Afterwards, she wanted to go back the way she had come as quickly as possible, but the gentleman said to her: ‘I value highly the favour you have granted me, a favour that I have not merited. But even more highly would I value a favour granted at my request. Your graciousness towards me gives me such pleasure that I beg you to tell me whether I may not hope for further favours and how it would please you that I should act, for not knowing who you are, I do not know how I may seek such favours.’
‘Do not worry,’ replied the lady, ‘but be assured that I shall send for you every evening before my mistress dines, provided that you are on the terrace where you were earlier. I shall merely send word that you are to remember your promise. Then you will know that I am waiting for you here in this arcade. But if what you hear is that I am about to eat, then you may retire for that day or come to our mistress’s chamber. But above all I beg you never to seek to know who I am if you do not wish to destroy our love.’
The gentleman and the lady then withdrew and went their separate ways. But they continued to meet in this fashion for a long time without the gentleman ever discovering who she was. He was overcome by curiosity and wondered over and over again who she could be. He could not imagine that any woman would not want to be seen and loved, and so began to think she might be some kind of evil spirit, having heard some stupid preacher say that nobody would love the Devil if he ever saw his face uncovered! To dispel his doubts he decided to find out once and for all who this woman was who was regaling him with such favours. What he did was to take with him a piece of chalk the next time she sent for him, and while he was in her arms he made a mark on the back of her shoulders without her noticing. As soon as she left him, he dashed into the Princess’s chamber and stood by the door where he could see the ladies from behind as they entered. Along with the others he saw Jambique come in, so haughty that he hardly dared look at her. He was sure that she could not be the one, but just as she turned her back towards him he caught sight of the chalk mark. He was so astonished he could scarcely believe his eyes. However, he looked at her figure and realized it was the one he had felt, and his sense of touch told him that the features of her face were the same. He knew for certain that she was the one, and felt most gratified that he alone should have been chosen by a woman who had never been known to have any man devoted to her service and who had indeed refused a good many worthy gentlemen. But he could not remain content with this for long. Love is a restless force.
He became so confident in his prowess and his prospects that he made up his mind to declare his love, feeling sure that once he had made it known it would receive all the more encouragement. One day when the princess was out strolling in the garden, lady Jambique went to walk down another path. The gentleman, seeing her alone, approached her, and pretending that he had had no other contact with her, said:
‘Mademoiselle, for a long time I have loved you, loved you with all my heart, but have been afraid to tell you, lest I offend you. I have suffered so much that I will die if I have to continue in this fashion. There is no man alive, I think, who could love you as much as I do…’
Lady Jambique did not even let him finish, but interrupted with anger and indignation:
‘Have you ever heard of my having a lover, of my having any man devote himself to my service? I am sure that you have not, and I am amazed that you can have the insolence to address such remarks to me, a virtuous woman. You have seen enough of me here to know that I shall never love anyone but my husband. So think twice before speaking to me like that again!’
The gentleman could not restrain himself from laughing at this extraordinary act. ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘you have not always been quite so severe with me. What is the use of such dissimulation? Would it not be better to accept a perfect love than to love imperfectly?’
‘I love you neither perfectly nor imperfectly!’ replied Jambique. ‘I think no more nor less of you than of any other man in my mistress’s service. But if you continue to speak to me in this manner I am likely to conceive such a hatred for you that you will suffer grievously!’
But the gentleman persisted: ‘What has happened to the passionate welcome which you usually give me on those occasions when I cannot see you? Why do you deny it to me when the light of day reveals the perfection of your grace and beauty?’
Jambique crossed herself ostentatiously, and said: ‘You have lost all reason or else you are the greatest liar in the world! I have never in my life welcomed you either any more or any less than I welcome you now. I beg you to tell me what you mean!’
The poor gentleman, thinking he could lead her on from here, described their meeting place, and told her about the chalk. Beside herself with rage, she told him that he was the most evil man in the world, and that he had fabricated so vicious a lie about her that she would not rest till she had made him regret it. He knew that Jambique had great credit with the princess, and was anxious to appease her. But in vain. In a fury Jambique left him standing there and ran straight to her mistress. The princess, who loved Jambique as she loved herself, left her entourage to come to talk to her, and seeing that she was angry about something, asked her what the matter was. Jambique had no intention of hiding it, and told her everything the gentleman had said, presenting the poor man in such a bad light that the princess ordered him that very evening to return home immediately without speaking to anyone, and to stay there till he was sent for. He obeyed with alacrity, for fear that anything worse should happen to him. And for as long as Jambique remained in the princess’s household he never came back, nor did he hear any more of this lady, who, after all, had sworn that he would lose her if he ever tried to discover her identity.
*
‘So, Ladies, you see how this woman, who placed her worldly reputation higher than her conscience, lost both. For the story I’ve told today has revealed to everyone what she tried to keep from the eyes of her lover. She wanted to avoid being laughed at by one person, and now she is laughed at by everybody. And you can’t excuse her on the grounds that she was naïve and her love sincere – if that were so, we all ought to have pity on her. No, she stands doubly accused, on the one hand of masking her low desires with a veil of honour and pride, and on the other hand of making herself out to be other than she really was, both in the eyes of God and in the eyes of men. But honour belongs to God alone, and He, by tearing aside the veil, has placed her in double disgrace.’
‘Indeed,’ said Oisille, ‘her wickedness was inexcusable. How could anyone defend her, when she stands accused by God, by honour and even by love?’
[‘How could anyone defend her?’] said Hircan, ‘Well, by appealing to pleasure and folly, both of which constitute considerable pleas in the defence of the feminine cause!’
‘If those were the only grounds we had for you to plead on our behalf,’ said Parlamente, ‘then our case wouldn’t stand up very well in court. Women who are dominated by pleasure have no right to call themselves women. They might as well call themselves men, since it is men who regard violence and lust as something honourable. When a man kills an enemy in revenge because he has been crossed by him, his friends think he’s all the more gallant. It’s the same thing when a man, not content with his wife, loves a dozen other women as well. But the honour of women has a different foundation: for them the basis of honour is gentleness, patience and chastity.’
‘You’re talking about those women who are wise,’ said Hircan.
‘Of course,’ replied Parlamente, ‘because I do not wish to recognize any others.’
‘If there really weren’t any foolish women at all,’ said Nomerfide, ‘those men who want all the world to believe everything they say and do in their attempts to lead women astray in their simplicity would be a long way from achieving their ends.’
‘Well, Nomerfide,’ said Geburon, ‘let me invite you to speak next so that you may tell us a story on that subject.’*
‘Since I’m bound by our agreement to tell the truth, and since you ask me to
speak next, I’ll tell you what I know. I’ve not heard a single one amongst us mention the friars without putting them in a bad light. But I feel sorry for them, so in the story I’m going to tell you I shall say something good about them.’
STORY FORTY-FOUR
A Franciscan came to the house of the Seigneur de Sedan, asking Madame de Sedan, who belonged to the Croye family, for the pig she used to give every year as alms. And the Seigneur de Sedan, who was a man with a lot of good sense, and very witty, had the good father stay to dine with him. While they were chatting, he said to him, in order to provoke and discompose him: ‘Father, it’s clever of you to come round asking for your alms before people get to know you. I’m very much afraid that if your hypocrisy becomes known, you won’t any longer be able to get your hands on the bread of the children of the poor earned by the sweat of their fathers!’
The Franciscan was not at all taken aback by this, and simply said: ‘Monseigneur, our order has a sure foundation, and it will endure for as long as the world endures. Never, as long as there are men and women on this earth, will the foundation on which our order rests fail us.’
Monseigneur de Sedan was anxious to know upon what foundation their life really was built, and pressed the friar to tell him. After several attempts to evade, he said: ‘As you insist, I’ll tell you. The fact is that we found our lives upon female foolishness, and so long as there exist foolish or stupid women in the world, we shall not die of hunger!’
At this, Madame de Sedan, who was a rather hot-tempered woman, flew into a rage, and was so angry that if her husband hadn’t been there she would have made the friar suffer for it. She swore that he would certainly not have the pig which he had been promised. The Seigneur de Sedan, however, swore that he would give him two pigs, and had them taken to the monastery – because he realized that the Franciscan had at least made no attempt to conceal the truth!
*
‘And that, Ladies, is how the Franciscan, being confident that offerings would be forthcoming from women, managed to obtain goodwill and alms from men – by not concealing the truth! If he’d told a lot of flattering lies, he would no doubt have been more pleasing to the ladies, but he would have done himself and his brethren much less good.’
The story made everyone laugh, especially those who knew the lord and lady of Sedan. And Hircan commented: ‘So the Franciscans ought never to use their sermons to try to make women more wise, since it’s more useful to them if women remain foolish!’
But Parlamente replied: ‘They don’t preach to them because they want them to be wise – they merely want them to think they are! For women who are totally foolish and worldly do not give very much in the way of alms. But the ones who think they are the most wise because they frequent the monasteries and wear rosaries with little death’s heads dangling from them and pull down their hoods lower than the other women – those are the ones who are the most foolish. For their hope of salvation is based on their blind trust in the saintliness of men who are truly iniquitous but whom they believe to be demigods because they’re impressed by their external appearances.’
‘But who,’ said Ennasuite, ‘could prevent herself from believing in them, since they’re appointed by our prelates to preach the Gospel and admonish us for our sins?’
‘I’ll tell you who,’ said Parlamente. ‘Anyone who can see that they’re hypocrites, and who knows the difference between the doctrine of God and the doctrine of the Devil!’
‘Holy Jesus!’ said Ennasuite. ‘Do you really think those men would dare to teach bad doctrine?’
‘Think? I know for certain that the Gospel’s the last thing they believe in,’ said Parlamente. ‘I mean the bad ones, of course, because I do know a lot of good people who preach the Scriptures in their simplicity and purity, who conduct their lives accordingly, without scandal, without ambition and without envy, and whose chastity and purity is not false or forced. But the streets aren’t exactly paved with them – in fact the streets are full of their very opposites! The good tree is known by its fruits.’
‘But I thought,’ said Ennasuite, ‘that we were bound on pain of mortal sin to believe what they preach to us from the pulpit?’
‘Only when they speak of what is in Holy Scripture,’ [said Oisille,] ‘or adduce the expositions of the divinely inspired holy doctors.’
‘As far as I am concerned,’ said Parlamente, ‘I can’t overlook the fact that there have been some men of very bad faith among them. I know for a fact that one of them, a doctor of theology called Colimant, who was a well-known preacher and a Provincial of [his] order, tried to persuade several of his brethren that the Gospel was no more credible than Caesar’s Commentaries or any other histories written by [pagan authors.] Ever since I heard that, I have refused to believe these preachers, unless what they say seems to me to conform to the word of God, which is the only true touchstone by which one can know whether one is hearing truth or falsehood.’
‘Be assured,’ said Oisille, ‘that whosoever reads the Scriptures often and with humility will never be deceived by human fabrications and inventions, for whosoever has his mind filled with truth can never be the victim of lies.’
‘Even so,’ said Simontaut, ‘it seems to me that a simple-minded person will always be easier to deceive.’
‘Yes,’ replied Longarine, ‘if you think that simplicity is the same thing as stupidity.’
‘What I mean is,’ said Simontaut again, ‘that a nice, gentle, simple woman is easier to deceive than one who is cunning and crafty.’
‘It sounds to me,’ said Nomerfide, ‘as if you know someone who had too much of that kind of goodness, so I ask you to be the next storyteller, and tell us about her.’
‘Since you have guessed correctly,’ replied Simontaut, ‘I won’t disappoint you, but you must promise me not to weep when you hear it. People who say of you, Ladies, that you are more wickedly cunning than men would find it very hard to find an example to counter the one I’m about to tell you. It’s a story in which I shall reveal not only how extraordinarily cunning a certain husband was, but also how simple and good his wife was.’
STORY FORTY-FIVE
In the town of Tours there was once a sharp, quick-witted fellow, who was a tapestry-maker to the late Duke of Orléans, son of Francis I. Although he had become deaf through illness, his wits were in no way dulled. There was not a cleverer tapestry-maker in the trade – and he knew how to use his wits in other ways, too, as you will hear. He had married a decent, respectable woman, with whom he lived quietly and contentedly. He was greatly afraid of upsetting her, while she for her part sought only to obey her husband in all things. But he was a charitable man as well as being an affectionate husband – so charitable that he quite often donated to his neighbours’ wives what rightfully belonged to his own, though he was always as discreet as could be about it! Now there happened to be a buxom young chambermaid in the household, of whom our tapestry-maker became enamoured. Afraid that his wife might find out, he was in the habit of pretending to scold the girl, saying she was the laziest wench he had ever seen and that he was not in the least surprised she was idle, because her mistress never beat her. One day he was chatting to his wife about whipping the girls out of bed on the morning of the feast of the Holy Innocents,* and he said: ‘It would be a great act of charity to whip that idle hussy of yours on Innocents’ day. But it would be better if it wasn’t you who did it – your arms aren’t strong enough and you’re too soft-hearted. It would be preferable if I did it, and then we might get better service from her.’
His poor wife suspected nothing. She asked him to go ahead with his proposal, agreeing that she was not strong enough and had not the heart in any case to give the girl a beating. The husband agreed willingly to perform the deed, and proceeded to act the harsh executioner. He bought the springiest canes he could find, and to make it look as if he had no intention of letting the girl off lightly, he had the canes hardened in brine. This made the poor wife more sorry for th
e maid than suspicious of her husband’s intentions.
When the day of the Holy Innocents came, the tapestry-maker got up early, and went to the room at the top of the house where the chambermaid slept. There he performed the Innocents’ Day custom – though rather differently from the way he had told his wife he would! The girl started to cry, but to no avail. Just in case his wife came and found them, he beat the canes he had brought against the bedstead until they were frayed and splintered. Then he went back to his wife, carrying the broken canes, and said: ‘I don’t think your maid will forget the Holy Innocents in a hurry after that, my dear!’
But when he had gone out of the house, the wretched chambermaid came down, and threw herself at her mistress’s feet, protesting that the master had done to her the greatest wrong that [was ever done] to a chambermaid. But the lady of the house interrupted, thinking the girl was referring to the beating she believed her husband had given her. ‘My husband acted very properly,’ she said. ‘I’ve been asking him to do it for over a month now. And if it hurt, I’m very pleased. He’s not given you half what he ought!’
When the maid saw that her mistress approved, she concluded that it was not such a great sin as she had thought. It must surely be all right if her mistress, who was regarded as a respectable woman by everyone, was behind it all. So she did not dare raise the matter again. When the master of the house saw that his wife was just as happy to be deceived as he was to do the deceiving, he decided to try and make her happy more often, and so completely won the maid over that she no longer wept when he ‘performed the Innocents’ with her. Things went on like this for quite a time without the wife finding out, until the winter snows began. The tapestry-maker had been in the habit of ‘doing the Innocents’ on the grass in his garden, and he fancied continuing this practice in the snow. So one morning, before anyone was up, he took the girl outside in her shift to perform his little passion play in the snow. The pair romped about and threw snowballs at one another – and did not neglect of course to ‘play the Innocents’. All this was noticed by a neighbour who had got up to look through her window at the weather. The window overlooked the garden, and when the woman saw the disgraceful goings-on next door, she was so angry that she made up her mind to tell her good neighbour all about it in order to save her from being further deceived by such a wicked husband, and from being waited on by such a good-for-nothing creature. Looking up from his little games, the tapestry-maker glanced round to see if anyone could see them, and caught sight of the neighbour at her window. He was somewhat annoyed at this, but he was just as clever at embroidering the truth as he was at embroidering tapestry – so clever in fact, that he ended up by tricking both the next-door neighbour and his wife. This is what he did. He went straight back to bed and promptly made his wife get up and go out into the garden with him in her nightdress. He had a good game of snowballs with her, as he had done previously with the maid, and finished by ‘giving her the Innocents’ too! Then they both went back to bed.
The Heptameron Page 43