Next time the good lady went to mass, she was met by her neighbour, who in her concern for her friend earnestly advised her, without going into details, to dismiss her maid, who, she said, was an immoral and vicious little slut. The tapestry-maker’s wife first wanted to know why her neighbour had such a low opinion of the girl, and in the end she was told how the maid had been seen in the garden one morning with her husband. At this she only started to laugh loudly, and said: ‘Heaven help me, neighbour, it was me!’
‘What?’ said the other. ‘But she was in a nightdress and it was about five o’clock in the morning!’
‘I swear to you, my dear, it was me!’ said the wife. But the neighbour persisted.
‘They were throwing snowballs at one another, and then he put his hand in her bosom, and then somewhere else, as intimate as they possibly could be!’
‘Oh dear,’ giggled the tapestry-maker’s wife, ‘it was me!’
‘But listen!’ said the neighbour.’ I saw them afterwards on the snow doing things that didn’t seem either very nice or very respectable to me!’
‘My dear,’ replied the other, ‘I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, it was me you say you saw doing all those things! That’s what we do in private, my good husband and myself. There’s no need to be so shocked. You know that wives have to humour their husbands.’
In the end the neighbour went off, rather wishing that she had a husband like that herself. When the tapestry-maker arrived back home, his wife told him at length everything the neighbour had said.
‘Well, my dear,’ he replied, ‘if you weren’t such a good, sensible woman, we would have left one another a long time ago. But I hope God will continue to preserve us in our mutual affection, to the glory of His name and for the continuation of our happiness together!’
‘Amen to that,’ said the good woman. ‘I hope that you will never find me to fail you!’
*
‘After hearing a story like that, a story, Ladies, which is perfectly true, one would have to be really incredulous not to maintain the view that there is as much wickedness in you as there is in men – though without wishing to malign anyone, one can’t help feeling that neither the man nor the woman really deserved very much in the way of praise.’
‘The man in the story was an extremely bad character,’ said Parlamente, ‘because he deceived both his wife and the chambermaid.’
‘You haven’t understood the story properly,’ said Hircan. ‘The point is that the man satisfied them both in one morning! I think that he showed great prowess, both mentally and physically, considering that he managed to act in such a way as to satisfy conflicting interests.’
‘It is merely doubly reprehensible,’ answered Parlamente, ‘to satisfy the simple heart of one woman with a lie, and to pander to the immorality of the other with vice. But I am well aware that sins of that sort will always be excused when judgement is passed by people like you.’
‘I assure you all the same that I myself would never undertake such a risky operation as the man in the story,’ said Hircan, ‘for as long as I can make you content I shan’t think I’ve been wasting my time!’
‘If mutual love doesn’t bring contentment into a person’s heart,’ replied Parlamente, ‘then nothing else will.’
‘Truly,’ said Simontaut, ‘I think nothing in the world is so painful as to love and not be loved in return.’
‘If one wants to be loved,’ Parlamente said, ‘one must turn to someone who is disposed to give such love. But very often, women who are loved and won’t love in return are the most loved, and men who are the least loved love most ardently.’
‘You remind me of a story I hadn’t intended to include among the good ones,’ said Oisille.
‘Please tell it to us,’ said Simontaut.
‘I shall do so gladly,’ she replied.
STORY FORTY-SIX
In the town of Angoulême, where Charles, Count of Angoulême, the father of King Francis, often resided, there was a certain Franciscan friar, De Vale by name, who was highly thought of as a scholar and a preacher. So highly thought of was he indeed that one Advent he was invited to preach before the Count himself, and he acquired such prestige as a result that everyone who heard about him besieged him with invitations to dinner. Amongst these people was one of the Count’s judges of exempts, a man who had married a good-looking and respectable woman. Now the friar was passionately in love with this woman, but could not summon up the courage to declare himself. She was fully aware of his feelings and found him highly ridiculous. He made his lecherous intentions apparent on several occasions, until one day he caught sight of the judge’s wife going up into the attic, and thinking he would catch her alone, he went up after her. But she heard him making a noise behind her, so she turned round and asked him where he was going.
‘I’m following you up,’ he replied. ‘I have a secret to tell you!’
‘Don’t come up here, father,’ said the judge’s wife. ‘I’d rather not be on my own with people like you. If you come one step further, you’ll be sorry!’
But the sight of her all alone was too much for him, and ignoring her warning, he scrambled up. Being a woman of spirit, she gave him a kick in the stomach as soon as he appeared at the top of the stair, shouting after him:
‘Up hill and down dale, Mr De Vale!’
And she knocked him all the way down the stairs. The friar was so humiliated that he did not even stop to lick his wounds, but fled from the town as fast as he could, fully expecting her to tell her husband what had happened. He was quite right. She did tell her husband, and the Count and Countess as well. To crown it all, he demonstrated his evil nature by going off and insinuating himself into the household of a certain lady who had a predilection for the Franciscans. After he had preached a sermon or two for her, he clapped eyes on her daughter, who was extremely beautiful. And he would often reprimand her in front of her mother for not getting up in the morning to come to his sermons.
‘Oh father,’ said the mother, ‘I wish to God she had had a taste of the discipline that you and your good brothers submit yourselves to!’
So the good friar promised her that if the girl went on being lazy, he would give her a taste of that discipline – and the girl’s mother warmly encouraged him to do so. A day or two later he went into the lady’s room, and as he did not see the daughter there, he asked where she was. The lady replied: ‘She has such little respect for you that I think she’s stayed in bed.’
‘Make no mistake,’ said the friar, ‘it is a very bad habit for young girls to stay in bed. Not many people take the sin of sloth seriously. But I regard it as one of the most dangerous of all the sins, both for the body and for the soul. So you should punish her – or if you will give me the responsibility, I’ll soon stop her staying in bed when she should be up saying her prayers to God!’
The poor lady, who took him for an honest man, pressed him to teach her daughter a lesson. Well, he lost no time. He ran up the little wooden staircase leading to the girl’s room, found her all alone in bed, and raped her as she slept. The wretched girl woke up not knowing whether it was a man or a devil, and screamed for her mother to come to save her. But the mother just stood at the bottom of the stair, calling up to the friar: ‘Don’t let her off lightly! Give it her again! Teach the wicked girl a lesson!’
When the friar had satisfied his evil desires, he went downstairs to the lady of the house, and said, with his face all on fire: ‘I think, Madame, that your daughter won’t forget the lesson I’ve just given her!’
The girl’s mother thanked him and went upstairs to her daughter, who was greatly distressed, as well she might be, after being the victim of such a crime. As soon as she heard the truth, she had the Franciscan searched for everywhere, but he was already a long way off. And he was never seen again in the kingdom of France.
*
‘So you see, Ladies, just how safe you are in giving such responsibilities to people who have no intent
ion of carrying them out honourably! Corporal punishment should be administered to men by men, and to women by women. For women would be as lenient to men, if they were charged with punishing them, as men would be cruel, if they were charged with punishing women.’
‘Holy Jesus!’ exclaimed Parlamente. ‘What a vile and vicious friar, Madame!’
‘Nearer the truth to say that the mother was a silly fool,’ said Hircan, ‘for being so deluded by the false colours of hypocrisy that she allowed into her house the sort of man you should only ever see in church!’
‘True,’ said Parlamente. ‘I admit that she was one of the stupidest mothers there ever was. If she’d had as much sense as the judge’s wife she’d have thrown him down the stairs, not sent him up! But what can you expect? The devil who appears as half angel is the most dangerous of the lot, because he’s so good at transforming himself into an angel of light that it makes you feel guilty if you suspect them of being what they really are, and in my opinion it’s praiseworthy not to be suspicious.’
‘All the same,’ said Oisille, ‘one should be ready to suspect the kind of wickedness one ought to avoid, especially when people in positions of responsibility over others are involved. It’s better to suspect something bad, even though it doesn’t exist, than to fall prey to an evil that does exist by being foolish and credulous. I’ve never seen any women fall victim to deception as a result of being reluctant to believe what men say, but I have seen many taken in because they’ve been too ready to take lies at their face value. That is why I say that the possibility of some evil occurrence cannot be too strongly suspected [by those] who have charge over men, women, towns and states. For however much on one’s guard one is, the world is full of treachery and wickedness, and the shepherd who is not vigilant will be deceived by the wiles of the wolf.’
‘Nevertheless,’ commented Dagoucin, ‘if a person is suspicious, he will never be able to preserve [true affection.] Indeed, many true friendships have been broken because of suspicion.’
‘Well, if you can prove your point by means of an example,’ said Oisille, ‘then you may tell the next story.’
‘I know a story,’ said Dagoucin, ‘which is so true that I’m sure you will enjoy it. And I’ll tell you what it is that is most likely to destroy true affection, Ladies. It is when the certainty of affection starts to give way to suspicion. For just as trusting a friend is the greatest honour one can do him, so mistrusting him is the gravest dishonour, because that means that one believes him to be other than one would like him to be. It is this that causes the destruction of many true affections, and turns friends into enemies, as you will see from my story.’
STORY FORTY-SEVEN
Not far from Perche there were once two gentlemen who had from their childhood grown up together as such good and true friends that, as they were one in heart and mind, so in house, bed, board and purse they were as one. For a long time they lived together in this state of perfect friendship, and never once was there in word or wish any sign of difference between them. They were even more than brothers. They lived as if they were one man. Then one of them married, but this did not prevent him continuing his friendship and continuing to live with his friend just as he had before. If they ever had to stay in cramped quarters, he did not hesitate to let him sleep in the same bed as himself and his wife – though it is true that he slept in the middle. Their belongings were held in common, and nothing, neither marriage nor anything else, could put a stop to their perfect friendship. But in this world happiness never lasts for long. Perhaps the three were too happy. Anyway, after a certain length of time the husband began to lose the confidence he had had in his friend, and, [without any justification, became extremely suspicious both of him and of his own wife.] Unable to hide his feelings from her, he spoke to her sharply about his suspicions. She was extremely surprised, because he had always commanded her to treat his friend, in all things but one, just as affectionately as she treated him, yet now he was telling her not to speak to him at all unless she was in company. She conveyed this to the friend, who found it hard to believe, for it had never occurred to him to do anything that would offend the husband. Not being in the habit of concealing anything from him, he told him what he had heard, and begged him not to conceal the truth. For the last thing he wanted to do for that or any other reason was to give cause to end the friendship between them that had lasted so long. The husband replied that nothing of the kind had ever entered his head, and that whoever had been spreading such a rumour was a malicious liar. To this his friend said:
‘I know well enough that jealousy is a passion which is as impossible to bear as love itself and if you are jealous, and jealous of me of all people, I shall not criticize you for it, because you cannot help it. But there is one thing that you could help, and which I can legitimately complain about, and that is that you have tried to cover up your sickness, when never before have you hidden your ideas, your feelings and your opinions from me. In the same way, if I had been in love with your wife, you should not condemn me for it as if it were a deliberate crime, because love is like fire – it is not something which I can pick up in my hands and do what I please with. But if I were to hide my feelings from you and try to demonstrate my love to your wife – then I would be the most treacherous friend the world has ever seen. However, I can assure you that although she is a good and honest woman, I never saw anyone less likely, even if she were not your wife, to arouse amorous thoughts in me. However, even though there is no cause for concern, I urge you to tell me if you have the slightest suspicion, so that I may set the matter right and so that we do not permit our friendship to be destroyed for the sake of a woman. For even if I loved her more than anything else in the world, I would never speak a word to her, because I would put your [love] before that of any other person.’ Again the husband solemnly swore that nothing of the kind had ever entered his head, and insisted that the friend should go on living in his house in exactly the same way as before. His friend replied.
[‘Since that is what you want], then I shall do so, but I beg you to remember that if after this you ever think badly of me again and hide it from me, I shall stay with you no longer.’
They lived together as before for a while, but then the husband became even more suspicious and ordered his wife to stop treating his friend in the fashion she did. She told the friend about this, asking him not to speak to her any more, as she had been ordered not to speak to him. Hearing this, and also guessing from the expression that sometimes came over his face that the husband had not kept his word, the friend spoke to him in great anger:
‘If you are jealous, my friend, that is only natural. But after the promise you made, I am distressed that you have hidden it from me so persistently. I always thought that nothing would ever come between us or get in the way of our friendship. But to my great sorrow and through no fault of my own, I see that the opposite is the case. Not only are you jealous of your own wife and of me, but you want to cover your feelings up in order that your disease lasts so long that it is eventually transformed entirely into hatred. Just as our friendship has been the greatest friendship of our time, so shall our enmity be the deadliest. I have done what I could to prevent this unfortunate turn of events, but since you suspect me of being so corrupt, and the very opposite of what I’ve always been, I swear on my oath that henceforth I shall be what you think I am. I shall not rest till I have had from your wife that which you believe I have pursued. From now on, beware! For as your suspicion has destroyed my love for you, now your love for me will be destroyed by my anger!’
And although the husband tried to make him believe it was all a mistake, the other man would have none of it. He moved out his share in the goods and chattels which they had previously held in common. With this division of their property the union of their hearts was finally dissolved, and as he had promised, the unmarried gentleman did not rest till he had cuckolded his friend.
*
‘And may such a fate befall all
those, Ladies, who wrongly suspect their wives of misbehaving. Husbands often actually make their wives do what they suspect, because a good woman is more likely to be overcome by despair than she is by all the pleasure in the world. And I would contradict anyone who claims that suspicion is the same as love. Suspicion may come from love, just as ashes come from fire – but like ashes, suspicion stifles the flame.’
‘I think that nothing brings greater grief either to a man or to a woman,’ said Hircan, ‘than to be suspected of being the opposite of what one really is. And as far as I’m concerned there’s nothing else that would be more likely to make me end a friendship.’
The Heptameron Page 44