The Palace of Pleasure, Volume 2

by Unknown

[ THE FIFTY-EIGHTH NOUELL.]

A President of Grenoble aduertised of the ill gouernement of his wife, took such order, that his honestie was not diminished, and yet reuenged the facte.

In Grenoble (the chiefe citie of a Countrie in Fraunce called Daulphine, which citie otherwise is named Gratianapolis) there was a President that had a very fayre wyfe, who perceiuing her husbande beginne to waxe olde, fell in loue with a yong man that was her husband’s Clark, a very propre and handsome felowe. Vpon a time when her husband in a morning was gone to the Palace, the clarke entred his chamber and tooke his Maister’s place, whiche thing one of the presidente’s men, that faithfully had serued him the space of XXX. yeres like a trustie seruant perceiuing, could not keepe it secret, but tolde his Maister. The President whiche was a wise man, would not beleue it vpon his light report, but sayde that he did it of purpose to set discord betwene him and his wife, notwithstanding if the thing were true as he had reported, he might let him see the thing it selfe, whiche if he did not, he had good cause to thinke that he had deuised a lye to breake and dissolue the loue betwene them. The seruaunt did assure him that he would cause him to see the thing wherof he had tolde him. And one morning so sone as the President was gone to the Court, and the Clarked entred into his chamber, the seruaunt sent one of his companions to tel his maister that he might come in good time, to see the thing that he had declared vnto him, he himself standing stil at the doore to watch that the partie might not goe out. The President so sone as he sawe the signe that one of his men made vnto him, fayning that he was not wel at ease, left the audience, and spedely went home to his house, where he founde his olde seruaunt watching at the chamber dore, assuring him for truth that the Clarke was within, and that he should with spede to goe in. The President sayd to his seruant: “Do not tarrie at the dore, for thou knowest ther is no other going out or comming in but onely this, except a litle closet wherof I alone do beare the keye.” The president entred the chamber, and found his wife and the Clarke a bed together, who in his shirt fell downe at the president’s feete, crauing pardon, and his wife much afraid began to weepe. To whome the President sayde: “For so muche as the thing which thou hast done is such, as thou maist well consider, that I can not abyde my house (for thee) in this sort to be dishonored, and the daughters which I haue had by thee to be disauaunced and abased: therfore leaue of thy weeping, and marke what I shall doe. And thou Nicolas (for that was his Clarke’s name) hide thy selfe here in my closet, and in any wise make no noyse.” When he had so done, he opened the dore and called in his olde seruaunt, and sayde vnto him: “Diddest not thou warrant and assure me that thou wouldest let me see my Clarke and wyfe in bedde together? And vppon thy words I am come hether, thinking to haue killed my wife, and doe finde nothing to be true of that which thou diddest tell me. For I haue searched the chamber in euery place as I will shewe thee.” And with that he caused his seruant to looke vnder the beddes, and in euery corner. And when the seruant founde him not, throughly astonned, he sayde to his maister: “Sir, I sawe him goe into the chamber, and out he is not gone at the dore: and so farre as I can see he is not here: therefore I thinke the Diuel must nedes carrie him awaye.” Then his maister rebuked him in these words: “Thou art a villayn, to set such diuision betwene my wife and me, wherefore I doe discharge thee from my seruice, and for that which thou hast done me, I will paye the thy dutie, with the aduauntage: therefore get thee hence, and take hede that thou doest not tarrie in this town aboue XXIIII. houres.” The President for that he knew him to be an honest and faithfull seruaunt, gaue him five or sixe yeares wages, and purposed otherwise to preferre him. When the seruaunt (with ill will and weping teares) was departed, the President caused his Clark to come out of his Closet: and after he had declared to his wife and him, what hee thought of their ill behauiour, he forbad them to shewe no likelyhode of any such matter, and commaunded his wyfe to attire and dresse her selfe in more gorgeous apparell, than she was wont to weare, and to haunt and resort to company and feastes, willing the Clarke to make a better countenaunce on the matter then hee did before, but whensoeuer he rounded him in the eare and bad him depart, he charged him after that commaundement not to tarry foure houres in the towne. And when he had thus done, he retourned to the palace Courte, as though there hadde no sutche thing chaunced. And the space of fiftene dayes (contrary to his custome) he feasted his frendes and neighbours, and after euery those bankettes, he caused the minstrels to play, to make the Gentlewomen daunce. One daye he seing his wife not to daunce, he commaunded his Clarke to take her by the hande, and to leade her forth to daunce, who thinking the President had forgotten the trespasse past, very ioyfully daunced with her. But when the daunce was ended, the President faining as though he would haue commaunded him to doe some thing in his house, bad him in his eare to get him away and neuer to retourne. Now was the Clark very sorowfull to leaue his Ladye, but yet no lesse ioyfull he was that his life was saued. Afterwardes when the President had made all his frendes and kinsfolkes, and all the countrey, beleue what great loue he bare to his wife, vppon a faire day in the moneth of May, he went to gather a sallade in his garden, the herbes whereof after she had eaten, she liued not aboue XXIIII. houres after, whereof he counterfaited suche sorrowe, as no man could suspect the occasion of her death. And by that meanes he was reuenged of his enemy, and saued the honour of his house.

“¶ I will not by this Nouell (said Emarsuitte) prayse the conscience of the President, but herein I haue declared the light behauiour of a woman, and the great pacience and prudence of a man: Praying you good Ladies all, not to be offended at the truthe.” “If all women (quo Parlamente) that loue their Clarkes or seruauntes, were forced to eate such sallades, I beleue they would not loue their gardens so well as they doe, but woulde teare and plucke vp all the herbes bothe roote and rinde, to auoyde those thinges that by death might aduaunce the honor of their stock and ligneage.” “If sallades be so costly (quod Hircan) and so daungerous in May, I will prouoke appetite with other sawces, or els hunger shall be my chiefest.”

[ THE FIFTY-NINTH NOUELL.]

A gentleman of Perche suspecting iniurie done vnto him by his friend, prouoked him to execute and put in proufe the cause of his suspicion.

Besides the countrie of Perche, there were two Gentlemen, which from the tyme of theyr youthe lyued in sutche great and perfect amitie, as there was betwene them but one harte, one bed, one house, one table, and one purse. Long time continued this perfect frendship: betwene whom there was but one will and one woorde, no difference in either of them: in so muche as they not onely semed to be two brethren, but also they appeared in al semblances to be but one man. One of them chaunced to mary: notwithstanding they gaue not ouer their frendship, but perseuered in their vsual amitie as they were wont to doe: and whan they happened to be strained to straight lodging, the maried gentleman would not stick to suffer his friend to lie with him and his wife. But yet you ought for frendship sake to consider that the maried man lay in the mids. Their goodes were common betwene them, and the mariage did yelde no cause to hinder their assured amitie. But in processe of time, the felicitie of this worlde (whiche carieth with it a certaine mutabitie) could not continue in the house, which was before right pleasaunt and happy: for the maried man forgetting the faithfull fidelitie of his friend, without any cause conceiued a greate suspicion betwene hym and his wyfe, from whom he could not dissemble the case, but sharpely tolde her his mynde. She therewithall was wonderfully amazed: howbeit, he commaunded her to doe all thinges (one thing excepted) and to make so muche of his companion as of himselfe. Neuerthelesse he forbade her to speake vnto hym except it were in the presence of many. All which she gaue her husbande’s companion to vnderstande, who would not beleue her, knowyng that hee had neither by thought or deede done anye thing whereof his companion had cause to be offended. And likewise because he used to kepe nothing secrete from hym, he tolde him what he had sayde, praying hym to tell him the truthe of the matter, because he purposed neither in that, ne yet in any other thing, to geue occasion of breach of that amitie which of long time they had imbraced. The maried Gentleman assured him that he neuer thought it, and how they which had sowen that rumor, had wickedly belied him. Whereunto his companion replied: “I knowe wel enough that Ielousie is a passion so intollerable as loue it selfe. And when you shall conceiue that opinion of Ialousie, yea and it were of my selfe, I should do you no wrong, for your selfe were not able to kepe it. But of one thing which is in your power, I haue good matter whereof to complayne, and that is because you will concele from me your maladie, sith there was no passion or opinion which you conceiued, that before this time you kept secret from me. Likewise for my owne parte if I were amorous of your wife, you ought not to impute it as a fault vnto me, because it is a fier which I bare not in my handes, to vse at my pleasure. But if I kepe it to my selfe from you, and indeuour to make youre wife knowe it by demonstration of my loue, I might then be accompted that vntrustiest friend that euer liued: and for me I doe assure you that shee is a right honest and a good woman, and one that my fansie doth lest fauour (although she were not your wife) of all them that euer I sawe. But now sithens there is no cause, I do require you that if you perceiue any suspicion, be it neuer so litle, to tell me of it, because I would so vse myself, as our frendship which hath indured so long tyme, might not bee broken for a woman: and if I did loue her aboue any thing in the worlde, yet surely I would neuer speake worde vnto her, bicause I doe esteme our frendship better then the greatest treasure.” His companion swore vnto him very great othes that he neuer thought it, praying him to vse his house as he had done before. Whereunto he aunswered: “Sithe you will haue me so to doe, I am content: but I praye you if hereafter you doe conceiue any sinistre opinion in me, not to dissemble the same, which if you doe I will neuer continue longer in your companie.” In processe of time, liuing together according to their custome, the maried Gentleman entred againe into greater Ielousie than euer he did, commaunding his wife to beare no more that countenaunce towards him that she was wont to doe. Whiche commaundement she tolde her husbande’s companion, praying him after that time to forbeare to speake vnto her, for that she was forbidden to doe the like to him. The gentleman vnderstanding by wordes and certaine countenaunces, that his companion had not kept promise, he sayd vnto him in great choler: “To be Ialous (my companion) is a thing naturall: but bicause thou diddest sweare vnto me by othes not to dissemble, I can by no meanes forbeare any longer: for I did euer thinke that betwene thyne harte and mine, there could be no let and interruption: but to my great griefe and without anye fault on my part, I doe see the contrarie. For as muche as thou art not only very Ialous betwene thy wife and mee, but also thou wouldest dissimulate and couer the same, so that in the ende thy maladie and disease continuing so long, is altered into mere malice, and lyke as oure loue hath bene the greateste that hathe bene seene in oure tyme, euen so our displeasure and hatred is nowe moste mortall. I haue done so mutche as lyeth in mee, to auoyde this inconuenience, but sithe thou hast suspected me to be an ill man, and I haue still shewed my selfe to be the contrary, I doe sweare, and therwithal assure thee, by my faith, that I am the same thou thinkest me to be, and therefore from henceforth take hede of me: for since suspicion hath separated the from my loue and amitie, despite shall deuide me from thine.” And albeit that his companion would haue made him beleue the contrarie, and that hee mistrusted hym nothing at all, yet he withdrewe his part of his moueables and goodes that before were common betweene them, so that then both their hartes and goodes were so farre separated as before they were vnited and ioyned together. In such wyse as the vnmaried Gentleman neuer ceassed till he had made his companion cockolde, according to his promise.

[ THE SIXTIETH NOUELL.]

The piteous death of an Amorouse Gentleman, for the slacke comfort geuen him to late, by his beloued.

Betwene Daulphine and Prouence, there was a gentleman, more riche and better furnished with beautie, vertue, and good condicions, then with the goodes of fortune: who fill in loue with a gentlewoman that for this time shall want a name, for respecte of her parentes that are come of honorable houses, and the Gentleman’s name also shalbe vntolde, for like respecte, although altogether not so honorably allied, as the Gentlewoman that he loued, and yet the historie very certen and true. And bicause his degree was not so high as hers, hee durst not discouer his affection: for the loue which he bare her, was so good and perfect, as rather would he haue bene tormented with the panges of death, then couet the least aduauntage that might redounde to her dishonor. And seing his state to base in respecte of hers, had no hope to marry her. Wherefore he grounded his loue vpon none other foundation and intent, but to loue her with all his power so perfectlye as was possible, which in the ende came vnto her knowledge. And the Gentlewoman knowing and seing the honest amitie which he bare her, to be ful of vertue, ioyned with chast and comly talke, felt her selfe right happie to be beloued and had in prise, of a personage so well condicioned, practising dayly cherefull countinaunce towardes him (whiche was the best rewarde he pretended to haue) whereof he conceiued great ease and contentment. But malice the cancred enemy of all reste and quiet, could not long abide this honest and happie life. For some frowning at his good happe, (as malice euer accompanieth a well disposed mynde) tolde the mother of the mayden, howe they marueiled that the Gentleman should bee so familiar in her house, inferring therewithall that the beautie of her daughter was the only cause, with whom they sawe him many times to vse secrete and priuat speach. The mother which by no meanes doubted the honestie of the Gentleman, no more then shee did of her own children, was very sorie to vnderstand that some shold be offended at that their familiarity. She thought therfore to shunne the cause of their offence. And at length, (fearing that slaunder might be raised of malice) she required the Gentleman for a tyme to haunt no more her house, as he was wont to doe. A thing to him of harde digestion, knowing his own innocencie, and lesse desert to be estranged from the house, for respect of the honest talke he vsed to the yonge gentlewoman. Notwithstanding, to stoppe the rage of malicious tongues, he withdrew himself, till he thought the brute was ceased, and then retourned after his wonted maner: whose absence nothing abridged his auncient good will. And he began no soner to be familiar there again, but he vnderstode that the mayden should be maried to a Gentleman, that was not so ritche and noble (as semed to hym) and therfore he thought he should receiue great wrong, if she were bestowed vpon that Gentleman, and not on hym, that had bene so long a sutor. And thereupon conceiued corage to preferre hym selfe in playne tunes, if choyse were geuen to the maiden. Howebeit, the mother and other of her kynne, sollicited and chose the other gentleman because (in dede) he was more welthie. Whereat the poore gentleman fretted with displeasure, seing that his Ladie should for worldly mucke be defrauded of her greatest ioye, by little and little without other maladie, began to languishe, and in litle tyme was so altered, as in his face appeared the visage of death. Neuerthelesse he could not forbeare the house of his beloued, but continually from time to time made his repaire thether to fede himselfe with the baulme of that beautie, which he thought would prolong his dayes, but it was the onely abridgement. In thend the poyson he sucked by the viewe of that beautie, consumed his strength, and force failing him, was constrained to kepe his bedde. Whereof he would not aduertise her whome he loued, for greuing her, knowing well that she would bee tormented with the newes. And so suffring him selfe to runne the race of past recourye, lost also his appetite to eate or drinck, and therewithall his slepe and rest fayled, in suche plight as within short space he was consumed in visage and face, as it grewe to be vglie and cleane out of knowledge. Brought to this lowe estate, one of his frends certified the mother of his mistres, that was a very charitable and kinde Gentlewoman, and loued so well the man, as if all their parentes and kinne had bene of her’s and the mayden’s opinion they would haue preferred the honestie of him, before the great substance of the other. But the frendes of the father’s side by no meanes would consent vnto it. Yet the good Gentlewoman and her daughter (for all the other’s frowardnes) vouchsafed to visit the poor gentleman whom they founde, rather declining towards death, then in hope of life. And knowing his ende to approche, he was shriuen and receiued the holy Sacrament, purposing of present passage by panges of death, neuer to see any of his frendes againe. Being in this case and yet seing her, whome he counted to be his life and sauftie, felte suche soudden recouerie, as hee threwe hym selfe alofte his bedde and spake these wordes vnto her: “What cause hath drieuen you hither (mistres myne) by takyng paines to visite him, who hath one of his feet alreadie within the graue, the other stepping after with conuenient speede, for execution whereof you bee the onely Instrument.” “Howe so, sir?” sayde the mother. “Is it possible that hee, whom we so derely loue, can receiue death by our offences? I pray you sir to tell me, what reason leadeth you to speake these wordes.” “Madame,” sayde he, “so long as I could, I dissembled the loue that I bare to my deare mistres your daughter: so it is that my parentes and frendes speaking of a mariage betwene her and me, haue clattred thereof moe nedeles woordes then I desired, by waying the mishap that might insue, and nowe doth happe past all hope not for my particular pleasure, but bicause I knowe with none other she shalbe so well intreated nor beloued as she should haue bene with me. The benefit which I see she hath lost, is the most perfect frende the best affected seruaunt that euer shee had in this worlde, the losse wherof summoneth death to arrest the carcase, that should haue bene imployed for her seruice, which intierly was conserued and should haue bene for her sake: but sithe nowe it can serue her to no purpose, the simple losse shall redounde to greatest gaine. I meane my selfe (good Ladies bothe) that lieth bewrapped in death before your faces, whose withered clammes hath catched the same within her reach, and hath warned the clocke to tolle the dolefull bell for his poor lovyng ghoste, nowe stretchynge out for the winding shete to shrowde his maigre corps, all forworne with the watche and toile, that such poore men (affected with like care) do feele. It is my selfe, that erst was rouing amid the troupe of Courtlie knightes decked with comely face, whose hewe dame Nature stayned with the colours of her golden art. It is I that of late was loued of that Nymphe, and earthie Goddesse, who with courtinge countenaunce imbraced the place where I did stande, and kissed the steps wherein I trode. It is my selfe I saye, that whilom in painefull blisse, did bath my selfe, and fedde mine eyes with the happie viewe of the heauenliest creature that euer God did make. And by forgoing of those ioyes by to to much mishap, and sacred famine of cursed mucke, I am thus pined as ye see, and wrapte in hopeles state.” The mother and doughter hearinge this complainte, did their indeuour to cheere him vp, and the mother sayde unto him: “Be of good courage sir, and I promise you my fayth, that if God giue you health, my doughter shal haue none other husband but you, and behold her here, whom I commaunde to make you present promise.” The mayden weeping with a virginall shamefastnes, consented to her mother’s hest. But knowing when he was recouered, that he should not haue her, and that the mother was so liberal of her fayre words, to recomfort him and assaye if she might restore him: he said vnto them, that if those words had bin pronounced three monethes past, he had bin the lustiest and most happie gentleman of Fraunce: but helpe offred so late, was past beliefe and hope. But when he saw, that they went about to force him to beleeue it, he said vnto them: “Now that I see ye go about to promise the good tourne which can neuer chaunce vnto mee, yea although consent ioyned with vnfayned promise desires the effect, for respect of the feeble state wherein I am: yet let me craue one thing at your hands, farre lesse then that ye offer, which hitherto I neuer durst be so bolde to aske.” Whereunto they both assented and swore to performe it, intreating him not to be ashamed to requyre it. “I humbly beseech ye (quoth hee) to deliuer her into mine armes whom ye haue promised to be my wife, and commaunde her to imbrace and kisse me.” The mayden not vsed to such priuie sutes, ne yet acquainted with such secrete facts, made some difficultie, but her mother gaue her expresse commaundement to doe it, perceyuing in him no likelihode or force of a man to liue. The maiden then vpon that commaundement, aduaunced herselfe uppon the bedde of the poore pacient, saying vnto him: “Sir, I beseech you to be of good cheere.” The languishing creature, so hard as he could for his extreeme debilitie, stretched forth his faint consumed armes, and with al the force of his body imbraced the cause of his death, and kissinge her with his colde and wanne mouth, held her so long as he could, and then spake vnto the mayden: “The loue which I haue borne you hath bin so great, and the good will so honest, as neuer (mariage excepted) I wished anye other thinge of you, but that which I presentlye haue, throughe the wante whereof and with the same I will ioyfully render my spirite to God, who is the parfaicte Loue, and truest Charitie, whoe knoweth the greatnes of my loue and the honestie of my desire: humblie beseeching him, (that nowe I hauing my desire betweene mine armes,) to interteigne my ghost within his blessed bosome.” And in saying so he caught her againe betweene his armes with such vehemencie, as the feeble hart not able to abide that assault, was abandoned of all powers and mouinges: for the instant ioye so dilated and stretched forth the same, as the siege of the soule gaue ouer, making his repaire and flighte to his Creator: and because the senceles bodye rested withoute life, it gaue ouer his holde. Howbeit the loue, which the Damosell had still kept secrete, at that time shewed it self so strong and mightie, as the mother and seruauntes of the dead Gentleman had much a do to separate that vnion, but by force they haled away the liuing, almost deade with the deade. After the funerall was done with honourable exequies: but the greatest triumph was spent in teares, weepinges and cryes, specially by the gentlewoman, which so much more were manifeste after his death, as before in his life time they were dissembled, bestowinge them as an expiacion or sacrifice, to satisfie the wrong she had done vnto him. And afterwards (as I haue heard tell) she was maried to one, for mitigacion of her sorow, that neuer was partaker of the ioye of her harte. See here good Ladies an Image of perfect loue, that so muche had seazed vpon thaffections of this amorous Gentleman, as the pange neuer gaue ouer, till death (the rest of all troubles) had diuided life from the body. Yet some perchaunce for the desperate part of this hopeles louer, will terme him to be a fonde louing foole: and say that it is not meete that they should neglecte theyr liues for womens sakes, which were not created but for their helpe and comforte. And that being true as verifyed and auouched by Scriptures, there is no cause of feare to demaunde that of them, which God hath enioyned them to giue vs. In deede a sensuall loue, and such as is grounded to satisfye beastly luste, is a thinge horrible to Nature, and abhominable in the sight of him that made both those creatures, whom he fraughted with reason and knowledge for the refusall of those vices, which are onely to be applied to beastes voyde of reason. But loue founded in the soyle of Vertue, for auoyding carnall lust exercized in the state of Wedlocke, or first begonne and practized for that ende, is very ciuil and to be honoured. And if that loue attaine not equall successe, through parents default or vnkindnes of frendes or other humane accidents, if that loue so perce the hart, or otherwyse afflict the pacient with dispaire of helpe, and so occasioneth death, it is not to be termed follie or dotage, but to be celebrated with honourable titles. The honest amitie then of this gentleman, borne long time to this gentlewoman, meriteth euerlasting praise: for to finde such great chastitie in an amorous hart, is rather a thing deuine then humaine. A mocion moued aboue amongs the heauenly route, and not an ac wrought in the grosenes of man’s infirmitie.