The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 54

Between the Pyrenees and the Alps there lived a gentleman, having a wife and children, a mighty fine house, and so many blessings and contentments, that he had good reason for happiness. But with all this he was subject to a dreadful pain at the roots of his hair, for which cause the physicians advised him to lie apart from his wife, to which she consented very willingly, having no care but for the health and strength of her husband. So she made set another bed for her in a corner of the room opposite to that of her husband's, and in so straight a line with it that when they put their heads outside the curtain they could plainly see one another. This dame kept two serving-maids, and ofttimes, when she and her lord were a-bed, each would take a book to read for pastime, and the maids held the candle for them; that is to say, the young one for the master and the other for his wife. And seeing the maid to be younger ​and prettier than his wife, the gentleman took such pleasure to look upon her that he would break off his reading and they would parley together. And the wife heard them very plainly, and found it a good thing that the serving-men and serving-women should entertain their master, not thinking that he loved any beside herself. But one evening when they had read a longer while than was their custom, the lady, looking towards her husband's bed, where was the maid with the candle, saw only the back of her; and of her husband she saw nothing, save by means of the chimney that jutted out into the room, for the wall of it was white, and shining with the light of the candle. And upon the aforesaid wall she plainly beheld the likeness of her husband's face, and the likeness of the maid's; if they drew near, if they went apart, or if they smiled, she was as plainly advertised of it as if she had seen them. The gentleman, being sure that his wife could not by any means perceive them, took no care, and kissed the maid, the which for the first time his wife bore without saying a word, but when she saw the shadows often thus communed with one another, she was afraid lest beneath them there might be some solid substance, and therefore burst into a loud laugh, in such sort that the shadows grew afraid and went apart. And the gentleman asked her wherefore she laughed so loudly, and would have her make him a partaker in her merriment. She replied: "I am such a fool, husband, that I laugh at my shadow." And never, inquire of her as he might, would she say anything else; but for all that this shadowy communion was seen no more.

"And this is how the tale was brought to my remembrance when you spoke of the dame that loved her husband's sweetheart." "Faith," said Ennasuitte, "if my woman had used me thus I had arisen and broken the candle on her nose." "You are mighty terrible," said Hircan; "but how would it have fared with you if your husband and the woman had banded together and beaten you heartily? And it skills not to make such an outcry on a mere question of kissing; wherefore the wife would have done still better had she not said a word and left him to a pastime which might lighten his sickness." "But," said Parlamente, "she was afraid lest this pastime should make his sickness more grievous." "She was not amongst those," said Oisille, "against whom our Lord speaks: 'We have piped ​unto you, and ye have not danced; we have mourned to you, and ye have not wept,' for when her husband was sick she mourned with him, and when he was merry she laughed. So ought all good wives to have the half of their husband's good and evil, sorrow and gladness, and to love, serve, and obey them as the Church does Christ." "Our husbands, then," said Parlamente, "should be to us as Christ is to the Church." "So we are," answered Saffredent; "and, if it be possible, more also; for Christ died but once for his Church, and we die for our wives day by day." "Die?" said Longarine; "methinks you and the others that are here present are with more pounds since you are married than pence before." "And I am well advised of the reason thereof," said Saffredent; "'tis that our valour is so often tried, but yet our shoulders feel the weight of the cuirass very grievous." "If you were constrained," said Ennasuitte, "to wear harness for a month and to sleep on the hard ground, you would be mighty desirous to come back to the bed of your good wife, and carry the cuirass of which you now complain. But it is well said that one can bear all things save ease, and one knows not what rest is till it is lost. And this fine dame who laughed when her husband was merry could take her rest whatever fell out." "I suppose," said Longarine, "that she loved rest more than her husband, insomuch as she took nothing to heart, let him do what he might." "She took one thing to heart," said Parlamente, "namely, that he might do harm to his health and his conscience, but for so small a matter she was unwilling to take any great annoy." "When you talk about conscience," said Simontault, "you make me laugh, for 'tis a thing I would have no woman trouble herself with." "Your desert would be," said Nomerfide, "to have a wife like that one who showed, after her husband's death, that she had a far greater love for his monies than his conscience." "I pray you," said Saffredent, "tell us the tale, and I will give you my vote." "I had determined," said she, "not to tell so short a story, but since it comes to hand I will do so."