Lives of Fair and Gallant Ladies. Vol 2.

by Pierre de Bourdeille Brantôme

Yo lo he matado,

Por le dar pena de su pecado:

Ya my tan bien, por falta de my juyzio,

Y por dar fin à la mal-adventura qu’yo aviô.

(Here lieth one which did seek a wife, yet could not satisfy a wife; to other women, but not me, though near me, he would give contentment. And for this, and for his cowardice and insolence, I have killed him, to punish him for his sins. Myself likewise I have done to death, for lack of understanding, and to make an end of the unhappy life I had.)

This lady was named Donna Madallena de Soria, the which, in the judgment of some, did a fine thing to kill her husband for the wrong he had done her; but did no less foolishly to slay herself,—and indeed she doth admit as much, saying “for lack of understanding she did herself to death.” She had done better to have led a merry life afterward, were it not, mayhap, she did fear the law and dread to get within its clutches, wherefore she did prefer to triumph over herself rather than trust her repute to the authority of the Judges. I can assure you, there have always been, and are yet women more astute than this; for they do play their game so cunningly and covertly, that lo! you have the husband gone to another world, and themselves living a merry life and getting their complaisant gallants to give ’em no mere artificial joys with godemiches and the like, but the good, sound, real article.

Other widows there be which do show more wisdom, virtue and love toward their late husbands, with never a suspicion of cruelty toward these. Rather they do mourn, lament and bewail them with such extremity of sorrow you would think they would not live one hour more. “Alackaday!” they cry, “am not I the most unhappy woman in all the world, and the most ill-starred to have lost so precious a possession? Gracious God! why dost not kill me straight, that I may follow him presently to the tomb? Nay! I care not to live on after him; for what is left me in this world or can ever come to me, to give me solace? An it were not for these babes he hath left me in pledge, and that they do yet need some stay, verily I would kill myself this very minute. Cursed be the hour ever I was born! If only I might see his ghost, or behold him in a vision or dream, or by some magic art, how blessed should I be e’en now! Oh! sweetheart, sweet soul! can I in no way follow thee in death? Yea! I will follow thee, so soon as, free from all human hindrance, I may be alone and do myself to death. What could make my life worth living, now I have had so irreparable a loss? With thee alive I could have no other wish but to live; with thee dead, no wish but only to die! Well, well! is’t not better for me to die now in thy love and favour and mine own good repute and satisfaction, than to drag on so sorrowful and unhappy a life, wherein is never a scrap of credit to be gotten? Great God! what ills and torments I endure by thine absence! what a sweet deliverance, an if I might but see thee soon again, what a crown of bliss! Alas! he was so handsome, he was so lovable! He was another Mars, another Adonis! and more than all, he was so kind, and loved me so true, and treated me so fondly! In one word, in losing him, I have lost all mine happiness.”

Such and an infinity of the like words do our heart-broken widows indulge in after the death of their husbands. Some will make their moan in one way, others in another, but always something to the effect of what I have set down. Some do cry out on heaven, others curse this earth of ours; some do blaspheme God, others vent their spleen on the world. Some again do feign to swoon, while others counterfeit death; some faint away, and others pretend to be mad and desperate and out of their wits, knowing no one and refusing to speak. In a word, I should never have done, if I were to try to specify all the false, feigned, affected tricks they do use for to prove their grief and mourning to the world. Of course I speak not of all, but of some, and a fine few these be and a good round number.

Good folk of either sex that would console suchlike doleful widows, thinking no ill and supposing their grief genuine, do but lose their pains and none is a whit the better. Others again of these comforters, when they see the poor suffering object of their solicitude failing to keep up the farce and make the proper grimaces, do instruct them in their part, like a certain great lady I wot of, which would tell her daughter, “Now faint, my pet; you don’t show near enough concern.”

Then presently, after all these wondrous rites performed, just like a torrent that after dashing headlong down its course, doth anon subside again and quietly return to its bed, or like a river that hath overflowed its banks, so you will see these widows recover them and return to their former complexion, gradually get back their spirits, begin to be merry once again and dream of worldly vanities. Instead of the death’s-heads they were used to wear, whether painted, engraven or in relief, instead of dead men’s bones set crosswise or enclosed in coffins, instead of tears, whether of jet or of enamelled gold, or simply painted, you will see them now adopt portraits of their husbands worn round the neck, though still adorned with death’s-heads and tears painted in scrolls and the like, in fact sundry little gewgaws, yet all so prettily set off that spectators suppose they do use and wear the same rather by way of mourning for their deceased husbands than for worldly show. Then presently, just as we see young birds, whenas they quit the parental nest, do not at the very first make very long flights, but fluttering from branch to branch do little by little learn the use of their wings, so these widows, quitting their mourning habits and desperate grief, do not appear in public at once, but taking greater and greater freedom by degrees, do at last throw off their mourning altogether, and toss their widows’ weeds and flowing veil to the dogs, as the saying is, and letting love more than ever fill their heads, do dream of naught else but only a second marriage or other return to wanton living. So we find their great and violent sorrow hath no long duration. It had been better far to have exercised more moderation in their sorrow.