Chapter 10

The husband willingly accepted this commission, and, playing the part of a stern executioner, had purchase made of the finest rods that could be found. To show, moreover, how anxious he was not to spare the girl, he caused these rods to be steeped in pickle, so that his poor wife felt far more pity for her maid than suspicion of her husband.

Innocents’ Day being come, the upholsterer rose early in the morning, and, going up to the room where the maid lay all alone, he gave her the Innocents in a different fashion to that which he had talked of with his wife. The maid wept full sore, but it was of no avail. Nevertheless, fearing lest his wife should come upon them, he fell to beating the bed-post with the rods which he had with him in such wise that he barked and broke them; and in this condition he brought them back to his wife, saying--

“Methinks, sweetheart, your maid will remember the Innocents.”

When the upholsterer was gone out of the house, the poor servant threw herself upon her knees before her mistress, telling her that her husband had done her the greatest wrong that was ever done to a serving-maid. The mistress, however, thinking that this merely had reference to the flogging which she believed to have been given, would not suffer the girl to finish, but said to her--

“My husband did well, and only what I have for more than a month been urging him to do. If you were hurt I am very glad to hear it. You may lay it all at my door, and, what is more, he did not even do as much as he ought to have done.”

The serving-maid, finding that her mistress approved of the matter, thought that it could not be so great a sin as she had imagined, the more so as it had been brought to pass by a woman whose virtue was held in such high repute. Accordingly she never afterwards ventured to speak of it.

Her master, however, seeing that his wife was as content to be deceived as he was to deceive her, resolved that he would frequently give her this contentment, and so practised on the serving-maid, that she wept no more at receiving the Innocents.

He continued this manner of life for a great while, without his wife being any the wiser, until there came a time of heavy snow, when, having already given the girl the Innocents on the grass in his garden, he was minded to do the same in the snow. Accordingly, one morning before any one in the house was awake, he took the girl clad in nothing but her shift to make the crucifix in the snow, and while they were pelting each other in sport, they did not forget the game of the Innocents.

This sport, however, was observed by one of their female neighbours who had gone to her window, which overlooked the garden, to see what manner of weather it was, and so wrathful was she at the evil sight, that she resolved to tell her good gossip of it, to the end that she might no longer suffer herself to be deceived by a wicked husband or served by a wanton jade.

After playing these fine pranks, the upholsterer looked about him to see whether any one could perceive him, and to his exceeding annoyance observed his neighbour at her window. But just as he was able to give any colour to his tapestry, so he bethought him to give such a colour to what he had done, that his neighbour would be no less deceived than his wife. Accordingly, as soon as he had gone back to bed again, he made his wife rise in nothing but her shift, and taking her into the garden as he had taken his serving-maid, he played with her for a long time in the snow even as he had played with the other. And then he gave her the Innocents in the same way as he had given them to the maid, and afterwards they returned to bed together.

When the good woman went to mass, her neighbour and excellent friend failed not to be there, and, while unwilling to say anything further, zealously begged of her to dismiss her serving-maid, who was, she said, a very wicked and dangerous wench. This, however, the other would not do without knowing why she thought so ill of the girl, and at last her neighbour related how she had seen the wench that morning in the garden with her husband.

At this the good woman fell to laughing heartily, and said--

“Eh! gossip dear, ‘twas myself!”

“What, gossip? Why she wore naught but her shift, and it was only five o’clock in the morning.”

“In faith, gossip,” replied the good woman, “‘twas myself.”

“They pelted each other with snow,” the other went on, “on the breasts and elsewhere, as familiarly as could be.”

“Eh! gossip, eh!” the good woman replied, “‘twas myself.”

“Nay, gossip,” said the other, “I saw them afterwards doing something in the snow that to my mind is neither seemly nor right.”

“Gossip,” returned the good woman, “I have told you, and I tell you again, that it was myself and none other who did all that you say, for my good husband and I play thus familiarly together. And, I pray you, be not scandalised at this, for you know that we are bound to please our husbands.”

So the worthy gossip went away, more wishful to possess such a husband for herself than she had been to talk about the husband of her friend; and when the upholsterer came home again his wife told him the whole story.

“Now look you, sweetheart,” replied the upholsterer, “if you were not a woman of virtue and sound understanding we should long ago have been separated the one from the other. But I hope that God will continue to preserve us in our mutual love, to His own glory and our happiness.”

“Amen to that, my dear,” said the good woman, “and I hope that on my part you will never find aught to blame.” (3)

3 This tale is accounted by most critics and commentators to be the best in the _Heptameron_. Dunlop thinks it may have been borrowed from a _fabliau_ composed by some _Trouvère_ who had travelled in the East, and points out that it corresponds with the story of the _Shopkeeper s Wife_ in Nakshebi’s Persian Tales (_Tooti Nameh_). Had it been brought to France, however, in the manner suggested it would, like other tales, have found its way into the works of many sixteenth-century story-writers besides Queen Margaret. Such, however, is not the case, and curiously enough, so far as we can find, the tale, as given in the _Heptameron_, was never imitated until La Fontaine wrote his _Servante Justifiée (Contes, livre_ ii. No. vi.), in the opening lines of which he expressly acknowledges his indebtedness to the Queen of Navarre.--Ed.

“Unbelieving indeed, ladies, must be the man who, after hearing this true story, should hold you to be as crafty as men are; though, if we are not to wrong either, and to give both man and wife the praise they truly deserve, we must needs admit that the better of the two was worth naught.”

“The man,” said Parlamente, “was marvellously wicked, for he deceived his servant on the one side and his wife on the other.”

“Then you cannot have understood the story,” said Hircan. “We are told that he contented them both in the same morning, and I consider it a highly virtuous thing, both for body and mind, to be able to say and do that which may make two opposites content.”

“It was doubly wicked,” said Parlamente, “to satisfy the simplicity of one by falsehood and the wickedness of the other by vice. But I am aware that sins, when brought before such judges as you, will always be forgiven.”

“Yet I promise you,” said Hircan, “that for my own part I shall never essay so great and difficult a task, for if I but render _you_ content my day will not have been ill spent.”

“If mutual love,” said Parlamente, “cannot content the heart, nothing else can.”

“In sooth,” said Simontault, “I think there is no greater grief in the world than to love and not be loved.”

“To be loved,” said Parlamente, “it were needful to turn to such as love. Very often, however, those women who will not love are loved the most, while those men who love most strongly are loved the least.”

“You remind me,” said Oisille, “of a story which I had not intended to bring forward among such good ones.”

“Still I pray you tell it us,” said Simontault. “That will I do right willingly,” replied Oisille.

_TALE XLVI. (A)_.

_A Grey Friar named De Vale, being bidden to dinner at the house of the Judge of the Exempts in Angoulême, perceived that the Judge’s wife (with whom he was in love) went up into the garret alone; thinking to surprise her, he followed her thither; but she dealt him such a kick in the stomach that he fell from the top of the stairs to the bottom, and fled out of the town to the house of a lady that had such great liking for those of his Order (foolishly believing them possessed of greater virtues than belong to them), that she entrusted him with the correction of her daughter, whom he lay with by force instead of chastising her for the sin of sloth-fulness, as he had promised her mother he would do_. (1)

1 Boaistuau and Gruget omit this tale, and the latter replaces it by that numbered XLVI. (B). Count Charles of Angoulême having died on January i, 1496, the incidents related above must have occurred at an earlier date.--L.

In the town of Angoulême, where Count Charles, father of King Francis, often abode, there dwelt a Grey Friar named De Vale, the same being held a learned man and a great preacher. One Advent this Friar preached in the town in presence of the Count, whereby he won such renown that those who knew him eagerly invited him to dine at their houses. Among others that did this was the Judge of the Exempts (2) of the county, who had wedded a beautiful and virtuous woman. The Friar was dying for love of her, yet lacked the hardihood to tell her so; nevertheless she perceived the truth, and held him in derision.

2 The _Exempt_ was a police officer, and the functions of the _Juge des Exempts_ were akin to those of a police magistrate.--Ed.

After he had given several tokens of his wanton purpose, he one day espied her going up into the garret alone. Thinking to surprise her, he followed, but hearing his footsteps she turned and asked whither he was going. “I am going after you,” he replied, “to tell you a secret.”

“Nay, good father,” said the Judge’s wife. “I will have no secret converse with such as you. If you come up any higher, you will be sorry for it.”

Seeing that she was alone, he gave no heed to her words, but hastened up after her. She, however, was a woman of spirit, and when she saw the Friar at the top of the staircase, she gave him a kick in the stomach, and with the words, “Down! down! sir,” (3) cast him from the top to the bottom. The poor father was so greatly ashamed at this, that, forgetting the hurt he had received in falling, he fled out of the town as fast as he was able. He felt sure that the lady would not conceal the matter from her husband; and indeed she did not, nor yet from the Count and Countess, so that the Friar never again durst come into their presence.

3 The French words here are “_Dévaliez, dévaliez, monsieur_,” whilst MS. No. 1520 gives, “_Monsieur de Vale, dévalés_.” In either case there is evidently a play upon the friar’s name, which was possibly pronounced Vallès or Vallès. Adrien de Valois, it maybe pointed out, rendered his name in Latin as _Valesius_; the county of Valois and that of Valais are one and the same; we continue calling the old French kings Valois, as their name was written, instead of Valais as it was pronounced, as witness, for instance, the nickname given to Henry III. by the lampooners of the League, “_Henri dévalé_.” See also _post_, Tale XLVI. (B), note 2.--M. and Ed.

To complete his wickedness, he repaired to the house of a lady who preferred the Grey Friars to all other folk, and, after preaching a sermon or two before her, he cast his eyes upon her daughter, who was very beautiful. And as the maiden did not rise in the morning to hear his sermon, he often scolded her in presence of her mother, whereupon the latter would say to him--“Would to God, father, that she had some taste of the discipline which you monks receive from one another.”

The good father vowed that if she continued to be so slothful, he would indeed give her some of it, and her mother earnestly begged him to do so.

A day or two afterwards, he entered the lady’s apartment, and, not seeing her daughter there, asked her where she was.

“She fears you so little,” replied the lady, “that she is still in bed.”

“There can be no doubt,” said the Grey Friar, “that it is a very evil habit in young girls to be slothful. Few people think much of the sin of sloth, but for my part, I deem it one of the most dangerous there is, for the body as for the soul. You should therefore chastise her for it, and if you will give me the matter in charge, I will take good care that she does not lie abed at an hour when she ought to be praying to God.”

The poor lady, believing him to be a virtuous man, begged him to be kind enough to correct her daughter, which he at once agreed to do, and, going up a narrow wooden staircase, he found the girl all alone in bed. She was sleeping very soundly, and while she slept he lay with her by force. The poor girl, waking up, knew not whether he were man or devil, but began to cry out as loudly as she could, and to call for help to her mother. But the latter, standing at the foot of the staircase, cried out to the Friar--“Have no pity on her, sir. Give it to her again, and chastise the naughty jade.”

When the Friar had worked his wicked will, he came down to the lady and said to her with a face all afire--“I think, madam, that your daughter will remember my discipline.”

The mother thanked him warmly and then went upstairs, where she found her daughter making such lamentation as is to be expected from a virtuous woman who has suffered from so foul a crime. On learning the truth, the mother had search made everywhere for the Friar, but he was already far away, nor was he ever afterwards seen in the kingdom of France.

“You see, ladies, with how much security such commissions may be given to those that are unfit for them. The correction of men pertains to men and that of women to women; for women in the correction of men would be as pitiful as men in the correction of women would be cruel.”

“Jesus! madam,” said Parlamente, “what a base and wicked Friar!”

“Say rather,” said Hircan, “what a foolish and witless mother to be led by hypocrisy into allowing so much familiarity to those who ought never to be seen except in church.”

“In truth,” said Parlamente, “I acknowledge that she was the most foolish mother imaginable; had she been as wise as the Judge’s wife, she would rather have made him come down the staircase than go up. But what can you expect? The devil that is half-angel is the most dangerous of all, for he is so well able to transform himself into an angel of light, that people shrink from suspecting him to be what he really is; and it seems to me that persons who are not suspicious are worthy of praise.”

“At the same time,” said Oisille, “people ought to suspect the evil that is to be avoided, especially those who hold a trust; for it is better to suspect an evil that does not exist than by foolish trustfulness to fall into one that does. I have never known a woman deceived through being slow to believe men’s words, but many are there that have been deceived through being over prompt in giving credence to falsehood. Therefore I say that possible evil cannot be held in too strong suspicion by those that have charge of men, women, cities or states; for, however good the watch that is kept, wickedness and treachery are prevalent enough, and the shepherd who is not vigilant will always be deceived by the wiles of the wolf.”

“Still,” said Dagoucin, “a suspicious person cannot have a perfect friend, and many friends have been divided by suspicion.”

“If you know any such instance,” said Oisille, “I give you my vote that you may relate it.”

“I know one,” said Dagoucin, “which is so strictly true that you will needs hear it with pleasure. I will tell you, ladies, when it is that a close friendship is most easily severed; ‘tis when the security of friendship begins to give place to suspicion. For just as trust in a friend is the greatest honour that can be shown him, so is doubt of him a still greater dishonour. It proves that he is deemed other than we would have him to be, and so causes many close friendships to be broken off, and friends to be turned into foes. This you will see from the story that I am minded to relate.”

[The Young Man beating his Wife]

_TALE XLVI.(B)_.

_Concerning a Grey Friar who made it a great crime on the part of husbands to beat their wives_. (1)

In the town of Angoulême, where Count Charles, father of King Francis, often abode, there dwelt a Grey Friar named De Vallès, (2) the same being a learned man and a very great preacher. At Advent time this Friar preached in the town in presence of the Count, whereby his reputation was still further increased.

1 This is the tale inserted in Gruget’s edition in lieu of the previous one.--Ed.

2 We had thought that Friar Vallès might possibly be Robert de Valle, who at the close of the fifteenth century wrote a work entitled _Explanatio in Plinium_, but find that this divine was a Bishop of Rouen, and never belonged to the Grey Friars. In Gessner’s _Biographia Universalis_, continued by Frisius, mention is made of three learned ecclesiastics of the name of Valle living in or about Queen Margaret’s time: Baptiste de Valle, who wrote on war and duelling; William de Valle, who penned a volume entitled _De Anima Sorbono_; and Amant de Valle, a Franciscan minorité born at Toulouse, who was the author of numerous philosophical works, the most important being _Elucidationes Scoti_.--B. J.

It happened also that during Advent a hare-brained young fellow, who had married a passably handsome young woman, continued none the less to run at the least as dissolute a course as did those that were still bachelors. The young wife, being advised of this, could not keep silence upon it, so that she very often received payment after a different and a prompter fashion than she could have wished. For all that, she ceased not to persist in lamentation, and sometimes in railing as well; which so provoked the young man that he beat her even to bruises and blood. Thereupon she cried out yet more loudly than before; and in a like fashion all the women of the neighbourhood, knowing the reason of this, could not keep silence, but cried out publicly in the streets, saying--

“Shame, shame on such husbands! To the devil with them!”

By good fortune the Grey Friar De Vallès was passing that way and heard the noise and the reason of it. He resolved to touch upon it the following day in his sermon, and did so. Turning his discourse to the subject of marriage and the affection which ought to subsist in it, he greatly extolled that condition, at the same time censuring those that offended against it, and comparing wedded to parental love. Among other things, he said that a husband who beat his wife was in more danger, and would have a heavier punishment, than if he had beaten his father or his mother.

“For,” said he, “if you beat your father or your mother you will be sent for penance to Rome; but if you beat your wife, she and all the women of the neighbourhood will send you to the devil, that is, to hell. Now look you what a difference there is between these two penances. From Rome a man commonly returns again, but from hell, oh! from that place, there is no return: _nulla est redemptio_” (3)

After preaching this sermon, he was informed that the women were making a triumph of it, (4) and that their husbands could no longer control them. He therefore resolved to set the husbands right just as he had previously assisted their wives.

3 This was the Pope’s expression apropos of Messer Biagio, whom Michael Angelo had introduced into his “Last Judgment.”--M.

4 The French expression is _faisaient leur Achilles_, the nearest equivalent to which in English would probably be “Hectoring” It is curious that the French should have taken the name of Achilles and we that of Hector to express the same idea of arrogance and bluster.--Ed.

With this intent, in one of his sermons he compared women and devil together, saying that these were the greatest enemies that man had, that they tempted him without ceasing, and that he could not rid himself of them, especially of women.

“For,” said he, “as far as devils are concerned, if you show them the cross they flee away, whereas women, on the contrary, are tamed by it, and are made to run hither and thither and cause their husbands countless torments. But, good people, know you what you must do? When you find your wives afflicting you thus continually, as is their wont, take off the handle of the cross and with it drive them away. You will not have made this experiment briskly three or four times before you will find yourselves the better for it, and see that, even as the devil is driven off by the virtue of the cross, so can you drive away and silence your wives by virtue of the handle, provided only that it be not attached to the cross aforesaid.”

“You have here some of the sermons by this reverend De Vallès, of whose life I will with good reason relate nothing more. However, I will tell you that, whatever face he put upon the matter--and I knew him--he was much more inclined to the side of the women than to that of the men.”

“Yet, madam,” said Parlamente, “he did not show this in his last sermon, in which he instructed the men to ill-treat them.”

“Nay, you do not comprehend his artifice,” said Hircan. “You are not experienced in war and in the use of the stratagems that it requires; among these, one of the most important is to kindle strife in the camp of the enemy, whereby he becomes far easier to conquer. This master monk well knew that hatred and wrath between husband and wife most often cause a loose rein to be given to the wife’s honour. And when that honour frees itself from the guardianship of virtue, it finds itself in the power of the wolf before it knows even that it is astray.”

“However that may be,” said Parlamente, “I could not love a man who had sown such division between my husband and myself as would lead even to blows; for beating banishes love. Yet, by what I have heard, they [the friars] can be so mincing when they seek some advantage over a woman, and so attractive in their discourse, that I feel sure there would be more danger in hearkening to them in secret than in publicly receiving blows from a husband in other respects a good one.”

“Truly,” said Dagoucin, “they have so revealed their plottings in all directions, that it is not without reason that they are to be feared; (5) although in my opinion persons who are not suspicious are worthy of praise.”

5 From this point the dialogue is almost word for word the same as that following Tale XLVI. (A).--Ed.