_TALE XIII_.
_A sea-captain, being greatly in love with a lady, sent her a diamond;but she despatched it to his wife, whom he had long neglected, and inthis wise so atoned for his conduct that his wife was reconciled to himin perfect affection_. (1)
1 M. Le Roux de Lincy believes that this story has some historical basis, and, Louise of Savoy being termed the Regent, he assigns the earlier incidents to the year 1524. But Louise was Regent, for the first time, in 1515, and we incline to the belief that Queen Margaret alludes to this earlier period. Note the reference to a Court journey to Normandy (post, p. 136), which was probably the journey that Francis I. and his mother are known to have made to Rouen and Alencon in the autumn of 1517. See vol. i. p. xxviii.-- Ed. 2 119
In the household of the Lady-Regent, mother of King Francis, there wasa very pious lady married to a gentleman of like mind with herself, and,albeit her husband was old and she was young and pretty, she served andloved him as though he had been the handsomest and youngest man in theworld. So that she might give him no cause for sorrow, she set herselfto live as though she were of the same age as himself, eschewing allsuch company, dress, dances, and amusements as young women are wont tolove, and finding all her pleasure and recreation in the service of God;on which account her husband so loved and trusted her, that she ruledhim and his household as she would.
One day it happened that the gentleman told his wife that from his youthup he had desired to make a journey to Jerusalem, and asked her what shethought of it. She, whose only wish was to please him, replied--
"Since God has withheld children from us, sweetheart, and has grantedus sufficient wealth, I would willingly use some portion of it in makingthis sacred journey with you, for indeed, whether you go thither orelsewhere, I am resolved never to leave you."
At this the good man was so pleased, that it seemed to him as though hewere already on Mount Calvary.
While they were deliberating on this matter, there came to the Courta gentleman, the Captain of a galley, who had often served in the warsagainst the Turks, (2) and was now soliciting the King of France toundertake an expedition against one of their cities, which might yieldgreat advantage to Christendom. The old gentleman inquired of himconcerning this expedition, and after hearing what he intended to do,asked him whether, on the completion of this business, he would makeanother journey to Jerusalem, whither he himself and his wife had agreat desire to go. The Captain was well pleased on hearing of thislaudable desire, and he promised to conduct them thither, and to keepthe matter secret.
2 M. Paul Lacroix, who believes that the heroine of this tale is Margaret herself (she is described as telling it under the name of Parlamente), is also of opinion that the gentleman referred to is the Baron de Malleville, a knight of Malta, who was killed at Beyrout during an expedition against the Turks, and whose death was recounted in verse by Clement Marot (_OEuvres_, 1731, vol. ii. p. 452-455). Margaret's gentleman, however, is represented as being married, whereas M. de Malleville, as a knight of Malta, was necessarily a bachelor. Marot, moreover, calls Malleville a Parisian, whereas the gentleman in the tale belonged to Normandy (see _post_, p. 136).--B. J. and L.
The old gentleman was all impatience to find his wife and tell her ofwhat he had done. She was as anxious to make the journey as her husband,and on that account often spoke about it to the Captain, who, payingmore attention to her person than her words, fell so deeply in lovewith her, that when speaking to her of the voyages he had made, he oftenconfused the port of Marseilles with the Archipelago, and said "horse"when he meant to say "ship," like one distracted and bereft of sense.Her character, however, was such that he durst not give any token ofthe truth, and concealment kindled such fires in his heart that he oftenfell sick, when the lady showed as much solicitude for him as for thecross and guide of her road, (3) sending to inquire after him so oftenthat the anxiety she showed cured him without the aid of any othermedicine.
3 This may simply be an allusion to wayside crosses which serve to guide travellers on their road. M. de Montaiglon points out, however, that in the alphabets used for teaching children in the olden time, the letter A was always preceded by a cross, and that the child, in reciting, invariably began: "The cross of God, A, B, C, D," &c. In a like way, a cross figured at the beginning of the guide-books of the time, as a symbol inviting the traveller to pray, and reminding him upon whom he should rely amid the perils of his journey. The best known French guide-book of the sixteenth century is Charles Estienne's _Guide des Chemins de France_.--M. and Ed.
Several persons who knew that this Captain had been more renowned forvalour and jollity than for piety, were amazed that he should havebecome so intimate with this lady, and seeing that he had changed inevery respect, and frequented churches, sermons, and confessions, theysuspected that this was only in order to win the lady's favour, andcould not refrain from hinting as much to him.
The Captain feared that if the lady should hear any such talk he wouldbe banished from her presence, and accordingly he told her husband andherself that he was on the point of being despatched on his journey bythe King, and had much to tell them, but that for the sake of greatersecrecy he did not desire to speak to them in the presence of others,for which reason he begged them to send for him when they had bothretired for the night. The gentleman deemed this to be good advice, anddid not fail to go to bed early every evening, and to make his wife alsoundress. When all their servants had left them, they used to send forthe Captain, and talk with him about the journey to Jerusalem, in themidst of which the old gentleman would oft-times fall asleep with hismind full of pious thoughts. When the Captain saw the old gentlemanasleep in bed, and found himself on a chair near her whom he deemed thefairest and noblest woman in the world, his heart was so rent betweenhis desires and his dread of speaking that he often lost the powerof speech. In order that she might not perceive this, he would forcehimself to talk of the holy places of Jerusalem where there were suchsigns of the great love that Jesus Christ bore us; and he would speak ofthis love, using it as a cloak for his own, and looking at the ladywith sighs and tears which she never understood. By reason of his devoutcountenance she indeed believed him to be a very holy man, and begged ofhim to tell her what his life had been, and how he had come to love Godin that way.
He told her that he was a poor gentleman, who, to arrive at riches andhonour, had disregarded his conscience in marrying a woman who was tooclose akin to him, and this on account of the wealth she possessed,albeit she was ugly and old, and he loved her not; and when he had drawnall her money from her, he had gone to seek his fortune at sea, and hadso prospered by his toil, that he had now come to an honourable estate.But since he had made his hearer's acquaintance, she, by reason of herpious converse and good example, had changed all his manner of life, andshould he return from his present enterprise he was wholly resolved totake her husband and herself to Jerusalem, that he might thereby partlyatone for his grievous sins which he had now put from him; save that hehad not yet made reparation to his wife, with whom, however, he hopedthat he might soon be reconciled.
The lady was well pleased with this discourse, and especially rejoicedat having drawn such a man to the love and fear of God. And thus, untilthe Captain departed from the Court, their long conversations togetherwere continued every evening without his ever venturing to declarehimself. However, he made the lady a present of a crucifix of Our Ladyof Pity, (4) beseeching her to think of him whenever she looked upon it.
4 "Our Lady of Pity" is the designation usually applied to the Virgin when she is shown seated with the corpse of Christ on her knees. Michael Angelo's famous group at St. Peter's is commonly known by this name. In the present instance, however, Queen Margaret undoubtedly refers to a crucifix showing the Virgin at the foot of the Cross, contemplating her son's sufferings. Such crucifixes were
formerly not uncommon.--M.
The hour of his departure arrived, and when he had taken leave of thehusband, who was falling asleep, and came to bid his lady farewell, hebeheld tears standing in her eyes by reason of the honourable affectionwhich she entertained for him. The sight of these rendered his passionfor her so unendurable that, not daring to say anything concerning it,he almost fainted, and broke out into an exceeding sweat, so that heseemed to weep not only with his eyes, but with his entire body.And thus he departed without speaking, leaving the lady in greatastonishment, for she had never before seen such tokens of regret.Nevertheless she did not change in her good opinion of him, and followedhim with her prayers.
After a month had gone by, however, as the lady was returning to herhouse, she met a gentleman who handed her a letter from the Captain, andbegged her to read it in private.
He told her how he had seen the Captain embark, fully resolved toaccomplish whatever might be pleasing to the King and of advantage toChristianity. For his own part, the gentleman added, he was straightwaygoing back to Marseilles to set the Captain's affairs in order.
The lady withdrew to a window by herself, and opening the letter,found it to consist of two sheets of paper, covered on either side withwriting which formed the following epistle:--
"Concealment long and silence have, alas! Brought me all comfortless to such a pass, That now, perforce, I must, to ease my grief, Either speak out, or seek in death relief. Wherefore the tale I long have left untold I now, in lonely friendlessness grown bold, Send unto thee, for I must strive to say My love, or else prepare myself to slay. And though my eyes no longer may behold The sweet, who in her hand my life doth hold, Whose glance sufficed to make my heart rejoice, The while my ear did listen to her voice,-- These words at least shall meet her beauteous eyes, And tell her all the plaintive, clamorous cries Pent in my heart, to which I must give breath, Since longer silence could but bring me death. And yet, at first, I was in truth full fain To blot the words I'd written out again, Fearing, forsooth, I might offend thine ear With foolish phrases which, when thou wast near, I dared not utter; and 'Indeed,' said I, 'Far better pine in silence, aye, and die, Than save myself by bringing her annoy For whose sweet sake grim death itself were joy.' And yet, thought I, my death some pain might give To her for whom I would be strong, and live: For have I not, fair lady, promised plain, My journey ended, to return again And guide thee and thy spouse to where he now Doth yearn to call on God from Sion's brow? And none would lead thee thither should I die. If I were dead, methinks I see thee sigh In sore distress, for then thou couldst not start Upon that journey, dear unto thy heart. So I will live, and, in a little space, Return to lead thee to the sacred place. Aye, I will live, though death a boon would be Only to be refused for sake of thee. But if I live, I needs must straight remove The burden from my heart, and speak my love, That love more loyal, tender, deep, and true, Than, ever yet, the fondest lover knew. And now, bold words about to wing your flight, What will ye say when ye have reached her sight? Declare her all the love that fills my heart? Too weak ye are to tell its thousandth part! Can ye at least not say that her clear eyes Have torn my hapless heart forth in such wise, That like a hollow tree I pine and wither Unless hers give me back some life and vigour? Ye feeble words! ye cannot even tell How easily her eyes a heart compel; Nor can ye praise her speech in language fit, So weak and dull ye are, so void of wit. Yet there are some things I would have you name-- How mute and foolish I oft time became When all her grace and virtue I beheld; How from my 'raptured eyes tears slowly welled The tears of hopeless love; how my tongue strayed From fond and wooing speech, so sore afraid, That all my discourse was of time and tide, And of the stars which up in Heav'n abide. O words, alas! ye lack the skill to tell The dire confusion that upon me fell, Whilst love thus wracked me; nor can ye disclose My love's immensity, its pains and woes. Yet, though, for all, your powers be too weak, Perchance, some little, ye are fit to speak-- Say to her thus: "Twas fear lest thou shouldst chide That drove me, e'en so long, my love to hide, And yet, forsooth, it might have openly Been told to God in Heaven, as unto thee, Based as it is upon thy virtue--thought That to my torments frequent balm hath brought, For who, indeed, could ever deem it sin To seek the owner of all worth to win? Deserving rather of our blame were he Who having seen thee undisturbed could be.' None such was I, for, straightway stricken sore, My heart bowed low to Love, the conqueror. And ah! no false and fleeting love is mine, Such as for painted beauty feigns to pine; Nor doth my passion, although deep and strong, Seek its own wicked pleasure in thy wrong. Nay; on this journey I would rather die Than know that thou hadst fallen, and that I Had wrought thy shame and foully brought to harm The virtue which thy heart wraps round thy form. 'Tis thy perfection that I love in thee, Nought that might lessen it could ever be Desire of mine--indeed, the nobler thou, The greater were the love I to thee vow. I do not seek an ardent flame to quench In lustful dalliance with some merry wench, Pure is my heart, 'neath reason's calm control Set on a lady of such lofty soul, That neither God above nor angel bright, But seeing her, would echo my delight. And if of thee I may not be beloved, What matter, shouldst thou deem that I have proved The truest lover that did ever live? And this I know thou wilt, one day, believe, For time, in rolling by, shall show to thee No change in my heart's faith and loyalty. And though for this thou mayst make no return, Yet pleased am I with love for thee to burn, And seek no recompense, pursue no end, Save, that to thee, I meekly recommend My soul and body, which I here consign In sacrifice to Love's consuming shrine. If then in safety I sail back the main To thee, still artless, I'll return again; And if I die, then there will die with me A lover such as none again shall see. So Ocean now doth carry far away The truest lover seen for many a day; His body 'tis that journeys o'er the wave, But not his heart, for that is now thy slave, And from thy side can never wrested be, Nor of its own accord return to me. Ah! could I with me o'er the treach'rous brine Take aught of that pure, guileless heart of thine, No doubt should I then feel of victory, Whereof the glory would belong to thee. But now, whatever fortune may befall, I've cast the die; and having told thee all, Abide thereby, and vow my constancy-- Emblem of which, herein, a diamond see, By whose great firmness and whose pure glow The strength and pureness of my love thou'lt know. Let it, I pray, thy fair white finger press, And thou wilt deal me more than happiness. And, diamond, speak and say: 'To thee I come From thy fond lover, who afar doth roam, And strives by dint of glorious deeds to rise To the high level of the good and wise, Hoping some day that haven to attain, Where thy sweet favours shall reward his pain."
The lady read the letter through, and was the more astonished at theCaptain's passion as she had never before suspected it. She looked atthe cutting of the diamond, which was a large and beautiful one, set ina ring of black enamel, and she was in great doubt as to what she oughtto do with it. After pondering upon the matter throughout the night, shewas glad to find that since there was no messenger, she had no occasionto send any answer to the Captain, who, she reflected, was beingsufficiently tried by those matters of the King, his master, which hehad in hand, without being angered by the unfavourable reply which shewas resolved to make to him, though she delayed it until his return.However, she found herself greatly perplexed with regard to the diamond,for she had never been wont to adorn herself at the expense of any buther husband. For this reason, being a woman of excellent understanding,she determined to draw from the ring some profit to the Captain'sconscience. She therefore des
patched one of her servants to theCaptain's wife with the following letter, which was written as though itcame from a nun of Tarascon:--
"MADAM,--Your husband passed this way but a short time before heembarked, and after he had confessed himself and received his Creatorlike a good Christian, he spoke to me of something which he had upon hisconscience, namely, his sorrow at not having loved you as he shouldhave done. And on departing, he prayed and besought me to send you thisletter, with the diamond which goes with it, and which he begs of youto keep for his sake, assuring you that if God bring him back again inhealth and strength, you shall be better treated than ever woman wasbefore. And this stone of steadfastness shall be the pledge thereof.
"I beg you to remember him in your prayers; in mine he will have a placeas long as I live."
This letter, being finished and signed with the name of a nun, was sentby the lady to the Captain's wife. And as may be readily believed, whenthe excellent old woman saw the letter and the ring, she wept for joyand sorrow at being loved and esteemed by her good husband when shecould no longer see him. She kissed the ring a thousand times and more,watering it with her tears, and blessing God for having restored herhusband's affection to her at the end of her days, when she had longlooked upon it as lost. Nor did she fail to thank the nun who had givenher so much happiness, but sent her the fairest reply that she coulddevise. This the messenger brought back with all speed to his mistress,who could not read it, nor listen to what her servant told her, withoutmuch laughter. And so pleased was she at having got rid of the diamondin so profitable a fashion as to bring about a reconciliation betweenthe husband and wife, that she was as happy as though she had gained akingdom.
A short time afterwards tidings came of the defeat and death of the poorCaptain, and of how he had been abandoned by those who ought to havesuccoured him, and how his enterprise had been revealed by the Rhodianswho should have kept it secret, so that he and all who landed with him,to the number of eighty, had been slain, among them being a gentlemannamed John, and a Turk to whom the lady of my story had stood godmother,both of them having been given by her to the Captain that he might takethem with him on his journey. The first named of these had died besidethe Captain, whilst the Turk, wounded by arrows in fifteen places, hadsaved himself by swimming to the French ships.
It was through him alone that the truth of the whole affair becameknown. A certain gentleman whom the poor Captain had taken to be hisfriend and comrade, and whose interests he had advanced with the Kingand the highest nobles of France, had, it appeared, stood out to seawith his ships as soon as the Captain landed; and the Captain, findingthat his expedition had been betrayed, and that four thousand Turks wereat hand, had thereupon endeavoured to retreat, as was his duty. But thegentleman in whom he put such great trust perceived that his friend'sdeath would leave the sole command and profit of that great armament tohimself, and accordingly pointed out to the officers that it would notbe right to risk the King's vessels or the lives of the many brave menon board them in order to save less than a hundred persons, an opinionwhich was shared by all those of the officers that possessed but littlecourage.
So the Captain, finding that the more he called to the ships the fartherthey drew away from his assistance, faced round at last upon the Turks;and, albeit he was up to his knees in sand, he did such deeds of armsand valour that it seemed as though he alone would defeat all hisenemies, an issue which his traitorous comrade feared far more than hedesired it.
But at last, in spite of all that he could do, the Captain receivedso many wounds from the arrows of those who durst not approach withinbowshot, that he began to lose all his blood, whereupon the Turks,perceiving the weakness of these true Christians, charged upon themfuriously with their scimitars; but the Christians, so long as God gavethem strength and life, defended themselves to the bitter end.
Then the Captain called to the gentleman named John, whom his lady lovehad given him, and to the Turk as well, and thrusting the point of hissword into the ground, fell upon his knees beside it, and embraced andkissed the cross, (5) saying--
"Lord, receive into Thy hands the soul of one who has not spared hislife to exalt Thy name."
5 As is well known, before swords were made with shell and stool hilts, the two guards combined with the handle and blade formed a cross. Bayard, when dying, raised his sword to gaze upon this cross, and numerous instances, similar to that mentioned above by Queen Margaret, may be found in the old _Chansons de Geste_.--M.
The gentleman called John, seeing that his master's life was ebbing awayas he uttered these words, thought to aid him, and took him into hisarms, together with the sword which he was holding. But a Turk who wasbehind them cut through both his thighs, whereupon he cried out, "Come,Captain, let us away to Paradise to see Him for whose sake we die," andin this wise he shared the poor Captain's death even as he had sharedhis life.
The Turk, seeing that he could be of no service to either of them, andbeing himself wounded by arrows in fifteen places, made off towardsthe ships, and requested to be taken on board. But although of all theeighty he was the only one who had escaped, the Captain's traitorouscomrade refused his prayer. Nevertheless, being an exceeding goodswimmer, he threw himself into the sea, and exerted himself so well thathe was at last received on board a small vessel, where in a short timehe was cured of his wounds. And it was by means of this poor foreignerthat the truth became fully known, to the honour of the Captain and theshame of his comrade, whom the King and all the honourable people whoheard the tidings deemed guilty of such wickedness toward God and manthat there was no death howsoever cruel which he did not deserve. Butwhen he returned he told so many lies, and gave so many gifts, that notonly did he escape punishment, but even received the office of the manwhose unworthy servant he had been.
When the pitiful tidings reached the Court, the Lady-Regent, who heldthe Captain in high esteem, mourned for him exceedingly, as did the Kingand all the honourable people who had known him. And when the lady whomhe had loved the best heard of his strange, sad, and Christian death,she changed the chiding she had resolved to give him into tears andlamentations, in which her husband kept her company, all hopes of theirjourney to Jerusalem being now frustrated.
I must not forget to say that on the very day when the two gentlemenwere killed, a damsel in the lady's service, who loved the gentlemancalled John better than herself, came and told her mistress that she hadseen her lover ir a dream; he had appeared to her clad in white, and hadbidden her farewell, telling her that he was going to Paradise with hisCaptain. And when the damsel heard that her dream had come true, shemade such lamentation that her mistress had enough to do to comfort her.(6)
6 The Queen of Navarre was a firm believer in the truth and premonitory character of dreams, and according to her biographers she, herself, had several singular ones, two of which are referred to in the Memoir prefixed to the present work (vol. i. pp. lxxxiii. and Ixxxvii.). In some of her letters, moreover, she relates that Francis I., when under the walls of Pavia, on three successive nights beheld his little daughter Charlotte (then dying at Lyons) appear to him in a dream, and on each occasion repeat the words, "Farewell, my King, I am going to Paradise."--Ed.
A short time afterwards the Court journeyed into Normandy, to whichprovince the Captain had belonged. His wife was not remiss in coming topay homage to the Lady-Regent, and in order that she might be presentedto her, she had recourse to the same lady whom her husband had so dearlyloved.
And while they were waiting in a church for the appointed hour, shebegan bewailing and praising her husband, saying among other things tothe lady--
"Alas, madam! my misfortune is the greatest that ever befell a woman,for just when he was loving me more than he had ever done, God took himfrom me."
So saying, and with many tears, she showed the ring which she wore onher finger as a token of her husband's perfect love, whereat the otherlady, finding that her deception
had resulted in such a happy issue,was, despite her sorrow for the Captain's death, so moved to laughter,that she would not present the widow to the Regent, but committed her tothe charge of another lady, and withdrew into a side chapel, where shesatisfied her inclination to laugh.
"I think, ladies, that those who receive such gifts ought to seek to usethem to as good a purpose as did this worthy lady. They would find thatbenefactions bring joy to those who bestow them. And we must not chargethis lady with deceit, but esteem her good sense which turned to goodthat which in itself was worthless."
"Do you mean to say," said Nomerfide, "that a fine diamond, costing twohundred crowns, is worthless? I can assure you that if it had falleninto my hands, neither his wife nor his relations would have seen aughtof it. Nothing is more wholly one's own than a gift. The gentleman wasdead, no one knew anything about the matter, and she might well havespared the poor old woman so much sorrow."
"By my word," said Hircan, "you are right. There are women who, tomake themselves appear of better heart than others, do things that areclearly contrary to their notions, for we all know that women arethe most avaricious of beings, yet their vanity often surpasses theiravarice, and constrains their hearts to actions that they would rathernot perform. My belief is that the lady who gave the diamond away inthis fashion was unworthy to wear it."
"Softly, softly," said Oisille; "I believe I know who she is, and Itherefore beg that you will not condemn her unheard."
"Madam," said Hircan, "I do not condemn her at all; but if the gentlemanwas as virtuous as you say, it were an honour to have such a lover, andto wear his ring; but perhaps some one less worthy of being loved thanhe held her so fast by the finger that the ring could not be put on."
"Truly," said Ennasuite, "she might well have kept it, seeing that noone knew anything about it."
"What!" said Geburon; "are all things lawful to those who love, providedno one knows anything about them?"
"By my word," said Saffredent, "the only misdeed that I have ever seenpunished is foolishness. There is never a murderer, robber, or adulterercondemned by the courts or blamed by his fellows, if only he be ascunning as he is wicked. Oft-time, however, a bad man's wickedness soblinds him that he becomes a fool; and thus, as I have just said, it isthe foolish only that are punished, not the vicious."
"You may say what you please," said Oisille, "only God can judge thelady's heart; but for my part, I think that her action was a veryhonourable and virtuous one. (7) However, to put an end to the debate, Ipray you, Parlamente, to give some one your vote."
7 In our opinion this sentence disposes of Miss Mary Robinson's supposition (_The Fortunate Lovers_, London, 1887, p. 159) that Oisille (i.e., Louise of Savoy) is the real heroine of this tale. Queen Margaret would hardly have represented her commending her own action. If any one of the narrators of the _Heptameron_ be the heroine of the story, the presumptions are in favour of Longarine (La Dame de Lonray), Margaret's bosom friend, whose silence during the after-converse is significant.--Ed.
"I give it willingly," she said, "to Simontault, for after two suchmournful tales we must have one that will not make us weep."
"I thank you," said Simontault. "In giving me your vote you have all buttold me that I am a jester. It is a name that is extremely distastefulto me, and in revenge I will show you that there are women who withcertain persons, or for a certain time, make a great pretence of beingchaste, but the end shows them in their real colours, as you will see bythis true story."
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