The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 42

In one of the fairest towns in Touraine there lived a lord of an illustrious house who had been brought up there from his earliest youth. Of his perfections, graces, comeliness, and great virtues, I say nothing; but know that in his time he had no match. Being at the age of fifteen years, he took more pleasure in hunting than looking at the ladies; but one day while he was in church he saw a young girl, the same having been when she was a child brought up in the castle where he lived. And after the death of her mother, her father married again, wherefore she went to Poitou with her brother. And she, whose name was Frances, had a bastard sister, whom her father loved greatly, and married to the prince's chief butler, and he kept her in as good estate as any of the family. And when her father died he left Frances as her heritage the lands he had near the said town, on which account she came to live hard by her demesne. But for that she had yet to marry, and was under sixteen years, she was unwilling to live alone in her house, and so went to lodge with her sister, the butler's wife. And the young prince seeing this girl that for a light brunette she was pretty, and of a grace that passed her condition of life, for she more resembled a gentlewoman or great lady than a townswoman, looked for a long while at her, and never before having been in love, felt an unwonted pleasure in his heart. And when he was returned to his castle, he made inquiry about the girl he had seen at church, and remembered that in her youth she came to play at dolls with his sister, whom he ​reminded of her. And his sister sent for her and entreated her kindly, praying her to come often to the castle, which she did when there was a marriage feast or great assembly, and with such goodwill did the young prince behold her, that he knew he was deep in love. And perceiving her poor and mean estate, he hoped easily to gain his desire, but having no means of speaking with her, he sent a gentleman of the bedchamber to her to do his business for him. And she who was a good woman, fearing God, told the gentleman that she did not believe his master, so brave and good a prince, would divert himself by looking upon so poor a thing as herself, since in his castle there were fair ladies enow without seeking for them in the town, and she professed not to doubt that he had spoken of his own authority without his master's commandments. And when the young prince heard this reply, love that strives the more where it is strongly opposed, set him more hotly on this enterprise than before, so he wrote a letter praying Frances to believe entirely what the gentleman had said to her. She, knowing well how to read and write, read his letter through, but let the gentleman entreat her as he would, made never any reply to it, saying that it pertained not to one of such low degree to write to such a prince, and asked him not to think her so foolish as to believe his master had such love for her. And she said that if he hoped, by reason of her poor estate, to have her for his pleasure, he deceived himself, for she had a heart no less honourable than the greatest princess in Christendom, and esteemed all the treasures of the world as nothing compared with her honour and her conscience, entreating him not to hinder her in the keeping of them safe, since she would rather die than change her mind. This answer the young prince found by no means to his taste, natheless he still loved her, and failed not to place his seat by hers at the church where she went to hear mass, and during the service fixed his eyes on her alone. And when she perceived this she changed her place and went into another chapel, not to fly the sight of him, for she had not been a reasonable creature if she loathed to look at him, but because she feared his seeing her, and did not esteem herself worthy of being loved honourably and for marriage, and would not, on the other hand, be loved wantonly for his pleasure. And when she saw that, in whatsoever part ​of the church she sat herself, the prince made sing mass at an altar hard by, she would no longer go to this church, but went always to one as far off as she was able. And when there was feasting at the castle, she would no more go there, though the prince's sister often sent for her, but she excused herself for that she was sick. The prince, seeing that he was not able to speak with her, took counsel with his butler, and assured him of great gain if he would help him in this matter, which the butler promised willingly as much to do his master a pleasure as for the hope of a reward. And, day by day, he told the prince what she said and did, but that above all she fled every occasion of seeing him. So the great desire he had of speaking with her at his ease made him light upon another device. That was, that one day he took his great horses, of which he began well to understand the management, into the town Square in front of his butler's house, where lived Frances. And after making his paces and leaps where she could easily see them, he let himself fall from his horse into the mud, and so softly that he did himself no hurt, but yet made enough complaint, and asked if there were no house where he might change his raiment. Each one offered his house, but a certain man said that the nearest and the best was his own butler's, which was forthwith chosen. He found the room bravely decked out with tapestry, and there stripped himself to his shirt, for all his clothes were fouled with the mud, and so lay down in a bed. And when he saw that all his people, save the gentleman of the bedchamber, were gone to get him fresh clothes, he called his host and hostess, and asked them where was Frances. And they had enough to do to find her, for so soon as she saw the young prince come into the house she went and hid herself in the most secret place that was in it. Natheless, her sister found her, and bade her fear not to parley with so good and virtuous a prince. "What, sister," said Frances, "do you, whom I hold as my mother, wish me to go speak with a young lord, of whose intent toward me I am, as you know, by no means ignorant?" But her sister made so many remonstrances with her, and promised so often not to leave her alone with him, that she went with her, with so pale and sad a face, that she was more fit to move compassion than concupiscence. And when the young prince saw her near his bed, he took her by her cold ​and trembling hand and said: "Do you think me to be so villanous a man, Frances, and so cruel a fantastic, that I eat the women I look upon? You know that in whatsoever place it was possible I have sought out to see and speak to you, and have had therein but poor success. And to do me a greater wrong you have fled the churches where I was wont to see you at mass, to the end that I might have no more delight from sight than from speech. But all that you have done hath availed you nothing, for I ceased not till I came here in the manner you saw, and have risked my neck, in tumbling of my own will off my horse, so as to have the delight of speaking to you at my ease. Wherefore, prithee, Frances, since with so great toil I have won this opportunity, let it not be for nought, but by the greatness of my love let me win yours." And when for a long while he had awaited her reply, and saw that her eyes were full of tears and fixed on the ground, he drew her as near to him as he could and would have thrown his arms about her and kissed her; but she said to him: "No, my lord, that which you seek for you can never have, for though compared with you I am but a poor worm, yet so dear do I hold my honour that I would rather die than see it diminished for any pleasure this world can give me. And the fear I have of them who have seen you come here, lest they suspect the truth, has made me thus to tremble and to be afraid. And since it has been your pleasure to do me the honour of speaking to me, you will pardon me if I speak also to you in the manner my honour requires of me. I am not so foolish nor so blind, my lord, that I do not see the beauties and the graces that God hath given you, and her who shall possess the body and the love of such a prince I deem the happiest in the world. But what is all this to me? for not to me nor to my estate does it pertain, and the very desire thereof would be the utmost folly. And what reason can I give for your addressing yourself to me, save that the ladies of your household (whom you love, if beauty and grace be beloved of you) are so virtuous that you dare not ask nor hope that of them which the smallness of my condition makes you hope to have of me? And sure am I that if from a woman like to myself you got that you asked, it would serve as good matter of entertainment for two hours and more with your mistress, to tell her the conquests you achieved ​over one who is of the weakest. Wherefore be pleased, since God hath not made me a princess, to be your wife, nor of an estate to be your mistress and sweetheart, not to put me in the number of the poor unfortunates, since I think you are and desire you may always be one of the happiest princes in all Christendom. And if you are fain to have women of my condition for your pastime, you will find enough in this very town, beyond compare prettier than I, who will not give you the trouble of so long a wooing. Be content, then, with them that will gladly sell their honour to you, and trouble no more her that loves you better than herself. For if God this day required either your life or mine, I should hold myself happy to offer up mine to save yours; since it is no want of love that makes me fly your presence, but rather, too great a love for your conscience and mine, for I love my honour better than my life. I desire to remain, my lord, if it please you, in your good grace, and all my life I will pray God for your health and wealth; and true it is that the honour you have done me will make me to be more esteemed among my own sort of people; for what man of my own rank would I look upon after I have talked with you? So my heart shall be at large, save that it shall always pray God for you, and no other service can you have of me." The young prince, hearing this honest answer, was by no means pleased thereat, but yet was not able to esteem her less good than she was. He did all that was in his power to make her believe he would never love any other woman, but so wise was she that such an unreasonable thing could have no place in her understanding. And whilst they were thus talking together, though it was often told him that his clothes were come from the castle, in such delight and ease was he that he bade answer he slept; even till it was suppertime, at which he durst not fail his mother, who was one of the most prudent and most severe dames in the world. So the young prince went his way, esteeming more than ever the virtue of the maid. And he often spoke concerning her to the gentleman of his bedchamber, who, thinking gold would avail more than love, counselled him to offer the maid a good sum for doing him a kindness. The young prince, whose treasurer was his mother, had not much money for his privy pleasures, and so borrowed, making up altogether five hundred ​crowns, and sent them to the girl, praying her to change her mind. But when she saw the gift, she said to the gentleman: "I pray you tell my lord that I have a heart so virtuous that if by any means I could be compelled to obey his desires, the beauty and the grace that are in him would have ere this made a conquest of me; but since against my honour they are as nothing, all the gold in the world is much less. Wherefore take it back to him, for I prefer honest poverty to all the substance in the world." The gentleman, hearing this stiff reply, thought she might be won by severity, and threatened her with the authority and might of his master. But she, laughing a good deal, answered him: "Make a dreadful thing of him to the maids that know him not, for I am well assured that he is too good and virtuous for such discourse to come from him, and I am persuaded he will deny it altogether when you tell it him. But though he were the man you say, no death nor torment could move me, for, as I have told you, since love has not turned my heart, not all the ills nor all the goods you can give me can stir me one step from my position." The gentleman, who had promised that he would gain her, carried back these tidings in a wondrous rage, and would have his master pursue her in every possible manner, telling him it would be a blot on his honour to have failed in winning a woman of her estate. The young prince, not willing to use any dishonourable means, and fearing also lest the affair should be commonly reported, and so should come to his mother's ears, who would be very wrathful with him, durst undertake nothing, till the gentleman showed him so easy a way, that he thought to have her at last. And to put it into execution he spoke to his butler, who, determined to do his master any fashion of service, asked his wife and his sister-in-law to come and see their vintages in a house he had near the forest, to which they agreed. And when the appointed day was come he advertised the young prince of it, who was resolved to go all alone with the gentleman, and made hold his mule ready for them to set out when the time should draw near. But it was God's will that on that day his mother was decking a most admirable cabinet, and for her help she had all her children with her, and so the young prince diverted himself with her till the hour was passed. But the butler had made his wife feign sickness in ​such sort that when he and his sister-in-law were on horseback, she on the crupper behind him, his wife came to tell him she could not come. And when he saw that the hour in which the prince should have come was gone by, he said to his sister-in-law: "I do suppose we can return to the town." "And what stops us?" said Frances. "Why," said the butler, "'tis my lord, for whom I am waiting, since he promised me he would come." When his sister heard his wickedness, she said: "Wait not for him, brother, for I am assured he will not come to-day," so her brother believed her and took her home. And when they got to the house she showed her great anger, telling him he was the devil's servant, and did more than his master bade him, for she knew the scheme was invented by the gentleman and himself and not by the young prince, whose money he had rather gain by aiding him in his follies than do the duty of a good servant, but since she knew him for such an one she would no longer tarry in his house. Thereupon she sent for her brother to take her to his own country, and straightway left the house of her sister. The butler, having failed in his undertaking, went to the castle to hear on what account the prince had not come, and he had not gone far before he met him on his mule with the gentleman in whom he trusted. And he asked the butler: "Is she still there?" who told him all that had been done. The young prince was very sorry to have failed in this last and extreme means of gaining her, but, seeing no cure for it, sought her out in such wise that he met her in an assembly whence she could not fly from him, and spoke bitterly to her for that she had been so cruel towards him, and was now leaving her brother's house. But she answered that she could live in no worse house nor one more perilous for her, and told him he was fortunate in his butler, insomuch as he served him not only with his body and his substance, but also with his soul and his conscience. And when the prince saw he could do nothing more, he determined to pester her no longer, and esteemed her greatly all his days. And a servant of the prince, seeing the goodness of the maid, was fain to have her to wife, but she would by no means consent without the leave and command of the prince, in whom she had placed all her affection, and this she made report to him. So by his goodwill the marriage was concluded, and she lived all her life in great repute, the prince doing her many a good turn.

​"What shall we say to this, ladies? Are our hearts so mean that we will make our servants the masters; for this woman was not to be overcome by any force of love. I pray you let us take pattern by her and make a conquest of ourselves, for than this there is no victory more worthy of praise." "One thing alone appears to me wrong," said Oisille, "namely, that she did not act thus virtuously in the days of the old historians, for they that have extolled so greatly their Lucreece, would have left her the end of their pens to set down at length the virtues of this maid." "And so great are these virtues of hers," said Hircan, "that were it not for the oath we have sworn to speak the truth, I could not have believed her to be such as you say. For you have seen many a sickly man leave good and wholesome meats, and devour that which is bad and hurtful. So perchance this girl had some meaner lover that made her set all nobility at nought." But to this Parlamente replied that the whole life of her showed she had never loved any living man save him she loved more than her life, but not more than her honour. "Away with such notions from your brain!" said Saffredent, "and hear how this word honour came into such repute among the women, for haply they that talk most of it know not whence it proceeded. Know then that in the beginning, when men were not so crafty, nor was there so much evil in their hearts, love was so simple and yet so strong, that it was made no matter of concealment. And he who loved with the most perfect love was deemed worthy of most praise. But when covetousness and sin took hold on man's heart, they drove thence God and love, and took to them in place thereof, love of self, hypocrisy, and deceit. And the women, seeing that the name of hypocrisy was hateful to men, gave it instead the name of honour; so that they who had in them no perfect love, might be able to declare that honour forbade them. And this in their cruelty they made a law for all, so that even they that have the true love conceal it, thinking virtue to be vice; but they that are of a good understanding and sound judgment, fall not into such heresy, knowing the diversity betwixt light and darkness, and that true honour is to show the purity of their heart, which ought to live on love alone, and do no service to the vice of concealment." "Yet," said Dagoucin, "men say that the love that is most secret is ​most worthy of praise." "Ay, secret," said Simontault, "from the eyes of them that would judge evilly of it, but clear and manifest to the two persons to whom it especially pertains." "Such is my opinion," said Dagoucin, "and I think it would be better even for one of the two to be ignorant of it, than that a third should be advised thereof; and I believe the love of Frances was all the stronger for that she kept it in her heart." "Howsoever that be," said Longarine, "this virtue of overcoming one's own heart must be esteemed the greatest of all. And seeing the occasions that this maid had of forgetting her conscience and her honour, and the virtue she had to overcome her heart, and her will, and him she loved better than herself, with all the temptations that were put in her path, I say she is to be accounted a brave woman." "Since you make the mortification of self the measure of virtue," said Saffredent, "I affirm the prince to be more worthy of praise than she; if you will but consider the greatness of his love, his power, and his opportunities. And with all these, yet he would not offend the laws of true love, which makes earl and churl equal, but would only use the means that honour allowed him." "There is many an one," said Hircan, "who would not have done so." "All the more is he to be esteemed," said Longarine, "in that he overcame the evil common to all men; for he who can do evil and does it not, may well be accounted blessed." "By this talk," said Geburon, "you make me call to mind the case of a woman who had more fear of offending man than God, honour, or love." "Prithee tell us the tale," said Parlamente, "for I give you my vote." "There are folk," said Geburon, "who have no God, or if they do believe in one, it is as being so far from them that He cannot see nor hear their evil deeds, or even if He sees them they deem Him so careless that He will not punish them, thinking of Him as one who has no care at all for this world below. Of this opinion was a lady, whose name I will alter for the sake of her family, and I will call her Jambicque. She often would say that the woman whose only concern was with God, was lucky, if for the rest she could keep her honour unspotted before men. But you shall see, ladies, that her prudence and hypocrisy could not hinder her secret from being revealed; and I will tell you all the manner of it, save that the names of people and places have been changed."