of a gentleman, who bore the monks such goodwill that he shared with them all his goods, so as to have a part in the benefit of their fasts and austerities. And among them there was a tall and comely friar whom this gentleman had chosen for his confessor, and such power had he to give commands in the house as had the master of it. Now this friar, seeing the gentleman's wife that she was fair, and likewise a good and prudent woman, became so amorous of her that he lost not only his appetite for food and drink, but his very reason. And one day, thinking to bring the matter to a conclusion, he went all alone to the house, and finding not the master, asked the dame whither he had gone. She told him he was gone to a place where he must needs stay three or four days, but that if he had need of him she would send an express messenger. He answered no, and began to come and go about the house, as a man who has some urgent matter in his brain, and when he was gone out of her room, she said to one of her two women, for she had no more: "Go after the good father and discover what it is he desires, for his face is the face of one who is not well pleased." The serving-maid went to the courtyard where he was, and asked if he needed anything, whereupon he answered that he did, and drawing her into a corner took a dagger he had in his sleeve and drove it through her throat. No sooner was this done than there came into the yard a serving-man on horseback, who had gone to get ​

QUATRIÈME JOURNÉE
Nouvelle XXXI^e ​the rent of a farm. And when he stood on the ground the friar saluted him, and as he put his arms round him stabbed him in the back of the throat with the dagger, and shut the castle gate. The lady, seeing her maid did not return, was astonished she stayed so long with the friar, and said to the other: "Go see what hinders your fellow that she does not come." Straightway she went, and as soon as the monk saw her he took her apart and did to her as he had done to her fellow. And perceiving himself to be alone in the house he went to the dame and told her that for a long while he had lusted after her, and that the hour was come in which she needs must do his will. She, who would never have suspected him, said: "I am assured, father, that if I had so wicked an inclination you would cast the first stone on me." The monk replied: "Come hither and you shall see what I have done." And when she beheld her two women and the serving-man lying dead, she was in such affright that she stood as a statue without uttering a word. Then this evil man, who did not wish to have her only for an hour, would not take her by force, but said: "Mistress, be not afraid, you are in the hands of the man who of all the world loves you best." So saying he doffed his habit, having under it a small one, the which he gave to the dame, telling her if she would not put it on he would lay her among them she saw dead before her eyes.

She, already more dead than alive, resolved that she would feign to obey him, both to save her life and because she would gain time wherein she hoped her husband might return. And, the friar so charging her, she began as slowly as she was able to take off her headdress, and when it was done he, not regarding the beauty of her hair, hastily cut it off. Next he made her take off all her clothes save her shift, and clothed her in the small habit, putting on him again the large one he was accustomed to wear; then as soon as might be he set forth from the house, leading with him the little friar he had so long lusted after. But God, who has compassion on the innocent in tribulation, regarded the tears of this poor dame in such sort that her husband, having accomplished his affairs sooner than he thought to have done, returned to his house by the same road as went his wife. But when the friar saw him afar off he said to her: "Behold, I see your husband drawing near. ​I know that if you look upon him he will take you from my hands, wherefore walk on before me, and by no means turn your head towards him, for if you make but a single sign I will have my dagger in your throat before he can deliver you from me." While he said this the gentleman drew near and asked whence he came. He replied: "From your house, where I have left the dame in good case, and waiting for you."

The gentleman passed by and saw not his wife, but a servant he had with him, who was always wont to talk with the friar's companion, who was called Brother John, began calling to his mistress, thinking her to be his friend. The poor woman, who dared not turn her eyes on her husband, answered him not a word, but the servant crossing the road to see her face to face, the lady, without saying anything, made him a sign with her eyes that were full of tears. So the man followed after his master and said to him: "Sir, I crossed the road and saw the friar's companion, who is by no means Brother John, but altogether is like to the dame your wife, and her eyes are most pitiful and full of tears." The gentleman told him he dreamed, and made no account of it, but the servant persisting, asked leave of him to go back and see if matters were as he thought, whilst his master waited for him on the road. The gentleman gave him leave, and waited for whatsoever news he might bring him. But when the friar heard the servant behind him calling out Brother John, he suspected the lady was known, and came to meet him with a great club of iron which he carried, and gave the servant with it such a blow that he fell from his horse to the ground, and leaping upon his body the monk forthwith cut his throat. The gentleman, seeing his servant fall from afar off, thought it to be from some mischance, and ran back to succour him. And as soon as the monk saw him he smote him with his club in like manner as he had smitten the servant, and threw him to the earth, and leapt upon him. But the gentleman being strong and powerful, threw his arms round the friar in such sort that not only did he get no hurt but forced the dagger from his fist, which his wife took and gave to her husband, and with all her might held the friar by his hood. And the gentleman gave him several blows with the dagger, till at last he entreated forgiveness and confessed the evil he had done. But the gentleman having no mind to kill ​him, prayed his wife go to the house and fetch his people and a cart wherein to put the friar. This she did, taking off her monkish dress and running to the house with her shaven head in her shift alone. Presently came all the servants to the aid of their master, and to lead away the wolf he had taken prisoner, and finding him in the road where he had been captured they bound him and clapped him up in the house. And the gentleman, after some time, made take him to the Emperor in Flanders, where he was lawfully tried, and confessed his wickedness. And by his confession, and proof made by commissioners on the spot, it was found that a great number of women of gentle blood and comely wenches had been borne to that monastery by the same means as the monk had used with the dame, and in this he had had good success but for the grace of Our Lord, who always succours them that put their trust in Him. And the goods in the monastery that were stolen, and the comely women that were therein, were taken out of it, and the monks having been shut up were burned together with it, for a perpetual memory of this evil deed. And by this we may learn that there is nothing more dangerous than love when it is bottomed upon vice, as in like manner there is nothing more kindly and praiseworthy than it when it has its habitation in a virtuous heart.

"I am heartily sorry, ladies, that truth does not find us tales to the advantage of the Grey Friars, as it does to their disadvantage. For it would be a great delight to me, who have a liking for their order, to find some tale wherewith I could sing their praise; but we have so sworn to speak the truth, that after the witness of so many trustworthy men I could not conceal this matter from you. But I do assure you that, when the monks shall do some notable and glorious deed, I will take much the more praise to relate it of them than I have taken to tell you this true history." "In good faith, Geburon," said Oisille, "this was a love well deserving to be called cruelty." "I wonder," said Simontault, "how he had the patience, seeing her in her shift, and in a place where he had the lordship over her, not to take her by force." "He was no dainty man," answered Saffredent, "but a glutton; for since he was minded to have his fill of her every day, he wished not to amuse himself by a mere taste." "'Tis not that," said Parlamente, "but ​you must understand that the wicked are always fearful, and the fear of him, lest he should be surprised and robbed of his prey, made him bear away his lamb to devour it at his ease, as a wolf doth with a sheep." "Natheless," said Dagoucin, "I cannot believe he loved her, or that in so vile a heart the virtuous god of love could have a dwelling place." "Be that as it may," said Oisille, "he had a punishment even as he deserved; and I pray God that like deeds may have a like success. But to whom do you give your vote?" "Unto you," said Geburon, "who will not fail to tell us some good story." "Since it has come to my turn," said Oisille, "I will tell you a thing that fell out in my time, and under the eyes of him that told it me. I am assured you know that death puts a close to our misfortunes, but since it does this let us rather call it our happiness and our rest. The chief misfortune then that can befall a man is to desire death and not to have it; wherefore the greatest punishment one can give to an evil-doer is not death but perpetual torment, thus great that it makes him long for death, and thus small that it brings death no nearer. And in this sort did a gentleman use his wife, as you shall hear."