Produced by David Widger





THE TALES OF

THE HEPTAMERON

OF

Margaret, Queen of Navarre

_Newly Translated into English from the Authentic Text_

OF M. LE ROUX DE LINCY WITH

AN ESSAY UPON THE HEPTAMERON

BY

GEORGE SAINTSBURY, M.A.

Also the Original Seventy-three Full Page Engravings



Designed by S. FREUDENBERG

And One Hundred and Fifty Head and Tail Pieces

By DUNKER

_IN FIVE VOLUMES_

VOLUME THE FIRST

LONDON: PRINTED FOR THE SOCIETY OF ENGLISH BIBLIOPHILISTS

MDCCCXCIV


[Illustration: Frontispiece]

[Margaret, Queen of Navarre, from a crayon drawing by Clouet, preserved
at the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris]

[Illustration: Titlepage]


CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.

Preface

Memoir of Margaret of Angoulême

Essay on the Heptameron

Dedications and Preface to the Original Editions

of the Heptameron

The Prologue


FIRST DAY.

Tale I. The pitiful history of a Proctor of Alençon, named St. Aignan,
and of his wife, who caused her husband to assassinate her lover, the
son of the Lieutenant-General

II. The fate of the wife of a muleteer of Amboise, who suffered herself
to be killed by her servant rather than sacrifice her chastity

III. The revenge taken by the Queen of Naples, wife to King Alfonso, for
her husband’s infidelity with a gentleman’s wife

IV. The ill success of a Flemish gentleman who was unable to obtain,
either by persuasion or force, the love of a great Princess

V. How a boatwoman of Coulon, near Nyort, contrived to escape from the
vicious designs of two Grey Friars

Tale VI. How the wife of an old valet of the Duke of Alençon’s succeeded
in saving her lover from her husband, who was blind of one eye

VII. The craft of a Parisian merchant, who saved the reputation of the
daughter by offering violence to the mother

Appendix to the First Day




ENGRAVINGS


To face page Queen Margaret of Navarre. Frontispiece.

Prologue: The Story-tellers in the Meadow near The Gave. By S.
Freudenberg


FIRST DAY.

Tale I. Du Mesnil learns his Mistress’s Infidelity from her Maid. By S.
Freudenberg

II. The Muleteer’s Servant attacking his Mistress. By S. Freudenberg

III. The King Joking upon the Stag’s Head being A fitting Decoration. By
S. Freudenberg

IV. The Princess’s Lady of Honour hurrying to her Mistress’s Assistance.
By S. Freudenberg

V. The Boatwoman of Coulon outwitting the Friars. By S. Freudenberg

VI. The Wife’s Ruse to secure the Escape of her Lover. By S. Freudenberg

VII. The Merchant transferring his Caresses from the Daughter to the
Mother. By S. Freudenberg




PREFACE.

The first printed version of the famous Tales of Margaret of Navarre,
issued in Paris in the year 1558, under the title of “Histoires des
Amans Fortunez,” was extremely faulty and imperfect. It comprised but
sixty-seven of the seventy-two tales written by the royal author, and
the editor, Pierre Boaistuau, not merely changed the order of those
narratives which he did print, but suppressed numerous passages in them,
besides modifying much of Margaret’s phraseology. A somewhat similar
course was adopted by Claude Gruget, who, a year later, produced what
claimed to be a complete version of the stories, to which he gave the
general title of the _Heptameron_, a name they have ever since retained.
Although he reinstated the majority of the tales in their proper
sequence, he still suppressed several of them, and inserted others in
their place, and also modified the Queen’s language after the fashion
set by Boaistuau. Despite its imperfections, however, Gruget’s version
was frequently reprinted down to the beginning of the eighteenth
century, when it served as the basis of the numerous editions of the
_Heptameron_ in _beau langage_, as the French phrased it, which then
began to make their appearance. It served, moreover, in the one or the
other form, for the English and other translations of the work, and down
to our own times was accepted as the standard version of the Queen
of Navarre’s celebrated tales. Although it was known that various
contemporary MSS. were preserved at the French National Library in
Paris, no attempt was made to compare Gruget’s faulty version with the
originals until the Société des Bibliophiles Français entrusted this
delicate task to M. Le Roux de Lincy, whose labours led to some most
valuable discoveries, enabling him to produce a really authentic version
of Margaret’s admired masterpiece, with the suppressed tales restored,
the omitted passages reinstated, and the Queen’s real language given for
the first time in all its simple gracefulness.

It is from the authentic text furnished by M. Le Roux de Lincy that the
present translation has been made, without the slightest suppression or
abridgment. The work moreover contains all the more valuable notes to
be found in the best French editions of the _Heptameron_, as well as
numerous others from original sources, and includes a _résumé_ of the
various suggestions made by MM. Félix Frank, Le Roux de Lincy, Paul
Lacroix, and A. de Montaiglon, towards the identification of the
narrators of the stories, and the principal actors in them, with
well-known personages of the time. An Essay on the _Heptameron_ from the
pen of Mr. George Saintsbury, M.A., and a Life of Queen Margaret,
are also given, as well as the quaint Prefaces of the earlier French
versions; and a complete bibliographical summary of the various editions
which have issued from the press.

It may be supposed that numerous illustrated editions have been
published of a work so celebrated as the _Heptameron_, which,
besides furnishing scholars with a favourite subject for research and
speculation, has, owing to its perennial freshness, delighted so many
generations of readers. Such, however, is not the case. Only two fully
illustrated editions claim the attention of connoisseurs. The first
of these was published at Amsterdam in 1698, with designs by the Dutch
artist, Roman de Hooge, whose talent has been much overrated. To-day
this edition is only valuable on account of its comparative rarity. Very
different was the famous edition illustrated by Freudenberg, a Swiss
artist--the friend of Boucher and of Greuze--which was published in
parts at Berne in 1778-81, and which among amateurs has long commanded
an almost prohibitive price.

The Full-page Illustrations to the present translation are printed from
the actual copperplates engraved for the Berne edition by Longeuil,
Halbou, and other eminent French artists of the eighteenth century,
after the designs of S. Freudenberg. There are also the one hundred and
fifty elaborate head and tail pieces executed for the Berne edition by
Dunker, well known to connoisseurs as one of the principal engravers of
the _Cabinet_ of the Duke de Choiseul.

The Portrait of Queen Margaret placed as frontispiece to the present
volume is from a crayon drawing by Clouet, preserved at the Bibliothèque
Nationale, Paris.

Ernest A. Vizetelly.

London,

1893.




_Explanation of the Initials appended to the Notes_.

B.J...Bibliophile Jacob, i.e. Paul Lacroix.

D.....F. Dillaye.

F.....Félix Frank.

L.....Le Roux de Lincy.

M.....Anatole de Montaiglon.

Ed....E. A. Vizetelly.




_MARGARET OF ANGOULÊME, QUEEN OF NAVARRE._




I.

     _Louise of Savoy; her marriage with the Count of Angouleme--
     Birth of her children Margaret and Francis--Their father’s
     early death--Louise and her children at Amboise--Margaret’s
     studies and her brother’s pastimes--Marriage of Margaret
     with the Duke of Alençon--Her estrangement from her husband--
     Accession of Francis I.--The Duke of Alençon at Marignano--
     Margaret’s Court at Alençon--Her personal appearance--Her
     interest in the Reformation and her connection with Clement
     Marot--Lawsuit between Louise of Savoy and the Constable de
     Bourbon._

In dealing with the life and work of Margaret of Angouleme (1) it is
necessary at the outset to refer to the mother whose influence and
companionship served so greatly to mould her daughter’s career.

     1 This Life of Margaret is based upon the memoir by M, Le
     Roux de Lincy prefixed to the edition of the _Heptameron_
     issued by the Société des Bibliophiles Français, but various
     errors have been rectified, and advantage has been taken of
     the researches of later biographers.

Louise of Savoy, daughter of Count Philip of Bresse, subsequently Duke
of Savoy, was born at Le Pont d’Ain in 1477, and upon the death of her
mother, Margaret de Bourbon, she married Charles d’Orléans, Count of
Angoulême, to whom she brought the slender dowry of thirty-five thousand
livres. (1) She was then but twelve years old, her husband being some
twenty years her senior. He had been banished from the French Court for
his participation in the insurrection of Brittany, and was living in
straitened circumstances. Still, on either side the alliance was an
honourable one. Louise belonged to a sovereign house, while the Count
of Angoulême was a prince of the blood royal of France by virtue of his
descent from King Charles V., his grandfather having been that monarch’s
second son, the notorious Duke Louis of Orleans, (2) who was murdered in
Paris in 1417 at the instigation of John the Bold of Burgundy.

     1  The value of the Paris livre at this date was twenty
     sols, so that the amount would be equivalent to about L1400.

     2  This was the prince described by Brantôme as a “great
     débaucher of the ladies of the Court, and invariably of the
     greatest among them.”--_Vies des Dames galantes_ (Disc. i.).

Louise, who, although barely nubile, impatiently longed to become a
mother, gave birth to her first child after four years of wedded
life. “My daughter Margaret,” she writes in the journal recording the
principal events of her career, “was born in the year 1492, the eleventh
day of April, at two o’clock in the morning; that is to say, the tenth
day, fourteen hours and ten minutes, counting after the manner of
the astronomers.” This auspicious event took place at the Château of
Angoulême, then a formidable and stately pile, of which nowadays there
only remains a couple of towers, built in the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries. Soon afterwards Cognac became the Count of Angoulême’s
favourite place of residence, and it was there that Louise gave birth,
on September 12th, 1494, to her second child, a son, who was christened
Francis.

Louise’s desires were now satisfied, but her happiness did not long
remain complete. On January 1st, 1496, when she was but eighteen years
old, she lost her amiable and accomplished husband, and forthwith
retiring to her Château of Romorantin, she resolved to devote herself
entirely to the education of her children. The Duke of Orleans, who,
on the death of Charles VIII. in 1498, succeeded to the throne as Louis
XII., was appointed their guardian, and in 1499 he invited them and
their mother to the royal Château of Amboise, where they remained for
several years.

The education of Francis, who had become heir-presumptive to the throne,
was conducted at Amboise by the Marshal de Gié, one of the King’s
favourites, whilst Margaret was intrusted to the care of a venerable
lady, whom her panegyrist does not mention by name, but in whom he
states all virtues were assembled. (1) This lady took care to regulate
not only the acts but also the language of the young princess, who was
provided with a tutor in the person of Robert Hurault, Baron of Auzay,
great archdeacon and abbot of St. Martin of Autun. (2) This divine
instructed her in Latin and French literature, and also taught her
Spanish and Italian, in which languages Brantôme asserts that she became
proficient. “But albeit she knew how to speak good Spanish and good
Italian,” he says, “she always made use of her mother tongue for matters
of moment; though when it was necessary to join in jesting and gallant
conversation she showed that she was acquainted with more than her daily
bread.” (3)

     1  Sainte-Marthe’s _Oraison funèbre de la Royne de Navarre_,
     p. 22. Margaret’s modern biographers state that this lady was
     Madame de Chastillon, but it is doubtful which Madame
     de Chastillon it was. The Rev. James Anderson assumes it was
     Louise de Montmorency, the mother of the Colignys, whilst
     Miss Freer asserts it was Anne de Chabannes de Damniartin,
     wife of James de Chastillon, killed in Italy in 1572. M.
     Franck has shown, in his edition of the _Heptameron_, that
     Anne de Chabannes died about 1505, and that James de
     Chastillon then married Blanche de Tournon. Possibly his
     first wife may have been Margaret’s governess, but what is
     quite certain is that the second wife became her lady of
     honour, and that it is she who is alluded to in the
     _Heptameron_.

     2  Odolant Desnos’s _Mémoires historiques sur Alençon_,
     vol. ii.

     3  Brantôme’s _Rodomontades espagnoles_, 18mo, 1740, vol.
     xii. p. 117.

Such was Margaret’s craving for knowledge that she even wished to
obtain instruction in Hebrew, and Paul Paradis, surnamed Le Canosse, a
professor at the Royal College, gave her some lessons in it. Moreover,
a rather obscure passage in the funeral oration which Sainte-Marthe
devoted to her after her death, seemingly implies that she acquired
from some of the most eminent men then flourishing the precepts of the
philosophy of the ancients.

The journal kept by Louise of Savoy does not impart much information as
to the style of life which she and her children led in their new abode,
the palatial Château of Amboise, originally built by the Counts of
Anjou, and fortified by Charles VII. with the most formidable towers in
France. (1)

     1  The Château of Amboise, now the private property of the
     Count de Paris, is said to occupy the site of a Roman
     fortress destroyed by the Normans and rebuilt by Foulques
     the Red of Anjou. When Francis I. ascended the French throne
     he presented the barony of Amboise with its hundred and
     forty-six fiefs to his mother, Louise of Savoy.

Numerous authorities state, however, that Margaret spent most of her
time in study with her preceptors and in the devotional exercises which
then had so large a place in the training of princesses. Still she was
by no means indifferent to the pastimes in which her brother and his
companions engaged. Gaston de Foix, the nephew of the King, William
Gouffier, who became Admiral de Bonnivet, Philip Brion, Sieur de
Chabot, Fleurange, “the young adventurer,” Charles de Bourbon, Count
of Montpensier, and Anne de Montmorency--two future Constables of
France--surrounded the heir to the throne, with whom they practised
tennis, archery, and jousting, or played at soldiers pending the time
when they were to wage war in earnest. (1)

Margaret was a frequent spectator of these pastimes, and took a keen
interest in her brother’s efforts whenever he was assailing or defending
some miniature fortress or tilting at the ring. It would appear also
that she was wont to play at chess with him; for we have it on high
authority that it is she and her brother who are represented, thus
engaged, in a curious miniature preserved at the Bibliothèque Nationale
in Paris. (2) In this design--executed by an unknown artist--only the
back of Francis is to be seen, but a full view of Margaret is supplied;
the personage standing behind her being Artus Gouffier, her own and her
brother’s governor.

     1  Fleurange’s _Histoire des Choses mémorables advenues du
     Reigne de Louis XII. et François I_.

     2  Paulin Paris’s _Manuscrits françois de la Bibliothèque du
     Roi_, &c., Paris, 1836, vol. i. pp. 279-281. The miniature
     in question is contained in MS. No. 6808: _Commentaire sur
     le Livre des Échecs amoureux et Archiloge Sophie_.

Whatever time Margaret may have devoted to diversion, she was certainly
a very studious child, for at fifteen years of age she already had the
reputation of being highly accomplished. Shortly after her sixteenth
birthday a great change took place in her life. On August 3rd, 1508,
Louise of Savoy records in her journal that Francis “this day quitted
Amboise to become a courtier, and left me all alone.” Margaret
accompanied her brother upon his entry into the world, the young couple
repairing to Blois, where Louis XII. had fixed his residence. There
had previously been some unsuccessful negotiations in view of marrying
Margaret to Prince Henry of England (Henry VIII.), and at this period
another husband was suggested in the person of Charles of Austria, Count
of Flanders, and subsequently Emperor Charles V. Louis XII., however,
had other views as regards the daughter of the Count of Angoulême, for
he knew that if he himself died without male issue the throne would pass
to Margaret’s brother. Hence he decided to marry her to a prince of the
royal house, Charles, Duke of Alençon.

This prince, born at Alençon on September 2nd, 1489, had been brought
up at the Château of Mauves, in Le Perche, by his mother, the pious and
charitable Margaret of Lorraine, who on losing her husband had resolved,
like Louise of Savoy, to devote herself to the education of her
children. (1)

     1  Hilarion de Coste’s  _Vies et Éloges des Dames illustres_,
     vol. ii. p. 260.

It had originally been intended that her son Charles should marry Susan,
daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Bourbon--the celebrated Peter and
Anne de Beaujeu--but this match fell through owing to the death of Peter
and the opposition of Anne, who preferred the young Count of Montpensier
(afterwards Constable de Bourbon) as a son-in-law. A yet higher alliance
then presented itself for Charles: it was proposed that he should marry
Anne of Brittany, the widow of King Charles VIII., but she was many
years his senior, and, moreover, to prevent the separation of Brittany
from France, it had been stipulated that she should marry either her
first husband’s successor (Louis XII.) or the heir-presumptive to the
throne. Either course seemed impracticable, as the heir, Francis of
Angoulême, was but a child, while the new King was already married to
Jane, a daughter of Louis XI. Brittany seemed lost to France, when Louis
XII., by promising the duchy of Valentinois to Cæsar Borgia, prevailed
upon Pope Alexander VI. to divorce him from his wife. He then married
Anne of Brittany, while Charles of Alençon proceeded to perfect his
knightly education, pending other matrimonial arrangements.

In 1507, when in his eighteenth year, he accompanied the army which the
King led against the Genoese, and conducted himself bravely; displaying
such courage, indeed, at the battle of Agnadel, gained over the
Venetians--who were assailed after the submission of Genoa--that Louis
XII. bestowed upon him the Order of St. Michael. It was during this
Italian expedition that his mother negotiated his marriage with Margaret
of Angoulême. The alliance was openly countenanced by Louis XII.,
and the young Duke of Valois--as Francis of Angoulême was now
called--readily acceded to it. Margaret brought with her a dowry of
sixty thousand livres, payable in four instalments, and Charles, who was
on the point of attaining his twenty-first year, was declared a major
and placed in possession of his estates. (1) The marriage was solemnised
at Blois in October 1509.

     1  Odolant  Desnos’s _Mémoires historiques sur Alençon_,
     vol.   ii. p. 231

Margaret did not find in her husband a mind comparable to her own.
Differences of taste and temper brought about a certain amount of
coolness, which did not, however, hinder the Duchess from fulfilling
the duties of a faithful, submissive wife. In fact, although but little
sympathy would appear to have existed between the Duke and Duchess
of Alençon, their domestic differences have at least been singularly
exaggerated.

During the first five years of her married life Margaret lived in
somewhat retired style in her duchy of Alençon, while her husband took
part in various expeditions, and was invested with important functions.
In 1513 he fought in Picardy against the English and Imperialists,
commanded by Henry VIII., being present at the famous “Battle of Spurs;”
 and early in 1514 he was appointed Lieutenant-General and Governor of
Brittany. Margaret at this period was not only often separated from her
husband, but she also saw little of her mother, who had retired to her
duchy of Angoulême. Louise of Savoy, as mother of the heir-presumptive,
was the object of the homage of all adroit and politic courtiers, but
she had to behave with circumspection on account of the jealousy of
the Queen, Anne of Brittany, whose daughters, Claude and Renée, were
debarred by the Salic Law from inheriting the crown. Louis XII. wished
to marry Claude to Francis of Angoulême, but Anne refusing her consent,
it was only after her death, in 1514, that the marriage was solemnised.

It now seemed certain that Francis would in due course ascend the
throne; but Louis XII. abruptly contracted a third alliance, marrying
Mary of England, the sister of Henry VIII. Louise of Savoy soon deemed
it prudent to keep a watch on the conduct of this gay young Queen, and
took up her residence at the Court in November 1514. Shortly afterwards
Louis XII. died of exhaustion, as many had foreseen, and the hopes of
the Duchess of Angoulême were realised. She knew the full extent of her
empire over her son, now Francis I., and felt both able and ready to
exercise a like authority over the affairs of his kingdom.

The accession of Francis gave a more important position to Margaret and
her husband. The latter was already one of the leading personages of the
state, and new favours increased his power. He did not address the King
as “Your Majesty,” says Odolant Desnos, but styled him “Monseigneur”
 or “My Lord,” and all the acts which he issued respecting his duchy of
Alençon began with the preamble, “Charles, by the grace of God.”
 Francis had scarcely become King than he turned his eyes upon Italy, and
appointing his mother as Regent, he set out with a large army, a
portion of which was commanded by the Duke of Alençon. At the battle
of Marignano the troops of the latter formed the rearguard, and, on
perceiving that the Swiss were preparing to surround the bulk of the
French army, Charles marched against them, overthrew them, and by his
skilful manouvres decided the issue of the second day’s fight. (1) The
conquest of the duchy of Milan was the result of this victory, and peace
supervening, the Duke of Alençon returned to France.

     1  Odolant Desnos’s _Mémoires historiques sur Alençon_,  vol.
     ii. p. 238.

It was at this period that Margaret began to keep a Court, which,
according to Odolant Desnos, rivalled that of her brother. We know
that in 1517 she and her husband entertained the King with a series of
magnificent fêtes at their Château of Alençon, which then combined both
a palace and a fortress. But little of the château now remains, as,
after the damage done to it during the religious wars between 1561
and 1572, it was partially demolished by Henry IV. when he and Biron
captured it in 1590. Still the lofty keep built by Henry I. of England
subsisted intact till in 1715 it was damaged by fire, and finally in
1787 razed to the ground.

The old pile was yet in all its splendour in 1517, when Francis I. was
entertained there with jousts and tournaments. At these gay gatherings
Margaret appeared apparelled in keeping with her brother’s love of
display; for, like all princesses, she clothed herself on important
occasions in sumptuous garments. But in every-day life she was
very simple, despising the vulgar plan of impressing the crowd by
magnificence and splendour. In a portrait executed about this period,
her dark-coloured dress is surmounted by a wimple with a double collar
and her head covered with a cap in the Bearnese style. This portrait (1)
tends, like those of a later date, to the belief that Margaret’s beauty,
so celebrated by the poets of her time, consisted mainly in the
nobility of her bearing and the sweetness and liveliness spread over her
features. Her eyes, nose, and mouth were very large, but although she
had been violently attacked with small-pox while still young, she had
been spared the traces which this cruel illness so often left in those
days, and she even preserved the freshness of her complexion until late
in life. (2)

     1  It is preserved at the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris,
     where it will be found in the _Recueil de Portraits au
     crayon par Clouett Dumonstier, &c_, fol. xi.

     2  Referring to this subject, she says in one of her letters:
     “You can tell it to the Count and Countess of Vertus, whom
     you will go and visit on my behalf; and say to the Countess
     that I am sorely vexed that she has this loathsome illness.
     However, I had it as severely as ever was known. And if it
     be that she has caught it as I have been told, I should like
     to be near her to preserve her complexion, and do for her
     what Ï did for myself.”--Génin’s _lettres de Marguerite
     d’Angoulême_, Paris, 1841, p. 374.

Like her brother, whom she greatly resembled, she was very tall. Her
gait was solemn, but the dignified air of her person was tempered by
extreme affability and a lively humour, which never left her. (1)

     1 Sainte-Marthe says on this subject: “For in her face, in
     her gestures, in her walk, in her words, in all that she did
     and said, a royal gravity made itself so manifest and
     apparent, that one saw I know not what of majesty which
     compelled every one to revere and dread her. In seeing her
     kindly receive every one, refuse no one, and patiently
     listen to all, you would have promised yourself easy and
     facile access to her; but if she cast eyes upon you, there
     was in her face I know not what of gravity, which made you
     so astounded that you no longer had power, I do not say to
     walk a step, but even to stir a foot to approach her.”--
     _Oraison-funèbre, &c_, p. 53.

Francis I. did not allow the magnificent reception accorded to him at
Alençon to pass unrewarded. He presented his sister with the duchy of
Berry, where she henceforward exercised temporal control, though she
does not appear to have ever resided there for any length of time.
In 1521, when her husband started to the relief of Chevalier Bayard,
attacked in Mézières by the Imperial troops, she repaired to Meaux with
her mother so as to be near to the Duke. Whilst sojourning there she
improved her acquaintance with the Bishop, William Briçonnet, who had
gathered around him Gerard Roussel, Michael d’Arande, Lefèvre d’Etaples,
and other celebrated disciples of the Reformation. The effect of
Luther’s preaching had scarcely reached France before Margaret had begun
to manifest great interest in the movement, and had engaged in a long
correspondence with Briçonnet, which is still extant. Historians are
at variance as to whether Margaret ever really contemplated a change of
religion, or whether the protection she extended to the Reformers was
simply dictated by a natural feeling of compassion and a horror of
persecution. It has been contended that she really meditated a change
of faith, and even attempted to convert her mother and brother; and this
view is borne out by some passages in the letters which she wrote to
Bishop Briçonnet after spending the winter of 1521 at Meaux.

Whilst she was sojourning there, her husband, having contributed to the
relief of Mézières, joined the King, who was then encamped at Fervacques
on the Somme, and preparing to invade Hainault. It was at this juncture
that Clement Marot, the poet, who, after being attached to the person
of Anne of Brittany, had become a hanger-on at the Court of Francis I.,
applied to Margaret to take him into her service. (1)

     1  Epistle ii.: _Le Despourveu à Madame la Duchesse
     d’Alençon_, in the _OEuvres de Clément Marot_, 1700, vol. i.
     p. 99.

Shortly afterwards we find him furnishing her with information
respecting the royal army, which had entered Hainault and was fighting
there. (1)

     1  Epistle iii.: _Du Camp d’ Attigny à ma dite Dame d’
     Alençon, ibid._, vol. i. p. 104.

Lenglet-Dufresnoy, in his edition of Marot’s works, originated the
theory that the numerous poems composed by Marot in honour of Margaret
supply proofs of an amorous intrigue between the pair. Other authorities
have endorsed this view; but M. Le Roux de Lincy asserts that in the
pieces referred to, and others in which Marot incidentally speaks of
Margaret, he can find no trace either of the fancy ascribed to her for
the poet or of the passion which the latter may have felt for her. Like
all those who surrounded the Duchess of Alençon, Marot, he remarks,
exalted her beauty, art, and talent to the clouds; but whenever it is to
her that his verses are directly addressed, he does not depart from
the respect he owes to her. To give some likelihood to his conjectures,
Lenglet-Dufresnoy had to suppose that Marot addressed Margaret in
certain verses which were not intended for her. In the epistles
previously mentioned, and in several short pieces, rondeaux, epigrams,
new years’ addresses, and epitaphs really written to or for the sister
of Francis I., one only finds respectful praise, such as the humble
courtier may fittingly offer to his patroness. There is nothing
whatever, adds M. Le Roux de Lincy, to promote the suspicion that a
passion, either unfortunate or favoured, inspired a single one of these
compositions.

The campaign in which Francis I. was engaged at the time when Marot’s
connection with Margaret began, and concerning which the poet supplied
her with information, was destined to influence the whole reign, since
it furnished the occasion of the first open quarrel between Francis
I. and the companion of his childhood, Charles de Bourbon, Count of
Montpensier, and Constable of France. Yielding too readily on this
occasion to the persuasions of his mother, Francis intrusted to
Margaret’s husband the command of the vanguard, a post which the
Constable considered his own by virtue of his office. He felt mortally
offended at the preference given to the Duke of Alençon, and from that
day forward he and Francis were enemies for ever.

Whilst the King was secretly jealous of Bourbon, who was one of the
handsomest, richest, and bravest men in the kingdom, Louise of Savoy,
although forty-four years of age, was in love with him. The Constable,
then thirty-two, had lost his wife, Susan de Bourbon, from whom he
had inherited vast possessions. To these Louise of Savoy, finding her
passion disregarded, laid claim, as being a nearer relative of the
deceased. A marriage, as Chancellor Duprat suggested, would have served
to reconcile the parties, but the Constable having rejected the proposed
alliance--with disdain, so it is said--the suit was brought before the
Parliament and decided in favour of Louise. Such satisfaction as she
may have felt was not, however, of long duration, for Charles de Bourbon
left France, entered the service of Charles V., and in the following
year (1524) helped to drive the French under Bonnivet out of Italy.




II.

     _The Regency of Louise of Savoy--Margaret and the royal
     children--The defeat of Pavia and the death of the Duke of
     Alençon--The Royal Trinity--“All is lost save honour”--
     Margaret’s journey to Spain and her negotiations with
     Charles V.--Her departure from Madrid--The scheme to arrest
     her, and her flight on horseback--Liberation of Francis I.--
     Clever escape of Henry of Navarre from prison--Margaret’s
     secret fancy for him--Her personal appearance at this
     period--Marriage of Henry and Margaret at St. Germain._

The most memorable events of Margaret’s public life date from this
period. Francis, who was determined to reconquer the Milanese, at
once made preparations for a new campaign. Louise of Savoy was again
appointed Regent of the kingdom, and as Francis’s wife, Claude, was
dying of consumption, the royal children were confided to the care of
Margaret, whose husband accompanied the army. Louise of Savoy at first
repaired to Lyons with her children, in order to be nearer to Italy,
but she and Margaret soon returned to Blois, where the Queen was
dying. Before the royal army had reached Milan Claude expired, and soon
afterwards Louise was incapacitated by a violent attack of gout, while
the children of Francis also fell ill. The little ones, of whom Margaret
had charge, consisted of three boys and three girls, the former being
Francis, the Dauphin, who died in 1536, Charles, Duke of Orleans, who
died in 1545, and Henry, Count of Angoulême, who succeeded his father on
the throne. The girls comprised Madeleine, afterwards the wife of
James V. of Scotland, Margaret, subsequently Duchess of Savoy, and the
Princess Charlotte. The latter was particularly beloved by her aunt
Margaret, who subsequently dedicated to her memory her poem _Le Miroir
de l’Ame Pécheresse_. While the other children recovered from their
illness, little Charlotte, as Margaret records in her letters to Bishop
Briçonnet, was seized “with so grievous a malady of fever and flux,”
 that after a month’s suffering she expired, to the deep grief of her
aunt, who throughout her illness had scarcely left her side.

This affliction was but the beginning of Margaret’s troubles. Soon
afterwards the Constable de Bourbon, in conjunction with Pescara
and Lannoy, avenged his grievances under the walls of Pavia. On this
occasion, as at Marignano, the Duke of Alençon commanded the French
reserves, and had charge of the fortified camp from which Francis,
listening to Bonnivet, sallied forth, despite the advice of his best
officers. The King bore himself bravely, but he was badly wounded and
forced to surrender, after La Palisse, Lescun, Bonnivet, La Trémoïlle,
and Bussy d’Amboise had been slain before his eyes. Charles of Alençon
was then unable to resist the advice given him to retreat, and thus save
the few Frenchmen who had escaped the arms of the Imperialists. With
four hundred lances he abandoned the camp, crossed the Ticino, and
reaching France by way of Piedmont, proceeded to Lyons, where he found
Louise of Savoy and Margaret.

It has been alleged that they received him with harsh reproaches, and
that, unable to bear the shame he felt for his conduct, he died only a
few days after the battle. (1)

     1  See Garnier’s _Histoire de France_, vol. xxiv.; Gaillard’s
     _Histoire de France, &c_. Odolant Desnos, usually well
     informed, falls into the same error, and asserts that when
     the Duke, upon his arrival, asked Margaret to kiss him, she
     replied, “Fly, coward! you have feared death. You might find
     it in my arms, as I do not answer for myself.”--_Mémoires
     historiques_, vol. ii. p. 253.

There are several errors in these assertions, which a contemporary
document enables us to rectify. The battle of Pavia was fought on
February 14th, 1525, and Charles of Alençon did not die till April 11th,
more than a month after his arrival at Lyons. He was carried off in five
days by pleurisy, and some hours before his death was still able to rise
and partake of the communion. Margaret bestowed the most tender care
upon him, and the Regent herself came to visit him, the Duke finding
strength enough to say to her, “Madam, I beg of you to let the King know
that since the day he was made a prisoner I have been expecting nothing
but death, since I was not sufficiently favoured by Heaven to share his
lot or to be slain in serving him who is my king, father, brother, and
good master.” After kissing the Regent’s hand he added, “I commend to
you her who has been my wife for fifteen years, and who has been as good
as she is virtuous towards me.” Then, as Louise of Savoy wished to take
Margaret away, Charles turned towards the latter and said to her, “Do
not leave me.”

The Duchess refused to follow her mother, and embracing her dying
husband, showed him the crucifix placed before his eyes. The Duke,
having summoned one of his gentlemen, M. de Chan-deniers, instructed him
to bid farewell on his part to all his servants, and to thank them for
their services, telling them that he had no longer strength to see them.
He asked God aloud to forgive his sins, received the extreme unction
from the Bishop of Lisieux, and raising his eyes to heaven, said
“Jesus,” and expired. (1)

Whilst tending her dying husband, Margaret was also deeply concerned
as to the fate of her captive brother, for whom she always evinced the
warmest affection. Indeed, so close were the ties uniting Louise
of Savoy and her two children that they were habitually called the
“Trinity,” as Clement Marot and Margaret have recorded in their poems.
(2)

     1  From a MS. poem in the Bibliothèque Nationale entitled
     _Les Prisons_, probably written by William Philander or
     Filandrier, a canon of Rodez.

     2  See _OEuvres de Clément Marot_, 1731, vol. v. p. 274; and
     A. Champoîlion-Figeac’s _Poésies de François Ier, &c_.,
     Paris, 1847, p. 80.

In this Trinity Francis occupied the highest place; his mother called
him “her Cæsar and triumphant hero,” while his sister absolutely
reverenced him, and was ever ready to do his bidding. Thus the
intelligence that he was wounded and a prisoner threw them into
consternation, and they were yet undecided how to act when they received
that famous epistle in which Francis wrote--not the legendary words,
“All is lost save honour,” but--“Of all things there have remained to me
but honour and life, which is safe.” After begging his mother and sister
to face the extremity by employing their customary prudence, the King
commended his children to their care, and expressed the hope that God
would not abandon him. (1) This missive revived the courage of the
Regent and Margaret, for shortly afterwards we find the latter writing
to Francis: “Your letter has had such effect upon the health of Madame
[Louise], and of all those who love you, that it has been to us as a
Holy Ghost after the agony of the Passion.... Madame has felt so great
a renewal of strength, that whilst day and evening last not a moment is
lost over your business, so that you need have no grief or care about
your kingdom and children.” (2)

     1  See extract from the Registers of the Parliament of Paris
     (Nov. 10, 1525) in Dulaure’s _Histoire de Paris_, Paris,
     1837, vol. iii. p. 209; and Lalanne’s _Journal d’un
     Bourgeois de Paris_, Paris, 1854, p. 234. The original of
     the letter no longer exists, but the authenticity of the
     text cannot be disputed, as all the more essential portions
     are quoted in the collective reply of Margaret and Louise of
     Savoy, which is still extant. See Champollion-Figeac’s
     Captivité de François Ier, pp. 129, 130.

     2  Génin’s _Nouvelles Lettres de la Peine de Navarre_,
     Paris, 1842, p. 27.

Louise of Savoy was indeed now displaying courage and ability. News
shortly arrived that the King had been transferred to Madrid, and
that Charles demanded most onerous conditions for the release of his
prisoner. At this juncture Francis wrote to his mother that he was very
ill, and begged of her to come to him. Louise, however, felt that she
ought not to accede to this request, for it would be jeopardising
the monarchy to place the Regent as well as the King of France in
the Emperor’s hands; accordingly she resolved that Margaret should go
instead of herself.

The Baron of St. Blancard, general of the King’s galleys, who had
previously offered to rescue Francis while the latter was on his way to
Spain, received orders to make the necessary preparations for Margaret’s
voyage, of which she defrayed the expense, as is shown by a letter she
wrote to John Brinon, Chancellor of Alençon. In this missive she states
that the Baron of St. Blancard has made numerous disbursements on
account of her journey which are to be refunded to him, “so that he may
know that I am not ungrateful for the good service he has done me, for
he hath acquitted himself thereof in such a way that I have occasion to
be gratified.” (1)

     1  Génin’s _Lettres de Marguerite, &c_., p. 193.--Génin’s
     Notice, _ibid_., p. 19.

Despite adverse winds, Margaret embarked on August 27th, 1525, at
Aigues-Mortes, with the President de Selves, the Archbishop of Embrun,
the Bishop of Tarbes, and a fairly numerous suite of ladies. The Emperor
had granted her a safe-conduct for six months, and upon landing in Spain
she hurried to Madrid, where she found her brother very sick both in
mind and body. She eagerly caressed and tended him, and with a good
result, as she knew his nature and constitution much better than the
doctors. To raise his depressed spirits she had recourse to religious
ceremonies, giving orders for an altar to be erected in the room where
he was lying. She then requested the Archbishop of Embrun to celebrate
mass, and received the communion in company of all the French retainers
about the prisoner. It is stated that the King, who for some hours had
given no sign of life, opened his eyes at the moment of the consecration
of the elements, and asked for the communion, saying, “God will cure me,
soul and body.” From this time forward he began to recover his health,
though he remained fretful on account of his captivity.

It was a difficult task to obtain his release. The Court and the Emperor
were extremely polite, but Margaret soon recognised the emptiness of
their protestations of good-will. “They all tell me that they love the
King,” she wrote, “but I have little proof of it. If I had to do with
honest folks, who understand what honour is, I should not care, but it
is the contrary.” (1)

     1 _Lettres de Marguerite, &c._, p. 21.

She was not the woman to turn back at the first obstacle, however;
she began by endeavouring to gain over several high personages, and on
perceiving that the men avoided speaking with her on serious business,
she addressed herself to their mothers, wives, or daughters. In a letter
to Marshal de Montmorency, then with the King, she thus refers to the
Duke del Infantado, who had received her at his castle of Guadalaxara.
“You will tell the King that the Duke has been warned from the Court
that if he wishes to please the Emperor neither he nor his son is to
speak to me; but the ladies are not forbidden me, and to them I will
speak twofold.” (1)

Throughout the negotiations for her brother’s release Margaret always
maintained the dignity and reserve fitting to her sex and situation.
Writing to Francis on this subject she says: “The Viceroy (Lannoy) has
sent me word that he is of opinion I should go and see the Emperor, but
I have told him through M. de Senlis that I have not yet stirred from my
lodging without being asked, and that whenever it pleases the Emperor to
see me I shall be found there.” (2)

     1  _Lettres de Marguerite, &c_., p. 197.

     2  _Captivité de François Ier_, p. 358.

Margaret was repeatedly admitted to the Imperial council to discuss
the conditions of her brother’s ransom. She showed as much ability as
loftiness of mind on these occasions, and several times won Charles V.
himself and the sternest of his Ministers to her opinion. (1)

     1 Brantôme states that the Emperor was greatly impressed and
     astonished by her plain speaking. She reproached him for
     treating Francis so harshly, declaring that this course
     would not enable him to attain his ends. “For although he
     (the King) might die from the effects of this rigorous
     treatment, his death would not remain unpunished, as he had
     children who would some day become men and wreak signal
     vengeance.” “These words,” adds Brantôme, “spoken so bravely
     and in such hot anger, gave the Emperor occasion for
     thought, insomuch that he moderated himself and visited the
     King and made him many fine promises, which he did not keep,
     however.” With the Ministers Margaret was even more
     outspoken; but we are told that she turned her oratorical
     powers “to such good purpose that she rendered herself
     agreeable rather than odious or unpleasant; the more readily
     as she was also good-looking, a widow, and in the flower of
     her age.”--_OEuvres de Brantôme_, 8vo, vol. v. (_Les Dames
     illustres_).

She highly favoured the proposed marriage between Francis and his
rival’s sister, Eleanor of Austria, detecting in this alliance the most
certain means of a speedy release. Eleanor, born at Louvain in 1498,
had in 1519 married Emanuel, King of Portugal, who died two years
afterwards. Since then she had been promised to the Constable de
Bourbon, but the Emperor did not hesitate to sacrifice the latter to his
own interests.

He himself, being fascinated by Margaret’s grace and wit, thought of
marrying her, and had a letter sent to Louise of Savoy, plainly setting
forth the proposal. In this missive, referring to the Constable de
Bourbon, Charles remarked that “there were good matches in France in
plenty for him; for instance, Madame Renée, (1) with whom he might very
well content himself.” (2) These words have led to the belief that there
had been some question of a marriage between Margaret and the Constable;
however, there is no mention of any such alliance in the diplomatic
documents exchanged between France and Spain on the subject of the
King’s release. These documents comprise an undertaking to restore the
Constable his estates, and even to arrange a match for him in France,
(3) but Margaret is never mentioned. She herself, in the numerous
letters handed down to us, does not once refer to the famous exile, and
the intrigue described by certain historians and romancers evidently
rests upon no solid foundation. (4)

     1  Renée, the younger daughter of Louis XII. and Anne of
     Brittany, subsequently celebrated as Renée of Ferrara.

     2  This letter is preserved at the Bibliothèque Nationale,
     Béthune MSS., No. 8496, fol. xiii.

     3  _Captivité de Francois Ier, &c_., pp. 167-207.

     4  Varillas is the principal historian who has mentioned
     this supposed intrigue, which also furnished the subject of
     a romance entitled _Histoire de Marguerite, Reine de
     Navarre, &c._, 1696.

After three months of negotiations, continually broken off and renewed,
Margaret and her brother, feeling convinced of Charles V.’s evil
intentions, resolved to take steps to ensure the independence of France.
By the King’s orders Robertet, his secretary, drew up letters-patent,
dated November 1525 by which it was decreed that the young Dauphin
should be crowned at once, and that the regency should continue in the
hands of Louise of Savoy, but that in the event of her death the same
power should be exercised by Francis’s “very dear and well-beloved only
sister, Margaret of France, Duchess of Alençon and Berry.” (1) However,
all these provisions were to be deemed null and void in the event of
Francis obtaining his release.

It has been erroneously alleged that Margaret on leaving Spain took
this deed of abdication with her, and that the Emperor, informed of
the circumstance, gave orders for her to be arrested as soon as
her safe-conduct should expire. (2) However, it was the Marshal de
Montmorency who carried the deed to France, and Charles V. in ordering
the arrest of Margaret had no other aim than that of securing an
additional hostage in case his treaty with Francis should not be
fulfilled.

     1  _Captivité de François 1er, &c._, p. 85.

     2  Génin’s Notice in the _Lettres de Marguerite, &c._, p.
     25.

Margaret, pressed by her brother, at last asked for authorisation to
leave Spain. By the manner in which the permission was granted she
perceived that the Emperor wished to delay rather than hasten her
journey. During November she wrote Francis a letter in which this
conviction was plainly expressed, and about the 19th of the month she
left Madrid upon her journey overland to France.

At first she travelled very leisurely, but eventually she received
a message from her brother, advising her to hasten her speed, as the
Emperor, hoping that she would still be in Spain in January, when her
safe-conduct would expire, had given orders for her arrest. Accordingly,
on reaching Medina-Celi she quitted her litter and mounted on horseback,
accomplishing the remainder of her journey in the saddle. Nine or ten
days before the safe-conduct expired she passed Perpignan and reached
Salces, where some French nobles were awaiting her.

Soon after her return to France she again took charge of the royal
children, who once more fell ill, this time with the measles, as
Margaret related in the following characteristic letter addressed to her
brother, still a prisoner in Spain:--

“My Lord,--The fear that I have gone through about your children,
without saying anything of it to Madame (Louise of Savoy), who was also
very ill, obliges me to tell you in detail the pleasure I feel at their
recovery. M. d’Angoulême caught the measles, with a long and severe
fever; afterwards the Duke of Orleans took them with a little fever; and
then Madame Madeleine without fever or pain; and by way of company the
Dauphin without suffering or fever. And now they all are quite cured and
very well; and the Dauphin does marvels in the way of studying, mingling
with his schooling a hundred thousand other occupations. And there is no
more question of passions, but rather of all the virtues; M. d’Orléans
is nailed to his book, and says that he wants to be good; but M.
d’Angoulême does more than the others, and says things that are to be
esteemed rather as prophecies than childish utterances, which you, my
lord, would be amazed to hear. Little Margot resembles myself; she will
not be ill; but I am assured here that she has very graceful ways, and
is getting prettier than ever Mademoiselle d’Angoulême (1) was.”

     1 Génin’s _Lettres de Marguerite, &c_, p. 70. The
     Mademoiselle d’Angoulême alluded to at the end of the letter
     is Margaret herself.

Francis having consented to the onerous conditions imposed by Charles
V., was at last liberated. On March 17th, 1526, he was exchanged for his
two elder sons, who were to serve as hostages for his good faith, and
set foot upon the territory of Beam. He owed Margaret a deep debt of
gratitude for her efforts to hasten his release, and one of his first
cares upon leaving Spain was to wed her again in a fitting manner. He
appears to have opened matrimonial negotiations with Henry VIII. of
England, (1) but, fortunately for Margaret, without result. She, it
seems, had already made her choice. There was then at the French Court
a young King, without a kingdom, it is true, but endowed with numerous
personal qualities. This was Henry d’Albret, Count of Beam, and
legitimate sovereign of Navarre, then held by Charles V. in defiance of
treaty rights. Henry had been taken prisoner with Francis at Pavia and
confined in the fortress there, from which, however, he had managed to
escape in the following manner.

Having procured a rope ladder in view of descending from the castle, he
ordered Francis de Rochefort, his page, to get into his bed and feign
sleep. Then he descended by the rope, the Baron of Arros and a valet
following him. In the morning, when the captain on duty came to see
Henry, as was his usual custom, he was asked by a page to let the King
sleep on, as he had been very ill during the night. Thus the trick was
only discovered when the greater part of the day had gone by, and the
fugitives were already beyond pursuit. (2)

     1  _Lettres de Marguerite, &c_, p. 31.

     2  Olhagaray’s _Histoire de Faix, Beam, Navarre, &c_,
     Paris, 1609. p. 487.

As the young King of Navarre had spent a part of his youth at the French
Court, he was well known to Margaret, who apparently had a secret fancy
for him. He was in his twenty-fourth year, prepossessing, and extremely
brave. (1) There was certainly a great disproportion of age between
him and Margaret, but this must have served to increase rather than
attenuate her passion. She herself was already thirty-five, and
judging by a portrait executed about this period, (2) in which she
is represented in mourning for the Duke of Alençon, with a long
veil falling from her cap, her personal appearance was scarcely
prepossessing.

The proposed alliance met with the approval of Francis, who behaved
generously to his sister. He granted her for life the enjoyment of
the duchies of Alençon and Berry, with the counties of Armagnac and Le
Perche and several other lordships. Finally, the marriage was celebrated
on January 24th, 1527, at St. Germain-en-Laye, where, as Sauvai records,
“there were jousts, tourneying, and great triumph for the space of eight
days or thereabouts.” (3)

     1  He was born at Sanguesa, April 1503, and became King of
     Navarre in 1517.


     2  This portrait is at the Bibliothèque Nationale in the
     _Recueil de Portraits au crayon_ by Clouet, Dumonstier, &c.
     (fol. 88).

     3  _Antiquités de Paris_, vol. ii. p. 688.




III.

_The retirement of King Henry to Beam--Margaret’s intercourse with
her brother--The inscription at Chambord--Margaret’s adventure with
Bonnivet--Margaret’s relations with her husband--Her opinions upon love
and conjugal fidelity--Her confinements and her children--The Court in
Beam and the refugee Reformers--Margaret’s first poems--Her devices,
pastorals, and mysteries--The embellishment of Pau--Margaret at table
and in her study--Reforms and improvements in Beam--Works of defence at
Navarreinx--Scheme of refortifying Sauveterre._

Some historians have stated that in wedding his sister to Henry
d’Albret, Francis pledged himself to compel Charles V. to surrender his
brother-in-law’s kingdom of Navarre. This, however, was but a political
project, of which no deed guaranteed the execution. Francis no doubt
promised Margaret to make every effort to further the restitution, and
she constantly reminded him of his promise, as is shown by several
of her letters. However, political exigencies prevented Francis from
carrying out his plans, and in a diplomatic document concerning the
release of the children whom Charles held as hostages the following
clause occurs: “Item, the said Lord King promises not to help or favour
the King of Navarre (although he has married his only and dear beloved
sister) in reconquering his kingdom.” (1)

The indifference shown by Francis for the political fortunes of his
brother-in-law, despite the numerous and signal services the latter
had rendered him, justly discontented Henry, who at last resolved to
withdraw from the Court, where Montmorency, Brion, and several other
personages, his declared enemies, were in favour. Margaret apparently
had to follow her husband in his retirement, for Sainte-Marthe remarks:
“When the King of Navarre, disgusted with the Court, and seeing none of
the promises that his brother-in-law had made him realised, resolved to
withdraw to Beam, Margaret, although the keen air of the mountains
was hurtful to her health, and her doctors had threatened her with a
premature death if she persevered in braving the rigours of the climate,
preferred to put her life in peril rather than to fail in her duty by
not accompanying her husband.” (2)

     1 Bibliothèque Nationale, MS. No. 8546 (Béthune), fol. 107.

     2 _Oraison funèbre_, &c, p. 70.

Various biographers express the opinion that this retirement took place
in 1529, shortly after the Peace of Cambray, and others give 1530 as the
probable date. Margaret, we find, paid a flying visit to Beam with her
husband in 1527; on January 7th, 1528, she was confined of her first
child, Jane, at Fontainebleau, and the following year she is found with
her little daughter at Longray, near Alençon. In 1530 she is confined at
Blois of a second child, John, Prince of Viana, who died at Alençon on
Christmas Day in the same year, when but five and a half months old.
Then in 1531 her letters show her with her mother at Fontainebleau; and
Louise of Savoy being stricken with the plague, then raging in
France, Margaret closes her eyes at Gretz, a little village between
Fontainebleau and Nemours, on September 22nd in that year.

It was after this event that the King and Queen of Navarre determined
to proceed to Beam, but so far as Margaret herself is concerned, it is
certain that retirement was never of long duration whilst her brother
lived. She is constantly to be found at Alençon, Fontainebleau, and
Paris, being frequently with the King, who did not like to remain
separated from her for any length of time. He was wont to initiate her
into his political intrigues in view of availing himself of her keen
and subtle mind. Brantôme, referring to this subject, remarks that her
wisdom was such that the ambassadors who “spoke to her were greatly
charmed by it, and made great report of it to those of their nation on
their return; in this respect she relieved the King her brother, for
they (the ambassadors) always sought her after delivering the chief
business of their embassy, and often when there was important business
the King handed it over to her, relying upon her for its definite
resolution. She understood very well how to entertain and satisfy the
ambassadors with fine speeches, of which she was very lavish, and also
very clever at worming their secrets out of them, for which reason the
King often said that she helped him right well and relieved him of a
great deal.” (1)

     1 _OEuvres de Brantôme_, 8vo, vol. v. p. 222.

Margaret’s own letters supply proof of this. She is constantly to be
found intervening in state affairs and exercising her influence. She
receives the deputies from Basle, Berne, and Strasburg who came to Paris
in 1537 to ask Francis I. for the release of the imprisoned Protestants.
She joins the King at Valence when he is making preparations for a
fresh war against Charles V.; then she visits Montmorency at the camp of
Avignon, which she praises to her brother; next, hastening to Picardy,
when the Flemish troops are invading it, she writes from Amiens and
speaks of Thérouenne and Boulogne, which she has found well fortified.

Francis, however, did not value her society and counsel solely
for political reasons; he was also fond of conversing with her on
literature, and at times they composed amatory verses together.
According to an oft-repeated tradition, one day at the Château of
Chambord, whilst Margaret was boasting to her brother of the superiority
of womankind in matters of love, the King took a diamond ring from his
finger and wrote on one of the window panes this couplet:--


     “Souvent femme varie, Bien fol est qui s’y fie.” (1)


Brantôme, who declares that he saw the inscription, adds, however, that
it consisted merely of three words, “Toute femme varie” (all women are
fickle), inscribed in _large_ letters at the side of the window. (2) He
says nothing of any pane of glass (all window panes were then extremely
_small_) or of a diamond having been used; (3) and in all probability
Francis simply traced these words with a piece of chalk or charcoal on
the side of one of the deep embrasures, which are still to be seen in
the windows of the château.

     1 “Woman is often fickle,
     Crazy indeed is he who trusts her.”

     2   _Vies des Dames galantes_, Disc. iv.

     3  The practice of cutting glass with diamonds does not seem
     to have been resorted to until the close of the sixteenth
     century. See _Les Subtiles et Plaisantes Inventions de J.
     Prévost_, Lyons,  1584, part i. pp. 30, 31.

Margaret carried her complaisance for her brother so far as to excuse
his illicit amours, and she was usually on the best of terms with his
favourites. (1) It has been asserted that improper relations existed
between the brother and sister, but this charge rests solely upon
an undated letter from her to Francis, which may be interpreted in a
variety of ways. Count de la Ferrière, in his introduction to Margaret’s
record of her expenditure, (2) expresses the opinion that it was penned
in 1525, prior to her hasty departure from Spain; while M. Le Roux de
Lincy assigns it to a later date, remarking that it was probably written
during one of the frequent quarrels which arose between Margaret’s
brother and her husband. However, they are both of opinion that the
letter does not bear the interpretation which other writers have placed
upon it. (3)

     1  E.  Fournier’s _L’Esprit dans l’Histoire_, Paris,
     1860,   p. 132 _et seq_.

     2  _Livre de Dépenses de Marguerite d’Angoulême,  &c_.
     (Introduction).

     3  See _Lettres de Marguerite, &c._, p. 246.

The only really well-authenticated love intrigue in which Margaret was
concerned--and in that she played a remarkably virtuous part--was her
adventure with the Admiral de Bonnivet, upon which the fourth story of
the _Heptameron_ is based. (1) She was certainly unfortunate in both her
marriages. Her life with the Duke of Alençon has already been spoken of;
and as regards her second union, although contracted under apparently
favourable auspices, it failed to yield Margaret the happiness she had
hoped for. But four years after its celebration she wrote to the Marshal
de Montmorency: “Since you are with the King of Navarre, I have no fear
but that all will go well, provided you can keep him from falling
in love with the Spanish ladies.” (2) And again: “My nephew, I have
received the letters you wrote to me, by which I have learnt that you
are a much better relation than the King of Navarre is a good husband,
for you alone have given me news of the King (Francis) and of him,
without his being willing to give pleasure to a poor wife, big with
child, by writing a single word to her.” (3)

     1  Particulars concerning this adventure will be found in
     the notes to Tale iv., and also in the Appendix to the
     present volume (C).

     2  _Lettres de Marguerite, &c_., p. 246.

     3 _Ibid._, p. 248.

In another letter written to the Marshal at the same period she says:
“If you listen to the King of Navarre, he will make you commit so many
disorders that he will ruin you.” (1) Perhaps these words should not
be taken literally; still they furnish cause for reflection when it
is remembered that they were written by a woman just turned forty
concerning her husband who was not yet thirty years old.

Margaret’s views upon love and the affinity of souls were somewhat
singular, but they indicate an elevated and generous nature. In several
passages of the _Heptameron_ she has expressed her opinion on these
matters, ardently defending the honour of her sex and condemning
those wives who show themselves indulgent as regards their husbands’
infidelities. (2) She blames those who sow dissension between husbands
and wives, leading them on to blows; (3) and when some one asked her
what she understood perfect love to be, she made answer, “I call perfect
lovers those who seek some perfection in the object of their love, be
it beauty, kindness, or good grace, tending to virtue, and who have such
high and honest hearts that they will not even for fear of death do base
things that honour and conscience blame.”

     1 _Lettres de Marguerite, &c_, p. 251.

     2 Epilogue of Tale xxxvii.

     3 Epilogue of Tale xlvi.

In reference to this subject of conjugal fidelity a curious story is
told of Margaret. One day at Mont-de-Marsan, upon seeing a young man
convicted of having murdered his father being led to execution, she
remarked to those about her that it was very wrong to put to death a
young fellow who had not committed the crime imputed to him. It
was pointed out to her that the judges had only condemned him upon
conclusive proofs and the acknowledgments that he himself had made.
Margaret, however, persisted in her remark, whereupon some of her
intimates begged of her to justify it, for it seemed to them at least
singular. “I do not doubt,” she replied, “that this poor wretch killed
his mother’s husband, but he certainly did not kill his own father.” (1)

Besides being unfortunate as regards her husbands, Margaret was also
denied a mother’s privileges. She experienced great suffering at her
confinements, (2) and on two occasions she was delivered of still-born
infants of the female sex.

     1  Gabriel de Minut’s _De la Beauté, Discours divers, &c._,
     Lyons, 1587. p. 74.

     2  _Nouvelles Lettres de Marguerite_, pp. 84 and 93.

She had centred many hopes upon her little boy, John, of whom she was
confined without accident, but he died, as already stated, in infancy,
and this misfortune was a great shock to her, though she tried to
conceal it by having the Te Deum sung at the funeral in lieu of the
ordinary service, and by setting up in the streets of Alençon the
inscription, “God gave him, God has taken him away.” However, from that
time forward she never laid aside her black dress, though later on
she wore it trimmed with marten’s fur. Her best known portrait (1)
represents her attired in this style with the quaint Bearnese cap, which
she had also adopted, set upon her head.

     1 Bibliothèque Nationale, _Recueil de Portraits au crayon,
     &c._, fol. 46.

Not only did Margaret lose her son by death, but she was prevented from
enjoying the companionship of her daughter Jane. Francis, who never once
lost sight of his own interests, deemed it advisable to possess himself
of this child, who was the heiress to the throne of Navarre. Accordingly
when Jane was but two years old she was sent by the King to the Château
of Plessis-lès-Tours, where she was carefully brought up in strict
seclusion.

To the fact that Margaret was never really happy with either of her
husbands, and that she was precluded from discharging a mother’s duties,
one may ascribe, in part, her fondness for gathering round her a Court
in which divines, scholars, and wits prominently figured. The great
interest which she took in religious matters, as is shown by so many of
her letters, (1) led her to shelter many of the persecuted Reformers in
Beam; others she saved from the stake, and frequently in writing to
the King and Marshal de Montmorency she begs for the release of some
imprisoned heretic.

     1 One of these letters, written by her either to Philiberta
     of Savoy, Duchess of Nemours, or to Charlotte d’Orléans,
     Duchess of Nemours, both of whom were her aunts, may be thus
     rendered in English: “My aunt, on leaving Paris to escort
     the King, Monsieur de Meaux (Bishop Briçonnet), sent me the
     Gospels in French, translated by Fabry, word for word, which
     he says we should read with as much reverence and as much
     preparation to receive the Spirit of God, such as He has
     left it us in His Holy Scriptures, as when we go to receive
     it in the form of Sacrament. And inasmuch as Monsieur de
     Villeroy has promised to deliver them to you, I have
     requested him to do so, for these words (the Gospels) must
     not fall into evil hands. I beg, my aunt, that if by their
     means God grants you some grace, you will not forget her who
     is above all else your good niece and sister, Margaret.”
      Fabry’s translation of the Gospels was made in 1523-24.

Margaret’s religious views frequently caused dissension between her and
her husband, in whose presence she abstained from giving expression to
them. Hilarion de Coste mentions that “King Henry having one day been
informed that a form of prayer and instruction contrary to that of
his fathers was held in the chamber of the Queen, his wife, entered it
intending to chastise the minister, and finding that he had been hurried
away, the remains of his anger fell upon his wife, who received a blow
from him, he remarking, ‘Madam, you want to know too much about it,’ and
he at once sent word of the matter to King Francis.”

It was at Nérac that most of the divines protected by Margaret found a
refuge from the persecutions of the Sorbonne. Here she kept court in
a castle of which there now only remains a vaulted fifteenth-century
gallery formerly belonging to the northern wing. Nérac has, however,
retained intact a couple of quaint mediaeval bridges, which Margaret
must have ofttimes crossed in her many journeyings. Moreover, the
townsfolk still point out the so-called Palace of Marianne, said to have
been built by Margaret’s husband for one of his mistresses, and also the
old royal baths, which the Queen no doubt frequented.

It was at the castle of Nérac that Margaret’s favourite protégé, the
venerable Lefèvre d’Étaples, died at the age of one hundred and one, in
the presence of his patroness, to whom before expiring he declared that
he had never known a woman carnally in his life. However, he regretfully
added that in his estimation he had been guilty of a greater sin, for
he had neglected to lay down his life for his faith. Another partisan of
the Reform, Gerard Roussel, whom Margaret had almost snatched from the
stake and appointed Bishop of Oloron, had no occasion to express any
such regret. His own flock speedily espoused the doctrines of the
Reformation, but when he proceeded to Mauléon and tried to preach there,
the Basques refused to listen to him, and hacked the pulpit to pieces,
the Bishop being precipitated upon the flagstones, and so grievously
injured that he died.

Beside the divines who sought an asylum at Nérac, there were various
noted men of letters, foremost among whom we may class the Queen’s two
secretaries, Clement Marot, the poet, and Peter Le Maçon, the translator
of Boccaccio’s _Decameron_. This translation was undertaken at the
Queen’s request, as Le Maçon states in his dedication to her, and it
has always been considered one of the most able literary works of the
period. With Marot and Le Maçon, but in the more humble capacity of
valet, at the yearly wages of one hundred and ten livres, there came the
gay Bonaventure Despériers, the author of _Les Joyeux Devis_; (1) other
writers, such as John Frotté, John de la Haye and Gabriel Chapuis, were
also among Margaret’s retainers.

     1 _Livre de Dépenses de Marguerite d’Angoulême_.

She herself had long practised the writing of verses. It was in 1531,
and at Alençon, that she issued her first volume of poems, the _Miroir
de l’Ame Pécheresse_, (1) which created a great stir at the time, for
when it was re-issued in Paris by Augereau in 1533 (2) the Sorbonne
denounced it as unorthodox, and Margaret would have been branded as
a heretic if Francis had not intervened and ordered the Rector of the
Sorbonne to withdraw the decree censuring his sister’s work. Nor did
that content the King, for he caused Noël Béda, the syndic of the
Faculty of Theology, to be arrested and confined in a dungeon at Mont
St. Michel, where he perished miserably.

     1  Brunet’s _Manual_, 4th ed., vol. iii. p. 275.

     2  A second edition also appeared at Alençon in the same
     year.

Margaret thus gained the day, but the annoyance she had been subjected
to doubtless taught her to be prudent, for although she steadily went
on writing, sixteen years elapsed before any more of her poems were
published. In the meantime various manuscript copies, some of which are
still in existence, were made of them, notably one of the poem called
“Débat d’Amour” by Margaret, and re-christened “La Coche” by her
secretary, John de la Haye, when he subsequently published it in the
_Marguerites de la Marguerite_. This manuscript is enriched with eleven
curious miniatures, the last of which represents the Queen handing
the volume bound in white velvet (1) to the Duchess of Etampes, her
brother’s mistress, whose qualities the poem extols. The Queen of
Navarre was on the best of terms with this favourite, to whom in one of
her letters she recommends certain servants.

Margaret was not only given to versifying, but was fond of’ framing
devices, which she inscribed upon her books and furniture. At one time
she adopted as her device a marigold turning towards the sun’s rays,
with the motto, “Non inferiora secutus,” implying that she turned
“all her acts, thoughts, will, and affections towards the great Sun of
Justice, God Almighty.” (2)

     1  From the Queen’s _Livre de Dépenses_, published by M. de
     la Ferrière, we learn that this MS., with the miniatures and
     binding, cost Margaret fifty golden crowns. It was formerly
     in the possession of M. Jérôme Pichon, and was afterwards
     acquired by M. Didot, at the sale of whose library it
     realised £804. The MS. was recently in the possession of M.
     de La Roche-la-Carelle.

     2  Claude Paradin’s _Dévises héroïques_, Lyons, 1557, p. 41.

In her _Miroir de l’Ame Pécheresse_, previously referred to, there
figures another device composed merely of the three words “Ung pour
tout;” and in the manuscript of “La Coche” presented to the Duchess of
Etampes, the motto “Plus vous que moys” is inscribed beneath each of the
miniatures. Margaret also composed a series of devices for some jewels
which her brother presented to his favourite, Madame de Châteaubriant.
Respecting these Brantôme tells the following curious anecdote:--

“I have heard say, and hold on good authority, that when King Francis I.
had left Madame de Châteaubriant, his favourite mistress, to take Madame
d’Etampes, as one nail drives out another, Madame d’Etampes begged the
King to take back from the said Madame de Châteaubriant all the finest
jewels that he had given her, not on account of their cost and value,
for pearls and precious stones were not then so fashionable as they have
been since, but for the love of the fine devices that were engraved and
impressed upon them; which devices the Queen of Navarre, his sister, had
made and composed, for she was a mistress in such matters.

“King Francis granted the request, and promised that he would do it.
Having with this intent sent a gentleman to Madame de Châteaubriant to
ask for the jewels, she at once feigned illness, and put the gentleman
off for three days, when he was to have what he asked for. However, out
of spite, she sent for a goldsmith, and made him melt down all these
jewels without exception, and without having any respect for the
handsome devices engraved upon them. And afterwards, when the said
gentleman returned, she gave him all the jewels converted into gold
ingots.

“‘Go,’ said she, ‘and take these to the King, and tell him that since
he has been pleased to take back from me that which he had given me
so freely, I restore it and send it back in golden ingots. As for the
devices, I have impressed them so firmly on my mind and hold them
so dear in it, that I could not let any one have and enjoy them save
myself.’

“When the King had received all this, the ingots and the lady’s remark,
he only said, ‘Take her back all. What I did was not for the value, for
I would have restored her that twofold, but for the love of the devices,
and since she has thus destroyed them, I do not want the gold, and send
it back. She has shown in this matter more courage and generosity than
it would have been thought could come from a woman.’” (1)

Besides writing verses and framing devices, Margaret, as Brantôme tells
us, “often composed comedies and moralities, which were in those days
styled pastorals, and which she had played by the young ladies of her
Court.” (2)

     1  _OEuvres de Brantôme_, 8vo, vol. vii. p. 567.

     2  _Ibid._, 8vo, vol. v. p. 219.

Hilarion de Coste states, moreover, that “she composed a tragi-comic
translation of almost the whole of the New Testament, which she caused
to be played before the King, her husband, having assembled with this
object some of the best actors of Italy; and as these buffoons are only
born to give pleasure and make time pass away, in order to amuse the
company they invariably introduced _rondeaux_ and _virelais_ against the
ecclesiastics, especially the monks and village priests.” (1)

     1 M. Le Roux de Lincy points out that this statement is
     exaggerated, for Margaret, instead of turning the whole of
     the New Testament into verse, merely wrote four Mysteries
     which mainly dealt with the childhood of Christ.

These performances took place at the Château of Pau, which Margaret and
her husband seem to have preferred to that of Nérac, though political
reasons often compelled them to fix their abode at the latter. Pau,
however, possessed the advantage of a mild climate, necessary for
Margaret’s health, besides being delightfully situated on the Bearnese
Gave, the view from the château extending over a fertile valley limited
by the snow-capped Pyrenees. There had been a château at Pau as early
as the tenth century, but the oldest portions of the structure now
subsisting date from the time of Edward III., when Pau was the capital
of the celebrated Gaston-Phoebus. The château was considerably enlarged
and embellished in the fifteenth century, but it was not until after
Margaret’s marriage with Henry d’Albret that the more remarkable
decorative work was executed. Upon leaving Nérac to reside at Pau,
Margaret summoned a number of Italian artists and confided the
embellishment of the château to them.(1)

It was not, however, merely the château which Margaret beautified
at Pau. Already at Alençon she had laid out a charming park, which a
contemporary poet called a terrestrial paradise,(2) and upon coming
to reside at Pau she transformed the surrounding woods into delightful
gardens, pronounced to be the finest then existing in Europe.(3)

     1 Some of the doors and windows of the château are
     elaborately ornamented in the best style of the Renaissance,
     whilst the grand staircase, although dating from Margaret’s
     time, has vaulted arches, sometimes in the Romanesque and at
     others in the Gothic style. Entwined on the friezes are the
     initials H and M (Henry and Margaret), occasionally
     accompanied by the letter R, implying _Rex_ or _Regina_. On
     the first floor of the chateau is the bedroom occupied by
     Margaret’s husband, remarkable for its Renaissance chimney-
     piece, and also a grand reception hall, now adorned with
     tapestry made for Francis I. in Flanders. It was in this
     latter room that the Count of Montgomery--the same who had
     thrust out the eye of Henry II. at a tournament, and thereby
     caused that monarch’s death--acting at the instigation of
     Margaret’s daughter Jane, assembled the Catholic noblemen of
     Beam on August 24, 1569, and, after entertaining them with a
     banquet, had them treacherously massacred. Bascle de
     Lagrèze’s _Château de Pau_, Paris, 1854.

     2 _Le Recueil de l’Antique pré-excellence de Gaule, &c._, by
     G. Le Roville, Paris, 1551 (fol. 74).

     3 Hilarion de Coste’s _Vies et Éloges des Dames illustres,
     &c._, vol. ii. p. 272.

Some idea of their appearance may be gained from a couple of the
miniatures adorning a curious manuscript catechism composed for Margaret
and now in the Arsenal Library at Paris.(1)

     1  _Manuscrits théologiques français_, No. 60, _Initiatoire
     Instruction en la Religion chrétienne, &c_. In one of these
     miniatures the Saviour is represented carrying the cross,
     followed by Henry of Navarre, his brother Charles d’Albret,
     Margaret, and other personages, all of whom bear crosses,
     whilst in the background are some pleasure-grounds with a
     castle, a little waterfall, and a lake. Another miniature in
     the same manuscript shows King Henry of Navarre with a
     flower in his hand, which he seems to be offering to the
     Queen, who stands in the background among a party of
     courtiers. The King wears a surtout of cloth of gold, edged
     with ermine, over a blue jerkin, and a red cap with a white
     feather. Margaret is also arrayed in cloth of gold, but with
     a black cap and wimple. She is standing in a garden enclosed
     by a railing, and adorned with a fountain in the form of a
     temple which rises among groves and arbours. Beyond a white
     crenellated wall is a castle which has been identified with
     that of Pau. On fol. 1 of the same MS. the artist has
     depicted Queen Margaret’s escutcheon, by which we find that
     she quartered the arms of France with those of Navarre,
     Aragon, Castile, Leon, Beam, Bigorre, Evreux, and Albret.

The Court which Margaret kept in turns at Alençon, Nérac, and Pau does
not appear to have been so sumptuous and gay as some of her biographers
assert. Brantôme mentions that the Queen’s two tables were always served
with frugality, and Sainte-Marthe states that “she talked at dinner and
supper now of medicine, of food wholesome or unwholesome for the human
body, and of objects of nature with Masters Schyron, Cormier, and
Esterpin, her expert and learned doctors, who carefully watched her eat
and drink, as is done with princes; now she would speak of history or of
the precepts of philosophy with other very erudite personages, with whom
her house was never unfurnished; at another time she would enter into
conversation on her faith and the Christian religion with Monsieur
Gerard, Bishop of Oloron. Altogether there was not a single moment
that was not employed by her in honest, pleasant, and useful
conversation.” (1)

The same panegyrist tells us of Margaret’s favourite occupations,
mentioning that when she was alone in her room she more often held a
book in her hand than a distaff, a pen than a spindle, and the ivory of
her tablets than a needle. He then adds: “And if she applied herself to
tapestry or other needlework, such as was to her a pleasant occupation,
she had beside her some one who read to her, either from a historian or
a poet, or some other notable and useful author; or else she dictated
some meditation which was written down.” (2)

     1  _Oraison funèbre, &c._, p. 60.

     2  _Ibid._, p. 68.

Margaret’s time was far from being wholly occupied in this manner,
for she actively assisted her husband in carrying out improvements and
reforms in Beam. The result was that the country, naturally good and
fertile, but left in bad condition, uncultivated and sterile through the
carelessness of its inhabitants, soon changed its appearance owing to
the efforts of Henry and his wife. From all the provinces of France
labourers were attracted who settled there and improved and fertilised
the fields.(1)

     1  _Vies el Éloges des Dames illustres_, vol. ii. p. 272.

Henry d’Albret also devoted himself to the placing of the country in a
proper state of defence, and fortified several of the towns. Navarreinx,
commanding the valley of the Gave of Oloron, was virtually rebuilt by
him and transformed into a perfect stronghold, as was evidenced during
the religious wars, when it successfully withstood the artillery
of Terrade, the Catholic commander. Long afterwards, when Vauban
inaugurated his new system of fortification, he came to Navarreinx, and
on seeing the ramparts raised by Margaret’s husband was so favourably
impressed, that instead of levelling them to the ground he contented
himself with adding to them and making various improvements. Henry
d’Albret was also anxious to refortify Sauveterre, which the Prince of
Orange, with one of the Imperial armies, had captured in 1523, when he
half-demolished the old castle of Montreal, then the most formidable
citadel in Beam. However, as time and money were lacking, Henry had to
abandon his plans, and the ruins left by the Imperialists, the ivy-clad
keep, and mutilated bridge over the Gave soon fell into irremediable
decay.(1)

     1  M. Paul Perret’s _Pyrénées françaises_, vol. ii. p. 303.




IV.

     _Margaret’s attachment to her daughter--Refusal of Jane to
     marry the Duke of Clevés--Intervention of Margaret--The
     wedding at Châtelherault and the fall of the Constable de
     Montmorency--Margaret and her husband at Caulerets--The
     “Heptameron”--Illness and death of Francis I.--Margaret’s
     anxiety and grief--Her “Marguerites de la Marguerite”--Jane
     d’Albret’s second marriage--Death of Margaret at Odos or
     Audaux----Her funeral at Lescar--Destruction of her tomb_.

Whilst Margaret was living amongst divines and scholars at Pau and
Nérac, her mind, as her letters indicate, constantly turned to her
daughter Jane, whom Aimée de la Fayette, wife of the Bailiff of Caen,
was bringing up at Plessis-lès-Tours. Margaret was only able to see Jane
at rare intervals during some of her trips to France, and she was mainly
indebted to sympathising friends for news of the little Princess’s
condition and health. All her maternal tenderness was concentrated on
this daughter, and whenever the child was ailing she became distracted.

Sainte-Marthe records that in December 1537, while Margaret was
sojourning in Paris, her daughter, then scarcely nine years old, fell
seriously ill at the royal house of Plessis-lès-Tours; and as it
was rumoured amongst the Court, then at Paris, that the Princess was
threatened with death, her virtuous mother, Margaret, at about four
o’clock in the evening, ordered her litter to be brought, saying that
she would go and see her daughter, and that all her people should
prepare to start. There was nothing ready, the officials and servants
were absent, and scattered about the town of Paris and the neighbouring
villages. It was already dark, for this was during the shortest days
of the year, the weather too was adverse on account of the rain, and
neither her litter nor her baggage mules were at hand. Seeing this, the
courageous Queen borrowed the litter of Madame Margaret, her niece,(1)
got in it, and contenting herself with scant escort, started from Paris
and went as far as Bourg-la-Reine.

     1 The daughter of Francis I., subsequently Duchess of Savoy.

“When they had arrived there she did not alight at her lodgings, but
went straight to the church, which she at once entered, saying to
those about her, that her heart told her I know not what concerning her
daughter’s fate, and affectionately begging them all to withdraw and
leave her alone for an hour in the church. All obeyed and in great
uneasiness waited for their mistress at the church door; the Sénéchale
de Poitou,(1) a very faithful lady, and very solicitous about Margaret,
alone entering with her. Margaret having gone in, kneels down before
the image of Jesus crucified, prays to God from the depths of her heart,
sighs, weeps, confesses all her transgressions, and laying to herself
alone the cause of her daughter’s illness, humbly asks pardon, and begs
that the sufferer’s restoration to health may be granted. After this
act of faith Margaret felt relieved, and she had scarcely arrived at
her lodgings when the Bishop of Mende came to announce to her that her
daughter was in the way of recovery.” (2)

     1  Brantôme’s grandmother.

     2  Oraison funèbre, &c, p. 38.

When Jane was barely twelve years old Charles V. asked her in marriage
for his son Philip, but Francis, who was by no means anxious to see the
Spaniards established on the northern side of the Pyrenees, preferred
that the girl should marry William III., Duke of Cleves. It has
frequently been asserted that Francis on this occasion exercised
compulsion not only upon his niece, but also upon the King and Queen of
Navarre, who vainly protested against this abuse of power. The truth
is, that Margaret not only favoured the marriage, but threatened to have
Jane whipped if she persisted in her refusal. Moreover, the little bride
having declared to Francis I. that she protested against the alliance,
Margaret wrote to her brother as follows:--

“My Lord, in my extreme desolation, I have only one single comfort, it
is that of knowing with certainty that neither the King of Navarre nor
myself have ever had any other wish or intention than that of obeying
you, not only as regards a marriage, but in whatever you might order.
But now, my lord, having heard that my daughter, neither recognising the
great honour you do her in deigning to visit her, nor the obedience that
she owes you, nor that a girl should have no will of her own, has spoken
to you so madly as to say to you that she begged of you she might not be
married to M. de Cleves, I do not know, my lord, either what I ought to
think of it, or what I ought to say to you about it, for I am grieved to
the heart, and have neither relative nor friend in the world from whom
I can seek advice or consolation. And the King of Navarre is on his
part so amazed and grieved at it that I have never seen him before so
provoked. I cannot imagine whence comes this great boldness, of which
she had never spoken to us. She excuses herself towards us in that she
is more intimate with you than with ourselves, but this intimacy should
not give rise to such boldness, without ever as I know seeking advice
from any one, for if I knew any creature who had put such an idea into
her head, I would make such a demonstration that you, my lord, would
know that this madness is contrary to the will of the father and mother,
who have never had, and never will have, any other than your own.” (1)

The rebellion of Jane did not prevent the marriage, which was solemnised
at Châtelherault on July 15th, 1540. According to some authorities,
Francis was so determined upon the alliance that he required the Duke
of Cleves to enter his bride’s bed in the presence of witnesses, so that
the marriage should be deemed beyond annulment.(2)

     1  _Nouvelles Lettres, &c._, p. 176.

     2  Henri Martin’s _Histoire de France_. The marriage,
     however, was not really consummated (_Nouvelles Lettres,
     &c._, pp. 236, 237), and it was eventually annulled by Pope
     Paul III., to whom Francis applied for a divorce when the
     Duke of Cleves deserted his cause for that of Charles V.

It was at Châtelherault on this occasion that Margaret triumphed over
the Constable de Montmorency, who in earlier years had been her
close friend, and with whom she had carried on such a voluminous
correspondence. Montmorency had requited her good services with
ingratitude, repeatedly endeavouring to estrange Francis from her.
Brantôme gives an instance of this in the following passage:--“I have
heard related,” he says, “by a person of good faith that the Constable
de Montmorency, then in the highest favour, speaking of this matter
of religion one day with the King, made no difficulty or scruple about
telling him, that ‘if he really wished to exterminate the heretics
of his kingdom, he ought to begin at his Court and with his nearest
relatives, mentioning the Queen his sister,’ to which the King replied,
‘Do not speak of her; she loves me too much. She will never believe
anything save what I believe, and will never take up a religion
prejudicial to the State.’” (1)

     1 _OEuvres de Brantôme_, 8vo, vol. v. (_Dames illustres_),
     p. 219.

As soon as Margaret became aware of Montmorency’s conduct she ceased
all correspondence with him and steadily endeavoured to effect his
overthrow, which was brought about on the occasion of Jane’s marriage.
“It was necessary to carry the little bride to the church,” says
Brantôme, “as she was laden with jewels and a dress of gold and silver,
and owing to this and the weakness of her body, was not able to walk. So
the King ordered the Constable to take his little niece and carry her to
the church, at which all the Court were greatly astonished, for at such
a ceremony this was a duty little suited and honourable for a Constable,
and might very well have been given to another. However, the Queen of
Navarre was in no way displeased, but said, ‘Behold! he who wished to
ruin me with the King my brother now serves to carry my daughter to
church.’ The Constable,” adds Brantôme, “was greatly displeased at the
task, and sorely vexed to serve as such a spectacle to every one; and he
began to say, ‘It is now all over with my favour. Farewell to it.’
Thus it happened, for after the wedding festival and dinner he had his
dismissal and left at once.” (1)

After the marriage of her daughter Margaret returned to Paris, and
thence repaired to Mont-de-Marsan to spend the winter of 1540-41. Late
in the following spring she went to Cauterets in the Pyrenees to take
the baths. Writing during Lent to her brother she states that her
husband having had a fall will repair to Cauterets by the advice of his
doctors,(2) and that she intends to accompany him to prevent him from
worrying and to transact his business for him, “for when one is at the
baths one must live like a child without any care.” (3)

     1  _OEuvres de Brantôme_, 8vo, vol. v. (_Dames illustres_),
     p. 220.

     2  Henry d’Albret had already undergone treatment at the
     Pyrenean baths after his escape from Pavia, when, however,
     he stayed at Eaux-Bonnes.

     3 Génin’s _Nouvelles Lettres, &c._, p. 189.

This was not her only motive in going to Cauterets apparently, for in
a letter to Duke William of Cleves, her daughter’s husband, dated April
1541, she states that as she is suffering from a _caterre_ which “has
fallen upon half her neck,” and compels her to keep her bed, the doctors
have advised her to take “the natural baths,” and hope that she will
be cured by the end of May, providing she follows all their
prescriptions.(1)

     1 A. de Ruble’s _Mariage de Jeanne d’ Albret_,
     Paris, 1877, p. 86, et seq.

That this visit to Cauterets left a deep impression upon the mind of
Margaret is evidenced by the work upon which her literary fame rests.
The scene selected for the prologue of the _Heptameron_ is Cauterets
and the surrounding country; still it is evident that the book was not
commenced upon the occasion referred to, for in the prologue Margaret
alludes to historical events which took place in 1543 and 1544, and she
speaks of them as being of recent occurrence at her time of writing. Now
we know that in April 1544 she met her brother at Alençon, and made a
long stay in the duchy, and the probability is that she commenced the
_Heptameron_ at that time. It was the work of several years, penned in a
desultory style whilst Margaret was travelling about her northern duchy
or her southern kingdom. Like all persons of high station, she journeyed
in a litter, and Brantôme informs us that her equipage was a modest one,
for “she never had more than three baggage-mules and six for her two
litters, though she had two, three, or four chariots for her ladies.” (1)
Brantôme--who it may be mentioned was brought up at Margaret’s Court
under the care of his grandmother, Louise de Daillon, wife of Andrew de
Vivonne, Seneschal of Poitou--also states that the Queen composed the
_Heptameron_ mainly “in her litter, while journeying about, for she had
more important occupations when she was at home. I have thus heard it
related by my grandmother, who always went with her in her litter as her
lady of honour, and held the escritoire with which she wrote, and she
set them (the stories) down in writing as speedily and skilfully as if
they had been dictated to her, if not more so.” (2)

     1 Lalanne’s _OEuvres de Brantôme_, 1875, vol. ii. p. 214.

     2 _Ibid_., vol. viii. p. 226.

In 1545 and 1546 we find Margaret in Beam, whence she addresses New Year
epistles to her brother expressing her sorrow at being separated
from him. In the spring of the latter year she visits him at
Plessis-lès-Tours. The King of France--contrary to all tradition--enjoys
at this period as good health as the most robust man in his kingdom.(1)
In 1547 Margaret repairs to a convent at Tusson in the Angoumois to
spend Lent there, and soon afterwards is despatching courier after
courier to the Court at Rambouillet for news of Francis, who is dying.
Such is her anguish of suspense that she exclaims, “Whoever comes to
my door to announce to me the cure of the King my brother, were such a
messenger weary, tired, muddy, and dirty, I would embrace and kiss him
like the cleanest prince and gentleman in France; and if he lacked a bed
and could not find one to repose upon, I would give him mine, and would
sleep on the floor for the sake of the good news he brought me.” (2)

     1  _Lettres de Marguerite, &c._, p. 473.

     2  _OEuvres de Brantôme_, 8vo, vol. v. p. 233.

No one, however, had the courage to tell her the truth. It was a poor
maniac who by her tears gave her to understand that the King was no
longer alive. Sainte-Marthe records the incident as follows: “Now the
day that Francis was taken away from us (Margaret herself has since told
me so), she thought whilst sleeping that she saw him looking pale, and
calling for her in a sad voice, which she took for a very evil sign; and
feeling doubtful about it, she sent several messengers to the Court to
ascertain the condition of the King her brother, but not a single one of
them returned to her. One day, her brother having again appeared to her
while she was asleep (he had already been dead fifteen days), (1) she
asked the members of her household if they had heard any news of the
King.

     1 Francis I. died March 31, 1547.

“They replied to her that he was very well, and she then went to the
church. On her way there she summoned Thomas le Coustellier, a young man
of good intelligence and her secretary, and as she was telling him the
substance of a letter that she wished to write to a Princess of the
Court, to obtain from her some news of the King’s health, she heard on
the other side of the cloister a nun, whose brain was somewhat turned,
lamenting and weeping loudly. Margaret, naturally inclined to pity,
hastened to this woman, asked her why she was weeping, and encouraged
her to tell her whether she wished for anything. Then the nun began to
lament still more loudly, and looking at the Queen, told her that she
was deploring her ill-fortune. When Margaret heard these words she
turned towards those who were with her, and said to them, ‘You were
hiding the King’s death from me, but the Spirit of God has revealed it
to me through this maniac.’ This said, she turned to her room, knelt
down, and humbly thanked the Lord for all the goodness He was pleased to
show her.” (1)

After losing her brother, Margaret remained in retirement at the convent
of Tusson. She stayed there, says Brantôme, for four months, leading
a most austere life and discharging the duties of abbess. She still
continued in retirement on her return to Beam, mainly occupying herself
with literary work. It was in 1547, subsequent to the death of Francis,
that John de la Haye, her secretary, published at Lyons her _Marguerites
de la Marguerite_, poems which she had composed at various periods, and
which De la Haye probably transcribed at her dictation.(2)

     1  _Oraison funèbre, &c._, p. 103.

     2  Sainte-Marthe states that she would sit with two
     secretaries, one on either side, and dictate poetry to the
     one and letters to the other.

Margaret’s daughter Jane was at this period at the Court of France,
living in extravagant style, as is shown by the letters in which
Margaret declares that the Princess’s expenditure is insupportable. She
herself spent but little money upon personal needs, though she devoted
considerable sums to charity. In October 1548 she emerged from her
seclusion to attend the second marriage of her daughter, who now became
the wife of Anthony de Bourbon, Duke of Vendôme. From Moulins, where the
ceremony took place, Margaret repaired to the Court at Fontainebleau.
Here all was changed: there was a new King, and Diana of Poitiers
occupied the position of the Duchess of Etampes. After returning to Beam
for Christmas, Margaret spent the Lent of 1549 in retreat at Tusson,
where she apparently divided her time between prayer and literary
labour. She was still writing the _Heptameron_, as is shown by the
sixty-sixth tale, which chronicles an adventure that befell her daughter
and Anthony de Bourbon on their marriage trip during the winter of
1548-49. It may be noted, too, that the scene of the sixty-ninth story
is laid at the Castle of Odos near Tarbes, and as Margaret came to
reside at the castle in the autumn of 1549, this tale was probably
written during her sojourn there. Whilst adding fresh stories to the
_Heptameron_, she was not neglecting poetry, for from this period also
dates the _Miroir de Jésus Christ crucifié_, which Brother Olivier
published in 1556, stating that it was the Queen’s last work, and that
she had handed it to him a few days before her death.

Margaret had long been in failing health and was growing extremely weak.
Brantôme, on the authority of his grandmother, states that when her
approaching death was announced to her, she found the monition a very
bitter one, saying that she was not yet so aged but that she might live
some years longer. She was then in her fifty-eighth year. Sainte-Marthe
relates that shortly before her death she saw in a dream a very
beautiful woman holding in her hand a crown of all sorts of flowers
which she showed to her, telling her that she would soon be crowned with
it.(1)

     1 _Oraison funèbre, &c._, p. 104.

She interpreted this dream as signifying that her end was near, and from
that day forward abandoned the administration of her property to the
King of Navarre, refusing to occupy herself with any other matter than
that of her approaching end. After dictating her will she fell into her
final illness, which lasted twenty days according to some authorities,
and eight according to others. It seized her one night at Odos whilst
she was watching a comet, which it was averred had appeared to notify
the death of Pope Paul III. “It was perhaps to presage her own,” naively
remarks Brantôme, who adds that while she was looking at the comet her
mouth suddenly became partially paralysed, whereupon her doctor, M.
d’Escuranis, led her away and made her go to bed. Her death took place
on December 21st, 1549, and just before expiring she grasped a crucifix
that lay beside her and murmured, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.” (1)

Although the King of Navarre had not always lived in perfect accord with
his wife, he none the less keenly felt the loss he had sustained by her
death. Olhagaray represents him when deprived of Margaret as no longer
showing the same firm purpose of life, but as sad, discontented, and
altering his plans at every trifle.(2) He gave orders that Margaret’s
remains should be interred in the Cathedral of Lescar, some four and a
half miles from the Château of Pau, with which it is said to have
been at that time connected by a subterranean passage. Several of the
Navarrese sovereigns had already been buried there, for the See was a
kind of primacy, the Bishops being _ex-officio_ presidents of the States
of Beam.(3)

     1  M. Lalanne, in his edition of Brantôme’s works, maintains
     that Margaret did not die at Odos, near Tarbes, but at
     Audaux, near Orthez, basing this contention on the fact that
     Brantôme calls the castle “Audos in Beam,” and that Odos is
     in Bigorre. Tradition, however, has always pointed to the
     latter locality, though, on the other hand, it is stated
     that less than half a century after Margaret’s death Odos
     was nothing but a ruin, and had long been in that condition.
     In 1596 Henry IV. gave the property to John de Lassalle, by
     whose descendants the château was restored (Bascle de
     Lagrèze’s _Chateau de Pau, &c._).

     2  _Histoire de Foix et de Béarn, &c._, p. 506.

     3  Lescar having ceased to be a bishopric since 1790, its
     church, which still exists, no longer ranks as a cathedral.

It was in this quaint old cathedral church, dating, so archaeologists
assert, from the eleventh century, that Margaret’s remains were interred
with all due pomp and ceremony. The Duchess of Estouteville headed the
procession, followed by the Duke of Montpensier, the Duke of Nevers,
the Duke of Aumale, the Duke of Etampes, the Marquis of Maine, and M. de
Rohan. Then came the _grands deuils_ or chief mourners, led by the Duke
of Vendôme, and three lords carrying the crown, sceptre, and hand of
justice. The Viscount of Lavedan officiated as grand master of the
ceremonies, and special seats were assigned to the States of Navarre,
Foix, Beam, and Bigorre, and to the chancellor, counsellors, and barons
of the country; whilst on a platform surrounded by lighted tapers
there was displayed an effigy of the Queen robed in black.(1) After the
ceremony a banquet was served in accordance with Bearnese custom, the
chief mourners being invited to the Duke of Vendôme’s table, whilst the
others were served in different rooms.(2)

     1 _Lettres de Marguerite (Pièces justificatives_. No. xi.).

     2 Bascle de Lagrèze’s _Château de Pau, &c._

A few years later--in June 1555--the remains of King Henry, Margaret’s
husband, were in turn brought to Lescar for burial. The tombs of husband
and wife, however, have alike vanished, having been swept away during
the religious wars, when Lescar was repeatedly stormed and sacked, when
Huguenot and Catholic, in turn triumphant, vented their religious frenzy
upon the graves of their former sovereigns; and to-day the only tombs
to be found in the old cathedral are those of personages interred there
since the middle of the seventeenth century.

January 1893.





ON THE HEPTAMERON,

WITH SOME NOTICE OF PRECEDENT COLLECTIONS OF TALES IN FRANCE, OF THE
AUTHOR, AND OF HER OTHER WORKS.


It is probable that every one who has had much to do with the study of
literature has conceived certain preferences for books which he knows
not to belong absolutely to the first order, but which he thinks to have
been unjustly depreciated by the general judgment, and which appeal to
his own tastes or sympathies with particular strength. One of such books
in my own case is _THE HEPTAMERON_ of Margaret of Navarre. I have read
it again and again, sometimes at short intervals, sometimes at longer,
during the lapse of some five-and-twenty years since I first met with
it. But the place which it holds in my critical judgment and in my
private affections has hardly altered at all since the first reading.
I like it as a reader perhaps rather more than I esteem it as a critic;
but even as a critic, and allowing fully for the personal equation, I
think that it deserves a far higher place than is generally accorded to
it.

Three mistakes, as it seems to me, pervade most of the estimates,
critical or uncritical, of the _Heptameron_, the two first of old date,
the third of recent origin. The first is that it is a comparatively
feeble imitation of a great original, and that any one who knows
Boccaccio need hardly trouble himself to know Margaret of Navarre. The
second is that it is a loose if not obscene book, disgraceful for a lady
to have written (or at least mothered), and not very creditable for
any one to read. The third is that it is interesting as the gossip of
a certain class of modern newspapers is interesting, because it tells
scandal about distinguished personages, and has for its interlocutors
other distinguished personages, who can be identified without much
difficulty, and the identification of whom adds zest to the reading. All
these three seem to me to be mistakes of fact and of judgment. In
the first place, the _Heptameron_ borrows from its original literally
nothing but plan. Its stories are quite independent; the similarity of
name is only a bookseller’s invention, though a rather happy one; and
the personal setting, which is in Boccaccio a mere framework, has here
considerable substance and interest. In the second place, the accusation
of looseness is wildly exaggerated. There is one very coarse but not
in the least immoral story in the _Heptameron_; there are several broad
jests on the obnoxious cloister and its vices, there are many tales
which are not intended _virginibus puerisque_, and there is a pervading
flavour of that half-French, half-Italian courtship of married women
which was at the time usual everywhere out of England. The manners are
not our manners, and what may be called the moral tone is distinguished
by a singular cast, of which more presently. But if not entirely a book
for boys and girls, the _Heptameron_ is certainly not one which Southey
need have excepted from his admirable answer in the character of author
of “The Doctor,” to the person who wondered whether he (Southey) could
have daughters, and if so, whether they liked reading. “He has
daughters: they love reading: and he is not the man I take him for if
they are not ‘allowed to open’ any book in his library.” The last error,
if not so entirely inconsistent with intelligent reading of the book as
the first and second, is scarcely less strange to me. For, in the first
place, the identification of the personages in the framework of the
_Heptameron_ depends upon the merest and, as it seems to me, the idlest
conjecture; and, in the second, the interest of the actual
tittle-tattle, whether it could be fathered on A or B or not, is the
least part of the interest of the book. Indeed, the stories altogether
are, as I think, far less interesting than the framework.

Let us see, therefore, if we cannot treat the _Heptameron_ in a
somewhat different fashion from that in which any previous critic, even
Sainte-Beuve, has treated it. The divisions of such treatment are not
very far to seek. In the first place, let us give some account of the
works of the same class which preceded and perhaps patterned it. In
the second, let us give an account of the supposed author, of her other
works, and of the probable character of her connection with this one. In
the third, without attempting dry argument, let us give some sketch of
the vital part, which we have called the framework, and some general
characteristics of the stories. And, in the fourth and last, let us
endeavour to disengage that peculiar tone, flavour, note, or whatever
word may be preferred, which, as it seems to me at least, at once
distinguishes the _Heptameron_ from other books of the kind, and
renders it peculiarly attractive to those whose temperament and
taste predisposes them to be attracted. For there is a great deal of
pre-established harmony in literature and literary tastes; and I have a
kind of idea that every man has his library marked out for him when he
comes into the world, and has then only got to get the books and read
them.

Margaret herself refers openly enough to the example of the _Decameron_,
which had been translated by her own secretary, Anthony le Maçon, a
member of her literary coterie, and not improbably connected with the
writing or redacting of the _Heptameron_ itself. Nor were later Italian
tale-tellers likely to be without influence at a time when French was
being “Italianated” in every possible way, to the great disgust of some
Frenchmen. But the Italian ancestors or patterns need not be dealt with
here, and can be discovered with ease and pleasure by any one who wishes
in the drier pages of Dunlop, or in the more flowery and starry pages of
Mr. Symonds’ “History of the Renaissance in Italy.” The next few pages
will deal only with the French tale-tellers, whose productions before
Margaret’s days were, if not very numerous, far from uninteresting, and
whose influence on the slight difference of _genre_ which distinguishes
the tales before us from Italian tales was by no means slight.

In France, as everywhere else, prose fiction, like prose of all kinds,
was considerably later in production than verse, and short tales of the
kind before us were especially postponed by the number, excellence, and
popularity of the verse _fabliaux_. Of these, large numbers have come
down to us, and they exactly correspond in verse to the tales of the
_Decameron_ and the _Heptameron_ in prose, except that the satirical
motive is even more strongly marked, and that touches of romantic
sentiment are rarer. This element of romance, however, appears
abundantly in the long prose versions of the Arthurian and other
legends, and we have a certain number of short prose stories of the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, of which the most famous is that
of _Aucassin et Nicolette_. These latter, however, are rather short
romances than distinct prose tales of our kind. Of that kind the first
famous book in French, and the only famous book, besides the one before
us, is the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_. The authorship of this book
is very uncertain. It purports to be a collection of stories told by
different persons of the society of Louis XI., when he was but Dauphin,
and was in exile in Flanders under the protection of the Duke of
Burgundy. But it has of late years been very generally assigned
(though on rather slender grounds of probability, and none of positive
evidence), to Anthony de la Salle, the best French prose writer of
the fifteenth century, except Comines, and one on whom, with an odd
unanimity, conjectural criticism has bestowed, besides his acknowledged
romance of late chivalrous society, _Petit Jehan de Saintré_ (a work
which itself has some affinities with the class of story before us), not
only the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_, but the famous satirical treatise
of the _Quinze Joyes du Mariage_, and the still more famous farce of
_Pathelin_. Some of the _Nouvelles_, moreover, have been putatively
fathered on Louis XI. himself, in which case the royal house of France
would boast of two distinguished taletellers instead of one. However
this may be, they all display the somewhat hard and grim but keen and
practical humour which seems to have distinguished that prince, which
was a characteristic of French thought and temper at the time, and which
perhaps arose with the misfortunes and hardships of the Hundred Years’
War. The stories are decidedly amusing, with a considerably greater,
though also a much ruder, _vis comica_ than that of the _Heptameron_;
and they are told in a style unadorned indeed, and somewhat dry, lacking
the simplicity of the older French, and not yet attaining to the
graces of the newer, but forcible, distinct, and sculpturesque, if not
picturesque. A great license of subject and language, and an enjoyment
of practical jokes of the roughest, not to say the most cruel character,
prevail throughout, and there is hardly a touch of anything like
romance; the tales alternating between jests as broad as those of the
Reeve’s and Miller’s tales in Chaucer (themselves exactly corresponding
to verse _fabliaux_, of which the _Cent Nouvelles_ are exact prose
counterparts, and perhaps prose versions), and examples of what has been
called “the humour of the stick,” which sometimes trenches hard upon
the humour of the gallows and the torture-chamber. These characteristics
have made the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_ no great favourites of late,
but their unpopularity is somewhat undeserved. For all their coarseness,
there is much genuine comedy in them, and if the prettiness of romantic
and literary dressing-up is absent from them, so likewise is the
insincerity thereof. They make one of the most considerable prose
books of what may be called middle French literature, and they had much
influence on the books that followed, especially on this of Margaret’s.
Indeed, one of the few examples to be found between the two, the _Grand
Paragon de Nouvelles Nouvelles_ of Nicolas de Troyes (1535), obviously
takes them for model. But Nicolas was a dull dog, and neither profited
by his model nor gave any one else opportunity to profit by himself.

Rabelais, the first book of whose _Pantagruel_ anticipated the _Paragon_
by three years, while the _Gargantua_ coincided with it, was a great
authority at the Court of Margaret’s brother Francis, dedicated one
of the books (the third) of _Pantagruel_ to her, before her death, in
high-flown language, as _esprit abstrait, ravy et ecstatic_, and must
certainly have been familiar reading of hers, and of all the ladies and
gentlemen, literary and fashionable, of her Court. But there is little
resemblance to be found in his style and hers. The short stories which
Master Francis scatters about his longer work are, indeed, models of
narration, but his whole tone of thought and manner of treatment are
altogether alien from those of the “ravished spirit” whom he praises. His
deliberate coarseness is not more different from her deliberate delicacy
than his intensely practical spirit from her high-flown romanticism
(which makes one think of, and may have suggested, the Court of La
Quinte), and her mixture of devout and amatory quodlibetation from his
cynical criticism and all-dissolving irony. But there was a contemporary
of Rabelais who forms a kind of link between him and Margaret, whose
work in part is very like the _Heptameron_, and who has been thought to
have had more than a hand in it. This was Bonaventure Despériers, a man
whose history is as obscure as his works are interesting. Born in or
about the year 1500, he committed suicide in 1544, either during a fit
of insanity, or, as has been thought more likely, in order to escape
the danger of the persecution which, in the last years of the reign of
Francis, threatened the unorthodox, and which Margaret, who had
more than once warded it off from them, was then powerless to avert.
Despériers, to speak truth, was in far more danger of the stake than
most of his friends. The infidelity of Rabelais is a matter of inference
only, and some critics (among whom the present writer ranks himself) see
in his daring ridicule of existing abuses nothing inconsistent with a
perfectly sound, if liberally conditioned, orthodoxy. Despériers, like
Rabelais, was a Lucianist, but his modernising of Lucian (the remarkable
book called _Cymbalum Mundï_), though pretending to deal with ancient
mythology, has an almost unmistakable reference to revealed religion.
It is not, however, by this work or by this side of his character at all
that Despériers is brought into connection with the work of Margaret,
who, if learned and liberal, and sometimes tending to the new ideas in
religion, was always devout and always orthodox in fundamentals. Besides
the _Cymbalum Mundi_, he has left a curious book, not published, like
the _Heptameron_ itself, till long after his own death, and entitled
_Nouvelles Récréations et Joyeux Devis_. The tales of which it consists
are for the most part very short, some being rather sketches or outlines
of tales than actually worked-out stories, so that, although there
are no less than a hundred and twenty-nine of them, the whole book is
probably not half the bulk of the _Heptameron_ itself. But they are
extremely well written, and the specially interesting thing about them
is, that in them there appears, and appears for the first time (unless
we take the _Heptameron_ itself as earlier, which is contrary to all
probability), the singular and, at any rate to some persons, very
attractive mixture of sentiment and satire, of learning and a love of
refined society, of joint devotion to heavenly and earthly love, of
voluptuous enjoyment of the present, blended and shadowed with a
sense of the night that cometh, which delights us in the prose of the
_Heptameron_, and in the verse not only of all the Pléiade poets in
France, but of Spenser, Donne, and some of their followers in England.
The scale of the stories, which are sometimes mere anecdotes, is so
small, the room for miscellaneous discourse in them is so scanty, and
the absence of any connecting links, such as those of Margaret’s own
plan, checks the expression of personal feeling so much, that it is
only occasionally that this cast of thought can be perceived. But it
is there, and its presence is an important element in determining the
question of the exact authorship of the _Heptameron_ itself.

It can hardly be said that, except translations from the Italian (of
which the close intercourse between France and Italy in the days of the
later Valois produced many), Margaret had many other examples before
her. For such a book as the _Propos Rustiques_ of Noël du Fail,
though published before her death, is not likely to have exercised any
influence over her; and most other books of the kind are later than
her own. One such (for, despite its _bizarre_ title and its distinct
intention of attacking the Roman Church, Henry Estienne’s _Apologie
pour Hérodote_ is really a collection of stories) deserves mention, not
because of its influence upon the Queen of Navarre, but because of the
Queen of Navarre’s influence upon it. Estienne is constantly quoting the
_Heptameron_, and though to a certain extent the inveteracy with
which the friars are attacked here must have given the book a special
attraction for him, two things may be gathered from his quotations and
attributions. The first is that the book was a very popular one; the
second, that there was no doubt among well-informed persons, of whom and
in whose company Estienne most certainly was, that the _Heptameron_ was
in more than name the work of its supposed author.

From what went before it Margaret could, and could not, borrow certain
well-defined things. Models both Italian and French gave her the scheme
of including a large number of short and curtly, but not skimpingly,
told stories in one general framework, and of subdividing them into
groups dealing more or less with the same subject or class of subject.
She had also in her predecessors the example of drawing largely on that
perennial and somewhat facile source of laughter--the putting together
of incidents and phrases which even by those who laugh at them are
regarded as indecorous. But of this expedient she availed herself rather
less than any of her forerunners. She had further the example of a
generally satirical intent; but here, too, she was not content merely to
follow, and her satire is, for the most part, limited to the corruptions
and abuses of the monastic orders. It can hardly be said that any of the
other stock subjects, lawyers, doctors, citizens, even husbands (for she
is less satirical on marriage than encomiastic of love), are dealt with
much by her. She found also in some, but chiefly in older books of the
Chartier and still earlier traditions, and rather in Italian than in
French, a certain strain of romance proper and of adventure; but of
this also she availed herself but rarely. What she did not find in
any example (unless, and then but partially, in the example of her own
servant, Bonaventure Des-périers) was first the interweaving of a great
deal not merely of formal religious exercise, but of positive religious
devotion in her work; and secondly, the infusing into it of the peculiar
Renaissance contrast, so often to be noticed, of love and death, passion
and piety, voluptuous enjoyment and sombre anticipation.

But it is now time to say a little more about the personality and work
of this lady, whose name all this time we have been using freely, and
who was indeed a very notable person quite independently of her literary
work. Nor was she in literature by any means an unnotable one, quite
independently of the collection of unfinished stories, which, after
receiving at its first posthumous publication the not particularly
appropriate title of _Les Amants Fortunés_, was more fortunately
re-named, albeit by something of a bull (for there is the beginning
of an eighth day as well as the full complement of the seven), the
_Heptameron_.

Few ladies have been known in history by more and more confusing titles
than the author of the _Heptameron_, the confusion arising partly from
the fact that she had a niece and a great-niece of the same charming
Christian name as herself. The second Margaret de Valois (the most
appropriate name of all three, as it was theirs by family right) was the
daughter of Francis I., the patroness of Ronsard, and, somewhat late
in life, the wife of the Duke of Savoy--a marriage which, as the bride
carried with her a dowry of territory, was not popular, and brought some
coarse jests on her. Not much is said of her personal appearance after
her infancy; but she inherited her aunt’s literary tastes, if not her
literary powers, and gave Ronsard powerful support in his early days.
The third was the daughter of Henry II., the “Grosse Margot” of her
brother, Henry III., the “Reine Margot” of Dumas’ novel, the idol of
Brantôme, the first wife of Henry IV., the beloved of Guise, La Mole,
and a long succession of gallants, the rival of her sister-in-law
Mary Stuart, not in misfortunes, but as the most beautiful, gracious,
learned, accomplished, and amiable of the ladies of her time. This
Margaret would have been an almost perfect heroine of romance (for she
had every good quality except chastity), if she had not unluckily lived
rather too long.

Her great-aunt, our present subject, was not the equal of her
great-niece in beauty, her portraits being rendered uncomely by a
portentously long nose, longer even than Mrs. Siddons’s, and by a very
curious expression of the eyes, going near to slyness. But the face is
one which can be imagined as much more beautiful than it seems in the
not very attractive portraiture of the time, and her actual attractions
are attested by her contemporaries with something more than the
homage-to-order which literary men have never failed to pay to ladies
who are patronesses of letters. Besides Margaret of Valois, she is
known as Margaret of Angoulême, from her place of birth and her father’s
title; Margaret of Alençon, from the fief of her first husband; Margaret
of Navarre, of which country, like her grand-niece, she was queen, by
her second marriage with Henry d’Albret; and even Margaret of Orleans,
as belonging to the Orleans branch of the royal house. She was not,
like her nieces, Margaret of France, as her father never reigned, and
Brantôme properly denies her the title, but others sometimes give it.
When it is necessary to call her anything besides the simple “Margaret,”
 Angoulême is at once the most appropriate and the most distinctive
designation. She was born on the 11th or 12th of April 1492, her father
being Charles, Count of Angoulême, and her mother Louise of Savoy. She
was their eldest child, and two years older than her brother, the future
King Francis. According to, and even in excess of, the custom of the
age, she received a very learned education, acquiring not merely the
three tongues, French, Italian, and Spanish, which were all in common
use at the French Court during her time, but Latin, and even a little
Greek and a little Hebrew. She lived in the provinces both before and
after her marriage, in 1509, to her relation, Charles, Duke of Alençon,
who was older than herself by three years, and though a fair soldier
and an inoffensive person, was apparently of little talents and not
particularly amiable. The accession of her brother to the throne
opened a much more brilliant career to her. She and her mother jointly
exercised great influence over Francis; and the Duchess of Alençon, to
whom her brother shortly afterwards gave Berry, was for many years one
of the most influential persons in the kingdom, using her influence
almost invariably for good. Her husband died soon after Pavia, and
in the same year (September 1525) she undertook a journey to Spain on
behalf of her captive brother. This journey, with some expressions in
her letters and in Brantôme, has been wrested by some critics in order
to prove that her affection for Francis was warmer than it ought to have
been--an imputation wanton in both senses of the word.

She was sought in marriage by or offered in marriage to divers
distinguished persons during her widowhood, and this was also the time
of her principal diplomatic exercise, an office for which--odd as it now
seems for a woman--she had, like her mother, like her niece Catherine of
Medicis, like her namesake Margaret of Parma, and like other ladies of
the age, a very considerable aptitude and reputation. When she at last
married, the match was not a brilliant one, though it proved, contrary
to immediate probability, to be the source of the last and the most
glorious branch of the royal dynasty of France. The bridegroom bore
indeed the title of King of Navarre and possessed Beam, but his kingdom
had long been in Spanish hands, and but for his wife’s dowry of Alençon
and appanage of Berry (to which Francis had added Armagnac and a large
pension) he would have been but a lackland. Furthermore, he was eleven
years younger than herself, and it is at least insinuated that the
affection, if there was any, was chiefly on her side. At any rate,
this earlier Henry of Navarre seems to have had not a few of the
characteristics of his grandson, together with a violence and brutality
which, to do the _Vert Galant_ justice, formed no part of his character.
The only son of the marriage died young, and a girl, Jane d’Albret,
mother of the great Bourbon race of the next two centuries, was taken
away from her parents by “reasons of state” for a time. The domestic life
of Margaret, however, concerns us but little, except in one way. Her
husband disliked administration, and she was the principal ruler in
their rather extensive estates or dominions. Moreover, she was able at
her quasi-Court to extend the literary coteries which she had already
begun to form at Paris. The patronage to men of letters for which her
brother is famous was certainly more due to her than to himself; and to
her also was due the partial toleration of religious liberty which for a
time distinguished his reign. It was not till her influence was weakened
that intolerance prevailed, and she was able even then for a time to
save Marot and other distinguished persons from persecution. It is
rather a moot-point how far she inclined to the Reformed doctrines,
properly so called. Her letters, her serious and poetical work, and
even the _Heptameron_ itself, show a fervently pietistic spirit,
and occasionally seem to testify to a distinct inclination towards
Protestantism, which is also positively attested by Brantôme and others;
but this Protestantism must have been, so far as it was consistent and
definite at all, the Protestantism of Erasmus rather than of Luther, of
Rabelais rather than of Calvin. She had a very strong objection to
the coarseness, the vices, the idleness, the brutish ignorance of the
cloister; she had aspirations after a more spiritual form of religion
than the ordinary Catholicism of her day provided, and as a strong
politician she may have had something of that Gallicanism which has
always been well marked in some of the best Frenchmen, and which at
one time nearly prevailed with her great-great-grandson, Louis XIV.
But there is no doubt that, as her brother said to the fanatical
Montmorency, she would always have been and always was of his religion,
the religion of the State. The side of the Reformation which must
have most appealed to her was neither its austere morals, nor its bare
ritual, nor its doctrines, properly so called, but its spiritual pietism
and its connection with profane learning and letters; for of literature
Margaret was an ardent devotee and a constant practitioner.

Her best days were done by the time of her second marriage. After the
King’s return from Spain persecution broke out, and Margaret’s influence
became more and more weak to stop it. As early as 1533 her own _Miroir
de l’Ame Pécheresse_, then in a second edition, provoked the fanaticism
of the Sorbonne, and the King had to interfere in person to protect
his sister’s work and herself from gross insult. The Medici marriage
increased the persecuting tendency, and for a time there was even an
attempt to suppress printing, and with it all that new literature which
was the Queen’s delight. She was herself in some danger, but Francis had
not sunk so low as to permit any actual attack to be made on her. Yet
all the last years of her life were unhappy, though she continued to
keep Court at Nérac in Pau, to accompany her brother in his progresses,
and, as we know from documents, to play Lady Bountiful over a wide area
of France. Her husband appears to have been rather at variance with
her; and her daughter, who married first, and in name only, the Duke
of Cleves in 1540, and later (1548) Anthony de Bourbon, was also not
on cordial terms with her mother. By the date of this second marriage
Francis was dead, and though he had for many years been anything but
wholly kind, Margaret’s good days were now in truth done. Her nephew
Henry left her in possession of her revenues, but does not seem to have
been very affectionately disposed towards her; and even had she
been inclined to attempt any recovery of influence, his wife and his
mistress, Catherine de Medici and Diana of Poitiers, two women as
different from Margaret as they were from one another, would certainly
have prevented her from obtaining it. As a matter of fact, however, she
had long been in ill-health, and her brother’s death seems to have dealt
her the final stroke. She survived it two years, even as she had been
born two years before him, and died on the 21 st December 1549, at the
Castle of Odos, near Tarbes, having lived in almost complete retirement
for a considerable time. Her husband is said to have regretted her dead
more than he loved her living, and her literary admirers, such of them
as death and exile had spared, were not ungrateful. _Tombeaux_, or
collections of funeral verses, were not lacking, the first being in
Latin, and, oddly enough, nominally by three English sisters, Anne,
Margaret, and Jane Seymour, nieces of Henry VIII.’s queen and Edward
VI.’s mother, with learned persons like Dorât, Sainte-Marthe, and Baïf.
This was re-issued in French and in a fuller form later.

Some reference has been made to an atrocious slur cast without a shred
of evidence on her moral character. There is as little foundation for
more general though milder charges of laxity. It is admitted that she
had little love for her first husband, and it seems to be probable that
her second had not much love for her. She was certainly addressed in
gallant strains by men of letters, the most audacious being Clement
Marot; but the almost universal reference of the well-known and
delightful lines beginning--

“Un doux nenny avec un doux sourire,”

to her method of dealing not merely with this lover but with others,
argues a general confidence in her being a virtuous coquette, if
somewhat coquettishly virtuous. It may be added that the whole tone of
the _Heptameron_ points to a very similar conclusion.

Her literary work was very considerable, and it falls under three
divisions: letters, the book before us, and the very curious and
interesting collection of poems known by the charming if fantastic title
of _Les Marguerites de la Marguerite des Princesses_, a play on the
meanings, daisy, pearl, and Margaret, which had been popular in the
artificial school of French poetry since the end of the thirteenth
century in a vast number of forms.

The letters are naturally of the very first importance for determining
the character of Margaret’s life as a woman of business, a diplomatist,
and so forth. They show her to us in all these capacities, and also in
that of an enlightened and always ready patroness of letters and of men
of letters. Further, they are of value, though their value is somewhat
affected by a reservation to be made immediately, as to her mental and
moral characteristics. But they are not of literary interest at all
equal to that of either of the other divisions. They are, if not spoilt,
still not improved, by the fact that the art of easy letter-writing,
in which Frenchwomen of the next century were to show themselves such
proficients, had not yet been developed, and that most of them are
couched in a heavy, laborious, semiofficial style, which smells, as far
as mere style goes, of the cumbrous refinements of the _rhétoriqueurs_,
in whose flourishing time Margaret herself grew up, and which conceals
the writer’s sentiments under elaborate forms of ceremonial courtesy.
Something at least of the groundless scandal before referred to is
derived in all probability, if not in all certainty, from the lavish
use of hyperbole in addressing her brother; and generally speaking,
the rebuke of the Queen to Polonius, “More matter with less art,” is
applicable to the whole correspondence.

Something of the same evil influence is shown in the Marguerites. It
must be remembered that the writer died before the Pléiade movement had
been fully started, and that she was older by five years than Marot,
the only one of her own contemporaries and her own literary circle who
attained to a poetic style easier, freer, and more genuine than the
cumbrous rhetoric, partly derived from the allegorising style of the
_Roman de la Rose_ and its followers, partly influenced by corrupt
following of the re-discovered and scarcely yet understood classics,
partly alloyed with Flemish and German and Spanish stiffness, of which
Chastellain, Crétin, and the rest have been the frequently quoted and
the rarely read exponents to students of French literature. The contents
of the _Marguerites_, to take the order of the beautiful edition of
M. Félix Frank, are as follows: Volume I. contains first a long and
singular religious poem entitled _Le Miroir de l’Ame Pécheresse_, in
rhymed decasyllables, in which pretty literal paraphrases of a large
number of passages of Scripture are strung together with a certain
amount of pious comment and reflection. This is followed (after a
shorter piece on the contest in the human soul between the laws of the
spirit and of the flesh) by another poem of about the same length as the
_Miroir_, and of no very different character, entitled _Oraison de L’Ame
Fidèle à son Seigneur Dieu_, and a shorter _Oraison à Notre Seigneur
Jésus Christ_ completes the volume. The second volume yields four
so-called “comedies,” but really mysteries on the old mediæval model,
only distinguishable from their forerunners by slightly more modern
language and a more scriptural tone. The subjects are the Nativity, the
Adoration of the Three Kings, the Massacre of the Innocents, and the
Flight into Egypt. The third volume contains a third poem in the
style of the _Miroir_, but much superior, _Le Triomphe de l’Agneau_, a
considerable body of spiritual songs, a miscellaneous poem or two,
and some epistles, chiefly addressed to Francis. These last begin the
smaller and secular division of the _Marguerites_, which is completed
in the fourth volume by _Les Quatre Dames et les Quatre Gentilhommes_,
composed of long monologues after the fashion of the Froissart-Chartier
school, by a “_comédie profane_,” a farce entitled _Trop, Prou [much],
Peu, Moins_; a long love poem, again in the Chartier style, entitled _La
Coche_, and some minor pieces.

Opinion as to these poems has varied somewhat, but their merit has never
been put very high, nor, to tell the truth, could it be put high by any
one who speaks critically. In the first place, they are written for the
most part on very bad models, both in general plan and in particular
style and expression. The plan is, as has been said, taken from the
long-winded allegorical erotic poetry of the very late thirteenth, the
fourteenth, and the fifteenth centuries--poetry which is now among the
most difficult to read in any literature. The groundwork or canvas being
transferred from love to religion, it gains a little in freshness and
directness of purpose, but hardly in general readableness. Thus, for
instance, two whole pages of the _Miroir_, or some forty or fifty lines,
are taken up with endless playings on the words _mort_ and _vie_ and
their derivatives, such as _mortifiez, and mort fiez, mort vivifiée and
vie mourante_. The sacred comedies or mysteries have the tediousness
and lack of action of the older pieces of the same kind without their
_naïveté_; and pretty much the same may be said of the profane comedy
(which is a kind of morality), and of the farce. Of _La Coche_, what has
been said of the long sacred poems may be said, except that here we
go back to the actual subject of the models, not on the whole with
advantage: while in the minor pieces the same word plays and frigid
conceits are observable.

But if this somewhat severe judgment must be passed on the poems
as wholes, and from a certain point of view, it may be considerably
softened when they are considered more in detail. In not a few passages
of the religious poems Margaret has reached (and as she had no examples
before her except Marot’s psalms, which were themselves later than at
least some of her work, may be said to have anticipated) that grave and
solemn harmony of the French Huguenots of the sixteenth century, which
in Du Bartas, in Agrippa d’Aubigné, and in passages of the tragedian
Montchrestien, strikes notes hardly touched elsewhere in French
literature. The _Triomphe de l’Agneau_ displays her at her best in this
respect, and not unfrequently comes not too far off from the apocalyptic
resonance of d’Aubigné himself. Again, the _Bergerie_ included in the
Nativity comedy or mystery, though something of a Dresden _Bergerie_ (to
use a later image), is graceful and elegant enough in all conscience.
But it is on the minor poems, especially the Epistles and the _Chansons
Spirituelles_, that the defenders of Margaret’s claim to be a poet rest
most strongly. In the former her love, not merely for her brother, but
for her husband, appears unmistakably, and suggests graceful thoughts.
In the latter the force and fire which occasionally break through the
stiff wrappings of the longer poems appear with less difficulty and in
fuller measure.

It is, however, undoubtedly curious, and not to be explained merely by
the difference of subject, that the styles of the letters and of the
poems, agreeing well enough between themselves, differ most remarkably
from that of the _Heptameron_. The two former are decidedly open to
the charges of pedantry, artificiality, heaviness. There is a great
surplusage of words and a seeming inability to get to the point. The
_Heptameron_ if not equal in narrative vigour and lightness to Boccaccio
before and La Fontaine afterwards, is not in the least exposed to
the charge of clumsiness of any kind, employs a simple, natural, and
sufficiently picturesque vocabulary, avoids all verbiage and roundabout
writing, and both in the narratives and in the connecting conversation
displays a very considerable advance upon nearly all the writers of the
time, except Rabelais, Marot, and Despériers, in easy command of the
vernacular. It is, therefore, not wonderful that there has, at different
times (rather less of late years, but that is probably an accident),
been a disposition if not to take away from Margaret all the credit of
the book, at any rate to give a share of it to others. In so far as this
share is attempted to be bestowed on ladies and gentlemen of her Court
or family there is very little evidence for it; but in so far as the pen
may be thought to have been sometimes held for her by the distinguished
men of letters just referred to (there is no reason why Master Francis
himself should not have sometimes guided it), and by others only less
distinguished, there is considerable internal reason to favour the idea.
At all times and in all places--in France perhaps more than anywhere
else--kings and queens, lords and ladies, have found no difficulty (we
need not use the harsh Voltairian-Carlylian phrase, and say in getting
their literary work “buckwashed,” but) in getting it pointed and
seasoned, trimmed and ornamented by professional men of letters. The
form of the _Heptameron_ lends itself more than any other to such
assistance; and while I should imagine that the setting, with its strong
colour, both of religiosity and amorousness, is almost wholly Margaret’s
work, I should also think it so likely as to be nearly certain that in
some at least of the tales the hands of the authors of the _Cymbalum
Mundi_ and the _Adolescence Clémentine_, of Le Maçon and Brodeau, may
have worked at the devising, very likely re-shaped and adjusted by the
Queen herself, of the actual stories as we have them now.

The book, as we have it, consists of seven complete days of ten novels
each, and of an eighth containing two novels only. The fictitious scheme
of the setting is somewhat less lugubrious than that of the _Decameron_,
but still not without an element of tragedy. On the first of September,
“when the hot springs of the Pyrenees begin to enter upon their virtue,”
 a company of persons of quality assembled at Cauterets, we are told, and
abode there three weeks with much profit. But when they tried to return,
rain set in with such severity that they thought the Deluge had come
again, and they found their roads, especially that to the French side,
almost entirely barred by the Gave de Béarn and other rivers. So they
scattered in different directions, most of them taking the Spanish
side, either along the mountains and across to Roussillon or straight to
Barcelona, and thence home by sea. But a certain widow, named Oisille,
made her way with much loss of men and horses to the Abbey of Notre Dame
de Serrance. Here she was joined by divers gentlemen and ladies, who
had had even worse experiences of travel than herself, with bears and
brigands, and other evil things, so that one of them, Longarine, had
lost her husband, murdered in an affray in one of the cut-throat inns
always dear to romance. Besides this disconsolate person and Oisille,
the company consisted of a married pair, Hircan and Parlamente; two
young cavaliers, Dagoucin and Saffredent; two young ladies, Nomerfide
and Ennasuite; Simontault, a cavalier-servant of Parlamente; and
Geburon, a knight older and discreeter than the rest of the company
except Oisille.(1)

     1 These names have been accommodated to M. Le Roux de
     Lincy’s orthography, from MS. No. 1512; but for myself I
     prefer the spellings, especially “Emarsuitte,” more usual in
     the printed editions.--G. S.

These form the party, and it is to be noted that idle and contradictory
as all the attempts made to identify them have been (for instance, the
most confident interpreters hesitate between Oisille and Parlamente, an
aged widow and a youthful wife, for Margaret herself), it is not to be
denied that the various parts are kept up with much decision and spirit.
Of the men, indeed, Hircan is the only one who has a very decided
character, and is represented as fond of his wife, Parlamente, but
a decided libertine and of a somewhat rough and ruthless general
character--points which have made the interpreters sure that he must be
Henry d’Albret. The others, except that Geburon is, as had been said,
older than his companions, and that Simontault sighs vainly after
Parlamente, are merely walking gentlemen of the time, accomplished
enough, but not individual. The women are much more distinct and show a
woman’s hand. Oisille is, as our own seventeenth-century ancestors would
have said, ancient and sober, very devout, regarded with great respect
by the rest of the company, and accepted as a kind of mistress both of
the revels and of more serious matters, but still a woman of the
world, and content to make only an occasional and mild protest against
tolerably free stories and sentiments. Parlamente, considerably younger,
and though virtuous, not by any means ignorant of or wholly averse to
the devotion of Simontault, indulging occasionally in a kind of mild
conjugal sparring with her husband, Hircan, but apparently devoted to
him, full of religion and romance and refinement at once, is a very
charming character, resembling Madame de Sévigné as she may have been
in her unknown or hardly known youth, when husband and lovers alike were
attracted by the flame of her beauty and charm, only to complain that
it froze and did not burn. Longarine is discreetly unhappy for her
dead husband, but appears decidedly consolable; Ennasuite is a haughty
damsel, disdainful of poor folk, and Nomerfide is a pure madcap,
a Catherine Seyton of the generation before Catherine herself, the
feminine Dioneo of the party, and, if a little too free-spoken for
prudish modern taste, a very delightful girl.

Now when this good company had assembled at Serrance and told each other
their misadventures, the waters on inquiry seemed to be out more widely
and more dangerously than before, so that it was impossible to think of
going farther for the time. They deliberated accordingly how they should
employ themselves, and, after allowing, on the proposal of Oisille, an
ample space for sacred exercises, they resolved that every day, after
dinner and an interval, they should assemble in a meadow on the bank of
the Gave at midday and tell stories. The device is carried out with
such success that the monks steal behind the hedges to hear them, and an
occasional postponement of vespers takes place. Simontault begins, and
the system of tale-telling goes round on the usual plan of each speaker
naming him or her who shall follow. It should be observed that no
general subject is, as in the _Decameron_, prescribed to the speakers
of each day, though, as a matter of course, one subject often suggests
another of not dissimilar kind. Nor is there the Decameronic arrangement
of the “king.” Between the stories, and also between the days, there is
often a good deal of conversation, in which the divers characters, as
given above, are carried out with a minuteness very different from the
chief Italian original.

From what has been said already, it will be readily perceived that the
novels, or rather their subjects, are not very easy to class in any
rationalised order. The great majority, if they do not answer exactly to
the old title of _Les Histoires des Amants Fortunés_, are devoted to
the eternal subject of the tricks played by wives to the disadvantage
of husbands, by husbands to the disadvantage of wives, and sometimes by
lovers to the disadvantage of both. “Subtilité” is a frequent word in
the titles, and it corresponds to a real thing. Another large division,
trenching somewhat upon the first, is composed of stories to the
discredit of the monks (something, though less, is said against the
secular clergy), and especially of the Cordeliers or Franciscans, an
Order who, for their coarse immorality and their brutal antipathy to
learning, were the special black (or rather grey) beasts of the literary
reformers of the time. In a considerable number there are references
to actual personages of the time--references which stand on a very
different footing of identification from the puerile guessings at the
personality of the interlocutors so often referred to. Sometimes these
references are avowed: “Un des muletiers de la Reine de Navarre,” “Le
Roi François montre sa générosité,” “Un Président de Grenoble,” “Une
femme d’Alençon,” and so forth. At other times the reference is somewhat
more covert, but hardly to be doubted, as in the remarkable story of a
“great Prince” (obviously Francis himself) who used on his journeyings
to and from an assignation of a very illegitimate character, to turn
into a church and piously pursue his devotions. There are a few curious
stories in which amatory matters play only a subordinate part or none
at all, though it must be confessed that this last is a rare thing.
Some are mere anecdote plays on words (sometimes pretty free, and then
generally told by Nomer-fide), or quasi-historical, such as that
already noticed of the generosity of Francis to a traitor, or deal with
remarkable trials and crimes, or merely miscellaneous matters, the best
of the last class being the capital “Bonne invention pour chasser le
lutin.”

In so large a number of stories with so great a variety of subjects, it
naturally cannot but be the case that there is a considerable diversity
of tone. But that peculiarity at which we have glanced more than once,
the combination of voluptuous passion with passionate regret and a
mystical devotion, is seldom absent for long together. The general
note, indeed, of the _Heptameron_ is given by more than one passage
in Brantôme--at greatest length by one which Sainte-Beuve has rightly
quoted, at the same time and also rightly rebuking the sceptical Abbé’s
determination to see in it little more than a piece of _précieuse_
mannerliness (though, indeed, the _Précieuses_ were not yet). Yet even
Sainte-Beuve has scarcely pointed out quite strongly enough how entirely
this is the keynote of all Margaret’s work, and especially of the
_Heptameron_. The story therefore may be worth telling again, though
it may be found in the “Cinquième Discours” of the _Vies des Dames
Galantes_.

Brantôme’s brother, not yet a captain in the army, but a student
travelling in Italy, had in sojourning at Ferrara, when Renée of France
was Duchess, fallen in love with a certain Mademoiselle de la Roche. For
love of him she had returned to France, and, visiting his own country
of Gascony, had attached herself to the Court of Margaret, where she
had died. And it happened that Bourdeilles, six months afterwards, and
having forgotten all about his dead love, came to Pau and went to pay
his respects to the Queen. He met her coming back from vespers, and she
greeted him graciously, and they talked of this matter and of that. But,
as they walked together hither and thither, the Queen drew him, without
cause shown, into the church she had just left, where Mademoiselle de
la Roche was buried. “Cousin,” said she, “do you feel nothing stirring
beneath you and under your feet?” But he said, “Nothing, Madame.”
 “Think, cousin,” then said she once again. But he said, “Madame, I have
thought well, but I feel nought; for under me there is but a stone, hard
and firmly set.” “Now, do I tell you,” said the Queen, leaving him
no longer at study, “that you are above the tomb and the body of
Mademoiselle de la Roche, who is buried beneath you, and whom you loved
so much in her lifetime. And since our souls have sense after our death,
it cannot be but that this faithful one, dead so lately, felt your
presence as soon as you came near her; and if you have not perceived it,
because of the thickness of the tomb, doubt not that none the less she
felt it. And forasmuch as it is a pious work to make memory of the dead,
and notably of those whom we loved, I pray you give her a _pater_ and an
_ave_, and likewise a _de profundis_, and pour out holy water. So
shall you make acquist of the name of a right faithful lover and a good
Christian.” And she left him that he might do this.

Brantôme (though he had an admiration for Margaret, whose lady of
honour his grandmother had been, and who, according to the Bourdeilles
tradition, composed her novels in travelling) thought this a pretty
fashion of converse. “Voilà,” he says, “l’opinion de cette bonne
princesse; laquelle la tenait plus par gentillesse et par forme de devis
que par créance à mon avis.” Sainte-Beuve, on the contrary, and with
better reason, sees in it faith, graciousness, feminine delicacy, and
piety at once. No doubt; but there is something more than this, and that
something more is what we are in search of, and what we shall find, now
in one way, now in another, throughout the book: something whereof the
sentiment of Donne’s famous thoughts on the old lover’s ghost, on the
blanched bone with its circlet of golden tresses, is the best known
instance in English. The madcap Nomerfide indeed lays it down, that
“the meditation of death cools the heart not a little.” But her more
experienced companions know better. The worse side of this Renaissance
peculiarity is told in the last tale, a rather ghastly story of monkish
corruption; its lighter side appears in the story, already referred
to, of the “Grand Prince” and his pious devotions on the way to not
particularly pious occupation. But touches of the more poetical and
romantic effects of it are all over the book. It is to be found in the
story of the gentleman who forsook the world because of his beloved’s
cruelty, whereat she repenting did likewise (“he had much better have
thrown away his cowl and married her,” quoth the practical Nomerfide);
in that of the wife who, to obtain freedom of living with her paramour,
actually allowed herself to be buried; in that (very characteristic of
the time, especially for the touch of farce in it) of the unlucky
person to whom phlebotomy and love together were fatal; and in not a
few others, while it emerges in casual phrases of the intermediate
conversations and of the stories themselves, even when it is not to be
detected in the general character of the subjects.

And thus we can pretty well decide what is the most interesting and
important part of the whole subject. The question, What is the
special virtue of the _Heptameron_? I have myself little hesitation
in answering. There is no book, in prose and of so early a date, which
shows to me the characteristic of the time as it influenced the two
great literary nations of Europe so distinctly as this book of Margaret
of Angoulême. Take it as a book of Court gossip, and it is rather less
interesting than most books of Court gossip, which is saying much. Take
it as the performance of a single person, and you are confronted with
the difficulty that it is quite unlike that other person’s more certain
works, and that it is in all probability a joint affair. Take its
separate stories, and, with rare exceptions, they are not of the first
order of interest, or even of the second. But separate the individual
purport of these stories from the general colour or tone of them;
take this general colour or tone in connection with the tenor of the
intermediate conversations, which form so striking a characteristic
of the book, and something quite different appears. It is that same
peculiarity which appears in places and persons and things so different
as Spenser, as the poetry of the Pléiade, as Montaigne, as Raleigh,
as Donne, as the group of singers known as the Caroline poets. It is
a peculiarity which has shown itself in different forms at different
times, but never in such vigour and precision as at this time. It
combines a profound and certainly sincere--almost severe--religiosity
with a very vigorous practice of some things which the religion it
professes does not at all countenance. It has an almost morbidly
pronounced simultaneous sense of the joys and the sorrows of human life,
the enjoyment of the joys being perfectly frank, and the feeling of
the sorrows not in the least sentimental. It unites a great general
refinement of thought, manners, opinion, with an almost astonishing
occasional coarseness of opinion, manners, thought. The prevailing note
in it is a profound melancholy mixed with flashes and intervals of a no
less profound delight. There is in it the sense of death, to a strange
and, at first sight, almost unintelligible extent. Only when one
remembers the long night of the religious wars which was just about to
fall on France, just as after Spenser, Puritan as he was, after Carew
and Herrick still more, a night of a similar character was about to fall
on England, does the real reason of this singular idiosyncrasy appear.
The company of the _Heptameron_ are the latest representatives, at first
hand, and with no deliberate purpose of presentment, of the mediaeval
conception of gentlemen and ladies who fleeted the time goldenly. They
are not themselves any longer mediaeval; they have been taught modern
ways; they have a kind of uneasy sense (even though one and another of
themselves may now and then flout the idea) of the importance of other
classes, even of some duty on their own part towards other classes.
Their piety is a very little deliberate, their voluptuous indulgence has
a grain of conscience in it and behind it, which distinguishes it not
less from the frank indulgence of a Greek or a Roman than from the still
franker naïveté of purely mediaeval art, from the childlike, almost
paradisiac, innocence of the Belli-cents and Nicolettes and of the
daughter of the great Soldan Hugh in that wonderful serio-comic
_chanson_ of the _Voyage à Constantinople_. The mark of modernity is on
them, and yet they are so little conscious of it, and so perfectly free
from even the slightest touch of at least its anti-religious influence.
Nobody, not even Hircan, the Grammont of the sixteenth century; not
even Nomerfide, the Miss Notable of her day and society; not even the
haughty lady Ennasuite, who wonders whether common folk can be supposed
to have like passions with us, feels the abundant religious services and
the periods of meditation unconscionable or tiresome.

And so we have here three notes constantly sounding together or in
immediate sequence. There is the passion of that exquisite _rondeau_
of Marot’s, which some will have, perhaps not impossibly, to refer to
Margaret herself--

     En la baisant m’a dit: “Amy sans blasme,
     Ce seul baiser, qui deux bouches embasme,
     Les arrhes sont du bien tant espéré,”
      Ce mot elle a doulcement proféré,
     Pensant du tout apaiser ma grand flamme.
     Mais le mien cour adonc plus elle enflamme,
     Car son alaine odorant plus que basme
     Souffloit le feu qu’Amour m’a préparé,
     En la baisant.

     Bref, mon esprit, sans congnoissance d’âme,
     Vivoit alors sur la bouche à ma dame,
     Dont se mouroit le corps énamouré;
     Et si la lèvre eust guères demouré
     Contre la mienne, elle m’eust succé l’âme,
     En la baisant.

There is the devout meditation of Oisille, and that familiarity with the
Scriptures which, as Hircan himself says, “I trow we all read and
know.” And then there is the note given by two other curious stories of
Brantôme. One tells how the Queen of Navarre watched earnestly for hours
by the bedside of a dying maid of honour, that she might see whether the
parting of the soul was a visible fact or not. The second tells how
when some talked before her of the joys of heaven, she sighed and said,
“Well, I know that this is true; but we dwell so long dead underground
before we arise thither.” There, in a few words, is the secret of _THE
HEPTAMERON_: the fear of God, the sense of death, the voluptuous longing
and voluptuous regret for the good things of life and love that pass
away.

George Saintsbury.(1)

London, October 1892.

     1 As I have spoken so strongly of the attempts to identify
     the personages of the _Heptameron_, it might seem
     discourteous not to mention that one of the most
     enthusiastic and erudite English students of Margaret,
     Madame Darmesteter (Miss Mary Robinson), appears to be
     convinced of the possibility and advisableness of
     discovering these originals. Everything that this lady
     writes is most agreeable to read; but I fear I cannot say
     that her arguments have converted me.--G. S.




_DEDICATIONS AND PREFACE_,

PREFIXED TO THE FIRST TWO EDITIONS OF THE TALES OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE.

_To the most Illustrious, most Humble, and most Excellent Princess_,

Madame Margaret de Bourbon,

Duchess of Nevers, Marchioness of Illes, Countess of Eu, of Dreux,
Rételois, Columbiers, and Beaufort, Lady of Aspremont, of Cham-Regnault,
of Arches, Rencaurt, Monrond, and La Chapelle-d’Angylon, Peter
Boaistuau surnamed Launay, offers most humble salutation and perpetual
obedience.(1)

     1 This dedicatory preface appeared in the first edition of
     Queen Margaret’s Tales, published by Boaistuau in 1558 under
     the title of _Histoires des Amans Fortunez_. The Princess
     addressed was the daughter of Charles, Duke of Vendôme; she
     was wedded in 1538 to Francis of Cleves, Duke of Nevers, and
     by this marriage became niece to the Queen of Navarre.--Ed.

Madam, That great oracle of God, St. John Chrysostom, deplores with
infinite compassion in some part of his works the disaster and calamity
of his century, in which not only was the memory of an infinity of
illustrious persons cut off from among mankind, but, what is more, their
writings, by which the rich conceptions of their souls and the divine
ornaments of their minds were to have been consecrated to posterity, did
not survive them. And certainly with most manifest reason did this good
and holy man address such a complaint to the whole Christian Republic,
touched as he was with just grief for an infinity of thousands of books,
of which some have been lost and buried in eternal forgetfulness by
the negligence of men, others dispersed and destroyed by the cruel
incursions of war, others rotted and spoiled as much by the rigour
of time as by carelessness to collect and preserve them; whereof
the ancient Histories and Annals furnish a sufficient example in the
memorable library of that great King of Egypt, Ptolemy Phila-delphus,
which had been formed with the sweat and blood of so many notable
philosophers, and maintained, ordered, and preserved by the liberality
of that great monarch. And yet in less than a day, by the monstrous and
abominable cruelty of the soldiers of Cæsar, when the latter followed
Pompey to Alexandria, it was burned and reduced to ashes. Zonarius,
the ecclesiastical historian, writes that the same happened at
Constantinople in the time of Zeno, when a superb and magnificent
palace, adorned with all sorts of manuscript books, was burnt, to the
eternal regret and insupportable detriment of all those who made a
profession of letters. And without amusing ourselves too curiously
in recounting the destruction among the ancients, we have in our time
experienced a similar loss--of which the memory is so recent that the
wounds thereof still bleed in all parts of Europe--namely, when the
Turks besieged Buda, the capital of Hungary, where the most celebrated
library of the good King Matthias was pillaged, dispersed, and
destroyed; a library which, without sparing any expense, he had enriched
with all the rarest and most excellent books, Greek, Latin, Hebrew,
and Arabic, that he had been able to collect in all the most famous
provinces of the earth.

Again, he who would particularise and closely examine things will find
that Theophrastes, as he himself declares, wrote and composed three
hundred volumes, Chrysippus sixty, Empedocles fifty, Servus Sulpicius
two hundred on civil law, Gallienus one hundred and thirty on the art
of medicine, and Origenes six thousand, all of which St. Jerome attests
having read; and yet, of so many admirable and excellent authors, there
now remain to us only some little fragments, so debased and vitiated in
several places, that they seem abortive, and as if they had been torn
from their author’s hands by force.

On account of which, my Lady, since the occasion has offered, I have
been minded to present all these examples, with the object of exhorting
all those who treasure books and keep them sequestered in their
sanctuaries and cabinets, to henceforth publish them and bring them to
light, not only so that they may not keep back and bury the glory of
their ancestors, but also that they may not deprive their descendants
of the profit and pleasure which they might derive from the labour of
others.

In regard to myself, I will set forth more amply in the notice which I
will give to the reader the motive that induced me to put my hand to
the work of the present author, who has no need of trumpet and herald
to exalt and magnify her(1) greatness, inasmuch as there is no human
eloquence that could portray her more forcibly than she has portrayed
herself by the celestial strokes of her own brush; I mean by her other
writings, in which she has so well expressed the sincerity of her
doctrines, the vivacity of her faith, and the uprightness of her morals,
that the most learned men who reigned in her time were not ashamed
to call her a prodigy and miracle of nature. And albeit that Heaven,
jealous of our welfare, has snatched her from this mortal habitation,
yet her virtues rendered her so admirable and so engraved her in the
memory of every one, that the injury and lapse of time cannot efface
her from it; for we shall ceaselessly mourn and lament for her, like
Antimachus the Greek poet wept for Lysidichea, his wife, with sad verses
and delicate elegies which describe and reveal, her virtues and merits.

     1  In the French text Boaistuau invariably refers to the
     author as a personage of the masculine sex, with the evident
     object of concealing the real authorship of the work.
     Feminine pronouns have, however, been substituted in the
     translation, as it is Queen Margaret who is referred to.
     --Ed.

Therefore, my Lady, as this work is about to be exposed to the doubtful
judgment of so many thousands of men, may it please you to take it under
your protection and into your safe keeping; for, whereas you are the
natural and legitimate heiress of all the excellencies, ornaments, and
virtues which enriched the author while she adorned by her presence the
surprise of the earth, and which now by some marvellous ray of divinity
live and display themselves in you, it is not possible that you should
be defrauded of the fruit of the labour which justly belongs to you, and
for which the whole universe will be indebted to you now that it comes
forth into the light under the resplendent shelter of your divine and
heroic virtues.

May it therefore please you, my Lady, to graciously accept of this
little offering, as an eternal proof of my obedience and most humble
devotion to your greatness, pending a more important sacrifice which I
prepare for the future.




Peter Boaistuau, surnamed Launay, To the Reader.(1)

     1 This notice follows the dedicatory preface in the edition
     of 1558.

Gentle Reader, I can tell thee verily and with good right assert (even
prove by witnesses worthy of belief) when this work was presented to me
that I might fulfil the office of a sponge and cleanse it of a multitude
of manifest errors that were found in a copy written by hand, I was only
requested to take out or copy eighteen or twenty of the more notable
tales, reserving myself to complete the rest at a more convenient season
and at greater leisure.

However, as men are fond of novelties, I was solicited with very
pressing requests to pursue my point, to which I consented, rather by
reason of the importunity than of my own will, and my enterprise was
conducted in such fashion, that so as not to show myself in any wise
disobedient, I added some more tales, to which again others have since
been adjoined.

In regard to myself, I can assure thee that it would have been less
difficult for me to build the whole edifice anew than to mutilate it in
several places, change, innovate, add and suppress in others, but I
was almost perforce compelled to give it a new form, which I have done,
partly for the requirements and the adornment of the stories, partly to
conform to the times and the infelicity of our century, when most human
things are so exulcerated that there is no work, however well digested,
polished, and filed, but it is badly interpreted and slandered by the
malice of fastidious persons. Take, therefore, in good part our hasty
labour, and be not too close a censor of another’s work until thou hast
examined thine own.




_To the most Illustrious and Virtuous Princess_, Madame Jane de Foix,
Queen of Navarre,

Claud Gruget, her very humble servant, presents salutation and wishes of
felicity. (1)

I would not have interfered, Madam, to present you with this book of
the Tales of the late Queen, your mother, if the first edition had not
omitted or concealed her name, and almost entirely changed its form, to
such a point that many did not recognise it; on which account, to
render it worthy of its author, I, as soon as it was divulged, gathered
together from all sides the copies I could collect of it written by
hand, verifying them by my copy, and acting in such wise that I arranged
the book in the real order in which she had drawn it up. Then, with the
permission of the King and your consent, it was sent to the press to be
published such as it should be.

Concerning it, I am reminded of what Count Balthazar says of Boccaccio
in the Preface to his _Courtier_(2) that what he had done by way of
pastime, namely, his _Decameron_, had brought him more honour than all
his other works in Latin or Tuscan, which he esteemed the most serious.

     1  This preface was inserted in the edition issued in 1559
     by Claud Gruget, who gave the title of “_Heptameron_” to
     Queen Margaret’s tales.

     2  The _Libro del Cortegiano_, by Count Baldassare
     Castiglione, was the nobleman’s _vade-mecum_ of the period.
     First published at Venice in 1528, it was translated into
     French in 1537 by J. Colin, secretary to Francis I.--Ed.

Thus, the Queen, that true ornament of our century, from whom you do
not derogate in the love and knowledge of good letters, while
amusing herself with the acts of human life, has left such beauteous
instructions that there is no one who does not find matter of erudition
in them; and, indeed, according to all good judgment, she has surpassed
Boccaccio in the beautiful Discourses which she composes upon each
of her tales. For which she deserves praise, not only over the most
excellent ladies, but also among the most learned men; for of the three
styles of oration described by Cicero, she has chosen the simple one,
similar to that of Terence in Latin, which to every one seems very easy
to imitate, though it is anything but that to him who tries it.

It is true that such a present will not be new to you, and that you will
only recognise in it the maternal inheritance. However, I feel assured
that you will receive it favourably, at seeing it, in this second
impression, restored to its original state, for according to what I have
heard the first displeased you. Not that he who put his hand to it was
not a learned man, or did not take trouble; indeed it is easy to
believe that he was not minded to disguise it thus, without some reason;
nevertheless his work has proved unpleasing.

I present it to you then, Madam, not that I pretend to any share in
it, but only as having unmasked it to restore it to you in its natural
state. It is for Your Royal Greatness to favour it since it proceeds
from your illustrious House, whereof it bears the mark upon the front,
which will serve it as a safe-conduct throughout the world and render it
welcome among good company.

As for myself, recognising the honour that you will do me in receiving
from my hand the work thus restored to its right state, I shall ever
feel obliged to render you most humble duty.




THE HEPTAMERON.


[Illustration: 013a.jpg]

[Prologue: The Story-tellers in the Meadow near The Gave.]




PROLOGUE.


On the first day of September, when the baths in the Pyrenees
Mountains begin to be possessed of their virtue, there were at those of
Cauterets(1) many persons as well of France as of Spain, some to drink
the water, others to bathe in it, and again others to make trial of the
mud; all these being remedies so marvellous that persons despaired of
by the doctors return thence wholly cured. My purpose is not to speak to
you of the situation or virtue of the said baths, but only to set forth
as much as relates to the matter of which I desire to write.

     1 There are no fewer than twenty-six sources at Cauterets,
     the waters being either of a sulphureous or a saline
     character. The mud baths alluded to by Margaret were
     formerly taken at the Source de César Vieux, half-way up
     Mount Peyraute, and so called owing to a tradition that
     Julius Cæsar bathed there. It is at least certain that these
     baths were known to the Romans.--Ed.

     Cauterets is frequently mentioned by the old authors, and
     Rabelais refers to it in this passage: “Pantagruel’s urine
     was so hot that ever since that time it has not cooled, and
     you have some of it in France, at divers places, at
     Coderetz, Limous, Dast, Ballerue, Bourbonne, and
     elsewhere” (Book ii. chap, xxxiii.).--M.

All the sick persons continued at the baths for more than three weeks,
until by the amendment in their condition they perceived that they might
return home again. But while they were preparing to do so, there fell
such extraordinary rains that it seemed as though God had forgotten the
promise He made to Noah never to destroy the world with water again; for
every cottage and every lodging in Cauterets was so flooded with water
that it was no longer possible to continue there. Those who had come
from the side of Spain returned thither across the mountains as best
they could, and such of them as knew whither the roads led fared best in
making their escape.

The French lords and ladies thought to return to Tarbes as easily as
they had come, but they found the streamlets so deep as to be scarcely
fordable. When they came to pass over the Bearnese Gave,(1) which at the
time of their former passage had been less than two feet in depth,
they found it so broad and swift that they turned aside to seek for
the bridges. But these being only of wood, had been swept away by the
turbulence of the water.

     1 The Basques give the name of Gave to those watercourses
     which become torrents in certain seasons. The Bearnese Gave,
     so named because it passes through the territory of the
     ancient city of Beam, takes its source in the Pyrenees, and
     flows past Pau to Sorde, where it joins the Adour, which
     falls into the sea at Bayonne. It is nowadays generally
     known as the Gave of Pau.--L. & M.

Then certain of the company thought to stem the force of the current by
crossing in a body, but they were quickly carried away, and the others
who had been about to follow lost all inclination to do so. Accordingly
they separated, as much because they were not all of one mind as to find
some other way. Some crossed over the mountains, and passing through
Aragon came to the county of Rousillon, and thence to Narbonne; whilst
others made straight for Barcelona, going thence by sea, some to
Marseilles and others to Aigues-Mortes.

But a widow lady of long experience, named Oisille, resolved to lay
aside all fear of bad roads and to betake herself to Our Lady of
Serrance.(3)

     3 The Abbey of Our Lady of Serrance, or more correctly
     Sarrances, in the valley of Aspe, was occupied by monks of
     the Prémontré Order, who were under the patronage of St.
     Mary. An apparition of the Virgin having been reported in
     the vicinity, pilgrimages were made to Sarrances on the
     feasts of her nativity (Sept. 8) and her assumption (Aug.
     15). In 1385 Gaston de Foix, who greatly enriched the abbey,
     built a residence in the neighbourhood, his example being
     followed by the Gramonts, the Miollens, and other nobles.
     The pilgrimages had become very celebrated in the fifteenth
     century, when Louis XI. repaired to Sarrances, accompanied
     by Coictier, his physician. In 1569,  however,  the
     Huguenots pillaged and burned down the abbey, together with
     the royal and other residences. The monks who escaped the
     flames were put to the sword.--M. & Ed.

She was not, indeed, so superstitious as to think that the glorious
Virgin would leave her seat at her Son’s right hand to come and dwell
in a desolate country, but she was desirous to see the hallowed spot
of which she had so often heard, and further she was sure that if there
were a means of escaping from a danger, the monks would certainly find
it out. At last she arrived, after passing through places so strange,
and so difficult in the going up and coming down, that, in spite of her
years and weight, she had perforce gone most of the way on foot But the
most piteous thing was, that the greater part of her servants and horses
were left dead on the way, and she had but one man and one woman with
her on arriving at Serrance, where she was charitably received by the
monks.

There were also among the French two gentlemen who had gone to the baths
rather that they might be in the company of the ladies whose lovers
they were, than because of any failure in their health. These gentlemen,
seeing that the company was departing and that the husbands of their
ladies were taking them away, resolved to follow them at a distance
without making their design known to any one. But one evening, while the
two married gentlemen and their wives were in the house of one who was
more of a robber than a peasant, the two lovers, who were lodged in a
farmhouse hard by, heard about midnight a great uproar. They got up,
together with their serving-men, and inquired what this tumult meant.
The poor man, in great fear, told them that it was caused by certain
evil-doers who were come to share the spoil which was in the house of
their fellow-bandit. Thereupon the gentlemen immediately took their
arms, and with their serving-men set forth to succour the ladies,
esteeming it a happier thing to die for them than to outlive them.

When they reached the house, they found the first door broken through,
and the two gentlemen with their servants defending themselves
valiantly. But inasmuch as they were outnumbered by the robbers, and
were also sorely wounded, they were beginning to fall back, having
already lost many of their servants. The two gentlemen, looking in at
the windows, perceived the ladies shrieking and sobbing so bitterly
that their hearts swelled with pity and love at the sight; and, like two
enraged bears coming down from the mountains, they fell upon the bandits
with such fury that many of them were slain, while the remainder,
unwilling to await their onset, fled to a hiding-place which was known
to them.

When the gentlemen had worsted these rogues and had slain the host
himself among the rest, they heard that the man’s wife was even
worse than her husband; and they therefore sent her after him with a
sword-thrust. Then they entered a lower room, where they found one of
the married gentlemen on the point of death. The other had received no
hurt, save that his clothes were all pierced with thrusts and that his
sword was broken in two. The poor gentleman, perceiving what help the
two had afforded him, embraced and thanked them, and besought them not
to abandon him, which was to them a very agreeable request. When they
had buried the dead gentleman, and had comforted his wife as well
as they were able, they took the road which God set before them, not
knowing whither they were going.

If it pleases you to know the names of the three gentlemen, the married
one was called Hircan, and his wife Parlamente, the name of the widow
being Longarine; of the two lovers one was called Dagoucin and the
other Saffredent. After having been the whole day on horseback, towards
evening they descried a belfry, whither with toil and trouble they made
the best of their way, and on their arrival were kindly received by the
Abbot and the monks. The abbey is called St. Savyn.(4)

     4 The Abbey of St. Savin of Tarbes, situated between Argelèz
     and Pierrefitte, in what was formerly called the county of
     Lavedan, is stated to have been founded by Charlemagne; and
     here the Paladin Roland is said to have slain the giants
     Alabaster and Passamont to recompense the monks for their
     hospitality. The abbey took its name from a child (the son
     of a Count of Barcelona) who led a hermit’s life, and is
     accredited with having performed several miracles in the
     neighbourhood. About the year 1100 the Pope, siding with the
     people of the valley of Aspe in a quarrel between them and
     the Abbot of St. Savin, issued a bull forbidding the women
     of Lavedan to conceive for a period of seven years. The
     animals, moreover, were not to bring forth young, and the
     trees were not to bear fruit for a like period. The edict
     remained in force for six years, when the Abbot of St. Savin
     compromised matters by engaging to pay an annual tribute to
     Aspe. This tribute was actually paid until the Revolution of
     1789. On the other hand, the abbey was entitled to the right
     shoulder of every stag, boar, and izard (the Pyrenean
     chamois) killed in the valley, with other tributes of trout,
     cheese, and flowers, which last the Abbot acknowledged by
     kissing the prettiest maiden of Argelèz. Amongst various
     privileges possessed by the monks was that of having their
     beds made by the girls of the neighbourhood on certain high
     days and holidays.

     In the tenth century Raymond of Bigorre presented the abbey
     with the valley of Cauterets on condition that a church
     should be built there and “sufficient houses kept in repair
     to facilitate the using of the baths.” In 1290 Edward III.
     of England confirmed the monks of St. Savin in possession of
     Cauterets. In 1316, when the inhabitants of the latter place
     wished to change the situation of their village, the Abbot
     of St. Savin consented, but a woman opposed her veto (all
     women had the right of vote) and this sufficed to frustrate
     the scheme. The abbey derived a considerable income from
     Cauterets, the baths and the houses built there for the
     accommodation of visitors being let out on lease. The leases
     of 1617 and 1697 are preserved in the archives of Pau. In
     the time of Queen Margaret the abbey was extremely wealthy;
     the Abbot to whom she refers, according to M. Le Roux de
     Lincy, was probably Raymond de Fontaine, who ruled St. Savin
     from 1534 to 1540, under the authority of the commendatory
     abbots, Anthony de Rochefort and Nicholas Dangu, Bishop of
     Séez. Some of the commentators of the _Heptameron_ believe
     the latter to have been the original “Dagoucin” who is
     supposed to tell several of the tales.--Ed.

The Abbot, who came of an ancient line, lodged them honourably, and
when taking them to their apartments inquired of them concerning their
adventures. When he had heard the truth, he told them that others had
fared as badly as they, for in one of his rooms he had two ladies who
had escaped a like danger, or perchance a greater, inasmuch as they had
had to do with beasts, and not with men. (5) Half a league on this side
of Peyrechitte (6) the poor ladies had met with a bear coming down
from the mountain, before whom they had fled with such speed that their
horses fell dead under them at the abbey gates. Further, two of their
women who arrived a long time afterwards had made report that the bear
had killed all the serving-men.

     5  In two MS. copies of the _Heptameron_ in the Bibliothèque
     Nationale, Paris, numbered respectively 1520 and 1524, after
     the words “not with men” there follows “in men there is some
     mercy, but in animals none.”--L.

     6  Peyrechitte is evidently intended for Pierrefitte, a
     village on the left bank of the Gave, between Argelèz and
     Cauterets.--Ed.

Then the two ladies and the three gentlemen entered the room where these
unhappy travellers were, and found them weeping. They recognised them
to be Nomerfide and Ennasuite, whereupon they all embraced and recounted
what had befallen them. At the exhortations of the good Abbot they began
to take comfort in having found one another again, and in the morning
they heard mass with much devotion, praising God for the perils from
which they had escaped.

While they were all at mass there came into the church (7) a man clad
only in a shirt, fleeing as though he were pursued, and crying out for
aid. Forthwith Hircan and the other gentlemen went to meet him to see
what the affair might mean, and perceived two men behind him with drawn
swords.

     (7) This church is still in existence. It is mainly in the
     Romanesque style and almost destitute of ornamentation.
     There are, however, some antique paintings of St. Savin’s
     miracles; and the saint’s tomb, which is still preserved, is
     considered to be some twelve hundred years old. The village
     is gathered about the church, and forms a wide street lined
     with houses of the fifteenth century, which Margaret and her
     friends must have gazed upon during their sojourn here.--Ed.

These, on seeing so great a company, sought to fly, but they were hotly
pursued by Hircan and his companions, and so lost their lives. When
Hircan came back, he found that the man in the shirt was one of his
companions named Geburon, who related to them how while he was in bed
at a farmhouse near Peyrechitte three men came upstairs, and how he,
although he was in his shirt and had no other weapon but his sword, had
stretched one of them on the ground mortally wounded. While the other
two were occupied in raising their companion, he, perceiving himself
to be naked and the others armed, bethought him that he could not
outdo them except it were by flight, as being the least encumbered with
clothes. And so he had escaped, and for this he praised God and those
who had avenged him.

When they had heard mass and had dined they sent to see if it was
possible to cross the river Gave, and on learning that it was not, they
were in great dismay. However, the Abbot urgently entreated them to stay
with him until the water had abated, and they agreed to remain for that
day.

In the evening, as they were going to bed, there arrived an aged monk
who was wont to come in September of every year to Our Lady of Serrance.
They inquired of him concerning his journey, and he told them that on
account of the floods he had come over the mountains and by the worst
roads he had ever known. On the way he had seen a very pitiful sight. He
had met a gentleman named Simontault, who, wearied by his long waiting
for the river to subside, and trusting to the goodness of his horse, had
tried to force a passage, and had placed all his servants round about
him to break the force of the current. But when they were in the midst
of the stream, those who were the worst mounted were swept away, horses
and men, down the stream, and were never seen again. The gentleman,
finding himself alone, turned his horse to go back, but before he could
reach the bank his horse sank under him. Nevertheless, God willed that
this should happen so close to the bank that the gentleman was able, by
dragging himself on all fours and not without swallowing a great deal of
water, to scramble out on to the hard stones, though he was then so weak
and weary that he could not stand upright.

By good fortune a shepherd, bringing back his sheep at even, found him
seated among the stones, wet to the skin, and sad not only for himself
but on account of his servants whom he had seen perish before his eyes.
The shepherd, who understood his need even better from his appearance
than from his speech, took him by the hand and led him to his humble
dwelling, where he kindled some faggots, and so dried him in the best
way that he could. The same evening God led thither this good monk, who
showed him the road to Our Lady of Serrance assuring him that he would
be better lodged there than anywhere else, and would there find an aged
widow named Oisille who had been as unfortunate as himself.

When all the company heard tell of the good Lady Oisille and the gentle
knight Simontault, they were exceedingly glad, and praised the Creator,
who, content with the sacrifice of serving-folk, had preserved their
masters and mistresses. And more than all the rest did Parlamente give
hearty praise to God, for Simontault had long been her devoted lover.

Then they made diligent inquiry concerning the road to Serrance, and
although the good old man declared it to be very difficult, they were
not to be debarred from attempting to proceed thither that very day.
They set forth well furnished with all that was needful, for the Abbot
provided them with wine and abundant victuals,(8) and with willing
companions to lead them safely over the mountains.

     8 According to MS. No. 1520 (Bib. Nat., Paris), the Abbot
     also furnished them with the best horses of Lavedan and good
     “cappes” of Beam. The Lavedan horses were renowned for their
     speed and spirit, and the Bearnese cappe was a cloak
     provided with a hood.--B. J.

These they crossed more often on foot than on horseback, and after much
toil and sweat came to Our Lady of Serrance. Here the Abbot, although
somewhat evilly disposed, durst not deny them lodging for fear of the
Lord of Beam,(9) who, as he was aware, held them in high esteem. Being
a true hypocrite, he showed them as fair a countenance as he could, and
took them to see the Lady Oisille and the gentle knight Simontault.

     9 The Kings of Navarre had been Lords of Beam for two
     centuries, but Beam still retained its old customs and had
     its special government. The Lord of Beam here referred to
     was Henry d’Albret, Margaret’s second husband.--B. J.

The joyfulness of all this company who had been thus miraculously
brought together was so great that the night seemed short to them while
praising God in the Church for the goodness that He had shown to them.
When towards morning they had taken a little rest, they all went to
hear mass and receive the holy sacrament of fellowship, in which all
Christians are joined together as one, imploring Him who of His mercy
had thus united them, that He would further their journey to His glory.
After they had dined they sent to learn whether the waters were at all
abated, and found that, on the contrary, they were rather increased, and
could not be crossed with safety for a long time to come. They therefore
determined to make a bridge resting on two rocks which come very close
together, and where there are still planks for those foot-passengers
who, coming from Oleron, wish to avoid crossing at the ford. The Abbot
was well pleased that they should make this outlay, to the end that
the number of pilgrims might be increased, and he furnished them with
workmen, though he was too avaricious to give them a single farthing.

The workmen declared that they could not finish the bridge in less than
ten or twelve days, and all the company, both ladies and gentlemen,
began to grow weary. But Parlamente, who was Hircan’s wife, and who was
never idle or melancholy, asked leave of her husband to speak, and said
to the aged Lady Oisille--

“I am surprised, madam, that you who have so much experience, and now
fill the place of mother to all of us women, do not devise some pastime
to relieve the weariness we shall feel during our long stay; for if we
have not some pleasant and virtuous occupation we shall be in danger of
falling ill.”

“Nay,” added the young widow Longarine, “worse than that, we shall
become ill-tempered, which is an incurable disease; for there is not one
among us but has cause to be exceeding downcast, having regard to our
several losses.”

Ennasuite laughing replied--

“Every one has not lost her husband like you, and the loss of servants
need not bring despair, since others may readily be found. Nevertheless,
I too am of opinion that we should have some pleasant exercise with
which to while away the time, for otherwise we shall be dead by
to-morrow.”

All the gentlemen agreed with what these ladies said, and begged Oisille
to tell them what they should do.

“My children,” she replied, “you ask me for something which I find very
difficult to teach you, namely, a pastime that may deliver you from your
weariness. I have sought for such a remedy all my life and have never
found but one, which is the reading of the Holy Scriptures. In them the
mind may find that true and perfect joy from which repose and bodily
health proceed. If you would know by what means I continue so blithe and
healthy in my old age, it is because on rising I immediately take up the
Holy Scriptures (10) and read therein, and so perceive and contemplate
the goodness of God, who sent His Son into the world to proclaim to us
the Sacred Word and glad tidings by which He promises the remission of
all sins and the satisfaction of all debts by the gift that He has made
us of His love, passion, and merits.

     10  Margaret read a portion of the Scriptures every day,
     saying that the perusal preserved one “from all sorts of
     evils and diabolical temptations” (_Histoire de Foix, Béarn,
     et Navarre_, by P. Olhagaray, Paris, 1609, p. 502).--L.

“The thought of this gives me such joy that I take my Psalter and in all
humility sing with my heart and utter with my lips the sweet psalms and
canticles which the Holy Spirit put into the heart of David and of other
writers. And so acceptable is the contentment that this brings to
me, that any evils which may befall me during the day I look upon as
blessings, seeing that I have in my heart, through faith, Him who has
borne them all for me. In the same way before supper I retire to feed my
soul by reading, and then in the evening I call to mind all I have done
during the past day, in order that I may ask forgiveness for my sins,
thank Him for His mercies, and, feeling safe from all harm, take my rest
in His love, fear, and peace. This, my children, is the pastime I have
long practised, after making trial of all others and finding in none
contentment of spirit. I believe that if you give an hour every morning
to reading and then offer up devout prayers during mass, you will find
in this lonely place all the beauty that any town could afford. One who
knows God sees all things fair in Him, and without Him everything seems
uncomely; wherefore, I pray you, accept my advice, if you would live in
gladness.”

Then Hircan took up the discourse and said--

“Those, madam, who have read the Holy Scriptures, as I believe we all
have done, will acknowledge that what you have said is true. You must,
however, consider that we are not yet so mortified that we have not need
of some pastime and bodily exercise. When we are at home we have the
chase and hawking, which cause us to lay aside a thousand foolish
thoughts, and the ladies have their household cares, their work, and
sometimes the dance, in all which they find honourable exercise. So,
speaking on behalf of the men, I propose that you, who are the oldest,
read to us in the morning about the life that was led by Our Lord Jesus
Christ and the great and wonderful works that He did for us; and that
between dinner and vespers we choose some pastime that shall be pleasant
to the body and yet not hurtful to the soul. In this way we shall pass
the day cheerfully.”

The Lady Oisille replied that she had been at pains to forget every
description of worldly vanity, and she therefore feared that she should
succeed but ill in the choice of such an entertainment. The matter must
be decided by the majority of opinions, and she begged Hircan to set
forth his own first.

“For my part,” said he, “if I thought that the pastime I should choose
would be as agreeable to the company as to myself, my opinion would soon
be given. For the present, however, I withhold it, and will abide by
what the rest shall say.”

His wife Parlamente, thinking he referred to her, began to blush, and,
half in anger and half laughing, replied--

“Perhaps, Hircan, she who you think would find it most dull might
readily find means of compensation had she a mind for it. But let us
leave aside a pastime in which only two can share, and speak of one that
shall be common to all.”

“Since my wife has understood the meaning of my words so well,” said
Hircan to all the ladies, “and a private pastime is not to her liking, I
think she will be better able than any one else to name one that all
may enjoy; and I herewith give in to her opinion, having no other of my
own.”

To this all the company agreed.

Parlamente, perceiving that it had fallen to her to decide, spoke as
follows--

“Did I find myself as capable as the ancients who invented the arts, I
should devise some sport or pastime in fulfilment of the charge you
lay upon me. But knowing as I do my knowledge and capacity, which are
scarcely able to recall the worthy performances of others, I shall think
myself happy if I can follow closely such as have already satisfied your
request. Among the rest, I think there is not one of you who has not
read the Hundred Tales of Boccaccio, (11) lately translated from the
Italian into French. So highly were these thought of by King Francis,
first of that name, Monseigneur the Dauphin, (12) Madame the Dauphiness,
and Madame Margaret, that could Boccaccio have only heard them from the
place where he lay, the praise of such illustrious persons would have
raised him from the dead.

     11  Margaret here alludes to the French translation of the
     _Decameron_ made by her secretary, Anthony le Maçon, and
     first issued in Paris in 1545. Messrs. De Lincy and
     Montaiglon accordingly think that the prologue of the
     _Heptameron_ was written subsequently to that date; but M.
     Dillaye states that Le Maçon’s translation was circulated at
     Court in manuscript long before it was printed. This
     contention is in some measure borne out by Le Maçon’s
     dedication to Margaret, of which the more interesting
     passages are given in the Appendix to this volume (A).--ED.

     12  The Dauphin here mentioned is Francis I.’s second son,
     who subsequently reigned as Henry II. He became Dauphin by
     the death of his elder brother on August 10, 1536. The
     Dauphiness is Catherine de’ Medici, the wife of Henry, whom
     he married in 1533; whilst Madame Margaret, according to M.
     de Montaiglon, is the Queen of Navarre herself, she being
     usually called by that name at her brother’s Court. M.
     Dillaye, who is of a different opinion, maintains that the
     Queen would not write so eulogistically of herself, and that
     she evidently refers to her brother’s daughter, Margaret de
     Berry, born in 1523, and married to the Duke of Savoy.--Ed.

Now I heard not long since that the two ladies I have mentioned,
together with several others of the Court, determined to do like
Boccaccio, with, however, one exception--they would not write any
story that was not a true one. And the said ladies, and Monseigneur the
Dauphin with them, undertook to tell ten stories each, and to assemble
in all ten persons, from among those whom they thought the most capable
of relating something. Such as had studied and were people of letters
were excepted, for Monseigneur the Dauphin would not allow of their art
being brought in, fearing lest the flowers of rhetoric should in some
wise prove injurious to the truth of the tales. But the weighty affairs
in which the King had engaged, the peace between him and the King of
England, the bringing to bed of the Dauphiness,(13) and many other
matters of a nature to engross the whole Court, caused the enterprise to
be entirely forgotten.

     13 The confinement mentioned here is that of Catherine de
     Medici, who, after remaining childless during ten years of
     wedlock, gave birth to a son, afterwards Francis II., in
     January 1543. The peace previously spoken of would appear to
     be that signed at Crespy in September 1544. Both M. de
     Montaiglon and M. Dillaye are of opinion, however, that a
     word or two is deficient in the MS., and that Margaret
     intended to imply the rupture of peace in 1543, when Henry
     VIII. allied himself with the Emperor Charles V. against
     Francis I.--Ed.

By reason, however, of our now great leisure, it can be accomplished in
ten days, whilst we wait for our bridge to be finished. If it so pleased
you, we might go every day from noon till four of the clock into yonder
pleasant meadow beside the river Gave. The trees there are so leafy that
the sun can neither penetrate the shade nor change the coolness to heat.
Sitting there at our ease, we might each one tell a story of something
we have ourselves seen, or heard related by one worthy of belief. At
the end of ten days we shall have completed the hundred,(14) and if
God wills it that our work be found worthy in the eyes of the lords and
ladies I have mentioned, we will on our return from this journey present
them with it, in lieu of images and paternosters,(15) and feeling
assured that they will hold this to be a more pleasing gift. If,
however, any one can devise some plan more agreeable than mine, I will
fall in with his opinion.”

     14  This passage plainly indicates that the Queen meant to
     pen a Decameron.--Ed.

     15  This is an allusion to the holy images, medals, and
     chaplets which people brought back with them from
     pilgrimages.--B. J.

All the company replied that it was not possible to give better advice,
and that they awaited the morning in impatience, in order to begin.

Thus they spent that day joyously, reminding one another of what they
had seen in their time. As soon as the morning was come they went to
the room of Madame Oisille, whom they found already at her prayers. They
listened to her reading for a full hour, then piously heard mass, and
afterwards went to dinner at ten o’clock.(16)

     16 At that period ten o’clock was the Court dinner-hour.
     Fifty years earlier people used to dine at eight in the
     morning. Louis XII., however, changed the hour of his meals
     to suit his wife, Mary of England, who had been accustomed
     to dine at noon.--B. J.

After dinner each one withdrew to his chamber, and did what he had to
do. According to their plan, at noon they failed not to return to the
meadow, which was so fair and pleasant that it would need a Boccaccio
to describe it as it really was; suffice to say that a fairer was never
seen.

When the company were all seated on the green grass, which was so
fine and soft that they needed neither cushion nor carpet, Simontault
commenced by saying--

“Which of us shall begin before the others?”

“Since you were the first to speak,” replied Hircan, “’tis reasonable
that you should rule us; for in sport we are all equal.”

“Would to God,” said Simontault, “I had no worse fortune in this world
than to be able to rule all the company present.”

On hearing this Parlamente, who well knew what it meant, began to
cough. Hircan, therefore, did not perceive the colour that came into her
cheeks, but told Simontault to begin, which he did as presently follows.


[Illustration: 039a.jpg Du Mesnil learns his Mistress’s Infidelity from her Maid]

[Du Mesnil learns his Mistress’s Infidelity from her Maid]

[Illustration: 039.jpg Page Image]




FIRST DAY.

_On the First Day are recounted the ill-turns which
have been done by Women to Men and by
Men to Women._




_TALE I_.

     _The wife of a Proctor, having been pressingly solicited by
     the Bishop of Sees, took him for her profit, and, being as
     little satisfied with him as with her husband, found a means
     to have the son of the Lieutenant-General of Alençon for her
     pleasure. Some time afterwards she caused the latter to be
     miserably murdered by her husband, who, although he obtained
     pardon for the murder, was afterwards sent to the galleys
     with a sorcerer named Gallery; and all this was brought
     about by the wickedness of his wife_.(1)


     1 The incidents of this story are historical, and occurred
     in Alençon and Paris between 1520 and 1525.--L.

Ladies, said Simontault, I have been so poorly rewarded for my long
service, that to avenge myself upon Love, and upon her who treats me so
cruelly, I shall be at pains to make a collection of all the ill turns
that women hath done to hapless men; and moreover I will relate nothing
but the simple truth.

In the town of Alençon, during the lifetime of Charles, the last
Duke,(2) there was a Proctor named St. Aignan, who had married a
gentlewoman of the neighbourhood. She was more beautiful than virtuous,
and on account of her beauty and light behaviour was much sought after
by the Bishop of Sees,(3) who, in order to compass his ends, managed the
husband so well, that the latter not only failed to perceive the vicious
conduct of his wife and of the Bishop, but was further led to forget the
affection he had always shown in the service of his master and mistress.

     2 The Duke Charles here alluded to is Margaret’s first
     husband.--Ed.

     3 Sees or Séez, on the Orne, thirteen miles from Alençon,
     and celebrated for its Gothic cathedral, is one of the
     oldest bishoprics in Normandy. Richard Coeur-de-Lion is said
     to have here done penance and obtained absolution for his
     conduct towards his father, Henry II. At the time of this
     story the Bishop of Sees was James de Silly, whose father,
     also James de Silly, Lord of Lonray, Vaux-Pacey, &c, a
     favourite and chamberlain of King Louis XII., became Master
     of the Artillery of France in 1501. The second James de
     Silly--born at Caen--was ordained Bishop of Sees on February
     26th, 1511; he was also Abbot of St. Vigor and St. Pierre-
     sur-Dives, where he restored and beautified the abbatial
     church. In 1519 he consecrated a convent for women of noble
     birth, founded by Margaret and her first husband at Essey,
     twenty miles from Alençon, the ruins of which still exist. A
     year later Francis Rometens dedicated to him an edition of
     the letters of Pico della Mirandola. He died April 24th,
     1539, at Fleury-sur-Aiidellé, about fifteen miles from
     Rouen, and was buried in his episcopal church. (See _Gallia
     Christiana_, vol. xi. p. 702.) His successor in the See of
     Sees was Nicholas Danguye, or Dangu (a natural son of
     Cardinal Duprat), with whom M. Frank tries to identify
     Dagoucin, one of the narrators of the _Heptameron_.--L. and
     Ed.

Thus, from being a loyal servant, he became utterly adverse to them, and
at last sought out sorcerers to procure the death of the Duchess.(4)
Now for a long time the Bishop consorted with this unhappy woman, who
submitted to him from avarice rather than from love, and also because
her husband urged her to show him favour. But there was a youth in the
town of Alençon, son of the Lieutenant-General,(5) whom she loved
so much that she was half crazy regarding him; and she often availed
herself of the Bishop to have some commission intrusted to her husband,
so that she might see the son of the Lieutenant, who was named Du
Mesnil, at her ease.

     4 This was of course Margaret herself.--Ed

     5 Gilles du Mesnil, Lieutenant-General of the presidial
     bailiwick and Sénéchaussée of Alençon.--B. J.

This mode of life lasted a long time, during which she had the Bishop
for her profit and the said Du Mesnil for her pleasure. To the latter
she swore that she showed a fair countenance to the Bishop only that
their own love might the more freely continue; that the Bishop, in
spite of appearances, had obtained only words, from her; and that he,
Du Mesnil, might rest assured that no man, save himself, should ever
receive aught else.

One day, when her husband was setting forth to visit the Bishop, she
asked leave of him to go into the country, saying that the air of the
town was injurious to her; and, when she had arrived at her farm, she
forthwith wrote to Du Mesnil to come and see her, without fail, at
about ten o’clock in the evening. This the young man did; but as he was
entering at the gate he met the maid who was wont to let him in, and who
said to him, “Go elsewhere, friend, for your place is taken.”

Supposing that the husband had arrived, he asked her how matters stood.
The woman, seeing that he was so handsome, youthful, and well-bred, and
was withal so loving and yet so little loved, took pity upon him and
told him of his mistress’s wantonness, thinking that on hearing this he
would be cured of loving her so much. She related to him that the Bishop
of Sees had but just arrived, and was now in bed with the lady, a thing
which the latter had not expected, for he was not to have come until
the morrow. However, he had detained her husband at his house, and had
stolen away at night to come secretly and see her. If ever man was in
despair it was Du Mesnil, who nevertheless was quite unable to believe
the story. He hid himself, however, in a house near by, and watched
until three hours after midnight, when he saw the Bishop come forth
disguised, yet not so completely but that he could recognise him more
readily than he desired.

Du Mesnil in his despair returned to Alençon, whither, likewise, his
wicked mistress soon came, and went to speak to him, thinking to deceive
him according to her wont. But he told her that, having touched sacred
things, she was too holy to speak to a sinner like himself, albeit
his repentance was so great that he hoped his sin would very soon be
forgiven him. When she learnt that her deceit was found out, and that
excuses, oaths, and promises never to act in a like way again were of
no avail, she complained of it to her Bishop. Then, having weighed the
matter with him, she went to her husband and told him that she could no
longer dwell in the town of Alençon, for the Lieutenant’s son, whom he
had so greatly esteemed among his friends, pursued her unceasingly
to rob her of her honour. She therefore begged of him to abide at
Argentan,(6) in order that all suspicion might be removed.

     6  Argentan, on the Orne, twenty-six miles from Alençon, had
     been a distinct viscounty, but at this period it belonged to
     the duchy of Alençon.--Ed.

The husband, who suffered himself to be ruled by his wife, consented;
but they had not been long at Argentan when this bad woman sent a
message to Du Mesnil, saying that he was the wickedest man in the world,
for she knew full well that he had spoken evilly (sic.) of her and
of the Bishop of Sees; however, she would strive her best to make him
repent of it.

The young man, who had never spoken of the matter except to herself,
and who feared to fall into the bad graces of the Bishop, repaired to
Argentan with two of his servants, and finding his mistress at vespers
in the church of the Jacobins,(7) he went and knelt beside her, and
said--

“I am come hither, madam, to swear to you before God that I have never
spoken of your honour to any person but yourself. You treated me so ill
that I did not make you half the reproaches you deserved; but if there
be man or woman ready to say that I have ever spoken of the matter to
them, I am here to give them the lie in your presence.”

     7 The name of Jacobins was given to the monks of the
     Dominican Order, some of whom had a monastery in the suburbs
     of Argentan.--Ed.

Seeing that there were many people in the church, and that he was
accompanied by two stout serving-men, she forced herself to speak as
graciously as she could. She told him that she had no doubt he spoke the
truth, and that she deemed him too honourable a man to make evil report
of any one in the world; least of all of herself, who bore him so much
friendship; but since her husband had heard the matter spoken of, she
begged him to say in his presence that he had not so spoken and did not
so believe.

To this he willingly agreed, and, wishing to attend her to her house, he
offered to take her arm; but she told him it was not desirable that he
should come with her, for her husband would think that she had put these
words into his mouth. Then, taking one of his serving-men by the sleeve,
she said--

“Leave me this man, and as soon as it is time I will send him to seek
you. Meanwhile do you go and rest in your lodging.”

He, having no suspicion of her conspiracy against him, went thither.

She gave supper to the serving-man whom she had kept with her, and who
frequently asked her when it would be time to go and seek his master;
but she always replied that his master would come soon enough. When it
was night, she sent one of her own serving-men to fetch Du Mesnil; and
he, having no suspicion of the mischief that was being prepared for
him, went boldly to St. Aignan’s house. As his mistress was still
entertaining his servant there, he had but one with himself.

Just as he was entering the house, the servant who had been sent to
him told him that the lady wished to speak with him before he saw her
husband, and that she was waiting for him in a room where she was alone
with his own serving-man; he would therefore do well to send his other
servant away by the front door. This he did. Then while he was going up
a small, dark stairway, the Proctor St. Aignan, who had placed some
men in ambush in a closet, heard the noise, and demanded what it was;
whereupon he was told that a man was trying to enter secretly into his
house.

At the moment, a certain Thomas Guérin, a murderer by trade, who had
been hired by the Proctor for the purpose, came forward and gave the
poor young man so many sword-thrusts that whatever defence he was able
to make could not save him from falling dead in their midst.

Meanwhile the servant who was waiting with the lady, said to her--

“I hear my master speaking on the stairway. I will go to him.”

But the lady stopped him and said--

“Do not trouble yourself; he will come soon enough.”

A little while afterwards the servant, hearing his master say, “I am
dying, may God receive my soul!” wished to go to his assistance, but the
lady again withheld him, saying--

“Do not trouble yourself; my husband is only chastising him for his
follies. We will go and see what it is.”

Then, leaning over the balustrade at the top of the stairway, she asked
her husband--

“Well, is it done?”

“Come and see,” he replied. “I have now avenged you on the man who put
you to such shame.”

So saying, he drove a dagger that he was holding ten or twelve times
into the belly of a man whom, alive, he would not have dared to assail.

When the murder had been accomplished, and the two servants of the dead
man had fled to carry the tidings to the unhappy father, St. Aignan
bethought himself that the matter could not be kept secret. But he
reflected that the testimony of the dead man’s servants would not be
believed, and that no one in his house had seen the deed done, except
the murderers, and an old woman-servant, and a girl fifteen years of
age. He secretly tried to seize the old woman, but, finding means to
escape out of his hands, she sought sanctuary with the Jacobins,(8) and
was afterwards the most trustworthy witness of the murder. The young
maid remained for a few days in St. Aignan’s house, but he found means
to have her led astray by one of the murderers, and had her conveyed to
a brothel in Paris so that her testimony might not be received.(9)

     8  It was still customary to take sanctuary in churches,
     monasteries, and convents at this date, although but little
     respect was shown for the refugees, whose hiding-places were
     often surrounded so that they might be kept without food and
     forced to surrender. After being considerably restricted by
     an edict issued in 1515, the right of sanctuary was
     abolished by Francis I. in 1539.--B. J. and D.

     9  Prostitutes were debarred from giving evidence in French
     courts of law at this period.--D.

To conceal the murder, he caused the corpse of the hapless dead man to
be burnt, and the bones which were not consumed by the fire he caused to
be placed in some mortar in a part of his house where he was building.
Then he sent in all haste to the Court to sue for pardon, setting
forth that he had several times forbidden his house to a person whom he
suspected of plotting his wife’s dishonour, and who, notwithstanding
his prohibition, had come by night to see her in a suspicious fashion;
whereupon, finding him in the act of entering her room, his anger had
got the better of his reason and he had killed him.

But before he was able to despatch his letter to the Chancellor’s, the
Duke and Duchess had been apprised by the unhappy father of the matter,
and they sent a message to the Chancellor to prevent the granting of the
pardon. Finding he could not obtain it, the wretched man fled to England
with his wife and several of his relations. But before setting out he
told the murderer who at his entreaty had done the deed, that he had
seen expresses from the King directing that he should be taken and put
to death. Nevertheless, on account of the service that he had rendered
him, he desired to save his life, and he gave him ten crowns wherewith
to leave the kingdom. The murderer did this, and was afterwards seen no
more.

The murder was so fully proven by the servants of the dead man, by the
woman who had taken refuge with the Jacobins, and by the bones that were
found in the mortar, that legal proceedings were begun and completed in
the absence of St. Aignan and his wife. They were judged by default
and were both condemned to death. Their property was confiscated to the
Prince, and fifteen hundred crowns were to be given to the dead man’s
father to pay the costs of the trial.

St. Aignan being in England and perceiving that in the eyes of the law
he was dead in France, by means of his services to divers great lords
and by the favour of his wife’s relations, induced the King of England
(10) to request the King of France (11) to grant him a pardon and
restore him to his possessions and honours. But the King of France,
having been informed of the wickedness and enormity of the crime, sent
the process to the King of England, praying him to consider whether the
offence was one deserving of pardon, and telling him that no one in the
kingdom but the Duke of Alençon had the right to grant a pardon in that
duchy. However, notwithstanding all his excuses, he failed to appease
the King of England, who continued to entreat him so very pressingly
that, at his request, the Proctor at last received a pardon and so
returned to his own home.(12) There, to complete his wickedness, he
consorted with a sorcerer named Gallery, hoping that by this man’s art
he might escape payment of the fifteen hundred crowns to the dead man’s
father.

     10 Henry VIII.

     11 Francis I.

     12 The letters of remission which were granted to St. Aignan
     on this occasion will be found in the Appendix to the First
     Day (B). It will be noted that Margaret in her story gives
     various particulars which St. Aignan did not fail to conceal
     in view of obtaining his pardon.--L.

To this end he went in disguise to Paris with his wife. She, finding
that he used to shut himself up for a great while in a room with Gallery
without acquainting her with the reason thereof, spied upon him one
morning, and perceived Gallery showing him five wooden images, three of
which had their hands hanging down, whilst two had them lifted up.(13)

“We must make waxen images like these,” said Gallery, speaking to the
Proctor. “Such as have their arms hanging down will be for those whom
we shall cause to die, and the others with their arms raised will be for
the persons from whom you would fain have love and favour.”

“This one,” said the Proctor, “shall be for the King by whom I would
fain be loved, and this one for Monseigneur Brinon, Chancellor of
Alençon.” (14)

     13  This refers to the superstitious practice called
     _envoûtement_, which, according to M. Léon de Laborde, was
     well known in France in 1316, and subsisted until the
     sixteenth century. In 1330 the famous Robert d’Artois, upon
     retiring to Brabant, occupied himself with pricking waxen
     images which represented King Philip VI., his brother-in-
     law, and the Queen, his sister. (_Mémoires de l’Académie des
     Inscriptions_, vol. xv. p. 426.) During the League the
     enemies of Henri III. and the King of Navarre revived this
     practice.--(L.) It would appear also from a document in the
     Harley MSS. (18,452, Bib. N’at., Paris) that Cosmo Ruggieri,
     the Florentine astrologer, Catherine de’ Medici’s
     confidential adviser, was accused in 1574 of having made a
     wax figure in view of casting a spell upon Charles IX.--M.

     14  John Brinon, Councillor of the King, President of the
     Parliament of Rouen, Chancellor of Alençon and Berry, Lord
     of Villaines (near Dreux), Remy, and Athueuil (near
     Montfort-l’Amaury), belonged to an old family of judicial
     functionaries. He was highly esteemed by Margaret, several
     of whose letters are addressed to him, and he was present at
     the signing of her marriage contract with Henry II. of
     Navarre (Génin’s _Lettres de Marguerite_, p. 444). He
     married Pernelle Perdrier, who brought him the lordship of
     Médan, near Poissy, and other important fiefs, which after
     his death she presented to the King. His praises were sung
     by Le Chandelier, the poet; and M. Floquet, in his History
     of the Parliament of Normandy, states that Brinon rendered
     most important services to France as a negotiator in Italy
     in 1521, and in England in 1524. The _Journal d’un Bourgeois
     de Paris_ mentions that he died in Paris in 1528, aged
     forty-four, and was buried in the Church of St. Severin.--L.
     According to La Croix du Maine’s _Bibliothèque Françoise_,
     Brinon was the author of a poem entitled _Les Amours de
     Sydire_.--B. J.

“The images,” said Gallery, “must be set under the altar, to hear mass,
with words that I will presently tell you to say.”

Then, speaking of those images that had their arms lowered, the Proctor
said that one should be for Master Gilles du Mesnil, father of the dead
man, for he knew that as long as the father lived he would not cease to
pursue him. Moreover, one of the women with their hands hanging down was
to be for the Duchess of Alençon, sister to the King; for she bore
so much love to her old servant, Du Mesnil, and had in so many other
matters become acquainted with the Proctor’s wickedness, that except she
died he could not live. The second woman that had her arms hanging down
was his own wife, who was the cause of all his misfortune, and who he
felt sure would never amend her evil life.

When his wife, who could see everything through the keyhole, heard him
placing her among the dead, she resolved to send him among them first.
On pretence of going to borrow some money, she went to an uncle she had,
named Neaufle, who was Master of Requests to the Duke of Alençon, and
informed him of what she had seen and heard. Neaufle, like the old and
worthy servant that he was, went forthwith to the Chancellor of Alençon
and told him the whole story.

As the Duke and Duchess of Alençon were not at Court that day, the
Chancellor related this strange business to the Regent,(15) mother of
the King and the Duchess, and she sent in all haste for the Provost of
Paris,(16) who made such speed that he at once seized the Proctor
and his sorcerer, Gallery. Without constraint or torture they freely
confessed their guilt, and their case was made out and laid before the
King.

     15  Louise of Savoy.

     16  John de la Barre, a favourite of Francis I. See note to
     Tale lxiii. (vol. v.), in which he plays a conspicuous
     part.--Ed.

Certain persons, wishing to save their lives, told him that they had
only sought his good graces by their enchantments; but the King, holding
his sister’s life as dear as his own, commanded that the same sentence
should be passed on them as if they had made an attempt on his own
person.

However, his sister, the Duchess of Alençon, entreated that the
Proctor’s life might be spared, and the sentence of death be commuted to
some heavy punishment. This request was granted her, and St. Aignan
and Gallery were sent to the galleys of St. Blancart at Marseilles,(17)
where they ended their days in close captivity, and had leisure to
ponder on the grievousness of their crimes. The wicked wife, in the
absence of her husband, continued in her sinful ways even more than
before, and at last died in wretchedness.

     17  This passage is explained by Henri Bouché, who states in
     his _Histoire Chronologique de Provence_ (vol. ii. p. 554),
     that after Francis I.’s voyage in captivity to Spain it was
     judged expedient that France should have several galleys in
     the Mediterranean, and that “orders were accordingly given
     for thirteen to be built at Marseilles--four for the Baron
     de Saint-Blancart, as many for Andrew Doria, &c.” The Baron
     de Saint-Blancart here referred to was Bernard d’Ormezan,
     Admiral of the seas of the Levant, Conservator of the ports
     and tower of Aigues-Mortes, and General of the King’s
     galleys. In 1523 he defeated the naval forces of the Emperor
     Charles V., and in 1525 conducted Margaret to Spain.--L.
     (See Memoir of Margaret, p. xli.)

“I pray you, ladies, consider what evil is caused by a wicked woman,
and how many evils sprang from the sins of the one I have spoken of.
You will find that ever since Eve caused Adam to sin, all women have set
themselves to bring about the torment, slaughter and damnation of men.
For myself, I have had such experience of their cruelty that I expect to
die and be damned simply by reason of the despair into which one of them
has cast me. And yet so great a fool am I, that I cannot but confess
that hell coming from her hand is more pleasing than Paradise would be
from the hand of another.”

Parlamente, pretending she did not understand that it was touching
herself he spoke in this fashion, said to him--

“Since hell is as pleasant as you say, you ought not to fear the devil
who has placed you in it.”

“If my devil were to become as black as he has been cruel to me,”
 answered Simontault angrily, “he would cause the present company as much
fright as I find pleasure in looking upon them; but the fires of
love make me forget those of this hell. However, to speak no further
concerning this matter, I give my vote to Madame Oisille to tell the
second story. I feel sure she would support my opinion if she were
willing to say what she knows about women.”

Forthwith all the company turned towards Oisille, and begged of her to
proceed, to which she consented, and, laughing, began as follows--

“It seems to me, ladies, that he who has given me his vote has spoken so
ill of our sex in his true story of a wicked woman, that I must call to
mind all the years of my long life to find one whose virtue will suffice
to gainsay his evil opinion. However, as I have bethought me of one
worthy to be remembered, I will now relate her history to you.”


[Illustration: 056.jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 057a.jpg The Muleteer’s Servant attacking his Mistress]

[The Muleteer’s Servant attacking his Mistress]

[Illustration: 057.jpg Page Image]




_TALE II._

     _The wife of a muleteer of Amboise chose rather to die
     cruelly at the hands of her servant than to fall in with his
     wicked purpose_.(1)

In the town of Amboise there was a muleteer in the service of the Queen
of Navarre, sister to King Francis, first of that name. She being
at Blois, where she had been brought to bed of a son, the aforesaid
muleteer went thither to receive his quarterly payment, whilst his wife
remained at Amboise in a lodging beyond the bridges.(2)

     1  The incidents of this story probably took place at
     Amboise, subsequent, however, to the month of August 1530,
     when Margaret was confined of her son John.--L.

     2  Amboise is on the left bank of the Loire, and there have
     never been any buildings on the opposite bank.    However,
     the bridge over the river intersects the island of St. Jean,
     which is covered with houses, and here the muleteer’s wife
     evidently resided.--M.

Now it happened that one of her husband’s servants had long loved her
exceedingly, and one day he could not refrain from speaking of it
to her. She, however, being a truly virtuous woman, rebuked him so
severely, threatening to have him beaten and dismissed by her husband,
that from that time forth he did not venture to speak to her in any such
way again or to let his love be seen, but kept the fire hidden within
his breast until the day when his master had gone from home and his
mistress was at vespers at St. Florentin,(3) the castle church, a long
way from the muleteer’s house.

     3 The Church of St. Florentin here mentioned must not be
     confounded with that of the same name near one of the gates
     of Amboise. Erected in the tenth century by Foulques Nera of
     Anjou, it was a collegiate church, and was attended by the
     townsfolk, although it stood within the precincts of the
     château. For this reason Queen Margaret calls it the castle
     church.--Ed.

Whilst he was alone the fancy took him that he might obtain by force
what neither prayer nor service had availed to procure him, and
accordingly he broke through a wooden partition which was between
the chamber where his mistress slept and his own. The curtains of his
master’s bed on the one side and of the servant’s bed on the other
so covered the walls as to hide the opening he had made; and thus his
wickedness was not perceived until his mistress was in bed, together
with a little girl eleven or twelve years old.

When the poor woman was in her first sleep, the servant, in his shirt
and with his naked sword in his hand, came through the opening he had
made in the wall into her bed; but as soon as she felt him beside her,
she leaped out, addressing to him all such reproaches as a virtuous
woman might utter. His love, however, was but bestial, and he would
have better understood the language of his mules than her honourable
reasonings; indeed, he showed himself even more bestial than the beasts
with whom he had long consorted. Finding she ran so quickly round a
table that he could not catch her, and that she was strong enough to
break away from him twice, he despaired of ravishing her alive, and
dealt her a terrible sword-thrust in the loins, thinking that, if fear
and force had not brought her to yield, pain would assuredly do so.

The contrary, however, happened, for just as a good soldier, on seeing
his own blood, is the more fired to take vengeance on his enemies and
win renown, so her chaste heart gathered new strength as she ran fleeing
from the hands of the miscreant, saying to him the while all she could
think of to bring him to see his guilt. But so filled was he with rage
that he paid no heed to her words. He dealt her several more thrusts, to
avoid which she continued running as long as her legs could carry her.

When, after great loss of blood, she felt that death was near, she
lifted her eyes to heaven, clasped her hands and gave thanks to God,
calling Him her strength, her patience, and her virtue, and praying
Him to accept her blood which had been shed for the keeping of His
commandment and in reverence of His Son, through whom she firmly
believed all her sins to be washed away and blotted out from the
remembrance of His wrath.

As she was uttering the words, “Lord, receive the soul that has been
redeemed by Thy goodness,” she fell upon her face to the ground.

Then the miscreant dealt her several thrusts, and when she had lost both
power of speech and strength of body, and was no longer able to make any
defence, he ravished her.(4)

     4 Brantôme, in his account of Mary Queen of Scots, quotes
     this story. After mentioning that the headsman remained
     alone with the Queen’s decapitated corpse, he adds: “He then
     took off her shoes and handled her as he pleased. It is
     suspected that he treated her in the same way as that
     miserable muleteer, in the Hundred Stories of the Queen of
     Navarre, treated the poor woman he killed. Stranger
     temptations than this come to men. After he (the
     executioner) had done as he chose, the (Queen’s) body was
     carried into a room adjoining that of her servants.”
      Lalanne’s _OEuvres de Brantôme_, vol. vii. p. 438.--M.

Having thus satisfied his wicked lust, he fled in haste, and in spite of
all pursuit was never seen again.

The little girl, who was in bed with the muleteer’s wife, had hidden
herself under the bed in her fear; but on seeing that the man was gone,
she came to her mistress. Finding her to be without speech or movement,
she called to the neighbours from the window for aid; and as they loved
and esteemed her mistress as much as any woman that belonged to the
town, they came forthwith, bringing surgeons with them. The latter
found that she had received twenty-five mortal wounds in her body, and
although they did what they could to help her, it was all in vain.

Nevertheless she lingered for an hour longer without speaking, yet
making signs with eye and hand to show that she had not lost her
understanding. Being asked by a priest in what faith she died, she
answered, by signs as plain as any speech, that she placed her hope of
salvation in Jesus Christ alone; and so with glad countenance and eyes
upraised to heaven her chaste body yielded up its soul to its Creator.

Just as the corpse, having been laid out and shrouded,(5) was placed
at the door to await the burial company, the poor husband arrived and
beheld his wife’s body in front of his house before he had even received
tidings of her death. He inquired the cause of this, and found that he
had double occasion to grieve; and his grief was indeed so great that it
nearly killed him.

     5 Common people were then buried in shrouds, not in coffins.
     --Ed.

This martyr of chastity was buried in the Church of St. Florentin, and,
as was their duty, all the upright women of Amboise failed not to show
her every possible honour, deeming themselves fortunate in belonging to
a town where so virtuous a woman had been found. And seeing the honour
that was shown to the deceased, such women as were wanton and unchaste
resolved to amend their lives.

“This, ladies, is a true story, which should incline us more strongly to
preserve the fair virtue of chastity. We who are of gentle blood should
die of shame on feeling in our hearts that worldly lust to avoid which
the poor wife of a muleteer shrank not from so cruel a death. Some
esteem themselves virtuous women who have never like this one resisted
unto the shedding of blood. It is fitting that we should humble
ourselves, for God does not vouchsafe His grace to men because of their
birth or riches, but according as it pleases His own good-will. He pays
no regard to persons, but chooses according to His purpose; and he whom
He chooses He honours with all virtues. And often He chooses the lowly
to confound those whom the world exalts and honours; for, as He Himself
hath told us, ‘Let us not rejoice in our merits, but rather because our
names are written in the Book of Life, from which nor death, nor hell,
nor sin can blot them out.’” (6)

     6  These are not the exact words of Scripture, but a
     combination of several passages from the Book of
     Revelation.--Ed.

There was not a lady in the company but had tears of compassion in her
eyes for the pitiful and glorious death of the muleteer’s wife. Each
thought within herself that, should fortune serve her in the same way,
she would strive to imitate this poor woman in her martyrdom. Oisille,
however, perceiving that time was being lost in praising the dead woman,
said to Saffredent--

“Unless you can tell us something that will make the company laugh, I
think none of them will forgive me for the fault I have committed in
making them weep; wherefore I give you my vote for your telling of the
third story.”

Saffredent, who would gladly have recounted something agreeable to the
company, and above all to one amongst the ladies, said that it was
not for him to speak, seeing that there were others older and better
instructed than himself, who should of right come first. Nevertheless,
since the lot had fallen upon himself, he would rather have done with it
at once, for the more numerous the good speakers before him, the worse
would his own tale appear.

[Illustration: 064.jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 065a.jpg The Stags Head]

[The King Joking upon the Stag’s Head being A fitting Decoration]

[Illustration: 065.jpg Page Image]




_TALE III._

     _The Queen of Naples, being wronged by King Alfonso, her
     husband, revenged herself with a gentleman whose wife was
     the King’s mistress; and this intercourse lasted all their
     lives without the King at any time having suspicion of
     it_.(1)

I have often desired, ladies, to be a sharer in the good fortune of the
man whose story I am about to relate to you. You must know that in the
time of King Alfonso,(2) whose lust was the sceptre of his kingdom,(3)
there lived in the town of Naples a gentleman, so honourable, comely,
and pleasant that his perfections induced an old gentleman to give him
his daughter in marriage.

     1  This story is historical. The events occurred at Naples
     cir. 1450.--L.

     2  The King spoken of in this story must be Alfonso V., King
     of Aragon, who was born in 1385, and succeeded his father,
     Ferdinand the Just, in 1416. He had already made various
     expeditions to Sardinia and Corsica, when, in 1421, Jane II.
     of Naples begged of him to assist her in her contest against
     Louis of Anjou. Alfonso set sail for Italy as requested, but
     speedily quarrelled with Jane, on account of the manner in
     which he treated her lover, the Grand Seneschal Caraccioli.
     Jane, at her death in 1438, bequeathed her crown to René,
     brother of Louis of Anjou, whose claims Alfonso immediately
     opposed. Whilst blockading Gaëta he was defeated and
     captured, but ultimately set at liberty, whereupon he
     resumed the war. In 1442 he at last secured possession of
     Naples, and compelled René to withdraw from Italy. From that
     time Alfonso never returned to Spain, but settling himself
     in his Italian dominions, assumed the title of King of the
     Two Sicilies. He obtained the surname of the Magnanimous,
     from his generous conduct towards some conspirators, a list
     of whose names he tore to pieces unread, saying, “I will
     show these noblemen that I have more concern for their lives
     than they have themselves.” The surname of the Learned was
     afterwards given to him from the circumstance that, like his
     rival René of Anjou, he personally cultivated letters, and
     also protected many of the leading learned men of Italy.
     Alfonso was fond of strolling about the streets of Naples
     unattended, and one day, when he was cautioned respecting
     this habit, he replied, “A father who walks abroad in the
     midst of his children has no cause for fear.” Whilst
     possessed of many remarkable qualities, Alfonso, as Muratori
     and other writers have shown, was of an extremely licentious
     disposition. That he had no belief in conjugal fidelity is
     evidenced by his saying that “to ensure domestic happiness
     the husband should be deaf and the wife blind.” He himself
     had several mistresses, and lived at variance with his wife,
     respecting whom some particulars are given in a note on page
     69. He died in 1458, at the age of seventy-four, bequeathing
     his Italian possessions to Ferdinand, Duke of Calabria, his
     natural son by a Spanish beauty named Margaret de Hijar. It
     may be added that Brantôme makes a passing allusion to this
     tale of the _Heptameron_ in his _Vies des Dames Galantes_
     (Disc, i.), styling it “a very fine one.”--L. and Ed.

     3 Meaning that he  employed his  sovereign authority for the
     accomplishment of his amorous desires.--M.

She vied with her husband in grace and comeliness, and there was great
love between them, until a certain day in Carnival time, when the King
went masked from house to house. All strove to give him the best
welcome they could, but when he came to this gentleman’s house he
was entertained better than anywhere else, what with sweetmeats,
and singers, and music, and, further, the fairest woman that, to his
thinking, he had ever seen. At the end of the feast she sang a song with
her husband in so graceful a fashion that she seemed more beautiful than
ever.

The King, perceiving so many perfections united in one person, was not
over pleased at the gentle harmony between the husband and wife, and
deliberated how he might destroy it. The chief difficulty he met with
was in the great affection which he observed existed between them, and
on this account he hid his passion in his heart as deeply as he could.
To relieve it in some measure, he gave many entertainments to the lords
and ladies of Naples, and at these the gentleman and his wife were not
forgotten. Now, inasmuch as men willingly believe what they desire, it
seemed to the King that the glances of this lady gave him fair promise
of future happiness, if only she were not restrained by her husband’s
presence. Accordingly, that he might learn whether his surmise was
true, the King intrusted a commission to the husband, and sent him on a
journey to Rome for a fortnight or three weeks.

As soon as the gentleman was gone, his wife, who had never before been
separated from him, was in great distress; but the King comforted her as
often as he was able, with gentle persuasions and presents, so that
at last she was not only consoled, but well pleased with her husband’s
absence. Before the three weeks were over at the end of which he was to
be home again, she had come to be so deeply in love with the King that
her husband’s return was no less displeasing to her than his departure
had been. Not wishing to be deprived of the King’s society, she agreed
with him that whenever her husband went to his country-house she would
give him notice of it. He might then visit her in safety, and with such
secrecy that her honour, which she regarded more than her conscience,
would not suffer.(4)

     4 The edition of 1558 is here followed, the MSS. being
     rather obscure.--M.

Having this hope, the lady continued of very cheerful mind, and when her
husband arrived she welcomed him so heartily that, even had he been
told that the King had sought her in his absence, he would have had no
suspicion. In course of time, however, the flame, that is so difficult
of concealment, began to show itself, and the husband, having a strong
inkling of the truth, kept good watch, by which means he was well-nigh
convinced. Nevertheless, as he feared that the man who wronged him
would treat him still worse if he appeared to notice it, he resolved to
dissemble, holding it better to live in trouble than to risk his life
for a woman who had ceased to love him.

In his vexation of spirit, however, he resolved, if he could, to retort
upon the King, and knowing that women, especially such as are of lofty
and honourable minds, are more moved by resentment than by love, he made
bold one day while speaking with the Queen (5) to tell her that it moved
his pity to see her so little loved by the King.

     5 This was Mary (daughter of Henry III. of Castile), who was
     married to King Alfonso at Valencia on June 29, 1415. Juan
     de Mariana, the Spanish historian, records that the ceremony
     was celebrated with signal pomp by the schismatical Pope
     Benedict XIII. The bride brought her husband a dowry of
     200,000 ducats, and also various territorial possessions.
     The marriage, however, was not a happy one, on account of
     Alfonso’s licentious disposition, and the Queen is said to
     have strangled one of his mistresses, Margaret de Hijar, in
     a fit of jealousy. Alfonso, to escape from his wife’s
     interference, turned his attention to foreign expeditions.
     According to the authors of _L’Art de Vérifier les Dates_,
     Queen Mary never once set foot in Italy, and this statement
     is borne out by Mariana, who shows that whilst Alfonso was
     reigning in Naples his wife governed the kingdom of Aragon,
     making war and signing truces and treaties of peace with
     Castile. In the _Heptameron_, therefore, Margaret departs
     from historical accuracy when she represents the Queen as
     residing at Naples with her husband. Moreover, judging by
     the date of Mary’s marriage, she could no longer have been
     young when Alfonso secured the Neapolitan throne. It is to
     be presumed that the Queen of Navarre designedly changed the
     date of her story, and that the incidents referred to really
     occurred in Spain prior to Alfonso’s departure for Italy.
     There is no mention of Mary in her husband’s will, a
     remarkable document which is still extant. A letter written
     to her by Pope Calixtus II. shows that late in life the King
     was desirous of repudiating her to marry an Italian mistress
     named Lucretia Alania. The latter repaired to Rome to
     negotiate the affair, but the Pope refused to treat with
     her, and wrote to Mary saying that she must be prudent, but
     that he would not dissolve the marriage, lest God should
     punish him for participating in so great a crime. Mary died
     a few months after her husband in 1458, and was buried in a
     convent at Valencia.--L. and Ed.

The Queen, who had heard of the affection that existed between the King
and the gentleman’s wife, replied--

“I cannot have both honour and pleasure together. I well know that I
have the honour whilst another has the pleasure; and in the same way she
who has the pleasure has not the honour that is mine.”

Thereupon the gentleman, who understood full well at whom these words
were aimed, replied--

“Madam, honour is inborn with you, for your lineage is such that no
title, whether of queen or empress, could be an increase of nobility;
yet your beauty, grace, and virtue are well deserving of pleasure, and
she who robs you of what is yours does a greater wrong to herself than
to you, seeing that for a glory which is turned to her shame, she loses
as much pleasure as you or any lady in the realm could enjoy. I can
truly tell you, madam, that were the King to lay aside his crown, he
would not possess any advantage over me in satisfying a lady; nay, I
am sure that to content one so worthy as yourself he would indeed be
pleased to change his temperament for mine.”

The Queen laughed and replied--

“The King may be of a less vigorous temperament than you, yet the love
he bears me contents me well, and I prefer it to any other.”

“Madam,” said the gentleman, “if that were so, I should have no pity for
you. I feel sure that you would be well pleased if the like of your own
virtuous love were found in the King’s heart; but God has withheld this
from you in order that, not finding what you desire in your husband, you
may not make him your god on earth.”

“I confess to you,” said the Queen, “that the love I bear him is so
great that the like could not be found in any other heart but mine.”

“Pardon me, madam,” said the gentleman; “you have not fathomed the love
of every heart. I will be so bold as to tell you that you are loved by
one whose love is so great and measureless that your own is as nothing
beside it. The more he perceives that the King’s love fails you, the
more does his own wax and increase, in such wise that, were it your
pleasure, you might be recompensed for all you have lost.”

The Queen began to perceive, both from these words and from the
gentleman’s countenance, that what he said came from the depth of his
heart. She remembered also that for a long time he had so zealously
sought to do her service that he had fallen into sadness. She had
hitherto deemed this to be on account of his wife, but now she was
firmly of belief that it was for love of herself. Moreover, the very
quality of love, which compels itself to be recognised when it is
unfeigned, made her feel certain of what had been hidden from every one.
As she looked at the gentleman, who was far more worthy of being loved
than her husband, she reflected that he was forsaken by his wife, as
she herself was by the King; and then, beset by vexation and jealousy
against her husband, as well as moved by the love of the gentleman, she
began with sighs and tearful eyes to say--

“Ah me! shall revenge prevail with me where love has been of no avail?”

The gentleman, who understood what these words meant, replied--

“Vengeance, madam, is sweet when in place of slaying an enemy it gives
life to a true lover.(6) Methinks it is time that truth should cause you
to abandon the foolish love you bear to one who loves you not, and that
a just and reasonable love should banish fear, which cannot dwell in a
noble and virtuous heart. Come, madam, let us set aside the greatness
of your station and consider that, of all men and women in the world, we
are the most deceived, betrayed, and bemocked by those whom we have most
truly loved. Let us avenge ourselves, madam, not so much to requite them
in the way they deserve as to satisfy that love which, for my own part,
I cannot continue to endure and live. And I think that, unless your
heart be harder than flint or diamond, you cannot but feel some spark
from the fires which only increase the more I seek to conceal them. If
pity for me, who am dying of love for you, does not move you to love
me, at least pity for yourself should do so. You are so perfect that you
deserve to win the heart of every honourable man in the world, yet you
are contemned and forsaken by him for whose sake you have scorned all
others.”

     6 The above sentence being omitted in the MS. followed in
     this edition, it has been supplied from MS. No. 1520 in the
     Bibliothèque Nationale.--L.

On hearing these words the Queen was so greatly moved that, for fear
of showing in her countenance the trouble of her mind, she took the
gentleman’s arm and went forth into a garden that was close to her
apartment. There she walked to and fro for a long time without being
able to say a word to him. The gentleman saw that she was half won, and
when they were at the end of the path, where none could see them, he
made a very full declaration of the love which he had so long hidden
from her. They found that they were of one mind in the matter, and
enacted (7) the vengeance which they were no longer able to forego.
Moreover, they there agreed that whenever the husband went into the
country, and the King left the castle to visit the wife in the town, the
gentleman should always return and come to the castle to see the Queen.
Thus, the deceivers being themselves deceived, all four would share in
the pleasures that two of them had thought to keep to themselves.

     7 This expression has allusion to the mysteries or religious
     plays so frequently performed in the fifteenth and sixteenth
     centuries. The Mystery of Vengeance, which depicted the
     misfortunes which fell upon those who had taken part in the
     crucifixion of Jesus Christ, such as Pontius Pilate, &c, and
     ended by the capture and destruction of Jerusalem, properly
     came after the Mysteries of the Passion and the
     Resurrection.--L.

When the agreement had been made, the Queen returned to her apartment
and the gentleman to his house, both being so well pleased that they had
forgotten all their former troubles. The jealousy they had previously
felt at the King’s visits to the lady was now changed to desire, so that
the gentleman went oftener than usual to his house in the country, which
was only half a league distant. As soon as the King was advised of his
departure, he never failed to go and see the lady; and the gentleman,
when night was come, betook himself to the castle to the Queen, where
he did duty as the King’s lieutenant, and so secretly that none ever
discovered it.

This manner of life lasted for a long time; but as the King was a person
of public condition, he could not conceal his love sufficiently well to
prevent it from coming at length to the knowledge of every one; and
all honourable people felt great pity for the gentleman, though divers
malicious youths were wont to deride him by making horns at him behind
his back. But he knew of their derision, and it gave him great pleasure,
so that he came to think as highly of his horns as of the King’s crown.

One day, however, the King and the gentleman’s wife, noticing a stag’s
head that was set up in the gentleman’s house, could not refrain in his
presence from laughing and saying that the head was suited to the house.
Soon afterwards the gentleman, who was no less spirited than the King,
caused the following words to be written over the stag’s head:--


     “Io porto le corna, ciascun lo vede, Ma tal le porta che no lo
          crede.” (8)


     8 “All men may see the horns I’ve got, But one wears horns
     and knows it not.”

When the King came again to the house, he observed these lines newly
written, and inquired their meaning of the gentleman, who said--

“If the King’s secret be hidden from the subject, it is not fitting that
the subject’s secret should be revealed to the King. Be content with
knowing that those who wear horns do not always have their caps raised
from their heads. Some horns are so soft that they never uncap one, and
especially are they light to him who thinks he has them not.”

The King perceived by these words that the gentleman knew something of
his own behaviour, but he never had any suspicion of the love between
him and the Queen; for the more pleased the latter was with the life led
by her husband, the more did she feign to be distressed by it. And so on
either side they lived in this love, until at last old age took them in
hand.

“Here, ladies, is a story by which you may be guided, for, as I
willingly confess, it shows you that when your husbands give you bucks’
horns you can give them stags’ horns in return.”

“I am quite sure, Saffredent,” began Ennasuite laughing, “that if you
still love as ardently as you were formerly wont to do, you would
submit to horns as big as oak-trees if only you might repay them as
you pleased. However, now that your hair is growing grey, it is time to
leave your desires in peace.”

“Fair lady,” said Saffredent, “though I be robbed of hope by the woman I
love, and of ardour by old age, yet it lies not in my power to weaken
my inclination. Since you have rebuked me for so honourable a desire,
I give you my vote for the telling of the fourth tale, that we may see
whether you can bring forward some example to refute me.”

During this converse one of the ladies fell to laughing heartily,
knowing that she who took Saffredent’s words to herself was not so loved
by him that he would have suffered horns, shame, or wrong for her sake.
When Saffredent perceived that the lady who laughed understood him, he
was well satisfied and became silent, so that Ennasuite might begin;
which she did as follows--

“In order, ladies, that Saffredent and the rest of the company may know
that all ladies are not like the Queen he has spoken of, and that all
foolhardy and venturesome men do not compass their ends, I will tell
you a story in which I will acquaint you with the opinion of a lady who
deemed the vexation of failure in love to be harder of endurance than
death itself. However, I shall give no names, because the events are so
fresh in people’s minds that I should fear to offend some who are near
of kin.”

[Illustration: 078.jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 079a.jpg Hurrying to her Mistress’s Assistance]

[The Princess’s Lady of Honour hurrying to her Mistress’s Assistance]

[Illustration: 079.jpg Page Image]




_TALE IV_.

     _A young gentleman sought to discover whether the offer of
     an honour-able love would be displeasing to his master’s
     sister, a lady of the most illustrious lineage in Flanders,
     who had been twice widowed, and was a woman of muck spirit.
     Meeting with a reply contrary to his desires, he attempted
     to possess her by force; but she resisted him successfully,
     and by the advice of her lady of honour, without seeming to
     take notice of his designs and efforts, gradually ceased to
     regard him with the favour with which she had been wont to
     treat him. Thus, by his foolhardy presumption, he lost the
     honourable and habitual companionship which, more than
     others, he had had with her_.(1)

     1 This story is historical, and the incidents must have
     occurred between 1520 and 1525.--L.

There lived in the land of Flanders a lady of such high lineage, that
none more illustrious could be found. She was a widow, both her first
and second husbands being dead, and she had no children living. During
her widowhood she lived in retirement with her brother, by whom she was
greatly loved, and who was a very great lord and married to the daughter
of a King. This young Prince was a man much given to pleasure, fond of
hunting, pastimes, and women, as his youth inclined him. He had a
wife, however, who was of a very froward disposition, (2) and found no
pleasure in her husband’s pursuits; wherefore this Lord always took
his sister along with his wife, for she was a most joyous and pleasant
companion, and withal a discreet and honourable woman.

In this Lord’s household there was a gentleman who, for stature,
comeliness, and grace, surpassed all his fellows. This gentleman, (3)
perceiving that his master’s sister was of merry mood and always ready
for a laugh, was minded to try whether the offer of an honourable love
would be displeasing to her.

     2  The young prince here mentioned is Francis I., who at
     this period was between twenty-five and thirty years old.
     The froward wife is Claude of France (daughter of Louis XII.
     and Anne of Brittany), whom Francis married in 1514, and who
     died of consumption at Blois ten years later, while the King
     was on his way to conquer Milan. (See the Memoir of
     Margaret, pp. xxvi. and xxxv.)--Ed.

     3  According to Brantôme, the Lady of Flanders, the young
     Prince’s sister, was Queen Margaret herself, and the
     gentleman who paid court to her was William Gouffier, Lord
     of Bonnivet, of Crevecoeur, Thois, and Querdes, and also a
     favourite of Francis I., with whom he was brought up, and by
     whom he was employed in all the great enterprises of the
     time. Bonnivet became Admiral of France in 1517, and two
     years later he was created governor of Dauphiné, and
     guardian of the Dauphin’s person. He negotiated the peace
     and alliance with Henry VIII., and arranged all the
     preliminaries of the interview known as the Field of the
     Cloth of Gold (1520). In 1521, says Anselme in his _Histoire
     Généalogique_, Bonnivet became governor of Guienne,
     commanded the army sent to Navarre, and captured Fontarabia.
     In 1524 he was despatched to Italy as lieutenant-general,
     and besieged Milan, but was repeatedly repulsed, and finally
     fell back on the Ticino. He was killed at Pavia (February
     24, 1525), and was largely responsible for that disastrous
     defeat, having urged Francis I. to give battle, contrary to
     the advice of the more experienced captains. Bonnivet, as
     mentioned by Queen Margaret in this story, had the
     reputation of being one of the handsomest men of his time.--
     L.

He made this offer, but the answer that he received from her was
contrary to his desires. However, although her reply was such as
beseemed a Princess and a woman of true virtue, she readily pardoned his
hardihood for the sake of his comeliness and breeding, and let him know
that she bore him no ill-will for what he had said. But she charged him
never to speak to her after that fashion again; and this he promised,
that he might not lose the pleasure and honour of her conversation.
Nevertheless, as time went on, his love so increased that he forgot the
promise he had made. He did not, however, risk further trial of words,
for he had learned by experience, and much against his will, what
virtuous replies she was able to make. But he reflected that if he could
take her somewhere at a disadvantage, she, being a widow, young, lusty,
and of a lively humour, would perchance take pity on him and on herself.

To compass his ends, he told his master that excellent hunting was to
be had in the neighbourhood of his house, and that if it pleased him
to repair thither and hunt three or four stags in the month of May, he
could have no finer sport. The Lord granted the gentleman’s request, as
much for the affection he bore him as for the pleasure of the chase, and
repaired to his house, which was as handsome and as fairly ordered as
that of the richest gentleman in the land.

The Lord and his Lady were lodged on one side of the house, and she whom
the gentleman loved more than himself on the other. Her apartment was
so well arranged, tapestried above and matted below,(4) that it was
impossible to perceive a trap-door which was by the side of her bed, and
which opened into a room beneath, that was occupied by the gentleman’s
mother.(5)

     4  In most palaces and castles at this period the walls were
     covered with tapestry and the floors with matting. This
     remark is necessary to enable one to understand Bonnivet’s
     stratagem.--D.

     5  Philippa de Montmorency, second wife of William Gouffier,
     Lord of Boissy, who was Bonnivet’s father (Anselme’s
     _Histoire Généalogique_, vol. vii. p. 880).--L.

She being an old lady, somewhat troubled by rheum, and fearful lest the
cough she had should disturb the Princess, made exchange of chambers
with her son. In the evening this old lady was wont to bring sweetmeats
to the Princess for her collation,(6) at which the gentleman was
present; and being greatly beloved by her brother and intimate with him,
he was also suffered to be present when she rose in the morning and when
she retired to bed, on which occasions he always found reasons for an
increase of his affection.

     6 At that period the collation, as the supper was called,
     was served at seven in the evening, shortly before the
     curfew.--B. J.

Thus it came to pass that one evening he made the Princess stay up very
late, until at last, being desirous of sleep, she bade him leave her.
He then went to his own room, and there put on the handsomest and
best-scented shirt he had, and a nightcap so well adorned that nothing
was lacking in it. It seemed, to him, as he looked at himself in his
mirror, that no lady in the world could deny herself to one of his
comeliness and grace. He therefore promised himself a happy issue to
his enterprise, and so lay down on his bed, where in his desire and sure
hope of exchanging it for one more honourable and pleasant, he looked to
make no very long stay.

As soon as he had dismissed all his attendants he rose to fasten the
door after them; and for a long time he listened to hear whether there
were any sound in the room of the Princess, which was above his own.
When he had made sure that all was quiet, he wished to begin his
pleasant task, and little by little let down the trap-door, which was
so excellently wrought, and so well covered with cloth, that it made not
the least noise. Then he ascended into the room and came to the bedside
of his lady, who was just falling asleep.

Forthwith, having no regard for the duty that he owed his mistress or
for the house to which she belonged, he got into bed with her, without
entreating her permission or making any kind of ceremony. She felt him
in her arms before she knew that he had entered the room; but being
strong, she freed herself from his grasp, and fell to striking, biting,
and scratching him, demanding the while to know who he was, so that
for fear lest she should call out he sought to stop her mouth with the
bedclothes. But this he found it impossible to do, for when she saw
that he was using all his strength to work her shame she did as much
to baffle him. She further called as loudly as she could to her lady of
honour,(7) who slept in her room; and this old and virtuous woman ran to
her mistress in her nightdress.

     7 The lady in question was Blanche de Tournon, daughter of
     James de Tournon, by Jane de Polignac, and sister of
     Cardinal de Tournon, Minister of Francis I. She first
     married Raymond d’Agout,  Baron of Sault in Provence, who
     died in 1503;  and secondly James de Chastillon, Chamberlain
     to Charles VIII. and Louis XII., killed at the siege of
     Ravenna in 1512. Brantôme states, moreover, that she
     subsequently married Cardinal John du Bellay. (See Appendix
     to the’present volume, C.) In this story, Margaret describes
     the Princess of Flanders as having lost two husbands, with
     the view of disguising the identity of her heroine. Her own
     husband (the Duke of Alençon) was still alive; but Madame de
     Chastillon had twice become a widow, and the Queen, who was
     well aware of this, designedly ascribed to the Princess the
     situation of the lady of honour. This story should be
     compared with the poem “Quatre Dames et Quatre
     Gentilhommes” in the _Marguerites de la Marguerite_.--F.

When the gentleman saw that he was discovered, he was so fearful of
being recognised by the lady, that he descended in all haste through his
trap-door; his despair at returning in such an evil plight being no less
than his desire and assurance of a gracious reception had previously
been. He found his mirror and candle on his table,(8) and looking at his
face, all bleeding from the lady’s scratches and bites, whence the blood
was trickling over his fine shirt, which had now more blood than gold
(9) about it, he said--

     8  It is not surprising that the mirror should have been
     lying on the table. Mirrors were for a long time no larger
     than our modern hand-glasses. That of Mary de’ Medici,
     offered to her by the Republic of Venice, and now in the
     Galerie d’Apollon at the Louvre, is extremely small, though
     it has an elaborate frame enriched with precious cameos.
     Even the mirrors placed by Louis XIV. in the celebrated
     Galerie des Glaces at Versailles were no larger than
     ordinary window-panes.--M.

     9  Shirts were then adorned at the collar and in front with
     gold-thread embroidery, such as is shown in some of Clouet’s
     portraits. In M. de Laborde’s _Comptes des Bâtiments du Roi
     au XVIème Siècle_ (vol. ii.) mention is made of “a shirt
     with gold work,” “a shirt with white work,” &c.; and also of
     two beautiful women’s chemises in Holland linen “richly
     worked with gold thread and silk, at the price of six crowns
     apiece.”--M.

“Beauty! now hast thou been rewarded according to thy deserts. By reason
of thy vain promises I attempted an impossible undertaking, and one
that, instead of increasing my happiness, will perchance double my
misfortune. I feel sure that if she knows I made this foolish attempt
contrary to the promise I gave her, I shall lose the honourable and
accustomed companionship which more than any other I have had with her.
And my folly has well deserved this, for if I was to turn my good
looks and grace to any account, I ought not to have hidden them in the
darkness. I should not have sought to take that chaste body by force,
but should have waited in long service and humble patience till love
had conquered her. Without love, all man’s merits and might are of no
avail.”

Thus he passed the night in tears, regrets, and sorrowings such as I
cannot describe; and in the morning, finding his face greatly torn, he
feigned grievous sickness and to be unable to endure the light, until
the company had left his house.

The lady, who had come off victorious, knew that there was no man at her
brother’s Court that durst attempt such an enterprise save him who had
had the boldness to declare his love to her. She therefore concluded
that it was indeed her host, and made search through the room with her
lady of honour to discover how he could have entered it. But in this she
failed, whereupon she said to her companion in great anger--

“You may be sure that it can have been none other than the lord of this
house, and I will make such report of him to my brother in the morning
that his head shall bear witness to my chastity.”

Seeing her in such wrath, the lady of honour said to her--

“Right glad am I, madam, to find you esteem your honour so highly that,
to exalt it, you would not spare the life of a man who, for the love
he bears you, has put it to this risk. But it often happens that one
lessens what one thinks to increase; wherefore, I pray you, madam, tell
me the truth of the whole matter.”

When the lady had fully related the business, the lady of honour said to
her--

“You assure me that he had nothing from you save only scratches and
blows?”

“I do assure you that it was so,” said the lady; “and, unless he find a
rare surgeon, I am certain his face will bear the marks tomorrow.”

“Well, since it is thus, madam,” said the lady of honour, “it seems to
me that you have more reason to thank God than to think of vengeance;
for you may well believe that, since the gentleman had spirit enough
to make such an attempt, his grief at having failed will be harder
of endurance than any death you could award him. If you desire to be
revenged on him, let love and shame do their work; they will torment
him more grievously than could you. And if you would speak out for your
honour’s sake,(10) beware, madam, lest you fall into a mishap like to
his own.

     10 In Boaistuau’s edition this passage runs: “Let love and
     shame do their work, they will know better than you how to
     torment him; and do this for your honour’s sake.    Beware,”
      &c.--L.

He, instead of obtaining the greatest delight he could imagine, has
encountered the gravest vexation any gentleman could endure. So you,
madam, thinking to exalt your honour, may perchance diminish it. If you
make complaint, you will bring to light what is known to none, for you
may rest assured that the gentleman on his side will never reveal aught
of the matter. And even if my lord, your brother, should do justice
to him at your asking, and the poor gentleman should die, yet would it
everywhere be noised abroad that he had had his will of you, and most
people would say it was unlikely a gentleman would make such an attempt
unless the lady had given him great encouragement. You are young and
fair; you live gaily with all; and there is no one at Court but has seen
the kind treatment you have shown to the gentleman whom you suspect.
Hence every one will believe that if he did this deed it was not without
some fault on your side; and your honour, for which you have never had
to blush, will be freely questioned wherever the story is related.”

On hearing the excellent reasoning of her lady of honour, the Princess
perceived that she spoke the truth, and that she herself would, with
just cause, be blamed on account of the close friendship which she had
always shown towards the gentleman. Accordingly she inquired of her lady
of honour what she ought to do.

“Madam,” replied the other, “since you are pleased to receive my
counsels, having regard for the affection whence they spring, it seems
to me you should be glad at heart to think that the most comely and
gallant gentleman I have ever seen was not able, whether by love or by
force, to turn you from the path of true virtue. For this, madam, you
should humble yourself before God, and confess that it was not through
your own merit, for many women who have led straighter lives than you
have been humiliated by men less worthy of love than he. And you should
henceforth be more than ever on your guard against proposals of love;
for many have the second time yielded to dangers which on the first
occasion they were able to avoid. Be mindful, madam, that love is blind,
and that it makes people blind in such wise that the way appears safest
just when it is most slippery. Further, madam, it seems to me that you
should give no sign of what has befallen you, whether to him or to any
one else, and that if he seeks to say anything on the matter, you should
feign not to understand him. In this way you will avoid two dangers,
the one of vain-glory in the victory you have won, and the other of
recalling things so pleasant to the flesh that at mention of them the
chastest can only with difficulty avoid feeling some sparks of the
flame, though they strive their utmost to escape them. (11)

     11 We here follow MS. No. 1520.--L.

Besides this, madam, in order that he may not think he has done anything
pleasing in your sight, I am of opinion you should little by little
withdraw the friendship you have been in the habit of showing him. In
this way he will know how much you scorn his rashness, and how great is
your goodness, since, content with the victory that God has given you,
you seek no further vengeance upon him. And may God give you grace,
madam, to continue in the virtue He has placed in your heart; and,
knowing that all good things come from Him, may you love and serve Him
better than before.”

The Princess determined to abide by the advice of her lady of honour,
and then fell asleep with joy as great as was the sadness of her waking
lover.

On the morrow, the lord, her brother, wishing to depart, inquired for
his host, and was told that he was too ill to bear the light or to hear
any one speak. The Prince was greatly astonished at this, and wished to
go and see the gentleman; however, learning that he was asleep, he would
not awake him, but left the house without bidding him farewell. He took
with him his wife and sister, and the latter, hearing the excuses sent
by the gentleman, who would not see the Prince or any of the company
before their departure, felt convinced that it was indeed he who had so
tormented her, and that he durst not let the marks which she had left
upon his face be seen. And although his master frequently sent for him,
he did not return to Court until he was quite healed of all his wounds,
save only one--namely, that which love and vexation had dealt to his
heart.

When he did return, and found himself in presence of his victorious
foe, he could not but blush; and such was his confusion, that he who had
formerly been the boldest of all the company, was often wholly abashed
before her. Accordingly, being now quite certain that her suspicion was
true, she estranged herself from him little by little, though not so
adroitly that he did not perceive it; but he durst not give any sign
for fear of meeting with something still worse, and so he kept his love
concealed, patiently enduring the disgrace he had so well deserved.(12)

     12 This story is referred to by Brantôme, both in his _Vies
     des Homines illustres et grands Capitaines français_, and in
     his _Vies des Dames galantes_.    See Appendix to the
     present volume (C. ).

“This, ladies, is a story which should be a warning to those who would
grasp at what does not belong to them, and which, further, should
strengthen the hearts of ladies, since it shows the virtue of this young
Princess, and the good sense of her lady of honour. If the like fortune
should befall any among you, the remedy has now been pointed out.”

“It seems to me,” said Hircan, “that the tall gentleman of whom you have
told us was so lacking in spirit as to be unworthy of being remembered.
With such an opportunity as that, he ought not to have suffered any one,
old or young, to baffle him in his enterprise. It must be said, also,
that his heart was not entirely filled with love, seeing that fear of
death and shame found place within it.”

“And what,” replied Nomerfide, “could the poor gentleman have done with
two women against him?”

“He ought to have killed the old one,” said Hircan, “and when the young
one found herself without assistance she would have been already half
subdued.”

“To have killed her!” said Nomerfide. “Then you would turn a lover into
a murderer? Since such is your opinion, it would indeed be a fearful
thing to fall into your hands.”

“If I had gone so far,” said Hircan, “I should have held it
dishonourable not to achieve my purpose.”

Then said Geburon--

“You think it strange that a Princess, bred in all honour, should prove
difficult of capture to one man. You should then be much more astonished
at a poor woman who escaped out of the hands of two.”

“Geburon,” said Ennasuite, “I give my vote to you to tell the fifth
tale, for I think you know something concerning this poor woman that
will not be displeasing to us.”

“Since you have chosen me,” said Geburon, “I will tell you a story which
I know to be true from having made inquiries concerning it on the spot.
By this story you will see that womanly sense and virtue are not in the
hearts and heads of Princesses alone, nor love and cunning in such as
are most often deemed to possess them.”

[Illustration: 094.jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 095a.jpg The Boatwoman of Coulon outwitting the Friars]

[The Boatwoman of Coulon outwitting the Friars]

[Illustration: 095.jpg Page Image]




_TALE V._

     _Two Grey Friars, when crossing the river at the haven of
     Coulon, sought to ravish the boatwoman who was taking them
     over. She, however, being virtuous and Clever, so beguiled
     them with words that, whilst promising to grant their
     request, she deceived them and handed them over to justice.
     They were then delivered up to their warden to receive such
     punishment as they deserved_.

At the haven of Coulon,(1) near Nyort, there lived a boatwoman who, day
or night, did nothing but convey passengers across the ferry.

     1  The village of Coulon, in  Poitou (department of the Deux-
     Sèvres), lies within seven miles of Niort, on the Niortaise
     Sevre, which at this point is extremely wide.--L.

Now it chanced that two Grey Friars from Nyort were crossing the river
alone with her, and as the passage is one of the longest in France, they
began to make love to her, that she might not feel dull by the way. She
returned them the answer that was due; but they, being neither fatigued
by their journeying, nor cooled by the water, nor put to shame by her
refusal, determined to take her by force, and, if she clamoured, to
throw her into the river. She, however, was as virtuous and clever as
they were gross and wicked, and said to them--

“I am not so ill-disposed as I seem to be, but I pray you grant me two
requests. You shall then see that I am more ready to give than you are
to ask.”

The friars swore to her by their good St. Francis that she could ask
nothing that they would not grant in order to have what they desired of
her.

“First of all,” she said, “I require you both to promise on oath that
you will inform no man living of this matter.” This they promised right
willingly.

“Then,” she continued, “I would have you take your pleasure with me one
after the other, for it would be too great a shame for me to have to do
with one in presence of the other. Consider which of you will have me
first.”

They deemed her request a very reasonable one, and the younger friar
yielded the first place to the elder. Then, as they were drawing near a
little island, she said to the younger one--

“Good father, say your prayers here until I have taken your companion to
another island. Then, if he praises me when he comes back, we will leave
him here, and go away in turn together.”

The younger friar leapt out on to the island to await the return of his
comrade, whom the boat-woman took away with her to another island.
When they had reached the bank she said to him, pretending the while to
fasten her boat to a tree--

“Look, my friend, and see where we can place ourselves.”

The good father stepped on to the island to seek for a convenient spot,
but no sooner did she see him on land than she struck her foot against
the tree and went off with her boat into the open stream, leaving both
the good fathers to their deserts, and crying out to them as loudly as
she could--

“Wait now, sirs, till the angel of God comes to console you; for you
shall have nought that could please you from me to-day.”

The two poor monks, perceiving that they had been deceived, knelt down
at the water’s edge and besought her not to put them to such shame; and
they promised that they would ask nothing of her if she would of her
goodness take them to the haven. But, still rowing away, she said to
them--

“I should be doubly foolish if, after escaping out of your hands, I were
to put myself into them again.”

When she had come to the village, she went to call her husband and the
ministers of justice that they might go and take these fierce wolves,
from whose fangs she had by the grace of God escaped. They set out
accompanied by many people, for there was no one, big or little, but
wished to share in the pleasure of this chase.

When the poor brethren saw such a large company approaching, they hid
themselves each in his island, even as Adam did when he perceived his
nakedness in the presence of God.(2) Shame set their sin clearly before
them, and the fear of punishment made them tremble so that they were
half dead. Nevertheless, they were taken prisoners amid the mockings and
hootings of men and women.

Some said, “These good fathers preach chastity to us and then rob our
wives of theirs.” (3)

     2  See _Genesis_ iii. 8-10.

     3  The editions of 1558 and 1560 here contain this
     additional phrase: “They do not dare to touch money with
     bare hands, and yet they willingly finger the thighs of our
     wives, which are more dangerous.”--L.

Others said, “They are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed
appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones and
uncleanness.” (4) Then another voice cried, “By their fruits shall ye
know what manner of trees they are.” (5)

You may be sure that all the passages in the Gospel condemning
hypocrites were brought forward against the unhappy prisoners, who were,
however, rescued and delivered by their Warden,(6) who came in all haste
to claim them, assuring the ministers of justice that he would visit
them with a greater punishment than laymen would venture to inflict, and
that they should make reparation by saying as many masses and prayers as
might be required. The judge granted the Warden’s request and gave the
prisoners up to him; and the Warden, who was an upright man, so dealt
with them that they never afterwards crossed a river without making the
sign of the cross and recommending themselves to God.(7)

     4 St. Matthew xxiii. 27.

     5 “For every tree is known by his own fruit.”--St. Luke vi.
     45.

     6 The Father Superior of the Grey Friars was called the
     Warden.--B.J.

     7 Henry Etienne quotes this story in his _Apologie pour
     Hérodote_, and praises the Queen for thus denouncing the
     evil practices of the friars.--F.

“I pray you, ladies, consider, since this poor boatwoman had the wit to
deceive two such evil men, what should be done by those who have read
of and witnessed so many fair examples, and who have had the goodness of
virtuous ladies ever before their eyes? Indeed, the virtue of well-bred
women is not so much to be called virtue as habit. It is in the women
who know nothing, who hear scarcely two good sermons during the whole
year, who have no leisure to think of aught save the gaining of their
miserable livelihood, and who nevertheless jealously guard their
chastity, hard-pressed as they may be (8)--it is in such women as these
that one discovers the virtue that is natural to the heart. Where
man’s wit and might are smallest, there the Spirit of God performs the
greatest work. And unhappy indeed is the lady who keeps not close ward
over the treasure which brings her so much honour if it be well guarded,
and so much shame if it be neglected.”

     8 Boaistuau’s edition of 1558 here contains the following
     interpolation: “As should be done by those who, having their
     lives provided for, have no occupation save that of studying
     Holy Writ, listening to sermons and preaching, and exerting
     themselves to act virtuously in all things.”--L.

“It seems to me, Geburon,” said Longarine, “that there is no great
virtue in refusing a Grey Friar, and that it would rather be impossible
to love one.”

“Longarine,” replied Geburon, “they who are not accustomed to such
lovers as yours do by no means despise the Grey Friars, for the latter
are as handsome and as strong as we are, and they are readier and
fresher also, for we are worn-out with our service. Moreover, they talk
like angels and are as importunate as the devil, so that such women as
have never seen other robes than their coarse drugget ones,(9) are truly
virtuous when they escape out of their hands.”

     9 Meaning who have never seen gallants in gay apparel.--Ed.

“In faith,” said Nomerfide, in a loud voice, “you may say what you
like, but I would rather be thrown into the river than lie with a Grey
Friar.’’

“So you can swim well?” said Oisille, laughing.

Nomerfide took this question in bad part, for she thought that she
was esteemed by Oisille less highly than she desired. Accordingly she
answered in anger--

“There are some who have refused more agreeable men than Grey Friars
without blowing a trumpet about it.”

Oisille laughed to see her so wrathful, and said to her--

“Still less do they beat a drum about what they have done and granted.”

“I see,” said Geburon, “that Nomerfide wishes to speak. I therefore give
her my vote that she may relieve her heart in telling us some excellent
story.”

“What has just been said,” replied Nomerfide, “touches me so little
that it affords me neither pleasure nor pain. However, since I have your
vote, I pray you listen to me whilst I show that, although one woman
used cunning for a good purpose, others have been crafty for evil’s
sake. Since we have sworn to tell the truth I will not hide it, for just
as the boatwoman’s virtue brings no honour to other women unless
they follow her example, so the vice of another cannot disgrace her.
Wherefore, listen.”

[Illustration: 102.jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 103a.jpg The Wife’s Ruse to secure the Escape of her
Lover]

[The Wife’s Ruse to secure the Escape of her Lover]

[Illustration: 103.jpg Page Image]




_TALE VI_.

     _An old one-eyed valet in the service of the Duke of Alençon
     being advised that his wife was in love with a young man,
     desired to know the truth, and feigned to go away into the
     country for a few days. He returned, however, so suddenly
     that his wife, on whom he was keeping watch, perceived how
     matters stood, and whilst thinking to deceive her, he was
     himself deceived_.

There was in the service of Charles, last Duke of Alençon, an old valet
who had lost an eye, and who was married to a wife much younger than
himself. Now, since his master and mistress liked him as well as any man
of his condition that was in their service, he was not able to visit his
wife as often as he could have wished. Owing to this she so far forgot
her honour and conscience as to fall in love with a young man, and the
affair being at last noised abroad, the husband heard of it. He could
not believe it, however, on account of the many notable tokens of love
that were shown him by his wife.

Nevertheless, he one day determined to put the matter to the test, and
to take revenge, if he were able, on the woman who had put him to such
shame. For this purpose he pretended to go away to a place a short
distance off for the space of two or three days.

As soon as he was gone, his wife sent for her lover, but he had not been
with her for half-an-hour when the husband arrived and knocked loudly at
the door. The wife well knew who it was and told her lover, who was so
greatly confounded that he would fain have been in his mother’s womb,
and cursed both his mistress and the love that had brought him into such
peril. However, she bade him fear nothing, for she would devise a means
to get him away without harm or shame to him, and she told him to dress
himself as quickly as he could. All this time the husband was knocking
at the door and calling to his wife at the top of his voice; but she
feigned not to recognise him, and cried out to the people of the house--

“Why do you not get up and silence those who are making such a clamour
at the door? Is this an hour to come to the houses of honest folk? If my
husband were here he would soon make them desist.”

On hearing his wife’s voice the husband called to her as loudly as he
could--

“Wife, open the door. Are you going to keep me waiting here till
morning?”

Then, when she saw that her lover was ready to set forth, she opened the
door.

“Oh, husband!” she began, “how glad I am that you are come. I have just
had a wonderful dream, and was so pleased that I never before knew such
delight, for it seemed to me that you had recovered the sight of your
eye.” (1)

     1  This is taken from No. xvi. of the _Cent Nouvelles
     Nouvelles_, in which the wife exclaims: “Verily, at the very
     moment when you knocked, my lord, I was greatly occupied
     with a dream about you.”--“And what was it, sweetheart?”
      asks the husband.--“By my faith, my lord,” replies the wife,
     “it really seemed to me that you were come back, that you
     were speaking to me, and that you saw as clearly with one
     eye as with the other.”--Ed.

Then, embracing and kissing him, she took him by the head and covering
his good eye with one hand, she asked him--

“Do you not see better than you did before?”

At that moment, whilst he saw not a whit, she made her lover sally
forth. The husband immediately suspected the trick, and said to her--

“‘Fore God, wife, I will keep watch on you no more, for in thinking to
deceive you, I have myself met with the cunningest deception that ever
was devised. May God mend you, for it is beyond the power of man to put
a stop to the maliciousness of a woman, unless by killing her outright.
However, since the fair treatment I have accorded you has availed
nothing for your amendment, perchance the scorn I shall henceforward
hold you in will serve as a punishment.”

So saying he went away, leaving his wife in great distress. Nevertheless
by the intercession of his friends and her own excuses and tears, he was
persuaded to return to her again.(2)

     2 Although Queen Margaret ascribes the foregoing adventure
     to one of the officers of her husband’s household, and
     declares that the narrative is quite true, the same subject
     had been dealt with by most of the old story-tellers prior
     to her time, and Deslongchamps points out the same incidents
     even in the early Hindoo fables (see the _Pantcha Tantra_,
     book I., fable vi.). A similar tale is to be found in the
     _Gesta Romanorum_ (cap. cxxii.), in the _fabliaux_ collected
     by Legrand d’Aussy (vol. iv., “De la mauvaise femme”), in P.
     Alphonse’s _Disciplina Clericalis_ (fab. vii.), in the
     _Decameron_ (day vii., story vi.), and in the _Cent
     Nouvelles Nouvelles_ (story xvi.). Imitations are also to be
     found in Bandello (part i., story xxiii.), Malespini (story
     xliv.), Sansovino (_Cento Novelle_), Sabadino (_Novelle_),
     Etienne (_Apologiepour Hérodote_, ch. xv. ), De la Monnoye
     (vol. ii.), D’Ouville (_Contes_, vol. ii.), &c.--L. & B. J.

“By this tale, ladies, you may see how quick and crafty a woman is in
escaping from danger. And if her wit be quick to discover the means of
concealing a bad deed, it would, in my belief, be yet more subtle in
avoiding evil or in doing good; for I have always heard it said that wit
to do well is ever the stronger.”

“You may talk of your cunning as much as you please,” said Hircan, “but
my opinion is that had the same fortune befallen you, you could not have
concealed the truth.”

“I had as lief you deemed me the most foolish woman on earth,” she
replied.

“I do not say that,” answered Hircan, “but I think you more likely to be
confounded by slander than to devise some cunning means to silence it.”

“You think,” said Nomerfide, “that every one is like you, who would use
one slander for the patching of another; but there is danger lest the
patch impair what it patches and the foundation be so overladen that
all be destroyed. However, if you think that the subtlety, of which all
believe you to be fully possessed, is greater than that found in women,
I yield place to you to tell the seventh story; and, if you bring
yourself forward as the hero, I doubt not that we shall hear wickedness
enough.”

“I am not here,” replied Hircan, “to make myself out worse than I am;
there are some who do that rather more than is to my liking.”

So saying he looked at his wife, who quickly said--

“Do not fear to tell the truth on my account. I can more easily bear
to hear you relate your crafty tricks than to see them played before my
eyes, though none of them could lessen the love I bear you.”

“For that reason,” replied Hircan, “I make no complaint of all the false
opinions you have had of me. And so, since we understand each other,
there will be more security for the future. Yet I am not so foolish as
to relate a story of myself, the truth of which might be vexatious
to you. I will tell you one of a gentleman who was among my dearest
friends.”

[Illustration: 108.jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 109.jpg The Merchant transferring his Caresses from the
Daughter to the Mother]

[The Merchant transferring his Caresses from the Daughter to the Mother]

[Illustration: 110.jpg Page Image]




_TALE VII_.

     _By the craft and subtlety of a merchant an old woman was
     deceived and the honour of her daughter saved_.

In the city of Paris there lived a merchant who was in love with a young
girl of his neighbourhood, or, to speak more truly, she was more in
love with him than he with her. For the show he made to her of love
and devotion was but to conceal a loftier and more honourable passion.
However, she suffered herself to be deceived, and loved him so much that
she had quite forgotten the way to refuse.

After the merchant had long taken trouble to go where he could see her,
he at last made her come whithersoever it pleased himself. Her mother
discovered this, and being a very virtuous woman, she forbade her
daughter ever to speak to the merchant on pain of being sent to a
nunnery. But the girl, whose love for the merchant was greater than her
fear of her mother, went after him more than ever.

It happened one day, when she was in a closet all alone, the merchant
came in to her, and finding himself in a place convenient for the
purpose, fell to conversing with her as privily as was possible. But
a maid-servant, who had seen him go in, ran and told the mother, who
betook herself thither in great wrath. When the girl heard her coming,
she said, weeping, to the merchant--“Alas! sweetheart, the love that I
bear you will now cost me dear. Here comes my mother, who will know for
certain what she has always feared and suspected.”

The merchant, who was not a bit confused by this accident, straightway
left the girl and went to meet the mother. Stretching out his arms, he
hugged her with all his might, and, with the same ardour with which he
had begun to entertain the daughter, threw the poor old woman on to a
small bed. She was so taken aback at being thus treated that she could
find nothing to say but--“What do you want? Are you dreaming?”

For all that he ceased not to press her as closely as if she had been
the fairest maiden in the world, and had she not cried out so loudly
that her serving-men and women came to her aid, she would have gone by
the same road as she feared her daughter was treading.

However, the servants dragged the poor old woman by main force out of
the merchant’s arms, and she never knew for what reason he had thus
used her. Meanwhile, her daughter took refuge in a house hard by where
a wedding was going on. Since then she and the merchant have ofttimes
laughed together at the expense of the old woman, who was never any the
wiser.

“By this story, ladies, you may see how, by the subtlety of a man, an
old woman was deceived and the honour of a young one saved. Any one
who would give the names, or had seen the merchant’s face and the
consternation of the old woman, would have a very tender conscience
to hold from laughing. It is sufficient for me to prove to you by this
story that a man’s wit is as prompt and as helpful at a pinch as a
woman’s, and thus to show you, ladies, that you need not fear to fall
into men’s hands. If your own wit should fail you, you will find theirs
prepared to shield your honour.”

“In truth, Hircan,” said Longarine, “I grant that the tale is a very
pleasant one and the wit great, but the example is not such as maids
should follow. I readily believe there are some whom you would fain have
approve it, but you are not so foolish as to wish that your wife, or
her whose honour you set higher than her pleasure,(1) should play such
a game. I believe there is none who would watch them more closely or
shield them more readily than you.”

     1  M. Frank, adopting the generally received opinion that
     Hircan is King Henry of Navarre, believes this to be an
     allusion to one of the King’s sisters--Ann, who married the
     Count of Estrac, or Isabel, who married M. de Rohan--but it
     is more likely that Henry’s daughter, Jane d’Albret, is the
     person referred  to.--Ed.

“By my conscience,” said Hircan, “if she whom you mention had done such
a thing, and I knew nothing about it, I should think none the less of
her. For all I know, some one may have played as good a trick on me;
however, knowing nothing, I am unconcerned.”

At this Parlamente could not refrain from saying--

“A wicked man cannot but be suspicious; happy are those who give no
occasion for suspicion.”

“I have never seen a great fire from which there came no smoke,” said
Longarine, “but I have often seen smoke where there was no fire. The
wicked are as suspicious when there is no mischief as when there is.”

“Truly, Longarine,” Hircan forthwith rejoined, “you have spoken so well
in support of the honour of ladies wrongfully suspected, that I give you
my vote to tell the eighth tale. I hope, however, that you will not make
us weep, as Madame Oisille did, by too much praise of virtuous women.”

At this Longarine laughed heartily, and thus began:--“You want me to
make you laugh, as is my wont, but it shall not be at women’s expense.
I will show you, however, how easy it is to deceive them when they are
inclined to be jealous and esteem themselves clever enough to deceive
their husbands.”

[Illustration: 113.jpg Tailpiece]




APPENDIX.




A. (Prologue, Page 31.)

The dedication with which Anthony Le Maçon prefaces his translation of
Boccaccio contains several curious passages. In it Margaret is styled
“the most high and most illustrious Princess Margaret of France, only
sister of the King, Queen of Navarre, Duchess of Alençon and of Berry;”
 while the author describes himself as “Master Anthoine Le Maçon,
Councillor of the King, Receiver General of his finances in Burgundy,
and very humble secretary to this Queen.” He then proceeds to say:--

“You remember, my lady, the time when you made a stay of four or five
months in Paris, during which you commanded me, seeing that I had
freshly arrived from Florence, where I had sojourned during an entire
year, to read to you certain stories of the _Decameron_ of Boccaccio,
after which it pleased you to command me to translate the whole book
into our French language, assuring me that it would be found beautiful
and entertaining. I then made you reply that I felt my powers were
too weak to undertake such a work.... My principal and most reasonable
excuse was the knowledge that I had of myself, being a native of the
land of Dauphiné, where the maternal language is too far removed from
good French.... However, it did not please you to accept any of my
excuses, and you showed me that it was not fitting that the Tuscans
should be so mistaken as to believe that their Boccaccio could not be
rendered in our language as well as it is in theirs, ours having become
so rich and so copious since the accession of the King, your brother, to
the crown, that nothing has ever been written in any language that could
not be expressed in this; and thus your will still was that I should
translate it (the _Decameron_) when I had the leisure to do so. Seeing
this and desiring, throughout my life, to do, if I can, even more than
is possible to obey you, I began some time afterwards to translate one
of the said stories, then two, then three, and finally to the number of
ten or twelve, the best that I could choose, which I afterwards showed
as much to people of the Tuscan nation as to people of ours, who all
made me believe that the stories were, if not perfectly, at least very
faithfully translated. Wherefore, allowing myself to be thus pleasantly
deceived, if deceit there was, I have since set myself to begin the
translation at one end and to finish it at the other....”

This dedicatory preface is followed by an epistle, written in Italian by
Emilio Ferretti, and dated from Lyons, May I, 1545; and by a notice to
the reader signed by Etienne Rosset, the bookseller, who in the King’s
license, dated from St. Germain-en-Laye, Nov. 2, 1544, is described as
“Rosset called the Mower, bookseller, residing in Paris, on the bridge
of St. Michael, at the sign of the White Rose.” The first edition of Le
Maçon’s translation (1545) was in folio; the subsequent ones of 1548,
1551, and 1553 being in octavo. It should be remembered that Le Maçon’s
was by no means the first French version of the _Decameron_. Laurent du
Premier-Faict had already rendered Boccaccio’s masterpiece into French
in the reign of Charles VI., but unfortunately his translation, although
of a pleasing naïveté, was not at all correct, having been made from
a Latin version of the original. Manuscript copies of Laurent’s
translation were to be found in the royal and most of the princely
libraries of the fifteenth century.--Ed.




B. (Tale I., Page 50.)

The letters of remission which at the instance of Henry VIII. were
granted to Michael de St. Aignan in respect of the murder of James du
Mesnil are preserved in the National Archives of France (Register
J. 234, No. 191), and after the usual preamble, recite the culprit’s
petition in these terms:--

“Whereas it appears from the prayer of Michael de St. Aignan, lord of
the said place, (1) that heretofore he for a long time lived and resided
in the town of Alençon in honour and good repute; but, to the detriment
of his prosperity, life, and conduct there were divers evil-minded and
envious persons who by sinister, cunning, and hidden means persecuted
him with all the evils, wiles, and deceits that it is possible to
conceive, albeit the said suppliant had never caused them displeasure,
injury, or detriment; among others, one named James Dumesnil, a young
man, to whom the said suppliant had procured all the pleasure and
advantages that were in his power, and whom he had customarily admitted
to his house, thinking that the said Dumesnil was his loyal friend, and
charging his wife and his servants to treat him when he came as though
he were his brother; by which means St. Aignan hoped to induce the said
Dumesnil to espouse one of his relatives.

     1 This was in all probability the village of St. Aignan on
     the Sarthe, between Moulins-la-Marche and Bazoches, and
     about twenty miles from Alençon. The personage here
     mentioned should not be confounded with Emery de
     Beauvilliers, whom Francis I. created Count of St. Aignan
     (on the Cher), and whose descendants, many of whom were
     distinguished generals and diplomatists, became dukes of the
     same place.--Ed.

“But Dumesnil ill-requited the aforesaid good services and courtesies,
and rendering evil for good, as is the practice of iniquity, endeavoured
to and did cause an estrangement between the said St. Aignan and
his wife, who had always lived together in good, great, and perfect
affection. And the better to effect his purpose he (Dumesnil) gave the
said wife to understand, among other things, that St. Aignan bore her
no affection; that he daily desired her death; that she was mistaken in
trusting him; and other evil things not fitting to be repeated, which
the wife withstood, enjoining Dumesnil not to use such language again,
as should he do so she would repeat it to her husband; but Dumesnil,
persevering, on divers occasions when St. Aignan had absented himself,
gave the wife of the latter to understand that he (St. Aignan) was dead,
devising proofs thereof and conjectures, and thinking that by this means
he would win her favour and countenance. But she still resisted him,
which seeing, the said Dumesnil gave her to understand that St. Aignan
would often absent himself, and that she would be happier if she had a
husband who remained with her. And plotting to compass the death of
the said St. Aignan, Dumesnil gave her to understand that if she would
consent to the death of her husband he would marry her; and, in fact,
he promised to marry her. And whereas she still refused to consent, the
said Dumesnil found a means to gain a servant woman of the house,
who, St. Aignan being absent and his wife in bed, opened the door to
Dumesnil, who compelled the said wife to let him lie with her. And
thenceforward Dumesnil made divers presents to the servant woman, so
that she should poison the said suppliant; and she consented to his
face; but at Easter confessed the matter to St. Aignan, entreating his
forgiveness, and also saying and declaring it to the neighbours. And
the said Dumesnil, knowing that he would incur blame and reproach if the
matter were brought forward, seized and abducted the said servant woman
in all diligence, and took her away from the town, whereby a scandal was
occasioned.

“Moreover, it would appear that the said Dumesnil had been found several
times by night watching the gardens and the door in view of slaying St.
Aignan, as is notorious in Alençon, by virtue of the admission of the
said Dumesnil himself. Whereupon St. Aignan, seeing his wife thus made
the subject of scandal by Dumesnil, enjoined him to abstain from coming
to his house to see his wife, and to consider the outrage and injury he
had already inflicted upon him; declaring moreover that he could endure
no more. To which Dumesnil refused to listen, declaring that he would
frequent the house in spite of every one; albeit, in doing so, he might
come by his death. Thereupon St. Aignan, being acquainted with the
evil obstinacy of Dumesnil and desirous of avoiding greater misfortune,
departed from the town of Alençon, and went to reside in the town of
Argentan, ten leagues distant, whither he took his wife, thinking that
Dumesnil would abstain from coming. Withal he did not abstain, but came
several times to the said town of Argentan, and frequented his (St.
Aignan’s) wife; whereby the people of Argentan were scandalised. And the
said St. Aignan endeavoured to prevent him from coming, and employed
the nurse of his child to remonstrate with Dumesnil, but the latter
persevered, saying and declaring that he would kill St. Aignan, and
would still go to Argentan, albeit it might cause his death. Insomuch
that the said Dumesnil, on the eighth day of this month, departed from
Alençon between two and three o’clock in the morning, a suspicious hour,
having disguised himself and assumed attire unsuited to his calling,
which is that of the law; wearing a Bearnese cloak,(2) a jacket of white
woollen stuff underneath, all torn into strips, with a feathered cap
upon his head, and having his face covered. In this wise he arrived at
the said town of Argentan, accompanied by two young men, and lodged
in the faubourgs at the sign of Notre Dame, and remained there
clandestinely from noon till about eleven o’clock in the evening, when
he asked the host for the key of the backdoor, so that he might go out
on his private affairs, not wishing to be recognised.

“At the said suspicious hour, with his sword at his side,(3) and dressed
and accoutred in the said garments, he started from his lodging with one
of the said young men.

     2  See _ante_, p. 24, note 8.

     3  The French word is _basion_, which in the sixteenth
     century was often used to imply a sword; arquebuses and
     musketoons being termed _basions à feu_ by way of
     distinction. Moreover, it is expressly stated farther on
     that Dumesnil had a sword.--Ed.

“In this wise Dumesnil reached the house of St. Aignan, which he found a
means of entering, and gained a closet up above, near the room where the
said St. Aignan and his wife slept. St. Aignan was without thought
of this, inasmuch as he was ignorant of the enterprise of the said
Dumesnil, being in the living room with one Master Thomas Guérin, who
had come upon business. Now, as St. Aignan was disposing himself to go
to bed, he told one of his servants, named Colas, to bring him his _cas_
(4) and the servant having occasion to go up into a closet in which
St. Aignan’s wife was sleeping, and in which the said Dumesnil was
concealed, the latter, fearing that he might be recognised, suddenly
came out with a drawn sword in his hand; whereupon the said Colas cried:
‘Help! There is a robber!’ And he declared to St. Aignan that he had
seen a strange man who did not seem to be there for any good purpose;
whereupon St. Aignan said to him: ‘One must find out who it is. Is there
occasion for any one to come here at this hour?’ Thereupon Colas went
after the said personage, whom he found in a little alley near the
courtyard behind the house; and the said personage, having suddenly
perceived Colas, endeavoured to strike him on the body with his weapon;
but Colas withstood him and gave him a few blows,(5) for which reason he
cried out ‘Help! Murder!’ Thereupon St. Aignan arrived, having a sword
in his hand; and after him came the said Guérin. St. Aignan, who as yet
did not know Dumesnil on account of his disguise, and also because it
was wonderfully dark, found him calling out: ‘Murder! Confession!’
By which cry the said St. Aignan knew him, and was greatly perplexed,
astonished, and angered, at seeing his enemy at such an hour in his
house, he having been found there, with a weapon, in the closet. And the
said St. Aignan recalling to memory the trouble and worry that Dumesnil
had caused him, dealt him two or three thrusts in hot anger, and then
said to him: ‘Hey! Wretch that thou art, what hast brought thee here?
Wert thou not content with the wrong thou didst me in coming here
previously? I never did thee an ill office.’ Whereupon the said Dumesnil
said: ‘It is true, I have too grievously offended you, and am too
wicked; I entreat your pardon.’ And thereupon he fell to the ground as
if dead; which seeing, the said St. Aignan, realising the misfortune
that had happened, said not a word, but recommended himself to God and
withdrew into his room, where he found his wife in bed, she having heard
nothing.

     4 The _en cas_ was a kind of light supper provided _in case_
     one felt hungry at night-time. Most elaborate _en cas_,
     consisting of several dishes, were frequently provided for
     the kings of France.--Ed.

     5 In the story Margaret asserts that it was Thomas Guérin
     who attacked Dumesnil.--D.

“On the night of the said dispute, and a little later, St. Aignan
went to see what the said Dumesnil was doing, and finding him in the
courtyard dead, he helped to carry him into the stable, being too
greatly incensed to act otherwise. And upon the said Colas asking him
what should be done with the body, St. Aignan paid no heed to this
question, because he was not master of himself; but merely said to Colas
that he might do as he thought fit, and that the body might be interred
in consecrated ground or placed in the street. After which St. Aignan
withdrew into his room and slept with his wife, who had her maids with
her. And on the morrow this same Colas declared to St. Aignan that he
had taken the said body to be buried, so as to avoid a scandal. To all
of which things St. Aignan paid no heed, but on the morrow sent to fetch
the two young men in the service of the said Dumesnil, who were at his
lodging, and had the horses removed from the said lodging, and gave
orders to one of the young men to take them back.

“On account of all which occurrences he (St. Aignan) absented himself,
&c, &c, but humbly entreating us, &c, &c. Wherefore we now give to the
Bailiffs of Chartres and Caen, or to their Lieutenants, and to each of
them severally and to all, &c, &c. Given at Châtelherault, in the month
of July, the year of Grace, one thousand five hundred and twenty-six,
and the twelfth of our reign.

“_Signed: By the King on the report of the Council_:

“De Nogent.”_Visa: contentor_.

“De Nogent.”

     It will be seen that the foregoing petition contains various
     contradictory statements. The closet, for instance, is at
     first described as being near the room in which St. Aignan
     and his wife slept, then it is asserted that the wife slept
     in the closet, but ultimately the husband is shown joining
     his wife in the bed-chamber, where she had heard nothing.
     The character of the narrative is proof of its falsity, and
     Margaret’s account of the affair may readily be accepted as
     the more correct one.--Ed.




C. (Tale IV., Page 85.)

_Les Vies des Dames galantes_ contains the following passage bearing
upon Margaret’s 4th Tale. See Lalanne’s edition of Brantôme’s Works,
vol. ix. p. 678 _et sec_.:--

“I have heard a lady of great and ancient rank relate that the late
Cardinal du Bellay, whilst a Bishop and Cardinal, married Madame de
Chastillon, and died married; and this lady said it in conversing with
Monsieur de Manne, a Provençal of the house of Seulal, and Bishop of
Frejus, who had attended the said Cardinal during fifteen years at
the Court of Rome, and had been one of his private protonotaries. The
conversation turning upon the said Cardinal, this lady asked Monsieur
de Manne if he (the Cardinal) had ever said and confessed to him that he
had been married. It was Monsieur de Manne who was astonished at such a
question. He is still alive and can say if I am telling an untruth, for
I was there. He replied that he had never heard the matter spoken of
either to himself or to others. ‘Then it is I who inform you of it,’
said she, ‘for nothing could be more true but that he was married, and
died really married to Madame de Chastillon.’

“I assure you that I laughed heartily, contemplating the astonished
countenance of Monsieur de Manne, who was most conscientious and
religious, and thought that he had known all the secrets of his late
master; but he was as ignorant as a Gibuan as regards that one, which
was indeed scandalous on account of the holy rank which he (Cardinal du
Bellay) had held.

“This Madame de Chastillon was the widow of the late Monsieur de
Chastillon, of whom it was said that he governed the little King Charles
VIII., with Bourdillon and Bonneval, who governed the royal blood. He
died at Ferrara, where he had been taken to have his wounds dressed,
having been wounded at the siege of Ravenna.

“This lady became a widow when very young and beautiful, and on account
of her being sensible and virtuous she was elected as lady of honour to
the late Queen of Navarre. It was she who gave that fine advice to that
lady and great princess, which is recorded in the hundred stories of the
said Queen--the story of herself and a gentleman who had slipped into
her bed during the night by a trap-door at the bedside, and who wished
to enjoy her, but only obtained by it some fine scratches upon his
handsome face. She (the Queen) wishing to complain to her brother,
Madame de Chastillon made her that fine remonstrance which will be seen
in the story, and gave her that beautiful advice which is one of the
finest, most judicious, and most fitting that could be given to avoid
scandal: did it come even from a first president of (the Parliament of)
Paris. Yet it well showed that the lady was quite as artful and shrewd
in such secret matters as she was sensible and prudent; and for this
reason there is no need for doubt as to whether she kept her affair with
the Cardinal a secret. My grandmother, Madame la Sénéchale of Poitou,
had her place after her death, by election of King Francis who chose and
elected her, and sent to fetch her even in her house, and gave her
with his own hand to the Queen his sister, for he knew her to be a very
well-advised and very virtuous lady, but not so shrewd, or artful, or
ready-witted in such matters as her predecessor, or married either a
second time.

“And if you wish to know to whom the story applies, it is to the Queen
of Navarre herself and Admiral de Bonnivet, as I hold it from my late
grandmother; and yet it seems to me that the said Queen should not have
concealed her name, since the other could not obtain aught from her
chastity, but went off in confusion, and since she herself had meant
to divulge the matter had it not been for the fine and sensible
remonstrance which was made to her by the said lady of honour, Madame de
Chastillon. Whoever has read the story will find that she was a lady of
honour, and I think that the Cardinal, her said husband, who was one of
the best speakers and most learned, eloquent, wise, and shrewd men of
his time, must have instilled into her this science of speaking and
remonstrating so well.”

Brantôme also refers to the story in question in his _Vies des Hommes
illustres et grands Capitaines français_ (vol. ii. p. 162), wherein he
says:--

“There is a tale in the stories of the Queen of Navarre, which speaks of
a lord, the favourite of a king, whom he invited with all his court to
one of his houses, where he made a trap-door in his room conducting to
the bedside of a great princess, in view of lying with her, as he did,
but, as the story relates, he obtained only scratches from her.”

END OF VOL. I.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR THE SOCIETY OF ENGLISH BIBLIOPHILISTS