PROLOGUE.
In the morning the Lady Oisille went earlier than was her wont to make ready for her reading in the hall, but the company being advised of this, and eager to hearken to her excellent instruction, used such despatch in dressing themselves that she had not long to wait. Perceiving their fervour, she set about reading them the Epistle of St. John the Evangelist, which is full of naught but love, in the same wise as, on the foregoing days, she had expounded to them St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans. The company found this fare so much to their taste, that, although they tarried a half-hour longer than on the other days, it seemed to them as if they had not remained there a quarter of an hour altogether. From thence they proceeded to the contemplation of the mass, when one and all commended themselves to the Holy Ghost in order that they might that day be enabled to satisfy their merry audience; and, after they had broken their fast and taken a little rest, they set out to resume their accustomed diversion.
And the Lady Oisille asking who should begin the day, Longarine made answer—
“I give my vote to Madame Oisille; she has this day read to us so beauteous a lesson, that she can but tell us some story apt to crown the glory which she won this morning.”
“I am sorry,” said Oisille, “that I cannot tell you aught so profitable this afternoon as I did in the morning. But at least the purport of my story shall not depart from the teaching of Holy Scripture, where it is written, ‘Trust not in princes, nor in the sons of men, in whom is not our salvation.’ (1) And that this truth may not be forgotten by you for lack of an example, I will tell you a tale which is quite true, and the memory of which is so fresh that the eyes of those that saw the piteous sight are scarcely yet dried.”
[The Duke of Urbino sending the Maiden to Prison for carrying
Messages between his Son and his Sweetheart]
TALE LI.
Because he would not have his son make a poor marriage, the
Duke of Urbino, contrary to the promise given to his wife,
hanged a young maiden by whom his son was wont to inform his
sweetheart of the love he bore her.
The Duke of Urbino, called the Prefect, (1) the same that married the sister of the first Duke of Mantua, had a son of between eighteen and twenty years of age, who was in love with a girl of an excellent and honourable house, sister to the Abbot of Farse. (2) And since, according to the custom of the country, he was not free to converse with her as he wished, he obtained the aid of a gentleman in his service, who was in love with a very beautiful and virtuous young damsel in the service of his mother. By means of this damsel he informed his sweetheart of the deep affection that he bore her; and the poor girl, thinking no harm, took pleasure in doing him service, believing his purpose to be so good and virtuous that she might honourably be the carrier of his intentions. But the Duke, who had more regard for the profit of his house than for any virtuous affection, was in such great fear lest these dealings should lead his son (3) into marriage, that he caused a strict watch to be kept; whereupon he was informed that the poor damsel had been concerned in carrying some letters from his son to the lady he loved. On hearing this he was in great wrath, and resolved to take the matter in hand.
1 This is Francesco Maria I., della Rovere, nephew to Pope
Julius II., by whom he was created Prefect of Rome. Brought
up at the French Court, he became one of the great captains
of the period, especially distinguishing himself in the
command of the Venetian forces during the earlier part of
his career. He married Leonora Ypolita Gonzaga, daughter of
Francesco II., fourth Marquis of Mantua, respecting whom see
ante, vol. iii., notes to Tale XIX. It was Leonora rather
than her husband who imparted lustre to the Court of Urbino
at this period by encouraging arts and letters. Among those
who flourished there were Raffaelle and Baldassare
Castiglione. Francesco Maria, born in March 1491, died in
1538 from the effects—so it is asserted by several
contemporary writers—of a poisonous lotion which a Mantuan
barber had dropped into his ear. His wife, who bore him two
sons (see post, note 3), died at the age of 72, in 1570.—L.
and Ed.
2 The French words are Abbé de Farse. Farse would appear
to be a locality, as abbots were then usually designated by
the names of their monasteries; still it may be intended for
the Abbot’s surname, and some commentators, adopting this
view, have suggested that the proper reading would be
Farnese.—Ed.
3 The Duke’s two sons were Federigo, born in March 1511,
and Guidobaldo, born in April 1514. The former according to
all authorities died when “young,” and probably long before
reaching man’s estate. Dennistoun, in his searching Memoirs
of the Dukes of Urbino (London, 1851), clearly shows that
for many years prior to Francesco Maria’s death his second
son Guidobaldo was the only child remaining to him. Already
in 1534, when but twenty years old, Guidobaldo was regarded
as his father’s sole heir and successor. In that year
Francesco Maria forced the young man to marry Giulia Varana,
a child of eleven, in order that he might lay claim to her
father’s state of Camerino and annex it to the duchy. There
is no record of Guidobaldo having ever engaged in any such
intrigue as related by Queen Margaret in the above tale,
still it must be to him that she refers, everything pointing
to the conclusion that his brother Federigo died in
childhood. Guidobaldo became Duke of Urbino on his father’s
death.—Ed.
He could not, however, conceal his anger so well that the maiden was not advised of it, and knowing his wickedness, which was in her eyes as great as his conscience was small, she felt a wondrous dread. Going therefore to the Duchess, she craved leave to retire somewhere out of the Duke’s sight until his passion should be past; but her mistress replied that, before giving her leave to do so, she would try to find out her husband’s will in the matter.
Very soon, however, the Duchess heard the Duke’s evil words concerning the affair, and, knowing his temper, she not only gave the maiden leave, but advised her to retire into a convent until the storm was over. This she did as secretly as she could, yet not so stealthily but that the Duke was advised of it. Thereupon, with pretended cheerfulness of countenance, he asked his wife where the maiden was, and she, believing him to be well aware of the truth, confessed it to him. He feigned to be vexed thereat, saying that the girl had no need to behave in that fashion, and that for his part he desired her no harm. And he requested his wife to cause her to come back again, since it was by no means well to have such matters noised abroad.
The Duchess replied that, if the poor girl was so unfortunate as to have lost his favour, it were better for a time that she should not come into his presence; however, he would not hearken to her reasonings, but commanded her to bid the maiden return.
The Duchess failed not to make the Duke’s will known to the maiden; but the latter, who could not but feel afraid, entreated her mistress that she might not be compelled to run this risk, saying that she knew the Duke was not so ready to forgive her as he feigned to be. Nevertheless, the Duchess assured her that she should take no hurt, and pledged her own life and honour for her safety.
The girl, who well knew that her mistress loved her, and would not lightly deceive her, trusted in her promise, believing that the Duke would never break a pledge when his wife’s honour was its warranty. And accordingly she returned to the Duchess.
As soon as the Duke knew this, he failed not to repair to his wife’s apartment. There, as soon as he saw the maiden, he said to his wife, “So such-a-one has returned,” and turning to his gentlemen, he commanded them to arrest her and lead her to prison.
At this the poor Duchess, who by the pledging of her word had drawn the maiden from her refuge, was in such despair that, falling upon her knees before her husband, she prayed that for love of herself and of his house he would not do so foul a deed, seeing that it was in obedience to himself that she had drawn the maiden from her place of safety.
But no prayer that she could utter availed to soften his hard heart, or to overcome his stern resolve to be avenged. Without making any reply, he withdrew as speedily as possible, and, foregoing all manner of trial, and forgetting God and the honour of his house, he cruelly caused the hapless maiden to be hanged.
I cannot undertake to recount to you the grief of the Duchess; it was such as beseemed a lady of honour and a tender heart on beholding one, whom she would fain have saved, perish through trust in her own plighted faith. Still less is it possible to describe the deep affliction of the unhappy gentleman, the maiden’s lover, who failed not to do all that in him lay to save his sweetheart’s life, offering to give his own for hers; but no feeling of pity moved the heart of this Duke, whose only happiness was that of avenging himself on those whom he hated. (4)
4 That Francesco-Maria was a man of a hasty, violent
temperament is certain. Much that Guicciardini relates of
him was doubtless penned in a spirit of resentment, for
during the time the historian lived at Urbino the Duke
repeatedly struck him, and on one occasion felled him to the
ground, with the sneering remark, “Your business is to
confer with pedants.” On the other hand, however, there is
independent documentary evidence in existence—notably
among the Urbino MSS. in the Vatican library—which shows
that Francesco-Maria in no wise recoiled from shedding
blood. He was yet in his teens when it was reported to him
that his sister—the widow of Venanzio of Camerino, killed
by Caesar Borgia—had secretly married a certain Giovanni
Andrea of Verona and borne him a son. Watching his
opportunity, Francesco-Maria set upon the unfortunate Andrea
one day in the ducal chamber and then and there killed him,
though not without resistance, for Andrea only succumbed
after receiving four-and-twenty stabs with his murderer’s
poignard (Urbino MSS. Vat. No. 904). A few years later, in
1511, Francesco-Maria assassinated the Papal Legate
Alidosio, Cardinal Archbishop of Pavia, whom he encountered
in the environs of Bologna riding his mule and followed by a
hundred light horse. Nevertheless Urbino, with only a small
retinue, galloped up to him, plunged a dagger into his
stomach and fled before the soldiery could intervene. From
these examples it will be seen that, although history has
preserved no record of the affair related by Queen Margaret,
her narrative may well be a true one.—Ed.
Thus, in spite of every law of honour, was the innocent maiden put to death by this cruel Duke, to the exceeding sorrow of all that knew her.
“See, ladies, what are the effects of wickedness when this is combined with power.”
“I had indeed heard,” said Longarine, “that the Italians were prone to three especial vices; but I should not have thought that vengeance and cruelty would have gone so far as to deal a cruel death for so slight a cause.”
“Longarine,” said Saffredent, laughing, “you have told us one of the three vices, but we must also know the other two.”
“If you did not know them,” she replied, “I would inform you, but I am sure that you know them all.”
“From your words,” said Saffredent, “it seems that you deem me very vicious.”
“Not so,” said Longarine, “but you so well know the ugliness of vice that, better than any other, you are able to avoid it.”
“Do not be amazed,” said Simontault, “at this act of cruelty. Those who have passed through Italy have seen such incredible instances, that this one is in comparison but a trifling peccadillo.”
“Ay, truly,” said Geburon. “When Rivolta was taken by the French, (5) there was an Italian captain who was esteemed a knightly comrade, but on seeing the dead body of a man who was only his enemy in that being a Guelph he was opposed to the Ghibellines, he tore out his heart, broiled it on the coals and devoured it. And when some asked him how he liked it, he replied that he had never eaten so savoury or dainty a morsel. Not content with this fine deed, he killed the dead man’s wife, and tearing out the fruit of her womb, dashed it against a wall. Then he filled the bodies both of husband and wife with oats and made his horses eat from them. Think you that such a man as that would not surely have put to death a girl whom he suspected of offending him?”
5 Rivolta or Rivoli was captured by the French under Louis
XII. in 1509. An instance of savagery identical in character
with that mentioned by “Geburon” had already occurred at the
time of Charles VIII.‘s expedition to Naples, when the
culprit, a young Italian of good birth, was seized and
publicly executed.—Ed.
“It must be acknowledged,” said Ennasuite, “that this Duke of Urbino was more afraid that his son might make a poor marriage than desirous of giving him a wife to his liking.”
“I think you can have no doubt,” replied Simon-tault, “that it is the Italian nature to love unnaturally that which has been created only for nature’s service.”
“Worse than that,” said Hircan, “they make a god of things that are contrary to nature.”
“And there,” said Longarine, “you have another one of the sins that I meant; for we know that to love money, excepting so far as it be necessary, is idolatry.”
Parlamente then said that St. Paul had not forgotten the vices of the Italians, and of all those who believe that they exceed and surpass others in honour, prudence and human reason, and who trust so strongly to this last as to withhold from God the glory that is His due. Wherefore the Almighty, jealous of His honour, renders’ those who believe themselves possessed of more understanding than other men, more insensate even than wild the beasts, causing them to show by their unnatural deeds that their sense is reprobate.
Longarine here interrupted Parlamente to say that this was indeed the third sin to which the Italians were prone.
“By my faith,” said Nomerfide, “this discourse is very pleasing to me, for, since those that possess the best trained and acutest understandings are punished by being made more witless even than wild beasts, it must follow that such as are humble, and low, and of little reach, like myself, are filled with the wisdom of angels.”
“I protest to you,” said Oisille, “that I am not far from your opinion, for none is more ignorant than he who thinks he knows.”
“I have never seen a mocker,” said Geburon, “that was not mocked, a deceiver that was not deceived, or a boaster that was not humbled.”
“You remind me,” said Simontault, “of a deceit which, had it been of a seemly sort, I would willingly have related.”
“Well,” said Oisille, “since we are here to utter truth, I give you my vote that you may tell it to us whatsoever its nature may be.”
“Since you give place to me,” said Simontault, “I will tell it you.”
[The Gentleman and his Friend annoyed by The Smell of that
which they Thought was Sugar]
TALE LII.
An apothecary s man, espying behind him an advocate who was
to plague him, and on whom he desired to be revenged,
dropped from his sleeve a lump of frozen ordure, wrapped in
paper like a sugar-loaf, which a gentleman who was with the
advocate picked up and hid in his bosom, and then went to
breakfast at a tavern, whence he came forth with all the
cost and shame that he had thought to bring upon the poor
varlet.
Near the town of Alençon there lived a gentleman called the Lord of La Tireliere, who one morning came from his house to the town afoot, both because the distance was not great and because it was freezing hard. (1) When he had done his business, he sought out a crony of his, an advocate named Anthony Bacheré, and, after speaking with him of his affairs, he told him that he should much like to meet with a good breakfast, but at somebody else’s expense. While thus discussing, they sat themselves down in front of an apothecary’s shop, where there was a varlet who listened to them, and who forthwith resolved to give them their breakfast.
1 The phraseology of this story varies considerably in the
different MSS. of the Heptameron. In No. 1520, for
instance, the tale begins as follows: “In the town of
Alençon, in the time of the last Duke Charles, there was an
advocate, a merry companion, fond of breakfasting o’
mornings. One day, whilst he sat at his door, he saw pass a
gentleman called the Lord of La Tilleriere, who, by reason
of the extreme cold, had come on foot from his house to the
town in order to attend to certain business there, and in
doing so had not forgotten to put on his great robe, lined
with fox-skin. And when he saw the advocate, who was much
such a man as himself, he told him that he had completed his
business, and had nothing further to do, except it were to
find a good breakfast. The advocate made answer that they
could find breakfasts enough and to spare, provided they had
some one to defray the cost, and, taking the other under the
arm, he said to him, ‘Come, gossip, we may perhaps find some
fool who will pay the reckoning for us both.’ Now behind
them was an apothecary’s man, an artful and inventive
fellow, whom this advocate was always plaguing,” &c.—L.
He went out from his shop into a street whither all repaired on needful occasions, (2) and there found a large lump of ordure standing on end, and so well frozen that it looked like a small loaf of fine sugar. Forthwith he wrapped it in handsome white paper, in the manner he was wont to use for the attraction of customers, and hid it in his sleeve.
2 In olden time, as shown in the Mémoires de l’Académie de
Troyes, there were in most French towns streets specially
set aside for the purpose referred to. At Alençon, in Queen
Margaret’s time, there was a street called the Rue des
Fumiers, as appears from a report dated March 8, 1564
(Archives of the Orne, Series A). Probably it is to this
street that she alludes. (Communicated by M. L. Duval,
archivist of the department of the Orne).—M.
Afterwards he came and passed in front of the gentleman and the advocate, and, letting the sugar-loaf (3) fall near them, as if by mischance, went into a house whither he had pretended to be carrying it.
The Lord of La Tirelière (4) hastened back with all speed to pick up what he thought to be a sugar-loaf, and just as he had done so the apothecary’s man also came back looking and asking for his sugar everywhere.
3 M. Duval, archivist of the Orne, states that La
Tirelière, which is situated near St. Germain-du-Corbois,
within three miles of Alençon, is an old gentilhommière or
manor-house, surrounded by a moat. It was originally a
simple vavassonrie held in fief from the Counts and Dukes
of Alençon by the Pantolf and Crouches families, and in the
seventeenth century was merged into the marquisate of
L’Isle.—M.
4 Sugar was at this period sold by apothecaries, and was a
rare and costly luxury. There were loaves of various sizes,
but none so large as those of the present time.—M.
The gentleman, thinking that he had cleverly tricked him, then went in haste to a tavern with his crony, to whom he said—
“Our breakfast has been paid for at the cost of that varlet.”
When he was come to the tavern he called for good bread, good wine and good meat, for he thought that he had wherewith to pay. But whilst he was eating, as he began to grow warm, his sugar-loaf in its turn began to thaw and melt, and filled the whole room with the smell peculiar to it, whereupon he, who carried it in his bosom, grew wroth with the waiting-woman, and said to her—
“You are the filthiest folks that ever I knew in this town, for either you or your children have strewn all this room with filth.”
“By St. Peter!” replied the woman, “there is no filth here unless you have brought it in yourselves.”
Thereupon they rose, by reason of the great stench that they smelt, and went up to the fire, where the gentleman drew out of his bosom a handkerchief all dyed with the melted sugar, and on opening his robe, lined with fox-skin, found it to be quite spoiled.
And all that he was able to say to his crony was this—
“The rogue whom we thought to deceive has deceived us instead.”
Then they paid their reckoning and went away as vexed as they had been merry on their arrival, when they fancied they had tricked the apothecary’s varlet. (5)
5 In MS. 1520, this tale ends in the following manner:—
“They were no sooner in the street than they perceived the
apothecary’s man going about and making inquiry of every one
whether they had not seen a loaf of sugar wrapped in paper.
They [the advocate and his companion] sought to avoid him,
but he called aloud to the advocate, ‘If you have my loaf of
sugar, sir, I beg that you will give it back to me, for ‘tis
a double sin to rob a poor servant.’ His shouts brought to
the spot many people curious to witness the dispute, and the
true circumstances of the case were so well proven, that the
apothecary’s man was as glad to have been robbed as the
others were vexed at having committed such a nasty theft.
However, they comforted themselves with the hope that they
might some day give him tit for tat.”—Ed.
“Often, ladies, do we see the like befall those who delight in using such cunning. If the gentleman had not sought to eat at another’s expense, he would not have drunk so vile a beverage at his own. It is true, ladies, that my story is not a very clean one, but you gave me license to speak the truth, and I have done so in order to show you that no one is sorry when a deceiver is deceived.”
“It is commonly said,” replied Hircan, “that words have no stink, yet those for whom they are intended do not easily escape smelling them.”
“It is true,” said Oisille, “that such words do not stink, but there are others which are spoken of as nasty, and which are of such evil odour that they disgust the soul even more than the body is disgusted when it smells such a sugar-loaf as you described in the tale.”
“I pray you,” said Hircan, “tell me what words you know of so foul as to sicken both the heart and soul of a virtuous woman.”
“It would indeed be seemly,” replied Oisille, “that I should tell you words which I counsel no woman to utter.”
“By that,” said Saffredent, “I quite understand what those terms are. They are such as women desirous of being held discreet do not commonly employ. But I would ask all the ladies present why, when they dare not utter them, they are so ready to laugh at them when they are used in their presence.”
Then said Parlamente—
“We do not laugh because we hear such pretty expressions, though it is indeed true that every one is disposed to laugh on seeing anybody stumble or on hearing any one utter an unfitting word, as often happens. The tongue will trip and cause one word to be used for another, even by the discreetest and most excellent speakers. But when you men talk viciously, not from ignorance, but by reason of your own wickedness, I know of no virtuous woman who does not feel a loathing for such speakers, and who would not merely refuse to hearken to them, but even to remain in their company.”
“That is very true,” responded Geburon. “I have frequently seen women make the sign of the cross on hearing certain words spoken, and cease not in doing so after these words had been uttered a second time.”
“But how many times,” said Simontault, “have they put on their masks (6) in order to laugh as freely as they pretended to be angry?”
“Yet it were better to do this,” said Parlamente, “than to let it be seen that the talk pleased them.”
“Then,” said Dagoucin, “you praise a lady’s hypocrisy no less than her virtue?”
“Virtue would be far better,” said Longarine, “but, when it is lacking, recourse must be had to hypocrisy, just as we use our slippers (7) to disguise our littleness. And it is no small matter to be able to conceal our imperfections.”
8 Tourets-de-nez. See ante, vol. iii. p. 27, note 5.—Ed.
7 High-heeled slippers or mules were then worn.—B. J.
“By my word,” said Hircan, “it were better sometimes to show some slight imperfection than to cover it so closely with the cloak of virtue.”
“It is true,” said Ennasuitc, “that a borrowed garment brings the borrower as much dishonour when he is constrained to return it as it brought him honour whilst it was being worn, and there is a lady now living who, by being too eager to conceal a small error, fell into a greater.”
“I think,” said Hircan, “that I know whom you mean; in any case, however, do not pronounce her name.”
“Ho! ho!” said Geburon [to Ennasuite], “I give you my vote on condition that when you have related the story you will tell us the names. We will swear never to mention them.”
“I promise it,” said Knnasuite, “for there is nothing that may not be told in all honour.”
