The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 50

In the town of Cremona no long while ago there lived a gentleman named Messire Giovanni Pietro, who for some time had loved a lady dwelling hard-by to his house, but for all his pursuit of her he could not get the answer he desired, and this although she loved him with all her heart. Whereat the poor ​gentleman became so wearied and oppressed, that he kept himself in his lodging, resolved no more vainly to endeavour a thing the desire for which was wearing his life away. And the better to drive this fantasy from his brain he went several days without seeing her, and in this manner grew so melancholical that the fashion of his countenance was altered and hardly to be known. Wherefore his kinsfolk made summon the physicians, who, seeing the face of him that it was yellow, thought there was an obstruction in the liver, and would have him blooded. His mistress, who had so long played the prude, being persuaded that this sickness of his came but from her refusals, sent to him an old woman in whom she trusted, and told him that since she perceived his love was true and not feigned, she was determined to grant him all that she had till now refused, and she had found means to go forth from her lodging to a place where she might privily entertain him. The gentleman, who in the morning had been blooded in the arm, found himself better cured by these words than by any medicament or cupping-glasses, and sent word that he would not fail her at the time and place she had appointed, and that she had worked an evident miracle, for with one word she had cured a man of a sickness for which all the physicians could find no remedy. And when the evening was come so much desired of him, the gentleman went to the place agreed upon, and so great was his joy that not being able to grow more, it needs must grow less and come to an end. And he had waited but a short time when she he loved more than his life came and sought him out. No long discourse did he make for her diversion, since the fire that burned within made him haste to obtain that which he could scarcely believe was in his power. Then filled with love and pleasure as with strong drink, and thinking he had found wherewithal he might lengthen his days, in place thereof he cut them short, for having in his sweetheart altogether forgotten himself, he perceived not that the bandages on his arm were loosened, and the wound, bursting forth afresh, gushed out with so much blood that this poor man was quite bathed in it. But, thinking his weariness came from excess in love dalliance, he was minded to return to his house. Then did love, that had brought them into such close communion, act in such wise that as he departed from his mistress the soul departed from ​his body, and, by reason of the great pouring forth of his blood, he fell dead at the lady's feet. And she stood still as one beside herself with dreadful astonishment, considering the loss of so perfect a lover, of whose death she alone was the cause. And also she thought on the shame that would abide with her if his dead body were found in the house; so that the thing might not be known, she and a serving-maid in whom she trusted carried the body into the street. But there she determined not to leave him alone, and, taking the dead man's sword, she pierced through and through her heart, the cause of all the evil, and the dead body of her fell on that of her lover. And her father and mother, going forth on the morrow from the house, saw there that pitiful sight, and, after sorrowing with a great sorrow, buried them both together.

"So, ladies, a great love brought about a great mischance." "This is a case that pleases me mightily," said Simontault, "when love is so equally divided that one dying, the other will not live. And if by God's grace I had found such a mistress, I believe no man would have loved her with a more perfect love." "Yet I am of opinion," said Parlamente, "that love would not have so blinded you that you would not have bound up your arm better than did this poor man, for the time when men forgot their lives for their ladies is overpast." "But," said Simontault, "the time is not overpast for women to forget their lovers' lives by reason of their own pleasures." "I believe," said Ennasuitte, "that there is no woman in the world that takes pleasure in the death of a man, though he be her enemy. Natheless, if men will kill themselves, we women cannot save them." "Yet," said Simontault, "he that refuseth a morsel of bread to a poor man dying of hunger is accounted as a murderer." "If your demands," said Oisille, "were as reasonable as those of the poor, who ask but for their necessity, the women would be cruel above measure did they refuse you; but, thanks be to God! this sickness kills but those that are appointed to die within the year." "I know not, mistress," said Simontault, "how any necessity can be greater than that which makes all others to be forgotten; for when love is strong a body thinks of no meat nor bread save the looks and the words of her he loves." "If you were left thus to fest," replied Oisille, "and no other victuals given you save these, you would soon change ​your story." "I confess," answered he, "that the flesh might fail me, but never the heart nor the mind." "Then," said Parlamente, "God hath been very mindful of you, in that He hath made you to do your suit and service to so unthankful a mistress, that you are of necessity forced to console yourself with victuals and drink, wherein you quit you so manfully, that you shall praise the Lord for so merciful a severity." "In such manner," answered he, "have I fed on torment, that I well-nigh give thanks for the ills whereat others mourn." "It may be," said Longarine, "that your lamentations shut you out from her presence, where if you rejoiced you would be welcome, for there is nothing more wearisome than an importunate lover." "Save only," answered Simontault, "a cruel lady." "I plainly see," said Oisille, "that if we heard Simontault his conclusions to the end, it would be compline and not evensong time, for he has the matter at heart. Wherefore let us begone to praise God that this day has been spent with no more grievous quarrel." So she arose, and all the rest followed her; but Simontault and Longarine ceased not their quarrel, and yet so gently was it ordered that Simontault, without drawing his sword, came of the conqueror, convincing her that the strongest passion was the greatest necessity. Thereupon they came into the quire, where the monks awaited them, and, having heard evensong, made their supper as much off words as meat. For their talk lasted the whole while they were at board and far into the evening, till that Oisille said they would do well to give rest to their imaginations, and that the five days overpast were filled with such fine tales that she was in great fear lest the sixth should not equal them, since it were not possible, even should they invent them, to tell better tales than they had already recounted. But Geburon, said that, as long as the world lasted, things would be done worthy to be had in remembrance. "For the wickedness of the wicked is always as it has been, and also the goodness of the good. So long as evil and good reign upon the earth they will ever accomplish new deeds, although it is written there is nothing new under the sun. But we, inasmuch as we are not called to the privy counsels of God, and therefore know not the causes of things, find all things new the more admirable that we ourselves cannot or will not do them, so be not afraid lest ​the days that are to come be worse than they that went before; and do you, for your part, endeavour to do your duty." Oisille said she commended herself to God, and in His name bade them good-night. So all the company departed, and the fifth day was brought to a close.