Heptameron: The Boatwoman and the Monks

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

(drawing of a Cordelier)

The Boatwoman and the Monks

(Day 1, Story 5)

"Do you think it matter for wonder," said Geburon, "that a princess trained to virtue proves too much for one man? What would you say, then, to one woman in low life escaping from two men?"

"Geburon," said Ennasuite, "I call upon you for the fifth novel. If I am not mistaken, you know one about this poor woman which will not be displeasing to the company."

"Be it so, then," said Geburon; "I will tell you a story which I know to be true, having examined into it on the spot. You will see from it that princesses are not the only prudent and the only virtuous of their sex, and that often those who are reputed very amorous and very sly are less so than is supposed.

THERE was in the port of Coulon, near Niort, a boatwoman who did nothing day and night but convey people from point to point. Two Cordeliers of Niort crossed the river alone with her. As it is one of the widest ferries in France, they took it into their heads to make love to her, for fear she should grow dull by the way. She gave no more ear to them than they deserved, but the good fathers, who were neither fatigued by the labor of the passage, nor chilled by the coldness of the water, nor abashed by the woman's refusal, resolved to force her, or throw her into the river if she was refractory.

But she was as good and as shrewd as they were wicked and witless, and said to them, "I am not so ill-natured as you might suppose; only grant me two things I have to beg of you, and you will see I am not more willing to satisfy you than you are to be satisfied."

The Cordeliers swore by their good St. Francis there was nothing they would not grant her to have from her what they wanted.

"Well, then," said she, "I ask you, in the first place, to promise and vow that living man shall never know from you what passes between us."

This they did with great readiness.

"The second thing I ask is that you will have to do with me one by one, for I should be too much ashamed if it was done in presence of you both. Settle between yourselves which is to have me first."

The Cordeliers thought that fair enough, and the younger of them yielded precedence to the elder.

Running the boat ashore at a little island, she said to the younger one, "Say your prayers there whilst your comrade and I go to another island. If he is satisfied with me when we come back, we will leave him, and you and I will go away together."

The younger friar jumped ashore at once, and the boatwoman rowed away with his companion to another island. When they reached it, she pretended to be making her boat fast whilst she said to the monk, "See if you can find a convenient spot."

The Cordelier, like a booby, stepped out of the boat to do as she told him, and no sooner was he ashore than, setting her foot against a tree, she shot the boat out into the stream and left the two good fathers in the lurch.

"Wait there, my masters," said she, "till God's angel comes to console you, for you will get nothing from me."

The duped Cordeliers went down on their knees and begged her, for Heaven's sake, not to serve them so, but take them to the port, upon their solemn oath they would ask nothing of her.

"A pretty fool I should be," she replied, still rowing away, "to put myself into your hands again once I have got out of them."

When she got home to the village, she told her husband what had occurred and applied to the ministers of justice to come and capture those two wolves from whose fangs she had contrived to escape. The ministers of justice set out for the purpose, well accompanied, for there was no one, great or small, but was bent on taking part in this hunt.

The poor friars, seeing such a multitude coming after them, hid themselves each on his island, as Adam did from the sight of God when he had eaten the apple. Half dead with shame and the fear of punishment, they were caught and led away prisoners, amid the jeers and hootings of men and women.

"These good fathers," said one, "preach chastity to us, and want to foul our wives.

"They dare not touch money," said the husband, "but they are ready enough to handle women's thighs, which are far more dangerous."

"They are sepulchres," said others, "whitened without, but full of rottenness within."

"By their fruits you shall know the nature of these trees."

In short, all the passages of Scripture against hypocrites were cast in the teeth of the poor prisoners. At last the warden of their monastic chapter came to the rescue. They were given up to him at his request, upon his assuring the magistrate that he would punish them more severely than secular justice itself could do and that, by way of reparation to the offended parties, they should say as many masses and prayers as might be desired. As he was a worthy man, they were chaptered in such a manner that they never afterwards passed over the river without crossing themselves and beseeching God to keep them out of all temptation.

If this boatwoman had the wit to trick two such bad men, what should they do who have seen and read of so many fine examples? If women who know nothing, who scarcely hear two good sermons in a year, and have no time to think of anything but earning their bread, do yet carefully guard their chastity, what ought not others of their sex to do who, having their livelihood secured, have nothing to do but to read the Holy Scriptures, hear sermons, and exercise themselves in all sorts of virtues?

This is the test by which it is known that the heart is truly virtuous, for the more simple and unenlightened the individual, the greater are the works of God's spirit.

Unhappy the lady who does not carefully preserve the treasure which does her so much honor when well kept, and so much dishonor when she keeps it still!

Next: The Lady from Milan

(1200 words)

Heptameron: The Lady from Milan and Her Lover

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

The Lady from Milan and Her Lover

(Day 2, Story 6)

Said Nomerfide. "But I so long to hear another story, that I beg Longarine to call on some one."

Longarine cast her eyes on Geburon, and said, "If you have a story to tell of some good lady, pray do so now."

"Since you call upon me," replied Geburon, "I will relate to you a thing that happened at Milan."

AT the time when the Grand-Master of Chaumont was governor of Milan, there was a lady there who passed for one of the most respectable in the city. She was the widow of an Italian count and resided with her brothers-in-law, not choosing to hear a word about marrying again. Her conduct was so correct and guarded that she was highly esteemed by all the French and Italians of the duchy.

One day, when her brothers and sisters-in-law entertained the Grand-Master of Chaumont, the widow could not help being present, contrary to her custom of never appearing at any festive meeting. The French could not see her without praising her beauty and her grace — one among them especially, whom I will not name. It is enough to inform you that there was not a Frenchman in Italy more worthy to be loved, for he was fully endowed with all the beauties and graces which a gentleman could have.

Though he saw the widow dressed in black crape, apart from the young people and withdrawn into a corner with several old ladies, yet, being one who had never known what it was to fear man or woman, he accosted her, took off his mask, and quitted the dance to converse with her. He passed the whole evening with her and the old ladies her companions, and enjoyed himself more than he could have done with the youngest and sprightliest ladies of the court.

So charmed was he with this conversation that when it was time to retire, he hardly believed he had had time to sit down. Though he talked with the widow only upon common topics, suited to the company around her, she failed not to perceive that he was anxious to make her acquaintance, which she was so resolute to prevent that he could never afterwards meet with her in any company, great or small.

At last, having made inquiries as to her habits of life and learned that she went often to the churches and religious houses, he set so many people on the watch that she could not go to any of those places so secretly but that he was there before her and stayed as long as he could see her. He made such good use of his time and gazed at her with such hearty good-will that she could not be ignorant of his passion, and to prevent these encounters, she resolved to feign illness for some time and hear mass at home. This was a bitter mortification to the gentleman, for he was thus deprived of his only means of seeing her.

At last, when she thought she had baffled his plans, she returned to the churches as before, and Love took care forthwith to make this known to the gentleman, who then resumed his habits of devotion. Fearing lest she should throw some other obstacle in his way and that he should not have time to make known to her what he felt, one morning, when she was hearing mass in a little chapel where she thought herself snugly concealed, he placed himself at the end of the altar and, turning to her at the moment when the priest was elevating the host, said, in a voice of deep feeling, "I swear to you, madam, by Him whom the priest holds in his hands, that you are the sole cause of my death. Though you deprive me of all opportunity to address you, yet you cannot be ignorant of the passion I entertain for you. My haggard eyes and death-like countenance must have sufficiently made known to you my condition."

The lady pretended not to understand him and replied, "God's name ought not to be taken in vain, but the poets say that the gods laugh at the oaths and falsehoods of lovers, wherefore women who prize their honor ought neither to be credulous nor pitiful." So saying, she rose and went home.

Those who have been in the like predicament will readily believe that the gentleman was sorely cast down at receiving such a reply. However, as he did not lack courage, he thought it better to have met with a rebuff than to have missed an opportunity of declaring his love. He persevered for three years and lost not a moment in which he could solicit her by letters and by other means, but during all that time, she never made him any other reply but shunned him as the wolf shuns the mastiff, and that not by reason of any aversion she felt for him but because she was afraid of exposing her honor and reputation. The gentleman was so well aware that there lay the knot of the difficulty that he pushed matters more briskly than ever till, after a world of trouble, refusals, and sufferings, the lady was touched by his constancy, took pity on him, and granted him what he had so long desired and waited for.

The assignation having been made and the requisite measures concerted, the gentleman failed not to present himself at the rendezvous, at whatever risk of his life, for the fair widow resided with her relations. But as he was not less cunning than handsome, he managed so adroitly that he was in the lady's chamber at the moment appointed.

Next: The Lady from Milan and Her Lover (cont.)

(1000 words)

Heptameron: The Lady from Milan and Her Lover (cont.)

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

The Lady from Milan and Her Lover (cont.)

He found her alone in a handsome bed, but as he was undressing in eager haste, he heard whisperings outside the chamber door and the noise of swords clashing against the walls.

"We are undone," cried the widow, more dead than alive. "Your life and my honor are in mortal peril. My brothers are coming to kill you. Hide yourself under the bed, I beseech you, for then they will not find you, and I shall have a right to complain of their alarming me without cause."

The gentleman, who was not easily frightened, coolly replied, "What are your brothers that they should make a man of honor afraid? If their whole race was assembled at the door, I am confident they would not stand the fourth lunge of my sword. Remain quietly in bed, therefore, and leave me to guard the door."

Then, wrapping his cloak around his left arm, and, with his sword in his hand, he opened the door and saw that the threatening weapons were brandished by two servant maids.

"Forgive us, monsieur," they said. "It is by our mistress's orders we do this, but you shall have no more annoyance from us."

The gentleman, seeing that his supposed antagonists were women, contented himself with bidding them go the devil and slamming the door in their faces. He then jumped into bed to his mistress without delay. Fear had not cooled his ardor and, without wasting time in asking the meaning of the sham alarm, he thought only of satisfying his passion.

Towards daylight he asked his bedfellow why she had so long delayed his happiness, and what was her reason for making her servants behave so oddly.

"I had resolved," she said, laughing, "never to love, and I have adhered to that resolution ever since I became a widow. But the first time you spoke to me, I saw so much to admire in you that I changed my mind and began from that hour to love you as much as you loved me. It is true that honor, which has always been the ruling principle of my conduct, would not suffer love to make me do anything which might blemish my reputation. But as the stricken deer thinks to change its pain by change of place, so did I go from church to church, hoping to fly from him whom I carried in my heart, the proof of whose perfect love has reconciled honor with love. But to be thoroughly assured that I gave my heart to a man who was perfectly worthy of it, I ordered my women to do as they have done. I can assure you, if you had been frightened enough to hide under the bed, my intention was to have got up and gone into another room and never have had anything more to do with you. But as I have found you not only comely and pleasing, but also full of valor and intrepidity to a degree even beyond what fame had reported you; as I have seen that fear could not appall you, nor in the least degree cool the ardor of your passion for me, I have resolved to attach myself to you for the rest of my days, being well assured that I cannot place my life and my honor in better hands than in those of him whom of all men in the world I believe to be the bravest and the best."

And if human will could be immutable, they mutually promised and vowed a thing which was not in their power — I mean, perpetual affection —which can neither grow up nor abide in the hearts of men, as those ladies know who have learned by experience what is the duration of such engagements.

Therefore, ladies, if you are wise, you will be on your guard against us, as the stag would be against the hunter if the animal had reason, for our felicity, our glory, and delight, is to see you captured, and to despoil you of what ought to be dearer to you than life.

Next: A Villager, His Wife, and the Priest

(700 words)

Heptameron: A Villager, His Wife, and the Priest

As this story is quite short, I've included more of the commentary at the end so tha tyou can get a sense of what the book itself is like, with social commentary at the end of each story. You can find the entire book online in various formats: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre.

[Notes by LKG]

---

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

A Villager, His Wife, and the Priest

(Day 3, Story 9)

Nomerfide began,  I shall relate to you a piece of cleverness exhibited by a priest through the prompting of love alone; for he was so ignorant in all other things, that he could hardly say mass."

THERE was at Carrelles, a village in the county of Maine, a rich husbandman who, in his old age, married a handsome young wife by whom he had no children, but she consoled herself for this disappointment with several friends. When gentlemen and persons of mark failed her, she reverted to her last resource, which was the church, and chose for the accomplice of her sin him who could absolve her — that is to say, her priest — who paid frequent visits to his sheep. The dull old husband suspected nothing, but as he was a rough and sturdy old fellow, she played her game as secretly as she could, being afraid that her husband would kill her if he came to know of it.

One day, when the husband was gone into the fields and his wife did not expect him back for some time, she sent for master parson to confess her, but during the time they were making good cheer together, the husband arrived so suddenly that the priest had not time to steal off. Intending then to hide, he went by the wife's directions up into a loft and covered the trap-hole in the floor by which he had got in with a winnowing basket.

Meanwhile the wife, who was afraid her husband might suspect something, regaled him well at dinner and plied him so well with wine that the good man, having taken a little drop too much and being fatigued with walking, fell asleep in a chair by the fireside. The priest, who found it dull work waiting in the loft, on ceasing to hear any noise in the room below, leaned over the trap-hole and, stretching out his neck as far as he could, saw that the good man was asleep.

But while making his observations, he inadvertently leaned with so much weight on the winnowing basket that down fell basket, priest and all, by the side of the good man and woke him up with the noise. But the priest was on his legs before the other had opened his eyes, and said, "There's your winnowing basket, gossip, and I'm much obliged to you," and so saying, he walked off.

The poor husbandman, quite bewildered, asked his wife what was the matter.

"It is your winnowing basket, my dear," she replied, "which the priest had borrowed and has now returned."

"It is a very clumsy way of returning what one has borrowed," said the good man, grumbling, "for I thought the house was falling."

In this way the priest saved himself at the expense of the husbandman, who objected to nothing but the abrupt manner in which his reverence had returned his winnowing basket. The master he served, ladies, saved him for that time, in order to possess and torment him longer.

"Do not imagine that simple folk are more exempt from craft than we are," said Geburon; "far from it, they have a great deal more. Look at thieves, murderers, sorcerers, false coiners, and other people of that sort, whose wits are always at work; they are all simple folk."

"I am not surprised that they have more craft than others," said Parlamente, "but I am surprised that, having their wits directed to so many other things, they can think of love. Is it not strange that so fine a passion can enter such vulgar hearts?"

"The poor, who have not wealth and honors like us, have in compensation more of the commodities of nature. Their viands are not so delicate as ours, but good appetite makes amends for that deficiency, and they fare better on coarse bread than we on dainties. Their beds are not so handsome or so well made as ours, but their sleep is sounder. Their ladies are neither painted nor decked out like ours whom we idolize, but they receive pleasure from them much oftener than we, without fearing any other tongues than those of the beasts and birds that see them. In a word, they lack what we have, and have abundance of what we have not." [...]

Next: The Virgin with Child

(700 words)

Heptameron: The Virgin with Child

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

The Virgin with Child

(Day 4, Story 3)

Geburon said, "But let us see to whom Madame Oisille will give her voice."

"I give it," she said, "to Simontault, who I know will spare no one."

"That is as much as to say that I am rather given to evil speaking," said he. "I shall nevertheless let you see that people who have been regarded in that same light have yet spoken the truth. I believe, ladies, you are not so simple as to put faith in everything a person tells you, however sanctified an air he may assume, unless the proof is clear beyond doubt. Many an abuse is committed under the guise of a miracle. Therefore I intend to relate to you a story not less honorable to a religious prince than shameful to a wicked minister of the church."

THE Count Charles d'Angoulême, father of Francis I, and a prince of great piety, being one day at Coignac, someone told him that in a village named Cherves there was a maiden who lived with such austerity that it was a marvel, yet she was with child and did not even make any secret of it, but assured everybody that she had never known man and that she knew not how it had happened to her, unless it was the work of the Holy Ghost.

The people readily gave credit to this delusion and looked upon the girl as a second Virgin Mary, the more so as she had been known to be so well-behaved from her childhood and never to have shown the least sign of a disposition to mundane vanities. She not only fasted at the seasons appointed by the church, but also made several voluntary fasts every week, and never stirred from the church as long as there was any service going on in it. The common people made so much account of this manner of life, that every one flocked to see her as though she were a living miracle, and fortunate was he who could touch her gown.

The priest of the parish was her brother, a man in years, of an austere life, and a reputed saint. So rigorously did he treat his sister that he had her shut up in a house, whereat the people were greatly displeased, and the affair made so much noise, that it came, as I have already said, to the ears of Count Charles who, seeing the delusion into which everybody had fallen, resolved to put an end to it.

To this end, he sent a referendary and an almoner, both of them worthy men, to ascertain the truth. They went to the spot, inquired into the fact as carefully as possible, and applied to the priest, who was so vexed at the affair that he begged them to be present at the verification he hoped to make of it.

Next morning the priest celebrated mass, his sister, who was very big, being present on her knees. After it was over, he took the corpus Domini and said to his sister in presence of the whole congregation, "Wretch that thou art, here is He who suffered death for thee, in whose presence I ask thee if thou art a virgin as thou has always assured me."

She replied boldly and fearlessly that she was so.

"How, then, is it possible that thou art pregnant, yet still a virgin?"

"All I can say," she replied, "is that it is the grace of the Holy Ghost, who does in me whatever he pleases, but also I cannot deny the grace which God has done me in preserving me a virgin. Never have I had even a thought of marrying."

Her brother then said to her, "I give thee here the precious body of Jesus Christ, which thou wilt take to thy damnation if thou dost not speak the truth, whereof will be witnesses these gentlemen, who are here present on the part of my lord the count."

The girl, who was about thirteen years of age, then made oath as follows: "I take the body of Our Lord here present to my condemnation before you, sirs, and you my brother, if ever man has touched me any more than you." So saying, she received the body of Our Lord.

Next: The Virgin with Child (cont.)

(800 words)

Heptameron: The Virgin with Child (cont.)

For this story, I've also included the commentary at the end so that you can see how it transitions directly into the next story.

[Notes by LKG]

---

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

The Virgin with Child (cont.)

The refendary and the almoner went away quite confounded, not being able to believe that any one would lie after such an oath, and they made their report to the count, whom they tried to bring to entertain the same belief as themselves.

But he, being a wise man, after much thought made them repeat the very words of the oath and, having well weighed them, he said, "She told you that never man touched her any more than her brother. I am persuaded that it was her brother who got her with child and that she seeks to conceal his incest by prevarication. We, who believe that Jesus Christ is come, must not expect another. Return then to the place and put the priest in prison; I am sure he will confess the truth."

They executed their orders, but unwillingly and not without remonstrating against the necessity of putting such a scandal upon a good man. The priest was no sooner committed to prison than he confessed his crime and owned that he had instructed his sister to speak as she had done in order to conceal the intercourse between them, and this not only to baffle inquiry by so slight a device, but also to secure to themselves universal esteem and veneration by this false statement. Being asked how he could carry his wickedness to such an excess as to make his sister swear upon Our Lord's body, he replied, that his audacity had not reached that length and that he had used an ordinary wafer, which was neither consecrated nor blessed.

All this having been reported to the Count d'Angoulême, he sent the affair before the courts of justice. Execution was delayed until the sister was delivered of a fine boy. After her delivery, the brother and sister were burned, to the great astonishment of all the people, who had beheld a monster so horrible under such a garb of holiness, and so detestable a crime under the appearances of a life so laudable and regenerate.

The good Count d'Angoulême's faith, ladies, was proof against outward signs and miracles. He knew that we have but one Saviour, who when he said consummatum est [it is finished] showed thereby that we are not to expect a successor for our salvation.

"Truly," said Oisille, "that was a monstrous piece of effrontery covered with unparalleled hypocrisy. It is the height of impiety to cover so enormous a crime with the mantle of God and religion."

"I have heard," said Hircan, "that those who commit acts of cruelty and tyranny under pretence of having the king's commission, are doubly punished, the reason being that they make the king's name a cover for their injustice. Likewise, it is seen, that although hypocrites prosper for some time under the cloak of godliness, God no sooner unmasks them than they appear such as they are, and then their nakedness, their filth, and their infamy are the more horrible the more august and sacred was the wrapper with which they concealed them.

"There is nothing more agreeable," said Nomerfide, "than to speak frankly and as the heart feels. [...] I remark that fools live longer than the wise, unless some one kills them, for which I know but one reason, namely, that fools do not dissemble their passions. If they are angry they strike, if they are merry they laugh, but those who deem themselves wise hide their defects with so much care that their hearts are all poisoned with them."

"I believe that is true," said Geburon, "and that hypocrisy, whether as regards God, men, or nature, is the cause of all the evil that befals us."

"It would be a fine thing," said Parlamente, "if faith so filled our hearts with Him who is all virtue and all joy, that we should show them to every one without disguise."

"That will be when there is no longer any flesh on our bones," observed Hircan.

"Yet," remarked Oisille, "the spirit of God, which is mightier than death, can change our hearts without changing our bodies."

"You speak, madam," said Saffredent, "of a gift which God hardly makes to men."

"He does make it," rejoined Oisille, "to those who have faith. But as this is a matter above the comprehension of flesh, let us see to whom Simontault gives his voice."

"To Nomerfide," he said. "As she has a merry heart, I don't think her words will be sad."

"Since you have a mind to laugh," said Nomerfide, "I must serve you after your own way, and give you matter for laughter. I wish to show you that fear and ignorance are equally mischievous, and that one often sins only for want of knowing things. With this view I will relate to you what happened to two poor Cordeliers of Niort, who, for not understanding the language of a butcher, had like to die of fright."

Next: The Monks and the Butcher

(800 words)

Heptameron: The Monks and the Butcher

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

The Monks and the Butcher

(Day 4, Story 4)

BETWEEN Niort and Fors there is a village named Grip, which belongs to the Lord of Fors. Two Cordeliers of Niort arrived late one night at this village and took up their quarters with a butcher. As their bedroom was separated from their host's only by an ill-jointed boarded partition, they had a mind to listen to what passed between the husband and wife, and they clapped their ears to the partition close to the head of the host's bed.

As the butcher had no suspicion of his guests, he talked to his wife about his business, and said, "My dear, I must be up betimes tomorrow and see about our Cordeliers. One of them is very fat; we will kill him and salt him forthwith, and we shall make a good thing of him."

Though the butcher talked of his pigs, which he called Cordeliers, the two poor friars, hearing this, set it all down to their own account and awaited daylight with great terror. One of them was very fat, the other very lean. and the fat one set about confessing himself to his companion, alleging that a butcher, having lost the love and fear of God, would make no more of slaughtering them than an ox or any other beast. As they were shut up in their chamber, from which there was no issue but through their host's, they gave themselves up for dead men and earnestly commended their souls to God.

The young man, who was not so overcome by fear as the elder, said to him, that since they could not get out at the door, they must try to escape through the window; at the worst they could only be killed in the attempt, and death one way or the other was the same thing in the end. The fat friar consented to the expedient. The young one opened the window and, as it was not very high, dropped lightly to the ground and ran away as fast and as far as he could, without waiting for his companion, who was not so lucky, for, being very bulky, he fell so heavily that he hurt one leg severely and was unable to rise from the ground.

Deserted by his companion and unable to follow him, he looked about for some place where he might hide and saw nothing but a pigsty, into which he dragged himself the best way he could. When he opened the door, two big porkers which were inside rushed out and left the place free to the Cordelier, who shut himself in, hoping that he might hear people passing by, to whom he would call and obtain help.

As soon as daylight appeared the butcher got ready his big knives and told his wife to come and help him to kill the two pigs.

Going to the sty, he opened the little door, and cried out, "Come, turn out here, my Cordelier. I'll have your chitterlings for my dinner today."

The Cordelier, who could not stand on his leg, crawled out on his hands and knees, roaring for mercy. If he was in a great fright, the butcher and his wife were no less so. The first idea that came into their heads was that St. Francis was angry with them because they had called pigs Cordeliers. and under that notion they fell on their knees before the poor friar, begging pardon of St. Francis and his order.

On the one side was the Cordelier, bawling for mercy to the butcher, on the other side, the butcher making the same appeal to the Cordelier.

At last the Cordelier, finding that the butcher had no intention of hurting him, told him why he had hid himself in that place. Fear then gave place to laughter, except on the part of the poor friar, whose leg pained him so much that he had no inclination to laugh. The butcher, to console him in some degree, took him back to the house and had his hurt carefully attended to.

As for his companion, who had forsaken him in distress, he ran all night and arrived in the morning at the house of the Lord of Fors, where he made loud complaints of the butcher, who, he supposed, had by that time killed his companion, since the latter had not followed him. The Lord of Fors sent immediately to Grip to see how matters stood, and his messengers brought back matter for laughter, which he failed not to communicate to his mistress, the Duchess d'Angoulême, mother of Francis I.

It is not good, ladies, to listen to secrets when one is not invited, and to have a curiosity to hear what others say.

"Did not I tell you," exclaimed Simontault, "that Nomerfide would not make us cry, but laugh? Every one of us, I think, has done so very heartily."

"Whence comes it," said Oisille, "that one is always more disposed to laugh at a piece of nonsense than at a good thing?"

"Because," replied Hircan, "the nonsense is more agreeable to us, being more conformable to our own nature, which of itself is never wise. Thus every one is fond of his like: fools love folly, and wise men wisdom. I am sure, however, that neither fools nor wise could help laughing at this story." 

Next: The President of Grenoble's Revenge

(900 words)

Heptameron: The President of Grenoble's Revenge

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

The President of Grenoble's Revenge

(Day 4, Story 6)

"Since it is my turn to speak," said Ennasuite, "I will spare neither man nor woman, so as to make: both sides even. You find it hard to overcome yourselves and admit the probity and virtue of men."

THERE was at Grenoble a president whose name I shall not mention. It is enough to say that he was not a Frenchman, that he had a very handsome wife, and that they lived very happily together. The husband, however, being old, the lady thought fit to love a young clerk named Nicolas. When the husband went in the morning to the Palace of Justice, the clerk used to step into the bedchamber and take his place.

An old domestic of the president's, who had been in his service for thirty years, discovered this and, as a faithful servant, could not help revealing it to his master. The president, who was a prudent man, would not believe the fact without inquiry and told the servant that he wanted to create dissension between him and his wife, adding that if the fact was as he stated, he could easily give him ocular proof of it, and if he failed to do so, then he, the president, would believe that the servant had trumped up this lying tale to make mischief between husband and wife. The valet assured him that he should see what he had told him.

One morning when the president had gone to the palace and the clerk had stolen into the bedroom as usual, the valet sent one of his fellow-servants to apprise the president, while he himself remained on the watch before the bedroom door to see if Nicolas came out. The president, on seeing the messenger beckon to him, immediately quitted the court on pretence of sudden illness and hurried home, where he found his old servant standing sentry at the bedroom door and was assured by him that Nicolas was inside, having gone in not long before.

"Remain at the door," said the president. "There is no other way to get in or out of the room as thou knowest, except a little closet, of which I always keep the key."

The president enters the room and finds his wife and the clerk in bed together. Nicolas, who did not expect such a visit, threw himself in his shirt at his master's feet and implored pardon, whilst the lady fell a crying.

"Though what you have done," said the president to her, "is as bad as it can be, I do not choose to have the credit of my house blasted for you, and the daughters I have had by you made the sufferers. I command you, then, to cease your, crying and see what I am going to do. As for you, Nicolas," said he to the clerk, "hide yourself in my cabinet and make no noise."

Nicolas, having done as he ordered, he opened the door and, calling in the old servant, said to him, "Didst thou not assure me thou wouldst show me my clerk in bed with my wife? I came hither on the strength of thy word and thought to kill my wife. I have found nothing, though I have searched everywhere. Search thyself under the beds and in all directions."

The valet, having searched and found nothing, said to his master, "The devil must have flown away with him, for I saw him go in, and he did not come out by the door; however, I see he is not here."

Next: The President of Grenoble's Revenge (cont.)

(600 words)

Heptameron: The President of Grenoble's Revenge (cont.)

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

The President of Grenoble's Revenge (cont.)

"Thou art a very bad servant," said his master, "to want to put such division between my wife and me. Begone: I discharge thee, and for the services thou has rendered me, I will pay thee what I owe thee and more, but get thee gone quickly, and beware how thou art found in this city after twenty-four hours are past."

The president paid him his wages, and five or six years over, and as he had reason to be satisfied with his fidelity, he resolved within himself to reward him still more.

When the valet had gone away, with tears in his eyes, the president called the clerk out of the cabinet and, after having given him and his wife such a lecture as they deserved, he forbade them both to give the least hint of the matter to any one. His wife he ordered to dress more elegantly than she had been used to do and to let herself be seen at all parties and entertainments. As to the clerk, he ordered him to make better cheer than before, but that as soon as he should whisper in his ear the words "Go away," he should take good care not to remain three hours longer in the city.

For a fortnight the president did nothing but feast his friends and neighbors, contrary to his previous custom, and after the repast he gave a ball to the ladies. One day, seeing that his wife did not dance, he ordered the clerk to dance with her. The clerk, thinking he had forgotten the past, danced gaily with the lady, but when the ball was over, the president, feigning to have some order to give him about household matters, whispered in his ear, "Begone, and never come back." Sore loth was Nicolas to leave the lady-president, but very glad to get off safe and sound.

After the president had fully impressed all his relations and friends, and all the inhabitants of Grenoble, with the belief that he was very fond of his wife, he went one fine day in the month of May into his garden to gather a salad. I do not know what herbs it was composed of, but I know that his wife did not live twenty-four hours after eating of it, whereat he appeared greatly afflicted and played the disconsolate widower so well that no one ever suspected him of having killed her. In this way he revenged himself and saved the honor of his house.

I do not pretend, ladies, to laud the president's conscience, but my design is to exhibit the levity of a woman and the great patience and prudence of a man. Do not be offended, ladies, I beseech you, with the truth, which sometimes tells against you as well as against the men, for women, too, have their vices as well as their virtues.

"If all those who have intrigued with their valets were compelled to eat such salads," said Parlamente, "I know those who would not be so fond of their gardens as they are but would pluck up all the herbs in them, to avoid those which save the honor of children at the expense of a wanton mother's life."

Hircan, who guessed for whom she meant this, replied with great warmth, "A woman of honor should never suspect another of things she would not do herself."

"To know is not to suspect," rejoined Parlamente. "However, this poor woman paid the penalty which many deserve. Moreover, I think that the president, being bent on avenging himself, could not set about it with more prudence and discretion."

"Nor with more malice," Longarine subjoined. "It was a cold-blooded and cruel vengeance, which plainly showed that he respected neither God nor his conscience."

"What would you have had him do then," said Hircan, "to revenge the most intolerable outrage a wife can ever offer to her husband?"

"I would have had him kill her," she answered, "in the first transports of his indignation. The doctors say that such a sin is more pardonable because a man is not master of such emotions, and, consequently, the sin he commits in that state may be forgiven."

"Yes," said Geburon, "but his daughters and his descendants would have been disgraced for ever."

"He ought not to have poisoned her," said Longarine, "for since his first great wrath was past, she might have lived with him like an honest woman, and nothing would ever have been said about the matter."

"Do you suppose," said Saffredent, "that he was appeased, though he pretended to be so? For my part, I'm persuaded that the day he mixed his salad his wrath was as hot as on the very first day. There are people whose first emotions never subside until they have accomplished the dictates of their passion." 

Next: The Haunted House

(800 words)

Heptameron: The Haunted House

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

The Haunted House

(Day 4, Story 9)

"I will prove to you by an example," said Saffredent, "that God does not favor lovers. Though it has been already said, ladies, that vice is common to women and to men, yet a woman will invent a cunning artifice more promptly and more adroitly than a man. Here is an example of the fact."

A LORD of Grignaux, gentleman of honor to Anne, Duchess of Brittany and Queen of France, returning home after an absence of more than two years, found his wife at another estate he had, not far from that in which he usually resided. He asked the reason for this and was told that the house was haunted by a spirit which made such a disturbance that no one could live in it.

Monsieur de Grignaux, who was not a man to give credit to these fancies, replied that if it was the devil himself he should not fear him and took his wife home with him to their usual abode. At night he had plenty of torches lighted, the better to see this spirit, but, after watching a long time without seeing or hearing anything, he at last fell asleep. No sooner had he done so than he was awakened by a sound box on the ears, after which he heard a voice crying, "Brenigne, Brenigne," which was the name of his deceased grandmother.

He called to a woman who slept in the chamber to light a candle, for he had had all the torches put out, but she durst not rise. At the same time, Monsieur de Grignaux felt his bed-clothes pulled off and heard a great noise of tables, trestles, and stools tumbled about the room with a din that lasted until day. But he never believed that it was a spirit; he was not so frightened as vexed at losing his night's rest.

On the following night, being resolved to catch Master Goblin, he had no sooner lain down than he pretended to snore with all his might, keeping his open hand over his face. While thus awaiting the arrival of the spirit, he heard something approach and began to snore louder than ever. The spirit, which by this time had become familiar, gave him a great thump, whereupon Monsieur de Grignaux seized its hand, crying out, "Wife, I have caught the spirit."

His wife rose instantly, lighted a candle, and behold you, it turned out that the spirit was the girl who slept in their chamber. She threw herself at their feet, begging to be forgiven, and promised to tell them the truth, which was that the love she long entertained for a domestic had made her play this trick in order to drive the master and mistress out of the house, and that they two who had charge of it might make good cheer, which they failed not to do when they were alone.

Monsieur de Grignaux, who was not a man to be trifled with, had them both beaten in a manner they never forgot, and then turned them both out of doors. In this way he got rid of the spirits who had haunted his house for two years.

Love, ladies, works wonders. It makes women lose all fear, and torment men to arrive at their ends. Condemning the wickedness of the servant, we must equally applaud the good sense of the master, who knew that the departed spirit does not return.

"Decidedly," said Geburon, "the valet and the wench were not then favored by love. I agree with you, however, that the master had need of much good sense."

"The girl, however," said Ennasuite, "lived for a long while to her heart's content, by means of her stratagem."

"That is a very wretched content," said Oisille, "which begins with sin, and ends with shame and punishment."

"That is true," rejoined Ennasuite; "but there are many persons who suffer whilst living righteously and who have not the wit to give themselves in the course of their lives as much pleasure as the pair in question."

"I firmly believe," replied Oisille, "that there is no perfect pleasure unless the conscience is at rest."

"The Italian maintains," said Simontault, "that the greater the sin, the greater the pleasure."

"One must be a perfect devil to entertain such a thought," said Oisille, "but let us drop the subject, and see to whom Saffredent will give his voice." 

Next: Brother and Brother-in-Law

(900 words)

Heptameron: Brother and Brother-in-Law

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

Brother and Brother-in-Law

(Day 4, Story 10)

"No one remains to speak but Parlamente," said Saffredent, "but though there were a hundred others, she should have my voice, as a person from whom we are sure to learn something."

"Since I am to finish the day," said Parlamente, "and promised yesterday to tell you why Rolandine's father had the castle built in which he kept her so long a prisoner, I will now fulfil my word."

THE Count de Jossebelin, father of Rolandine, had several sisters. Some made wealthy marriages, others became nuns, and one, who was incomparably handsomer than the rest, remained in his house unmarried. The brother was so fond of this sister that he preferred neither his wife nor his children to her, and, though she had many eligible offers of marriage, they were all rejected from his fear of losing her and being obliged to pay down money. Consequently she remained a great part of her life unmarried, living with strict propriety in her brother's house.

There was a young and handsome gentleman who had been reared in the house and who, as he grew in age, grew also in personal and mental endowments to that degree that he completely governed his master. When the latter had any message to send his sister, he always made this young gentleman the bearer of it, and as this took place morning and evening, it led to such a familiarity as presently ripened into love.

The young gentleman durst not for his life offend his master; the demoiselle was not without scruples of honor — and so they had no other fruition of their love than in conversing together, until the brother had said again and again to the lover that he wished he was of as good family as his sister, for he had never seen a man he would rather have for a brother-in-law. This was repeated so often that, after consulting together, the lovers came to the conclusion that if they married secretly they should easily be forgiven. Love, which makes people readily believe what they desire, persuaded them that no bad consequences would ensue for them, and with that hope they married, unknown to any one except a priest and some women.

After having for some years enjoyed the pleasure which two handsome persons who passionately love each other can reciprocally bestow, fortune, jealous of their happiness, roused up an enemy against them who, observing the demoiselle, became aware of her secret delights, being yet ignorant of her marriage. This person went and told the brother that the gentleman in whom he had such confidence visited his sister too often and at hours when a man ought never to enter her chamber. At first he could not believe this, such was his trust in his sister and the gentleman. But, as he loved his house's honor, he caused them to be observed so closely and set so many people on the watch that the poor innocent couple were at last surprised.

One evening, word being brought the brother that the gentleman was with his sister, he went straightway to her chamber and found them in bed together. Choking with rage and unable to speak, he drew his sword and ran after the gentleman to kill him, but the latter, being very nimble, evaded him, and, as he could not escape by the door, he jumped out of a window that looked upon the garden. The poor lady threw herself in her shift on her knees before her brother, crying, "Spare my husband's life, monsieur, for I have married him, and if he has offended you, let me alone suffer the punishment for he has done nothing but at my solicitation."

"Were he a thousand times your husband," replied the incensed brother, "I will punish him as a domestic who has deceived me." So saying, he went to the window and called out to his people to kill him, which was forthwith done before his eye and those of his sister.

At this sad spectacle, which her prayers and supplications had been unable to prevent, the poor wife was like one distracted.

Next: Brother and Brother-in-Law (cont.)

(600 words)

Heptameron: Brother and Brother-in-Law (cont.)

The sad story told here is connected to a story that was told by the same storyteller on an earlier day; you can find that story here: Virtuous love of a young lady of quality and a bastard of an illustrious house.

[Notes by LKG]

---

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

Brother and Brother-in-Law (cont.)

"Brother," she said, "I have neither father nor mother, and I am of an age to marry as I choose. I chose a man whom you had told me repeatedly that you would have liked me to marry. And because I did so, as by law I had a right to do without your interference, you put to death the man you loved best in the world. Since my prayers have not availed to save him, I conjure you by all the affection you have ever had for me to make me the companion of his death as I have been of all his fortunes. Thereby you will glut your cruel and unjust wrath, and give repose to the body and soul of a wife who will not and cannot live without her husband."

Though the brother was beside himself with passion, he had so much pity on his sister, that, without saying yes or no, he left her and withdrew. After having carefully investigated the matter and ascertained that the murdered man had been wedded to his sister, he would have been glad if the deed had not been done. Being afraid, however, that his sister, to revenge it, would appeal to justice, he had a castle built in the midst of a forest and there he confined her, with orders that no one should be admitted to speak to her.

Some time after, to satisfy his conscience, he tried to conciliate her and caused her to be sounded upon the subject of marriage, but she sent him word that he had given her such a bad dinner, she had no mind to be regaled with the same dish for supper; that she hoped to live in such wise that he should never have the pleasure of killing a second husband of hers; and that after dealing so villainously with the man he loved best in the world, she could not imagine that he would pardon another. She added that, notwithstanding her weakness and impotence, she trusted that He who was a just judge and would not suffer wrong to go unpunished would do her the grace to avenge her, and let her finish her days in her hermitage in meditating on the love and charity of her God. And this she did.

She lived in that place with so much patience and austerity that after her death every one visited her remains as those of a saint. From the moment of her death her brother's house began to fall into decay, so that of six sons not one remained to continue it. They all died miserably, and in the end Rolandine, his daughter, remained sole heiress of all, as you have been told in another tale, and succeeded to her aunt's prison.

I wish, ladies, that you may profit by this example, and that none of you may think of marrying for your own pleasure without the consent of those to whom you owe obedience. Marriage is an affair of such long duration that one cannot engage in it with too much deliberation, and deliberate ever so well and so sagely, yet one is sure to find in it at least as much pain as pleasure.

"Were there no God or law to teach maidens discretion," said Oisille, "the example might suffice to make them have more respect for their relations than to marry without their knowledge."

"Nevertheless, madam," replied Nomerfide, "when one has one good day in the year, one is not wholly unfortunate. She had the pleasure of seeing and conversing for a long time with him whom she loved better than herself. Besides, she enjoyed it through marriage without scruple of conscience. I regard this satisfaction as so great, that, to my thinking, it fairly counterbalanced the grief that subsequently befel her."

"You mean to say, then," said Saffredent, "that the pleasure of bedding with a husband is more to a woman than the pain of seeing him killed before her eyes."

"No such thing," said Nomerfide; "were I to say so, I should speak contrary to my own experience of women. What I mean is, that an unaccustomed pleasure like that of marrying the man one loves best must be greater than the pain of losing him by death, which is an ordinary occurrence."

"That may be true of natural death," said Geburon; "but the one in question was too cruel. I think it very strange that this lord, who was neither her father nor her husband, but only her brother, should have dared to commit such a cruel deed, seeing even that his sister was of an age at which the laws allow girls to marry as they think fit."

"For my part, I see nothing strange in that," said Hircan. "He did not kill his sister whom he loved so fondly, and over whom he had no jurisdiction, but he dealt as he deserved with the young gentleman, whom he had brought up as his son and loved as his brother. He had advanced and enriched him in his service, and then, by way of gratitude, the young gentleman married his sister, which he ought not to have done."

"Again," resumed Nomerfide, "it was no common and ordinary pleasure for a lady of such high family to marry a gentleman domestic. Thus, if the death was a surprise, the pleasure also was novel, and the greater as it was contrary to the opinion of all the wise, and was helped by the satisfaction of a heart filled with love, and by repose of soul, seeing that God was not offended. As to the death you call cruel, it seems to me that death being necessary, the quicker it is the better; for do we not know that death is a passage which must inevitably be crossed? I regard as fortunate those who do not linger long in the outskirts of death, and who by good luck, which alone deserves that name, pass at one bound into everlasting felicity."

Next: The Spanish Widow

(1000 words)

Heptameron: The Spanish Widow

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

The Spanish Widow

(Day 6, Story 5)

"You deserve," said Nomerfide, "to have a wife like her who plainly showed, after her husband's death, that she cared more for his money than his conscience."

"Pray tell us that tale," said Saffredent.

"I had not intended to tell so short a tale," replied Nomerfide; "but since it comes so à propos, you shall have it."

THERE was at Saragossa a merchant who, feeling his end approach and seeing that he must quit his possessions, which he had, perhaps, acquired with bad faith, thought to make satisfaction in part for his sins after his death by giving some little present to God, as if God gave his grace for money. After giving orders respecting his house, he desired that a fine Spanish horse, which constituted nearly the whole of his wealth, should be sold, and the money bestowed on the poor Mendicants, and he charged his wife to do this with fail immediately after his death.

The burial being over, and the first tears shed, the wife, who was no more of a simpleton than Spanish women are in general, said to the man-servant, who, like her, had heard her husband deliver his last will, "Methinks I lose enough in losing my husband, whom I so tenderly loved, without losing, also, the rest of my property. I would by no means, however, contravene the orders he laid upon me, but would rather improve upon his intentions. The poor man, beguiled by the avarice of the priests, thought to make a sacrifice to God in giving away after his death a sum, one crown of which he would not have given in his lifetime, however pressing might be the need, as you very well know; it has occurred to me, then, that we will do what he ordered us much better than he could have done it himself had he lived a few days longer, but no one in the world must know a word about it."

The man having promised to keep the secret, she continued: "You will take the horse to the market, and when you are asked the price you will say one ducat. But I have a very good cat which I want to sell also. You will sell it along with the horse, and charge for it ninety-nine ducats, making of the two one hundred ducats, which is the price at which my husband wished to sell the horse alone."

The man promptly obeyed his mistress's orders. As he was walking the horse about in the market-place, carrying the cat under his arm, a gentleman, who knew the horse and had before wished to buy it, came up and asked what he would take for it at a word. "A ducat," said the man.

"I would thank you not to make game of me," said the gentleman.

"I assure you, sir," said the man, "it will cost you more. It is true you must buy this cat at the same time, and I want ninety-nine ducats for it."

The gentleman, who thought it a pretty good bargain, paid him forthwith a ducat for the horse, and then the remainder for the cat, and had his two purchases taken home. The man on his side went off with the money to his mistress, who was delighted to get it, and failed not to bestow on the poor Mendicants, according to her husband's intentions, the ducat for which the horse had been sold, and kept the rest to provide for her own wants and those of her family.

Don't you think she was wiser than her husband, and did she not take more care of the fortune of her family than of his conscience?

"I believe she loved her husband," said Parlamente, "but seeing that most men wander in their wits on their death-bed, and knowing his intentions, she interpreted them to the advantage of her children, and in this, I think, she showed laudable prudence."

"Do you not think it a great fault," said Geburon, "to contravene the last wishes of our deceased friends?"

"A very great one," replied Parlamente, "when the testator is in his sound senses, and not raving."

"Do you call it raving," returned Geburon, "to bequeath one's property to the Church and to the poor Mendicants?"

"I do not call it raving," she answered, "to give to the poor what God has given to us, but to give away as alms what belongs to another appears to me no great proof of good sense. How commonly you see the greatest usurers in the world erecting the finest and most sumptuous chapels, as thinking to make their peace with God for a hundred thousand ducats' worth of robbery by ten thousands ducats' worth of building, just as though God did not know how to count."

"Truly, I have often wondered," said Oisille, "how they think to make their peace with God by means of things which he himself reprobated when he was on earth, such as great buildings, gildings, painting, and decorations, but if they rightly understood what God has said, that the only offering he requires of us is a humble and contrite heart, and another text in which St. Paul says that we are the temple of God in which he desires to dwell, they would have taken pains to adorn their consciences while they were alive and not have waited for the time when a man can no longer do either good or ill; nor would they have done what is still worse, in laying upon those they leave behind the burden of giving their alms to those they would not have deigned to look upon all through their lives. But He who knows the heart cannot be deceived, and will judge them not according to their works merely, but according to the faith and charity that was in them." 

Next: The Woman and the Chanter

(1000 words)

Heptameron: The Woman and the Chanter

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

The Woman and the Chanter

(Day 6, Story 10)

"It is in my opinion," said Nomerfide, "a great folly in women to pry so curiously into what their husbands do, but it is no less a one in husbands to want to know every step taken by their wives. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof, without taking so much thought for the morrow."

"Nevertheless it is sometimes necessary," said Oisille, "to inquire into matters in which the honor of a house is concerned; that is to say, for the purpose of setting things right, and not from a wish to judge ill of persons, for every one is liable to error."

"Many have come to mischief for want of inquiring into their wives' freaks," said Geburon.

"If you know any instance of the kind, pray tell it us," said Longarine.

"I will do so with pleasure," he replied, "since you desire it."

THERE was in Paris a man so good-natured that he would have scrupled to believe that a man had lain with his wife though he had seen it with his own eyes. This poor man married the most profligate woman in the world but never noticed her licentiousness and treated her as though she were the best of wives.

But one day, when King Louis XII was in Paris, this woman went and gave herself up to one of that prince's chanters, and when she found that the king was quitting Paris and that she was about to lose her lover, she resolved to go with him and quit her husband. The chanter had no objection to this and took her to a house he had near Blois, where they lived long together.

The poor husband, not finding his wife, searched for her in all directions and learned at last that she had gone off with the chanter. Wishing to recover his lost sheep which he had badly guarded, he wrote her several letters, begging her to return and promising to receive her, provided she would lead a good life for the future, but she took such pleasure in the chanter's singing that she had forgotten her husband's voice, made no account of his fair words, and snapped her fingers at him.

The incensed husband then gave her notice that he would claim her legally through the Church, since she would not return to him of her own accord, whereupon, fearing that if justice meddled with the matter she and her chanter would come badly off, she devised a scheme worthy of such a woman.

She pretended to be sick, sent for some worthy women of the city to visit her, and they came the more willingly as they hoped to make her illness instrumental towards bringing her back from her vicious ways. To this end each of them addressed the best remonstrances she could to her, and the seemingly dying woman listened to them with tears, confessed her sin, and played the part so well, that the whole company had pity on her, believing her tears and her repentance to be sincere. They tried to console the poor penitent, told her that God was not so terrible by a great deal as some indiscreet preachers represented him to be, and assured her He would never withhold his mercy from her, and then they sent for a good man to hear her confession.

Next day, the priest of the parish came and administered to her the holy sacrament, which she received with so much devotion that all the good women of the town who were present were moved with tears and praised the divine goodness for having had pity on the poor creature. Afterwards, upon her feigning that she could no longer swallow food, the priest brought her extreme unction, which she received with many fine signs of devotion, for she could hardly speak, at least so it was believed. She lay a long while in the same state, but at last the spectators imagined that she gradually lost her sight, her hearing, and her other senses, whereupon everybody began to cry, "Jesus! Lord! have mercy!" Night being now at hand, and the ladies having some way to go, they all retired. As they were leaving the house, word was brought them that she had just expired. They said a De profundis for her and went away.

The priest asked the chanter where he would have her buried. He replied that she had expressed a wish to be buried in the cemetery, and that it would be advisable under the circumstances that the interment should take place by night. The unfortunate woman was laid out for burial by a servant, who took good care not to hurt her, and then she was carried by torchlight to the grave which the chanter had caused to be dug. When the body was carried past the houses of those who had seen the deceased receive extreme unction, they all came out and accompanied her to the grave, where the priests and the women left her, but the chanter remained after them. The moment he saw that the company were far enough off, he and his servant woman lifted the pretended dead woman out of the grave more alive than ever and took her back to his house, in which he kept her long concealed.

The husband, who was bent on recovering his wife, went to Blois to demand justice and found that she was dead and buried. The fact was certified to him by all the ladies of Blois, who related to him what a fine end she had made, and greatly did the good man rejoice, believing that the soul of his wife was in Paradise and himself disencumbered of her wicked body. He returned to Paris with a glad heart and entered into a second marriage with a respectable young woman, a good housewife, by whom he had several children and with whom he lived fourteen or fifteen years.

But at last, rumor, which keeps no secrets, informed him that his first wife was not dead and that she was still with her chanter.

Next: The Woman and the Chanter (cont.)

(900 words)

Heptameron: The Woman and the Chanter (cont.)

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

The Woman and the Chanter (cont.)

The poor man dissembled as much as he could, affecting to know nothing and heartily wishing that the rumor might be false, but his virtuous wife heard of it and was so distressed that she almost died of grief. Could she have concealed her misfortune without wounding her conscience, she would gladly have done it, but that was impossible, for the Church took up the matter at once and began by separating them until the truth should have been ascertained.

The fact having been verified, the poor man was constrained to quit his good wife and go after his bad one. He came to Blois shortly after Francis I became king. He found there Queen Claude and the regent-mother, laid his complaint before them, and demanded of them her whom he would fain not have found, but he was forced to seek her, to the great pity of all beholders.

His wife, on being confronted with him, insisted for a long time that he was not her husband, which he would gladly have believed if he could. Angry but unabashed, she then told him she would rather die than go back to him. The good man was very well satisfied with this declaration, but the ladies, before whom she spoke so impudently, condemned her to return to her husband, and so sharply admonished and threatened the chanter that he was constrained to tell his ugly mistress he did not want to have anything more to do with her and that she must go back to her husband. Thus repulsed on all sides, the wretched creature went away with her husband and was better treated by him than she deserved.

I repeat, ladies, that if the poor husband had taken heed to his wife, he would not thus have lost her, for a thing well watched is not easily lost, and doubtless the proverb is true, which says that negligence makes the thief.

"It is strange," remarked Hircan, "strong love is where it seems least reasonable."

"I have heard," said Simontault, "that one might sooner break two marriages than the love of a priest and his servant."

"I believe it," said Ennasuite, "for those who bind others in marriage know how to fasten the knot so tightly that it is only to be undone by death; the doctors, too, maintain that spiritual language is more persuasive than other, and consequently spiritual love surpasses every other kind."

"I cannot pardon ladies," said Dagoucin, "who forsake a well-bred husband or lover for a priest, however good-looking."

"Leave our holy mother the Church alone, I pray you," said Hircan, "and be assured that it is a great pleasure for poor timid women to sin in secret with those who can absolve them, for some there are who are much more ashamed of confessing a sin than of committing it."

"You speak of such as know not God," said Oisille, "and imagine that secret things will not be revealed before the whole host of Heaven. But I do not believe that it is for sake of confession that such women seek confessors. The enemy has so blinded them that they think much more of settling down upon a place that seems to them the most secret and secure than of having absolution for the guilt of which they do not repent."

"Repent, indeed!" exclaimed Saffredent. "They think themselves much more saintly than other women, and I am sure that there are some who think it is a great honor to them to persevere in intrigues of this sort."

Next: Secrets Revealed

(700 words)

Heptameron: Secrets Revealed

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

Secrets Revealed

(Day 7, Story 2)

"It is difficult for a sin to be so secret as never to come to light," said Longarine, "unless God himself conceals it for sake of those who repent of it truly for love of Him."

"What would you say of women," said Hircan, "who have no sooner committed a folly than they go and tell it?"

"The thing seems so surprising," said Longarine, "that it seems to me a token that they do not dislike the sin. I have already said that the sin which is not covered by the grace of God can hardly be denied before men. There are many who take pleasure in talking of such things, and glory in publishing their vices, and others who accuse themselves by self-contradiction."

"That is a very clumsy kind of self-contradiction," said Saffredent, "but if you know any example of it, I beg you will relate it."

"Hearken, then," said Longarine.

IN the time of King Francis I there was a lady of the blood royal who had honor, virtue, and beauty, and who knew how to tell a story with grace and also to laugh at a good one when she heard it. This lady, being at one of her houses, was visited by all her dependents and neighbors, by whom she was greatly beloved.

Among other visits she received one from a certain lady who, seeing that everyone told the princess tales to divert her, wished to do like the rest and said, "I have a story to tell you, madam, but you must promise not to speak of it. It is quite true, and I can conscientiously give it you as such.

"There was a married lady who lived on very creditable terms with her husband, though he was old and she young. A gentleman in her neighborhood, seeing she had married this old man, fell in love with her and solicited her for several years, but she only replied to him as became a virtuous woman. One day it occurred to the gentleman that if he could come upon her at a moment advantageous to himself, she would perhaps not be so cruel. After he had long weighed the danger to which he exposed himself, love smoothed over all difficulties, dissipated his fear, and determined him to seek time and opportunity. Keeping good watch for intelligence, he learned that the lady's husband was going away to another of his houses and intended to set out at daybreak to avoid the heat, whereupon he repaired to the lady and found her asleep in bed.

"Seeing that the maid-servants were not in the chamber, he got into the lady's bed, booted and spurred as he was, without having had the wit to lock the door. She awoke and was very much vexed to see him there, but in spite of all her remonstrances there was no stopping him — he violated her and threatened, if she made a noise, to tell everybody she had sent for him, which frightened her so much that she durst not cry out.

"One of the servants came back some moments afterwards into the chamber. The gentleman jumped up with such celerity that she would have noticed nothing, if his spur had not stuck in the top sheet and carried it clean off the bed, leaving the lady quite naked."

So far the lady had told her story as if of another, but here she could not help saying: "Never was woman more astonished than I when I found myself thus naked."

The princess, who had listened to the whole tale without a smile, could not then restrain her laughter and said, "I see you were quite right in saying you knew the story to be true."

The poor lady tried hard to mend the matter, but there was no possibility of finding a good plaister for it.

I assure you, ladies, if the act had given her real pain, she would have been glad to have lost the recollection of it, but as I have already said, sin is sure to discover itself unless it be covered by the mantle which, as David says, makes man blessed.

"Truly, of all the fools I ever heard of this was the greatest, to set others laughing at her own expense," said Ennasuite.

"Why," said Geburon, "what sin had she committed? She was asleep in her bed, and he threatened her with death and infamy. Lucretia, who has been so much lauded, did quite as much."

"It is true," said Parlamente, "there is no righteous person who may not fall, but when one has felt at the instant great disgust at one's fall, one remembers it only with horror. To efface its memory Lucretia killed herself, but this wanton chose to make others laugh at it in her own case."

"It seems to me, nevertheless," said Nomerfide, "that she was a good woman, since she was urgently solicited several times, but would not consent. Accordingly, the gentleman was obliged to use fraud and violence in order to succeed."

"What!" said Parlamente; "do you suppose that a woman's honor is spotless when she succumbs after two or three refusals? At that rate there would be many a woman of honor among those who are regarded as having none. Plenty of women have been known for a long time to repulse him to whom their hearts were already given. Some do it because they fear infamy; others to make themselves the more loved and esteemed by a feigned resistance. A woman, therefore, ought not to be held in any consideration unless she remains firm to the end." 

Next: Woman on Her Death-Bed

(900 words)

Heptameron: Woman on Her Death-Bed

This story is part of the Heptameron unit. Story source: The Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, translated by Walter K. Kelly (1855).

Woman on Her Death-Bed

(Day 8, Story 1)

Parlamente began thus: "Such good and wise tales have been told on the past days, ladies, that I should recommend our employing this one in relating the greatest follies we can think of, the same being really true. To set you all going, then, I will begin that way."

THERE was at Amboise a saddler named Brimbaudier who worked for the Queen of Navarre. It was enough to see the man's red nose to be assured that he was more a servant to Bacchus than to Diana. He had married a worthy woman with whom he was very well satisfied and who managed his children and his household with great discretion.

One day he was told that his good wife was very ill, at which he was greatly afflicted. He went home with speed and found her so far gone that she had more need of a confessor than of a doctor, whereat he made the most doleful lamentations that ever were heard, but to report them properly one ought to speak thick like him, but it would be better still to paint one's face. After he had rendered her all the good offices he could, she asked for the cross, which was brought her.

The good man, seeing this, threw himself on a bed howling, and crying, and ejaculating with his thick tongue: "O Lord, I am losing my poor wife. Was there ever such a misfortune? What shall I do?" and so forth.

At last, there being no one in the room but a young servant, rather a good-looking girl, he called her to him in a faint voice and said, "I am dying, my dear, and worse than if I was dead all out, to see your mistress dying. I know not what to say or do, only that I look for help to you and beg you to take care of my house and my children. Take the keys that hang at my side; do everything in the house for the best, for I am not in a condition to attend to such things."

The poor girl pitied and tried to comfort him, begging him not to be so cast down, lest besides losing her mistress she should lose her good master also.

"It can't be, my dear," said he, "for I am dying. See how cold my face is; put your cheeks to mine to warm them." As she did so, he put his hand on her bosom, whereat she offered to make some difficulty, but he begged her not to be alarmed, for they must by all means see each other more closely.

Thereupon he laid hold of her and threw her on the bed. His wife, who was left alone with the cross and the holy water and who had not spoken for two days, began to cry out as well as her feeble voice enabled her, "Ah! Ah! Ah! I am not dead yet!" And threatening them with her hand, she repeated, "Wicked wretches, I am not dead yet!"

The husband and the servant jumped up instantly, but the sick woman was so enraged with them that her anger consumed the catarrhal humor that hindered her from speaking, so that she poured out upon them all the abuse she could think of. From that moment she began to mend, but her husband had often to endure her reproaches for the little love he had shown for her.

You see, ladies, how hypocritical men are, and how little is needed to console them for the loss of their wives.

"How do you know," said Hircan, "but he had heard it was the best remedy for his wife's case? Not being able to cure her by his care and his kind offices, he wished to try if the contrary would not produced the desired effect. The experiment was a happy one, and I am astonished that, being a woman as you are, you have so frankly portrayed the spirit of your sex, who do for spite what they cannot be brought to do by kindness."

"Unquestionably, such provocation as that," said Longarine, "would make me rise not only from my bed but from my grave."

"What harm did he do her in consoling himself, since he thought she was dead?" said Saffredent. "Do we not know that marriage binds only as long as life lasts, and that death gives a man back his liberty?"

"Death releases a man from the obligation of his oath," said Oisille; "but a good heart never thinks itself dispensed from the obligation of loving. It was making great haste to console himself not to be able to wait until his wife had expired." 

(900 words)

Decameron: Melchisedech and Saladin

One of the stories told on the first day is actually a "story within a story." In fact, we are quite deep into the structure here: Boccaccio is telling us the story of Filomena, Filomena tells us the story of the wise Jew named Melchisedech, and Melchisedech tells us the story of a father who loved all three of his sons equally. Filomena provides a moral at the beginning of her story: she wants to give an example of how people can get into big trouble if they speak before they think, but if people would just think carefully before they speak, they can escape from seemingly impossible dangers. To illustrate this moral, she tells the story of a Jew named Melchisedech and his conversation with the Sultan Saladin. You may be surprised when Saladin asks Melchisedech to tell him whether the faith of the Jews, the Christians or the Muslims was most admirable. That was just as controversial a question seven hundred years ago as it is today! You can read more about this story, sometimes called "The Ring Parable" at Wikipedia.

(sculpture of Saladin in Cairo)

[Notes by LKG]

---

This story is part of the Decameron unit. Story source: The Decameron by Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg (1903).

Melchisedech and Saladin

(Filomena: Day 1, Story 3)

[LIBRIVOX AUDIO]

Filomena, at the queen's behest, thus began:

I propose to tell you a story which will perhaps dispose you to be more circumspect than you have been wont to be in answering questions addressed to you. Well ye know, or should know, loving gossips, that as it often happens that folk by their own folly forfeit a happy estate and are plunged in most grievous misery, so good sense will extricate the wise from extremity of peril and establish them in complete and assured peace. Of the change from good to evil fortune which folly may effect, instances abound; indeed, occurring as they do by the thousand day by day, they are so conspicuous that their recital would be beside our present purpose. But that good sense may be our succour in misfortune, I will now, as I promised, make plain to you within the narrow compass of a little story.

Saladin, who by his great valour had from small beginnings made himself Soldan of Egypt and gained many victories over kings both Christian and Saracen, having in divers wars and by divers lavish displays of magnificence spent all his treasure, and in order to meet a certain emergency being in need of a large sum of money and being at a loss to raise it with a celerity adequate to his necessity, bethought him of a wealthy Jew, Melchisedech by name, who lent at usance in Alexandria, and who, were he but willing, was, as he believed, able to accommodate him, but was so miserly that he would never do so of his own accord, nor was Saladin disposed to constrain him thereto. So great, however, was his necessity that, after pondering every method whereby the Jew might be induced to be compliant, at last he determined to devise a colourably reasonable pretext for extorting the money from him.

So he sent for him, received him affably, seated him by his side, and presently said to him: "My good man, I have heard from many people that thou art very wise and of great discernment in divine things, wherefore I would gladly know of thee: which of the three laws thou reputest the true law, the law of the Jews, the law of the Saracens, or the law of the Christians?"

The Jew, who was indeed a wise man, saw plainly enough that Saladin meant to entangle him in his speech that he might have occasion to harass him, and bethought him that he could not praise any of the three laws above another without furnishing Saladin with the pretext which he sought. So, concentrating all the force of his mind to shape such an answer as might avoid the snare, he presently lit on what he sought, saying:"My lord, a pretty question indeed is this which you propound, and fain would I answer it, to which end it is apposite that I tell you a story, which, if you will hearken, is as follows:

If I mistake not, I remember to have often heard tell of a great and rich man of old time who, among other most precious jewels, had in his treasury a ring of extraordinary beauty and value, which by reason of its value and beauty he was minded to leave to his heirs for ever; for which cause he ordained, that, whichever of his sons was found in possession of the ring as by his bequest should thereby be designate his heir and be entitled to receive from the rest the honour and homage due to a superior. The son, to whom he bequeathed the ring, left it in like manner to his descendants, making the like ordinance as his predecessor.

In short the ring passed from hand to hand for many generations, and in the end came to the hands of one who had three sons, goodly and virtuous all, and very obedient to their father, so that he loved them all indifferently. The rule touching the descent of the ring was known to the young men and, each aspiring to hold the place of honour among them, did all he could to persuade his father, who was now old, to leave the ring to him at his death.

The worthy man, who loved them all equally and knew not how to choose from among them a sole legatee, promised the ring to each in turn and, in order to satisfy all three, caused a cunning artificer secretly to make two other rings, so like the first that the maker himself could hardly tell which was the true ring. So, before he died, he disposed of the rings, giving one privily to each of his sons; whereby it came to pass, that after his decease each of the sons claimed the inheritance and the place of honour, and, his claim being disputed by his brothers, produced his ring in witness of right. And the rings being found so like one to another that it was impossible to distinguish the true one, the suit to determine the true heir remained pendent, and still so remains.

And so, my lord, to your question, touching the three laws given to the three peoples by God the Father, I answer: Each of these peoples deems itself to have the true inheritance, the true law, the true commandments of God, but which of them is justified in so believing, is a question which, like that of the rings, remains pendent."

The excellent adroitness with which the Jew had contrived to evade the snare which he had laid for his feet was not lost upon Saladin. He therefore determined to let the Jew know his need, and did so, telling him at the same time what he had intended to do in the event of his answering less circumspectly than he had done.

Thereupon the Jew gave the Soldan all the accommodation that he required, which the Soldan afterwards repaid him in full. He also gave him most munificent gifts with his lifelong amity and a great and honourable position near his person.

Next: The Monk and His Abbot

(1000 words)