The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 69

At the castle of Odoz, in Bigorre, there dwelt an Italian named Charles, Master of the Horse to the King, who had to wife an honourable gentlewoman, but she having borne him several children was grown old. He likewise was no longer young, and lived with her in peace and quietness. Now and again he would hold parley with the maid servants, his good wife showing no sign of wrath, but giving them their dismission when she found them too familiar in her house. One day she took a good and discreet girl into her service, to whom she discovered her husband's complexion, and how she sent her servants away so soon as she found them to be wantons. This maid, so as to remain in the service and favour of her mistress, determined that she would be an honest woman, and though her master often endeavoured to gain her, she gave no heed unto him, but told all to her mistress, and they diverted themselves together with his foolishness. But on a day that this girl was sifting meal in the bolting-room at the back, having her surcoat drawn over her head after the fashion of the country (and this is like a chrisom-cloth, but covering all the body and the shoulders behind), her master, finding her in this gear, came and pressed her very hard. She, who for fear of death would not have consented, made pretence to agree with him, but natheless asked leave first to go to her mistress to discover whether she was busied in any way, to the intent that they should not both be taken in the fact, the which he granted her. Then she prayed him put her surcoat over his head, and bolt whilst she was away, so that his wife should not hear the noise of the bolter cease. This he did gladly, since he hoped to have that he craved of her. The servant, being by no means of a ​melancholic complexion, ran to her mistress, and said to her: "Come and see your husband, whom I have taught to bolt, so as to be rid of him." The lady made great haste to see this new servant of hers, and beholding her husband with the surcoat drawn over his head, and the bolter in his hands, she fell to laughing mightily, and clapping her hands, called out: "Well done, wench; and what monthly wage would you have for your toil?" The husband, hearing her voice, and knowing he was deceived, threw surcoat and bolter to the ground, and ran at the girl, calling her wretch again and again; and if his wife had not come between them, he would have given her a good quarterage. But at last the tumult was set at rest to the contentment of all, and henceforth they lived together very peacefully.

"What say you, ladies, to this wife? Was she not wise altogether to make her husband's pastime her own likewise?" "'Twas but poor pastime," said Saffredent, "for the husband to fail in his undertaking." "I do believe," said Ennasuitte, "that it was more pleasure for him to laugh with his wife than, at his age, to kill himself with the maid." "Yet," said Simontault, "I had been sorely vexed to have been found wearing that fine chrisom-cloth." "It has been told me," said Parlamente, "that it is not to be imputed to your wife if she found you not in gear very like to it, and thenceforth she has had no rest." "Be content with the charges of your own house," answered Simontault, "and do not curiously inquire into mine. For had it been even as you say, she would never have perceived it through wanting anything I could give her, and indeed she has little cause to complain of me." "Honest women," said Longarine, "want nothing but only the love of their husbands, wherein alone is their contentment; and they that have bestial appetites can never satisfy them and keep their honour unspotted." "Call yon it a bestial appetite," said Geburon, "when a woman desires of her mate that which by right belongs to her?" Longarine replied to him: "I say that a chaste woman, whose heart is full of true love, takes more delight in being perfectly beloved than in all the lusts of the flesh." "I am of your opinion," said Dagoucin, "but these gentlemen here will neither give ear to it nor confess that it is true. I think that if reciprocal love does not suffice a woman, ​what her husband alone can do will never satisfy her; and forsaking the virtuous love of women she is fulfilled with the infernal lust of the beasts." "Truly," said Oisille, "you call to remembrance the case of a fair lady married to a noble husband who, falling from this virtuous affection, became more carnal than the swine, and more cruel than the lions." "I pray you, mistress," said Simontault, "to tell it to us, and so bring this day to an end." "I cannot," said Oisille, "and for two reasons: the one for its exceeding length, the other for that it is not of our time, but was written by an author well worthy of belief, and we are sworn to set forth nothing here that has been written." "You speak truth," said Parlamente, "but knowing what tale it is, and that it is written in the old fashion of speaking, I am persuaded that, save us two, nor man nor woman here present has heard it; wherefore it will stand for new." And at this all the company prayed her to relate it, and to have no fear for the length, since there wanted still a good hour to evensong-time. So at their desire Mistress Oisille began after this sort: