Cr Sera Cs es et teres re od ene ra ae a ergy i a8 a) F eth Naat fy Mi } Hersh , ai) oh 4 as 7 ft =n F pet Ao) Gt io i i 4 Aa seta ‘ Raina rae KWH DE eet oe Pa nites a ary Se as ag nea, Torrie of metas Serr rns os ef i 4 y i eee ns eee Aer as Ba Repeal ER ek Ne Se oor Rk ee ss . 2 es 22 pce ee m il. eee cia fo |, if : | ya i BR \ ! oe oe . THE TEMPLE COMPANY, if BOOKSELLERS ROW, W.C.~~ = -s 3 & (8 bien 4 * nb ip ia oe Ix bringing out @Angoline, Q i by a short 1 mith Manparet de Medics, and: Henry of Beam, bo have been the she, atte a mos having been dio Pove Clement VI Margaret An alois, ag the da Ottise of Savoy, a Yeats before her became Her bro throne of Frau, Uke of Alen my, § | d - :INTRODUCTION. In bringing out this new translation of the Tales and Novels of Margares @ Angouléme, Queen of Navarre, it has been thought as well to preface it by a short notice of its authoress. She must not be confounded with Margaret de Valois, daughter of Henry IT. of France, and Catherine de Medicis, and who, born at Fontainbleau, May 14th, 1552, married Henry of Béarn, King of Navarre, much against her will, as she appears | to have been the mistress of the great Duc de Guise at the time, in 1572 ; =~ she, after a most dissolute-life, died in Paris, on March 27th, 1615, having been divorced from Henry IV., as he had no children by her, by Pope Clement VIII. in 1599. Margaret d’Angouléme, who is also frequently called Margaret de | Valois, was the daughter of Charles of Orleans, Count of Angouléme, and \ Louise of Savoy, and was born at Angouléme, April 11th, 1492, just sixty 4, years before her namesake, whose grandmother-in-law, however, she \ became. Her brother was Francis, who succeeded Louis XII. on the throne of ea as Francis I. She married, in 1509, et the last ‘ Ponstalle of Heathen She foes not appear i - lived very heal nily \'vith him during her fourteen years of married life ; ; he died, however, shortly after the battle of Pavia (fought February 24th) on April 11th, f the same year, 1525. ty’ Her brother, Francis I., had succeeded to the throne of France in 1515, i? ‘n the death of Louis XII., and she and her mother, Louise of Savoy, ¢ nentioned several times in the novels as Madame la Regent or the lm Regent Mother, became two of the most powerful women in France ; and he employed her great talents with much advantage in affairs of state. | Je Brantéme, in his Vil des Dames Il/ustres, speaks very highly of her, 4nd says that: ‘‘ During the imprisonment of the king, her brother” | \Francis I. was taken prisoner at the battle of Pavia, after which it is - ‘aid that he wrote to his mother: ‘ Tout est perdu fors ’honneur”), ‘at Wadrid, she assisted the Regent Mother very much in governing the8 INTRODUCTION, Kingdom, by quieting the princes and nobles, for she was very easily accessible, and won the hearts of the people by the many accomplish- ments of which she was mistress,” The sincerest affection seems to have subsisted between her brother, Francis I, and her; he used to call her his Marguerite des Marguerites, and about four months after her husband’s death, she embarked at Aigues ¥\ Nortes in the South of France, a port which is mentioned in the introduc- tion to the novels, for Spain, in order to treat for his release, which, however, proved to be by no means an easy matter. On her arrival at Madrid she found him in a most wretched state, but knowing and loving him as she did, she caused his physicians to alter their treatment of him, which made the king say that without her he should assuredly have died. Though Charles V. spoke very fairly, he evidently had no immediate intention of releasing his illustrious prisoner, and so Francis determined, in case he should be detained for an indefinite time, or perpetually, that the dauphin should be crowned at once, but that the regency, with which he had entrusted his mother when he entered on the campaign in the Milanese, should continue in the hands of Louise, and in case of her being disabled or dying, it was to devolve on to his sister, ‘‘ Margaret of France, Duchess of Alencon and of Berry.” She returned to France in December, 1525, and narrowly escaped being arrested, managing to cross the frontier very shortly before her safe conduct had expired. After Francis was released, he determined to find her a suitable second husband, and his choice fell on Henri | | d’Albret, Count of Béarn, titular King of Navarre, whose tiny king- dom the Emperor Charles V. would not give up, though under treaty obligations to do so, and in spite of Francis’ promises to help his brother- in-law to regain his rights, he failed to do so, from political motives. Henri d’Albret, however, received as his wife’s portion (she was considerably his senior) the Duchies of Alencon and Berry and the counties of Armagnac and Herche. The want of interest that Francis showed for the political fortunes of his sister’s husband seems to hav disgusted the latter, and in 1527 they withdrew from Court and wen to reside in Béarn, ‘‘and at Nerac and Pau they kept up miniatur Courts which yielded to none in Europe in the intellectual brilliancy of their frequenters.” They also invited husbandmen from all parts of France, who improved and fertilised the land; the towns were beautified and strengthened, houses and castles were built, Pau being among the number with some of the finest gardens in Europe, and altogether they did much to civilise the people. She had no children by her first husband; by Henri d’Albret she had a son, who died young, and a daughter, Jeanne d’Albret, who was the mother of | lather in Henry of } and lvry. She wag the persecut Mabrot an others, came over into P intimate te to her, bei Her husban is said even to De Brant Own private have ordere¢ sister with ¢ to have done With the new Sermons and Tite, a8 iti the Castle of ants + and D0 extended hig. | Which preven | She was in Ea a8 to ay Unto a sack ang | Was sent tp t time atterray for having lj Sister, he ki her allection | believed her in Her bother March 1 *Ughtes Joan Uke of Ven ay’ of her i th Use avelng throyINTRODUCTION. ? ly h: Henry of Navarre, later Henry IV. of France, the hero of Arcques ( and Ivry. Her husband survived her. t, } She was at once the patroness of literature, and the protectress of 4, | the persecuted Huguenots in France, and amongst the former Clement / Makhrot; amongst the latter, Pierre Calis, Gérard Roussel, Calvin, and : others, came to Pau, but not thinking themselves in safety they crossed h, over into Piedmont. Clement Matrot seems to have been on specially a intimate terms with her, and even addressed some quasi amorous lines ng to her, beginning : ‘‘'Tous deux aymons geus pleins d’honneteté.” a Her husband objected to her intimacy with the Protestants, and it we is said even ill-used her in consequence, boxing her ears, according i to De Brantéme, because she had a Calvinist to preach to her in her the | own private apartments. Francis is said to have interfered and to on have ordered his brother-in-law to treat his own wife and the king’s is, | sister with the respect due to her rank, which he seems afterwards his , to have done. ‘There seems to be no doubt that she was deeply tinged | with the new doctrine, and induced her husband to read the Bible, hear ped | sermons and even receive the Lord’s Supper according to the reformed her rite, as it is said to have been celebrated in an underground building of ned the Castle of Pau. She certainly did her best to protect the Protest me ants ; and possibly Francis, who loved her very dearly, would have ing: | extended his protection to them, but other influences were at work eaty "i which prevented him from doing as he would otherwise have done. her 4 She was in bad odour with the Catholics, and a Franciscan went so ives. 4’ far as to say in a sermon, that she was a heretic and ought to be put was;/({ into a sack and thrown into the water, for which piece of insolence he _the'y}, was sent to the gallows, but the officer who arrested him was some ancis ‘4 time afterwards murdered by the populace, who did not forgive him hav J) for having laid hands on a Franciscan, even in defense of the king’s wet ( ) sister. The king, however, sent for her, and rebuked her sharply for aturds® her affection for the new light, but as she spoke like a Catholic he jancy, iM believed her in preference to all who accused her of Lutheranism. partsl§ Her brother to whom she was so tenderly attached, died on the 31st wert” March, 1547, and this event seemed to have hastened her death. Her ot beilgyy daughter, Jeanne d’Albret, married, in 1548, Antoine de Bourbon, s and) Duke of Vendéme, who became King of Navarre in 1555, after his ildre] . father-in-law’s death. There appears little doubt that itis to the loss ) die of her brother that we owe the incomplete state of the Heftameron, / which she used to dictate to one of her women, in her litter, as she was travelling through the country. After the death of Francis she never8 INTRODUCTION. certainly was herself again, and though the immediate cause of her death was an attack of pleurisy brought on by imprudently exposing herself to the night-air in order to look at a comet, her health had been failing for a long time previously, and she died at the Castle of Odos,? near Tarbes, in Bigorre on the 21st of December, 1549, and was buried with great pomp at Lescar early in February 1550. Itis said that on her death-bed she declared that she had never swerved from the Catholic faith, but this statement is not altogether well authenticated. Certain it is that she inclined very much to a mystical pietism, most likely more than to Huguenotism. It is related of her, that though she had a horror of death, she once went and sat close to the bed of one of her dying maids-of-honour, and when questioned why she did So, replied that, as she had always been told by ecclesiastics and theo- logians that the Spirit was released at death, she had wished to see whether there was any visible indication of such a Separation, or any form or sound on departure, but she had seen nothing at all of eny such thing. Besides the Hepiameron, the work by which she is best known, the Queen of Navarre wrote several other works, some Spiritual, some worldly, which, however, need not be mentioned here, She evidently took the idea of the Hegtameron, from the Decameron of Boccacio (1313-1375), and’ intended to make another Decameron of it, a hundred novels, extending over ten days, ten novels being told daily, but as stated above, her brother’s death cut her plan short, so that there are only seven complete days, and two novels on the eighth. The manner in which the individual members of the company are brought together is of courge different ; in the earlier book it is the plague at Florence, from wnich the light-hearted ten take refuge in the country and try to forget danger and distress by relating stories to each other ; here it isa flood and broken bridge which brings them together and detains them. The characters of the assembled company are good and lifelike. Madame Osille—supposed by some to have been intended for Louise of Savoy—devout and Somewhat prosy, at times, in her remarks; Hircan and Saffredant, the mockerg ; Simontault, - whose desires have outlived his powers, reminding us of what Shakespeare makes Prince Henry say of Falstaff ; Parlamente the affec- tionate but yet not jealous wife ; Longarine the not disconsolate widow : Nomerfide, the youngest, not afraid of a somewhat naughty tale ; Emarsuitte given to wrangle, as they all, indeed, seem inclined to do at times ; Guebron and Dagoucin ; the monks listening behind the hedge, and being allowed as a favour to have their presence acknowledged, and 1 Spelt also Audos and Orthez. bueryi for the if we Marne could wr no Woma aires tem a consider Uelicagy,INTRODUCTION. 8 hurrying off as soon as they had heard the last tale, without waiting for the sometimes rather tedious discussion that follows: we seem as if we could see them all; and if we wonder that a lady such as Marguerite d’Angouléme, religious and earnest as she evidently was, could write stories, and put them into the mouths of ladies, such as no woman would think of relating now-a-days, we must consider that autres temps, autres meurs, and remember that Shakespeare, who wrote a considerable time after she did, was not at times altogether a model of delicacy. ¥ in laos a gS as eel Wi ly iW i a 0 ob le A yh ! Al y (i ne ay DQ © he a) Oo INi: t BL) i. am vy | ny yn en ik e8, - | ' N 4 1 Y C/ lt, \ i. nat Me _ eps fee ir, in, W 5 OW, les fh, ee | a | dge, f and }- rt |PROLOGUE On the first of September, when the season at the watering places im the Pyrenees was just beginning, there were many people from France, Spain, and other countries, at Cauterets ; some for the sake of drinking the waters, others for the baths, others again for the mud baths, which are so wonderful that invalids who have been given up by the physicians return from them quite cured. I do not intend to describe either the locality or the virtue of these baths, but merely to relate that which serves to introduce the subject about which I am going to write. For more than three weeks all the invalids remained there, until they felt by the improvment in their health, that they might return home. Butjust then there came on such an extraordinary amount of rain that it seemed impossible to remain in them. Those who had come from Spain returned by the mountains as best they could, and those who knew the roads well managed to get away. But the French ladies and gentlemen, who thought that they could return to Tarbes just as easily as they had come, found that the brook were so swollen that they could hardly be forded. But when it camet; crossing the Gave, which was not usually more than two feet deep, was so high and swift that they were obliged to turn aside to the bridge ;: but as these were only of wood they had been carried off by the rush , vater ; and someiof the travellers who thought that they might brea} the force of the current by crossing in a body were carried off so quick’s _ that those who wished to follow them lost all desire to do so, and the separated to seek different routes. Some went over the mountains, an! passing through Arragon reached the county of Roussillon, and came tj Narbonne ; others went straight to Barcelona, whence some went by sa to Marseilles and others to Aigues-Mortes. But a widow, whose nand Qn e s @ e £ } was Oisille, made up her mind to face every difficulty so as to get as‘! , a N / mean mang | dif as oh most 0 Serran ably 10 Amon to the | servants health’ and that follow th Bat on artived Peasant, 9 i) them, and theip Was, The Caused. by ation ban : a | With the as if God had forgotten his promise to Noah, no more to destroy the world (| bi by water ; for all the houses in Cauterets were so full of water that it waé . ita happie to their ld "and the tin / OUSly, Bat evenly yoy Ist he Beat at the Wn do 2 ado from the toy of the Werg Med t "Uflang (the 7 OStagy a8 TUst, and entlemen en me Dleroed ¥ eee j oo 889 the heh id he Colnp| tes Y With,PROLOGUE, il as Notre-Dame de Serrance, for it was certain that if there were any means of escaping from a danger, the monks would know of it, and she managed to get there; but she had to pass through places which wers so difficult of ascent and descent that in spite of her age and weight sh» was obliged to walk the most of the way. But the worst of it was that most of her people and horses died on the road, and she arrived at Serrance with only one man and one woman attendant, and was hospit» ably received by the monks there. Amongst the Frenchmen there were also two noblemen who had gon 3 to the baths, more in order to accompany the ladies whose humble servants they were, than because they required the waters for their health’s sake. ‘These noblemen, seeing that the company was separating and that the husbands of their ladies were taking them off, resolved to | follow them at a distance, without declaring themselves to anybody. ng | But one evening when the two married noblemen and their wives hai a ich arrived at the house of a man who was more of a brigand than of a ns peasant, and when the two young noblemen had put up quite close the | to them, about midnight they heard a great noise, at which thej ich and their servants got up, and asked their host what the uproar Hor was. The poor man, who was terribly frightened, told them that it wa4 ‘by ® caused by some ruffians who had come to share the spoil of their coms ust f panion bandit. Thereupon the noblemen at once seized their arms, and } with their servants went to the assistance of the ladies, for they thought rd Ip, it a happier lot to die for them than to live after them. So they hastened wal in to their lodging, where they found the outer door had been broken open, (a and the two noblemen and their servants defending themselves vigor. }ously, But as the brigands far outnumbered them, and as they were severely wounded, they were beginning to give way, as they had already lost the greater part of their servants. The two noblemen, looking up at the windows, saw the two ladies weeping and crying out so loud, that ‘Pity and love increased their courage, so that like two bears coming p> | ( A#from the mountains they fell on the brigands so furiously that a number ge U WM of them were killed, and the rest would not wait for any further attack be ne but fied to their hiding places. The noblemen, having defeated these real ‘Sa ruffians (the host was amongst the slain), and having learnt that the ick: eh hostess was worse than her husband, sent her to join him by a sword the 51) thrust, and going into a lower room they found one of the married pee 4 gentlemen expiring ; the other had received no injury, only his clothes me | gs were pierced with sword thrusts and his own sword was broken. When y 8 1a) he saw the help they had rendered him, he embraced and thanked them, nad i and begged them not to abandon him, which was a very easy request to as . comply with. ;12 PROLOGUE. Then, after having buried the dead nobleman, and comforted his wife as well as they could, they took their road wherever it might please God to lead them, as they did not know which to take themselves. If you wish to know the names of the three gentlemen, the married one was called Hircan, and his wife Parlamente 3 the widowed lady’s name was Longarine, and the two young noblemen were called respectively Dagoucin and Saffredant. After they had been riding all day, to- wards evening they saw a steeple, to which they managed to get with much difficulty, and were kindly received by the Abbot and monks, The Abbot was called Saint-Savin. The Abbot, who belonged to a very good family, lodged them very well, and on conducting them to their apartments, asked them what had befallen them. When he had heard their story he told them that they were not singular in their case, for that there were two young ladies in another room who had escaped from an even greater danger, and men might show some pity, but wild beasts never. Those poor ladies, half a league this side of Pierrefite, had met a bear descending from the mountains, and they had fled from it so quickly, that their horses fell dead under them at the entrance to the monastery, and two of their women who had arrived a long time after them had told them that the bear had killed all their servants, The ladies and the three noblemen went into the room where they were wd found them weeping, but recognised them to be Nomerfide and Emarsuitte ; when they had related what had happened to them, they were gradually comforted by the exhortations of the good Abbot, and at having thus met their friends again, The next morning they all very devoutly attended Mass, in order to return thanks to God for their escape from danger, but whilst the service was going on, a man with nothing on but his shirt rushed into the church as if he were being pursued, and crying for help. Hircan and the other noblemen at once went towards him, to see what was the matter, and perceived two men » ett following him with their swords drawn, but seeing so many people they; { — tried to take to flight. them, But Hircan and the others followed and killed cottage near Pierrefite three men came into his room, but though only in his shirt and having nothing but his sword, he wounded one so severely that he remained on the spot, and whilst the other two were amusing themselves by picking up their comrade (seeing that he was naked and they were armed), he thought the best thing he could do would be to flee, scantily clothed as he was, and he thanked God and those who had avenged him. After they had heard Mags and dined, they sent to see tf it were possible to cross the river Gave, and when they found it- wax and on their return they found that the man in his shirt was one \ of their company, called Guebron, who told them that being in bed in a, dog peat su Wee | Serran + lappa ods ; rads | Hebets | tne te poodues break the those mhp and could alone tefan under hin, tha, no bimget Ont be could ne at Dight foun had Seen peri TOO bi | Lagat of Wood, {bith py Vou ee ) ul fod a “a advent | «8a Sion f 70d Pho bad ty ¢ Mastery and Cem fo One ' “eet fp Sey “Ke “a 0 Teoatie) he .PROLOGUE. 13 impossible, they were very much alarmed, although the Abbot re: wite peatedly begged them to stay where they were till the floods had ids subsided, and this they agreed to do for thatday. At night, when they ves) = were going to bed, an old monk arrived, who never failed to go to one, Serrance in September, “and when they asked him about what had srs happened to him on his journey, he told them that on account of the vely floods he had been obliged to come across the mountains by the worst , t0- | yoads by which he had ever been, and that he had seen a very pitiful sight. with He had seen a nobleman called Simontault, who, annoyed at the long mnks, time the river took to run down, determined to cross it, trusting to the Rach goodness of his horse, and he had placed his servants all around hip to thet | preak the force of the current. But when they got into midstream, reard ) those who were the worst mounted were carried away by the water, efor { and could not recover themselves. The nobleman seeing that he was aped | alone returned whence he came, but not before his horse gave way wild under him, It pleased God, however, that he was so near to the bank refittss! that, not without imbibing a good deal of water, he managed to drag _ from himself out, and to jump on to the hard pebbles, so tired and weak that he could not hold himself up ; there, a shepherd driving his sheep home at night, found him, wet through, and grieving for his servants whom he had seen perish before his eyes. The shepherd, who saw his sorry plight, took him to his hut and dried him as well as he could by means of little & fagots of wood. And that evening God_sent_ the old_monk, who told ' him the way to Notre-Dame de Serrance, and.who.assured him that he » would be better lodged there than anywhere else, and told him that he ney all t would find an old widow, named_Oisille there, who was a companion in r their Lie sig adventures. When they all heard the good Oisille, and the noble n with E Sseavalier Simontault mentioned, they were greatly delighted, and praised , being b BGod who had contented Himself with the servants and had preserved ft once)" “he masters and mistresses, and Parlamente praised Him above all of v0 i | ahem, for at one time he had been her most affectionate and devoted le they’ A) m srvant. They carefully inquired the road to Serrance, and although | killed), djse good old monk told them how extremely difficult it was, they would 198 one ri, fot be deterred, and set out the very next day, and so well equipped ed in 4) \\ihat they wanted nothing, for the Abbot provided them with the best only in Jz aorses to be found in Lavedan, with plenty of provisions, and pleasant everely Vqepompanions to take them safely across the mountains. They had te musing by 927088 them mostly on foot, and after many difficulties arrived at Notre- ed and |W Dame de Serrance, where the Abbot.(although-he was not.a particularly d be t0 ,.1, kind man) could not venture to refuse to take. them in, for fear of the vho had dy ‘Seigneur of Bearn, who, he knew, was a great friend of them all, and so + to 8€@ pj @ received them with the best face he could and took them to see 1 it: wat14 PROLOGUE, Oisille and Simontault. The whole company thus miraculously assem- bled together, was in the greatest state of joy and the night seemed too short to them for praising God for the mercies He had bestowed upon them. Towards morning they took a little rest, and then went to hear Mass and to receive the Blessed Sacrament together, by which all Christians are united, and besought Him who had brought them to- gether that they might finish their journey to His glory. After dinner they sent to see whether the waters had subsided, and learnt that they had rather increased than otherwise, and that they could not be crossed in safety for a long time, so they considered the advisability of making a bridge from a rock on their side to one on the other which were very close together. The Abbot, who was very pleased that they should be at_that expense, in order that the number of pilgrims and peasants might be increased, furnished them with workmen, but did not give a penny in money ; he was too avaricious for such a thing.’ When the workmen said they could not make the bridge in less than ten or twelve days, they all both men and women were much annoyed, but Parlamente, Hircan’s wife, who was neither idle nor melancholy, having asked her husband’s permission to speak with the older lady Oisille, said; ‘Madame, I am astonished that you, who have so much experience, and who occupy the position of a mother to us younger women, do not think of some pastime to drive away the weariness which we shall fee] during our long stay here; for if we do not find some pleasant and virtuous occupation, we run the risk of getting ill.” The young widow Longarine added: ‘* What is worse, we shall annoy each other, and that is an incurable disease ; there is not one amongst us, who; if~he looks at what he has lost, has not reason to be extremely sad.’ Emarsuitte answered her, laughing: ‘Everybody has not lost a husband like you have, and as for the loss of devoted adorers, there ir no need to be in despair, for it is a loss that is easily made good. How ever, | am quite of the opinion that we should find some pleasant wal | of passing the time as merrily as possible.” Her friend Nomerfide gai, | it was a good idea, and that she should die if she had to pass a da without some sort of amusement. All the gentlemen agreed an begged Madame Oisille to determine-what they should do, and sh answered: ‘‘ My children, you are asking me to do something very difficult, to show you some means of getting rid of your boredom, anc having sought this all my life, I have only found one remedy, th | reading of holy books.) I think, therefore, that if you will devote az hour every morning to such reading, and then at Mass say youl l prayers devoutly, you will find as much beauty in this desert place as in any town ; for whoever knows God sees that all things are beautifi Hin , ty hen “otk a devotion las aft devotion four in th ' | ; = ed Samed ree the Gare relate sor On good at In that tin The nex to begin, g and devote her who is Women hay3 18 sem: | lio Him, and without Hi acne advice, if you wi ee everything is ugly me | they could ae to live happily.” ce aries take my h all | work, all which we ere st ladies had their oe Geos at home et as 2 Iversions, and though it ty duties and their hadi last, after much dis ae but mortal, something a eae to read they aelnee reading a ae that every ae en At ogsed | (0Ur in the afternoon, they sh eS oe sieleck oa hee aking the Gave, and there oe ould all go into a meadow b a oon elate somethin : r the shade of the trees fees banks of ld : | an good ee : : . he had ai should wants ) mi — time have related a ee ten days building, we ae vive a. e next da : 5 ries. oe | begin, said : ae Sk in practice, and Simontault bei welve and devoted services = have been so badly eee i called on ee no 38 80 cruel a inorder to avenge al * na my tone os. have done to ae 35 will try and recollect all the alt ere said ; = urns thaé rience, | lo not \ I feel | tf and widow jh sr, and gt if Sy - gad.' ies lost ‘| rit here if, aL 3 How é it wait af de eal lia a da 4) 9 od an ¢ nd shi We ig ver} y ym, ant. t dy; thi ' C vote aly Ly your | isi otV ~ —"ed : FIRST DAY. NOVEL I. i f \ i A WOMAN OF ALENGON HAD TWO FRIENDS, ONE FOR PROFIT AND ( THE OTHER FOR PLEASURE; SHE HAD THE ONE WHO FIRST | je FOUND THIS OUT, KILLED, FOR WHICH DEED SHE OBTAINED be PARDON FOR HERSELF AND HER HUSBAND, WHO WERE FUGI- ‘i, TIVES ; HE, LATER, IN ORDER TO SAVE HIMSELF FROM PAYING d¢), SOME MONEY, ADDRESSED HIMSELF TO A NECROMANCER, AND (io THEY WERE FOUND OUT AND PUNISHED. Jie the town of Alengon, during the life of Charles, the last P%ike, there was a proctor called Saint-Aignan, who had F ‘ é 3 Feed a pretty girl of that part of the country, ants however, aq -x8 more beantiful than virtuous, and who for her beauty and sich. eptness of character was_much pursued by_a_ prelate ofthe ji 4/manrch, whose name I shall conceal out of reverence for the ai dyical state. He, in order to attain his object, paid the sh ire f ‘band such attention, that not only did he not notice the it »ix1t of his wife and of the prelate, but moreover made him for- nd Wy, the zeal he had always. felt in the service of his masters af La mistresses, so that, from having been a loyal servant he itto"ame so opposed to them that at last he called in the aid of af Weic to kill the Duchess.'' This prelate lived for a long time ari th this unhappy woman, who received..him..more.from ,.dgarice than from love, and what was more, her husband 7} er 1 This refers to Margaret of Valois herself, 2 B18 TALES begged her to entertain him. But there was a young man. the said town of Alengon, who was the son of the Lieutena General, whom she loved so much that she was half mad abo him, and she would often get the prelate to give her husband commission so as to give her an opportunity of seeing the s of the lieutenant, to whom she swore that all the good che she provided for the prelate was only to enable them to have all the more for themselves, and that the prelate had had no- thing of her but words, and that he might be sure that no other man but himself should have anything else. One day, when her husband had to go to the prelate, she asked leave to go into the country as the air of the town did not agree with her. When she got to the farm, she at once wrote to the son of the lieutenant.to come to her without fail at about ten o’clock at night. The poor young man did go, but at the door he met the lady’s maid who usually let him in, and who said to him: “My friend, go elsewhere, for your. place is already occupied,” He, thinking that.the husband had come, asked her how matters were going on. The poor woman, taking pity on him, seeing what a handsome, honourable young man he was, | and how much he loved and was loved go little in return, told him all the folly of his mistress, thinking that when he heard it he would blame himself for loving her so much. She told him that the bishop had only just come and was in her bed- room ; that she had not expected this, as he was not to have come till the next day, but he had retained her husband his own house, and slipped away very quietly to see her the | night, The lieutenant’s son was in despair at this, and woul hardly believe it, so he hid himself in a neighbouring hou. and watched till three o’clock in the morning, till he saw tl prelate come out, and in spite of his disguise he recognised hi , only too. well. He returned to Alengon in despair, and |] wicked mistress soon came there algo, and thinking that s would be able to dupe him as usual, came to see him. But >. told her, that having touched sacred things, she was too ho. to speak to a sinner like himself, although his repentance w so great, that he hoped his sin would be forgiven him. Whé¢ she found out that she was discovered, and that all her e | cuses, protestations, and promises never to do so again were «| no avail, she went off and complained to her prelate. Aftels they had talked the matter well over, she went and_ told hei ~ Teteh husband that she could no longer live in Alencon, because. the) son of the lieutenant, who, she had thought, was se muck; ‘ y y his | post Ange eas when that hehe slo youu, i y f went F andi "Th yoyo | anyone for the bare p our pn When the chun yey ah ‘the oul Jy hemag, £9 man df bp lng thine go TT that he hy a belong a y i fy and took h ‘ie mith, “ome vith rahe bad tl othe lene * 8000 a8 it i 80 aud rest Tha there, ye pare ee a Sper tnd g "Lot ting for At Ud ey "SU hiOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. i9 = il i his friend, was incessantly pursuing her with dishonourable pro- posals, and, to avoid all suspicion, she begged him to go to \ Argénton.” The husband, who allowed himself to be led by her, ' se easily agreed to this, but they had not long been at Argenton, - when this wretched woman sent word to the lieutenant’s son , that he was the most wicked man in the world, for she knew that >. §|2 he had spoken ill of her and of the bishop in public, but that \ she would try and find some means of making him repent it. The / young man who had never mentioned the matter except to her, ? and who feared lest he should get into disgrace with the bishop, Mi went to Argenton accompanied only by two of his servants, A and found the lady at vespers in the Church of the Jacobins. _ ‘**T have come,” he said, kneeling down beside her, “to swear se to you before God, that I have never mentioned your honour to i anyone except yourself I have not said half what you deserve ly for the vile trick you played me, but if anyone has said that I of —SCtsiédavee openly maligned you, I am here to give them the lie in 7, Cyour presence.’ ah When she saw that thers were a great number of people i in iq.) the church, and that he was accompanied by two stout serving od | men, she constrained herself to speak as graciously to him as a she could, and told him that she had not the least doubt that J. Ryne was speaking the truth, that she looked upon him as too much ae mt man of honour to speak ill of anyone, and least of all of her, , «(t&who loved him so much, but that her husband had heard some- ak thing or other, and iherciow she begged him to say before him \@ that he had never spoken as had been said, and that he did not s | believe a word of the matter. To this he very willingly agreed 7 fay and took her by the arm as he thought she wanted him to go Vit home with her, but she told him it would not do for him to go iithome with her, for fear that her husband should suppose that ashe had told him what to say. Then taking one of his men by ti a the sleeve, she said: “ Let this fellow come with me, and as , ‘i ‘soon as it is time I will send him to fetch you, and meanwhile : ego and rest yourself in your lodgings.” He, having no idea | "that there was a plot against him, w ent. : ey i She gave the man, whom she had taken with her, some ks | supper, and after that he frequently asked her whether it was rhe ‘not time for him to go and fetch his master. She told him 4 _} that he would come quite soon enough. it | At midnight she secretly sent off one of her own servants to 7 | fetch the young man, who, quite unsuspicious of the conspiracy / against him, went to Saint-Ai ionan’s house, where the lady was20 TALES | entertaining his servant so that he only had one with him. As | mi he was going in, the servant who had fetched him told him l; and that his mistress would like to speak to him before he spoke ein to her husband, and that she was waiting for him in a room fl The with only one of his servants, and that he had better send away C ing the other by the front door, which he did. As he was going i, asp up a narrow, dark flight of stairs, the proctor Saint-Aignan, who ‘> {8 gon had some men in ambush in a closet, hearing’ a noise, called out + [0 gy to know what it was, and was told that it was a man who was Al the dy ,trying to enter the house by stealth’ On this, one Thomas i ofp Guérm, a professional murderer, and who had been hired by the f Ci the di proctor to do the deed, fell upon the young man, and gave him Bhan t so many sword thrusts, that, although he defended himself + rere ravely, he fell dead under their attack. The servant who was tie vith the lady said to her: “I hear my master talking on the pando, tairs, and I must go to him,” but she held him back and said : his reli Don’t trouble yourself, he will come soon enough.” A short | had dine ime afterwards when he neard his master cry out: “1 am ) fom th ying, I commend my soul to God,” he wished to go to his antont assistance, but she stopped him, and said: “Don’t trouble mine yourself, my husband is chastising him for his youthful follies, h kien let us go and see what is the matter.” Leaning over the stairs hit i she said to her husband: “Is it done?” Come and see,” he'd . pla, dad answered ; “I have now avenged you on him who has put you:d- hte chueh to such shame.” Saying this he plunged his dagger ten or «e "mont twelve times into the belly of the dead man, whom whilst alive th Sint he dared not have attacked. a Ut, y q After the murder had been committed, and the two servants - Teen e - ; of the dead man had fled with the news to the poor father, 1 Mitten x Saint-Aignan considering that the matter could not be kept a, Crt : : oe ae AlDt Alon secret, nevertheless thought that the servants of his victim | he 3 ; ie i} eee. ee H! i 8S dead would not be admitted as witnesses, and none had seen the deed‘ 18 an except the murderers, an old woman servant and a girl of te : : eee : p “iglind f fifteen. He endeavoured therefore to secure the old woman ‘sia i secretly, but she managed to escape, and took refuge in the | hed bi m church of the Jacobins, and she was the most reliable witness |}, 0 Mo : as aes as to the murder. The young chamber-maid remained in-his | | tid tony housé for some days, but he had her subomed by one of the ie Wheth : ; ey ee Bi} urderers and taken to a brothel in Paris! so that her testimony Vinod , D owl ( Foolna 8 ' This passage proves without doubt that women of bad character, when \} ‘we Was yg once they had been received into a house of ill-fame, were no longer allowed i Patdon to give evidence in a Court of law. This curious fact is not men tioned else- Le ugg a where. in ANd tet 0 fRo OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 1 might not be believed. To hide his guilt he burnt the body, and the bones which were not consumed by the fire he had mixed with mortar on the spot where he was building a house. Then he immediately sent to court to sue for his pardon, plead- ing that he had several times forbidden a person, whom he suspected of trying to seduce his wife, the house, but notwith- standing this prohibition he had come at night under suspicious circumstances, to speak to her, and that having found him at i the door of in wife’s room he had killed him more in the heat - ec, Of passion than with deliberate intent. But in spite of his haste, oe Cy the duke and duchess learnt the circumstances of the cage \ from the poor father before he could despatch his letter, and to , s pprevent his getting his pardon, they sent an account of the self ‘matter to the chancellor. Seeing that he should not obtain his ie P pardon, the wretch fled to England with his wife and several of a his relatives. But before doing so he said to the murderer who : had done the deed at his request, that he had express orders or | 4 {from the king to arrest him and have him put to death, but on ee account of the service he had done him, he wished to save his his life, and so he gave him ten crowns to enable him to leave the ble hyp kingdom, which he did and was not ‘heard of again. The i murder however was so fully proved both by the servants of Th Wes the dead man and the female servant who had taken refuge in he- voit ‘the church of the Jacobins, and by the bones that were found f th, amongst the mortar, that the trial was completed in the absence is fof Saint-Aignan one of his wife, who were condemned to death. i Na as contumacious: while their property was confiscated to the 4 T. ‘sovereign after having paid fifteen hundred crowns tothe is -" \ivfather as the costs of the trial. or aia at, ya, Saint -Aignan being in England, and seeing that judicially f 4 i a ihe was dead in France, managed by his services to several great a /ords, and by the favour of his wife’s relations, to get the King ad 1) ibe England to request the King of France to pardon him and is of! ay 9p ieinstate him in his property and honours. But as the king ea Urthad been informed of the monstrous atrocity of the affair, he 1@ | fl'sent an account of it to the King of England, and asked Hints ss" | fsonsider whether the crime was one that deserved pardon, add- 18 | lain. ¢ that the Duke of Alengon alone had the right in the whole 1 © Pking dom to grant a pardon in his duchy. But the King of vy ho Enel land was not satisfied with these explanations, but solicited y his pardon so urgently that at last the proctor obtained his no request and returned a me. ed | 0° : : To fill up the measure of his wickedness, he made the22 TALES acquaintance of a sorcerer_called Gallery, hoping that by his art he might be exempted from paying the fifteen hundred crowns which he owed to the father of the murdered man. In order to do this, he and his wife went to Paris in disguise, and when his wife saw that he was often shut up for a long time in a room with Gallery, and that he would not tell her the reason of this, one morning she watched them, and saw that » Gallery showed him five wooden figures three of which had their hands hanging down and two had them raised. ‘‘We must have wax figures made like these,” said Gallery to the proctor, “and those whose arms are hanging down are for those whom we will cause to die, and those who have them raised are for those whose weal we seek.” “Very well,” said the proctor, “this shall be for the king, whose favour I seek, and that one for the Chancellor of Alengon, M. Brinon.” ‘The images,” Gallery said to him, “ must be put under the altar where they will hear Mass, with certain words which I will teach you presently.” When they came to speak of the figures with their arms hanging down, the proctor said that one was for Maitre Gilles de Mesnil, the father of the murdered man, for he knew that as long as he lived he would never cease to pursue him. Anc | | fhe on © ieting § that they M “ enchantwent his own, ci asi they ad of Alena bo and to com | corpora pun | Gallery were 8 F chere they eu Veflect o the Fs, in the ab Nan ere aad <9] beg you, oman ay ote his one of who yer since Lve ¢ al women 10 t0 have had's0 nue of nothing but one of the women with pendent arms was for the Duchess o-~ \j/ugelme sal Alencon, sister of the king, because she was so fond of her olet-} pret ti hel servant, Du Mesnil, and knew of the proctor’s wickedness in s¥@ many other matters that he could not live unless she died | Parlawent, ] The second..woman.with her arms hanging down was for _his| | Wastlamptoh wife, who was the cause of all his misfortunes, and who, he wag | Jol cannot be af sure, would never_amend her evil life. When his wife, whe / Hemel) saw it all through the keyhole, saw that he was thus devoting has been ere to her to death, she thought she ought to anticipate him. Shi / mht a8 | fel p had an uncle who was referendary to the Duke of Alencon, an! tes me forge going to him under the pretence of borrowing money, sh)\ 0tbit, an » told him all she had seen and heard. Her uncle, like : shoose to fay wh ‘faithful old servant, went to the Chancellor of Alengon an¢ favour of my Wis told him all that he had heard, and as the Duke and Duchess | Thevhole oy of Alencon were not at Court that day he went and_ told | Michie di y Madame la Régente,! the mother of the king and of the duchess, | tit the hg, ape who at once sent for the Provost of Paris, La Barre, who did his /Me story gf work so promptly that the proctor and Gallery, his sorcerer, were’( "tough ql th, both arrested, who freely, without torture or constraint, confessed | belie tg bad p { WOMAN Who is 1 Louise of Savoy. i ie: history to GOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 23 by his their crime, and their judgment was completed and laid before ndred the king. Some people, wishing to save their lives, told him man, that they were only trying to obtain his favour by their guise, enchantments, but the king who held his sister’s life as dear as 4 long his own, commanded that they should receive the same sentence verthe as if they had attempted his own life. His sister, the Duchess w that por Alencon, however, begged the king to spare the proctor’s life dtheir}and to commute his sentence for one of some other severe 2 must eyo punishment. Her request was granted, and he and roctor, Gallery were sent to the Saint-Blanquart’s Galleys at Marseilles, y whomsWvhere they ended their days in captivity, and had leisure te are for.eflect on the enormity of their crimes. The wicked woman (Mlso, in the absence of her husband, conducted herself worse e king, han ever and died miserably. \lengon, ; the put “1 beg you, ladies, to consider the disorders that a wicked 1 words Foman may create, and how many ills spring from the sin of his one of whom I have been speaking. You will find that ir arms ‘over since Eve caused Adam to sin, it has been the business of e Gillestall women to torment, kill and damn men. As for myself, | ew thai} have had“so much experience of their cruelty, that I shall die n, Ang pf nothing but of the despair into which one of them has chess 0 folunged me, and I am still such a fool that I must confess that her oly _ prefer this hell coming from her, to a paradise from any one seg in S¢Py-lse.’ he died ' Parlamente, who pretended not to understand that he ; for his twas referring to her, said: “Since hell is as pleasant as you say, he, Wa ‘you cannot be afraid of the devil who has put you into it.” rife, Whe He answered her in a rage: “If my devil were as black as it devoting has been cruel to me, it would cause this company just as much m. Shy right as I feel pleasure in looking at it. But the fire of love 10D, aniejoakes me forget that of this hell. But I will speak no more mney, shi, bout it, and call on Madame Oisille, being sure that if she e, like 2 to say what she knows about women, she would be in noon an (favour of my wishes.” “Duchess ‘The whole company turned to her and begged her to begin, and toldjwhich she did with a smile, saying: “It appears to me, ladies, , duchess|'that the last speaker has cast such a slur on all women by the~? podidhiytrue story of a wretched woman, that I must ran back corer, werd through all the years of my life to find one whose virtue can “eonfesse’ belie the bad opinion he has of us. I do remember one such woman who is worthy of not being forgotten, and I will relate » her history to you,” } zTALES NOVEL ILI. LAMENTABLE AND CHASTE DEATH OF THE WIFE OF ONE OF QUEEN OF NAVARRE’S MULETEERS. THR Iy_ the town..of Amboise there was a muleteer who served the Queen of Navarre, sister of Francis I. This princess was a‘ Blois, where she had been delivered of a son, and the muletee went there to receive his quarterly wages, and left his wife a; Amboise in a house beyond the bridges. For a long time or. of her husband’s men had loved her so desperately, that o1 day he could not refrain from telling her of it, but she being really good and virtuous woman. rebuked him so sharply ar threatened to have him beaten and dismissed by her husbar that from that time he never ventured to address her in Sty language again, and kept the fire smothered in his heart, b one day when his master was away at Blois, and his mistre; at Vespers at St. Florentin, which is the Church of the Casth and a long way from the house. Left to himself, he resolved to have by force what he could not obtain by any prayers o1 attentions, and so broke an opening through a boarded parti tion which was between the room of his mistress and that i. which he slept. His trick was not perceived on account of the curtains of h‘e mistress’ bed which covered the wall on one side, and of thos¢ of the men’s bed which covered the wall on the other side, til his mistress had gone to bed with a little girl of twelve years old. When the poor woman was in her first sleep, the man in his shirt entered the room through the opening he had made, witk a drawn sword in his hand. But as soon as she felt him by he: side, she jumped out of bed, and remonstrated with him r such language as a virtuous woman would use, And he whos love was only bestial, and who would more easily have under stood the language of mules than her virtuous pleadings proved himself more brutish than the animals with which he had been so long ; because seeing that she ran so fast round a table that he could not seize hold of her, and also that she was so strong that she had twice escaped from his or having no hopes of ever possessing her alive, he st the loins, so that if fear and force had not been able to make her yield, pain might do so. But it was quite the contrary, for, just as a good soldier, asp, and abbed her in \, | \ ‘ | when more | honouw: , from t earnes | other t » that h the spe ‘her se approa f neaven, alled | eseech jas she rmly | jemory bul whi ace to t WOUNKGS, ‘Speech, t onger t] peed, th ever pos ) The li Ad hidde hat the eY speec! lhe neigh| nuch ag a urgeons 1 ve morta! er, everyt Neer wit! ar hands, . priest he Y signs w hat she re ) See in th ad eyes ra ie earth, P er unh: a (ut Of the h An Was the ( {OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE 26 wien he sees his own blood flowing from his wounds, is all the more eager to avenge himself on his enemies, and to gain honour, so her chaste mind gathered strength to run and to fly t OF THR from the hands of this wretch, she speaking to him in the most earnest terms she could, in order to try by some means or other to get him to see his fault. But he was in such a frenzy rved the that he was unable to take any good advice, and, in spite of 33 Was at the speed with which she ran in order to avoid him, he gave muleteel her several more wounds, till at last, feeling that death was is wife ag2pproaching from her loss of blood, she raised her eyes to time ory2¢2Ven, and clasping her hands, she thanked God, whom she that or ralled her strength, her virtue, her patience, and her chastity, e being »eseeching Him to accept the blood which, by His command, arply all jas shed out of reverence for that of His Son, in which, as she husban © rmaly believed, all sins were cleansed and effaced from the ringsu £ yemory of His wrath, then exclaiming: “ Lord, receive my eart, t © pul which has been redeemed by T hy mercy,” she fell on her mistreygeyC° to the ground, where that villain gave her several more he Casthyvounds.~ And after she had lost all strength, and the power of resolved speech, this wretch accomplished by violence what she had no ayers 0 Onger the power to defend ; after which he fled with such led part «speed, that, in spite of all endeavours that were made, it was d that tieever possible to find him since. J’; The little girl who had been in bed with the poor woman ‘ng of hp \ ad hidden herself beneath it in her fright, but, when’she saw 1 of thosg,at the man had gone, she went to her mistress, and, finding . side, til, CF speechless and motionless, she called out of the window to i yearsi¢ he neighbours for help. As they all esteemed and liked her as cana higaauich as any woman in the town, they came at once, and brought ade, withaurgeons with them, who found that she had received twenty- im by he, Ve mortal wounds, and though they did what they could for 1 hin Heer, everything was in vain. However, she lingered an hour he whos, anger without speaking, making signs with her eyes, and with ve unde der hands, showing thereby that she had not lost consciousness. jleadings#?. Priest having asked her in what faith she died, she answered, which heey signs which were as clear as any words could have been, t round qpat she relied on the death of Jesus Christ whom she hopes t she wag@ See in the heavenly city, and so, with a happy countenanee, ‘ASD, anaqud eyes raised to heaven, she surrendered her chaste body to ed her inJ¢ earth, and her soul to her Creator. to make), Her unhappy husband arrived just as his wife was carried ut of the house to be taken to the grave, and the first thing he d soldiet aw was the body of his wife, before he had had any news of %26 TALES her, and he had double cause for sorrow, when he heard hov she had died; indeed, his grief was so great that it nearly killed him. Thus, this martyr to chastity was buried in the h t \ y church of St. Florentin, whither all the virtuous women of ! the city made it a pious duty to follow her, so as to show her all possible honour, esteeming themselves fortunate to belong to a town where such a virtuous woman was to be found.¢ Those who were giddy, or of a light character, seeing the’ honours which were paid to her, resolved to lead better livee for the future. X I “This, ladies, is a true story, which may increase our love » chastity, which is so fair a virtue. And we who are of go, birth, ought we not to die of shame, at feeling that love of t, world in our hearts, to avoid which, a poor muleteer’s wife ¢) not fear such a cruel death? Alas! how can any one cou, herself to be a really virtuous woman who would not, if necessar,, resist even to blood, as she did? Therefore, we must humbbh, ourselves ; for God does not bestow His grace on men becausg of their nobility or riches, but according as He pleases in H;3, goodness, for He is no acceptor of persons, but He choose; whom He will, for those whom He has elected He honouj.,, with His virtues, and finally crowns with His glory. And oft’ 4- He chooses those of low degree, to confound those whom ty+e world esteems high and honourable. Let us not, therefor, rejoice in our virtues, but rejoice because we are enrolled in tl; Book of Life.” ‘s There was not a lady present who did not weep out «, compassion for the sad and glorious death of the muleteer}, wife, and each of them thought that if a similar thing shoul. happen to her, she would try to follow her example. But Map ame Oisille, seeing that they were losing time praising ts deceased woman, said to Saffredant: “If you do not rela; something to make us all laugh, no one will forgive me fg having made you weep. Therefore, I call upon you.” Sa, fredant, who wished to say something good and agreeable 4 the company, and especially to one of the ladies, said that thei were others older and with more experience who had the righ, to speak before he did, but as they seemed to wish it, the be, . thing he could do was to get the matter over at once. ) ; \ THE KI | | WasTh ‘of him ; 0 you, he sce} >utlen } accol ughte ir hust jen th eir be / this | ‘ith cot landsom epast, sk eauty se ‘nited in -rmony > should rbsisted ne way ( cart ag y | But, ag he lordg entleman elieveg Wy] me prom ot an ob ghtly, he yp him Lo) as he wa him, 8 Often ag a last she "a8 absent, gould rety King that s etn ag g}OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 27 hor ee early NOVEL III. want R) TPHE KING OF NAPLES, HAVING SEDUCED THE WIFE OF A NOBLEMAN, i on AT LAST WEARS A PAIR OF HORNS HIMSELF. a As I have often wished that I had shared the good fortune wor him about whom I am going to tell you a tale, I will relate Ft go you, how in the city of Naples, at the time of King Alfonso, 4 the sceptre of whose kingdom was lasciviousness, there was a Ventleman who was so honourable. handsome, and agreeable, that My I ‘e account of his many perfections an old gentleman gave him:his ove i swughter to wife, who in beauty and good qualities equalled eof ht slr husband. Their mutual love was very great till one carnival, of tt 2 yen the king went masked from house to house, where all did fe ‘ IM, eir best to receive him well; and when he came to the house cou Ah s¢/ this gentleman, he was treated better than anywhere else, essa ftetith confections and music, besides there was there the yumbly. mandsomest woman whom the king had ever seen. After the eas! pelepast, she sang with her husband, and so charmingly, that her in HEY \eauty seemed increased by it. The king seeing such perfections soos" ‘“nited in one body, did not take so much pleasure in the sweet onouy, lar germony between husband and wife ag he did in thinking how d oft M4, > Should break it. The great mutual affection which he saw me ® \ibsisted between them seemed to him to be the difficulty in wrofor Sige way of his design, and so he smothered his passion in his | in tH eart as well as he was able. amrig But, assome solace for it, he gave grand entertainments to all out ¢ Ve “he lords and ladies of Naples, where, we may be sure, that ER leteer, eentleman and his wife were not forgotten, and as one willingly shoul helieves what one wishes, he fancied that the lady’s eyes gave him it May a ‘me promise for the future, if only the husband’s presence were ing th Op. 4° “ot an obstacle ; so in order to find out whether he thought relajttl ( ahtly, he sent the husband to Rome on business which would ak "p him away from home for a fortnight or three weeks. As se") pas as he had gone, his wife, who had never yet been parted sable 5: 6m him, was in the deepest grief, and he came to console her a shel Ee often as he could by kind words, presents and gifts ; so that ne righ. tt last she was not only consoled, but glad that her husband the bevy Was absent, and before the three weeks, at the end of which he Pl would return, were out, she was so violently i in love with the Miking that she was just as distressed at the idea of her husband’s réreturn as she had been at-his departure. That she might not28 TALES lose the king’s society, they agreed that whenever her husband, _ should go to any of his country seats, she should inform thelly I shoul king, who then could come and see her in perfect security, anche 54m M ' so secretly that her honour (which she feared more than herof payoy ee conscience) should not be hurt by any one knowing of hener }t0m 1 intrigue. ng pe The lady was quite delighted at this hope, and when hend. I co husband returned she received him go well, that however oftethe qoal & he might have been told that the king had comforted her duives a Pare ing his absence, he could not have believed it. But in cours jorougl of time, this fire, which they took such pains to conceal, begs | | ." that to show itself, so that the husband also began to guess the tru (| y’av an and watched them so well, that he was almost assured of ©, | and But fearing lest he who had done him this injury might do h8% a still greater one if he appeared to notice the matter, he, y solved to dissemble, thinking it better to live even unhapp? than to risk his life for a woman who had no love for hj0U However, in his resentment, he wished to give the king tit f@" ( J tat, if it were possible, and knowing that love chiefly assai!>l 5 Ly those women whose hearts are great and noble, he was bol fe *merly enough one day, whilst talking to the queen, to tell her thE | he pitied her very niuch for not being loved better by the kin°8¢ #g’*ation her husband. The queen who had heard the king’s amcOU® pie’ .e tha ALA Cc Ee with that gentleman’s wife mentioned, said: “I cannot hatt((, . A t har? e on honour and pleasure together ; I well know that I have ¢,t& 1“ am JERE a honour whilst another receives the pleasure, but on the oth°'é | artorsa she who has the pleasure has not the sams honour as mine,” tl y= ‘esent ° | ° e Well knowing for whom those words were meant, he answere ‘ . Sight her: ‘ Madame, honour is born with you, for you are of suc 4 # ince g noble birth, that being queen, or even empress could ace™ oul vent] nothing to your nobility ; but your beauty, grace, and affabili?4 yoivered so much deserve pleasure, that she who robs you_of_ what {8 Pulling your due, wrongs herself more than she does you, since for," : A that glory which is a disgrace to her she loses as much pleasre-a\ #8 or h you_or any other lady in the kingdom could enjoy ; anr@e! fg)| “thi Joye tell you, madame, that except his crown, the king is n”0y Sac, e Wr fin capable than I am of pleasing a woman, in fact I am sure te atbame, + t to please such an honourable lady as you are, the king ougl®S| gam of al to wish to have my temperament instead of his own.” ~ elie Du etn The queen laughed and answered : ‘Although the king ha? | /™P hee o not such a robust complexion as yours, the love that he bears! |> BY dese moe satisfies me so well, prefer it to anything else in the | Bt I world.” The gentleman answered: “Tf t] ‘ JM less yo Birk of "hyo 4. BE. A v were so, madameOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 29 sband I should not pity you, for I know that if the king had the m the Same honourable love for you as you have for him, you would ,and 2njoy the satisfaction you mention, but God has preserved you n her rom it, so that, not finding in him what you looked for, you f her jhould not make him your god upon earth.” c “I confess that the love I bear him is so great, that its n heSheg jual cannot be found in any heart but mine.” ofter’ abe, “ Pardon me, madame,” said the gentleman,“ you have not du‘Seiis Oroughly sounded the love of all hearts, for I venture to tell our ta, ‘a that there is one who loves you with a love which Is So rege Jtpse Ng rat and Insupportable, that yours cannot be compared with ru ol le! ry and his love Increases In proportion as he Sees love for the of, Sif “se showing itself in you, so that if you like you may be ) paul , she than recompensed for all you have lost.” eT ify Gre queen began to see, by his words and looks, that what pi’ As, 7t,28 Saying proceeded from his heart, and recollected that hit 4, sez long time he had tried to render her services, and that so itfeMaimpely that he had become quite melancholy ; she had sail = imerly believed that this arose from his wife’s conduct, but bol,jentY she was sure that it was from love to her. And the in- thet®--ation of love, which always makes itself felt when it is real, kin,J ibyertve that a certainty for her which was a secret for everybody mG. ue’ And looking at the gentleman who appeared much ha aati » amiable than her husband, and considering algo that he , 4: AU u, forsaken by his wife, as she was by her husband, animated oth. | USho “esentment, and excited by the love of the gentleman, she 2 pes . Sighing, and with tears in her eyes: “‘My God! must ven- ard my, [letnce gain from one, what love has never been able to do?” suc de 3 gentleman who well understood the meaning of these words, ay th enwered Madame, vengeance 1s sweet to those who, instead ili Ne pu iling an enemy, bestow life on a real friend. I think it ig (* he) that truth should cure you of the foolish love which you four A. malfor him, who has none for you, and that a just and reason- Ed? leve. should expel from your heart all fear, which can "ala ith for find a place in a great and virtuous soul. Let us also, Q b y | jhe Ns OS : { . hai 2 id Sa izame, set aside your lofty station, and remember that we two ie 1 Ki of all people in the world, those who have been mocked vot yapde betrayed by those whom we so perfectly loved. Let us °F 2 toige_ourselves, madame, not so much to retaliate on them as : a bn Wy deserve, as_to satisfy love, which on my side is so great > -agritt I could not bear more without dying, and I think, that ear: 1 9 % e 7 1 e ANE ty : Hany, 7 ry € YO ry 6 5 iy MIAamMmoanc \" a «ndiless your heart is harder than an y diamond, you must feel a ) tn Os a Seer stor ° . an ‘Wer K OF that fire Whicpa Increases, 1n { roportion as | wish to 9) 4 be an . }30 TALES conceal it, and if pity for me who am dying for love of you, does not incite you to love me, at any rate self-esteem should induce you to do so, since you, who are so perfect in every way that you ought to rule the hearts of all honourable men, are neglected and despised by him, for whose sake you have, disdained everyone else.” iH When the queen heard these words she was so transportec. 7 with joy that, lest her looks should betray the commotion 0} b beca mucl her mind, she took the gentleman’s arm, and went into, (aq m), garden which was close to her room, where she walked up ar, ; : Ms Rion, | down for a long time without being able to say a word to hir’ |, | : 5 06s n But the gentleman seeing that she was half-conquered, so so, {Mt ji | as they reached the end of an alley where no one could |, them effectually, declared his love for her, which he hady long concealed, and being both thoroughly of one mind, tt: took their revenge, for their ardour was insupportable. < afterwards they agreed, that whenever the king went tou the wife, the husband should return from the country anc~ to the queen, and thus the cheaters being cheated, four wou) share the pleasure which two thought they had all to they , selves. Lj When they had come to this arrangement, the queen ¢ | turned to her room and the gentleman went home, both, them so well satisfied that they forgot all their former trouli-, And far from dreading the king’s visits to the lady, as th used to do, they now wished for nothing better, and to ena him to do so oftener, the gentleman took to going to i country house, which was only about half a league off, m« frequently. And as soon as the king knew that he had goj he went to see the lady, and at night the gentleman went, the queen at the castle, and this was done so secretly t] nobody perceived it. This went on for a long time, but the king as a public cl acter could not, in spite of all his endeavours, conceal, amour, and everybody was aware of it. The gentleman ' very much pitied by all good people, but some young fellc used to make horns at him behind his back. He knew t very well, but it amused him for he thought his horns were good as the king’s crown. < One day when the king was with the lady, he could ni refrain, on seeing a stag’s head which was hanging up, iro saying in the presence of the gentleman himself that those horiOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 31 became that house very well. The gentleman, who had as much spirit as the king, put this inscription on the head. ‘* To porto le coma, ciascun lo vede : Ma tal le porta, chi non lo crede,’ ‘*T wear the horns as all men know ; He wears them too who thinks not so.” ts) The next time the king came to the house, seeing the inscrip- AU) Bon. he asked the gentleman what it meant. “If the stag At) ijyoes not know the king’s secret, that is no reason why the king yj, ould know the stag’s secret. But be satisfied with this, that m4 ose who have horns do not always have their caps lifted off } if eir heads by them, for some are so soft that they oblige no man '(f remove the cap, and he carries them most lightly who does “Hh 0 ht | \ know that he has them.” | ‘rom these words the king saw that the gentleman knew nitit Ny fauething of his own affairs, but he never suspected the mutual ont sail ative of the queen and him, for the more pleased that princess ges aie with the life that her husband was leading, so much the _———— = ‘thei ore dissatisfied she pretended to be with it. And so they inp Lmyved for a long time on both sides, in this mutual love, till old th me i ge put a stop to it. nh hal i) *, ‘ity ‘This, ladies, is a story which I very gladly lay before you na, othe +. an example i in order that, if your husbands give you horns, 10 BR. We yu may give them the same-in-return.” . meerd, Emarsuitte began to laugh and said: ‘‘ Saffredant, I am sure a sug juat if you were as much in love as you were formerly, you dq Mould put up with horns as big as an oak, in order to be able sys give a pair where you pleased ; but now that your hair is wa qrning grey it is time to put a truce to your desires.” ole fo a \‘‘ Mademoiselle,” said Saffredant, “ although she whom I love a) sve" Ws robbed me of all hope, and age has exhausted my vigour, wn 7CO8el af jthing is able to diminish my desires, But as you reproach ‘aleve wie with so honourable a passion, [ call upon you to relate the w tte 4 | Jurth Novel, so that we may see whether you can find an vere ougl ie cample to belie me.’ ' During this conversation one of the ladies present could not id mg ba elp laughing as she knew that Saffredant, who took his words "fro peayO himself, did not love her sufficiently to be willing to wear Haan thorns, or to suffer disgrace or damage for her sake. « Then dawEmarsuitte began thus: ‘Ladies, in order that Saffredant }32 TALES } : eran | her agait and all the company may know that all ladies do not resemble 1 the ee the queen of whom he has spoken, and that mad or audacious , | Heer men do not always attain their object, I will relate to you. the 4 | aie adventures of a lady who thought that the vexation of failing | eee in love was worse to bear than death itself. I shall not mention jy, Alcarnt ont any names, as it is a matter of such recent occurrence, that I bee ms should be afraid of offending some very near relations of the J. ee persons, were I to do so.” NOVEL IV. soy PRESUMPTUOUS: ADVANCES OF A GENTLEMAN TO A PRINCESS dG FLANDERS, AND THE DAMAGE AND DISGRACE IT BROUGHT U! hiu, HIM. a Tere lived in Flanders a lady of such good family, that thers iJ was none better in the whole country ; a_widowwho-had-beeidiz,| i y. twice married, and had no children alive, During her widowsg | | hood she went to livé with a hrother of hers, who loved hex: very dearly, and who was a very great lord, having married one | of the king’s daughters. This young prince was much adyw | dicted to pleasure, and was very fond of bunting, amusement: Te Tughed a gc and dancing, as is usual with young people, but his wife was it} @ She slept very ill-tempered woman and did not approve of her husband’ 3 pd every ¢ amusements. Therefore this lord always took with him hird press for sister, who was of a very lively disposition, and the best! Sie company it was possible to have, but a very discreet womari] 4? wherever he took his wife. Amongst the household of th’ prince there was a gentleman who, in height, good looks ani graceful bearing, surpassed all his companions. This gentlal man, seeing that his master’s sister was of this lively dis« position, and fond of a joke, thought he would try whether tha addresses of a well-bred lover would be disagreeable to het He tried it, but her answer was quite diff erent to what he haeil expected. But although her answer was such as became ‘4 princess and a really virtuous woman, she easily pardoned hit) | ereat audacity on account of his good looks and br eeding, andy Ff Went to ha evinced to him that she had no os to his speaking to | rei mat her, but told him that he must never hold such language to |OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. oo her again, and he promised not to do so, lest he should lose ble \\ the pleasure and honour of her society. our | | However, in the long run his love increased so vehemently +h | that he forgot the promise he had given her, not that he meant ing |), to risk anything by speaking to her on the subject, for he had ion \vlearnt only too well by experience what a prudent and virtuous oe ‘answer she would give him, but he thought that if he could the /f ifind a convenient place, seeing that she was young, lively, i\\and of a sanguine temperament, she might perhaps take pity 4‘. him and on herself at the same time. To obtain his object, ut, ‘ told his master that there was some very good hunting to oy ‘ had near his country house, and that if it were his good » Me hasure to come and kill three or four stags in the month of "; Sy, he would have first-rate sport. His lord, partly from the “/t »ndship which he felt towards this gentleman, and partly {2 Xause he was so fond of hunting, accepted his invitation, and ‘1 ?'t to his house, which was a very fine one and very well 5 8¢‘unged, like that of the richest nobleman in the country. “ne ME lord and his lord’s wife were lodged in one wing, and in the ‘) sher wing was lodged she whom “he loved better than himself, by . et Her room was so well tapestried with hangings from the y ; | iling and matted on the floor that it was impossible to © 4y (2) urceive a trap door which he had made between the wall and the Wy (t¥Sed, and which communicated with the room where his mother heh Ah\Mept, who was an old lady with a constant catarrh. As she ) ‘VPughed a good deal and feared to disturb the princess thereby, a | she slept just above her, she changed rooms with her son, ee nd every evening this old lady took confections to the ‘ 4, qyjDCess for her collation, and the young gentleman always “lds, companied her, and as he was much liked by, and very hi V4 imate with, the brother of the princess, she always allowed eS ; vn to be present at her levee and coucher, on which occasions -y ‘always found something that increased his passion. i, ite ane night having stayed so late in the princess’s bedroom r Fitna ke he had to leave because she had gone to sleep, he returned le ie * his own, and putting on the handsomest and most perfumed @ ycht-gown that he had, and his finest nightcap, he thought «ten he looked at himself in the glass, that no woman in the weyrid could resist his good looks and general attractions. Look- a {a g forward, therefore, to a happy result from his enterprise, iy y43 went to bed, where he did not intend to remain long as he ; a@oped and expected soon to have a more honourable and pleasant ny Ane ; 80 as soon as he had dismissed all his attendants, he got up to’ 3 C a y 3 pa34 TALES f and fastened the door behind them, and listened for a long time to make sure that there was no noise in the princess’s room } gaw that hit which was above his. | very ill, and When he had ascertained that all was quiet, he wished to, vrai in begin his pleasant exercise, and by degrees let down the tray. there was NC door which was so well file and covered with cloth that it di, ¢o offer her § not make the least noise, and by this means he got into th 3 Ato declare hi bedroom, and to the bedside of the lady, who was fast asleer/‘been the one and, regardless of her high rank and of what was due to he‘ Ae all over the } he ‘got into her bed without asking leave and without 4 “*fbould have e slightest ceremony. . Before she knew that he was in bed w_ ,; Mew intoavi her, she found herself in his arms, but being very strong, « » @@that it mus kept his hands off her, and when she had asked who he was oy |) this, and t began to strike him, ad bite and scratch him, so that, for ‘or a my chastit that she should call out for assistance, he was obliged to try +, gag her with the coverlet, but he could not manage it ; for 1, ¢ she perceived that he was using all his strength to ‘disho, iy her, she used all hers to prevent him, and called’as loud 4s. +. ! but pra , pond for her lady of honour, an old a very prudent wom}. Pifcess had who ran in her chemise to her mistress’s aid. When the gentj,, J i F\: ae man found out that he was discovered, being very much airy; f © put sorat that the lady might recognise him, he made as much hasteysd) } lied the he could to get down through his trap door, just as u./ ee If happy at returning in such a bad plight as he had been arde, fa x can t and confident when he went. He found his mirror and Th 4 appears candle on the table, and when he looked at his face which v,) “Fink of ver all covered with blood from the scratches and bites she hy; 4g had the given him, and seeing the blood on his fine shirt he said to ci) Sm bear than own reflection: “O, unlucky beauty, you have now been f~ daar vengeance ished as you deserved, for, relying on you, I undertook so: Lr : : thing that was impossible, and which, instead of increasing | i happiness, may be the source of much misfortune to me; 1 am certain that if she knows that, contrary to the promise re I gave her, I have committed this shameful folly, I shall) both her esteem and her company. I had no reason to try . Hirt he desi i Hortine W obtain by unlawful means that to which my renown, my gy a erin looks, and my general bearing fully entitled me to AST. i { Fella : I I was wrong in trying to possess her chaste body in order, obtain her love, but by devoted attentions and patience, I ou i q | ee 7 v to have waited till love had gained the victory, for without by y @ lik d all the merits and all the power of man are of no avail.” i Hic i wit He spent the rest of the night in such tears, lamentatior || be for a and groans as cannot be described. In the morning when 1}{ Bisa i 'Y Bre} an 4 } alate tern il I! i ( \ IOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 35 saw that his face was all disfigured, he pretended that he was very ill, and that he could not bear the light, as long as his guests remained in the house. The victorious lady, knowing that there was no man at her brother’s court who would have dared shed to, to offer her such an insult except he who had had the boldness he Wl +o declare his love to her, felt certain that her host must have tit diW\been the one who had assaulted her. When she had searched ato th all over the room with her lady of honour, to find out how he asleetcrould have entered, and not being able to find anything, she ° 1 Sow into a violent passion. You may be quite sure,” she said, ut te that it must be the master of the house who has ventured to od W Ea © this, and that to-morrow morning his head shall bear witness Hey “|e! “'my chastity.” Her lady of honour, seeing the mood she was was tj, 3 said: “I am delighted, madame, that you esteem your for “/t Shour so highly that for its sake you will not spare the life of try ‘ME y-who ventured to attempt it, through force of his love for or! yh, “t-but pray tell me all the facts of the case.” And when the he 4 8e wish to speak to you about it, pretend not to understand hima; A ‘ This, ladies as to avoid two dangers: one of vain-glory for the victory wh},’ | jf fear who y you have gained, the other, of finding pleasure in recalling matte’ |/@ich should so pleasant to the carnal mind, that the most chaste have gre; | difficulty, strive as they may, not to experience some sparks ¢ such a feeling. But again, so that he may not be able to flatte himself that he has acted in any way in a manner of which y¢* do not disapprove, I should advise you by degrees to drop th;’ familiarity which you used to show towards him, so as to maj him feel his folly, and also make him feel your kindness in bi 4! satisfied with the victory which God enabled you to gain, v4 out avenging yourself on him, and May God grant you gré,* madame, to continue in that virtuous course of life which He b2 implanted in your heart, and that, knowing that He is the sou,” of all good, you may love and serve Him better than you he 1c ih) } | ! a hitherto done.” | The princess accepted the advice of her lady of honour aye went quietly to sleep, whilst his unhappiness kept the gent} man awake, su The next day his lord wished to return home and aske/lor,* see bis host, and was told that he was so ill that he couldn } me WlOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 37 ake hus ; 4 bear the light or see anyone, at which the prince was very much ba armed and wished to go and see him, but learning that he was “}Hasleep and wishing not to disturb him, he left the house with r of pytis wife and sister without bidding him farewell ; but the latter, jer. \Awhen she heard the excuses of the gentleman who would not rmg ’>ven see the prince before he left, felt quite certain that it was ked ‘ne who had assaulted her during the night, and that he did me {P%ot dare to show himself because of the marks she had left on ii 7 dis face. And although his master often sent for him, he would ¢ @t return to court till all his wounds were thoroughly healed, : vy sept those which love and anger had left indelibly on his neaile| Trt. When he returned to court and found himself in the sit NE lsence of his victorious enemy, he could not meet her without ie, ‘4 Shing, and he who had been the boldest of them all was “yg ‘i, Muently quite abashed in her presence, so that she was quite ch il. “Ithat her suspicions were correct, and by degrees she broke ‘ny 8ee24l intercourse with him ; but he did not dare to notice this, che 1p#7)Snything worse should happen to him, and go he kept his ich. =A Secret in his heart, and patiently endured that estrange- Jip || pent from her which he had go well merited. two 0 by ba ie This, ladies, is a narrative which ought to inspire those hed sig fear who would seek for what does not belong to them, and tad aelich should inspire ladies with courage, considering the ra Aurtp tue of the young princexs and the good sense of her lady of ig: |-¢ tour, and so, should any similar thing befall any of you, here +e ie have the remedy ready to hand,” ye ned: seems to me,” said Hircan, “that the gentleman of whom ingle ve been speaking was so faint-hearted that he was not , Vie ta nym ear is by-and-bye proclaimed from the housetops, some rh afterwards the truth came out, and people called-him “euc\) ki without casting any blame on his wife. e i ‘It seems to me, ladies, that if everyone who had sinned( : way were punished similarly, Hircan and Saffredant would ¥ { \ 4 ey ane VW uM i ‘br half is, f whey good cause for fear.” \ b For if ¢ “Why, Longarine,” said Saffredant, “ are Hircan and DY p'y too, the only married men in the company 4" q Le te } “ No, indeed,” said he; “but you ave the only ones wi Se thay would play such a trick.”OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 49 1a very * Where did you learn,” said Saffredant, “that we had run ation ha,fter our wives’ chambermaids ?” lumpnes “Tf those whom it concerns,” said Longarine, “cared to tell appreciithe truth, we should hear of many a maid sent away before her maid thtime.” mtin yo, “This is pleasant indeed,” remarked Guebron, “instead of you Woltxaking the company laugh, as you have promised, you offend itl, It these two gentlemen.” nt yan “Tt is all one,” said Longarine, “so long as they don’t draw a8 Mubiheir swords, their anger will only increase our merriment.” e, Whi Tf,” said Hircan, “our wives were to believe this lady, she id Way8yvould set the best couple in the company at variance.” id peace) “¢T know well,” retorted Longarine, “in whose company I life, [Wam ; your wives are so wise and love you so much, that if you ourselitave them horns as big as those of a deer, they would try to ou agttbersuade themselves, and the world too, they were only gar- andmetiands of roses.” 0 forget! At this the whole company, including those most concerned, , aughed so much, that the whole matter would have ended here, was thisf Dagoucin, who had not yet spoken, had not taken it into his beautittead to say, ‘‘ A man is certainly very unreasonable who runs ther wh0fter others when he has enough to content himself. I have sen 80 Wften seen those who are discontented with their lot, in trying : her know better themselves, only come off worse. Nor do they deserve asures Why pity, for inconstancy is always unpardonable.” 5 ed the ho But what would you do,” asked Simontault, “‘ to those who g hiswiltve not found their true half? Do you call them inconstant maid, beliseeking it in every place where it might be found ?” ayed bet. Since a man cannot know,” replied Dagoucin, “‘ where that , and reWife lialf is, the exact counterpart of himself, he should remain send whieingsd where love has once attached him, and happen what ro) “Yilever change heart or inclination. For if she that you ops, some! 4 similar to you, and of the same inclination, it will be 1 him ue “elf that you love, and not her.” ,pegoucin,” said Hircan, “I must say that if love be filed on beauty, charming ways, and fortune, and its aim be » had sinned} jure, honours and riches, such love cannot be of long dura- dant would” ~=For if that on which it is founded ceases, the love will too. But I am convinced that he who really loves riroal and I) no other aim or desire than of loving well, and he will wei ‘han cease to love.” e only ones hater Dagoucin,” said Simontault, “I don’t believe that : av. ser been amorous ; for had you felt the same fire as D| i 50 TALES { others, you would not picture to us the republic of Plato, very well in theory, but not in practice.” “Indeed,” said Dagoucin, “I have loved, I love still, and shall continue to love go long as I live. But Iam so afraid lest the demonstration of my passion should do an injustice to it uD Daal perfection, that I shrink from making it known to her fromg whom I wish a reciprocal feeling. J scarcely dare even ie think of my passion, lest my eyes should betray me; for tif’ . be more I hold this fire concealed, the greater ig my pleasure iy na het knowing that I love perfectly.” rth worl “Come now,” said Guebron, “but you would be pleasedg nue! i enough to be loved in return 1” (Foood an “I don’t deny it,” replied Dagoucin ; “but were I loved aug ine one much as I love, my love could not increase, just as it can nevey i dare to diminish though I love so much and am never loved,” isle for “Take care, Dagoucin,” said Parlamente, who disapproved off ayling t this sentiment ; “I have seen others who preferred to die rather§ fiir va than to speak.” nanrying he “These then were happy,” said Dagoucin. bve her wit “Yes,” replied Saffredant, “and worthy to be classed with loved her those Innocents for whom the church chants Von loquendo sed ty and, see morvendo confessi sunt. I have often heard speak of these fil a it 9 languishing lovers, but I have never yet seen one die. And ared by s0 since I have escaped death, spite of the pain I have suffered, If ll he, wh cannot believe that another would die of it.” henry, th “Ah, Saffredant,” said Dagoucin, “how can you be loved, F tans in when those of your opinion never die of it? But TI have know Re surprise many who have died of no other complaint than loving onl tleople too well.” lm often “Since you know so many,” said Longarine, “tell us Of aie RM aboy one, and that will be the ninth this day.” Yon Tey ‘Well, to convince you, I wi three years ago,” 0 cbOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 51 of Plato, Ve still, NOVEL IX. 80 altaid h UStICe fi BAD DEATH OF A LOVER FOR HAVING RECEIVED TOO LATE THE . her frp CONSOLATIONS OF HER THAT HE LOVED.2 are even { me ; fr ON the borders of Dauphiné and Provence, there lived a gentle- Pleasus jman, better endowed, with virtue, beauty and manliness, than with worldly goods, who passionately loved a maiden whose be ples name I will not mention out of regard for her parents being of good and. great houses; but be assured that the tale is a I lovel; true one. As he was not of so good a family as her, he did (can nn not dare to declare his affection, for 80 great and perfect was a his love for her, that far sooner would he have died, than wish ipprowd anything that could bring her dishonour; and seeing how diem: inferior was his position to hers, he had no hope of ever marrying her. His love, therefore, had no other aim than to love her with all his power, as perfectly as was possible, and wsed ni he loved her so long that at last she had some knowledge of men it; and, seeing the honest affection that he had for her, all of ty full as it was of virtue, she congratulated herself on being ie, hb loved by so virtuous a person, and was so gracious to him, uffere, that he, who never desired better, was transported with joy. But_envy, the enemy of all quiet, could not permit this happy be loy Virtuous intercourse. Some one told the girl’s mother they rekno Were surprised at this gentleman’s going so much to her house, ing 0 and people said her daughter’s beauty was the cause of it, as he was often seen with her. The mother, who had no mis- fast givings about this gentleman’s virtue, which she trusted as py her own child’s, was much annoyed at such a misinterpreta- Of os tion ;itill, at last, fearing a scandal through the envy of other men,/begged him for some time not to frequent her house as he hyd been accustomed. This was a bitter pul indeed to him, y , Specially as he knew that his respectful conduct ill-deserved oh fouuch treatment. However, to silence evil report, he kept away AN is the rumours had died away, when he revisited her as a ire. Absence, however, had never weakened his affection ; a) Way one day being at the house of his love, he heard talk cf DH \ 4 i Wa “Ome NE Po 3k We) a pi fit being married to a gentleman, who did not appear to him WZ ; ‘ 2 1 ipioe 80 much richer than himself as to warrant his preference. “\ I) ¥ e a e e 8 Wy ye sseupon beginning to take heart, he employed his friends to PZaAV. : ; ; ng ' Tkev confessed their faith, not by words but by their deeds. |52 TALES interest themselves on his behalf ; believing that, if the choice were left to the lady, she would prefer him to any other, The mother and relations of the young lady encouraged his rival, as he was certainly much richer ; which gave so much pain to this gentleman, who knew moreover that his love was as much distressed as himself, that, without any illness, hi began by degrees to waste away ; and was so changed in i short time, that one would have said he had covered his beaut ful face with the mask of death, towards which he was hastén ing daily. Nevertheless, he could not refrain from going some times to speak with her he loved so much, but at last high strength failing, he was compelled to keep his bed ; but never told his love, lest it should give her pain. Sinking thus into despair, he lost appetite, sleep and rest, till it was no longer possible to recognise him, so thin and worn had he become. Someone warned the mother of his love, who was very charitable, but who on the other hand esteemed this gentleman so much that, had all their relations held the same opinions as she and her daughter, they would have preferred this one’s merit to the other one’s wealth; but the father’s relationg would not hear of it. Still, with her daughter, she went to visit this poor gentleman, and found him more dead than alive, As he knew that his end was near, he had confessed and taken the last sacrament, believing he would die alone, and in soli. tude; but, though at the point of death, seeing once more her who was his Tife and resurrection, he was so strengthened, that he sprang up in bed, saying to the lady: “What brings you here, madame? Why do you come to visit a man who already has one foot in the grave, and of whose death you The w pins 10 nother ¢ restore J baat the the sae The d ler moth igs rest0 be good is healt onths @ nan in F auld n0 that they sine OU you WoU ach less, Tnmedi promised ae me D awile, and The dat ted. to m presely, sec img mar lerself on | Ip, my frie The poor are the cause?” “What,” cried the lady, “is it possjhle that we can be the cause of the death of one we log much? Tentreat you tell me why you speak in this mar ‘“Madame,” said he, “although I concealed my love for®, daughter as long as I could, yet my relations, speaking Ga! marriage with me, have said more than I wished, since I treme fo vi the thereby had the misfortune to lose all hope; I say misfort@ll mM » theres not with reference to my own satisfaction, but because I koul}): i that no other will so well love her and serve her as I a | P purity ¢ have done. When I see her lose the best and most loviliftween m friend and servant that she will have in this world, it gives + more pain than the loss of my life, which I would wish to } for her alone ; nevertheless, since she no longer desires gladly relinquish it.” Fe iFsped herOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, 53 if the cho The mother and daughter, hearing these words, took much ) any othePains to comfort him. “Take courage, my friend,” said the ouraged ,mother to him, “and I give you my word, that if God should ave so mrestore you to health, my daughter shall have no other-bus- hig love y, band than-you. Here she-is, and I’command her to make you 7 illnesg jthe same promise.” hanged in The daughter, in tears, gave him the surety of that which d his heqy!er mother had promised ; but he, knowing well that when he was restored to health, he would not have his mistress, and that Y was hast ‘iotie the good offers they held out to him were only to bring back t ot lag 21S health, told them that had this been said to him three Ls but ne months ago, he would now be the healthiest and happiest man in France; but that the help had come too late, and he could no longer believe it or hope for it. When he saw that they strove to persuade him, he said to them: “ Well, since you promise me those joys that never can be mine, even is gentle if you would grant them, seeing how weak I am, I ask you one me opt much less, which I have never ventured to demand of you.” od tied Immediately they both begged him to state his request, and promised to grant it. ‘I beg you then,” said_he, “that you give me between my arms her that you have promised.me for a wife, and command her to embrace me and kiss me.” The daughter who was not accustomed to such caresses, and i tried to make some objections, but the mother ordered her ex- ee pressly, seeing that he no longer had the passion or force of a oT onal living man. The daughter then, under these orders, laid brings} herself on the bed of the poor sick man, saying to him, “ Cheer —- up, my friend, I pray you cheer up.” . The poor dying man stretched out his arms as well as his th J i3 fined ; @ deat’! extreme feebleness would ° let’ him, and °with all his force em- at P™ Her ‘ced the cause’ of this'daathy.and held ker as long as he Mion ;i, kissing “et the while with his cold pale lips. Then he yen, (to the young lady: “Phe jove: that: DP ‘have born to you Hp hjbeen so deep and so’ pure, that, éxbepting ‘marriage, I have saking ipe/er desired of you any greater happiness than I have now ; Since T Mel therefore, I gladly render my soul to God, who is love y mistoriiii) perfect charity, who has known the depth of my love, and cause I Mp purity of my desires, praying Him, as I have all I desire er as 1 Wkiween my arms, to receive my soul in His.” So saying, he | most lov asped her in his arms once more with such vehemence, that d, it giv€S fg poor weak heart, not being able to support this effort, | wish to Fased beating ; for joy so dilated it that the seat of the soul y desires ye way and flew to its Creator. vg thus i as no low he been 10 Was J er’s relat she well d than a ed and ti54 TALES Though itwas alreadysome time since this gentleman had died, and could no longer retain his hold on her, the love that this young lady had always concealed, asserted itself then so strongly that the mother and the dead man’s servants had no little trouble to separate them; and had by force to remove the almost lifeless girl from the dead body. The poor gentleman was honourably interred ; but the greatest triumph of the obsequies was the tears and lamentations of this poor maiden, who declared he! love after his death, as much as she had concealed it when living, as if to make amends for the wrong she had done him. ‘‘ Does it not seem to you, gentlemen, you who have refused to believe me, that this example is sufficient to make you admit that perfect love, if too much concealed or too little known, brings people to the grave? There is not one of you who does not know the relations of thege people, on the one side or the other, therefore you cannot doubt it, But no one who has not experienced it can believe it.” The ladies were all in tears at this tale, but Hircan gaid to them: “This man ig the greatest fool that I have heard mentioned. Now, is it reasonable that we should die for women, who are made only for us, and that we should fear to ask them for that which God enjoins them to give us. I do not speak for myself, or any of the married men, for I have a wife who more than suffices me, but I say this for those who are in want of one, who it seems to me would be fools to fear those who ought to fear them. Do you not see the regret that this woman felt for her folly ; for since she.embraced the dead. hody. (an act most re: « : e \e , oy e e@ ¢ e @ 6 @% r e@ ® ore | pugnant to nature), she: could Rever “have: réfiséd him Kv ti ig/fonn pity when dyiny “Ee had he used as muth courage, asx he ‘raised | “That very cirturastanve,”> said - Disilley+“ shows well vs virtue and affection tKat® this getitlethan bora to: her, and§’ which he deserves eternal “praisé ; “for ; re ase chastity im an amor ? \ : ae 2 ya heart is more divine than human,” hee | oy i “Madame,” said Saffredant, “to confirm what Hircan salt J with whom I agree, I beg you to believe that fortune favowy the bold, and that there is no man, if he be loved b that does not finally win from her al] that he asks, or at leag a part, provided he knows how to set ab amorously ; but ignorance and fear make m chances. And they attribute their los en lose many good W 8 to the virtue of thei-) ya lady out it wisely andi stress, gnget i {0 ney 7] am ip bold 8 could nob ies of § she game. W As for ley, tha attribute | > qof havia And wil = tan that ys: Te ther: eve this reason woman's unless he b And if Ina, great rituoUs Wo om that th "Yes, ind Then,” lnpersuade "Madam it example lis death, I V anne lacOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, 55 nhaddiemistress, when they have not even tested it with the tips of the that thinoer: for no fortress was ever well attacked without being 0 stronglaken.” tle troub, «| am shocked at you two,” said Parlamente, “that you dare ost lifeless hold such language; either those whom you have loved onourallpould not have cared much for you, or you have pursued 3 was thadies of such easy virtue that you imagine all women to be lared heshe same.” | it wher “Ag for me, madame,” said Saffredant, “I have been so un- had dotlucky, that I have nothing to boast of, but I do not so much attribute my misfortune to the virtue of the ladies, as to my not having conducted my affairs with sufficient discretion. ve relus’And I will quote in support of my opinion, no other authority youad¢han that of the old woman in the ‘Romaunt of the Rose,’ who ile_ know says: ‘We are made, fair Sir, without doubt, each for the who dvother: every she for a he, and every he for a she’ For side or ithis reason, I do not believe that if love has once entered a ho hast woman’s heart, the man will fail to accomplish his end, unless he be an idiot.” Hiren’ ©“ And if I tell you,” said Parlamente, “of a lady very much have he loved, greatly pressed and importuned, but at the same time a ld diei virtuous woman, victorious in the end over her lover, will you we shilown that this thing, which is truth itself, will be possible?” om toi ** Yes, indeed,” said he. 1e mami Then,” replied Parlamente, “you will indeed be hard 3 me, lito persuade, if you do not believe this example.” e, whoi “Madame,” said Dagoucin to her, ‘‘since I have proved by ht to tian example the love of a gentleman remaining virtuous even to felt for this death, I pray you, if you know a similar one to the honour ct mosttof some lady, that you will tell it us to close this day ; and him I"Qerace/ fear the length, for we have time enough to say many n dyin\\ion K things.” 73 well\Wen Since I am to finish this day,” said Parlamente, “T will her, and\ii, h, make a long preface, for my story is so™good, and so an amorWineusant, and so true, the’ I am anxious you should know it. qokvas not an eye-w" «ess of the facts; but it has been Hircan sac, nae by one of r,_, greatest and closest friends, to the praise une favo honour of him’whom he most loved, and begged me, if ever by a ladyshould rena io it, that I would change the names of the , or at leastSons ; t,., ,ore all this is true, excepting the names, the wisely andiCes, a, ee] country.” many good, of Catal rtue of thely ring AmiTALES NOVEL X. THE LOVES OF AMADOUR AND FLORINDA, WHICH CONTAIN MANY STRATAGEMS AND DISSIMULATIONS, AND WHICH PROVE THI PRAISEWORTHY CHASTITY OF FLORINDA. In the county of Aranda, in Aragon, there wag a lady, who whilst she was yet very young was left a widow by the Count of Aranda, with a son and a daughter, who was called Florinda, She spared no pains to bring up her children virtuously and honourably, as becomes those of high birth, so that her house was reputed to be one of the most honotirable in the whole of Spain. She often went to Toledo, where the King of Spain was residing, and when she went to Saragossa (which was near her residence), she stayed a long time at court with the queen, by whom she was very highly esteemed, Going once, as her habit was, to pay her respects to the king who was then at Saragossa in his castle of J affére, this lady had to pass through a village which belonged to the Viceroy of Catalonia, who never left the frontiers of Perpignan because of the wars which were ay their r ts ¢ the king. poy espects to _As he knew that the Countess Aranda was passing through his territory he went to meet her, partly on account of the, sagt i ' tee Da? finshed qos > tat be We Sui bt tinsel 10 plat his ( + mefnegn.c anes, This gent bin, vas €0 of Anda & - her daaghte > himself that = tat be bad beshould be becould obte gitar for a spe of al aiecount of ili could x lelotifie i promised in culearours to tel, hi tu the for cf alved to mar tovith the Ja MS On ery i iostantly, on old friendship he bore her, and also because she was a rel tig oi the kine’s. In his suite there were several cee ent gentlemen, who, having served: in the wars for a long time: a | hat gained so much honour and tenown, that everyone who chill see them and enjoy their intimacy ®% ought himself fortuy + Amongst them, there was one called “S -dour, who althougih\ he was only eighteen or nineteen, had so. 2, dignity and eo ‘ | ee \ sense, that anyone would have said he Was “t to govern) kingdom. It is true that besides this he wag PART wit grea) and natural beauty, and hig conversation wag gefKs, ©. howl no one could tell to which to give the palme, it AG eke a bearing, to his handsome features, or to hig cg -3€ ‘Man’ 3 & Ll hi i sing tha Whe lta than Ha Tolan, | a8 Very y after all, what gained him the greatest rey virtue of a0 Thor of Ca © to bring 4OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 67 reme.bravery, and his reputation for this was certainly not iminished on the score of his youth; for already on so many ecasions he had proved what. he could do as a brave knight, oat he was greatly esteemed for his progress, not only in pain, but in France and Italy as well, as he never spared tie unself in any of the wars in which he had been; and hen his own country was at peace, he went to the wars en foreign countries, and gained renown both from friends and nemies. This gentleman, by the affection which his commander bore a lady, tim, was emongst those who were present when the Countess y the Gof Aranda arrived, and when he saw the beauty and grace of ed Flotmer daughter, who was only twelve years old, he thought to tuouslyiimself that she was the most beautiful and high-born person t herhinat he had ever seen, and that if he could obtain her affection, he whe should be more satisfied than with all the riches and pleasure ng of }e could obtain from any other woman. After he had looked ich wasib her for a long time, he determined that he would love her, h the qa spite of all the obstacles which reason put in his way, both mee, a account of her high birth, and also on account of her age, was tha’hich could not yet allow her to receive avowals of love. But oass the fortified himself with resolute hope against these fears, and a, whonromised himself that time and patience would bring his ; which wdeavours to a happy termination. To remedy the greatest Frane ifiiculty, which consisted in the distance at which he lived, at time td the few chances he should have of seeing Florinda, he re- r respetstved to marry, contrary to the determination he had come with the ladies of Barcelona and Perpignan, with whom he sing thos on very intimate terms, as he had been in that district ount t/@etantly, on account of the wars, so that he seemed more a nga reer “@e2 than a Castillian, although he belonged to a rich family on ;,oledoz, but as he was a younger son, his patrimony was ng tim len, all. Love and fortune, however, seeing that he was ill- » who cpr ed for by his parents, resolved to make a chef-dewvre of ¢ fortumppewnd to give him by means of his many noble qualities Wii the laws of his country refused him. He was well versed ity and g wai-like exercises, and was so beloved by all the lords and 0 govern #/€8, that he much oftener refused their services than he had 1 with gre {sion to demand them. : . Owning thay countess, whom I have mentioned, arrived at Saragossa WiSocofilt WAS very well received by the king and his court. The pall, py, 7ernor of Catalonia came to see her often, and always took ye 0! gr. 2 to bring Amadour with him, so that he might have the we 7b8 TALES pleasure of seeing Florinda ; and he, in order to make himse¢| oa better known in such good society, attached himself to thqem!! “| daughter of an old knight, his neighbour, whose name wae “ Avanturada ; from childhood she had been brought up wit] at a Florinda, so that she knew her most secret thoughts. Amadoulil! partly because she was so well bred, and partly because she hal three thousand ducats a year as her marriage portion, though goa 0 et that she would be a suitable person for him to marry. Shp ype lent him a willing ear, but as he was poor they thought thy ‘abonished f her rich father would never agree to the marriage excey and wh0 28 through the intervention of the Countess of Aranda. So sg} yoy Duke went to Florinda and said to her: “Madame, you see thip ‘mitt Castillian gentleman who so often speaks with me? He wighe tt i 8 to marry me, but you know what my father is, and that he wil mlllimtuce never consent unless he is strongly urged by the countess anf liiitilerm ou.” theo of the Florinda, who loved the young lady like herself, promised hep! i Card that she would make the matter her own, and Avanturada the: net ug managed to introduce Amadour to her, and on kissing her handp iia m the he almost fainted with joy, and though he was looked upon ag lrmgtt up a one of the best speakers in Spain, he was quite dumb in hep iitplaty presence, much to her astonishment, for although she was only nl be brow twelve years old she had often heard that there was not a man Mild le I in Spain who could speak more fluently or gracefully than hep mshtoo could. When ghe found that he said nothing to her she ob. hy ae hth served to him: “ Your reputation, Sefior Amadour, throughouth tit bre the whole of Spain, is so great that it makes you universallyp "ym Lavo known, and makes those who know you desirous to assist you;p™ul’ therefore, if I can be useful to you in any matter, you can dtuedour Wa make use of me.” busting, ag | Amadour, who was looking at the fair speaker’s beauty, was had bth 80 ravished with delight, that he could hardly return her dugp*tt that she thanks, and although Florinda was astonished at seeing thabMapislt cut the gave her no answer, she attributed it rather to his foll yyy thao to the force of his love, and passed it over without sayeMy ing wig’ Spams and more about it. Amadour, who fully recognised all thhose vitiiM7 all he which Florinda, young as she was, was beginning tox, exile Wom, said to the lady whom he wished to marry: “You musta? | be astonished if I was tongue-tied in the presence of Florilld for the virtues and the wise words which are latent under great youth so surprised me, that I really did not know 4 4 to say to her. But-pray, Avanturada, tell me (as you know W secrets) if it is possible that-she_doea not possess the hearts - P > a —— lied to Tegret, ag te ‘ Aragor = ot @OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 59 take bi, the princes and gentlemen of this court, for those who know nself jf Without loving her, are either made of stone, or else are namites?” Avanturada, who already loved Amadour better than ht wy ¥ other man in the world, did not wish to hide anything from Amin, and told him that everybody liked Florinda, but that use sepording to the custom of the country very few gentlemen on, tke to her, and that as yet she only knew of two who showed nanty, Y preference for her, and both were young Spanish princes ought {© wished to marry her, one belonging to the Royal Family age qd who was a son of the Fortunate Lnfante,' and the other the la, §2ng Duke of Cardonne. “Please tell me,” said Amadour, ou seeVhich of the two you think she loves the best ?” Hey She is so good,” was Avanturada’s answer, “ that nothing that wuld induce her to confess that she had any other wish than ountat of her mother ; but if we may be allowed to judge she loves e son of the Mortunate Infante more than she does the young romigtke of Cardonne. And I think that you are a man of such turaitrect Judgment, that this very day you may form your own hiHion on the matter. The son of the Fortunate Infante was Al yought up at this Court and is one of the handsomest and mb P8t perfect young princes in Christendom. And if a marriage 1g wud be brought about, according to the opinion of us girls, he not Pua have Florinda, so that the handsomest couple in the ly ytld might come together. And you must know that although ver #Y 22e both very young, she being only twelve and he fifteen, throw” their love began three years ago, and if you wish her to look unig? YOu favourably, I advise you to become his friend and assis ’ ; vAmadour was very glad to find that the young lady loved ?*nething, as he hoped, therefore, in time to become not her eaueo2nd but her lover, for he did not fear her virtue, but only pred that she should love nothing atall. After this Amadour jaght out the son of the Fortunate Infante, with whom he follaviqoon Mgratiated himself ; for Amadour was an adept at all On. kd ae and pastimes which the young prince cared for, and | Ny, the he was a first-rate horseman, skilled in the use of NT ‘, Apon, and accustomed to all the sports a young mar. ant ) vd know. The war in Languedoc began, and Amadour 7 orig Ptiged to return with the governor, which he did with ider't regret, as he would have no future means of seeing 7 i 10W fenry of Aragon, Duke of Legorlia, who had been nick-named the Infant yarts tne. --460 TALES Florinda; but to do the best he could, he spoke to his brot hg who was majordomo to the Queen of Spain, and told him of ff good match which he had found in the Countess of Arandg house, in the person of the Lady Avanturada, and begged hi that during his absence he would do his best to bring marriage about, and to use the influence of the king, queen, ail all his friends on his behalf. The gentleman who loved fi brother, both as his brother and on account of his many di tinguished qualities, promised to do all that lay in his powe and he did so, and with such good results that the old au miserly father forgot his avarice when he came to hear of il Amadour’s good qualities, which the Countess of Aranda, al above all the fair Florinda, set before him, as did also tj young Count of Aranda, who, as he grew up, was beginning { esteem people of merit. After the relations had agreed on tl marriage, the majordomo sent for his brother, as, whilst +] truce between the two kings held good, he could leave th army. During this truce the King of Spain withdrew { Madrid, in order to avoid the malaria which existed in severé places, and on the advice of his council, and also ¢ of the Countess of Aranda, he gave his consent t of the Duchess of Medina-Ceeli, who was the little Count of Aranda, both for the £0 of the two houses, and also from the affection which he bore tf the Countess of Aranda, and he wished the nuptials to be cele brated at the palace in Madrid. Amadour was present on that occasion, and made _ such good use of it, that he married Avanturada, who loved him mor than he loved her, as he married her almost solely with the object that he might be able to frequent the place on whicirhis mind was incessantly dwelling. After his marriage he became so bold and familiar in the house of the Countess Aranda, ‘tht “i ty abc is lon Byod sc Alp hn t 0 ps cecil 4 heen spothis t ‘ies to | oe and ¢ le Avant noe care ng that vat several yale oul tlds 10. $1 ny oreased ln one occa find the cour il goetatod © rihhimashe Trecountess hi Inatiers of Are de sav Amad ine years, Utes gare ii Whilst bh in, and as! idvenee in the ul there, TH trusted aihin she no more notice was taken of him than if he had been a womall and although he was only twenty-two years old, he showed sud an amount of prudence that the countess communicated all hq affairs to him, and ordered her son and daughter frequently { talk with him, and to follow his advice, Having gained th| much, he conducted himself so discreetly that even she whos he loved never guessed the affection which he entertained fii her ; and, from the affection which she bore for Amadour’g (i she became so intimate with him, that she told him the } she felt for the son of the Fortunate Infante » and Amada | whose only object was to gain her altogether, talked to her ¥ \ q WW ‘al li Oh ht ty attention, th no pass A Tery pl Ming else Mn avoidin M iiference | PAlOt love, foy Mitnking an He could ‘darting g 1 Dotigg any Ma, Who jnE- OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 61 3 broth cessantlly about him, for he did not care what he spoke to her 1m off about, As long as he could speak to her for a long time. Arané He hhd scarcely been married a month before he was obliged ged hi to return to the wars where he remained for over two years ring | without seeing his wife again, who continued to reside where 1een,! she had been brought up. He frequently wrote to her however loved | during this time, but the chief part of his letters consisted in nany! messages to Florinda, who for her part sent him messages in S pol return, and often wrote a pretty line or two in the letters oldi which Avanturada sent to her husband, which made him the ar of! more careful to write to her very often, but Florinda only nda, thought that she loved him as a brother. Amadour came and alsoi went several times, so that during the course of the twe inning years he only saw Florinda for about two months ; but never- dont theless, in spite of distance and of his long absence, his love hilst | only increased. eave tl On one occasion, when Amadour came to see his wife, he idrew | found the countess far from the court, for the King of Spain 1 seve had goneinto Andalusia, and hadtakenthe young Countof Aranda @ requé' with him as he wasjust beginningtobe trained to the use of arms. marti! The countess had retired toa country house which she had on the ess, wl frontiers of Aragon and N avarre, and was very pleased when he uli she saw Amadour arrive, as he had been absent for nearly e bot’ three years. Everybody was glad to meet him again, and the bec countess gave orders that he should be treated like her own son. Whilst he stayed with her, she told him all her family uch affairs, and asked his opinions about most of them, and his imi Influence in the family became so great, that he did just as he witht) pleased there, and his sagacity was esteemed so highly that yhict) he was trusted like a saint or an angel. Florinda, from the bect# triendship she entertained for his wife and him, showed him ida, tu Very attention, as she had no idea what his designs were ; as , womashe felt no passion for him, she was very frank with him, and ved suthough very pleased to be with him, she never thought of d all hétything else. Amadour, on the other hand, had great diffi- rently *ulty in avoiding the penetration of those who can penetrate ined thie difference between the looks of a man who loves and who xe whoiesnot love, for when Florinda spoke to him familiarly and with- rined @fUtthinking any harm, thehidden firein his breast burnt so fiercel y a4 phat, he could not help it showing its colour in his face, or its the panics darting out of his eyes. However, in order that no one \ mad eet notice anything, he began to make love to a lady named -o her t lina, who in her time had been considered so beautiful that62 TALES very few men escaped from her toils. Amadour had made love at Barcelona a won the hearts of the most beautiful and high-born the land, and above all that of a Countess of Palamos, many fortunate amours he had married such an u that if he could make her believe a lie he could hide t from her. But she who was very experienced in love, rest satisfied with words, but feeling not suffice him, guessed that he wishe purposes of his own, and so she always kept very closely ; but he managed, though with regulate his looks so well that she could matters stood. Florinda, not knowing matter, spoke to him often before Paulina g could hardly restrain his eyes from heart ;-and in order to prevent evil c said to Florinda one day, a window: “ Mad which is the better, to Speak or to die?” “T shall always advise my friends,” “to speak and not to die, for there are v not be made good, but when life is lost “You will promise me then,” he rep will not be angry at what I am goin even astonished till you have heard “Say whatever you please,” surprise me, there is no one who can reassure me.” He then addressed her as follows : have hitherto hindered me from men which I bear to you; the one is that I wi my long services, and the other, beca consider it a piece of great insolence anything o familiarly, when they were both leaning ery few words wh me to the end ?” was her answer; “ for shed to prove it to the Fortunate I: nfante, who has obtai speak to you in terms of love. But, m war, it is often necessary to destroy on ruin the standing crops in order that t by them. so I venture to forestall tha. e’s own property, he enemy may no t fruit which J h She having he nd Ferpignan : i thought to be the handsomest woman in the whole ¢ told him that she was very sorry for him, because | Amadour, who perceived by these words that she wit. )3 supply his wants, spoke to her as well as he was able, sure that her love dj d to make use of her f her eyes upon hit great difficulty, { only guess hap showing the state of }j onsequences to himself } ame, I beg you to give me your advice as fi she promptly answered it can never be recalled," lied, “that not only you g to say to you, but not “Two reasons, madame, tioning the ardent love use I thought you woull adame, just as in a oie t pré opec r fe ti 3 oft i : You t Aran, ding 8% qh ed FB you ing | st 10 en, ‘i an bet ved, kovnng the a Thare sough por , Dis pel, a0 Va TE it itt he tru alld yur did i alt hous, not a8 for the ast ft bealle to pas that Jam not Jp {tim you but “ a Dee LAITY J a pice of th : pal 92 you again ich cab: if you you by ml that vicio reins to obta [vould rather wily of ei eer uch pleas frat te ni wile loyal mi Tint vour, the Mh Tam nO, Me 02 me 9 tting else th and |b OF THE QUEEN Or NAVARRE. : 63 +y,, Protheessanthr in time, lest your enemies and mine Should profit by our m of fabout, ¢ You must know, madame, that from the very first time I , Arant Hehyou, when you were quite a child, I altogether devoted my- xed hito retuto your service, and have been continually searching for ’ ring (withoutas to ingratiate myself with you, even going so far as to ‘een, ighe had'y her whom I looked upon as your greatest friend. And © ved during Ving the love you bear to the son of the Fortunate Infante, -aY messavve sought his company so as to be able to serve him, as you * poiretume seen, and I have sought with all my might to do anything bles 1g mehich might please you. You see that I have gained the good e the tt vill of your mother the countess, of the count your brother, ve, didi and of all those whom you love, so that I am regarded in this r love | house, not as a servant, but as a son, and all that I have done > of her for the last five years has only been done in order that I might 8 UP! be able to pass my whole life with you. And pray understand ficult, that T am not one of those who would aspire to obtain anything guess "from you but what is right and virtuous. I know that I can 18 © jnever marry you, and even could I do so, I would not, to the rly, tht! prejudice of that love which you bear to him whom I would go state of gladly see your husband. Thus I am so far from loving you ) him! with that vicious love which those feel, who hope by their long ung "services to obtain a reward which is dishonouring to ladies, that advice i J would rather see you dead, than to know that. you--were Tess worthy of being loved;-or that your virtue had diminished, how- y ans ever much pleasure T might personally gain thereby. All I ask s whicll'for as the end and reward of my services is, that you will be be ret’ such a loyal mistress to me, that you will never let me lose ot OMY’ your favour, that you will retain me on the same footing on ou, bt! which I am how, trusting to me more than to anyone else, re- 1” ying on me so firmly that if for the sake of your honour or « for ' anything else that regards you, you should require the life of a gentleman, you may count on mine, which I will gladly sacri- 18, mal-fice for you. Whatever I do that is honourable and virtuous arden will be done for love of you. And if I have done anything for it toy%the sake of ladies who are inferior to you, which has been | you "deemed worthy of praise, believe me, that for such a mistress as uple g'you, I shall do much more, and deeds that I thought difficult , princir impossible will be easy forme. But if you will not accept ; the She ag your wholly devoted servant, I am resolved to give up my on of Military career, and to renounce that virtue which has not as iD a Silpisd me in the time of need. Wherefore, madame, I beseech yer tY; any) t0 grant my request, since neither your honour nor your vy not PI science can refuse me.” ‘I hopes64 TALES The young lady, on hearing such language to which she wa not accustomed, blushed and looked down in a state of ey barrassment, but having plenty of good sense, she said to nin “Since you only ask of me what you already possess, Amadoy why should you make such a long harangue about the matter I very much fear that there is some lurking mischief und your honourableness, which is intended to deceive my youthiij innocence, and so I hardly know how to answer you, for I ca not refuse the honourable friendship which you offer me, ant which has always been a source of pleasure to me, since I hay trusted to you more than to any other man in the wor} Neither my honour nor my conscience, nor the love which] have for the son of the Fortunate I. nfante, can revolt at you wish, since my love relies upon marriage to which you cannd aspire. There is, therefore, no reason why I should not reph as you wish, except a certain amount of fear that I entertai which proceeds from the very slight reason that you have fa Speaking to me as you have done 3 for if you already have whi you ask for, why should you speak to me at the length that you have done?” Amadour, who was quite ready with his answer, said “Madame, you speak very prudently, and do me much honow by the confidence which you say you repose in me, so that if 1 am not satisfied with such kindness on your part, I am not fit to look for anything further. But then he who wants to erect a good and durable building must lay a good foundation, and go I, who wish to be your devoted Servant as long as my life lasts, do not think merely of the means of being near you, but I also wish ta prevent any one from knowing. the great love I bear you ; for though it be so honourable and pure that there can be no harm in it, yet those who don’t know lovers’ hearts, often judge contrary to what is the fact; and this is so with Paulina, who suspects me as she sees I do not love her, and ig constantly watching me And when you come and speak | k so frankly to me before her] am afraid of betraying myself, so that I must beg you not to speak to me so suddenly before her or any other women who areas malicious as she is, for | would sooner be dead than that any one should know my feelin gS towards you. If your honour were not so dear to me, I should not have spoke dngoved tani the be, ln beat gt ili she nell Was ~fpadour 80 that she not 0 bert We, but gone day he mwa "Frans It Tea suspect abet he contin wo lager suspe "Tou could pet, “for whi Ph these wy lett pleasure tei: “Mad L Tey soon, ¢ lly Inderyg tu ith her, Uy onow as Th Hisime place Her is over dtl fo return ) nto you thus, for] am sc happy in the regard and confidence which you show me \ that I desire nothing but the continuation of the Same,” Florinda was so delighted at his words that she could hari] contain herself, and began to feel Something in her 2 mutual exp loves had be MY ‘ociety. heart tei and 9, AmOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 65 yhich whe had never experienced before, and told him that as virtue - State@amd honour could answer for her, she would grant his request, 2 said yimd all who have ever been in love will guess how great Ama- ess, Amlour’s joy was at this. But Florinda followed his advice more t the whan he wished, for, fearing Paulina and others, she left off speak- ‘ischief ag to him freely as she had been in the habit of doing, and also 3 my yuitisapproved of his intimacy with Paulina whom she thought so you, foyandsome that she considered it impossible for him not to love offer mer. Florinda partially confided her fear to Avanturada,..who , since Pegan to get jealous of her husband and Paulina, and often com- in the #lained to Florinda, who consoled her as well as she could, since love whe herself was suffering from the same complaint. evolt ¢_ Amadour soon noticed this by Florinda’s conduct, and thought re youjhat she not only was reserved towards him, as he had advised wld ner to be, but also that she had some bad opinion of him, and 1t 1 af One day he said to her: ““Why do you treat me thus, ; you joadame ?” ae dy har “* Because I think you wish it,” was her answer. ie © lengl Then suspecting the truth, and in order to find out if it were fact he continued: “I have taken such means that Paulina answaite longer suspects you.” ue ou could not do better for yourself and for me,” she re- - iaiited, “ for whilst you have your own pleasure you honour me.” From these words Amadour gathered that she thought that ye took pleasure in Paulina’s intercourse, so he got very angry an ind said: “Madame, you begin to treat your humble servant teat il very soon, and the most painful necessity I have ever e 4 ad to undergo, has been to have to be on terms of in- I alto ‘imacy with her, a woman whom I do not love, and so, to hide beat "ay sorrow as I have hidden my pleasure in your society, I shall ie be to some place in the neighbourhood and wait till your fit of judge per is over. But I am expecting a summons from my who “eneral to return to the war, and I shall remain there so long, ‘watelh at, T hope you will believe that nothing but yourself has kept ¢ belts here,” eg When he had said this, he went away without waiting for her nen Wi swer, which caused Florinda great grief, and feeling that she than thd been in the wrong she wrote to him and asked him to return, rhowhich he did in a few days when his anger had subsided ; but ou thus ten mutual explanations had dissipated this cloud, and the { you ee ) bso had begun to take more pleasure than ever in each ee not fi o erect game: nate society, the King of Spain sent his whole army to a PS and so Amadour who had always been the one to “ greet er ear i 266 TALES the first foe in the field,” would not risk losing his reputation though he went with regret, both on account of the pleasure h was losing, and also because he feared there might be a chang on his return; for as Florinda was now fifteen she was being sought in marriage by many princes and great lords, and h thought that if she were married during his absence, he woul have no more chance of seeing her, unless the Countess ¢ Aranda appointed his wife as her companion; and he ma aged so cleverly that the countess and Florinda both promise that Avanturada should go with her wherever she might m after she was married, and so Amadour very reluctantly tok his leave and left his wife with the countess. Florinda wy very lonely after his departure, and led a life, which, as sh hoped, would give her the reputation of being worthy of guchi devoted cavalier. When Amadour arrived at Barcelona he was made much of hy the ladies, which he was accustomed to, but he was very mut changed, and they could never have believed that marriag could have had such an effect upon a man, for he even seem to dislike things which he formerly was fond of, and even # Countess of Palamos, whom he had loved so ardently, could n0 induce him to go to her house. He stopped at Barcelonag short a time as he possibly could, as he was impatient to reag the place where honour was to be gained. When he reache Salces, the war between the two kings broke out with great fury, but I can neither enter into the details of the campaign nor 0 Amadour’s feats, which would fill a large book, for his tif aaa SS a was greater than that of any of his companions in arms. Th Duke of Naguitres arrived at Perpignan in charge of tw thousand men, and asked Amadour to be his lieutenant, an with his little band he did his duty so well, that in every skit mish the only battle cry that was heard was Naguieres. Now the King of Tunis, who had long been at war with th Spaniards, hearing how the kings of France and Spain well fighting against'each other around Narbonne and Perpignat, thought it was a first-rate Opportunity for harassing the Kim of Spain, and so he sent a large number of light vessels tio pil age and destroy all the badly defended places that they \eotl ie a al I pig surprise ait, be iH — oS Tu wled D bivnatet, W pure him inher hands dour rained of Tins: and + Shun, tte rela ltl at hig te country f rated the Cc fu ly dan Movemuy the tough she con bse in him, tems, Florind Wal 8 great Logg mie abore all lat er mother te ep compa M8 deorerad, le subject f tring On wk find on the Spanish coast. The inhabitants of Barcelona, s@# ing a number of ships passing by, informed the King of i hy who was at Salces, and he at once sent the Duke of Naguiéresli Palamos. When the ships saw that the place was so guarded they pretended to sheer off, but they ‘ll returned at nlyOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 67 ‘eputt! night, and landed such a large number of men that the duke leasut was surprised and made a prisoner. Amadour, who was very @ thi vigilant, heard the noise, and at once assembled as many Wasi soldiers as he could, and made such a brave resistance that the 'ds, all enemy, numerous though he were, was held at bay for a long time; , he w but finally, on learning that the Duke of Naguiéres was taken, ounté and that the Turks had determined to burn Palamos and the 1 het house in which he was resisting them, he preferred to surrender, i prt rather than to cause the destruction of the brave men who 3 mig followed him, and besides all that, he hoped that by being ran- tantly! somed he should see Florinda again. So he surrendered to a ori) Turk called Derlin, who was Viceroy of Tunis, who took him to ich, #his master, who received him very well and honourably, but y ofs guarded him still better, for they thought when they had him in their hands, they had the very Achilles of Spain. So Ama- muchdour remained for nearly two years in the service of the King velyllof Tunis ; and when the news of this event was conveyed to ¢ mat'Spain, the relations of the Duke of N aguiéres were very much ven slattlicted at his capture, but those who cared for the honour of d evil their country felt the loss of Amadour still more. The report y, collireached the Countess of Aranda, in whose house poor Avan- arceliturada lay dangerously ill. The countess who had misgivings nt t0 "Concerning the affection that Amadour bore to her daughter, he rithough she concealed them on account of the virtues she recog- greatinised in him, called her daughter aside and told her this sad ign Wnews. Florinda, who could dissemble well, replied that this his #was a great loss for all their house, and that she pitied his poor ms. Wife above all, seeing moreover how sick she was. But seeing yge Othat her mother wept very much, she forced some tears also, to tena Keep her company, for fear lest by overdoing it, the feint would everyibe discovered. After that the countess often spoke to her res, On the subject but was never able to draw from her appearance x wwanything on which she could found an opinion. I need not SpaitMention the pilgrimage, prayers, orisons, and fasts that Florinda Perpimade daily for the safety of Amadour. He, immediately on his y theatrival at Tunis, did not fail to send news to his friends, and sels iby a trusty man to warn Florinda that he was in good health they’md had hopes of seeing her again, which was the only thing celonahat relieved the poor lady in her weary waiting. And be sure g of fat the means of writing was not neglected by her, in which jaguieite acquitted herself so diligently, that Amadour had no lack ag 80 (Consolation in her letters. ned at tAbout this time, the Countess of Aranda was ordered to ge68 TALES to Saragossa, where the king then was, The young Duke Cardonne was there, who so much pressed the king and queer, that they begged the countess to conclude the marriage betwee him and her daughter. The countess, who did not wis to disobey them in anything, consented, supposing that he daughter was too young to have any other will than he, All things being arranged, she told her daughter she had maf, a match that seemed the best for her. The daughter Seeing that a thing done cannot be undone, said to her that Gol should be praised for everything, and seeing that her mothe acted so strangely towards her, preferred to obey her than hay: compassion on herself. To make matters worse she heard that the Fortunate Infante was at the point of death. But gh never allowed the least sign of her mortification to be apparer| to her mother or any one else ; and constrained her feelings strongly, that instead of shedding tears, she bled at the nose i such abundance, that she was in danger of dying there an then. In order to re-establish her health she married him whon she would willingly have changed for death itself, After th nuptials, Florinda went with her husband to the Duchy ¢ Cardonne, and took Avanturada with her, to whom she privately unburdened herself, both of her mother’s harshness toward her, and of her regret at having lost the son of the Fortuna) Infante ; but with regard to Amadour she only spoke in a wal to console her. This young lady then decided to set God an honour before her eyes, and hid her sorrows so well, that noni of her husband’s intimates noticed that he was displeasing her. For a long time she led this life, which was hardly bette than death. She did not fail to keep her faithful friend Amadouw informed, who, knowing her good and virtuous heart, and thi great love she had borne to the Fortunate Infante, thought tt impossible she could live long, and already mourned for her 4 one worse than dead. This trouble increased all that from which he already suffered. Willingly would he have 1 mained a slave all his life, so that Florinda could have a hus band of her choice: and the thought of his friend’s sorrow made him forget his own. About thiy time he heard from 4 iriend that he had made at the court of the King of Tunis, thi gt 3" the qnount, gel tot ht 8 sort an hs jog Duk cote usIneS ta fushand nen eanse hatte woul her kia ad badgpnon ¢ bisa, an wih Was 80 ( sheeuhaced mete hm He tad not | Ike i this Amada, I Ie: fi Totnda aud A pater of the Aterneeping 1 aeonuld not 1 viomashe had ¢ wehevelf with Me did not d ig torason to dec] irliportun Inter aga, i acident og ‘me tothe ¢ SLoset his qif ing down fro Ud heel lhe solee hy Tho felt herg tow seam, the king had decided to give him hig choice, either to be im paled, or to renounce his religion; for he wished, if he coull convert him into a good Turk, to keep him in hig Service. _ Bil to avoid this he prevailed on his master to let him go or bis parole, putting on him, however, so high a ransom that the Tuk tote ofthe St the me Noame him , hess. of Ca je, by pregOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 69 y Duk thought a man of so scanty means would never be able to find nd qu the amount. Thus his master let him go on parole, without e beth speaking to the king. Coming to the court of Spain, he made not; but a short stay there, and set out to seek his ransom tha’ among his friends. He went straight to Barcelona, where the han } young Duke of Cardonne, his mother, and Florinda had gone on had Some business. Avanturada, as soon as she heard the news of er sq Her husband’s arrival, told it to Florinda, who, rejoiced at the that| mews because she loved him so. But, being afraid lest the joy 7 mj that she would have at seeing him again should show itself on -han| ber face, and that those who did not know her might form a ear|; bad opinion of it, she placed herself at a window to watch for But Dis arrival, and, as soon as she saw him, running down a staircase appa which was so dark that no one could see if she changed colour, eeling Se embraced Amadour, brought him into her chamber, and then he nos Presented him to her mother-in-law, who had never seen him. herat He had not been there many days before he was as much i liked in this house as he had been in that of the Countess of After Aranda, I leave you to guess the many conversations that Dock Florinda and Amadour had together, and the sad account he pri gave her of the misfortunes he had suffered during his absence. ite After weeping much over her misfortunes, in being married to one Fort she could not love, and having lost him whom she did love, and inl whom she had despaired of ever seeing again, she resolved to con- : Cod sole herself with the love and confidence that she had in Amadour. ‘hath She did not dare, however, to open her heart to him, but he eqs, WO Suessed her thoughts well enough, lost no opportunity or ily be occasion to declare to her the deep love he bore her. When Ant by his importunity he had almost gained her over to receive a him rather as a favoured, than an expectant lover, a most oppor- hou tune accident oecurred ; for the king hastily ordered Amadour : he to come to the court_on some important.business,.which news _ | sq upset his wife when she heard.it, that she fainted away, and ual falling down from a staircase where she-then was, so set‘ously _Injured herself, that she never rose again....Florinda, who thus A j lost her solé"@onsoler, was as deeply affected as one would ‘ _ be, who felt herself destitute of all good friends and relations. d » Amadour seemed even more affected: for he lost not un’ only one of the best and chastest wives then existing, but he t0 also lost the means of ever again seeing Florinda ; which so Ae“ overcame him that he nearly died. The old Dowager om Duchess of Cardonne constantly visited him, and endea- ee outed, by pressing him with philosophical consolations, to70 TALES lighten his loss, and help him to patiently bear his grief, but with scant success, for if the death on the one side troubled him, love, on the other, only increased his grief. After Amadour had seen his wife buried, since the king demande his presence, he had no longer any excuse for staying, which so increased his despair, that he was like to lose his reason, Florinda, who in striving to console him was herself in the deepest anguish, spent the whole afternoon in talking with him in the kindest manner, hoping to modify his great grief; and she assured him that she would find the means to see him far ofteng than he fancied. As he had to leave early the next morning though he was so enfeebled that he could scarce leave his bed, he begged her to come and see him that evening, after al others had left him. This she promised him, forgetting that extreme love knows no season. He, who saw no hope of ever again seeing her whom he had so long worshipped, and fron whom he had never received any other treatment than what you have seen here, was so torn by his long-concealed love, and the despair that it gave him, that he resolved to play it double or quits, to “put it to the test, to win or lose it all,” and recom. pense himself in one hour by enjoying the fortune he deserved He caused his bed to be so hung with curtains that they who came into his room could not see-him; and complained much more than usual, so that, in fact, the people of the house. hold did not think he would survive another twenty-four hours. After every visitor had left him in the evening, Florinda, at the request of her husband, went to him, intending, in order to console him, to confess her love for him, and to tell him that she was resolved always to love him, as far as her honour would permit. When she had taken her. seat at the bed’s head, she began her consolations by weeping in concert with him, which made Amadour think, seeing her great grief and regret, that in this great trouble he could easily accomplish his aim. He therefore rose up mM bed ; but Florinda, seeing this, tried to prevent him, thinking him too weak. Then he, on his knees cried, ‘“ Must I forever lose sight of you?” saying which he fell into her arms, as ifhis strength had completely failed him. Poor Florinda embraced glgh the fy intel hoptage | anny a nak be atts tnd ay sig ¢0u She thet wag it the ant be th rele herca, much a8 tos: “1 hive tried the fore of mie deser' "And wl preached to Ab, ma love your | maid, J hen ny auelded, me for y you hear, ls them by lareyour he i lene to | ‘0luany pai lio me Usleted iitenge, inevill bl inl daaaled Ltng wha Me ot ever. ever | aN, 1 him, and supported him for a long time, exerting her utmostto console him, but the medicine that she gave him to amend hi® trouble only increased its violence, so that, in feigning to b half dead, and without speaking, he strove to accomplish th: tu Rea, ibe | leave aah Dassion PL of thigOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 71 his ¢ which the honour of a wife forbids. When Florinda saw his e trol bad intentions, scarcely able to credit it, after all the chaste f language he had held towards her, she asked him what, he was dem aiming at ; but Amadour fearing to face the answer she would ing, ti make if he told her his intentions, without a word, continued his 18 rea attempts with all the ardour he was capable of. ‘This so as- he dey tonished Florinda, that she imagined him out of his senses, vm in - and far olte mort e his alter {ting pe of and han 1 love, coubli nd reo desert they 1 ned ml ve hol enty:i — oe a = = = ead Flori nding, and n, as =A vken |. --weel x, set ouble e Up think [ fort as I mbré tmos rend | 1g t0' as she could not believe that he aimed at dishonouring her. She therefore called for the aid of a gentleman that she knew was in the room with her; which drove Amadour to despair, and he threw himself back into bed so suddenly that the gentleman thought he was dead. Florinda, who had risen from her chair, said, “‘Go quickly, and bring some strong vinegar,” which was immediately done. Then Florinda addressed him thus: “What folly has filled your brain? and what is this you - have tried to do?” Amadour, who had lost all control through the force of passion, said, ‘‘ Does so long and faithful service as mine deserve to be rewarded with such cruelty ?” ‘And where then is the honour you have so many times preached to me?” answered Florinda. ‘“‘ Ah, madame,” he sighed, “ it seems to me that one could not love your honour more than I do; and since before you were married, I so far conquered my passion that you never even knew my desires; now that you are married and your honour shielded, what wrong is there in wishing from you what is mine ? for you are mine by love’s force. He who has first won your heart, has so neglected the body, that he has deserved to lose them both. He who possesses your body is not worthy to have your heart, and, therefore, the body also is not his, nor does it belong to him. But I, madame, for five or six years have borne sO many pains and troubles for your sake, that you cannot deny that to me alone belong both body and heart, for which I have neglected mine own. If you attempt to defend yourself by conscience, never fear that they who have proved the passion of love will blame you, who have so long deprived me of liberty, and dazzled my senses by your divine charms, that, no longer knowing what to do, I am compelled to go away without any hope of ever seeing you again ; be assured, however, that where- ever I am, my heart will always wholly be yours, whether on land or sea, or in the hands of my cruellest enemies. But if before I leave you, you do but give me the recognition that my great passion deserves, I shall be strong enough to sustain the ‘sh i}:pains of this long absence. But if you refuse me my request,72 TALES you will soon hear it said that your cruelty has given me a gaf and cruel death.” Florinda, in tears, not less astonished than ashamed to heg such proposals from him whom she had never suspected of such thoughts, said to him, “ Alas, Amadour, are these the virtuous proposals that you have held to me during my youth ? Ts this the way you honour my conscience that you have go many times advised me rather to die than to neglect? Have you forgottenall those good examples you have held up to me of virtuous ladies why have resisted a criminal passion, and the disgust you have always shown for loose women. I cannot believe, Amadour, that you have so far forgotten yourself, that God and your conscience an{ my honour are quite dead to you. But if it is ag you say, I can only praise God for preventing the misfortune into which I Wag running, by showing me what your heart really is, in which I have been mistaken for so long; for since I have lost the son of the Mortunate Infante, not only because I have married another man, but because I know that he loves another woman, and having married a man whom I cannot love, though I have tried to do so, I had resolved to love you with all my heart, founding my affection on that virtue which I always thought you possessed, and which, I believe, I have attained by your means, and which is to love my honour and my conscience more than my very life. “I came hither to lay a sure foundation on this rock of honour, but, Amadour, in a moment you have shown me, that instead of a solid stone, I should have been building on soft and shifting sand, or on filthy mud ; and although I had already built up a great part of the house in which I hoped to live con: stantly, you have suddenly knocked it alldown. So you may give up all hopes of obtaining any favours from me 3 and remember that you are never to address me wherever I may be, either in words or by your eyes, and never hope for the slightest change in my feelings. I say. this to you with extreme regret, but even if I had gone so far as to have Sworn perfect friendship with you, Iam sure that my heart must have broken, seeing you so bankrupt in honour, although as it is, I am go astonished at being thus deceived in you, that I am quite sure my life will either be shortened or made very unhappy thereby, and with this I wish you an eternal farewell,” I cannot tell the grief that Amadour felt on hearing this; but seeing that she was leaving him with these, as he thought, cruel words, he seized her by the arm, knowing thal ie should | bl ont onus adam pond, nab vheth psy that tis 1 [hare sof much 1 70 Torinda, ibd not € aa aud 1 fa, marie pat and dine, and if you vould n tg t0 ff mews which tlstly tho mich delive Then she ng n tear tit she cou tel her to itt her 1 W teh ag tl Tet hea neat and biowtal » bi lei but g tl fn regal ;OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 73 mea; he should lose her for ever if he could not disabuse her of the bad opinion she had of him, and said with the most sancti: 1 to) monious face he could put on: lofy ‘‘ Madame, it has all my life been my wish to love a virtuous virty Woman, and because I can find so few of them, I wished to find [st out whether you were as worthy of being loved for your virtue ny ti #8 you are of being loved for yourself. Now I can thank God ota that this is the case, and I must beg you to pardon me for what ce I have so foolishly and rashly done, since it has turned out so realy Much to your honour and to my satisfaction.” tha; Florinda, who was beginning to find out how wicked men ence: Were, by his conduct, was just as slow to believe in good where ay, || it did not exist as she had been to believe in evil where it did ch]; €xist, and replied, ‘‘ Would to God that your words were true, n yj but, married woman as I am, I know well that the force of . the; P28sion and moral blindness have made you act as you have mat @one, and if God had withdrawn his hand from me, I am sure “won YOu would not have tried to bridle my passion. Those who are hI] trying to find out what virtue really is, do not use those y hy Means which you have used. But it is enough, that, if I have thoy 100lishly thought well of you formerly, the time has now come by i which delivers me from you.” vem, , hen she had said this she left the room and spent the whole night in tears, for she felt this change in his conduct so deeply ‘ho “hat she could hardly bear it, for however much her reason “ing UTed her to love him no more, her ungovernable heart went soft: 2S4nst_her reason, and so, as.she could not help loving him alm 28 much as ever, she made up her mind to love him with live ¢ all her heart,..but for her honour’s sake never to let it nay ROA 5 and the next morning Amadour went away very ment S02rowtul ; his great heart however would not allow him to “aha despair, but suggested to him a new device for seeing Florinda * eh 224 for regaining her favour. So in going to court he took nett Aranda on his way, where he arrived very late one evening, ent’ and found the countess so distressed at the absence of her “00 daughter, that it had made her’ quite ill, When she saw 4 of Amadour she embraced him just as if he had been her own son, life’ both on account of the love she felt for him and also on account iq of that which he felt for Florinda, for news of whom she asked him very eagerly, and he told her as much as he could, but not everything, though he confessed his love for her, and 8 “begged that he might often hear about her. The next morning ig be set out again, and after having transacted his business at I ca4 TALES court, he went to the wars, but he was so sad and changed that the ladies and leaders with whom he had been intimat hardly knew him again; he wore only black clothes—and these gf atexture which was much coarser than was necessary—on account of his wife’s death, though this served as a pretext for his sac: ness. Thus he spent three or four years without returning ty court; and the countess, having heard how sadly change Florinda was, wished her to return to her, but Florinda woul not, for when she heard that Amadour had confessed thei mutual love, and that her mother, discreet and virtuous ag she was, approved of it, she was greatly perplexed, as on th one hand she thought that if she told her mother it might cause Amadour some unpleasantness, and she would rather hay lied than have done that, for she thought she was quite able to punish his folly without the aid of her relations; and on the other hand she perceived that if she concealed the truth, her mother and friends would oblige her to talk to him and to mex him with pleasant looks, whereby she thought that she would only strengthen his bad opinion of her. However, as he was far away she said nothing about it, and wrote him when ¢he countess wished it, but her letters showed that she wrote unde constraint and not of her own accord, so that he was quite vexed when he read them instead of being pleased as he for. merly was. At the end of two or three years, after he had performed so many valiant exploits that all the papers in Spain could not contain them, he thought of a stratagem, not to re gain her heart, which he thought he had wholly lost, but t triumph over his enemy, since she showed herself so towards him ; and so, setting aside reason,and even the fear of death, he formed this plan. He managed to be sent by the governor to speak to the king about certain enterprises which were to be undertaken against Leucate, and communicated this to the Countess of Aranda before he informed the king, and pretending that he wished for her advice in the matter, he posted to the county of Aranda, as he knew that Florinda was with het mother, and sent a friend secretly to tell her of his coming, requesting her to keep the matter a Secret, and to grant him ai interview at night, without anyone knowing about it. The countess was very glad to hear of his coming and told Florinda of it, sending her to her husband’s room to undress, so that she might be ready when she sent for her after everyone had retired, Florinda, who had not got over her first fear, did not mentill it to her mother, but went into an oratory to pray that sli ght be how often jel iit dees, 40 rat 8 D tue oy nring sole, a aul a ptt hauage ptt 100 tiking he wag lone a ag te Was nolan he + bola spok qe wueha [am not 20 supe, an ofan anal, 1 te “The Fl caged, and Heist loochau intin thes acer his min shan a Wi dt g as | On | ; Me er | abl on! ith, O Y Woh het hen | 6 Ul g dl 4 = ost =e =— =a =, x_ he bi 1 Sit , tl but owal ath, mot » tf {0 | ent to! ih | ot ni ori) at ati ont it i OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 75 might be preserved from ali weakness, and then remembering how often Amadour had praised her beauty, which had not diminished in spite of her long illness, she resolved rather to disfigure it herself than to allow it to increase his criminal desires, and so she took a large stone and struck herself so violent a blow with it that her mouth, eyes, and=nose-were-all disfigured. In order, however, that no one might guess” this, on leaving the chapel she threw herself down on a large stone, and when her mother, hearing her cries, found her in such a pitiable state, she at once had her face dressed and bandaged, and begged her to go and entertain Amadour in her private room, till she had got rid of her company. She did so, thinking he had somebody with him, but when she found he was alone and the door was closed, she was just as much vexed as he was pleased, thinking that now, through love or by violence, he would have what he had desired so long. After he had spoken to her for a short time and found that she was quite unchanged, he said to her in despair, “‘ By God! madame, I am not going to lose the fruit of all my labours through your scruples, and since my love, patience, and humble prayers are of no avail, I will use force to enjoy that without which I must die.” = _ When Florinda saw that his countenance was altogether changed, and had become as red as fire, and instead of its usual pleasant look had become furious and horrible, and that he seized her weak and delicate hands in his strong ones, and that she had no means of defence as he held her hands and feet so tightly that she could neither flee nor defend herself, and did not know what to do, unless it were to try whether there were not some remains of his former love in him, which might make him forget his cruelty, she said; “Amadour, if now you look upon me as your enemy, I beseech you, by that honour- able love which you formerly felt for me, to listen to me before you outrage me.” And when she saw that he was listening she continued: “Alas, Amadour, why do you seek for that which, whilst it can give you no pleasure, will overwhelm me with grief and disgrace? You knew my feelings so well in the time of my youth and when my beauty was at its height, which might have served as an excuse for your passion, that I wonder that now at my age, as disfigured as I am, you should wish to trouble me, for my sentiments are just the same, and you will only get what you, want by violence. Look at my face, forget what I was like and you will lose all desire to have76 TALES anything further to do with me, and if there is a spark of loyg left in your heart, pity must overcome your passion. And] appeal for mercy to that pity and to that honour of which yoy have given me so many proofs. If the love which you had fy me is turned into hatred, and if, more out of vengeance than affection, you want to make me one of the most unhapp women in the world, I tell you that it shall not happen bi that against my will, you will force me to tell your wickedness and oe le lust to her who has such a high opinion of ou, and remember ti 1 yo . —— if this comes to her knowledge, your Amadour said: “If I must die, I sh once, but this disfigurement of aus nubeeoh oy ea ‘ your own work, shall not prevent me effecting my pur eal if I could only have your bones, I should Ee os & call 4 close beside me.”” When she saw that neither ditt Sebi’ ~ ments nor tears availed, Florinda, as a last resour 4 allel out as loudly as she could for her mother, who | ie s a ee tet il guessed what might be the ance cf went into the room as quick Be asutiesdtear aging a s ly as she could, and Amadour who countess on opening the door of i the door, and Florinda at a good boeeene Mini a a ‘ him what was the matter, and as he was always fertil ‘ Pie 4 tion he answered that he did not know what had come toFl indi for he thought she liked him, but now found out tl ¢ se not the case, for she would not even allow hi t 1 ae and when, according to the custom of the ao tt tea to kiss her hand, she absolutely refuse Te pees Legg he a tried to kiss her hand fo one wrong, he had resolved a his ie be au he eau - that, since she ve the countess’s good-will ag he REE ‘lost Flori cr 0 The countess who partly believed and a : her daughter why she had called out § be fot ae that she had been frightened, and ast ee ane she tol her many more questions, she could set e* Ser mother asked her, for she thought he had been suificientle enor om talking with her for some time 6 th cal Pushed, Al told her mother the truth and ee a oe place in her heart, at least nobody ah ie as he had no Florinda answered that she would not Hi Sut, find one thera he had forced her to do so, and that shear, called out unles Should never love, ai reibly, in which he had said, let her go at once so that the | d. He persisted that, ” nes Was 28 sume, bu her nd {0 henll mort ly whom Mus lady et ou death of su von gee at, notice she had done who nas an nid to Kall lerchange o stones told. te answered tee hours, hat she woul Wel,” w we lie, why lat you hop [ould be to we, the more death,” leannhile tatened to lieing to ile of Cast tperenced | tad did n fe them 90 i the yan} i turing tl “tch despx of |p Ant hich y 1 had! nee thi unhay pen, | kedne inion Be, Jo "pain alieve p0se, | ve tli a8, al , cal ‘ing | er, fl our W that | him! 16 ask f inv lorint his - at lk want xd. the he bi she fi » rel 1, asi ‘old tr di er A hav! had | y the unle ove, # [ Se —— | t mam —= OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 17 she had been so deceived in him whom she had thought so virtuous, and that she should for ever banish every feeling of love from her heart. Her mother, who had been watching them, saw from her face that she no longer cared for Amadour, and thought this un- reasonable, as she fancied that Florinda hated everything that she herself was fond of, and so for seven years she never spoke kindly to her, and all this at Amadour’s request. During all that time Florinda, in order to escape from her mother’s harsh- ness, was reconciled to her husband whom she had formerly shunned, but finding that nothing was of any avail, she made up her mind to deceive Amadour, and so for a few days she showed herself more kind to him, and advised him to make love to a lady whom she had told of their mutual affection. This lady who was called Loretta, and who belonged to the queen’s household, was very delighted at having gained the heart of such a lover, and showed it so openly that it was soon generally known. The Countess Aranda, who was at court, noticed it herself, and so left off worrying Florinda as she had done, but she hearing one day that Loretta’s husband, who was an officer, was very jealous and had made up his mind to kill Amadour by some means or other, she, in spite of her change of feeling towards him could not wish him any ill, and at once told him of this. He was so eager to return to her that he answered that if she would allow him a daily interview of three hours, he would never speak another word to Loretta, but she would not agree to this. “Well,” was Amadour’s reply, “as you do not wish to make me live, why do you wish to prevent my dying unless it be that you hope to torture me a thousand times more alive, than I could be tortured in death? But the more death flees from me, the more I shall seek it, for I shall find no repose except in death.” Meanwhile news arrived that the King of Grenada had threatened to make war on the King of Spain, which obliged the king to send his son against him, together with the Con- stable of Castile and the Duke of Alba, who were two old and experienced lords. The Duke of Cardonne and the Count of Aranda did not wish to be left behind and begged the king to give them some command. He gave them what was suitable to their rank and entrusted them to the care of Amadour, who, during the war, performed such astonishing acts as testified £8 much despair as bravery His rashness cost him his life,78 TALES for the Moors having made a feint, pretended to flee before thy Spanish army, but the old Constable of Castile and the Duke of Alba prevented the Prince of Spain against his will, fron crossing the river, but the Count of Aranda and the Duke q Cardonne crossed it although they had orders not to do When the Moors saw that they were pursued by such a smal body of men they turned round and charged, killing the Duke of Cardonne with a single blow of a scimitar, and wounding the rount so severely that he was left for dead on the field Amadour, coming up, cut his way through the enemy furiously, and had the two bodies taken up and carried into the camp, When they were examined it was found that the Count of Aranda was still alive and so he was sent in a litter to hig ow house, where he was retained for a long time as an invalid The body of the young duke was taken to Cardonne, and when Amadour had done all he could to rescue his two friends, he paid so little heed to himself that he was surrounded bya large number of Moors, and he, neither wishing to be taken any more than he could take his mistress, or to become a rene. gade to his creed, resolved not to give his enemies either the glory of his death or of hig capture, and so, kissing the cross hilt of his sword, and commending. his..soul..to_God, he plunged it into his body with such violence that there Was 00 need of a second blow. Thus died poor Amadour, as much respected as his virtues deserved. The news was soon known all over Spain, and Florinda who was then at Barcelona where her husband had formerly requested that he might be buried, when she had seen this done with much pomp, without saying anything to her mother or mother-in-law taking Him for her husband and friend who had delivered her from a love so violent ag Amadour’s, and from the disa ness of having to live with such a husband, all her affections to the love and having lived for a long time ag soul to Him with the same husband. greeable- So she devoted Service of God, and after & nun, she surrendered up het joy that a bride receives ‘het “Tam afraid, ladies, that you may h tedious, but it would have been much ave found this long story longer if I had told it , retired into a convent of Jesus, | Do you What this easy ( Yo, Wi at an toy and. 1 and everenc Auftedant duming-1000 leone them, ten so di feria of fnthem, but lat they ar wires 18 0 dud the They have ag inay ftom ight to be Inoue suffer “Though Livaring re would oaly ir It ] shoul Wal mankin as it was told me, and [I beg of yo virtues without being so cruel as to ca man, and to make your own lives unh u, to imitate Florinda’ use the death of a noble appy.”before the ]}) will, f 9 Duk to do h a ol 1¢ Duk nding: the fi - furiol the cil Count to his mn inv and t friends nded | . be ti me at ies él cissing | LO Got are was his vith Spail | sband | mn she! ny thin 5 of Je livered sagretl he det and # red. Up elves Jong 8 rad. tol Florit! of a nl OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 73 “Do you not think,” said Parlamente speaking to Hircan, “that this lady was tried to the utmost and resisted most virtuously ?” ‘‘ No,” was his answer; ‘‘for a woman cannot do less than to ery out, and if she had not been heard I do not know what she would have done, and if Amadour had not been more frightened than in love he would not have desisted from his enterprise so easily, and I maintain that no man ever loved perfectly or was really loved, who did not obtain all he wanted, if he only set the right way about it. But I must praise Amadour for having done his duty in some measure.” “ How so?” said Oisille, ‘Do you call that doing your duty to try and violate your mistress, whom you ought to esteem and reverence so highly ?” Saffredant replied : ‘‘ When our mistresses are in their with- drawing-rooms, seated as our judges, we are on our knees before them, and when we lead them out to dance we serve them so diligently that we anticipate all their wishes, and are so fearful of offending them that often we must appear foolish to them, but in private when love is the only judge, we know that they are women and we are men, and there the word mistress is changed into amie, and humble servant into lover. And so the proverb says: ‘ Well to serve and loyal to be, Raiseth a servant to mastery.’ They have as much honour as men can give them and take away irom them, and seeing what they make us endure, we ought to be recompensed when they can do it without their honour suffering.” “Though everybody thought I was a virtuous woman,” Longarine replied, “and I knew I was not, their praises would only increase my shame, whilst if my conscience were pure, I should never really be unhappy though calumniated by all mankind.” ‘T think,” said Guebron, “though you have left me nothing to say, that Amadour was a most perfect knight, and though he has been given a feigned name, I believe I recognise him but will not mention him, and I will only add that if it is 4 whom I think, his heart never felt fear, nor never felt ove.” “T think,” said Oisille, “that this day has been spent very pleasantly, and that if we go on so, the time will seem to pass| 80 TALES very quickly. The sun is low and you have heard that th abbey bell has rung for vespers a long time ago, but I di not remind you of it, as I was less anxious to hear Vespers than the end of this story.” When she had said this they aj rose, and when they got to the abbey they found that th monks had been waiting for them for more than an hour, After vespers they supped, and all the evening they talked og the tales they had heard, and tried to recollect others, so that the second day might be as pleasant as the first. After having indulged in various sports in the meadow, they all went 4 bed, and thus their first day ended very happily. Ths net d alae they | Pal bad thet {fer Madan mas, they dories {0 et dinn ree, Parl he 18 am i Madame ( vast I, to-d unt dish), ttmple We gh dngas ve did htdo not Je "To need Nt] ng 90 hte bya. Th ared clan, of HOMongrd that , but | lear vey his thy d that n an | y talke or'S, 80 | fter hay ull went OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 8] DECOND DAY THE next day they got up very eager to return to the spot where they had been so well amused the day before, for they all had their tales ready and were anxious to relate them. After Madame Oisille had read to them, and they had attended mass, they dined, and during the meal recalled any other Stories to mind. After dinner they went to repose a little and then at the appointed time they all went to the meadow, where it seemed that the weather and the day were especially favourable to them. After they were all seated on the natural couch of verdure, Parlamente said: “Ag I yesterday related the tenth novel, it is my turn to call on the first person for to-day. And as Madame Oisille began yesterday, as being the oldest and wisest, I, to-day, shall call on the youngest (I will not say the most foolish), and I am assured that if we all follow her example we shall not keep the monks waiting for vespers as long as we did yesterday. Therefore, N omerfide, I call on you, but do not let us begin the day with tears.” “You need not have asked me that,” Nomerfide replied, “for T was going to tell you a tale which was related to me last year by a lady of Tours who is a native of Amboise, and Who assured me that she was present at the sermons of the Franciscan, of which I am going to give you an account.” NOVEL XI. FACETIOUS SAYINGS OF A FRANCISCAN IN HIS SERMONS. Near the town of Bleré, in Touraine, there is a village named Y e e : St. Martin le Beau, where a Franciscan of Tours was ¢alled on-to preach the Advent and Lent sermons. This Franciscan, who had F82 TALES more gabble than learning, finding himself sometimes short of matter, would contrive to eke out his hour by telling tales which were not altogether disagreeable to the good villagers, Preaching on Holy Thursday on the Pascal Lamb, when he had to state that it was eaten at night, seeing among the congrega- tion some handsome young ladies newly arrived from Amboige with the intention of spending Easter at the village, he wished to surpass himself, and asked of all the women if they knew what it was to eat raw meat at-night. “If you don’t, I will tell you, ladies,” said he. The young men of Amboise, who had come, some with their wives, others with their sisters and nieces, and who were not acquainted with the monk’ humour, began to be scandalised ; but after having heard him further, instead of being shocked, they laughed, especially when /he told them that to eat the Pascal Lamb it was necessary to have (one’s loins girt, one’s feet in one’s shoes, and a hand on one’s staff. The Franciscan seeing then laugh, and guessing why, immediately corrected himself. “Well, then, shoes on one’s feet, and one’s staff in one’s hand,” said he. “ Buttered bread, and bread buttered—is it not allone?” How this was received Isleave you to guess. The Franciscan, perceiving that his hour was nearly out, made new efforts to divert the ladies, and gave them reason to be pleased with him. “ By-and-by, ladies,” he said to them, “when you are chatting with your gossips, you will ask them who is this master friar who speaks so boldly! He is a jovial companion, I warrant. I tell you, ladies, be not astonished—no, be not astonished if I speak boldly, for I am of Anjou, at your service.” So saying he ended his sermon, leav- ing his audience more disposed to laugh at his absurdities than to weep over the Passion of our Lord, the commemoration of which they were then celebrating. a His other sermons during the holidays were pretty much of the like efficacy. You know that the brethren of that order g0 about making their collections to get their Easter egos, as they say. Not only have they no lack of these, but people give them besides many other things, such as linen, yarn, chitterlings, hams, griskins, and go forth, On Easter Tuesday, when he was making his exhortation to charity, of which people f his sort are no niggards, he said, “TI am bound, ladies, to thank you for the charities you have bestowed on our poor con- vent, but I cannot help remarking to you that you have not You have given us, for the most duly considered our wants. part, nothing but chitterlings, of which, thanks be to God, we fave 0 8 suall ve d slat We 8 } ix your orth acoe Then, ¢¢ : alent of adduced 80 pve, Jad tiled at a atalk of me lave though hy’ daugt shout, truly wonder! B t be much vith child "Such lac ied the Lord’ coumitted th ww should be ifte glory “Te Was. “aud there} anal whe wid good. ‘Tdo not ¢ ithans insta ht If any loa, as Alons Would had her b; Uitjust th We text ag “people mh Y Thege Iheang Se a ag nee i= =7¢ — — Unt | do Not it thoge. ita like Mey yell = Ss - SS SS aes = ed foreshort ing td village nm he bi ongree Ambo 16 Wish rey t, LY who hi ters al moni eard hi ally whi y to ba on oll ing wh on oli ed brei 5 recell his he and gil dies,” S1ps, | ) bold| 8, bel r I an on, lé ties th ration muel order! eggs, it pel n, ye Tues sh pet ladies, poor (i have! he pail God, i OF ©LHE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 83 have no scarcity, the convent being choke-full of them. What : shall we do, then, with such lots of chitterlings? Do you know what we shall do with them? It ig my advice, ladies, that you mix your hams.with our chitterlings, and your alms willbe worth accepting.” Then, continuing his sermon, he contrived to introduce the subject of scandal. After having expatiated upon it, and adduced some examples, he cried out, with warmth, “‘I am sur- prised, ladies and gentlemen of St. Martin, that you are scan- dalised at a thing that is less than nothing, and that you make a talk of me everywhere without any reason, saying, ‘Who would have thought it of the father, that he should have got his land- lady’s daughter with child?’ That is a thing to be astonished about, truly. A monk has got a girl with child! What a wonder! But hark you, fair ladies, would you not have reason to be much more surprised if the girl had got the monk with child ?” ‘‘Such ladies, was the fare with which this good shepherd fed the Lord’s flock, and he was so impudent that after having committed the sin he recounted it from the pulpit, where noth- ing should be said but what is for the sanctification of men, and to the glory of God.” “He was what I call a first-rate monk,” said Saffredant, “and there is nothing to choose between. him and brother Anjibault, who is responsible for all the funny things which are said_in_ good. company.” “I do not think,” Hircan said, “that he was wrong in asking for hams instead of for chitterlings, because there is more in them. If any devout lady had understood the monk amphi- biologically, as I believe he intended, neither he nor his com- panions would have been badly off, any more than the wench who had her bag full.” ‘But just think of his impudenee,” said Oisille, “in pervert- ing the text as he liked,. because he.thought.that..he was dealing with people who was.as brutalised.as he was himself, and might y these means corrupt the poor silly women to eat raw meat at night.” “ You do not remember,” said Simontault, “that he had be- fore him those young tripe sellers of Amboise, in whose tub he would have liked to wash his—shall I mention it ’—no, for you know very well what I mean ; but he would also have liked te84 TALES make them taste it, not wasted it, but all lively and irisking to give them the more pleasure.” : “Gently, gently, Seigneur Simontault,” was Parlamente’s answer, “you are forgetting yourself! Have you lost your accustomed modesty, which you know so well how to use at times ?” * No, madame,” he said, ‘‘but the indecent monk did make me forget myself. But to return to what weare about. I shall re. quest Nomerfide, who is the cause of my error, to call on some- body who will make the company forget our common fault.” “ As you make me a partner in your fault,” Nomerfide replied, ‘‘T will call upon one who will make all right again, I mean Dagoucin, who is so well behaved, that he would rather die than say anything improper.” Dagoucin thanked her for her good opinion of him and said: “The story I am about to relate, will show you how love blinds the noblest and greatest souls, and how difficult it is to over- come wickedness by any amount of kindness.” NOVEL XII. THE INCONTINENCE OF A DUKE, AND HIS EFFRONTERY IN ORDER TO ATTAIN HIS OBJECT, AND THE JUST PUNISHMENT WHICH OVERTOOK HIM. SomE time ago there was a duke in Florence, of the house of Medicis, who had married Madame Marguerite, natural daughter of the Emperor Charle- V., and as she was too young for him to sleep with her, he treated_her very tenderly, and to spare her, he made love to some other ladies of the city, whom he went.to see whilst his wife was sleeping. Among others was a virtuous and beautiful lady, sister of a gentleman, whom the duke loved as himself, and to whom he gave such authority that his commands were respected and obeyed like his own, and with whom he shared his inmost secrets, so that he might be said to be the duke’s second self. The duke, seeing that his friend’s sister was a highly virtuous woman, had neither opportunity nor courage to declare the love he bore her, although he had tried every imaginable expedient, and was, therefore, compelled to have recourse to her brother’ gist aC oat: “I youll no mn, Or dl 19 $0 aol sae on shoul ne 1 a8 & lily fp Tam hig reduce lich I ca by means The gent ant by the or, Ta Laiour-tha pond your dis be bore to lithe had bys perm wih help, Therefore, a a —s => GS ot Es (Honour 9 éduke inf lsvered in SS SeKing ment: St ol ) Use| ake 1 shall r n sot ult.” replic I me die thi 1d sail re bl to on OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, 8& assistance. He, therefore, addressed him in the following man- ner: “If there were anything in the world, my friend, which I would not do for you, I should fear to confess my whim to you, and, more than all, to ask you to help me. But my love for you is so great that, if I had a wife, mother, or daughter who could save your life, I would willingly sacrifice them rather than you should die in pain; and I believe that the love you bear me is as great as mine for you ; and if I, your master, esteem you sq highly, you should make me at least an equal return. ~“'There- fore Tam about to confide to you a secret, the keeping of which has reduced me to the state in which you now see me, and from which I can only hope for deliverance by the hand of death, or by means of the service I now ask you to render me.” The gentleman, moved to compassion by his master’s appeal and by the sight of his tear-stained face, answered him: “My lord, Iam your creature; to you I owe all the wealth and honour-that-T-have-in-the world : you can speak to me as to your dear friend, with full confidence that my utmost efforts are at your disposal.” The duke thereupon confessed the deep love he bore to his friend’s sister,a@ love so great and so_powerful, that he had no hope of life unless, by her brother’s assistance, he was permitted to enjoy her; for he well knew, that without such help, neither prayers nor presents would be any good. Therefore, he begged, that if his favourite loved the duke’s life as the duke loved his, he would find means to enable his master to enjoy a pleasure without which life would be worthless. The brother who loved his sister and the honour of his house more than the duke’s pleasure, implored him not to make him the instrument of the dishonour of his own family, as his heart and honour alike forbade him to undertake such a service ; but the duke inflamed with unbearable rage only bit his nails, and answered in a towering passion, “Since I find no friendship in you, I know what I have to do.” The gentleman, knowing his master’s cruel character, was afraid and said, “My lord, since it pleases you, I will speak to. her,and will let you know her answer.” The duke then went away saying, “If you cherish my life, so will I-yours.” The gentleman knew too well the meaning of these words, and kept away from the duke for a few days, in order to gain time to devise some means of escape from his difficulty. On the one hand, he remembered the duty he owed to his master, the wealth and honours he had received at his hands; and on the36 TALES other, he considered the honour of his house, the virtue and chastity of his sister, which he knew very well she would never consent to sacrifice, unless overcome by deceit or violence, meang which he could never think of employing, having regard to the disgrace which might be entailed upon him and his thereby. In conclusion, he resolved that he would rather die than betray his sister, who was one of the most virtuous women:in Ttaly: >and determined that he would deliver his country of a tyrant who wished by force to sully the honour of his house ; for he felt convinced that, unless the death of the duke were brought. to pass, neither his own life nor that of his family would be safe. Therefore, without uttering a word to his sister or to any living creature, he made up his mind to take his life, and avert the shame by those means ; and, at the end of two days went to the duke and told him that, after much trouble, he had brought his sister to consent to submit, pro- vided that the whole affair should be kept a profound secret, The duke had no difficulty in believing what he desired 0 eagerly, and, embracing his emissary, promised him whatever he might choose to ask, and urged him to lose no time in com- pleting the arrangements, which they there and then planned. When the duke found the night had arrived which was to place within his grasp the victory of which he had long de- spaired, he withdrew early with his favourite, and did not for- get to array himself in scented garments, and to the greatest possible advantage. And when everyone had retired to rest, he accompanied the gentleman to the lady’s house, where he was conducted into a superb apartment. Here his favourite re- lieved him of his dressing-gown, and put him to bed, saying, “My lord, I am going to seek her who will not enter this room without blushing ; but I hope that before morning she will be assured of you.” He left the duke and went to his own room, where he found one of his servants to whom he said, ‘‘ Have you the heart to follow me to a place where I wish to avenge myself on the worst enemy I have in the world ?” The other, little sus- pecting what he was wanted to do, answered, “ Yes, my lord, were it against the duke himself,” Straightway the gentleman hurried him away without giving him time to take any weapon but the poniard he already wore. When the duke heard him return, believing that he brought. him her whom he loved. «a dearly, he opened the curtains to greet her whom he had awaited so patiently, but only saw her brother approach him with a drawn sword, with which he struck the duke, who though dol i int gelZe ou keep | hat is tee hinsell Wi othe bed. ele bis s telood hth by th pn, tr muti be wa none, iat bed, dren fe cu = hen he death he th at is tah lar fash Tnttat end, telad done rather cours il warmed, rtdered tir thne toa bis vt it had } lero —- —_> —S ar ca ; = —tue atl Id neve @, edt d. to th aby. n betti by 5-4 int Wil he fe ight | uld_b ster 0. ke hy he en r mud nit, pI L secre sired f vhatere in col lannel 1 was | long ¢ 1 not io 3 reali d to 18 whele! ourite! ‘ ay ying; * on withet Ne Assi om, whe 0 you b mysel ( little f my lot gentle OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 87 simply in his shirt and unarmed, courageously started up in bed and seized the gentleman round the body saying, “‘Is this how you keep your promise?” And seeing that he had no weapons but his teeth and nails he bit the gentleman’s thumb, and defended himself with such effect that they both fell together by the side of the bed. The gentleman, who did not feel too confident, called his servant, who, finding the duke and his master so in- terlaced that he did not know which to select, drew them both by the feet to the middle of the room, and, with his poniard, tried to cut the throat of the duke, who struggled until he was so feeble from loss of blood that he could fight no more. Then the gentleman and the servant put him back into bed, where they finished killing him with their poniards, drew the curtains, and departed, leaving the dead body behind them. When he had achieved this victory over his enemy, by whose death he thought to set the republic at liberty, he considered that his task would remain incomplete if he did not act.ina similar fashion towards five or six near relations of the duke. To that end, he told his servant to fetch them one by one, ag he had done in the case of the duke; but the servant, who was neither courageous nor foolish enough, replied, “It seems to me, my lord, that you have done enough for the present, and that you would do better to think of saving your own life than of taking the lives of others ; for, if we should take as long to kill each one of them as we did to kill the duke, the day would overtake us before we had time to finish, even if we should find all unarmed.” The gentleman, whom a bad conscience had rendered timid, listened to his servant’s advice, and took him alone to a bishop, whose office it was to control the opening of the gates and the conduct of the post-masters. The gentleman said to him, “I have received news this evening that my brother is at the point of death. I have just obtained the duke’s leave to go to him; and I therefore request you to give me an order to the post-masters to supply me with two good horses, and to the gate-keepers to open the gates to me.” ‘The bishop, who revered the request of the duke, his master, as | though it had been his command, straightway gave him an order, by virtue of which the gates were opened and the horses delivered to him, as he had requested ; and instead _ of going to see his brother he went straight to Venice, where he had him- self cured of the bites inflicted wpon him by the duke, and then went on to Turkey.8§ TALES In the morning, the duke’s servants, seeing that he had not returned, suspected that he had gone to see somebody, but as the time wore on, began to make search for him in all directions The poor duchess, who was beginning to love him deeply, wal in great distress when she learned that they could not find him But, when it was discovered that his favourite also failed t¢ put in an appearance, they went to his house to seek him, and finding blood at the door of his room, they entered, but could find neither master nor servant to give them any tidings, Then, following the traces of blood, they came to the door of the room where the duke lay. Bursting open the door, which was locked, they saw that the room was covered with blood, and on drawing aside the curtains of the bed, the duke wag revealed to them sleeping the slumber that knows no end, You can imagine the grief of these poor servants, who carried the body to the palace, where the bishop shortly arrived, and recounted how the gentleman had gone away in the night, under the pretext of going to see his brother. Thus it became clearly known who had perpetrated the murder. It was also proved that the poor sister could have known nothing about it, She, however much she was astonished at the unforeseen occur- rence, loved her brother the more, for he had not hesitated to risk his own life to deliver her from the clutches of her princely enemy. She continued to lead the same virtuous and eX- emplary life, so that when she was reduced to poverty by the confiscation of their house, she and her sister found husbands as honourable and rich as any in Italy, and have lived ever since in the highest and best-esteem. Here is a warning, ladies, against that little god who so infatuates all sorts and conditions of men and women that they forget God and their conscience, and even the care of their own lives. Princes should fear to do harm to the least of their inferiors. There is no man powerless to hurt, when God wishes to punish the sinner, nor any whose might will enable him to harm him who is under divine protection, = This story produced very different opinions —the ladies advocating the conduct of the gentleman as that of a good brother and a virtuous citizen > and the gentlemen censuring him for his ingratitude and disloyalty. Guebron declared, “For my part, I can safely swear that I once loved a woman so much that I would have died rather than have done anything capable of diminishing the esteem in which | held her, My love was s0 ={ huned Upc mg! then fm he. Caftedant 1 any 10 bi voted t noeie NADY hing they le means nor inthe gasp 0 lan 10 love 1 biter to love “Patmente ped to d ED PRAT OR IN LOY. se tine of Fa ry devo) , I i lke ch lig bung. 4 iat he had ta order not Me, EE = Mu of his oy tt nd divey Us the g uence ¢ I I bapper Rone PlenaOF THE QUEEN OF NAVAKRE. 89 ne hilt founded upon her virtues, that I would not have seen a stain dy, bil upon them for the most precious favours I could have obtained direct from her.” eepl,i Saffredant laughed at this, and rallied him upon his incon- tind stancy to his wife, since he used “the very phrases we are ) failel nccustomed to employ to dupe the most subtle of dames, and him, under favour of which we obtain a hearing from the most dis- but ci creet. Where is she who will close her ears when we begin our y tidy appeals with honour and virtue? If we were to lay bare our e dot hearts, there are many of us now welcomed by ladies, whom ot, whithey would not then deign to recognise. But we cover our h blodevil with the purest angel we can find, ‘and under that guise juke wWeceive many favours, and perhaps even lead the ladies go far no ethinking they are going straight to virtue, they have neither 10 cart the means nor the time to draw back when they find themselves rived, iim the grasp of vice. But, after all, is there any virtue sweeter he nig than to love in the way God has ordained ? It seems to me it bea better to love a woman as a woman, than as an idol.” + wasi Parlamente having been selected to give the next story, she g aboil proceeded to do so. seen 00! vesitatel es er pit us. all arty bt NOVEL XIII. dd hust , livel( PHB CAPTAIN OF A GALLEY, UNDER THE CLOAK OF DEVOTION, FELL IN LOVE WITH A LADY, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. rod wi wn that! In the time of the Queen Regent, mother of Francis I., there of the! Was a very devout lady in her household who was married to a oat fe of like character.. And although her husband was old, he | and she. young-and-pretty, yet she waited upon him and loved vil nim as if he had been. the handsomest young man in the world, =—and in order not to cause him any uneasiness, she lived like a wo of his _own. age and shunned all company, fine dresses, _-the b ie and diversions, such as young women are generally fond it of ; . making the service of God_ her sole pleasure and recreation. 0 ane of this her husband loved and trusted her, so slate No e “i him and his house just as she pleased. -paying more attention to her than to her words,.fell-so violently in love with her, that, whilst he was speaking to her he often con- founded the port of Marseilles with the Archipelago, and-spoke of a horse when he meant to speak of a ship, just like a man who was beside himself; but he did not dare to tell her of his passion; and so, through having to dissemble it, the flames of his love grew so fierce that he often became ill in consequence, and the lady who looked upon him ag her guide, and thoughtas highly of him as of a cross by the wayside, sent so often to ask after him, that the very fact of her interest in him cured him without any medicine. But many people who saw that. this captain, who had rather the reputation of being a brave man and a good fellow than a good Christian, was on such intimate terms with the lady, were much astonished, and when they noticed that he was in the habit of going to church, and con- fession, and of hearing sermons, they guessed that he did this to ingratiate himself with the lady, and could not help hinting as much to him. He, fearing that if the lady heard this mentioned it might estrange her from him, told her and her husband that he had many things to Say to them, as he wasoll the point of being sent off on the expedition by the king, and consequently of leaving the court, but ag he Wished this matter to be kept secret, he would no longer Speak to him or his wife bie an700 oie forth the gout ary ety &Y (| ther peo edatout the ply se gaa theo vite ate by the S- -=_ q a lang got tah of adventOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 91 said: before anybody, but begyed him to send for him when they had t hast retired for the night. jortion’ The gentleman approved of his idea, and went to bed very ou 0 early every evening, and made his wife undress, and then when ou,’ all their people had_ retired, he would send for the captain to voied Wtalk about their journey to Jerusalem, and he would.often. fall the ndevoutly asleep in the course of the conversation. The captain een aiseeing the old gentleman asleep in bed, and being himself n thelSeated by the bedside of her whom he looked upon as the most pwns weautiful and charming woman in the world, was so oppressed Thigetween fear and the desire to declare himself, that he often d whepst all power of speech, but, so that she should not notice it, after 1e would talk about the holy places in Jerusalem, where are to Jeruswe seen the memorials of the great love that our Lord bore to The cas. And whilst he spoke of this love he managed to conceal 1d proms own, and looked at the lady with tears and sighs which she _ Helid not think of, but seeing how devout he apparently was, she , was jehought he was such a holy man that she begged him to tell her ce plawtOW he had lived, and what had caused. that extraordinary love 4. he-wt God in him. He told her that he was a poor gentleman, who, _yiolal#? Acquire wealth and honour, had forgotten his conscience and ba oftgaad married a lady who was too nearly related to him, who was 0; aieich but old and ugly, and whom he did not love at all ;. that, +t like tter having got all her money from her, he had gone to sea in ll pg dearch of adventures, and had succeeded go well that he attained the fj his present rank. But since he had known her, her conversa- “conse and example had caused him altogether to change his life, nd thea that he was fully resolved, if he returned from his expedi- often Os to take her and her husband to J erusalem, to expiate, if “ ixonly partially, the great sins which he had committed, but od Which he had now forsaken, although he had not yet made hav paration to his wife, to whom, however, he hoped soon to be > piyeconciled. ‘The lady was very pleased at what he told her, hint mad above all at having brought such a man to the love and ud mifear of God, ie r i a he as they coutinued at court these nocturnal inter- it bel i urses took place, but he never ventured to declare himself, val 1ough he mude her a present of a crucifix from Our Lady of i het sa » and begged her, whenever she looked at it, to think of him. oo it was time for him to take his leave, and he had bade i _ husband, who was going to sleep, farewell, he had to say ey e to the lady whose eyes were full of tears from tis “ _ artuous friendship which she bore him, and which made his92 TALES passion so unbearable that he almost fainted because he did not venture to declare it, and took his leave of her in such a state of perspiration that he wept, not only with his eyes, but jy every part of his body. Then they separated without a word from him, and the lady, who had never before seen such tokens of regret, was much astonished at this. But nothing change her good opinion of him, and her prayers and supplications accompanied him on his way. At the end of a month, when she was returning home one day, she met a gentleman who gave her a letter from the captain, and who begged her to read it in private, assuring her that he had seen him embark with the fixed resolve to do good service to the king and for the spread of Christianity, and that he himself was about to return to Marseilles to look after the captain’s affairs. The lady went aside to a window recess and opened the letter, which consisted of sheets of paper written all over, and which contained an elaborate declaration of love written in verse, and which was accompanied by a handsome diamond, set in black enamel as a ring, and which the lady was requested to wear. She read the long letter quite through, and was the more surprised at it as she had never suspected the captain’s love for her. having considered the matter all night, she was very pleased that she could not answer him for want of a messenger, think- ing to herself that seeing all the trouble he had taken on behalf of his master she would not trouble him with the unfavourable reply which she must give him, but would leave it till his return. But the diamond was still in her way, for she had not been accustomed to adorn herself at anybody’s expense but her husband’s. But her good sense suggested to her to use it as a relief to the captain’s conscience, and she at once sent one of her servants to hig neglected wife,to whom she wrote as follows, under the assumed character of a nun of Tarrascon; ‘“Madame—Your husband passed through here a short time before he embarked, and after having confessed and receivel the Blessed Sacrament like a good Christian, he told me that # there was something which wej that he had not loved you prayed me to send this letter a to you after his departure, which he be of love to him, assuring you that return home, he will treat you ag ghed on hig conscience, namely enough. And he begged and gS you to keep out if God grants him a sale well as any woman could She did not know what to do with the diamond, and © nd the accompanying diamond © yi, a th giro y Jase J Then the ten by 8 2 i nnn ai stow & bnang a thot pe botuo ap te ers sho hac une meee eal, and § ut hed that at to have 20 —- | l 7 vuole busbar { short tinae ume, He he eg oS = E- a => = eee wm aS] Tag, agre “le called 4 turned : 8 tee | I sand,OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. | 93 se hel desire, and this diamond will be a pledge to you of the truth suchi Of his words. I beg you to remember him in your prayers, eyes, a8 I assure you he will be in mine as long as I live.” thot; When the captain’s wife received this letter purporting to be » sucht Written by a nun, and the diamond which accompanied it, you ring may imagine how she wept with joy at her husband’s love and supplewith sorrow at being deprived of his presence ; she kissed the ring a thousand times, and blessed God for having restored ng holaer husband’s love to her at the close of her life when she least the expected it. She thanked the nun with all her heart for the her thervices she had rendered her and sent her letter back by the ood s@me messenger, who brought it to his mistress as quickly as and tte could, and she could not help laughing when she read it, ok aft#d heard what her servant had to say; she was however as y vecelad to have got rid of the diamond by such means as might or writeconcile husband and wife as if she had gained a kingdom. tion ¢ 4 Short time afterwards news of the poor captain’s death a httived. He had been abandoned by those who ought to have thel@@pported him, and the Rhodians whe above all should have cept his design secret had betrayed it, so that nearly all those was 4,0 ho had disembarked with him, to the number of eighty, co ota Pmongst whom were a gentleman called Jean and a Turk to Tangy 20m the lady had been godmother and whom she had given verte the captain to accompany him. on his expedition, were killed ; saengoper® Turk alone escaped by swimming to the French vessels, aken though wounded in fifteen places, and he made the whole ‘ per ath known. He related how a gentleman, for whom the sail er unate captain felt the greatest friendship, and had fot del vent under the notice of the king, and the chief nobility of expen France, a8 Soon as he saw the captain had landed, stood off » het _o enol with his vessels. The captain seeing that his enter- ; nae was discovered and that he was opposed by more than m si Seat thousand Turks, naturally wished to return to them, but i Tats ie sentleman im whom the captain had put such implicit i a ence, knowing that if the captain were killed he should a : have the supreme command and the profit of that great fleet and . i ey represented to the officers that it was not right to risk the ne il ing’s Shipsand so many bravemenon board of themin order to try i ‘and save about a hundred people, and they, who were no braver het than he was, agreed withhim. When the captain saw that the | poy louder he called to them the further they stood off from the ou # “Shore, he turned against the Turks, and though he was up to a his knees in sand, he displayed such bravery that it seemed as ny WOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 9& orous| she had seen her lover in a dream, dressed all in white, and he ctory, said to her that he had come to bid her farewell as he was go- tha ing to Paradise with his captain. But when she learned that her within! dream was” true, she mourned so bitterly, that her mistress reup had great difficulty in consoling her. , fal], After some time the court went to Normandy, where the "7 captain came from, and whose wife did not fail to come and pay her respects to the queen-regent, and in order to be pre- sented to her, applied to the lady whom her husband had so ardently loved. Whilst waiting for the proper time in church, she began to bewail and to praise her husband, and said: “ Alas madame, my misfortune is greater than has befallen any woman, toll ti for God took him from me, just as he was beginning to love me he more than he had ever done before.” Saying this, she showed str her the ring which she was wearing as a token of his perfect Paral affection, and wept so bitterly at the same time, that the lady, ning SOLtY 28 she was for her, was so inclined to laugh, seeing that » Tuk her pious fraud had produced so much good, that she could | not present her to the regent-mother, but handed her over to thems he of » him n his! /Spiri : a another lady, and went into a side-chapel where she had her a thot laugh out. as the! . ai “T think, ladies, that those of our sex who receive presents ast mal should do as she did, for they will find pleasure in doing good, nor must we accuse her of fraud but praise her good sense, which brought good out of what was of no value in itself.” ain atl «& Do you mean to say,” answered Nomerfide, “that a nd al beautiful diamond worth two hundred crowns is of no value ? ty ott If I had had it neither his wife nor his relations would ever hmeti' have seen it. N othing is more one’s own than what is given of tell! to one. The captain was dead and nobody knew anything of ishméll the matter, and she surely might have avoided making the ad, wii poor old woman cry so much.” “Upon my word your are right,” said Hircan, “for there mothe are some women who, in order to appear better than others, at DS’ do things which are absolutely unnatural, for we all know nd wht how avaricious women are. Yet vanity often prevails over nd chit that, and makes them do things they would rather not do, and tummel' besides I think that she who gave up the diamond thus, was compl] not worthy to wear it.” jour} =“ Take care,” said Oisille, “I think I know who she is, so 9 wait’ do not condemn her unless you know her.” persel) ‘‘ Madame,” was Hircan’s reply, “ I do not know her; but if e killed, of tim relgnel96 : TALES the gentleman was as virtuous as you say, she was honoured | by having such a man for her humble servant, and by wearin his ring, but perhaps some one less worthy of her love held her so fast by the finger that the ring could not be placed on it,” “You may say what you please,” Oisille replied ; “ God alone can judge her heart, but I think she acted honourably and virtuously. So as not to discuss the matter any longer, I must beg you, Parlamente, to call on somebody for the next tale.” “I will gladly call on Simontault,” she answered, “for aftey these two sad novels, he must tell us one that will not make us weep.” “Iam much obliged to you,” said Simontault, “ for that is almost as much as saying I am a mere jester, which is a name I object to, but by way of revenge I will show you that ther are some women who make a pretence of being chaste with some men, for a certain time, but the end proves what they really are, as you will see by this true story,” NOVEL XIV. THE CUNNINGNESS OF A LOVER, WHO PRETENDING TO BE THE REAI FAVOURITE, FOUND MEANS TO REAP THE FRUITS OF HIS PAS! TROUBLES CAUSED HIM BY A LADY OF MILAN, At the time when the Grand-master of Chaumont was governor of Milan, there was a gentleman living there who was called Bonnivet, whose merits raised him to the rank of Admiral of France.. As he was very much liked at Milan both by the Grand-master and every one else, he was always welcome at banquets and entertainments, where ladies were present, and they liked him better than any other Frenchman, both on account of his good looks, his graceful bearing, and his enter: taining conversation, and also on account of the general reputa- tion which he had of being one of the ablest and bravest soldiers of his time. One day when he had gone masked to th danced with one of the most honourable and in the city, and every time the music ce the language of love, at which nobody e_entertainment, he handsomest-women ased_he spoke to heril Was a greater adept than qi iis, ut st le upon ae insint wand era te 80 hei hm better {the secret my, tod tnforn elyuerer thot lee might lhaorhunate | bath other the ih vere true lan gent Yeats, Wit] hit word: in the vey A ah ito grant ] ind the 8 this W ampper, th tl to you Mattellent 9 hing for, TWh me ia answe —- SS = — —— — SS S = ) i ee a eee aS —— f a f ss s= if = = —- 6 =—-= = —— \ — S- §S = = —F eS i a “ie it? \ : Eettlemar Aa oop ofwas hoy nd by her love > placed Ls “Gol nourali longer, | next ti ed, “fo will not , “ fort ich is 4 you that g chaste ves whi TO BE TITS OF Hl ont was! who Wa ak of Att lan both ways Wel ere prest \chman, K g, and : ne genet jest alt ® | OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 97 he was. But she, who was in no way bound to him, did not feel called upon to answer him, but cut him short, assuring him that she neither loved, nor ever should love any one but her husband, and that he might expect nothing from her. He did not take this speech as a refusal, and still pursued her ardently till Mid-lent. But he found that she was quite firm in her re- solution not to love him or anybody else, which he could scarcely believe, seeing how ugly her husband, and how beautiful she was. Since he was convinced that she was dissimulating, he resolved that he also would use deceit, and give over his solicitations, but inquired so closely into her life, that he discovered she was in love with a discreet and honourable gentleman. Bonnivet by degrees insinuated himself so cleverly into this Italian gentle- man’s good graces, that he did not notice what he was aiming at, but grew so extremely fond of him, that, next to his lady, he loved him better than anyone in the world. Bonnivet, in order to get the secret of his love from him, pretended to tell him his own, and informed him that he loved a lady, whom he had really never thought of, and begged him to keep the secret, so that there might be but one heart and mind between them. The unfortunate Italian, to reciprocate his friendship, told him exactly of the love which he felt for the lady on whom Bonnivet wished to revenge himself; and once a day they met, to relate to each other the good fortunes of the last twenty-four hours, which were true on one side but utterly false on the other, The Italian gentleman confessed that he had loved the lady for three years, without being able to obtain anything in return except fair words and the promise of being loved. Bonnivet gave him the very best advice how to attain the object of his desirés, and he succeeded so well that in a few days she con- sented to grant him all that he wished; and nothing remained but_to find the means of doing so, and through Bonnivet’s resources this was soon done... So one day it happened, just before supper, that the Italian said to Bonnivet: “Tam more indebted to you than to any man ‘in the world, for, thanks to your excellent advice, I hope to enjoy to-night what I have been longing for, for so many years.” “Just let me know the nature of your interprise,” was Bonnivet’s answer, “so that if there is any deceit or danger I may give you my assistance or succour, as your friend, if you require it.” The gentleman told him that the lady could manage to leave “jy Oe great door of the house open, under the pretext that one of G§8 TALES her brothers, who was ill, might be able to send out at any hour for anything he might require, and that he might go into the court with perfect safety, but that he must besure not to go up by the great staircase, but by a small one on the right, and to go into the first gallery he would find, into which the doors of her father-in-law’s and her brothers-in-laws’ rooms opened. He was to take the third door from the stairs and _ push it gently, and if he found it closed he was to go away because her hus- band would have returned, who however was not™ expected home for two days, but if it were open he was to go in and bolt it behind him, as she would be alone in her bed-room, Above all, she told him, he must be sure and wear felt shoey, and he must not come before two o’clock in the morning, as her brothers-in-law, who were great gamblers, never returned home till after one. Bonnivet bade him go, and only hoped that God might guide him into the right. way, and told him that if his company was any good to him, he would gladly go with him. The other gentleman thanked him, and said that in such affairs a man had better be alone, and went away to get everything ready. For his part, you may be sure that Bonnivet did not go to sleep, but went home soon and had his beard trimmed just after the manner of the Italian’s, and had his hair cut also, go that the lady might not recognise him by the touch. He did not forget the felt shoes, and besides that dressed himself like his rival. And as the lady’s father-in-law thought very highly of him, he had no hesitation in going early, for if he were noticed he could go straight to the old gentleman’s room, as he had some business to transact with him. He reached the house about midnight, but though he met many people passing backwards and forwards, yet as nobody spoke to him he went right on into the gallery, where he pushed the two first doors which were closed but the third was not, so he opened it gently. When he was inside, he bolted the door, and saw that all the room wags hune with white tapestry, and the ceiling and the floor covered with the same ; the bed was hung with the most beautiful drapery, so magnl- ficently embroidered in white that nothing could e finer, and there was the lady alone in it, with her nightcap and night- gown all covered with pearls and precious stones. as he could see through the curtains without her noticing ies for there _ was a large candle of white wax burning in the ioe which made it as bright as day. For fear Hen he Wi lo fhout herery bes cay out an chastity try t0 J ath his ven his pasttr0U tne for him 1 tec, wh le, She, th aly va she eT Hat the alt her aloud: “WV lve done bit] | luster, call i, and tr tere, as Neaimetreivi aman whon Srgeance 7 tte held het any bi 0 into’ ot 0 gi ght, atl he doot pened. b it get s@ her! b expe go in! bed-r0 felt sh ing, as ¢ retul only hi d told! d gladl rd. said! away tl lid not ‘ rimmel! + cut a ach, it | inns t very i or if he 'g yO0u i rough bi rt, 8 I ry) whe the hi do, be g wit ith they er) , 0 d be htt va) al 1g, a8 Ie hi, fu e100 ! ) t OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 99 For fear of being recognised he first of all put out the candle, then he undressed to his shirt and got into bed withher. She, who thought it was he who had loved her so long, gave him the very best entertainment she could. But as he knew it was a mistake he took care not to Say a word, and only thought of carrying out his vengeance, for he was robbing her of her honour and chastity without being under any obligation to her. But contrary to his wish and intention, the lady was so well satisfied with his vengeance, that she wished to recompense him for all his past trouble till after one o’clock had struck, when it was time for him to go, when he asked in as low a tone of voice as he could, whether she was as satisfied with him ag he was with her. She, thinking it was the real lover, told him, that not only was she well satisfied with him, but was perfectly aston- ished that the force of his love was so great that he had not spoken to_her for a whole hour, Thereupon he began to laugh, and said: “Well, madame, will you refuse me another time as you have done hitherto?” She, recognising him by his voice and laughter, called him wretch, travtor, and deceiver, over and over again, and tried to jump out of bed in order to get a knife to Kill herself, as she was most wretched at having lost her honour toa man whom she did not love, and who, in order to make his vengeance complete, might divulge the matter to everybody. But he held her in his arms and vowed that he would love her better than the other did, and that would hide everything which might affect her honour so that she should never be reproached by anybody. The poor fool believed him, and when he told her how he had plotted and what pains he had taken to have her, she assured him that she would love him better than the other, who had not kept her secret ; that she was convinced that the pre- judices against the French were false, for they were better, more persevering and discreet than the Italians, and that she re- nounced the errors of her countrymen and attached herself heartily to him. But she begged him that for some time he would go to no entertainment where she might be except masked, for she knew she should be so ashamed of herself, that her looks would betray her to everybody. Having promised her this, and begged her in return, when his friend should come at two oclock she would receive him kindly, and later on she could get rid of him by degrees. She made great difficulties about this, and said, that_except.for her. love for-him, she would grant.bim_no favour, and on bidding her farewell he behaved so much to her Satisfaction that she would have liked to have kept him longer. ZB100 TALES After he had got out of bed and dressed, he went out of the room and left the door ajar, as he had found it ; but as it Was nearly two o’clock in the morning, and he feared that he might meet the Italian, he went aside at the top of the stairs, and soon saw him come up and go into the lady’s room. He then went home to rest after his labours, and did not get up till nine o’clock next morning. Whilst he was dressing, the Italian came to him to give him an account of his good fortune, which, however, was not so good as he had expected, for he told him that when he got into the room he found the lady out of bed in her dressing-gown, in a high fever and with a very quick pulse, her face all on fire, and perspiring violently, so that she begged him to go away at once, as she had been afraid to call her women for fear of his coming, and was now so ill that she ought rather to think of death than of love, and to be put in mind of God rather than of Cupid. She said that she was very sorry for the risks that she had run on his account, as she had no power to give him anything in this world, since she soon hoped to find herself in a better. He was so astonished and distressed at this that all his ardour and pleasure were changed to ice and sadness, and he went away at once ; but he sent, the first thing in the morning, to ask after her, and was told that she was really very ill. Whilst he was relating all this, he wept so bitterly that it really seemed as if he would weep his soul out with his tears. Bonnivet, who was as much inclined to laugh as the other was to cry, consoled him as best he could, telling him that matters which were to go on for a long time always had a difficult beginning, and that love had caused_this delay only in order to give him more pleasure in the future, and s¢ they separated. The lady kept her bed for a few days, and when she had quite recovered,.she dismissed her former lover, under pretext of fear.and.of-remorse,.and gave. herself.up_wholly to Bonnivet, whose love, as. usual, was.as short-lived as the beauty of the flowers of the field. “I think, ladies, that Bonnivet’s cunning was equal to the hypocrisy of this lady, who, after so long pretending to be a good woman, showed how light she really was.” “You may say what you please about women,” was Emar- suitte’s answer, “but that gentleman played her a sorry trick, for surely when a lady loves one man, another ig not justified in having her by deception.” “You may believe me,” said Guebron, “that when such ls 008 “id bide th Indies if rig only fol Indeed } ’ iyo thetr ay at fst i not 80 MIU alr rey Then ensue i beretused trowan shot ail alter ma ut wttle the inthe next t "Twi tell h the credit wut wit, a8 uy dor 18 ral LLY OF Tp N HR y ARVENGED ! te court inane T ia that off iy Seatcely ened bie go th Tho Was tii him, Ag Mt aes neta such gr = SS =, >—- = = f— SS Ey =fout at t a8 It t he mp stall, He th get Up the Iti une, Wh 1d himt bed it pulse, egged her wo aght wi ind of! orry fu no powe oped to distress d to ioe ‘he first that sh , he We ) his s0l inod to! could, i time! sed thik! future, days,a0) or Lovet’ Eup d a9 the Ht \. as equ ending ! ) is) en at 9 0 5 not is! that mt OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 101 goods are offered for sale, they are always bought by the highest bidders. You must not think that those who follow the ladies take all that trouble for the love they bear them, for it is only for their own sake and their own pleasure.” “‘Indeed I believe you are right,” Longarine replied, “ for all my lovers began by speaking about me, my life, my wel- fare, my honour ; but at last they showed that they only cared about their own pleasure and vanity. So it is best to dismiss them at first, for when they come to speak for themselves there is not so much honour in doing so, for vice when it is known is naturally rejected.” Then ensued a desultory talk on the question whether men were to be refused as soon as they opened their mouths, or whether a woman should pretend not to understand what a man meant, and after many pros and cons, it was decided that they could not settle the matter, and so Simontault called upon Longarine for the next tale, and she said : “T will tell you a story, which, although it is not altogether to the credit of women, will yet show you that they have as much wit, as much spirit, and as much cunning as men, and if my story is rather long, you must bear with me.” NOVEL XV. A LADY OF THE COURT, SEEING THAT SHH WAS NEGLECTED BY HER HUSBAND, WHO WAS MAKING LOVE ELSEWHERE, REVENGED HERSELF BY DOING LIKEWISE. At the court of King Francis J. there was a gentleman whose name I know so well that I do not intend to mention it for fear that others should know it also. He was very poor, having scarcely five hundred livres* a year, but~-the—king esteemed him so highly for his many good qualities that he got a wife who was.so.rich that many a great lord might have envied him. As she was still very young, he begged one of the greatest ladies of the court’ to take~charge~of~her, which™she very willingly did. Now this gentleman was so honourable, and of such graceful manners, that all the ladies at court 1 About £20 sterling.102 TALES thought very highly of him, and amongst others one whom the shout king himself was in love with, and who was neither SO young nan Sl nor so beautiful as his own wife. From the passionate love fet which he felt for this lady, however, the courtier neglected hig yt al wife so utterly that he hardly slept with her once a year, and | hd what was even more insupportable, he never spoke to her or ras evinced the slightest token of affection for her. Although the ea income was all hers, he allowed her so small a part of it that de aol she was not dressed at all according to her rank or her wishes, vine tm and the lady with whom she lived often reproved the husband tr the bu for this, ssaing to him: ‘‘ Your wife is beautiful, rich, and of pad good family, and yet you do not the least consider what care sere for and consideration she has always been accustomed to up till thy prin now; so I much fear when she grows a little older, and her h mirror and some one who is no friend of yours convince her of her beauty, which you despise, she will do that which, if you ae of he had treated her well, she would not so much as thought of.” J] jute, But the gentleman, whose heart was elsewhere, in spite of nt, wh these wise remonstrances, went on in his old ways. bunt After two or three years, his wife was becoming one of the bet, Wh handsomest women in France, so that it was declared at court bynine that she had not her equal. Naturally the more she felt how bina 30 worthy she was of love, the more she felt her husband’s neglect, ne the and she was so grieved that, if it had not been for her mistress, wt to ove she would have been in despair. When she had tried all inet possible means to please her husband, she thought to herself od of me that it was quite impossible he should not love her, since she behad ne loved him so dearly, unless he had some unlawful amour, and nn | she set to work so cleverly that she soon found out the truth, J gyin ‘ and that he was so busy elsewhere every night that he forgot his his conscience and his wife. After she had learned the bi certainty of the life he was leading, she was seized with such il melancholy that she only dressed in black and never went into adel | society. When her mistress perceived this she did her best to 1 cure her of her mood, but all was in vain, and though her th husband was informed of it he was more inclined to laugh at it than to try and remedy it. Now one day a great lord, who was a near relation of this lady’s mistress, and who often came to see her, heard of her strange manner of living, and was so sorry for her that he made up his mind to try and console her; and when he spoke to her, finding how beautiful and virtuous she was. he became much more desirous of winning her favour than of talking to-her neg I SS = a eS = ss — uN == == = £ Sse —+ — ~st a => ES eu os BS09°=@ SS] — —LS—-— oes g ~=— oa == SS = —_ co feat —. => Sei LO Seti <3 —+ FS mae ee S/S se CT! s> fos =f ae ica OS. CURL a) whom t 80 Jol ionate li ala yea, to het thought of it t her wil 1e hush ich, ant what ¢ to wp r, and | nee he sich, if} hought | in. spit gone 0! red at Ol she felt! wnd’s nef her mist had tie ht to he her, gin: i anou out thet that he i Jeane zo vil! ever Well did het th “to la! relation i “heat or be when bi! was, he ¥ of til OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 103 about her husband, unless it were to prove to her how little reason she had for loving him, and she, Seeing how she was neglected by him who ought to love her, and how she was sought after by a great and handsome prince, thought herself very lucky to have obtained his favour. And though she always intended to preserve her honour, yet she took great pleasure in speaking to him, and in seeing that he loved her, for she absolutely hungered after love. Their intimacy lasted for some time till the king noticed it, and as he had a great regard for the husband he would not allow him to be wronged in any way, and so he begged the prince to turn his affections elso- where, for otherwise he should be greatly displeased with him. The prince, who cared more for the king’s favour than for the love of all the ladies in the world, promised him, that out of re- gard for him, he would give up the pursuit and go and take leave of her that very evening. In the evening the husband, who was at the window of his room, which was over his wife’s, saw the prince enter her chamber, for although he saw the husband he would not turn back. When he bade her farewell, love for whom was only just beginning to dawn in him, the only reason he could give for doing so was the king’s commands, and after a few tears and regrets the lady said to him: “ Praige God, sir, who has enabled you to overcome your fancy for me, since it is so slight and in- significant that you can take it up and lay it down at the com- mand of men. As for me, I took council neither with mistress, husband, nor with myself when I loved you, for love, aided by your good looks and good breeding, has asserted such an influ- ence over me that I knew no other God or king but my love. But since your heart has no room for real love, since fear can find a place beside it there, you cannot bea perfect lover, and I will not have one who is not wholly perfect, for I always in- tended to love you thoroughly ; and go, Sir, since your fear does hot merit my frank love, I must bid you farewell.” The lord went away in tears, and on leaving the house he saw the husband still at the window, who had watched his coming and going; so the next day he told him why he had been to see his wife, and that it was by the king’s command, at which the husband was very pleased, and thanked the king for his kind- ness. Seeing, moreover, that-his-wife-got-more-beautiful every day, and that he was getting old and losing his good-looks,-he began-to-assume another character, and to play that..which he had made his wife play for so long, for he sought her out much104 TALES more than he had been accustomed to do, and took much more notice of her. But the more she perceived that he sought her, the more she shunned him, so as to make him partially fee] what she had felt at his indifference. But not to lose the pleasure which love was beginning to afford her, she cast her eyes on a young gentleman who was so handsome, who spoke so well, and whose bearing was so graceful that all the ladies of the court were in love with him. She took care, whilst com- plaining to him of the manner in which she had been treated, to incite him to have pity on her, so that he left nothing un- done which he thought might tend to console her, and she, for her part, in order to make up for the loss of the prince who had left her, loved this new friend so passionately that she forgot all her past troubles, and only thought of means for carrying out her amour discreetly, and she managed this so well that her mistress never perceived it, for she took good care not to speak to him in her presence, but when she wanted to talk to him she went to call on some ladies who lived at court, with one of whom her husband seemed to be in love. One very dark night after supper, she stole away all by her- self and went into these ladies’ room where she found him whom she loved more than herself, and sitting down beside him ata table they spoke together whilst they pretended to be reading a book. Some one whom her husband had set to act as Spy upon her went and told him where his wife had gone, and he, like a wise man, followed her as soon ashe could. When he got into the room, he saw his wife reading but pretended not to see her, and went at once to talk with the ladies in another part of the room, but she perceiving that he had caught her with a man whom she had never mentioned to him, was so frightened that she lost her wits and scrambling over a table rushed away, as if her husband were pursuing her sword in hand, and went to her mistress. "When she had undressed her she withdrew, and one of her women came to tell her that her husband wished to speak to her, whereupon she replied flatly that she would not do so, for he was so strange and Severe, that she was afraid he would do her some mischief. At last, however, fearing something worse, she went ; but her husband did not Say a word to her till they were in bed. As she did not know how to deceive him, she began to cry,and she told him that she was crying as she was afraid he would be angry with her because he had found her reading with a gentleman. He answered her at once, that he had never forbidden her to talk to a man, and that he found no il mith i ag. i ne se vale =>S>- —— AS = £2 { = ; an in pu re She aligly 8 i joi Deas, fo mene dp paloma But the. hl up watt and lt expect al selng¢ much w S SOUL partially to los: she cat e, Whos) the lad whilst een tret nothing and she ce wht , she fi or call 50 well! 1 care ti sd to til , court, | ay all by od him! side hit! to be ttl to act i ded nott mother ht her t go ri rusbelll and, a she vi! usband® ; she vol was ut ring gol wordt o deceit ) ing stl pat f 070” rat he fol ' os OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 105 fault with her for that, but he did for her running away from him,_as..1£she-had.done..something..wrong, and by doing this _alone, she had made him suspect that she was in love with that gentleman, ‘Therefore he forbade her ever again to speak to a man in public or in private, for, he assured her, the very first time she did so, he would kill her without pity. This she willingly agreed to, and determined not to be foolish again. But as forbidden fruit 1s sweetest, she soon forgot her husband’s threats, for that very same night, leaving his bed to” go-and sleep in another room with her attendants, she sent to ask the gentleman to come and see her that night. But the husband, who could not sleep for jealousy, wrapped himself up in a cloak, and taking one of his servants with him, went and knocked at his wife’s door. As she did not the least expect him, she got up, put on a wrapper and her slippers, and seeing that the three or four women in her room were asleep, she left her room and went to the door where she heard the knocking. When she asked who was there, she was answered in her lover’s name; but to make quite sure, she opened a little wicket and said: “If you are the person you say, give me your hand and [I shall recognise it at once.” When she had felt her husband’s hand, she knew it at once, and slamming the wicket she cried out: “Ah! monsieur, it is your hand.” In a great rage her husband replied : “ Yes, itis the hand which will keep its promise, so be sure and come when I send for you.” When he had said this, he returned to his apart- ments and she to her room, more dead than alive, and cried out to her women: “ Get up, my friends, you have slept too long for me, for thinking to trick you I have been tricked myself,” and saying this she fainted away in the middle of the room. The poor women jumped up at her cries, and were so astonished at seeing their mistress lying likedead on the floor, and at what she had said, that the only thing they could think of was to try and bring her to again. When she could speak she said : “You see before you the most wretched creature on the face of the earth.” Then she told them all that had happened to her, and begged them to help her for her life was at stake, but whilst they were trying to reassure her, her husband’s valet de chambre came to summon her immediately into his presence. She embraced two of her women and begged them not to let her go as she was sure to be killed, but the valet assured her that she was quite safe and that he would answer for it with his life that no harm should happen to her. When she saw that she166 TALES could not resist, she threw herself into his arms and said; “ M friend, since it must be so, carry this unhappy body to its death ;” and half swooning from fear, he carried her to his master’s apartments, where she threw herself at his feet and said: “Monsieur, I beseech you to have pity on me, and | Swear before God that I will tell you the whole truth.” ‘By God you shall!” he answered immediately, in a furious voice, and turned all the servants out of the room. As he had always found his wife to be very devout, he thought that she would not perjure herself on the crucifix, and so he sent for a very handsome one that he had borrowed ; and when they were alone, he made her swear that she would answer any questions he should put to her truthfully. But as she had already got over her first fear of death, she took courage, and resolved to conceal nothing, but also to say nothing to compromise her lover; and when she had heard his questions, she replied; ‘‘ Monsieur, I shall not try to justify myself, or to make light of the love which I felt for the gentleman whom you suspect, for whatever I might Say, you would not and ought not to believe it after what you have seen to-day ; but I wish to tell you how this love arose. You must know, monsieur, that never woman loved her husband as I loved you, for since I have been married till now, no other love but that for you has entered my heart. You know that when I was a child my parents sought to marry me to a man of far higher rank than yours, but they could never make me agree to the match from the moment I had heard you mentioned ; for contrary to their opinion I insisted on having you, without heeding either your poverty or their remonstrances. And you, on your part, cannot deny how I have been treated by you up till now, or how you have shown your love and esteem for me, which so troubled and pained me that without the support the lady gave me, to whose care you entrusted me, I should have given way under my despair. But at last, seeing that I was full grown, and that, everyone thought me beautify] except you, I began to feel the wrong that you were doing me go deeply, that the love which I had felt for you was turned into hatred, and the desire to please you into one for revenge. Whilst I was in this state of mind, I met a prince who, preferring to obey the king rather than love, forsook me just as I wag beginning to find a solace for my torments in an honourable love. When he had left me, I met this present one, who had no need to solicit me, for his good looks and his many good qualities are sure to make uiherto pr fess 0! | il ott 7} inate 100 iF noul bi mater ofa pla Fm alloy, tole any J lelmof Ge many othe Relig our ul dd enoy al theo know ie multe and. 1 ies me 1 (Len vom v tee Neha opnd said: ' YY body j led her t it Lats fe On te, 4 ruth,” y, Ina fe n. Aste ught tha he sent’ hen they ny que | alread 1 resol npromiy she Ie) to make. 1 YOu sil ought 1 wisht nonsieu, or since! ut for yu as a cl gher ral he matt! ontrary t ing either on you up til a! or mé, Will rt the hi have git was ful f pt youl! deeply y hatred, s ilgt J we? 0 obey! ning ies} oft a are gut? i => — ( S —- OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 107 him sought out by any woman of sentiment. At my request, and not at his own, he has loved me in all honour, and never once demanded anything of me which is contrary to it. And although the small amount of love which I have reason to feel for you was no cause why I should keep faithful and loyal to you, the love which I feel for God and my own honour has hitherto preserved me from anything which I need fear to coniess or have occasion to be ashamed of. I do not deny that, as often as I could, I went to talk with him in a small private-room, ~under-the--pretence—of-—saying”~ my prayers, for-f--would never trust either man or woman to conduct this matter for me; neither will I deny that, being in a quiet and safe place, I have often kissed him far more heartily than ever I did you. But may God never grant me His mercy if ever any other liberties took place between us, or if he ever tried to go farther, or if my own heart ever had a desire for anything besides, for I was so happy in seeing him that it seemed to me as if there could not be a greater pleasure in life. And you, monsieur, who are the sole cause of my unhappiness, can you desire to be revenged for my conduct, for which you have for so long a time been setting me an example, with this difference that in your conduct you showed neither honour nor conscience? for you know, as well as I do, that the woman whom you love is not satisfied merely with what God and reason allow. And although human laws look upon women who love anybody but their husbands as utterly dishonoured, the law of God makes no exception in favour of husbands who love any other women than their wives. And if it comes to weighing our mutual fault, you, as a wise and experienced man, and old enough to know how to avoid evil, are more guilty than I, who am young and inexperienced, and who have hitherto known nothing of the force and power of love. You have-a~wife who chérishes you and loves you more than her own life, and I have a husband who shuns me, who hates and despises me more than he would a chambermaid ; you love an old, lean woman who is not so handsome as I am, and I love a gentleman who is younger, better-looking, and more amiable than you are. You love the wife of one of your best friends, thereby sinning, on the one hand, against the friendship, and on the other, against the respect which you owe to them both ; I love a gentleman who has no ties except his love for me. Judge, therefore, monsieur, which of us two is more to blame. No sensible or experienced man would say that you are not in108 TALES the wrong, since I am young and ignorant, despised by you and loved by the handsomest and best bred man in France, whom I love, only because I despair of ever being loved by you,” When the husband heard these unpleasant truths from the lips of a beautiful woman, spoken with such grace and aggur.- ance as proved that she thought she deserved no punishment, he was so astonished that he did not know what to answer, except that the honour of a man and of a woman were very different things, but that, since she swore that there had been nothing absolutely wrong between them, the matter should g0 no further ; so, as long as she would see him no more, both would let bygones be bygones, and when she had promised that they went to bed comfortably together. The next morning, an old waiting woman, who had been in great fear for her mistress’ life, came as she was getting up, and said: “Well, madame, how are you?” She answered, laughing: “What, I, old lady? I have the best husband in the world, for he believed me on my oath.” Thus, five or six days went by. The gentleman took good care to keep a close watch on his wife, night.and day, but, in Spite of all his vigil- ance, he could not prevent her from meeting her lover in a very dark and suspicious place, and she managed so well that nobody knew anything about it. But a Serving man said he had found a gentleman and a lady in a stable under the apart- ments of the mistress of the lady in question, which so inflamed the husband’s jealousy, that he determined to murder the gentleman, and got together a large number of his relations and friends to kill him, if they met him. But his nearest relation was a great friend ‘of the gentleman’s, and so he told him of the plot against his life, so that he, popular as he was at court, was always escorted by so many friends that he did not fear his enemy the least, and nothing happened to him, but he thought it as well to Speak with the mistress of the lady he loved, who had heard nothing of what had been going on, for he had never spoken with her in the elder lady’s presence. where she used to go, told her of the husband’g suspicions and , although he was inno: cent, he was determined to take a long journey in order to put a stop to the increasing scandal. When the princess, the mis- tress of his mistress, heard this, she wag very much astonished, and declared that the husband was altogether wrong in suspect : ) (ov, ab any ie” The husbe in, but he | “Tatler have ] inl, hat S oteatest ee, who bi Hie, at see ettlman tf == = <— Savleted eon tha MttntcatinOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 109 At, dew vital ing such a woman as his wife whose conduct, as she herself being jy knew, had always been most virtuous and proper. However, ant ny, Seeing the husband’s influence and to put an end to these false uch ry reports, she advised him to travel for a time, though she assured Ved yp», Him she gave no credence to these foolish suspicions. OW ti ‘The gentleman (and the lady also, who was with her) were At Y a , hans A Wong, VOY pleased at her good opinion, and she further advised him that ty that before his departure he should speak to the husband, the al which he did when he met him in a gallery of the palace, and "said to him boldly, though showing him that respect which his he ha ’ station required: “Sir, all my life long, I_ have desired to be of “IM service to you, and by way of repayment, I hear that last night, you tried to have my life. You must remember, sir, at, wl that you have more power and influence than I have, but still ale MT ama gentleman, as well as you, and I should be sorry to lose rv “8 my life for nothing. I must beg you also to remember that the bat you have a virtuous wife, and if anyone says the contrary I hi yyill tell him that he lies foully in his throat. As for myself, I {att am not conscious of having done anything to cause you to bear spitetil me ill-will. If you like, I will remain your humble servant ; ting a if not, at anyrate, | am the king’s, and that is good enough for nanageli me,” servi The husband told him that he had, indeed, rather suspected ible wit him, but he had such a high opinion of him, that he would far n, vii! rather have his friendship than his enmity, and bidding him ned Wt farewell, hat in hand, he embraced him, as though he had been aber fh) his greatest friend. You may imagine how astonished those n. biti were, who had been commissioned to kill him, the evening an, ali before, at seeing such tokens of respect and friendship. The e, pop’ gentleman then set out on his travels, but as he had less frist MMoney than good looks, his lady gave him a ring of the value g hay Of three thousand crowns, which he pawned for fifteen hundred. the us’ SOme time after he had gone, the husband went to the princess, shat hil! 12 whose household his wife was, and begged her to allow his in the Wife to go and stay with one of his sisters for some time. She thought the request very strange, and begged him to tell her ot bert the reason for it, which he did partially. ands sit After the young married lady had taken leave of her mistress thoushl and_of all the court without tears or any signs of annoyance, rey »@ She proceeded to her destination in charge of a gentleman who i it was ordered to look very carefully after her, and above all to ry take care that, on the journey, she should find no means of sear communicating with him whom the husband suspected. She116 TALES of course knew of this order, and every day gave them Calise for alarm and made fun of them for the careless way in which they looked after her. One day, after they had left their inn, they met a Franciscan on horseback, and she, being on hey palfrey, talked to him from dinner-time till supper, and when they were within a good league from the inn, ghe said to him: “Father, here are two crowns in return for all the consolation you have afforded me this afternoon, and I have wrapped them in paper, for I know that you would not dare to touch them! and now I beg that as soon as you, have taken leave of me, you will at once start across country at full gallop.” When he was at a tolerable distance .off, the lady said aloud to her people: “Don’t you think that you are good servants, and take good care of me, seeing that he against whom you were so strictly put on your guard, has been talking with me all this day, and you have not interfered 3 you deserve that that excellent master of yours, who puts such confidence in you, should give you a good thrashing instead of paying you your wages.” When the gentleman in whose charge she was, heard what she said, he was in such a rage, that without re- plying he put spurs to hig horse, and taking two attendants with him, he galloped after the Franciscan, and overtook him, though when he saw he was pursued he went as fast ag he could, but being better mounted than he, they soon overtook the poor man. He, not knowing the least what they wanted of him, roared for mercy, and throwing back hig cowl to beg more humbly, and when his head was bare they saw it was not the man they wanted, and that their mistress had been making fools of them, which she did still more when they got back, Saying: “ You are nice sort of men to be entrusted with the charge of women, for you let them talk with anybody without knowing who it is, and then believing what they tell you, you go and insult God’s servants.” After such pranks she got to her desti sisters-in-law and the husband of one of strictly. During this time her husband was pawned for fifteen hundred crowns, tremely vexed, but to save his wife’s honour and to recover it, he told her that he would pay the money and get it out of pawn. As she cared nothin g for the ring since her lover had the money‘ for it, she wrote to him that her husband insisted on re- nation, where her two 1 Mendicant friars took a vow hever to touch money | ity, ho m0 ind Fore lad istands tha gal ie for joa, to whic. il 0 eXOUse weir domng | af overconin h ——ave thet 88 Way in vd. left thi @, being 1 ipper, an she said ti the cons! > wrappel (0 toucht taken |i t full 9 dy said good se! nst whe king Wi 1 desert d confide of pay charge tt that wit d overtoi fast as i! mn overt they wat owl to be! was not makings ot back, th the ci without i! you, oly n, whet I 1 kept He od that lt hich b® nd to 1a nd get tf her love b nd jnsit money: OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. Wy deeming the ring, and so that he might not think that she loved him less, she sent him a diamond which her mistress had given her, which she valued much more highly than the ring. The gentleman gladly sent her the merchant’s obligation, being well satisfied at having fifteen hundred crowns and a diamond and at being assured that she loved him still. As long as her husband lived he could only communicate with her in writing, but after his death, thinking that she was still the same, he sought her hand in marriage; but_he found that. during his long absence she had found another lover whom she preferred to himself, which caused him such grief, that, shunning all female society, he merely woed danger, and died in battle, after having distinguished himself as much as any young man could do. “ Here ladies, without sparing our sex, I have tried to show husbands that high-spirited.wives.are.more easily seduced. by anger and resentment than by love; and though she resisted the latter for a long time, yet at last she was overcome by de- spair, to which a good woman should not give way, for she can find no excuse for a bad action; the more opportunities there are for doing wrong, the greater is the credit for being virtuous and overcoming evil, and not to return evil for evil, as very often the ill which one hopes to do recoils on one’s own head. Blessed are those women whom the virtue with which God hag naturally endowed them manifests itself in chastity, meekness, and patience.” “T think,” Hircan said, “that this lady was more swayed by anger than by love, for had she loved the gentleman as much as she pretended, she would never have left him for another, and so we may call her spitefully vindictive, obstinate and fickle.” “You speak very jauntily,” said Emarsuitte, “but you do not know how heart-breaking it is to love without being loved.” “Tt is true,” Hircan replied, “that I have had no such ex- perience, for if a lady shows herself at all reserved towards me, I at once bid good-bye to her and to love.” “That is very well for you,” said Parlamente, “ who care for nothing but for your own pleasure, but a good woman ought not to leave her husband like that.” “ And yet,” answered Simontault, “the lady in question seems to have forgotten for a while that she was a woman, for no map could have taken a better revenge,”112 TALES “It is not right,” Oisille interposed, “to hold all women ye. sponsible because one is not virtuous.” ‘All you women are alike,” Saffredant replied, “ however fair you are on the outside, one has but to look carefully under your garments to see that you are women,” Nomerfide said to him: “If we were to listen to you we should go on wrangling all day, but I am so anxious to hear another story, that I must ask Longarine to call upon some. body for one.” Longarine looked at Guebron and said to him: “ If you have anything to relate of some well-bred lady, pray let us hear it,” He replied: “Since I am to relate what I know, I will tell you something that happened at Milan.” NOVEL XVI. A MILANESE LADY APPROVED SO MUCH OF HER LOVER'S BRAVERY AND HIGH SPIRIT THAT SHE LOVED HIM EVER AFTER ON THAT VERY ACCOUNT. At the time when the Grand-Master of Chaumont was governor of Milan, there lived a lady there who was looked upon as one of the best bred in that city. She had married an Italian count, and when he died she went to live with her brothers-in- law, and would never hear of marrying again, and lived sucha discreet and saintly life that everybody in the duchy, French or Italian, esteemed her very highly. One day when her brothers andsisters-in-law gavea grand entertainment to the Grand-Master of Chaumont, the widow was obliged to be present, though she made it a rule not to go into society. When the Frenchmen saw her, they admired her beauty and grace, and especially one of them, whose name I shall not mention ; but there was nota Frenchman in Italy who was more worthy of a woman’s love, for he was a most handsome, accomplished, and perfect gentleman. When he saw this widow lady in her black crape, keeping aloof from the young people, and in a corner with several old frightened of man or woman yet, took off his mask and danced no more, for the sake of being in her company. All the even- ing he talked with her and the old ladies, and enjoyed himself so a eS = ars <> ——_ — — OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 115 But as the hind wounded to death, thinks that she can get rid of her pain by change of place, so I thought, that by going from church to church, I might fly from him whose image I love in my heart, the proof of whose love has been so perfect, that it has reconciled honour with love. But in order to be quite certain that I was confiding my heart and my love to a perfect knight, I determined to put you to this proof by means of my waiting women, fully determined that if from love of life or any other motive you had been such a coward as to hide yourself under the bed, I would go into another room and never again have anything to do with you. But since I found that you were handsome, graceful, and were even braver than I had been told you were, since you knew no fear, and that it could not the least lessen your love for me, I am determined to have no other lover but you as long as I live, for I am certain that I can con- fide my life and my honour into no better hands than into those of the man whose equal I have never met.” As if the human will could be unchangeable, they promised and vowed what was altogether out of their power, namely per- petual love, which can neither be born nor dwell in men’s hearts, as those women know who have found out by experience how long such feelings last. ‘Therefore, ladies, beware of us, just as the stag, if he had any sense, would beware of the huntsman, for our happiness, our intention, always is to see you captives, and to rob you of that which you cherish more than your life.” ‘Pray, Guebron,” said Hircan, “how long have you turned preacher? You certainly do not always talk like that.” “I certainly have now spoken quite in opposition to the opinions which I have professed all my life, but since my teeth are so bad that I can eat no venison, I warn the poor hinds against the huntsmen, to make amends in my old age for all the ills which I deserved during my youth.” “Thank you for your warning, Guebron,” was Nomerfide’s reply, ‘“‘ but we do not care much for it, for you did not speak in that fashion to the lady whom you loved so well, so that is a Sign that you do not love as much, and do not wish us to be loved ; nevertheless we think that we are as good and virtuous as those whom you pursued so long in your youth. But that is the boast of old people, who always fancy that they have been better than those who live after them.” “Well, Nomerfide,” said Guebron, “ when the deceit of one116 TALES of your lovers has made you acquainted with the wickedness of men, will you then believe that I have told you the truth?” “Tt seems to me,” said Oisille, ‘“ that the gentleman whose bravery you praised so highly ought rather to be praised for hig ardent love, which is such a power that it will induce the most cowardly to undertake what the bravest might not venture on,” “Madame,” Saffredant replied, “if he had not thought that the Italians were better in words than in deeds, I think he must have been frightened.” ‘¢ Veg,” she answered, ‘if his heart had not been so inflamed that it burned out all fear.” “Tt appears to me,” said Hircan, ‘that since you do not think his bravery worthy of much praise, you must know some- body else who is more worthy of being extolled.” Oisille said to him: “It is quite true that the gentleman’s courage was praiseworthy, but I know an instance of still more admirable valour.” Whereupon Guebron called upon her for the next story, which she prefaced by saying that no praise could be too great to bestow on a man who without any necessity, and from pure courage behaved in the manner she was about to relate in the following tale. NOVEL XVII. KING FRANCIS PROVED HIS COURAGE AND GENEROSITY IN THE CASE OF COUNT WILLIAM, WHO WISHED TO MURDER HIM. A German Count, named William, of the House of Saxony, which is so closely allied to that of Savoy, that formerly the two houses made but one, entered the service of. King Francis, in the town of Dijon in Burgundy. The count, who was as brave and handsome a gentleman ag there was in Germany, was 80 well received by the king that he not only took him into his service but made him one of his personal attendants. One day the governor of Burgundy, the Seigneur de La Tremouille, an old knight and faithful servant of the king, who was always suspicious and feared lest any harm should happen to his master, and thus always had a number of spies about amongst his enemies to discover what they were doing, and who governed yell never dio, “and [4 o a: ihen he g in aad kn ex to at th i {ih PU bea16 Wickelty 1 the trot antleman t @ praisel| induce te not vent ot thougl ads, | tht \ | een 80 I ce you ust kno } he ger ce of st od upon - that 10 witht the mull ygiTy INE pee Hl Louse forme King Ihe who wi (rt i dant,’ b Trea who | appt 5g soll” awe OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 117 so well that nothing escaped his notice, received a letter from one of his friends that Count William had already received a bribe, with a promise of more money if he would kill the king by some means or other. The Seigneur de La Tremouille did not fail to tell the king of this, and also made no secret of it to Madame Louise of Savoy, the king’s mother, who, although she was related to the German, begged the king to banish him at once. But he begged his mother not to mention the matter again, as it was quite impossible that such an honourable and gallant gentleman could be guilty of such an act. | After some time there came another report, which confirmed the first, whereupon the governor, who was devoted to his master, begged to be allowed either to expel the count from France orto takemeasures against him, but thekingrequestedhim to take no notice of the matter, as he thought that he should find out the truth by some other means, and so one day when he was going out hunting, armed only with a first-rate sword, he took Count William with him, whom he ordered to keep close to him. After having hunted the stag for some time, the king, seeing that all his attendants, except the count, were far away, turned aside into a by-path. When he found himself alone with the count in the depth of the forest, he said to him, draw- ing his sword: ‘‘Do you not think that this is a beautiful and excellent sword?” The count, after trying it, answered that he had never seen a better. “You are quite right,” said the king, “and I fancy that any gentleman who might wish to kill me, when he saw my strength of arm and the goodness of my Sword, and knew how bold I was, would think twice before he ventured to attack me, nevertheless, I should think very badly of him if, being man to man and without witnesses, he did not dare to try and carry out what he had undertaken.” Count William looked at him in astonishment and replied: ‘Sire, it would be as wicked to entertain such an idea, as it would be foolish to try and put it into execution.” The king laughed and sheathed his sword, and hearing that the hunt was close by, galloped after it as fast as he could, and when he had rejoined his suite he did not mention this Matter to anyone, being quite certain that Count William, brave and daring as he was, was nevertheless not the man to undertake such an enterprise. But the count, fearing that he might be betrayed or at least suspected, went the next morn- ing to Robertet, the secretary of finance, and told him that, on considering what the salary and perquisites which the king had118 TALES promised him if he would remain in his service would be, he had come to the conclusion that they would not suffice for more than half a year, and that, if the king would not double the amount, he should be obliged to leave his service ; at the same time he begged Robertet to let him know the king’s decision ag soon as he could. Robertet’s answer was, that the best thing he could do would be to go to the king at once, and as a matter of fact he was very glad to do so, for he had heard of the governor’s warnings. Therefore, as soon as the king was awake he went to make his request, in the presence of M. de La Tremouille and Admiral Bonnivet,.who did not know what the king had done the day previously. The king’s answer was: ‘‘ You wish to dismiss Count William from my service, and you see that he has dismissed himself, therefore tell him, that if he is not satisfied with the position he accepted when he entered my service, with which many high- born gentlemen would be only too well satisfied, he is quite right in seeking his luck elsewhere, and I shall certainly not put any obstacle in his way, and shall be very pleased to hear that he has received an appointment on which he can live as he de- serves.” Robertet at once conveyed the king’s answer to the count, who said that he should start directly, and he was so airaid of what might happen that in twenty-four hours all his preparations were made. He went to pay his farewell respects to the king as the latter was about to go to dinner, and pre tended to be very sorry that he was obliged to leave his service; and then he bade farewell to the king’s mother who was as glad to part from him as she had been pleased to receive him, being a relation and friend. When the king saw that his mother and his courtiers were astonished at his sudden depar- ture, he told them of the fright he had given the count, adding that even were he innocent of the charges brought against him, yet he had been sufficiently alarmed to leave the service of a master, whose temper he did not altogether know. ‘] see no reason, ladies, that could have induced the king thus to expose his life against a man who was so highly thought of, — except that from his magnanimity he chose to leave that sphere in which kings find no equals who can offer them single com- bat, in order that he might put himself on the game footing with a man whom he took for his enemy, so that he might satisfy himself about his daring and courage.” “He was certainly right,” Parlamente answered ; “ for all | puna | | jnoned - loned ) «ho dat, 101 i Virtue an Sure - np Werte France, | the smart Noa mnugh, 2 iptoade | something | “Firea ilof vom } pes of That tne ago I rey and tea,” : ATOUNG Al | HER LOVE | ittue and | leas ont tll other fe him | hour of | (Ouaty 7 pty, | tat she h | this yo — =the ky gence tt 10t kn0i Count! nissed | h the) rich mil he isu nly noi 0 heart live ; ansie! and le! ur hous! farewell dinner, & leave i yer Wh! to re ng gal b gute he cout OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 119 human praise can never satisfy a noble heart so much as the knowledge that it possesses those virtues with which God has endowed it.” “A long time ago,” Guebron said, “ poets and others told us that, to reach the temple of Fame, we must pass through that of Virtue, and as I know the persons concerned in this tale, I am sure that the king is one of the bravest men in his kingdom.” - ‘‘Certainly,” Hircan continued, ‘‘when Count William came to France, I should have feared his sword more than that of al. the smart Italians who were at the court.” ‘We all know,” said Emarsuitte, “that we cannot praise him enough, and that we might pass our whole day in holding him up to admiration, therefore, madame, call on somebody to tell us something else good of man, if it be possible.” “Hircan,” replied Oisille, “you are so.in the habit of speaking ill of women, that I think it will be very easy for you to sing the praises of some men, and so I call upon you.” “That is very easily done,” was his answer, “ for a very short time agoI was told the story of a gentleman whose love, firm- ness, and patience were so praiseworthy, that I cannot forget them.” NOVEL XVIII. A YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL LADY TESTS THE FIDELITY OF A STUDENT, HER LOVER, BEFORE SHE ALLOWS HIM TO ATTACK HER HONOUR. In one of the pleasantest towns of France there was a young seigneur, who was attending the High Schools.there.in.order.to gain that knowledge by. which--those-ofhigh.rank attain to virtue and learning, and his attainments were so high that when he was only seventeen years old he was held up as an example to all others ; but yet, when he had done his regular work, love gave him other employment, which he found in seeking the favour of one of the handsomest ladies of that part of the country, who had come into the town on account of a law suit that she had. But before love had tried to conquer the heart of this young gentleman by the beauty of the lady, it_had120 TALES already gained her heart when she saw-all the perfections_of that young secgneur, for nobody could excel him an gone looks, graceful bearing, good sense, or winning words. When we con- sider how soon the fire of love is kindled, you will not be sur. prised that it very soon took possession of two such perfect beings, and that it so filled them with its light, that their thoughts, wishes and words, were but a reflex of its flame, although he was so young that he carried on the matter as quietly as he possibly could. But she, whom love had vanquished, did not require much solicitation, though, through a lady’s innate modesty, she did not let him see the strength of her desires. At last, how: ever, the fortress’ of her~heart, wherehonour resides, was so battered in, that the poor lady made up her mind to grant that which she had always wanted; but in order to prove the patience, endurance, and love of her humble servant, she agreed to give him what he desired on one very difficult condition, and she assured him that if he would keep to it she would always love him faithfully, but if not he should never have her as long as he lived, and it was this—that they should go to bed together in their night gear, but that he should demand nothing further of her than kisses and sweet words. He, thinking that there could be no pleasure to be compared with what she offered him, gladly agreed to her conditions, and when night came, he fulfilled his promise, and although she bestowed the most ardent caresses on him, and he felt very much inclined to push matters to extremities, yet he would not break his word. Thinking as he did the pains of purgatory could not be much worse than those which he was enduring, yet his love was so great, and his hope so strong, that, certain as he was that her love—which he had acquired with such difficulty—would continue, he got up from_ her bed.-witheut having caused her the least annoyance. The lady, who, as I believe, was more surprised than pleased at his continence, at once thought, either that his love was not S80 great as she had believed, or that the had not found her as much to his liking as he had hoped, and without reflecting on the respect, patience and faithfulness which he had shown to- oo her, at once determined to put him to a further proof berore fully keeping her promise. In order: to-do -thisrahe begged him to make love to one of her waiting maids, who was younger and much handsomer than herself, so that those “who saw him coming to the house so often might thin] < it was for sands | te git | tt istregg a ’ lulicioug | | i | |perfect 2 god | Vhen ye) II not be such pt t, that of its fy 16 matte i \ Mv equite & sty, she t last, ides, Wi ) gral’. ) prow i, Shea mition ould ah her as. bed tog hing fu De comit ditions though: he felt woul f pug g enti hat, o# wilh @ sa phy h Ih han p v0 T und fort s ‘thet 0 th S oS —— == = <— aes i a = a = => = ~S =. =] \= ‘Sl : ots> = = \—_— ees t —— = OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 121 the maid’s and not for the mistress’s sake. The young sergneur, who felt sure he was loved as much as he iuved, carried out her commands, and from love to her, forced himself to make love to the girl, who, seeing how handsome he was and how seductive a tongue he had, believed all he said to her, and fell in love with him just as much as if he had really been in love with her. When the lady saw that matters were progressing thus, and that nevertheless this lord continued to remind her of her promise, she agreed to allow him to come to her at one o'clock In the morning and that she felt the love and obedience which he had shown her so much that it was only just that he should be recompensed for his patience. You may guess how delighted the ardent lover was at this promise, and that he was punctual at the time of assignation. But the lady, who wished to prove the force of his love, said to her beautiful attendant: “I know Seigneur So-and-so loves you, and I think that you are just as much in love with him, therefore I feel so much pity for you both that I am determined to give you an opportunity of talking together as long as you wish, and quite at your ease.” The waiting-maid was in such raptures that she could not disguise her passion, and told her mistress that she was quite ready to do as she wished, and at her orders she undressed herself and got into a handsome bed, all by herself, in a room, the door of which the lady left open, whilst it was brilliantly lighted so as to display the girl’s beauties all the better. The mistress then pretended to go away, but hid herself so carefully close to the bed that she could not be seen. The unhappy lover, thinking that he should find her as she had promised, did not fail to come into the bed-room at the ap- pointed hour as softly as he could, and after closing the door, and taking off his gown and furred slippers, he got into bed, where he hoped to find all he desired ; but no sooner did he Stretch out his arms to embrace her whom he thought to be his lady than the poor girl, who thought he belonged altogether to her, threw her arms round his neck, whispering such loving words with such a loving face that there is no holy hermit who would not have forgotten his paternosters over them. But when he had recognised her by her voice and by her face, love which had made him in such a hurry to go to bed made him get up still quicker when he perceived that his bedfellow was not she who had caused him all his sufferings ; and as much vexed with the mistress as with the maid, he said toher: “ Your folly, and the malicious intention of her who has put you where you are,122 TALES cannot make me other than I am, but try and be a respectable woman for you shall not lose your good name by my means.” Saying this, he left the room in a great rage, and for a long time did not return to his mistress. But love, which always hopes, assured him that the greater the strength of his love was, -and the more it was known after such trials, the longer and greater would be his enjoyment. The lady, who had heard all that he said, was so satisfied and astonished at the greatness and strength of his love that she was most impatient to see him again, to ask his pardon for all the ills she knew she had made him suffer. And the first time she met him she spoke to him go graciously and tenderly that not only did he forget all his pains, but even thought himself very fortunate at having endured them seeing that they had turned to his glory and to the perfect assurance of her love, which from that day forward he enjoyed without let or hindrance, as much as he could possibly desire. “Can yon, ladies, think of any woman who would have been so firm, so patient, and so loyal in her love as this young gentleman was? They who have undergone such temptations would find those of St. Anthony nothing compared to them, for a man who can be patient and chaste when beauty, love, time and opportunity favour him, is virtuous enough to—be- able to defy all the devils in hell.” “Tell me,” Guebron said, “which of his two trials seems to you the most difficult ?” Parlamente thought the first, but Longarine that the other was, as he had to conquer both love and himself. Simontault thought he was a fool the first time, and a blockhead after- wards, as he made his mistress suffer as much as, or more than, he did himself, for she only made him promise so that she might appear better than she really was, as an ardent passion could not be checked, and vicious as she was she pretended to be virtuous, that he must be heroic to obtain her, and next was a blockhead to leave her who loved him when he would have had a very good excuse seeing how he had been provoked. Dagoucin thought that the first time he had shown himself firm, patient, and true, and the next a loyal and a perfect lover, but Satfire- dant’s opinion was that he was suffering from some enchant- ment, such as were used to prevent newly married men from consummating their marriage; the question was whether he proved himself a man later on, and whether it was virtue OF impotence that caused him to be so chaste. Hires | ont pe + peither After | PIW0 L AND. THE | | atthe tir | titer of | Paling at | alertty 1 trey | $0 charmir } wus, ¢ | Tikit gee wld, and lutchiones wealthy mu lutch, and lat if the hy Cou] Wher reas Whe ooul | Their loy | hing them Tit broke | flter ie Tae ag L@ 8 Teste by my w afd for Which | of his i the long 0 had by ¢ great 0 see hin had. mi oke to! et all li aving | d to th ard be: ossibly! 0 wall a8 thi ch tani pared t in. beat ent trials that tt If, So lockhel §, OF wi # OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 123 Hircan assured them that he knew the man and his tempera- ment perfectly, and that love caused him to act as he did, and neither coldness nor impotence. After much more talk on this matter, whether, if he had enjoyed the chamber maid in her presence, she would ever have granted him her favours, and whether in such a case he might not have been excused for using force, as sometimes the only means of gaining a fortress was by storming it; Emarsuitte said it might be thought that all love was founded on such follies, but that love often existed without such intentions, and being challenged by Hircan to relate such a case, she began as follows. NOVEL XIX. OF TWO LOVERS, WHO NOT BEING ABLE TO MARRY, TURNED MONK AND NUN, HE AT THE MONASTERY OF 8T. FRANCIS, AND SHE AT THE NUNNERY 0. ST. CLAIRE, At the time of the Marquis of Mantua, who had married the sister of the Duke of Ferrara, there was a young lady called Raulina attached to the household of the duchess, who was so ardently loved by a gentleman in the service of the marquis, that everybody wondered at it, as hé was poor, but therewithal So charming and brave, and stood so high in the favour of the marquis, that it was thought he would easily find a rich wife. But it seemed that Paulina possessed all the treasures of the world, and that, by marrying her they would be his. As the marchioness wished Paulina, by her means, to make a more wealthy marriage, she did her best to turn her against this match, and often hindered them from meeting, telling them that if they married they would be the poorest and most un- happy couple in all Italy, but the gentleman would not listen to her reasons, and though Paulina dissembled her love as well as she could, she only thought of it the more. Their love endured everything, in the hopes that time would bring them better luck, but whilst they were waiting for this, war broke out, in which the gentleman was taken prisoner, to- gether with a Frenchman, who was just as much in love in France as the other was in Italy. Being fellows in misfortune,124 TALES | they communicated their secrets to each other. The French. man confessed that his heart was enchained just as much ag that of his friend, without saying by whom, but as they both were in the service of the Marquis of Mantua, this French gentleman knew perfectly well that his comrade was in love with Paulina, and as he had his interests at heart, he advised him to get rid of it, which, however, the Italian declared to be out of his power, and added that, unless the Marquis of Mantua gave him hig mistress as a recompense for his.imprisonment and all the services he had rendered him, he would turn Franciscan, and have no other master than God, which, however, his friend would not believe, as he saw no signs of religion in him, except his devotion to Paulina. At the end of nine months, the French gentleman was set at liberty, and exerted himself go diligently that he obtained his comrade’s also, who at once tried all he could to obtain the sanction of the marquis and marchioness to his marriage with Paulina. But he could not advance his suit in the least, as they set their inevitable poverty before his eyes, and also be- cause her friends would not agree to the match, and even for- bade him to speak to her, so that he might be cured of his love by absence, and by seeing the impossibility of it. When he saw that he was obliged to obey, he obtained permission to bid Paulina farewell, as he should never speak to her again, and when this was granted him he said to her : ‘‘ As heaven and earth are against us, and not only prevents us from marrying, but as we are forbidden even to meet or to speak together, the marquis and marchioness, who have laid this command on us, can boast of having smitten with one word, two hearts, whose bodies can henceforth only languish, showing thus that they never felt either love or pity. I know that they. want us severally to make a rich marriage, but they do not know that contentment is the true riches, and they have so wronged and displeased methat I cannot remainin theirservice. No doubt if I had never mentioned this marriage they would have had no scruples about allowing us to meet and talk together, but I assure you that I would rather die than give up my love for you, honourable and virtuous ag Wiis: As since, I could not patiently endure not to speak to you should I see you, and if I do not see you my heart, which cannot remain void, would be filled with despair which would be Sure to have some terrible ending, I have determined to embrace the monastic life. I know that an individual may be saved in my condition of life, ga brothe | Poor Pa | hen she s¢ | mture of cumstances, | vel pet remedies Pralina, 4 Hiessed, ta ing hig.» tthe Obgem terained Lor him | Uiekery op ¢ ' ta did hot (ta, thoug be dosingThe Fre Mauch a ey both y ch, genta with Pa 1m to t of hig Dir gave bin and al aN cisc er, bis f 1 him, & in Wate obtaiti > obtal arTiagt! the let and al nd evel. dof bit When bi ssion t r agai nly pit o mett | save li! ne wi showing? uf they? o not 2 go Wnt Not have ote h py ] cot wu, i, i md te tg le | al ( i OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 125 but I have made up my mind to this, so that I may have more opportunity for contemplating the divine goodness, which I hope will pity the faults of my youth, and change my heart s0 that I may learn to love spiritual things, as I have loved temporal things. And if God gives me grace to attain to this knowledge, I will continually pray to God for you, and also beg you, for the sake of that strong and loyal love which has existed between us, to remember me in your prayers, and to beseech God to give me as much constancy when I can see you no longer, as He gave me pleasure in your presence. And as I have for long hoped to have from you in marriage what honour and conscience allow, I have been satisfied with that hope, but now that I have lost it, and can no longer expect even to be treated by you asa husband, at least, in bidding me farewell, I beg you to treat me as a brother, and to kiss me.” Poor Paulina, who had always treated him very strictly, when she saw the extremity of his grief, and the honourable nature of his request, which was so moderate under such cir- cumstances, did not answer him, but threw herself on to his neck, and wept so bitterly that speech, feeling, and strength failed her, and she fainted in his arms, so that from pity, love, and sadness he did the same, and one of Paulina’s companions seeing them both fall down called for help, and by dint of pro- per remedies they were brought round. Paulina, who had. wished to hide her love, was ashamed when she found how. vehemently she had demonstrated it, but she found a good excuse in the pity which she felt for the poor gentleman. But he, who could not endure to bid her an eternal farewell, hurried to his chamber with such a heavy heart, that when he got there he fell on the bed like a corpse, and spent the night in such piteous lamentations that his servants thought he must have lost all his relations and friends, and all that he had in the world. The next morning he com- mended himself to the Lord,and afterhe had divided what littlehe possessed, taking only a small sum of money with him, and for- bidding his people to follow him, he went alone to the monastery of the Observance. to ask for the religious habit, as he was fully determined never to wear any other. The Superior, who had known him formerly, thought at first that it was either mockery or that he himself was dreaming, for in all the country there did not seem to be a gentleman less fitted for a Fran- ciscan, though he possessed all the graces and virtues which can be desired in a gentleman. But after he had heard what126 TALES he had to say, and had seen his floods of tears, although he did not know what their source might be, the Superior received him kindly, and when he saw how persistent he was, he soon after gave him the monastic habit, which he received very devoutly, though when the marquis and marchioness heard it, they thought it so strange that they could scarcely believe it, Paulina, so that she might prove that she was not, in love, dis- sembled her regret at his loss as well as she could, so that everyone said she had very soon forgotten her loyal servant's ereat affection, and so for five or six months she made no further sign. But one day, going to High Mass at the monastery of the Observance with her mistress, when the priest, the deacon, and the sub-deacon came out of the vestry to go to the high altar, her lover, who was not yet out of the year of his noviciate, and was serving as acolyte, came first, carrying the two wine and water cruets, which were covered with a silk cloth, walk- ing with down-cast eyes. When Paulina saw him in that dress, which rather heightened than diminished his good looks, she was so astonished and disturbed, that to conceal the real cause of her heightened colour she began to cough. The poor lover, who knew this sound better than the sound of the monastery bells, did not dare to look round, but as he passed by her, his eyes would take the direction which they had been so accus- tomed to, and whilst looking sadly at Paulina, the fire which he had thought was almost extinct took such fierce possession of him, that, wishing to restrain it more than he was able, he fell down at his full length in front of her; so frightened was he that the real cause should be known, he said that the pave- ment which was broken at that spot had caused him to fall. When Paulina saw that he had not changed his sentiments towards her, with his dress, and that it was so long since he had entered the monastery that everyone thought she had forgotten him, determined to carry the design which she had into execution, namely, to follow his example, and at anyrate be one with him in the religious life, just as whilst they had been in the world they had lived in one house under one master and mistress. More than fourteen months before she had arranged everything that was necessary previous to her taking the veil, and so one morn- ing she asked leave of her mistress to go and hear mass at the convent of St. Claire, which was granted her. Ag ghe passed by the Franciscan monastery, she begged the Superior to allow her to see her lover whom ghe called her relation, and when she saw him alone in a chapel she said to him: «Tf my honour had | J jand that | ‘iteep them ilwid this ‘i up th lithe stren ath tears of thing m0 hoe where ———s = thot them ile stoop. te kiss of Loy | Tom the } i Claive, ‘mid of the e tnt the ne vewmade her Wisled with Wis Mamorta / Neature on e9; bent she i (lett her Wy Ind such hol He those lay He aid it i ate you tla abode (Wh more ¢hthough k i receina he soo very den eard | ly belie ot in log ould, «| loyal sen v0 Jon the real he post he mo ad by een st fire Thi poste sable, tened W to art a wil 16 ml {yess I 0 ont 109s) i } i. OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 127 allowed me to take the veil as soon as you assumed the monastic habit, I should not have waited so long; but as I have been able by my patience to overcome the opinions of those who always think ill rather than good of every action, I have deter- mined to adopt the same state of life and habit as you wear, without asking what it is, for if you fare well I shall do the same, and if you fare ill I do not wish to be exempt; for by whatever road you go to Paradise I wish to follow you, for I am certain that He—who is the only really perfect being, and worthy of the name of love—has drawn us to His service by an honourable and reasonable love which He will turn entirely to Himself by His Holy Spirit, and I can only pray that you and I may both forget this perishable body which we have from the old Adam, and to put on that of our spouse Jesus Christ.” This monastic lover was so pleased to hear of her holy resolve that he strengthened her in her opinion as much as he could, with tears of joy, and told her that as he could never hope for anything more than speaking to her, he was pleased to be in a place where he could always have an opportunity of seeing her, and that their conversation would always be such that both of them would be the better for it, and he prayed to God to keep them in His hand, where none need perish. When he had said this with tears of love and joy, he kissed her hands, but she stooped her face down to his hand and they exchanged the kiss of love in true charity. From the Franciscans Paulina went straight to the convent of St. Claire, where she was received and veiled, and then sent word of the event to the marchioness, who would hardly credit it, but the next day she went to the convent to see her and persuade her to change her mind; but Paulina’s answer was that though she had been able to deprive her of a human husband (the man she had loved best in the world) she must be satisfied with that, without trying to separate her from Him wha was immortal and invisible, for neither she nor any othet creature on earth could do it , whereupon the marchioness, seeing how bent she was on carrying out her pious resolve, kissed her and left her with extreme regret. And Paulina and her lover lived such holy and devout lives that nobody can doubt that He, whose law is charity, said to them at the end of their life, as He said it to Mary Magdalene: ‘“ Your sins are forgiven you because you have loved much,” or that He removed them in peace to that abode whose recompense exceeds all human merits, and much more than repays them for all the good they have done.128 TALES “You must own, ladies, that no man’s love was ever greater, but it was so well repaid that I only wish that all those who are in love were as well recompensed.” , os “Tf that were so, there would be more fools than ever,” gis | Hirean said. : | “Surely,” was Oisille’s reply, “ you cannot call it folly to love gi in such an honourable manner in youth, and then to bestow all pth that love on God?” Hircan laughed and said: “If melancholy and despair are Fete praiseworthy, I will allow that Paulina and her lover were | i, deserving of praise.” | ® “Yet,” Guebron answered, “God has many means of attract. ing us to Him, whose beginning indeed may seem bad, but their _end is very good.” “Tt is my opinion,” Parlamente interposed, “that noone can | love God perfectly who has not loved somebody in this world, and I call those perfect lovers who seek some perfection, either 7 goodness, beauty, or grace, in the object of their love.” \ “If I could speak Latin well,” said Simontault, “I would quote St. John to you, who says: ‘If he loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen, for by means of visible objects we are led to the love of the invisible.” \ “If you will tell us where to find such a perfect man,” marsuitte replied, “ laudamus eum.” “ There are some men,” Dagoacin answered, “‘ whose love is so strong and perfect that they would rather die than entertain any desire contrary to the honour and conscience of their mistress, and would not let either them or others know their feelings.” VW “ They are like chameleons,” Saffredant said, ‘‘ who live on air, for there is no man living who does not desire to declare his love, and to know that he is loved, and I am sure that there is was wih ee a SS — OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. bes) NOVEL XX. A GENTLEMAN IS UNEXPECTEDLY CURED OF HIS LOVE AT FINDING HIS CRUEL MISTRESS IN THE ARMS OF HER GROOM. THERE was a gentleman in Dauphiné called the Seigneur de Ryant, who belonged to the household of Francis I., and who was as handsome and well-bred a man as could be found any- where. For a long time he had paid his court to a widow lady, whom he had loved and respected so much that he did not dare to ask her for what he particularly wanted, for fear of losing her good graces. Knowing, moreover, how good-looking and worthy of being loved he was, he fully believed what she often assured him was a fact, that she loved him better than any other man in the world, and that if she were inclined to do anything for any one it would be for him alone, but it must be nothing that should go beyond the limits of virtuous friend- ship, and she told him, that if she suspected him of putting forward pretensions to anything further, he would lose her altogether. The unhappy gentleman was not only satisfied with that, but considered himself very fortunate in having gained the heart of such a virtuous lady. It would take too long to tell you of his love, of his long courtship, and of the journeys he took to see her; finally, however, this wretched martyr in that pleasant fire, in which one wishes to burn the more one has been burnt, was constantly seeking for means to increase his martyrdom. One day, he took a fancy to travel post to go and see her whom he loved better than himself, and whom he thought more highly of than of all the women in the world. As soon as he arrived he went to the house and asked where she was. He was told that she had only just returned from vespers and had gone into the warren to finish her devotions. He dismounted and went straight to the warren where she was, and met her woman who told him that she had gone to take a walk by herself in the great alley which was in the warren. He began to hope there might be some good fortune in store for him, and as softly as he could and without making any noise looked for her, as he wished above all things to find her alone. But when he came to a delightful arbour formed of the hanging boughs of trees, which was as pleasant a spot as any one could wish to find, he entered it suddenly hoping to I130 TALES find her there, and so he did certainly, but it was lying on the grass in the arms of one of her grooms who was as ugly, filthy, and disgusting, as the gentleman was the contrary. You may imagine his disgust at this sight ; fortunately, however, it wag so great that it at once quenched every spark of that ardour which had been devouring him so long, for he was ag full of anger as he had been of love, and so he said: “Madame, much good may it do you. Now that I have found out what you really are, Iam completely cured of the love which I felt foy you whilst [ looked upon you as a decent woman,” and without another word he returned home, quicker than he had come. The only answer the poor woman could give him was to cover her face with her hands, for as she could not hide her disgrace she covered her eyes, so that she might not see him who saw through her so clearly in spite of her long course of pretended virtue. “So, ladies, pray never dissemble with an honourable man if you have no intention of loving really, for hypocrisy is paid in its own coin, and God favours all real lovers.” “Certainly,” Oisille remarked, “you have kept back a good story for the end of the day, and if we had not promised to speak the truth, I could not have believed that a woman of station could have gone astray so far as to prefer a filthy muleteer to such a gentleman.” “Indeed, madame,” said Hircan, “ you would excuse that poor widow, if you only knew the difference there is between a gentleman who has been used to wearing armour and going to the wars nearly all his life, and a well-fed servant who has never experienced the hardships of war.” ‘There are some women,” Simontault continued, ‘who would like to have evangelists to preach up their virtues and their chastity, saying that did their honour allow them they would grant them all they desired, and then these poor fools declare that they would put their hands into the fire to prove how virtuous such ladies are, and all the time these dames show themselves just as they are to those who are like them- selves, and choose for their lovers those who are not bold enough to speak, and who would not be believed if they did, on account of their low station in life.” “TI do not believe it,” said Parlamente, “ though I have heard it asserted ; but it is time to go, so that we may not keep the monks waiting like we did yesterday.” The 00! shen the haan DE eno eno t gst | ny thet! § + pen ter pat the arte ( hey eal they told anf chat to listen, roortal and they ! the meade to goto b payllg the wards, au gecond dalpoeri! ; back I prin ib a We ett | use ti? ig ei OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 131 The company all agreed tu tnis, and returned to church, but when they got there, they found that though the bell had been rung, there was no one there to say the service, because the monks having heard that all their guests had gone to the meadow to tell each other tales, and as they were fonder of their pleasure than of their prayers, they had hid themselves lying on their stomachs in a ditch behind a thick hedge, and had been there listening so intently to the stories, that they had not heard the monastery bell ring. This was self-evident when they arrived, for they were all so out of breath with running that they could scarcely begin vespers, and when they were over, they told those who asked them why they had begun so late and chanted so badly, what they had done in order to be able to listen, and so they were told that every day they might sit comfortably behind the hedge. The supper was very merry, and they related such things as they had forgotten to tell in the meadow, the whole evening long, till Oisille begged them to go to bed, so that they might be quite fresh in the morning, saying that one hour before midnight was worth three after- wards, and so they parted for the night, and thus ended the second day.132 TALES THIRD DAY. Wuen the company came into the refectory the next morning they found Madame Oisille, who had already been there for half an hour, meditating on what she was going to read to them, and they were so engrossed with what they heard that a monk was obliged to come and summon them to mass as they did not hear the bell. After hearing mass devoutly and dining soberly so that the meal might not make them heavy, they all went into their several rooms, to look over their list of tales, till it was time to go to the meadow. ‘Those who had some droll story to tell, already looked so merry that they hoped they would give them cause for a hearty laugh. When they were seated, they asked Saffredant whom he was going to call upon to begin. ‘Since the story I told last evening was very much against the ladies,” was his reply, “and as I know none to repair it, I call upon Parlamente, whose excellent sense will enable her to praise the ladies so highly that she will make you forget the truth of my story.” “T willremedy the mistake you made,” Parlamente said, “ but [ will not imitate it, so, whilst confining myself strictly to truth as we have promised, I will undertake to tell you that there are ladies who have nothing but virtuous aims in view when they love. And since the lady of whom I am about to speak was of noble birth, I shall change nothing but the name, and beg you, ladies, to remember that love has no power to change an honourable and chaste heart, as you will see by the follow: ing story.” eS Hy 0) a etn innit. iiagttgancittncitite tee tbaceititronense tiie (0 AN c qoung | busi ap? 10 dor vet od-100 fapost gught the f vitle rere a) much married, Jog, she pondly fet time Her ye iby and ahe Was pentler brave an qon, and mutual ¢ morived a Rolain nobody, of this p chaperoni 7 , nett 1 heen tk yng tok y heat i 0 massa” utly al heary tf f + ir Ist Hl OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE 3 183 NOVEL XXI. THE HONOURABLE AND WONDERFUL LOVE WHICH A YOUNG LADY OF A NOBLE HOUSE ENTERTAINED FOR A BASTARD—HOW THE QUEEN THREW IMPEDIMENTS IN THE WAY OF THEIR MARRIAGE AND THE LADY’S CLEVER REPLY TO THE QUEEN. THERE was a queen in France who had in her household several young ladies of title; amongst others there was one called Rolandine, who was nearly related to her, but as the queen had some reason to be displeased with her father, she did not treat her very well. Although the girl was neither particularly good-looking nor ugly, she was so sensible and of such a sweet disposition that several great lords and persons of high birth sought herin marriage, but they only got unfavourable answers as the father was so fond of his money that he neglected to settle his daughter in life, and as has been said, the queen favoured her so little, that she was not wooed by those who wished to ingratiate themselves with the queen. Thus, through the neglect of her father and the queen’s dislike, this poor girl remained for a long time unmarried, till at last she took this so much to heart, not because she was particularly eager to get married, but because she was ashamed of remaining single so long, she gave herself entirely up to devotion, and giving up all worldly pursuits, and the vanities of the court, she spent all her time in prayer and working. Her youth was passed in this retired way, living as honour- ably and as piously as it was possible for anybody todo. When She was nearly thirty years old, she made the acquaintance of a gentleman, who was the bastard of a noble house, and as brave and well-bred a man as any of that period, but he was poor, and certainly no lady would ever have thought of taking him for his good looks. As he was also unmarried, like herself, and as we are apt to seek out companions in misfortune, he sought out Rolandine, and since their fortunes, temperaments, and conditions were very similar, by seeking each other out for mutual consolation, wherever an opportunity offered, they con- ceived a great affection for each other. Those who had seen that Rolandine was of so retired a disposition that she would talk to nobody, seeing that now she was incessantly with the bastard of this noble house, were greatly scandalised, and told her chaperon that she ought not to allow such long conversations.134 TALES She therefore remonstrated with Rolandine on the matter and told her how shocked everyone was because she was on such intimate terms with a man who was neither rich enough to marry her, nor handsome enough to be loved. Rolandine, who had hitherto always been more reproved for her devout and austere, than for her worldly ways, said to her chaperon: ‘You know, mother, that I cannot have a husband of my own rank in life, and that I have always attached myself to those who are young and good-looking ; but, for fear of doing as I have seen others do, I have now attached myself to this gentleman, who, as you know, is so good and virtuous that he never speaks with me but on good and virtuous topics. How can you, or those who speak about it, blame me for trying to console myself for my troubles?” The poor old lady, who loved her mistress more than she did herself, said to her: “ Mademoiselle, I see that you are speaking the truth, and that neither your father nor your mistress treat you as they ought, buat, as it is so, and your honour is thus being brought into question, you ought to break with the man, even if he were your own brother.” Rolandine burst into tears, and replied: “As that is your advice, I will follow it, but it is a wretched thing not to be able to find any consolation in this world. So when the bastard came, and wished, as usual, to have a long interview with her, she told him all that her chaperon had said, and begged him with tears to be satisfied with merely talking to her in public, till all this talk about them should have subsided, to which he agreed. But, as they could no longer mutually console each other on account of this separation, they soon began to feel so unhappy as she, at any rate, had never felt before. Her whole time was spent in prayer, fasting, and pilgrimages, for love which she had never felt before now caused her such misery that she never knew a moment’s rest. The bastard’s love was just as strong, but as he had determined to try and obtain her hand in marriage, and considering that besides the love he bore her, how good it would be for him to be able to win her, cast about for means to declare himself openly to her, and, above all, to get the chaperon over to their side. He managed to do this, by telling her how wretched her unfortunate mistress was, as she was bereft of all comfort and consolation, and the poor old lady thanked him, with tears in her eyes, for the sincere affection he felt for her lady. They settled means to enable them to converse more freely together, and it was agreed a es SS — = —> <=> e B zz are eid eee ——— > a>. = = cee = A mutter W fntman § | is that incensed the room i ever w dearly the event sna at => Ss eS —s —— x aioe ar Miecoen (calla. — Sa een =a = oOo eae B siteof | ve that Inmarry, tot knowOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 135 nthe = that Rolandine should pretend to be suffering from a sick v Ma headache, and when her companions went into another room, Ach eg they then would be left alone, and could talk together as long ” ag they liked. The bastard was delighted, and did just as he | her der was told, so that he could meet his mistress whenever he wished ; *chapern but this pleasure did not last long, for the queen, who, as we hus? know, disliked Rolandine, asked why she was always in her tached mn own room, and some one told her that it was on account of her for fear not being at all well, but somebody else, who bore her a grudge, duydi said that her sick headache would soon go, now that she could virtuous meet the bastard when she pleased. The queen, who thought us topes that sins that were venial in others were mortal in her, sent 6 fort for her, and forbade her ever to speak to the bastard, except in “old her own, the queen’s, chamber, or in the great hall, fsa i Rolandine did not appear to object to this at all, but replied, tnt that if she had thought that either he or any one else was ‘aster objectionable to her majesty, she would never have spoken to o brew him, but she made up her mind to find out some other means rh fi of which the queen should know nothing, and this is how she managed. On Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, when she tat fasted, she remained in her own room, where she had plenty of y not te opportunity for speaking to him whom she had begun to love + the be so dearly, whilst the others were at supper. And the shorter ‘og tl their time was, the more ardent did their language become, for 4 be they stole the time; their talk was as precious to them, as bei some article of great value is to a thief who steals it. But the ‘ ai matter was found out in spite of all their precautions, for a ait footman saw him going into her room one fast-day, and repeated afl it, so that at length it reached the queen’s ears, who was 80 gil A incensed that after the bastard did not venture to go into ih the room of the maids-of-honour. In order, however, not to “ J lose every opportunity of speaking with her whom he loved a ; so dearly, he often pretended to go on a journey, and in rl id the evening he would return to church, or to the chapel of the a “ castle, diseuised as a Franciscan or a Jacobin, so that no one tie! , could recognise him, and there he would go and speak to Gt Rolandine and to her chaperon. When he saw how much i i she loved him, he ventured to say to her: eT “‘ Mademoiselle, you see the risk I run in speaking to you in ae spite of the queen’s prohibition, and, on the other hand, you oy y see that your father has no intention whatever of allowing you to marry, as he has refused so many good offers for you, that I do not know of any one, far or near, who can obtain you. I know136 TALES that I am poor, and that you could not marry a gentleman who was not richer than I am, but, if love can be regarded as riches, I am the wealthiest man in the world. God has given you great wealth, and you have prospects of still greater, and, were I to be fortunate enough to be the husband of your choice, | would, all my life long, be your husband, your servant, and your lover. But, if you choose one who is your equal (who would be a very difficult man to find), he would insist on being the master, and would think more of your wealth than of yourself, of beauty than of virtue, and, whilst enjoying your riches, would neglect you. Therefore, from desire for your happiness, and my fears that you will not find it with anybody else, I beseech you, at the same time, to make me the most fortunate of mortals, and yourself the most contented and best treated wife in the world.” | Rolandine was delighted that he had thus expressed her very wishes, and told him that during the two years she had known him she had thought of all the arguments that could be adduced for and against him, and that she had come to the conclusion that she could find no one, no matter how handsome, rich, or of high station he might be, whom she could love except him, and that as her father had not tried to find her a husband, she could very well marry without his consent, though he could disinherit her for so dving, and that in marrying him, she should look upon herself as the richest woman in the world; that she owed nothing to the queen, her mistress, who had pre- vented her from marrying whilst she was young; but that she must stipulate, should she agree to marry him, that the mar- riage should not be consummated before her father’s death or before she had obtained his consent to it. The bastard promised this willingly, whereupon they exchanged rings and kisses before God as a witness to their mutual promise, and after that matters never went any further oetween them than a kiss. These two perfect lovers were quite satisfied with this slight satisfaction, and often they would not even meet for a long time, so certain were they of each other. There was scarcely a place where honour was to be gained, where the bastard was not to be found, who felt that he could never be poor as God had given him such a treasure in his wife, who during his frequent and long absence thought of no other man than him, and though several gentlemen demanded her hand her only answer was that, having remained unmarried so long, she now had no intention of marrying. When this was tl \ jot pa ee onl jit -leamined viested tn ‘Ti vas in he W ' i] i j has be wis uit order eel to have but to be ol gle ako q ely wpa vhen sheOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 137 AITY & ett nie reported to the queen she asked her why she said this, and regartely Rolandine replied, that she did so in obedience to her wishes, as Me ii she had never chosen to allow her to marry during her youth, Herat when she might frejuently have been well married, and that now Mid yiti age and patience had taught her to be satisfied with her present ) ot ~=—=s condition, and that was the only answer that she would ever S youth = give. Ould inst When the war was over, and the bastard had returned to ut Wali court, she never spoke to him in public, but always went to ilst jy meet him in some church, under pretence of going to confession, m divi for the queen had forbidden them, on pain of death, to speak iy together alone. But honourable love, which makes light of si prohibitions, found many more means of enabling them to meet wild’ than their enemies found for playing the spy upon them, and by means of constantly changing his monastic dress, the » knight found means to continue their honourable love, till the | king went to one of his country seats, where the only church | to which the ladies could go on foot was built in such a manner joie that the confessor must have been recognised wherever he was. : But when one chance failed them, love provided them with ~ mother and an easier one, for a lady who was a very near 4 <4 +s at itohad 8 een $0 anesthin | wutohed f nuke Lis | taments , ust | foun | | uae one tad been | theeapor te pico tom whicOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 139 ou , . : ween then in another, who stood at the door through which all the bite _ ladies passed, and then secretly gave her the letters in the crowd. chy With ach 1 he wag fi who had been entrusted with the affair and who recognised the | 7 page, ran after him, but the page, who was a clever lad, and 1 guessed what he was being pursued for, ran into the house of a ‘| poor woman who was boiling her pot on the fire, and at once where ii burnt the letters. The gentleman who followed him stripped % One day, when the queen was going into the country, somebody i ( COM him stark naked, and searched his clothes thoroughly for the aie br =» Jetters, but when he could find nothing he let him go; and when lat -he had gone, the old woman asked the gentleman why he had ) audit searched the poor child in that fashion, and he told her that he , Vitti wished to find some letters which he thought he had about him. le, she si ‘You were not likely to find them,” she said, ‘‘for he had ‘if, tii’ =—-hidden them too well.” When he asked her where, hoping to | ir time i be able to find them, and was told that it was in the fire, he till more at perceived that the page had been more cunning than he, and at d care abit once went and told the whole circumstance to the queen. how her ei As the bastard could not after that employ the page any every iy longer, he sent an old servant in his stead, who, quite regardless hat he 1 of the threat of death which was held by the queen out to those aself an who should mix themselves up in that affair, undertook to + ot ait! convey the letters to Rolandine. When he had reached the hh len! C2dteaw where she was, he waited at a door at the foot of a were ott grand staircase, which all the ladies used. But a man-servant + tll! who had seen him formerly, recognised him at once and told the an, al queen’s-maitre d’hétel who he was, who immediately sent to idl arrest him, but the cunning servant, seeing that he was being watched from a distance, turned round against the wall as if to i make his water, tore up the letters into the smallest possible i fragments and threw them behind a door. He was arrested almost immediately, and searched all over, and when nothing was found on him he was asked on oath whether he had not carried letters, but they could get nothing out of him in spite | of all they could do in the way of threats and persuasions and promises. The matter was reported to the queen, and when t 8p if some one suggested looking behind the door close to which he , had been arrested, they found the fragments of the letters, whereupon the king’s confessor was sent for, who arranged all : the pieces on the table, and so could read the whole letter, the from which the secret marriage became known, as he called her : his wife. The queen, who never thought of hiding her neigh- op the” bour’s faults as she ought to do, made a great noise about the140 TALES matter, and ordered that any means should be adopted to force him to confess the truth about the letter, and when it was shown him, he could not deny that he had had it, but whatever was said to him or shown to him, he would avow nothing. Some of the queen’s servants were ordered to put him into a sack and to carry him to the bank of the river, and they told him that he lied to God and the queen as the fact proved, but he, who would rather have lost his life than have betrayed his master, asked for a confessor, and after having made a good confession he said to them: “Gentlemen, pray tell my master, the bastard, that I commend the care of my wife and children to him, as I am willing to die to do him service, and do with me whatever you please, for you will never get a word out of me which will be detrimental to him.” In order to frighten him more, they threw him, sack and all, into the river and said: “If you will speak the truth your life shall be spared ;” but when they found that he gave them no answer, they pulled him out again, and reported his fidelity to the queen, who exclaimed that the king nor she were so fortunate as to have such faithful servants as that bastard who had no means of recompensing them. She tried, therefore, by all means in her power to persuade him to enter her service, but he utterly refused to leave his master till the latter gave him leave to do so, and she was so kind a mistress to him that he lived most happily and contented in it. When the queen had found out the fact of Rolandine’s marriage, she sent for her, and with an angry countenance several times called her wretch instead of cousin, intending to show her thereby how she had disgraced her father and all her relations by that act, and also how she dishonoured her mistress by getting married without her leave or licence. Rolandine, who for a long time had known how her mistress disliked her, had the same feelings towards her, and neither love for, nor fear of her, found any place in her heart, and as she was sure, moreover, that the rebuke which had been administered to her in the presence of several people, did not proceed from the love which the queen bore her, but was intended to disgrace her, and that she felt more pleasure in having an opportunity of reprimand- ing her, than sorrow at finding her at fault, answered with a countenance which was as happy and calm as that of the queen was agitated and angry: “ Madame, if you donot yonr know own heart I will point out " you ia | yer mi ihiok py ga pens { qld are n0 Pr matt 7! ‘ ge ve ur vat | abappin® ng since etme Foul avons WE J gon that pro 18 & ay dighte though irorldly | pt found | nigag Ul S- =oOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 141 ou! nid ao to you that you have for a very long time borne ill-will towards ad hadi yy «= TAY father and myself, but you know this so well, that you will Fl avon tly not think it strange if everybody guesses it ; and as for me, ut hin madame, I have felt it, to my great disadvantage, for if you had ther tt been pleased to show me as much favour as you do to those jit who are not so nearly related to you as I am, I should have vei titié® ‘een married by this time, as much to your credit as to my aed _ own good, but you have treated me asif you had altogether gud §— forotten me, so that I have lost the chance of all the good sie, vit ~—-s matches I could have made, through my father’s neglect and dren i your want of consideration, and this has caused me so much ith ne unhappiness, that, if my health would have stood it, I should ulm wit = Jong since have turned nun, so as to escape from your harsh treatment. Being in this state of mind, I met with one who ther lin! would be of as good birth as I am, if the mutual love of two wil set? persons were as highly thought of as the marriage ring, for you yfouitii! know that his father was of higher rank than mine. He has agai, wi” loved me a long time, but you, madame, who never overlooked tit t@- my slightest faults, and never gave me credit for any good act, hithile’ although you knew it was not my habit to talk of love or pensng fh of worldly matters, and that I was resolved to lead a religious life, to per yet found it strange that I should speak with a gentleman who fused to was as unhappy as myself, in whose friendsbip I neither thought Jo 9, al nor hoped to find anything except consolation for my wretched mnt a state of mind. When I saw, however, that even this was denied me, I resolved, in my despair, to seek my own happiness as tof Hi much as you sought to deprive me of it, and so it came about that we spoke of marriage which was only consummated by our j mutual promises and the interchange of rings. It seems to | WV ngty cout | ue, tne father i! me, therefore, madame, that you are very wrong in calling me wicked and a wretch, seeing that loving each other as we do, ured bere eS “ iy I could easily have found opportunities for doing wrong, but " mist yet we have done nothing more than kiss each other, trusting ther lo that, by God’s mercy, I might obtain my father’s consent before ag te! str the marriage was actually consummated. Thus I have not offended God or my conscience, for I waited till I was thirty tie years old in order to see what you and my father would de el with me, and during my youth I was always above reproach as 1,0 oe to my conduct. But when I found I was getting on in years, / | SS =—=— «=. el ee ee = ppt } a as God has endowed me with good sense, and as I could not a i find a husband in my own rank of life, I made up my mind to marry one who was to my own liking, not to satisfy ‘the lust of the eye,’ for you know he is not good-looking, nor ‘ the lust [wil142 TALES of the flesh,’ as the marriage has not been consummated, nor for ‘the pride of life,’ as he is poor and in a humble position, but I thought solely of his virtue and all his good qualities, for which everybody gives him credit, and of our mutual love, which made me hope that with him I should find repose and kindness. So, having thought over all the good or the harm that might happen to me from the step 1 was about to take, I de. cided on what I thought was the best, and on which I had been deliberating for two years, namely, to pass the rest of my days with him ; and so, madame, I must beg you to excuse my very excusable conduct, and to allow me to live in peace, which [ am sure I will find with him.” When the queen saw how resolute she looked, and how true everything was that she said, she could not give her a satisfactory answer, but could only renew her passionate abuse, and burst- ing into tears she said: “You wretch! instead of humbling yourself before me, and repenting of your enormous fault, you speak audaciously without even shedding a tear, showing there- by the obstinacy and hardness of your heart, but if the king and your father will only believe me, they will put you into a place where you will soon learn to speak very differently.” Rolandine answered: “As you accuse me of speaking with audacity, I shall hold my tongue unless you give me leave to speak and to reply to you;” and when the queen had given her the required permission she said : “Madame, it is not for me to speak to you who are my mis- tress and the greatest princess in Christendom, with audacity or without all the reverence which is your due, and I should never think of doing so; but as truth is my only advocate, I am bound to state it, and I can only hope that, when you have heard it, you will think differently of me. JI do not fear that any mortal being will blame me, when they know how I have conducted myself in this affair, as I know that I have done nothing to offend either God or my honour, and so I can speak fearlessly ; being well assured that I have such a judge on my side, I should be wrong to fear those who are subject to His tribunal. And why should I shed tears, madame, since neither my honour nor my conscience reprove me in this matter, and more than that, since I am so far from being sorry for what | have done, that, if it were needful, I should do the very same thing again? But on the other hand you, madame, have indeed good cause for tears, not only on account of the way in which you have wronged me during my youth, but also because now you pected I nut wishe (a gure, mare pt “The que ane to be igived 0 mnmunica i | wi t Tiekine's | mied he | ttercbange URMOLY § The king ti iends ithdraw ¢ | lim that i Ok for hin | able toOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 148 “i itt publicly rebuke me for a fault which should be imputed 1 a to you more than to me. If I had offended God, the king, you, U bis gu my relations or my conscience, I should indeed be callous if 1 of ttt repentance did not cause me to weep; but I need shed no tears \% ill fil for having done what is good, just, and holy, which could only 7 godt: have been spoken of with approbation if you had not made too abit iti much noise about it, and created a scandal which proves that midi’ your wish to dishonour me is stronger than your wish to main- ‘thet? tain the honour of your house and of your relations. But tame madame, I shall not contradict you, and I shall bear whatever eit jit «836s punishment you inflict upon me, I, imnocent as I am, shall endure it with as much pleasure as you will take in inflicting kel, aly it. Therefore, madame, you and my father may order me to ile? 4 undergo any punishment you may please, for I know it is use- e abuse less to resist, and, as he will second you, I shall be glad that at stead of Io least he follows out your wishes to do me harm, and that as he poms hi neglected my welfare to obey your will, so now he carries out ea, your wishes to injure me. But I have a Father in heaven who, but it I am sure, will give me patience to endure all the evils that il poy «= yOu are preparing for me, and I put my trust in Him alone.” vy i The queen, who was beside herself with rage, ordered her at once to be taken out of her sight, and to be put in a room by , herself, where she could speak with no one, but she wag aot deprived of the company of her chaperon, and through her communicated her situation to the bastard, and asked him what she should do. As he thought that his past services might have some influence with the king, he immediately went to court, and finding him out hunting he told him all the facts of the case, and begged him that he would use his influence with the queen, that she would allow his marriage, poor gentle- man as he was, with her maid-of-honour, to be consummated. The king’s only reply was: ‘‘Can you assure me that you have married her?” ‘Yes, sire,” was his answer, “ by promise and interchange of rings only, but with your permission the whole ceremony shall be thoroughly completed.” The king bent his head without saying a word, and returned ‘a straight to the castle, and at once called the Captain of the si Guard and commanded him to arrest the bastard; but one of 3 al his friends, who could read the king’s looks, advised him to withdraw to one of his houses in the neighbourhood, and told be him that if, as he believed would be the case, the king sent to art look for hina, he would at once let him know so that he might i be able to escape out of the kingdom, and that as soon as the ! ane bi quee bw pho aS with a fT se! adv when J ql ~ Ss => = =144 TALES matter was smoothed over he would let him know go that he might return. The bastard took his advice and made such haste that the Captain of the Guard did not find him. The king and queen deliberated together what they should do with this poor lady who had the honour to be their relation, and by the queen’s advice they determined to send her back to her father and to let him know the whole matter, but before sending her back they deputed several priests and lawyers to talk with her in order to prove to her that as her marriage had not gone beyond words it might easily be dissolved, if they would only agree to separate altogether, and that it was the king’s wish that she should do so for the sake of the honour of the house to which she belonged. But she told thenr that she was ready to obey the king in everything except in going against her conscience, saying that those whom God had joined together man must not put asunder, and she asked them at the same time not to ask her to do anything so unreasonable, for if love and good-will, founded on the fear of God, were the real and true marriage bond, she was tied so firmly that neither steel, nor fire, nor water, nor anything but death, could loosen it, and to death alone she would give up her ring and her plighted word, and she begged them again not to oppose her, as she was re- solved rather to die in order to keep her word, than to live after having denied it. When they reported her resolute answer to the king, and it was found impossible to induce her to give up her husband, she was sent to her father, and with so little regard to her rank that nobody who saw her mode of conveyance could refrain from tears, so that even if she had committed a fault the punishment was so severe and her constancy so great, that her very fault seemed to be a virtue. Her father, on hearing the news, would not see his daughter, but sent her to a castle in a forest, which he had built formerly for a reason worthy of be- ing related later on, and kept her there for a long time, telling her that if she would leave her husband he would receive her as his daughter again and set her at liberty. But she remained constant and preferred her prison bonds as long as she retained that of her marriage, to perfect liberty without her husband, and her very looks showed that all that she was suffering was but a pleasure, as she suffered it for the sake of the man she loved. But what can I say of theman? The bastard who owed her so much, fled to Germany where he had many friends, and by his inconstancy proved that he had not been attracted to 3 mm 4 | ints, she p gyanlne ghitol, 4 yoren DE ht his sak iol towal { y(l other, yl allowe yotieree fp notice ant they yghaad. 8 ios trou tfoct and | ysbe mat ite or SP in is vet wl vas. VE ais report Inlandine ok pity | na lew / lead the j iueral, sh ‘ohm, J en inp ilat she | inkling ito his ¢ tore in throle mate priests aa i at ag Ler wns be disule , 0d that sake of tek he told the xoeph up d bad onal het at these ble, fr i re the rll w t neither Je loosen her pl her, asst word, th \ ‘hy tO the kt up le I egal tl nop coll Hed 8 0 et rb \ r 0 408 I! i i i) ‘f) , i wort ng tn yd 1 rf set gs sll? het pi ul i { tT f hy xs f he tat ( rel 0? OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 145 Rolandine by real and perfect love, as much as by avarice and aimbition, and he fell so much in love with a German lady that he even neglected to write to her who was undergoing so much for his sake; for fortune, however hard it might have proved itself towards them, had never prevented them from writing to each other, but now this foolish and wicked love into which he had allowed himself to be beguiled did so, and Rolandine was so grieved at his neglect that she was inconsolable ; and when she noticed that his few letters were so changed and cold to what they had been that they were not the least like his former ones, she guessed that another love had separated her from her husband and estranged him from her, and done what all pre- vious troubles had not been able to do. But her love was too perfect and pure to allow her to judge him on a mere suspicion, so she managed to send a trustworthy servant secretly, not to write or speak to him but to watch him and find out the truth. On his return he told her that he had found out that the bast- ard was very much in love with a German lady, and that it was reported that he wished to marry her as she was very rich. Rolandine was so grieved at this news that she fell seriously ill, and as the reason was soon known her father sent to tell her that as she saw what a bad man the bastard was, she could per- fectly well give him up, and many arguments to that effect were brought to bear upon her, but though she was very much harrassed, yet she would not alter her determination, and in this last trial she showed how great her love and her virtue were ; for as love grew less on his side, it increased on hers, and in spite of everything, remained a full and perfect love, and as it grew weaker in him it increased in her, and when she per- ceived that the love which had before been shared between them, now lodged in her bosom alone, she determined to pre- serve it till one or other of them should die. But divine goodness, which is perfect charity and true love, took pity on her sufferings and patience, so that the bastard died in a few days, whilst wooing another woman; and when she heard the news from persons who had been present at the funeral, she sent to her father to say that she should like to speak to him. He, who had never spoken to her all the time she had been in prison, went to her at once, and when he had heard what she had to say in self justification, instead of rebuking her or killing her, as he had often threatened to do, he took her into his arms and said with tears: “My daughter, you are more in the right than I am, for if you have committed a fault. Ki “remo a se 146 TALES I am the principal cause of it, but since God has seen fit that iy matters should turn out thus, I will make amends for the 4 past.” Thereupon he took her home and treated her as hi eldest daughter, and she was soon sought in marriage by a gentleman who bore the name and arms of her family. The match was agreeable to Rolandine and to her father, and wag quickly concluded. It is true that her brother, who was her father’s sole heir, would never give her any share of the in. heritance, under the pretext that she had been disobedient to her father, and after his death he was so hard towards her, that she and her husband, who was a younger son, had hard work to subsist, but God provided for them, for the brother who wanted to:.keep everything for suddenly, and left behind him his own wealth and that of hig sister, so that she inherited all the riches of that great house, and lived honourably and piously in the love of her husband ; and after having brought up two sons whom God gave them, she cheerfully yielded up her spirit to her Creator, in whom for so long she had put her perfect trust. “Ladies, I wish that men who depict us as go inconstant would show me a husband who is as good as she was asa wife, and who possesses.an equal amount of fidelity and_persever- ance, but they would find the task so hard, that I will let them off it altogether rather than put them to such trouble, and I beg you, ladies, either not to love at all, or to love as perfectly ag she did.” : ‘‘ Certainly, Parlamente,” said Oisille, “ you have told us the story of a very great and noble woman, and which illustrates her constancy as much as it does the disloyalty of her husband who wished to leave -her for another.” ) “I think,” interposed Longarine, “her trouble must have been unbearable, for though there is no burden which the -love of two persons cannot bear, yet when one fails in his duty and leaves it all to the other, the weight becomes insupportable.” “Therefore,” said Guebron,.“ you ought to pity us, as we bear all the weight of love, and you will not put out a little finger to relieve us.” ‘“Ah! Guebron,” was Parlamente’s answer, ‘the burden of the man and the woman are very different, for a woman’s love rests upon God, and her own honour, but that of men, only upon their own sensual pleasure.” Papo be letsae: tallz any more about the matter,” was himself died quite H —= =— PORMING | BANS 70 vore life, t ie of Fran show him (no reform hat he ce sas elect uevrault, 1 iay of the under to § ‘ined bim ‘igh at firs ‘ivhen he jinice wha (it himself id to pre i of doin to eat mm mold do iy about 1 And thu 110i, he bec» fies S OL Der tn he ey het Lite brother wn, ALY shar ] Wy « NL Dean i ve Of her La m God ga Creator, ag 0 i she wala ity a je at Ii it rouble, a as pat have ti rich -of ber ¥ ! Or THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 1!7 Bea ntautt’ reply, “but ask Parlamente to call on somebody far? 7 good story.” but ¢ called upon Guebron who said : pis I have begun by mentioning the Franciscans, I must Myag }orget the monks of St. Benedict, but you must not let Whim 1 am going to tell you about them make you think Pho Of those who do not deserve it. But that you may not Mw. it extraordinary that extreme lust is hidden under ex.gjme austerity, listen to what took place in the time of Franjcis I. i RAR EOD 1 { NOVEL XXIL A REFORMING PRIOR UNDER COVER OF HIS HYPOCRISY, TRIES ALL ; MEANS TO SEDUCE A NUN, BUT AT LAST HIS WICKEDNESS {gs ' DISCOVERED. THERE was a prior at St. Martin-des-Champs in Paris, whose name I shall not mention on account of the friendship I used. to have for him. Till the time he was fifty, he led such an austere life, that the fame of hig sanctity spread through the whole of France, and there was no prince or princess who did not show him the utmost respect when he went to see them, and no reform was undertaken without his having a share in it, so that he came to be called “The father of true religion.” He was elected visitor of the great society of the Ladies of Fontevrault, who stood in such awe of him, that when he went to any of their convents, all the nuns trembled with fear, and in order to soften his rigorous treatment of them, they en- tertained him like they would have done the king himself; and though at first he refused to accept their excellent treatment, yet when he came to be fifty years old he began to find out how nice what he had at first refused was, and coming to look upon himself as the public property of all religious bodies, he Wished to preserve his health better than he had been in the habit of doing. And although the rules of his order forbade him to eat meat, yet he granted himself a dispensation (which he would do to nobody else), and used to say when he was asked about it, that he had to bear all the weight of the religious life. And thus he lived so well, that from having been a very thin monk, he became a very sleck one, and besides this, his change148 TALES of living also brought about a change of mind, so that he l thatieg, to look at women’s faces which he had never ventured | the before, and thus began to hanker after those beauties his 4 their veils only made more desirable, and in order to sPY a 7h his desires, he made use of such subtle means, that from The ¢ a shepherd he became a wolf, so that in several reli W48 ny houses he did not fail to corrupt any nun who might her , little foolish or giddy. ‘a But after he had been carrying on this evil manner CF life for some time, Divine goodness, taking pity on its wand ering sheep, would no longer allow him to continue in his infe’mous career as you Shall hear. t Going one day to visit the convent of Gif, near Paris, he heard the confessions of all the nuns, and amongst then was one called Marie Heronet whose sweet and agreeable 'voice gave promise that her heart and looks would correspond tho it; and from merely hearing her speak he was seized with a passion of love which far exceeded anything he had ever! felt for any other nun; 80, when he spoke to her, he stooped down to look at her, and when he saw how red and charming her lips were, he could not refrain from lifting her veil to see whether her eyes were equal to them, and when he found that such was the case, he was filled with such vehement ardour that he lost all appetite for food and drink, and even his very looks became changed in spite of all his efforts at dissimula- tion. Neither did he find any repose on his return to his priory, and he spent his days and his nights‘in a state of the greatest agitation, searching for means to be able to satisfy his desires and to do with her as he had done with so many other nuns, though he felt this would be very difficult, as he had found her to be very sensible and clever, and seeing how old and ugly he was, he made up his mind not to speak to her about the matter, but to try and gain her through fear. So he very soon went to the convent of Gif again, and showed himself more severe than ever there, being angry with all the nuns, rebuking one because her veil was not low enough, another because she carried her head too high, and another because she did not bow properly as became a nun. And he was so severe with regard to all these trifles, that they were as frightened of him as they would be of God or the judgment day. As he suffered from the gout he fatigued himself so in visiting all parts of the convent, that when it was about time for vespers—he himself had fixed the hour—he found himself > qin al | Thah course 1 + ll you th | fom i dis an en]OY i nyself ~ tomes 1 pared joan 8 | ieusation | She ask | nayat, an ~ ad that J {thy and nated to | Seine ¢ | tlutions 1 / NY natuof tin, oo tat be ino ad never Ventured bay, 2 ter those banatiy OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, 149 the dormitory. The abbess said: “ Reverend Father, it is e for vespers.” He answered her, ‘“ Have them said, mother, for | am so tired that I shall stop here, not in order to rest, but to speak to sister Marie, of whom I hear very bad reports, Ad in det for I hear that she chatters like a worldling.” The abbess, who @ means, that fom i lat In several reli J DU who might’ this evil manner ¢ g pity on its wand ontinue in his inf of Gif, near Par und amon fhe t and ag vould cone Hl was her mother’s aunt, begged him to lecture her well, and left him all alone with her, with the exception of a young monk who was with him. When he was quite alone with sister Marie he raised her veil and ordered her to look at him, but she told him that the rules of the order forbade her to look at any man. “ That is so, my daughter,” he said, “ but you must not look upon us monks as men;” so she, fearing to disobey him, looked him in the face, and she saw that he was so ugly, that she thought it more a pen- ance than a sin to look at him. The holy father, after telling her how he loved her, wanted to put his hand inside her dress on to her breasts, and when she repulsed him, as she ought to do, he flew into a rage and said: “ What business has a nun to know that she has breasts ?” “T know that I have,” sister Marie replied, “and I am also certain that neither you nor any other man shall touch them, for I am neither young nor ignorant enough not to know what is a sin and what is not.” When he saw that nothing could be gained by words, he had recourse to another expedient, and said: “ Daughter, I must tell you the urgency of my case, and that is, that I am suffering from a disease which all physicians declare incurable, unless I can enjoy a woman with whom I am very much in love. As for myself, I would rather die than commit a mortal sin, but if it comes to that, I know that mere fornication is not to be compared with the sin of homicide, and so, if you value my life, you can save it, and also save your own conscience from the accusation of cruelty.” She asked him what sort of a game it was that he wanted to play at, and he told her that she might rest her conscience on his, and that he would do nothing which would burden either hers or his, and to show her how he wished to begin the game he wanted to play, he embraced her and tried to throw her on to the bed, but she, who divined his evil intentions, defended her- self so well that he could only touch her clothes. Seeing then that all his devices and efforts were useless, like a furious man, and one not only without conscience but without any natural reason, he put his hand under her clothes and150 TALES scratched everything that he could touch with his nails with such fury that the poor girl cried out as loud as she could and fell down ina faint. Hearing her screams, the abbess came into the dormitory where she was, for while she was at vespers she felt scruples of conscience at having left the nun, who was her niece’s daughter, alone with the reverend father, and she left the chapel and went to the door of the dormitory to hear what was going on, and hearing her grand-niece’s voice she pushed open the door which the young monk was holding. When the prior saw the abbess enter, he pointed to her niece who was lying on the floor in a fainting condition, and said to her: “You made a great mistake, mother, in not informing me of sister Marie’s constitution, for not knowing how weak she was, I made her stand up before me, and whilst I was lecturing her she fainted, as you see.” She was brought round with vinegar and other remedies, and found that she had hurt her head in her fall ; and when she had quite recovered consciousness, the prior, fearing lest she should tell her aunt what had occasioned the accident, said to her: “My daughter, I command you, on pain of disobedience and eternal damnation, never to tell any one what I did to you here, for you must know that it was the intensity of my love that led me to it, and as I see that you will not have it, I will not speak to you about it again, but I assure you, that if you will bestow your favours on me, I will get you elected as abbess of one of the best convents in the kingdom.” She answered that she would rather die in perpetual imprisonment than have any other lover than Him who died on the Cross for her ; that she would rather suffer all the ills that the world could inflict on her with Him, than enjoy all its favours without Him, and that he must never venture to address her in such language again or she would tell the mother abbess, but if he would promise her this she would say nothing. Whereupon this wicked shepherd left her, and to hide his true character, and in order again to have the pleasure of looking at her whom he loved, he went to the abbess and said: ‘‘Mother, I beg you to make all your nuns chant a Salve Hegina, in honour of that Virgin in whom I place all my trust.” All the time it was going on this old fox did nothing but shed tears, not from any real devotion, but because he had not been able sufficiently to prove his own to the other Marie, but all the nuns, imagining it was out of love for the Virgin Mary, thought what a holy man he was; but sister Marie, who knew his evil designs, prayed in her heart that he might be confounded who | | - fle | i routed | pans 10 | rely mr ) ght get | fis he We ibe stay! arent of (linet, a => | Wy however18 Dall ny 6 could ay O88 Cali Vespers i D, who Ty: er, and iy ry to hear o1ee she ing, Whe: r niece whi id to her; ng me she was | turing bet \ MN ith vinega ner head i snes, thet Ocrasiue you, on } any one g the inte Ih wy wil at i ggure Fol, you elt: J nedom * jmuprit + the (ir hat. the W yours itt her HE sb d to bit let 98 at OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 15] despised virginity. So this hypocrite returned to the monastery of St. Martin, where the unholy fire which was in his heart devoured him day and night, and caused him to devise various means to attain his object. As he feared the abbess, who was a very virtuous woman above all things, he considered how he might get her removed from the convent, and to accomplish this he went to Madame de Vendéme who happened just then to be staying at La Fere, where she had built and endowed a convent of the order of St. Benedict, which was called Mount Olivet, and being the head reformer in matters conventual, he told her that the abbess of the said convent of Mount Olivet was not capable of governing such a community, whereupon she begged him to find her another who should be worthy of that high office, and as that was just what he wanted, he ad- vised her to take the abbess of Gif, as being the most fitted for it of any woman in France. Madame de Vendéme sent for her at once and gave her the charge of the convent of Mount Olivet, whilst the prior of St. Martin, who commanded the votes of all the religious bodies, got an abbess appointed to Gif who was entirely devoted to him. After she had been elected he went once more to Gif to see whether he could not gain sister Marie. He tried bv prayers and by gentle means; but when he saw that he had not the least chance of success he returned to St. Martin, and there, partly to attain his end, partly to be avenged on her who had treated him so cruelly, and also from fear lest the affair might be known, he had the relics in the chapel at Gif stolen secretly at night, accused the confessor of the convent, an old and worthy man, of having taken them, and imprisoned him at St. Martin, and whilst he was a prisoner, the prior suborned two witnesses who signed what he told them to without knowing what it was, namely, that they saw the confessor and sister Marie com- mitting an abominable and indecent act in a garden, and he tried to make the old monk confess to this. But he, who knew all about the prior’s faults, begged that he might be brought before the Chapter, and said, that there, before all his fellow- monks, he would state truly all he knew about the matter. But the prior, who rightly feared that what the confessor would say in self-justification would show him up and bring general reprobation upon him, would not grant this request, and, finding that he was quite determined in his refusal, ill- treated him go in prison that some say he died there ; others say, however, that the prior forced him to relinquish the monastic Bs i <1bZ TALES habit and to 1eave France. However that may be, he wus never seen again. The prior, thinking he had got such a hold over sister Marie, went to the convent, where the abbess, who was altogether his tool, never thwarted him in any way. He at once exercised his right of visitor and summoned the nuns into his presence one by one into a room so that he might hear them in form of confession and visitation, and when it came to sister Marie’s turn, who had lost her kind aunt, he began by saying to her: ‘‘ Sister Marie, you know of what crime you are accused, and that your pretended great chastity has availed you nothing, for it is very well known that chastity is by no means one of your virtues.” Sister Marie answered boldly, ‘‘ Bring me face to face with my accuser and you will see whether in my presence he will maintain his wicked statement.” He told her that no other proof was needed, as the confessor had already been convicted. ‘I believe,” was her answer, ‘that he is sucha good man that he would never confess to such a wicked lie, but even if he had done so, bring him before me, and I will prove how false his statement is.” When the prior saw that he could not take her by surprise whatever he might say, he said to her: ‘‘I am your spiritual father, and therefore wish to shield your honour, I therefore leave it to your conscience to speak the truth or not, and I shall believe whatever you tell me. I command and conjure you, under the pain of committing a mortal sin, to tell me truly whether you were a virgin when you entered this convent.” She said, ‘‘My father, seeing I was only five years old, I could not well be anything else.” “Very well, my daughter, but have you not since then lost that fair flower of virginity ?” She swore to him that she had not, and that she had never been tempted but by him; but he told her he could not believe her, and that he must have certain proof that it really was as she said, and when she asked him what proof he required, he answered, “That which I have had from others, for as I am the visitor of souls, so Iam also of bodies. Your abbesses and your prioresses have all passed through my hands, and you need not fear that I wish to have your maidenhead, so just throw yourself on to the bed and cover your face with the front of your robe.” Sister Marie answered him indignantly: ‘You have spoken te me so often of your criminal passion for me that I feel sure ot mathe | inal | ute gu “Bat he obey 2 Uj he Ki oul | apf the © But sh gon Hl jal cad | mot YOU mot YOU yOu shoul ja just « He the! mud ad nade her qn very § I have be teen with | yeuance | yout con aeoused, ¢ on the ve | Therefore | paow I honest, 12 _, clan tains _— cla 5 = — mm reas —= co a -~ told bert is a just Judge.” He therefore summoned the whole Chapter to meet at once, _ a and had sister Marie brought before him, and after he had oh a ti made her kneel down he said to her with extreme severity, 1 sani am very sorry, sister Marie, that all the wholesome admonitions Baie I have bestowed upon you about this disgraceful affair have Berek been without any results, and so I am obliged to impose a gui penance on you, contrary to my custom. I have examined herein your confessor touching certain crimes of which he stands i aus accused, and he has confessed to me that he abused your person hate on the very spot where the witnesses depone to having seen you. . oa Therefore, just as I promoted you to be mistress of the novices, ba TI so now I order that you shall not only be degraded to the ' lowest rank amongst the nuns, but that you shall be fed ex- ve yea” clusively on bread and water, which you are to consume on the ae ground in the presence of all the sisters, till such time as you since have proved by your full repentance that you have merited . forgiveness.” Sister Marie, who had been warned beforehand hea by one of her companions who knew about the whole affair, ald ul that, if she said anything displeasing to the prior, he would put t realy her in pace, that is to say, sentence her to perpetual solitary 16 regi confinement, listened to her sentence without saying a word, 8, {ot 4 but lifted up her eyes to heaven and prayed that He who en- y able abled her to resist sin would also give her patience to endure nds, her sufferings. This venerable prior also ordered that for three phend, years she was not to be allowed to see her mother or any of her vith relations, nor to write any letters except in the presence of the | sisters, who should read them before they were despatched. 1 are The wretched fellow then went away and did not return, and154 TALES the unhappy girl for a long time was in the state of misery that I have described to you; but her mother, who loved her better than any of her children, was very much astonished at never having any letters from her, and said to one of her Sons, who was a prudent and honourable gentleman, that she thought her daughter must be dead, and the nuns would not inform her of the fact in order that they might still have the use of the annual payment which was made on her behalf, and she begeed him by some means or other, to try and see his sister, He at once went to the convent, where he was met with the usual excuegs, and told that his sister had not left her bed for three years, but as he was not at all satisfied with that explanation, he swore that unless he saw her he would scale the walls and force his way into the monastery. They were so frightened at his threats that they brought his sister to the grating, but the abbesg kept so close to her that she could not tell her brother nor speak openly to him as she wished to do. But she, having her wits about her, had taken the precaution to reduce all I have related above to writing, and also many other means that the prior had used to seduce her, and which I have omitted for the sake of brevity ; but I must not forget to mention that, whilst her aunt was abbess, the prior, thinking she repelled him on account of his ugliness, got a handsome young monk to agsail sister Marie’s virtue, for he thought if she yielded to this monk from love he could hope to gain her by fear. But the monk spoke to her in the garden with such indecent words and gestures that I dare not repeat them, and the poor girl fled from him and running to the abbess, who was talking to the prior, said, “ Mother they are devils and not monks who visit us,” The prior, who feared lest he should be found out, immediately said, laughing, “ No doubt, mother, sister Marie is quite right,” and taking her by the hand he said to her in the presence of the abbess, “I had heard that sister Marie spoke so well and so readily that it was thought that she still hankered after the world, and for this reason I have often spoken to her like a man of the world, though it was much against my nature to do SO, as far as I could learn that language from books, for I have no more practical experience of it than I had the day I was born; but as I thought that my age and ugliness were the reasons that induced her to speak to me in such a virtuous manner, [ told my young monk to speak to her in a similar way, and you see how she has resisted him. Therefore, I look upon her as so good and esteem her go highly that I wish her for the future { , nok ei nes | did th gl se, 28 {lit cont } ih be 00 | pig and § | sho 8 . Anite, do "ihe road to | andi ‘ irl do I 7 | orptohes W ine” Th rasted this siesses of bn, (0 his gious | | jparenge t formed th + ifthe matt | ter excus ty the Que tiation ist servic | welings, | liane Her een Was | | nl not a | the wretch | musing to -Siter Mari | nrtues wit! - the conven { jtted by vhich she | ihom she lad bestow if “Here, | Nt, Paul ga | | ! |OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 155 State of to rank immediately after you, and be the mistress of the r, who I novices, so that she may go on increasing in virtue.” Several ch astm times during the three years that he was in love with the one of be nun did this good monk act in a somewhat similar fashion ; that st i and she, as I have said, managed to give her brother a paper d notinh which contained a written account of all her unhappy history, 1 olde which he conveyed to his mother, who, almost in despair, went to hee iis Paris and saw the Queen of N avarre, only sister of the king, to . 1 i whom she related the whole affair, saying, ‘‘ Madame, for the tela future, do not put any trust in these hypocrites. I thought he aa that I had put my daughter on the outskirts, or, at anyrate, on a the road to Paradise, and instead of this, I have put her into a oy, hell, and into the hands of the very worst possible devils, for fol devils do not tempt us unless we yield to them, but those at litt wretches wish to have us by violence when they cannot do so by be abt love.” The Queen of Navarre was in a great difficulty, for she her nt trusted this prior of St. Martin entirely, and had entrusted the avin ht abbesses of Montivilliers and of Caen, who were her sisters-in- hae law, to his care. But, on the other hand, the crime was so ‘the pit enormous that it gave her the greatest horror, and her desire the a to avenge the innocence of this poor girl was so great that she t, whist informed the king’s chancellor, who was then legate in France, lled hin of the matter. He immediately sent for the prior, who had no nk to other excuse but that he was sixty-five years old, and appealing to this wi to the Queen of Navarre, he besought her that, as the only it the mi gratification she could give him, and as a recompense for his ; ort past services, she would kindly put a stop to all farther pro- oor gil ceedings, and that he was quite ready to swear that sister to the Marie Heronet was the pearl of honour and virginity. The 10 vist queen was so astonished when she heard this speech that she medi could not answer him, and left him standing where he was, and uit i the wretched man withdrew to his monastery in confusion, sence dl refusing to see anybody, and only survived his disgrace a year. yell au’ Sister Marie Heronet, who was esteemed as she deserved for the | after virtues with which God had endowed her, was removed from Tikes t! the convent of Gif, where she had been so unhappy, and ap- 9 to doi pointed by the king to be abbess of Gien, near Montargis, hares which she reformed, and lived animated by the spirit of God, was bot whom she praised all her life for the dignity and repose He 1¢ reas had bestowed upon her. ape a ti “Here, ladies, you have a story which fully bears out what pert St. Paul says to the Corinthians, that God by the weak things jo fat Se tar156 TALES of this world confounds the strong, and makes use of those who seem contemptible to set at nought those who think them- selves something, and thus our Blessed Lord’s words are ex. emplified: He that exalteth himself shall be abased, and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.” “It is very sad to see,” said Oisille, “how this Franciscan deceived really good people, but it seems as if they put more trust in him than they did in God.” “‘T am not one of those,” Nomerfide replied, ‘“‘for I do not at all trust that sort of gentry.” “There are some good ones amongst them,” was Oisille’s ro. mark, “and we must not judge them all because there are some bad ones amongst them, but the less they have to do with women the better.” “You are quite right,” replied Emarsuitte, “ for the less one sees of them, the less one knows of them, and if you see much of them, you find out exactly what they are worth.” “Let us drop the monastery,” Nomerfide answered, “and see whom Guebron will call on for the next story.” ‘“T shall call on Madame Oisille,” was his reply, “ provided that she promises to say something to the advantage of friars,” ‘‘As we have pledged ourselves to speak the truth,” was her answer, “I could not undertake to do that, and your story has reminded me of a very sad one which I must relate to you, as it happened close to where I lived at the time, and also to prevent you ladies especially, from being beguiled by hypocrites who think themselves more righteous than other people. As we all know that Satan often transforms himself into an angel of light, so that the human eye, blinded by his apparent holi- ness and devotion, may feel no hesitation in doin g anything to which he might tempt it, I think I may as well relate to you a sad affair that happened in my time.” NOVEL XXIII. THE WICKEDNESS OF A FRANCISCAN IS THE CAUSE OF THE MURDER OF THREE PERSONS, OF A SEIGNEUR, HIS WIFE AND THEIR CHILD, IN ONE HOUSE. THERE was a gentleman in Perigord, who was so devoted to St. Francis that he imagined that all who wore the habit of | ie ()yder 1 ays p 4 asi | ve de ) jathem «tis gon | as deliver | ga redow | goof bis ; francis¢® spect I is VEY after, upper, a0 ardgntly at asked the nortal 810 nouth afte The Fre gids “TA dat can | aamnst it not enter goneed of fom a slig | they the 1 | yas her wl It might begotten b The gen | lad hoped / tosleep w: | however, | | good for | | lila nian icicle = Vea = a fear tt Ss S that he de in his he been rem him to hi | know theOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 157 AKES Ue who thi the Order must resemble that holy man, and in his honour he Us wonky always kept apartments ready for any Franciscans who might r aay) » be passing that way, and he was ruled by them even in the ' i " smallest details of his household management, for he thought a this Pa that he must be secure if he followed their advice. The wife of this gentleman, who was as virtuous as she was handsome, was delivered of a fine boy, whereby her husband’s love for her 1 tT was redoubled, and to entertain his wife the better, he sent for a one of his brothers-in-law. Just as they were going to supper, nas Oi a Franciscan friar, whose name [ will not mention out of the ; respect I bear to the Order, arrived, at which this gentleman ee was very pleased, as he had no secrets from his spiritual on father. After a little conversation they all sat down to | supper, and during the meal the gentleman, after looking for tt ardently at his wife, whose beauty made her very desirable, nti " y if they pt yu Me asked the good father aloud: “Is it true, father, that it is a th mortal sin to have intercourse with one’s wife during the ee , month after her confinement ?” ee The Franciscan, who was not altogether what he seemed, ly, “pt said: ‘I have no doubt, sir, that it is one of the greatest sins age that can be committed in married life, if there were nothing uth," against it but the example of the Blessed Virgin Mary who did our st not enter the Temple till her Purification, although she had ate toi no need of that rite. You, therefore, must not object to abstain aod a from a slight sensual gratification, seeing that she, in order to by hype obey the Law, abstained from going to the Temple, in which peng was her whole consolation, and besides that, physicians say that into an it might have a bad influence on any child that might be pare begotten by such an act.” antl The gentleman was very vexed when he heard this, for he elate 1 had hoped that the worthy father would have given him leave to sleep with his wife, but he said no more about it ; the friar, however, having during supper drunk rather more than was good for him, looked closely at the lady, and thought within himself that if he were her husband he would go to bed with \ her without asking anybody’s advice or permission. And as a , fire increases little by little till at last the whole house 1s in mg flames, so this poor monk began to be so inflamed with lust, an © that he determined to satisfy his desires, which he had cherished in his heart secretly for three years. After the supper had been removed, he took the gentleman by the hand, and leading derott! him to his wife’s bedside he said to him before her: “Sir, I ve hat! know the love which you and your wife mutually feel for oneanother, and | feel sorry for the ardent feelings with which your youth inspires you both. ButTI will tell you a secret of our holy religion, which is this: that the law which 18 SO strict in order to prevent any abuse of their rights by inconsiderate husbands, is often relaxed with regard to those who are ag sensible as you are. Therefore, sir, although I told you before others how strict the law was, yet I cannot conceal from you, prudent man as you are, how mild it also can be, therefore know, my son, that as there are women and women, so there are also men and men. But first of all you must ascertain from your wife here, who has been confined three weeks ago, whether the flow of blood has altogether ceased.” When the lady replied that it had altogether stopped, the Franciscan said: « Then you may sleep with her without any scruple, but you must promise me two things, and these are: not to mention this to any one, and then not to come to her till two o’clock in the morning so that your love pranks may not disturb the lady’s digestion.” The gentleman promised to observe these condi- tions faithfully, and the friar, who thought he had more of the fool than of the liar in him, felt quite sure that he would keep his word. ‘After a little more consideration, the good father retired to his chamber, and wished them good-night, bestowing many benedictions upon them, but as he left the room he took the gentleman by the hand and said to him: “Sir, you ought to come also, and not keep your wife awake any longer.” The gentleman kissed her and said: “ My darling, mind and leave the door open.” When the friar got to his room, he had no thought of sleep- jng, but as soon as all was quiet in the house, at about the time when he was in the habit of going to matins, he quietly went straight into the room where the gentleman was expected, and finding the door open, he put out the candle and at once got into bed with her without saying a word. She, thinking of course that it was her husband, said to him: “Is this the way you keep the promise you made to our confessor, not to come here till two o’clock in the morning?” But the Franciscan, who cared more at that moment for the active than the contemplative life, and fearing that he might be recognised, only cared about satisfying his criminal desires which had so long tormented him, and s0, to her great astonishment, gave her no answer. When it was nearly time for her husband to arrive, the friar got out of bed and returned to his own room, and as the fire of lust had prevented him from sleeping, so now that ler, she We hppened he promise ) ko care 0 leone the | Oh! pray + The gent be could 1 s shout') | a you fin the this ag [shall be « sere, W The lady 1 "Pray do 1 " iiralthoug Thad pal | inmediatel Vand the Fr (nce fell. o jeupty, Te ‘otter and Franciscan, fettleman, (0 his wifeWith whit UL & soc Ch isso Dy inom 1086 Thy tld yuk neal fig terete 0 there a tain fy 10, Whelle’ he lady L said: “ but you 1 nention tit O'clock i urb the | @ these id more tt vould ke father 1 stowing i “he took you ong onget” ind ant i ——— | ty } | nt q NM) i i} Vi ght os ib abt s, he que 108 expt and att , thik Jy that got, Fat actit? i rennet oh al! ment at pasta oon, y now! — es Ss — = OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARKE. 159 fear which always follows crime prevented him from finding any repose, so he went to the porter and said to him: “ My friend, your master has commanded me to go to our monastery at once, to say some prayers for him, so give me my mule and open the gate for me so that nobody may hear it, for the matter is an urgent and secret one.” The porter, who knew that he would please his master by obeying the F ranciscan, opened the gate for him quietly and let him out. Just then the gentleman awoke, and as it was about the time when the good father had told him he might go to his wife, he put on his dressing gown, and went as quickly as he could to go to bed with her, as he might have done in accord- ance with the laws of God, without asking leave of anyone. When his wife felt him by her side and heard him talking to her, she was much astonished as she did not know what had happened, and said to him: “Is this again the way you keep the promise that you made to the good father, that you would take care of your own health and mine, that you not only come before the time, but now return to the charge a second time ? Oh! pray think what you are doing!” The gentleman was so utterly astonished at these words that he could not conceal it and said: “What are you talking about? I know that I have not slept with you for three weeks, and you find fault with me for coming too often. If you speak like this again, I shall think that my company annoys you, and I shall be obliged, against my habit and wish, to seek for that pleasure, which I may lawfully only take with you, elsewhere.” The lady who thought he was making fun of her answered : “Pray do not deceive yourself whilst thinking to deceive me, for although you did not speak to me the first. time you came, I had palpable proof where you were.” The gentleman then immediately saw that they had both been deceived, and swore to her that he had not been with her, which so afflicted the lady that she begged him with tears to find out who it could have been, for there was no one in the house except her brother and the Franciscan, and naturally the husband’s suspicions at once fell on him, and on hastening to his room he found it empty. To make quite sure that he had fled, he sent for the porter and asked him if he knew what had become of the ‘ Franciscan, and he told him what had taken place, and so the gentleman, being assured of his criminality, returned at once to his wife’s bedroom and said to her: “‘My dear, it is our160 TALES father confessor who was in bed with you, aud performed go many good deeds,” The lady, who had valued her honour above all things, her whole life long, was reduced to such a state of despair, that she fell on her knees, and forgetful of all humanity or a woman’s natural feelings, begged him to avenge the terrible in. jury the prior had done them. So without further delay the gentleman mounted his horse to go in pursuit of the Franciscan, and his unhappy wife remaining alone in bed, with nobody to console her or advise her except her newborn child, thinking over the terrible event that had happened to her, and without making any excuses to herself that she had acted ignorantly, im- agined that she herself was in fault and pictured herself as the most wretched woman in the world. She got into such a state of despair between the enormity of the crime, her love for her husband, and the honour of their race, that she thought it better to die than to live, and she lost, not only the hope which every Christian ought to have in God, but even her common sense, and became forgetful of her own nature, so that, forget- ting God and herself, she took one of the cords of the bed and strangled herself with her own hands. But the worst of it was, that in the agonies of that cruel death, she struggled so violently that her foot stamped on the face of her infant, whose innocence could not secure it from following its unhappy and suffering mother in her death; but it uttered such a loud deathcry, that one of the women who slept in the room got up quickly and lit the candle. And when she saw her mistress hanging strangled with the bed cord, and the child choked at her feet, she ran horrified to the room of her mistress’s brother, whom she brought to see this sad sight. The brother, as deeply grieved as anyone would be who loved his sister with all his heart, asked the maid who could have committed such a crime, and she told him that she did not know, but that no- body except her master had been in the room, and that he had left it a short time before. When the brother could not find the gentleman in his room he felt sure that he had done the deed, and without further in- quiries mounted his horse to go after him, and met him on the road as he was returning in great sorrow at not being able to catch the Franciscan. As soon as the lady’s brother saw his brother-in-law he cried out to him: “ Wretched coward, defend yourself, for I hope that God will avenge me on you this day by means of my sword.” The gentleman wished to expostulate, a tt he saw ja be bod jet disput og f blo ind to lean the rentlen yaing the | faye force! - pyrered eat om lity, that - janged het More de nan sald | you say!” + fhe case by let And done, | ameed th and he as pronged | answer, [have no hig horse 8 the next d friends th To satis and sue ¢ husband, vent on ( obtained who was t wards, as of France, "T thin you will your hou Dolson is ¢ “Tt see tan of th "T ca houses inOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, 16] aud pak but he saw that his brother-in-law was pressing him s0 closely, that he had better defend himself, than ask after the cause of 6 all ay their dispute. They gave and received go many wounds, that i 2 of lite loss of blood and weariness forced them to sit down side by side r T bata and to lean against each other, Whilst they were taking breath, ve thy tal the gentleman asked him: “ What is the reason, my brother, the ih seeing the great affection you used to profess for me, that you have forced this quarrel upon me?” Hig brother-in-law tae answered : ‘Tell me what reason you had to put my sister, the wi i best woman that ever was, to death, and that, with such bru- ll . tality, that under the pretence of going to sleep with her, you he a hanged her with the bed cord ?” a gut More dead than alive when he heard these words, the gentle- ol era man said: “Is it possible that you really found your sister as nto ui you say?” and when the other assured him that it was indeed her love the case, he replied: “I beg that you will listen to the reason she tha why I left the house,” and told him what the wicked Franciscan the her had done, at which the brother was very much surprised, and en hero grieved that he had attacked the husband without any reason, got and he asked his pardon, saying: “Pardon me, that I have of theta wronged you.” “If I have wronged you,” was the gentleman’s the wast! answer, “TI am punished for it, for Iam so severely wounded that be st I have no hopes of recovery.” His brother-in-law put him on tina, his horse as best as he could and took him home, where he died 9 wolegf! the next day, and the brother-in-law told all his relations and d such 14 friends that he was the cause of his death. pe rou To satisfy the requirements of justice, he was advised to go and sue out his pardon before Francis I., and so, after the husband, wife, and child had been honourably buried, he went on Good Friday to solicit his pardon at court, and he obtained it through the favour of Maitre Frangois Olivier, who was then chancellor of Alengon, and whom the king after- wards, as a reward for his great merits, appointed chancellor of France. “T think, ladies, that after hearing this true story, none of you will think twice about receiving any of these gentry into your houses, for you must remember that the most hidden poison is always the most dangerous.” “It seems to me,” Hircan said, “it was very. foolish to take a man of that sort to sup with such a beautiful woman.” “I can remember,” Guebron continued, “when there were houses in which every room was open to the good fathers, but L162 TALES now they are so well known that they are feared more than mercenaries.” aa “JT think,” said Parlamente, “ that when a woman is in bed neither priest nor friar should be allowed to go into her room except to administer the last sacraments, and when I send for one so, you may be quite sure that I am very near death.” “Tf everybody were as severe as you,” Emarsuitte replied, “the poor priests would be worse than excommunicated, by being deprived of the sight of women.” “ You need not be alarmed on their account,” Saffredant said, “for they will always manage to find women.” “Why,” Simontault continued, “ those very men, who bind us to our wives in wedlock, wickedly try to loosen the tie, and to make them violate their marriage vows.” “Tt is a great pity,” said Oisille, “that they whose duty it is to administer the sacraments should make light of them thus ; they ought to be burnt alive.” “You had far better honour them than blame them,” Saffre- dant said, “and flatter them than abuse them, but leave them alone, and let us see on whom Oisille is going to call.” “T ghall call on Dagoucin, for I see he is so wrapt in thought, that I am sure he has got some good story for us.” Dagoncin replied: “Since I neither can nor dare say what I think, I will at least tell you of a man whom cruelty first harmed and then profited. Although Love thinks himself so strong and powerful that he chooses to run about quite naked, and finds it unpleasant and indeed insupportable to go clothed, yet those who, in obedience to his dictates, disclose their senti- ments too soon, often suffer from their rashness, as happened to the Castilian gentleman of whom I am going to tell you.” NOVEL XXIV. INGENIOUS DEVICE OF A GENTLEMAN IN ORDER TO DECLARE HIS LOVE TO A QUEEN, AND WHAT RESULTED FROM IT. Av the court of a king and queen of Castille, whose names | shall not mention, there was a gentleman who was equal to any- body in Spainin goodlooks andhighrank. Everyone admired him r bis many fe, {or be ¥ in lady, all jane iplame te able 10 } fhe queen uot altogetb " pavporti a how hal i any of aly poss iyyo a8 he § into his hee gould not iow what maid. 10 her, most VurtuC treaties au Int she cou gery much tp hima so did.not te be would 1 that he sh did not rev ane could t and [ dare that you g that you 1 in the wor up her mu X =< | intended, pittance mae mirror tn t covered. It thread anc horse, wh desired, | , the Mo he wore a ts device, | td poina | dericeg hi | Mt excelle | |OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, 163 @ feared yp: for his many good qualities but still more peculiar manner of : life, for he was never known to have loved or to have courted 4 Wott 8 any lady, and though there were very many at court who might 90 tnt have inflamed ice itself, yet there was not one who seemed to d.hen [ be able to subjugate this gentleman, whose name was Elisor. Y near dat The queen, who was a most virtuous woman, but who yet was ss not altogether exempt from that flame which burns the fiercer COMMUN in proportion as its fires are hidden, was astonished when she saw how handsome he was, and found that he did not pay court t "Sale to any of her ladies, and asked him one day whether it were , really possible that he was as indifferent to the attractions of ry ne, love as he seemed to be. He told her, that if she could see oosen the into his heart as easily as she could see his countenance, she would not ask him that question. She naturally wished to y whet know what he meant, and pressed him so hard, that he at last ht of thant said to her, that he loved a lady whom he considered to be the | most virtuous in Christendom. She tried all she could by en- ne they! treaties and commands to make him tell her who the lady was, “but leet but she could get nothing out of him, and she pretended to be 9 call’ very much incensed against him on this account, and declared reap inti to him soleranly that she would never speak to him again if he ” did not tell her the lady’s name; but his only answer was that dare if he would rather die than divulge his secret, but when he saw ou arly that he should lose her favour and all chance of seeing her if he inks tn did not reveal a truth which in itself was so blameless that no at gut one could take it amiss, he said to her: ‘‘ Madame, I cannot a tol and I dare not tell you the lady’s name, but the very first time ose thet that you go out hunting I will show her to you, and I am sure i bag that you will say that she is the most lovely and perfect woman tl in the world.” When the queen heard this answer, she made up her mind to go out hunting at an earlier date than she had intended, and meanwhile the gentleman had had a large steel mirror in the shape of a corselet made, and this he put on and covered it with a cloak of black frieze which was faced with gold thread and embroidered with gold. He was riding a jet black horse, whose saddlery and appointments were all that could be desired. The bit and bridle were gilt and enamelled in black pc? in the Moorish fashion, and his hat was of black silk, and on it he wore a magnificent badge, with Cupid restrained by force for its device, the whole consisting of precious stones ; his sword 4 and poinard were just as handsome, and with corresponding ind! devices ; in short, he was perfectly appointed, and. he was such tai an excellent horseman, that all those who saw him neglected164 TALES the pleasures of the chase to watch how Elisor made his horse gallop and leap. After he had led the queen where the toils for the game were, he sprang off his horse and assisted her to dismount, and as she was holding out her arms to him, he opened his cloak and taking her in his arms said : S Madame, I beg that you will look here,” and without waiting for her answer he deposited her gently on the ground. When the hunt was over, the queen returned to the castle without speaking to Elisor, but after supper she sent for him and told him that he was the greatest liar she had ever met with, for he had promised to show her the lady whom he loved the best, whilst they were out hunting, but he had failed to do so, and on this account she had lost all esteem and regard for him. Elisor, however, fearing that the queen had not understood, told her that he had certainly kept his promise, for he had not only shown her the woman, but also that which he had loved best in all the world. She, pretending not to comprehend him, replied that she did not remember his pointing out any of her ladies to her as the one of his choice. ‘That is so,” was Elisor’s answer, ‘‘ but do you not remember what I showed you when I lifted you off your horse?” “I only remember seeing a mirror in the shape of a cuirass which you had on,” was her reply. “ And what did you see in that mirror?” he asked. “ Nothing but my own reflection,” was her answer. “Thus, madame,” was Elisor’s reply, “I have kept my promise to you, so that I might obey your orders, for my heart can never contain any other image but that which you saw reflected in my corselet, and I must love, reverence, and adore it, notas a woman but as my God upon earth, in whose hands are my life and death ; and I humbly beseech you, madame, that my great love for you, which has been life to me, whilst I concealed it, may not be the cause of my death now I have revealed it, even if I am not worthy enough for you to look upon me as your most devoted servant. At least allow me to live on, as I have done hitherto, in the happiness that I feel, knowing that as I have been bold enough to love a lady of such perfections and high rank, so the only satisfaction I can hope for, is to be allowed to love, without venturing to aspire to being loved again. And if the knowledge of my deep love for you detracts from what merit I might formerly have possessed in your eyes, at least do not deprive me of life, which consists solely in seeing you as 1 have been in the habit of doing, for now I receive no favour from you, but that one which is absolutely necessary to my very eh gisten0 al will wot bad The 4 ae reall for her cg ett tp keep x sca ta I tc, ll ll aa = i =, ehould | mas neit ag | al over hut youture hag 80 li ather t rentured chould | When psig b that she the othe speaking teen bef tim, and is yout bad felt ould steady "Tam been In. uy, W iain, at you feel tht you ese,” is there forward | bred he acai netende him to I therefore to leave ) abode dn— S i = = = = S OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 168 existence ; and if I have less, you will have a servant the less, and will lose the best and most devoted one that you have ever had or ever can have.” The queen, either that she might appear different from what she really was, or to put the love which he professed to have felt for her so long, to the proof, or because she loved somebody else better, and would not give him up, or because she wished to keep this gentleman in reserve in case her present lover should play her false, said to him with a countenance which was neither angry nor otherwise : “I want to ask you, Elisor, as lam altogether ignorant of the power that love exercises over human hearts, how you could possibly be so foolish as to venture to love me, though at the same time I know that man has so little command over his own heart that he cannot sway it either to love or hate as he wishes, but as you have now ventured to tell me what your real feelings towards me are, I should like to know how long you have entertained them ?” When Elisor saw how beautiful she looked, and heard her asking him about his lovesick malady, he could not help hoping that she was going to give him a remedy for it, but, then, on the other hand, seeing how grave and severe she looked whilst speaking to him, he felt almost as frightened as he might have been before a judge whose sentence he knew would go against him, and so he told her that his love for her had taken root in his youth, but that it was only for the last seven years that he had felt the pangs of love, if pangs they could be called, as he would rather die than be cured of them. “Since you have already displayed such resolution,” the queen said to him, “I am bound not to believe you more quickly than you have been in declaring your love for me; therefore, if it is as you say, I will put you to such a test that I will never doubt you again, and when you have stood that, I shall really believe that you feel towards me as you say you do, and when I am sure that you are what you say, you will find that I am all you can desire.” Elisor begged her to put him to any test she pleased, as there was nothing he would not endure if he could only look forward to the time when he might prove how perfectly he loved her, and she told him that if he loved her as much as he pretended, she was certain that nothing would be too hard for him to put up with so that he might obtain her favours, and therefore she ordered him, on the pain of losing them altogether, to leave the court the very next day and to go and take up his abode in some place where they could not hear anything of166 TALES each other, for seven years ; adding that as he had professed to love her for seven years he must be sure of the fact on his part, and that when she had a similar seven years’ experience, she might be induced to believe all that at the present time all his protestations would not make her entertain or listen to. When Elisor heard this cruel command, he at first thought that she wished to get rid of him, but on reflection, thinking that the test would speak more for him than any words of his own could do, accepted her injunction and said: “As I have been able to pass the last seven years without any hope, being obliged continually to smother my love, now that you know it I shall pass the other seven calmly in patience and hope. But madame, if I obey your command, which deprives me of all the happiness which I have in this world, what hope will you give me, that at the expiration of the seven years you will own me for your faithful and loyal servant ?” The queen took a ring from her finger and said to him: “TI give you this ring, cut it in half and I will keep one half, and you shall keep the other, so that, if in the course of all those years you are so changed that I should forget you, I may be enabled to remember you by the half of the ring which matches mine.” Elisor took the ring and cut it in two, giving the queen one half and keeping the other himself, and took leave of her, half dead with grief, and went to his apartments to make preparations for his departure. Sending all his servants to his own house in the country, he himself went with one attendant to such an out-of-the-way place that neither his relations not friends could hear anything of him for seven years. Nobody knows how he spent his life during those seven years, or what grief this absence from the queen caused him, but those who love will be easily able to imagine it. Exactly at the end of seven years, at the moment when the queen was going to mass, a hermit with a long beard came up to her, and presented her with a petition which she did not take the trouble to look at directly, as it was her habit to take all petitions presented to her, no matter how poor the petitioners were. When mass was half over she opened the petition, and inside it she found the half of the ring she had given to Elisor, at which she was both astonished and pleased, but before read- ing the letter she ordered her almoner to bring the hermit, who had presented her with the petition, before her. The almoner sought him everywhere, but could find out nothing more about him except that he had been seen to mount his horse, nitiDg hich iN yo" time ba love, all qiich 0 pore | as 184 had bee that he ered, tp devo he requ of hate wich § other ev phere The sstonis and fait kingdot of the bad Jos rag OYE to the § She seu him ou Aca, € rhere | “Pre abat ce bss, la putting (t Up ite lon {uous 1 and ort (t | ( in her that: be cannotOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 167 mG horse, but nobody knew what road he had taken. Whilst fl waiting for the almoner’s reply the queen read the petition, wi le which was in reality a long, well-written letter, which I cannot | ea give you here, in which he bade her farewell, telling her that : lath time had made him perfectly acquainted with the nature of th iy love, and also that his love was built on her great beauty; cig which only served as a mask to her cruelty, but he had now y wos proved to himself that beauty was nothing and that her cruelty “As Ls was really a boon to him, as her beauty which he had so admired ny hopy te had been the cause of his banishment. He went on to tell her you i that he would have died to serve her, but that now he was nd hope, cured, and gave her all his love back again, for as he intended sme dal to devote himself entirely to the service of God, body and soul, wil yout he required neither it nor her, and taking leave of cruelty, pain, 1 willome of hatred, of the torments of disdain, and of the ardour with ne which she had inflamed him, he could also bid adieu to all d to hm. other evils, and could say, ‘“‘ Adieu, madame,” fully resolved that one bal wherever they both might be, they should never meet again. hy The queen read this letter with tears, and with much ou, J i astonishment and regret, for she had lost so much in so loving ih and faithful a servant, that not all her treasures nor even her 0, giving kingdom itself could prevent her from feeling that she was one took of the poorest and most miserable women in the world, as she ent tom had lost that which no wealth could recover, so when mass rants was over she returned to her apartments, where she gave way no ate to the grief which was the natural consequence of her cruelty. relations She sent to search for the hermit, but He who had removed rg, Jl him out of her hands prevented him from falling into them ars, ot again, and removed him to Paradise before she could find out thse p where he was in this world. of whet! “From this we may learn that no lover ought to confess cat what can only harm him and never do him any good, and still she less, ladies, ought you to run the risk of losing your adorers by abit putting them to too severe a test.” peti? “Upon my word, Dagoucin,” said Guebron, “ I have all my oition life long heard the lady in question mentioned as the most vir- nto Bit tuous in the world, but now I look upon her as the most foolish rt and cruel one that ever lived.” the pe “T do not think,” Parlamente replied, “‘that she was wrong | in her test of seven years, for in these cases men are such liars, if 1 that before trusting them (if they are to be trusted at all), they i cannot be put to the proof for too long.168 TALES “T think,” said Oisille, “that the gentleman was much in- debted to the queen, as her treatment of him enabled him to devote himself entirely to God.” “He was very lucky to find God on his road,” Saffre- dant answered, “for in his case I wonder he did not get the devil.” Emarsuitte asked him whether, when any of his mistresses deceived him, he had given himself up to the devil, and he replied: “Over and over again, but he, knowing that all the torments of hell could be no worse than what I wag enduring already, would never take me, as he was aware that no devil was ever so unbearable as a lady whom a man dearly loves and who will not return his love. But I will ask you, ladies, seriously, whether you can justify the rigour of the queen?” “Certainly,” was Oisille’s answer, “for I believe she neither loved nor wished to be loved ; but as we have discussed this matter long enough let us ask Dagoucin to call on some one for the next story.” “T will call on Longarine, as I am sure she will give us some- thing new, and will speak the truth without sparing either man or woman.” ‘As you have so high an opinion of my veracity,” Longarine replied, “I will tell you what happened to a prince of very high rank, and who surpassed all his contemporaries in his endow- ments. Though falsehood and dissimulation are great vices and ought never to be employed except under extreme necessity, still, since princes are as much under the empire of love as others, and as we all know what pranks that passion plays with human hearts, they are often reduced to making use of lies, hypocrisy, and pretence, which, according to Maitre Jean de Meung,’ are the means of overcoming our enemies. And though such conduct is deserving of censure on the part of a prince as it is on that of any one else, I will tell you how a young prince managed to deceive those who generally are in the habit of deceiving everybody else. 1 The author of the well-known Roman de la Rose, ‘ ] | | 1 (pant W? (hal nine bet mist ante, he ng r0be mined t0 cif, for wat still nineteel, win figu ant treat her any hdy ver trouble v orn hom wo much | her for tt te had th { | gos 12 | | tie cada", laa aia aniasiiaaaitie la aii ac mail cc oo 1 kdy’s ho | the streeOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 169 Wa nn nabled lin NOVEL XXvV. read" i SHOWS THE OUNNING MEANS WHICH A GREAT PRINCE EMPLOYED My id tg TO ENJOY THE WIFE OF AN ADVOCATE OF PARIS. ig ites THERE was a lawyer in Paris who was held in higher esteem devi. ui} than nine out of ten members of his profession, and as every- , tu) Fh ae body wished to employ him because he was such a clever advo- titty cate, he had become richer than any of the gentlemen of the alle long robe. As he had no children by his first wife, he deter- aii mined to marry again, in the hopes of having some by a second Bat |e wife, for though he was old in body, yet his heart and his hopes th is were still fresh, and so he chose a Parisian of about eighteen or ae nineteen, very handsome in face and complexion, and still more r so in figure and rounded outlines. He loved her very dearly she and treated her as well as possible, but he had no children by et her any more than he had by his first wife, which vexed the one lady very much at last. Now as youth cannot endure any ; trouble very long, she began to seek for pleasure outside her ive own home and used to go to balls and feasts, but always with ite so much propriety that her husband could not find fault with aan her for it, as she was always accompanied by persons in whom > Dong he had the fullest confidence. fret ly One day she happened te be at a wedding, where there was a his ei prince of very high rank amongst the guests, who, when he incest related this occurrence to me, forbade me to mention his name, net but I may tell you that I do not think his equal in every res- of Ire pect can ever be found. When he saw this lady, whose every _ plays i look seemed to provoke love, he spoke to her with such ardour ge I that she listened to him with great pleasure, and told him Jean plainly that for a long time she had felt in her heart a yearning nd hole after that love which he offered her, and that he need take no prot trouble to persuade her to that which her heart inclined her to mn pt at first sight. As her unsophisticated love at once accorded abit to this young prince, the favour of which was well worth some time to acquire, he thanked his little god Cupid, who was so favourable to him, and without delay carried on the matter so far that they settled how they might meet without being seen, and, of course, the prince appeared punctually at the appointed time and place, but he disguised himself, so as to spare the lady’s honour. As, however, there were a number of ruffians in the streets at night, he took some gentlemen whom he could170 TALES trust, with him, and when he got to the end of the street where she lived, he left them and said: “If you hear no noise ina quarter of an hour, go home and come back at about three or four o’clock,” and as they heard no noise, they left. The young prince went straight to the house of the advocate, and found the door open as had been promised ; but, unfortunately, as he was going up stairs he met the husband with a candle in his hand, who saw him first, but love, which is always fertile in expe- dients, gave the young man courage and so he went up to the lawyer and said to him: “Sir, you know how fully I and all my family trust you, and I look upon you as one of my best and most faithful servants. 1 have come to see you thus privately, not only to beg you to look after my interests, but also to give me something to drink, for I am terribly thirsty, and please do not let any one know that 1 have been here, for when I leave this, I am going elsewhere, where I do not wish to be recognised.” The advocate, who was overjoyed at the honour which he did him by coming to see him so privately, took him into his room and told his wife to provide the very best collation of fruit and sweetmeats that she could, which she naturally did very will- ingly and certainly very well. Though she was only dressed in a kerchief and wrapper, which made her look even hand- somer than usual, the young prince pretended not to look at her, but spoke only to the advocate about his affairs, of which he had always had the management, but whilst the wife was kneeling before him to offer some sweetmeats, and the husband had gone to the buffet to get him some wine, she told him that when he left he was to be sure and go to a small closet on the right hand side of the passage, where she would come to him very soon. As soon as he had drank, he thanked the advocate and took his leave, and when he insisted on bearing him company, he assured him that he could very well find his way alone, and turning to the wife he said : “I will not deprive you of your excellent husband, who is one of my oldest servants ; you are very fortunate in possessing such a one, and ought to thank God for having him; serve and obey him well, for, certainly, if you do otherwise, you will be very unhappy in the end.” When he had said this he went out, and shutting the door behind him so that he might not be followed on to the staircase, he went into the little closet, where the lady followed him as soon as her nusband was asleep, and took him into a very ¢ nyers I: | gant bo it hows 4 pt tha ( 6 | ionevel ; ple an . walt {0 | ill ) ra whe yonasteny Non, al | iaotbed, gph stop & emai 12 4 qonks, WI coming Ou | men, monastery yufd, she hom she | efectionat Phy, mi | praye | bly aud ond does iter, wh | (novledge | hm $0 clo fe secret ng to and bis re | poe wh | jt like a | tehape | ede bin Then ¢ { inthink, Heasures, reat faith ected ix | | / | i | a . | ] | !OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 171 18 tesa ta elegant boudoir, though he and she were the handsomest things all in it, bowever they might be dressed, and I have not the least _ ’ doubt that she fully kept all her promises to him. He left her, | » a however, at the time when he had appointed to meet his \ | and do people, and found them at the place where he had told them ely, ate to wait for him. However, since this intrigue lasted a con- in Hi siderable time, the young prince found a shorter road to get to tle ing her, and that was by passing through a monastery, for he eat pi managed matters so well with the prior that whenever he ly i wished, the porter opened the gates for him at midnight and tye again when-he left, and as the advocate’s house was close to the usp monastery, he took no one with him. alo i Now, although this young prince was leading the life I have pl described, yet he feared and loved God, and although he did ren [i not stop as he was going, yet on his return he never failed to wish W | remain in the church for a long time in prayer, so that the. ; monks, who always saw him at his devotions on going into and mich bt coming out from matins, looked upon him as one of the holiest nto hist of men. But he had a sister who very frequently went to that of fui monastery, and as she loved her brother above everything in the d vey world, she recommended him to the prayers of the good people only ds whom she knew, and one day when she was doing so most - eve affectionately to the prior of the monastery, he said to her: ft et ‘Why, madame, do you know whom you are recommending to 3, of my prayers? You are speaking to me of a man to whose he wie prayers I wish of all things to be recommended, for if he is not ag bust holy and just (citing the passage: Blessed ts he who can do evil fd hin and does it not), I have never found anybody who is.” The set on sister, who wished to know now the prior had acquired the Id cout knowledge of her brother’s extraordinary goodness, questioned ranked him so closely that he said to her, making her promise to keep on beat the secret inviolable: “Do not you think that it is a wonderful oll fn thing to see a young and handsome prince leave his pleasure not ep and his rest to come frequently to matins, and that, not like a + sevil prince who seeks to gain worldly credit for doing so, but who, oh just like an ordinary monk, comes and hides himself in one of wel, our chapels? His piety so confounds the brothers and me that, pb? beside him, we are not worthy of the name of religious.” When the sister heard these words, she did not know what + the i to think, for though she knew he was much given to worldly ai pleasures, yet she knew also that he had a good conscience, and 4 aT great faith in, and love for, God, but she never would have sus- oat pected him of going to church at such an hour of the morning.172 TALES So she went to him and told him the good opinion that the monks entertained of him, and when he heard it he laughed go heartily that she, who knew him as well as she did herself, felt quite certain that there was something hidden under thig out- ward show of devotion, and left him no peace till he told her the truth, just as I wrote it down when she did me the honour to relate it to me. “You see, ladies, that lawyers are not so cunning, nor monks so crafty, but that Love will deceive the deceivers when necessary.” “Although I guess whom you have alluded to,” said Guebron, “I must say that the episode contains one praiseworthy fact, for it is not often that one finds great lords caring anything for the honour of ladies nor for public scandal, so long as they can have their pleasure, and they often make out matters worse than they really are.” ‘I only wish,” Oisille replied, “that young noblemen would follow his example, for often the scandal is worse than the fault,” “Do you actually imagine,” Nomerfide said, “ that his prayers which he said at the monastery were real ?” “It is not for you to judge,” was Parlamente’s answer, “for perhaps on his return he repented so thoroughly of the sin which he had committed that he obtained pardon.” “It is very hard,” Hircan said, “to repent of anything so pleasant, for though I have often confessed it, I have never repented of it, and I only wish that God would find pleasure in our pleasures, for I could very often give Him cause for great rejoicing.” “As you cannot make a new God,” Guebron replied, “the best thing to do is to obey the one we already have ; but let us leave these theological disputes, so that Longarine may call upon some one.” “TY call upon Saffredant,” she said, “and I beg him not to be so eager to speak ill of women, that he will not do them justice when he can do so with truth.” “IT am quite ready,” was his answer, “for I recollect the story of a loose and of a virtuous woman, so you can choose whichever you please, and you will see that Just as love causes wicked people to do wicked deeds, so it produces acts worthy of all praise in honourable hearts, and you will see from what I am about to relate that love does not change the heart, but shows it exactly as it is, bad in the bad, virtuous in the virtuous.” ra old, natural a + be could the ball dance, a be sald t tore at \ but young p f the youn charms nore abe Was 100 ] ‘ At suy | tined te tim on i “Si yo | | |OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 173 pion ty it hel did be NOVEL XXVI. under th ' tll be tf THROUGH THE ADVICE AND SISTERLY AFFECTION OF A VIRTUOUS | me thy LADY, THE SEIGNEUR D’AVANNES WAS CURED OF THE CRIMINAL LOVE HE HAD FOR A LADY OF PAMPELUNA. nmi In the time of King Louis XII. there lived a young lord called dutta M. d’Avannes, who was the son of the Seigneur d’Albret, brother of King John of Navarre, with whom Seigneur "sid Ca d’Avannes usually lived. When the young lord was fifteen sent years old, he was so handsome and graceful in his bearing that van he seemed made to be loved and admired, and so he was by all ff yi who saw him, and above all by a woman who lived at Pam- ba peluna, in Navarre, who was married to a very rich husband, with whom she lived in all honour; and although she was only ital twenty-three years old, yet because her husband was nearly a te fifty, she always dressed so very plainly that she rather pre- baie sented the appearance of a widow than of a married woman at and she was never seen at weddings or at entertainments with- ntels au out her husband, whom she valued so highly for his virtue and tnd? goodness that she preferred him to all the handsomest men Y she saw, and when he saw how discreet and reticent she was, : bi he entrusted her with the management of all his affairs. One \ a day this rich man and his wife were invited to the wedding of ae z one of his relations, and in order to show his respect for them nd YT the young Seigneur d’Avannes was also present, and he, as was m Cal natural at his age, was very fond of dancing, at which, indeed, fe ® he could not find his equal at the time. After dinner, when a the ball began, this rich man begged the young seigneur to 5 but 7 dance, and he asked him whom he should lead out, whereupon ne 1) , he said to him: “ Sir, if there were a handsomer woman or one an more at my disposal than my wife here, I would present her to mh you, but as there is not, I beg you to dance with her.” The hen! young prince did so gladly, being at an age when he cared \ more for dancing and hopping about than in regarding female elle charms; but his partner, on the other hand, thought much cal cn more aboxt his good looks than about the dance, although she love : was too prudent to let her feelings be noticed. smi At supper time M. d’Avannes took leave of the company and on retired to the chateau, whither the rich merchant accompanied het # him on his mule, and as they were going he said to him: ug i i ‘Sir, you have done me and my relations such honour to-day,174 TALES that I should be extremely ungrateful if I did not try to serve you to the best of my ability. I know, sir, that young noble- men like you, whose fathers are strict and avaricious, often require money more than we do, who, because me live in a small and very careful way, only think of saving it, and God, who has given me a wife who is all that I can wish, hag not completed my earthly happiness, as he has not blessed me with children. I know sir, that I cannot adopt you as my child, but if you will look upon me as your humble servant, and confide your affairs to me, I shall be most happy to assist your wants as far as a hundred thousand crowns go.” M. d’Avannes was very much pleased at this offer, as his father was just such a character as the other had mentioned, and thanked him heartily and called him has father by alliance. The rich man soon got so fond of the Seigneur d’Avannes that he was continually asking him whether there was nothing he could do for him, and he made no secret of his friendship for the young man to his wife who was delighted at hearing it. From that time M. d’Avannes could gratify every wish and he often went to dine at the rich man’s house, and when he was not at home his wife gave him every- thing he wanted, and besides she spoke to him so discreetly and constantly admonished him to be virtuous, that he feared her and loved her more than any woman in the world. As she had the fear of God, and regard for her own honour before her eyes, she was satisfied with seeing and listening to him, and as this ought to be enough for honourable and virtuous love, she never gave him the slightest hint that she regarded him with anything but sisterly and Christian affection. Whilst this concealed intercourse went on, M. d’Avannes by the help of his old friend was able to keep up a very splendid appearance, and when he was nearly seventeen he began to frequent ladies’ society more than he had been in the habit of doing, and although he would rather have bestowed his love on that discreet lady than on any other, yet the fear of losing her friendship, if he spoke to her asa lover, made him keep silence and amuse himself elsewhere, and paid his court to a lady near Pampeluna, who had a house algo in the town, and who had married a young man who cared for little except horses, dogs, and birds; and from love of her he gave numberless entertainments, such as tournaments, races, wrestling matches, masquerades, and fétes of all kinds, at all of which this young lady was present ; but as her husband had a very queer temper, and as her father and mother knew that she wag very handsome and also rather giddy, they, being jealous of her honour, hed h | geo 8 4 i sol {0 yp tO le yeu | jp that + gat, 26 | te pishod i But S Love, she | i to ha |g not out (nes, t0 . red het, | gute sure fowevet, ., be dsgu | ply I | ire all | ary s00n | atthe gro | le vould - jtat he we 1 nev noth anderstoo sation, | tall his | fy groom | The lady, anything | | ibe saw t i vas, bv ti, he pa 1 land and | new bia, / ath her, | temioht | todo that | —— | which | -iisposed { isappoint (alnOt Cor ind gee thot try vy i YoU ariciow WO lin git and Wish, by essed ney my chil t, and ont t your te nes Wa cha chang ily and ot 80 fou y asking d he math wife who 1 jj | i i Ni OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 175 watched her so closely that M. d’Avannes could only manage to speak a few words to her ata ball now and then, although he soon found out that nothing but time and place were want- ing to consummate their mutual happiness. He went therefore to his kind father, the rich man, and told him that he had a great desire to go to Notre-Dame of Mont- serrat, and begged him to receive all his suite into his house as he wished to go by himself, which the other gladly agreed to do. But as his wife’s heart was swayed by that great prophet Love, she at once suspected the truth about the journey and said to him: “Sir, the Notre-Dame to whom you are devoted, ig not outside the walls of this city, so I beg you, above all things, to take care of your health!” As he both feared and loved her, he blushed so violently at her words, that she was quite sure of the truth, without any verbal confession from him. However, he left her, and buying two beautiful Spanish horses, he disguised himself so well as a groom that no one could possibly recognise him. The lady’s husband, who loved horses above all things, saw the two which M. d’Avannes had, and very soon came to buy them, and after he had done so he looked at the groom who handled them so well and asked him whether he would enter his service. The Seigneur d’Avannes replied |Lhat he would do so gladly, but that he was a poor groom who knew nothing beyond the management of horses, but that he understood this so well, that he was sure of giving him satis- faction. The gentleman was very pleased, and gave him charge of all his horses, and going home he told his wife to look after the groom and the horses, as he was going to his country house. The lady, partly to please her husband and partly for want of anything better to do, went to look at the horses, and when she saw the new groom she thought what a good-looking man he was, but she did not recognise him the least. When he saw this, he paid his respects to her in the Spanish fashion, took her hand and kissed it, and in doing so squeezed it so hard that she knew him, for he had very often done so when he was dancing with her. From that moment she thought of nothing but how she might be able to talk with him in private, which she managed to do that very evening, for being engaged to an entertainment to which her husband wished to take her, she pretended to be indisposed and unable to go. As her husband did not wish te disappoint his friends, he said to her: ‘‘My dear, aS you cannot come with me, will you look after my horses and dogs, and see that they want for nothing ? »” The lady thought this a176 TALES very pleasant recompense for not going, but without letting M Ee him notice this, she told him that since he would not emplo | i h her in anything better, she would show him by attending tp 4 a his slightest wishes, how much she desired to please him. He, | La ; husband was hardly outside the door when she went down to | i the stable, where she very soon found that something wag wrong, al 5 and she gave so many orders to the men in order to set it right, | al ne that she was very soon left alone with the head-groom, and . o fearing that somebody might come, she told him to go into the iol ! garden and to wait for her in a summer-house at the end of one ~ ail of the walks, and he went off in such a hurry that he did not ) esse | even find time to thank her. After she had had everything get eel to rights in the stable, she went to the kennels, and looked | rens0d, after the dogs so carefully that she might have been a servant | longer instead of a mistress. When she got back to her room, she not keep was so tired that she went to bed, saying that she wanted to that, ev rest a little, and when all her maids had left her except one on Wen Te0 whom she knew she could rely, she told her to go into the otis garden and bring the man to her whom she would find In the hyo summer-house at the end of the alley. She went accordingly, he lady and found the head-groom, whom she brought immediately to then he her mistress, and was ordered by her to watch outside to give | change, warning of the husband’sreturn. As soon as M. d’Avannes saw ely pa that he was alone with the lady, he took off his groom’s clothes, uve & his false nose and beard, and not by any means like a timid afoot, groom, but like the nobleman that he was, and without ever ven he asking the lady’s leave, boldly got into bed with her, where the fj tnd hi most wanton lady of the country received him like the hand- shed du somest young man of his time, as he was, and he remained with te was 3 her till her husband’s return, when he resumed hig disguise, and shout yo cise ti i ieina E — ach ncaa incest left the place which he had go cunningly usurped and where he Ween at 2 had enjoyed so much pleasure. + joumeys When the gentleman went into the yard, he heard how care. jou took fully his wife had executed his wishes, and when he thanked } itt, you her she said: “My dear, I have only done my duty, for if | aud weak there were nobody to look after the lazy fellows every dog | tevote yc would be mangy and every horse out of condition, but as I | inpthe d know how idle they are, and what your wishes are, you will be | tif yo better served now than you have ever been before.” As the thed the gentleman thought that his new head-groom was the best in the | When world, he asked her what she thought of him, and she told him 4 WS no le that she was certain that he knew hig business as well as any | lomerly. man he could have found, but that he required to be kept ur + hand | |Ut witht WOUd not mM by atta ) lease bin she Went dip ething ta der to ttt headrin - 1m to at the end y that he di ad everythin nels, and hii é Deen a sen 0 her ro t she want er eCopt it to go int ould find nt at acon immediathi outside tog CU Avanness rrOOnS lil 8 like a te | without, her, wher ike the ba remainel g disgtis cand niet! Nb Ks AU OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 177 to the mark, as he was the sleepiest fellow she had ever met with. The husband and the wife were now on better terms than they had ever been before, and he lost all his jealous suspicions, be- cause she was just as attentive to her household duties as she had previously been given to entertainments, balls, and society ; and she was often quite satisfied with having nothing on but a - dressing gown over her chemise, whereas formerly she used to devote four hours daily to her toilette, for which her husband, and all who did not know how a worse devil had expelled the lesser, praised her very much. So this young hypocritical, seemingly virtuous woman led such a licentious life, that neither reason, conscience, order, nor measure could restrain her any longer, and a young and delicate man like M. d’Avannes could not keep it up very long, and he began to get so thin and pale that, even had he not been disguised, he would scarcely have been recognisable ; but he was so infatuated by his mad passion for this woman that he undertook tasks which would have been beyond the powers of Hercules, till at last he got so weak that the lady, who did not care for him so much when he was ill as when he was in good health, advised him to ask for hig dis- charge, and to go to his relations, and his master very unwill- ingly parted with him, and made him promise to return to his Service as soon as he was quite well again. He returned home on foot, as he had only the length of one street to travel, and when he reached the house of his father by alliance, he only found his wife at home, but her virtuous love had not dimin. ished during his absence. When she saw how thin and pale he was she could not help saying to him: “ Sir, I do not know about your conscience, but certainly your bodily state has not been at all improved by your pilgrimage, and I fancy that your journeys by night have fatigued you more than those which you took in the day-time, for if you had gone to Jerusalem on foot, you might have returned more sunburnt, but not so thin and weak. Remember this journey, and do not in the future devote yourself to such images as kill the living instead of rais- ing the dead. I could Say a great deal more to you about this, but if your body has sinned, I can see that it has been so pun- ished that I will not add to your distress.” When M. d’Avannes had heard what she had to say he was no less vexed than ashamed, and replied: ‘‘ Madame, I have formerly heard it said that repentance usually follows close upon sin, and now T experience this to my cost, and IT must beg M a ee ~SS aT 178 TALES you to excuse my youth, which has been punished by experi- encing the mischief in which it did not believe.” The lady changed the conversation, and made him go toa splendid bed, where he remained for a fortnight, living on nothing but restor- atives, and the husband and wife took such good care of him that one or other of them wasalways with him. And although he had committed all the follies which you have heard, con- trary to the wish and the advice of that excellent lady, yet her virtuous love for him did not diminish, for she always hoped that when he had laid aside his youthful follies, he would re- form and be brought to love virtuously and then be all her own; and during the fortnight that he was in her house she spoke to him so appropriately about the love of virtue that he began to hate his past follies, and when he came to look at her closely and saw that she was handsomer than the vicious one, he recog- nised more and more her many virtues and graces, and banishing all fear, could not refrain from saying to her one day, when it was erowing dark: ‘‘ Madame, I can think of no other means of being so good as you would wish me to be, than to devote my heart entirely to the love of virtue, and so I beg you to tell me whether you will help me as much as lies in your power to do it?” The lady, who was delighted to hear him speak thus, told him that if he really loved virtue asa man in his position ought to do, she would help him to attain his object with all the pow- ers God had given her. ‘‘ Madame,” he replied, “remember your promise, and consider that God, whom a Christian knows only by faith, deigned to assume human flesh like that of a sinner, that by attracting our flesh to the love of His human- ity, he might also attract our spirit to the love of His divinity, and has made use of visible means to make us love things in- visible by faith, like that virtue which I wish to love all my life. But it must assume a body in order that it may make itself known to men, and it has done so by putting on yours, which is the most perfect that can be found, and I who see perfect virtue, which you are, shine under the veil of the most perfect body which has ever existed, as yours is, wish to serve and honour it all my life, relinquishing every other vain and vicious love for it.” The lady who was no less pleased than astonished at hearing these words, concealed her feelings com- pletely and replied: “Sir, I will not undertake to answer your theology, but as I am more inclined to fear the evil than to believe the good, I must beg you not to address me again in language which you may have used towards those who believe it, and hom | fect woul ¢ ting ny shap But, OP fears Go | geet be | patie woliar®, ~ they art begged ponds, Dt through yore tall etcaniniin ~ nanan a cciltttin a EY == oC = ao ct SB oD eS = oOo = = Tm ee a), witho mhilst th mas incre tad been Atter t it bis cas to Monts nto Ol i long on | cut, he W wsed. ton rent and , in the str | ught, 1 tan hear there th Bae. and foun | hi abirt, 4 is arms, + bouse ag. | dea iil / | 7Unished by lieve,” Ty to a splenii nothing ht hy , | 00d care n Andult have hear lent lady, r i | }! \ | 4 i (i K f she alnays i => ies, he vou an be all be Ouse she si that he beg ok at her dt us ou, hes og ad ba day, wheat means df M 7 H —— a S- = os =S= == = SS —_ i = = ' i f 7 yak thy t positon a th all the p cd, “ene ostan ia like that! of His bunt f His dr ove ths” ( love ald i may ing on J) nd J win | of thes? tire th © OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 179 whom you respect so little. I know that Tama very imper- fect woman, just like others, and that virtue would do some- thing far greater by transforming me into it than by assuming my shape, unless it wished to remain unknown to all the world. But, imperfect as I am, I love you a8 much as a woman who fears God and her own honour, may do, but this love shall never be declared to you, till your heart is susceptible of that patience which virtuous love requires, and remember that your welfare, your person, and your honour are dearer to me than they are to yourself.” M., d’Avannes, with tears in his eyes, begged that she would give him a kiss as a pledge of her words, but she refused, and told him that she would not break through the customs of the country for his sake. Whilst they were talking, her husband came in, and M. d’Avannes said to him: “My father, Iam so much indebted to you and to your wife, that I beg you always to regard me as your son.” The good man very willingly agreed to this, and M. d’Avannes said : “Let me kiss you then, as a pledge of my affection.” When he had done so he said : “ Were it not for fear of offending against the law, I should like to do the same to my mother, your wife.” The husband thereupon told his wife to kiss him, and she did 80, without showing either the wish or dislike of doing it, whilst the ardour which her words had kindled in his breast, was increased by the kiss which he go longed for, asked for, and had been go cruelly. denied. After this M. d’Avannes went back to the king, his brother, at his castle, and told him all sorts of stories about his journey to Montserrat; but when he heard that the king intended to go to Olly and Taffares, fearing that the journey would be a long one, he felt very sad, and determined that before he set out, he would try whether the lady was not really better dis- posed towards him than she pretended to be. He accordingly went and took up his abode in an old woman’s house situated in the street in which she lived, and set fire to it about mid- night. The whole town was roused by this, and when the rich man heard of it, he put his head out of the window and asked where the fire was, and on being told that it was at the house of M. d’Avannes, he went there at once with all his serva, its and found the young man in the street, with nothing on but his shirt, and he was so sorry for him that he took him up in his arms, and covering him with his own robe took him to his house as fast as he could, and said to his wife, who was in bed : “My dear, I give this prisoner into your charge ; treat him justi 180 TALES like you would me.” As soon as he had gone, the seigneur, who desired nothing better than to be treated like the husband, sprang nimbly into the bed, hoping that the time and the occasion would make this discreet lady alter her mind, but he was disappointed, for as he got into bed on one side, she jumped out on the other, and putting on her dressing-gown she came to the bedside and said to him: ‘‘ How could you think, sir, that that opportunity could change a virtuous heart? You must know, that just as gold is tried in the furnace, so a chaste heart is, in the midst of temptations, where it often proves itself stronger and more virtuous than at other times, and becomes the more cold, the more it is attacked. Therefore, be sure, that if I had had any other feelings than those I have declared to you, I should have found means, which I do not think anything about, as [am not going to employ them, and I can only beg you that, if you wish me to continue to serve you, you will get rid not only of the desire, but also of the thought—do what you may, you will never find me different to what I am.” Whilst she was speaking ta him thus, her women came in, and she ordered them to bring in a collection of all sorts of confections ; but just then he was neither hungry nor thirsty, but was in despair at having failed in his attempt, as he feared that now he had shown his desires so openly, he might lose that footing of familiarity which he had obtained. When her husband, who had been seeing about putting out the fire, returned, he so urged M. d’Avannes to pass the night at his house, that he agreed to do so, but he spent.it more in weeping than in sleeping, and very early in the morning he went to bid them farewell whilst they were still in bed, and, when he kissed the lady, he perceived that she felt more pity for him than anger at his fault, and this was fresh fuel added to the fire of his love. After dinner, he set out with the king for Taffares, but before starting he came twice more to take leave of his kind father and his wife, who, since her husband had ordered her to do so, had no scruples about treating him as her son; but you may be sure that the more virtue did violence to her eyes and to her looks, the more unbearable it became, so that not being able to endure the conflict that love and honour were waging in her heart, she took a violent fever, which was caused by a melancholic humour, which she was obliged to conceal, so that the extremities of her body became quite cold. whilst within she was continually in a state of burn: i OO, 1 ices a sclle a esis i. be beat ips 10 pnt al told sie att in 90° 5 Whe | inh he W. sol he aight iret ther, a al femal and be We yet pat a and begal ht only bet Janu => cc hand, da wid then Sin t] af, and eoncealed eat ov But my iliged te know, Mn ne to de rather In It me te and whicl af my de neither 1 quence ¢ edifices And now ible to te augle ex the same uldresge for in gt 1wssiOns ull be gNe, the gy vo th Ww ty like the bn he time aa ter mind, kf} ON one si er drei ‘How el ge a 1 n not 20 7" you . nl yt ft! p morn y) : yr i 4 mm Pe e OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 181 ing heat. The physicians, on whose hands the health of men does not depend, began to despair of her state, because there was an obstruction of the spleen which rendered her melancholy, and told the husband to advise his wife to think of her conscience, as she was in the hands of God, as if those who are in good health are not so also. The husband, who loved his wife devotedly, was so grieved at what they said to him, that he wrote to M. d’Avannes in order to try and get a little consolation, and begged him to come and see them, hoping that the sight of him might do her good. As soon as he had received the letter, he set off by post to the house of his good father, and when he went in, he found all the servants, male and female, in such a state of grief as such a mistress deserved, and he was so overcome, that he stopped at the door as if he were paralysed, till he saw his good father, who embraced him and began to weep so bitterly that he could not say a word but only conducted him to the chamber, where she, turning her languid eyes towards him looked at him, and gave him her hand, drawing him towards her with all her feeble strength, and then embracing him said to him: “Sir, the time has come when all dissimulation must be at an end, and I must confess to you that truth which I have hitherto concealed with such great difficulty, and it is, that if you have felt great love for me, I have fully reciprocated your affection. But my pain has been greater than yours, as I have been obliged to hide, in opposition to my heart and my wish, for you know, monsieur, that God and my conscience never allowed me to declare my feelings towards you, as I feared I should rather increase than diminish your love were I todo so. But let me tell you that the refusal which I have so often given you, and which caused me so much pain to pronounce, is the cause of my death, but I am content to die, since, by God’s grace, neither my conscience nor my fair fame have suffered in conse- quence of the violence of my love, for greater and stronger edifices than mine have been destroyed by a smaller fire. And now I die happy as, before leaving this world, I have been able to tell you that my love is as great as your own, with the single exception that the honour of men and of women is not the same thing, And I entreat you for the future to pay your addresses to the Breaiost and most virtuous ladies that you can, for in such hearts dwell the stro ogee and best reculated passions ; and endowed with such perfections as you are, you will be sure to succeed. Remember my constancy, and do not vA182 TALES attribute that to cruelty which should be only attributed to honour, to conscience, which ought to be a thousand times dearer to us than our own life. And now farewell, monsgieur, and I commend you to your good father, my husband, begging you to tell him the exact truth about me, so that he may know how much I love God and him, and do not let me gee you again, for during the short time that I still have, I wish only to consider the promises of God, made to me before the founda. tion of the world,” and when she had said this she kissed him, and embraced him with all the strength of her weak arms. The seigneur, whose heart felt as dead within him from pity as hers was from pain and grief, had not strength to say a single word to her, but threw himself upon a bed that was in the room where he fainted several times. The lady then summoned her husband, and recommended M. d’Avannes to him, telling him that she had loved that gentleman better than anybody in the world after himself, and kissing him she bade him farewell. The Holy Sacrament of the Altar was then administered to her, and Extreme Unction, which she received with Joy, a8 one who is assured of salvation ; and then, perceiving that her sight and her strength were failing, she began to say her In manus tuas Domine, out aloud, at which cry M. d’Avannes, looking up from the bed on which he had been lying, saw her render up her glorious spirit to Him from whom she had received it. When he saw that she was dead, he went to the body which he had always approached with fear whilst she was alive, and embraced and kissed it, so that he could hardly be separated from it, which greatly astonished her husband, who had no idea that he had loved her so; therefore he said to him: “ Sir, this is too much,” whereupon they both withdrew. After they had mourned for a long time, the one his wife, the other the lady of his love, M. d’Avannes related the whole story of his affection to the husband, telling him that up to her death she had never treated him with any- thing but rigour, which only increased his love for his wife, and his regret and grief at having lost her, and as long as he lived he continued to be of service to M. d’Avannes, who at that time was only eighteen years old, and on his return to court, he for several years would scarcely speak or look at any of the ladies there, and for two years he wore mourning iu her memory. “You see, ladies, the difference between a virtuous and a dissolute woman, whose love produced very different effects, for ¢ u (ott 7 Ay _ cla iti | ee? ao for Ln ) tht | whhe tke dev "T kn oe 0 great | erson, | j your ple in killing | thelaw i bat wh woman t | bart > a 4 think th “God He, knc absolute) only attrib > & thous farerel, yg Ly busbang, that he ay It let me | have, I pie before the te Is she kisga her weak » | him from ih ‘h to BAY aay t was in they n summon l to him, tel than anybai de him ther Linistered tole Joy, a8 one her sight a Tn mans ti poking up it render up lt ad 16 body whi! rag alive a! be separ » had no ie as Si tt } i i — M, HN) y E = in ' oe sS aS ES fl i Nf Nn Va | ‘ i" | he one bi neg ret telling hi , with ay ig wife, at ag he lite that ti art, bei the lad noy, ? 1g and! Hants fl Hy OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 183 the one died a glorious death, whilst the other was so infamously renowned that her life was all too long.” “ Certainly, Saffredant,” said Oisille, “you have told us as charming a story as it is possible to hear ; and anyone who has known the actors, as I have, would find it still more interesting, for I never met a handsomer or better endowed man than M. d’Avannes.” ‘She assuredly was a good and virtuous woman,” Saffredant replied, “since, in order to appear more virtuous than she was at heart, and to hide the love which reason and nature intended her to bestow on such a gentleman, she let herself die rather than receive that pleasure which she secretly desired.” “Tf she had such desires,” Parlamente said, “she had plenty of places and opportunities to reveal them, but her virtue was such that her desires never exceeded her reason.” “You may paint her as you please,” Hircan replied, “but I know that a worse devil drives another out, and that ladies find more pleasure in pride than in the fear and love of God, and that one never knows what is hidden beneath their petticoats, for if their honour were not more hidden than ours, it would be found that nature has made them much as she has made us. But because they fear to take that pleasure which they desire so much, they have changed that vice into one which is even greater, which they think more respectable, that is, pride and cruelty, by which they hope to gain immortal renown, and so by resist- ing the vice of nature’s laws (if nature be vicious), they make themselves not only like cruel and inhuman brutes, but even like devils, whose pride and maliciousness they have assumed.” “T know,” Parlemente said, ‘‘ that we all require the divine grace since we are inclined to sin, and if our temptations are not so great as yours, and if we sin from pride, we wrong no third person, and keep our bodies and our hands undefiled. But your pleasure consists in dishonouring women, and your glory in killing men in war, both of which are distinctly contrary to the law of God.” “T admit the truth of what you say,” was Guebron’s answer ; “but when it is said in Holy Scripture: He who looketh on a woman to lust after her hath already committed adultery in has heart; and: He who hateth his brother is a murderer—do you think that women are exempt ?” ‘God who sees the heart will judge,” Longarine said, ‘‘ and He, knowing how weak we are, will love us if we do not absolutely fulfil our desires.”184 TALES “Do let us leave this discussion,” was Saffredant’s reply, “and I shall call on Emarsuitte, and I hope she will make ug laugh.” “IT will try to do so,” she said ; “and I heard Just now the story of two servants of a princess, which made me laugh s0, that I forgot the pitiful story which I will tell you to-morrow, for now my looks are too merry to make it go off well.” NOVEL XXVII. A SECRETARY WAS RASH AND FOOLISH ENUOGH TO soLIOIT THE FAVOURS OF HIS FRIEND'S WIFE, AND WAS UTTERLY DISGRACED IN CONSEQUENCE. At Amboise there lived the servant of a princess, who acted as valet-de-chambre, who was a very good sort of man, and was very glad to entertain all who came to his house, and especially his fellow-servants. Not long ago, one of his mistregs’s secretaries, who was so ugly that he looked more like a king of the cannibals than a Christian, came to lodge with him, and re- mained ten or twelve days. Although his comrade and host treated him like a friend or brother to the very best of his ability, yet he tried to play him a trick like a man who had not only forgotten all decency but who had never possessed such a feeling, for he made dishonourable and illicit love to his com- rade’s wife who: had nothing particularly attractive about her, except that she did not look at all like one given to sensual pleasure, and was, in short, as good and virtuous a woman as there wasin Amboise. When she found out his bad intentions, as she preferred to expose his vicious propensities by dissimu- lation than to hide them by a sudden refusal, she pretended to listen to his proposals. He, thinking he had won her, without considering that she was fifty years old, that she had never been a beauty, and that she had a very good reputation and loved her husband, pestered her incessantly. One day among others when her husband was at home, and they in the hall, she pre- tended that it was only necessary to find a safe place where she could see him alone, to do as he wished, and he asked her at once to go up into the garret, so she got up and asked him to go first, and she would follow him, He, lau shing with pleasure, and with an expression of face as pleasant as that of a great / q ae ' rhat De put fi all out tt ud ask ng upstal aut in 189 Loneret | ght he Q 5 jimand ght ni afently | ye phic FT ytin + je noth | inerstanc | Louour, or "Althou r~ inisng 8 | nour of "By Go | lonour in | tare deser fey know | uihing coy talianks it and g0 110 of whey ance thOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 185 ant rey. baboon, went quickly upstairs. Whilst he was waiting for make U8 La what he had so ardently desired, and burning with a fierce and rd just np impure fire, listening for her Step on the stairs, he heard her I de me Lug call out to him: “ Master Secretary, wait a little for I must g0 YOU tou and ask my husband whether he hag any objection to my com- Mt wel ing upstairs to you.” You can imagine what a figure the man cut in tears, who had looked go ugly when he was laughing ; however, he went down at once, and with tears in his eyes be- sought her, for the love of God, not to cause a breach between him and his fellow-servant, but she told him that she was sure he was so fond of her husband, that he would not Say anything that he might not hear, and went and told her husband on the spot in spite of all he could Say or do. He ran away imme- 0 olf te diately, and was just as much ashamed of himself ag the hus- RLY DIRGRAL band was pleased at the honourable deceit his wife had prac- tised, and he was go delighted at his wife’s virtue, that he thought nothing about the vice of his comrade, who had been a, oat sufficiently punished by having brought upon himself that dis- of may, grace which he wished to inflict upon his house. } house a his muses “I think, ladies, that this story should teach good people to ke a kings have nothing to do with those whose conscience, heart, and him, aut understanding are so blunted that they do not know God, de and bo honour, or true love.” 7 best of i “ Although your story is very short,” Oisille said, “it is ag ho litt amusing a one as | have ever heard, and redounds to the gad sud honour of a virtuous woman,” : ‘0 is cou | “ By God,” Simontault replied, “I don’t think there is much about be, honour ‘in a virtuous woman’s refusing a man ag ugly as you to sens have described thig Secretary to be, though she might have wrorual shown her virtue had he been good-looking and well-bred, and ntentios as I guess who he was, if it were my turn, I would tel] you a y digit! 5 «Story which is just ag funny as this one.” tended “That need be no hindrance,” Emarsuitte said, “for I will » without call upon you.” ad “ Courtiers and dwellers in large cities,” he continued, “ think ndind = they know so much that they imagine that all others are as ht hothing compared with themselves; but yet in all countries and shept . an all ranks of society there are as shrewd and oe they hoes? » 88, and so because of their conceit, they are made all the more 1 herd fun of when they do make a mistake, as I will show you by an hint Instance that happened recently.” Least a pret186 TALES NOVEL XXVIIL A SECRETARY THOUGHT TO DUPE SOMEBODY BUT WAS DUPED Him SELF, AND WHAT HAPPENED IN CONSEQUENCE. Wuen King Francis I. was in Paris with his sister, the Queen of Navarre, she had a secretary who was not a man to lose any- thing for want of picking it up, so that there was no president or councillor whom he did not know, nor merchant or rich man whose company he did not frequent and with whom he had not come to an understanding. Just then a merchant of Bayonne called Bernard du Ha came to Paris. As the leutenant-civil came from his part of France, he applied to him for his pro- tection and advice in his business. This secretary of the Queen of Navarre often went to call upon the lieutenant, as he was a very faithful servant of his master and mistress ; and one holiday, when the secretary went as usual, he found that neither the lieutenant nor his wife were at home, but he heard Bernard du Ha, who was teaching the female servants of the house to dance the bransles of Gascony to the tune of a viol or some other instrument. When the secretary saw him, he tried to make him believe that he was acting very wrongly, and that if the lieutenant and his wife knew it, they would be very angry with him, and after having tried to alarm him for some time he said to him: ‘‘ What will you give me not to mention the matter?” Bernard du Ha, who was not so frightened as he pretended to be, seeing that the secretary was trying to take him in, promised to give him a pasty of the best Basque ham that he had ever eaten, and the secretary, who was very well th the offer, asked whether he could have the pasty after dinner, and the merchant promised that he it. Being satisfied with his answer, the secretary weuv vo see & Parisian lady whom he very much wished to marry, and said to her: ‘“ Madame, I will come and sup with you on Sunday, if you will allow me, but all you need provide is some good bread and wine, for I have deceived a fool of a Bayonnais, who will pay for all the rest, and by my trickery you shall have the best Basque ham that has ever been eaten in Paris.” The lady, believing him, invited two or three re- spectable female neighbours of hers, and promised to regale them with a new dish, which she herself had never tasted. “a the + pant al 6 xtreme rl in gash #00 many had ta a0t iD the el soon | sil was wu & sole cal) “tthe had fo hagon, go | "The same: «. live oth ilow ou inll do untWAS DUD a UENCE, ister, the ( | man to lie Was 10 pre hant or neh wom be ht rant of Baw @ lrewtenat nim for bis ary of the S nant, as le stress: a und tha 9 heat Bat if the he a Viol or Im, het Hl aly, a be very # for sont 0 ment ightenel i trying tH f Basqit was vel" aye tht mised that * —— i | 1 1 | Mi —_—. — —— — S SS H} 1 | te ‘ q i S f / a ’ ( OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 187 When the Sunday was come, the secretary went to find his merchant’and found him on the Pont ay Change. Saluting in an extremely polite fashion he said to him : “May all the devils in hell fly away with you, for having given me g0 much tronble to find you?” ‘Bernard du Ha told him that many had taken much more trouble than he had, and yet had not in the end been rewarded with such a dainty morsel as he was going to receive, and saying this he gave him the pasty, which was under his cloak, and which was big enough to feed a whole camp of soldiers, and when he saw it he was so delighted that, although he had a hideously big mouth, he contracted his lips so that no one would have thought that he could bite the ham, and he took it in such haste that he left the merchant without ever inviting him to share the feast, and went to carry his present to the lady, who was very desirous of knowing if the provisions of Gascony were as good as those of Paris. When supper time came, whilst they were eating their soup, he said tothem : “ Leave those insipid things, and have this as a whet for your wine.” Saying this he opened the pasty and tried to cut the ham, but it was so hard that he could not get his knife in. to it, so after several attemps he found out that he had been tricked, and that it was a wooden sabot, which are the usual shoes in Gascony, with a Piece of pine wood stuck into the end of it, and covered with soot, iron rust, and Spice which smelt very nice. The secretary was very much ashamed at being duped by the man he meant to dupe, and at having unintentionally deceived his mistress, besides being very much put out at having to put up with nothing but soup for hig Supper. The ladies, who were very vexed, would have accused him of the trick, had they not seen by his looks that he was even more vexed than they were, After a very light supper he left in a great rage, and ag Bernard du Ha had not kept his promise, he thought that he was not bound by his, and so went to the lreutenant-civil, having Made up his mind to say all the bad he could of Bernard, but he had been there before him, and told the lieutenant the Whole matter, who made fun of the secretary, and told him that he had found out to his cost what it was to try and deceive a Gascon, so he got nothing but disgrace for his consolation, “The same sort of thing cften happens to people who, wishing to deceive others are deceived themselves, and so the best thing is to follow out the maxim of doing unto others as we wish they should do unto us”188 TALES “T can assure you,” Guebron said, “ that I have often seen similar occurrences, where those who were looked upon as vil- lage fools, deceived very clever people ; for there is nothing more foolish than the man who thinks he is very clever, and nothing wiser than he who knows his own shortcomings.” “He who knows that he knows nothing, knows something certainly,” Parlamente replied. “Lest time should cut us short,” Simontault said, “TI now call upon Nomerfide, for I am sure she will not delay us long.” ‘You shall be satisfied,” was her reply. ‘‘ Although love in- spires those of high degree with the art of getting out of danger, yet love’s inventions appear with much greater lustre when displayed by persons of less intelligence, and so | will tell you what a priest did, who was in love, which was all he knew, for he was so ignorant otherwise that he could hardly say mass. NOVEL XXIX. A GOOD, SIMPLE VILLAGER, WHOSE WIFE CARRIED ON AN INTRIGUE ) H 1 f A 4 aa WITH THE PRIEST, ALLOWED HIMSELF EASILY TO BE DECEIVED. Ar Arcelles, a village in the department of Maine, there was n rich farmer, who in his old age married a young and beauti- ful woman who had no children by him, but to make up for her disappointment, she consoled herself with several friends. When gentlemen and people of quality failed her she fell back upon the church as a last resource, and took him as a com- panion of her sin who could absolve her from it, and that was the village priest who often used to visit his sheep. The hus- band, who was old and dull, suspected nothing ; but as he was rough and still very robust, his wife carried on the business as secretly as she could, for she was afraid he would kill her, if he found it out. One day when he had gone out into the fields, his wife, who did not expect him home so soon, sent for the priest to hear her confession, and whilst they were amusing themselves together, the husband arrived so suddenly that the priest had no time to get away, but by the wife’s advice he climbed up into a loft and covered up the trap door with a large winnowing fan. When her husband came in, his wife, lest he 4 a a tt mule i iol any pa | You kn lhe de Me Sita. I, \ ‘ tut beside Love al wat thelooked up yy here is no iin clea and nt ngs,” KNOWS stat tault sad, "y: not delay wh 1 hardly wy ON An 0 be Ducat ow faine, tet” nung wl i to make t 1 sere es Ine OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. should suspect anything, treated him so well at dinne she took care he did not spare the wine of which hé large quantity, that what with it, and the fatigue of@@ he felt inclined to go to sleep in his chair before The priest, who was tired of being in the loft so long, not Hegre; +. ing any noise crept up to the trap door, and stretching out his neck as far as he could, saw that the goodman was asleep, but whilst looking at him he accidentally leaned rather too heavily on the winnowing fan, so thas it and the man fell down to the ground close to the farmer whewas asleep, and who naturally woke up at the noise. The priest, who had sprung to his feet before the other had opened his eyes, said: ‘‘ Gaffer, there is your winnowing fan, and Iam much obliged to you for the loan of it,” and so saying he hurried away. The poor farmer was very much astonished, and asked his wife what it was all about. “It is your winnowing fan, my dear,” she replied, “ which the priest borrowed, and has now returned.” “Tt isa very rough way of returning what one has borrowed,” e he replied erumbling, “for I thought ‘the house was falling in.’ Thus the priest saved himself at the expense of the farmer, 7 found fault with nothing except the abrupt way in which he had returned the winnowing fan. “Thus, ladies, the master whom he served saved him that time, in order to possess him and torment him the longer.” “ Do not think,” said Guebron, “that simple folk are more free from guile than we are, for they have much more; just look at the thieves, murderers, sorcerers, coiners, and all those sort of people, whose wits are always at work, and they all come from the poor labouring classes.” “T do not think it strange,” said Parlamente, “that they should have more guile than others, but I do tl tink it strange that when they have so many other things to do, they should feel the torments of love, and that such a refined passion should find any place in vulgar hearts. ‘You know, madame,” was Saffredant’s answer, “‘ what Maitre Nara de Meum says: © Ausst bien sont amourettes Sous le bureau que sous brunettes,’ ? And besides the love of which this story relates is not of that 1 Love can find a place just as well under the coar roollen gar- ment of the poor man, as under the silk of the noble.TALES whach makes men put on amour, for just as the poor have Ob wealth and honour as we have, they have more natural ad- ftages than we have. ‘Their food is not so delicate ag ours, ut they have better appetites than we, and they are better ‘Wourished on coarse bread than we are on dainties. Their == beds are not so good as ours but they sleep sounder, They ' have none of those painted and bedizened ladies whom we wor. ship, but they take their pleasure with them oftener than we do, and fear no tongues except those of the birds and beasts which see them, in a wood: they lack what we have, and they have in plenty what we are without.” “Let us leave the peasants alone,” said N omerfide, “and Hirean shall finish the day for us before Vespers.” ‘““My tale will be as sorrowful as can possibly be,” Hircan said, “and although it pains me to speak ill of any lady, as I know that men are so malicious, that they will blame all for the faults of one, what I am going to relate to you is so strange that I will lay aside my fear, and perhaps the exposure of ignorance will make others wiser.” ~ NOVEL XXX. MARVELLOUS EXAMPLE OF HUMAN FRAILTY, WHEREIN A LADY, TO SHIELD HER HONOUR, GOES FROM BAD TO WORSE. In the time of Louis XII. a member of the house of Amboise, the nephew of the legate of France, whose name was George, being then legate in Avignon, there was a lady in Languedoc (whose name I shall not mention out of respect for her family) who had an income of more than four thousand ducats. She was left a widow with one son, whilst she was still very young ; and partly out of regret for her husband, partly out of love for her child, she determined not to marry again, and in order to avoid all opportunity of doing go, she only went into the society of devout people, as she knew that sin creates the opportunity. The young widow, therefore, gave herself up wholly to the ser- vice of God, shunning all worldly society, insomuch that she had scruples of conscience at being present at a wedding, or at hearing the organ played in church. When her gon was seven 4 4! My have OMe tty MG Jt Wty FS Ot 80 dela iy and they nN bh : OD dainty leep sous ladies whey " mn oftener typ rds and beat have, aad ta dl Nomen sper, ossTbly be” Ha I of any ysl wll blame i 0 YOU 1s sa 8 the ex mRpIN 4 Lt ) WORSE se ofA me Was in Lat for bet di ducats il very Jo -ont ofl nd in nto thes @ oppor lly 10 int uch th! reddy on wis S oS a wes ' — SS §} oS —— =S = = —— =_— i _>= a =o oe ee a. OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 191 years old she engaged a man of very saintly life to be his tutgr, so that he might be instructed in all things pertaining to piety and devotion ; but when he was between fourteen and fifteen, nature, who is a very secret school-master, finding that he was too well fed and very lazy, taught him another lesson to thal which his instructor did, for he began to look at and to desire what he considered beautiful, and amongst others a young lady who slept in his mother’s room—but nobody had any suspicion of this, for he was looked upon as a child, and nothing was ever talked about in the house but God or holy matters. This young man, however, began secretly to make love to this girl, who went and told her mistress ; but she loved her son so much and thought so highly of him that she regarded it as a trumped-up story to get him into disgrace, but the girl per- sisted so strongly on the truth of her statement, that her mistress told her she would find out whether it was correct or not, and that she would punish him if she found out that it was as she said; but, on the other hand, if she had accused him falsely, she should suffer the punishment. To test the matter, she instructed her to make an assignation with her son, to come at midnight and sleep with her in her room in a bed close to the door, where the girl slept all by herself; and the girl having done as she was told, at night the lady took the girl’s place, having made up her mind that, if what she had been told were true, she would punish him so severely that he would never lie with another woman without remembering it. Whilst she was in this angry state of mind her son actually came to bed to her, but as she would not believe that he had any im- proper intentions, she waited in order to speak to him to have some plainer sign of his designs, for she could not imagine that he really had any criminal desires ; but she waited so long, and nature is so frail, that her anger was turned into an abominable pleasure and she forgot the name of mother. And just as water which is dammed back is all the more impetuous when it is let loose, than when flowing in its ordinary current, thus this poor lady placed all her pride in the restraint she put upon her body. When she had descended the first step from her chastity, she suddenly found herself at the very bottom one, and that same night she became pregnant by him whom she wished to prevent from getting others with child. As soon as the sin was committed, remorse of conscience set in, her repent- ance lasted all her life, and it was so keen at first that, rising from beside her son, who thought the whole time that it wasTALES ‘the young lady, she went into a closet, and there calling to tmind her good resolutions, and how badly she had carried them ‘out, she spent the whole night in tears and sobs. But instead of humbling herself, and recognising the fact that our flesh ig go weak that without the grace of God it must sin, she wished to make up for the past of herself by her tears, and avoid evil for the future by her prudent conduct, always imputing her sin to the occasion and not to wickedness, for which there is no remedy but the grace of God. The next morning, however, as soon as it was daylight, she sent for her son’s tutor and said to him: “My son is growing up rapidly, and it is time that he should leave this house, One of my relations, who is on the other side of the Alps with the Grand-Master of Chaumont, will be very glad to take charge of him ; therefore set out with him at once, and so that I may not have the pain of parting with him, do not let him come and take leave of me.” She then gave him the necessary money for his journey, and that morning they started, at which the young man was very pleased, for having enjoyed his mis- tress (as he thought) he wished nothing better than to go to the wars. The lady remained fora long time in a state of pro- found sorrow and melancholy, and but for the fear of God, she would have wished that the unhappy fruit of her womb might perish, and pretended to be ill so as to conceal her fault. When she was near her confinement, she sent for a bastard brother of hers in whom she trusted more than in any man living, and whom she had helped very much with money, and told him her misfortune, but did not tell him that her son was the cause of it, and begged him to save her honour, which he did, and a few days before her confinement he advised her to go to his house for change of air, where she would be more likely to re- cover than at home. She accordingly went thither with a very small retinue, and found a midwife there who had come for her brother’s wife, and who, without knowing her, delivered her one night of a fine little girl. The gentleman gave her toa nurse and had her brought up as his own, and the lady, having stayed there a month, returned home quite alone, where she lived more strictly than ever, fasting and disciplining herself constantly. When her son was grown up, and as there did not happen to be any war in Italy just then, he wrote to ask his mother to be allowed to return home ; but as she was afraid of relapsing into the same sin, she would not allow it, but he pressed her so much, i tome HOW afech 10 arid, | tueked iat else ie conteAnd there aly she had cai ud sobs, Batis fact that ow y US si, ser her tears, ant tet, always iy ness, for whichis twas dap “My son is ave this how, | of the Alp mt ad to take chu! and so that] 0 not let him we him the nest ey start el ng ani lv etter tit he ii ne in a sete the fear off if her val | her fault ‘astard bn y mal hig ney, auf i gon was the cls (il hich he dt 1 her to $0 more likely pither vitho™ ) had cone er, delivetet ! an gave Let ) He dy alone, whet! sciplining is a =S ss = — =.= = a — => a S SS | = — SS = SS == y — = => —— as ae — id not ba his mother of chs god her 8 " Of THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 193 that as she had no valid reason for refusing, at last she agreed, but she told him that he must never appear before her until he was married to a wife whom he loved dearly, and that he need not look after wealth, but that it would be enough if she were of noble birth. During this time the bastard brother, see- ing that the daughter of whom he had charge had grown up into a very tall handsome girl, thought of sending her into some noble family at a long distance off where she would not be known, and by the mother’s advice he sent her to the Queen of Navarre. This girl, whose name was Catherine, was so handsome and well-bred at about thirteen, that the Queen of Navarre got very fond of her, and wished to get her well married to some man of high rank, but as she was poor, she found plenty of lovers but no husband. The gentleman, her unknown father, visited the Queen of Navarre’s Court on his way back from Italy, where he fell in love with his own daughter as soon as he saw her, and as he had his mother’s permission to marry any woman he pleased, he only inquired whether she were of noble birth, and on receiving a reply in the affirmative, he asked the queen for her hand, which she very willingly bestowed on him, for she knew that he was rich, handsome and well-bred. After the marriage had been consummated, the gentleman wrote to his mother, that she could not refuse to let him come home now, as he was bringing her a daughter-in-law who was perfect in every respect. When she inquired whom he had married, and found that it was their own daughter, she was so shocked and grieved that it nearly killed her. Not knowing what else to do, she went to the Legate of Avignon, to whom she confessed the enormity of her sin, and asked him to advise her what to do. In order to satisfy her conscience he con- sulted several Doctors of Divinity, to whom he related the matter, without mentioning any names, and their decision was that the lady must never disclose anything about the affairs to her children, as they had not sinned, but that she must do penance all her life, without appearing to do so. So that un- happy lady returned home, where soon afterwards her son and daughter-in-law arrived, who loved each other as much as it was possible for husband and wife to do, and she was his daughter, his sister and his wife, and he was her father, her brother and her husband. This love lasted all their life, and the unfortunate lady was so penitent that she could never see any acts of endearment between them without weeping. Nee "A 194 TALES “This is what happens, ladies, to those of your sex who think they can vanquish love and nature, and all the faculties which God has given them, by their own strength and virtue, but the best thing would be, if they knew their own weakness, not to expose themselves to such an enemy, but to take refuge in a real friend and say with David: “Answer for me, O Lord.” ‘‘T never heard a stranger case than that,” Oisille said, ‘and I think that all of us here, men and women, ought to bow the head in the fear of God, seeing how the hope of doing a good action was productive of so much mischief.” “ Certainly,” said Parlamente, “‘as soon as any one begins to trust in himself, he at once begins to lose his trust and confi- dence in God.” ‘He is a wise man,” Guebron continued, “ who knows no enemy but himself, and who is constantly on the watch to guard against his own will and counsel, however good or even holy they may appear to be.” “Nothing,” said Longarine, “can possibly justify a woman in running the risk of going to bed with a man, however closely related they may be, for it is dangerous to bring fire and tow 00 nearly together.” *‘ Devout as she was,” Emarsuitte answered, “ she neverthe- less was a conceited fool, who thought herself so holy that she could not sin, as some would make silly people believe of them, which is a very great error.” “It is hardly possible,” said Oisille, “that there are any persons so foolish as to believe this.” ‘¢They go even further than that,” Longarine answered her, “for they say that one must accustom oneself to the virtue of chastity, and to try their strength, they speak with the hand- somest women they can find, and those whom they love best, and by kissing and handling them, they try whether all lust of the flesh is dead in them, and when they find that this plea- sure exvites them, they leave the women, and fast and discip- line? themselves thoroughly, and when they have mortified their flesh, that neither talking nor kissing excite the slightest emotion in them, they voluntarily expose themselves to the most foolish temptation, that is of going to bed together, and embracing without any lustful feelings. But where one escapes, so many fall, that the Archbishop of Milan, where this peculiar form of devotion found particular favour, found it necessary to 1By discipline, in the Church of Rome, is generally meant self inflicted scourging. F ; | You de / ng ag WE See did il of Go They all beard eS tad bee 1 nat ‘her mem isan € pould ooct And thus , ) RE, es soleYour sex why the faculty and virtue hi weaknes 0 take relup ‘me, () Lori Cisille sai ought tobi @ OF doing ay | i } lly t he any one beg 3 trust aud oc “who know! | on the wat! aver good on istify a wou | - howerer ring fre anti , “she bert so holy tit believe of te + there ate! e answer to the W ith the they love rhethet i {that ths fast a have 10 to the se mselres © 1 togetbeh” re 08 6 19 this ye it neces = <=. SS SS l tf = =S i —— = = = =- = { \ r f i 4 ily © aa! OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 195 separate them and to put the men into the monasteries and the women into the nunneries.” “ Really,” Guebron said, “it is the height of folly, for any one to think himself impassible, and safely to seek occasions for sinning.” “There are others,” Saffredant answered, “who do just the contrary, and although they avoid temptation as much as possible, yet concupiscence seems to follow them everywhere. ven holy St. Jerome, after he had soundly scourged himself and hidden himself in the desert, confessed that he could not escape from the fiery lust which burnt in his very marrow. The only thing to do, then, is to commend ourselves to God : for if his power and goodness hold us not up, we are apt to take pleasure in falling.” “You do not seem to see what Ido,” said Hircan, “ that ag long as we were telling our stories, the monks behind the hedge did not hear the vesper-bell, but as soon as we began to talk of God away they went, and now the second bell is going.” They all got up and went to church, where they devoutly heard vespers, and during supper talked about the stories that had been related, and thought over events of which they were cognisant, to see which were most worthy of being retained in their memory for reproduction. After they had spent a very pleasant evening, they all went to bed, hoping that nothing would occur the next day to interrupt their agreeable occupation. And thus the third day ended,19% TALES FOURTH. DAY, AccorpiIna to her usual custom, Madame Oisille rose much earlier than the rest, and read and meditated on Holy Writ while waiting for them to assemble, which they did by de- grees, and those who were the greatest sluggards excused themselves by quoting the words of Scripture slightly altered : ‘‘T have a wife and therefore I could not come any sooner.” Thus, when Hircan, and Parlamente his wife came in, they found that the lesson had already begun, and Madame Oisille knew very well where to find those passages of Scripture which blame those who neglect hearing the Word of God. When she had finished reading, Parlamente said to her: “ I was sorry that I was so lazy, when I came here, but now I am glad of it as I have profited by your lesson on the subject.” Oisille then proposed that they should go to Mass, which they all attended with great devotion, and at dinner Hircan made fun of his wife’s laziness.- After dinner they all went to their own rooms to think about what they were going to relate, and all met at the appointed time in the usual place. Oisille asked Hircan whom he was going to call on for the first Novel, and he replied: “If my wife had not. begun yesterday I should have called on her, for though I was always certain that she loved me better than any man in the world, she has proved to me this morning that she loves me better than God or His Holy Laws by preferring to remain with me rather than come to your read. ing. Therefore I should have liked to have given her the honour of beginning, but since I cannot-call upon the discreet- est amongst you, ladies, I will call on the discreetest of the gy A FB BURNE WHICE WHOM i « [y the ten mig a fra afore, fonght 8(isille rose wi ed on Holy hh they did bt uggards et slightly alte yme any wi fc i Madame it Sonipture Fod. Whet v [ was sn glad of 1 ! " the dst iven be OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 197 men, I mean Guebron, only I hope that he will show no mercy on the monks.” Guebron said to him: ‘*You need not have asked me that, for I know them too well. A short time ago I heard a story from M. de Saint Vincent, who was then the Emperor’s ambas- sador, which is too good to be lost.” NOVEL XXXI. HOW A FRANCISCAN MONASTERY, TOGETHER WITH THE MONKS, WAS BURNED AS A PERPETUAL MEMORIAL OF THE CRUELTY OF WHICH ONE OF THEM WAS QUILTY TOWARDS A LADY WITH WHOM HE WAS IN LOVE. In the territory of the Emperor Maximilian of Austria there was a Franciscan monastery whose inmates were very highly esteemed, and near it there was the house of a gentleman, who thought so much of the monks that there was nothing he would not do for them so that he might share the benefit of their fastings and austerities. Amongst them there was a tall handsome Franciscan who was the gentleman’s confessor, who had as much authority in the house as the gentleman himself, This monk fell in love with the wife, who was most beautiful and virtuous, and his passion grew so strong that he could neither eat nor drink, and seemed to have lost his very senses. Whilst he was considering how he might best carry out his design, he went to the house one day, and as the gentleman was not in, he asked the lady where he was, and she told him that he had gone to one of his estates where he had intended to remain for two or three days, but that if he had any business with him she would send an express to fetch him. The Franciscan told her that it was not necessary, and began to go about the house like a man who had some affair of importance on hand. When he had left the room the lady said to one of her maids (she had but two): “Go after the father and see what he wants, for I fancy he looks as if he was displeased at something.” The girl accordingly went into the yard and asked him whether he required anything, and answering her that he did, he pulled her into a corner, drew a dagger which he had up his198 TALES sleeve, and plunged it into her bosom. Just as he had dispatched her, a servant of the gentleman rode into the yard, bringing with him the rent of one of his master’s farms. As soon as he had dismounted he saluted the monk, who stabbed him in the back whilst pretending to embrace him, after which he closed the gates of the chateau. The lady was surprised at the length of time her waiting- maid was absent, and told the other to go and see why she did not return. She left the room, and as soon as the Fran- ciscan saw her down below he took her aside and served her as he had done the other, and then being alone in the house he went to the lady and told her that he had been in love with her for a long time, and that now she must comply with his desires. She had never had the least suspicion of such a thing, and said to him: ‘Father, I am quite sure that if I were so sinfully inclined, you would cast the first stone at me.” The monk told her to come down into the yard where she would see what he had done. When she saw the dead bodies of her two women and of the man-servant, she was so terrified that she stood like a statue without saying a word; but he did not intend to employ violence towards her, as he wished te enjoy her for more than an hour, so he said: “ Madame, you have no reason to be alarmed, for you are in the hands of a man who loves you better than anything else in the world.” So saying, he took off his friar’s gown, under which he was wearing a smaller one, which he gave to the lady, and threatened her that if she did not put it on, she should suffer the fate of the other three. She, more dead than alive, thought that she must make some show of obeying him, both in order to save her life and to gain time in the hopes that her husband would return. By the Franciscan’s orders she took off her head-dress and let down her hair as slowly as she could, and he without any regard for its beauty quickly cut it off quite short, and when he had done this, made her strip to her chemise and put on the smaller gown which he had with him, and left the house immediately in company of the little Franciscan whom he had for so long desired to have. God, however, who pities the innocent in their distress, took compassion on this poor lady’s tears, and ordered it so that her husband, having finished his business sooner than he thought, was returning home by the very road she was taking. When the Franciscan saw him in the distance he said to her: “I see your husband coming, and I know that if you look at him he will try to get you out of ie back ¢ | asso that | patemal | he servant Jycther Jo his houhad div > yard, bra As soon bed itn i hich he de me her way nd see wire i as the fy and sorrel l ein the hie 2en in lorem omply wiht of such a thi at if I wert! at me” here she Wl | bodies of terrified th d+ but he b she wisel’ « Madame, he bands in the wi rhich bee and threat on the fi! ott thot OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 199 my hands, so just go in front of me and do not turn towards him, for if you make the slightest sign I will stab you before he has rescued you.” Just as he had said this the gentleman rode up, and asked him where he came from, and he told him he had just come from his house where he had left his wife quite well and eagerly waiting for his return, and the gentleman went on without noticing his wife, but the servant who was with him, and who had always been in the habit of entertaining the Franciscan’s attendant who was called Brother John, began to speak to his mistress, taking her for him. As the poor lady did not dare to look at her husband, she gave him no answer, and the man went across the road to look at her, whereupon she made a sion to him with her eyes which were full of tears. The servant at once rode after his master and said: ‘Sir, on crossing the road I looked at the Franciscan’s attendant who is certainly not Brother John, but is exactly like your wife, and whoever it may be he looked at me most piteously.” His master told him he was dreaming and would scarcely listen te what he said, but the servant persisted and requested leave ta ride back after them, begging his master to remain where he was so that he might see whether he was right or not. The gentleman gave him the desired permission, and waited to see how the matter would turn out; but when the Franciscan saw the servant coming after him, and heard him calling loudly for Brother John, he guessed that the lady had been recognised, and when he came up with them, gave him such a blow with an iron-shod staff that he carried as to knock him off his horse, and when he was on the ground he jumped upon him and cut his throat. The gentleman who saw his servant’s fall from a distance thought it was an accident and galloped up to help him, and when the Franciscan saw him he gave him also a blow with his heavy staff, and when he was upon the ground threw himself upon him, but as the gentleman was very strong he caught hold of the Franciscan with such a grip that he could not do him any harm, and knocked his dagger out of his hand. The lady at once picked it up and gave it to her hus- band, and then caught hold of the Franciscan’s hood and held him down whilst her husband stabbed him three or four times, till he asked for mercy and confessed all his crimes. As the gentleman did not wish to kill him he asked his wife to go home and send some.of the people with a cart to convey him to his house, and this she did as soon as she had thrown off ©200 TALES the friar’s habit, and ran all the way home in her chemise with her cropped hair. The wolf whom they had caught was soon put securely away, and was soon afterwards sent to Flanderg to be tried by the emperor's judges, where he confessed his wicked design, and more than that, said—and was verified by commissioners sent to the spot—that a great many ladies and handsome girls had been taken to the monastery, just as he had intended to take this lady there, and as indeed he would have done without God’s help, which is always granted to those who trust in him. The women and other stolen goods were removed from the monastery which, together with all the monks, was burnt as a perpetual memorial of their horrible crimes. We may see from this that there is nothing more cruel than love when it is founded merely on a vicious in- clination, just as there is nothing more humane and praise- worthy when it dwells in a virtuous heart. “‘T am sorry, ladies, that truth compels us to relate more tales to the disadvantage of the Franciscans than otherwise, for, as I am very proud of their order, I should like to know one in their praise; but, as we have promised to speak the truth, I am bound to tell it, though I can assure you that when the Franciscans do anything worthy of praise, I should be even more ready to do them justice than I have been to tell of their wickedness in this instance.” “This is indeed a case of cruel love,” was Oisille’s remark. “Tam only astonished,” Simontault said, “that when he saw her in her chemise, and had her all to himself, he did not violate her.” “He was not dainty, but gluttonous,” Saffredant replied, “and as he intended to have her as often as he wished every day, he was not going to have a mere taste of her.” “Jt was not that,” Parlamente said, “but a ruffian is generally a coward, and the fear of heing surprised and of losing his prey made him carry off his lamb, like a wolf does a sheep, to enjoy it at his leisure.” “He certainly did not love her,” Dagoucin continued, “for real love can find no place in such a villainous heart.” ‘‘At any rate he was well punished for it,” said Oisille, ‘‘and I only pray to God that all such attempts may meet with equally just punishment. But who is to tell us the next story, Guebron ?” “You, madame,” he answered, “ for it is sure to be a good one.” i al the {jo gl / \ ited i # gay to OE | | | f —_ = = pp 1 pvuneR0 gus sBVE (yp Charle 4 june af ( | at to et lt, oo that dageatlema tamed ayy beard 1 eet = — Se ue = — rs cDD her chenjs caught ny 8 sent to Fy + he contra! 1d. was eri t many ly astery, js indeed he y ways pra ther stolen a ether withalt of their fun! 18 nothing w On & Vici: rane and phi 3 to relate ut than other Jd like to ii to spot assure you aise, J sh! » been to il! les roman ‘that wt! elf, he dit! redant nl - wished & i ae ; of ruil | prised al 0 4 Wol i ' i nitinued, i 1) d rs hy | (js fi y meet 1¢ nest a | |! | aga coh E OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 201 “T will, then,” she said, ‘‘ tell you something that happened in my own time, and I have it indeed from an eye-witness. You shall hear how a gentleman treated his guilty wife so that she wished for death, though her sufferings were not of a nature to bring her the release she longed for. NOVEL XXXII. A HUSBAND INFLICTS A PUNISHMENT WORSE THAN DEATH ON HIS ADULTEROUS WIFE, BUT IS INDUCED TO FORGIVE HER, AND HAS SEVERAL FINE CHILDREN BY HER. Kine Charles VIII. sent a nobleman called Bernage, Nelgneur of Civrai, near Amboise, to Germany, and he, in order to get there as fast as he could, travelled day and night, so that he arrived very late one evening at the chateau of a gentleman, where he asked for a night’s lodging, which he obtained with great difficulty. However, when the gentle- man heard in whose service he was, he came to him and begged him to excuse the impoliteness of his servants, as he was obliged to keep his house closed against some of his wife’s relations who wished to do him some harm. In the evening Bernage told him that he was travelling on the king’s business, and the gentleman was very pleased to receive him and to treat him in the very best way he could. When supper-time came he was taken into a hall with a splendid arras, and as soon as supper was served a lovely lady came out from behind it, but her hair was cut quite short, and she was dressed in mourning after the German fashion. After the gentleman and Bernage had washed their hands, the basin and water were presented to the lady who, after washing her hands, took her place at the end of the table without speaking to anybody or anybody speaking to her. Seigneur de Bernage looked at her very often, for he thought she was one of the handsomest women he had ever seen, although she looked very pale and sad. After she had eaten a little she asked for something to drink, and a servant brought her wine in an extraordinary vessel, namely, a death’s head, the apertures in which werewr ae 202 TALES stopped with silver, and the lady drank two or three times out of it. After she had supped and washed her hands again, she bowed to the master of the house and retreated behind the arras, without speaking to anyone. Bernage was so astonished at this strange sight that it made him thoughtful and almost melancholy, and as the gentleman noticed it, he said to him: “T gee that you are astonished at what you have seen at my table, but as I see how discreet you are I will tell you what it really means, 80 that you may not think me needlessly cruel. The lady whom you have seen is my wife, whom I loved so devotedly that in order to be able to marry her I set all fear aside and brought her here in spite of her relations. She appeared to love me so ardently that I would have risked a thousand lives for our mutual happiness, and for a long time we lived so peacefully and unitedly that I thought myself the happiest man in christendom ; but whilst I was absent on a journey which my honour obliged me to undertake, she so fat forgot hers, her conscience and the love she had for me, as ta become attached to a young gentleman whom I had brought up here. Though I fancied that I noticed something on my return, my love for her was such that I could not mistrust her, till experience opened my eyes, and showed me what I dreaded more than death itself. The love I bore her was turned into fury and despair, and consequently I watched her so closely that one day, after I had pretended to go out, I hid myself in the room which she inhabits at present, into which she came soon after she thought I had left, and the young gentleman soon joined her, and took liberties with her which I alone had the right to do, but when I saw that he was going to get into bed with her, I rushed out of my hiding-place, took him out of her arms and killed him. But as my wife’s fault seemed so great that death itself was not a sufficient punish- ment for it, I inflicted that on her which I think is worse than death itself, and that is to remain secluded in the very room where she went to indulge in her voluptuous pleasures with him whom she loved more than she did me, and in that room I have had all the bones of her lover hung up in a press, like one hangs up some precious article in a cabinet, and that she may not forget him at her meals, she is always served with drink in the head of that villain, so that she may continually see him living whom she has made her mortal enemy by her crime, and also see him dead who died for love of her, and whose affec- tion she preferred to mine, so that at dinner and supper she sees hulity ans iytall the p oka | ifr you, a 1 yout hous = = = = a —_—.- <4 <> = == Se al Dea 7 * wt Ukely wr be, ~ Thegentler “ti though ih and at ised thay Wd ultima 4 won andrr three tiny hands a ated bebin! VAS 80 aston ntl and j he said tk tell you th needlessly cr nom I lov ave seed tit i f ar [seta relations { have ris or a long ght nyu 48 absent ake, she for mea! T had bn ething ot “not mst d me whi hore her watcha go ol Ik t, into ¥ =—S— ! d the yu th her Ww he was go g-plas wife bi ant pt ak ig me in the ¥ pleas and ina? fa sorrel t inn! her oy rh088 i b er se — l ) S— S if i V — —_—. SS SS |] > = SS OSS = OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 903 the two things which must be most repugnant to her, I mean the living enemy and the dead lover, and both through her guilt. In other respects I treat her just as I do myself, but I keep her hair cropped close, for the ornament of long hair, that glory of women, does not belong to an adulteress, nor a veil to a harlot, and she goes about with her hair closely cut to denote that she has lost her honour, chastity and modesty, and if you like to take trouble to go and see her, I will take you to her.” Bernage gladly agreed to this, and going down- stairs they found the lady sitting in a very handsome room, all by herself before a very good fire. The gentleman drew aside the curtain in front of a large press and there he saw all the bones of the dead man hanging up, and mach as Bernage would have liked to speak to the lady, he did not dare to do so for fear of her husband. He, however, guessed this, and told him that he was quite welcome to talk with her and he would then find how well she spoke, and so Bernage said to her: “Madame, if your patience is only equal to your suffering, | look upon you as the happiest woman in the world.” Tha lady with tears in her eyes and with the most graceful humility answered : ‘Sir, I confess that my fault was so great, that all the punishments which the master of this house (whom I am not worthy to call husband) could inflict upon me, are as nothing compared with the regret that I feel for the offence which I have committed against him,” and saying this she burst out into violent tears, so the gentleman touched Bernage on the arm and took him away. The next morning he left in order to fulfil the mission with which the king had entrusted him, and on taking leave of the gentleman he could not refrain from saying to him: “Sir, the friendship which I feel for you, and the intimacy with which you have favoured me in your house, oblige me to say to you that, seeing how repentant your poor wife really is, you ought to forgive her, especially as you are young and have no children, for it would indeed be a pity if your race were to die out, and those who most likely care nothing whatever about you should become your heirs.” The gentleman, who had resolved never to speak to his wife again, thought for a long time over what Bernage had said to him, and at last, being convinced that his advice was good, he promised that if she would continue as humble as she was he would ultimately forgive her. When Bernage had fulfiled his mission and returned to the king, his master, he related the cir204 TALES cumstances to him, which he found on inquiry to be altogether correct, and when he had heard how handsome the lady was he sent his painter, called Jean de Paris,’ to paint her portrait, which he did with her husband’s consent, and in the end her husband, partly from the wish to have children, and also be- cause he pitied her for her humility and patience, took her to him. self again, and had several fine children by her. “T think, ladies, if all those of our sex who sinned as she did had to drink out of a similar vessel many gilt cups would have to be changed into death’s heads. May God preserve us from this, for if His goodness does not restrain us, there is not one amongst us who may not do worse, but if we trust in Him, He will keep us from falling even if we are tempted, as the old proverb says so truly, that ‘‘ What God keeps is well kept.” ‘¢ According to my ideas,” Parlamente said, “‘ hers was a most reasonable punishment, for as her sin was worse than death, so was also her punishment.” “T do not agree with you,” Emarsuitte replied, ‘for I would rather see my lover’s bones in a cabinet every day of my life than die for them, for there is no crime or fault that cannot be repaired, but after death no reparation is possible.” “How can disgrace be repaired?” was Longarine’s question, “for you know that no woman can retrieve her honour after such a fall.” ‘‘T should like you to tell me,” said Emarsuitte, “ whether the Magdalen is not more honoured now than her sister who was a virgin?” ‘She certainly is highly praised for her love of our Lord, and for her sincere repentance, but, nevertheless, she is called a sinner,” Longarine replied. “YT don’t care what the world may say about me,” was Emarsuitte’s answer, “but if only God and my husband were to pardon me, I should have no wish to die.” “Tf this lady loved her husband as she ought,” Dagoucin said, “I am astonished that she did not die of grief at looking at the bones of the man whose death she had caused by her crime.” 1 Jean de Peneal, called Jean de Paris, who was also called the second Zeuxis or Apelles of painting, was painter in ordinary to King Charles VIIL, and afterwards to Louis XII. and FrancisI. In 1514 he was sent to England to paint the portrait of Mary, sister of Henry VITI.—[ Translator’. | al | gana il it i] shall 08 ga 100 You nigh ite ik pl git tral ang f bel igs un {0 , ja of thew gy fhuse 18 00 vont wil ime of | al = I | 1 ATPOORIS _ HD GO (LEVERNY (OMMANDto be lt the lady Wy ut her poh in the ey mn, and aly} took her 0 sinned ay any gilt 1s, May l es Dot tat do. rons f ing even 1 at © What i ay WAS All than death or La ay of BY i hat cant | y nes quai honout i te, “ mil ' hi vor sistet OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 205 ‘Why, Dagoucin,” Simontault cried out, ‘don’t you yet know that women have neither real love nor regret?” “Yes,” he replied; ‘ but I have never tried for their love, for fear of finding less than I wished for.” “Then you live on faith and hope,” Nomerfide remarked, “like the plover is said to live on wind, and so you are a cheap customer to feed.” “T am satisfied,” was his answer, “ with the love that I feel in my heart, and with the hope that the same feeling may dwell in the ladies’ hearts, but if I were sure of being loved as I wish, I should die of joy.” “You need only take precautions against the plague, for I will guarantee you against the other malady,” was Guebron’s reply. ‘ But whom will Madame Oisille call on 4” “T shall call on Simontault,” she said, ‘‘for I know that he will spare nobody.” “You might just as well say at once that I am rather in- clined to evil speaking,” he replied, “and so I would let you see that people who are looked upon as slanderers nevertheless speak the truth. I do not suppose, ladies, that you are foolish enough fo believe all the stories that you have heard, aoe pious some few of them may have been, unless the proof of the truth of them is so strong that it cannot be doubted. Many an abuse is committed under the guise of a miracle, and on this account I will relate you a story which redounds as much to the praise of a religious prince as to the disgrace of a wicked priest.” NOVEL XXXIII. THE HYPOORISY OF A PRIEST, WHO UNDER THE CLOAK OF HOLINESS HAD GOT HIS SISTER WITH CHILD, WAS DISCOVERED BY THE CLEVERNESS OF THE COUNT OF ANGOULEME, AND AT HIS COMMAND HE WAS FITLY PUNISHED FOR HIS CRIME. Wuew Count Charles of Angouléme, father of King Francis L., and who was a very pious and God-fearing prince, was at Cognac, he was told that in a neighbouring village called Cherves, there was a girl who was a virgin, and who lived so austerely that it was quite marvellous, but yet she was pregnanta 206 TALES = ox ao = Ss oa and made no secret of it, but she assured everyone that she | opt tl had never known a man, and that she did not know how it had happened to her, unless it were the work of the Holy Ghost, and the people were easily induced to believe this, and looked upon her as a second Virgin Mary, for they all knew that from her childhood she had been very discreet, and not at all given ‘to worldly follies. She did not only fast on the appointed days, eS = eS — = ae LOM, S=S. = =~ = => —— rr — — = ———s, i a but voluntarily on several days in the week, and never was 1) li absent from church when any service was going on. The Fal : MN common people thought so much of her mode of life that they gall looked upon it as absolutely miraculous, and whoever could soft touch her gown thought himself very fortunate. The priest of fe the parish was her brother, who was a man of a certain age, of very austere life, highly esteemed by his parishioners, who looked upon him as a holy man, and he treated his sister so strictly that he had her locked up ina house at which the people were very angry, and the affair created such a stir that, as I have said, it reached the count’s ears who, seeing how de- luded everybody was, determined to put an end to it. There- fore he sent a referendary and his almoner (both excellent men) b to find out the truth, and when they came to the place, having investigated the matter as well as they could, they addressed themselves to the priest, who was very vexed at the business, ; and begged them to be present at the verification of it, which | he hoped to make next day. The next morning the priest said mass, at which his sister was present on her knees, very far ad- | vanced in her pregnancy, and at the end of the mass he took : the host and, in the presence of all the congregation, he said to i Cn his sister: “ Wretched girl that you are, behold here is He Who ico suffered and died for you, in Whose presence I ask you whether le you are a virgin as you have always maintained?” She answered ith boldly and fearlessly that she was so, whereupon he asked how i ¢ it was possible for her to be pregnant and yet remain a virgin. al an She replied: “TI can give no other reason, except that it is the , grace of the Holy Ghost, who does to me what he pleases, and Tse I cannot deny the favour which God has shown me in preserv- me ing me a virgin, for I had not any wish to marry.” Her brother meal then said this: “ Here I give you the precious body of the’ fer Saviour, which you will receive to your damnation if it is other- ‘Tg, wise than as you say, of which these gentlemen who are present neyo on the count’s behalf, are witnesses.” The girl, who was about Hey thirteen years old, then took the following oath: “I take the (ila body of our Lord, Who is here present, to my damnation before TleVeryone th know hor the Hal this, aut | knew thi not ata appointed and ner 010g on, | of lite that Whoever ti The pret 4 certain a rishiouey =S | excellent ut 6 place, Ln on of It ul the pst 5, Tel i hi 4 Che aus he ase ——— .——) st Sa Ss = =o) so a OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 207 you, gentlemen, and you, my brother, if ever any man has touched me more than you have,” and saying this she took the body of the Redeemer. The referendary and the count’s almoner were much puzzled when they saw this, for they thought that she could not possibly be lying when she had taken such an oath, . and so they went and made their report to the count and tried to persuade him to believe what they believed, but as he was a very clear-sighted man, having pondered the matter over a good deal, making them repeat the words of the oath to him, and when he had weighed them well, he said to them: ‘She told you that no man had ever touched her any more than her brother, so I am sure that her brother has got her with child, and wishes to hide his crime by this prevarication, and as we know that our Saviour has already appeared upon earth, we must not expect another ; therefore, go back and put the priest in prison, where, I am sure, he will confess the truth.” They did as they were ordered, but remonstrated very much at putting such a disgrace upon so good a man ; but as soon as the priest was arrested he confessed his guilt, and told them that he had advised his sister to say what she had done in order to conceal their criminal intercourse, not only by a slight device, but also that through her words of double meaning, they might continue to be honoured by everybody. When he was asked how it was he could be so blasphemous as to make her swear on the Lord’s body, he said that he had not been wicked enough to do that, but he had given her an ordinary unblessed and unconsecrated wafer. The whole matter was reported to the Count of Angouléme, who ordered that justice should take its due course. The whole thing was put off till she had been delivered of a fine boy, and then brother and ‘sister were burnt alive, to the horror of all the people, who had seen such a monstrous crime committed under the appearance of such a laudable and holy life. “You see, ladies, that the good count’s faith was not to be overcome by outward signs and miracles, for he knew that we have only one Saviour who, when he said, J¢ is finished, showed that there was no room for a successor to Him to save us.” “Tt was, indeed, a piece of great boldness veiled under ex- treme hypocrisy,” said Oisille, “for it is most wicked to cover such an enormous fault under the mantle of God and the pre- tence of being a good Christian.” “T have heard,” Hircan said, “that those who commit cruel208 TALES and tyrannous acts under cover of the king’s commission, are doubly punished, because they shelter their injustice under the royal justice, and so you see that hypocrites, although they may prosper for a time under the cloak of godliness, yet when God lifts that cloak, He exposes them in all their nakedness, their filth, and their wickedness, and so they appear the more hideous because their covering was so honourable.” “T believe,” Guebron continued, “that hypocrisy, whether ag regards men or nature, is the cause of all the evils that befall us,” ‘“‘ How delightful it would be,” Parlamente said, ‘‘if faith go filled our hearts that we could boldly show them to every one.” Hircan replied that that could only be when we had no more flesh on our bones, but Oisille told him that the Spirit of God which is mightier than death can mortify our hearts without changing our bodies. “ Madame,” Saffredant said, ‘‘ you are talking of the gift of God—” “Yes,” Oisille said, interrupting him, “which is not very common in men except those who have very great faith. But this is a matter above carnal understanding. Let us see on whom Simontault will call.” “T shall call on Nomerfide,” he replied, “for as she has a merry heart, I do not think her story will be a sad one.” “As you wish to laugh,” Nomerfide said, “I will give you the opportunity of doing so, and show you what bad things fear and ignoranceare, and that a word which is misunderstood is often the cause of mischief, by the example of two poor Franciscans of Niort, who through misunderstanding the language of a butcher nearly died of fright.” NOVEL XXXIV. TWO FRANCISCANS, LISTENING TO A SECRET WHICH WAS NO CONCERN OF THEIRS, BECAUSE THEY MISUNDERSTOOD THE LANGUAGE OF A BUTCHER, THOUGHT ''HEIR LIVES WERE IN DANGER. Between Niort and Fors there is a village which is called Grip, which belongs to the Lord of Fors. One night two Franciscans, coming from Niort, arrived at the village very late, and went to lodge at the house of a butcher, and ag there was nothingCOT Justice ual appear th ' ble,” y of the oh ig nok We eat fatth, fi 1g see on The + ag she ll ad on. will gue vad things arstnod isl Hennes une g no cone rangrsis" (GED | galled ih Praveiie a aa 1 OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARREB, 209 but a badly constructed wooden partition between their room and their host’s, they were anxious to hear what he would say to his wife when they were in bed, so they clapped their ears to the partition where it was close to his bedside, and as he had no suspicion of his guests, he talked to his wife openly about his business, and said to her: “ My dear, I must get up very early and see after our Franciscans, for one of them is very fat and fit for killing, and we will salt him and make a good profit out of him.” Now, he meant his pigs, which he called Franciscans, but the two poor brothers, when they heard what he said, thought he meant them, and waited for day-break in great fear and tre- pidation. One of them was very fat, and the other tolerably thin, and the fat one wished to confess to his companion, and said that as the butcher had lost all love and fear of God, he would make no more of killing him than he would of a bullock or any other beast, and that as they were fastened into their room, out of which they could not get except by passing through their host’s, they were quite sure that he would kill them, and they had better recommend their souls to God. But the younger one, Who was not so overcome by fear as his comrade, said to him that as the door was closed against them they must try to get out through the window, for in any case they could only be killed in making the attempt, and the fat one agreed to this, The younger opened the window, and seeing that it was not very far from the ground, jumped lightly down and ran away as fast and as far as he could, without waiting for his com- panion, who on making the attempt fell so heavily that he hurt one of his legs; and when he saw that his comrade had for- saken him and that he could not follow, he looked out for a hiding-place, but all he could see was a pig’s- stye to which he dragged himself as best he could, but as soon as he opened the door to go in, out rushed two great pigs, and the friar proceeded to take their place and shut the door behind nim, hoping that when he heard anybody passing he might make them hear and obtain aid. As soon as it was morning, however, the butcher got his big knives ready and told his wife to go with him to help him in killing the fat pig, and when he got to the stye, where the Franciscan had hidden himself, he opened the little door and called out: ‘Come here, my Fran- . ciscan, I mean to enjoy your foy to-day.” The Franciscan, who could not stand on the injured leg, crawled out on all fours roaring for mercy as loud as he could; but the butcher and OZ10 TALES his wife were quite as much terrified as the unfortunate monk, for they thought that St. Francis was angry with them for having called such an animal a Franciscan, 80 they went on their knees to the monk and begged pardon of St. Francis and his order, so that whilst the one was begging the butcher for mercy, the butcher was appealing first to him, so that they were about a quarter of an hour before they could make each other understand. At last, however, when the worthy father perceived that the butcher had no intention of hurting him, he told him why he had hidden himself in the stye, so that their fear was. turned into laughter, though the poor Franciscan who had hurt his leg was not at all inclined to laugh, but the butcher took him indoors and had him carefully attended to, His comrade who had left him in the lurch did not stop run ning all night, so that he reached the residence of the Seigneur de Fors in the morning, and complained of the butcher, and said that he suspected him of the murder of his companion as he had not come after him. The Seigneur sent at once to Grip, to find out the truth, and when he heard it he did not think there was anything to cry about in the matter, and told his mistregs, the Duchess of Angouléme, mother of King Francis I. “This, ladies, is what comes of listening and not understanding clearly what is said.” “| knew that Nomerfide would not make us weep,” said Simontault, “but rather laugh heartily, and I think we did so.” “That means to say,” replied Oisille, “ that we are more in- clined to laugh at a folly than at a good thing.” “Because,” said Hircan, “‘we prefer nonsense, for it re- sembles our own nature more, which is never wise of itself, but I am sure that neither a wise man nor a fool could help laugh- ing at that story.” “The philosophers of old,” Guebron remarked, “ never laughed, as nothing could alter their demeanour, for they thought it a great virtue to be able to conquer themselves and their passions.” ‘That is very well with regard to a vicious passion, but use- legs in the case of a harmless natural one,” was Saffredant’s re- ply; “cand they certainly were not all wise, and there was more appearance of virtue than the reality.” “Yet they certainly condemned everything that was bad,” said Guebron; “‘and Diogenes stamped upon Plato’s bed, be- cause it was too luxurious for his taste, and so he tried to igi 00 \] call pou giderte 11 i(araialy, il eet your ror PAM TANGEROU A PRANCI ING HER ITER HL | Panpelum watful aud itt part 0 alma 80 0 ite, She mons, and mally a8 ih Women ‘linen fe Indsh W Th are use anhody Lo mi austerit lewd thin homesUnfortunate y SY With they N, 80 they Tey of St. Fran @ the butelw him, 80 that could make» the worthy i mn OF art st ye, 80 that le or Francisca 0 laugh, bt t fully attest Lid. not stp 1 0@ of the Sagu butcher, ant npanion ash once to Gr! d not thin ti told his ite rancis I ' ih ot under us wet Fhink wedi we aro mi ” onse, {ot I ge of el! wld ely I arked, ‘i pou, tt f th onnselt ssi, hi Cafe? mi here hat Wis il ato’ et be tt ; i | OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 211 trample on Plato’s vain-glory, and said: ‘I trample on Plato’s pride.’ ” “You do not mention, however,” said Saffredant, “ that Plato at once remarked to him that he was trampling on it with yet more pride, for Diogenes despised neatness and order, from a certain pride and arrogance.” ‘Just see,” observed Simontault, “how a case of extreme folly has made us talk philosophy, and I beg that it may be left to those who understand more about it than we do, and ask Nomerfide on whom she is going to call.” ‘I call upon Hircan,” she replied, “but I hope he will be considerate towards ladies’ honour.” “ Certainly,” he said, “and the story I am about to relate will meet your wishes, and, moreover, it is strictly true.” NOVEL XXXV. A LADY OF PAMPELUNA THOUGHT THAT SPIRITUAL LOVE WAS NOT DANGEROUS, AND SO WISHED TO OBTAIN THE GOOD GRACES OF A FRANCISCAN ; HER HUSBAND SEEING THIS, WITHOUT ALLOW- ING HER TO KNOW IT, MANAGED TO TURN HER LOVE INTO BITTER HATRED. In Pampeluna there lived a lady who was considered both beautiful and virtuous, and the most chaste and devout person in that part of the country. She was devoted to her husband, and was so obedient to him that he had the fullest confidence in her. She was constantly at divine service and hearing sermons, and persuaded her husband and children to go as frequently as she did, being then thirty years old, an age at which women generally give up their claims to beauty to be called new female sages. On Ash Wednesday she went to church to receive the ashes which are used as a memorial of death, and a Franciscan, whom everybody looked upon as a very holy man on account of his great austerity and the strictness of his life which made him pale and thin, but yet did not prevent his being one of the andsomest men in the world, was to preach the sermon, to212 TALES which the lady devoutly listened, and kept her eyes fixed upon the preacher, and her ears and her mind intent on taking every word in, so that the sweetness of his words penetrated through the ears into the lady’s heart, and his good looks passed through her heart and insinuated themselves so deeply into her mind that she felt in ecstasy. After the sermon she was present when he celebrated mass, and took the ashes from his hand, which was as beautiful and white as any lady’s, and this devout lady paid a great deal more attention to his hand than-to the . ashes he gave her, for she thought that spiritual love, however much pleasure she might derive from it, could not wound her con- science. She was very particular in going to hear him preach every day, and her husband went with her, and they both ad- mired the preacher so much, that at table and anywhere else, indeed, they could speak of nothing but him. This fire which she took to be spiritual was really so carnal, that the heart of this poor lady, in which it was kindled, threatened to consume her whole body, and slow as she was to feel the flame, she was equally quick to take fire, and she felt the pleasure of her passion even before she knew that passion had laid hold of her; and quite taken by surprise by her enemy, Love, she no longer offered him any resistance, but the worst of it was that the physician who could have cured her was alto- gether ignorant of her disease. Setting aside, therefore, all fear that she ought to have had in exposing her mad passion to such a prudent man, and her viciousness to one who was so saintly and virtuous, she wrote to tell him of the love she bore him, which she did at first as modestly as she could, and gave the letter to a little page of hers, telling him what he was to do, and that, above all things, he was not to let her husband see him going to the Franciscan’s. As luck would have it, the page, taking the shortest way, went through a street where his master was sitting in ashop. The gentleman, when he saw him go by, went forward to see where he went to, and when the page saw him he was so frightened that he ran into a house to hide himself. When his master saw this conduct he followed him, and, taking him by the arm, he asked him where he was going to. As his answers were very vague and he looked terribly alarmed, his master threatened to beat him if he did not tell him where. The wretched little page answered: ‘Sir, if I tell you, I fear that my mistress will kill me.” The gentle- man, guessing that his wife was up to something on her own accoun’, said that nothing should happen to him if he spoke the itl the (ta, put te eohtpt her eye fy intent on tiki ds penetrate i d Looks pase mon she was 1 ashes from lth deeply into ta ] lady's, and ti his hand thu spiritual Lov, bi ald not wound to hear hin er, and they le and auywett im, | was realy ou hich it as lit nd slow as he ake fire ant he knew thi arise hy et tance, but tt re cured her ti! aside, thet g het mn pa “to one wht of the let ve could, nog , what he We ; » et het bt - old har gh a ret emall, ¥ fl ' rn | OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 215 truth, but that, if he told lies, he would be imprisoned for life. To escape punishment, the page told him all the facts, and showed him the letter which his mistress had written to the preacher, and her husband was the more astonished and dis- tressed at this, as all his married life he had been certain of his wife’s fidelity, nor had he ever seen the slightest sign that it was otherwise. But being a wise man he dissembled his anger, and to learn his wife’s intentions fully, he wrote to her in the preacher’s name, thanking her for her good will towards him, and assuring her that it was fully reciprocated. As the page promised his master that he would manage the matter prudently, he carried the counterfeit letter to his mistress, which filled her with such joy, that her husband noticed how changed she was in face, for instead of getting thin through the Lenten fast, she was handsomer and fresher than during the Carnival. It was already Mid-Lent, but the lady, without paying any regard to Passion-Week and Holy-week, went on writing to the preacher and telling him of her amorous rage; and she thought that when he looked in her direction, or spoke of the love of God, it was out of love for her, and as far as her eyes could express what she thought she did not spare them. Her husband recularly sent her suitable answers, and after Easter, he wrote to her in the character of the preacher begging her to let him know how he could see her in secret, and she, who had been longing for that hour to come, advised her husband to go and look after some landed property he had near Pampeluna, and he said he would do so, but went and hid himself in the house of one of his friends, and his wife took care to write to the preacher to come and see her as it was a very favourable opportunity since her husband had gone into the country. As the gentleman wished to test his wife’s heart thoroughly, he went to the monk and begged him to lend him his habit ; but being a good man he told him that the rules of their Order for- bade it, and that on no account would he lend it him to go masquerading in. On being assured, however, that the hus- band did not require it for his own amusement, but for a very important matter, and one which was necessary for his temporal happiness and perhaps even for his salvation, the Franciscan, who knew him to be a worthy, pious man, lent him the habit. He then gota false beard and nose, put on the habit which covered the greater part of his face so that only his eyes could be seen, put cork into his shoes, which made him about the same height as the preacher, and thus disguised and bearing a214 TALES very tolerable resemblance to the monk, he went at night te his wife’s room where she was waiting for him most ardently, The poor fool did not wait for him to come to her but rushed to embrace him like a woman beside herself. He kept his head down for fear that she might recognise him, and began to make the sign of the cross, pretending at the same time to try and escape from her, crying out: “ Temptation ! temptation ! ” The lady said tohim: ‘Alas! father, you are quite right; for there is no greater temptation than that which love causes, and for which you have promised to afford me relief, and I beg you to have pity on me now that we have time and opportunity,” saying which she again tried to embrace him, but he ran all round the room, making the sign of the cross and still saying : “Temptation! temptation!” But when he saw that she was becoming too pressing, he took out a thick stick which he had concealed under his cloak and gave her such a drubbing as soon put an end to her temptation, and without her recognising him, he at once returned the habit to the monk, and assured him that it had been very useful to him. He returned home next day from his pretended journey, where he found his wife in bed, and of course, not pretending to know anything about her illness, he asked her what was the matter with her. She told him that she was troubled with such a violent catarrh all over her that she could use neither arms nor legs. Her hus- band, who was very much inclined to laugh, pretended to be very sorry for her, and told her, as if in order to please her, that he had asked the Franciscan preacher to supper that evening. But she said immediately: ‘“‘My dear husband, never ask such like people to your house, for they bring bad luck wherever they go.” ‘‘Whatdo you mean, my dear?” her husband asked her; “you always used to praise him to me, and as for myself, I do not think there is a better man on earth.” His wife replied : “They are very good in the church and in the pulpit, but in families they are like Antichrist. I beg you do not make me see him, for ill as I am, it might be quite enough to kill me.” Her husband promised that she should not be forced to see him against her wish, but told her that he certainly should have him to supper. After the meal was over he said to the monk: “ My father, I think you stand so high in divine favour that God will not deny you any request, and therefore I pray you to have pity on my poor wife, who has been possessed of an evil spirit for the last eight days, so that she tries to acratch and bite all the world, and she cares neither + ip erucix maa (ses tal tat jal, an — NM ! | | |emptation | 2 quite right love caus f, and I bey nd opportu , but hem and stil smu aw that stew ok which hel h a drubbing ; her recosni nk, and st returned lt e found bist anything & with her ent: cota legs, He pretend + to pleat to suppe dear bust they brits my deat him to Hi man 00 él cunt a ist, | bel might bed pat se a old het that . meal wi ‘stand : rogues lt wih tt days, » cates ! —=:—s = uv 1 \ SS =e =—- = — — a SS ! ' — = —= = = —_— SS SS S =a | — SS —— 4 u ‘ cee ae = HN \ —— —— =S OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 215 for crucifix nor holy water. I put such faith in you that 1 believe if you lay your hands on her the devil will leave her, and therefore I earnestly beseech you to do so.” The friar said to him: ‘‘My son, everything is possible to the sincere believer ; do you therefore firmly believe that the goodness of God refuses no good thing to him who prays for it in faith?” The gentleman told him that he most certainly believed it, and the good father then said: ‘ Be also assured, my son, that he both can and will, and that He is as powerful as He is good. Let us then go, strong in faith, to resist that roaring lion and to snatch his prey from him, as it belongs to God through the blood of His Son.” The gentleman therefore took this good man to see his wife, who was lying on a little bed, and she was so astonished at seeing him, as she fancied it was he who had given her such a thrashing, that she got into a terrible rage, but because her husband was present she looked down and did not say a word. Her husband then said to the holy man: “As long as I am with her, the devil hardly troubles her at all, but as soon as I have left the room throw some holy water on her, and then you will see how the evil spirit works in her.” So he left the monk alone with his wife and remained just outside the door to see what they would do. When she saw that she was alone with the Franciscan she began to scream, like a woman who was mad, with rage, and called him, Wretch, villain, murderer, deceiver! The monk, who really thought she was possessed of an evil spirit, wished to take her head in his hands to pray over it, but she scratched and bit him so, that he was obliged to speak at a distance, sprinkling her copiously with holy water and uttering many pious prayers, and when the husband thought he had done as much as could be expected of him, he came into the room and thanked him for the pains he had taken. As soon as he entered, his wife ceased her curses and maledictions, and kissed the crucifix very humbly out of fear of her husband ; but the holy man who had seen her in such a fury believed firmly that our Lord had driven out the devil at his prayers, and went away praising God for this great miracle. As the husband saw that his wife had been well punished for her foolish fancy, he made up his mind not to tell her what he had done, for he was satisfied with the prudent course he had taken to overcome her desires, and with having brought her into such a frame of mind that she mortally hated what she had loved so indis- ereetly, and now detested her folly, and after that, relinquish-216 TALES ing every superstition, she devoted herself wholly to her husband and her household duties better than she had ever done before, ‘From this, ladies, you may gather how much good sense the husband had, and also how weak she was who had always been regarded as a virtuous woman, and I think that when you have considered this example you will not be inclined to trust to your own strength, but in His, on whom your honour depends.” “T am very glad,” Parlamente said, “‘ that you have become the ladies’ preacher, and it would be even better if you con- tinue these good sermons to all the women to whom you speak.” “TI will promise you,” was Hircan’s answer, ‘that I will say the same sort of thing to you every time you like to hear me.” “That is to say,” Simontault interposed, “that when you are present, he will speak differently.” “He may do just as he pleases,” Parlamente replied ; “ but for my own satisfaction’s sake, I wish to believe that he will always hold the same language, and the example which he has advanced will not, I think, be lost on those who think that spiritual love is not dangerous, for according to my ideas it is more so than any other.” ‘But yet,” Oisille said, “the love of a virtuous man and of one who loves God is not a thing to be despised, for one can- not but be the better for it.” * Believe me,” Parlamente replied, “madame, there is nothing so foolish or so easily deceived as a woman who has never loved, for love is a passion which takes possession of the heart before one is aware of it, and it is such a delightful passion, that if virtue can be made to serve as a cloak for it, mischief is sure to happen almost before love is recognised.” ‘““What harm can come from loving a good man?” Oisille asked. ‘‘Madame,” was Parlamente’s answer, “there are plenty of men who are good with regard to the ladies, but there is hardly one who is so good as far as God is concerned that he can be trusted with our honour and conscience, and those who rely on that and think otherwise, find that they are deceived, and beginning their affection with God they often end it with the devil. I have seen many who, under cover of talking about God, began an intimacy which they little wished to break off and could not, because they were held too fast by the ‘ ets ) sph else, gt either ijt want i tea W ill eall on | l gfe nnd my Aue tis MY yuan §0 98 ah ‘ ' “tht NM in? your 1 1 wil rel | NUNT OF GI INGE HIMS) HMISING THlly to her hy Ver done he) Ch good sey: Dad alvay i at when youly ined t0 tat m Your bay you have bee etter if yout 1 to whom yi "that J wil y ke to hear ‘that when e replied “ht ave that ber. le which bel who think ti my ideas Hi us, man atl d, for one here iwi ho has ne n of the Mw atful pass? or it, mis ”) a are plea but thet! med that h nd thos are dei + enti rt or of tab @ wishel i y fast bY b OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 217 respectable cloak with which it was covered. A vicious love defeats itself, and cannot last long in a good heart, but a virtuous love has such delicate bonds of silk, that one is caught in them before one sees them.” “According to what you say,” Emarsuitte replied, “no woman would ever love a man, but your faith is too severe and will not last.” ‘That may be,” said Parlamente, “but for all that I shall continue to wish that every woman would be satisfied with her own husband, like I am with mine.” Emarsuitte felt the insinuation, and colouring up, replied: “You must either think that everybody’s heart is constituted ‘ust like yours, or you must think that you are more perfect than any one else.” “T do not want to dispute about the matter, so let us see bn whom Hircan will call,” Parlamente said. “T shall call on Emarsuitte,” he replied, “to make peace be- tween her and my wife.” “Since it is my turn,” she said, “I will Spare neither man hor woman so as to equalise matters, and as I see that you cannot bring yourselves to confess the rectitude and virtue of men, I will relate a story which somewhat resembles the last.” NOVEL XXXVI. A PRESIDENT OF GREN OBLE MANAGES BY MEANS OF A SALAD TO AVENGE HIMSELF ON HIS WIFE AND CLERK WITHOUT COM- PROMISING THE HONOUR OF HIS HOUSE. THERE was a president at Grenoble whose name I will not mention, but he was not a Frenchman, and he had a very handsome wife with whom he lived very happily ; but when She saw that her husband was getting old she fell in love with a handsome young clerk called Nicholas, and when the husband went to the Palace of Justice in the morning, the clerk came Into the room and took his place, and when a man who had been the president’s servant for thirty years got to know this, being loyal to his master, he told him of it. The president218 TALE was a very prudent man, and would not believe such an accusation lightly ; but told him that he believed he wished to sow discord between his wife and him, and that if the matter were true, as he said, he could easily prove it, but if he could not prove it to him he should believe that he had trumped up this tale to make mischief between his wife and himself. The valet assured him that he would bring him the proof of what he said, and one morning, as soon as the president had gone to the Court of Justice and the clerk had gone into the wife’s room, the servant sent one of his fellows to beg his master to come, and kept watch on the door to see that the clerk did not make his escape. As soon as the president saw the sign that one of his servants gave him, he left the court on the pretence of illness and hastily returned home, where he found his old servant at the door of the room, who assured him that the clerk had only just gone in and was inside still. ‘ Don’t leave this door,” his master said, ‘for you know there is no other means of exit, except through the door of my own little room of which I alone have the key.” The president then went into the bedroom and found his wife and the clerk in bed together, who threw himself at his feet in his shirt, and begged for pardon, whilst the lady began tocry. The president said to them: “ Although what you have done is as bad as it can possibly be, I do not intend to have my house dishonoured and the daughters that I have had by you looked down upon through your fault. Therefore, I say, I forbid you to cry, but see what I am going to do. You, Nicholas (that was the clerk’s name), go and hide in my cabinet and do not make any noise.” When he had done so he opened the door, and calling his old servant said: “ Did you not assure me that you would show me my clerk in bed with my wife? And believing your words I came here inclined to kill her, but have found nothing of what you told me, as I will show you.” So saying he made the servant look under the beds and all over the room. As he could find nothing he was very much astonished, and said to his master: “The devil must have flown away with him, for I certainly saw him come in here, and he did not come out of the door, but I see he is not here.” Hig master replied : ‘You are very wicked to try and cause a division between my wife and me, so you may leave my service, and for your faith ful services hitherto I will pay you what I owe you and some- thing over, but go away at once, and do not venture to remain in this town for more than twenty-four hours,” o bal impress opin of th iM in the mo i As COMpOE aur Hours mye that no walle death, ¢ nite honour 0 luhotend, lad iutenee for ad the oreat alk, not to b ‘Ayn 98 well tad virtues,” tl thng ] Luge who Jo hnente gaibelieve iy Jeved he wi that if the w it, but if ley @ had trum and himsel | the proot ii ident had 16 tnto the beg bis mat’ the clerk diy saw the sini rt on the pr he found ti ed him that t I. “Dont bi there 1s n0 tt y OWN Itt nt at then watt “in bed tt and beet resident ‘tl 43 bad as dishonowtlé 1 belies ) found mM saying f .e r00ll. 2 ed, aud al! ith bin i F of, com it Wi mastel I} ion pet for youl fre 10 ro OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 219 The president paid him his wages for five or six years in advance, and knowing that he was a faithful servant hoped to be able to benefit him in other ways, and as soon as he had gone away with tears in his eyes, the president called the clerk out of the closet, and telling him and his wife just what he thought of their wickedness, he forbade them both to say a word about the matter to any one, and ordered his wife to dress herself more handsomely than she had been in the habit of doing, and to go to all parties and festivities to which she might be invited. He told his clerk also that he was to lead even a more merry life than hitherto, but that as soon as he whispered to him, “Go away,” he was to take care not to he found in the town three hours afterwards, and when he had done this, he returned to the palace as if nothing had happened. For more than a fortnight he was continually entertaining his friends and neighbours, which was quite contrary to his usual habits, and after the banquet there was music and a ball to entertain the ladies. One day, when he saw that his wife was not dancing, he ordered his clerk to invite her to dance, and he, thinking that his master had forgotten all about the affair, danced with her quite gaily, but as soon as the dance was over, the president, under the pretence of giving an order about household matters, whispered in his ear: “ Begone, and never come back again.” The clerk was very sorry to leave his mistress but very glad to preserve his life. After the president had impressed all his relations and friends with a very high opinion of the love that he bore to his wife, he went one fine day in the month of May to gather a salad in his gar- den, but it was composed of such herbs that his wife did not live twenty-four hours after eating it, at which he pretended to be so grieved that no one could for a moment suspect that he had caused her death, and thus he was avenged on his enemies and saved the honour of his house. “T do not intend, ladies, by this story to hold up the presi- dent’s conscience for admiration, but to show the levity of a woman and the great patience and prudence of a man ; but I beg you, ladies, not to be angry at the truth which sometimes tells against you as well as against men, for women also have their vices and virtues.” “Tf all those who love their servants had to eat such a salad,” Parlamente said, ‘‘I know many who would tear up220 TALES every herb in the garden, to avoid those which save the honour of the race at the expense of a wicked mother.” Hircan, who guessed_to whom she wished this to apply, an- swered her angrily: “A good woman ought never to suspect another of things that she would not do herself.” “To know a thing,” was her reply, “is not to suspect rashly, However, this poor woman paid the penalty which many de- serve, and I think that the husband, since he wished to be avenged, acted extremely prudently and wisely.” ‘ But also very maliciously,” Longarine said, “for it was a long and cruel vengeance, which showed that he had neither God nor conscience before his eyes.” “ What would you have had him do,” Hircan asked her, “ to punish her for the greatest wrong that a woman can do a man?” “He ought not to have killed her, unless he did so in the first moment of his rage,” she said; “for she might have lived with him like a virtuous wife and the whole matter been passed over,” “You do not suppose,” Saffredant remarked, “that he was appeased, though he pretended to be so, and I am sure he was just as much in a rage on the last day when he made the salad as he was on the first day when he first found out her shame; for there are some persons whose first emotions have no inter- val till they act as their passion dictates, and I quite agree with these theologians who say that such sins find pardon very easily.” “ You are a dangerous man,” Longarine said, “but I think you all lie when you make love to us, and then wonder that a woman sometimes gives you tit for tat; and if you spoke the truth, it would be so powerful that it would force us to believe you. The only danger is lest God’s daughters should believe the serpent too easily.” “T see what you mean,” was his answer, ‘that women are invincible, so I will say no more except to ask Emarsuitte who she is going to call upon.” “T shall call on Dagoucin,” she said, “for I am sure he will not speak against the ladies.” “Would to God,” he replied, “they were as inclined to speak favourable of me as Iam to do so of them; and to show you that I have striven to honour their virtues by trying to learn their good actions, I will tell you the story of a young lady who had no motive in the good deed which ghe performed but God’s honour and her husband’s salvation,” ii xm pers0d il ber trouble whl that she | I, A 0 | i} ly ‘iat night, she Ua up algo ayy UY) Gh wVe 4 i i I il Sat down W | in] ‘Then he ¢ + mre tt up f er asleep afk til ‘y guduct 88 f 1) roid not it 4 t she had if S000 a V 1 ve He0t DIS MON fred wm inati¢ alair®, {At Was eC tunonerty, Oh ne v at Wet Wd her, | ",! ; wuitioy. and wbintuee her ] } tue ought to d imned, out of 1 i eans to re : 4 Ay , } ‘ , ‘And aUch save thely t this to a never th ny elf.” tO suspect y which may he wishel ly ) id, “for it at he had we an asked bey ' 10 can do a tt he did sont might har atter been pit ¢ made thes 1 out her si \ ng have 100 nd I quite find par i 1, bot | 0 wronder you gh rg 1s (0 , shoul b } 1 | f Ehat wont! Buna © aan sure HE volined t0 ih ad to shot trying” é | pei : =S = bi f OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 221 NOVEL XXXVII. MADAME DE LOUE, BY HER JUDICIOUS CONDUCT, WITHDREW HER HUSBAND FROM HIS VICIOUS COURSE OF LIFE, SO THAT THEY LIVED MORE HAPPILY TOGETHER THAN BEFORE. THERE was a lady of the house of Loue, in France, who was so good and virtuous that she was beloved and esteemed by all who knew her; and her husband, as was only right, left all his affairs to her, and she managed them so well that, by her means, their house became one of the richest and best furnished in Anjou or Touraine. After she had thus lived for a long time with her husband, by whom she had several fine children, her married happiness, as is often the case, began to diminish be- cause her husband, not being satisfied with his easy comfort- able life, gave it up for one of rather harder work, and as soon as his wife was asleep he would get up from her side, and did not come back till it was nearly morning. The lady looked upon his conduct as very wrong, and she got so jealous, al- though she would not let this appear, that she neglected her house, her own person and her children, as if she had lost the fruit of all her trouble, in losing her husband’s former devotion, and she felt that she would take any pains to regain it. But seeing that she had lost him she so neglected her duties, that neglect soon made itself felt, for on the one hand her husband spent his money recklessly, and she no longer looked alter domestic affairs, so that everything soon became so in- volved, that it was necessary to cut down the timber and mort- gage the property. One of her relations, who knew what was the matter with her, remonstrated with her on the fault she was committing, and told her that if love for her husband would not induce her to look after the fortunes of the family at least she ought to do so for his poor children’s sake, and so she determined, out of pity for them, to pluck up her spirits and try all means to recover her husband’s love. The next night, she waited for the moment when he left her side and got up also, put on her dressing-gown, had the bed made, and sat down to read her book of Zhe Hours* till he re- turned, and when he came back into the room she went and 1 A book of Catholic devotion.222 TALES kissed him and offered him a basin of water to wash his hands in. He, being astonished at her extraordinary behaviour, told her he had only been to the privy, and that it was not neces- sary for him to wash after that ; but she replied that though it was no great matter, still it was as well to wash after coming from a nasty dirty place, for she hoped by these means to make him see and hate his evil manner of life. But he did not re- form for all that, and she went on acting in the same manner for a whole year ; however, she found that these means were no good. One day when he stayed longer than usual she thought she would go and find him, and so she went from room to room till she found him asleep in bed, in a little back closet, with the ugliest, filthiest, serving wench that there was in the whole house, and she at once determined to teach him to leave such a wife as she was for such a vile, dirty jade. So she took some straw and set fire to it in the middle of the room, but she saw that the smoke was quite as likely to suffo- cate her husband as to wake him, and she shook him by the arm, crying: ‘‘ Fire, fire!” The husband had good reason for being thoroughly ashamed, as he was, at being found by his nice wife with such a disgusting bed-fellow, and his wife said to him: “ For a year I have tried to win you back from your evil courses by gentleness and patience, by showing you that when you wash the outside you ought to cleanse the inside also, but when I saw that all I did had no results, I tried to call that element which will put an end to all things to my aid, and I assure you, that if this does not succeed, I do not know whether I shall a second time save you from danger, as I have just done. Pray, remember that unrequited love is capable of causing the greatest despair, and if I had not constantly had God before my eyes, I should not have been so patient as I have been.” The husband, who was very glad to be let off so cheaply, promised her that he would never again give her any cause for trouble, which promise the lady very willingly be- lieved, and with her husband’s consent turned off the girl who had offended her. They lived so happily afterwards, that even his past faults, seeing how productive they had been of good, were only a source of increased satisfaction to them. “ Pray, ladies, do not despair, if God gives you such hus- bands, until you have tried all means to reclaim them for a long time, for there are four-and ‘twenty hours in the day, during any of which a man may change his mind and a woman slr be beat 4 irone Who ( si ated 08 a wih | fulh inp itink she ide repld, sich Was, pe bas of such | pra lye,” jun omel, Lo dymr husbanc ‘tut i t be Wor saanne? ‘i aovording t, ht " Mets Laren, 9 »|Mnolada OO }CO radh bi ALY bebaniy i It Was yy lied that th wash attr 686 Means ti But he dil the same mw these mea r than wo 1 good ral ng fou Hl | his wiles k from yt y Ol ttt inside ai! ried to cil to my i I do now af i) t) I OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 223 may think herself happier at having regained her husband by patient endurance than if fortune and her relations had given her one more perfect.” ‘ All married women ought to take her for their pattern,” Oisille remarked. “ Any woman who likes may follow her example,” said Parla- mente, “‘but I could not be patient for so long, for though patience is a great virtue, I think that in marriage it leads at last to enmity, for contempt diminishes love, since one loves a thing only in proportion as one esteems it.” “But,” observed Emarsuitte, “an impatient wife might come across a furious husband who would only hurt her instead of making her patient.” “ What could any husband do worse than the one of whom we have just heard?” Parlamente asked. “Why, give his wife a good beating and make her sleep in the little bed, and put his mistress in the large one.” “T believe,” Parlamente said, ‘‘that a right-minded woman would rather be beaten by her husband in a fit of anger, than despised by one who does not care for her, and the story tells us that she acted as she did from the love she had for her children, which I fully believe.” “Do you think she was patient,” Nomerfide asked, “to put fire under the bed where her husband was sleeping ?” “Yes,” she replied, ‘for when she saw the smoke she woke him up, which was, perhaps, the greatest fault she committed, for the ashes of such husbands are good for nothing but: to be used for washing lye.” “You are cruel, Longarine,” said Oisille ; “‘but you did not live with your husband on such terms.” “No,” she answered, “for I shall regret him all my life, in- stead of complaining about him.” “But suppose he had treated you in a similar manner,” Nomerfide said, ‘‘ what would you have done?” “T loved him so dearly,” was her answer, “that I think I should have killed him and myself after, for I would rather die after avenging myself so, than live as a loyal wife with a disloyal husband.” “God has so ordained, both for man and woman,” Oisille re- marked, “that if it be not abused, I look upon marriage as one » 1 This passage, according to M. Jacob, proves that in good houses there were always two Gee in a room, one the bed of honour and the other for the ser- vant.—| Translator].224 TALES of the best and safest states in the world, and I have no doubt that all who are here, whatever they may pretend, think the same thing. But we have spoken enough on this matter, go let us see whom Dagoucin will call on for the next story.” “On Longarine,” he replied. a ‘“‘T am glad of that,” she said, “for I have one which is Just fit to follow yours. Since we are talking of women’s virtuous patience, I will tell you of one who is more to be praised than the lady of whom we have just heard, and she is to be esteemed the more as she was a town lady, who, as a rule, are not brought up so virtuously as others.” NOVEL XXXVIII. THE WIFE OF A OITIZEN OF TOURS, ALTHOUGH HE TREATED HER BADLY, YET TREATED HIM SO WELL IN RETURN, THAT HE LEFT HIS MISTRESS AND RETURNED TO HIS WIFE. fy Tours there was a handsome and virtuous citizen’s wife, whom her husband not only loved but esteemed and feared on account of her virtue. But as husbands are often so frail that they get tired of continually eating good bread, he fell in love with one of his metaydres,1 and often went from Tours to his farm, where he always remained two or three days. When he returned he was always so knocked up that his poor wife had. enough to do to get up his strength again, and as soon as he recovered he returned to the place, where pleasure made him forget all his past weakness. His wife, who loved his life and health above all things, when she saw that he generally returned from the farm in such a wretched plight, went there herself, and when she saw the young woman whom her husband was so fond of, she said to her, not at all angrily but most kindly, that she knew her husband went to see her very often, but that she treated him so badly that he always returned home quite jaded. The poor woman, partly out of respect for his lady and ‘A farmer, who in lieu of rent gave half the produce of the farm, was called metayer, and this metayére would be either the wife or widow of one, in this cise most likely the latter, who kept on the farm.—[ Translator. nal { been tre W yan his he qual that she {¥ tad done iit 18 great ne MONEY, Ht0OUS WO jruueh he ow cir ter great @ map the lite b aumony with iny le sure, Ia ut in the lon ‘ta? Wives. un Wa In itself JMO 88 & Wom Aoelrer |” ‘mld you hay 8 God com We tN Tee Hg" Hi an me 4 Irean s ‘ent, th ty ‘Orel in the ¢ My tat you sh ty bad view1 T have; dretend, th D this my: Next stay one whith Woten's rh 0 be prs 18 to be ete @, ane not HE TREAE RN, THAN 19 ited od) an fat en so 1 he fl vm Tou days Wh 9 poot re as a0 { asiure mt perl of ther prusban ost kl oftel, Mt | ned. hoot fr isi | he fart, mi low of one, ator OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 225 partly because she felt obliged to Speak the truth, could not deny the fact and begged for pardon. The lady then asked to see the room where her husband slept, and found it so cold, dirty, and uncomfortable, that she was seized with pity, and immediately sent a good bed with linen coverlet and blankets, such as her husband liked ; she had the room thoroughly cleaned and hung with tapestry ; she gave the woman a handsome ser- vice of plate for his use, a pipe of good wine, sweetmeats and confections, and begged her for the future not to send her husband back to her in such a worn out condition. He soon went to see the metaydre as usual, and was astonished at finding the poor dwelling in such good order, and still more 80 when she gave him a silver goblet to drink his wine out of, and he asked her where all these fine things came from. The poor woman told him with tears that his wife had sent them all, because she had been so sorry at the bad and poor way in which he had been treated, and that she had recommended her to take care of his health. When he considered how good his wife was, and that she returned him nothing but good for all the evil he had done her, he rightly reproached himself with misbehaviour as great as his wife’s affection, so he gave the metayeré some money, and after begging her for the future to live like a virtuous woman, he returned to his wife and con- fessed how much he owed to her, telling her at the same time that, but for her great gentleness and goodness, he should never have given up the life he was leading, and they lived afterwards in perfect harmony without ever alluding to the past. “You may be sure, ladies, that there are very few husbands who cannot in the long run be gained over by patience and love of their wives, unless they are harder than the rocks which water, in itself so weak and yielding, yet hollows out in time.” “Why, she was a woman,” Parlamente said, “ without either heart, gall, or liver !” “ What would you have?” replied Longarine. ‘She returned good for evil as God commands us to do.” “ My idea is,” Hircan said, ‘“‘that she was in love with some Franciscan, who had ordered her to have her husband so well treated in the country, that she might have an opportunity of treating him well in the town.” ‘In saying that you show how wicked your own heart is, as you take such a bad view of a good action. I think, on the P226 TALES contrary, that she was so devoted to God that she cared for nothing but her husband’s salvation.” “Tt really seems to me,” Simontault observed, ‘‘ that he had more reason to return to his wife when he was cold and miser- able in the farm than when he was well treated there.” “You do not seem to be of the opinion of a rich man in Paris,” Saffredant said, “ who, when he was in bed with his wife, could not lay aside any covering without catching a violent cold, but when he went to visit the chamber-maid in the cellar, with- out either nightcap or slippers, in the depth of winter, was none the worse for it, and his wife was very handsome and the servant very ugly.” ‘“‘Haven’t you ever heard,” said Guebron, “ that there is a special Providence over fools, lovers, and drunkards? perhaps he was all the three at once.” “Do you mean to say,” Parlamente asked him, “that God does not help the chaste, the wise, and the sober ?” ‘¢Those who can help themselves,” was Guebron’s answer, “require no help ; for He who said they that are whole need not a physician but they that are sick, came by the law of His pity to help our infirmities, and cancelled the vigorous decrees of His justice ; and whoever thinks himself wise is a fool in the sight of God. But to put an end to our sermon, to whom does Longarine give her voice?” _ When she called upon Saffredant, he said: “I will give you an example that God does not favour lovers, for although it has been said lately that vice is common to women and to men, yet a woman will invent an artifice much quicker and more cunningly than a man, as this story will prove to you.” NOVEL XXXIX. THE SEIGNEUR DE GRIGNAULX! FREED HIS HOUSE FROM A GHOST THAT HAD SO WORRIED HIS WIFE THAT FOR TWO YEARS SHE HAD BEEN ABSENT FROM IT. A Suranzur pE GricNavuLx, knight of honour to Anne, Duchess of Brittany and Queen of France, found on his return home, from which he had been absent for more than two years, that 1 More commonly Grignols. wi felt the iy end 8 ling al ay lilt als nghts t Hynext night Altpquore Ver don his fa0e ‘hard somethi sn elore, a sm bin & hear sat took bis b es “Te tthe candle wirho slept in el pardon, wu that the Jo ittte bouse hi muttek in orde ‘lley vere th ay chances 0 ibmten they y NBD Ort OF Mm ot teve forget a he tumedat she cu ad, thay 5 cold anda d there of a rch we bed with ir ng a vil 0 the celia winter, Wu, ndsome (that tet rnkards! bi, “ti ber \” fuebrous i ung whale ne law of ous dest 5 fool int! p, to Whe id: “I vel, i ! on t0 que ruc My |] prove i) yr ! ii Fr) 1) | ys mnt son 110 ir OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 227 his wife had removed to another estate of his in the neighbour- hood, and when he asked the reason she told him that the house was haunted by a ghost, which made such a noise and worried them so much that no one could remain there. Now, M. de Grignaulx was not at all the sort of man to believe in such humbugs, so he said to her that if it were the devil him- self he should not be afraid of him ; and so they went to the house, and at night he had a large number of candles lighted so that he might see the spirit better, but went to sleep at last after he had kept awake for a long time without hearing anything, but very soon he was aroused by a stinging slap in the face, and he heard a voice saying: ‘“ Revigné, Revigné,” which had been his grandmother's name. He called for the woman who slept in the room to light a candle, as they had all gone out, but she was too frightened to leave her bed. At the same moment M. de Grignaulx felt that the bedclothes were being dragged off him, and he heard a great noise of tables, trestles, and stools, which were falling all about the room, and this went on till it was getting daylight; and he was not frightened, but only vexed at losing his night’s rest, for he never thought that it was a ghost. The next night, being determined to catch the spirit, he pretended to snore very loud soon after he was in bed, and put his hand over his face. Whilst he was thus waiting for this ghost he heard something approaching, and so he began to snore louder than before, and hearing this the spirit got so fearless that it gave him a hearty cuff, but at the same instant Seigneur de Grignaulx took his hand off his face and seized it, and called out to his wife: ‘I’ve got the ghost,” and when she had got up and lighted the candle they found that the ghost was the wait- ing-woman who slept in their room. She fell on her knees at once, begged for pardon, and said she would tell them the truth, which was that the love she had felt for a long time for a Servant of the house had been the cause of their playing this mysterious trick in order to drive their master and mistress out, so that, as they were the only two left in charge, they might have plenty of chances of enjoying themselves, as they had cer- tainly done when they were alone. M. de Grignaulx, who was rather a rough sort of man, ordered them to be flogged, so that they might never forget the ghost ; and when they had been soundly beaten he turned them out of doors, and thus the house228 TALES was freed from the haunting spirits which for two years had played their part so well. “It is strange, ladies, what the effects of love are, for it will soon make women lose all fear, and torment men so that they may gain their object. But blameworthy as is the conduct of the girl, the good sense of her master was just as praiseworthy, for he knew that the spirit takes its flight and never returns.” “Indeed,” said Guebron, “ love did not favour either the man- servant or the girl, but I must say that the good sense of the master was of great use to him.” “ However, thanks to her cunning,” Emarsuitte replied, “the girl managed to live very comfortably for a long time.” “Tt is hardly a comfort to be envied,” was Oisille’s remark, ‘which was founded on sin, and ended in shame and punish- ment.” “That is quite true, madame,” Emarsuitte answered, ‘‘ but many people have to endure a great deal of suffering, so that they may be able to live honestly, and who have not the wit to obtain as much pleasure during their lives as those two had.” “In my opinion,” Oisille said, “there can be no perfect pleasure unless the conscience is at rest.” “The Italian, however, maintains,” was Simontault’s reply, ‘‘that the greater the sin the greater the pleasure.” ‘‘He must have been the very devil himself, to have said that,” remarked Oisille ; “ but let us leave him alone, and see upon whom Saffredant will call.” ‘‘T have no choice left,” he said, ‘as Parlamente is the only one remaining, but in any case I should have mentioned her, as we are always sure to learn something.” “As I am to finish the day,” she said, ‘I will tell you why Rolandine’s father built the castle in which he kept her a prisoner for such a long time. on Ot pina W ‘ Plan gh gyri, 4 han a g rd 08 jnatageou {gh ral ghey, fyomey Ue iter Ite ety jue young fj cldhood vi WAS 0 bis mat a ough | an even sey uch vel be migh cr shy yoononta AU) especie v . tur love. Wa ty lat he ie knew no soln than | tt talking ‘ot mar m mhich 0 ‘to harm Pe ared BWimen, terhad lin emtih iy al i thos thes happi HY ay hoy {tl and gg Wn thomfor toy love axe fe { men $0 th +18 the en St a8 pi nd never ix yur either fe good sea i NY ( utter ong time § Oise shame auto te ans, f sullen wave notte ; those tm can be Bi Me Simona! oasill®, self, 10 be | af him alone ih ye neni will tel” ob he i OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. NOVEL XL. THE COUNT OF JOSSEBELIN HAS HIS BROTHER-IN-LAW PUT TO DEATH WITHOUT KNOWING THE RELATIONSHIP, Tus lord, Rolandine’s father, had several sisters, some of whom were married very well, others were nuns, and there was one unmarried, who lived with him, and who was far more beautiful than any of the others, and her brother loved her almost as well as he did his wife and children, and she had many advantageous offers of marriage, and some from gentle- men of high rank; they were all refused, partly because he feared losing her, and partly because he did not wish to part with his money to pay her dowry, and that she spent the best years of her life unmarried, living in her brother’s house in strict propriety. Amongst her brother’s household there was a handsome young gentleman, who had been brought up in it from his childhood, who, as he grew up, grew also so good- looking and was endowed with go many good qualities that he easily ruled his master, so that he always sent any message to his sister through him ; and he had to go to her usually every morning and evening: they got so familiar that at last they became very much attached to each other. But as the gentle- man feared he might lose his life if he offended his master, and as the lady respected her honour, the only satisfaction they had from their love was words, till at last the brother told him frequently that he wished he was of as good family as his sister was, as he knew no man whom he would rather have for his brother-in-law than him. He repeated this so often, that the lovers, after talking the matter over, came to the conclusion that if they got married secretly, they would easily be forgiven ; and love, which so easily believes what it wishes, persuaded them that no harm could come from it, and so in that hope they were married without anybody knowing it except a priest and a few women. After they had lived for a few years in the enjoyment of that pleasure which is allowable between husband and wife, fortune, jealous of their happiness, raised them up an enemy, who, watch- ing the lady, saw how happy she was but did not know that she was married, and so he went and told the brother, that the gentleman in whom he had such confidence went too often to230 TALES his sister’s room, and at hours at which no man ought to be allowed there. At first he would not believe it, as he had such entire confidence in his sister and the gentleman in question ; but the other spoke to him about it so often, protesting that he only did it because he loved the honour of the house, that the Count de Jossebelin caused them to be so closely watched, that at last this unhappy couple, who never thought of any evil befalling them, were surprised, for one evening when the brother was told that the gentleman was with his sister, he went at once to her apartments, and found the two, whom love had blinded, in bed together. Mad with passion, and unable to utter a word, he drew his sword and rushed at the gentle- man to kill him; but the latter being active, escaped in his shirt, and as he could not escape by the door he jumped out of the window into the garden. His wife threw herself, though — she had nothing on but her chemise, on her knees before her brother, and said: ‘“‘Spare my husband’s life, for we are law- fully married, and if he has offended let all the punishment fall on me, for what he has done, he did at my request.” Her brother, who was beside himself with rage, said: “If he were a hundred thousand times your husband, I would still punish him as a faithless servant, who has deceived me,” and saying this he went to the window and called out to his men to put him to death. This cruel command was immediately carried out before his eyes, and those of his sister ; and when she saw this terrible deed, which no prayers of hers could avert, she said to her brother, like a woman out of her senses: ‘‘My brother, I have neither father nor mother, and have arrived at an age when I can marry whom I please, and so I chose the man of whom you frequently said to me that you would like me to marry, and because I followed your advice, in a matter which I legally could do as I pleased in spite of you, you have murdered the man whom I loved best in the world. Since my prayers have been unable to save him, I beseech you by all the affection that you have ever had for me, to let me keep him company in death, as I have been the com- panion of all his fortunes. Thus whilst you glut your cruel and unjust rage, you will bring repose of body and soul to her who cannot, and will not, live without him.” Her brother, although he was still beside himself with rage, yet pitied his sister so much that he withdrew without saying yes or no, but when he had thought of what he had done, and found out certainly that his sister was really married, he wished that = 2 ee =: ly va even If i pleasu ay sid Oi atte foolish {ch them te alle "Yomerfde | * 4M bi not whe ‘lof taking Toure Wa Tales of 0 tied al 0eAD 10. 8g te more pl PeeingNan ou It, 08 he tl nat to gu h, rote E the hon Closely nt r thought vening We ith his se od, at thes e, espe r he june vy hers, the pi ) y requ 1 Age, sl and, I yu legate d out to was nt sister; sof Las! nut of be? | nother, leas! OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 231 he had never committed that terrible crime. ‘Therefore, fear- ing lest his sister should bring him to justice, or should take her revenge, he had a castle built in the midst of a forest, to which he sent her, and forbade anyone to speak to her ; but some time later, as he felt pangs of conscience, he tried to conciliate her, and to persuade her to marry again, but she sent him word that he had given her such a bad dinner that she did not care to sup off the same dishes, for she in- tended not to give him an opportunity of killing any second husband of hers, which he might certainly do seeing what he had done before to the man he was so extremely fond of. Moreover, she added, that, although she was too weak, as a woman, to defend herself, yet she put her trust in Him who is the just Judge, who leaves no crime unpunished, and that she intended to pass the rest of her life devoted to His service in her hermitage. And this she did, for she never left it as long as she lived, and her life was one of such patience and austerity that when she died everybody went to look at her remains, as if they had been those of a saint. After her death, her brother’s lineage fell into decay, so that out of his six sons there was not one left, for they all died miserably, so that in the end the whole inheritance fell to Rolandine, his daughter, of whom you have heard in another story, and thus she succeeded to the prison built for her aunt. “T pray to God, ladies, that you may profit by her example, and not marry without the consent of those to whom you owe obedience. The marriage state is not to be entered into lightly, and even if we do not do that, yet we may find just as much pain as pleasure in it.” “Really,” said Oisille, ‘if there were neither a God nor laws to teach the foolish to be prudent, the example of this lady should teach them to obey their relations, rather than to marry as they like.” “Vet,” Nomerfide replied, “if a woman has one good day a year she is not wholly unhappy. She had the pleasure of seeing and of talking with him, whom she loved so well, and as their intercourse was sanctioned by marriage, she could do it without scruples of conscience, and I think that this must have counterbalanced all the sufferings she afterwards endured.” “You mean to say then,” was Saffredant’s answer, “that women find more pleasure in being in bed with a husband, than grief in seeing him killed before their eyes.”232 TALES “T did not mean that,” she replied, “but I think that the unwonted pleasure of marrying the man one sincerely loves, must be even greater than the grief at losing him by death, which is such an everyday occurrence.” “Certainly,” said Guebron, “by a natural death; but this was a most cruel one, for I think it was very strange, as the count was only her brother, and she was of an age to choose for herself, how he dared to act so brutally.” *‘T don’t agree with you,” Hircan replied, “he did not kill his sister, whom he loved so dearly, but he was satisfied with the death of the young gentleman, whom he had brought up as his son, and loved him like a brother, and so he ought not to have married his sister without his consent.” ‘‘ Although he may have been of lower station than she was,” said Nomerfide, “ yet that need not be regarded when one loves sincerely, and though her body was imprisoned, since her heart, which was devoted to God, and her husband, was free, she would look upon her solitude as real liberty, for when we cannot see those we love, we can have no greater happiness than in thinking of them continually, and the prison where thought is free is never narrow ! 1 ‘““Nomerfide is quite right” said Simontault, “but the man who separated loving ones in his fury ought to have thought himself very unhappy, as he sinned against God, love, and his own honour.” “‘T am astonished,” Guebron replied, ‘‘that woman’s love has so many phases ; for those who love the most are the most virtuous, whilst those who really love the least assume the greatest virtue.” “Tt is quite true,” said Parlamente, “that the heart which is right towards God and man is capable of a stronger love than the vicious heart, and does not fear that its real sentiments should be known.” 1 Compare with this idea Colonel Lovelace’s verses to ‘“‘ Althea from Prison ;"’ he says ; “Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage ; Minds innocent and quiet take This for an hermitage. If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free, Angels alone that soar above, Enioy such liberty.” It is possible he may get the idea from this novel.—[ Translator. } 0! { | ip alnays "gold ; i a ——— = =S ss yy pla qt and | ’ pried yng ft 8 ae td git, #8 oth more ag are 0ceUr le, wh¢ meh al op of aK al dp lil sgh? Parla bi from virt Ag Py W 1 {/ \ \} a “ h ae of VV = «fa to live dow, and th 3 wan a0n iva sv) SCD VE po } ] HD oer tO to | “DO0KS Were F ” ‘ | ] TMD, DUG a8 th [ "y re NY WO recount i te presen & 2 — — => —o = xo o_o <4 SS soe =. —— a SS i Se SSS SS = — ai = = os) = —— = i Went any Mt Mt th going te on her, i OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 237 ciscan, does not spare ladies when he gets them into his power.” ‘He was indeed a most wicked Franciscan,” said Oisille. “To think of a monk, a preacher and a priest, acting in such an in- famous manner at Christmas, and in church and under the cloak of confession, are circumstances which aggravate his crime.” “To listen to you,” Hirean replied, ‘‘one might think that Franciscans ought to be angels, or better than any other men. But you have heard so much about them that you ought to know that they are a great deal worse, and I really think this man was very excusable, as he was shut up alone at night with a pretty girl.” : ‘But remember,” Oisille said, ‘ that it was Christmas Eve.” “That made him all the less blameable,” Simontault said, “ for finding himself in Joseph’s place with a beautiful virgin, he wished to beget a baby with her in order to play the mystery of the Nativity to the life.” “Surely,” Parlamente replied, “if he had thought of Joseph and the Virgin Mary he would not have had such wicked thoughts, and he must have been a thoroughly bad man to have made such an infamous attempt with such a small chance of success.” “T think,” Oisille went on, “the punishment the countess inflicted on him, would be an example to his companions.” ‘“‘T am not sure,” Nomerfide said, ‘“‘ whether she was quite right to hold her neighbour up to public reprobation in this fashion, and whether it would not have been better to have expostulated with him about his faults gently than to have divulged them thus.” “T agree with you,” Guebron replied, “for we are bidden to correct our neighbour in secret, before mentioning his failings to any one, even to the church ; and when a man is so thoroughly disgraced, it is very hard for him ever toreform, because shame restrains men from crime just as much as conscience does.” “T think,” was Parlamente’s answer, “ that we need not mind disgracing those who would like to disgrace others, and I think it is a very good thing to show them up exactly as they are, 80 that girls, who are not always very prudent, may be on their guard against their seductions. But whom is Hircan going to call upon ?” “ Ags you ask me, I shall call upon you,” was his answer, ‘‘ as any sensible man would do.” “Very well,” she said, “and I will tell you a story to the238 TALES truth of which [f can bear personal testimony, and knowing the persons of whom I am going to speak, I think I should be sinning against that truth which I have seen hidden under so poor a garb that nobody took any account of it, if I did not speak of her who acted in such a virtuous manner that J am bound to tell you of it.” NOVEL XLII. THE CHASTE BEHAVIOUR OF A YOUNG GIRL WHEN SHE WAS OBSTI- NATELY PURSUED WITH CRIMINAL LOVE, BY A GREAT FRENCH LORD, AND THE HAPPY ISSUE OF THE AFFAIR FOR THE YOUNG LADY. In one of the most beautiful towns of Touraine there lived a nobleman of very high birth, who had been brought up there from his earliest infancy, and for perfection of mind and body, he had no rival among his contemporaries. Naturally when he was fifteen years old, he took more pleasure in riding and hunting than in looking after pretty women, but one day in church, he saw a young girl who had formerly been brought up in the chateau in which he lived. After the death of her mother, her father married again, and so she retired into Poitou with her brother. This girl, whose name was Francoise, had also an illegitimate sister whom her father loved very dearly, and whom he had given in marriage to this young prince’s serjeant-butler, who maintained her in a better style than any of her family could keep up. When her father died, he left all his property in and about that town to Francoise, whereupon she went to reside where her property was; and as she was unmarried, and only sixteen years old, she would not live by herself, but went to live with her half-sister, the serjeant-butler’s wife. When this young prince saw this girl, who was very handsome for a light brunette, and whose appearance was altogether beyond her station, for she rather resembled a gentlewoman or even a princess than a mere bourgeotse, he looked at her very eagerly, and although he had never up to that time, known what love meant, he felt an un- ut 10 0 of terfor im acc IOUS diy obst 1 iat ‘ato Dele fom bin vad his le u booed i oom ae, Sh ‘ty goin vale « al th, that | ulustaken te biohe ‘ite world etna and ale fom utand kno ink | sh hidden uh tit, itd Lanner thi) | SHE Wu A GREAT Ti FOR THM OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 239 wonted pleasure in his heart, and on his return home he asked who the lady was whom he had seen at church, and on being told he remembered that formerly, when he was very young, she was in the habit of coming to the chateau to play at dolls with his sister, and so he introduced the young woman to his sister again, and as the latter was very glad to see her, she gave her a very kind reception and asked her to come and see her very often, which she did whenever there was a wedding or party of any kind. The young prince was very glad to see her on these occasions, and thought himself very much in love with her, and as he knew that she was of humble birth, he thought he should very easily obtain what he wished from her, and as he could not speak with her himself, he sent a gentle- man of his bedchamber to her to settle matters on his behalf. As she however was virtuous, and had the fear of God before her eyes, she told him that she could not believe that his master, who was such a handsome and high-bred prince, could possibly find any pleasure in looking at a girl as plain and un- cultivated as she was, more especially as there were so many beautiful women in the chateau in which he lived, so that he could have no possible reason to seek for any others in the town, and therefore she believed that he had said what he did on his own account, without any orders from his master. When this young prince heard her answer, love, which is only increased by obstacles, made him more intent than ever on gaining his object, and so he wrote her a letter in which he begged her to believe altogether whatever the gentleman might say to her from him. As she could both read and write very well, she read his letter right through, but, however much the gentleman begged her, she would not answer it, for she said it did not become a person in her station to write to a prince of high degree. She besought him however not to think her so foolish as to imagine that he could possibly love her as much as he pretended ; and that if he thought, because she was of humble birth, that he could do as he pleased with her, he was very much mistaken, for her principles were just as correct as those of the highest lady in Christendom, since there was nothing in the world which she looked upon as more valuable than her honour and her conscience, and so she begged him not to hinder her from preserving that treasure all her life, as, though she were to die for it, she would not change her Sentiments. The young prince did not like this answer at all, but he240 TALES loved her all the more for it, and took his seat as near as he could to hers when she went to mass, and during the service never took his eyes. off her; but when she perceived this she changed her place and went into another chapel, not to avoid seeing him, for she could not have been a reasonable being: if she had not taken pleasure in looking at him, but she wag afraid of being seen by him, for she did not think highly enough of herself to imagine that he could love her honourably or seek her in marriage ; and she had, on the other hand, made up her mind that he should not have her in mere wantonness or for his own pleasure. And so when she went into church, where the prince came to attend mass close to her, she would not go to that church any more but went to the one which was the furthest off that she could find, neither would she go to any festivities at the chateau, although the prince’s sister often sent to invite her, always excusing herself on the plea of illness. When the young man saw that he could not find any way of meeting her, he had recourse to his butler, and promised to reward him very well if he would aid him in this matter, and he, wishing to please his master, and still more to make money, lent himself very willingly to the project, and told the prince daily what she had said and done, and also that, above all things, she shunned every opportunity of seeing him. As his wish to see her got more and more vehement, he hit upon another expedient, and so one day he took his fine horses, which he already began to manage very well, into one of the large squares of the town, before the house of the butler in which Frangoise lived, and making his horse gallop and jump in her sight, he let himself fall into the mire, but so softly that he did not hurt himself the least, although he com- plained very much and asked if there were no house near into which he could go to change his clothes. Every one near offered his house, but the prince was told that that of his butler was the nearest and the best appointed, so he went there, and was shown into a very well furnished room, where he stripped to his shirt, as his clothes were all covered with mud, and went to bed. When he perceived that every one except his gentle- man had gone away to get other clothes for him, he sent for his host and hostess and asked where Francoise was. They had a great deal of trouble in finding her, for as soon as she saw the prince come into the house she went and hid herself, but her sister found her and told her that she need not be afraid of ren ran t gi ny OWD af you aii] have shy {0 Yall i long lt raise defo him | Iya, no! im but 8 TWO 80 ( amin the itne tn tog og T nl alo hin thik th lh te hay ‘me, ¢ tan of bak folly Le diss het from sat beBeat 08 ny during typ perceira hapel, wit reasonbl him, bit hink big honour hand, mui wantonnest Ne aH My into churki She wo me which wi uld she gi rince's ase fon the not find ays rand pre this mi ll mote 0 jet ali id also i of sci emett, bb ok hin tt OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 24) speaking to so polite and good a prince. “ My sister,” Fran- goise said, “‘can you, whom I look upon almost as my mother, advise me to go and speak to a young lord, whose criminal desires I am not ignorant of ?” As her sister, however, remon- strated with her very earnestly and promised not to leave her alone, she went with her, but looked so pale and wretched that she was more calculated to inspire pity than lust. When she came near to his bed the young prince took her cold and trembling hand and said to her: “ Francoise, do you take me for such a strange and cruel man, as to devour women I look at? Why do you fear me, seeing that I only wish for your honour and advantage? You know that I have sought for every possible opportunity of seeing and speaking with you, but without success, and in order to vex me more you have left off going to the churches where I could see you at mass, and so you have deprived me as well of the pleasure of seeing you as of speaking with you; but it is all of no avail, for I have made use of the means which you have seen in order to come here, and even ran the risk of breaking my neck by falling off my horse of my own accord, so that I might be able to see you and speak to you at my leisure. I entreat you, therefore, Frangoise, as I have gained my point so far, that all my trouble may not be in vain, but that you will reciprocate my great love.” He waited a long time for her answer, and when he saw that she would not raise her eyes, which were full of tears, he drew her as close to him as he could and tried to kiss her, but she said : ‘‘No, sir, no! you shall not do as you wish; for although Tam nothing but a worm compared with you, I nevertheless hold my honour so dear that I would rather die than lose it for any pleasure in the world, and my fear lest those who have seen you come in should guess the truth, makes me nervous and trembling as I am, and since you honour me by speaking to me, you will allow me to reply to you as honour bids me. I fully recognise all the gifts with which God has endowed you, and I think that she who possesses your heart and your body will be the happiest woman in the world, but what good can that be to me, as such happiness can never belong to me hor to a woman of my condition, so that even to wish for it would be rank folly? I presume you address yourself to me, because the ladies of your household are so virtuous that you cannot expect from them what you hope to obtain from such an insignificant being as I am, but I am sure that if you ob- Q242 TALES tained what you desire of me, it would only furnish you with matter for entertaining your mistress for hours by relating your victory to her to the damage of the weaker vessel; but, sir, you must remember that I am not a woman of that sort, for I was brought up in a house where I was taught what it is really to love, and my mother and father were among your very faithful servants. And as I am neither of high rank enough to marry you, and have not fallen low enough to become your mistress, I beg that you will not try and reduce me to one of the unfor- tunate ones amongst my sex, as I esteem you so highly and only wish that you may be one of the most fortunate princes of Christendom. You will find many women of my station in this town much better-looking than I am, if you absolutely want a woman of inferior rank, who will not require much solicitation, so turn to them whom you will please when you buy their honour, and do not torment a girl any longer who loves you more than she does herself, for if your life or mine were required this day, I would gladly sacrifice mine to save yours. It is not want of love, but love of honour that makes me avoid you, for that is dearer to me than life itself, Do not let me lose your favour, my lord, and I shall always pray to God for your prosperity. It is quite true that the honour you have done me will cause me to be more highly thought of amongst persons of my own rank in life, and there is no man of my own station whom I deign to look at after having seen ou. Thus my heart will be free from all obligations except that of praying to God for you continually, and this is all the service that I can render you.” Although this virtuous answer was not by any means what the young prince wished, yet he could not help esteeming the girl as she deserved. Nevertheless, he tried to convince her that he could never love any woman but her, but she was too sensible to believe anything so foolish ; and though whilst they were talking, he was told several times that his clothes had come, he pretended that he was asleep till it got near supper time, which he did not venture to miss, as his mother was one of the strictest ladies in the world, and he left the brother’s house thinking more highly than ever of the girl’s virtue. He very often spoke about it to his gentleman-in-waiting who slept in his room, and as the latter thought that money would do more than love, he advised him to offer her a good round sum of money to consent to his will. As the young prince’s mother was his treasurer, he had not got much money to expend on his ort gst i gu 80 he gent it yl quang? air oy eat } shat he « ereune is gy til V a ' (0 50 11, os hn s() 00 80, De a sun HOtOPTNIT) Hil (vermin ' a thor r (oa De W yo } same th TOK (WDE WO Wa 0 Tat the vam Duh te pri tuer 10 an an to 00 ambih he | ‘ndom, J Ynnee, Wy 8 patlem: ; es for | althat hig We cabin ie henfurnish Dy relat eb sort, fl t fl } OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 243 own private pleasures, but he took what he had, and borrowed what he could, and so he managed to get together five hundred crowns, which he sent to the girl by his gentleman’s hands, and begged her to change her mind; but when she saw the present he had sent her she said to the gentleman: “ Pray tell your master that my heart is so tender and true, that were it possible for me to do what he wishes, his beauty and accomplishments would have overcome me long ago, but as they have not pre- vailed against my virtue, all the money in the world will be powerless to do so—and you can tell him this; for I prefer honourable poverty to all the wealth that one can desire if it be acquired by dishonourable means.” When the gentleman saw how firm she was, he thought to intimidate her, and threatened her with the power and authority of his master ; but she only laughed at him, and said, “ Try and frighten those who do not know him, for I know that he is so sensible and so really good, that those words never came from him, and I am gure he will disavow them if you tell him what you have said; but even were it as you say, neither torture nor fear of death itself would make me change my mind, for as I told you, since love has not been able to do so, nothing, be it good or evil, can induce me to alter my determination.” As this gentleman had promised his master that he was sure of winning her for him, he was vexed at having to take this message back to him, and advised him to continue to pursue her by all means in his power, as his very honour demanded that he should not be baffled by such X girl But the prince, who only wished to make use of honourable means, and who moreover feared that if there were any stir made in the matter, his mother might hear of it and be very angry with him, would not go further in the affair, till the gentleman proposed such an easy method to him, that it seemed as if he already had her, and in order to be able to execute it he spoke to the butler, and as he was willing ta help his master in any way he desired, he asked his wife and his sister-in-law to go and see how the vintage was getting on, at a house which he had near to the forest one day, and they promised to do so. When the appointed day had come he told the young prince, who determined to go there accompanied only by his gentleman, and secretly ordered his mule to be kept in readiness for him against it was time to start. But it pleased God that his mother that day was putting to rights a very handsome cabinet or writing secretaire, and had all her children to help her, and so he was kept till the promised hour Reet ret oe244 TALES had gone by. This was no fault of the butler’s, who made his wife pretend to be ill, and took his sister-in-law behind him on a pillion; and when they were on horseback his wife came and said she could not go, and when he saw that it was getting late and that the prince did not come, he said to his sister-in-law: “We may as well return to town.” She asked him what there was to prevent them from doing so, whereupon he told her that he had been expecting the prince who had promised to join them there. When she heard how wrongly he had acted she said to him: “Do not wait any longer, for I am quite sure he will not come to-day,” and as he believed her he took her back. When they had got back home she showed how very angry she was, and told her brother-in-law that he was a servant of the devil, and even exceeded his orders, for she was quite sure the trick was one of his invention and that of the gentleman and not of the prince, whose money he would rather gain by assisting him in his follies, than by acting the part of an honest servant, and said that as she had found him out she would not remain in his house any longer, and so she at once sent for her brother to take her with him to hig house in the country, and left her sister’s house immediately. When the butler saw that the enterprise had failed he went to the chateau to ascertain the reason why the prince had not kept his appointment, and just as he arrived he saw him on his mule in company with his gentleman, whom he trusted so implicitly, and he was asked immediately whether she was still there, and so the butler was obliged to tell him exactly what had happened. He was very much vexed at the failure of his prospect, as he felt that it was the last means that he had in his power to have her, but as there was no help for it he searched for her everywhere till he found her in company from which she could not escape, and he upbraided her very much for her severity towards him, and for having left her brother- in-law’s house. She told him however that it was a most dangerous home for her, and that he was under great obliga- tions to his butler as he served him not only with his body and his substance, but even with his soul and conscience ; and when the prince found that he could not obtain his object, he made up his mind not to persecute her any more and held her in the highest esteem as long as he lived. One of his servants, seeing how virtuous she was, wished to marry her, but she would not consent to this without the prince’s leave, as she centred all her affection on him, and she had him told of this. y(ink the «fan's I sal and 9 svbolesom yn of Jo ho,” iioate sald ol tat she aavtom she i, wpurel ge ye consists {i uot rt mls” os ant secret lo seal,” ih but clear utterly ¢ letand itt eer not te ua third ‘ore ard me that ma Te very hi aut own U had for ¢ Mhnare wors, whew AW Delia ck bis wh gar tli ne, he own.” Shy Ing We @ pine how my aly lg 18 he belt home det per ina Je bisa nventiont 4 ng OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 245 The marriage took place with his consent, and she lived all her life in the very highest repute and the prince did her many kindnesses. “What shall we say to this, ladies? Are we so mean-spirited as to make our servants our masters, seeing that this girl was overcome neither by love nor persecution? Let us try and follow her example and conquer ourselves, for that is the grandest victory we can obtain.” “There is only one thing I am sorry for,” said Oisille, “and that is that such virtuous acts were not performed in the days of the ancient historians, for those who have so praised Lucretia’g discretion, would have left her to have extolled the virtues of this girl, which seems to me to be so extraordinary that I could hardly believe it, were it not-that we have all vowed to speak the truth.” “Ido not think that her virtue was anything so very won- derful,” was Hircan’s reply, “for you have often seen sick people who leave good and wholesome food, to eat what is bad and absolutely unwholesome, and so very likely this girl was in love with some man of low rank, and this made her despise all nobility of birth.” But Parlamente said to him that the life and the end of this girl showed that she had never thought of any living man than of him whom she loved better than her life, but not more than her honour. “ You may as well get rid of that idea,” was Saffredant’s reply, “for true love consists in chastity of heart which lives on love alone, and does not pride itself upon the vice of dissimulation.” “ Nevertheless,” observed Dagoucin, “ it is a common saying that the most secret love is the best.” “Secret certainly,” Saffredant said, “for those who might misjudge it, but clear and known at least by the two persons whom it most nearly concerns.” “I understand it this way,” Dagoucin answered, “that it would be better not to have it known by one of the two than be known by a third person, and I think that this woman loved all the more ardently because she never told her love.” “However that may be,” Longarine said, “ we must all esteem virtue very highly, and the highest virtue consists in Overcoming one’s own heart, and seeing the means and oppor- tunities she had for doing wrong, I think she may well be called a very brave woman to have resisted as she did,”246 TALES “As you measure virtue by self-mortification,” was Saffre. dant’s reply, “the young lord was even more worthy of praise than she was, as he made no use of his opportunities or power.” “There are many,” Hircan replied, “ who would not have acted thus.” “ Therefore,” his wife answered, ‘‘he is to be esteemed all the more highly, because he overcame the evil propensities which are common to men, for the man who has the power to do wrong with impunity and does not do it, is a singularly happy being.” “What you have said,” was Guebron’s observation, “ puts me in mind of a woman who feared more to offend men than God or her own honour and love.” “So that we may hear the story,” Parlamente said, ‘I shall call upon you for it.” “There are some people,” he said, “‘ who do not believe in God, or if they do, think that He is so far removed from them that He neither sees nor hears all the evil that they do, and if He should see them they think He does not care and will - not punish them for what is done down here. A lady whom I shall call Camille to avoid exposure, was of this opinion, for she often used to say that those who had only to deal with God were very fortunate as long as they could preserve their honour before men, but you will see, ladies, that her hypocrisy and her prudence did not prevent her secret from being found out, as you will see by this true story where I have only changed names and places.” NOVEL XLII. THE HYPOORISY OF A COURT LADY WAS DISCOVERED BY THE EX- POSURE OF AN AMOUR WHICH SHE WISHED TO CONCEAL. A princess of very high rank lived in a very handsome chateau, and amongst her suite was a lady called Camille, who was of a very daring turn of mind, but her mistress was soprejudiced in her favour that she would do nothing without her, as she looked upon her as the most prudent and virtuous woman of her time. This Camille used to find such fault with any love that did not ish gi gle 4 erie, v Ht gait ol (pobtall ? ig ath 08 f al 7 | : (al know ‘ugg WhO 1 Wy i, app gg the § ' ut got U #& : allod op ne Called slmay anid sie, sa ’ ) an OOF fy mn sat U r4NL! Lond doll AY WV GM (ell Lu 1 ae a 1116 CaLlery 1 Wy pata | m ond TO i se WEDt i lled VA Va j ’ tho (ONT OTN A) AAU Vid Vk Vad } 7 dors 80 the VUWAN WY Vad0 i} ] IIL LEY MASK “Him In ad int VU) AL da} lor TY , » | howe hy 1} Dave DOM Hite and Ary WwW OU OD) TT §0 SUrOL Hl wnita at y SMO ULL . oe . UEDOW DOW } NM OnN nan “i Devel ttn and g } 0 Wy AS Ml Ont l WOU Lt,tion Ta) wort buitie ey 0 would 0 De ata evil pr has thee it, 18 8 bgervati' Q offend: ee a => = — Ss ——¥ = es SS —_ ph ees => —— a ——a = = mca ries —- an —— a a ee SS % from Ue ‘ina — <-> = a ot = = OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 247 seem to be quite correct, that when she saw that any gentleman was in love with any of her companions, she would rebuke them very bitterly, and report the matter to her mistress, so that often they were severely reprimanded by her, and thus Camille was universally more feared than loved. She herself never spoke to a man except aloud, and then so haughtily that she was regarded as the mortal enemy of all love, although in her heart she was quite the reverse, for there was a gentleman in her mistress’s service, of whom she was most deeply enamoured, but her reputation and her pride were so dear to her that she would never let her feelings appear. But after she had cherished this passion for a whole year, and as she did not choose to gratify herself as other women do by looking at, and speaking with him, at last her love became so intense that she determined to obtain the last remedy for it, and came to the conclusion that it was better to satisfy her desires, provided no one but God knew her heart, than to confide her secret to a human being who might betray it. After she had come to this determination, happening one day to be in her mistress’s apart- ments, she saw the gentleman whom she was so much in love with walking on the terrace, and after she had looked at him so long that it got too dark for her to be able to discern him any more, she called to a little page of hers and, pointing out the gentleman, said to him: “Do you see that gentleman in the crimson satin doublet, with his gown trimmed with lynx fur? Go and tell him that one of his friends wishes to speak to him in the gallery in the garden.” As soon as the page had gone she went through the mistress’s small private room after having pulled down her hood and put on her half mask. When the gentleman joined her she at once went and fastened the two doors so that they might not be surprised, and without taking off her mask she embraced him with all her might and said to him in as low a voice as she could: “ My dear friend, the love I have borne you has for a long time made me wish for a place and opportunity of seeing you, but fear for my honour was so strong for a time, that it forced me to hide my passion in spite of myself, but at last love has overcome fear, and as I know how honourable you are, if you will promise to love me, and never to mention the matter to anybody, and never to seek to find out who I am, I assure you that I will be your faithful and good mistress, and will never love any one but you, but I would rather die than that you should know ~ who I am,”248 TALES The gentleman of course promised her all that she asked, and so made her very willing to treat him in the same manner, that is to say to refuse him nothing that he was inclined to take. It was about five or six o’clock in the winter so that he could see nothing of her, but on touching her dress, he could feel that it was of velvet, which at that time was not worn every day, except by ladies of high rank, and when he touched what was underneath, as far at least as he could judge by the feel, he found nothing that was not nice and as it ought to be. He tried to treat her as well as he possibly could, and she on her part did her best also, so that the gentleman easily saw that she was married. She wished to return to the place she had come from immediately, but he said to her: “I esteem the favour which you have shown me without any merit of mine, very highly, but I should esteem it still more if you would grant me my request which is to tell me if I may hope for a renewal of my happiness, and how I can obtain it, for as I do not know your face, I do not know how I am to meet with ou.” , ‘Don’t trouble yourself about that,” the lady replied, “ but you may be quite sure that every evening before my mistress’ supper, I shall send for you, if you are on the terrace where you were just now. I shall merely send for you, and be sure and re- member your promise, for I shall wait for you in this gallery, but if you hear the fact of going to supper mentioned, you may either retire for that occasion, or come to my mistress’ apart- ments. Above all, however, I beg you never to find out who I am, if you wish our affection to continue uninterrupted.” The lady and gentleman then went each their several ways, and this affair went on for a long time without his finding out who she was, which he very much wished to do, but he could not succeed, though he racked his brains to do so, for he could not believe that any woman could exist upon earth, who did not wish to be seen when she was loved, and so he almost imagined that it must be some evil spirit, as he had heard some foolish preacher say that if anybody had looked the devil in the face, he would never be loved. Whilst he was in this state of doubt, he made up his mind to ascertain who she really was who treated him so kindly, so the next time that she sent for him, he took a piece of chalk with him, and whilst holding her in his arms, he made a mark on her shoulder behind without her noticing it. As soon as she had gone he hastened to the apart- ments of his mistress, and stood close to the door to look at the oe isle for din fear of ot bear It bre you | ge, but altat bad oy and i hs 10 8 aoho me bi sland, a When he ‘inghing, a vere tOWat tng su ‘ee for us “+ ansvered a, ut re ivmants + | m1 very] ‘te misehie elean ho 4 abot all ‘wt Whyabe a 18 Ae ap ) aS tk i may hi fn ft, few wm {0 eT dy repli ore tn) mi ornace wet 1d be sue tioned, 1 v Ny ! r mst 4 OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 249 ladies’ shoulders as they entered, and amongst them he saw Camille come in so haughtily, that he almost feared to look at her as he had done at the others, for he was sure it could not be she ; but as soon as she turned, he saw the white mark, at which he was so surprised that he could hardly believe his eyes ; but when he looked at her figure, which very much resembled that which he was in the habit of touching, and the form of her face which he could recognise by the feel, he was convinced that it was she, and he was overjoyed at finding that a lady who was supposed never to have had a lover, but had refused 80 many honourable gentlemen, had fixed upon him alone. Love, which is proverbially fickle, would not allow him to re- main long in that state of blissful repose, and inspired him with such triumph and hope, that he determined to make his love known to her, thinking that when she found out that she was recognised, her love would even increase. So one day when the princess was in the garden, and Camille was walking in a different avenue, the gentleman seeing that she was alone, ad- vanced to talk with her, and pretending not to have met her anywhere else, he said to her: ‘‘ Madame, for a long time I have nourished a love for you in my heart, which I have not dared to reveal, for fear of offending you, but I suffer from it so much that I cannot bear it any longer and live, for I think that never can man love you as I do.” Camille did not even let him finish his speech, but said to him in a greatrage: ‘Have you ever heard that I had a lover or adevoted servant? I am sure of the contrary, and am astonished at your audacity, in venturing to speak thus to a virtuous woman like I am, for you have seen enough of me here to know that I can never love anybody but my husband, and so take care never to repeat this con- versation. When he saw how well she acted her part, he could not help laughing, and said to her: ‘“ Madame, you are not al- Ways 80 Severe towards me as you are at present, What isthe good of practising such dissimulation towards me? Would it not be better for us to love perfectly than imperfectly?” Camille answered him: “I neither love you perfectly nor imperfectly, but regard you like I do all the rest of my mistress’ servants; but if you goon talking to me as you are doing now, I very likely will get to hate you so that I shall do you some mischief.” The gentleman however would not be checked and said to her: “What about all the favours you granted me, when I can not see you? Why will you not grant them to me now, that250 TALES in the daylight I can see how beautiful and graceful you are }” Camille made the sign of the cross and said to him: ‘Hither you are mad, or you are the greatest liar in the world, for I don’t believe that I ever treated you any differently than I am doing now, and I should like to know what you mean?” Upon this the unhappy gentleman, thinking to get some- thing more out of her, told her he had been in the habit of meeting her, and also of the chalk-mark which he had made on her shoulder, at which she got so beside herself with passion, that she told him he was the very worst man in the whole world, and that he had trumped up such a wicked lie against her, that she would take care to make him repent it. As he knew how high she stood in her mistress’ favour he tried to appease her, but all in vain, for she left him where he was and rushed to her mistress in a terrible rage ; she, seeing this, left al] the company to come and ask her what was the matter, as she loved Camille like her second self. Camille concealed nothing from her as far as she could tell it, without injuring herself, and told all so much to the disadvantage of the poor gentle- man, that his mistress sent him an order the same evening to go to his own house, without speaking to anyone about the matter, and to remain there till he was sent for, which he did as quickly as he could, for fear of anything worse happening to him ; and as long as Camille remained with her mistress, this gentleman did not return to the house, and never had any news of her who had told him that he would lose her as soon as he tried to find out who she was. ‘From this lady we can see that she who preferred the world’s respect to her own conscience, lost both, for now sbe appears in the eyes of all such as she to avoid appearing in the eyes of her lover, and wishing not to be mocked by one, she has brought upon her the ridicule of all. And she has not the excuse of a simple ignorant love, which everyone must pity, but she is doubly to be blamed, because she tried to cover her wickedness with the cloak of honour and worldly respect, so as to appear different to what she really was before God and man, but He who does not bestow his glory on another, tore aside this cloak and exposed her twofold infamy.” “This woman,” Oisille said, “ was inexcusably wicked, for who can speak for her when God, honour, and even love accuse her,” *‘ Who can speak for her?” was Hircan’s reply. “Why © es syne 81 gol that 2 ppoil upd ye pUrpO’ al ve you , 4 lover, ny /| i W ty A) LOVERS WE iN) OP TH i there dW aut empl ae had be ae ud 8801 ale in go up, hreque ietion We wwe lov b bred. ber alin Proveacetal ya to him: the wal rent | U mean \ te ng to sy the bh 1 he bad sel wh 1a in {ei wicked le repent | avout Le were he seein ti i Ih nyone i for, whit ! se agg her mst 1 neve | Doge bet! ho pe pot, tt appt ad by Ont Y she ba? yo 8 i rid tO OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 251 pleasure and folly, which are the two great advocates for ladies.” ‘Had we no other advocates but them with you, our cause would be but ill defended; but those whom pleasure van- quishes should not be called women but men, for anger and lust absolutely seem to increase their honour, since, when a man avenges himself on his enemy, and kills him because he has given him the lie, he is looked upon as a more desirable companion than he was before, and the same if he has a dozen women besides his own wife. But the honour of women has another foundation, that is to say, gentleness, patience and chastity.” “You are only speaking of good women,” Hircan said. “Because,” Parlamente replied, “I do not choose to be acquainted with any others.” ‘Tf there were no foolish ones,” said Nomerfide, ‘ those men who wished to be believed in all they say and do, in order to deceive feminine simplicity, would often find themselves very much out of their reckoning.” “Let me call upon you, Nomerfide,” said Guebron, “ to tell us a tale to the purpose.” “T will give you one,” she said, “whichis just as much in praise of a lover, as yours was to the disadvantage of foolish women.” NOVEL XLIV. OF TWO LOVERS WHO CLEVERLY MANAGED TO ENJOY THEIR LOVE, AND OF THE FORTUNATE ISSUE OF THEIR AMOUR. In Paris there dwelt two citizens of the middle class, one in government employ and the other a silk merchant, who for a long time had been very intimate friends. The government employé had a gon called Jacques, who was a young man very presentable in good society, and who, favoured by his father’s friendship, frequently visited at the silk mercer’s house, where his attraction was his pretty daughter Frangoise, to whom Jacques made love so successfully that she loved him as much as he loved her. Whilst matters stood thus, a camp was formed in Provence to oppose the invasion of Charles of252 TALES Austria, and Jacques was obliged to join the army. Whilst he was there, in fact almost as soon as he arrived, his father died, and this news caused him double pain, partly on account of his father’s death, and partly because now he should not be able to see Frangoise as often as he wished on his return, Time assuaged the former pain, but increased the other ; foe as death is a natural thing and happens more frequently to fathers than to their children, the sorrow at the losg is grad- ually allayed, but love instead of bringing us death brings us life, by causing us to beget children that render us immortal, and this is one of the principal causes that increases our desires. When Jacques had returned to Paris, he thought of nothing else but of renewing his intimacy with the mercer, and to traffic with the merchandise which he valued most highly, under the cover of pure friendship. As Francoise was pretty and lively, and had been marriageable for some time, she had had several suitors during Jacques’ absence, but her father, whether because he was avaricious, or because he wished to marry his only daughter well, did not pay much regard to any of them. This was not a good thing for the girl, because people now-a-days speak scandal much sooner than they need, and above all when they can Say anything that toucheg the honour of a handsome girl or woman, so her father, not wishing to be like so many others who instead of reproving their faults seem to incite their wives and daughters to commit them, shut neither his eyes nor his ears to the vulgar chatter, and kept her so close that even her honourable suitors were only allowed to see her very rarely, and always in the presence of her mother. You may guess how unpleasant that was for Jacques, for he could not but believe that there must be some good reason for this strictness, and so he wavered between love and jealousy, and made up his mind that he would find out the reason for it at all risks, but he thought that first of all he would find out whether she still retained the same tender feelings towards him which she had felt formerly. He went so well to work, that one morning at mass he managed to get tolerably near to her, and could see from her face that she was just as pleased to see him ag he was to gee her, and knowing that her mother was not so strict ag her father, he sometimes when he met them, apparently by chance, going from their house to church, would be bold enough to speak to them with familiar and common politeness, without taking any further es 0 syne ca ! {Pongo if heat is. id bt he d sg ca Dt selither' dere. i reed Se Ss ee SS ty let witho ‘hy more aylat be Ii unestather,¢ 1 ud found ul ater th iues fou tua the busbe nt you are | Tals do not Vad to wipe only done ul Widow, tt "Sinog ‘Us than if Ths ae tr ) 4 WU 7 | M ld ') I u } } ty (US iy { nore yt of mete, | mmol i V atter, a? tons welt! he pret t that 8 5 must bet worl hat fis” i . pg sant aly, aug no {hit , vf he sor ng 8 ote! gf) = a ae aoe eee hh i OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 2085 advantage of the meeting; but he really met them on purpose so as to further his designs. When the year of mourning for his father was nearly over, he determined, when he laid aside his black clothes, to set himself up in good style so as to do honour to his ancestors, and he spoke to his mother about the matter and she quite approved of his idea, and also wished to see him well married as she only had two children, him and a daughter, who had already made a very good match. Like the honourable woman that she was, she directed his heart towards virtue by citing the examples of other young men of his age, who were getting on in life and proving themselves worthy of their descent. All that they had to do was to settle where they should make their purchases, and his mother said: “I think, Jacques, the best thing we can do is to go to father Pierre’s” (he was the father of Francoise), “for he is a friend of ours and not likely to cheat us.” Thus his mother tickled him just where he itched, but he did not let her see this, but said: “ We will go where we can buy best and cheapest, but as he was a friend of my late father’s, perhaps we had better go there first before going elsewhere.” So they agreed one morning to go to Master Pierre’s who received them very politely, for you know that shop-keepers have plenty of that commodity, and showed them a number of pieces of silk of different sorts, but they could not agree about the price, and Jacques would not come to terms on purpose, be- cause he did not see the mother of his sweetheart, so that at last they left without buying anything and went to see if they could buy more cheaply elsewhere. But Jacques could see nothing that he liked so well as what he saw in the shop of Francoise’s father, and so, some time afterwards, they went there again, and found the wife in. She received them very well, and after the little civilities which are usual in such shops, Jacques found that the wife was even harder to deal with than the husband, so he said to her: “Good God, madame, how hard you are! but I see how it is, my father is dead and our friends do not care for us any longer ;” he pretended also to cry and to wipe his eyes at the thought of his father, but this was only done to enable him to advance matters a little. The good widow, Jacques’ mother, took it all in good faith and said: “Since his death you have never been to see US, any more than if we had been perfect strangers ; that is how poor widows are treated.”25-4 TALES Upon this there were fresh protestations of friendship, and they promised that they would visit each other more than ever, Whilst they were thus engaged other merchants arrived, whom the master of the house himself brought with him and took into the back shop, whereupon the young man, Seeing his opportunity, said to his mother: “I remember that madame was in the habit of visiting the shrines which are in our neigh- bourhood on Holy days, and especially those in the convents ; if, sometimes, when she is passing by, she will call in and have a little wine, she will do us both pleasure and honour.” The silk merchant’s wife, who suspected nothing, told him that for the last fortnight she had been intending to go there, and that if next Sunday were fine she should certainly do so, and that she would not pass by their house without calling on his mother. When this was duly settled the purchase of the silk goods was completed, for he thought it was not worth while, for the sake of a little money, to risk such a chance. 7 When it all was arranged and the stuffs carried home, Jacques, knowing that he could not well carry out his enter- prise by himself, was obliged to confide his plan to a faithful friend of his, and they settled it so well that nothing remained but to put it into execution. When Sunday was come, the mercer’s wife and daughter did not fail, after saying their prayers, to call upon the widow, whom they found talking with a neighbour of hers in a gallery in the garden, whilst her daughter was walking in the alleys with Jacques and his friend Olivier. When the former saw his mistress, he composed his face so as not to lose countenance at all, and so went quite composedly to meet the mother and daughter, and as old people generally seek each other’s society the three old ladies sat down on a bench with their backs to the garden into which the two lovers went presently, and walked up to where the other two were, and after an interchange of compliments, they continued their walk, and during it Jacques set his unhappy case so touchingly to Francoise, that she could not grant him and did not dare to refuse him what he asked for, by which he could tell that her passions were fairly roused. But I must tell you that whilst they were talking thus, they frequently passed by the covered place where the good ladies were sitting, so as to give no cause for suspicion, and only talked of ordinary subjects, now and then also romping a little in the garden. The three old ladies got so used to this in about half-an-hour, that Jacques made a sign to Olivier, who was . veep and sat you lo it All th nfrted her by bad taken ii an to iraother Way smaming more shit done fro sinuediately ijl i great tuilow her to mwa young WC ‘mr of Master ie Was a gre 1s] have hea tied) 49 ly Mandal, tl 1) “UN tradesmay livre hore wae 1 ashe vary. " ' ‘ = “9 a - AM i) ony to th | oe : “ss Dnnibe f , Mw TFTA — TMU. Trang Wonnead the : “OWE that when 0 hy 1s.» ML Nne insteadDS of friend 1 I} i | H chants amin; other more fy, t With him g! Wi i i ING Wat, ember that w Ach are in ory 1086 in the cp will call in wl @ and honn’ ng, told bint to go there nly do 40, hout cally « ne purcas ( t it was not k such a ch tufts care garry out ht is plan 8s at nothing re day was cts after sii they foun b the gare 4 — A ( (2 Vv Ss a = <> .. Se = =< > a ———4 use lig re the i 8 50 ru 0 gel 0) (iri —s 4 ) SS OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 255 playing his part towards the other girl very well, so that she did not notice that the two lovers went into an orchard full of cherry trees, and surrounded by a hedge of roses and of very high gooseberry bushes, under the pretence of picking almonds in a corner, but it was to pick plums. J acques, however, instead of giving her a green gown,’ gave her a red one, so that the colour came into her face at finding herself surprised before she had suspected it, and they had picked their plums so quickly be- cause they were ripe, that Olivier himself could not have be- lieved it, had he not seen that the girl did not dare to look up, and seemed ashamed, which let him into the truth, for pre- viously she had walked with her head erect without the least fear that the vein in her eye which ought to be red should have turned blue,* and when Jacques saw this he tried to rally her so as to bring her back to her usual manner. But whilst they were. taking a few more turns in the garden she did nothing but weep and sigh, and say constantly: “ Alas! was it for that that you loved me? If I had thought it, my God! What shall ITdo? I am ruined for life. What will you think of me for the future, for I am sure that you cannot esteem me any longer, at least if you are amongst those who only love for their sensual pleasure? I wish I had died before committing such a fault.” All this was said amidst floods of tears, but Jacques comforted her so well by his promises and oaths that before they had taken three more turns in the garden, he made another sign to his companion and they went into the orchard by another way, where, do what she might, she could not help receiving more pleasure from this second green gown than she had done from the first, and she liked it so much that they immediately set about finding means to meet more frequently and in greater security till her father should feel inclined to allow her to marry. There was a young woman, a distant relative of Jacques, and a neighbour of Master Pierre’s, who helped them very much in this, as she was a great friend of Francoise’s; and so they managed, as I have heard, to keep up their intrigue without creating any scandal, till they were able to marry. She was very rich for a tradesman’s daughter, as she was his only child ; 1 The readings here vary, the simplest is what is translated here: to give a girl a green gown is only to throw her on to the grass, to give her a red one is to take her virginity.—| Z’ranslator]. 2 It was supposed that when a woman had lost her virginity the little vein in the eye turned blue instead of being red.—[7ranslator],256 TALES but Jacques had to wait for the best part of the money till her father died, as he was so close-fisted that it really seemed ag if he thought that the one hand would steal what the other contained. ‘There, ladies, you have an example of love which began well, went on well, and ended better still; for although you men, as a rule, despise a girl or a woman as soon as she hag been liberal towards you in that which you desire above all things to obtain from her, yet this young man, being inspired by real and sincere love, and having found in his mistress every- thing that a husband can wish for in the girl whom he marries, and knowing that she came of a respectable family, and wag well brought up, would not, after the fault which he had made her commit, go and, as it were, commit adultery elsewhere ' and I think his conduct highly commendable.” “TI think,” Oisille said, “that they are both very much to blame, and the other young man also, who assisted, or at least acquiesced, in such a rape.” ‘You surely cannot call that a rape,” Saffredant replied, ‘when both parties are agreed. Are there any better matterg than those which are brought about by such like little love afiairs? This is why the proverb says that marriages are made in heaven, but that does not apply to cases where the parties are compelled to marry, or marry for money, and which are looked upon with perfect approval as soon as father and mother have given their consent.” “You may say what you like,” Oisille said again, “but we must recognise parental authority, or, if there are no parents, that of other relations; for if everybody might marry as they pleased, how many horned marriages there would be! Those who have not married from their own mere will and fancy follow the advice of those who have had more experi- ence than they have had themselves, so that when they come really to feel the good which they did not know, they enjoy it and embrace it much more eagerly and with greater affection.” “ But you do not consider, madame,” Hircan said, “that the girl was of ripe years and quite marriageable, and that she knew how unfair her father was, who let her Virginity grow mouldy for fear of having to furbish up his crown pieces. Do you not know that nature ig rather roguish, and she loved and Of ( J ue ! i ough Whe W When ‘4 ‘ 0 wy Ihe a. 7 ‘ile pest o {he ISU af anhary i al gupord yf Ne DOr 1 he consent vhthey were y V it and who "y \) e til, WAS ed taal Nd SVU) +h the slaug’ mt) the we it part Was imho let hers 00 KDOW SU uh US, " ) : it 90 With mtd ery, | ' , v Uy than ow ‘ample to eg ee NW near ne "y Tits ovat ory wd PTCA Dil vf the niga Telly yy eal hu f love wi + for al aS soon 1) 01 dese man, bey n his mish in] homie le fami which bel adultery ] 8 ] both ver assisted, Safed ; aid ap ' erate 1? y it og thett own mt > bat wt 9 thal ie did wh j ant qi f 4H) call il ; ste, het TP ero wot ! OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, 257 was loved ; all she wanted she found quite ready for her, and no doubt she thought of the proverb : ‘She who will not when she may, When she will, she shall have nay.” All this, with the prompt action of her lover, gave her no time to resist, and you have heard that immediately afterwards one could see by her looks that she had undergone a noteworthy change. Perhaps she was sorry at not having more time to find out whether it was good or not, for you see she did not take much persuading to make a second trial of it,” “I should find no excuse in the matter,” was Longarine’s reply, “excepting for the good faith of the young man, who, acting honourably, did not forsake her, but was satisfied with having her as he himself had made her; and I think he is very praiseworthy for that, seeing how corrupt and depraved the youth of the present day is. I do not, however, by this mean to excuse the first fault, which really was a rape on the daughter, and subordination of the mother.” “Neither one nor the other,” Dagoucin said; “it was all done with the consent of the two mothers, who did not prevent it, although they were deceived, and of the girl, who was all the better for it, and who never complained.” “ All that,” was Parlamente’s answer, “ Sprang from the goodness and simplicity of the merchant’s wife, who took her daughter to the slaughter in all good faith.” “Rather to the wedding,” Simontault interposed, “as this trust on her part was just as profitable to the girl as it is bad for a wife who let herself be too easily duped by her husband.” “Since you know such a story,” Nomerfide said, “I call upon you to tell it us.” “I will do so with pleasure,” he answered, “but you must promise not to cry. Those who say, ladies, that your sex is More cunning than ours, would find it a difficult matter to pro- duce an example to equal what I am about to relate to you, in which you will hear not only the husband’s great cunning, but also his wife’s great simplicity and goodness.”TALES NOVEL XLV. A HUSBAND GAVE THE INNOCENTS! TO HIS SERVANT GIRL, BUT §0 THAT HE GAVE HER WHAT OUGHT TO HAVE BELONGED TO His WIFE ALONE, WHO WAS SO INNOCENT HERSELF THAT §HE WOULD NOT BELIEVE THAT HER HUSBAND HAD DONE HER SUCH AN INJURY, ALTHOUGH THE GIRL ASSURED HER OF THE FAOT. In Tours there lived a very cunning, shrewd man, who was upholsterer to the late Duke of Orleans, son of King Francis L., and although he had become deaf in -onsequence of an illness, he nevertheless retained the full use of his wits, for there wag not a man keener in business, or more wide-awake in other matters, as you will see by the story I am about to relate to you, than he was. He had married a very respectable, good woman, with whom he lived very comfortably, and tried never to displease her, and she, on her part, obliged him in everything. But though he was very fond of her, yet he was so extremely charitable, that he often gave his female neighbours what should have been his wife’s alone, although he took care to do this as secretly as possible. Now, they had a very plump female servant, with whom the upholsterer fell in love, but fearing that his wife might notice it, he often pretended to find fault with her, and would scold her, saying that she was the idlest wench he had ever seen, and he was not astonished at it, as her mistress never beat her. One day they were talking about giving the Innocents, and he said to his wife: “ It would really be a charity to give them to that lazy jade of yours, but you must not do it, as your hand is too light, and your heart too tender, so I will do it myself, and afterwards we shall be better served than we have ever been before.” The poor woman, who suspected nothing, begged that he would do it, for she confessed that she herself had neither the heart nor the strength to give her a beating. The husband undertook the 1 Tt was the custom on Holy Innocent’s Day, December 27, not in France alone, but throughout Hurcpe, for the young men to try and surprise the women in bed, when they might slap them with their hands. I+ may well be believed that the game did not always stop there.—Wote to Jacob’s Edition. This was done originally to children only, to make them remember Herod’s eruelty.—[ Translator]. log } putt jan jpg jut ati al si the 1 r i0 give i {1000 t ign il cont | jel ant seid: “ yt 1D 8 go uphe ‘yl ol ht sid bad vy Serva ae Was Te - ishal bad, § ay, but rep wauking b tym, | am ihe fr i wu ought a lanell apy wert a8 danmtuous | nerer di sat his wif itening he aud he ms inary any ule vent on val there we | lathe Innoc ake to tr Hine in the ua omucifix ( intoving ttneents, enue whi “8 Weauher FN i “a WN ] 4hIRVANT GU B BELONG HERSELF 1 ND HAD i SSURED Ha " WN ema ul, of King uence we wis ft ene OF THE QUEFN OF NAVARRE. 259 job very willingly, and as if he meant to be a most cruel execu- tioner, he bought th very finest rods he could, and to show that he did not intend to spare her, he steeped them in brine, so that the poor woman had more pity for the maid than doubt of her husband. When Innocents’ Day was come, the- uphol- sterer got up early in the morning, and went into the servant's bedroom at the top of the house, where she was all by herself, and began to give her the Innocents indeed, but in a very dil- ferent style from that which he had mentioned to his wife. The servant began to cry, but it was no good ; however, for fear his wife should come, he struck the bedstead with the rods till they were all peeled and broken, and then he showed them to his wife, and said: “ My dear, I do not think your maid will forget the Innocents in a hurry.” When the upholsterer had left home, the servant came and threw herself on her knees before her mistress, and told her that her husband had treated her in the most shameful way that ever a poor servant girl had been treated ; but as her mistress thought she was referring to the whipping which she believed that she had had, she did not even allow her to finish what she was saying, but replied : “‘ My husband acted quite rightly, for I have been asking him to do it for more than a month, and if he has hurt you, I am very glad of it, and you have only to find fault with me for it, for I don’t think, now, you have had as much as you ought to have had.” So, as the girl saw that her mistress herself approved of the deed, she thought the sin could not be so great as she had believed, as she, who was looked upon ag such a virtuous woman, had really been the originator of it, and so she never dared to mention it afterwards, and the master, seeing that his wife was just as pleased at being deceived as he was at deceiving her, thought he would often procure her that pleasure, and he managed to gain the servant’s consent, so that she did not cry any more when she had the Innocents, and thus the matter went on for a long time until winter came round again, and there was snow on the eround. As he had often given her the Innocents on the erass in the garden, he thought he should like to try it on the snow, and so one morning be- fore any one in the house was up, he took her in her chemise to make a crucifix on the snow, and whilst they amused them- selves by throwing snowballs at one another, they did not for- get the Innocents. A neighbour of theirs, who happened to be at the winderw which overlooked his garden, in order to see what the weather was like, seeing this scandalous conduct.260 TALES determined to tell her neighbour and gossip, so that she might not be deceived any more by such a bad husband, nor waited on any more by such an immoral wench. After the upholsterer had finished all his games, he looked about to see whether anybody had noticed him, and saw his neighbour at the window, which vexed him very much ; but as he could dye hangings of any colour, he determined to give such a colour to this act that their neighbour should be deceived as well ag hig wife, so, as soon as he had got into bed again, he made his wife get up in her chemise, and took her into the garden, to the same place where he had taken the servant girl, and romped with her like he had done with the latter, and having given her the Innocents also, they went to bed again. As she was going to Mass, her neighbour, who was a very good friend of hers, was there also, and begged her very earnestly, without saying anything further, to get rid of the servant, as she was a wicked dangerous jade; but she would not agree to this, without knowing her neighbour’s reason for the bad opinion she had of her, and at last she told her how she had seen her that morning in the garden with her husband. The good woman began to laugh, and said: “I assure you, Gossip, it was I.” “ Why,” she answered, ‘‘she had nothing on but her chemise at about five o’clock in the morning.” “‘T declare to you,” the upholsterer’s wife said to her again, “that it was IL.” “Why, they were throwing snow at each other, and then he went for her breasts, and then for another place, as privately as you please.” ‘It was I,” she reiterated. ‘But, Gossip,” the other one said, “I saw them doing such and such a thing on the snow, which seemed to me neither decent nor respectable.” ‘“T can only tell you again,” she persisted, “that it was I, and no one else to whom all this happened, for my husband and I have these little games together sometimes, so don’t be scan- dalised, for you know that we are bound to obey our husbands.” After this her neighbour left her, wishing much more that she had such a husband herself than wishing to take her friend’s from her. When the upholsterer returned home his wife told him the whole story, and he said to her: “ My dear, but that I have always found you a good and sensible woman we should have separated long ago, but I trust that God will let us con- tinue in this love to His glory and our own satisfaction.” oF ; dl pene | i be vel ete I isin DE goat Ht al iD 4 { th \ 4 yaot have ly it Was sale sie it git tO i t was dc sity ofthe wa vicious te paral alan on j : yy ee Cal UU ca 3M 11) y Think | MLL YUL, ; ‘ NUYS NOTION i 2 ‘M0 OF Anooy] 4 US VU - 2 ” \| Atton o« 4 OE stay We 9 | WHOS A IpOr * 4 4VGllp, w Dad hush wench, fy ked abot Dis neh ut a8 ee 6 Such a ale ved. a9 nel 1, he mati : pate oi, a bas oF 1, who val er ven tl of a en yeh a The gt " sip, 1 on bt be ia : ad tlt other, ul b A60, gt + then ed to 0 OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 261 « Amen, amen, my dear husband,” said his wife, “and I hope that you will never have any fault to find with me.” “One must be very incredulous, ladies, if after hearing this true story, one were to believe that there is as much deceit in you as there is in men, though, without wishing to wrong any- body, one must, if one considers the conduct of the husband and wife carefully, say that neither of them was worth much.” “The man was thoroughly bad,” said Parlamente, “for on the one hand he deceived the servant, and on the other his wife.” ‘You cannot have been listening to the story,” Hircan re- plied, “for it was said that he satisfied them both in one morn- ing, and I consider it a great feat both of body and mind, to be able to satisfy two totally different women in word and deed.” “‘In that he was doubly wrong,” Parlamente said, “ to satisfy the simplicity of the one by a lie, and the evil propensities of the other by a vicious act; but I know that such sins as these will always be pardoned when they have such men as you for their judges.” “‘T assure you I shall never undertake such a difficult enter- prise,” her husband replied, “for as long as I can satisfy you, I do not think that I have employed my day badly.” “Tf mutual love does not satisfy the heart,” was the answer, “nothing else can do so.” “T certainly think,” said Simontault, ‘that there can be no greater pain than love and not to be loved.” “T agree with you,” was Oisille’s answer, ‘‘and that reminds me of atale bearing on the matter, and though it is not a very good one, yet as it fits in so well I will tell it you.” ETERS NOVEL XLVI. Thr eee aon aed = = 7 - AAT rr 4 TIIAM ¢ FITIR KY A FRANCISCAN S NOTION ON THE SUBJECT OF HUSBAN In the town of Angouléme where Count Char oe 8, nis of King ne ~ can called De n ~~ a a eneks Bo often “stayed, there was a Fra Valle, was a learned man and a very a t preacher, so262 TALES that during Advent he preached in the town before the count, by which his reputation was still further increased. Now it hap- pened during Advent that a young rake of the town who had married a very pretty wife, nevertheless went about everywhere just as dissolutely as if he were not married; and when the young wife heard this, she did not prevent herself from upbraid- ing him with his conduct, and so in consequence she was often paid out sooner, and in another manner than she wished. In spite of this, however, she could not stop her complaints and sometimes even her abuse, which irritated the young man go much that he would beat her black and blue, which made her cry and scream more than before; and her neighbours who knew the reason for her noise, would not keep quiet either, but shouted out in the streets: “ Fie upon such husbands, to the devil with them !” Luckily, De Valle, the Franciscan, was passing by, and when he heard the noise and what had occasioned it, he made up his mind to touch upon the matter of wife-beating in his sermon the next day, which he accordingly did; and mentioning mar- riage and the great affection that ought to exist between hus. band and wife in that state, he praised it highly, blamed those severely who infringed any of its duties, and compared conjugal and parental love. Amongst other things he said that it was more dangerous, and would be more severely punished, for a man to beat his wife than to beat his father or mother. ‘“ For,” he said, “if you beat your father or mother, you will be sent to Rome by way of penance ; but if you beat your wife, she and all her neighbours will send you to the devil, that is, to hell. Now, just look at the difference between the penances ; people generally return from Rome, but nobody has ever returned from hell: Wulla est redemptio.” After that sermon he was told that the women were boasting about what he had said, and that the husbands could no longer manage them, so he determined to settle it, like he had done the wrong which the women had suffered. In order to do this, he compared women to devils, in one of his sermons, and said that they were man’s two greatest enemies, for they were con- tinually tempting him, and he could not possibly get of them, especially the women. “For,” said he, “as to the devils, when you show them the cross they flee, but with women it is just the contrary, for it tames them, it makes them come and go, and makes them cause their husbands so much annoyance, But do you know, good people, what you ought to doin that in ig t0 8 ‘ easier tO. ( clit ange a ihe cause 0 way tell yylres eve iid Parla sane of diffe sty extent of ht these Prax itten to ther au in publ wong naly” Dagon a, seeing t HTihink 44 3 ‘Tthink it i8 vit, howey snided, and. it Ulan to fall i a fuet, howe tis fo refer to in the handle.1 befor e804, Nini the toma t about ern ied and a Tse fa ence she ry an she wid er compl the youym @, which mi neigh p quit ete -rosban sing by, it, he malt ine i bi | mention ist bet ly, ban copa if > gad fll ly pune ! r motte , Jou ul H! your vik OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 263 sase? When you perceive that your wives are continually worry- ing you, as they are in the habit of doing, take the cross off its handle,! and drive them away with it ; only try this experi- ment vigorously three or four times, and you will find your- selves all the better for it, and you will see that, as the devil is driven away by virtue of the cross, so also you will drive away your wives and make them hold their tongues by virtue of the handle of the cross, as long as it be not fastened to the cross itself.” “This, ladies, is a specimen of the sermons of the vener- able De Valle, and I have reasons for not telling you anything more about him, but I will tell you this much, that though he put a good face on the matter he was much more for the women than for the men.” “He certainly did not show it in his last sermon,” Parla- mente replied, “as he advised the husband to ill-treat them.” “You do not understand his cleverness,” Hircan said, “ for as you know nothing about war, you cannot understand the stratagems which are necessary in it, and one of the best amongst them is to sow division in the enemy’s camp, as then it is much easier to overcome him. So this monk knew per- fectly well that anger and hatred between husband and wite are often the cause of a woman’s making light of her honour, and so freeing itself from the supervision of virtue, it becomes a prey to wolves even before it is aware it has gone astray.” “ Well,” said Parlamente, “I could never like any one who was the cause of differences between my husband and myself, even to the extent of beating me, for blows mean the end of love. But these Franciscans are often so sly that it would be worse to listen to them in secret than to receive a blow from one’s husband in public, who might, with that exception, be a very good one.” “ Certainly,” Dagoucin replied, “everybody has good cause to fear them, seeing the lives many of them lead so openly, though I think it is well not to be suspicious.” * One ought, however,” Oisille said, “ to suspect the evil that can be avoided, and it is better to suspect an evil that does not exist, than to fall into a real one through foolish confidence.’ “Tt is a fact, however,” observed Dagoucin,” that a suspl- 1'This seems to refer to a processional cross, which can usually be un- screwed from the handle.—[ Translator].264 TALES cious person can never have areal friend, and many friends have been divided by a mere suspicion.” ; . “Tf you know such a case,” Oisille replied, “I will call upon you to tell it us.” “I know one that really happened and which you will like to hear ; a case when friendship is most easily broken, when the very security of friendship itself begins to give rise to Suspicion, for as to trust a friend fully is to do him the greatest honour, 80 to mistrust him is to do him the greatest dishonour, for it shows that we think differently of him from what we should wish him to be, and from this cause many close friendships are dissolved, and friends are made enemies, as you will see by the story I am going to relate to you.” NOVEL XLVII A GENTLEMAN OF PEROCHE WHO HAD LIVED ON THE MOST INTIMATE TERMS WITH A FRIEND OF HIS, SO THAT THEY HAD EVERY- THING IN COMMON EXCEPT THE FIRST ONE'S WIFE, BECAME JHALOUS OF His FRIEND, AND 80 BROUGHT ABOUT THE VERY MISFORTUNE WHICH HE WISHED TO AVOID, THERE were. two gentlemen living in the district of Perche, who had lived together, from their earliest childhood, in such perfect friendship that they had only one heart, one house, one bed, one purse between them. This went on for a long time, and they were so thoroughly united in every thought and sentiment, that they lived not like two brothers, but like one man. When one of them married, this did not diminish their friendship, for they. still lived together as happily as before, and when they happened to be in any place where the accom- modation was limited, the married man always made his friend sleep in the same bed! with his wife and himself, though he 1 Formerly beds were made large enough to hold three or even f and it was looked upon asan honour to ask & toa] ee persons, ur to ask a guest to sleep in ¢ with his host and host’s wife.—Jacob’s Hdition Bane same aa The ‘‘ Great bed of Ware,” mentioned by Shakespeare, need only be inst d as a case of a huge bed. It has been stated that the Laplanders need to eon their complaisancy with regard to their women a good deal further, and that the honour was not restricted to sleeping in one bed.—[ Translator], oat nell omitted vol she ba sin be tol Jn the wh in patter, t0 shea. sun, aNgTY wot any sucl cha report 1 wT am | : 2 : f ‘7% whom th Al ) UAL W) Guu 1 a Na) SUDELO} | Me A nat Tan y VWUY UY AL iia, + 28 HAS Inclined AW) AVL nt I ss ) r AM Ll, vey j , ¢ ~ # Mri} an 4] 1 nat Hy 8) tha | Jnuy Not h Ses iy avy ve Au ty : L Wata Delerred he Beak + ‘Teak to hed many fg d, "Twili which yn Ny brokey ay Ve rise to he oreaat t dishonn | n wiat te ose fry you wil se 1H Mog? MM TRY Hud B'S Wied, ABOUT 1! OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 265 certainly always used to sleep in the middle. They had every- thing in common except her, so that, whatever might happen, this marriage could not interrupt their perfect friendship. But as time went on, since happiness cannot last for ever in this world, a change came over this united household, for the hus- band, forgetting how he had trusted his friend, began to be jealous of him and his wife, and that without the slightest cause. He could not hide this from her, and found fault with her for her conduct, at which she was very much surprised, for he had always begged her to treat his dear friend exactly like himself in all matters save one, and in spite of that, he now ordered her never to speak to him except in company. She told her husband’s friend this, but he would not believe it, for he knew perfectly well that he had never entertained a single thought or committed a single act which could cause his friend any pain, and as he had never been in the habit of hiding any- thing from him he told him what he had heard, and begged him to tell him the whole truth, for he did not wish, in that or in any other matter, to give him the slightest occasion to sever their long friendship. The husband, angry as he was, yet assured him that he had never thought any such thing, and added that those who had spread such a report were wicked liars, whereupon his friend said to him: “I am fully aware that jealousy is a passion which is as hard to endure as love, and should you entertain that feeling, even towards me, I could not blame you for it, for you could not help yourself; but I can complain of one thing, which you can prevent, and that is that you do not tell me what is really the matter with you, as neither of us has ever concealed from the other any feeling or opinion which we had. Even if I were in love with your wife, you ought not to impute it to me as a crime, for love is a fire which we cannot eheck as we please ; but, if I were to hide my love from you, and try to make your wife share my affection, I should be the very falsest friend that ever lived. As for myself, I can assure you, that though she is as superior and good a woman as can be, yet, even were she not your wife, I have never seen one with whom I should be less inclined to fall in love; but although there is No occasion for it, I beg you, if you have the least suspicion, to let me know it, so that I may take such steps that our long friendship may not be interrupted for the sake of a woman, for even if I preferred her to any woman in the world, yet I would never speak to her again, as I prefer your affection to266 TALES anything besides.” His friend swore with many oaths that there was not a particle of truth in the matter, and begged him to use his house as he had always been in the habit of doing, and the other answered him: “ IT will do so as you wish it, but I beg that, if after this you have any bad opinion of me and do not tell me of it, you will not allow me to frequent your society any more.” For some time they lived together as they had been used to do, but at last the married man got more suspicious than ever, and ordered his wife not to treat their friend as she had been in the habit of doing; and when she told their friend this, and begged him not to speak to her any more, as her husband had commanded her to act as she was doing, the gentleman soon understood by what she said and his friend’s manner, that he had not kept his word and so he said to him in a great rage: ‘‘My friend, it may be very natural for you to be jealous, but after the promises you have made, I am very angry that you have concealed it for so long, for I always thought that there was nothing which could inter- vene between the perfect understanding of our two hearts, but to my great regret I see it is quite different. Not only are you jealous, like a fool, of your wife and me, but you want to conceal it, so that that which is now only a disease may turn into absolute dislike, and thus our friendship, which hag been the sincerest which has ever been known in our time, may be turned into the most mortal hatred. 1 have done what I could to avoid this mischief, but as you choose to suspect me of being so bad, and different to what I am, and as our affection has been the greatest that has been known in our time, so our hatred will be the more mortal. I have done what I could to prevent this, but as you suspect me to be so wicked and quite different to what I have always been towards you, I vow and declare to you that I will prove myself to be what you fancy me, and I will not rest till I have had from your wife what you think | am trying for, so be on your guard against me in the future, for as suspicion has alienated your friendship from me, anger will alienate mine from you.” However much his friend tried to persuade him of the contrary, he would not believe him, but took away his part of the furniture and other things which they had had in common, and they became just as disunited as they had formerly been united, and the unmarried gentleman did not rest till he had cuckolded his former friend, as he promised him. ig (isille’s a eel; ole cannot (yeannot $07 et peak vga t0 SUspec waves od int and if ‘ld not a¢ ier OU May anno overcol smght to be et nan may 1 wi. élyyou mean Leticia Ame takes an tToman can staveen her aye disguise she been 80 y lure been d ‘ior of such 0 relate j }o iN ay je 1} Ui fil should ¢ Aine ladi ey dis, at you have MN } ‘ll ws worldwith many 16 matter ay! ih Will dom y I any bal allow me tt ) been in hey bad bane > suspicion lend. ag ale i thet fret a8 het hate the genti friend's mu said ty lt ery natanl ya have mi t for 90 lay > wich ot of our fi: different, de, bt only a tis ! rend, OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE 267 1 nope, ladies, that all who suspect their wives wrongfully may suffer the same fate, because men are the cause of their wives becoming what they fancy them to be, for a woman of honour is easier overcome by a feeling of despair than by all the pleasure in the world. And if any one says that jealousy is love, I deny it altogether, for though it may be the result of love, as ashes are of the fire, so it quenches it as ashes do the flame,” ‘“T can imagine nothing more unpleasant, either for a man or a woman,” said Hircan, “than to be suspected wrongfully, and as for me, there is nothing that would make me break with my friends sooner than such a feeling.” “But yet it is no real excuse for a woman to deceive her husband,” was Oisille’s answer, “and so to avenge herself by dishonouring herself ; that is acting like a man who stabs him- self because he cannot kill his enemy, or bites his own fingers because he cannot scratch him. She would have acted more wisely in never speaking to him, to show her husband how wrong he was to suspect them, and time would have reconciled them.” “My opiniou is,” Emarsuitte said, “‘ that she acted like a woman of spirit, and if many women did the same thing their husband’s would not act as outrageously as they do.” “Whatever you may say,” Longarine replied, “patience en- ables a woman to overcome, and chastity in her is praiseworthy, and that ought to be enough for us.” “Yet a woman may not be chaste, and still commit no sin,” Emarsuitte said. “What do you mean?” Oisille asked. “ When she takes another man for her husband,” was the answer. “What woman can be such a fool as not to know the difference between her husband and another man, no matter how he may be disguised ?” said Parlamente. “There have been some, and there are still,” replied Emar- suitte, who have been deceived, and consequently have done no wrong.” “If you know of such a case,” Dagoucin said to her, “TI will call upon you to relate it, for I think it very strange that in- nocence and sin should exist together.” “Listen then, ladies, and if you have not been already con- vinced by what you have heard, that it is dangerous to receive those who call us worldly, and who think themselves betterp18 268 TALES ova fi ihe rane : than we are, into our houses, I will prove to you that they are ‘io ‘Do y men like others, and wicked like they are.” “jap bat 8° jit OO jt Orn nnn ifs , pest) i put, ' i NOVEL XLVIIL all not a 48 at ann, Wo Ae { f F : vaards ql - Ap Why ; P af hen) Sti jan THE OLDER AND WICKEDER OF TWO FRANCISCANS WHO LODGED AT AN INN WHERE THE DAUGHTER OF THE HOUSE HAD BEEN MARRIED THE SAME DAY, TOOK THE BRIDEGROOM’S PLACE IN BED WHILST HE WAS DANCING, FOR WHICH THEY ———o sont WOO WY vill rad n WERE BOTH SEVERELY PUNISHED. un td g he du ‘tant. and AT an inn of a village in Perigord the wedding of the inn- ey " Keeper's daughter was being celebrated, where all the relations «it and friends enjoyed themselves as much as they possibly could. aj ili During-the day two Franciscans arrived there, and their supper gill HH" was served to them in their own room, as it was not proper for — jyiwelt them to be present at the wedding festivities. The principal — jmyitt, 4 of the two, who had most authority and also most wickedness, pi bilil thought that, as he was not allowed to join them at table, he — «inthe ml ought to have his share in the bed, and that he would show (sill them a trick of his trade. When evening was come, and the dancing began, the Fran- ciscan looked for a long time at the bride out of the Window, — sjyistonishe and found her very pretty and much to his liking, and on ask- ing the chambermaid where the bridechamber was, she told him that it was quite close to his, which he was very pleased to hear, nm qp ye and in order to be able to carry out his designs he watched jj) jy very carefully till he saw the bride carried off to bed by the old _4y, 4, * women, as is usual. As it was still very early the husband would not leave the dance, which he enj oyed so much that he ay oe kg |” seemed to have forgotten his wife, which was not by any means fiheen the Franciscan’s case, for as soon as he heard that the bride was Bi 1 in bed, he t6ok off his grey robe, and went and took the bride- groom’s place, but for fear of being caught he only stayed a short time, and went to the end of an alley where his com- ena panion, who was keeping watch for him, gave him a sign that ao the husband was dancing still. Since he had not yet fully gee " U prom ] in $f aed Ir ¢ ou W BUCA V y 4 i104 Dad act. satisfied his wicked lust, he went to bed with the bride avain, ‘ promi till his friend gave him the signal that it was time to go away, "lM ie §y You tha ' SOAR THI PTH TH 3, FOR TH ar them at i bea out of te? king, : ris ' OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 269 The bridegroom then went to bed, and his wife, who had been so worried by the Franciscan that all she wanted was a little rest, said to him: “Do you mean not to go to sleep all night, but to do nothing but worry me?” The unfortunate husband who had only just come was very much astonished, and asked her how he had worried her as he had been dancing all the evening. “It’s a pretty sort of dance you have been having,” said the poor woman, “why, this is the third time you have come to bed, and I think the best thing you can do is to go to sleep.” The husband was naturally very much astonished when he heard these words, and forgot everything in order to know the exact truth, and when she had told him, he guessed that it was the Franciscans who were in the house who had played him the trick, so he got up at once and went to their room, which was next to his. As he did not find them there he called for help as loud as he could, and when all his friends flocked round he told them what had happened, and they helped him with torches, lanterns, and all the dogs of the village to hunt for the Franciscans, and when they could not find them in any of the houses, they searched the country diligently, and found the two monks in a vineyard, and they were treated as they deserved, for after a good beating their arms and legs were cut off, and they were left in the vineyard under the care of the gods Venus and Bacchus, of whom they were better disciples than of St. Francis. ‘Do not be astonished, ladies, if such people, whose lives are so totally different to ours, do things which the veriest mercenaries would be ashamed of doing, for you should rather wonder that they do not even do worse, when God’s hand is withdrawn from them, for the cowl does not always make the monk, but it often unmakes him, through pride.” “Good heavens,” said Oisille, “‘ are we never to hear the last of these monks ? ” “Tf, ladies, princes and gentlemen are not spared,” was Emarsuitte’s answer, ‘I do not think they ought to take it amiss, if we deign to speak of them. It is commonly said that it is better to do a bad action than to do nothing at all, and on that very account they are spoken of, and our bouquet will be all the more beautiful, the greater varieties of flowers 1t contains. A ‘Tf you will promise not to be angry with me, Hircan said, “T will tell you the storv of a great lady who was so infamous270 TALES in her amours, that you will excuse the poor Franciscan for having taken what he wanted where he could find it, especially as she, who had plenty to eat, took her dainties too indigs- creetly.” ‘Ags we have vowed to speak the truth,” Oisille said, “ we have also vowed to listen to it, so that you can speak quite freely.” “Very well,” was Hircan’s reply, “then I will tell my tale with- out any hesitation.” NOVEL XLIX, fHE CUNNING MANNER IN WHICH A COUNTESS ENTERTAINED THREE LOVERS AT ONCE, HOW SHE WAS FOUND OUT, AND YET MAN- AGED TO TURN THE TABLES ON THEM. At the court of one of the French kings, called Charles, I shall not say which of them for the sake of the honour of the lady about whom I am going to speak, and whose name I also shall not mention, there was a foreign countess of very good birth, As everything that is new pleases, this lady when she first came to court attracted all eyes, both by the new fashion of her dresg and by the richness of its materials; and although she could not be reckoned amongst the handsomest women of her time, yet she had such a graceful, and yet haughty, bearing, and such a manner of speaking, that no one dared to approach her asa. lover except the king, who was very much attached to her, and who, in order to be able to see her more at hig leisure, gave her husband some employment, which kept him away for a long time, during which the king amused himself very weil with the wife. Several of the king’s gentlemen, who knew that their master enjoyed her favours, grew bold enough to speak to her, and amongst others, one whose name was Astillon, and who was a very daring and handsome man. At first she was very severe to- wards him, and threatened to tell the king, hoping to frighten him thereby, but as he was not the man to be frightened by the menaces of an intrepid leader, he was not intimidated by hers, and pressed her so that she at last promised to give him ml 7p i) “ons aight ) af) Of rue in a | woh cart — = ft (0 0 << at aA) fst day I —— = ako coun dl the 60 sgt be WS | grovel ¢ | mi W , ung ie gaune a pio others ig ther Sa ttn for 8 nN Saat atl’ jo oe a, i od deal {hem thot jy wade fu sha pie of iryten all t jar they en «ir adveu sq bich the ‘te to hide hi fends a town, bu ‘va | will ink there 1 D . 5 ‘, who ac lenis speak ist dante rfaule gale aur prison st answere beat, i. irene tha wwe for [ 1 an AN, wie, Hho kne ‘etal been ¢ ima WhichDoor Fry ld fin i r aintis Dy” Oia YOU can gi will tel nyt ENTER! ) our, a illed (att honour tt ; of very mle st + fashion 0 Kh } if hough fl V en of bear, ) a atta his iu? inn a f vel mi a = if i \ hi! ye ena onl OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 271 a private meeting, and told him how he might get to her room, and he took good care to keep the appointment ; but that the king’s suspicions might not be aroused, he asked for leave of absence and went away from court, but he left all his followers during the first day’s journey, and went at night to receive the fulfilment of the countess’s promises, with which he was so well satisfied, that he was quite contented to remain shut up ina little closet for seven or eight days, living on nothing but re- storatives. During the time he was there, one of his friends, called Duracier, came and made love to the countess, whom she treated just as she had done the first, with severity in the be- ginning, but getting kinder every day, and on the day on which she discharged the first prisoner she put the second in his place. Whilst he was there a friend of his, called Valnebon, did just the same as the two others, and after them came two or three more, who all had their share in that delightful prison, and this sort of thing went on for a long time, and was managed so well that none of them knew anything about the others, and though they all heard a good deal about the love which they all bore her, yet each of them thought that he was the only favoured one, and secretly made fun of his companion, who, he thought, had missed such a piece of good fortune as he had enjoyed. One day when all these gentlemen met together at a grand dinner, where they enjoyed themselves very much, they began to talk of their adventures during the wars, and of the different prisons in which they had been confined, but Valnebon, who did not like to hide his good fortune for any length of time, said to his friends: “I know the prisons into which you have been thrown, but as for me, for the love of one in which _ I have been, I will speak well of all the others as long as I live, for I think there is no pleasure in life like that of being a prisoner.” Astillon, who had been the first prisoner, guessed what prison he was speaking about, and said to him: “ Under what male or female gaoler were you so well treated, that it made you love your prison?” Valnebon answered: ‘Whoever the gaoler may be, the prison was so agreeable that I only wish my term of confinement had been longer, for I was never better treated, or more to my Satisfaction.” es: Duracier, who knew that they were talking about the prison in which he had been also, said to Valneoon: “ How were you fed in this prison which you are praising so highly ?242 TALES “The king,” he answered, “never had better or more nourigh: ing food.” “But I should like to know,” said Duracier, “whether your gaoler made you work hard for your bread ?” Valnebon, who saw that he was understood could not refrain from swearing : ‘‘Ventrebleu ! I had companions where I thought I was the only one.” Astillon, seeing that they had all been mistaken, though he had had his share as well as the rest, said, laughing: “ We all Serve one master, and are friends and companions from our youth, so if we share in some piece of good luck, we may all well laugh together at it, but in order to know if what I think is true, let me question you, and tell me the truth, for if it has happened to us all as I think, this is as amusing an adventure as ever took place in the world.” They all declared that they would said to them: ‘T will tell you my good luck, and you shall all tell whether or not yours was the same.” When they had all agreed to this, he said: “First of all ] asked leave of absence of the king, under the pretence of a journey.” They all said they had done the same. “ When I was two leagues from the coast I left my followers, and went to surrender myself as a prisoner.” They said it was just what they had done. ‘‘T remained for seven or eight days,” he went on, ‘‘ hidden in a little closet, where I ate nothing but restoratives and the most delicious dishes that I ever tasted, and at the end of the time my gaoler let me go, much weaker than I had come,” They all swore that that was exactly what had happened ta them. “My imprisonment,” Astillon said, ‘ended on such a day.” “Mine,” Duracier replied, “began on the very one on which yours was finished, and lasted till such a day.” Valnebon, who had lost his patience, began to swear again and said : “ By God, I see I was the third, when I thought I was the first and the only one, for I entered such a day and left on such a day.” The three others who were at the table swore that they had come and gone in the same order, “Well, ay this is so,” Astillon said, “TI w speak the truth, and he ill mention our of TH tit she i yi te vary ne ated Duractel gtd best p tl be ple ty looks upd) inl not do t grin our aid. ys, and let € i then she C01 an thought th dhiwelf with vad in black suntess. a8 imhen abe 8 W a maar all thes ine” Astillor inter you Ou utes, Who | ‘Tae not r ‘ue service 1 dn udvanced aed your hos Tratetul ify ovstch an ‘Cuan, the ‘tamed on] *L Neverthe Unatter, fobette or yp racien, "yy vl” tood col ALON whe mnstaken hy L,laughiy' Contin 00d luck, ry know if whi he truth te TUS a k the trthy hall all td + the pt OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, 278 gaoler’s state. She ig married, and her husband is very far away.” “That is the very woman,” they all exclaimed. “ Well to put you out of your misery,” he said, “I will name her first, as I was the first prisoner ; it is the countess who ig so haughty, that when I had gained her love I thought I had overcome Cesar himself—Devil take the jade, who made us all work so hard, and think ourselves lucky in having won her! There never was such a trick played, for whilst she kept one shut up, she was entrapping another, so that she might always have her sport, and I would rather die than that she should go unpunished.” They asked Duracier what he thought about the matter, and how they could best punish her, as they were all quite willing to do so. “I think,” he replied “that we ought to tell the king, our master, who looks upon her as a sort of goddess.” “We will not do that,” Astillon said, “we have plenty of other means of taking vengeance on her without calling in our master to our aid. Let us be present to-morrow when she goes to mass, and let each of us wear an iron chain round our neck, and when she comes into church we will all salute her ag she deserves.” They all thought this advice very good, and each of them supplied himself with an iron chain, and in the morning, all of them dressed in black and with iron chains round their necks, met the countess as she was going into church, who began to laugh when she saw them got up like that, and said to them : ‘Where are all these unhappy-looking people going to?” “Madame,” Astillon replied, “ we, your captive slaves, have come to render you our service.” The countess, who pretended not to understand him, said to them: “ You are not my captives, and I see no reason why you should de me service more than anybody else.” Valnebon advanced towards her and said: “As we have all of us enjoyed your hospitality for such a long time, we should be very ungrateful if we did not do your service.” She put on such an innocent air, as if she did not understand what it all meant, that she thought she should astonish them, but they carried on the matter so, that she saw that she was discovered. Nevertheless she managed to get altogether the best of the matter, for as she had lost all honour and conscience, g274 TALES she did not feel the shame they tried to put upon her, but ag She preferred her pleasure to all a woman's honour in the world, she treated them just as well as she had before, at which they were so much astonished, that they felt almost as ashamed of themselves as they had meant to make her. “Ladies, if you do not think that this story shows that women are as bad as men, I can tell you others to prove it. I certainly think that this tale proves that when once a woman has lost all shame, she is a hundred times more bold than a man.” There was not a woman present who, when she heard this story, did not cross herself as frequently as if she thought she saw all the devils of hell before her. But Oisille advised them to humble themselves when they heard this terrible case, ag they who forsook God became like him whose service they entered, for nothing worse than those who were without the Spirit of God. “Whatever this unhappy woman may have done,” said Kmarsuitte, “we cannot think well of those who boasted of their prison.” “I think,” Longarine replied, “that it is as hard for a man not to reveal his good fortune as to pursue it, and as a hunter loves to blow his horn, so a lover likes to boast of his victory.” “That is an heretical opinion,” said Simontault, “for more men keep a secret than women do, and I know that many would rather go without their good fortunes thar tell any one about it.” ‘Tam only surprised,” Guebron said, “that this wretched woman did not die of shame on seeing her prisoners.” “Those who have lost it,” Oisille replied, “can hardly ever cover it, unless they have lost it through the strength of their love, and I have seen such recover it.” “TI expect,” Hircan answered, ‘‘that you saw them come back as they went, for deep love is very rare in a woman.” “I don’t agree with you,” said Longarine, “for I have known some who loved till death.” ‘“T should so much like to hear of such a woman,” Hircan replied, “that I shall call upon you, so that I may find out that women really can live as I never thought they could.” “If you hear it, you will believe it,” Longarine said, “and also that there is no passion stronger than love, as you shall see from what I am going to tell you.” yp TH 4g 0D ” gs a8 FOE , osns 10 ‘ gy HAD a 0 OE an of (e000 oi esse 1 (nog neat him jgavet to b jiived th ‘is house, & sich as 1 sg aection st teased is be hard sans, WHO, | sfutruction iy ho had the sole ‘bad full c0 ut his love ¥ ‘hm all that ulmeans to. meet bim | aleman Wh ‘ul himself m tit bleeding, derainly g th rally Taman of te even, 1 ‘tte place “te that as i Wn ater he i ti He Th vag d Evanely bUO Dut upon y Woman's hyp she had bet y felt aly ke her + this stor ty Fou other yp hat when ony mes more bi ), when st as if she i ut Oisile ale 1 this tent n whose sr ay have de those Who he ig aba eit, su bonst of rontaal J kor t 08 than te t Ae rf Q Hi «that th prise 4 t he te! ou sat is p pane gt pro YF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 275 NOVEL L. 4 LOVER WHO COULD OBTAIN NO FAVOURS FROM HIS LADY, WOULD NOT SEE HER FOR A TIME, WHICH MADE HIM SO ILL THAT HE WAS ORDERED TO BE BLED, WHEREUPON SHE GRANTED HIM WHAT HE HAD SO LONG SIGHED FOR, AND SO CAUSED HIS DEATH, AND SHE, ON THIS, COMMITTED SUICIDE. In the town of Cremona, not a year ago, there lived a gentle. man named Messire Jean-Pierre, who had loved, for a long time, a lady living near him ; but much as he tried, he could get no favourable answer to his suit, although she loved him with all her heart, which grieved this poorgentleman so much that he secluded himself in his house, and made up his mind to abandon a vain pursuit, which was ruining his life; and hoping to be able to get over his affection for her, he was several days without see- ing her, but it caused him such unhappiness that he became so altered as to be hardly recognisable. His relations called in the physicians, who, seeing how yellow he looked, thought it was an obstruction of the liver, and ordered him to be bled. This lady, who had treated him so cruelly, knowing that her refusal was the sole cause of his illness, sent an old woman, in whom she had full confidence, to him, and told him that as she knew that his love was real and no pretence, she had resolved to grant him all that she had so long refused him, and that she had found means to leave her house, and go to a place where she could meet him privately. The gentleman who had been bled in the arm in the morn- ing, found himself much better by that message, than by any amount of bleeding, and sent her an answer to the effect that he would certainly go to the place, at the appointed hour ; and that she had really worked a miracle, for by a single word she had cured a man of an illness which no physician could cure. When the evening, which he had so much longed for, was come, he went to the place of which she had told him, and his joy was 80 extreme, that as it could not increase, it must soon come to an end. Soon after he arrived, she whom he loved better than his life joined him. He did not waste much time in talking, for the fire which was devouring him made him hastily enjoy that Which he scarcely believed could be his, and more intoxicated276 TALES with love and pleasure than was good for him, he thought he should find a remedy which would prolong his life, whereas he only hastened his death, for quite forgetful of himself for hig mistress’ sake, he did not perceive that the bandage had come off his arm, and as the recent wound opened, the poor gentle- man was bathed in his own blood, but as he thought that hig weakness came from his amorous excesses, he wished to return home. But love, which had only united them too well, was the cause that, as he took leave of his mistress, his soul depar‘ed from his body, for he fell dead at her feet, from excessive loss of blood, and she was almost beside herself with horror and grief at the loss of such a lover, whose death she had caused. But then, thinking in the midst of her regret, of the disgrace which would fall upon her, if the body were found in her house, in order to conceal the matter she and a trusty waiting-maid carried the dead body into the street, and as she did not wish to leave him alone, she took his sword, resolved to follow him, and in order to punish her heart which was the sole cause of all the misfortune, she pierced herself to it : and her dead body fell on that of her lover. When the father and mother of the girl came out of their house the next morning they saw the sad sight, and after having duly mourned for her, they had them both buried together. ‘Thus, ladies, you see that excess of love often brings other misfortunes with it.” “T like to see,” Simontault said, “when love is so mutually equal, that when one dies, the other will not survive, and if I had found such a mistress, I do not think that any man would ever have loved more perfectly than I.” “JT think,” Parlamente said, “that love would not have blinded you so far as not to tie up your arm better, for I think the time is gone by when men give up their lives for women.” “But it has not gone by,” Simontault said again, “when ladies forget their lovers’ lives for the sake of their own pleasure.” “Tf we wait to hear all Simontault has to say,” replied Oisille, “‘ we shall come in for compline instead of vespers, and as it is getting late, let us go and praise God that this day has passed without any dispute worth mentioning.” So she got up first and all the others followed her, and they went into the church where the monks were waiting for them, and vespers over they went to supper, and they talked long( io hy I h long bis is gett of kg at the band opened te a8 be th 868, he vid ited. then ty + is mish dead at ha i most besie le Lover, whi > moldst of bee if the bu atter ste ul ) the stot i yy iit - genet iS <> —+ eS an Love | not su that any ore wl! rm et” ip eit tail ale OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, 7 “o alter the repast till Oisille said they had better go and refresh themselves with sleep, for, as the first five days had been so pleasant, she feared the sixth would not be equally so, and she advised them to recommend themselves to God and bade them good-night in His name, whereupon they all retired, and thus ended the fifth day.278 TALES SPA Bo Da Y. MaApAWE OISILLE went earlier than usual the next morning to prepare her reading in the hall, and when the rest of the com- pany heard of this they were so eager to hear her excellent lessons that they dressed with all speed and did not keep her waiting long. As she knew their hearts she read from St. John’s Epistle, which speaks only of love. The company found this spiritual refreshment so palatable that though they remained half an hour longer than usual, they did not seem to have been there more than a quarter of an hour. After that they went to hear mass, and after they had dined they went to rest a little and then went to have their usual entertainment. Madame Oisille asked who was going to begin. “TI call upon you to do so,” said Longarine, ‘‘ for you read us such a beauti- ful portion of scripture this morning that you must know some story which will deserve the same praise which you earned then.” “Tam sorry that I cannot tell you anything so profitable this afternoon,” she replied, “as what I read you was, but my story will agree with the passage of scripture which tells us: ‘Put not your trust in princes nor in any child of man.’ Lest you should forget this truth for want of an example, I will give you a true one, which happened so recently that the eyes of those who saw the mournful sight are scarcely dry yet.” OF - “() w puss, UW Va H taf Urb just 0 l "mont Vi afte shie 0 ipo ta Dh? be nooor dl n r ied, be ele 4y 798 lov sober me an how mue ‘ a the matt vteieved. bi ip no Teast w duke, Wh ayy honour’ eek i ead bis 8 if and whe stetneen ajthat he 0 jgenble b a that th ence, 9 ] pare her | ver should at she WOl tty do, a ty, know! nul herto gc and this soft, an ve the your - VJ k she sup ie sup ‘lich he se ‘tong that C1 0 rev iiwortunatAY, al the nett w en the rat tt ear herent not keep \ } read Wh ned they Fe usual exit begit, “6 ead us yon must 2 wich pytig 9 al jou fi tare i pid esi jy tat he OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARKs. 279 NOVEL LILI. AN ITALIAN DUKE, CONTRARY TO THE PROMISE MADE TO HIS WIFE, | HAS A YOUNG LADY HANGED. Cae Duke of Urbino, surnamed the Prefect, and who had married the sister of the first Duke of Mantua, had a son whe was twenty-eight years and who was much in love with a good and honourable house, sister of the abbot of Farsa. As he could not, according to the custom of the country, talk as much as he wished, he employed a gentleman who was in his service and who was in love with a good, virtuous, young lady who was in his mother’s household. By her means he conveyed to his mistress how much he loved her without the poor girl thinking any ill in the matter, as she was glad to be of service to him, for she believed his intentions were honourable, and that there could be no reason why she should not carry his messages. But the duke, who cared more for the interests of his house than any honourable affection, feared lest his correspondence should lead his son to marrying the girl, and had him strictly watched, and when he heard that this poor girl had carried letters between his son and the young lady he loved, he was so furious that he determined to put a stop to it, but as he could not dissemble his rage the girl was warned of it, and she, knowing that the duke was cruel, and malicious, and without any conscience, went to the duchess in her terror, and asked her to give her leave to retire to some out of the way place till his anger should have passed over. Her mistress, however, told her that she would endeavour to find out what the duke really meant to do, and when she did so she found him so incensed that she, knowing his temper, not only gave her leave to go, but advised her to go to some convent till the storm should have blown over, and this she did as secretly as possible, but the duke heard of it, and, with a seemingly friendly face, asked his wife where the young lady was. ee Ag she supposed that he knew the whole truth, she told him, at which he seemed vexed, and told her there was no necessity for doing that, for he meant no harm, and that she had better tell her to return, for it was not well to have a noise about such things, The duchess said to him that if this poor girl had been so unfortunate as to incur his displeasure, it would be better for280 TALES him not to see her for a time, and he would not listen to her reasons, and begged her to have her back. The duchess in- formed the girl of the duke’s wish, but she was not satisfied, and begged her not to make her run this risk, for she was sure that the duke was not a man to forgive as easily as he pre- tended. The duchess, however, assured her that no harm should happen to her, and staked her life and honour on this, and as the girl knew that her mistress was very fond of her, and would certainly not deceive her, she confided in her, for she thought that the duke would never violate a promise made on his wife’s honour, and so she returned to the duchess, But as soon as the duke heard it, he went to his wife’s apart- ments, and as soon as he saw the girl, he said: “ So, she has come back?” and turning to his gentlemen, he commanded them to take her to prison. The duchess, who had induced her to leave her asylum on the faith of her word, was horror-struck, fell on her knees be- fore him, and entreated him not to commit such an act for his own honour and that of his house, as she had got her out of the convent at his wish. But none of her reasons or prayers could soften his hard heart, or change his determination to be avenged on her, for without giving his wife any answer he withdrew as quickly as he could, and without the slightest form of justice, forgetful of God and of the honour of his house, he cruelly had this poor girl hanged. I cannot under- take to describe to you the anger of the duchess, but it was such as any lady of spirit and of honour would feel, who saw a girl whom she wished to save put to death; still less can I describe the grief of the poor gentleman who was her lover, who did all he could to save her life, and even offered to die in her place, but the duke was impervious to pity, and his only pleasure consisted in taking vengeance on those whom he hated. Thus this poor innocent young lady was put to death by the cruel duke contrary to every law of honour and to the great regret of all who knew her. “See, ladies, what are the effects of wickedness when it is united to power.” “I have heard,” said Longarine, “that most of the Italians were given to three vices in particular, but I should never have thought that they would have carried vindictiveness and cruelty so far as to put anyone to death on such a slight occasion,” i : — —_ S = = a7 ao = = y J suppos . Bi do not, ll a8 ese. rt be ho | 4 ? SS = = Ss f — SS he , => —S h v SS) HS. SH gything shthat: be aing the vafed the shnse 10 € i] at to d iyduke mu squor mat 1 Tinarsuu Hionot thi sinture of ‘vate only [we are t ml for to ‘proper us la was th ite knew i ‘len into il Lext stoSUT8S5 Was qu) n, she ent ver vilae i turned ty Ot to bis wi 16 said: “ye men, be in fell on be mit such ae she had of her mit oe his dete ig wie a leave her ant Ur the bona’ , emit ches, bi wld fe ch: atl a ho was le | » oe sity, al } | i , b tho 1 yas pl ur po {l il I | of il v al tie gh 1 OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 28] Saffredant said to her, laughing: “Longarine, you have certainly mentioned one of those vices, but I should like to know what the other two are.” “T would certainly tell you, if you did not know,” was her reply, “but I am sure that you all know them.” “So I suppose you look upon me as very vicious?” Saffredant asked her. “No, I do not,” she said; “but knowing the hideousness of vice as well as you do, I think you can avoid it better than anybody else.” “Do not be horrified at this cruelty,” said Simontault, “for those who have been in Italy give such terrible instances of it, that this particular is but a trivial matter compared to them.” “It is a fact, that, when the French took Rivolte, there was an Italian captain there who was looked upon as a brave and good comrade, who, seeing a dead soldier who was not his enemy in any other way except that he was a Guelph instead of being a Ghibelline, tore out his heart, roasted it hastily and ate it, and when he was asked what it was like said he had never eaten anything more delicious to his thinking. And not satis- fied with that he killed the soldier's wife who was pregnant, and cutting the child out of her, dashed it against the wall, and stuffed the two bodies of the man and his wife with oats for his horse to eat. Don’t you think he would certainly have put any girl to death who might have offended him.” “The duke must have been more afraid lest his son should make a poor marriage than desirous of giving him a wife to his liking,” Emarsuitte said. “I do not think you can doubt,” Simontault said, “that it is the nature of some of them to love those things inordinately which were only made to be used and not abused.” “Those are the very sins,” Longarine replied, “to which I referred ; for to love money for its own sake merely, and not for its proper use is, as we know from St. Paul, idolatry.” There was then a long discussion, till at last Emarsuitte said that she knew of a lady who, in trying to hide a small fault, had fallen into a far greater one, whereupon Guebron called her for the next story.bo OO. bo TALES NOVEL LIII. MADAME DE NEUFCHATEL FORCED A PRINCE TO PUT HER TO SUCH PROOFS, ON ACCOUNT OF HER HYPOORISY, AS TURNED TO HER DISHONOUR. Wuew King Francis I. went to a very fine chateau with but a small retinue, both to have a little hunting and also to enjoy a little rest from the affairs of State, he was accompanied by the Prince de Belhoste, who was as honourable, prudent, and excellent a gentleman as any at court. He had married a lady who was particularly renowned for her beauty ; but he loved her as much, and treated her as well, as any husband ever did his wife, and he put such perfect confidence in her that, when he loved any other woman, he always told her of it, as he knew that she had no other will but his. Now this lord conceived a great affection for a widow lady called Madame de Neufchatel, who was reputed to be one of the most beautiful women it was possible to see, and if he was very cond of her, his wife was no less so, and often asked her to dinner or supper, for she thought so highly of her in all respects that, far from being vexed that her husband loved her, she was very pleased to see that he had addressed his attentions to such an honourable and virtuous woman. Their friendship lasted for a long time, so that Prince de Belhoste looked after all this lady’s affairs just as closely as he did after his own, and his wife did just the same. But because she was so beautiful many lords and princes sought to get into her good graces, some from light love, others with a view to marriage, as she was very rich as well as beautiful. Amongst others there was a young gentleman called Des Cheriotz, who was so pressing in his attentions that he was always present at her levee and coucher, and in fact all day as long as he could be near her, This did not please Prince de Belhoste, because he thought that @ man of such low birth and ordinary appearance ought not to be received so kindly, and so he often remonstrate] with the lady about the matter ; but, as she was a duke’s daughter, she excused herself by saying that she spoke to everybody alike, and so their intimacy was the better concealed, as she did not speak more to one than to another. After some time, however, as. this gentleman sought her in marriage, he became go im- ‘ i) { gp Jou art une sucl ed about gilly you jp bette dsspect J lyre really gtphave b to him, ip done.” ithe poor ‘and VOWe! clnan of W otunate th noma at th peaking 0 avell as b Ihave bee ‘it think | ‘do not dec ais the mc vf bim as § aler a8 hus ule gentler ithe prince thm” What! de ‘CatatnlyCB 10 Por mp) RISY, 48 aig) fine chitin ng and aly a8 accompa arable, pu He had murs beauty; ht} any hush ee 10. he i her of ion for at uted to bet ae, aie often att ighly p usta i essed i OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 283 portunate that he obtained her consent to marry him, although she did not care much for him; but she stipulated that their marriage should not be declared till her daughters were married, and so, after that, the gentleman used to go to her room at any hour that he pleased, and nobody knew of the matter except one lady’s maid and one man-servant. As the prince saw that this gentleman was daily getting more intimate in the house of her whom he loved so dearly, he could not help saying to the lady: “Your honour has always been as dear to me as that of my own sister, and you know how respectfully I have always spoken to you, and how happy I was to love so discreet and virtuous a lady as you are; but, were I to think that another had, by his importunity, gained that which I would not ask for against your will, it would be un- bearable for me and dishonouring to you. I say this to you because you are young and beautiful, and because hitherto you have borne such a good reputation, whereas now you begin to be talked about greatly to your disadvantage, and although he is greatly your inferior in birth, riches and position, yet it would be better for you to marry him, than to make all the world suspect you. Therefore, I beg you to tell me whether you have really made up your mind to love him, for I do not mean to have him for a partner, and if it is so I will leave you wholly to him, and shall no longer feel towards you as I have hitherto done.” Ag the poor lady feared to lose his friendship she began to cry, and vowed that she would rather die than marry the gentleman of whom he had been speaking, but that he was so importunate that she could not prevent him from coming into her room at the time when everybody else came to it. “I am not speaking of that time,” was his reply, ‘‘ because I can come in as well as he, and everybody can see what you are doing ; but I have been told that he goes there after you are in bed, which I think so strange that if you continue to go on like this, and do not declare that you are married to him, I shall look upon you as the most dishonoured woman in the world.” She as- sured him as solemnly as she could that she looked upon him neither as husband nor lover, but merely as the most impor- tunate gentleman there could possibly be. “Tf that be so,” said the prince, “and he annoys you, I promise you to rid you of him.” } “ What! do you mean to kill him?” she cried. “Certainly not,” he replied, ‘but I will make him under284 TALES stand that the king’s residence is not a fitting place to give occasion for ladies to be talked about, and I swear to you, by the affection that I feel for you, that if, after I have spoken to him, he does not correct himself, I will correct him in such a manner that others will take example by it.” Having said this he went away, and as he left the room he met the Seigneur des Cheriotz, who was going to it, and told him what you have just heard, and assured him that the first time he found him there except at such hours when gentlemen can go to ladies’ rooms, he would give him such a fright as he would never forget as long as he lived, for she was too highly connected to be trifled with thus. The gentleman declared that he had never been there except as others had, and said that if the prince ever found him there, except at such times, he was quite at liberty to use him as badly as he could. Some days afterwards, the gentleman, thinking that the prince had forgotten his threats, went to see the lady in the evening and remained tolerably late. The prince told his wife that the lady he was so fond of had a very bad cold, so his wife begged him to go and call upon her from both of them, and to make her excuses for not going herself as she had something to io in her own room. The prince waited till the king was in bed, and then went to say good evening to the lady, but just as he was going upstairs he saw a man-servant coming down, whom he asked what his mistress was doing, and was told that she was in bed and asleep. The prince went down again, and as he guessed that he was lying he looked behind him and saw the servant going up again as fast as he could, so he walked up and down the yard before the door to see if the valet returned, and in a quarter-of-an-hour saw him come down again and look all about to see who was in the courtyard. The prince at once thought that the gentleman was in the lady’s room, and did not dare to come down for fear of him, so he continued his walk for a long time, but remembering that in her room there was a window which was not very far from the ground and which overlooked a small garden, he thought of the proverb: “ Who cannot pass through the door jumps out of the window,” and so he immediately called one of his servants and said to him: “Go into that little back garden, and if you see a gentleman come through the window, as soon as he is on the ground draw your sword and clash it against the wall, crying: ‘ Kill him! kill him!’ but be sure not to touch him,” The valet at once went where his master had ordered him to go, and the iethat the | nke her 8 ' She asst fpsinoe she 1h past thre ‘hod heave sl [fear yo Lnewered iis long a nd the val bim to ‘ir the wh rant had ene of t i,rbilst the rmight ge ile could n mug, and b alack his ¢ ul anything tjoor gentle te end, hov ted, for th tady's room itand get | I Do not yo indone fay } ‘ured her3 fitting sy and | arp » Alter Thy | is Me a8 hie ley S going t ured in ty Hours whine him such for she wa 1 gentle g other bl , exoept ata Dy 3 be wl a, think t 0 see the i prince tll ' \ I Mh P h ry to thea ervatt it i and ni ent down i behind ha? uld, wo be f the nl down ag? The pat OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 285 prince walked up and down till nearly three o’clock in the morning. When the gentleman heard that the prince was still in the court, he thought he would get out of the window, and throw- ing his cloak out first, by the help of his friends jumped down into the garden, and as soon as the prince’s servant saw him he clashed his sword and shouted: “Kill him! kill him!” The poor gentleman thinking it was his master, was so fright- ened that, without thinking of taking his cloak he ran away as fast as he could and was met by the archers of the guard, who were very much surprised at seeing him running like that, but he did not dare to tell them anything, but only begged them to open the gate for him or else to take him into the guard-house till morning, which they did, as they had no keys. After that the prince went to bed, and finding his wife asleep he woke her saying: “Wife, are you asleep? What time is it?” She assured him that she had not heard the clock strike since she had gone to bed, whereupon he told her that it was past three. ‘‘Good heavens,” said his wife, ““where have you been all this time? I fear your health will suffer for it.” He answered her that he should never be ill through watch ing, a8 long as he kept others, who meant to deceive him, awake, and then burst into such a fit of laughter that she begged him to tell her what it was all about. He naturally told her the whole story, and showed her the wolf’s skin which his servant had carried off, and after they had made merry at the expense of the poor people, they went to sleep very peace- fully, whilst the other two were in fear and trembling lest the affair might get wind. However, the gentleman, who knew that he could not deceive the prince, went to his Jevee the next morning, and begged him not to reveal anything and to give him back his cloak, but the prince pretended not to under- stand anything, and put so good a face on thé matter, that the poor gentleman really did not know what to make of it. In the end, however, he received a different lesson to what he expected, for the prince told him that if he were ever found in the lady’s room again he would inform the king of the whole aifair and get him banished from the court. “Do not you think, ladies, that this unhappy lady would have done far better to have spoken openly to the prince who honoured her by his love and esteem, than to force him by her 7286 TALES dissimulation to put her to a test which was so dishonouring to her?” “She knew,” said Guebron, ‘‘ that if she confessed the truth she would altogether lose his esteem, which she would not have done for worlds.” ‘Tt seems to me,” Longarine replied, “that as she had the husband of her choice, she need not have cared about losing the friendship of all other men.” “| think,” Parlamente said, ‘“‘that had she dared to disclose the fact that she was married, she would have remained sgatig- fied with her husband, but as she wished to keep it a secret until her daughters were married, she did not wish to lose such means of hiding her real conduct.” “Tt was not that,” was Saffredant’s answer, “but because women are so ambitious that they are never satisfied with having only one; for I have been told that the very best women like to have three lovers; one for glory, one for profit, and one for pleasure, and each of the three thinks he is the most beloved, but the first two help the last.” ‘You are speaking of those,” said Oisille, “ who have neither love nor honour.” “Madame,” Saffredant replied, “ these are some of the char- acters | have described, who are looked upon as the most virtu- ous women in the country.” “Well,” said Nomerfide, “I suppose the prince’s wife was very pleased that her husband should learn to know women exactly as they are,” “I can assure you she was not,” was Emarsuitte’s answer, “but she was, on the contrary, very vexed, because she was 80 fond of her.” “Then I would rather have to deal with the woman who laughed when her husband kissed the servant,” said Saffredant. “You shall certainly,” answered Emarsuitte, “tell us that story, and so I call upon you.” “I will tell it you, although it is very short,” he replied, “for I would rather make you laugh than tell a long story.” gr 135 20 yp KISSD y ORDER N » gi TAS LA gat the F if Thogas, Y jg gudh We iy 4 Very dat he was duthis ph (ne Te iting 80 I stad her | de to her ‘od with x and 0 qld rea ihe two ator the gn SAW stan his a that he lamite, wh male and ily loved ial Deen husband's b sony see | leoept the tthe firep Tey g00n re ‘rant gt ‘et, separa ite thing ww sue th ‘smite pu ‘itemay t nn. ghe 1h Was 5 di he conte Which she yf ‘that as gy) re cared ah she dared i have rem | to keep ti did not watt newer, lit} never sit that the re glory, oi ee think it,” ho La 2 some yn ag the i pint m to init nat? beau ‘ OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE 287 NOVEL LIV. A LADY WAS SO GOOD-NATURED THAT, WHEN SHE SAW HER HUS BAND KISSING HER WAITING-MAID, SHE ONLY LAUGHED, AND IN ORDER NOT TO BE OBLIGED TO SAY ANYTHING ELSE, SAID SHE WAS LAUGHING AT HER OWN SHADOW. Between the Pyrenees and the Alps there lived a gentleman called Thogas, who had a, wife, children, and a beautiful house, and so much wealth and pleasure that he had every reason for leading a very happy life, except for one circumstance, which was that he was subject to such great pain at the roots of his hair that his physicians advised him not to sleep with his wife any longer. To this she consented quite willingly, as she cared for nothing so much as for the life and health of her husband, so she had her bed put up in the other corner of the room, just opposite to her husband’s, so that neither could put their head out of bed without seeing the other. This lady kept two female Servants, and often when the husband and wife were in bed, they would read some entertaining book, each in their own bed, whilst the two servants held the two candles, the younger of the two for the master, and the other for his wife. When the gentleman saw that the servant was much younger and hand- omer than his wife, he began to take such pleasure in looking at her, that he often would stop his reading to talk with her, and his wife, who heard it all, did not at all mind that the ser- vants, male and female, should amuse him, as she was sure that he really loved no one but her. One evening, however, when they had been reading longer than usual, the lady, on looking at her husband’s bed, by the side of which the young servant was, could only see her back, and she could see nothing of her hus- band except that she saw his reflection on a white wall by the side of the fireplace, which was caused by the candle, and there She very soon recognised her husband’s face, and also that of the servant girl, and could distinguish whether they came close together, separated, or laughed, just as well as if she had seen the whole thing. The gentleman, who did not think of this, making sure that the wife could not see them, kissed the girl, and his wife put up with it once without saying anything, but when she saw that the shadows returned to the charge again and again she feared that something real might be hidden be288 — TALES neath it, and so she laughed so loud that the shadows were afraid of it, and suddenly separated. When the gentleman asked her why she had laughed so loud, and begged her not to keep her joke all to herself, she said: ‘‘ My dear husband, I am such a fool that I was laughing at my own shadow,” and how- ever much he might ask her, she would give him no other answer, However, he gave up that shadowy face. “T was reminded of this by what you told us of the lady whe loved her husband’s mistress.” ‘Upon my word,” Emarsuitte said, ‘‘if any servant of mine had played me such a trick, I should have got out of bed and smashed the candle across her nose,” ‘No doubt you are a very terrible person,” Hircan replied, “but it would not have been much good if your husband and the maid had turned against you, and given you a good beat- ing. It is really not worth while to make such a fuss about a kiss, and his wife-would have done still better not to have inter- fered in any way, but to have let him amuse himself till he was cured of his disease.” “ Naturally,” said Parlamente, ‘‘she was afraid that the end of the amusement would make him even worse.” ‘She was not one of those of whom our Lord speaks: We have mourned unto you and ye have not wept, we have piped unto you and ye have not danced ; for when her husband was ill she wept, and when he was pleased she rejoiced. Thus, all good women ought to share their husbands’ good and ill, joy and sorrow, even as Christ acts towards His Church.” “Then,” said Parlamente, ‘our husbands ought to act to- wards us like Christ does towards the Church.” ‘Be that how it may,” Oisille said, “this good woman who rejoiced when her husband was pleased, would find peace and quiet everywhere.” “It’s my belief,” said Longarine, “that she preferred her peace to her husband, as she did not mind what he did.” “She took to heart what might injure his health or his con- science,” Parlamente replied, “but did not make a fuss about trifles.” ‘You make me laugh when you speak about conscience,” said Simontault ; “that isa matter about which a woman should never make herself unnecessarily uneasy.” “It would be a very good thing,” said Nomerfide, “if you site like farted ry, tell l da youl do 5 {had n0t | jas at | eo ea: , { y g(mNING gagING F gQUBATHI q was a inoach 0 sof the } ans, th after h ‘i beste qositions ‘ndsome itt WOU upoor beg wsdead, te ay to his 1 ‘ears. she uOmen ul, bad he I | wel 90 dear] to not m alons for wy big life WeL thatthe dy When the 1, and ba “My dear hi y OD sadn give him aly 02, ru td ws of COT QD Sern AVE POb Oli perso,” Hr! af if yo bit given You ake such i better ams Kn ws ata 1 WO our lon wept, iN h rer busta | joie. i | ol wh Chon bands of ty | ut (hh — (sn tf Wi wf i] fi Jost fA yi i — = OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 289 had a wife like her who, after her husband’s death, showed that she preferred her money to her conscience.” “ Pray, tell us the story,” was Saffredant’s answer, “and to make you do so, I shall call upon you.” “I had not intended,” she replied, “to relate so short a tale, but as it is to the point, you shall have it.” NOVEL LY. THE CUNNING DEVICE OF A SPANISH WIDOW TO DEFRAUD THE BEGGING FRIARS OF A LEGACY WHICH HER HUSBAND HAD BEQUEATHED TO THEM. THERE was a sick merchant in Saragossa, who, when he felt the approach of death, and that he could no longer keep pos- Session of the property which he had acquired by, perhaps, un- just means, thought that by making a small present to God he might, after his death, make satisfaction for a part of his sins; as if God bestowed His grace for money! After he had made his dispositions about his house, he said that he wished that a very handsome Spanish horse that he had might be sold for as much as it would fetch, and that the money should be given to. the poor begging friars, and he begged his wife, as soon as he was dead, to sell the horse, and to distribute the money ac- cording to his wish. As soon as the funeral was over, and the first tears shed, the woman, who was not more silly than Frenchwomen generally are, sent for the Servant, who, as well as herself, had heard his master’s wishes, and said to him: “I think I have suffered enough in the loss of my husband, whom I loved so dearly, without suffering a further loss in his goods, but I do not mean to disobey his orders, but improve upon his intentions, for the poor man, led away by the avarice of the priests, thought to make a sacrifice to God, by giving them a sum after his death, not a crown of which would he have given away during his life, however pressing might have been their ne- Cessities, as you yourself know. Therefore I have made up my mind to do as he commanded me before his death, even better than he would have done it himself, if he had lived another T290 TALES fortnight, for I shall provide for the necessities of my children, but nobody must know anything about it. When the servant had promised her to keep her secret, she said to him: “ You shall go and try to sell his horse, and when any one asks you the price say, ‘a ducat.’ But I have an excellent cat that I want to sell, and you must sell it for ninety-nine ducats to- gether with the horse, and so the cat and the horse together will bring in the hundred ducats that my husband wanted for the horse alone.” The man soon carried out the orders of his mistress, for as he was walking the horse up and down the market square, a gentleman who had formerly wished to buy the horse asked what he would take for it ata word. “ A ducat,” the man said. “Pray don’t try and make a fool of me,” said the gentleman. ‘“‘T assure you, sir,” was the man’s reply, ‘‘it will only cost you a ducat, but then you must buy this cat together with the horse, and for it I must have ninety-nine ducats.” The gentleman who thought he had not made a bad bargain, at once paid him a ducat for the horse, and the balance for the cat, as he had demanded, and took his property with him; and the servant on the other hand carried the money to his mistress, who was highly delighted, and did not fail to give the ducat which the horse had fetched to the Mendicant friars, as her husband had commanded her, and kept the rest to maintain herself and her children. “Do not you think that this woman proved herself mouch wiser than her husband, and ‘that she took more care of the needs of her family than of his conscience 1” “T think,” said Parlamente, “that she loved her husband very much, but as most men wander on their death-bed, she, knowing his intentions, interpreted them to the protit of her children in which she showed herself very wise.” “ Don’t you think it very wrong,” asked Guebron, “not to fulfil the last wishes of the dead ?” “Certainly,” was Parlamente’s answer, “ if the testator is in his senses.” “Do you think that he was out of his senses,” said Guebron, ‘because he wished to leave his property to the church and to the poor Mendicant friars ?” “T do not think it wrong,” Parlamente replied, “ to give to the poor what God has put it into his power to do, but I think it wrong to give everything away at death, and to let one’s family ‘flor 1s it jMendioal rp large g) aginto P if it poss wften all | ath that s tof suck vot Who | But t ans with RNCISCAN IADY TO NR WHIC Taxon la “nasa Fy ame the ting at bir ‘ta, had Mn widow ]aid to him: ) ALY One ! i; cellent ait ti ety nine du i hs the hone ty yusband vu hig mista, d markets ucat,” then gai the al it la t togeler ! cats, the bl! ty with Us) ey fo Bs tn oie tH! at i sant i » est 10" here are of tie OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 29} want in consequence, for I am sure it is preferable to look after the orphans which are left behind, lest, when they feel the pangs of hunger, they should curse their fathers instead of blessing them, for God cannot be deceived as He knows men’s hearts, and does not judge according to deeds, but according to faith in and love towards Him.” “ How is it then,” said Guebron, “that all these Franciscans and Mendicants do nothing, when we are dying, but tell us to leave large gifts to their monasteries, assuring us that they will get us into Paradise, whether we wish it or not?” “Ts it possible, Guebron,” said Hircan, “that you can have forgotten all the tales that you have told us against the Fran- ciscans, that you should ask whether it is possible for such men to lie? I assure you, I do not think there are bigger liars on the face of the earth than they are. Those are not to be blamed who speak for the whole community, but there are some who forget their vows of poverty to satisfy their avarice.” “T think, Hircan,” Nomerfide replied, “that you know such acase? If it be worthy of this company, let us hear it.” “T will tell it you,” Hircan said, ‘‘though I do not like to speak of such people, for I think they belong to the number of those of whom Virgil says to Dante: ‘Pass on and heed them not.’* But to prove to you that they did not lay aside their passions with their worldly dress, I will tell you what happened.” NOVEL LVI. A FRANCISCAN FRAUDULENTLY MARRIES A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY TO ANOTHER FRANCISCAN, WHO WAS HIS COMPANION, FOR WHICH THEY WERE BOTH PUNISHED. A Frencu lady who was passing through Padua heard that there was a Franciscan shut up in the episcopal prison, and on inquiring the reason, as everybody was talking about him and mocking at him, she was told that this Franciscan, who was an old man, had been the confessor of a very respectable and devout widow lady, who had an only daughter whom she loved 1 Ip the /nferno of Dante’s Divina Comedia.292 TALES so dearly that she did all she could to save up money for her so as to marry her well. As her daughter grew up she was continually trying to find her a husband who would live with them both quietly and comfortably, that is to say one who was as good and conscientious as a man, as she flattered herself she was as a woman, and as she had heard some stupid preacher say that it was better to do wrong by the advice of the doctors of the Church, than to do good, trusting to the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, she applied to her father confessor, an oldish man, a doctor of divinity, and who was highly esteemed in the whole town, as she felt quite certain that by his prayers and counsel she should assure her and her daughter’s peace. She begged him to choose a suitable husband for her daughter, one in a word whom, as he knew, a girl who loved God and her honour would wish to have, and he said to her that he must first of all implore the grace of the Holy Spirit by prayer and fasting, and then, if God would direct his understanding aright, he hoped to be able to find what she wanted. So he went away to think the matter over, and as the lady had told him that she had saved five hundred ducats which she was ready to give to her daughter's husband, that she would keep both husband and wife, and find them in lodging, furniture and clothes, he remembered that he had a young companion, well made and good-looking to whom he would give the girl with the house, furniture and food, and he would keep the five hundred ducats to satisfy his insatiable avarice. They were soon both agreed and so he returned to the lady and said to her: “I really think that God has sent the arch- angel Raphael, as he did to Tobias, to find a perfect husband- for your daughter, for I assure you I know of as honourable a man as there is in Italy, who has sometimes seen your daughter and has been so taken with her, that to-day whilst I was saying my prayers God sent him to me, and he told me how eager he was for this marriage, and as I know his family and his re- lations and that he comes of a notable race, I promised to speak to you on the matter. There is indeed one obstacle, and that is that wishing to help one of his friends whom another man was trying to kill, he drew his sword hoping to separate them, but as it turned out, his friend killed the other man, and so he, although he struck no blow, has been obliged to flee from his own town because he was present at the mur- der, and by the advice of his relations he has come here in guise of a student, till his relations can settle his affairs, which hopes will ert 0° jj lentu Pi) it 00 sill J bay fhp Franc af finely dr ‘i pleased aol the € jught the vier till ¢ mst g0 t ig his cri sting his pho Was f night {0 ip went | (fortunat , The gand ca before ath her sher after not ha “tt lis life we isthose wh iby His gr amass at S ‘those meat tlfor, one ‘uppened, ithey knev amg high 2 ‘whether he atively foll isruck Wi nul to gay t and or $01 i, homever ‘trad ge | taiohtest diAve Up Dy (et gre ye woud nen Y one who ray herself te reach sat octors of te ( m ofthe Hh dish man . the whol tn nd counse She bee iter, one IN nd ber baw he oust fi prayet al standing ai tt ant food, aul instil OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 293 he hopes will be shortly. On this account the marriage must be a secret one, and you must not object to his going to the public lectures every day, and he will come and sup and sleep here.” ‘‘Sir,” said the mother, “I see the greatest advantage in what you say to me, for at anyrate I shall keep the greatest treasure I have with me.” The Franciscan at once went off and brought the young man very finely dressed in a handsome doublet of crimson satin, which pleased them both very much. As soon as he had arrived the espousals took place, and as soon as it was past midnight the nuptial mass was said, and they went to bed together till daybreak, when the husband said to his wife that he must go to college for fear of being recognised. Having put on his crimson satin doublet and his long gown, without forgetting his black skull cap, he came to take leave of his wife who was still in bed, and told her that he should come every night to supper, but she must not expect him to dinner, and so went away and left his wife, who thought herself the most fortunate woman in the world at having found so good a match. The young married Franciscan went away to the old father and carried the five hundred ducats to him, as they had agreed before the marriage, and in the evening he returned to sup with her who thought that he was her husband and he so won her affections and those of his mother-in-law, that they would not have exchanged him for the greatest prince in the world. This life went on for some time, but as God in His goodness pities those who have erred in good faith, it happened one morn- ing, by His grace, that they felt a great inclination to go and hear mass at St. Francis, and to go and see their kind confessor by whose means they both thought they had been so well pro- vided for, one with a son-in-law, and the other with a husband. It happened, that not finding their confessor nor any other that they knew, they made up their minds to be satisfied with hearing high mass which was just beginning, whilst waiting to see whether he would not come, Whilst the young wife was attentively following the divine service and its mysteries, she was struck with the utmost astonishment when the priest turned to say the Dominus vobiscum, for she thought it was her husband or. somebody extremely like him. She did not say a word, however, but waited till he turned round again, when she could see him a great deal better, when she no longer had the slightest doubt that it was he. So she pulled her mother,294 TALES who was quite absorbed in her devotions, and said to her: “ Alas! madame, what do I see?” Her mother asked her what was the matter. She replied: “It is my husband saying mass or some one who resembles him more than anything in the world.” Her mother, who had not looked at him closely, said to her : “My dear daughter, don’t get such ideas into your head, for it is altogether impossible that such holy men should practise such a deceit on us; you would be committing a grievous sin if you believed such a thing.” Nevertheless, the mother took care to look at him closely, and when it came to the Jte missa est,’ she saw at once that no twins had ever been more alike, But she was so simple that she would have liked to have said: “My God, preserve me from believing my own eyes.” But as the matter so nearly con- cerned her daughter, she would not leave it in doubt, and determined to find out the truth. And in the evening when it was time for the husband’s return, she said to her daughter: ‘We can now, if you like, find out the truth about your hus- band, for as soon as he is in bed, I will go to see him, and without his thinking about it pull off his black skull-cap from behind, and we shall see whether he has the tonsure like the priest had who said mass.” They did exactly as she had said, for as soon as the wicked husband was in bed, the old lady came in, and taking his two hands as if in fun, her daughter pulled off the cap, and there his fine shorn crown appeared, but the mother and daughter were so astonished that they were capable of nothing more, and could only call in the men-servants of the house to seize him and bind him till the morning, and no excuses or fine words availed him the least. As soon as it was day, the lady sent for her confessor, under the pretext of having some great secret to impart to him, so he came at once, and she had him seized like the young one, and after overwhelming him with reproaches for the deception he had practised on her, she handed them over to justice, and you may guess that if the judges were upright men they did not go unpunished. “This case shows you, ladies, that all those who take the vows of poverty are not exempted from being tempted by avarice, which causes so many ills.” 1 The concluding words of the mass when the priest turns round and faces the poople. it rather § je du Ae monks, ; ot ho ba gother nor son fanc’ af, good ¢ yne Wor (they se nd that ’n meet athe grac world whic ‘elt OWN SE Thy, Sime ich that V ‘ladame,” nto the te ihave aw bad iranciscan ‘Doyou cal “Th 80, Had | dec ‘oud not ‘tem has ms ‘Tknow,” J ing of Wor ‘ath good deed a8 mans, and a er mother x 18 my bub ore than an l Closey i into you ha men shoul ltting & grin ook at kine gar atone as 80 il od, reser atten 0 mH ve if id the evenie id to ber th about ye oo to Is back skal he tons soon a ltt akg the cap, # hor an | of nt iy the host 10 excuses pa a, paving ant st ling 8" fi OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 295 Or rather so much good,” said Saffredant, ‘for with the five hundred ducats which the old woman wished to treasure up, the monks, no doubt, made very good cheer. And the poor girl who had so long waited for a husband, by these means could have two and find out the different degrees in all the hierarchies.” “You always have,” Oisille said, ‘‘the most erroneous opinions which I ever heard, for you fancy that all women are of your temperament.” ‘“‘T beg your pardon, madame,” he replied, “but I only wish IT had a lot of trouble in the matter and that they were as easily satisfied as we are.” “You are very wrong to say that,” was Oisille’s reply, “ for there is no one here but knows that it is just the contrary, and the tale which we have just heard clearly shows the ignor- ance of us poor women, and the wickedness of those whom we look upon as being better than the rest of you men, for neither the mother nor the daughter would do anything according to their own fancy, but submitted their wishes to, what they con- sidered, good guidance.” ‘Some women are so hard to please,” Longarine remarked, “that they seem to want to have angels.” ‘And that is the very reason,” Simontault said, “ that they so often meet with devils; more especially they who, not trust- ing in the grace of God, think they can find that happiness in this world which is only given and only comes from God, either by their own sense or by that of others.” “Why, Simontault,” said Oisille, “I had no idea you knew so much that was good.” “Madame,” he replied, “it is a pity I have not been put more to the test, for because you do not know me I see that you have a bad opinion of me, but I may fairly ply the trade of a Franciscan, since a Franciscan has plied mine.” “Do you call deceiving women a trade?” Parlamente asked him. ‘“Ifso, you condemn yourself out of your own mouth.” “Had I deceived a hundred thousand of them,” he replied, “T should not have avenged myself for all the pain that one of them has made me endure.” “T know,” Parlamente said, ‘how constantly you are com- plaining of women, but when we see you 80 meriy and looking in such good condition, it is hard to believe that you have suffered as much from them as you say; but ‘La Belle Dame296 TALES sans mercie ’! answers: ‘It becomes us well to retract what we have said of them, in order to derive some comfort from them,’” “You are quoting a notable doctor,” Simontault said, ‘ who is not only unpleasant himself, but makes all women who have read him or followed his doctrine to be the same,” “That is the reason,” Parlamente replied, “‘ why his doctrine is the most profitable of any I know for young women.” ‘Tf it were so,” Simontault said, ‘that ladies are without mercy, we might let our horses rest and our armour rust until the next war, and only think of household affairs. Pray tell me, is it honourable for a lady to be without pity, without charity, without love, without mercy ?” “She ought not to be without love and charity,” Parla- mente replied, ‘‘ but that word mercy sounds so badly amongst women, that they cannot use it without offending their honour, for literally, mercy means granting the favour one is asked for, and you know well what men would ask for.” “‘T beg your pardon, madame,” said Simontault, “but some are so moderate that they ask nothing but permission to speak.” “ You put me in mind,” Parlamente said, “of the man who was satisfied with a glove.” “We should like to know who this amiable lover was,” said Hirean, “and so I call upon you.” “T will tell you the tale with pleasure,” his wife replied, “ for it is full of honourable traits.” _ 1A poem of Alain Chartres, which the Queen of Navarre has already quoted in Novel XI. This seems to prove that she was very fond of the poet of Charles VII.— ote by Jacob, Bibliophile. gt N08 gis TEARS josie AT gst 8 | 0 ih) PRE git THE ¢ orXeD W) wifBLET, AE yp) AMIABL: 1iVOUB. {ous XI. shassador, 1 | ithe othe i, 80 that a affairs t iy when mw, he W ihdy’s g ol with ¢ aber of di — amust hav (ntmorenc ‘that he ’ ated, and i, be said : ithave 80 mis to rela tagallant ene if Ib that love ¥ amthat all 1 love even ing a choic al did no all perosiy id being w ‘me day ul with sucto ret Confort fa montanlt all rome @ same" od, “why OUNg Wome! at ladies ae yur armour nt ld. afin, by rthout it, and chant nds 90 bad fending hes our one ita Of, ] nontal, + but peri d, of ft able lover his wife avarre bi ual ery fou of i OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, NOVEL LYVII. AN ENGLISH NOBLEMAN HAD BEEN IN LOVE WITH A LADY FOR SEVEN YEARS WITHOUT LETTING HER KNOW IT, TILL ONE DAY, LOOKING AT HER IN A MEADOW, HE NEARLY FAINTED, AND SHE AT HIS REQUEST PUT HER GLOVED-HAND UPON HIS HEART, AND HE PRESSED HIS HAND SO HARD IN DECLARING HIS LOVE THAT THE GLOVE REMAINED IN HIS HAND; SO HE, HAD IT ADORNED WITH PRECIOUS STONES AND FASTENED IT TO HIS DOUBLET, ABOVE HIS HEART, AND HE WAS SO HONOURABLE AND AMIABLE A LOVER THAT HE NEVER DEMANDED ANY OTHER FAVOUR. Kine Louis XI. sent Seigneur de Montmorency to England as his ambassador, where he was very well received, and the king and all the other princes grew to like and to esteem him very highly, so that they even communicated many of their own private affairs to him on which they wished to have his advice. One day when he happened to be at an entertainment given by the king, he was seated next to a nobleman of high rank, who had a lady’s glove fastened to his doublet. The glove was fastened with gold hooks, and the seams were embroidered with a number of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and pearls, so that this glove must have been worth a large amount of money. Seigneur de Montmorency looked at it so often that the Englishman per- ceived that he wished to ask him why it was so beautifully or- namented, and because he thought the story much to his own credit, he said: “I see that you think it very strange that I should have so enriched this poor glove, and I am the more desirous to relate the circumstances to you, as I know you are such a gallant man, and know so well what love is, that you will praise me if I have done right, and if not, you will find excuses for that love which sways all honourable hearts. You must know that all my life I have loved a lady whom I still love and shall love even after I am dead, and as my heart was bolder in making a choice than my tongue was to declare it, for seven years I did not let her know my feelings, fearing that, ; if she should perceive it, I should lose the frequent opportunities I had of being with her, which I feared more than death itself. But one day being in a meadow and looking = a I was seized with such violent palpitation of the heart that I lost all298 TALES colour and countenanéé, which she noticed at once and asked me what was the matter, and I told her that I had an insup- portable headache. Not thinking that love had anything to do with this attack, she evinced great sympathy with me, which emboldened me to ask her to put her hand on my heart, to feel how it was beating. This she did, more out of kindness than affection, and holding her hand which was gloved, on my heart, it began to beat and to trouble me so violently, that she saw that I had spoken the truth, and so I pressed her hand to my bosom and said: ‘Receive this heart, madame, which is trying to escape from my breast to lay itself into the hands of her from whom I hope for grace, life, and pity. This heart forces me now to declare the love which I have for so long a time hidden from you, for neither it nor I are masters of so powerful a god.’ She thought my words very strange and wished to withdraw her hand, but I held it so tight that the glove remained instead of her cruel hand, and as I have never since been any more intimate with her, I placed this glove over my heart as the fittest plaster I could apply to it. I have had it enriched with all the finest jewels that I possess, although the glove alone is worth them all, for I would not part with it for the whole kingdom of England, for there is nothing in the world which I value so highly as to feel it on my heart.” The Seigneur de Montmorency, who would rather have had a lady’s hand than her glove, praised his behaviour very highly, and said he was the most perfect lover he had ever known, but added that, as he valued such a trifle so highly, perhaps seeing how deep his love was, he would have died of joy if he had had more than the glove; and he agreed with Monsieur de Mont- morency that it might be possible, as he did not suspect that he was making fun of him. Tf all the men in the world were like this, the ladies might trust them without fear, as they would ask nothing more than a glove of them.” “T knew the Seigneur de Montmorency of whom you are speaking, very well,” said Guebron, “and I am sure that he would not have lived in the same wretchedness as the English- man did, and if he had been satistied with as little as he was, he would not have had all the good fortune that he had in love, for the old song says : ** You never hear any good of a man Who is a coward in love,” fou pay be i her ha i fought wth 08 tout [you had jg taverDs i youl wou spen, tay’ gisquite t yg ponanct de to that oid family y y n better i penance tig 18. the sever do {9 Kiss: Wt God ¢ ior me,” san bt sbut I ar igh @ St ats | (rree 4S, Pau should ha wns really Iythe very iSenpture, hd forbid i “thoug that she AMistrust t iuontault § it by Wom ‘that she un, but th utter do §ed at on * that I bala love bad a | syanpaty V her hand ony Atl { } , More out de owas pln 80 Vice [presse bt rt, mada self into thle nd pity, Thi - [ have fir 9 mr I are mists ds very sty it 90 tet and ag | Li laced thi ly tot ==. SS =-— o_O SS of io) il | Monsi! & id not } y all oF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, 299 ‘You may be sure,” Saffredant said, “that this poor lady withdrew her hand hastily when she felt his heart beating so, for she thought he was going to die, and women dislike nothing s0 much as touching a dead body.” “Tf you had been in the habit of frequenting hospitals as much as taverns,” Kmarsuitte said, “‘ you would not speak like that, for you would have seen women who have buried the dead, when men, brave as they might be, feared to come near them.” “Tt is quite true,” said Simontault, “that there is no one on whom a penance has been imposed who does not do the very opposite to that in which he took pleasure: just like the lady of a good family whom I knew, who to make up for the plea- sure she had taken in kissing the man she loved, was found at four o’clock one morning in the garden, kissing the corpse of a man who had been killed the day before, whom she did not love any better than the other, and everybody knew it was by way of penance for past pleasures.” “This is the way,” Oisille said, ‘that all the good that women ever do is made fun of amongst men. I think that we ought to kiss neither the living nor the dead, except in the way that God commands.” ‘As for me,” Hircan replied, ‘‘I care so. little about kissing any woman but my wife, that I will agree to any law you please, but I am sorry for the young people whom you wish to rob of such a small pleasure, even doing away with St. Paul’s precept : ‘ Greet one another with an holy kiss.’ ” “Tf St. Paul had been a man like you,” said Nomerfide, “we should have required to be well assured that the spirit of God was really speaking in him.” ‘To the very last,” said Guebron, “you would rather doubt Holy Scripture, than omit one of your little ceremonies.” “God forbid that we should doubt Holy Scripture,” said Oisille, “though we do not believe in your lies, for every woman knows that she ought never to doubt the word of God, and al- ways distrust that of men.” Simontault said that he believed more men had been de- ceived by women, than women by men; and Parlamente told him that she supposed he had been deceived by some bad woman, but that if he could adduce any example of that he had better do so, to which he agreed, and began:500 TALES NOVEL LVIII. A GENTLEMAN WHO BELIEVED TOO MUCH IN A LADY WHOM HE HAD OFFENDED, AS HE NEGLECTED HER FOR OTHERS WHEN SHE WAS IN LOVE WITH HIM, WAS MADE A FOOL OF BY HER THROUGH HER GIVING HIM A FALSE ASSIGNATION, AND WAS ALSO LAUGHED AT BY ALL THE COURT. At the court of Francis I. there was a lady of a very lively disposition, who by her graceful bearing, good breeding and pleasant manner of talking had gained the heart of many adorers, with whom she managed to pass her time very agree- ably, for none of them knew what to make of her, as she re- duced the most daring to despair, and yet gave those who were most down-hearted some hope. But although she was only playing with most of them, she was deeply in love with one whom she called her cousin, and this name served as a pre- text for a closer intimacy. But as, in this world, nothing is enduring, their love often turned to quarrels, and then became greater than ever, so that the whole court knew of it. One day this lady, in order to show that she loved no one in particular and also in order to worry him a little, on whose account she had endured so much, bestowed more signs of affec- tion on him than she had ever done before, and as he was daring both in arms and love, he began to make violent love to her whom he had often wooed before, and she pretending that she could no longer resist so much affection, granted his request, and told him that she would go to her room, which was in a garret, where she was sure there would be nobody, and that as soon as he saw that she had gone he was to go out after her as he would be sure to find her alone. The gentleman was so delighted that she bore him so much affection that he believed what she said and went to talk with the other ladies till he should see her go out, meaning to go out directly after her, but she, who had a ready woman’s wit, went to two ladies of high rank with whom she was on familiar terms, and said to them: “If you like, I will show you the best joke that you ever saw.” They, very willing to have a bit of fun, asked her to tell them what it was. You know so-and- so,” she replied, “‘ who is as nice a man as there can be, but also a very daring one, and how, when I was deeply in love with jynate 04 i lot aly wos mys jig over th pe alter oh the gal ‘a both U snying OF igi be i as for bel g, {am SUP gagoed 10 gentlen stan he, 2 mild, on gy and the share in 1 | to reap man, Tk “ken tO aan, Whi the roor ssight ¢ wk over - downstair ard, all ay anyth ld moun Hythe win the next vvconded | may imag! M8, not 8¢ hose who bim abou ty that sh iy with his them belt vioteed, to iNeMent, ag ulove for h ihe ladies + tral facts oNA LADY Wa FOR THR DE A ROL ; ASSTONAN, lady of a god 1 the bet 3 her tine ake of be, i t gare fet though si deeply i name wl isola el, a ti art, koe his req } jot ma ; and thai out att! ‘ bor bt id wot | : ont, ready she mis 1] show = — S = i] v | N\ “f —s = — ) / => = i { \ SS eee Fi a jot here oa! Seep rf wh , i? OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, 30] him, he made love to others, which caused me more pain than I would let any one know. Now God has given me a chance of avenging myself for all this, and I am going to my room which is over this one, and, if you like to watch, you will see him come after me almost immediately, and when he has gone through the galleries and is on the point of going upstairs I wish you both to put your heads out of the window and join me in crying out: ‘Thief! thief!’ and you will see what a rage he will be in, and though I do not think he will look any the worse for being in a passion, yet, if he does not abuse me openly, I am sure he will do so none the less in his heart.” They agreed upon this plan amidst much laughter, for there was no gentleman at court who made more war upon the ladies than he, and everybody esteemed him so highly that no one would, on any account, have liked to be exposed to his raillery, and these two ladies really seemed to think that they would share in the credit of the trick, which one of them alone hoped to reap from what she was going to put upon the gentleman. Therefore, as soon as they saw the lady who had undertaken to play this game, they carefully watched the gentleman, who very soon left his place, and when he had gone out of the room the two ladies went into the gallery so as not to lose sight of him, and, as he suspected nothing, he pulled his cloak over his face so that he might not be recognised, and went downstairs again and returned from another side of the courtyard, all which manceuvres the ladies saw without his noticing anything. When he reached the staircase by which he could mount to his lady’s room in safety, the two ladies went to the window, and as soon as they heard that the lady who was on the next floor began to call out: “Thieves! thieves!” they seconded her so loudly that all in the chateau heard them. You may imagine in what disgust the gentleman fled to his lodgings, not so carefully mufiled up that he was not recognised _ by those who were in the secret, and after that they often joked him about it, and even she who had played him the trick, saying that she was well avenged on him. But he was s0 ready with his answers, and defended himself so well that he _made them believe that he had guessed their plot, and that he had agreed to go and see the lady, merely to give her a little amusement, as he certainly would not have taken that trouble from love for her, as he had ceased to love her for a long time ; but the ladies would not believe that he spoke the truth, and LI <+31] remain 1 on bt. Bat the real facts of the matter still remain im doubt. ut if he302 TALES believed the lady, as is not very likely, seeing that he was so prudent and bold that he had few equals of his time and age and none that surpassed him, as his brave and glorious death shows, I think that you must allow that the love of virtuous men is such, that they are often deceived by trusting women too implicitly. “Really,” said Emarsuitte, “I applaud the lady for the way in which she acted ; for when a man is beloved by a lady, and leaves her for another, she can never avenge herself too much.” “That is true,” Parlamente replied, “if she is beloved by him ; but there are women who love a man without being cer- tain that they are beloved in return, and when they find out that they love some one else they cry out that they are incon- stant. Therefore, sensible women are never deceived in this way, for they never fix their affections on, nor believe in, any but men who are thoroughly reliable, so as not to fall into the power of deceivers, for the true and the false speak the same language.” “If all women thought as you do,” was Simontault’s answer, “we men might just as well clap our entreaties into their port- manteaux, but in spite of what you, or those like you, can say to us, we shall never believe that women are as incredulous as they are beautiful ; and holding this opinion we shall live as contentedly as you would wish to make us miserable by your harangues.” ‘‘ As I know the lady who played this prank on the gentle- man very well,” Longarine said, ‘‘I can believe any trick that may be laid to her charge, for as she did not spare her husband, she was hardly likely to spare her lover.” “You know more about it than I do,” said Simontault, “therefore, I shall call upon you to tell us all about it.” “Tam quite ready to do so,” Longarine replied, and began thus : d dres at dresse thet a8 | boner te compl ‘her, ey tone de ! ie jou ing af hee ts a Band ¢o \taunot b\ montattil atieg itt 90 Like yl’ re ad Me vn We sth suis | rank te ive a) spate et " sail ww al abot | repli —— OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 305 NOVEL LIX. THH SAME LADY, WHOSE HUSBAND FOUND FAULT WITH HER FOR HAVING GENTLEMEN ABOUT HER, WITH WHOM SHE AMUSED HERSELF, FOUND OUT THAT HE WAS CARRYING ON AN INTRIGUE WITH A WAITING WOMAN OF HERS, AND MADE HIM CONFESS THAT HE DESERVED A GREATER PUNISHMENT THAN SHE DID, AND WAS THUS ENABLED TO LIVE AS SHE LIKED. THE lady of whom you have spoken had married a rich husband, of an ancient and noble house, and their marriage was one of pure love. As there was not a woman in the world who could talk better than she did, she did not disguise from her husband that she had humble servants about her, whom she made game of, and only amused herself with; and her husband shared in the fun, but at last he grew dissatisfied with her manner of life, for on the one hand he did not like her being so frequently in the society of men who were neither his relations nor his friends, and on the other he objected to the expense to which he was put by her finery and constant atten- flance at court. Therefore he went as often as he could to his country house, where so many people came to see him, that his expenses were but very little less, for his wife, wherever she might happen to be, always found means to pass away the time in games, or dancing, and all other things with which young ladies can honourably divert themselves. Sometimes when her husband said to her laughingly, that their expenses were too heavy, she used to reply that he might be sure she would hever make him a cuckold but only a beggar,} for she was so fond of dress, that she would have the most beautiful and richest dresses that could be seen in court, where her husband took her as little as he possibly could, though she did all in her power to go there, and in order to obtain her wish she was so complaisant to her husband, that he would not have re- fused her, even had she made a more extravagant request. Yet one day all her devices failed to induce him to under- take the journey to court, but she perceived that he was hankering after one of her waiting women, and she hoped to e 2 e y i 1d 1 There is an apparent play on the French words cocw (cogu in the o spelling) and coqu thease there is not the slightest analogy between them, which cannot be rendered in English.—[Zranslator].304 TALES gain something by this incident. In the evening she called the girl to her, alone, and questioned her so closely that, partly by promises, partly by threats, she confessed that since she had been in her service not a day passed without his soliciting her love, but that she would rather die than do anything against God or her own honour, adding that as the lady had done her the honour to take her into her service it would be doubly wrong. When the lady heard how disloyal her husband was to her, she was at the same time angry and pleased, as her husband, who pre- tended to love her so much, was secretly trying to put such an affront upon her under her very eyes, although she thought that she was handsome and more attractive than the girl for whom he wished to exchange her ; but she was pleased because she hoped to catch her husband in such a fault, that he could no longer reproach her with her lovers, nor prevent her going to court. In order to gain her object, she asked the girl, little by little, to grant what her husband wanted, under certain conditions which she told her. The girl made some difficulties at first, but when the lady assured her that neither her life nor her honour were at stake, she agreed to do all she wished. As the gentleman continued his. solicitations, he found that the girl’s looks and manner had altogether changed, and he pressed her more vigorously than usual, but as she knew her part by heart, she told him that she was a poor girl, and that if she yielded to him, she should be dismissed her mistress’s service, in which she hoped to gain a good husband. He told her that she need not trouble herself about that, for he would find her a better husband than her mistress could ; and that he would manage their intrigue so secretly, that nobody would be able to speak about it. Thereupon they came to an agreement, and on casting about for a place in which to carry out their pretty project, she told him that she knew of no better spot than a small house in the park, in which there was a room furnished with a nice bed, which would just suit them. The gentleman, who would have found any place suitable, was very well satisfied with the one she proposed to him, and only longed for the day and the hour to come. The girl told her mistress all about the matter, and how they had agreed to meet the next day, after dinner, and that she would be sure and give her a sign, when she was going to the rendezvous, and begged her to be gure and be on the spot, 80 as to preserve her from the danger she was incurring in nu jyand il d ue baad The 6 ig wie \yto he ii? It | ay the by p ily, bu \ look iing-1nd aged in let mist + mistre: ied NO sgorvall me th pond | fer with ould le she tind p inom, § alle whe ing to 110 som ashe th ‘wuld to tuded Wi into the . var allt ‘she gay lof him | iter Tom a oa —s— hands ofthe eve r 80 lo sed that sys i hout bis wks 0 do anti 0 lady bat dy yuld be dou ' i \ husband wu her busaa trying tapi although tt tive tha : i SS ect, shea: sband ru The gil ured her tations bel ther cha! but ass! 3 4 poot i , sissed let od husbut out that, Ni i ne aged i OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 805 obeying her orders. Her mistress faithfully promised to do this, and told her she need not be the least alarmed, for she would never abandon her, and would defend her against her husband’s anger. The next day, after dinner, the husband was more attentive to his wife than he usually was, which was by no means agree- able to her, but she acted her part so well that he did not notice it, as she only asked him how he was going to while away the time, and he replied that they could not do it better than by playing at piquet. She had the tables set out imme- diately, but she declined to play, saying that she would rather only look on. Just before he sat down to play he told the waiting-maid not to forget her promise, and whilst he was engaged in his game, she went through the hall and signalled to her mistress that she was going to the appointed place, and her mistress saw the sign very well, although her husband noticed nothing. An hour later, however, when one of his men-servant’s had given him a sign from a distance, he said to his wife that he had rather a headache and must go and rest a _ little and get some fresh air, and as she knew what was the matter with him as well as he did himself, she asked him whether she should hold his cards, and he begged her to do so saying that he should soon be back. She assured him that she should not mind playing for him for two hours, and so he went to his Own room, and from there through an alley into the park, and his wife who knew a short cut waited a little, and then, pre- tending to have an attack of the gripes, she gave her hand over to somebody else. As soon as she had got out of the | room she threw off her high-heeled shoes and ran as quickly as | she could to the spot where she did not wish the bargain to be concluded without her, and arrived there in good time, for she got into the room just after her husband, and hid herself so as to hear all the pretty things he had to say to her maid, but when she saw he was coming to the criminal point, she seized hold of him behind, and said: “I am too near for you to take another woman.” You may guess the rage her husband was in, not only at having been debarred from the pleasure he expected, but also because his wife had found him out, and thus he feared that he should lose her love altogether. As he thought, however, that the girl had played him this trick, he, without speaking to his wife, rushed at the former with such fury, that he would have killed her if his wife had not | kept his hands off her, as he declared she was the worst jade he had U306 TALES ever met with, and that if his wife had only waited for the end she would have seen that it was all nonsense, for instead of doing what she expected to her, he would have given her a good whipping, but his wife, who knew too well what he was made of, did not believe him in the least, and expostulated with him so, that he was afraid she would leave him altogether. Therefore he made her all the promises she wanted, and, seeing how she remonstrated with him, confessed that he was wrong in objecting to her having faithful and humble servants in the way she had them, for a beautiful and respectable woman is none the less virtuous for being loved, provided that she neither says nor does anything contrary to her honour, but a man well deserves to be punished who unlawfully pursues a woman who does not love him, whereby he wrongs his own wife and his conscience. So he promised her that he would never prevent her going to court nor having her humble pervants, as he knew that she talked to them more out of raillery than affection. The lady was very pleased at what he said, for she thought she had gained a great point, but she pretended to feel quite differently, and said that she had no wish to go to court, as she believed she had lost his love, without which she would be unhappy in any company, for, she said, a woman who is beloved of her husband and who loves him as she did hers, carries about with her a safe conduct which enables her to speak with any one without anybody being able to find fault with her. The poor gentleman did his very best to prove how he loved her, and at last they left the spot very good friends, but to prevent the recurrence of such a mishap he begged her to dis- miss the girl who had been the cause of all this trouble, and she did so but got her married very well, though, certainly it was at her husband’s expense, and he, in order to make his wife altogether forget this little episode, very soon afterwards took her to court in such grand style that she had good reason to be well satisfied. “This, ladies, was what made me say that I did not think the trick she had played one of her lovers at all strange, seeing how she tricked her husband.” “You have depicted to us a very clever wife, and a very © stupid husband,” said Hircan; “for he ought not to have stopped half way, on such a pleasant road.” “What ought he to have done?” Longarine asked. Wha ap Wa j wt00g old ba as ( That il find & ail ha "You @ five 102 ata | "] can an his ehow hi (yt wou! "] shou ther ou ih the x “Hirea ov how ‘Tam cand jnot 1 anprise ‘ bring in love. ded, bi iloes no "Certait iil husba at’ "There ilove w iplear of "You mi uobliged ii,and ag il ess to "T think udsdo,an i do s0 thereof, "But ye i | I% Y waited fe sense, for i 1 have gia 0) well at st, and ent eave hin ) wanted, a | that hear able servath espectabl provided her benny nlawtully ye he wrnuy HT ‘her thi having be ) them mi \ h ‘ 1, 1 Me id, for ened th ft! 1 to go ta wich st oman OS OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE, 307 “What he had undertaken,” was Hircan’s reply ; “for his wife was just as angry with him at knowing that he intended to do wrong, as if he had done the wrong, and perhaps his wife would have thought even better of him if she had found that he was bolder.” “That is all very well,” said Emarsuitte, “but where can you find a man who can force two women ata time? The one would have defended her rights and the other her honour.” “You are quite right,” Hircan replied, “but a strong and brave man does not fear to attack two weak persons and will certainly get the better of them.” “‘T can quite understand,” Emarsuitte said, “that if he had drawn his sword he could easily have killed them, but I do not see how he could have got out of the matter otherwise. But what would you have done in his place ?” ‘‘T should have put my arms round my wife,” he said, “and put her outside the door, and then have done what I pleased with the maid, either through love or violence.” “ Hircan,” Parlamente replied, “it is quite enough that you know how to do wrong.” “Tam quite sure, Parlamente,” he answered, “that I am not scandalising the innocent before whom I am speaking, and Ido not wish to defend an evil action. I neither praise the enterprise which was bad in itself, nor the enterpriser who did hot bring it to a conclusion, more from fear of his wife than from love. I praise a man who loves his wife as God has com- manded, but I do not think much of him for fearing her when he does not love her.” “ Certainly,” Parlamente said, “if love did not make you a good husband, I should think very little of what you did from fear.” “There is no reason for that, Parlamente,” he replied, “for the love which I feel for you makes me more obedient than the fear of death and hell.” “You may say what you please,” his wife replied, “but I am obliged to be satisfied with what I have seen and known of you, and as to what I do not know, I de not wish to doubt and still less to inquire too closely into it.” “T think women who inquire too closely into what their hus- bands do, are very foolish,” Nomerfide observed, “and also husbands who do so about their wives, for sufficient unto the day as the evil thereof, without taking too much thought for the morrow, “But yet it is at times necessary to inquire into matterg \308 TALES which may touch the honour of a house,” Oisille said, “so as to set them to rights, and yet to judge ill of persons, for every one is liable to err occasionally. ¥ “Much mischief has happened to men,” Guebron said, ‘‘ for want of carefully inquiring into their wives’ faults.” “Tf you know of a case in point,” Longarine said, “‘ pray let us hear it.” “JT know one,” was Guebron’s answer, “and if you wish it I will tell it you.” NOVEL LX. A PARISIAN WOMAN LEAVES HER HUSBAND FOR A CHANTER, PRE- TENDS TO BE DEAD, AND IS BURIED, BUT COMES TO LIFE AGAIN, AND HER HUSBAND MARRIES AGAIN, BUT IS OBLIGED AT THE END OF FIFTEEN YEARS TO FORSAKE HIS SECOND WIFE, AND TAKE THE BAD ONE BACK AGAIN, In Paris there lived a man who was so good-natured that he would not have believed that a man had been in bed with hia wife, even if he had seen it with his own eyes. This unfortu- nate man married an utterly abandoned woman, but never noticed anything of it, and treated her like the best wife in the world. One day when King Louis XII. went to Paris, this woman gave herself up to one of the king’s singers, and made up her mind to leave her husband in order to follow him, to which he readily agreed, and took her to a house he had near Blois, where they lived together for a long time. When the poor husband could not find his wife, he looked for her everywhere, and at last he was told that she had gone away with the singer. As he wished to recover his lost sheep, which he had guarded so badly, he wrote her many letters, begging her to return to him, for he would take her back if she would live like a respectable woman; but as she took such pleasure in the chorister’s music that she had forgotten what her husband’s voice was like, she took no heed of his kind words, but only made fun of them, and her husband was so incensed at this, that he informed her that he would recover her legally by means of the Church, as she could not be induced to return to him by vy ober ithe ia 8 8 sant nt¢ and § od that en c0l atl, ended | and 1 ter hear Then th ions | ary indis etinly 0 at for a 1 s parish ‘her, anc men of alsed Ge wbure. yer Sy treme | unl signs ay thou; ilby de w other § uit was ity took iid she ha al return: The par at buried, | i¢ Was tO ( —— = => = = d \ I = W M }; } — ' rl \ = = } i ell to out by iW carrie Hich the tore the iiteme U mre, Tl] lyer rem: enough i \ | A \ {Disile su lL of pay Guebron si faulty” ine sai, “ay nd if yours WR A CHANIA! mt COME fH 1y, B01 8 pSAKE HE GAIN, natu B nin 3, THs Y wnat, he best i 0 Paris 7 = SS a. SS OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 309 any other means. This woman, fearing that if the Church took the matter up, her singer and she might come off badly, devised a scheme which was worthy of her, and, pretending to be ill, sent for some good respectable women of the town to come and see her, which they did the more willingly, as they hoped that this illness might be the means of turning her from her evil courses; so each of them remonstrated with her most earnestly, and she, who pretended to be so dangerously ill, pretended to cry and confess her faults, so that they all pitied her, and really believed that she had repented from the bottom of her heart. When they saw she was so cut up and penitent, they tried to console her, and told her that God was not so terrible as many indiscreet preachers depicted Him, and that He would certainly never withhold His mercy from her, and then they sent for a worthy priest to hear her confession. The next day the parish priest came and administered the Holy Sacrament to her, and she received it with so much devotion, that all the women of the town who were present wept at seeing it, and praised God, who, in His goodness, had had pity on this poor creature. Afterwards, when she pretended that she could no longer swallow any food, the priest came and administered Extreme Unction to her, which she received with many out- ward signs of devotion, for she could scarcely speak, at least so they thought, and she remained for a long time in this state ; and by degrees she seemed to lose her sight, hearing, and all her other senses, at which they all began to cry: Jesu, Mercy ! As it was now nearly dark, and the ladies lived some way off, they took their departure, and as they were leaving they were told she had just expired, so they said the De profundis for her, and returned home. The parish priest asked the singer where he wished to have her buried, and he replied that she had given instructions that she was to be buried in the cemetery, and that it would be as well to bury her by night. So this wretched woman was laid out by a servant who took care not to hurt her, and then was carried out by the light of many torches to the grave which the singer had dug. When the body was passing before the houses of those women who had seen her receive Extreme Unction, they all came out and followed her to the grave. The priest and the women soon left her there, but the singer remained, for as soon as the funeral company had got far enough off, he and the servant opened the grave, and he took310 TALES his mistress out more alive than ever, and brought her back, secretly, to his house, where he kept her concealed for a long time. The husband, who intended to put the ecclesiastical laws in force against her, came to Blois for that purpose, and found that she was dead and buried, which fact was attested by all the ladies of Blois, who told him what a beautiful end she had made ; and the good man was quite happy at hearing this, for he believed that his wife’s soul was in Paradise, and he re- lieved of her wicked body, and so he returned to Paris with this good news, and then he married a handsome, respectable, good, young woman, who was a good housewife, and by whom he had several children, and they lived together for fourteen or fifteen years. But at last, rumour, which can keep no secrets, in- formed him that his wife was not dead, but was still living with this wicked singer. The poor man did not divulge this as long as he could avoid it, pretending to know nothing about it, and only hoping it might be false; but his second wife, who was a very good woman, was told of it, and it caused her such grief that she nearly died of it. She would willingly have concealed her misfortune if she could have satisfied her conscience, but that was impossible, for the Church interfered at once, and began by separating them till the truth was known. So the poor man was obliged to give up the good woman to take back the bad one, and came to Blois soon after Francis I. became king; and there he found Queen Claude, and the regent-mother, and laid his case before them, and de- manded her of them, whom he would fain not have found, so that everybody pitied him. When his wife was brought face to face with him, she maintained for a long time that he was not her husband, but that the whole thing was a trick, which he would very readily have believed had he been able. As she was more angry than ashamed, she told him she would rather die than return with him, at which he was very much pleased, but the two royal ladies, before whom she spoke so im- pudently, told her that she must return to him, and gave the singer such a lecture, and rebuked and threatened him, so that. he was obliged to tell his ugly mistress to go with her husband, and that he did not wish to see her again. Thus, repulsed on all sides, the wretched woman went home with her husband, who treated her better than she deserved. “Therefore I say, ladies, that if the poor husband had looked Ht his W gente iff 18 VE wt it i i] have ga disol ith ‘can €3 i others ident tain th sequent ‘Y canno i| husba emnble bi ‘Pray d van, EC sid Wom there & ig than ‘T supy jdo ne ret Will only L s oonfess atthey t. ining abs "How a: ik upon 1 of | am | inoured b "You a led, “3 ilus wha mers, for “ath novel My sayin uk been y iether al inoding bv meadoy int day,roueht be oealed fi recline) UrpOse, " 1 | tiful ends ; hear i aise, au to Parisi a8 attested by | wn _——— Que a then t have 98 boll ime ta Fl 4 ts” Nn able | tins” gas 1 so gt , ant ‘i ye Hit : th het iS hus re 7 pn! \ = = S | th — — — | we a S \ SS dl — Hi / oll OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 311 after his wife better, he would not have lost her, for what is taken care of is not easily lost, since opportunity makes the thief.” “It is very strange,” Hircan said, “that love is strongest where it is least reasonable.” “T have been told,” Simontault replied, “that one might easier dissolve two marriages, than separate a priest from his servant.” 7 “‘T can easily believe that,” Emarsuitte said, “for those who bind others in wedlock know how to tie the knot so tightly that death alone can untie it; the doctors of the Church also maintain that spiritual language is better than any other, and, consequently, that spiritual love surpasses all other.” ‘“‘T cannot forgive a woman,” Dagoucin said, “who leaves a good husband or lover for a priest, however good-looking or agreeable he may be.” “Pray don’t talk about our Holy Mother, the Church,” said Hircan, ‘for you must remember how great a pleasure it is to timid women, to sin in secret with those who can absolve them, for there are many who are much more afraid of confessing a thing than of doing it.” “T suppose,” Oisille replied, “that you are ‘speaking of those who do not know God, and who think that sins committed ix secret will not one day be brought to light before all the heavenly host? But I do not think that such women go after the confessors in order to confess, but Satan has so blinded them, that they think much more of being able to sin safely, than of ob- taining absolution for their sins of which they do not repent.” “ How are they to repent?” Saffredant asked her ; “ for they look upon themselves as much more holy than other women, and I am sure there are none who think that they are highly honoured by persevering in such illicit connections.” “You are speaking as if you know some such case,” Oisille replied, “so I beg that you will begin the day to-morrow, and tell us what you know; but now the last bell is sounding for vespers, for the monks went away as soon as they had heard the tenth novel, and left us to decide our dispute amongst ourselves. So saying they got up and went to church, where the monks had been waiting for them, and after vespers they all supped together and listened to some amusing tales. After supper, according to their custom, they went to enjoy themselves in the meadow, and then to bed, to have their memories fresh the next day.312 TALES Se VF i, DALY. Tux next day Madame Oisille, as usual, gave them the whole. some nourishment which, in this instance, she extracted from the virtuous deeds of the glorious soldiers and apostles of our Lord, out of the Acts of the Apostles by St. Luke, and said to them: “These narratives ought to be enough to make us wish to have such times back again, and deplore the state of this age.” And when she had read and expounded the beginning of that book long enough, she asked them to go to church, in that bond of union in which the apostles prayed, and pray to God for His grace, which He never denies to those who ask it in faith. They all of them approved of her suggestion, and they got to church just as the priest was beginning the Mass of the Holy Ghost, which seemed to them to be most appropriate, and so they attended to the service very devoutly, and alterwards, during dinner, they again talked about the lives of the apostles, which was so much to their taste that they almost forgot their usual entertainment. But N omerfide, who was the youngest of them, noticed this, and said to them: ‘Madame Oisille has made us so devout that we are going beyond the usual time when we retire to get ready to relate our stories,” This caused them all to leave their seats, and after they had spent a short time in their rooms they went to the meadow, as they had done on the previous days. When they were all comfortably settled, Madame Oisille said to Saffredant: “ Although I am certain that you will say noth- ing good of women, I must call upon you to tell the novel which you promised us yesterday evening.” ‘All Task for, madame,” Saffredant said, “is that I may not be called a slanderer for speaking the truth, nor lose the friend- ship of virtuous ladies for relating what women of loose char- acter have done. For I know from experience what it is to be of thet jot be 8 paid th fis JOY ihe blush rhom bi “Then M { ak the aot bega ——a S- { \ ) => = WAND BEC ) FOURTE the tow! , with a y in aj | marri ihe was, ul, Soot siness, al miters, | ‘p that he ith her, a ayielded iof the x aperty the van the tin ‘even lea | promised tthe prete ust this mn ‘notice wh ald not fi 10 Tell th wey how it though ~iher it waMi b then tt ne ext nd ap Lake wi bt mat the st the be to cu OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 313 deprived of their presence, and if I had also lost their favour, J should not be alive now.” As he said this he turned his eyes away from her who was the cause of his joy and of his pain, but looking at Emarsuitte he made her blush as if it were she to whom he was alluding; but she for whom his words were intended perfectly well understood him. When Madame Oisille had assured him that he could freely speak the truth at the expense of those whom it concerned, Saffredant began as follows : NOVEL LXI. k HUSBAND BECAME RECONCILED TO HIS WIFE, AFTER SHE HAD LIVED FOURTEEN OR FIFTEEN YEARS WITH A CANON OF AUTUN. Nar the town of Autun there lived a very handsome, tall woman, with a very fair complexion, and who was altogether as btriking in appearance as any woman that I have ever seen. She had married a respectable man, who seemed to be younger than she was, and with whom she had every reason to be satisfied. Soon after they were married, he took her to Autun on business, and whilst the husband was busied about some legal matters, his wife went to church to pray for him, and she went to that holy place so often that a very rich canon fell in love with her, and pressed her so hard, that at last the wedded woman yielded to his solicitations, but the husband had no sus- picion of the matter, and thought more about taking care of Lis property than of his wife When the time came for them to return home, which was a good seven leagues off, she left with great regret; but the Canon promised to go and see her very often, which he did under the pretext of some journey or other which always took him past this man’s house, who, however, was not sucha fool as Hot to notice what was going on, and so whenever the canon came he could not find the wife, for her husband had hidden her away so well that he could not even speak to her. Although She knew how jealous her husband was, she pretended not to mind it, though she intended all the time to manage the affair, for to her it was a hell to be deprived of the sight of her god ;314 TALES and so cne day when her husband was away from home, she sent all the servants, male and female, out on various pretexts, and remained in the house alone, and then she got together a few necessary things, and with no other company but her mad love, she set out for Autun on foot, where she arrived in time enough to be recognised by her canon who kept her in close concealment for more than a year, in spite of all the monitiong and excommunications which the husband got issued against him. As the husband could obtain no redress, he laid his complaint before the bishop, whose archdeacon, as good a man as there was in France, personally visited all the houses of the canons, till he found the woman who had been lost, and so he put her in prison, and condemned the canon to a severe penance. When the husband knew that his wife had been found by means of the archdeacon, and of several other worthy people, he was quite ready to take her back, on her vowing that for the future she would live like a respectable woman; and the good man, wha loved her very much, took her home and treated her as well as before, except that he gave her two old waiting women, of whom one or other was always with her. But well as her hus- band treated her, her wicked love for the canon made her look upon all her comfort as so much torment. Now, although she was a very handsome woman, and he a man of an ardent and vigorous temperament, she had no children by him, for her heart was always at seven leagues from her body; but she managed to hide her feelings so well, that her husband thought she had forgotten the past as he had done; but she was too wicked for that, and at the very moment when she saw that her husband had got to love her very dearly, and did not sus- pect her at all, she pretended to fall ill, and carried on the de- ception so well that her husband was in great distress about it, and spared nothing in order to do her good. She played her part so well that he, and in fact all the household, thought that she was really getting weaker and weaker, and going to die. When she saw that her husband was just as much grieved, as he had reason to rejoice, she asked him to allow her to make her will, which he did with tears, and as she had the power to make a will, as she had no children, she left to her husband everything that she possessed, and begged his pardon for all the wrong that she had done him. Then she sent for the parish priest, confessed and received the Holy Sacrament of the altar so devoutly, that every one wept to see such a beautiful i the § pada gutng 80 i ja § { her i jnysteri ile had gsleni0€ ind bege | rest, a » towar sher hu ima s ‘her hus - as, as h lave tho hurch, 4 servan uster af inst not 4 busbar 4 more ‘een. at Vina uh the ally tha \and disatel lt wali 1 Bit wl apo pi : Non ioe ni ae en by het ta ‘ iy Hh = a S = =—— —— =o — a => => = _— > => -_ — SS LS =. S —s ——— S_ S => OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 315 end, In the evening she begged her husband to send for the priest to administer Extreme Unction to her, and said that she © was sinking so rapidly, that she was afraid she should not live to receive it. Her husband had it brought to her as quickly as possible, and she received it with such humility that they all praised her piety. After she had participated in all these sacred mysteries she said to her husband that, since by God’s grace she had done all that the Church had ordained, she felt her conscience so much at peace that she wished to repose a little, and begged him to do the saine, as he must be in great need of rest, after having wept and watched so long beside her. When her husband and all the servants were asleep, the two old women, who had watched her so carefully whilst she was well, and who had no fear now of losing her except by death, also went comfortably to sleep, and as soon as she heard them all snoozing soundly, she got up with nothing on but her chemise and went out of the room, listening whether anybody were stirring in the house. Having taken all her precautions, she went out at a little garden door that was not locked, and the whole night through she walked on towards Autun, in her chemise and barefooted, to go to the saint who had hindered her from dying. But as the journey was a long one she could not perform it without a halt, and so the day broke before she had got to its end, and looking up and down the road she saw two horsemen coming towards her riding as fast as they could, and guessing It was her husband who was going after her, she hid herself bodily in a swamp, with her head among the rushes, and heard her husband say, like a man in despair, to one of his Servants, as he passed by her: ‘‘Oh, that wicked woman! who could have thought that under cover of the Holy Sacraments of the Church, she could have committed such an abominable act?” The servant replied: “Since Judas did not fear to betray his master after having partaken of the same heavenly food, you must not wonder at a woman’s treachery.” The husband rode on, and his wife remained amongst the rushes, more pleased at having deceived him, than she would have been at home in a good bed, which she looked upon as being in a state of solitude. The poor husband hunted throuch the whole town of Autun, but he ascertained quite Certainly that she had not entered it, and so he retraced his steps, and did nothing but complain of her, and of his great316 TALES loss during the whole journey, and threatening her with nothing less than death if he found her ; but she feared him no more than she felt the cold, although the place and the season ought to have made her repent of her damnable journey ; and if one did not know how hell-fire warms those who are full of it, one would wonder how this unhappy woman, coming out of a warm bed, could remain a whole day thus exposed to the cold ; but she neither lost heart nor the power of walking, and as soon as it was night this pilgrim resumed her journey and — got to Autun just as they were about to shut the gates. She went at once to the house of her saint, who was so astonished at seeing her come in such a state, that he could scarcely | believe that it was she, but when he had looked at her well and examined her all over, he found that she had flesh and bones which a spirit does not have, and they agreed so well together that she remained fourteen or fifteen years with him. After she had remained in seclusion for some time she at (ti last lost all fear, and, what is even worse, was so proud of 1 having such a lover, that she took precedence in church of most of the respectable ladies of the city such as the wives of officials and others. She had children by the canon, amongst them a daughter who was married to a rich merchant, and she was so splendidly dressed at the wedding, that all the ladies complained very much about it, but they had no power to put a stop to the scandal. But about that time, Queen Claude, wife of the late King Francis, passed through the city of Autun, in company with Madame la Regente! the king’s mother and her daughter, the Duchesse of Alencon. A waiting-woman called Perrette went to the duchesse and said to her: “Madame, I beseech you to listen to me, and you will be doing as good a work as if you went to every service in church during the day.” The duchesse willingly listened to her, as she knew she would hear nothing but what was correct from her. Perrette then told her, that she had taken a little girl to help her to soap the queen’s linen, and when she asked her what the news in the town was, she told her how annoyed all the respectable ladies of Autun were to see the canon’s mistress take precedence of them, and then she related to her a portion of her history. The duchesse at once went to the queen and the regent-mother, and related it to them, and they, 1Louise of Savoy, Regent during the king’s absence in his Italian Campaign in 1515, gether | little | ‘yntrary | be con may 1 and a 3, and she Wi ind hei entence + The | agreed iment, ite cano lunked | ad rep w tor th ‘tefore {tat the lu see w of St, i that th ll means We Of SU Hae abus teed,”fora rss, Wi! rect by sun Wy theo rich mat ing ta or hal wi " tint te 4 da y ee pest” ye i ten 108 pt 0! sy Ml pg butt . pb? " y SSS LE \ Y i y sS. SS a OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 31? without any form of legal process, sent for the wretched woman ; and she without any concealment for instead of being ashamed of herself, gloried in being at the head of the house of such a rich man), and without being either surprised or abashed, pre- sented herself before these ladies, who were so ashamed at her effrontery, that they hardly knew what to say ; but at last the regent-mother remonstrated with her in such terms as would have made any woman, in a proper frame of mind, weep; but she, with the utmost impudence, said to them: “Ladies, I must beg you not to allow anybody to assail my honour, for before God I have lived with the canon so well and virtuously, that no one living can say anything against me. And it must not be believed that I am living contrary to the will of God, since for the last three years he has not touched me, and we live together as chastely and in as great love as if we were two pretty little angels, without there being a word or a wish to the contrary between us; sid whoever would separate us would be committing a great sin, for the good man who is nearly eighty years old could scarcely live without me who am forty-five.” You may imagine that the ladies could hardly contain them- selves, and also what they said to her, but seeing how obstinate she was, and that she could neither be softened by their words, old as she was, and illustrious as was the company in which she found herself, they sent for the good archdeacon of Autun, who sentenced her to a year’s imprisonment on bread and water. ‘The ladies then sent for her husband, who, at their re- quest, agreed to take her back after she had suffered her punishment, and when she saw that she was a prisoner, and that the canon had made up his mind never to take her back, she thanked the ladies for having taken a devil off her should- ders, and repented so sincerely, that her husband, instead of waiting for the year to take her back, did not wait for a fort- night before going and demanding her of the archdeacon, and alter that they lived together in perfect peace and harmony. “You see here, ladies, how wicked ministers convert the Chains of St. Peter into Satan’s chains, which are so hard to break, that the Sacraments, which drive devils out of the body, are the means of making them remain still longer in the con- S8Clences of such ; for the best things become the worst, when they are abused.” ees ust have be Bindeed,” said Oisille, “this woman must have been very318 TALES unhappy, but she was punished by having to. appear before such judges as the ladies whom you have mentioned ; for the mere look of Madame la Regente had such a virtue, that even a good woman feared to meet her eyes, not thinking herself worthy of her sight, or who, if she looked at her kindly, did not think herself deserving of great honour, knowing that that lady could not endure to look at any but virtuous women.” “It would be better,” Hircan replied, ‘‘ to stand more in awe of the Holy Sacrament, which turns to our damnation if not received in faith and charity, than of the eyes of a woman.” “‘T can assure you,” Parlamente said, ‘“ that those who are not inspired by the love of God are more afraid of temporal than of spiritual powers, and it is my opinion that this unhappy woman was much more punished by her imprisonment and the loss of her canon than by all the remonstrances which could be addressed to her.” “ But,” Simontault answered, “you have forgotten the prin- cipal thing which made her return to her husband, and that was that the canon was eighty years old, and her husband younger than herself, and so the good lady had the best of all her bargains, for if the canon had been young she would not have left him, and the remonstrances of the ladies would have had no more effect than the Sacraments she had received.” “T think,” said Nomerfide, “that she was quite right not to confess her faults too easily, for such a sin ought to be confessed to God alone, and to be steadfastly denied before men; for even if it were true, by dint of lying and vowing she can manage to throw some doubt on its truth.” “ But,” Longarine replied, “a sin can hardly be so secret, as never to come to light, unless God Himself conceals it for the sake of those who have really repented out of love for Him.” ‘And what do you think of those,” Hircan asked her, “ who have no sooner committed a folly, than they go and tell it ?” “ I should think it very strange,” she replied, “ and it is a sign that the sin does not displease them ; and as I said to you the sin which is not concealed by the grace of God can hardly be denied before men, and there are many who take pleasure in talking of such things, and glory in publishing their vices, and others who accuse, by contradicting themselves.” “That is a very foolish way of contradicting oneself,” Saffre- dant said, ‘‘ but if you know of any one who did so, I will call upon you to relate the fact to us.” Well, listen,” Longarine replied. “i TELL. ggnSBLE MAGE. jp time | aye hor rel, al ie of he gby wh ist othe ier allt. wuld do io tell | is quite here W ler hus ‘leman id this neral nough ald cate ms, be 1 wonsidex ‘or her 8 fe fittin ut, that his oth woung he und het a were 1 ured a ‘up, she ilated he wld tell Thich go When j i vhereu th lady ha but ig mOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 319 IO Wy 8 enti a mt NOVEL LXILI. Dok thy i) 4 LADY, TELLING A STORY ABOUT ANOTHER LADY, CONTRADICTED a, ku HERSELF 80, THAT HER HONOUR RECEIVED IRREPARABLE Mu DAMAGE. “boat mii! «= At the time of Francis I., there was a lady of blood royal, who equiit possessed honour, virtue, and beauty, and who could tell a good. ‘thai = Story well, and laugh at one when well told.) This lady being wilds ab one of her country houses, all her dependents and neigh- iitiiwit’ bours, by whom she was greatly beloved, came to see her, and, amit!) amongst others, there came a lady, who, seeing that everybody at! told her all the tales they could think of to amuse her, thought she would do like the rest, and said: ‘Madame, I have a good burl, Story to tell you, if you will promise me not to speak about it, be al for it is quite true, and I can vouch for it as such. sal “There was a married lady who lived on very good terms hy tl with her husband, although he was old and she was young, but . gentleman, who was a neighbour of theirs, seeing that she had abi married this old man, fell in love with her, and urged his suit fe wi for several years, but she only answered him as a virtuous i woman ought todo. One day the gentleman thought that if The could catch her at an advantageous moment, she would not, s perhaps, be so cruel towards him. After he had for a long y “me considered the danger to which he would expose himself, his love for her so outweighed all his fears that he determined to y ind the fitting time and opportunity, and he kept such a good a look out, that one morning he saw the husband setting out for sl o one of his other houses at daybreak, so as to avoid the heat. ut ile The young hot-head thereupon went to the young lady’s house, ‘finw#*” and found her asleep in bed, and as he saw that the waiting- un they py women were not in the room, he got into bed with her, booted git, and spurred as he was, without fastening the door. When she git” Woke up, she was very angry, but in spite of her remonstrances * i he violated her, and told her that if she disclosed the matter, ay ¥ he would tell everybody that she had sent for him to come to bist” her, which so frightened the lady that she did not dare to cry ast ) out. When it was all over, some of the women came into the see room, whereupon the gentleman got quickly out of bed, and aye pri = == y f => Vv it S= 1 hig lady has been supposed to have been Louise of Savoy, the king’s Mother, but is most likely Queen Margaret herself.--Jacob's Note,320 TALES nobody would have noticed it had not one of his spurs, which had got entangled in the upper sheet, carried it off bodily, so that the lady remained quite naked on the bed.”? She had been telling this tale as if it had happened to some- one else, but at the end she inadvertently said : ‘¢ Never was a woman more astonished than I was at finding myself stark naked.” The other lady, who had listened to the whole tale without laughing, could not help doing so at this last sentence, and said : ‘‘ I see that you could certainly. vouch for the truth of the story.” The poor lady tried all she could to repair her honour, but it had already got so far that she could not catch it again. ‘‘T can assure you, ladies, that if she had really disliked the act, she would willingly have lost all recollection of it, but as I have said before, sin is sure to discover itself, unless it is covered by the cloak which David says makes men blessed.” “Upon my word!” exclaimed Emarsuitte, “she really was the biggest fool I ever heard of, to make other women laugh at her expense.” “T do not think it strange,” said Parlamente, ‘for words to follow the action, for it is easier to speak than to act.” “ Why,” Guebron asked, “ what sin had she committed? She was asleep in bed, and he threatened her with death and dis- grace. Lucretia, who has been so much praised, did just the same.” ‘“‘T allow,” Parlamente replied, “there is no one so good to whom some misfortune may not happen, but when one has been disgusted at the moment, one is also at the recollection of the fact, and Lucretia killed herself in order to efface the recollec- tion, and this fool only wished to make others laugh.” “But it seems,” Nomerfide said, “that she was a good woman, as she had been solicited several times without con- senting, so that the gentleman was obliged to use trickery and violence in order to deceive her.” *“‘ What,” said Parlamente, ‘do you think a woman’s honour is untouched who gives way after two or three refusals? There would, then, be many virtuous women who are looked upon 1 It must be borne in mind that it was the general custom till much later than this period for men and women to sleep quite naked, in hot climates, especially. The curious reader will find this custom constantly alluded to in the Memoires de Jacques Casanova, Seigneur de Seingalt, written by himself towards the end of the last century.—|7ranslator}. p ier ep sp affect gto me aught D ile very ‘And if ynucin & gt virtue i(ertain e to rel ‘alt of | [know 4 which Pray, ti iit rere | prom. dightes NILEMAI SOUGHT (REDIT, HAD DO? his ther ‘90 beaw he lover 100 the luster Ws ied all a8 for ‘has to it 10 wh sully ap] Tete ver lib they vanivedOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 321 a very differently, for there are plenty of examples of those who qn | have repulsed the man on whom they had already bestowed : / their affections ; some, out of regard for their honour, others, mee 80 as to make themselves more ardently loved and esteemed, so i we ought not to think hi ghly of a woman unless she remain firm a to the very last.” ! “ And if a young man were to refuse a handsome woman,” we Dagoucin asked her, “ should you look upon that as an act of st great virtue ?” foe te “ Certainly,” Oisille replied, “« were to refuse, I should think ui difficult of belief,” if a young man in good health it very praiseworthy, but not cat “TI know some,” Dagoucin said, “who have refused adven- tures which all their comrades sought after.” sl “ Pray, take my place,” Longarine said, “and tell us about dint ~~ it, but remember we are pledged to speak the truth here.” it “I promise you,” he replied, ‘that I will tell jt you without aul) the slightest colouring or disguise,” “m8 het Wi at, an tna he and” NOVEL LXIII, th vat ti viel & GENTLEMAN REFUSES AN ADVENTURE WHICH ALL HIS FRIENDS | SOUGHT AFTER, AND THIS WAS THOUGHT SO MUCH TO HIS : CREDIT, THAT HIS WIFE LOVED HIM MUCH MORE THAN SHE rhe HAD DONE BEFORE. fie?) In Paris there were four girls, of whom two were Sisters, who rst were so beautiful, young and fresh, that they had the pick of i all the lovers. But afgentleman whom the king, who was si © then on the throne, had made provost of Paris, seeing that pte his master was young, and of an age to desire such society, Managed all the four go cleverly, that, each of them thinking ane She was for the king, agreed to what the provost proposed, rt Which was to come to an entertainment to which he invited his yt al? Ihaster, to whom he related what he had done, and which the ho! , Z eas - ~ eee £47 4 king fully approved of, as did also the noblemen of the court, e* ° ya 2 L as L ay 5 a al on Who were very willing to have sa einsi# of the bai gain. a ; & eo ; pls e th path While they were at a loss for a fourth, a handsome young nth ord arrived at Lou! Us 71 J 9 nr.322 TALES three others, and he was invited to the banquet, and he accepted the invitation, apparently gladly enough, although in his heart he had no wish to go to it; for on the one hand he had a wife who had borne him some handsome children, with whom he was very well satisfied, and they lived so happily together that he would not for anything have given her cause to suspect him ; and on the other hand, he was the humble servant of one of the handsomest ladies of her time in France, whom he loved and esteemed so highly, that all other women seemed ugly to him beside her, so that in his early youth and before he was married, it was quite impossible to make him frequent the society of any other women, however handsome they might be, and he took more pleasure in seeing his mistress and in loving her per- ~ fectly, than in anything he might have had from another. This nobleman went to his wife and told her what the king intended to do, and added that he would rather die than do as | he had promised, for as there was no man living whom he % would not venture to attack in anger, so he would rather die than commit a murder without reason, in a stealthy way, unless honour compelled him, and likewise he would rather die than © be unfaithful to his wife, in order to please another, unless he were impelled by violent love. His wife, who loved and esteemed him more than ever, seeing how virtuous he was in spite of his youth, asked him what ex- cuse he could make, as princes very often take it amiss when others do not fall in with their fancies, and he said: “T have heard, that a wise man has always an illness on a journey con- cealed up his sleeve, so as to be able to make use of the excuse when needful, and so I have made up my mind to pretend to be ill four or five days before the appointed time, and if you only look very grieved, you can help me very much.” “This is a case of good and holy hypocrisy,” his wife replied, ‘and I will help you by assuming the most wretched counten- ance I can put on, for he is a happy man who can avoid offending God, or exciting the anger of a prince.” They did exactly as they had said, and the husband was very sorry to hear through the wife of her husband’s illness, but it did not last long, for some business arose which made the king forget his pleasures to think of his duty, and leit Paris; and one day, remembering their project which had not been put into execution, he said to the young nobleman: ‘‘ We were great fools to leave so suddenly without having seen those four girls, who, we were told, were the handsomest in my kingdom.” phen it ston ay niulous ¢ no mir arly fixe tainly no i] lnnot me iherace, pits W amine cal sitions al tgotten 1 iy things lie body b Tkn ithis lad iat he | inends, i that felt no ink,” 5 pue, al though han OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 323 The young gentleman said that he was very glad that he had not been to them, as, during his illness, he feared lest he should lose his share in such a pleasing adventure, and so the king did not perceive the deception of the young lord, whose wife after- ‘wards loved him more than she had ever done. Parlamente burst out laughing, and said: “He would have shown his love for her more if he had acted thus out of love for her alone, but however it was, his action was very praise- worthy.” “T think,” Hircan replied, “that it is nothing particularly praiseworthy for a man to be chaste from love to his wife, for there are so many reasons for it, that he is, in a measure, forced to it. First of all God commands it, then his marriage vow lays him under an obligation to it; nature also, when it is katisfied, is not so much subject. to temptation or to desire as when it is not, but the free love which one feels for a mistress, from whom one gets no other enjoyment or satisfaction than to see her and speak to her, and often only to have disagreeable answers, when it is so loyal and constant, that one would not change it on any account, that I call, not only praiseworthy but miraculous chastity.” “It is no miracle,” said Oisille, “for when once the heart ¥ securely fixed its affections, nothing is impossible for the ody.” “Certainly not,” he replied, “for bodies which are already angelic.” “Ido not mean,” Oisille said, “to speak only of those who, by God’s grace, are altogether transmuted into him, but of the srosser spirits which one sees amongst men here below ; and if you examine carefully you will find that those whose hearts and affections are fixed on seeking perfection in the sciences, have forgotten not only sensual pleasures, but even the most hecessary things as food and drink, so that, so long as the soul is in the body by affection, the flesh remains, as it were, in- Sensible. I knew a gentleman who, in order to show that his love for his lady was greater than that of any other, made a Wager that he would hold his bare fingers over a candle against }) all his friends, and he held them so steadily, whilst looking at the lady, that he burnt his fingers to the bone, but declared | that he felt no pain.” “T think,” said Guebron, “that the devil for whom hea24 TALES suffered martyrdom, ought to have made a St. Lawrence* out of him, for there are few, however fierce the fire of their love may be, who do not fear that of the smallest taper, and if any lady made me endure so much for her, I should exact a great re- ward, or I should withdraw any affections from her.” “ You would, I suppose, require,” Parlamente said, “to have your hour after your mistress had had hers, like a gentleman near Valentia in Spain did, of whom a commander,” an excel- lent man, told me.” “ Pray, madame, let us hear it,” said Dagoucin, “ for T have no doubt that it is a very good story.” ‘From my story, ladies,” Parlamente said, “ you will learn to think twice before refusing an eligible offer of marriage, and not to think that the present time will last for ever, but seeing how changeable everything is, you will prepare for the future. NOVEL LXIV. A GENTLEMAN 18 REJECTED BY A LADY AS HER HUSBAND, AND IN DESPAIR TURNS FRANCISCAN, WHICH GRIEVES THE LADY 8d MUCH THAT SHE AFTERWARDS LEADS A MOST MELANCHOLY LIFE, : TaeEReE lived a gentleman in Valencia, who, for five or six years, had loved a lady so perfectly that the honour and conscience of neither had suffered the least from it, for he wished to make her his wife, which was a very reasonable thing to do, as he was handsome, rich, and of good family, and did not begin te pay his addresses to her till he had made known his intentions to her, which were to obtain her hand if her friends were willing ; and when they had met to consider the matter, they were quite agreeable to the match, provided the young lady herself were willing. But she, either thinking that she might make a better match, or because she wished to dissemble the love which she felt for him, made so many difficulties that her 1 Alluding to St. Lawrence who was broiled on a gridiron, and is said to have requested to be turned, when one side of him was sufficiently done. 2 The heads of commanderies, a kind of benefice attached to some orders of monastic knighthood, were so styled. \fions We ring Dee! u, seeing ih parte yy, tho yently if i and wed him latter | yy, where ito the 1 he was juring a. ions, a giness ir i, austel lf; an alled di ivhere au Wh ito tu mined q the 0 ‘ime fo: len deve ind nev ne woul ation of t Was @ legged ney hal hat she Imness, m, he | mong hin hers, a he Fran eyed to Lwith inded to fave Was ‘passion tot dyinOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 325 relations went away, expressing the regret that they felt at not having been able to bring the matter to a favourable termina- tion, seeing how advantageous the match would have been for both parties. Naturally the poor gentleman was the most angry, though he would have borne his disappointment patiently if he could have thought that it was her relations’ fault, and not her own; but ag he knew the truth, which caused him more pain than death itself, he went to his house, and after having settled hig affairs, he withdrew to a solitary place, where he endeavoured to forget his love, and to change it into the love of our Lord alone, to whom he was more bound than he was to her, During all that time he had no news of his lady or of her relations, and so he resolved, as he had missed the greatest happiness in life which he could have hoped for, to choose the most austere and disagreeable life which he could imagine to himself ; and in this wretched frame of mind, which might well be called despair, he went to a Franciscan monastery not far from where some of his relations lived, with a view to turning monk, When they heard of his despondency, they did all they tould to turn him from his resolution ; but he was so firmly determined that nothing could shake his resolve. But as they knew the origin of his malady, they resolved to obtain the medicine for it, and went to her who was the cause of this Sudden devotion ; and she, greatly surprised and distressed at this sad news, as she had imagined that her refusal of him for atime would only test the sincerity of his love, as she had no intention of losing him altogether, of which she saw now that there was every probability, she wrote him a letter in which she begged him to forego his unhappy resolution, and to quit the grey habit and return to her, whom he had loved so well, for that she had kept herself for him alone; and that now, as his firmness, his fidelity, his patience, and his love were fully known, he had won her altogether, and so she concluded by begging him to come and take what was wholly his own, and to be hers, as she was his. | ee The Franciscan gentleman received this letter, which was tonveyed to him by a friend of his, with such a sad countenance. and with so many sighs and tears, that it seemed as if he Intended to burn and drown the paper ; and the only answer he gave was that it had cost him so much to en Is exces- Blve passion that he had altogether lost the wish to live and the op 3 I aq h ¥ 7h O was ‘h ES RAIS yf Car of dvine: and D su & er, WNO Was the sole Cause OF " SP By sy a #5 3 See OOFa @ sory, Ale326 TALES this, not to torment him now, as she would not return his ardent love formerly. He also begged her to be satisfied with the evil she had done, for which he could find no other remedy but this hard life of continual penitence, which would make him forget his pain, and told her that he so weakened his body by continual fastings and discipline’ that the idea of death wag his greatest consolation, and above all he begged that he might never hear from her, for her very name was an insupportable purgatory to him. The gentleman returned with this unsatisfactory reply, and gave it to the young lady, who heard it with the greatest grief; but love, which will not allow any one to despair till the very last, made her imagine that if she could only see him, the sight of her and the sound of her voice would have more effect than any letters could have. So, in company with her father and her nearest relations, she went to the monastery where he was, and neglected nothing that could serve to heighten her beauty, for she felt certain that, if he could only look at her and hear her speak, the fire which had so long been burning in their hearts must be rekindled with greater force than before. Ac: cordingly, when she got to the monastery, at the end of vespers, she had him summoned to a chapel of the cloister; and he, who did not know who had sent for him, went to fight the fiercest battle he had ever been engaged in. When she saw him coming towards her, so pale and weak that she could hardly recognise him, she yet saw that he was as handsome and bore himself as well as ever; and so her love for him forced her to stretch out her arms to embrace him, but pity, at seeing him in such a state, affected her so much that she fainted. The unfortunate monk, who was not destitute of fraternal affection, raised her up and put her on to one of the seats in the chapel, and though he personally required assist- ance almost as much as she did, he pretended to ignore her passion for him, and steeled his heart against the present opportunity by his love for God, so that anybody would have thought, from his looks, that he did not understand what he saw. When she had recovered from her attack, she turned her eyes, which were so lovely and so pitiful that they might have softened a rock, towards him, and said everything to him which she hoped might induce him to leave the monastery. He 1 4.e., Scourgings, pt hel yh a8 be ing that jued, Wa cand m0 ‘fom bis inot wish jhe Wro gn to tre them to yd, in SU gale Fr: gare tk then tk in0 more ige, and life wl nonastel You see, | mistre: ito the ashe Wi ‘}” Non his mone id have | ‘pon m efor wh itt often ien* and ‘naturally u his lifet: "| think, induce su it, tis to il spoken ‘Dois the a Rdwrn, 0 cumest, ‘Aovording WUCROANS ag26 Would ne ns 30 weakened li at the idea cdi he begved thi yume Was ai unsatisfactory it with the gait > to esp i ld only se kin uld have ne! any wit be monastery Mt! @ to heighten only look a be ng. een bunt! = 2 ih 1 1 I r force tha tery, ab thes | of the cli vr hima, welt aged i nd wreak tt that he Ww and 60 bet! exabrage I * d her 9 rho was 2 put her 0 ersonal nf me ni | that any { not wi f Sr ats "i ltt id ae af 04,78 tbe — Hi i} i hy Wi Ww = Dont i y so = ——— = a Vv \ a ) We — — => = 28 OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 327 answered her as best he could; but at last, finding that his heart was being softened by the tears of his mistress, and per- ceiving that Love, that cruel archer, whose pangs he had so long endured, was getting ready a golden arrow to inflict on him a new and mortal wound, he, as a last resource, fled from Love and from his mistress, and shut himself up in his room. As he did not wish to let her go without knowing his final determina- tion, he wrote her a few words in Spanish, which I have not chosen to translate for fear of spoiling their beauty ; and he sent them to her by a young novice, who found her still in the chapel, in such a state of despair that, if she could have become a female Franciscan, she would have remained where she was. These are the words: Volvete do! veniste anima mia Bue en las tristas vidas es la mia.? When the lady had read these words and saw that there was no more hope for her, she made up her mind to follow his advice, and that of her friends, and returned home, where she led a life which was just as melancholy as that of her lover, in his monastery, was austere. “You see, ladies, how this gentleman avenged himself on his cruel mistress, who, while she thought she was merely putting him to the test, was really reducing him to despair, so that, when she wished to do so, she could not regain his affections.” “1,” Nomerfide said, “am only sorry that he did not give up his monastic habit in order to marry her, for I think it would have been a most happy marriage.” “Upon my word,” Simontault replied, ‘I think he was very wise, for whoever thinks seriously about marriage, must allow that it often is just as unpleasant as entering a strict monastic order, and as he was so weakened by fasting and discipline, he naturally feared to undertake a charge that would last him his lifetime.” “T think,” Hircan said, “ that she was very wrong in trying to induce such a feeble man to marry her, for, as a matter of fact, it is too much for the strongest man living. But if she had spoken to him only of love, without anything else but oy i eee his mistress—whence thou camest, for my life is amongst the sad ones.—_{ Translator. | 8 According to many preceding tales, the Queen of Navarre did not look on j Tat % at Ss Lalor, Franciscans a8 a strict order. [ Transia328 TALES o~ \ Yoluntary oblige U broken nor a tag ir Le order to save him from purgatory, I th refuse her.” “Upon my word,” said Emarsuitte, “I believe there are waany who thinking to do better than others, do worse, or do just the opposite of what they intend.” “You remind me,” Guebron replied, “though it is not quite to the point, of a woman who did altogether the opposite of what she intended, which created a great tumult in the Church of St. John at Lyons.” ‘Pray take my place,” Parlamente said, “and tell us about it.” ‘““My story,” he replied, ‘ will neither be go long nor so sorrowful as Parlamente’s.” ; rations, not a corc £ rr + J See Pere ge AT oy +} untied,! and as she 1 offered him a hell in would have remained un- ink he did very well to NOVEL LXV. THE FOOLISHNESS OF AN OLD WOMAN EXPOSED THE TRICKERY OF THE PRIESTS OF 8sT, JOHN AT LYONS, WHO PRETENDED THAT A MIRACLE TOOK PLACE IN THEIR CHURCH, In the Church of St. John in Lyons, there was a very dark chapel, and in front of it there was a stone tomb erected to some persons of high rank whose effigies were carved almost a if they were alive, and round the tomb there were several soldiers sculptured, lying, as it were asleep. One day a soldier walking about the church during summer when it was very hot, and seeing how dark and cool this chapel looked, thought he would like to go and sleep there and guard the tomb like the others were doing, and so he went and lay down beside them. Now it happened that whilst he was fast asleep a very devout old woman came to the church, and after she had said her prayers with a candle in her hand, she wished to fix it into the tomb. As the sleeping soldier was nearest to her she tried to fasten the candle into his forehead, thinking he was of stone, but it was a kind of stone against which the wax would not aia nae ae As fy tg" f the arguillette nouée, so fre- 1 The reader need perhaps only be reminded of 1 | 8 al even later periods, to understand quently mentioned by the allusion.—| Trans/ator. | 3 ° | Writers OF TAis i The « i of the | paper ad. ;ensatiol gyn 80, t gsi “A church b the mirac had 1 ats Were ib to goo ‘orucifix the cow an’s sill Therefo lles.” Ibis a 8 , Womal Surely,” lles to tox Tes, ib is, ead, for 1 {ices aise making G God,” Ois me, but 4 ‘yoman 3 jlargest Wi woverty,” 1 do not ‘can work i sinplicity ies the i i8 He algo ] ‘As for me Virines a ¢ mat, and + ‘hinds, mak ‘berves.p Uwlration,” Tould to| | Lave rey 1 ered him i he did rena believe tha 08, do wut mush its ad ler th pp moult in the (i WV " ond tal wie be 90 log ai | ED THE I WO ru OHUROE. Was & vei 5 tomb ent! p carved dt Wy pull o' / iwi? Y UF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 323 stick. The old lady, who thought it was because of the cold- ness of the stone, applied the flame to his forehead to make the taper adhere, but the figure, which was certainly not with- out sensation, began to roar out loud, which frightened the woman so, that she began to shout, as if she had lost her senses: “A miracle! a miracle!” and all the people who were in the church began to run, some to ring the bells, and others to see the miracle. The old woman took them to see the figure which had moved, which made many of them laugh ; but the priests were not at all pleased, as they had hoped to turn the tomb to good account, and to make as much out of it as out of the crucifix on their pulpit which was said to have spoken ; but the comedy was played out through the display of an old woman’s silliness. ‘Therefore take care, ladies, to what saints you give your candles,” “It is a strange thing,” Hircan said, “that in some way Or other, woman must always make mischief.” “Surely,” Nomerfide replied, “it is not wrong to carry candles to tombs ?” “ Yes, it is,” he said, “when you apply the flame to a man’s forehead, for no god deed can be called a good deed when it produces mischief. Just think! the poor woman thought she was making God a handsome present with a small taper.” “God,” Oisille answered, “does not. look at the value of the offering, but at the heart which presents it, and perhaps this poor woman really loved God more than those who gave the very largest wax candles; for as the Gospel says, she gave of her poverty.” “I do not think,” Saffredant said, “that God, who is all- wise, can work favourably on women’s folly, for however accept- able simplicity may be to him, Scripture tells me that He despises the ignorant, and if He bids us be as harmless as doves He also bids us be as wise as serpents.” “As for me,” said Oisille, “I do not look upon a woman who brings a candle or burning taper as an offering to God, as ignorant, and who, kneeling on the ground with the taper in her hands, makes amends to her Sovereign Lord, confesses that she deserves punishment, and with firm faith prays for pity et a}. tin, oo pea ae God,” said Dagoucin, ‘ that everybody under. ! ll & beeen330 TALES stood this as well as you do, but [ do not believe that the poor fools do it with this intention.” Oisille replied : “Those who can express themselves least about it, are often those who feei the love of God, and do His will, the most ; and so we can only judge ourselves.” Emarsuitte said to her laughing: “It is nothing very strange to have frightened a sleeping soldier, for women of as low degree as she was have frightened great princes without applying fire to their faces.” “Tam sure,” Dagoucin replied, ‘that you know some story applicable to such as this, so I will call upon you for it, if you please.” “It is only a short story,” she said, “ but if I can give it as the matter really happened, you will not feel inclined to cry.” NOVEL LXVI. AN AMUSING ADVENTURE THAT HAPPENED TO M. DE VENDOME AND THE PRINCESS OF NAVARRE. THe year that M. de Vendéme married the Princess of Navarre, the king and queen, their father and mother, after having been entertained at Vendéme, accompanied them to Guienne, and stopping at the house of a gentleman where there were many young and beautiful ladies, they danced so long that the newly married couple got tired, and withdrew to their room, where, dressed as they were, they threw themselves into the bed, and with the door and the windows closed, they went to sleep, nobody being in the room with them. When they were sound asleep they were awakened by some one opening their door from the outside. M. de Vendéme drew the curtain to see who it could be, as he thought it might perhaps be one of his friends who wished to surprise him ; but he saw instead a tall old waiting woman come in, who went straight up to their bed, and as she could not see them distinctly on account of the darkness of theroom but could only distinguish that they were lying close to one another, she exclaimed : “ Oh, bad, wicked, shameless woman that you are! for a long time I have suspected yor hut as I could not prove it, [ did not dare J oy 4 shall wl who yf this Toul (by all th gel of YOU yi de Ve wp they hid aly that 41 j took 10 iy off the i legs. = i _— gthat they 4 she reco a to forgi' iny distur ymighed %0 ol the got igken ther wpised her 1 peited & yc uty! was 1 v, 8 she d ig his be ace and Pp) a, and th m a8 they mes of the "You see, aitly, infor trhich the "T think J il who the ities’ house ‘A protonota lhueh of Rom uulalso wrote teased, and ¢ lbttle had be Inity of no toyed rather| b beline t | 8 thems of God, and di selves” | 18 nothng er, for wont H at princes ya. Know sone ph you for i if 1 an gre | inclined tne 10 M, DE 7) BE, i the i! and th, # ompauiel the | flan tet danced sl drew to thet hemselves i Josed, the] ‘ ne. ; a one iF eno 1s iol 6 hi bt i wont ite ae gl i OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE 301 to tell my mistress, but now that I have found out your infamy, I shall not hide it any longer. And you, villianous apostate, who have brought disgrace upon this house by wronging this wretched wench, if it were not for the fear of God, I would beat you to death, where you are. Get up I say! by all the devils get up! You don’t even seem to be ashamed of yourselves ! ” As M. de Vendéme and the princess wished to prolong the scene, they hid their faces against one another and laughed so heartily that they could not speak, and as the servant saw that they took no notice of her threats and showed no signs of vetting off the bed, she came up to them to pull them off it by their legs. She soon perceived, however, by their face and dress that they were not those whom she took them for, and when she recognised them, she fell on her knees and begged them to forgive her for the mistake she had made, and for having disturbed them in their sleep. But M. de Vendome, who wished to know more about the matter, got up at once, and asked the good old woman to tell him for whom she had mistaken them, and though she refused at first, when they promised her never to betray her, she told them that she had suspected a young lady of the household with whom a proto- notary} was in love; that she had watched them for a long time, as she did not wish her mistress to trust a man who was doing his best to dishonour her household. She left the prince and princess shut up in their room as she had found them, and they laughed for a long time at the adventure, and often as they told the story, they never would mention the names of the persons whom it concerned. “You see, ladies, how this good old dame, thinking to act rightly, informed this foreign prince and princess of an intrigue of which the very servants had never heard.” “T think I can guess,” Parlamente said, “ where it happened, and who the protonotary was, for he has already ruled many ladies’ houses, and when he cannot obtain the favours of the 1A protonotary (or prothonotary) was an official - the eats anes 3 the Church of Rome, who seems to have acted as secret ‘ecre ary 0 the ope, and also wrote the lives of Saints. Originally twelve liu mie it was much increased, and their importance diminished, so that in the fteenth century this title had become a purely honorary one, which was granted to Doctors of Divinity of noble family, as a matter of oe ee pee to have enjoyed rather an indifferent reputation for moral y.-—[ Translator].302 TALES mistress, he obtains those of one of his attendants, but other. wise a good sort of man.” “Why do you say otherwise?” Hircan asked her, “for | look upon him as a good sort of man from that very fact.” “TI see,” Parlamente replied, “that you know the malady and the patient, and that, if he wanted an excuse, he would readily tind an advocate. But I should not like to trust to the management of a man who cannot even carry on his own affairs without letting a servant know of them.” “Do you imagine,” Nomerfide asked, “that men care who know these sort of things, as long as they obtain their desire? You may be quite sure that if no one spoke about such a matter, they would boast of it themselves.” “You need not talk of all that they know,” Hircan said to her angrily. “ Perhaps,” she answered blushing, “they could not say any- thing to their own advantage.” “To hear you talk,” Simontault said, “it would seem as if men liked to hear women ill spoken of, and I suppose you think I am one of those, and so I am very much inclined to speak very well of one woman, so that I may not generally be looked upon as a slanderer.” “ Please take my place,” Emarsuitte replied, “and I beg you to give us something different to what you usually do, so that you may show due respect to our honour.” “Tt is no new thing, ladies,” he replied, “to hear how virtuously you can act, and any such action ought not to be hidden, but rather written in letters of gold, so that it may serve aS an example to women, and cause men to admire it, when we see in the weaker sex a power to endure what weak. ness would naturally recoil from. This is the reason that induces me to relate what I have heard of Captain Roberval? and several of his companions. _1 Jean-Frangois de la Roque, Seigneur de Roberval, a gentleman of Picardy, was a celebrated navigator, in the reign of Francis I., who sent him to Newfoundland, which was discovered in 1524, where he founded colony, and he took possession of Canada, in the Fre AT nAcrenek Dato, Pr hin peg S 5 —Note parily from Jecob’s edition, a French * 2 3 2 Y Ore iy lve ileties eds Pees eee OP hen sara co Tue king had given Roberval the command of an expedition to Canada, where the latter intended, if the climate proved suit- able, to settle and to build towns and castles, and everyone knows how he begun this project. In order to spread Christianity through the country, he took with him artisans of various sorts, and amongst them there was one man who was wicked enough to betray his master, so that he very nearly fell into the hands of the natives. But it pleased God that the plot should be discovered, so that it did not injure Captain Roberval, who had the wicked traitor arrested, and would have punished him according to his deserts, but his wife, who had followed him through the perils of the sea, would not give him up-to death, and pleaded with the captain and the whole company, with so many tears, that out of pity for her, and also on account of the services she had rendered him, he granted her request, which was, that she and her husband should be left on a little island in the sea, which was inhabited by nothing but wild beasts, and he also gave them permission to take with them whatever they required. These unhappy people, being left alone with evil and crue. beasts, had no other resource but God, in whom the poor wife had always firmly trusted, and He was her only consolation. She carried the New Testament about with her as her safeguard, her food and her consolation, and read it constantly, and besides this, she helped her husband to build a hut. When the bears and other wild beasts came to try and devour them, they defended themselves so well, the husband with _his arquebuse and she with stones, that neither beasts nor birds ventured to come near them, and after they killed some they were good to eat. So they lived for some time on this flesh and on herbs, after their bread was all gone. But at last the husband could not resist the effects of such food, and the water they had to drink was so bad that he became very much aes oe ime havino ne ne to wait 1 swollen and died in a short time, having no one to wait upon . sn. haat hia witea who waa hath Wor e1A79 him, or to console him DUT His W bis, W fio W ws WI wih his physic lan334 TALES and confessor, and so he passed joyfully from that earthly desert to the heavenly kingdom. The poor woman, left by herself, buried him as deep as she could, and though the wild beasts got scent of the corpse immediately, and came to devour it, the poor woman from her hut defended it so well with shots from her arquebuse, that her husband’s body did not find such a horrible tomb. ‘Thus she lived the life of the wild animals as to her body, but the angelic life as to her soul, and spent her time in reading, contemplation, orisons and prayers, and possessed a joyous and contented spirit in her emaciated and half dead body. But He, who never forsakes His own in their need, and who manifests His power when they are in despair, — would not allow this woman’s virtues to pass unknown to men, but determined that they should be known, to His own glory. After some time one of the ships of that same fleet passed by the island, and when the crew saw a woman on it, they remembered those whom they had left there, and determined to land and see what had become of them. When the poor woman saw the boat coming to shore, she went down to the beach, where they found her, on landing, and after thanking God for their arrival, she took them to her poor little hut, and showed them on what she had subsisted during her miserable sojourn there, and they could never have believed it, had they not known that God is just as able to feed His servants in a desert, as at the grandest banquet in the world. As she could not be left in such a place, they took her with them straight ta La Rochelle where they arrived after a prosperous voyage. On their arrival, they told the inhabitants of that town about the faithfulness and constancy of the woman, and all the ladies of the place received her with great honour and were glad to en- trust her with their daughters, that she might instruct them in reading and writing. For the rest of her life, she maintained herself by these honourable means, and her only desire was to exhort all to love, and to trust in the Saviour, setting forth the great mercies He had bestowed upon her, as an example of His goodnes. “ Now, ladies, you cannot say that I don’t praise the virtue which God has implanted in you, and which appears the greater, the lower her station is who displays them.” “We are not sorry,” Oisille said, “that you praise the graces of our Lord in us, for we know that all virtue springs from Him, and we cannot allow that neither man nor woman help on God’s hem, and rad St. Pav sations thos als sake.” Aovever, th ty of all, be Ma [muppose,” mould not ¢ sin a like d ime my li take care,” neess, ‘Tha dium in all ilor the wat [think,” w: that you ¢ iT shall ca Very well,” tand amus: {{0 him, om WOMAN, WHO FOR HER, F OF HERS, . RIDES THA Pan, in Be later Stephen i]id not fin . he wild ant | 1, and spat rennet His own int | rane 10 ynknown tt | If jor little ig het ni ved It, bat yi OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 330 work, for do what they will they only plant. ‘ but God giveth the increase.’ ”! “If you have read the Scriptures properly,” Saffredant re- plied, “ you will see St. Paul says: ‘I have planted, Apollos watered,” but he does not say that women had anything to do with the divine work,” ‘You are following the ideas of those bad men,” Parlamente said to him, “who fix upon one passage of Scripture which suits them, and leave all those which are against them. If yor had read St. Paul to the end, you would have seen how often he mentions ‘those women who have laboured with him for the Gospel’s sake.” “ However, that may be,” Longarine said, “that woman was worthy of all, both for her love for her husband, and her faith in God.” 7 “I suppose,” Emarsuitte replied, “there is no woman here, who would not do as much for her husband, and I know if mine were in a like danger I would not abandon him though it were to cost me my life.” ) “Take care,” Nomerfide said to her, “how you love such to an excess. That love may harm both you and him, for there is a medium in all things, and often love is turned into hate, and only for the want of a proper understanding.” “I think,” was Simontault’s remark, “from what you have said, that you can give us an example of this, and so, if I am right, I shall call upon you for it.” “Very well,” she replied, “and I shall make my story as short and amusing as usual.” . NOVEL LXVIII. A WOMAN, WHO FINDS THAT HER HUSBAND DOES NOT CARE MUCH FOR HER, FOLLOWS THE ADVICE WHICH HE GAVE TO A FRIEND OF HERS, AND GAVE HIM SUCH A STRONG DOSE OF CANTHA- RIDES THAT IT NEARLY KILLED HIM. Ar Pau, in Bearne, there lived an apothecary whose name was Master Stephen, and he had married a good woman, who was : = ee 11 Corinthians iii. 7. Ibid, iii. 6.336 TALES an excellent housekeeper, and nice looking enough to have gat- isfied him; but as he was in the habit of tasting different drugs, so he was also fond of flirting with different women, so that he might know better what their various temperaments were, and his wife objected to this so much, for he never had any- thing to do with her, except on Holy Week by way of penance. One day the apothecary was in his shop, and his wife was hidden behind the door to listen to what he might say, when a woman belonging to the town, who was godmother to a child to which he was godfather,! and who was suffering from the same malady as the other, came in and said to the apothecary, sighing: “Oh, my dear compere, I am the most unhappy woman in the world, for I love my husband as I do my ownself, and my only thought is to serve him and to obey him, but all my labour is in vain, for he loves the worst, filthiest woman in the town more than he does me. Pray, my compere, if you know of any drug that may change his temperament, give it to me, and if he uses me well, I assure you that I will recompense you as well as I possibly can,” In order to comfort her, the apothecary told her that he knew of a powder, and that, if she gave it to her husband in some broth, or with some toast, like powder De Duc,? he would regale as well as she could possibly wish. As the poor woman was very anxious to see this miracle she asked him what it was, and whether she could obtain any of it. Hetold her that she need only take some powdered cantharides, of which he had plenty ; and before she left, she made him prepare some of the powder for her, and took as much away with her as she wanted, and she thanked him many a time for it, as her husband, who was a@ very strong vigorous man, and who did not take too much of it, was none the worse for it, and she was all the better. The apothecary’s wife, who heard all that was said, thought that she stood quite as much in need of the recipe as his com- mere, 80 she watched to see where her husband put the rest of the powder, and thought that she would make use of it when she found a chance, which happened in the course of three or four days, when her husband got a chill in his stomach. He asked her to make him some good broth, but she told him that 1 Formerly in France they were called compére and commere, and stood in peculiar intimate relation to each other, but of such a kind that sexual inter- course between them was looked upon almost as incest.—[ Translator. | * This is altogether obscure. Some editions have powder De Dun, but Jacob thinks a mixture of sugar and cinnamon must be meant, which word is the correct one.—[Z'ranslator. ] OF toast with 8 she old het gt and 1D silonget the and she U i, or Pe ery good, 4 : with h fre, and di ‘ that he» il put on th ad that rect] pothecary md drove sof Navari istered the | though he ngs which J ‘hig wife, sh nshed to w ine, Was pa to admit Wi to the 1 think, lad: igreat,” nyou call mt him to ito have fr think,” Le itsband’s lo jan object: t Yet,” Guebr und anythi l experience ‘We must e hve is the p 018 most bli ia burden § “Yes,” said ‘men are thos illanghing a) ugh to hay: | g diferent ng | WOME, \peranents We, F never fal wf Way of peu yn. his wie ight say, nother to 4 fering ft Q the api eS i ' ' = y hi, bat | ost WOILHA I | bre, i yu ant, give Hi ‘ i \ io fq te I] recompent told her th if aod her bust De Dus} i | ie = = 1g the poot | d bim wl? | tld be ht) ti 3 ' i) ; of mi pane st '} We i) H —— f het bust not take pt : i i ; OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 337 a nice toast, with some powder De Duc, would be better for him ; and so he told her to make him some at once, and go and get the sugar and cinnamon out of the shop, which she did, and did not forget the rest of the powder which he had given to his commere, and she used it without paying any regard to the dose, weight, or measure. The husband ate the toast, which he found very good, and very soon felt its effects, which he wished to appease with his wife; but this wag impossible, for he felt all on fire, and did not know which way to turn, and so he told his wife that he was poisoned, and insisted on knowing what she had put on the toast. She told him the truth—that she required that recipe just as much as the other woman ; but the poor apothecary could castigate her with nothing worse than abuse, and drove her out of his sight, ordering her to beg the Queen of Navarre’s apothecary to come and see him, who administered the suitable remedies, and very soon brought him round, though he rebuked him severely for advising others to use drugs which he would not take himself; and told him that, a8 for his wife, she had only done what was natural, seeing how she wished to make herself loved by him. The poor man, therefore, was patient under the effects of his folly, and was obliged to admit that he was justly punished, by being himself exposed to the mockery which he had prepared for some one else, “I think, ladies, that this woman’s love was as indiscreet as it was great.” “Do you call that loving her husband,” Hircan asked her, “to put him to pain for the sake of the pleasure which she hoped to have from him ?” “I think,” Longarine said, ‘that she only wished to regain her husband’s love, which she thought she had lost; and with i) Such an object there is nothing that women will not do.” ~ Yet,” Guebron replied, “a woman ought never to give her husband anything to eat or drink which she does not know trom experience, and from men of science, cannot hurt him; but we must excuse ignorance. This woman was excusable, for love is the passion which blinds people most, and the person ® Who is most blinded is a woman who has not the power to bear i" Such a burden sensibly.” “Yes” said Hircan, “and pleasantly also; for the wisest Women are those who take as much pleasure in making fun of ind laughing at their husbands’ doings, as they do in deceiving laughing x338 TALES them secretly ; and if you will let me have my turn before Madame Oisille winds up the day, I will tell you a story about » a husband and wife whom you all know.” ‘Begin then,” Nomerfide replied ; and Hircan, laughing, began. NOVEL LXIX, AN ITALIAN ALLOWED HIMSELF TO BE TAKEN IN BY HIS SERVANT- MAID, SO THAT HIS WIFE FOUND HIM SIFTING THE MEAL, IN THE PLACE OF THE GIRL. In the castle of Odoz, in Bigorre, there lived one of the king’s equerries whose name was Charles, who was an Italian. He had married a very good and honourable lady, but she had aged after bearing him several children. He, for his part, was not young, and lived with her on very good terms, though he was fond of talking sometimes with his female servants, which his good wife never pretended to observe, but quietly dismissed them when they became too free in the house. One day she took a new servant, who was a sensible good girl, to whom she told her husband’s manner and her own, adding that she always got rid of servants as soon as she knew that they were behaving badly. The girl, being anxious to remain in her mistress’s service, and to preserve her esteem, determined to act virtuously ; and although her master frequently spoke to her in an improper manner, she would not listen to him, but told everything to her mistress, and they both laughed at his folly. pe day, when the servant was sifting meal in a back room, with her dress over her head—made, after the fashion of the country, like the cap put on to babies after their christening, only that it covers the whole body and the shoulders behind— her master, seeing her in this dress, began to solicit her very vehemently ; and she, who would rather have died than done such a thing, pretended to yield to him, but asked him to excuse her, so that she might first go and see that her mistress was engaged about something, so that they might not be sur- prised ; and he naturally agreed to this. She then begged him 0) sito sift, 80 see this 0 the dress ito laugh \ he could 8 -yages do | ife's VOICE, the dress thousand |he would s satisfact: a quarrel, That do y' i) pass al ij was no failed in | think,” | iy age in 1 t0 kill h | should sheen fou mngarine | iin the 8 business, good won \for insta Do you ¢ nan to Wis A chaste 1d with re in with al “Twill ag en here wi ve does no x either, mourable rates,” ——smy tum hin ya yt F roan, laa + BY HIS sn ING THE wu one of tel an Ti th bi ly, be | for his at ye | y | ters, th a geri quiet i ge, Ne iy OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 339 to put her dress over his head, and to go on sifting, so that her mistress might continue to‘hear the noise of the sifter ; and he did this with pleasure, as he hoped to have what he wished for. The girl, who was fond of fun, ran to her mistress, and said to her: “Do come and see your good husband, whom I have taught to sift, so that I may get rid of him.” The wife hurried off to see this new servant; and when she gaw her husband with the dress over his head, and the sifter in his hands, she began to laugh with all her might, and to clap her hands, so that she could scarcely find breath to say to him: ‘ Well, slut, what wages do you ask a month?” When the husband heard his wife’s voice, and knew that he had been deceived, he threw down the dress and the sifter, and ran after the girl, calling her a thousand times a wretch ; and if his wife had not inter- posed, he would have paid her out. But the matter was settled to the satisfaction of all, and afterwards they lived without any further quarrel. “What do you say of this woman, ladies? Was not she very wise to pass all her time in making a pastime of her husband?” _ “It was no pastime for the husband,” said Saffredant, “to have failed in his enterprise.” “I think,” Emarsuitte replied, “that he found more pleasure at his age in laughing over the matter with his wife than in going to kill himself with his servant-girl.” “I should have been finely vexed,” Simontault said, “ to have been found with that fine cap on my head.” Longarine said that she believed his wife had nearly caught him in the same way; and Simontault told her to mind her dwn business, as his wife was very well satisfied. She told him that good women care only for their husbands’ love, and those who Wish for instant pleasure can never find them with propriety. “Do you call it a brutal pleasure,” Guebron asked her, “for a Woman to wish to have from her husband what belongs to her?” “A chaste woman, I say,” Longarine replied, “ whose heart is filled with real love, is more satisfied with being really loved, | than with all the pleasure which her body can desire.” “T will agree with you,” Dagoucin said, ‘but these gentle- men here will neither hear it nor confess it. I think if mutual love does not satisty a woman, one husband would not satisfy her either, for if she does not live according to a woman’s honourable love, she must be possessed by the insatiable lust of brutes.”TALES 340 “You put me in mind,” Oisille replied, ‘fof a beautiful lady, who was well married, who because she did not live according to this honourable love, became more lascivious than the same, and more cruel than the lions ; but I cannot tell, firstly, because it ig rather long; and then because it does not belong to our time, thoug! hit has been written by an author who is quite worthy of credit, but we have promised to relate nothing here that has been written.” “That is true,” Parlamente said, ‘‘ but as [ think I know the tale to which you refer, I may say that it is written in such an- tiquated language, that besides us two, I do not think there is a man or woman here who has heard it mentioned.” On hearing this they all begged her to tell it them, in spite of its length, as they could stop there another good hour before vespers, and so Oisille, at their request, began thus: NOVEL LXX, THE UNGOVERNABLE INCONTINENCE OF A DUCHESS, WAS THE CAUSE OF HER OWN DEATH, AND OF THAT OF HER MOST PERFECT LOVERS, In the household of one of the Dukes of Burgundy was a very honourable and handsome princess. with whose beauty the duke was so enamoured that she blinded him to her real disposition, so that all he cared about was to please her, and she on her part pre- tended thoroughly to respond to his feelings. In the Duke’s household, who was as accomplished in every respect as it was pos- sible for a man to be, and whom everybody loved, and especially the duke, who had brought him up from childhood about his person, and who knowing what exceedingly good points he had in every way, entertained the greatest affection for him, and trusted to him in all matters, which his youth would enable him to understand. The duchess who was not a’ virtuous princess, was not satisfied with the love her husband bore her, nor with the kind way in which he treated her, and she cast’ her eyes on this gentleman, eyes, that she got to love him beyond all measure, ) make hit planguist gioned & ; chief sti occasion man bro jone da} Was & V la princ yers, she lof a bu ‘husban admitte ie to he! i him, b htoo m him, ¢ #, and i societ}) ‘ever he he gave jand he uld conc Wn as U 6 with - When th 1¢ than ler cour bd that amly c¢ ‘fixed ¢ th were ut to be duches: serned gentle: rd that much th: ant, if no ‘The word and he found such tarot in her * Becessaril She tried; a rule eve ng the seri | 541 af —_ to make him understand this on every possible occasion, both uit Inme by languishing and tender glances, and also by sighs and im- ious thule passioned airs, but the gentleman, who had always made virtue tel fg} is chief study, could not understand vice in a lady who had not Uelipjghe «0 Occasion for it, so that the oglings and airs of this foolish thor wie ©=Woman brought her nothing but the bitterest disappointment, relate uihigh. «© 8 one day she was go inflamed by her passion, that forgetting ‘| she was 2 woman who ought to refuse even were she solicited, | s]thinkTonif «= and a princess who ought to be adored, but yet to disdain such syritanae @dorers, she summoned up the heart of a man, to debarrass her- » not thin bale self of a burden which was becoming insupportable. So when | stone her husband went to the council, to which this gentleman was | it hi ‘hot admitted on account of his youth, she beckoned to him to per elk come to her, which he did, thinking that she had some order to | ran tus give him, but leaning on his arm, like a woman who is tired pss, WH Ay ime Meet with refusal and mockery.” hod When the duchess heard this discreet answer, she loved him | = More than before, and vowed to him that there was. not a lady | iw at her court but would be glad to have such a servitor, and | Burgi yp *ded that he might well try such an adventure, for he would | hose wil Certainly come out of it with honour. The gentleman kept his er lO f eyes fixed on the ground, as he did not dare to meet her glances, d voll Which were ardent enough to inflame an icicle. Justas he was ings. 2 a about to beg to be allowed to take his leave, the duke sent for | respi” the duchess to come to the council about some business which Lovet, He » Concerned her, so she was obliged to go to her great regret, but qi | the gentleman never pretended to have understood a single te Word that she had said to him, which troubled and vexed her roti g much that she did not know to what to impute her disappoint- OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. with too much repose, she went to walk up and down a gallery with him, and said to him: “Iam astonished that young, hand- some, and accomplished as you are, that you have lived in this society where there are so many beautiful ladies, with- out ever having been the lover of any of them.” She gave him a most suggestive look, and waited for his re- ply, and he said: Madame, were I worthy that your highness should condescend to me, you would rather be astonished to see aman as unworthy as I am, offer his services! to any lady, to we Ment, if not to the foolish fear which she thought possessed this !.The word so often translated in this book, humble servant (serviteur) does mgs necessarily mean lover in an immoral sense, though the matter does not jmeea rule eventuate in marriage, and here services is used in the sense of Stour of 9 Jadv.—_! 7 7 . Set 4.4 enomnatorin oF : s Tran St artor ' 7 TNA SEPUVUALERM,, C3 . i £ TANStAtOT, | Mine the serviteu lady.—l| l ; . | ]342 TALES gentleman. A few days later, therefore, she made up her mind ls whom for neither fear nor shame, and to declare her love to him, feel: H ing sure that beauty, such as hers, could not be repelled; and though she would rather have had the honour of being solicited, ! she waived the honour for the sake of the pleasure, sit ~~After having tried several times to speak to him in theil¥ game strain as on the former occasion, and not being able to iil¢ 5 bal get a favourable answer, one day she pulled him by the sleevei Jo W° and told him that she wished to speak with him about an im-dl show J portant affair. He followed her respectfully to a window re-/jusband, cess to which she had withdrawn, and when she saw that nonegl, to fin of her attendants could see her, she went on, in a voice tremb-all amorou ling with fear and desire, to speak to him on the old subject,'Madame, and found fault with him for not having chosen some lady off say.” her suite, assuring him at the same time that she would assistifithout | him to obtain a favourable hearing, no matter where he mightments, fix his affections. The gentleman who was not less astonishedshut her than pained at her words said: “‘Madame, I am so tenderyto an ix hearted that were I to be refused once, I should find no morelove wh pleasure in life, and I am so insignificant that there is not alon the ¢ lady in all his court who would accept my services.” iken to bi The duchess blushed, and imagining that he was almost consing answ: quered told him that she knew the most beautiful lady atone mom court who would receive him with the greatest joy and makebed to liv him perfectly happy, but he told her that he did not believe mortal « there was any woman at court, who was so unhappy and so intended to fatuated as to take a fancy to him. As the duchess perceivedper with that he did not choose to understand her, she went on to givéattendanc him some direct indication of her passion, but as his virtuggelf, car rather awed her, she put what she had to say into the form Oafily she ; a question, and asked him: “Supposing that fortune had Stegnancy hi favoured you, that I were thus well disposed towards youbst pain, what would you say ?” or bed in s When the gentleman heard this, he thought he must Dhke suspec dreaming, so kneeling on one knee he told her that if GOGeenancy 9 ranted him the duke’s good will and hers also, he could rs kind and quire nothing more, but was ready to lay down his life in then spite of al service, and he was sure that the love she bore for her husbay gaiq to hor. was so pure that not only would she not cast a favourable e 4, ny a on such a worm as he was, but not even on the greatest priL me the caus and most perfect man that could be found, and that, seeing 9p) the benefits he had received from the duke since his childhor the duke could have neither wife, daughter, sister nor motl eg X darling, —[ Tr y from yiASU to him ot being at inn by thei im about wi I the oll sith gen sone ; she vol i nore te me ot Jess at lms i ald find 1 bat thers BM vices. Ai IK SS w OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 343 towards whom he could entertain any other sentiments but such as became a loyal servant. The duchess would not let him finish what he had to say, and seeing that she was in danger of receiving a severe rebuff, interrupted him and said: ‘Oh, you wicked and vain-glorious fool! who ever asked such self-denial of you? You fancy that you are so handsome that the very flies are in love with you, but if you were insolent enough to address yourself to me, I would show you that I love and intend to love no man except my husband, and I only spoke to you as I have done, to amuse myself, to find out your secrets and to make fun of you, as I do of all amorous fools.” “Madame,” he replied, ‘I believed, and believe, that it is just as you say.” Without listening to another word, she went hastily into her apartments, and as she saw that her ladies were following her she shut herself up in her own private room where she gave way to an indescribable burst of angry grief ; on the one hand, her love which had been despised, made her most unhappy, and on the other, her exasperation against herself for having spoken to him so foolishly as she had done, and against him for having answered her so prudently, put her in such a rage that at one moment she wished to kill herself, and the next she wished to live to avenge herself on the man whom she took for her mortal enemy. After she had wept for a long time, she pretended to be ill so that she might not be obliged to go to supper with the duke, at which the gentleman was generally in attendance ; and the duke, who loved his wife more than himself, came to see her; and to attain her object the more readily she pretended to be pregnant, and told him, that her pregnancy had given her a cold in her eyes which caused her great pain. For the next two or three days the duchess kept her bed in such an unhappy and melancholy state, that the duke suspected it was caused by something more than her pregnancy, and so at night he came to sleep with her, and was as kind and tender towards her as he could ; but finding that, in spite of all, he could not prevent her sighing continually, he said to her: “ M’amie,? you know that I love youas much as I ydo my own life, and that I should not long survive you, so tell i me the cause of ” | only from your pregnancy. your grief, for I cannot believe that it proceeds 1 “ Sprete, que injuria, forme.” Virgilen: I, 31, 27he old French form for Mon amie, my friend, as we should say, my darling.—{ Translator]344 TALES gry cou! springing ated of it would | my lite The duchess, seeing how good her hus.and was towards her, thought it was time.to.get her revenge, so she embraced her husband, and said with tears: “The greatest grief that I feel is to see how you are deceived by those whose chief object: it Should be to preserve your property and your honour.” “When a She duke heard her, he, naturally, wished to know what she meant, and pressed her to tell him the truth without fear, and a uf after refusing for a long time, she said to him: ‘I shall never '™ | be surprised in future if strangers make war on princes, seeing | a that those who are most indebted to them, wage such a cruel ig time, miserable war against them, that the loss of all they possess #) € would be nothing in comparison to it.” She then told him that ™ the gentleman, whom he had treated more as a son than a lt gentie Servant, had ventured to address her in such a way that if he mocence had gained his suit, her husband’s and his children’s honour (ged th would have been lost, and that though he had for a long time ™¢ % © shown his feelings by his looks, yet her chaste heart did not tthan understand what he meant, till he spoke to her, and she gayer 20 arn him, she said, such an answer as her station and chastity de- i ens: manded, but still she hated him so that she could not endure ll PO : to look at him, and so if her husband wished for her company ihow wicl he must get rid of him, for she feared that when he knew she I 897 wh had told the duke the truth, he might try and do something the did, worse,” her, sav The duke who, on the one hand, loved his wife, and felt him- im ut) self much wronged, and on the other was very fond of his ser- sked him var t, whose fidelity he had so often proved, could hardly theould | believe that this lie was the truth, and went to his room in a /or any | towering passion and sent word to the gentleman that he was _jetiectly not to come into his presence again, but to confine himself to ty womat his own apartments for a time. idelity to As the gentleman did not know the reason for this order, he ihe shou was extremely angry at it, as he knew he had by no means bite vere m deserved such bad treatment, and as he knew that he had not the duké* sinned in any way against him, either in thought or in deed, \masu he sent a friend of his to speak to the duke and to carry a. Mild love | ‘etter to him, in which he besought him, that if through any letuke's) evil report he had seen fit to forbid him his presence, he would ®yand eX] kindly suspend his judgment till he had heard the facts of the mit he y case from him, when he would find that he had not offended When the him in any way. When the duke had read this letter his #umal, sh anger was somewhat appeased, and so he sent for the gentle- husband: « man to come to his apartments secretly, and said to him with ptmoretn Sr eeun Wi F Ww what si out fea, al I shall ner 004 guich tt they pa told bin tht , son. that ay that I en's ont + Long art dit nd she “chastity + BP 1 not elt her cot he koe 1! uy and fli id of hist sold it ig 100 that be © np bins hig ol i by n0 pelt tbe lat t or if tes : OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. an angry countenance: “TI could never have believed that, aiter bringing you up like my own child, I should not ever have repented of it, but you have tried to inflict a wrong upon me which would have been greater than the loss of all my estates and of my life itself, since you have attempted to dishonour her who is my otner half, and if you had succeeded you would have disgraced my house and my lineage for ever. You may be sure that such an insult touches me closely, that were it not that I amin some uncertainty whether the fact is true or not, you, by this time, would have found yourself at the bottom of the water, to repay you in secret for the dishonour which you secretly tried to do me.” The gentleman was not dismayed at this speech, but rather his innocence made him speak with the utmost confidence, and he begged the duke to give him the name of his accuser, as this was one of those accusations which were better settled with the lance than with the tongue. ‘“ Your accuser,” the duke replied; “has no arms but her chastity, for it is my wife, who begged me to avenge her on you.” The poor gentleman would not accuse the lady, though he saw how wicked she was, and said to the duke that his wife could say what she pleased, but as the duke knew her better than he did, he begged him to remember that he had never seen her, save in his company, except once, when she had spoken to him a very little, and as he was a prince of sound judgment, he asked him whether he had ever seen any conduct on his part which could make him jealous, for jealousy was not easily hid- den for any length of time. He also assured him that he was 80 perfectly loyal to him, that if the duchess were the most lovely woman in the world, Love would never cause his honour ‘or fidelity to swerve, and also that if she were not the duke’s Wife, he should never feel inclined to fall in love with her, as there were many others more to his fancy. ~ The duké was rather softened at these words, and told him to go on as usual, and that if what he had said proved true, he should love him more than ever, but if not, his life was in his (the duke’s) hands. The gentleman thanked him for his kind- ness, and expressed his readiness to undergo any pain or punish- ment if he were culpable. When the duchess saw that the gentleman was in attendance ‘as usual, she could not put up with it patiently, and said to her | husband: ‘‘ It would serve you right if you were poisoned, as you nn 2 £ SS ee Se TL. zy pee = 3 omr mortal enem! es than in your DESL fy iends, | put more trust in your 1 }346 TALES “Pray, don’t be anxious about that,” he replied, “for were 1 fhe poor certain that what you have told me were true, he would not walk a live for twenty-four hours, but he has vowed to me that it is ¢ perple altogether wrong, and as I have seen nothing of it myself, I gput hin cannot believe it without some strong proofs.” struth, a Her answer was that the duke’s goodness only made the ge of th other one’s offence worse, as it was never known that a young 9 not tc man like he was had never been in love, but he sought no mis- king a tress, as he wished to be her lover, for no young man would p to los lead the life he had led, unless he had aimed so high that he» he wor was satisfied with his vain hopes ; but she begged her husband yal to h also, as he believed his servant so fully, to put him on his oathgy name, as regarded his love, for she would be satisfied that he was tOsrce cou be believed if he loved another, but if he did not, her husbandgme of + might be assured that she had spoken the truth. anish yo The duke approved of his wife’s suggestion, and took the ynd wit gentleman into the country with him, and said to him: ‘‘ My jf ever wife still insists upon what she has said, and alleges one reason 4 of tk which causes me to suspect you, and that is, that young and tice sun good-looking as you are, you have, as far as 1s known, never, spoke been in love, which makes me think that, having fixed YOUr at he ha hopes on her, you can think of no other woman ; therefore, a8 ¢ divulg your friend, I beg you, and as your master I command you, t@ jor gho tell me whether or not you serve any lady at all?” The poor, ways, gentleman, although he would fain have concealed his love, yet), ang as he valued his life, was obliged to confess to the duke, seeing ‘looks | how furiously jealous he was, that he loved a lady who was 809444 ) beautiful, that the beauty of the duchess and all her suite was wo. 9 but ugliness compared to her, but he begged him not to force, ia, him to name her, because he and his lady had agreed that their BS bt I. intimacy should be broken off by which ever of them first men- The gen tioned it. The duke promised not to press him, and was 80), hore hi pleased with his answer that he treated him with more con- ad th, sideration than ever, and when the duchess perceived this, with a im her usual cunning, she set to work to find out the reason for i thas. it, which the duke did not hesitate to tell her, and this, added ni to her desire for revenge, made her so jealous that she begged i a the duke to order the gentleman to tell him the name of the i i. lady, assuring him that the whole thing was a lie, and that i pHe what she had suggested was the best means to convict him of it, i to ir and if he would not name her whom he thought so lovely, the Would hay duke would be the most foolish prince in the world if he be Osh oe lieved him, The Latin ig and makes i= = = — = — eat ——\ => Sa — : OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 847 The poor prince, whose wife led him just as she pleased, went for a walk alone with this gentleman, and told him that he was more perplexed than ever, for he strongly suspected that he had put him off with an excuse, 80 that he might not suspect the truth, and so he begged him most earnestly to tell him the name of the lady he loved so much. The gentleman besought him not to force him to wrong the lady whom he loved by breaking a promise which he had kept for so long, and to cause him to lose in one day what he had preserved for seven years, for he would rather die than act thus towards her who was 80 loyal to him. When the duke saw that he would not tell him her name, he got mad with jealousy, and said to him, with a Ferce countenance: “Take your choice ; either tell me the name of the lady whom you love above all others, or I shall banish you from my territory under pain of death if you are found within it after eight days are over.” If ever grief possessed the heart of a faithful servaut, it did that of the poor gentleman, who might well have said: An- gustice sunt miha undique’; for on the one hand he felt that if he spoke the truth he should lose his mistress, if she knew that he had not kept his promise, and on the other, if he did not divulge her name, he should be banished from the country see her again. Thus driven where she lived, and could never two ways, a cold sweat broke out all over him, as over one whom anguish is bringing to the grave. When the duke saw his looks he imagined that he had no lady but_his own wife, and that he was in such trouble because he could not name another, and so he said to him very roughly: ‘cTf what you have said were true, you would have no difficulty in telling it me, but I am sure that your offence is troubling you.” The gentleman stung by these words and urged by the love he bore his master, determined to tell him the truth, feeling assured that he was so good a man that nothing would induce him to reveal it to anybody else, and so kneeling before him with clasped hands, he said to him: “Sir, the love I feel for you, and the obligations I am under towards you, urge me to tell you, more than the fears of death itself, for I see that you ~ have such @ wrong opinion of me that I have determined, in order to free you from your suspicions, to do what no torture would have forced me to do. But I must beg you, sir, to € Susannah (Apocrypha, v. 22). 1 Tam straightened on every side. History o! To T4 14g Susannah to the Book of Daniel “ho Latin is the Vulgate version which ad ee : oy Sa e "ees Y ao + and makes it Daniel xiii. 22.—[Z'ranslator. |348 TALES swear to me on the faith of a prince and of a Christian, never to reveal the secret which I am about to divulge to you at your desire.” The duke at once swore to him, with all the oaths he could think of, never to reveal anything to anybody, either by word, act or sign; and the gentleman, feeling sure of such a virtuous prince, as he knew him to be, laid the foundation of his own unhappiness by telling to him that seven years ago he had made the acquaintance of the duke’s niece, Madame de Verger, a widow and disengaged, and so he tried to win her favour, but not being of rank high enough to enable him to marry her, he became her humble servant, and fortunately hitherto neither man nor woman had the least Suspicion of the affair but the duke, whom he had now told, and in whose hands he placed both life and honour, begging him to keep the secret, and not to esteem his niece less, as there could not be a more perfect or chaste creature under heaven. The duke was very pleased at hearing this, for as he knew how extremely beautiful his niece was, he had no doubt that she was much more capable of pleasing the gentleman than hig wife, but as he knew that such an affair could not be carried on easily, he asked the gentleman to tell him how he managed to see her. He told him that the lady’s room opened into the garden, and that, on the days when he was to go to her, she left a little door open through which he went on foot, and waited till he heard a little dog bark, which the lady let loose in the garden as soon as all her women had retired, and that then he went and talked with her all night, and on leaving they settled the day when he was to come again, which he never missed unless unavoidably prevented. The duke, who was the most curious man in the world, and who had carried on many love affairs in his time, begged the gentleman, partly to set his suspicions at rest, partly to hear the whole of such a strange story, to take him with him the next time he went, not as a master, but as a companion, and the gentleman agreed, and told the duke that he had an assignation for that very night. The duke was as pleased as if he had gained a king- dom, and under the pretext of going to repose in his private closet, he ordered two horses for himself and the gentleman, and they rode all night from Asgilly, where the duke was re- siding, to Vergy, and when they had arrived there, they left their horses outside the enclosure. The gentleman introduced the duke into the garden through the little gate, and begged him to remain behind a large walnut tree, whence he could see hor wha ain the jihe gent y, and on sand yet sroom, wl ot them, em talk 0 ii not to” 9g oblige anting at ‘he lady, ob attem alued m<¢ So the § dy, in a yas she fear th heir hors owed to 1 is secret, purt stor ore enre ith him ith knov ¢ hersel at they ent to 8¢ Il her v ad she p: i that weparate. that she f that he w that his p “Sir, sinc both die. that the he took b _ Wanted, him, she ber, a8 h \ { \ncion oft rose Lani the wt | t be a M0 = ag be ko cake <= = cay ot =—_ SS = OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 349 whether what he had said were true or not. They had not been in the garden long before the little dog began to bark, and the gentleman went towards the tower, where his lady met him, and on saluting and embracing him, told him it seemed a thousand years since she had seen him. Then they went into the room, which they left open, and the duke entered furtively alter them, for there was no light in it, and when he heard them talk of their chaste love he was more than satisfied, and had not to wait long, for the gentleman told his lady that he was obliged to return sooner than usual, as the duke was going hunting at four o’clock, and that he was obliged to be present. The lady, who preferred his honour to her own pleasure, did not attempt to stop him from doing his duty, for what she valued most in their honourable love, was that nobody knew it. So the gentleman left at one o’clock in the morning, and the lady, in a cloak and kerchief, accompanied him, though not so far as she would have liked, for the gentleman made her return for fear that she should meet the duke, and so they mounted their horses and rode back, and on the way the duke frequently vowed to the gentleman that he would rather die than revea, his secret, and he put such confidence in him that no one at court stood higher in his favour, at which the duchess was more enraged than ever. But the duke forbade her to talk with him about the matter any more, as he was quite satisfied with knowing the truth, aud that the lady was handsomer than she herself was. These words cut the duchess to the heart, so that they gave her an illness worse than a fever. The duke went to see her and console her, but she insisted that he should tell her who the lady was whom his servant loved so dearly, and she pressed him so, that at last he left the room, telling her that if she spoke about the matter again, they would separate. This only made the duchess worse, who pretended that she felt her child move, which delighted the duke so much that he went to sleep with her. At the moment when she saw that his passions were most excited, she turned away from him : “Sir, since you love neither your wife nor your child, let us both die.” Saying this, she began to cry and to scream, 80 that the duke feared she would have a miscarriage, therefore he took her into his arms and begged her to tell him what she wanted, as he would do anything she wished. But she told him, she could not believe he would do any great matter for her, a8 he had refused her such a trifle as to tell her the name3A0 TALES of the lady whom his wicked servant loved: she had thought, that a she said, that there was but one heart between them, but now _/zlevé 1 he kept secrets from her as from an enemy, although he knew a herself that she had not divulged the most important secrets with #ienl cour which he had entrusted her, as that though he might have /t0 answe sworn not to tell the gentleman’s secret, yet, as he and she #? of bea were one, he would not be acting contrary to his honour. She if pes ie went on to say that she held him in her arms, had a child of sess 10° his in her womb, but the more loving and loyal she was to-0 was W' wards him, the more cruel he became towards her, so that she sught she wished to die as he preferred a faithless servant to a faithfulme by Wé wife and to the life of his child, for she should certainly die ife bed t0 she could not obtain what she wanted to know of him. uld be, bu She then embraced her husband, and watered his face with 1 not dare her tears, so that the prince, who feared to lose his wife and ssible to child at the same time, determined to tell her, but assured her, iee, blame that if she repeated it to anyone she should die by no other 1st have hand than his, and she accepted the condition and the punigh- anged hin ment, whereupon the poor, duped duke told her all he had ‘ore, a8 C1 seen and heard, at which she pretended to be very much 4, from a pleased, but was really quite the opposite ; but she dissembled wsaid, but her rage, for fear of her husband. shad disel But on the occasion of a grand entertainment, to which the t him we duke had invited all the great ladies of the court, and amongst chess witl others, his niece, after the banquet when the dancing began, at d made h which everyone did his best, the duchess could not enjoy her- d loved tl self when she saw her niece’s beauty and grace, and could not jd now he hide her vexation. So she called all the ladies round her, and # had de began to talk of love affairs, and when she saw that her niece rsoul in | did not speak, she said to her, with a heart fit to burst with 1 been st jealousy: “And as to you, my fair niece, surely your beauty He wo must have found a lover?” mprehens: “Madame,” she replied, “‘ my beauty has made no such con- ryell whe quest, for since my husband’s death, I have wished for no its, her « lovers but his children, and am quite satisfied with them.” tuities col “Fair niece,” the duchess said to her, in extreme vexation, {tthat m ““no love is so secret but that it becomes known, and no little tthe and dog so well trained or kept in hand as not to bark.” “it not see You may fancy the grief of this poor lady, when she per- wthe du ceived that a matter she had thought was quite secret, was _ limhts, sa thus declared to her dishonour. The thought that her honour _ lite 100m, which she had guarded so carefully, and had so unfortunately — wel whett lost, was a great grief to her, but the greatest was the sus the haOF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 351 picion that her lover had broken his promise, which she could not believe of him, unless love for some lady more beautiful than herself had led him to reveal the matter. But she had sufficient courage and self-command to seem not to understand, and to answer, smiling, that she did not understand the lan- guage of beasts; however, under this mask of cheerfulness, her heart was so oppressed that she got up, and going through the duchess’ room went into a small room, into which the duke, who was walking up and down, saw her enter. When she thought she was alone, she threw herself upon a bed, so over- come by weakness that a servant girl, who had sat down by the bed to sleep, looked through the curtains to see who it could be, but when she saw that it was the duke’s niece she did not dare to say anything to her, and listened as quietly as possible to what might happen. She heard her, in a dying voiee, blame herself for fixing her chaste love on a man who must have revealed the secret to the duchess, who must have changed him, whom she had loved as never man was loved before, as Circe did her lovers, and turned him from good to bad, from a man into a cruel beast. He might break his word, she said, but she would keep hers, and never see him again, as he had disclosed their intimacy, and as she could not live with- out him welcome death should end it. She upbraided the duchess with her sneering allusion to the little dog, saying it had made her red with shame and pale with jealousy. As she had loved the creature too much she had forgotten the Creator, and now her spirit must return to Him from whom earthly love had detached it. Finally she prayed to God to receive her soul in His mercy, as the love she had borne the gentleman had been stained by no sin, except loving him too well, and that He would, through the merits of Him whose love is in- comprehensible, forgive her for that. And so, bidding him farewell who was unworthy of the name of friend, she fell back- wards, her colour became ghastly, her lips blue, and her ex- tremities cold. At that moment her lover came into the hall, and seeing the duchess and the ladies dancing, looked about for his mistress, but not seeing her he went into the duchess’ room where he saw the duke walking up and down, and he, divining his thoughts, said to him in a whisper: “She has gone into that 5 little room, and she seemed to be unwell.” The gentleman y ashed whether the duke would allow him to follow her, and when he had obtained permission he went in and found her at352 TALES the point of death, and embracing her, he said: “‘ What is i ak E : Mamie? you cannot be going to leave me?” When she hear i that well-known voice she gathered a little strength, and open nl ed her eyes to gaze on him who was the cause of her death" duke but the sight of him so increased her love and grief, that shi tM? ‘el expired with a deep sigh. ah ss : i The gentleman, more dead than alive, asked the attendant ™ ‘ what had caused her illness, and she told him all she hajotume, D° heard. He at once knew that the duke had revealed his secre 4" ss to his wife, and his passion was so intense that he embrace! 588 } the body of his mistress and watered it copiously with hi the pont tears, apostrophising himself as traitor and villain, wishin‘ who 18 W that he had been struck by lightning before his tongue hai has struck revealed their secret, and also that it might be treated as thet wounded f of Dives was in hell. He hoped that eagles might perpetual [ing @ the tear his heart, which had been too much afraid of exile cilght she hi death, like they did that of Ixion.! He called her the mog{uke took faithful of women, and himself the most faithless of men, antse0rel upol wished that he were the little dog that had so faithfully serveitg this he its mistress, and at whose barking he used to feel much joytbreast,.at He had broken his word, she was dead, and as death would nof all thous touch his faithless heart, it was not right that he shouledeed, he c pardon his murderer, and having implored, as he said, hed them the pardon, and washed her body with his tears, nothing remainesked behav! for him but that his own arm should make his body like herge then ord and send his soul to join hers, being assured that an honouil founded, : able and virtuous love has no end, either in this world or thiies of his r next. han epitay Then starting up from the dead body, like a man_besidk an expec himself, and drawing his poniard, he stabbed himself with it that he with the greatest. violence, and then took his mistress into higm, he fot arms again, and kissed her with such love that he seemed towment o have more of love than of death in him. When the waiting his wif maid saw what he had done, she ran to the door and cried forithis old « help, and when the duke heart her, guessing that some evil had befallen those whom he loved so much, he immediately was the first to rush into the room, and when he saw the unhappy couple he tried to separate them, so that he might, if possible, save the gentleman’s life, but he held her so tight that it was impossible to do so till he was dead. But when he heard the 'hhis, ladie inhich, as ‘nt compa ‘wa, but pr ‘ite so inf \uuay not re "The poor gentleman’s mythological studies had evidently been neglected, ‘Wa vorld.” and he confuses Ixion and the wheel with Prometheus chained.—{ Translator]= SS —_ > > = Ee Se SS Ee = =e => Sa SS = EE === sly ih lai, Wa § tongt ata penta d of ent her the as sof net aly i == My V | an i ni = ._ == = eel nl ith voll _— at bp Ae =— he sit, pig te ody Li S- h i Ses Se At al hott | worl! , wal bw | ) {ress tt ie OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 353 duke ask him what was the cause of this catastrophe, he said to him, with a furious look: ‘Your tongue, and mine, sir,” and with these words he died, his face laid on that of his mistress. As the duke wished to know more of the affair, he forced the girl to tell him all she had seen and heard, which she did in full, and when he learnt that he was the cause of all this misfortune, he threw himself on to the two dead lovers, and with tears and loud cries, begged them to forgive him, and alter kissing them several times, raised himself in a rage and drew the poniard out of the gentleman’s body, then, like a _boar who is wounded by a spear rushes impetuously at him ‘who has struck the blow, so the duke went to look for her who had wounded him to the bottom of his heart, and he found her dancing in the hall, even more gay than usual, because she thought she had revenged herself so well on the duke’s niece. The duke took her from the dance and said to her: “ You took the secret upon: your life, and your life shall pay the penalty.” Saying this he took her by her head-dress and stabbed her in the breast,.at which all the company “was so astonished that they all thought the duke was mad; but, when he had done the deed, he called together all the servants into the hall and told them the honourable and pitiful story of his niece, and the wicked behaviour of his wife, at which all present wept. ‘The duke then ordered his wife to be buried in an abbey which he had founded, and had a handsome tomb erected, in which the bodies of his niece and of the gentleman were interred together, With an epitaph relating their tragic story. He himself under- took an expedition against the Turks, in which God so blessed him that he reaped both honour and profit, and as on his return, he found that his son was able to be entrusted with the government of his dominions, he became a monk in the abbey ' where his wife and the two lovers were buried, in which he spent his old age happily with God. “This, ladies, is the story which you begged me to relate, and which, as I can see from your eyes, you have not heard without compassion. Strive not to set your affections too much on men, but pray to God for His holy spirit, so that your hearts | may be so inflamed by divine love, that at the hour of death | you may not regret leaving that which you have loved too well in this world.” Z354 TALES n Oy ‘Tf their love was as honourable as you say,” Hircan asked ithe 4 “what need they keep it a secret ?” their pas A “Because,” Parlamente replied, ‘‘men are so malicious, thaj when ss they will not believe that any love can be virtuous, for theyltia) ¥ judge according to their own passions; and when a virtuouittss Mm a. woman has an intimate friend who is not a near relation, shilife must talk to him in private if she wants to talk to him for an/bub length of time, for a woman’s honour is alike doubted whethet and loya she loves virtuously or otherwise, as men only judge fropivd appearances.” “That was , “But,” said Guebron, “when the secret gets known, she jr way 10 ™ only thought the worse of.” at lover was “That is so,” Longarine answered, “and so the best thinpild not help is not to love at all.” “That love, “We men appeal from that sentence,” Dagoucin said, “ fous such mt if we thought that ladies were without love, we should ng “Don't he § wish to live, and if we thought they really did not love, whrofsuch 4% would become merchants instead of being soldiers, and thinj!"Nor will y only of gaining riches instead of honour.” : rong.” “So you imply, that if there were no women, we should al Parlamente, be cravens,” Hircan said, “as if we had no courage but thabnse, said to with which they inspire us? but I think notning lessens a man used the de: courage more than to be continually dangling after women, ante to blows for that reason, amongst the Jews, a man was not allowed till separate | go to war for the first year after his marriage, lest love fojAt her adv his wife should make him shun the da.gers which we ought tft forget th seek there.” nom the u ‘‘T don’t think that law a very sensible one,” was Saffredant’hring supp observation, “for nothing makes a man leave home moréd after ha willingly than being married, for war without is not more iniint to their supportable than war within, and the best means to get mei, to go to strange countries, and not to idle away their time aj home, is to get them married.” “Tt is quite true,” Emarsuitte said, ‘‘ that marriage relieve} them from household cares, for they rely on their wives fo: that, and only think of acquiring honour, as they are sure tha their wives will look after their interests.” Saffredant replied : “ However that may be, I am very glad that you share my opinion.” “ But,” Parlamente said, “I should like to know why the gentleman, who was the cause of all this misfortune, did not die of grief, as well as she who was innocent.” « Because,” Nomerfide said, “‘ women love better than men.” ’ gaidHirean atl F maliciow, i tous fry hen vita ar relation, to bit for puted viel ly judge iy + known, she OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 355 “ Rather,” Simontault replied, “because women’s jealousy and their passions cause their death without their knowing why, when men prudently inquire into the truth, and this gentleman, when he knew that he was the cause of his mistress’ misfortune, showed he loved her, by not sparing his own life,” “ But,” said Emarsuitte, “she died of pure love, for her pure and loyal heart could not endure to be thus wickedly ieilcceived.” “That was jealousy,” Simontault replied, “‘ which would not : give way to reason, and as she believed the evil of which ® fer lover was not guilty, her death was not voluntary, for she the best th pucin si, We should 1 id. not lor, jen, au n, ve sul t y |essons at after wot" 5 not lovey at ie He Soe Ot forget the souls of those true lovers in their prayers, for high we US") yas Sule ave bolle M P i ig Dot mot aus 6 © could not help it; but her lover’s was voluntary.” “That love,” Nomerfide said, “must be very great, which » causes such intense grief.” “Don’t be alarmed,” Hircan observed, “for you will never die of such a malady.” “Nor will you,” she replied, “kill yourself for having done = Wrong.” » Parlamente, who fancied that the discussion was at her ex- pense, said to them, laughing: “It is quite enough that love | used the death of two people, without causing two others to | come to blows, for there is the second bell for vespers ; which p will separate you whether you wish it or not.” At her advice the company rose to attend vespers, and did m® Whom the monks, of their own accord, said a De profundis. | Diring supper they spoke of nothing but Madame de Verger, aid after having amused themselves together a little, they Went to their different chambers. And go ended the seventh iy. a marriage m4 E y thet! qe -F g, J all ern 19 kno " f isto” )) Oe bette! ttTALES mira ys goMAN AT oN SEED RECOVER y the town | ‘ho was 82 olour of wh sore than + amaged his was told th N the morning they asked whether the bridge hac | ge had made much ghih he ev! progress, and found that it would be finished in two or ee do for days, at which some of them were not over well pl they would have liked the work to have lasted fiigse eon to protract the pleasure which they found in their present agreeable manner of life. But as they only had two or three more days before them, they determined to make the best of them, and they asked Madame Oisille to give them their usual spiritual refreshment, which she did at greater length than usual, as she wished to finish the Revelation of St. J ohn the Divine, before they left, and she read so well, that they all went to mass inflamed with a holy fire. After dinner, they spoke of the day before, and doubted whether this could be as enjoyable a one, and then went to their rooms until it was time to go to the meadow, where they found the monks already assembled. When they had all taken their places, it was agreed that Parlamente should begin, and she said: “Ladies, such wise tales have been told during the past days, that I beg that this day may be given up to relating the greatest follies, which are at the same time true, that we can think of, and so I will begin.” yegded & CO ke the m ty reproduc ike he did, tehad done mg brough tinself inte fy God ! yt wretok there was wrvant gir" tat, 1 am ing you i but Ir we Of my mging al ull, for I The por iim not t¢ ress, she | Snot pos: hoe is, an the did th tome resis they mus - ter in his iret, whod made mc two or the lL plese, noe, i ond then presel tyro or th ¢ the bes zy thelr Us y length th = “= St John te that they & Lis phat J hes fal | aud # 7 OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 357 NOVEL LXXI. A WOMAN AT THE POINT OF DEATH, FLEW INTO SUCH A RAGE ON SEEING WER HUSBAND KISS HER SERVANT, THAT SHE RECOVERED. In the town of Amboise there lived a man called Bonibandier, who was saddler to the Queen of Navarre, and from the colour of whose face one could judge that he served Bacchus more than Diana. He had married an excellent woman who managed his household and children very well. One day he was told that his wife was very ill, and in great danger, at which he evinced great grief, and went at once to see what he could do for her, and found her in such a bad state that she needed a confessor more than a doctor, which caused him to make the most piteous lamentations that were ever heard, but to reproduce them properly it would be necessary to speak thick like he did, and still more to imitate his looks and face. After he had done all he could for her, she asked for the cross, which was brought to her; and when the good man saw that, he threw himself into the bed in despair, crying out in his thick voice : ‘“My God! Iam going to lose my poor wife; what shall I do, poor wretch?” with many other complaints. At last, when there was nobody else in the room except a young, plump servant girl, he called her in a whisper, and said to her: “ My dear, I am dying, and, in fact, worse than dead outright, at Seeing your mistress die thus. I don’t know what to say or do, but I recommend myself to your care, and beg you to take care of my house and children, so take the keys which are hanging at my side, and look after my household affairs very well, for I can have nothing more to do with them.” The poor girl pitied and tried to comfort him, and begged kim not to despair, adding that though she might lose her mis- tress, she should not lose her kind master. He replied: ‘That is not possible, for I feel thatI am dying; just see how cold my face is, and put your cheeks to mine to warm them.” When she did this he put his hand into her bosom, to which she made some resistance at first, but he told her not to be frightened as they must become better acquainted, and saying this he took her in his arms and threw her on to the bed. His wife, how- ever, who had no other company than the «ross and the holy358 TALES water, and who had not spoken for two days, began to cry out as loud as her weak voice would allow her: “Ah! ah! ah! I am not dead yet!” and then shaking her fist at them, she said: “You wretches, I am not dead.” When the husband and the servant heard her voice, they jumped up immediately, but she was so enraged against them, that her anger dried up all the humours in her throat that had prevented her from speaking, so that she was able to shower all the abuse she could think of upon them, and from that moment, she began to get better, and she very often reproached her husband for the little love he bore her. * You see, ladies, how hypocritical men are, and how little it takes to console them for the loss of their wives.” “You don’t know,” Hircan said, “that he may not have heard that that was the best remedy for his wife? Not being able to cure her by his kind treatment, he wished to try whether the opposite would have a better effect, and we have seen how well the experiment turned out ; and I am astonished that you, a woman, should have shown up the peculiarities of your sex, who are easier cured by anger than by kindness.” “T am quite certain,” Longarine replied, ‘‘ that such a thing would make me leave, not only my bed, but my grave itself.” « As he thought she was dead,” Saffredant said, “ he did not wrong her in trying to console himself, for we know that the marriage tie lasts no longer than life, and that then it is un- done.” “Certainly death releases a man from the obligation of his oath,” was Oisille’s answer, ‘‘ but a loving heart never loosens the bond of love, and he very soon forgot his grief, when he could not wait till his wife had breathed her last.” ‘‘What seems the strangest thing to me,” Nomerfide said, ‘Cis, that seeing death and the cross before his eyes, he did not lose all wish to offend God.” “That's a good sort of reason,” Simontault cried. “ You would not be shocked at seeing a wrong action, as long as it were at a distance from the church and cemetery.” “You may make as much fun of me as you please,” Nomer- fide replied, ‘but the sight of death is enough to chill any heart, no matter how young it may be.” “T should agree with you,” Dagoucin said, “had I not heard just the contrary of a princess.” “That isto say,” Parlamente replied, “ that she herself told 3 qme story to ! place up t Thereupon MMINUAL BEI i jyone of the filly endowe nsixteen NUL led in quite service every their Hours 0f ing to the sick ‘nuns were abc for him, they : and a8 he saw extreme uncti But as he was wid to him, t tohim, till, at tley went to inhy him ou ihom she fear she was so 1 i, After ¢ its several ti id him out, intity, the n lof the bli ious talk, the poor g mand look ‘Vmuch pl Veabrace he iin hig ar } iked upon }h to cry | a! ah] a, she si mn reproul - some story to that effect. my place up to you, so that you may tell it us,” Thereupon Dagoucin began thuz: + how hte i pay ba 1 Not beng try whe ave se Shed that 5 01 yout ! : || nuns were about him, and after they had done all they could i "ff and as he saw that he got gradually weaker, he administered | extreme unction, soon after which he lost all power of speech. jit But as he was a long time dying, and seemed to hear what was s such at avo tel | pe dil “08 th ‘ tn " ; to him, till, at last, they got tired of it, and when it was night | they went to bed, one by one, till at last there was no one left » to lay him out but the youngest nun and one of the monks | whom she feared more than the prior or any of the other monks, ligation it neve! - 5 \ yes he dl? ont ' dise in his arms. OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 359 Therefore, if that is so, I will give NOVEL LXXII, CONTINUAL REPENTANCE OF A NUN WHO HAD LOST HER VIRGINITY WITHOUT VIOLENCE AND WITHOUT LOVE. _ Iy one of the best towns in France, after Paris, there was a very richly endowed hospital ; that is to say, a prioress with fifteen | or sixteen nuns, and a prior with seven or eight monks, who | lived in quite another part of the building, and who performed service every day ; the nuns only said their Paternosters and their Hours of Our Lady, as they were fully occupied in attend- ing to the sick. One day a poor man was dying, and all the for him, they sent for one of their monks to hear his confession, said to him, they all said the most comforting words they could as he was so very austere, both in his words and also in his life. After they had shouted out aloud into the poor man’s ears several times, they saw that he was dead, and so they two laid him out, and whilst they were performing that last act of )® charity, the monk began to speak of the wretchedness of life, and of the bliss of death, and half the night was spent in such pious talk. The poor girl listened to his devout words with great atten- tion and looked at him with tears in her eyes, at which he was ' very much pleased, and speaking of the life to come he began to embrace her, as if he intended to carry her straight to Para- When she heard what he said, and as she looked upon him as the most devout in the whole mouastery,360 TALES she did not dare to refuse, and when the wicked monk saw this, still talking of God, he accomplished the work with her which the devil had suddenly put into their hearts (for there had» been no question of this previously), and assured her that God did not punish secret sins, and that two persons who had no ties could not sin in such a case when no scandal ensued, and that, to avoid this, she was to be sure to confess only to him. After this they separated, and she went away first, and on passing before a chapel of Our Lady, she wished to say her prayers as she was in the habit of doing, but when she began : “ Virgin Mary,” she remembered that she herself had lost her title to virginity, without force and without love, but merely from a foolish fear, and she began to cry so violently that it seemed as if her heart would break. The monk, who heard her sobs in the distance, guessed that she had already repented, and feared lest he might lose his pleasure in the future, and so to prevent that, he went to look for her, and found her pros- trate before the figure of the Virgin. He rebuked her sharply, and told her that if her conscience smote her, she could con- fess to him, and need not repeat the act unless she liked, for both of them were at liberty to do as they pleased, without sinning. The silly nun, thinking to make her peace with God, | confessed to him, and all the penance he imposed upon her, | was to swear that it was no sin in her to love him, and that a little holy water would wash out such a slight peccadillo. As she believed him rather than God, she went to him and obeyed his will some time afterwards, and became pregnant, which was a great grief to her, and so she begged the prioress to have that monk expelled from the monastery, for she knew that he was so sharp and cunning, that he would be sure to seduce her. The prior and prioress, who were leagued together, made fun of her and told her that she was old enough to pro- tect herself against a man, that the one in question was far too good to do anything of the sort. At last, urged by remorse, she impetuously demanded to be allowed to go to Rome, for she thought, that if she confessed her sin to the Pope she would recover her virginity. The prior and prioress agreed to this very willingly, for they preferred that she should become a pilgrim, although it was contrary to the rule of their order, than that she should remain in the nunnery, scrupulous as she was, and fearing lest in her despair she should reveal the sort of life they led there, they gave her money for her journey ; but God so ordered it that being in Lyons one evening after | | ets in the i) yas alter gapdays dev ves belo th {he roodlott, n, the duel wy 0 the col wp alone, knel ‘h bitter tea yet that I the matter the matter | ay here)” lig! my de resource, % aly of speak stirs to | ‘dys of right | Tijwss replied none of he i “Dut ne le duchess t qlom she war a feet, and ther misfort mitdout lessen: lig for going letters to the scandalous mo == ———. = = = @ } — / "T heard 4 m0 that Noma it these two, not less want "T suppose before as to ti "To sin ig iia gin enge "You may ieonle Were 1 le their iterve the lath had di| OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 261 k wrth, loe'atl . vespers in the church of St. John, where the Duchess of Alencon, ‘thee bi F ho was afterwards Queen of Navarre, was secretly performing that Gi & HAINe days’ devotion with three or four of her ladies, being on her sho iy & kMees before the crucifix, she heard someone going up the steps 3 ensue al § '° the roodloft, and by the light of the lamp saw that it was a lyohin ff 2D. The duchess in order to hear what she prayed for, with- rst, a drew to the corner of the altar, and the nun, who thought she ‘tous § 2 alone, knelt down and struck herself on the breast, crying shea with bitter tears : . My God, have mercy on me, miserabl ai lt @oaer that I am.” As the duchess wished to know what bat ner | was the matter she went up to her and said, “ My dear, what oy th i 8 the matter? where do you come from? and what are you rho boat doing here?” The poor nun, who did not know her, said : repented “Alas! my dear, my misfortune is so great that God is-my 4 ald only resource, and I have prayed to Him to give me the oppor a @ ftunity of speaking to the Duchess of Alencon, for I will teli i if imy affairs to her alone, for I am sure that if there be any Me aig means of righting them, she will find them.” “My dear,” the i duchess replied, ‘ you can speak to me as you would to her, for A ‘Iam one of her friends.” ‘I beg your pardon,” the nun re- meh | plied, “but nobody else shall know my secret.” Thereupon ce it al ithe duchess told her to speak openly, for she had found her up 4 Iwhom she wanted. ‘The poor nun thereupon threw herself at , uf her feet, and with many tears, told her all that you have heard seal imo! her misfortune. The duchess consoled her so well, that jo tt Bewithout lessening her continual repentance, she gave her a dis- ne Pe . like for going to Rome, and sent her back to the nunnery with | dep" letters to the bishop of the place desiring him to have that ie, scandalous monk expelled. Iq be | nl te Af “T heard that story from the duchess herself, so you can out WF see that Nomerfide’s recipe is not good for all sorts of people, i wast Hfor these two, whilst handling and laying out a dead body, were by om mnot less wanton.” “T suppose,” Hircan said, “nobody ever did such a thing : i J e ce e 33 : Wbefore as to talk of death and to perform the actions of life. 1085 tt | “To gin is no action of life,” Oisille replied, “for we know hou ui # that sin engenders death.” : of thet! " » “You may be sure,” Saffredant said, “that those poor plot Fpeople were not thinking of theology, but as Lot’s daughters oyeal ‘made their father drunk, in order, as they thought, to preserve the human race, so those two wished to repair what ' death had destroyed, and to make a new body in its place362 TALES Therefore! only find fault with the nun’s tears who was continually crying, and continually returning to the cause of her tears.” “T have known many,” Hircan said, “ who weep for their sins, and laugh at their pleasure at the same time.” ‘IT think,” Parlamente replied, “that I know of whom you are speaking, and I think their laughter has continued long enough for them now to begin to weep.” ‘‘Hold your tongue,” Hircan said, “the tragedy which began in laughter is not yet ended.” “To change the subject,” said Parlamente, ‘“‘I think that Dagoucin has not complied with our rule, which was to tell only laughable tales, whereas his was very sorrowful.” “What you said,” he replied, “was that we should only relate instances of folly, and I do not think I have transgressed that rule. But I call upon Nomerfide, so that we may have a merrier one, and I hope she will make my fault good.” “{ have a story quite ready,” Nomerfide said, “‘ which is worthy to follow yours, for it tells of monks and of death, so please listen attentively.” Here end the tales and novels of the late Queen of Navarre, which are all that can be recovered of them. THE END.continually | t tears op for the ) E whom you tinued long rich bea should oly transgressl fF , may haves 0d,” 1 “ahich it of death, 80 1 ol Navaité, ifele me ink| . ’ : = : = 3 : —--