I knew a very great lady,[134*] who one day seeing her daughter, which was one of the fairest of women, grieving for the love of a certain gentleman, with whom her brother was sore angered, did say this to her amongst other things: “Nay! my child, never love that man. His manners and form be so bad, and he’s such an ugly fellow. He’s for all the world like a village pastry cook!” At this the daughter burst out a-laughing, making merry at his expense and applauding her mother’s description, allowing his likeness to a pastry-cook, red cap and all. For all that, she had her way; but some while after, in another six months that is, she did leave him for another man.
I have known not a few ladies which had no words bad enough to cast at women that loved inferiors,—their secretaries, serving-men and the like low-born persons, declaring publicly they did loathe such intrigues worse than poison. Yet would these very same ladies be giving themselves up to these base pleasures as much as any. Such be the cunning ways of women; before the world they do show fierce indignation against these offenders, and do threaten and abuse them; but all the while behind backs they do readily enough indulge the same vice themselves. So full of wiles are they! for as the Spanish proverb saith, Mucho sabe la zorra; mas sabe mas la dama enamorada,—“The fox knoweth much, but a woman in love knoweth more.”
13.
However, for all this fair lady of the tale told above did to lull King Francis’ anxiety, yet did she not drive forth every grain of suspicion from out his head, as I have reason to know. I do remember me how once, making a visit to Chambord to see the castle, an old porter that was there, who had been body servant to King Francis, did receive me very obligingly. For in his earlier days he had known some of my people both at Court and in the field, and was of his own wish anxious to show me everything. So having led me to the King’s bed-chamber, he did show me a phrase of writing by the side of the window on the left hand. “Look, Sir!” he cried, “read yonder words. If you have never seen the hand-writing of the King, mine old master, there it is.” And reading it, we found this phrase, “Toute femme varie,” writ there in large letters. I had with me a very honourable and very able gentleman of Périgord, my friend, by name M. des Roches, to whom I turned and said quickly: “’Tis to be supposed, some of the ladies he did love best, and of whose fidelity he was most assured, had been found of him to vary and play him false. Doubtless he had discovered some change in them that was scarce to his liking, and so, in despite, did write these words.” The porter overhearing us, put in: “Why! surely, surely! make no mistake, for of all the fair dames I have seen and known, never a one but did cry off on a false scent worse than ever his hunting pack did in chasing the stag; yet ’twas with a very subdued voice, for an if he had noted it, he would have brought ’em to the scent again pretty smartly.”
They were, ’twould seem, of those women, which can never be content with either their husbands or their lovers, Kings though they be, and Princes and great Lords; but must be ever chopping and changing. Such this good King had found them by experience to be, having himself first debauched the same and taken them from the charge of their husbands or their mothers, tempting them from their maiden or widowed estate.
I have both known and heard speak of a lady,[135*] so fondly loved of her Prince, as that for the mighty affection he bare her, he did plunge her to the neck in all sorts of favours, benefits and honours, and never another woman was to be compared with her for good fortune. Natheless was she so enamoured of a certain Lord, she would never quit him. Then whenas he would remonstrate and declare to her how the Prince would ruin both of them, “Nay! ’tis all one,” she would answer; “an if you leave me, I shall ruin myself, for to ruin you along with me. I had rather be called your concubine than this Prince’s mistress.” Here you have woman’s caprice surely, and wanton naughtiness to boot! Another very great lady I have known, a widow, did much the same; for albeit she was all but adored of a very great nobleman, yet must she needs have sundry other humbler lovers, so as never to lose an hour of her time or ever be idle. For indeed one man only cannot be always at work and afford enough in these matters; and the rule of love is this, that a passionate woman is not for one stated time, nor yet for one stated person alone, nor will confine her to one passion,—reminding me of that dame in the Cent Nouvelles of the Queen of Navarre, which had three lovers all at once, and was so clever she did contrive to manage them all three most adroitly.
The beautiful Agnes Sorel, the adored mistress of King Charles VII., was suspected by him of having borne a daughter that he thought not to be his, nor was he ever able to recognize her. And indeed, like mother, like daughter, was the word, as our Chroniclers do all agree. The same again did Anne Boleyn, wife of King Henry VIII. of England, whom he did behead for not being content with him, but giving herself to adultery. Yet had he chose her for her beauty, and did adore her fondly.
I knew another lady which had been loved by a very honourable gentleman, but after some while left by him; and one day it happened that these twain fell to discussing their former loves. The gentleman, who was for posing as a dashing blade, cried, “Ha! ha! and think you, you were my only mistress in those days? You will be much surprised to hear, I had two others all the while, would you not?” To this she answered on the instant, “You would be yet more surprised, would you not? to learn you were anything but mine only lover then, for I had actually three beside you to fall back on.” Thus you see how a good ship will always have two or three anchors for to ensure its safety thoroughly.
To conclude,—love is all in all for women, and so it should be! I will only add how once I found in the tablets of a very fair and honourable lady which did stammer a little Spanish, but did understand the same language well enough, this little maxim writ with her own hand, for I did recognize it quite easily: Hembra o dama sin compagnero, esperanza sin trabajo, y navio sin timon; nunca pueden hazer cost que sea buena,—“Man or woman without companion, hope without work, or ship without rudder, will never do aught good for much.” ’Tis a saying equally true for wife, widow and maid; neither one nor the other can do aught good without the company of a man, while the hope a lover hath of winning them is not by itself near so like to gain them over readily as with something of pains and hard work added, and some strife and struggle. Yet doth not either wife or widow give so much as a maid must, for ’tis allowed of all to be an easier and simpler thing to conquer and bring under one that hath already been conquered, subdued and overthrown, than one that hath never yet been vanquished,—and that far less toil and pains is spent in travelling a road already well worn and beaten than one that hath never been made and traced out,—and for the truth of these two instances I do refer me to travellers and men of war. And so it is with maids; indeed there be even some so capricious as that they have always refused to marry, choosing rather to live ever in maidenly estate. But an if you ask them the reason, “’Tis so, because my humour is to have it so,” they declare. Cybelé, Juno, Venus, Thetis, Ceres and other heavenly goddesses, did all scorn this name of virgin,—excepting only Pallas, which did spring from her father Jupiter’s brain, hereby showing that virginity is naught but a notion conceived in the brain. So, ask our maids, which will never marry, or an if they do, do so as late as ever they can, and at an over ripe age, why they marry not, “’Tis because I do not wish,” they say; “such is my humour and my notion.”
Several such we have seen at the Court of our Princes in the days of King Francis. The Queen Regent had a very fair and noble maid of honour, named Poupincourt,[136*] which did never marry, but died a maid at the age of sixty, as chaste as when she was born, for she was most discreet. La Brelandière again died a maid and virgin at the ripe age of eighty, the same which was governess of Madame d’Angoulême as a girl.