[Jambicque repudiating her Lover]
TALE XLIII.
Jambicque, preferring the praise of the world to a good
conscience, strove to appear before men other than site
really was; but her friend and lover discovered her
hypocrisy by means of a little chalk-mark, and made known to
everybody the wickedness that she was at such pains to
hide.
There dwelt in a very handsome castle a high and mighty Princess, who had in her train a very haughty lady called Jambicque. (1) The latter had so deceived her mistress that the Princess did nothing save by her advice, deeming her the discreetest and most virtuous lady of her day.
1 There are no means of positively identifying this woman.
Brantôme, who refers at length to the above tale in his
Vies des Dames Galantes (Lalanne’s edition, pp. 236-8),
implies that he knew her name but would not tell it. He
says, however, that “she was a widow and lady of honour to a
very great Princess, and knew better how to play the prude
than any other lady at Court.”—M.
This Jambicque used greatly to inveigh against wanton passion, and whenever she perceived any gentleman in love with one of her companions, she would chide them with much harshness, and, by making ill report of them to her mistress, often cause them to be rebuked; hence she was feared far more than she was loved by all the household. As for herself, she never spoke to a man except in a loud voice, and with much haughtiness, and was therefore reputed a deadly enemy to all love. Nevertheless, it was quite otherwise with her heart, for there was a gentleman in her mistress’s service towards whom she entertained so strong a passion that, at last, she could no longer endure it. (2)
2 Brantôme writes as follows concerning the gentleman
referred to above: “According to what I have heard from my
mother, [Anne de Vivonne, wife of Francis de Bourdeille],
who was in the Queen of Navarre’s service and knew some of
her secrets, and was herself one of the narrators [of the
Heptameron, i.e., Ennasuite], this gentleman was my late
uncle La Chastàigneraye, who was brusque, hasty, and rather
fickle. The tale, however, is so disguised as to hide this,
for my said uncle was never in the service of the great
Princess, who was mistress of the lady [Jambicque], but in
that of the King her brother.” This shows the Princess to
have been Queen Margaret herself; and Jambicque, being
described by Brantôme as a widow and lady of honour to the
Princess, might possibly be Blanche de Tournon ( Madame de
Chastillon), concerning whom see vol. i. of the present
work, p. 84 (note 7) and pp. 122-4. Her successor as lady of
honour to Margaret was Brantôme’s own grandmother, of whom
he says that she was not so shrewd, artful, or ready-witted
in love matters as her predecessor. On the other hand,
Blanche de Tournon must have been over forty when La
Chastàigneraye engaged in this adventure, even allowing that
he was only a youth at the time.—Ed.
The regard which she had for honour and good name caused her to conceal her affection, but after she had been consumed by this passion for a full year, being unwilling to find relief as other lovers do in look and speech, she felt her heart so aflame that, in the end, she sought the final cure. And she resolved that it were better to satisfy her desire with none but God in the secret of her heart, rather than speak of it to a man who might some time make it known.
After taking this resolve, she chanced to be one day in her mistress’s apartment, when, looking out upon a terrace, she perceived walking there the man whom she so dearly loved. She gazed upon him until the falling darkness was hiding him from her sight, when she called a little page of hers, and pointing to the gentleman, said—
“Do you see yonder that gentleman who wears a crimson satin doublet and cloak of lynx fur? Go and tell him that one of his friends would speak with him in the garden gallery.”
As soon as the page was gone, she herself passed through her mistress’s wardrobe and into the gallery, having first put on her low hood and half-mask. (3)
3 See ante, vol. iii. p. 27.
When the gentleman was come to where she was waiting, she immediately shut the two doors by which they might have been surprised, and then, without taking off her mask, embraced him very closely, and in the softest whisper imaginable said—
“For a long time, sweetheart, the love I bear you has made me desire time and place for speaking with you, but fearfulness for my honour was for a while so strong as to oblige me, in my own despite, to conceal my passion. Albeit, in the end, the strength of love has vanquished fear, and, in the knowledge that I have of your honour, I protest to you that if you will promise to love me without ever speaking of the matter to any one, or asking of me who I am, I will be your true and faithful sweetheart, and will never love any man but you. But I would rather die than that you should know who I am.”
The gentleman promised her what she asked, which made her very ready to do as much for him, namely, to refuse him nothing he might desire to have. It was between five and six o’clock in winter-time, so that he could see nothing of the lady, but by the touch of her dress he perceived that it was of velvet, which at that time was not worn every day except by ladies of high and mighty lineage. And so far as his hand could let him judge of what was beneath, there was nothing there that was not excellent, trim, and plump. Accordingly, he was at pains to entertain her as well as he was able. She on her part did no less, and the gentleman readily perceived that she was a married woman.
She desired afterwards to return immediately to the place whence she had come, but the gentleman said to her—
“I esteem greatly the undeserved favour that you have shown me, but I shall esteem still more that which you may bestow at my request. So well pleased am I by this your kindness, that I would fain learn whether I may not look for more of the same sort, and, also, in what manner you would have me act; for, knowing you not, I shall be powerless to woo.”
“Have no concern,” said the lady, “about that. You may rest assured that every evening, before my mistress sups, I shall not fail to send for you, and do you be in readiness on the terrace where you were just now. I shall merely send you word to remember what you have promised, and in this way you will know that I am waiting for you here in the gallery. But if you hear talk of going to table, you may withdraw for that day or else come into our mistress’s apartment. Above all things, I pray you will never seek to know me, if you would not forthwith bring our friendship to an end.”
So the lady and the gentleman went their several ways. And although their love affair lasted for a great while, he could never learn who she was. He pondered much upon the matter, wondering within himself who she might be. He could not imagine that any woman in the world would fain be unseen and unloved; and, having heard some foolish preacher say that no one who had looked upon the face of the devil could ever love him, he suspected that his mistress might be some evil spirit.
In this perplexity he resolved to try and find out who it was that entertained him so well, and when next she sent for him he brought some chalk, and, while embracing her, marked the back of her shoulder without her knowledge. Then, as soon as she was gone, the gentleman went with all speed to his mistress’s apartment, and stood beside the door in order to look from behind at the shoulders of those ladies that might go in.
He saw Jambicque enter among the rest, but with so haughty a bearing that he feared to look at her as keenly as at the others, and felt quite sure that it could not have been she. Nevertheless, when her back was turned, he perceived the chalk mark, whereat he was so greatly astonished that he could hardly believe his eyes.
However, after considering both her figure, which was just such a one as his hands had known, and her features, which he recognised in the same way, he perceived that it was indeed none other than herself. And he was well pleased to think that a woman who had never been reputed to have a lover, and who had refused so many worthy gentlemen, should have chosen himself alone.
But Love, which is ever changeful of mood, could not suffer him to live long in such repose, but, filling him with self-conceit and hope, led him to make known his love, in the expectation that she would then hold him still more dear.
One day, when the Princess was in the garden, the lady Jambicque went to walk in a pathway by herself. The gentleman, seeing that she was alone, went up to converse with her, and, as though he had never elsewhere met her, spoke as follows—
“Mistress, I have long borne towards you in my heart an affection which, through dread of displeasing you, I have never ventured to reveal. But now my pain has come to be such that I can no longer endure it and live, for I think that no man could ever have loved you as I do.”
The Lady Jambicque would not allow him to finish his discourse, but said to him in great wrath—
“Did you ever hear or see that I had sweetheart or lover? I trow not, and am indeed astonished to find you bold enough to address such words to a virtuous woman like me. You have lived in the same house long enough to know that I shall never love other than my husband; beware, then, of speaking further after this fashion.”
At this hypocrisy the gentleman could not refrain from laughing and saying to her—
“You are not always so stern, madam, as you are now. What boots it to use such concealment towards me? Is it not better to have a perfect than an imperfect love?”
“I have no love for you,” replied Jambicque, “whether perfect or imperfect, except such as I bear to the rest of my mistress’s servants. But if you speak further to me as you have spoken now, I shall perhaps have such hatred for you as may be to your hurt.”
However, the gentleman persisted in his discourse.
“Where,” said he, “is the kindness that you show me when I cannot see you? Why do you withhold it from me now when the light suffers me to behold both your beauty and your excellent and perfect grace?”
Jambicque, making a great sign of the cross, replied—
“Either you have lost your understanding or you are the greatest liar alive. Never in my life have I to my knowledge shown you more kindness or less than I do at this moment, and I pray you therefore tell me what it is you mean.”
Then the unhappy gentleman, thinking to better his fortune with her, told her of the place where he had met her, and of the chalk-mark which he had made in order to recognise her, on hearing which she was so beside herself with anger as to tell him that he was the wickedest of men, and that she would bring him to repent of the foul falsehood that he had invented against her.
The gentleman, knowing how well she stood with her mistress, sought to soothe her, but he found it impossible to do so; for, leaving him where he stood, she furiously betook herself to her mistress, who, loving Jambicque as she did herself, left all the company to come and speak with her, and, on finding her in such great wrath, inquired of her what the matter was. Thereupon Jambicque, who had no wish to hide it, related all the gentleman’s discourse, and this she did so much to the unhappy man’s disadvantage, that on the very same evening his mistress commanded him to withdraw forthwith to his own home without speaking with anyone and to stay there until he should be sent for. And this he did right speedily, for fear of worse. (4)
4 It has been mentioned in note 2 that the gentleman in
question was Brantôme’s uncle La Chastaigneraye. Born,
according to most accounts, in 1520, Francis de Vivonne,
Lord of La Chastaigneraye, was a godson of Francis I., and
early displayed marked skill and prowess in all bodily
exercises and feats of arms. He was, however, of a very
quarrelsome disposition, and had several duels. A dispute
arising between him and Guy de Chabot, Lord of Jarnac, they
solicited permission to fight, but Francis I. would not
accord it, and it was only after the accession of Henry II.
that the encounter took place. The spot fixed upon was the
park of St. Germain-en-Laye, and the King and the whole
Court were present (July 10, 1547)—In the result, La
Chastaigneraye was literally ham-strung by a back-thrust
known to this day as the coup de Jarnac. The victor
thereupon begged the King to accept his adversary’s life and
person, and Henry, after telling Jamac that “he had fought
like Cæsar and spoken like Cicero,” caused La Chastaigneraye
to be carried to his tent that his wound might be dressed.
Deeply humiliated by his defeat, however, the vanquished
combatant tore off his bandages and bled to death.—Ed.
So long as Jambicque dwelt with her mistress, the gentleman returned not to the Princess’s house, nor did he ever have tidings of her who had vowed to him that he should lose her as soon as he might seek her out. (5)
5 After referring to this tale Brantôme adds that he had
heard tell of another Court lady who was minded to imitate
Jambicque, but who, “every time she returned from her
assignation, went straight to her room, and let one of her
serving maids examine her on all sides to see if she were
marked. By this means she guarded herself against being
surprised and recognised, and indeed was never marked until
at her ninth assignation, when the mark was at once
discovered by her women. And thereupon, for fear of scandal
and opprobrium, she broke off her intrigue and never more
returned to the appointed spot. Some one said ‘twould have
been better if she had let her lover mark her as often as he
liked, and each time have had his marks effaced, for in this
wise she would have reaped a double pleasure—contentment in
love and satisfaction at duping her lover, who, like he who
seeks the Philosopher’s Stone, would have toiled hard to
discover and identify her, without ever succeeding in doing
so.”—(Lalanne’s OEuvres de Brantôme, pp. 236-8).—M.
“By this tale, ladies, you may see how one who preferred the world’s esteem to a good conscience lost both the one and the other. For now may the eyes of all men read what she strove to hide from those of her lover, and so, whilst fleeing the derision of one, she has incurred the derision of all. Nor can she be held excused on the score of simplicity and artless love, for which all men should have pity, but she must be condemned twice over for having concealed her wickedness with the twofold cloak of honour and glory, and for making herself appear before God and man other than she really was. He, however, who gives not His glory to another, took this cloak from off her and so brought her to double shame.”
“Her wickedness,” said Oisille, “was without excuse. None can defend her when God, Honour, and even Love are her accusers.”
“Nay,” said Hircan, “Pleasure and Folly may; they are the true chief advocates of the ladies.”
“If we had no other advocates,” said Parlamente, “than those you name, our cause would indeed be ill supported; but those who are vanquished by pleasure ought no longer to be called women but rather men, whose reputation is merely exalted by frenzy and lust. When a man takes vengeance upon his enemy and slays him for giving him the lie, he is deemed all the more honourable a gentleman for it; and so, too, when he loves a dozen women besides his own wife. But the reputation of women has a different foundation, that, namely, of gentleness, patience and chastity.”
“You speak of the discreet,” said Hircan.
“Yes,” returned Parlamente, “because I will know none others.”
“If none were wanton,” said Nomerfide, “those who would fain be believed by all the world must often have lied.”
“Pray, Nomerfide,” said Geburon, “receive my vote, and forget that you are a woman, in order that we may learn what some men that are accounted truthful say of the follies of your sex.”
“Since virtue compels me to it, and you have made it my turn, I will tell you what I know. I have not heard any lady or gentleman present speak otherwise than to the disadvantage of the Grey Friars, and out of pity I have resolved to speak well of them in the story that I am now about to relate.”
TALE XLIV.(A).
In reward for not having concealed the truth, the Lord of
Sedan doubled the alms of a Grey Friar, who thus received
two pigs instead of one. (1)
To the castle of Sedan once came a Grey Friar to ask my Lady of Sedan, who was of the house of Crouy, (2) for a pig, which she was wont to give to his Order every year as alms.
1 This tale, though it figures in all the MSS., does not
appear in Gruget’s edition of the Heptameron, but is there
replaced by the one that follows, XLIV. (B).—Ed.
2 This Lady of Sedan is Catherine de Croï, daughter of
Philip VI. de Croï, Count of Chimay. In 1491 she married
Robert II. do la Marck, Duke of Bouillon, Lord of Sedan,
Fleuranges, &c., who was long the companion in arms of
Bayard and La Trémoïlle. Robert II. lost the duchy of
Bouillon through the conquests of Charles V., and one of the
clauses of the treaty of Cambrai (the “Ladies’ Peace”) was
that Francis I. would in no wise assist him to regain it.
His eldest son by Catherine de Croï was the celebrated
Marshal de Fleuranges, “the young adventurer,” who left such
curious memoirs behind him. Robert II. died in 1535, his son
surviving him a couple of years.—Anselme’s Histoire
Généalogique, vol. vii. p. 167.—L. and B. J.
My Lord of Sedan, who was a prudent man and a merry talker, had the good father to eat at his table, and in order to put him on his mettle said to him, among other things—
“Good father, you do well to make your collection while you are yet unknown. I greatly fear that, if once your hypocrisy be found out, you will no longer receive the bread of poor children, earned by the sweat of their fathers.”
The Grey Friar was not abashed by these words, but replied—
“Our Order, my lord, is so securely founded that it will endure as long as the world exists. Our foundation, indeed, cannot fail so long as there are men and women on the earth.”
My Lord of Sedan, being desirous of knowing on what foundation the existence of the Grey Friars was thus based, urgently begged the father to tell him.
After making many excuses, the Friar at last replied—
“Since you are pleased to command me to tell you, you shall hear. Know, then, my lord, that our foundation is the folly of women, and that so long as there be a wanton or foolish woman in the world we shall not die of hunger.”
My Lady of Sedan, who was very passionate, was in such wrath on hearing these words, that, had her husband not been present, she would have dealt harshly with the Grey Friar; and indeed she swore roundly that he should not have the pig that she had promised him; but the Lord of Sedan, finding that he had not concealed the truth, swore that he should have two, and caused them to be sent to his monastery.
“You see, ladies, how the Grey Friar, being sure that the favour of the ladies could not fail him, contrived, by concealing nothing of the truth, to win the favour and alms of men. Had he been a flatterer and dissembler, he would have been more pleasing to the ladies, but not so profitable to himself and his brethren.”
The tale was not concluded without making the whole company laugh, and especially such among them as knew the Lord and Lady of Sedan. And Hircan said—“The Grey Friars, then, should never preach with intent to make women wise, since their folly is of so much service to the Order.”
“They do not preach to them,” said Parlamente, “with intent to make them wise, but only to make them think themselves so. Women who are altogether worldly and foolish do not give them much alms; nevertheless, those who think themselves the wisest because they go often to monasteries, and carry paternosters marked with a death’s head, and wear caps lower than others, must also be accounted foolish, for they rest their salvation on their confidence in the holiness of wicked men, whom they are led by a trifling semblance to regard as demigods.”
“But who could help believing them,” said Enna-suite, “since they have been ordained by our prelates to preach the Gospel to us and rebuke our sins?”
“Those who have experienced their hypocrisy,” said Parlamente, “and who know the difference between the doctrine of God and that of the devil.”
“Jesus!” said Ennasuite. “Can you think that these men would dare to preach false doctrine?”
“Think?” replied Parlamente. “Nay, I am sure that they believe anything but the Gospel. I speak only of the bad among them; for I know many worthy men who preach the Scriptures in all purity and simplicity, and live without reproach, ambition, or covetousness, and in such chastity as is unfeigned and free. However, the streets are not paved with such as these, but are rather distinguished by their opposites; and the good tree is known by its fruit.”
“In very sooth,” said Ennasuite, “I thought we were bound on pain of mortal sin to believe all they tell us from the pulpit as truth, that is, when they speak of what is in the Holy Scriptures, or cite the expositions of holy doctrines divinely inspired.”
“For my part,” said Parlamente, “I cannot but see that there are men of very corrupt faith among them. I know that one of them, a Doctor of Theology and a Principal in their Order, (3) sought to persuade many of the brethren that the Gospel was no more worthy of belief than Cæsar’s Commentaries or any other histories written by learned men of authority; and from the hour I heard that I would believe no preacher’s word unless I found it in harmony with the Word of God, which is the true touchstone for distinguishing between truth and falsehood.”
3 In MS. No. 1520 this passage runs, “a Doctor of Theology
named Colimant, a great preacher and a Principal in their
Order.” However, none of the numerous works on the history
of the Franciscans makes any mention of a divine called
Colimant.—B. J.
“Be assured,” said Oisille, “that those who read it constantly and with humility will never be led into error by deceits or human inventions; for whosoever has a mind filled with truth cannot believe a lie.”
“Yet it seems to me,” said Simontault, “that a simple person is more readily deceived than another.”
“Yes,” said Longarine, “if you deem foolishness to be the same thing as simplicity.”
“I affirm,” replied Simontault, “that a good, gentle and simple woman is more readily deceived than one who is wily and wicked.”
“I think,” said Nomerfide, “that you must know of one overflowing with such goodness, and so I give you my vote that you may tell us of her.”
“Since you have guessed so well,” said Simontault, “I will indeed tell you of her, but you must promise not to weep. Those who declare, ladies, that your craftiness surpasses that of men would find it hard to bring forward such an instance as I am now about to relate, wherein I propose to show you not only the exceeding craftiness of a husband, but also the simplicity and goodness of his wife.”
