12 In lieu of this phrase, the De Thou MS. of the _Heptameron_ gives the following: "To make amends for his fault, if fault there were in laying bare the wretched and abominable life of a wicked Churchman, so as to put others on their guard against the hypocrisy of those resembling him, Geburon, who held Madame Oysille in high esteem, as one should hold a lady of discretion, who was no less reluctant to speak evil than prompt to praise and publish the worth which she knew to exist in others, gave her his vote, begging her to tell something to the honour of our holy religion."--L.
"We have sworn," said Oisille, "to speak the truth, and I cannot therefore undertake such a task. Moreover, in telling your tale you have reminded me of a very pitiful story which I feel constrained to relate, seeing that I am not far from the place where, in my own time, the thing came to pass. I shall tell it also, ladies, to the end that the hypocrisy of those who account themselves more religious than their neighbours, may not so beguile your understanding as to turn your faith out of the right path, and lead you to hope for salvation from any other than Him who has chosen to stand alone in the work of our creation and redemption. He is all powerful to save us unto life eternal, and, in this temporal life, to comfort us and deliver us from all our tribulations. And knowing that Satan often transforms himself into an angel of light so that the outward eye, blinded by the semblance of holiness and devotion, cannot apprehend that from which we ought to flee, I think it well to tell you this tale, which came to pass in our own time."
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[Illustration: 097a.jpg The Grey Friar deceiving the Gentleman Of Perigord]
[The Grey Friar deceiving the Gentleman Of Perigord]
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_TALE XXIII_.
_The excessive reverence shown by a gentleman of Perigord to the Order of St. Francis, brought about the miserable death of his wife, his little child and himself_. (1)
1 Etienne introduces this tale into his _Apologie pour Herodote_, ch. xxi.--B. J.
In the county of Perigord dwelt a gentleman whose devotion to St.
Francis was such that in his eyes all who wore the saint's robe must needs be as holy as the saint himself. To do honour to the latter, he had caused rooms and closets to be furnished in his house for the lodgment of the brethren, and he regulated all his affairs by their advice, even to the most trifling household matters, believing that he must needs pursue the right path if he followed their good counsels.
Now it happened that this gentleman's wife, who was a beautiful woman and as discreet as she was virtuous, was brought to bed of a fine boy, whereat the love which her husband bore her was increased twofold.
One day, in order to entertain his dear, he sent for one of his brothers-in-law, and just as the hour for supper was drawing nigh, there arrived also a Grey Friar, whose name I will keep secret out of regard for his Order. The gentleman was well pleased to see his spiritual father, from whom he had no secrets, and after much talk among his wife, his brother-in-law and the monk, they sat down to supper. While they were at table the gentleman cast his eyes upon his wife, who was indeed beautiful and graceful enough to be desired of a husband, and thereupon asked this question aloud of the worthy father--
"Is it true, father, that a man commits mortal sin if he lies with his wife at the time of her lying-in?" (2)
2 Meaning the period between her delivery and her churching.--Ed.
The worthy father, whose speech and countenance belied his heart, answered with an angry look--
"Undoubtedly, sir, I hold this to be one of the very greatest sins that can be committed in the married state. The blessed Virgin Mary would not enter the temple until the days of her purification were accomplished, although she had no need of these; and if she, in order to obey the law, refrained from going to the temple wherein was all her consolation, you should of a surety not fail to abstain from such slight pleasure.
Moreover, physicians say that there is great risk to the offspring so begotten."
When the gentleman heard these words, he was greatly downcast, for he had hoped that the good Friar would give him the permission he sought; however, he said no more. Meanwhile the worthy father, who had drunk more than was needful, looked at the lady, (3) thinking to himself that, if he were her husband, he would ask no Friar's advice before lying with her; and just as a fire kindles little by little until at last it envelops the whole house, so this monk began to burn with such exceeding lust that he suddenly resolved to satisfy a desire which for three years he had carried hidden in his heart.
3 The French word here is _damoiselle_, by which appellation the lady is called throughout the story. Her husband, being a petty nobleman, was a _damoiseau_, whence the name given to his wife. The word _damoiselle_ is frequently employed in the _Heptameron_, and though sometimes it merely signifies an attendant on a lady, the reference is more frequently to a woman of gentle birth, whether she be spinster, wife or widow. Only women of high nobility and of the blood royal were at that time called _Madame_.--Ed.
After the tables had been withdrawn, he took the gentleman by the hand, and, leading him to his wife's bedside, (4) said to him in her presence--
"It moves my pity, sir, to see the great love which exists between you and this lady, and which, added to your extreme youth, torments you so sore. I have therefore determined to tell you a secret of our sacred theology which is that, although the rule be made thus strict by reason of the abuses committed by indiscreet husbands, it does not suffer that such as are of good conscience like you should be balked of all intercourse. If then, sir, before others I have stated in all its severity the command of the law, I will now reveal to you, who are a prudent man, its mildness also. Know then, my son, that there are women and women, just as there are men and men. In the first place, my lady here must tell us whether, three weeks having gone by since her delivery, the flow of blood has quite ceased?"
4 The supper would appear to have been served in the bedroom, and the tables were taken away as soon as the repast was over. It seems to us very ridiculous when on the modern stage we see a couple of lackeys bring in a table laden with viands and carry it away again as soon as the _dramatis personae_ have dined or supped. Yet this was the common practice in France in Queen Margaret's time.--Ed.
The lady replied that it had.
"Then," said the Friar, "I permit you to lie with her without scruple, provided that you are willing to promise me two things."
The gentleman replied that he was willing.
"The first," said the good father, "is that you speak to no one concerning this matter, but come here in secret. The second is that you do not come until two hours after midnight, so that the good lady's digestion be not hindered."
These things the gentleman promised; and he confirmed his promise with so strong an oath that the other, knowing him to be foolish rather than false, was quite satisfied.
After much converse the good father withdrew to his chamber, giving them good-night and an abundant blessing. But, as he was going, he took the gentleman by the hand, and said to him--
"You too, sir, i' faith must come, nor keep your poor lady longer awake."
Thereupon the gentleman kissed her. "Sweetheart," said he, and the good father heard him plainly, "leave the door of your room open for me."
And so each withdrew to his own chamber.
On leaving them the Friar gave no heed to sleep or to repose, and, as soon as all the noises in the house were still, he went as softly as possible straight to the lady's chamber, at about the hour when he was wont to go to matins, and finding the door open in expectation of the master's coming, he went in, cleverly put out the light, and speedily got into bed with the lady, without speaking a single word.
The lady, believing him to be her husband, said--
"How is this, love? you have kept but poorly the promise you gave last evening to our confessor that you would not come here before two o'clock."
The Friar, who was more eager for action than for contemplation, and who, moreover, was fearful of being recognised, gave more thought to satisfying the wicked desires that had long poisoned his heart than to giving her any reply; whereat the lady wondered greatly. When the friar found the husband's hour drawing near, he rose from the lady's side and returned with all speed to his own chamber.
Then, just as the frenzy of lust had robbed him of sleep, so now the fear that always follows upon wickedness would not suffer him to rest.
Accordingly, he went to the porter of the house and said to him--
"Friend, your master has charged me to go without delay and offer up prayers for him at our convent, where he is accustomed to perform his devotions. Wherefore, I pray you, give me my horse and open the door without letting any one be the wiser; for the mission is both pressing and secret."
The porter knew that obedience to the Friar was service acceptable to his master, and so he opened the door secretly and let him out.
Just at that time the gentleman awoke. Finding that it was close on the hour which the good father had appointed him for visiting his wife, he got up in his bedgown and repaired swiftly to that bed whither by God's ordinance, and without need of the license of man, it was lawful for him to go.
When his wife heard him speaking beside her, she was greatly astonished, and, not knowing what had occurred, said to him--
"Nay, sir, is it possible that, after your promise to the good father to be heedful of your own health and of mine, you not only come before the hour appointed, but even return a second time? Think on it, sir, I pray you."
On hearing this, the gentleman was so much disconcerted that he could not conceal it, and said to her--
"What do these words mean? I know of a truth that I have not lain with you for three weeks, and yet you rebuke me for coming too often. If you continue to talk in this way, you will make me think that my company is irksome to you, and will drive me, contrary to my wont and will, to seek elsewhere that pleasure which, by the law of God, I should have with you."
The lady thought that he was jesting, and replied--
"I pray you, sir, deceive not yourself in seeking to deceive me; for although you said nothing when you came, I knew very well that you were here."
Then the gentleman saw that they had both been deceived, and solemnly vowed to her that he had not been with her before; whereat the lady, weeping in dire distress, besought him to find out with all despatch who it could have been, seeing that besides themselves only his brother-in-law and the Friar slept in the house.
Impelled by suspicion of the Friar, the gentleman forthwith went in all haste to the room where he had been lodged, and found it empty; whereupon, to make yet more certain whether he had fled, he sent for the man who kept the door, and asked him whether he knew what had become of the Friar. And the man told him the whole truth.
The gentleman, being now convinced of the Friar's wickedness, returned to his wife's room, and said to her--
"Of a certainty, sweetheart, the man who lay with you and did such fine things was our Father Confessor."