Lives of Fair and Gallant Ladies. Vol 1

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Title: Lives of Fair and Gallant Ladies. Vol 1
Author: Brantôme, Seigneur de
Language: English
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Lives of

Fair and Gallant Ladies

————

VOLUME I

[Illustration: BRANTÔME]

Lives

Fair and Gallant Ladies

The Seigneur De Brantôme

TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL

————
VOLUME I
————

The Alexandrian Society, Inc.

London and New York

1922

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

_This work is strictly limited to twelve
hundred and fifty numbered sets, which are
for sale only to subscribers. The type has
been distributed on publication and no more
will be printed._

_Copy No._ ....

[Illustration: Decorative scrollwork above chapter start]

FOREWORD

This very fine and accurate translation of _The Lives of Fair and
Gallant Ladies_ was made by Mr. A. R. Allinson and because of its
merit must be considered one of the great English translations,
equalling in every quality those of the 16th and 17th centuries. The
text of Brantôme’s great work is given practically complete in these
volumes and the only modifications are based upon good taste and not
on any fearful prudery. A few of Brantôme’s examples that illustrate
his points belong more in a treatise on abnormal pathology than in a
book of literary or historical interest and value, so nothing of any
value is lost by omitting them. The rare charm, shrewd wisdom, amusing
anecdote, literary merit and historical and social information will be
appreciated by intelligent readers.

The cover design used on this book was made by C. O. Czeschka.

[Illustration: BRANTÔME’S HANDWRITING.

(From a fac-simile page of the manuscript
_Recueil des Dames_. Biblio. Nat: Mss. Nouv. fses.
No. 20-474, folio 163.)]

[Illustration: Decorative scrollwork above chapter start]

DEDICATION
TO MONSEIGNEUR LE DUC D’ALENÇON
OF BRABANT AND COUNT OF FLANDERS

SON AND BROTHER OF OUR FRENCH KINGS[1*]

MY GRACIOUS LORD,

Seeing how you have full often done me the honour at Court to converse
with me in great privity of sundry jests and merry tales, the which
are so familiar and ready with you they may well be said to grow apace
before men’s very eyes in your Lordship’s mouth, so great your wit is
and so keen and subtile, and your speech the same, and right eloquent
to boot,—for this cause have I set me to indite these discourses, such
as they be, to the best of my poor ability, to the end that in this
wise some of them may please you, making the time to pass lightly and
reminding you of me in your conversations, wherewith erstwhile you have
honoured me as much as any gentleman of all the Court.

To you then, my Lord, do I dedicate this present book, and do beseech
you fortify the same with your name and authority, till that I may find
leisure to attend to discourses of a more serious content. Of such I
pray you note one in especial, the which I have all but finished,
wherein I do deduce a comparison of six great Princes and Captains
that be to-day abroad in this our Christendom, to wit: the King Henri
III. your brother, Your Highness’ self, the King of Navarre your
brother-in-law, the Duc de Guise, the Duc de Maine, and the Prince
of Parma, making record for each one of you of your noblest deeds of
valour and high emprize, of your excellencies and exploits, the full
tale and complement whereof I do resign to others better qualified than
I to indite the same.

Meanwhile, My Lord, I do beseech God to bless you always more and more
in your greatness, happiness and nobility.

And I am for all time

Your very humble and very obedient subject and very loving servant.

BOURDEILLE.[2]

[Illustration: Decorative scrollwork above chapter start]

REGRETTING
THE DEATH OF THE DUC D’ALENÇON

I had already dedicated this second Part of my Discourses on Women
to the aforesaid my Gracious Lord d’Alençon, the while he yet
lived,—seeing how he oft did me the honour to be my friend and to
converse very privily with me, and was ever right curious to be
informed of mirthful tales. Wherefore, albeit his generous and valorous
and most noble body hath fallen on the field of honour, I have not
thought good for that to recall my erstwhile dedication; but I do
repeat and renew the same to his illustrious ashes and noble spirit, of
the valorousness whereof and of his great deeds and high achievements
I do treat in their turn among those of the other great Princes and
Captains. For of a truth he was indeed a great Prince and a great
Captain, if such an one there was ever,—the more so considering he is
dead so untimeously.

Enough of such serious themes; let us discourse a while of merrier
matters.

[Illustration: Decorative scrollwork above chapter start]

CONTENTS

PAGE

HISTORICAL NOTE. BY HENRI VIGNEAU xiii

FIRST DISCOURSE

OF LADIES WHICH DO MAKE LOVE, AND THEIR HUSBANDS CUCKOLDS 3

SECOND DISCOURSE

ON THE QUESTION WHICH DOTH GIVE THE MORE CONTENT IN LOVE,
WHETHER TOUCHING, SEEING, OR SPEAKING 213

1. OF THE SENSE OF TOUCH IN LOVE 215

2. OF THE POWER OF SPEECH IN LOVE 226

3. OF THE POWER OF SIGHT IN LOVE 233

THIRD DISCOURSE

CONCERNING THE BEAUTY OF A FINE LEG, AND THE VIRTUE THE
SAME DOTH POSSESS 273

FOURTH DISCOURSE

CONCERNING OLD DAMES AS FOND TO PRACTISE LOVE AS EVER THE
YOUNG ONES BE 293

BIBLIOGRAPHY 341

APPENDIX A. BRANTÔME, BY ARTHUR TILLEY 345

APPENDIX B. BRANTÔME, BY GEORGE SAINTSBURY 351

NOTES 355

[Illustration: Decorative scrollwork above chapter start]

HISTORICAL NOTE

Pierre de Bourdeille, Abbé de Brantôme et d’André, Vicomte de
Bourdeille, was born in Périgord, in 1527, in the reign of François I.
He early took up the career of arms, serving under his friend François
de Guise, Duke of Lorraine, as his Captain, the same who was killed
before Orleans by Poltrot de Méré. Afterwards he came up to Court,
and was Gentleman of the Bedchamber under Charles IX., who showed him
much favour. On the King’s death he retired to his estates, where he
composed his Works. These are: _Vies des hommes illustres et des grands
capitaines françois_; _Vies des grands capitaines étrangers_; _Vies des
dames illustres_; _Vies des dames galantes_; _Anecdotes touchant le duel_;
and _Rodomontades et jurements des Espagnols_.—All that really concerns
us here is the _Vies des dames galantes_. It is especially from this
point of view that we propose to speak of Pierre de Bourdeille, known
almost exclusively to posterity under the name of Brantôme. As to his
Essays in the manner of Plutarch, these do not come into our purview at
all. Besides which, I am of opinion, it is in this book that Brantôme
appears under his most characteristic aspect, and that it is here we
may best learn to know and appreciate his genius.

A gentleman of family, acknowledged and treated as kinsman by Queen
Margot, wife of Henry IV., living habitually in the society of the most
famous men of his time, a contemporary of Rabelais, Marot and Ronsard,
a sincere but unbigoted Catholic, a man of exceptional literary
endowments, Brantôme is one of the happiest representatives of the
French mind in the XVIth Century.

It is the period of the Renaissance,—the days when Europe resounds with
the fame of our gallant King Francis I. and his deeds of prowess in
love and war, the days when Titian and Primaticcio were leaving behind
on French palace walls immortal traces of their genius, when Jean
Goujon was carving his admirable figures round the fountains of the
Louvre and across its front, when Rabelais was uttering his stupendous
guffaw, that was the Comedy of all human life, when Marot and Ronsard
were writing their graceful stanzas, when the fair “Marguerite des
Marguerites,”—the Queenly Pearl of Pearls,—was telling her delightful
tales of love and adventure in the _Heptameron_.—Then comes the death
of Francis I. His son mounts the throne. Protestantism makes serious
progress in France, and Montgomery precipitates the succession of
Francis II. This last wears the crown for one year only, succumbing to
a fatal inflammation of the ears. Then it is Mary Stuart leaves France
for ever, and with streaming eyes, as she watches the beloved shores
where she has been Queen of France fade out of sight, sings sad and
slow:

Adieu, plaisant pays de France!

And now we find seated on the throne of France a young Monarch of a
strange, wild, unattractive exterior. His eye is pale, colourless
and shifty, seeming to be void of all expression. He trusts no man,
and has no real assurance of his power as Sovereign; he looks long
and suspiciously at those about him before speaking, rarely bestows
his confidence and believes himself constantly surrounded by spies.
’Tis a nervous, timid child,—’tis Charles IX. History treats him with
an extreme severity; and the “St. Bartholomew” has thrown a lurid
light over this unhappy Prince’s figure. He allowed the massacres on
the fatal nights of the 24th and 25th of August, and even shot down
the flying Protestants from his palace roof. Without going into the
interminable discussions of historians as to this last alleged fact,
which is as strongly denied by some authorities as it is maintained
by others, I am not one of those who say hard things of Charles IX.
It is more a sentiment of pity I feel for him,—this monarch who loved
Brantôme and Marot, and who protected Henri IV. against Catherine
de Medici. I see him surrounded by brothers whom he had learned to
distrust. The Duc d’Alençon is on the spot, a legitimate object of
detestation by reason of the subterranean intrigues he is for ever
hatching against his person; while his other brother Henri (afterwards
Henri III.), Catherine’s favourite son, is in Poland, kept sedulously
informed of every variation in the Prince’s always feeble health,
waiting impatiently for the hour when he must hurry back to France to
secure the crown he covets. Then his sister’s vicious outbreaks are
a source of constant pain and anxiety to him; and last but not least
there is his mother Catherine de Medici, an incubus that crushed out
his very life-breath. He cannot forget the tortures his brother Francis
suffered from his mysterious malady, and his premature death after a
single year’s reign.

Catherine hated Mary Stuart, his young Queen, whose only fault was to
have exaggerated in herself all the frailties together with all the
physical perfections of a woman; and dreadful words had been whispered
with bated breath about the Queen Mother. An Italian, deprived of
all power while her husband lived, insulted by a proud and beautiful
favourite, yet knowing herself well fitted for command, she had brought
up her children with ideas of respect and submission to her will they
were never able to throw off. The ill-will she bore her daughter-in-law
was the cause of all those accusations History has listened to over
readily. But Charles, a nervous, affectionate child, whose natural
impulses however had been chilled by his mother’s influence and the
indifference of his father Henri II., was thrown back on himself, and
grew up timid, suspicious and morose. The frantic love of Francis
for his fascinating Queen, the cold dignity of Catherine in face of
slights and cruel mortifications, her bitter disappointment during
her eldest son’s reign, her Italian origin (held then even more than
now to imply an implacable determination to avenge all injuries), her
indifference to the sudden and appalling death of the young King, the
insinuations of her enemies,—all combined to make a profound impression
on Charles, giving a furtive and, if we may say so, a haggard bent to
his character. Presently, seated on the throne of France, Huguenots and
Catholics all about him, exposed to the insults and pretensions of the
Guise faction on the one hand and that of Coligny on the other, dragged
now this way now that between the two, yet all the while instinctively
drawn toward the Catholic side by ancestral faith and his mother’s
counsels no less than by reasons of state, Charles signed the fatal
order authorizing the Massacre of the Saint Bartholomew.

* * * * *

Was the young King’s action justifiable or no? It is no business of
ours to discuss the question here; but much may be alleged in his
excuse. Again whether he did actually fire on the terrified Protestants
from the Louvre is a point vehemently debated,—but one it in no way
concerns us here to decide. There is no doubt however that, dating from
those two terrible nights, a steady decline declared itself in his
health and vitality. In no long time he died; and his brother Henri,
Duke of Anjou and King of Poland, duly warned of his approaching end,
arrived in hot haste to take over the crown to which he was next in
succession.

This period of political and religious ferment was no less the period
_par excellence_ of gallantry. In its characteristics it bears
considerable resemblance to the days of the Empire. At both epochs
love was quick, fierce and violent. Hurry was the mark of the times.
In the midst of these everlasting struggles between Huguenot and
Catholic, who could be sure of to-morrow? So men made it a point to
indulge no attachment that was too serious,—for them love was become
a mere question of choice and quantity; while women avoided a grand
passion with a fervour worthy of a better cause. If ever a deep and
earnest passion does show itself, it is an exception, an anomaly; if
we find a woman stabbing her faithless husband to death on catching
him in the arms of another, let us not for an instant suppose ’tis
the fierce stirring of a loving heart which in the frenzy of its
jealousy avenges the wrong it has suffered,—to die presently of sorrow
and remorse, or at the least to suffer long and sorely. This act of
daring,—so carefully recorded by the chroniclers of the time,—is only
the effect of strong self-love cruelly wounded. But powerful as this
feeling may be, it would scarcely be adequate to explain so energetic
an act, if we did not remember how frequently ladies in the XVIth
Century were exposed to scenes of bloodshed. The dagger and the sword
were as familiar to their eyes as the needle; and Brantôme has devoted
a whole Discourse,—his Fifth, to courageous dames, and seems positively
to scorn weak and timid women! How opposite is this to the sentiment
of the present day, where one of the charms of womanhood is held to
consist in her having nothing in common with man and being for ever
in need of his protection. A few isolated cases then excepted, there
existed between men and women nothing better than what Chamfort has
wittily defined as “l’échange de deux fantaisies et le contact de deux
épidermes,”—in other words gallantry pure and simple.

This then was the atmosphere our Author breathed. His life offers
nothing specially striking in the way of incident. No need for me
to take him from the arms of his nurse, to follow each of his steps
through life and piously close his eyes in death. He served his time
without special distinction or applause at the Court of Charles
IX. In all he did, he showed so modest a reserve that, but for his
Works, his very existence would have remained unknown. He is not like
Bussy-Rabutin, the incidents of whose wild and wicked life filled and
defaced a big book, or like Tallemant, whose diary, if diary it can
be called, was written day by day and recounted each day’s exploits.
Brantôme’s life and work leave little trace of his own personality,
beyond the impression of a genial, smiling, witty man of the world. I
will be as plain and discreet as himself, and will make no effort to
separate the Author from his book.

Brantôme possesses one of those happy, gentle, well ordered natures,
which systematically avoid every form of excess and exaggeration.
His book _Des Dames Galantes_ is from beginning to end a protest
against immoderate passion. It is above all a work of taste. Its seven
Discourses are devoted exclusively to stories of love and passion,
yet a man must be straightlaced indeed to feel any sort of repulsion.
Another extraordinary merit! in spite of the monotony of the subject
matter, everlastingly the same, the reader’s attention never flags, and
one tale read, he is irresistibly drawn on to make acquaintance with
the next.

Such praise, I am aware, is very high; and especially when we possess
such masterpieces in this _genre_ as the Tales of Boccaccio, of Pietro
Aretino, some of those of Ariosto, those of Voltaire, the short stories
of Tallemant des Réaux and the indiscretions of the _Histoire amoureuse
des Gaules_. I name only the most familiar examples. Of course all
these works do not offer a complete resemblance to the _Vies des Dames
Galantes_, but they all belong to the same race and family. I propose
to say a few passing words of each of these productions.

The most remarkable among all these chroniclers of the frailties of
the female heart is undoubtedly Boccaccio. Pietro Aretino has done
himself an irreparable wrong by writing in such a vein that no decent
man dare confess to having read him. Ariosto is a story-teller only
by the way, but then he is worthy of all imitation. The _Heptameron_
is a collection of stories the chief value of which consists in a
sensibility and charming grace that never fail. Tallemant tells a
tale of gallantry between two daintily worded sentiments. Voltaire
in this as in all departments shows an incontestable superiority of
wit and _verve_. There is nothing new in La Fontaine; ’tis always the
same wondrous charm, so simple in appearance, so deep in reality. As
to Bussy, a man of the world and a gentleman, but vicious, spiteful
and envious, his _Histoire amoureuse_ is his revenge on mankind, a
deliberate publication of extravagant personalities flavoured with wit.

Boccaccio, to say nothing of his striking originality, possesses other
merits of the very highest order. The sorrows of unhappy love are told
with genuine pathos, while lovers’ wiles and the punishments they meet
with at once raise a smile and provoke a resolve to profit by such
valuable lessons. True Dioneo’s quaint narratives are not precisely fit
for ladies’ ears; yet so daintily are they recounted, the most _risqué_
episodes so cleverly sketched in, it is impossible to accuse them of
indelicacy. An entire absence of bitterness, a genial indulgence for
human weakness, a hearty admiration of women and a doctrine of genial
complaisance as the only possible philosophy of life, these are the
qualities that make the _Decameron_ the masterpiece of this kind of
composition.

Brantôme has not the same preponderating influence in literature that
Boccaccio possesses, but he comes next after him. The “Lives of Gallant
Ladies” are not, any more than the _Novelli_, inventions pure and
simple; they are anecdotes, reminiscences. The great merit of these
Tales of Boccaccio is the same as that of Balzac’s Novels or Molière’s
Comedies,—to fix a character, to define a phase of manners in the life
of the Author’s day; in a word to create by induction and analogy a
living being, hitherto unnoticed by every-day observers, but instantly
recognized as lifelike. This is the true spirit of assimilation and
generalisation,—the work of _genius_. Well! as for Brantôme, he is a
man of talent and wit, not genius. We claim no more; genius is not so
common as might be supposed, if we hearkened to all the acclamations
daily raised round sundry statues,—but plaster after all, however
cunningly contrived to look like bronze.

Brantôme’s fame is already firmly established. To live for two
centuries and a half without boring his readers; above all to be a
book that scholars, men of sober learning and of literary taste,
still read in these latter days, is a success worthy of some earnest
thought. This chronicle of gallantry, this collection, as the Author
himself describes it, of happy tricks played on each other by men and
women, possesses a quite exquisite flavour of youth and freshness,—the
whole told with a good nature, a _verve_, an unconventionality,
that are inexpressibly charming. You feel the characters living and
breathing through the delicate, pliant style. You see the very glance
of a woman’s eye; you hear her ardent, or cunningly alluring, words.
For such as can read with a heart unstirred, the book is a series of
delicious surprises.

Strong predispositions, nay! positive prejudices, stand in the way
of the proper appreciation of our Author. Such is the Puritanism of
language and prudery of manners in our day, it would seem _prima
facie_ an impossible task to popularize Brantôme. By common agreement
we speak of the _esprit français_ as distinguished from the _esprit
gaulois_, the latter term being used to denote a something more frank
and outspoken. I heartily wish the division were a true one; for I
can never forget I belong to this mighty Nineteenth Century. But for
my own part, on a careful consideration of the facts, I should make a
triple rather than a twofold classification. There would be the _esprit
gaulois_, the _esprit français_, _not_ the spirit of the age one
atom, I must be allowed to observe, _and_ thirdly a certain spirit of
curling-irons and kid gloves and varnished boots, a sort of bastard, a
cross between French and English, equally shocked at _Tristram Shandy_
and the _Physiologie du Mariage_ as coarse and immoral productions.
_This_ is our spirit, if spirit we have.

The two first types have a real and positive value; but the third
is the sole and only one nowadays permitted or current as legal
tender,—the others are much too outspoken. Well! I will hold my tongue,
and mind my own business. An epoch is a mighty ugly customer to come to
blows with. I remember Him of Galilee.

The genius of Rabelais was all instinct with this same _esprit
gaulois_—a big, bold, virile spirit, breaking out in resounding
guffaws, and crude, outspoken verities, equally unable and unwilling
to soften down or gloss over anything, innocent of every species of
periphrasis and affectation. It is genius in a merry mood rising above
the petty conventionalities of speech,—often reminding us of Molière
under like circumstances. Let fools be shocked, if they please;
sensible men are ashamed only in presence of positive immorality and
deliberate vice. The _esprit gaulois_ is the spirit of primitive man
going straight to its end, regardless of fetter or law. The _esprit
français_ is equally natural; but then it has acquired a certain degree
of civilisation. It has less width of scope; it has learned the little
concessions men are bound to make one another, having associated longer
with them. It has left hodden grey, and taken to the silken doublet and
cap of velvet, and rubs elbows with men of rank. It has lost nothing of
its good sense and good temper; but it feels no longer bound in every
case to blurt its thought right out; already it leaves something to
be guessed at. It is all a question of civilisation and surroundings.
But above and beyond this, it must be allowed to be conditioned by the
essential distinction between genius and talent. The former does what
it likes, ’tis lord and master; the latter is, by its very nature, a
creature of compromise.

Brantôme possesses all the _verve_ and brightness of a genuine
Frenchman. All the conditions of life are highly favourable for him; he
is rich and noble, while intelligence and wit are stamped on his very
face. He wins his first spurs under François de Guise, whose protégé he
is; when he has had enough of war, he comes to Court. There he receives
the most flattering of receptions, every Catholic Noble extending him
the hand of good fellowship. His family connections are such, that on
the very steps of the throne is a voice ready to call him cousin, and a
charming woman’s lips to smile on him with favour. ’Tis a good start;
henceforth it is for his moral and intellectual qualities to achieve
the career so auspiciously begun.

As I have said already, Brantôme is the finished type of a Frenchman
of quality. Well taught and witty, brave and enterprising, capable
of appreciating honesty and worth whether in thought or deed,
instinctively hating tyrants and tyrannical violence, and avoiding them
like the plague, blessing the happy day on which his mother gave him
birth, light-hearted and sceptical, he unites in himself everything
that makes life go easy. Be sure no over-bearing passion will ever
disturb the serenity of his existence. He has too much good sense to
let his happiness depend on the chimerical figments of the imagination,
and too much real courtesy ever to reproach a woman with her frailties.
The world and all its ways seem good to him. In very truth, he is not
far from Pangloss’s conclusion,—Pangloss, the perfect type of what a
man must be so as never to suffer,—“Well! well! all is for the best in
this best of possible worlds.” If woman deceive, she offers so many
compensations in other ways that ’tis a hundred times better to have
her as she is than not at all. Men are sinners; again most true, as an
abstract proposition, but if only we know how to regulate our conduct
judiciously, their sinful spite will never touch us. Easy to see how,
with this bent of character and these convictions, Brantôme was certain
to find friendly faces wherever he went. The favourable impression his
person and position had produced, his good sense completed.

The King took delight in the society of this finished gentleman
with his easy and agreeable manners. In the midst of the numberless
vexations he was surrounded by, one of his greatest distractions was
the gay, lively conversation of this noble lord, from whom he had
nothing to fear in the way of hostile speech or angry words. The Duc
d’Alençon was another intimate, who putting aside for a moment his
schemes of ambition, would hear and tell tales of love and intrigue,
laughing the louder in proportion to the audacity and success of the
trick played by the heroine. And so it was with all; the result being
that Brantôme quickly acquired the repute of being the wittiest man
in France. All men and all parties were on friendly terms with him.
The Huguenots forgot he was a Catholic, and made an ally of him.
Without religious fanaticism or personal ambition, honoured and sought
after by the great, yet quite unspoiled and always simple-hearted and
good-natured, equally free from prejudice and pride, he conciliated the
good will of all. Throughout the whole of Brantôme’s career, we never
hear of his making a single enemy; and be it remembered he lived in the
very hottest of the storm and stress, political and religious, of the
Sixteenth Century. Let us add to complete our characterisation, a quite
incalculable merit,—a discretion such as cannot be found even in the
annals of Chivalry, a period indeed when lovers were only too fond of
making a show of their ladies’ favours. This is the one and only point
where Brantôme is inconsistent with the true French type of character,
mostly as eager to declare the fair inamorata’s name as to appreciate
the proofs of love she may have given.

Francis I. is but just dead, we must remember. His reign has been
called the Renaissance, and not without good reason. Under him begins
that light, graceful bearing, that elegance of manner, that politeness
of address, which henceforth will make continuous advances to greater
and greater refinement. Rabelais is the last expression of that old,
unsoftened and unmitigated French speech, from which at a later date
Matthieu Regnier will occasionally borrow one of his picturesque
phrases. In the same reign costume first becomes dainty. Men’s minds
grow finical like their dress; and a new mode of expression was
imperatively required to match the new elegance of living. The change
was effected almost without effort; ’twas a mere question of external
sensibility. The body, now habituated to silk and velvet, grows more
sensitive and delicate, and intellect and language follow suit. The
correspondence was inevitable. So much for the mental revolution. As
for the moral side, manners gained in frankness no doubt; but otherwise
things were neither better nor worse than before. It has always seemed
to us a strange proceeding, to take a particular period of History, as
writers so often will, and declare,—‘At this epoch morals were more
relaxed than ever before or since.’

* * * * *

Now under Francis I., and by his example, manners acquired a happy
freedom, an unstudied ease, his Courtiers were sure to turn to good
advantage. A King is always king of the fashion. Judging by the two
celebrated lines[3] he wrote one day on a pane in one of the windows
at the Castle of Chambord, Francis I., a Prince of wit and a true
Frenchman, could discover no better way of punishing women for their
fickleness and frivolity than that of copying their example. Every
pretty woman stirred a longing to possess in the ample and facile heart
of this Royal Don Juan. They were easy and happy loves,—without remorse
and without bitterness, and never deformed with tears. So far did he
push his rights as a Sovereign, that there is said to have been at
least one instance of rivalry between him and his own son. He died, as
he had lived, a lover,—and a victim to love.

Under Henri II., Diane de Poitiers is the most prominent figure on
the stage; following the gallant leadership of the King’s mistress,
the Court continues the same mode of life and type of manners which
distinguished the preceding reign.

Of the reign of Francis II., we need only speak _en passant_. During
the short while he and Mary Stuart were exhausting the joys of a brief
married life, there was no time for further change.

But now we come to a far more noteworthy and important period. While
the Queen Mother and the Guises are silently preparing their _coup
d’état_; while the Huguenots, light-hearted and unsuspecting, are
dancing and making merry in the halls of the Louvre; while Catholics
join them in merry feasts at the taverns then in vogue, and ladies
allow no party spirit to intrude in their love affairs; while the
Pré-aux-Clercs is the meeting-ground where men of honour settle their
quarrels, and the happy man, the man who receives the most caressing
marks of female favour, is he that has killed most, at a time like
this the wits are keen and the spirit as reckless as the courage.
With such a code of morals it was a difficult matter for any serious
sentiment to survive. Women soon began to feel the same scorn of life
that men professed. The strongest were falling day by day, and emotion
and sensibility could not but be blunted. Then think of the crowd of
eager candidates to seize the vacant reins of Government, and the
steeple-chase existence of those days becomes intelligible and even
excusable.

In all this movement Brantôme was necessarily involved, but he
kept invariably in the back-ground, in a convenient semi-obscurity.
But we must by no means assume that this prudence on the Vicomte
de Bourdeille’s part proceeded from any lack of energy; this would
be doing him a quite undeserved injustice. He had given proofs of
his courage; and Abbé as he was, his sword on hip spoke as proudly
as the most doughty ruffler’s. But a man of peace, he avoided
provoking quarrels; he was a good Catholic, and Religion has always
discountenanced the shedding of blood.

The best proof of the position he was able to win at Court is this Book
of Fair and Gallant Ladies which has come down to us as its result.
Amid all the gay and boisterous fêtes of the time, and the thousand
lights of the Louvre, men and women both smiled graciously on our
Author. His perfect discretion was perhaps his chief merit in the eyes
of all these love-sick swains and garrulous young noodles. The instant
a lover received an assignation from his fair one, his joy ran over
in noisy fanfaronnades. A happy man is brim full of good-fellowship,
and eager for a confidant. Well! if at that moment the gallant Abbé
chanced to pass, what more natural than for the fortunate gentleman
to seize and buttonhole him? Then he would recount his incomparable
good fortune, adding a hundred piquant details, and drunk with his own
babbling, enumerate one after the other the most minute particulars
of his intrigue, ending by letting out the name of the husband at
whose expense he had been enjoying himself. Love is so simple-minded
and so charmingly selfish! Every lover seriously thinks each casual
acquaintance must of course sympathise actively in his feelings. A
bosom friend he must have!—no matter who, if only he can tell him,
always of course under formal promise of concealment, the secret he
should have kept locked in his own bosom. Nor should we look over
harshly on this weakness; too much happiness, no less than too much
unhappiness, will stifle the bosom that cannot throw off any of its
load upon another. ’Tis the world-old story of the reeds and the secret
that must be told. Self-expansion is a natural craving; without it, men
grow misanthropes and die of an aneurism of the heart.

This brings us to the book of the _Dames galantes_. When eventually
he retired to his estates, Brantôme took up the pen as a relief to
his ennui. Among all the works he composed, this one must certainly
have pleased him best, because it so exactly corresponds with his own
character and ways of thought. But to write these lives of Gallant
Ladies was an enterprise not without its dangers. A volume of anecdotes
of the sort cannot be written without there being considerable risk
in the process of falling into the coarse and commonplace vulgarities
that surround such a subject. Style, wit, philosophy, gaiety, all in a
degree seldom met with, were indispensable for success; yet Brantôme
has succeeded. This book, of the _Vies des Dames galantes_, offers
a close analogy with another celebrated study in the same _genre_,
viz., Balzac’s _Physiologie du mariage_. Both works deal with the same
subject, the ways and wiles of women, married, widow and maid, under
the varying conditions of, (1) the Sixteenth Century, and (2) the
Present Day. But the mode of treatment is different; an this difference
made Brantôme’s task a harder one than the modern Author’s. His short
stories of a dozen lines, each revealing woman in one of those secret
and confidential situations only open to the eye of husband or lover,
might easily be displeasing, or worse still tiresome. Brantôme has
avoided all these shoals and shallows. Each little tale has its own
interest, always fresh and bright.

Moreover a lofty morality runs through the narratives. At first sight
the word morality may seem a joke applied to such matters; but it is
easy to disconcert the scoffer merely by asking him to read our Author.
To support my contention, there is no need to quote any particular
story or stories; all alike have their charm, and the work must be
perused in its entirety to appreciate the truth of the high praise I
give it. Every reader, on finally closing the book, cannot but feel
a genuine enthusiasm. The delicate wit of the whole recital passes
imagination. On every page we meet some physical trait or some moral
remark that rivets the attention. The author puts his hand on some
curiosity or perversity, and instantly stops to examine it; while at
the same time the propriety of his tone allures the most sedate reader.
The discussion of each point, in which the _pros_ and _cons_ are always
balanced one against the other in the wittiest and most thorough
manner, is interesting to the highest degree. In one word the book is a
code and compendium of Love. All is classified, studied, analysed; each
argument is supported by an appropriate anecdote,—an example,—a Life.

The mere arrangement of the contents displays consummate skill. The
Author has divided his _Vies des Dames galantes_ into seven Discourses,
as follows:

In the First, he treats “Of ladies which do make love, and their
husbands cuckolds;”

In the Second, he expatiates “On the question which doth give the more
content in love, whether touching, seeing or speaking;”

In the Third, he speaks “Concerning the Beauty of a fine leg, and the
virtue the same doth possess;”

In the Fourth, he discourses “Concerning old dames as fond to practise
love as ever the young ones be;”

In the Fifth, he tells “How Fair and honourable ladies do love brave
and valiant men, and brave men courageous women;”

In the Sixth, he teaches, “How we should never speak ill of ladies,—and
of the consequences of so doing;”

In the Seventh, he asks, “Concerning married women, widows and
maids—which of these be better than the other to love.”

This list of subjects, displaying as it does, all the leading ideas of
the book, leaves me little to add. I have no call to go into a detailed
appreciation of the Work under its manifold aspects as a gallery of
portraits; my task was merely to judge of its general physiognomy and
explain its _raisin d’être_; and this I have attempted to do.

I will only add by way of conclusion a few words to show the especial
esteem we should feel for Brantôme on this ground, that his works
contain nothing to corrupt good morals. Each narrative is told simply
and straightforwardly, for what it is worth. The author neither
embellishes nor exaggerates. Moreover the species of corollary he
clinches it with is a philosophical and physiological deduction
of the happiest and most apposite kind in the great majority of
instances,—some witty and ingenious remark that never offends either
against good sense or good taste. If now and again the reader is
tempted to shy, he should in justice put this down to the diction of
the time, which had not yet adopted that tone of arrogant virtue it
nowadays affects. Then there was a large number of words in former days
which connoted nothing worse than something ridiculous and absurd.

Then as to beauty of language, we must go roundabout ways to reach many
a point they marched straight to in old days. Brantôme at any rate is
a purist of style,—one of the most striking and most correct writers I
have ever read. It is a great and genuine discovery readers will make,
if they do not know him already; if they do, they will be renewing
acquaintance with an old friend, at once witty and delightful. In
either case, ’tis a piece of luck not to be despised.

H. VIGNEAU.

LIVES OF FAIR AND
GALLANT LADIES

[Illustration: Decorative scrollwork above chapter start]

FIRST DISCOURSE

Of Ladies which do make Love, and their Husbands
cuckolds.[4]

Seeing ’tis the ladies have laid the foundation of all cuckoldry, and
how ’tis they which do make all men cuckolds, I have thought it good to
include this First Discourse in my present Book of Fair Ladies,—albeit
that I shall have occasion to speak therein as much of men as of women.
I know right well I am taking up a great work, and one I should never
get done withal, if that I did insist on full completeness of the
same. For of a truth not all the paper in the Records Office of Paris
would hold in writing the half of the histories of folk in this case,
whether women or men. Yet will I set down what I can; and when I can
no more, I will e’en give my pen—to the devil, or mayhap to some good
fellow-comrade, which shall carry on the tale.

Furthermore must I crave indulgence if in this Discourse I keep not due
order and alignment, for indeed so great is the multitude of men and
women so situate, and so manifold and divers their condition, that I
know not any Commander and Master of War so skilled as that he could
range the same in proper rank and meet array.

Following therefore of mine own fantasy, will I speak of them in such
fashion as pleaseth me,—now in this present month of April, the which
bringeth round once more the very season and open time of _cuckoos_;
I mean the cuckoos that perch on trees, for of the other sort are to
be found and seen enough and to spare in all months and seasons of the
year.

Now of this sort of cuckolds, there be many of divers kinds, but of
all sorts the worst and that which the ladies fear above all others,
doth consist of those wild, fierce, tricky, ill-conditioned, malicious,
cruel and suspicious husbands, who strike, torture and kill, some for
true cause, others for no true reason at all, so mad and furious doth
the very least suspicion in the world make them. With such all dealings
are very carefully to be shunned, both by their wives and by the lovers
of the same. Natheless have I known ladies and their lovers which
did make no account of them; for they were just as ill-minded as the
others, and the ladies were bold and reckless, to such a degree that
if their cavaliers chanced to fail of courage, themselves would supply
them enough and to spare for both. The more so that in proportion as
any emprise is dangerous and difficult, ought it to be undertaken in a
bold and high spirit. On the contrary I have known other ladies of the
sort who had no heart at all or ambition to adventure high endeavours;
but cared for naught but their low pleasures, even as the proverb hath
it: _base of heart as an harlot_.

Myself knew an honourable lady,[5*] and a great one, who a good
opportunity offering to have enjoyment of her lover, when this latter
did object to her the incommodity that would ensue supposing the
husband, who was not far off, to discover it, made no more ado but left
him on the spot, deeming him no doughty lover, for that he said nay to
her urgent desire. For indeed this is what an amorous dame, whenas the
ardour and frenzy of desire would fain be satisfied, but her lover will
not or cannot content her straightway, by reason of sundry lets and
hindrances, doth hate and indignantly abominate above all else.

Needs must we commend this lady for her doughtiness, and many another
of her kidney, who fear naught, if only they may content their
passions, albeit therein they run more risks and dangers than any
soldier or sailor doth in the most hazardous perils of field or sea.

A Spanish dame, escorted one day by a gallant cavalier through the
rooms of the King’s Palace and happening to pass by a particular dark
and secret recess, the gentleman, piquing himself on his respect for
women and his Spanish discretion, saith to her: _Señora, buen lugar, si
no fuera vuessa merced_ (A good place, my lady, if it were another than
your ladyship). To this the lady merely answered the very same words
back again, _Si, buen lugar, si no fuera vuessa merced_ (Yes, Sir, a
good place, if it were another than your lordship). Thus did she imply
his cowardliness, and rebuke the same, for that he had not taken of her
in so good a place what she did wish and desire to lose, as another and
a bolder man would have done in like case. For the which cause she did
thereupon altogether pretermit her former love for him, and left him
incontinently.

I have heard tell of a very fair and honourable lady, who did make
assignation with her lover, only on condition he should not touch her
(nor come to extremities at all). This the other accomplished, tarrying
all night long in great ecstasy, temptation and continence; and thereat
was the lady so grateful that some while after she did give him full
gratification, alleging for reason that she had been fain to prove his
love in accomplishing the task she had laid upon him. Wherefore she
did love him much thereafter, and afforded him opportunity to do quite
other feats than this one,—verily one of the hardest sort to succeed in.

Some there be will commend his discretion,—or timidity, if you had
rather call it so,—others not. For myself I refer the question to such
as may debate the point on this side or on that according to their
several humours and predispositions.

I knew once a lady, and one of no low degree, who having made an
assignation with her lover to come and stay with her one night, he hied
him thither all ready, in shirt only, to do his duty. But, seeing it
was in winter-tide, he was so sorely a-cold on the way, that he could
accomplish naught, and thought of no other thing but to get heat again.
Whereat the lady did loathe the caitiff, and would have no more of him.

Another lady, discoursing of love with a gentleman, he said to her
among other matters that if he were with her, he would undertake to do
his devoir six times in one night, so greatly would her beauty edge him
on. “You boast most high prowess,” said she; “I make you assignation
therefore” for such and such a night. Nor did she fail to keep tryst at
the time agreed; but lo! to his undoing, he was assailed by so sad a
convulsion, that he could by no means accomplish his devoir so much as
once even. Whereupon the fair lady said to him, “What! are you good for
naught at all? Well, then! begone out of my bed. I did never lend it
you, like a bed at an inn, to take your ease forsooth therein and rest
yourself. Therefore, I say, begone!” Thus did she drive him forth, and
thereafter did make great mock of him, hating the recreant worse than
the plague.

This last gentleman would have been happy enough, if only he had been
of the complexion of the great Baraud,[6*] Protonotary and Almoner to
King Francis, for whenas he lay with the Court-ladies, he would even
reach the round dozen at the least, and yet next morning he would say
right humbly, “I pray you, Madam, make excuse that I have not done
better, but I took physic yesterday.” I have myself known him of later
years, when he was called Captain Baraud, a Gascon, and had quitted the
lawyer’s robe. He has recounted to me, at my asking, his amours, and
that name by name.

As he waxed older, this masculine vigour and power somewhat failed him.
Moreover he was now poor, albeit he had had good pickings, the which
his prowess had gotten him; yet had he squandered it all, and was now
set to compounding and distilling essences. “But verily,” he would say,
“if only I could now, so well as once I could in my younger days, I
should be in better case, and should guide my gear better than I have
done.”

During the famous War of the League, an honourable gentleman, and a
right brave and valiant soldier, having left the place whereof he was
Governor to go to the wars, could not on his return arrive in garrison
before nightfall, and so betook himself to the house of a fair and
very honourable and noble widow, who straight invited him to stay
the night within doors. This he gladly consented to do, for he was
exceeding weary. After making him good cheer at supper, she gives him
her own chamber and bed, seeing that all the other bed-chambers were
dismantled by reason of the War, and their furniture,—and she had good
and fair plenishing,—under lock and key. Herself meanwhile withdraws to
her closet, where she had a day-bed in use.

The gentleman, after several times refusing this bed and bed-chamber,
was constrained by the good lady’s prayers to take it. Then so soon as
he was laid down therein and asleep most soundly, lo! the lady slips in
softly and lays herself down beside him in the bed without his being
ware of aught all the night long, so aweary was he and heavily asleep.
There lay he till broad daylight, when the lady, drawing away from
him, as the sleeper began to awake, said, “You have not slept without
company; for I would not yield you up the whole of my bed, so have I
enjoyed the one half thereof as well as ever you have the other. You
have lost a chance you will never have again.”

The gentleman, cursing and railing for spite of his wasted opportunity
(’twere enough to make a man hang himself), was fain to stay her and
beg her over. But no such thing! On the contrary, she was sorely
displeased at him for not having contented her as she would have had
him do, for of a truth she had not come thither for only one poor
embrace,—as the saying hath it, one embrace is only the salad of a
feast. She loved the plural number better than the singular, as do
many worthy dames.

Herein they differ from a certain very fair and honourable lady I once
knew, who on one occasion having made assignation with her lover to
come and stay with her, in a twinkling he did accomplish three good
embraces with her. But thereafter, he wishing to do a fourth and make
his number yet complete, she did urge him with prayers and commands
to get up and retire. He, as fresh as at first, would fain renew the
combat, and doth promise he would fight furiously all that night long
till dawn of day, declaring that for so little as had gone by, his
vigour was in no wise diminished. But she did reply: “Be satisfied I
have recognized your doughtiness and good dispositions. They are right
fair and good, and at a better time and place I shall know very well
how to take better advantage of them than at this present. For naught
but some small illhap is lacking for you and me to be discovered.
Farewell then till a better and more secure occasion, and then right
freely will I put you to the great battle, and not to such a trifling
encounter as this.”

Many dames there be would not have shown this much prudency, but
intoxicate with pleasure, seeing they had the enemy already on the
field, would have had him fight till dawn of day.

The same honourable lady which I spake of before these last, was of
such a gallant humour that when the caprice was on her, she had never
a thought or fear of her husband, albeit he was a ready swordsman and
quick at offence. Natheless hath she alway been so fortunate as that
neither she nor her lovers have ever run serious risks of their lives
or come near being surprised, by dint of careful posting of guards and
good and watchful sentinels.

Still it behoves not ladies to trust too much to this, for one unlucky
moment is all that is needed to ruin all,—as happened some while since
to a certain brave and valiant gentleman[7] who was massacred on his
way to see his mistress by the treachery and contrivance of the lady
herself, the which her husband made her devise against him. Alas! if
he had not entertained so high a presumption of his own worth and
valour as he rightly did, he would have kept better guard, and would
never have fallen,—more’s the pity! A capital example, verily, not to
trust over much to amorous dames, who to escape the cruel hand of their
husbands, do play such a game as these order them, as did the lady in
this case, who saved her own life,—at the sacrifice of her lover’s.

Other husbands there be who kill the lady and the lover both together
as I have heard it told of a very great lady whose husband was jealous
of her, not for any offence he had certain knowledge of, but out of
mere suspiciousness and mistaken zeal of love. He did his wife to death
with poison and wasting sickness,—a grievous thing and an exceeding
sad, after having first slain the lover, a good and honourable man,
declaring that the sacrifice was fairer and more agreeable to kill the
bull first, and the cow afterwards.

This same Prince was more cruel to his wife than he was later to one of
his daughters, the which he had married to a great Prince, though not
so great an one as himself was, he being indeed a monarch in all but
name.

It fell out to this fickle dame to be gotten with child by another than
her husband, who was at the time busied afar in some War. Presently,
having been brought to bed of a fine child, she wist not to what Saint
to make appeal, if not to her father; so to him she did reveal all
by the mouth of a gentleman she had trust in, whom she sent to him.
No sooner had he hearkened to his confidence than he did send and
charge her husband that, for his life, he should beware to make no
essay against that of his daughter, else would he do the same against
his, and make him the poorest Prince in Christendom, the which he was
well able to accomplish. Moreover he did despatch for his daughter a
galley with a meet escort to fetch to him the child and its nurse,
and providing a good house and livelihood, had the boy nourished and
brought up right well. But when after some space of time the father
came to die, thereupon the husband put her to death and so did punish
her for her faithlessness at last.

I have heard tell of another husband who did to death the lover before
the eyes of his wife, causing him to languish in long pain, to the end
she might die in a martyr’s agony to see the lingering death of him she
had so loved and had held within her arms.

Yet another great nobleman did kill his wife openly before the whole
Court.[8] For the space of fifteen years he had granted the same all
liberty, and had been for long while well aware of her ill ways, having
many a time and oft remonstrated thereat and admonished her. However
at the last a sudden caprice took him (’tis said at the instance of a
great Prince, his master), and on a certain morning he did visit her as
she still lay abed, but on the point of rising. Then, after lying with
her, and after sporting and making much mirth together, he did give her
four or five dagger thrusts. This done, he bade a servant finish her,
and after had her laid on a litter, and carried openly before all the
Court to his own house, to be there buried. He would fain have done the
like to her paramours; but so would he have had overmuch on his hands,
for that she had had so many they might have made a small army.

I have heard speak likewise of a certain brave and valiant Captain,[9]
who conceiving some suspicion of his wife, went straight to her
without more ado and strangled her himself with his own hands, in her
white girdle. Thereafter he had her buried with all due honour, and
himself was present at her obsequies in mourning weeds and of a very
sad countenance, the which mourning he did continue for many a long
day,—verily a noble satisfaction to the poor lady, as if a fine funeral
could bring her to life again! Moreover he did the same by a damosel
which had been in waiting on his wife and had aided and abetted her
in her naughtiness. Nor yet did he die without issue by this same
wife, for he had of her a gallant son, one of the bravest and foremost
soldiers of his country, who by virtue of his worth and emprise did
reach great honour as having served his Kings and masters right well.

I have heard likewise of a nobleman in Italy which also slew his wife,
not being able to catch her gallant who had escaped into France. But it
is said he slew her, not so much because of her sin,—for that he had
been ware of for a long time, how she indulged in loose love and took
no heed for aught else,—as in order to wed another lady of whom he was
enamoured.

Now this is why it is very perilous to assail and attack an armed and
defended spot,—not but that there be as many of this sort assailed
and right well assailed as of unarmed and undefended ones, yea! and
assailed victoriously to boot. For an example whereof, I know of one
that was as well armed and championed as any in all the world. Yet, was
there a certain gentleman, in sooth a most brave and valiant soldier,
who was fain to hanker after the same; nay! he was not content with
this, but must needs pride himself thereon and bruit his success
abroad. But it was scarce any time at all before he was incontinently
killed by men appointed to that end, without otherwise causing scandal,
and without the lady’s suffering aught therefrom. Yet was she for long
while in sore fear and anguish of spirit, seeing that she was then with
child and firmly believing that after her bringing to bed, the which
she would full fain have seen put off for an hundred years, she would
meet the like fate. But the husband showed himself a good and merciful
man,—though of a truth he was one of the keenest swordsmen in all the
world,—and freely pardoned her; and nothing else came of it, albeit
divers of them that had been her servants were in no small affright.
However the one victim paid for all. And so the lady, recognizing the
goodness and graciousness of such an husband, gave but very little
cause for suspicion thereafter, for that she joined herself to the
ranks of the more wise and virtuous dames of that day.

It fell out very different not many years since in the Kingdom of
Naples to Donna Maria d’Avalos, one of the fair Princesses of that land
and married to the Prince of Venusia, who was enamoured of the Count
d’Andriane, likewise one of the noble Princes of the country. So being
both of them come together to enjoy their passion, and the husband
having discovered it,—by means whereof I could render an account,
but the tale would be over long,—having insooth surprised them there
together, had the twain of them slain by men appointed thereto. In such
wise that next morning the fair and noble pair, unhappy beings, were
seen lying stretched out and exposed to public view on the pavement in
front of the house door, all dead and cold, in sight of all passers-by,
who could not but weep and lament over their piteous lot.

Now there were kinsfolk of the said lady, thus done to death, who
were exceeding grieved and greatly angered thereat, so that they were
right eager to avenge the same by death and murder, as the law of that
country doth allow. But for as much as she had been slain by base-born
varlets and slaves who deserved not to have their hands stained with so
good and noble blood, they were for making this point alone the ground
of their resentment and for this seeking satisfaction from the husband,
whether by way of justice or otherwise,—but not so, if he had struck
the blow with his own hand. For that had been a different case, not so
imperatively calling for satisfaction.

Truly an odd idea and a most foolish quibble have we here! Whereon I
make appeal to our great orators and wise lawyers, that they tell me
this: which act is the more monstrous, for a man to kill his wife with
his own hand, the which hath so oftentimes loved and caressed her, or
by that of a base-born slave? In truth there are many good arguments to
be alleged on the point; but I will refrain me from adducing of them,
for fear they prove over weak and silly in comparison of those of such
great folk.

I have heard tell that the Viceroy, hearing of the plot that was
toward, did warn the lover thereof, and the lady to boot. But their
destiny would have it so; this was to be the issue, and no other, of
their so delightsome loves.

This lady was daughter of Don Carlo d’Avalos,[10*] second brother of
the Marquis di Pescaïra, to whom if any had played a like trick in any
of his love matters wherewith I am acquaint, be sure he would have been
dead this many a long day.

I once knew an husband, which coming home from abroad and having gone
long without sleeping with his wife, did arrive with mind made up
and glad heart to do so with her presently, and having good pleasure
thereof. But arriving by night, he did hear by his little spy, how
that she was accompanied by her lover in the bed. Thereupon did he
straight lay hand on sword, and knocked at the door; the which being
opened, he entered in resolved to kill her. After first of all hunting
for the gallant, who had escaped by the window, he came near to his
wife to kill her; but it so happened she was on this occasion so
becomingly tricked out, so featly dressed in her night attire and her
fair white shift, and so gaily decked (bear in mind she had taken all
this pretty pains with herself the better to please her lover), that
he had never found her so much to his taste. Then she, falling at his
knees, in her shift as she was, and grovelling on the ground, did ask
his forgiveness with such fair and gentle words, the which insooth she
knew right well how to set forth, that raising her up and seeing her so
fair and of so gracious mien, he felt his heart stir within him, and
dropping his sword,—for that he had had no enjoyment for many a day
and was anhungered therefor, which likely enough did stir the lady
too at nature’s prompting,—he forgave her and took and kissed her,
and put her back to bed again, and in a twinkling lay down with her,
after shutting to the door again. And the fair lady did content him so
well by her gentle ways and pretty cajoleries,—be sure she forgat not
any one of them all,—that eventually the next morning they were found
better friends than ever, and never was so much loving and caressing
between them before. As was the case likewise with King Menelaus, that
poor cuckold, the which did ever by the space of ten or twelve years
threaten his wife Helen that he would kill her, if ever he could put
hands upon her, and even did tell her so, calling from the foot of
Troy’s wall to her on the top thereof. Yet, Troy well taken, and she
fallen into his power, so ravished was he with her beauty that he
forgave her all, and did love and fondle her in better sort than ever.

So much then for these savage husbands that from lions turn into
butterflies. But no easy thing is it for any to get deliverance like
her whose case we now tell.

A lady, young, fair and noble, in the reign of King Francis I., married
to a great Lord of France, of as noble a house as is any to be found,
did escape otherwise, and in more pious fashion, than the last named.
For, whether it were she had given some cause for suspicion to her
husband, or that he was overtaken by a fit of distrust or sudden anger,
he came at her sword in hand for to kill her. But she bethought herself
instantly to make a vow to the glorious Virgin Mary, and to promise
she would to pay her said vow, if only she would save her life, at her
chapel of Loretto at St. Jean des Mauverets, in the country of Anjou.
And so soon as ever she had made this vow in her own mind, lo! the
said Lord did fall to the ground, and his sword slipped from out his
hand. Then presently, rising up again as if awaking from a dream, he
did ask his wife to what Saint she had recommended herself to escape
out of this peril. She told him it was to the Blessed Virgin, in her
afore-named Chapel, and how she had promised to visit the holy place.
Whereupon he said to her: “Go thither then, and fulfil your vow,”—the
which she did, and hung up there a picture recording the story,
together with sundry large and fair votive offerings of wax, such as
of yore were customary for this purpose, the which were there to be
seen for long time after. Verily a fortunate vow, and a right happy
and unexpected escape,—as is further set forth in the _Chronicles of
Anjou_.[11]

I have heard say how King Francis[12] once was fain to go to bed with
a lady of his Court whom he loved. He found her husband sword in fist
ready to kill him; but the King straightway did put his own to his
throat, and did charge him, on his life, to do him no hurt, but if he
should do him the least ill in the world, how that he would kill him
on the spot, or else have his head cut off. So for that night did he
send him forth the house, and took his place. The said lady was very
fortunate to have found so good a champion and protector of her person,
for never after durst the husband to say one word of complaint, and so
left her to do as she well pleased.

I have heard tell how that not this lady alone, but many another
beside, did win suchlike safeguard and protection from the King.
As many folk do in War-time to save their lands, putting of the
King’s cognizance over their doors, even so do these ladies put the
countersign of their monarchs inside and out their bodies; whereby
their husbands dare not afterward say one word of reproach, who but for
this would have given them incontinently to the edge of the sword.

I have known yet other ladies, favoured in this wise by kings and
great princes, who did so carry their passports everywhere. Natheless
were there some of them, whose husbands, albeit not daring to use cold
steel to them, did yet have resort to divers poisons and secret ways
of death, making pretence these were catarrhs, or apoplexy and sudden
death. Verily such husbands are odious,—so to see their fair wives
lying by their side, sickening and dying a slow death day after day,
and do deserve death far worse than their dames. Others again do them
to death between four walls, in perpetual imprisonment. Of such we have
instances in sundry ancient Chronicles of France; and myself have known
a great nobleman of France, the which did thus slay his wife, who was
a very fair and honourable lady,—and this by judgement of the Courts,
taking an infatuate delight in having by this means his cuckoldry
publicly declared.

Among husbands of this mad and savage temper under cuckoldry, old men
hold the first place, who distrusting their own vigour and heat of
body, and bent on making sure of their wives’ virtue, even when they
have been so foolish as to marry young and beautiful ones, so jealous
and suspicious are they of the same (as well by reason of their natural
disposition as of their former doings in this sort, the which they
have either done themselves of yore or seen done by others), that
they lead the unhappy creatures so miserable a life that scarce could
Purgatory itself be in any wise more cruel.

The Spanish proverb saith: _El diablo sabe mucho, porque es viejo_,
“The devil knoweth much, because he is old”; and in like sort these old
men, by reason of their age and erstwhile habitudes, know full many
things. Thus are they greatly to be blamed on this point, for seeing
they cannot satisfy their wives, why do they go about to marry them at
all? Likewise are the women, being so fair and young, very wrong to
marry old men under temptation of wealth, thinking they will enjoy the
same after their death, the which they do await from hour to hour. And
meanwhile do they make good cheer with young gallants whom they make
friends of, for the which some of them do suffer sorely.

I have heard speak of one who, being surprised in the act, her husband,
an old man, did give her a certain poison whereby she lay sick for more
than a year, and grew dry as a stick. And the husband would go oft to
see her, and took delight in that her sickness, and made mirth thereat,
declaring she had gotten her deserts.

Yet another her husband shut her up in a room, and put her on bread
and water, and very oft would he make her strip stark naked and whip
her his fill, taking no pity on that fair naked flesh, and feeling no
compunction thereat. And truly this is the worst of them, for seeing
they be void of natural heat, and as little subject to temptation as a
marble statue, no beauty doth stir their compassion, but they satiate
their rage with cruel martyrdoms; whereas if that they were younger,
they would take their satisfaction on their victim’s fair naked body,
and so forget and forgive, as I have told of in a previous place.

This is why it is ill to marry suchlike ill-conditioned old men; for of
a truth, albeit their sight is failing and coming to naught from old
age, yet have they always enough to spy out and see the tricks their
young wives may play them.

Even so have I heard speak of a great lady who was used to say that
never a Saturday was without sun, never a beautiful woman without
amours, and never an old man without his being jealous; and indeed
everything goeth for the enfeeblement of his vigour.

This is why a great Prince whom I know was wont to say: that he would
fain be like the lion, the which, grow he as old as he may, doth never
get white; or the monkey, which, the more he performeth, the more he
hath desire to perform; or the dog, for the older he waxeth, the bigger
doth he become; or else the stag, forasmuch as the more aged he is,
the better can he accomplish his duty, and the does will resort more
willingly to him than to the younger members of the herd.

And indeed, to speak frankly, as I have heard a great personage of rank
say likewise, what reason is there, or what power hath the husband
so great that he may and ought to kill his wife, seeing he hath none
such from God, neither by His law nor yet His holy Gospel, but only to
put her away? He saith naught therein of murder, and bloodshedding,
naught of death, tortures or imprisonment, of poisons or cruelties.
Ah! but our Lord Jesus Christ did well admonish us that great wrong
was in these fashions of doing and these murders, and that He did
hardly or not at all approve thereof, whenas they brought to Him the
poor woman accused of adultery, for that He might pronounce her doom
and punishment. He said only to them, writing with His finger on the
ground: “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone
at her,”—the which not one of them all durst do, feeling themselves
touched to the quick by so wise and gentle a rebuke.

Our Creator was for teaching us all not to be so lightly ready to
condemn folk and put them to death, even on this count, well knowing
the weakness of our human Nature, and the violent errors some do commit
against it. For such an one doth cause his wife to be put to death,
who is more an adulterer than she, while others again often have their
wives slain though innocent, being aweary of them and desiring to take
other fresh ones. How many such there be! Yet doth Saint Augustine say
that the adulterous man is as much to be punished as the woman.

I have heard speak of a very great Prince, and of high place in the
world, who suspecting his wife of false love with a certain gallant
cavalier, had him assassinated as he came forth by night from his
Palace, and afterward the lady.[13*] A little while before, this latter
at a Tourney that was held at Court, after fixedly gazing at her lover
who did manage his horse right gracefully, said suddenly: “Great Lord!
how well he doth ride!” “Yea!” was the unexpected answer, “but he rides
too high an horse”; and in short time after was he poisoned by means of
certain perfumes or by some draught he swallowed by way of the mouth.

I knew a Lord of a good house who did kill his wife, the which was
very fair and of good family and lineage, poisoning her by her
private parts, without her being ware of it, so subtle and cunningly
compounded was the said poison. This did he in order to marry a great
lady who before had been wife to a Prince, without the influence and
protection of whose friends he was in sad case, exposed to imprisonment
and danger. However as his ill-luck would have it, he did not marry
her after all, but was disappointed therein and brought into very evil
repute, and ill looked at by all men and honourable ladies.

I have seen high personages greatly blame our old-time Kings, such
as Louis X. (le Hutin, the Obstinate)[14*] and Charles the Fair, for
that they did to death their wives,—the one Marguérite, daughter
of Robert Duke of Burgundy, the other Blanche, daughter of Othelin
Count of Burgundy, casting up against them their adulteries. So
did they have them cruelly done to death within the four walls of
the Château-Gaillard, as did likewise the Comte de Foix to Jeanne
d’Arthoys. Wherein was not so much guilt or such heinous crimes as they
would have had men to believe; but the truth is the said monarchs were
aweary of their wives, and so did bring up against them these fine
charges, and after did marry others.

As in yet another case, did King Henry of England have his wife put to
death and beheaded, to wit Anne Boleyn, in order to marry another, for
that he was a monarch very ready to shed blood and quick to change his
wives. Were it not better that they should divorce them, according to
God’s word, than thus cruelly cause them to be slain? But no! they must
needs ever have fresh meat these folk, who are fain to sit at table
apart without inviting any to share with them, or else to have new and
fresh wives to bring them gear after that they have wasted that of
their first spouses, or else have not gotten of these enough to satisfy
them. Thus did Baldwyn,[15] second King of Jerusalem, who making it to
be believed of his first wife that she had played him false, did put
her away, in order to take a daughter of the Duke of Malyterne,[15]
because she had a large sum of money for dowry, whereof he stood in
sore need. This is to be read in the _History of the Holy Land_.[15]
Truly it well becomes these Princes to alter the Law of God and invent
a new one, to the end they may make away with their unhappy wives!

King Louis VII. (Le Jeune, the Young)[15] did not precisely so in
regard to Leonore, duchesse d’Acquitaine, who being suspected of
adultery, mayhap falsely, during his voyaging in Syria, was repudiated
by him on his sole authority, without appealing to the law of other
men, framed as it is and practised more by might than by right or
reason. Whereby he did win greater reputation than the other Kings
named above, and the name of good, while the others were called wicked,
cruel and tyrannical, forasmuch as he had in his soul some traces of
remorse and truth. And this forsooth is to live a Christian life! Why!
the heathen Romans themselves did for the most part herein behave more
Christianly; and above all sundry of their Emperors, of whom the more
part were subject to be cuckolds, and their wives exceeding lustful and
whorish. Yet cruel as they were, we read of many who did rid themselves
of their wives more by divorces than by murders such as we that are
Christians do commit.

Julius Caesar did no further hurt to his wife Pompeia, but only
divorced her, who had done adultery with Publius Clodius, a young
and handsome Roman nobleman. For being madly in love with her, and
she with him, he did spy out the opportunity when one day she was
performing a sacrifice in her house, to which only women were admitted.
So he did dress himself as a girl, for as yet had he no beard on chin,
and joining in the singing and playing of instruments and so passing
muster, had leisure to do that he would with his mistress. However,
being presently recognized, he was driven forth and brought to trial,
but by dint of bribery and influence was acquitted, and no more came of
the thing.

Cicero expended his Latin in vain in a fine speech he did deliver
against him.[16*] True it is that Caesar, wishful of convincing the
public who would have him deem his wife innocent, did reply that he
desired his bed not alone to be unstained with guilt, but free from
all suspicion. This was well enough by way of so satisfying the world;
but in his soul he knew right well what the thing meant, his wife
being thus found with her lover. Little doubt she had given him the
assignation and opportunity; for herein, when the woman doth wish and
desire it, no need for the lover to trouble his head to devise means
and occasions; for verily will she find more in an hour than all the
rest of us men together would be able to contrive in an hundred years.
As saith a certain lady of rank of mine acquaintance, who doth declare
to her lover: “Only do you find means to make me _wish_ to come, and
never fear! I will find ways enough.”

Caesar moreover knew right well the measure of these matters, for
himself was a very great debauchee, and was known by the title of the
_cock for all hens_. Many a husband did he make cuckold in his city, as
witness the nickname given him by his soldiers at his Triumph in the
verse they did sing thereat: _Romani, servate uxores; moechum adducimus
calvum_.

(Romans, look well to your wives, for we bring you _the bald-headed
fornicator_, who will debauch ’em every one.)

See then how that Caesar by this wise and cunning answer he made
about his wife, did shake himself free of bearing himself the name of
cuckold, the which he made so many others to endure. But in his heart,
he knew for all that how that he was galled to the quick.

Octavius Caesar[17] likewise did put away his wife Scribonia for the
sake of his own lecherousness, without other cause, though at the same
time without doing her any other hurt, albeit she had good excuse
to make him cuckold, by reason of an infinity of ladies that he had
relations with. Indeed before their husbands’ very faces he would
openly lead them away from table at those banquets he was used to give
them; then presently, after doing his will with them, would send them
back again with hair dishevelled and disordered, and red ears,—a sure
sign of what they had been at! Not that myself did ever elsewhere
hear tell of this last as a distinctive mark whereby to discover such
doings; a red face for a certainty have I heard so spoken of, but red
ears never. So he did gain the repute of being exceeding lecherous, and
even Mark Antony reproached him therewith; but he was used to excuse
himself, saying he did not so much go with these ladies for mere
wantonness, as thereby to discover more easily the secrets of their
husbands, whom he did distrust.

I have known not a few great men and others, which have done after the
same sort and have sought after ladies with this same object, wherein
they have had good hap. Indeed I could name sundry which have adopted
this good device; for good it is, as yielding a twofold pleasure.
In this wise was Catiline’s conspiracy discovered by the means of a
courtesan.

The same Octavius was once seriously minded to put to death his
daughter Julia, wife of Agrippa, for that she had been a notorious
harlot, and had wrought great shame to him,—for verily sometimes
daughters do bring more dishonour on their fathers than wives on their
husbands. Still he did nothing more than banish her the country, and
deprive of the use of wine and the wearing of fine clothing, compelling
her to wear poor folk’s dress, by way of signal punishment, as also of
the society of men. And this is in sooth a sore deprivation for women
of this kidney, to rob them of the two last named gratifications!

Another Emperor, and very cruel tyrant, Caligula,[18] did suspect that
his wife, Livia Hostilia, had by stealth cheated him of sundry of her
favours, and bestowed the same on her first husband, Caius Piso, from
whom he had taken her away by force. This last was still alive, and
was deemed to have received of her some pleasure and gratification of
her fair body, the while the Emperor was away on a journey. Yet did he
not indulge his usual cruelty toward her, but only banished her from
him, two years after he had first taken her from her husband Piso and
married her.

He did the same to Tullia Paulina, whom he had taken from her husband
Caius Memmius. He exiled her and that was all, but in this case with
the express prohibition to have naught to do at all with the gentle art
of love, neither with any other men nor yet with her husband—truly a
cruel and rigorous order so far as the last was concerned!

I have heard speak of a Christian Prince, and a great one, who laid
the same prohibition on a lady whom he affected, and on her husband
likewise, by no means to touch her, so jealous was he of her favours.

Claudius,[19] son of Drusus Germanicus, merely put away his wife
Plautia Urgulanilla, for having shown herself a most notorious harlot,
and what is worse, for that he had heard how she had made an attempt
upon his life. Yet cruel as he was, though surely these two reasons
were enough to lead him to put her to death, he was content with
divorce only.

Then again, for how long a time did he endure the wild doings and
filthy debaucheries of Valeria Messalina, his second wife, who was
not content with doing it with one and another here and there in
dissolute and abandoned sort, but made it her regular practice to
go to the brothels to get gratification of her passions, like the
biggest strumpet in all the city. So far did she go, as Juvenal doth
describe, that so soon as ever her husband was to bed with her, she
would slip lightly away from beside him, when she saw him fast asleep
and disguising herself the best she could, would hie her to some common
brothel, where she took all she could get, and still would retire
weary rather than replete or satisfied. Nay! she did even worse. For
her better contentment, and to win the repute and self-satisfaction
of being a good harlot and accomplished light-o’-love, she did even
ask for payment, and would tax each round and each several act, like a
travelling cess-collector, to the last doit.

I have heard speak of a lady of the great world, and of no mean lineage
neither, who for some while did follow the same life, and went thus
to the common brothels in disguise, to make trial of this way of
existence, and get gratification of her passions,—so much so that one
night the town-guard, while making their rounds, did actually arrest
her unwittingly. And indeed there be other ladies too which play these
pranks, as is well enough known.

Boccaccio[20] in his book of “Great Folks that have been Unhappy,”
doth speak of this Messalina in gentle terms, and representeth her
making excuse for her ill behaviour, forasmuch as she was born by
nature altogether for this course of life, the day of her birth being
signalized by signs in the heavens which do show in all cases an hot
and fiery complexion. Her husband was ware of it, and bore long with
her,—until he learned how that she was secretly married to Caius
Silius, one of the handsome gallants of Rome. So seeing the matter was
as good as a plot upon his life, he had her put to death on this count,
though in no wise for her lechery; for this he was well accustomed to
see and know, and to condone the same.

Anyone who hath seen the statue of the aforesaid Messalina found in
these last days at the town of Bordeaux will readily allow she did
indeed bear the true look that comported with such a life. ’Tis an
antique medal, found among some ruins; and is very fine and well
worthy to be preserved to look at and carefully examine.[21*] She is a
very fine woman, of a very fine, tall figure, with handsome features,
and hair gracefully dressed in the old Roman fashion, and of very great
stature,—all manifesting she was what History doth declare her to have
been. For, by what I gather from sundry philosophers, physicians and
physiognomists, big women be naturally inclined and well disposed to
this thing. In truth such women are of a manly build, and so being,
have share in the hot passions both of men and women, and conjoining
the natures of both in one bodily frame, are thus more passionate and
do possess more vigour than one alone,—even as, they say, a great and
deep-laden ship doth need deep water to bear her up. Moreover, by what
the learned Doctors that be expert in the mysteries of love declare, a
big woman is more apt and more delightsome thereto than a small one.

The which doth mind me of a very great Prince, whom I once knew.
Wishing to commend a certain woman whose favours he had enjoyed, he
said in this wise: “’Tis a most excellent harlot, as big as my lady
mother.” Whereon being checked at the over-reckless vivacity of his
speech, he did explain how that he meant not to say she was as great a
harlot as his mother, but that she was of the like stature and as tall
as was his mother. For sometimes a man doth say things he intendeth in
no wise to say, as sometimes on the other hand he will say, without
intending, the very actual truth.

Thus we see there is better cheer with big, tall women than with little
ones, were it only for the noble grace and majesty, which they do
own. For in this matter are these qualities as much called for and as
attractive as in other exploits and exercises,—neither more nor less
for example than in horsemanship. Wherein the riding of a tall and
noble charger of blood is an hundred fold more agreeable and pleasant
than is that of a little pony, and doth give more enjoyment by far to
the cavalier. Albeit must the same be a good rider, and carry himself
well, and show much more strength and address. In similar wise must a
man carry himself toward fine, tall women; for that such as be of this
stature are wont to have a higher-stepping gait than others, and will
full often make riders slip their stirrup, nay! even lose their saddle
altogether, as I have heard some tell which have essayed to mount them.
In which case do they straight make boast and great mockery, whenas
they have unseated them and thrown them flat. So have I been told of a
certain lady of the good town of Paris, the which, the first time her
lover did stay with her, said to him frankly: “Embrace me with a will,
and clip me tight to you as well as ever you can; and ride boldly, for
I am high-paced,—so beware of a fall. So for your part spare me not; I
am strong enough and expert enough to bear your assaults, be they as
fierce as they may. For indeed, if you spare me, will I not spare you.
A good ball deserveth a good return.” But insooth the lady did win the
match.

Thus must a man take good heed to his behaviour with suchlike bold,
merry, stalwart, fleshly and well-built dames; and though truly the
superabundant heat that is in them doth give great contentment, yet
will they at times be overpressing by reason of their excessive
passionateness. However, as the proverb saith: _There be good hinds of
all sizes_, so likewise are there little, dwarfish women which have
action, grace and manner in these matters coming very nigh to their
taller sisters,—or mayhap they be fain to copy them,—and as keen for
the fray as they, or even more so, (I would appeal to the masters in
these arts), just as a little horse will curvet every whit as nimbly as
a big one. This bringeth to mind the saying of a worthy husband, who
declared his wife was like divers animals and above all like an ape,
for that when a-bed she would do naught but twist and turn and toss
about.

Sundry reminiscences have beguiled me into this digression. ’Tis time
now to come back again to our original discussion.

Another case. That cruel tyrant Nero[22] did content himself with
the mere putting away of his wife Octavia, daughter of Claudius and
Messalina, for her adultery; and his cruelty stopped thereat.

Domitian[22] did even better, who divorced his wife Longina, because
she was so fondly enamoured of a certain comedian and buffoon named
Paris, and did naught else all day long but play the wanton with him,
neglecting the society of her husband altogether. Yet, after no long
time, did he take her back again and repented him of the separation
from her. Remember this: the said mountebank had taught her meantime
sundry tricks of adroitness and cunning address, the which the Emperor
did hope he would have good profit of!

Pertinax[22] did show a like clemency toward his wife Favia Sulpitiana.
Not indeed that he did divorce her, nor yet take her again, but though
well knowing her to be devoted to a singer and player of instruments of
music, and to give all her love to the same, yet made he no complaint,
but let her do her will. Meanwhile himself pursued an intrigue with one
Cornificia, who was his own cousin german. Herein he did but follow the
opinion of Heliogabalus, who was used to say there was naught in the
world more excellent than the frequenting of one’s own relations, male
and female. Many there be that I wot of, which have made such exchanges
and had suchlike dealings, going upon the opinions of these two Princes!

So likewise did the Emperor Severus[23] take no heed of his wife’s
honour or dishonour, though she was a public harlot. Yet did he never
think of correcting her therefor, saying only she was called Julia
by her name, and that all who bare that name had from all time been
fated to be mighty whores and to cuckold their husbands. In like wise
do I know many ladies bearing certain names under this our Christian
dispensation,—I will not say who they be for the respect I owe to our
holy Religion,—the which are constantly used to be strumpets and to
_lift the leg_ more than other women bearing other names. Of such have
been very few which have escaped this evil fate.

Well! of a truth I should never have done, were I to adduce all the
infinity of examples of great ladies and Roman Emperors of yore, in
whose case their husbands, though sore cajoled and albeit very cruel
men, did yet refrain them from exerting their cruelty and undoubted
rights and privileges against their wives, no matter how dissolute and
ill-conducted these were. I ween few prudes were there in those old
days, as indeed is sufficiently declared in the history of their lives,
and as may be plainly discerned by careful examination of ancient
portraits and medallions representing them; for indeed you may behold
in their fair faces this same lubricity manifestly and obviously
displayed by chisel and graver. Yet did their husbands, cruel Princes
as these were, pardon them, and did put none of them to death, or but a
very few. So would it seem true that these Pagans, not knowing God, yet
were so gentle and clement toward their wives and the human race, while
the most part of our Kings, Princes, great Lords and other Christian
men, be so cruel toward the same for a like offence.

Natheless must we herein greatly commend our brave and good Philip
Augustus,[24] King of France, who after having put away his wife
Angerberge, sister of Canute, King of Denmark, which was his second
wife, under pretext she was his cousin in the third degree on the
side of his first wife Ysabel, though others say he did suspect
her of unfaithfulness, yet did the said King, under the weight of
ecclesiastical censures, albeit he had married again elsewhere, take
her back again, and so conveyed her home behind him on horseback,
without the privity of the Diet of Soissons, that had been summoned to
decide this very matter, but was too dilatory to come to any conclusion
thereon.

Nowadays never a one of our great men will do the like; but the least
punishment they do their wives is to shut them up in perpetual prison,
on bread and water, poisoning them or killing them, whether by their
own hand or by legal process. If they have so great a desire to be
rid of them and marry others, as doth often happen, why do they not
divorce them and honourably separate from them, without doing other
hurt, and then ask power of the Pope to marry another wife? For
surely what God hath joined together, man (without God’s authority)
may in no wise separate. Yet have we had sundry examples thereof, and
notably those of our French Kings Charles VIII.[25] and Louis XII.[25]
Whereanent I did once hear a great Theologian discourse, namely with
regard to the late King Philip of Spain, who had married his niece,
the mother of the present King, and this by dispensation. He said
thus: “Either must we outright allow the Pope to be God’s Vicegerent
on earth, and so absolutely, or else not at all. If he is, as we
Catholics are bound to believe, we must entirely confess his power as
absolute and unbounded on earth, and without limit, and that he can tie
and untie as good him seemeth. But if we do not hold him such, well,
I am sorry for them that be in such error, but good Catholics have
naught to do with them.” Wherefore hath our Holy Father authority over
dissolutions of marriage, and can allay many grave inconveniences which
come therefrom to husband and wife, when they do ill agree together.

Certainly women are greatly blameworthy so to treat their husbands and
violate their good faith, the which God hath so strongly charged them
to observe. But yet on the other hand hath he straitly forbid murder,
and it is highly detestable to Him, on whosesoever part it be. Never
yet hardly have I seen bloody folk and murderers, above all of their
wives, but they have paid dear for it, and very few lovers of blood
have ended well, whereas many women that have been sinners have won the
pity of God and obtained mercy, as did the Magdalen.

In very deed these poor women are creatures more nearly resembling
the Divinity than we, because of their beauty. For what is beautiful
is more near akin to God who is all beautiful, than the ugly, which
belongeth to the Devil.

The good Alfonzo, King of Naples,[26*] was used to say how that beauty
was a token of good and gentle manners, as the fair flower is token of
a good and fair fruit. And insooth have I seen in my life many fair
women who were altogether good; who though they did indeed indulge in
love, did commit no evil, nor take heed for aught else but only this
pleasure, and thereto applied all their care without a second thought.

Others again have I seen most ill-conditioned, harmful, dangerous,
cruel and exceeding spiteful, naught hindering them from caring for
love and evil-doing both together.

It may then well be asked,—why, being thus subject to the fickle and
suspicious humour of their husbands, the which do deserve punishment
ten times more in God’s eyes, why they are so sorely punished? Indeed
and indeed the complexion and humour of such folk is as grievous as is
the sorry task of writing of them.

I speak next of yet another such, a Lord of Dalmatia, who having slain
his wife’s paramour, did compel her to bed habitually with his dead
body, stinking carrion as it was. The end whereof was, the unhappy
woman was choked with the evil stench she did endure for several days.

In the _Cent Nouvelles_ of the Queen of Navarre will be found the most
touching and saddest tale that can be read on this matter, the tale of
that fair lady of Germany the which her husband was used to constrain
to drink ever from the skull of her dead lover, whom he had slain.
This piteous sight did the Seigneur Bernage, at that day ambassador in
the said country for the French King Charles VIII., see and make report
thereof.

The first time ever I was in Italy, I was told, when passing through
Venice, what did purport to be a true story of a certain Albanian
knight, the which having surprised his wife in adultery, did kill the
lover. And for spite that his wife had not been content with him, for
indeed he was a gallant knight, and well fitted for Love’s battles, so
much so that he could engage ten or twelve times over in one night, he
did contrive a strange punishment, and so did seek out carefully in
all quarters a dozen stout fellows of the right lecherous sort, who
had the repute of being well and vigorously built and very adroit in
action. These he took and hired, and engaged the same for money. Then
he did lock them in his wife’s chamber, who was a very fair woman,
and gave her up to them, beseeching them one and all to do their duty
thoroughly, with double pay if that they did acquit themselves really
well. Thus did they all go at her, one after another, and did handle
her in such wise that they did kill her,—to the great pleasure of her
husband, who did cast it in her teeth, when she was nigh unto death,
that having loved this pleasure so much, she could now have her fill
thereof. Herein he but copied what Semiramis (or rather _Thomyris_)
said, as she put Cyrus’ head into a vessel full of blood. A terrible
death truly![27*]

The poor lady had not so died, if only she had been of the robust
complexion of a girl that was in Cæsar’s camp in Gaul. Two legions did
pass, ’tis said, over her body in brief space; yet at the end of all
she did dance a fling, feeling no hurt thereof.

I have heard speak of a Frenchwoman, town-bred, a lady of birth and of
handsome looks, who was violated in our civil wars, in a town taken by
assault, by a multitude of men-at-arms. On escaping away from these,
she did consult a worthy Father as to whether she had sinned greatly,
first telling him her story. He said, no!—inasmuch as she had been had
by force, and deflowered without her consent, but entirely misliking
the thing. Whereon she did make answer: “Now God be praised, for that
once in my life I have had my fill, without sinning or doing offence to
God!”

A lady of good quality, having been in like wise violated at the time
of the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew, and her husband being dead,
she did ask of a man of knowledge and right feeling, whether she had
offended God, and whether she would not be punished of His sternness,
and if she had not sorely wronged the manes of her husband, who had but
only quite late been slain. He answered her, that if, when she was at
this work, she had taken pleasure therein, then had she surely sinned;
but if she had felt but disgust at the thing, it was as if it had never
been. A good and wise judgement!

I once knew well a lady who held quite other views, for she was used to
say: Never did she feel so great a pleasure in these doings, as when
she was half forced and all but violated as it were, and then was there
much pleasure therein. The more a woman showeth herself rebellious and
recalcitrant, so much the more doth the man wax ardent and push home
the attack; and so having once forced the breach, he doth use his
victory more fiercely and savagely, and thereby giveth more appetite
to the woman. The latter is for very delight like one half dead and
swooned, or so it seemeth; but really ’tis by reason of the extreme
pleasure she findeth therein. Indeed the same lady did actually say
further, that oftentimes she would make these ados and show resistance
to her husband, and play the prudish, capricious and scornful wife,
and so put him the more on his mettle. Whereby when he did come to it,
both he and she did find an hundredfold more pleasure; for many writers
have noted, a woman pleaseth better who makes some little difficulties
and resistances than when she lets herself straightway be taken. So in
War is a victory won by force more signalised and hailed with greater
delight and enthusiasm than when had for nothing, and the triumph
thereof is sweeter. Yet must not the lady in all this _overdo_ the part
of the peevish and evil-tempered jade, else may she likely be mistaken
rather for a silly whore wishful to be playing of the prude. But at
such interference would she be sore offended, to go by what I am told
by such dames as are most versed and apt in these matters, to the whom
I do appeal. For far be it from me to give them instruction in things
they do understand much better than I!

Again, I have known many greatly blame some of these callous and
murderous husbands on one count in especial, namely that, if their
wives be whores, themselves are the cause of it. For, as Saint
Augustine saith, it is great foolishness in an husband to demand
chastity of his wife, himself being all the while plunged in the slough
of lecherous living; for such mode of life as he doth claim from his
wife, the same he should follow himself. Moreover we do read in Holy
Scripture how that it is not expedient that the husband and wife love
each other so excessively, meaning by this with a wanton and lecherous
love. For in that case do they set all their heart and mind on lustful
pleasures, and think so much of these and give themselves up so
entirely to the same, as that they do neglect the love which they owe
to God. Thus have I myself seen many women who so loved their husbands,
and their husbands them, and burned for them with such ardour, as that
both of them did forget God’s service utterly, inasmuch as the time
they should have given thereto, they did devote to their lecheries and
employ the whole of it therein.

Furthermore, and this is a yet worse thing, these same husbands do
teach their wives a thousand lecheries. The end is that for one fire
brand of lust they have in their body to begin with, they do engender
an hundred, and so make them exceeding lascivious, so that being so
trained and instructed, they cannot later refrain themselves from
leaving their husbands to go after other swains. Whereat are their
husbands in despair, and do punish their poor wives sorely. Herein
they do commit great injustice, for it is only natural the wives,
whenas they feel their heart stirred with satisfaction at being so
well trained, should then wish to show others all they know; but the
husbands would fain have them hide their science. In all this is
neither sense nor reason, no more than if a good horseman should have a
well-trained horse, which could go all paces, and yet should suffer no
man to see the same tried or to mount on its back, but should require
folk to believe it on his mere word, and take the beast without other
warranty.

I have heard tell of an honourable gentleman of the great world, who
having fallen deep in love with a certain fair lady, was warned by a
friend of his how that he was but wasting his time, seeing she did
love her husband far too well. So one day he did contrive to make an
hole which looked right into their room. Then when they were together,
he failed not to spy at them through this hole, whereby he did behold
the greatest lubricities and lecheries, and this as much, nay! even
more, on the part of the wife than of the husband. Accordingly the next
day he hied him to his comrade, and detailing all the fine sight he
had had, did thus say to him: “The woman is mine, I tell you, so soon
as ever the husband hath started on such and such a journey; for she
will never be able for long to restrain herself under the ardour which
nature and art as well have given her, but must needs assuage the same.
And in this wise by dint of my perseverance shall I have her.”

I know yet another honourable gentleman, the which being exceedingly
enamoured of a fair and honourable lady, aware she had a copy of
Aretino[28*] with pictures in her closet, as her husband well knew and
had seen and did allow, straightway augured therefrom that he would
overcome her. And so without losing hope, did he make love to her so
well, and so long and patiently, that at the last he did win the day.
And hereon did he find that she had indeed learned good lessons and
excellent science, whether from her husband or from others, albeit
neither the one nor the other had been her first masters, but Dame
Nature rather, who was a better mistress therein than all the arts.
Not but what the book and good practice had helped much in the matter,
as she did later confess to him.

We read in ancient Writers of a great courtesan and procuress of the
days of old Rome, by name Elephantiné,[29] who did make and invent
postures or _modes_ of the same sort as those of Aretino, but even
worse, the which the great ladies and princesses of yore, following the
ways of harlotry, did study as being a very excellent book.

Also that good dame and famous whore of Cyrené in Africa, who did bear
the title of _Dodecamechanos_ (she of the twelve devices), because she
had discovered twelve several modes whereby to make the pleasure more
wanton and voluptuous.

Heliogabalus[29] was used to hire and keep in his pay, at the expense
of much money and costly gifts, such men and women as did invent and
bring forward new devices of this kind, the better to arouse his
lecherousness. Yea! and I have heard of other such that are like him
among the great folk of our own day!

But a few years since did Pope Sixtus V. cause to be hanged at Rome a
Secretary which had been in the service of the Cardinal d’Este and was
named Capella, for many and divers offences,—but amongst other that he
had composed a book of these same fine postures, the which were figured
by a great ecclesiastic whom I will not name for sake of his cloth, and
by a great lady, one of the fair dames of Rome, the whole shown to the
life and painted in proper form and colour.[29]

I once knew a Prince and a great man who did even better, for he
had of a goldsmith a very fair cup made of silver gilt, by way of a
masterpiece and very especial curiosity, the most high-wrought, well
engraven and cunningly chiseled piece of work could anywhere be seen.
And thereon were cut most featly and subtly with the graver sundry of
the _postures_ from Aretino, of men and women with one another; this on
the lower part of the cup, and above and higher up sundry also of the
divers modes of beasts.

And ’twas here I first learned (for many is the time I have seen
the said cup and drunk therein, not without laughing) the way of
cohabitation of the lion and lioness, the which is quite opposite to
that of all other animals.[30*] This I had never known before, and as
to its nature I refer me to those who are ware of the facts without my
telling them. The said cup was the glory of the Prince’s sideboard; for
verily, as I have said, it was right fairly and richly wrought, and
very pleasant to look at inside and out.

When this same Prince did give a feast to the ladies, married and
single, of his Court,—and not seldom was it his habit so to invite
them,—his butlers never failed, such was his strait command, to serve
the company to drink in this cup. Then were such as had never afore
seen it moved in divers ways, either while drinking or afterward. Some
would be sore astonished, and know not what to say thereat; some would
be all ashamed and the scarlet leaping to their face; some again would
be whispering low to one another: “Nay! what is all this carven inside?
I fear me they be naughty pictures. I will never drink from the cup
again. I must indeed be sore athirst before ever I ask for drink
therefrom again?” Yet were they bound to drink from this cup, or burst
with thirst; and to this end, would some shut their eyes in drinking,
but the rest, who were less shamefaced, not. Such as had heard tell of
the hang of it, as well matrons as maids, would be laughing the while
under the rose; while such as had not, would be downright bursting with
desire to do the like.

When asked what they had to laugh at and what they had seen, some
would reply they had seen naught but some pictures, and for anything
there was there they would make no ado about drinking another time.
Others would say, “As for me, I think no ill thereof; what the eye
sees or a picture shows forth doth never soil the soul.” Some again
would declare, “Bah! good wine is as good in this cup as in another;”
and say it was as good to drink out of as any other, and did quench
the thirst just the same. Then some of the ladies would be questioned,
why they did not shut their eyes in drinking, to which they would make
answer they were fain to see what they were drinking, for fear instead
of wine it might be some drug or poison. Others would be asked which
they did take the more pleasure in, seeing or drinking; whereto they
would reply, “In both, of course.” Some would be crying, “Oh! the
quaint grotesques!” others, “Ah, ha! what be these merry mummeries we
have here?” Some, “Oh! the pretty pictures!” and others, “Here be fine
figures to look at!” Some, “Well, well! Master Goldsmith must needs
have had good leisure to while away his time in making these gewgaws!”
Others, “And you, Sire! to think you should have taken this wondrous
cup of him!” “Now feel ye not a something that doth touch you, ladies,
at the sight?” They would enquire presently, to which the answer would
come, “Nay! never a one of all these droll images hath had power enough
to stir me!” Others again would be asked, whether they had not found
the wine hot, and whether it had not warmed them finely in this wintry
weather; and they would answer, “Nay! we noted no heat; for indeed
our draught was cold, and did much refresh us.” Some they would ask,
which of all these figures they would best love to have; and they
would answer they could in no wise remove them from where they were to
transport them thither.

In short, an hundred thousand gibes and quips and cranks would pass
thereon between the gentlefolk and ladies at table, as I have myself
seen, so that it did make right merry jesting, and a very pleasant
thing to see and hear. But above all, to my thinking, best and most
heartsome was it to watch those innocent maids, or mayhap them that
figured only to be so, and other ladies newly come to Court, striving
to maintain a cold mien, with an artificial laugh on their face and
lips, or else holding themselves in and playing the hypocrite, as was
the way with many ladies. And mind this, though they had been a-dying
of thirst, yet durst not the butlers have given them to drink in any
other cup or glass. Yea! and likewise were there some ladies that
sware, to put a good face on the matter, they would never, never come
to these feasts again; but for all that did they in no wise fail to
come again often enough, for truly the Prince was a right magnificent
and dainty host. Other ladies would say, on being invited thither:
“Well! I will go, but under protest we shall not be given to drink in
the cup;” yet when once they were there, would they drink therein as
well as ever. At the last would they aye think better of it, and make
no more scruple whatever about drinking. Nay! some did even better,
and turned the said images to good use in fitting time and place;
and yet more than this, some did act dissolutely of set purpose to
make trial of the same, for that every person of spirit would fain
essay everything. So here we have the fatal effects of this cup so
well dight. And hereanent must each fancy for himself all the other
discourse, and thoughts and looks and words, that these ladies did
indulge in and give vent to, one with another, whether in privity or in
open company.

I ween this cup was of a very different sort from the one whereof M.
Ronsard[31] doth speak in one of his earliest Odes, dedicated to the
late King Henri, which doth thus begin:

Comme un qui prend une couppe,
Seul honneur de son trésor.
Et de rang verse à la trouppe
Du vin qui rit dedans l’or.

(As one who takes a cup, sole honour of all his treasure, and duly
pours therein to the company good wine that laughs within the gold.)

However in this cup I tell of the wine laughed not at any, but rather
the folk at the wine. For verily some dames did drink laughing,
and others trembling with delight; and yet others would be nigh
_compissoyent_,—I mean not of course just ordinary piddling, but
something more. In a word the said cup did bring dire effects with it,
so touching true were these images, figures and representations.

In likewise do I remember me how once, in a gallery of the Comte de
Chasteau-Villain, known as the Seigneur Adjacet,[32*] a company of
ladies with their lovers having come to visit the said fair mansion,
they did fall to contemplating sundry rare and beautiful pictures in
the Gallery thereof. Among these they beheld a very beautiful picture,
wherein were portrayed a number of fair ladies naked and at the bath,
which did touch, and feel, and handle, and stroke, one the other, and
intertwine and fondle with each other, and so enticingly and prettily
and featly did show all their hidden beauties that the coldest recluse
or hermit had been warmed and stirred thereat. Wherefore did a certain
great lady, as I have heard it told, and indeed I do know her well,
losing all restraint of herself before this picture, say to her lover,
turning toward him maddened as it were at the madness of love she
beheld painted; “Too long have we tarried here. Let us now straightway
take coach and so to my lodging; for that no more can I hold in the
ardour that is in me. Needs must away and quench it; too sore do I
burn.” And so she did haste away to enjoy her faithful lover.

Suchlike pictures and portrayals do bring more hurt to a weak soul
than men think for. Another of the same sort there, was a Venus naked,
lying on a couch and eyed by her son Cupid; another, Mars a-bed with
Venus, another, a Leda with her swan. Many other there be, both there
and elsewhere, that are somedel more modestly painted and better veiled
than the figures of Aretino; but all do come pretty much to one and
the same, and are of the like nature with our cup whereof I have been
speaking. This last had, as it were, a sort of likeness in unlikeness
to the cup which Renault de Montauban found in the Castle Ariosto doth
tell of, the which did openly discover unhappy husbands that were
cuckolds, whereas this one was more likely to make them so. But while
the one did cause somewhat too great scandal to cuckolds and their
faithless wives, the other had no such effect. Nowadays is no need of
these books or these pictures, for that husbands teach their wives
themselves enough and to spare without them. And now for the results of
suchlike husbands’ schooling!

I knew an excellent Venetian printer at Paris named Messer Bernardo,
a kinsman of the great Aldus Manutius of Venice[33], which did keep
his shop in the Rue Saint-Jacques. The same did once tell me, and
swear to it, that in less than a year he had sold more than fifty
of the two volumes of Aretino[33] to very many folks, married and
unmarried, as well as to women of whom he did name three very great
ladies of society; but I will not repeat the names. To these he did
deliver the book into their own hands, and right well bound, under oath
given he would breathe never a word of it—though he did round it to
me natheless. And he did tell me further how that another lady having
asked him some time after, if he had not another like the one she had
seen in the hands of one of the three, he had answered her: _Signora,
si, e peggio_ (“Yes, Madam,—and worse”); and she instantly, money on
table, had bought them all at their weight in gold. Verily a frantic
inquisitiveness for to send her husband a voyage to the haven of
Cornette (the Horns), near by Civita-Vecchia.

All such devices and postures are abominable in God’s sight, as indeed
St. Jerome saith: “Whosoever doth show himself more unrestrainedly
enamoured of his wife than a husband should, is an adulteror and
committeth sin.” And forasmuch as sundry Doctors of the Church have
spoken thereof, I will sum up the matter shortly in Latin words,
seeing themselves have not thought good to say it in plain language:
_Excessus_, say they, _conjugum fit, quando uxor cognoscitur ante retro
stando, sedendo, in latere, et mulier super virum_ (Excess between
married people is committed when the wife is known before by the
husband standing behind, or sitting, or sideways, or the woman on top
of the man). This last posture is referred to in a little couplet I
once read, and which goes as follows:

In prato viridi monialem ludere vidi
Cum monacho leviter, ille sub, illa super.

Other learned Doctors hold that any mode whatsoever is good, provided
only that _semen ejaculetur in matricem mulieris, et quomodocunque uxor
cognoscatur, si vir ejaculetur semen in matricem, non est peccatum
mortale_.

These arguments are to be found in the _Summa Benedicti_. This
Benedict[34] is a Doctor of the Cordeliers, who has writ most
excellently of all the sins, and shown how that he hath both seen much
and read widely. Anyone who will read this passage, will find therein a
number of excesses which husbands do commit toward their wives. Thus he
saith that _quando mulier est ita pinguis ut non possit aliter coire,
non est mortale peccatum, modo vir ejaculetur semen in vas naturale_.
Whereas others again say it were better husbands should abstain from
their wives altogether when they are with child, as do the animals,
than for them to befoul marriage with such abominations.

I knew once a famous courtesan of Rome, called “The Greek,” whom a
great Lord of France had kept in that city. After some space, she had
a strong desire to visit France, using to this end the Signor Bonvisi,
a Banker of Lyons,[35*] a native of Lucca and a very rich man, who
was her lover. Wherein having succeeded, she did make many enquiries
concerning the said gentleman and his wife, and amongst other matters,
whether mayhap she did not cuckold him, “seeing that,” she would say,
“I have so well trained her husband, and have taught him such excellent
lessons, that he having once shown them to his wife and practised the
same with her, it is not possible but that she have desired to show the
same to others also. For insooth our trade is such an one, when it is
well learned, that a woman doth find an hundred times more pleasure in
showing and practising it with several than with one only.” Furthermore
did she say that the said lady ought of rights to make her a handsome
present and one worthy of her pains and good teaching, forasmuch as
when her husband did first come to her school, he knew naught at all,
but was in these matters the most silly, inexperienced prentice hand
ever she had seen. But now, so well had she trained him and fashioned
him that his wife must needs find him an hundred times better. For in
fact the lady, desiring to see her, went to visit her in disguise;
this the courtesan suspected, and held all the discourse to her I have
detailed,—and worse still and more dissolute, for she was an exceeding
dissolute woman. And this is how husbands do forge the knives to cut
their own throats withal; or rather is it a question not of throats
at all, but of horns! Acting after this sort do they pollute holy
matrimony, for the which God doth presently punish them; then must they
have their revenge on their wives, wherein are they an hundred times
more deserving of punishment than before. So am I not a whit surprised
that the same venerable Doctor did declare marriage to be in very truth
but a kind of adultery, as it were; thereby intending, when men did
abuse it after the fashion I have been discoursing of.

Thus hath marriage been forbidden our priests; for that it is no
wise meet that, just come from their wives’ bed and after polluting
themselves exceedingly with them, they should then approach an holy
altar. For, by my faith, so far as I have heard tell, some folk do
wanton more with their wives than do the very reprobates with the
harlots in brothels; for these last, fearing to catch some ill, do not
go to extremes or warm to the work with them as do husbands with their
wives. For these be clean and can give no hurt,—that is to say the most
part of them, though truly not quite all; for myself have known some to
give it to their husbands, as also their husbands to them.

Husbands, so abusing their wives, are much deserving of punishment, as
I have heard great and learned Doctors say; for that they do not behave
themselves modestly with their wives in their bed, as of right they
should, but wanton with them as with concubines, whereas marriage was
instituted for necessity of procreation, and in no wise for dissolute
and lecherous pleasure. And this did the Emperor Sejanus Commodus,
otherwise called Anchus Verus[36], well declare unto us, when he said
to his wife Calvilla, who did make complaint to him, for that he was
used to bestow on harlots and courtesans and other the like what did of
rights belong to her in her bed, and rob her of her little enjoyments
and gratifications. “Bear with me, wife,” he said to her, “that with
other women I satiate my foul passions, seeing that the name of wife
and consort is one deserving of dignity and honour, and not one for
mere pleasure and lecherousness.” I have never yet read or learned what
reply his good wife the Empress made him thereto; but little doubt can
be she was ill content with his golden saying, and did answer him from
out her heart, and in the words of the most part, nay! of all, married
women: “A fig for your dignity and honour; pleasure for me! We thrive
better on this last than on all the other.”

Nor yet must we suppose for an instant that the more part of married
men of to-day or of any other day, which have fair wives, do speak
after this wise. For indeed they do not marry and enter into wedlock,
nor take their wives, but only in order to pass their time pleasureably
and indulge their passion in all fashions and teach the same merry
precepts, as well for the wanton movements of their body as for the
dissolute and lascivious words of their mouth, to the end their
love may be the better awaked and stirred up thereby. Then, after
having thus well instructed and debauched their minds, if they do go
astray elsewhere, lo! they are for sorely punishing them, beating and
murdering and putting of them to death.

Truly scant reasonableness is there in this, just as if a man should
have debauched a poor girl, taking her straight from her mother’s
arms, and have robbed her of her honour and maidenhood, and should
then, after having his will of her, beat her and constrain her to live
quite otherwise, in entire chastity,—verily an excellent and opportune
thing to ask! Who is there would not condemn such an one, as a man
unreasonable and deserving to be made suffer? The same might justly be
said of many husbands, the which, when all is said and done, do more
debauch their wives and teach them more precepts to lead them into
lechery than ever their gallants use, for they do enjoy more time and
leisure therefor than lovers can have. But presently, when they cease
their instructions, the wives most naturally do seek a change of hand
and master, being herein like a good rider, who findeth more pleasure
an hundredfold in mounting an horse than one that is all ignorant of
the art. “And alack!” so used the courtesan we but now spake of to say,
“there is no trade in all the world that is more cunning, nor that doth
more call for constant practice, than that of Venus.” Wherefore these
husbands should be warned not to give suchlike instructions to their
wives, for that they be far and away too dangerous and harmful to the
same. Or, if they needs must, and afterward find their wives playing
them a knavish trick, let them not punish them, forasmuch as it is
themselves have opened the door thereto.

Here am I constrained to make a digression to tell of a certain married
woman, fair and honourable and of good station, whom I know, the which
did give herself to an honourable gentleman,—and that more for the
jealousy she bare toward an honourable lady whom this same gentleman
did love and keep as his paramour than for love. Wherefore, even as
he was enjoying her favour, the lady said to him: “Now at last, to my
great contentment, do I triumph over you and over the love you bear
to such an one.” The gentleman made answer to her: “A person that
is beat down, brought under and trampled on, can scarce be said to
triumph greatly.” The lady taketh umbrage at this reply, as touching
her honour, and straightway makes answer, “You are very right,” and
instantly puts herself of a sudden to unseat the man, and slip away
from him. Never of yore was Roman knight or warrior so quick and
dexterous to mount and remount his horses at the gallop as was the lady
this bout with her gallant. Then doth she handle him in this mode,
saying the while, “Well then, at present I can declare truly and in
good conscience I triumph over you, forasmuch as I hold you subdued
under me.” Verily a dame of a gay and wanton ambition, and very strange
the way in which she did satisfy the same!

I have heard speak of a very fair and honourable lady of the great
world, much given over to love, who yet was so arrogant and proud, and
so high of heart, that when it came to it, never would she suffer her
man to put her under him and humble her. For by so doing she deemed
she wrought a great wrong to the nobility of her spirit, and held it
a great piece of cowardice to be thus humbled and subdued, as in a
triumphant conquest and enslavement; but was fain ever to guard the
upper hand and pre-eminence. And one thing that did greatly help her
herein was that she would never have dealings with one greater in rank
than herself, for fear that, using his authority and puissance, he
might succeed in giving the law to her, and so turn, twist about and
trample her, just as he pleased. Rather for this work would she choose
her equals and inferiors, to the which she could dictate their place
and station, their order and procedure in the amorous combat, neither
more nor less than doth a sergeant major to his men-at-arms on the day
of battle. These orders would she in no wise have them overpass, under
pain of losing what they most desire and value, in some cases her love,
in others their own life. In such wise that never, standing or sitting
or lying, could they prevail to return back and put upon her the
smallest humiliation, submission or subservience, which she had done
them. Hereanent I refer me to the words and judgement of such, men and
women, as have dealt with such loves, stations and modes.

Anyway the lady we speak of could so order it, that no hurt should be
done to the dignity she did affect, and no offence to her proud heart;
for by what I have heard from sundry that have been familiar with her,
she had powers enough to make such ordinances and regulations.

In good sooth a formidable and diverting woman’s caprice, and a right
curious scruple of a proud spirit. Yet was she in the right after all;
for in truth is it a humiliating and painful thing to be so brought
under and bent to another’s will, and trod down, when one thinks of it
quickly and alone, and saith to oneself, “Such an one hath put me under
him and trod me underfoot,”—for underfoot it is, if not literally, at
any rate in a manner of speaking, and doth amount to the same thing.

The same lady moreover would never suffer her inferiors to kiss her
on the mouth, “seeing it is so,” she would say, “that the touch and
contact of mouth to mouth is the most delicate and precious of all
contacts, whether of the hand or other members.” For this reason would
she not be so approached, nor feel on her own a foul, unclean mouth,
and one not meet for hers.

Now hereanent is yet another question I have known some debate: what
advantage and overplus of glory hath the one, whether man or woman,
over his companion, whenas they are at these amorous skirmishes and
conquests?

The man on his side doth set forth the reasons given above, to wit,
that the victory is much greater when as one holdeth his sweet enemy
laid low beneath him, and doth subjugate, put underfoot and tame her at
his ease and how he best pleaseth. For there is no Princess or great
lady so high, but doth, when she is in that case, even though it were
with an inferior or subordinate, suffer the law and domination which
Venus hath ordained in her statutes; and for this cause glory and
honour do redound therefrom to the man in very high measure.

The woman on the other hand saith: “Yes! I do confess you may well
feel triumphant when you do hold me under you and put me underfoot.
But if it be only a question of keeping the upper station, I likewise
do sometimes take that in mere sportiveness and of a pretty caprice
that assaileth me, and not of any constraint. Further, when this
upperhand position doth not like me, I do make you work for me like
a very serf or galley-slave, or to put it better, make you pull at
the collar like a veritable waggon-horse, and there you are toiling,
striving, sweating, panting, straining to perform the task and labour
I choose to exact from you. Meanwhile, for me, lo! I am at my ease,
and watch your efforts. Sometimes do I make merry at your expense, and
take my pleasure in seeing you in such sore labour, sometimes too I
compassionate you, just as pleaseth me and according as I am inclined
to merriment or pity. Then after having well fulfilled my pleasure and
caprice herein, I do leave my gallant there, tired, worn out, weakened
and enervate, so he can do no more, and hath need of naught so much
as of a good sleep and a good meal, a strong broth, a restorative, or
some good soup to hearten him up. For me, for all such labours and
efforts, I feel no whit the worse, but only that I have been right
well served at your expense, sir gallant, and do experience no hurt;
but only wish for some other to give me as much again, and to make him
as much exhausted as you. And after this wise, never surrendering,
but making my sweet foe surrender to me, ’tis I bear away the true
victory and true glory, seeing that in a duello he that doth give in is
dishonoured, and not he that doth fight on to the last dire extremity.”

So have I heard this tale following told of a fair and honourable lady.
One time, her husband having wakened her from a sound sleep and good
rest she was enjoying, for to do the thing, when he was done, she said
to him, “Well! ’tis you did it, not I.” And she did clip him exceeding
tight with arms, hands, feet and legs crossed over each other, saying,
“I will teach you to wake me up another time,” and so with might and
main and right good will, pulling, pushing and shaking her husband,
and who could in no wise get loose, but who lay there sweating and
stewing and aweary, and was fain to cry her mercy, she did make him so
exhausted, and so foredone and feeble, that he grew altogether out of
breath and did swear her a sound oath how another time he would have
her only at his own time, humour and desire. The tale is one better to
imagine and picture to oneself than to describe in words.

Such then are the woman’s arguments, with sundry other she might very
well have adduced to boot. And note how the humblest strumpet can do
as much to a great King or Prince, if he have gone with her,—and this
is a great scorn, seeing that the blood royal is held to be the most
precious can ever be. At any rate is it right carefully guarded and
very expensively and preciously accommodated far more than any other
man’s!

This then is what the women do or say. Yet truly is it great pity a
blood so precious should be polluted and contaminated so foully and
unworthily. And indeed it was forbid by the law of Moses to waste
the same in any wise on the ground; but it is much worse done to
intermingle it in a most foul and unworthy fashion. Still ’twere too
much to have them do as did a certain great Lord, of whom I have heard
tell, who having in his dreams at night polluted himself among his
sheets, had these buried, so scrupulous-minded was he, saying it was a
babe issuing therefrom that was dead, and how that it was pity and a
very great loss that this blood had not been put into his wife’s womb,
for then it might well be the child would have lived.

Herein might he very like have been deceived, seeing that of a thousand
cohabitations the husband hath with the wife in the year, ’tis very
possible, as I have above said, she will not become pregnant thereby,
not once in all her life, in fact never in the case of some women
which be eunuch and barren, and can never conceive. Whence hath come
the error of certain misbelievers, which say that marriage was not
ordained so much for the procreation of children as for pleasure. Now
this is ill thought and ill said, for albeit a woman doth not grow
pregnant every time a man have her, ’tis so for some purpose of God to
us mysterious, and that he wills to punish in this wise both man and
wife, seeing how the greatest blessing God can give us in marriage is a
good offspring, and that not in mere concubinage. And many women there
be that take a great delight in having it, but others not. These latter
will in no wise suffer aught to enter into them, as well to avoid
foisting on their husbands children that are not theirs, as to avoid
the semblance of doing them wrong and making them cuckolds.

For by this name of cuckoos (or cuckolds), properly appertaining to
those birds of Springtide that are so called because they do lay
their eggs in other birds’ nests, are men also known by antinomy,[37]
when others come to lay eggs in their nest, that is in their wives’
article,—which is the same thing as saying, cast their seed into them
and make them children.

And this is how many wives think they are doing no wrong to their
husbands in taking their fill of pleasure, provided only they do not
become pregnant. Such their fine scruples of conscience! So a great
lady of whom I have heard speak, was used to say to her gallant: “Take
your pastime as much as ever you will, and give me pleasure; but on
your life, take heed to let naught bedew me, else is it a question of
life and death for you.”

A like story have I heard told by the Chevalier de Sanzay of Brittany,
a very honourable and gallant gentleman, who, had not death overtaken
him at an early age, would have been a great seaman, having made a very
good beginning of his career. And indeed he did bear the marks and
signs thereof, for he had had an arm carried off by a cannon shot at a
sea-fight he did engage in. As his ill luck would have it, he was taken
prisoner of the Corsairs and carried off to Algiers. His master who
had him as his slave, was the head Priest of the Mosque in that part,
and had a very beauteous wife. This lady did fall so deep in love with
the said Sanzay that she bade him come to have amorous dalliance and
delight with her, saying how she would treat him very well, better than
any of her other slaves. But above all else did she charge him very
straitly, and on his life, or on pain of most rigorous imprisonment,
not to emit in her body a single drop of his seed, forasmuch as, so
she declared, she must in no wise be polluted and contaminated with
Christian blood, whereby she thought she would sorely offend against
the law of her people and their great Prophet Mahomet. And further
she bade him, that albeit she should even order him an hundred times
over to do the whole thing outright, he should do nothing of the sort,
for that it would be but the exceeding pleasure wherewith she was
enraptured that made her say so to him, and in no wise the will of her
heart and soul.

The aforesaid Sanzay, in order to get good treatment and greater
liberty, Christian as he was, did shut his eyes this once to his law.
For a poor slave, hardly entreated and cruelly chained, may well forget
his principles now and again. So he did obey the lady, and was so
prudent and so submissive to her order, as that he did minister right
well to her pleasure. Wherefore the lady did love him the better,
because he was so submissive to her strait and difficult command. Even
when she would cry to him: “Let go, I say; I give you full permission!”
yet would he never once do so, for he was sore afraid of being beaten
as the Turks use (bastinadoed), as he did often see his comrades beaten
before his eyes.

Verily a strange and sore caprice; and herein it would seem she did
well prevail, both for her own soul’s sake which was Turk and for the
other who was Christian. But he swore to me how that never in all his
life had he been in so sore a strait!

He did tell me yet another tale, the most heartsome and amusing
possible, of a trick she once put upon him. But forasmuch as it is not
pleasant, I will repeat it not, for dread of doing offence to modest
ears.

Later was the same Sanzay ransomed by his friends, the which are folk
of honour and good estate in Brittany, and related to many great
persons, as to the Connétable de Sanzay,[38*] who was greatly attached
to his elder brother, and did help him much toward his deliverance.
Having won this, the Chevalier did come to Court, and held much
discourse to M. d’Estrozze and to me of his adventures and of divers
matters, and amongst other such he told us these stories.

What are we to say now of some husbands which be not content only to
procure themselves entertainment and wanton pleasure with their wives,
but do give the desire therefor to others also, their companions,
friends and the like? For so have I known several which do praise their
wives to these, detail to them their beauties, picture to them their
members and various bodily parts, recount the pleasure that they have
with them, and the caresses their wives do use towards them, make them
kiss, touch and try them, and even behold them naked.

What do such deserve? Why! that they be cuckolded right off, as
did Gyges, by the means of his ring, to Candaules,[39] King of the
Lydians. For the latter, fool that he was, having bepraised to Gyges
the rare beauty of his wife, and at the last having shown her to him
stark naked, he fell so madly in love with her that he did what seemed
him good and brought Candaules to his death and made himself master
of his Kingdom. ’Tis said the wife was in such despite and despair
at having been so shown by her husband to another man, that she did
herself constrain Gyges to play this traitorous part, saying thus to
him: “Either must he that hath constrained and counselled you to such
a thing die by your hand, or else you, who have looked on me in my
nakedness, must die by the hand of another.” Of a surety was the said
King very ill advised so to rouse desire for a fresh dainty, so good
and sweet, which it rather behoved him to hold very specially dear and
precious.

Louis, Duke or Orleans,[39] killed at the Barbette Gate of Paris, did
the exact opposite. An arrant debaucher was he of the ladies of the
Court, and that even of the greatest among them all. For, having once a
very fair and noble lady to bed with him, so soon as her husband came
into his bedchamber to wish him good-morrow, he did promptly cover up
the lady’s head, the other’s wife’s that is, with the sheet, but did
uncover all the rest of her body, letting him see her all naked and
touch her at his pleasure, only with express prohibition on his life
not to take away the linen from off the face, nor to uncover it in any
wise,—a charge he durst not contravene. Then did the Duke ask him
several times over what he thought of this fair, naked body, whereat
the other was all astonished and exceeding content. At the last he did
get his leave to quit the chamber, and this he did without having ever
had the chance to recognize the woman for his own wife.

If only he had carefully looked over her body and examined the same,
as several that I have known, he would mayhap have recognized her by
sundry blemishes. Thus is it a good thing for men to go over sometimes
and observe their wives’ bodies.

She, after her husband was well gone, was questioned of M.
d’Orléans,[40*] if she had felt any alarm or fear. I leave you to
imagine what she said thereto, and all the trouble and anguish she was
in by the space of a quarter of an hour, seeing all that lacked for her
undoing was some little indiscretion, or the smallest disobedience her
husband might have committed in lifting the sheet. ’Twas doubtless M.
d’Orléans’ orders, but still he would surely, on his making discovery,
have straightway slain him to stay him of the vengeance he would have
wrought on his wife.

And the best of it was that, being the next night to bed with his wife,
he did tell her how M. d’Orléans had let him see the fairest naked
woman he had ever beheld, but as to her face, that he could give no
news thereof, seeing the sight of it had been forbid him. I leave you
to imagine what the lady must have thought within her heart. Now of
this same lady and M. d’Orléans ’tis said did spring that brave and
valiant soldier, the Bastard of Orleans, the mainstay of France and
scourge of England, from whom is descended the noble and generous race
of the Comtes de Dunois.

However to return to our tales of husband too ready to give others
sight of their wives naked, I know one who, on a morning, a comrade
of his having gone to see him in his chamber as he was dressing, did
show him his wife quite naked, lying all her length fast asleep, having
herself thrown her bed-clothes off her, it being very hot weather. So
he did draw aside the curtain half way, in such wise that the rising
sun shining upon her, he had leisure to contemplate well and thoroughly
at his ease, which doing he beheld naught but what was right fair and
perfect. On all this beauty then he did feast his eyes, not indeed as
long as he would, but as long as he could; and after, the husband and
he went forth to the Palace.

The next day, the gentleman who was an ardent lover of this same
honourable lady, did report to her the sight he had seen, and even
described many things he had noted. He said further it was the husband
which did urge him thereto, and he and no other had drawn the curtain
for him to see. The lady, out of the despite she then conceived against
her husband, did let herself go, and so gave herself to his friend on
this only account,—a thing which all his service and devotion had not
before been able to win.

I knew once a very great Lord, who, one morning, wishing to go
an-hunting, and his gentlemen having come to find him at his rising,
even as they were booting him, and he had his wife lying by him and
holding him right close to her, he did so suddenly lift the coverlet
she had no time to move away from where she rested, in such wise that
they all saw her as much as they pleased even to the half of her body.
Then with a loud laugh did the Lord cry to these gentlemen there
present: “Well, well! sirs, have not I let you see enough and to spare
of my good wife?” But so vexed and chagrined was she at it all that she
did conceive a great grudge against him therefor, and above all for the
way she had been surprised. And it may well be, she did pay it back to
him with interest later on.

I know yet another of these great Lords, who learning that a friend
and kinsman of his was in love with his wife, whether to make him the
more envious or to make him taste all the despite and despair he might
conceive at the thought of the other possessing so fair a woman, and he
having never so much as a chance of touching her, did show her him one
morning, when he had come to see him, the pair being a-bed together.
Yea! he did even worse, for he did set about to embrace her before
his eyes, as though she had been altogether in a privy place. Further
he kept begging of his friend to see, saying he was doing it all to
gratify him. I leave you to imagine whether the lady did not find in
such conduct of her husband excuse to do likewise in all ways with
the friend, and of good conscience, and whether he was not right well
punished by being made to bear the horns.

I have heard speak of yet another, likewise a great Lord, who did the
same with his wife before a great Prince, his master, but, ’twas by
his prayer and commandment, for he was one that took delight in this
form of gratification. Now are not such like persons blameworthy, for
that after being pandars to their own wives, they will after be their
executioners too?

It is never expedient for a man to expose his wife, any more than his
lands, countries or places. And I may cite an example hereof which I
did learn from a great Captain. It concerns the late M. de Savoye, who
did dissuade the late King of France,[41] when on his return from
Poland he was passing through Lombardy, and counselled him not to go
to Milan or enter therein, alleging that the King of Spain might take
umbrage thereat. But this was not the real cause at all; rather was
he afraid lest the King being once there and visiting all quarters of
the city, and beholding its beauty and riches and grandeur, might be
assailed by an overwhelming desire to have it again and reconquer it
by fair and honest right, as had done his predecessors. Now this was
the true reason, as a great Prince said who knew the fact from our
late King, who for his part quite well understood what the restriction
meant. However, to be complaisant to M. de Savoye, and to cause no
offence on the part of the King of Spain, he took his march so as
to pass by the city, albeit he had all the wish in the world to go
thither, by what he did me the honour to tell me after his return to
Lyons. In this transaction we cannot but deem M. de Savoye to have been
more of a Spaniard than a Frenchman.

I deem those husbands likewise very much to blame who after having
received their life by favour of their wives, are so little grateful
therefor, as that for any suspicion they have of their intriguing with
other men, do treat them exceeding harshly, to the extent of making
attempt upon their lives. I have heard speak of a Lord against whose
life sundry conspirators having conspired and plotted, his wife by dint
of her prayers did turn them from their purpose, and saved her husband
from being assassinated. But nevertheless later on was she very ill
rewarded by him and entreated most cruelly.

I have seen likewise a gentleman who, having been accused and brought
to trial for very bad performance of his duty in succouring his
General in a battle,[42*] so much so that he had left him to be killed
without any help or succour at all, was nigh to be sentenced and
condemned to have his head cut off, and this notwithstanding 20,000
crowns the which he did give to save his life. Thereupon his wife
spake to a great Lord holding high place in the world, and lay with
him by permission and at the supplication of the said husband; and so
what money had not been able to do, this did her beauty and fair body
effect, and she did save him his life and liberty. Yet after he did
treat her so ill as that nothing could be worse. Of a surety husbands
of the sort, so cruel and savage, are very pitiful creatures.

Others again have I known who did quite otherwise, for that they have
known how to show gratitude to those that helped them, and have all
their life long honoured the good dame that had saved them from death.

There is yet another sort of cuckolds, those who are not content to
have been suspicious and difficult all their life, but when going to
leave this world and on the point of death, are so still. Of this sort
knew I one who had a very fair and honourable lady to wife, but yet had
not always given her all to him alone. When now he was like to die, he
said to her repeatedly: “Ah! wife mine, I am going to die! And would
to God you could have kept me company, and you and I could have gone
together into the other world! My death had not then been so hateful
to me, and I should have taken it in better part.” But the lady, who
was still very fair and not more than thirty-seven years old, was by
no means fain to follow him, nor agree with him in this. Nor yet was
she willing to play the madwoman for his sake, as we read did Evadné,
daughter of Mars and Thebé and wife of Capaneus,[43] the which did
love her husband so ardently that, he having died, so soon as ever his
body was cast on the fire, she threw herself thereon all alive as she
was, and was burned and consumed along with him, in her great constancy
and strength of purpose, and so did accompany him in his death.

Alcestis[43] did far better yet, for having learned by an oracle that
her husband Admetus, King of Thessaly, was to die presently, unless his
life were redeemed by the death of some other of his friends, she did
straightway devote herself to a sudden death, and so saved her husband
alive.

Nowadays are no women of this kindly sort left, who are fain to go
of their own pleasure into the grave before their husbands, and not
survive them. No! such are no more to be found; the dams that bare them
are dead, as say the horse-dealers of Paris of horses, when no more
good ones are to be got.

And this is why I did account the husband, whose case I but now
adduced, ill-advised to make such proposals to his wife and odious
so to invite her to death, as though it had been some merry feast to
invite her to. It was an arrant piece of jealousy that did make him so
speak, and the despite he did feel within himself, he would presently
experience yonder in the lower world, when he should see his wife, whom
he had so excellently trained, in the arms of some lover of hers or
some new husband.

What a strange sort of jealousy was this her husband must have been
seized with for the nonce, and strange how he would keep telling her
again and again how if he should recover, he would no more suffer at
her hands what he had suffered aforetime! Yet, so long as he was alive
and well, he had never been attacked by the like feelings, but ever
let her do at her own good pleasure.

The gallant Tancred[44] did quite otherwise, the same who in old days
did so signalise his valour in the Holy War. Being at the point of
death, and his wife beside him making moan, together with the Count
of Tripoly, he did beg the twain when that he was dead, to wed one
another, and charged his wife to obey him therein,—the which they
afterward did.

Mayhap he had observed some loving dalliance betwixt them during his
lifetime. For she may well have been as very a harlot as her mother,
the Countess of Anjou, who after the Comte de Bretagne had had her
long while, went unto Philip,[44] the King of France, who did treat
her the same fashion, and had of her a bastard daughter called Cicile,
whom after he did give in marriage to this same valorous Tancred, who
by reason of his noble exploits did of a surety little deserve to be
cuckold.

An Albanian, having been condemned in Southern lands to be hung for
some offence, being in the service of the King of France, when he was
to be led out to his punishment, did ask to see his wife, who was a
very fair and lovable woman, and bid her farewell. Then while he was
saying his farewell and in the act of kissing her, lo! he did bite
her nose right off and tear it clean out of her pretty face. And the
officers thereupon questioning him why he had done this horrible thing
to his wife, he replied he had done it out of sheer jealousy, “seeing
she is very fair, for the which after my death I wot well she will
straightway be sought after and given up to some other of my comrades,
for I know her to be exceeding lecherous and one to forget me without
more ado. I am fain therefore she bear me in memory after my death,
and weep and be sorry. If she is not so for my death’s sake, at least
will she be sore grieved at being disfigured, and none of my comrades
will have the pleasure of her I have had.” Verily an appalling instance
of a jealous husband!

I have heard speak of others who, feeling themselves old, failing,
wounded, worn out and near to death, have out of sheer despite and
jealousy privily cut short their mates’ days, even when they have been
fair and beauteous women.

Now as to such strange humours on the part of these cruel and tyrannic
husbands which do thus put their wives to death, I have heard the
question disputed,—to wit, whether it is permitted women, when they
do perceive or suspect the cruelty and murder their husbands are fain
to practise against them, to gain the first hand and anticipate their
aggressors and so save their own lives, making the others play the part
first and sending these on in front to make ready house and home in the
other world.

I have heard it maintained the answer should be yes,—that they may
do so, not certainly according to God’s law, for thereby is all
murder forbid, as I have said, but by the world’s way of thinking,
well enough. This opinion men base on the saying,—better ’tis to be
beforehand than behind. For no doubt everyone is bound to take heed for
his own life; and seeing God hath given it us, we must guard it well
till he shall call us away at our death. Otherwise, knowing their death
to be planned, to go headfirst into the same, and not to escape from
it when they can, is to kill their own selves,—a crime which God doth
very greatly abhor. Wherefore ’tis ever the best plan to send them on
ahead as envoys, and parry their assault, as did Blanche d’Auverbruckt
to her husband, the Sieur de Flavy, Captain of Compiègne and Governor
thereof, the same who did betray the maid of Orleans, and was cause
of her death and undoing. Now this lady Blanche, learning that her
husband did plot to have her drowned, got beforehand with him, and by
aid of his barber did smother and strangle him, for which deed our
King Charles VII.[45] gave her instantly his pardon; though for the
obtaining of this ’tis like the husband’s treason went for much,—more
indeed than any other reason. These facts are to be found in the
_Chronicles of France_, and particularly in those of _Guyenne_.

The same was done by a certain Madame de la Borne, in the reign of
Francis I.[45] This lady did accuse and inform against her husband for
sundry follies committed and crimes, it may be monstrous crimes, he
had done against her and other women. She had him thrown into prison,
pleaded against him and finally got his head cut off. I have heard my
grandmother tell the tale, who used to say she was of good family and a
very handsome woman. Well! she at any rate did get well beforehand!

Queen Jeanne of Naples,[45] the First of that name, did the like toward
the Infanta of Majorca, her third husband, whose head she did cause to
be cut off for the reason I have named in the Discourse dealing with
him. But it may well be she did also fear him, and was fain to be rid
of him the first. Herein was she much in the right, and all women in
like case, to act thus when they are suspicious of their gallants’
purpose.

I have heard speak of many ladies that have bravely escaped in this
fashion. Nay! I have known one, who having been found by her husband
with her lover, he said never a word to one or the other, but departed
in fierce anger, and left her there in the chamber with her lover, sore
amazed and in much despair and doubt. Still the lady had spirit enough
to declare, “He has done naught nor said naught to me this time; but
I am sore afraid he doth bear rancour and secret spite. Now if I were
only sure he was minded to do me to death, I would take thought how to
make _him_ feel death the first.” Fortune was so kind to her after some
while that the husband did die of himself. And hereof was she right
glad, for never after his discovery had he made her good cheer, no
matter what attention and consideration she showed him.

Yet another question is there in dispute as concerning these same
madmen, these furious husbands and perilous cuckolds, to wit on which
of the two they set and work their vengeance, whether on their wives,
or their wives’ lovers.

Some there be which have declared, “on the woman only,” basing their
doctrine on the Italian proverb _morta la bastia, morta la rabbia o
vereno_—“when the beast is dead, the madness, or venom, is dead.” For
they think, so it would seem, to be quite cured of their hurt when they
have once killed her who caused the pain, herein doing neither more
nor less than they who have been bit or stung by a scorpion. The most
sovran remedy these have is to take the creature, kill and crush it
flat, and put it on the bite or wound it hath made. The same are ready
to say, and do commonly say, ’tis the women who are the more deserving
of punishment. I here refer to great ladies and of high rank, and not
to humble, common and of low degree. For suchlike it is, by their
lovely charms, their confidences, their orders given and soft words
spoken, who do provoke the first skirmishes and bring on the battle,
whereas the men do but follow their lead. But such as do call for war
and begin it, are more deserving of blame than such as only fight in
self-defence. For oftentimes men adventure themselves in the like
dangerous places and on such high emprize, only when challenged by the
ladies, who do signify in divers fashions their predilection. Just as
we see in a great, good, well-guarded frontier town, it is exceeding
difficult to attack the same unawares or surprise it, unless there be
some secret undertaking among some of the inhabitants, and some that
do encourage the assailants to the attempt and entice them on and give
them a hand of succour.

Now, forasmuch as women are something more fragile than men, they must
be forgiven, and it should be remembered how that, when once they
have begun to love and set love in their hearts, they will achieve it
at what cost soever, not content,—not all of them that is,—to brood
over it within, and little by little waste away, and grow dried up
and sickly, and spoil their beauty therefor,—which is the reason they
do long to be cured of it and get pleasure therefrom, and not die _in
ferret’s fashion_, as the saying is.[46]

Of a surety I have known not a few fair ladies of this humour, who have
been foremost to make love to the other sex, even sooner than the men,
and for divers accounts,—some for that they see them handsome, brave,
valiant and lovable; others to cozen them out of a sum of hard cash;
others to get of them pearls and precious stones, and dresses of cloth
of gold and of silver. And I have seen them take as great pains to get
these things as a merchant to sell his commodities, and indeed they say
the woman who takes presents, sells herself. Some again, to win Court
favour; others to win the like with men of the law. Thus several fair
dames I have known, who though having no right on their side, yet did
get it over to them by means of their fleshly charms and bodily beauty.
Yet others again, only to live delicately by the giving of their body.

Many women have I seen so enamoured of their lovers, that they would,
so to speak, chase them and run amain after them, causing the world to
cast scorn at them therefor.

I once knew a very fair lady so enamoured of a Lord of the great world,
that whereas commonly lovers do wear the colours of their ladies, this
one on the contrary would be wearing those of her gallant. I could
quite well name the colours, but that would be telling over much.

I knew yet another, whose husband, having affronted her lover at a
tourney which was held at Court, the while he was in the dancing-hall
and was celebrating his triumph, she did out of despite dress herself
in man’s clothes and went to meet her lover and offer him her favours
in masquerade,—for so enamoured of him was she, as that she was like to
die thereof.

I knew an honourable gentleman, and one of the least spoken against
at Court, who did one day manifest desire to be lover to a very fair
and honourable lady, if ever there was one; but whereas she made many
advances on her side, he on his stood on guard for many reasons and
accounts. But the said lady, having set her love on him, and having
cast the die this way at whatsoever hazard, as she did herself declare,
did never cease to entice him to her by the fairest words of love that
ever she could speak, saying amongst other things: “Nay! but suffer
at any rate that I love you, if you will not love me; and look not to
my deserts, but rather to the love and passion I do bear you,”—though
in actual truth she did outbalance the gentleman on the score of
perfections. In this case what could the gentleman have done but love
her, as she was very fain to love him, and serve her; then ask the
salary and reward of his service. This he had in due course, as is but
reasonable that whoever doth a favour be paid therefor.

I could allege an infinite number of such ladies, which do seek toward
lovers rather than are sought. And I will tell you why they have more
blame than their lovers. Once they have assailed their man, they do
never leave off till they gain their end and entice him by their
alluring looks, their charms, the pretty made-up graces they do study
to display in an hundred thousand fashions, by the subtle bepainting
of their face, if it be not beautiful, their fine head-dresses, the
rich and rare fashions of wearing their hair, so aptly suited to their
beauty, their magnificent, stately costumes, and above all by their
dainty and half-wanton words, as well as by their pretty, frolic
gestures and familiarities, and lastly by gifts and presents. So this
is how men are taken: and being once taken, needs must they take
advantage of their captors. Wherefore ’tis maintained their husbands
are fairly bound to wreak their vengeance on them.

Others hold the husband should take his satisfaction of the men, when
that he can, just as one would of such as lay siege to a town. For
they it is are the first to sound the challenge and call on the place
to surrender, the first to make reconnaissances and approaches, the
first to throw up entrenchments of gabions and raise bastions and dig
trenches, the first to plant batteries and advance to the assault,
and the first to open negotiations; and even so is it, they allege,
with lovers. For like doughty, valiant and determined soldiers they
do assault the fortress of ladies’ chastity, till these, after all
fashions of assault and modes of importunity have been duly observed,
are constrained to make signal of capitulation and receive their
pleasant foes within their fortifications. Wherein methinks they are
not so blameworthy as they wauld fain make out; for indeed to be rid
of an importunate beggar is very difficult without leaving somewhat of
one’s own behind. So have I seen many who by their long service and
much perseverance have at length had their will of their mistresses,
who at the first would not, so to say, have given them their _cul
a baiser_, constraining them, or at any rate some of them, to this
degree that out of pure pity, and tear in eye, they did give them
their way. Just as at Paris a man doth very often give an alms to the
beggars about an inn door more by reason of their importunity than from
devotion or the love of God. The same is the case with many women, who
yield rather for being over-importuned than because they are really
in love—as also with great and powerful wooers, men whom they do fear
and dare not refuse because of their high authority, dreading to do
them a displeasure and thereafter to receive scandal and annoyance of
them or a deliberate affront or great hurt and sore disparagement to
their honour. For verily have I seen great mischiefs happen in suchlike
conjunctions.

This is why those evil-minded husbands, which take such delight in
blood and murder and evil entreatment of their wives, should not be
so hasty, but ought first to make a secret inquiry into all matters,
albeit such knowledge may well be grievous to them and very like to
make them scratch their head for its sore itching thereat, and this
even though some, wretches that they are, do give their wives all the
occasion in the world to go astray.

Thus I once knew a great Prince of a foreign country, who had married
a very fair and honourable lady. Yet did he very often leave her to go
with another woman, which was supposed to be a famous courtesan, though
others thought she was a lady of honour whom he had debauched. But not
satisfied with this, when he had her to sleep with him, it was in a
low-roofed chamber underneath that of his wife and underneath her bed.
Then when he was fain to embrace his mistress, he was not content with
the wrong he was doing his lady already, but in derision and mockery
would with a half-pike knock two or three blows on the floor and shout
up to his wife: “A health to you, wife mine!” This scorn and insult was
repeated several days, and did so anger his wife that out of despair
and desire of vengeance she did accost a very honourable gentleman
one day and said to him privily: “Sir! I am fain you should have your
pleasure of me; otherwise do I know of means whereby to undo you.” The
other, right glad of so fine an adventure, did in no wise refuse her.
Wherefore, so soon as her husband had his fair leman in his arms, and
she likewise her fond lover, and he would cry, “A health!” to her, then
would she answer him in the same coin, crying, “And I drink to _you_!”
or else, “I pledge you back, good Sir!”

These toasts and challenges and replies, so made and arranged as to
suit with the acts of each, continued some longish while, till at
length the Prince, a wily and suspicious man, did suspect something. So
setting a watch, he did discover how his wife was gaily cuckolding him
all the while, and making good cheer and drinking toasts just as well
as he was, by way of retaliation and revenge. Then having made sure
it was verily so, he did quick alter and transform his comedy into a
tragedy; and having challenged her for the last time with his toast,
and she having rendered him back his answer and as good as he gave, he
did instantly mount upstairs, and forcing and breaking down the door,
rushes in and reproaches her for her ill-doing. But she doth make
answer on her side in this wise, “I know well I am a dead woman. So
kill me bodily; I am not afraid of death, and do welcome it gladly, now
I am avenged on you, seeing I have made you cuckold. For you did give
me great occasion thereto, without which I had never gone astray. I had
vowed all fidelity to you, and never should I have broken my troth for
all the temptations in the whole world. Nay! you were no wise worthy
of so honest a wife as I. So kill me straightway; but if there is any
pity in your hand, pardon, I beseech you, this poor gentleman, who of
himself is no whit to blame, for I did invite him and urge him to help
me to my vengeance.” The Prince, over cruel altogether, doth ruthlessly
kill the twain. But what else should this unhappy Princess have done
in view of the indignities and insults of her husband, if not what, in
despair of any other succour in all the world, she did? Some there be
will excuse her, some accuse her; many arguments and good reasons may
be alleged thereanent on either side.

In the _Cent Nouvelles_ of the Queen of Navarre is an almost similar
tale, and a very fine one to boot, of the Queen of Naples, who in like
manner did revenge herself on the King her husband. Yet was the end
thereof not so tragical.[47*]

So now let us have done with these demons and mad, furious cuckolds and
speak no more of them, for that they be odious and unpleasing, seeing I
should never have finished if I should tell of them all, and moreover
the subject is neither good nor pleasant. Let us discourse a while of
kindly cuckolds, such as are good fellows, of placable humour, men
easy to deal with and of a holy patience, well humoured and readily
appeased, that shut the eyes and are—good-natured fools.

Now of these some are predestined of their very nature to be so, some
know how it is before they marry, to wit, know that their ladies,
widows or maids, have already gone astray; others again know naught of
it at all, but marry them on trust, on the word of their fathers and
mothers, their family and friends.

I have known not a few which have married women and girls of loose
life, whom they well knew had been passed in review by sundry Kings,
Princes, Lords, gentlemen and other folk. Yet for love of them, or
attracted by their goods, jewels and money that they had won at the
trade of love, have made no scruple to wed them. However I propose here
to speak only of the girls of this sort.

I have heard speak of a mistress of a very great and sovereign Prince,
who being enamoured of a certain gentleman, and in such wise behaving
herself toward him as to have received the first fruits of his love,
was so desirous thereof that she did keep him a whole month in her
closet, feeding him on fortifying foods, savoury soups, dainty and
comforting meats, the better to distil and draw off his substance. Thus
having made her first apprenticeship with him, did she continue her
lessons under him so long as he lived, and under others too. Afterward
she did marry at the age of forty-five years to a Lord,[48] who found
naught to say against her, but rather was right proud of so rare a
marriage as he had with her.

Boccaccio repeats a proverb which was current in his day to the effect
that _a mouth once kissed_ (others have it differently) _is never out
of luck; her fortune is like the moon, and waxeth ever anew_. This
proverb he doth quote in connection with a story he relates of that
fair daughter of the Sultan of Egypt who did pass and repass by the
weapons of nine different lovers, one after the other, at the least
three thousand times in all. At long last was she delivered to the King
of Garba a pure virgin, that is, ’twas so pretended, as pure as she was
at the first promised to him; and he found no objection to make, but
was very well pleased. The tale thereof is a right good one.

I have heard a great man declare that, with many great men, though not
all it may be supposed, no heed is paid in case of women of this sort
to the fact, though three or four lovers have passed them through their
hands, before they make them their wives. This he said anent of a story
of a great Lord who was deeply enamoured of a great lady, and one of
something higher quality than himself, and she loved him back. However
there fell out some hindrance that they did not wed as they did expect
one with the other. Whereupon this great nobleman, the which I have
just spoken of, did straightway ask: “Did he mount the little jade,
anyway?” And when he was answered, “no!”—in the other’s opinion and
by what men told him, “So much the worse then,” he added, “for at any
rate they had had so much satisfaction one of the other, and no harm
would have been done!” For among the great no heed is paid to these
rules and scruples of maidenhood, seeing that for these grand alliances
everything must be excused. Only too delighted are they, the good
husbands and gentle suckling cuckolds.

At the time when King Charles did make the circuit of his Kingdom,
there was left behind in a certain good town, which I could name very
well had I so wished, a female child whereof an unmarried girl of a
very good house had been delivered.[49*] So the babe was given to a
poor woman to nurse and rear, and there was advanced to her a sum of
two hundred crowns for her pains. The said poor woman did nurse the
infant and manage it so well that in fifteen years’ time the girl grew
up very fair, and gave herself to a life of pleasure. For never another
thought had she of her mother, who in four months after wedded a very
great nobleman. Ah! how many such have I known of either sex, where the
like things have been, and no man suspecting aught!

I once heard tell, when I was in Spain, of a great Lord of Andalusia
who had married a sister of his to another very great Lord, and who
three days after the marriage was consummated, came and said to him
thus: _Señor hermano, agora que soys cazado con my herman, y l’haveys
bien godida solo, yo le hago aher que siendo hija, tal y tal gozaron
d’ella. De lo passado no tenga cuydado, que poca cosa es. Dell futuro
quartate, que mas y mucho a vos toca._ (My Lord and brother, now that
you are married to my sister and alone enjoy her favours, it behooves
you to know that when she was yet unwed, such and such an one did have
her. Take no heed of the past, for truly ’tis but a small thing; but
beware of the future, seeing now it doth touch you much more close),—as
much as to say that what is done is done, and there is no need to talk
about it, but it were well to be careful of the future, for this is
more nearly concerned with a man’s honour than is the past.

Some there be are of this humour, thinking it not so ill to be cuckold
in the bud, but very ill in the flower,—and there is some reason in
this.

I have likewise heard speak of a great Lord of a foreign land,[50*]
which had a daughter who was one of the fairest women in the world;
and she being sought in marriage by another great Lord who was well
worthy of her was bestowed on him by her father. But before ever he
could let her go forth the house, he was fain to try her himself,
declaring he would not easily let go so fine a mount and one which he
had so carefully trained, without himself having first ridden thereon,
and found out how she could go for the future. I know not whether it
be true, but I have heard say it is, and that not only he did make the
essay, but another comely and gallant gentleman to boot. And yet did
not the husband thereafter find anything bitter, but all as sweet as
sugar. He had been very hard to please if he had otherwise, for she was
one of the fairest dames in all the world.

I have heard the like tales told of many other fathers, and in especial
of one very great nobleman, with regard to their daughters. For herein
are they said to have shown no more conscience than the Cock in Aesop’s
Fable. This last, when he was met by the Fox, who did threaten him and
declare he purposed to kill him, did therefore proceed to rehearse all
the benefits he wrought for mankind and above all else the fair and
excellent poultry that came from him. To this the fox made answer, “Ha,
ha!” said he, “that is just my quarrel with you, sir gallant! For so
lecherous are you, you make no difficulty to tread your own daughters
as readily as the other hens,” and for this crime did put him to death.
Verily a stern and artful judge!

I leave you then to imagine what some maids may do with their
lovers,—for never yet was there a maid but had or was fain to have a
lover,—and that some there be that brothers, cousins and kinsfolk have
done the like with.

In our own days Ferdinand, King of Naples,[51] knew thus in wedlock
his own aunt, daughter of the King of Castile, at the age of 13 or 14
years, but this was by dispensation of the Pope. Difficulties were
raised at the time as to whether this ought to be or could be so given.
Herein he but followed the example of Caligula, the Roman Emperor, who
did debauch and have intercourse with each of his sisters, one after
the other. And above and beyond all the rest, he did love exceedingly
the youngest, named Drusilla, whom when only a lad he had deflowered.
And later, being then married to one Lucius Cassius Longinus, a man of
consular rank, he did take her from her husband, and lived with her
openly, as if she had been his wife,—so much so indeed that having
fallen sick on one occasion, he made her heiress of all his property,
including the Empire itself. But it fell out she died, which he did
grieve for so exceedingly sore that he made proclamation to close the
Courts and stay all other business, in order to constrain the people
to make public mourning along with him. And for a length of time he
wore his hair long and beard untrimmed for her sake; and when he was
haranguing the Senate, the People or his soldiers, never swore but by
the name of Drusilla.

As for his other sisters, when that he had had his fill of them, he
did prostitute them and gave them up to his chief pages which he had
reared up and known in very foul fashion. Still even so he had done
them no outrageous ill, seeing they were accustomed thereto, and that
it was a pleasant injury, as I have heard it called by some maids on
being deflowered and some women who had been ravished. But over and
above this, he put a thousand indignities upon them; he sent them into
exile, he took from them all their rings and jewels to turn into money,
having wasted and ill guided all the vast sums Tiberius had left him.
Natheless did the poor girls, having after his death come back from
banishment, and seeing the body of their brother ill and very meanly
buried under a few clods of earth, have it disinterred and burned and
duly buried as honourably as they could. Surely a good and noble deed
on the part of sisters to a brother so graceless and unnatural!

The Italian, by way of excusing the illicit love of his countryman,
says that _quando messer Bernardo, il buciacchio sta in colera et in
sua rabbia, non riceve legge, et non perdona a nissuna dama_,—“when
messer Bernardo, the young ox, stand up in anger and in his passion, he
will receive no laws and spare no lady.”

We can find plenty of examples amongst the Ancients of such as have
done the same. However to come back to our proper subject, I have heard
a tale of one who having married a fair and honourable damsel to one
of his friends, and boasting that he had given him a right good and
noble mount, sound, clean and free from knots and malanders, as he put
it, and that he lay the more under obligation to him therefor, he was
answered by one of the company, who said aside to one of his comrades:
“That is all quite true, if only she had not been mounted and ridden so
young and far too soon. For it has made her a bit _foulée_ in front.”

But likewise I would fain ask these noble husbands whether, if such
mounts had not often some fault, some little thing wrong with them,
some defect or blemish, they would make the match with others who are
more deserving than they, like horse-dealers who do all they can to get
rid of their blemished horses, but always with those that know naught
of the matter. Even so, as I have heard many a father say, ’tis a very
fine riddance to be quit of a blemished daughter, or one that doth
begin to be so, or seems by her looks like to be.

How many damsels of the great world I know who have not carried their
maidenhood to the couch of Hymen, but who have for all that been well
instructed of their mothers, or other their kinswomen and friends,
right cunning pimps as they are, to make a good show at this first
assault. Divers are the means and contrivances they do resort to with
artful subtleties, to make their husbands think it well and convince
them never a breach has been made before. The most part resort to the
making of a desperate resistance and defence at this point of attack,
and do fight obstinately to the last extremity. Whereof there are
some husbands much delighted, for they do firmly believe they have
had all the honour and made the first conquest, like right determined
and intrepid soldiers. Then next morning they have fine tales to tell,
how they have strutted it like little cocks or cockerels that have eat
much millet-seed in the evening, making many boasts to their comrades
and friends, and even mayhap to the very men who have been the first to
invade the fortress, unwittingly to them. Whereat these do laugh their
fill in their sleeves, and with the women their mistresses, and boast
they did their part well too, and gave the damsels as good as they got.

Some suspicious husbands there be however who hold all this resistance
as of bad augury, and take no satisfaction in seeing them so
recalcitrant. Like one I know who asked his wife why did she thus play
the prude and make difficulties, and if she disdained him so much as
all that; but she thinking to make excuse and put off the fault on
something else than disdain, told him ’twas because she was afraid
he would hurt her. To this he retorted, “Now have you given proof
positive, for no hurt can be known without having been first suffered.”
But she was wily, and denied, saying she had heard tell of it by some
of her companions who had been married, and had so advised her. And,
“Hum! fine advice truly and fine words!” was all he could say.

Another remedy these women recommend is this,—next morning after their
wedlock to show their linen stained with drops of blood, the which the
poor girls shed in the cruel work of their deflowering. So is it done
in Spain, where they do publicly display from the window the aforesaid
linen, crying aloud, “Virgen la tenemos,”—“we hold her for a maid.”

Likewise of a surety I have heard say that at Viterbo[52] this custom
is similarly observed. Moreover, seeing such damsels as have previously
affronted the battle cannot make this display of their own blood,
they have devised the plan, as I have heard say, and as several young
courtesans at Rome have themselves assured me, the better to sell their
maidenhood, of staining the said linen with pigeon’s blood, which is
the most meet of all for the purpose. So next morning the husband doth
see the blood and doth feel a great satisfaction thereof, and doth
believe firmly ’tis the virginal blood of his wife. He thinks himself a
gallant and happy man, but he is sore deceived all the while.

Hereanent will I repeat the following merry tale of a gentleman who
had his string tied in a knot the first night of his wedlock; but the
bride, who was not one of the very fair and high-born sort, fearing
he would be sore enraged thereat, did not fail, by advice of her good
comrades, matrons, kinswomen and good friends, to have the bit of linen
stained as usual. But the mischief for her was that the husband was so
sore tied that he could do naught at all, albeit she thought no harm
to make him a very enticing display and deck herself for the assault
as well as ever she could, and lie conveniently without playing the
prude or making any show of reluctance or deviltry. At least so the
lookers-on, hid near by according to custom, did report; and indeed she
did so the better to conceal the loss of her maidenhood elsewhere. But
for all the red linen, he had really done naught whatever.

At night, by established custom, the midnight repast having been
carried in, there was as usual a worthy guest ready to advise that in
the customary wedding scramble they should filch away the sheet, which
they did find finely stained with blood. This was instantly displayed
and all in attendance were assured by loud cries she was no longer a
maid, and here was the evidence her virgin membrane had been deforced
and ruptured. The husband, who was quite certain he had done naught,
but who nevertheless was fain to pose as a brave and valiant champion,
remained sore astounded and wot not what this stained sheet might mean.
Only after sufficient pondering, he did begin to suspect some knavish,
cunning harlot’s trick, yet never breathed a word.

The bride and her confidantes were likewise sore troubled and astounded
for that the husband had so missed fire, and that their business was
not turning out better. Nothing however was suffered to appear till
after a week’s time, when lo! the husband found his knot untied, and
did straight let fly with might and main. Whereat being right glad and
remembering naught else, he went forth and published to all the company
how in all good conscience he had now given proof of his prowess and
made his wife a true wife and a proper married woman; but did confess
that up till then he had been seized with absolute impotence to do
aught. Hereupon those present at the time did hold diverse discourse,
and cast much blame and scorn on the bride, whom all had deemed a wife
by her stained linen. Thus did she bring scandal on herself,—albeit she
was not properly speaking an altogether cause thereof, but rather her
husband, who by feebleness, slackness and lack of vigour did spoil his
own wedding.

Again, there are some husbands that do know at their first night as to
the maidenhood of their wives, whether they have won it or no, by the
signs they find. So one that I know, who did marry a wife in second
wedlock; but the wife was for making him believe her first husband had
never touched her, by reason of his impotence, and that she was virgin
and a maid, as much as before being married at all. Yet did he find her
of such ample capacity that he exclaimed, “What ho! are _you_ the maid
of Marolles, so tight and small as they told me you were?” So he had
just to take it as it was, and make the best of it. For if her first
husband had never touched her, as was quite true, yet many another man
had.

But what are we to say of some mothers who, seeing the impotence of
their sons-in-law, or that they have the string knotted or some other
defect, are procuresses to their own daughters. Thus to win their
jointures, they get them to yield to others, and often to become with
child by them, to the end they may have offspring to inherit after the
death of the father.

I know one such who was ready enough to give this counsel to her
daughter, and indeed spared no effort to bring it about, but the
misfortune for her was that never could she have a child at all. Also I
know a husband who, not being able to do aught to his wife, did yield
his place to a big lackey he had, a handsome lad, to lie with his wife
and deflower her as she slept, and in this way save his honour. But
she did discover the trick and the lackey had no success. For which
cause they had a long suit at law, and finally were separated.

King Henry of Castile[53] did the like, who as Fulgosius[53] relates,
seeing he could make no children with his wife, did call in the help of
a handsome young gentleman of his Court to make them for him. The which
he did; and for his pains the King gave him great estates and advanced
him in all honours, distinctions and dignities. Little doubt the wife
was grateful to him therefor, and did find the arrangement much to her
liking. This is what I call an accommodating cuckold!

As to these “knotted strings” spoken of above, there was lately a law
process thereanent in the Court of the Parliament of Paris, between
the Sieur de Bray, High Treasurer, and his wife, to whom he could do
naught, suffering as he did from this or other like defect, for which
the wife, once well married, did call him to account. It was ordered
by the Court that they should be visited, the two of them, by great
doctors expert in these matters. The husband did choose his, and the
wife hers. And hereon was writ a right merry sonnet at the Court, the
which a great lady read over to me herself, and gave me, whenas I was
dining with her. ’Twas said a lady had writ it, though others said a
man. Here it is:

SONNET

Entre les médecins renommés à Paris
En sçavoir, en espreuve, en science, en doctrine,
Pour juger l’imparfait de la coupe androgine,
Par de Bray et sa femme ont esté sept choisis,
De Bray a eu pour lui les trois de moindre prix,
Le Court, l’Endormy, Piétre: et sa femme plus fine,
Les quatre plus experts en l’art de médecine,
Le Grand, le Gros, Duret et Vigoureux a pris.

On peut par là juger qui des deux gaignera,
Et si le Grand du Court victorieux sera,
Vigoureux d’Endormy, le Gros, Duret, de Piètre.

Et de Bray n’ayant point ces deux de son costé,
Estant tant imparfait que mari le peut estre,
A faute de bon droict en sera débouté.

(Among all the great doctors of Paris, famed for knowledge, skill,
science and learning, seven were chosen out by de Bray and his wife,
to judge of the defect in the cup of man and wife.—De Bray has on
his side the three of lesser price, Le Court, l’Endormy, Piètre
(Drs. Short, Sleepy, Puny); his wife has been cleverer and taken
Le Grand, Le Gros, Duret and Vigoureux (Drs. Tall, Stout, Hardy
and Vigorous).—From this it may be guessed which of the pair will
gain the day, and if Le Grand will give a good account of Le Court,
Vigoureaux, of Endormy, Le Gros and Duret of Piètre.—So de Bray not
having these two on his side, and being as ill-dowered as a husband
can well be, for lack of a good case will surely be nonsuited.)

I have heard speak of another husband, who did hold his new-made wife
in his arms the first night; and she was so ravished with delight and
pleasure that quite forgetting herself she could not refrain from a
slight turning and twisting and mobile action of the body, such as
new wed wives are scarce wont to make. At this he said naught else,
but only, “Ha, ha! I know now,” and went on his way to the end. These
be our cuckolds _in embryo_, of the which I could tell thousands of
tales, but I should never have done. And the worst thing I see in them
is when they wed cow and calf at once, as the saying is, and take them
when already great with child. Like one I know, who had married a very
fair and honourable damsel, by the favour and wish of their Prince and
feudal Lord, who was much attached to the said gentleman and had made
the marriage. But at the end of a week it became known she was with
child, and she did actually publish it abroad, the better to play her
part. The Prince, who had always suspected some love-making between
her and another, said to her, “My lady! I have carefully writ down
on my tablets the day and hour of your marriage; when folk shall set
these against the time of your bringing to bed, you will have bitter
shame!” But she at this word only blushed a little, and did naught else
thereanent, but only kept ever the mien and bearing of a _donna da ben_
(virtuous lady).[54*]

Then again there are some daughters which do so fear their father and
mother they had rather lose the life out of their bodies than their
maidenhood, dreading their parents an hundred times more than their
husbands.

I have heard speak of a very fair and honourable damsel, who being
sore tempted by her lover to take her pleasure of his love, did answer
“under this cloak of marriage which doth cover all, we will take our
joy with a right good will.”

Another, being eagerly sought after by a great nobleman, she said to
him, “Petition our Prince and put some pressure on him, that he wed me
soon to him that is now my suitor, and let me quickly make good my
marriage that he hath promised me. The day after my wedding, if we meet
not one another, why! the bargain is off!”

I know a lady who was wooed to love but four days before her bridal
by a gentleman, and kinsman of her husband; yet six days after he did
enjoy his will,—at any rate he did make boast to the effect. Nor was
it hard to believe, for they did show such familiarity the one to the
other, you would have said they had been brought up together all their
lives. Moreover he did even tell sundry signs and marks she had on her
body, and further that they did continue their merry sport long while
after. The gentleman always declared the familiarity that did afford
them opportunity to come so far was, that in order to carry out a
masquerade they did change clothes with one another. He took the dress
of his mistress and she that of her admirer, whereat the husband did
nothing but laugh, though some there were did find occasion to blame
them and think ill of the thing.

There was made a song about it at Court,—of a husband who was married
o’ Tuesday and cuckolded o’ Thursday, a fair rate of progress in sooth!

What shall we say of another damsel who was long while wooed by a
gentleman of a good house and rich, but for all that niggardly and not
worthy of her? So being hard pressed at the instance of her family
to marry him, she made answer she had liever die than marry him, and
that he should be spoken thereof to her or to her kinsfolk. For, she
declared, if they did force her to marry him, she would only make him
cuckold. But for all that it behooved to go by that road, for so was
she constrained by the urgency of all the great folk, men and women,
who had influence and authority over her, as well as by her kinsfolks’
orders.

On the eve of her bridal, her husband seeing her all sad and pensive,
asked her what ailed her; and she did answer him angrily, “You would
never believe me, and be persuaded to leave off your pursuit of me. You
know what I have always said, that if ever I were so unfortunate as to
become your wife, I would make you cuckold. And I swear I will do so,
and keep my word to you.” She was in no wise dainty about saying the
same before sundry of her lady companions and male admirers. Afterward
rest assured she was as good as her word, and did show him she was a
good and true woman, for that she kept her promise faithfully!

I leave you to judge whether she is to be blamed, for a man once warned
should be twice careful, and she did plainly tell him the ill plight he
would fall into. So why would he not take heed? But indeed he thought
little enough of what she said.

These maids which thus let themselves go astray straightway after being
married, but do as the Italian proverb saith: _Che la vacca, ché é
stata molto tempo ligata, corre più ché quella ché ha havuto sempre
piana libertá_,—“The cow that hath been long tied up, runs more wild
than one that hath ever had her full liberty.” Thus did the first wife
of Baldwyn, King of Jerusalem, whom I have spoken of before, who having
been forced to take the veil by her husband, brake from the cloister
and escaped out, and making now for Constantinople, behaved herself in
such wanton wise as that she did bestow her favours on all wayfarers by
that road, whether going or coming, as well men-at-arms as pilgrims to
Jerusalem, without heed to her Royal rank. But the reason was the long
fast she had had therefrom during her imprisonment.

I might easily name many other such. Well! they are a good sort of
cuckolds these, as are likewise those others which suffer their wives’
unfaithfulness, when these be fair and much sought after for their
beauty, and abandon them to it, in order to win favour for themselves,
and draw profit and wealth therefrom. Many such are to be seen at the
Courts of great Kings and Princes, the which do get good advantage
thereby; for from poor men as they were aforetime, whether from
pledging of their goods, or by some process of law, or mayhap through
the cost of warlike expeditions, they be brought low, are they straight
raised up again and enriched greatly by way of their good wives’
_trou_. Yet do they find no diminution whatever in that same place, but
rather augmentation!

Herein was the case different with a very fair lady I have heard tell
of, for that she had lost the half of her affair by misadventure, her
husband having, so they said, given her the pox which had eaten it away
for her.

Truly the favours and benefits of the great may well shake the most
chaste hearts, and are cause of many and many a cuckoldry. And
hereanent I have heard the tale related of a foreign Prince[55] who
was appointed General by his Sovereign Prince and master of a great
expedition of War he had ordered to be made, and left his wife behind,
one of the fairest ladies in all Christendom, at his Master’s Court.
But this last did set to and make suit to her to such effect that he
very soon shook and laid low her resolve, and had his will so far that
he did get her with child.

The husband, returning at the end of twelve or thirteen months, doth
find her in this state, and though sore grieved and very wroth against
her, durst not ask her the how and why of it. ’Twas for her, and very
adroit she was, to frame her excuses, and a certain brother-in-law of
hers to help her out. And this-like was the plea she made out: “’Tis
the issue of your campaign that is cause of this, which hath been taken
so ill by your Master,—for indeed he did gain little profit thereby.
So sorely have you been blamed in your absence for that you did not
carry out his behests better, that had not your Lord set his love on
me, you had verily been undone; and so to save you from undoing, I have
e’en suffered myself to be undone. Your honour is as much concerned as
mine own, and more, and for your advancement I have not spared the most
precious thing I possess. Reflect then if I have done so ill as you
might say at first; for without me, your life, your honour and favour
would all have been risked. You are in better case than ever, while the
matter is not so public that the stain to your repute be too manifest.
Wherefore, I beseech you to excuse and forgive me for that I have done.”

The brother-in-law, who was of the best at a specious tale, and who
mayhap had somewhat to do with the lady’s condition, added thereto
yet other good and weighty words, so that at the last all ended well.
Thus was peace made, and the twain were of better accord than ever
living together in all freedom and good fellowship. Yet, or so have I
heard tell, did the Prince their master, the which had done the wrong
and had made all the difficulty, never esteem him so highly as he had
done aforetime, for having taken the thing so mildly. Never after did
he deem him a man of such high-souled honour as he had thought him
previously, though in his heart of hearts he was right glad the poor
lady had not to suffer for the pleasure she had given him. I have known
sundry, both men and women, ready to excuse the lady in question, and
to hold she did well so to suffer her own undoing in order to save her
husband and set him back again in his Sovereign’s favour.

Ah! how many examples are to be found to match this; as that of a great
lady who did save her husband’s life, the which had been condemned to
death in full Court, having been convicted of great peculations and
malversations in his government and office. For which thing the husband
did after love her well all his life.

I have heard speak again of a great Lord, who had been condemned to
have his head cut off; but lo! he being already set on the scaffold,
his pardon did arrive, the which his daughter, one of the fairest of
women,[56] had obtained. Whereon, being come down off the scaffold, he
did say this word, and naught else at all: “God save my girl’s good
_motte_, which hath saved my life!”

Saint Augustine doth express a doubt whether a certain citizen of
Antioch, a Christian, did sin, when to acquit him of a heavy sum of
money for the which he was in strict confinement, he gave his wife
leave to lie with a gentleman of great wealth, who undertook to free
him from his debt.

If such is the opinion of Saint Augustine, what would he not allow to
many women, widows and maids, who to redeem their fathers, kinsmen,
yea! sometimes their husbands themselves, do surrender their gentle
body under stress of many and sundry trials that fall to their lot, as
imprisonment, enslavement, peril to life itself, assaults and takings
of cities, and in a word an host of other the like incommodities. Nay!
sometimes to gain over captains and soldiers, to cause them to fight
stubbornly and hold their ground, or to sustain a siege or retake a
place,—I could recount an hundred instances,—they will go the length of
fearlessly prostituting their chastity to gain their ends. What evil
report or scandal can come to them for this? None surely, but rather
much glory and advantage.

Who then will deny it to be a good thing on occasion to be cuckold,
forasmuch as a man may draw therefrom such advantages in the way of
life saved and favour regained, of honour, dignities and riches? How
many do I know in like case; and have heard speak of many more which
have been advanced by the beauty and bodies of their wives!

I wish not to offend any, but I will take upon me to say this much,
that I have it from not a few, both men and women, how ladies have
served their mates right well, and how the merits of some of them have
not availed them near so much as their wives’.

I know a great lady of much adroit skill who got the Order of St.
Michael bestowed on her husband, he being at that time the only one
that had it along with the two greatest Princes of Christendom. She
would oft tell him, and say out the same before everybody,—for indeed
she was of merry demeanour and excellent company: “Ha, ha! my friend,
you might have sweated yourself many a long day before you got this
pretty bauble to hang at your neck!”

I have heard speak of a great man,[57*] in the days of King Francis,
who having received the Order, and being fain to make boast thereof one
day before M. de la Chastaigneraie, my uncle, did say to him: “Ah! how
glad would you be to have this Order hanging at your neck like me!” My
uncle, who was ready of tongue and high of hand and hot-tempered, if
ever man was, straight replied: “I had rather be dead than have it by
the way you had it by!” The other answered never a word, for he knew
the man he had to deal with.

I have heard the story told of a great Lord, whose wife had begged
for him the patent appointing him to one of the great offices of his
district and did bring it to him in his house, his Prince having
bestowed it upon him only by favour of his wife. But he would in no
wise accept it, forasmuch as he was aware his wife had tarried three
months with the Prince in high favour, and not without suspicions of
something worse. Herein he did manifest the same nobility of spirit he
had shown all his life; yet at the last he did take it, after having
done a thing I had rather not name.[58*]

And this is how fair ladies have made as many knights as battles, and
more,—the which I would name, knowing their names as well as another,
were it not I desired to avoid speaking ill of any, or making scandal.
And if they have given them these honours, they have brought them much
riches as well.

I know one who was but a poor devil when he first brought his wife to
Court, the which was a very beautiful woman. And lo! in less than two
years they were in good ease and become very rich folk.

Well! we must needs think highly of these ladies which do thus raise
their husbands in wealth and position, and make them cuckolds not
without compensation. Even as men say of Marguerite de Namur, who was
so foolish as to bind herself and give all ever she could to Louis,
Duke of Orleans, one who was so great and puissant a Lord already, and
brother to the King. To this end she did get from her husband whatever
she could, till at the last he became a poor man, and was forced to
sell his Earldom of Blois to the said M. d’Orléans.[59*] And this
latter,—to think of it!—did pay him therefore in the very same coin and
goods the man’s infatuate wife had given him. Foolish indeed she was,
for that she was giving to one greater than herself. And to think that
he did laugh at the pair of them, for in good sooth he was the very man
so to do, so fickle was he and inconstant in love.

I know a great lady who, having fallen deep in love with a gentleman
of the Court, did accordingly suffer him to have his joy of her. And
not being able to give him money, seeing her husband ever kept his
hoard hid like a priest, did give him the greater part of her precious
stones, the which did mount up to a value of thirty thousand crowns.
Whence men said at Court he might well begin to build now, since he
had plenty of stones laid up and stored away. Soon afterward, being
come into a great inheritance and having put her hand on some twenty
thousand crowns, she scarce kept any thereof, but her lover did enjoy
the greater part. And ’twas said that if this inheritance had not
fallen in to her, not knowing what else she could give him, she would
have given him the very clothes off her body down to her shift itself.
Wherein are suchlike scamps and scorners greatly to blame so to set
about it and distil and draw off all the substance of these poor
creatures, so hot-headed and infatuate with passion and caprice. For
their purse, being so oft visited, cannot stay always swelled out and
at its full capacity, like the purse in front, which is ever in the
same condition, and ever ready for whosoever wills to fish therein,
without the captives that have entered and come forth again of the same
finding a word to say against it. This worthy gentleman, whom I spoke
of as so well stocked with stones, came some time after to die. Then
did all his effects, as is the way at Paris, come to be cried and sold
at public auction, and so were in this wise reckoned up and known by
many persons as having belonged to the lady, not without bitter and
deep shame to the same.

There was a great Prince who loving a very honourable lady, did
purchase a dozen diamond studs, brilliants of the first water and
admirably set, with their Egyptian letters and hieroglyphics,
containing a secret and cabalistic meaning, the which he did make
a present of to his mistress. But she after looking at the same
attentively, said to him that at present she found no need of
hieroglyphic lettering, forasmuch as the writings were already done
and accomplished between them twain, even as they had been between the
gentleman and the fair lady spoken of just above.

I knew once a lady who was forever saying to her husband, how she had
rather make him criminal than cuckold. But truly the two words are
something equivocal, and mayhap more or less of both of these fine
qualities mated together in her and in her husband.

Yet I have known well plenty of fair ladies that have not done so at
all. Rather have they kept the purse of their crown-pieces far tighter
drawn than that of their fair body. For, albeit very great ladies,
never would they be giving but a ring or two, a few favours and such
other little compliments, muffs or scarfs, to wear for love of them to
enhance their repute.

Yet have I known one very great lady[60] which was exceeding free and
generous herein, for the least of her scarfs and the favours she was
used to give her lovers was worth five hundred crowns, a thousand
crowns, or even three, whereon was such abundance of embroidery, and
pearls, and cyphers, and cabalistic letters and pretty conceits,
nothing in all this world ever was richer and rarer to look on. And she
was right; for so her gifts, once made, were not hid away in chests or
in purses, like those of many other dames, but were displayed before
all men. For she deemed that her friends did manifest their worth
looking at them and showing them as tokens of her regard, whereas
such presents when made in coin did smack rather of common women that
give money to their bullies than of high-born and honourable ladies.
Sometimes again she would give beautiful rings of rich jewel-work,
forasmuch as favours and scarfs are not ordinarily worn, but only on
some great and high emprise, whereas a ring on the finger keeps better
company and more constant with the wearer.

Though, verily, a gentle and noble-hearted knight should be of this
generous complexion that he had rather serve his lady for the beauties
which do make her shine resplendent than for all the shining gold and
silver she may have.

For myself, I can boast of having served in my day honourable ladies,
and those of no low estate. But truly if I had been willing to take
all they gave me and extract from their generosity all I might have
had, why, I should be a richer man to-day, whether in goods or money
or plenishing, than I am by a good thirty thousand crowns; yet have I
alway been content to make evident my love rather by my generosity than
by my avariciousness.

Without doubt there is good reason for it, that inasmuch as the man
doth put somewhat of his own into the purse the woman hath, the woman
should likewise put something of hers in the man’s. Yet herein must due
proportion be kept; for just as the man cannot cast in and give as much
of his into the woman’s purse as she would fain have, so is the man
bound in fairness not to draw from that of the woman all he would. The
law of give and take must needs be observed and proper measure kept.

I have moreover before now seen many gentlemen lose the love of their
mistresses by reason of the importunity of their demands and their
inordinate rapacity. For these, seeing them such beggars and so eager
to have their pay, have quietly broke off the connexion and left them
in the lurch, and that notwithstanding the excellent service rendered.

Wherefore it is that every noble-minded lover were better to be guilty
of greed for his lady’s body than for her money; because supposing the
lady to be over generous of her goods, the husband finding his property
lessening apace, is more angered thereat ten times over than at a
thousand largesses she may have made of her person.

Further, some cuckolds there be that are made such in the way of
revenge. I mean that often men who have a grudge against some great
Lord or gentleman or other person, from the which they have received
injuries and affronts, do avenge their wrongs on them by making love
to their wives, whom they do debauch and make fine cuckolds of their
enemies.

I knew once a great Prince who had suffered from sundry attempts at
rebellion on the part of one of his subjects, a great Lord, yet was
all unable to revenge himself, seeing the offender did all he could to
escape him, so that the Prince could never lay hands on him. However,
his wife having one day come to Court to solicit her husband’s pardon
and the better ordering of his case, the Prince did appoint with her to
meet him to confer thereof in a garden and a chamber adjoining it. But
it was really to talk of love to her, wherein he won his triumph on the
spot, without much ado, for she was of very accommodating character.
Nor did he content himself with having her in his proper person, but
did likewise prostitute her to others, down to the very footmen of the
chambers. And in this wise would the Prince declare he did feel himself
well revenged on his unfaithful subject, having so debauched his
wife and crowned his head with a good coronal of horns. Albeit but a
subject, he had been fain to play petty king and sovereign; but instead
of winning a regal crown of fleurs-de-lis, he had gotten himself a fine
one of horns![61]

This same Prince did a like thing in another case at the instigation
of his mother, for he did debauch a Princess that was a maid, well
knowing she was to wed a certain Prince who had done him displeasure
and sore troubled his brother’s government. Thus he did deflower her
and had his will of her finely; yet after two months was she delivered
to the poor Prince as a virgin and to be his wife. The revenge herefor
was of the mildest,—pending other action that did ensue later, of a
harsh and violent enough sort.[61]

I knew once a very honourable gentleman who, being lover of a fair lady
and one of good belongings, did ask her for the recompense of his long
love and courtship; but she answered frankly, she would not give him so
much as a single doit’s worth, seeing she was quite assured he loved
her not for this, and bare her not such fond affection for her beauty’s
sake, as he alleged. His wish was rather, by having his will of her,
to avenge himself on her husband, who had done him some displeasure;
wherefore he was fain to win this consolation to his pride and to feel
for the future he had had the upper hand. But the gentleman, assuring
her of the contrary, continued to court her humbly for more than two
years longer, and this so faithfully and with such passion, that at the
last she did show such ample and full gratitude that she did grant him
all she had before refused, declaring that had she not, at the first
beginning of their courtship, supposed some idea of vengeance intended
to be in his mind, she would immediately have made him as happy a man
as she now did at the end, for that her natural bent was to love and
prefer him. Note how the lady was able wisely to command her passion
so that love did never carry her away to do what all the while she did
most desire, for that she wished to be loved for her own sake and not
merely as a means to a man’s vengeance on another.

The late M. du Gua, one of the truly gallant and perfect gentlemen of
the world in every way, did invite me to the Court one day to dine
with him. He had brought together a dozen of the most learned men of
the Court, amongst others the Lord Bishop of Dol,[62] of the house of
Espinay in Brittany, MM. de Ronsard, de Baïf, Des Portes, d’Aubigny
(the last two are still living, and could contradict me, if I lie),
and others whose names I forget. Amongst them all was no man of the
sword but only M. du Gua and myself. The discourse during dinner
turned on love, and the commodities and incommodities, pleasures
and displeasures, good and ill, it brought in its train. After each
guest had declared his opinion on the one side or the other, himself
did conclude that the sovereign good of its gratification lay in
this vengeance it made possible, and prayed each of all these great
personages to make a _quatrain_ thereon impromptu. This they all did,
and I would I had them to insert here; but his Lordship of Dol, whose
words were true gold, whether spoke or writ, did bear off the prize.

And doubtless M. du Gua had good reason to maintain this view, as
against two great Lords of my acquaintance, whom he did cause to wear
the horns for the hatred he bare them. Their wives were very fair
women, so in this case he did win double pleasures, satisfaction of
his vengeance and gratification of his passions. Many other folk have
so revenged themselves and taken delight herein, and accordingly have
shared in the same opinion.

Moreover I have known many fair and honourable ladies, who did say and
affirm that, when their husbands had maltreated or bullied them, rated
or censured them, beat them or otherwise ill-used and outraged them,
their greatest joy and delight was to give them a pair of horns, and
in the act, to think of them, and scoff and mock and make fun of them
with their paramours, going so far as to declare they did hereby have a
greater access of appetite and sure delight of pleasure than could well
be described.

I have heard speak of a fair and honourable lady who, being asked
once if ever she had made her husband cuckold, did make answer, “Nay!
why should I have made him so, seeing he hath never beat nor even
threatened me?” As though implying that, if he had done either one or
the other, her champion that she had in front would very soon have
revenged her.

And speaking of wit and mockery, I once knew a very honourable and fair
lady who, being in these gentle transports of pleasure, did chance by
dint of her wild caresses to break an earring she had in the shape
of a cornucopia, which was but of black glass, such as were worn in
those days. Whereupon she cried instantly to her lover, “Look you, how
provident Dame Nature is; I have broken one horn, but here I am making
a dozen others for my poor cuckold of a husband, to bedeck him withal
some fine feast-day, if he so will.”

Another, having left her husband a-bed and asleep, went to see her
lover before lying down herself. Then asked he her where her husband
was, and she did reply, “He is keeping his bed, guarding his cuckoo’s
nest for fear another come to lay therein. But ’tis not with his bed,
nor his sheets, nor his nest you have to do, but with me, who am come
to see you. I have left him there as sentinel, though truly he is but a
sleepy one.”

Talking of sentinels, I have heard a tale told of a certain gentleman
of consideration, whom I well knew, who one day coming to words with
a very honourable lady, whom also I knew, he did ask her, by way of
insult, if she had ever gone on pilgrimage to Saint Mathurin.[63] “Oh,
yes!” she replied, “but I could never get into the Church, for so full
and so well occupied was it with cuckolds, they would never suffer me
to enter. And you, who were one of the foremost, were mounted on the
steeple, to act sentinel and warn the others.”

I could tell a thousand other such tales, but I should never have done.
Yet do I hope to find room for some of them in some corner or other of
my book.

10.

Some cuckolds there be which are good-natured and which of their own
impulse do invite themselves to this feast of cuckoldry. Thus I have
known some who would say to their wives, “Such and such an one is in
love with you; I know him well, and he often cometh to visit us, but
’tis for love of you, my pretty. Give him good welcome; he can do us
much pleasure, his acquaintance may advantage us greatly.”

Others again will say to their wives’ admirers, “My wife is in love
with you, and right fond of you. Come and see her, you will give her
pleasure; you can chat and hold discourse together, and pass the time
agreeably.” So do they invite folk to feast at their expense. As did
the Emperor Hadrian,[64] who being one time in Britain (as we read in
his Life), carrying on War there, did receive sundry warnings, how that
his wife, the Empress Sabina, was making unbridled love with a number
of gallant Roman noblemen. As fate would have it, she had writ and
despatched a letter from Rome to a certain young Roman gentleman who
was with the Emperor in Britain, complaining that he had forgot her,
and took no more account of her, and that it must needs be he had some
intrigue in that region and that some affected little wanton had caught
him in the lakes of her beauty. This letter fell by chance into the
Emperor’s hands; and when the nobleman in question did some days after
ask leave of absence under colour of wishing to go to Rome immediately
for family affairs of his own, Hadrian said to him in mocking wise,
“Well, well! young sir, go there,—and boldly, for the Empress, my wife,
is expecting you in all affection.” But the Roman hearing this, and
finding the Emperor had discovered his secret and might likely play
him some ill turn, started the very next night, without saying by your
leave or with your leave, and took refuge in Ireland.

Still he had no need to be greatly afraid for all this. Indeed the
Emperor himself would often say, being regaled continually with tales
of the extravagant love affairs of his wife, “Why, certainly, were I
not Emperor, I should have long ago rid me of my wife; but I desire
not to show an evil example.” As much as to say, it matters not to
the great to be in this case, so long as they let it not be known
publicly. And what a fate for great men,—one which truly some of them
have consented to, though not for the same reason! So we see this good
Emperor suffering himself complacently to be made cuckold.

Another good Emperor, Marcus Aurelius,[65] who had as wife Faustina, a
downright harlot, replied on being advised to put her away, “If we give
her up, we are bound also to give up her dowry, which is the Empire.”
And who would not be cuckold like him for such a prize, or even a less
one?

His son, Antonius Verus, surnamed Commodus, though he grew up very
cruel, yet held the like language to such as advised him to have the
said Faustina, his mother, put to death. So madly in love was she and
so hot after a gladiator that she could never be cured of the fierce
malady, till at last they bethought them to kill the rascally gladiator
and make her drink his blood.

Many and many a husband hath done and doth the same as the good Marcus
Aurelius, for they do fear to kill their wives, whores though they
be, for dread of losing the great fortunes they have of them, and had
rather be rich cuckolds on these easy terms than cruel villains.

Heavens! how many of the sort have I known, who were forever inviting
their kinsmen and friends and comrades to come and visit their wives,
going so far as to make banquets for them, the better to attract them.
Then, when they were there, they would leave them alone with the lady
in bedchamber or closet, and so away, with the words, “I leave my wife
in your care.”

One I knew, a nobleman of the great world, of such behaviour you would
have said his whole happiness did rest in this only, to be cuckolded.
He seemed to make it his study to give opportunities therefor, and
especially never forgot to say this first word, “My wife is in love
with you; do you love her as well as she loves you, I wonder?” Many
a time when he saw his wife with her admirer, he would carry off
the company from the room to take a walk, leaving the twain of them
together, so giving them good leisure to discuss their loves. And if by
any chance he had to return of a sudden into the room, from the very
bottom step of the stairs he would begin shouting aloud, calling after
someone, spitting or coughing, to the end he might not catch the lovers
in the act. For commonly, even though one know of them and suspect
their coming, these peeps and surprises are scarce pleasant whether to
the one party or the other.

This same Lord was having a fine mansion built one time, and the
master mason having asked whether he would not have the cornices
_h_orn-amented, he made answer, “I don’t know what _h_ornamentation
means. Go and ask my wife who understands the thing, and knows
geometry; and whatever she tells you to do, do it.”

Still worse was it with one I know of, who one day selling one of his
estates to a purchaser for fifty thousand crowns, did take forty-five
thousand of the sum in gold and silver, and in lieu of the remaining
five accepted a unicorn’s horn. Huge laughter amid them that knew him;
“Ha, ha!” they said, “as if he had not enough horns at home already,
that he must fit in this one to boot.”

I knew a very great Lord, a brave and gallant man, who did greet a
certain honourable gentleman and profess himself his very good servant,
yet adding with a smile these words, “My dear Sir, I know not what
you have done to my wife, but she is so much in love with you that
day and night she doth nothing but speak to me of you, and is forever
singing your praises. For all answer I tell her I have known you
longer than she hath, and am well aware of your worth and deserts,
which are great.” Who more astonished than this same gentleman? for
he had but just taken in this lady on his arm to Vespers, which the
Queen was attending, and that was all. However, he at once regained his
countenance and replied, “Sir! I am your wife’s most humble servant,
and deeply grateful for the good opinion she hath of me, and do greatly
respect her. Yet do I not make love to her,” he went on in a merry
tone. “All I do is to pay her my court, herein following the good
advice yourself gave me quite lately, seeing she hath much influence
with my mistress, whom I may be enabled to wed by her help, and
therefore do hope she will give me her assistance.”

The Prince had no suspicion and did naught but laugh and admonish the
gentleman to court his wife more assiduously than ever. This he did,
being right glad under this pretext to be lover to so fair a lady and
so great a Princess, who soon made him forget his other mistress he had
been fain to wed, and scarce to think of her again, except to find her
a convenient mask to dissemble and cover up the whole thing withal.
Even so could the Prince not help but feel some pangs of jealousy when
one day he did see the said gentleman in the Queen’s chamber wearing on
his arm a ribband of Spanish scarlet, which had just been brought to
Court as a fine novelty, and which he did touch and handle as he talked
with him; then going to find his wife who was by the Queen’s bedside,
lo! he saw she had one that was its very match, which he did likewise
touch and handle and proved it to be like it in all respects and part
of the same piece as the other. Yet did he breathe never a word, nor
take any steps in the matter. And indeed in such intrigues it is
very needful to cover up their fires with such cinders of discretion
and good counsel as that they may never be discovered; for very oft
such discovery of the scandal will anger husbands far more against
their wives than when the same is done, but all in secret,—herein
illustrating the proverb, _Si non caste, tamen caute_,—“If not with
virtue, at any rate with prudence.”

What terrible scandals and great incommodities have I seen in my time
arise from the indiscretions of ladies and their lovers! Yet would the
husbands have cared naught at all about the thing, if only they had
done their doings _sotto coperte_ (under cover, under the rose), as the
saying is, and the matter had never seen the light.

I knew one dame who was all for manifesting quite openly her loves and
preferences, which she did indulge as if she had had no husband at
all, and had been her own mistress entirely, refusing to listen to the
counsels of her friends and lovers, who did remonstrate with her and
point out the inconveniences she was exposing herself to. And of these
she did later reap a sore harvest!

This lady did otherwise than many worthy dames have done at all times,
who have gaily enjoyed love and lived a merry life, yet have never
given much evidence thereof to the world, except mayhap some small
suspicions, that could scarce have revealed the truth even to the
most clear-sighted. For they would address their lovers in public so
dexterously, and deal with them so adroitly, that neither husbands
nor spies, all their life long, could ever get aught to bite at. And
when their favourites departed on some journey, or came to die, they
would dissemble and conceal their grief so cunningly that none ever
discovered aught.

I knew a fair and honourable lady, who the day a certain great Lord,
her lover, died, did appear in the Queen’s chamber with a countenance
as gay and smiling as the day before. Some did think highly of her
for such discretion, deeming she did so for fear of doing the King
displeasure and angering him, for that he liked not the man deceased.
Others blamed her, attributing this bearing rather to the lack of true
love, wherein ’twas said she was but poorly furnished, like all women
who lead the life she did.

I knew on the other hand two fair and honourable ladies, who having
lost their lovers in a misadventure of war, did make great sorrow
and lamentation, and did make manifest their mourning by their dusky
weeds, and eke holy-water vessels and sprinklers of gold engraven with
figures, and death’s-heads, and all kinds of trophies of dissolution,
in their trinkets, jewels and bracelets which they wear. All this did
bring much scandal upon them and was greatly to their hurt; though
their husbands did take no special heed thereof.[66*]

This is how these ladies do themselves hurt by the making public their
amours; these we may rightly praise and esteem for their constancy,
though not for their discretion, for on this last count what they do is
much to their disadvantage.

And if ladies so doing are blameworthy, there be many likewise among
their lovers which do deserve reprimand quite as much as they. For they
will ever be putting on looks as they were half dead, like she-goats
in kid, and a most languorous mien, making eyes and casting appealing
glances, indulging in passionate gestures and lovesick sighs in
company, openly bedecking themselves with their ladies’ colours,—in a
word giving way to so many silly indiscretions that a blind man could
scarce fail to note them. Some of them moreover do the like more in
pretence than in reality, desiring to let all the Court understand they
are in love in an high quarter, and are happy in their amours. Whereas,
God wot, it may well be the ladies would not give them so much as one
poor farthing in alms, to save their repute for deeds of charity!

I do know well a certain nobleman and great Lord, who desiring to
satisfy the world he was the lover of a fair and honourable lady that I
know of, had his little mule held in front of her door, with a couple
of his lackeys and pages. As it fell out, M. d’Estrozze[67*] and myself
did pass that way, and beheld this mystery of the mule and the man’s
pages and lackeys. He asked instantly where was their master, and they
replied he was within, in the lady’s house. Hereupon M. d’Estrozze
burst out a-laughing, and turning to me, said he would wager his life
he was not there at all. And in a moment after he posted his page
as sentinel to watch if the pretended lover should come forth; then
quickly we hied us to the Queen’s chamber, where we found our man,—not
without some laughter betwixt him and me.

Then towards evening we went to greet him, and pretending to quarrel
with him, did ask him where he was at such and such an hour of the
afternoon, and how that he could not deceive us, as we had seen his
mule and his pages before the said lady’s door. But the fellow, making
as though he were vexed we had seen so much and were for this cause
attacking him for carrying out an intrigue in this high quarter, did
confess he was there in very truth. At the same time he besought us not
to breathe a word; else should we bring him into sore trouble, and the
poor lady would incur scandal and the displeasure of her husband. And
this we did faithfully promise him,—laughing all the while heartily
and making mock at him, albeit he was a nobleman of no small rank and
quality, and declaring we would not speak of the thing, and never a
syllable pass our lips.

Finally after some days during which he did continue his trick with the
mule too often for our patience, we did discover our artfulness to him,
and attacked him with right good will and in good company. This made
him desist for very shame, and indeed the lady did know of it by this
time through our information, and had the mule and the pages watched
one day and incontinently driven away from her door like beggars in
front of an inn. Nay! we did even better, for we told the tale to
the husband, and that in such merry wise he found it right diverting
and laughed heartily at the thing, saying he had no fear this fellow
would make him cuckold, and that if ever he should find the said mule
and pages stationed at his door, he would have the gates opened and
invite them inside, to the end they might be more at ease and sheltered
from heat, cold or rain. Not but what others all the whole while were
cuckolding him soundly enough. And this is how this noble Lord was
fain, at the expense of an honourable lady and her repute, to exalt
himself, without any heed to the scandal he might cause thereby.

I knew another nobleman who did bring sore scandal on a very fair and
honourable lady by his behaviour. He had for some while been in love
with her, and did urge her to grant him the little tit-bit reserved
for her husband’s mouth, but she did refuse him flatly. At last, after
several refusals, he said to her, as if in despair, “Well, if you
won’t, why, you won’t; but I give you my oath I will ruin your honour
and repute.” And to this end he bethought him to make many comings
and goings in secret, yet not so secret but that he made himself seen
of set purpose by sundry eyes, and let himself be noted by day and by
night frequenting the house where she dwelt. Then he would be ever
vaunting and boasting under the rose of his pretended successes, and
in company seeking out the lady with more familiarity than he had any
call to do, and among his comrades swaggering as the happy lover, and
this all in mere pretence. The end was that one night having slipped
in very late into the said lady’s bedchamber, all muffled in his cloak
and hiding from the folk of the house, and after playing sundry of his
stealthy tricks, he was suspected by the seneschal of the household,
who had a watch set. And though they could not find him, yet did the
husband beat his wife and give her several buffets; but later, urged
thereto by the seneschal, who said it was not punishment enough,
did stab her and kill her; and readily won his pardon therefor from
the King. A sad pity truly for the poor lady, who was very fair and
beauteous. Afterward the nobleman, which had been cause of all the
mischief, did not fare far or well, but was killed in a passage of war,
by God’s good will, for having so unjustly robbed an honourable lady of
her good name and her life.

11.

To tell the truth as to this example and a host of others I have seen,
there are some ladies which do themselves great wrong, and which are
the true cause of the scandal and dishonour they incur. For ’tis
themselves that do provoke the first skirmishes and purposely draw the
gallants to them, from the beginning lavishing on them the fondest
caresses, favours and familiarities, raising their hopes by all sorts
of gentle wiles and flattering words. Yet when it cometh to the point,
they will refuse outright, in such wise that the honourable gentlemen
which had promised themselves many a pleasant treat of their person,
fall into anger and despair and quit them with harsh words. So they
depart abusing them and giving them out for the biggest strumpets in
all the world, and make out an hundredfold worse tale of their demerits
than is really deserved.

And this is why an honourable lady should never set herself to draw
a gallant to her, and suffer him to be her servant, if she will not
satisfy him at the last according to his deserts and loving service.
It behooves her to realize this, unless she would be undone, even when
she hath to do with an honourable and gallant man; else from the first
beginning, when he doth first accost her, and she sees it is with
this end so much desired in view, that he pay his vows to her, but
she feeleth no desire to gratify him herein, she should give him his
dismissal at the very threshold. For indeed, to speak quite candidly,
any woman that doth suffer a lover to court her, doth lay herself under
such obligation that she cannot withdraw afterward from the fight.
She is bound to come to it sooner or later, long though the coming may
sometimes be.

There be some dames, however, whose joy is to be served for nothing,
but only for the light of their bright eyes. They say they love to be
served and courted, that this is their great happiness, and not to
come to the final act at all. Their pleasure, they declare, doth lie
in wishing for it, not in actually performing of it. I have known many
ladies which have told me this. Yet can they never stop there; for if
once they do begin wishing for it, without shadow of doubt they will
some day come to the doing of it as well. For this is the law of love,
that when once a woman doth wish or hope, or but dream of wishing and
desiring a man for herself, the thing is done. If only the man know it,
and steadily follow up his fair assailant, he will surely have leg or
wing, fur or feathers, as they say.

In this wise then are poor husbands made cuckold by such thoughts on
the part of ladies, who are ready to wish forsooth, but not to do. For
truly, without suspecting it, they will of their own fault be burned in
the candle, or at the fire they have themselves built. Like poor simple
shepherdesses, which to warm themselves in the fields as they watch
their sheep and lambs, do kindle a little fire, without thought of any
harm or ill to follow. But they give no heed to the chance their little
fire may set so great an one ablaze as will burn up a whole countryside
of plains and woods.

’Twere well if such ladies would take example, to teach them wisdom,
of the Comtesse d’Escaldasor, a very fair lady dwelling at Pavia, to
whom M. de Lescu, afterward known as the Maréchal de Foix, was paying
court. He was then a student at Pavia, and was called the Protonotary
de Foix, seeing he was destined for the Church, though afterward he did
quit the long robe to adopt the profession of arms. And he might well
love her, seeing at that day she bare the bell for beauty over all the
ladies of Lombardy. So seeing herself hotly pressed by him, yet not
wishing to rudely disoblige him or dismiss him roughly, for he was a
near kinsman of the renowned Gaston de Foix,[68*] at whose fame all
Italy trembled in those days, the Countess on a day of high festivity
and state at Pavia, whereat all the fairest ladies of the city and
neighbourhood were gathered and many noble gentlemen, did appear,
the fairest of them all, superbly attired in a robe of sky blue, all
trimmed and bespangled over all its length and breadth with torches
and butterflies fluttering round them and burning themselves in their
flame. The whole was in broidery of gold and silver, for truly the
embroiderers of Milan have ever surpassed those of all the rest of the
world, and won the lady the general repute of being the best adorned of
all the company there present.

Then the Protonotary, leading her out to the dance, was moved to ask
her what might be the meaning of the designs on her robe, strongly
suspecting there lay beneath some hidden signification unfavourable to
him. She made answer in these words, “Sir, I have had my robe fashioned
thus, just as soldiers and horsemen do with their horses when they are
wild and vicious, and kick and fling out their heels. For they do fix
on their crupper a big silver bell, to the end that this signal may
warn their comrades, when they are riding in a close press of company,
to take heed of the vicious kicker, lest he do them an injury. In like
wise by my fluttering butterflies, burning themselves in these torches,
I do warn those honourable gentlemen which do me the favour of loving
me and admiring my beauty, not to come too nigh, nor to desire aught
else, but only the sight of me. For they will gain nothing thereby, but
only like the butterflies,—to long, and burn, and get no satisfaction.”

The story is writ in the _Emblems_ of Paulus Jovius.[69] In this
fashion did she warn her lover to take heed for himself in time. I know
not whether or no he did come more nigh, or what he did. But later,
being wounded to the death at the battle of Pavia, and taken prisoner,
he begged to be carried to the house of this same Countess at Pavia,
where he was very well received and tended by her. In three days’ time
he died there, to the great sorrow of the lady, as I did hear the story
told me by M. de Monluc, one time we were together in the trenches at
Rochelle. It was night and we were talking together, when I related to
him the tale of the robe and its device; on this he assured me he had
seen the said Countess, who was very fair, and did love the Maréchal
well, and how he had been most honourably entreated of her. For the
rest he knew not if ever they had gone further at all. This example
should be warning enough for many of the ladies the which I have spoken
of above.

Then again, there be cuckolds which are so righteous they have their
wives preached to and admonished by good and religious men, with a view
to their conversion and reform. And these, with forced tears and words
of pretended sorrow, do make many vows, promising mountains and marvels
of repentance, and never, never to do the like again. But their oaths
do scarce endure an instant, for truly the vows and tears of suchlike
dames are of just so much weight as are the oaths and adjurations of
lovers. So have I seen and known well a certain lady to the which a
great Prince, her Sovereign, did offer the affront of commissioning
appointing a Cordelier monk, as from himself and coming from the Court,
to go find her husband, who was spending his vacation on his estate, to
warn the same of his wife’s reckless loves and the ill report current
of the wrong she was doing him, and to say how, for the respect due
to his position and office, he was sending him timely news thereof,
to the end he might correct this sinful soul. The husband was greatly
astounded and moved at such a message and kindly warning; yet did take
no overt action, except only to thank his Prince and assure him he
would see to the matter. Yet on his return he did make no difference
for the worse in his treatment of his wife; for truly what would he
have gained thereby? Once a woman hath taken to these courses, naught
will alter her, like a posthorse which is grown so thoroughly used to
go at the gallop that he can in no wise learn to go any other gait
whatsoever.

Alas! how oft have we seen honourable ladies which, having been
surprised at these tricks, and thereupon chid and beaten, yea! and
admonished by every prayer and remonstrance not to return to the like
course, do promise, protest and swear they will behave them chastely,
yet do presently illustrate the proverb, _passato il periglio, gabbato
il santo_ (the danger past, the Saint is mocked), and return again with
all the more zest to the game of love. Nay! many have we seen, which
themselves feeling some worm of remorse gnawing their soul, have of
their proper act made holy and right solemn vows of reformation, yet
have never kept them, but presently have repented of their repentance,
as M. du Bellay doth say of penitent courtesans:[70]

Mère d’amour, suivant mes premiers vœux,
Dessous tes lois remettre je me veux,
Dont je voudrois n’estre jamais sortie;
Et me repens de m’estre repentie.

(Mother of love, returning to my earlier vows, I am fain to put me
again beneath thy laws, which I would I had never deserted; lo! I
repent me of my penitence.)

Such women declare ’tis exceeding hard to give up forever so sweet a
habit and fond custom, seeing their time is so short in this brief
sojourn they make in this world.

To confirm what I here say I would readily appeal to many a fair maid,
which hath repented in youth and taken the veil and become a nun. If
such were asked on her faith and conscience what she did really desire,
many a time, I know, she would say, “Ah! would the high convent walls
were broken down, that I might straight be free again!”

Wherefore husbands need never think to reduce their wives to order
again, after once these have made the first breach in their honour,
or that they can aught else but only give them the rein, merely
recommending discretion and all possible avoidance of scandal. For
truly we may apply all the remedies of love which ever Ovid taught, and
an host of other subtle remedies that others have invented, yea! and
those puissant ones of François Rabelais,[70] which he did teach to the
venerable Panurge, yet will none of them all avail. But ’twere best of
all to follow the advice given in the refrain of an old song of King
Francis’ time, which saith,

Qui voudroit garder qu’une femme
N’aille du tout à l’abandon,
Il faudroit la fermer dans une pipe,
Et en jouir par le bondon.

(If a man would make sure of his wife never going to the bad at
all, he had best shut her up in a cask, and enjoy her through the
bung-hole.)

In the reign of the late King Henri of France there was a certain
jeweller which did import and expose for sale at the great Fair of St.
Germains a round dozen of a certain contrivance for confining women’s
affairs.[71] These were made of iron and were worn like a belt, joining
underneath and locking with a key, and were so cunningly framed that
the woman, once confined therein, could never find opportunity for the
pleasures of love, there being only a few little tiny holes in the
thing for _empissoyent_ through.

’Tis said that five or six jealous husbands were found ready to buy
one, wherewith they did confine their wives in such wise they might
well say, “Good-bye, good times for ever and aye!” Yet was there one
wife who bethought her to apply to a locksmith very cunning in his art.
So, when she had shown him the said contrivance, her husband being
away in the country, he did so well use his ingenuity that he forged
a false key therefor, so that the good lady could open and shut the
thing at any time, whenever she would. The husband did never suspect or
say a word, while the wife took her fill of the best of all pleasures,
in spite of the jealous fool and silly cuckold her husband, who did
imagine all the time he was living free of all apprehension of such a
fate. But truly the naughty locksmith, which made the false key, quite
spoiled his game; yea! and did even better, by what they say, for he
was the first who tasted the dainty, and cuckolded him. Nor was this
so extraordinary, for did not Venus, which was the fairest woman and
harlot in all the world, mate with Vulcan, ironworker and locksmith,
the which was exceeding mean-looking, foul, lame and hideous.

They say, moreover, that there were a number of gallant and honourable
gentlemen of the Court which did threaten the jeweller that if ever
again he should have aught to do with bringing such villainies with
him, he would be killed. They bade him never come back again, and made
him throw all the others that were left into the draught-house; and
since then no more has been heard of such contrivances. And this was
wisely done; for truly ’twas as good, or as bad, as destroying one half
of mankind, so to hinder the engendering of posterity by dint of such
confining, locking up and imprisoning of nature,—an abominable and
hateful wrong to human productiveness.

Some there be which do give their wives into the hands of eunuchs to
guard their honour, a thing which the Emperor Alexander Severus did
strongly reprobate, harshly bidding them never have dealings with Roman
ladies.[72*] But they were soon recalled again. Not indeed that these
could ever beget children or the women conceive of them; yet can they
afford some slight feeling and superficial taste of minor pleasures,
giving some colourable imitation of the complete and perfect bliss. Of
this many husbands do take very little account, declaring that their
main grievance in the adultery of their wives had naught at all to do
with what they got given them, but that it vexed them sore to have
to rear and bring up and recognise as heirs children they had never
begotten.

Indeed but for this, there is nothing they would have made less ado
about. Thus have I known not a few husbands, who when they did find the
lovers, who had made their wives children, to be easy and good-natured,
and ready to give freely and keep them, took no more account of the
thing at all, or even advised their wives to beg of them and crave some
allowance to keep the little one they had had of them.

So have I heard tell of a great lady, which was the mother of
Villeconnin,[73*] natural son of Francis I. The same did beseech the
King to give or assign her some little property, before he died, for
the child he had begot,—and this he did. He made over for this end
two hundred thousand crowns in bank, which did profit him well and
ran on ever growing, what with interest and re-investment, in such
wise that it became a great sum and he did spend money with such
magnificence and seemed in such good case and ample funds at Court that
all were astonished thereat. And all thought he enjoyed the favours
of some mysterious lady. None believed her his mother, but, seeing he
never went about without her, it was universally supposed the great
expenditure he made did come from his connexion with her. Yet it
was not so at all, for she was really his mother; though few people
were ware of it. Nor was anything known for sure of his lineage or
birth, except that he eventually died at Constantinople, and that his
inheritance as King’s bastard was given to the Maréchal de Retz, who
was keen and cunning enough to have discovered this little secret which
he was able to turn to his profit, and did verify the bastardy which
had been so long hid. Thus he did win the gift of this inheritance
over the head of M. de Teligny, who had been constituted heir of the
aforesaid Villeconnin.

Other folk, however, declared that the said lady had had the child by
another than the King, and had so enriched him out of her own fortune.
But M. de Retz did scrutinize and search among the banks so carefully
that he did find the money and the original securities of King Francis.
For all this some still held the child to have been the son of another
Prince not so high as the King, or some one else of inferior rank,
maintaining that for the purpose of covering up and concealing the
whole thing and yet providing the child a maintenance, ’twas no bad
device to lay it all to his Majesty’s account, as indeed hath been done
in other instances.

This much I do firmly believe, that there be many women in the world,
nay! even in France, which if only they thought they could bring
children into existence at this rate, would right readily suffer Kings
and great Princes to mount on their bellies. But in very fact they
ofttimes so mount without any grand regale following. Then are the
poor ladies sore deceived and disappointed, for when they do consent
to give themselves to suchlike great personages, ’tis only to have the
_galardon_ (guerdon, recompense), as folk say in Spanish.

Now as to such putative and doubtful children, a question doth arise
open to much dispute, to wit whether they ought to succeed to their
father’s and mother’s goods, some maintaining ’tis a great sin for
women to make them so succeed. Some authorities have declared the
woman should surely reveal the thing to the husband and tell him the
whole truth, and this is the opinion held by the well-known “Subtle
Doctor.”[74*] Others on the contrary hold this opinion to be bad,
because the woman would then be defaming herself by revealing it, and
this she is in no wise bound to do; for good repute is a more precious
possession than riches, saith Solomon.

’Tis better then for the goods to be taken, even unjustly, by the child
than that the mother’s good name be lost, for as a proverb hath it, “A
good name is better than a golden girdle.” Now the Theologians hold a
maxim to the effect that when two opposite precepts and commands are
binding on us, the less must give way to the greater. But the command
to guard one’s repute is greater and more stringent than that which
orders to restore another’s goods; and so must be preferred before it.

Nay! more, if the wife do reveal this to her husband, she doth thereby
put herself in danger of being actually killed at his hands; but it is
straitly forbid for any to compass their own death.

12.

Neither is it allowed a woman to kill herself for dread of being
violated, or after being so; else would she be doing a mortal sin.
Wherefore is it better for her to suffer herself to be ravished, if
that she can in no wise by fight or crying out avoid the same, than to
kill herself. For the violation of the body is not sin, except with the
consent of the will. Hence the reply which Saint Lucy did make to the
tyrant who threatened to have her taken to the brothel. “If you have
me forced,” she said, “why! my chastity will receive a double crown.”

For this cause Lucretia hath been found to blame by some. True it is
Saint Sabina and Saint Sophronia, along with other Christian virgins,
who did take their own lives rather than fall into the hands of
barbarians, are excused by our doctors and fathers of the Church,
which say they did so by special prompting of the Holy Spirit.[75*] By
this same prompting, after the taking of Cyprus, a certain Cypriote
damsel, lately made Christian, seeing herself being carried off as a
slave with many another lady of her sort, to be the prey of Turks, did
secretly fire the powder magazine in the galley, so that in an instant
all was burned up and consumed along with her, saying, “So please God,
our bodies will never be polluted and ravished by these foul Turks and
Saracens!” Or ’tis possible, God knows, it had already been polluted
and she was fain to do penance therefor,—unless indeed the fact was her
master had refrained from touching her, to the end he might make more
money by selling her a maid, seeing men are desirous in those lands, as
indeed in all other lands, to taste a fresh and untainted morsel.

However, to return to the noble custodians of these poor women,—the
eunuchs. These, as I have said, are not utterly unable to do adultery
with them and make their husbands cuckold, excepting always the
engendering of children.

I knew two women in France which did deliberately set their love on
two gentlemen who were castrate, to the end they might not become with
child; yet did they find pleasure therein, and free from all fear
of scandal. But there have been husbands in Turkey and Barbary so
jealous, that having discovered this deceit, they have determined to
castrate their wretched slaves altogether and entirely, and cut the
whole concern clean off. Now, by what those say who have had experience
of Turkey, not two out of the dozen escape of those on whom they do
practise this cruelty, and do not die therefrom. Them that do survive,
they do cherish and make much of, as true, certain and chaste guardians
of their wives’ chastity and sure guarantors of their honour.

We Christians on our part do not practise suchlike abominable and too
utterly horrible cruelties; but instead of these castrated slaves, we
give our women old men of sixty for guardians. This for instance is
done in Spain, even at the Court of the Queens of that country, where I
have seen them as custodians of the maids of honour and Court ladies.
Yet, God knows, there be old men more dangerous for ruining maids and
wives than any young ones, and an hundred times more hot, ingenious and
persevering to gain over and corrupt the same.

I do not believe such men, for all they be hoary headed and white
bearded, are more sure guardians at all than younger men, nor old women
neither. Thus an aged Spanish duenna once, taking out her maids and
passing by a great hall and seeing men’s members painted up on the wall
in lifelike portrayal, only exaggerated and out of all proportion, did
remark, _Mira que tan bravos no los pintan estos hombres, como quien
no los conociese_ (Look how brave men those be, and how ill they have
painted them, like one who has never seen the things). Then all her
maids did turn toward her, and noted what she said, except one, of my
acquaintance, who acting the _ingénue_, did ask one of her companions
what birds those were; for some of them were depicted with wings. And
the other made answer, they were birds of Barbary, more beautiful in
reality than even as depicted. God only knows if she had ever seen any
such; but she had to make what pretence she could.

Many husbands are sore deceived, and often, in their duennas. For they
think, provided only their womenkind are in the charge of some old
woman, whom both parties do call mother as a title of respect, that
they must needs be well safeguarded in front. Yet none are more easy
than such guardians to be bribed and won over; for being as they are,
avaricious of their very nature, they are ready to take gold from any
quarter to sell their prisoners.

Others again cannot be forever on the watch over their young charges,
who themselves are always wide awake and on the alert, especially when
they be in love; for truly most of their time the old dames will be
asleep in the chimney-corner, while before their very face the husbands
will be a-cuckolding, without their heeding or knowing aught about it.

I knew once a lady which did it before her duenna’s very eyes, in such
cunning wise she never perceived anything wrong. Another did the like
in her own husband’s presence and all but under his eyes, the while he
was playing at primero.

Then other aged dames will be feeble of foot, and cannot follow up
their ladies at a round pace, so that by the time they do reach the
extremity of a walk or a wood or a room, the young ones have whipped
their little present into their pocket, without the old duenna having
observed what was a-doing, or seen aught whatever, being slow of foot
and dim of sight. Again there be yet other dames of the sort which,
themselves having plied the trade of old, do think it pity to see the
young fast, and are so good-natured to them, they will of their own
accord open the way for their charges, yea! and provoke them to follow
in the same, and help them all they can. Thus Aretino saith how the
greatest of pleasures for a woman that hath travelled that road, and
her highest satisfaction, is ever to make another do likewise.

And this is why, when a man doth crave the aid of a good minister for
his amours, he will alway apply and address himself to an old procuress
rather than to a young woman. So I do remember a certain very gallant
gentleman, which did mislike sorely, and did forbid it expressly, that
his wife should ever frequent the company of old women, as being much
too dangerous society,—but with younger women she might go as much
as she pleased. And for this course he would adduce many excellent
reasons, the which I will leave to men of apter discourse than I to
detail in full.

And this is why a certain Lord of the great world I know of did entrust
his wife, of whom he was very jealous, to a lady, a cousin of his own,
but unmarried, to be her _surveillante_. This office she did zealously
perform, albeit for her own part she did copy the half only of the
character of the gardener’s dog, seeing he doth never eat the cabbage
out of his master’s garden, nor yet will suffer other to do so; but
this lady would eat readily enough, but would never suffer her cousin.
Yet was the other forever filching some dainty bit, without her noting
it, cunning as she was,—or mayhap she did but make pretence not to see.

I could right easily adduce an host of devices which poor jealous
cuckolds do employ to confine, constrain, curb and keep in their wives,
that they kick not over the traces. But it is of mighty little use for
them either to try these ancient means they have heard tell of, or to
invent new ones; they but lose their labour. For once women have gotten
this naughty worm of love in their heads, they will ever be sending
their poor husbands to keep house with Guillot the Pensive.[76*] And
hereof do I hope to discourse further in a chapter I have already half
writ, on the ruses and stratagems of women in this matter, the which I
do compare with the ambuscades and stratagems of soldiers in war. But
the finest device of all, the most sure and eke the kindest preventive
a jealous husband can apply to his wife, is ever to let her go her way
in full liberty, as I have heard a very gallant married man declare,
for that it is the woman’s nature the more she is forbid a thing, so
much the more to long for the same; and this is especially true in
love, where the appetite doth grow far hotter by forbidding than by
letting things take their course.

Then is there another sort of cuckolds, as to whom doth arise the
following question, to wit,—whether if a man hath had full enjoyment
of a woman during the lifetime of her cuckold husband, and this latter
die, and the lover do afterward marry the widow in second nuptials,
he ought to wear the name and title of cuckold,—a case I have heard
debated in regard to several, and these great men.

Some there be do say he cannot be cuckold, because it is himself did
have the doing of it, and no one else did make him so but only himself,
and the horns were made by him and no other. Yet are there many
armourers that do make swords whereby themselves are killed, or do kill
each other.

Others again say he is really cuckold, but only _in embryo_. For this
they do allege many reasons, but seeing the process is yet undecided,
I leave it to be pleaded before the first audience that will listen to
the case.

The same may be said concerning a very great lady, and a married one,
which did break her marriage vow fourteen years agone with the lover
who doth keep to her still, and since that day hath been ever awaiting
and longing for her husband’s death. But the devil is in it if he hath
ever yet contrived to die to meet her wishes! So that she might well
say, “Cursed be the husband and mate, which hath lived longer than I
desired!” Sicknesses and calamities of body he hath had galore, but
never fatal. In fact our King, the last Henri, having bestowed the
inheritance in the fine and rich estate the said cuckold husband had of
him on a very honourable and brave gentleman, would ofttimes say, “Two
persons there be at my Court which are thinking it long till so and so
die, one for his estate’s sake and the other to wed her lover. But both
one and the other have been sore deluded up to now.”

See how wise and foreseeing God is, not to send folk what they wish,
when it is evil. However, I have been told that for some while past
this pair are in ill accord, and have now burned their promise of
future marriage and broke the agreement,—to the huge despite of the
lady and joy of the prospective husband, seeing he did in no wise
desire to go on longer and wait forever for the death of the other.
This last was alway making a mock of folk, continually giving alarms,
as that he was just about to die; yet in the end he hath survived his
would-be supplanter. An instance surely of God’s punishment, for a
marriage so made is a thing all but unheard of; and indeed ’tis a great
sin, and an odious, to contract and agree upon a second marriage, the
first being still existent in its entirety.

I had rather have one, also a great lady, albeit not so great as the
other I have just spoke of, who being sought of a nobleman in marriage,
did wed him, not for the love she bare him, but because she saw him
sickly, thin and worn, and in constant ill-health, and as the doctors
told her he would not outlive the year, even after having known this
fair lady several times abed. Wherefore she did expect his death very
soon, and did make all dispositions after his demise as to his goods
and property, fine plenishing and great wealth, which he did bring her
by marriage; for he was a nobleman of much riches and very well-to-do.
But she was finely cheated; for he liveth still a sturdy wight, and in
better fettle an hundred times than before he married her; since then
the lady herself is dead. They say the aforesaid nobleman was used
to feign to be sickly and ailing to the end that, knowing as he did
the lady to be exceeding avaricious, she might wed him in the hope of
getting so rich an inheritance. Yet did God above dispose it all quite
contrariwise, and made the she-goat feed where she had been tied, in
spite of herself.

Now what shall we say of such men as do wed with harlots and
courtesans, that are very famous, as is commonly done in France, but
still more in Spain and Italy, where men are persuaded they are winning
God’s mercy for good deeds, _por librar un’ anima christiana del
infierno_,—“for delivering a Christian soul from hell,” as they say,
and setting it in the right way.

I have undoubtedly seen some men maintain this opinion and doctrine,
that if they did marry them for this good and religious object, they
ought in no wise to be ranked as cuckolds. For surely what is done
for the honour of God should not be made a matter of shame. This, of
course, provided that their wives, once started afresh in the right
way, do not leave it again and return to the other. So have I seen some
of these women in the two countries named which did sin no more after
being married, but others that could never reform, and went back to
trip and stumble in the old ditch.

The first time ever I was in Italy, I fell in love with a very
beautiful courtesan of Rome, who was called Faustina. But seeing I had
no great wealth, and she was of a very high price, from ten to twelve
crowns a night, I was constrained to content me with words and looks
only. After some time I paid a second visit to the same city, and being
now better furnished with money, I went to visit her at her lodging by
the introduction of another lady, and did find her married to a man of
the law, though still established in her old quarters. She did welcome
me affectionately, and recounted me the good fortune of her marriage,
repudiating altogether the follies of her previous life, to the which
she had said farewell forever. I did then show her an handful of good
French crowns, for indeed I was dying of love for her worse than ever.
She was tempted at the sight and did grant me that I longed for, saying
how in concluding marriage, she had claimed and agreed with her husband
for her entire liberty,—without scandal, however, or concealment, and
only at the price of a large sum,—to the end the pair of them might
live in affluence. She was therefore to be had only by wealthy men; and
to them he would yield very willingly, but not to petty customers at
all. Truly here was a husband cuckold out and out, in bud and blossom
too.

I have heard speak of a lady of the great world who, in concluding
marriage, did desire and stipulate that her husband should leave her at
Court to follow the pursuit of love, reserving herself alway the use
of her forest of dead-wood or common faggot at her own good pleasure.
However, in return, she was to give him every month a thousand francs
for his little indulgences of every day. In fact the one thought was to
have a merry life of it.

Thus it is, such women as have been free, cannot easily refrain, but
will e’en burst the strait bars of the doors imprisoning them, however
strong these be and well guarded, wherever gold doth clink and glitter.
Witness the beauteous daughter of King Acrisius (Danaë), who all
confined and imprisoned in her great tower as she was, yet did feel
the persuasive drops of Jupiter’s fair rain of gold, and admit the
same.[77*]

Ah! how hard it is, a gallant gentleman of my acquaintance used to say,
to safeguard a woman which is fair, ambitious, greedy and covetous of
being bravely attired, and richly dressed, gaily decked out and well
appointed, so that she lay not _cul en terre_,—no matter how well
armed, as they say, her fort be, and however brave and valiant a man
her husband be, and albeit he doth carry a good sword to defend her
withal.

I have known so many of these same brave and valiant folk which have
all gone this road. And truly ’tis great pity to see these honourable
and brave men come to this, and that, after so many gallant victories
won by them, so many notable conquests over their enemies and noble
combats decided by their valour, they should yet be forced to carry
horns intermingled among the fair flowers and leaves of the crowns of
triumph they wear,—horns which do altogether spoil the effect thereof.
Yet do they think far more of their high ambitions and noble combats,
their honourable emprises and valiant exploits, than of safeguarding
their wives and throwing light on their dark places. And this is how,
without more ado, they do come to the city of Cuckoldland and the
conquest of the same. Yet is it a sore pity. For instance, I once knew
a very brave and valiant gentleman, bearing a very high name and title,
who was one day proudly telling over his valiant deeds and conquests,
when a very honourable and noble gentleman, his comrade and friend, who
was present, did say, “Yes! there he is telling us of all his wonderful
conquests; but truly to master his own wife’s affair is the greatest of
all he hath ever won, or ever will!”[78*]

Many others have I known, who no matter what grace, majesty and proud
carriage they might show, yet did every one display that look of the
cuckold which doth spoil all the rest. For truly this look and defect
cannot ever be hid or dissembled; no confidence of bearing and gesture
whatsoever can hinder its being known and evidently noted. And for
myself, never have I seen any one of these folk in all my life but
did have their own distinctive marks, gestures, postures, looks and
defects,—excepting only one I knew once, in whom the most keen-sighted
could have found naught to observe or take hold of, without knowing his
wife as well; such an easy grace, pleasant manners, and honourable,
dignified deportment were his.

I would earnestly beg ladies which have husbands so perfect not to play
them such tricks and put such affronts on them. But then they might in
their turn retort upon me, “Nay! tell us where are to be found these
perfect husbands, such as was the man whose example you have just
quoted to us?”

Verily, ladies, you are right; for that all men cannot be Scipios
and Cæsars. I hold, therefore, that herein ye must e’en follow your
fancies. For indeed, speaking of the Cæsars, the most gallant of
mankind have all gone this road, and the most virtuous and perfect,
as I have said above and as we do read of that enlightened Emperor
Trajan,[79] whose perfections, however, could not hinder his wife
Plotina from yielding herself up entirely to the good pleasure of
Hadrian, which was Emperor afterward. From her did this last win great
advantages, profits and aggrandisement, so much so that she was the
chief cause of his advancement. Nor was he in any wise ungrateful,
after he had come to greatness, for he did love her and ever honour
her right well. And after her death he did make such mourning and felt
such sadness that at the last he did altogether lose all wish to eat
and drink for a while, and was forced to tarry in Narbonese Gaul, where
he had heard the sad tidings, three or four months, during which time
he writ to the Senate ordering them to stablish Plotina in the number
of the Goddesses, and did command that at her funeral sacrifices,
exceeding rich and sumptuous, should be offered. Meantime he did employ
his leisure in building and raising up, to her honour and memory, a
very beautiful temple near Nemausus, now called Nimes, adorned with
most fair and rich marbles and porphyries, with other gawds.

See then how in matters of love and its satisfaction, naught at all can
be laid down for certain. For truly Cupid the God thereof is blind, as
doth clearly appear in sundry women, which having husbands as handsome
and honourable and accomplished as can anywhere be seen, yet do fall in
love with other men as ill-favoured and foul as mortals may be.

I have seen many cases that did force one to ask this question: Which
is the more whorish dame, she that hath a right handsome and honourable
husband, yet taketh an ill-favoured lover, one that is evil-tempered
and quite unlike her husband; or she which hath an ill-favoured and
ill-conditioned husband, and doth take a handsome, agreeable lover, and
yet ceaseth not to love and fondly caress her husband, as if he were
the prince of men for beauty,—as myself have seen many a woman do?

Of a surety the common voice doth declare that she which, having an
handsome husband, yet doth leave the same to love an ill-favoured
lover is a very great whore,—just as a person is surely a foul glutton
which doth quit good food to eat of bad. So when a woman doth quit
an handsome piece to take up with an ill-favoured, it hath all the
semblance of her doing this out of sheer lecherousness, seeing there is
naught more licentious and more fitted to satisfy licentiousness than
an ugly man, with a savour more after the fashion of a stinking, filthy
and lascivious goat than of a proper man. And in very deed handsome
and honourable men are something more delicate and less apt to satiate
an excessive and unbridled wantonness than is a coarse, bearded, lewd
fellow, some big ramping countrified satyr.

Others maintain that the woman which doth love a handsome lover and
an ill-favoured husband, and doth caress them both, is at the least
as great a whore as the other, for that she is fain to lose naught
whatever of her ordinary diet and sustenance.

Such women are like them that travel in foreign lands, yea! and in
France to boot, which being arrived at night at the inn to supper, do
never forget to claim of mine host the wheeler’s measure. Yea! and the
fellow must needs have it too, albeit he should be full of good liquor
to the throat already.

So will these dames, when night comes, never be without their
“wheeler’s measure,”—as was the way with one I knew well, who yet had
a husband that was a right good performer. Natheless are they fain to
increase and redouble their pleasure by any means they may, liking
to have the lover for the day, which doth show up his beauty and so
make the lady more eager for the fray, and give her more delight and
satisfaction by reason of the good daylight. But the worthy husband
with his ill-favoured face is kept for nighttime; for truly, as they
say all cats are grey at night, and provided the lady have satisfaction
of her appetites, she recks naught whether her mate is ill or well
favoured.

Indeed, as I learn from sundry, when one is in these ecstasies of
amorous pleasure, neither man nor woman reck aught of any other thing
or thought whatever, but only what they are at for the instant; albeit
on the other hand I have it on good authority how many dames have
persuaded their lovers that, when they were at it with their husbands,
they would ever give their thoughts to their lovers, and not reck at
all of their husbands, in order to get the greater pleasure therefrom.
So likewise have I heard husbands declare that when with their wives,
they would be alway thinking of their mistresses with the like object.
But these be disagreeable subjects!

Natural philosophers have told me that none but the present object
of passion can possibly dominate them at this crisis, and in no wise
the absent; and give many reasons for their opinion. However I am not
philosopher enough nor sufficiently learned to contradict them; and
besides sundry of their reasons are filthy ones, and I would fain ever
preserve decency. But for these predilections for all-favoured loves, I
have seen many such in my day that have astonished me an hundred times
over.

Returning once from a journey in a foreign land,—I will not give the
name, for fear men should recognise whereof I speak,—and discoursing
with a noble lady of the great world, I chanced to speak of another
great lady and Princess, the which I had seen in those parts; whereupon
she did ask me as to this latter’s love affairs. So I told her the name
of the personage whom she held favourite, one that was neither handsome
nor of graceful presence, and of very low degree. Her reply was,
“Verily she doth herself great wrong, and eke plays love a sorry trick,
seeing she is so fair and honourable a lady, as all men hold.”[80*]

And the said lady was surely right in the language she held, for that
herself did act accordingly, and gainsaid not her opinions. For she
had a worthy and honourable lover, whom she cherished right well. And
when all is said, a fair lady will be doing no harm in loving, if
only she will choose a worthy object of her love, nor wronging her
husband neither,—if for no other reason, at least for the sake of their
descendants. This, seeing there be husbands that are so ill-favoured,
so stupid, senseless and silly, so graceless and cowardly, so poor
spirited and good for naught, that their wives, having children of them
and like them, might as well have none at all. And indeed myself have
known many ladies, which have borne children to suchlike husbands, and
these have been all of them just like their fathers; yet afterward,
when they have e’en borrowed one or two from their lovers, these have
surpassed their supposed fathers, their brothers and sisters in all
things whatsoever.

Some, moreover, among philosophers which have treated of this matter,
have always maintained how that children thus borrowed by stealth, or
stolen, if you will, thus engendered under the rose, and on the spur
of the moment, are ever far more gallant, and recall more the merry
fashion wherein they are used to be created, nimbly and cleverly, than
such as are begot in bed, heavily, dully, ponderously, at leisure,
their parents more than half asleep the while, giving never a thought
but of brutish satisfaction to the pleasure in hand.

In like wise have I heard them that have charge of the stud-farms of
kings and great lords say how they have many a time seen better foals
got stealthily by their dams than others bred with every precaution
by the masters of the stud, and from stallions specially chosen and
assigned thereto. And so it is with human beings.

How many cases have I seen where ladies have borne handsomer and braver
and more excellent children than they would have done, if the putative
fathers had really begotten them,—mere calves and brute beasts as they
would then have been.

A good reason why women are well advised to seek the help and commodity
of good and handsome stallions, to the end they may produce good
offspring. Yet I have seen on the other hand some which had handsome
husbands, but did nevertheless call in the aid of ill-favoured
lovers and base stallions, which did beget ugly and evil-conditioned
descendants.

This indeed is one of the most signal commodities and incommodities of
the state of cuckoldry.

I once knew a great lady of society which had an exceeding ill-favoured
and ill-bred husband; and of four girls and two boys she had, there
were only two good for aught, being children of her lover, while the
others, coming of her scrub of a husband,—I had all but said her
screech-owl of a husband, for truly he had all the look of one,—were
but poor misbegotten creatures.

Now herein doth it behoove ladies to be very well advised and cunning
withal, for as a rule children do resemble their fathers, and whenas
they do not so, bring grave suspicion on their mothers’ honour. So have
I seen in my life many fair ladies possessed of this craze, to have it
said and thought of all the world that their children do altogether
resemble their father and not themselves, though really they are not
the least like them. For to say so is the greatest pleasure one can do
them, seeing there is then presumption they have not borrowed them from
any other, however opposite the truth may really be.

One time I was present at a great assemblage of the Court, whereat folk
were discussing the portraits of two daughters of a certain very great
Queen. Each stated his opinion as to whom they did resemble, in such
wise that all, men and women, declared they took altogether after the
mother. But I, being a most humble servant and admirer of the mother,
did hold the other side, and maintained stoutly they took entirely
after the father, and that if only they had known and seen the same
as intimately as I had, they would grant me it was so. Whereupon the
Queen’s sister did thank me for my words, and was exceeding grateful to
me, seeing there were sundry persons, which did say what they did, of
set purpose, to raise suspicion of her going astray in love,—the more
that there _was_ something of dust in her flute, as the saying is. Thus
did my judgement as to the children’s likeness to their father put all
right again. Wherefore in this matter, whosoever shall love a lady and
shall be looking upon children of her blood and bone, let him alway
declare these do take after the father altogether, whether it be so or
no.[81*]

True they will do no hurt, if they maintain the children take a little
after the mother, as was said by a gentleman of the Court, a chief
friend of mine, speaking in company of two gentlemen, brothers and high
favourites with the King. Being asked which they were like, the father
or mother, he did make answer that the one which was cold was like the
father, and the other, which was hot, the mother. By this quip giving a
pretty stroke at the mother, who was of a somewhat hot complexion. And
as a matter of fact these two children did partake of these two several
humours, the hot and the cold.

There is yet another sort of cuckolds, they which are made such by
reason of the scorn they show their wives. Thus I have known several
who, though having fair and honourable dames to wife, did take no
account of them, but would ever scorn and disdain them. These being
sharp of wit and full of spirit, and of good family to boot, seeing
themselves so disdained, did proceed to pay them back in their own
coin. Quick was there fine love making, and quick the accomplishment of
the same; for as saith the Italian and Neapolitan catch, _amor non si
vince con altro che con sdegno_—“love is mastered by scorn, and scorn
only.”

For so a fair and honourable lady, and one that doth know herself
such and taketh pride therein, seeing her husband treating her with
mere disdain, though she should bear him the fondest wifely love in
the world, and albeit they should preach and put before her all the
commands of the law to love and honour him, yet if she have the least
spark of spirit, will she leave him in the lurch and take a lover
elsewhere to help her in her little needs, and choose her out some
private pleasure of her own.

I knew once two ladies of the Court, that were sisters-in-law. Of these
the one had married an husband which was high in favour, a courtier
and an adroit one.[82*] Yet did he not make such account of his wife
as it behooved, seeing the birth she was of, but would speak to her
before company as she were a mere savage, and treat her very roughly.
This behaviour she did endure patiently for a while, till at length the
husband did fall something out of favour. Then noting her opportunity
and taking it cleverly as it came, having indeed waited for a good one,
she straightway paid him back the scorn he had put on her, lightly
and gaily making the poor man cuckold. And her sister did likewise,
following her example. This last had been wed when very young and of
tender years, so that her husband took no great heed of her, deeming
her a mere chit and child, and did not love her as he should. But she
coming to a riper time of life, and finding out she had a heart and was
fair to look on, did soon pay him back in his own coin, and so made
him a present of a fine pair of horns by way of interest on his past
neglect.

Another time I knew a great Lord, which having taken two courtesans
into favour, whereof one was a Moorish woman, to be his delight and
joy of heart, did make no account of his wife, albeit she did seek to
him with all due respect, and all the wifely love and reverence ever
she could. Yet could he never look upon her with a favourable eye, or
cherish her with a good grace, and of an hundred nights he would hardly
bestow twain on her. What must she do then, the poor girl, after so
many indignities, but what she did,—choose another vacant bed, and
couple with another better half, and so take that she was fain of?[83*]

At least she had been justified, if the husband had been like another
I know of, who was of a like humour, and being pressed by his wife, a
very fair lady and one that did take her joy elsewhere than at home,
did tell her frankly: “Well! well! take your pleasures abroad; I
give you full leave. Do on your part what you please with another; I
leave you in perfect liberty. Only make no trouble about my amours,
and suffer me to do as I like. I will never hinder your pleasures and
satisfaction; so do not you hinder mine.” So, each independent of the
other, the twain did go forth on their merry way, one to right, the
other to left, without a thought or care for one another; a good and
happy life truly!

No less should I commend a certain old man I knew once, who being
impotent, sickly and gouty, did say thus one fine day to his wife, who
was very fair, seeing clearly he could not satisfy her as she was fain
to be dealt with: “I know right well, my pretty, how that my impotence
accords ill with your heartsome years. This may well make me odious
to you, and render it impossible to you to be my loving wife, as if I
could to you the regular offices a strong, robust husband should. So I
have thought good to suffer you and grant you full freedom to love some
other, and borrow one that may satisfy you better than I can. But above
all, I pray you choose out one that is discreet and modest, and will in
no wise bring scandal on you, nor on me neither. And may he make you a
pair of fine lads, the which I will love and rear as my own, in such
wise that all men shall think them our own true and lawful offspring.
And this is the more possible, seeing I have still in me some show of
vigour and strength, and appearance enough of bodily manhood to make
folk suppose them mine.”

I leave you to suppose whether the fair girl was glad to receive this
agreeable little homily, and free leave to enjoy such pleasing liberty.
This she did turn to such good account that in a twinkling she did
people the house with two or three fine infants, wherein the husband,
inasmuch as he did touch her at times and sleep with her, might deem he
had some share, and did actually think so, and the neighbours and every
one. In such wise were both husband and wife well pleased, and had good
progeny, to boot.

Here again is another sort of cuckolds, they which are made so by
reason of an amiable opinion certain women hold, to wit that there is
no thing nobler and more lawful and more commendable than Charity. And
by Charity they say they mean not merely giving to the poor who have
need of succour and assistance from the wealth and abundance of the
rich, but likewise helping to assuage the flames of poor languishing
lovers that one sees consuming with the fire of an ardent passion. “For
of a truth,” they declare, “what can be more charitable than to restore
life to one we see dying, and to quite refresh again the man thus
consuming away?” So says that brave Paladin, the Seigneur de Montauban,
upholding the fair Genevra in Ariosto, who doth maintain that of rights
the woman should die, which robs her lover of life, and not she who
gives it him.[84*]

This did he say of a maid, and if it be true of a maid, then much more
are suchlike deeds of Charity commendable in wives even more than in
maids, seeing these have not their purses untied and open yet like
married women,—the which, or at any rate some among them, have these
same exceeding ample and well adapted to enlarge their charities!

Which doth remind me of a tale of a very fair lady of the Court,
who did attire herself for a Candlemas-tide all in a dress of white
damask, with all else white to match, so that naught that day did look
fairer or more white. Then did the lady’s lover win over one of her
companions, which likewise was a very fair lady, but somewhat older and
better skilled in speech, and well fitted to intercede for him. So,
whenas they all three were looking at a very fine picture, wherein was
depicted Charity clad all in white with a white veil, this last did say
to her friend: “You do wear this day the same dress as Charity here;
but seeing you do resemble her in attire, you should be like her too
as concerneth your lover, there being no other thing more commendable
than good pity and sweet charity, in whatsoever way it be showed
forth, provided always it be with good will to help one’s neighbour.
Therefore be charitable; but if you have the fear of your husband and
the sanctity of wedlock before your eyes, why! ’tis a vain superstition
we women should never entertain, seeing how nature hath given us good
things in divers sorts, not to use the same niggardly, like some vile
miserly hag with her treasure hoard, but rather to distribute them
generously to poor suffering mortals and men in dire straits. True
it is our chastity doth resemble a treasure, which it behooves us be
niggard of on base occasions; but for high and noble ones, we should
dispense thereof liberally and without stint. In like wise ought we to
deal with our chastity, the which we must yield up generously to folk
of merit and desert, and ill-fortune to boot, but refuse to such as be
vile, worthless, and such as do not stand in need. As for our husbands,
truly these be fine idols, for us never to pay our vows and candles to
any but them only, and never to visit other handsome images! For ’tis
to God alone we do owe absolute and unbroken allegiance, and to no man.”

Now this discourse was in no wise displeasing to the lady, and did
much advantage the lover, who by help of a little perseverance, did
presently reap the benefit thereof. Yet are Charity sermons of the sort
right dangerous for the unhappy husbands. I have heard tell (I know not
whether it be true, so I will not say for certain it is so), how at
the beginning when the Huguenots did first establish their religion,
and they would be holding their preachings at night and in secret
places, for fear of being surprised, sought out and punished, whenas
one day they were thus in the Rue St. Jacques at Paris, in the days of
King Henri II., certain great ladies resorting thither to receive this
Charity, were all but caught in the act. After the Minister had done
his sermon, at the end thereof he did recommend them to be charitable;
whereupon without more ado they did extinguish the lights, and on
the spot each man and woman did exercise the same towards his or her
brother or sister in Christ, dispensing it one to the other according
to the good will and ability of each. But this I dare not assert right
out, though I have been assured ’tis a true thing. Yet on the contrary
’tis very possible the whole is a mere lie and imposture.[85*]

At any rate I know this much well, how at Poitiers there dwelt at
that time a certain advocate’s wife, known by the name of the fair
Gotterelle, whom myself have seen, which was one of the most beautiful
women of her day, of the most charming grace and shape, and one of
the most desirable dames in all the town at that time. Wherefore was
every man fain to be making eyes at the same, and laying of his heart
at her feet. She was one day at the end of sermon time handled by
a round dozen of student lads, one after the other, whether in the
Consistory or under some pent-house, or as I have heard some say,
under a gallows in the Old Market,—at any rate without her having
made one single outcry or refusal. Rather, asking only the text of
the sermon for password, she did welcome them one after other right
courteously, as her true brothers in Christ. This gentle alms-giving
she did long continue afterward towards them, yet would she never
bestow one farthing’s worth on any Papist.[86*] Yet were there sundry
of that faith which, borrowing of the Huguenot comrades the word and
the jargon of their meeting-house, did enjoy her favours. Others again
would resort to the sermonizing expressly for this cause, and pretend
to be converted, to learn the secret and so have pleasure of this
beauteous dame. I was then at Poitiers as a student lad, and several
good comrades of mine, who had their share of her favour, did assure me
of the fact, and swear to it; moreover the general bruit in the place
did confirm the same. Verily a delectable and charitable deed to do,
and a right conscientious lady thus to make choice and preference of
her fellow religionists!

Yet another form of Charity is there, which is oft times practised
towards poor prisoners who are shut up in dungeons and robbed of all
enjoyments with women. On such do the gaolers’ wives and women that
have charge over them, or châtelaines who have prisoners of war in
their Castle, take pity and give them share of their love out of very
charity and mercifulness. Thus did a certain Roman courtesan say once
to her daughter, of whom a gallant was deeply enamoured, but she would
never bestow on him so much as a farthing’s worth: _E dagli, al manco
por misericordia_,—“Well, well! do him charity then for pity’s sake.”

Thus do these gaolers’ wives, noble châtelaines and others, treat their
prisoners, the which, captive and unhappy though they be, yet cease
not for that to feel the prickings of the flesh, as much as ever they
did in their best days. As saith the old proverb, “Longing cometh of
lacking,” so even in the straw and on the hard ground, my lord Priapus
will still be lifting his head, as well as on the best and softest bed
in all the world.

* * * * *

Hence it cometh that beggars and prisoners, in their lazar-houses and
prisons, are just as wanton as Kings, Princes and great folk in their
rich Palaces and on their royal and dainty couches.

To confirm what I say, I will instance a tale that Captain Beaulieu,
Captain of the King’s Galleys, of whom I have before spoke once and
again, did tell me.[87*] He was in the service of the late Grand Prior
of France, a member of the house of Lorraine, who was much attached
to him. Going one time to take his patron on board at Malta in a
frigate, he was taken by the Sicilian galleys, and carried prisoner to
the Castel-à-mare at Palermo, where he was shut up in an exceedingly
narrow, dark and wretched dungeon, and very ill entreated by the space
of three months. By good hap the Governor of the Castle, who was a
Spaniard, had two very fair daughters, who hearing him complaining and
making moan, did one day ask leave of their father to visit him, for
the honour of the good God; and this he did freely give them permission
to do. And seeing the Captain was of a surety a right gallant
gentleman, and as ready-tongued as most, he was able so to win them
over at this, the very first visit, that they did gain their father’s
leave for him to quit his wretched dungeon and to be put in a seemly
enough chamber and receive better treatment. Nor was this all, for they
did crave and get permission to come and see him freely every day and
converse with him.

And this did fall out so well that presently both the twain of them
were in love with him, albeit he was not handsome to look upon, and
they very fair ladies. And so, without a thought of the chance of
more rigorous imprisonment or even death, but rather tempted by such
opportunities, he did set himself to the enjoyment of the two girls
with good will and hearty appetite. And these pleasures did continue
without any scandal, for so fortunate was he in this conquest of his
for the space of eight whole months, that no scandal did ever hap all
that time, and no ill, inconvenience, nor any surprise or discovery at
all. For indeed the two sisters had so good an understanding between
them and did so generously lend a hand to each other and so obligingly
play sentinel to one another, that no ill hap did ever occur. And he
sware to me, being my very intimate friend as he was, that never in
his days of greatest liberty had he enjoyed so excellent entertainment
or felt keener ardour or better appetite for it than in the said
prison,—which truly was a right good prison for him, albeit folk say
no prison can be good. And this happy time did continue for the space
of eight months, till the truce was made betwixt the Emperor and Henri
II., King of France, whereby all prisoners did leave their dungeons and
were released. He sware that never was he more grieved than at quitting
this good prison of his, but was exceeding sorry to leave these fair
maids, with whom he was in such high favour, and who did express all
possible regrets at his departing.

I did ask him if ever he apprehended ill consequences, if he were
discovered. To which he made reply, he most certainly did, yet was not
afeared thereof. For at the worst they would but have put him to death,
and he had rather have died than go back to his first dungeon. Moreover
he was afraid, if he had failed to gratify these honourable maids,
seeing they sought to him so eagerly, that they would have conceived so
sore a despite and disdain against him, that he would have gotten some
worse treatment even than afore. Wherefore, close shutting his eyes to
all consequences, he did adventure boldly on this merry emprise.

Many another adventure of the sort is related in our land of France, as
of the Duc d’Arschot, who when a prisoner in the Bois de Vincennes, did
escape by the help of an honourable lady; the which lady however was
like to have suffered sore for it, seeing ’twas a matter of the King’s
service.[88*] And indeed suchlike deeds of charity are blameworthy,
if they do touch the general weal, though very good and commendable,
when only the individual is concerned, and the lover’s life and his
mistress’s only endangered. In this there is scant hurt.

I could instance many fine examples pertinent to this matter, if I were
desirous of writing a separate discourse thereon,—and insooth ’twould
be by no means an unamusing subject. However I will but quote the
following one, and no other beside, for the sake of telling a pleasant
and classic tale.

We read in Livy how, after the Romans had utterly destroyed the town of
Capua, certain inhabitants of that city did come to Rome to represent
their unhappy state to the Senate, and beseech the Fathers to have pity
on them. The matter was debated and amongst others which did pronounce
an opinion was M. Atilius Regulus, who did maintain they should show no
mercy whatever. “For he could in no wise discover,” he declared, “any
single Capuan, since the revolting of their city, who could be said to
have displayed the least atom of friendliness or affection for the
Roman State, except only two honourable women,”—the one Vestia Oppia,
an Atellane, from the city of Atella, domiciled at Capua at the time,
and the other, one Faucula Cluvia, both of whom had been aforetime
ladies of pleasure and courtesans, plying their trade publicly in
that city.[89*] The one had let never a day pass without offering up
prayers and sacrifices for the success and victory of the Roman People,
while the other had deserved well for having by stealth succoured with
victuals the poor prisoners of war, dying of hunger and misery.

Verily good and pious deeds of Charity these! But hereanent, a noble
gentleman, an honourable lady and myself reading of this passage of
Livy together one day, we did suddenly exclaim one to the other, how
seeing these two honourable dames had gone thus far and had performed
such good and pious offices, that doubtless they had gone on to yet
others, and had bestowed on the poor prisoners the charity of their
fair bodies. For indeed in former days they had distributed these same
alms to other folk, being then courtesans, or mayhap being so still.
Still the book doth not say so, but leaveth this point in doubt; yet
may we guess how ’twas. But even granting they had of yore plied this
trade, but had now left it off for some space, yet might they very well
have taken it up again, nothing being more easy and facile to do. Then
likely enough they did recognise and once again receive some of the
good lovers of their former acquaintance, and were now ready to return
once more somewhat on their old courses. Or again ’tis quite likely
that among the prisoners, they may have seen some, hitherto unknown
and which they had never set eyes on but this once, and found the same
handsome, brave, valiant and well-liking gallants, that did well
deserve all their charity, and so could they do no otherwise than grant
them full enjoyment of their good favours.

Thus, in whatsoever way it came about, did these honourable ladies well
earn the courtesy which the Roman Commonwealth showed them, making them
to recover all their goods, and assuring them the peaceable enjoyment
of the same for all time. Nay! more, they did make known to them how
they might ask what they would, and they should have their request.
And to speak candidly, if Titus Livy had not been so reticent and
unduly constrained by shamefacedness and overmodesty, he might very
well have spoke right out about these ladies, and said plainly they did
not grudge the favour of their fair bodies. So would this passage of
History have been yet more excellent and entertaining to peruse, had he
not thus docked his narrative, and left sticking at his pen-point the
best part of the tale. Such was the discourse we three did hold thereon
at the time.

13.

King John of France,[90] when a prisoner in England, did in like-wise
receive many marks of favour from the Countess of Salisbury, and such
pleasant ones that, not being able to forget the same and the titbits
she bestowed on him, he did return once more to see her again, as she
had made him swear and promise he would do.

Other ladies there be which are complaisant herein up to a certain
point of conscience and charity. Of this sort was one which would never
suffer her lover, sleep with her as oft as he might, to kiss her the
least in the world on the lips, giving as her reason that ’twas her
mouth had made the oath of faith and fealty to her husband, and she
would fain not foul the same by way of the very mouth that had made and
taken it. But as for that of the body, the which had said never a word
and promised naught, this she did let him do with at his good pleasure,
and made no scruple to yield to her lover, seeing it is not in the
competence of the upper part to pledge itself for the lower, any more
than for the lower for the upper. For that the custom of Law doth say
that none can bind himself for another without the consent and word of
either party, nor one only for the whole.

Another most conscientious and scrupulous dame, when granting her
friend enjoyment of her, would always take the upper station and
bring her man under her, never abating one jot of this rule. For,
by observing the same straitly and regularly, she would say, if her
husband or any other did ask whether such an one had done to her, that
she could deny even on oath, and assuredly protest, without sinning
against God, that never had he done so with her. This oath she did so
emphatically make as to quite satisfy her husband and others by dint
of her confident swearing in answer to their questions. So did they
credit her in what she alleged, “yet had never the wit,” she would say,
“to demand if ever she had taken the upper part herself; by the which
question they would have brought much scorn on me,” she said, “and sore
trouble of mind.”

Methinks I have before now spoke of this point; yet cannot a man always
remember everything. Moreover it doth better accord with the matter
here in hand than with other, as it seemeth me.

Commonly ladies of this sort are great liars, and speak never a word
of truth. For so trained are they and broken in to lying,—and truly
if they do otherwise, they are fools, and come but to ill,—to their
husbands and lovers anent these matters and these changes of love,
and so used to swearing they never give themselves to any but them
only, that when they come to deal with other matters of consequence,
of business or argument, they never do aught but lie, and no man can
believe a thing they say.

Other women again I have both known and heard speak of, which would
never grant their favours to their lovers but when they were with
child, to the end they might not conceive. Wherein they did make great
scruple so as not to falsely give their husbands a fruit that was not
really theirs, and nourish, feed and bring up the same as their own. I
have already spoke on this subject. However, being once pregnant, they
would deem they were doing the husband no wrong nor making him cuckold
by prostituting themselves.

Very like, some were used to do thus for the same reasons as moved
Julia, the Emperor Augustus’ daughter and wife of Agrippa, who in her
time was a notorious harlot, whereat was her father more sore angered
than her husband. Once being asked if that she were not afeared of
being made pregnant by her lovers, and her husband noting it and being
very wroth with her, she made answer: “Nay! I take good heed in this,
for I do receive no man and take never a passenger in my ship, but when
it is laden and carrying full cargo.”

Now here we have yet another sort of cuckolds; and these same are
true martyrs, they which have wives as ugly as devils in hell, who
nevertheless are fain to take their share in tasting the sweets of
love just as much as their fairer sisters, though these last properly
do deserve this privilege alone according to the proverb: “Handsome
men to the gallows, fair dames to the brothel.”[91] Yet do these ugly
coal-wenches play the gay woman like the rest. And they must needs
be forgiven; for are they not women too, and with a like nature and
complexion, only not so fair seeming. I have seen very plain women, at
any rate in their youth, which did rate themselves just as highly as
fairer dames, deeming that a woman is valued at just the worth she doth
put upon herself and will sell herself for. Even as at a good market
all sorts of wares are sold and pledged, some at a high, some at a
lower rate, according to the amount of business a-doing, and the time
at which one cometh to market after others, and according to the good
or bad price one doth find ruling there. For, as folk say, a man goeth
always to the best market, and albeit the stuff be not of the best, the
price will depend on the skill of the market-man and market-woman.

So is it with plain women, of whom I have seen some that, by my troth,
were as hot and lustful and as well inclined for love as the fairest,
and would put themselves on the market and be as fain as any to get a
good price and full value.

But the worst thing I find in them is this, that whereas the dealers
make offers to the fairest, these others do make offers to the dealers
and beg them to take and accept of their goods, the which they are
ready to give them for nothing or at a very low price. Nay! they go
further still; for most often they do give them money to taste of their
lecherousness and be debauched of them. Now look at the pity of it!
for in payment of such debauching no little sum of money is needed,—so
much so that it doth cost more than the person is worth. And yet is the
poor husband no less degraded and made cuckold by a plain wife, whose
fare is much harder to digest than a beautiful woman’s. To say nothing
of a man’s having to lie by his side a devil of hell, in place of a
beauteous angel.

Wherefore I have heard many gallant men say they had rather have a
beautiful woman, and one something whorish, than a plain woman, though
the most chaste in all the world. For in a foul dame is to be found
naught but wretchedness and displeasure; in a fair one is abundance of
all pleasure and good happiness,—as some folk maintain. For myself I
refer me to such as have trod this roadway and path.

I have heard some men say sometimes, that for husbands it is no such
grand thing for them to have their wives chaste. For then are these
so boastful of the fact, I mean those women that do possess this most
uncommon gift, that you might almost declare them fain to dominate
not alone their husbands, but the very world itself and the stars of
heaven! Nay! they seem to think, judging from their pride of chastity,
that God doth owe them some special return therefor. Yet are they
greatly deceived; for I have heard learned Doctors say, how that God
doth more love a poor sinful woman, repentant and contrite, as in the
case of the Magdalene, than a prideful and haughty dame, which doth
suppose she hath surely won Paradise, without any need for the pity
and merciful judgment of God.

I have heard tell of a lady so boastful by reason of her chastity that
she did come so to look down upon her husband, that when asked if she
had lain with him, “No!” she would reply, “but he hath lain with me.”
So proud a dame was she! I leave you to imagine how these same silly,
boastful, virtuous wives do chide their poor husbands, even though they
may have naught really to reproach them with. So in especial do such
wives as are chaste and rich likewise. A wife that is at once virtuous
and wealthy in her own right, will ever be playing the disdainful,
haughty, proud and bold lady towards her husband, so that by reason of
the over high value she doth set on her chastity and her well guarded
front, she cannot refrain her from putting on the airs of an empress
and chiding her husband on his committing the smallest fault, as I have
seen sundry do, and above all on his ill way of life. If he gamble, or
be wasteful or extravagant, mightily doth she protest and storm, making
her home to seem rather a hell upon earth than an honourable household.
Then if he need to sell aught of his property to meet the cost of
a journey to Court or to the wars, or of his lawsuits, necessities
or minor follies and frivolous expenses, never a word must he speak
thereof. For such an empire hath the wife assumed over him, resting it
on the strong foundation of her virtue, that her husband must needs
refer all to her judgment, as Juvenal well says in one of his Satires:

“... Animus uxoris si deditus uni,
Nil unquam invita donabis conjuge; vendes,
Hac obstante, nihil haec, si nolit, emetur.”[92]

These lines of the poet show plainly that the ancient Roman dames were
in this matter of an humour much akin to that of many ladies of our own
day. On the contrary, when a wife is something whorish, she will show
herself far more accommodating, more yielding, docile and timid, of a
much gentler and more agreeable disposition, more humble and ready to
do aught her husband may desire, and more complaisant to him in all
things. So have I seen some such which durst never scold or cry out,
nor show themselves cross-gained, for fear the husband should confront
them with their fault and throw their adultery in their face, and make
them to feel the consequences thereof at the cost of their life itself.
Then if the gallant fellow is fain to sell some property of theirs, lo!
their names are writ to the contract before ever the husband have time
to say the word. Many of this sort have I seen. In one word they do
what their husbands please.

Well! are these then so sorely hurt to be made cuckold of such fair
dames, and to win of them such fine goods and advantages as these,—to
say naught of the fine, delightsome pleasure they do enjoy in wantoning
with suchlike beauteous women, and swimming, so to speak, with them
in a beautiful, clear stream instead of a foul and repulsive slough?
And since a man must die, as a certain great Captain I know used to
say, is it not far better for it to be by a fine fresh sword, bright,
clear, shining and keen-edged, than by an old blade, all rusted and ill
burnished, one calling for more emery than all the sword-cutlers of
Paris together could furnish?

And what I say of young women that are plain, I say the like of some
old women, the which are fain to be debauched and be kept clean and
bright by use, just as much as the fairest in all the world. Elsewhere
do I give a special Discourse to this subject (the Fifth Discourse,
following). And this is the worst of it: when their husbands cannot
fulfil the duty, then the rogues will be calling in substitutes,
being every bit as passionate as younger women, or even more so. So
have I seen some that neither at the beginning nor the middle of life
are ready to be excited, but only at the end. And rightly do men say
that in these matters the end is more fierce than the two other ages,
the beginning and the middle,—so far as wishing goes. For very often
strength and competence are then lacking, a thing that doth vex them
sore,—as saith the old proverb: ’Tis great grief and pain, when a
backside hath right good will, but power is a-wanting.

So are there always some of these poor old wretches, which do admit
their lovers gratis, like a muleteer on his beast, and do distribute
their largess at the expense of their two purses; but ’tis the money
purse only makes these find the other, the body’s purse, good and
narrow. Thus we say that liberality is more to be esteemed in all
matters than avarice and niggardliness, except only with women,
who, the more liberal they are, the less are they esteemed, but the
avaricious and niggard all the more for being so.

This was what a great Lord did say one time of two great ladies,
sisters, whom I know of, whereof the one was niggard of her honour, but
liberal of her purse and expenditure, the other exceeding chary of her
purse and money, but very liberal of her person.

Next there is yet another sort of cuckolds, one that of a surety is
utterly abominable and hateful before God and man alike, they who,
enamoured of some handsome Adonis, do abandon their wives to men of
this kind in order to enjoy their favour in return.

The first time ever I was in Italy, I did hear of an example of this
at Ferrara, the tale being told me of one who, captivated by a certain
handsome youth, did persuade his wife to accord her favours to the said
young man, who was in love with her, and to appoint a day and consent
to do all he should bid her. The lady was willing enough, for truly
she did desire no better venison to regale herself withal than this.
At length was the day fixed, and the hour being come when the young
lover and the lady were at their pleasant game and entertainment, lo!
the husband, who was hid near at hand, according to the compact betwixt
him and his wife, did rush in. So catching them in the very act, he
did put his dagger to the lover’s throat, deeming him worthy of death
for such offence, in accordance with the laws of Italy, which herein
be something more rigorous than in France. So was he constrained to
grant the husband what he did desire, and they made exchange one with
the other. The young man did prostitute himself and the husband did
abandon his wife to the young man. Thus was the husband cuckold after
an exceeding foul fashion.[93*]

I have heard tell of a lady, which being desperately in love with an
honourable gentleman whom she had taken for lover and chief favourite,
and this latter fearing the husband would do him or her some ill
turn, did comfort him, saying, “Nay! have no fear, for he would in no
wise dare do aught, for dread I should accuse him of having wished
to practice the backdoor Venus, which might well bring about his
death, if I were to breathe the least word thereof and denounce him to
justice. But in this way I do hold him in check and in terror, so that
for fear of my accusation, he dares not say one word to me.”

Without a doubt such accusation would have involved the poor husband in
naught less than peril of his life; for the legists declare that this
act is punishable for the mere wish to commit the same. But mayhap the
lady did never mean to let out the word altogether, and would not have
gone so far as this without reconsidering her intent.

I have been told how in one of these latter years a young French
gentleman, a handsome gallant that had been seen many a day at Court,
being gone to Rome for instruction in manly exercises, like others his
contemporaries, was in that city regarded with so favourable an eye,
and did meet with such great admiration of his beauty, as well of men
as of women, that folk were ready almost to force him to their will.
And so whenever they were aware of his going to Mass or other place of
public assemblage, they would never fail, either men or women, to be
there likewise for to see him. Nay, more, several husbands did suffer
their wives to give him love assignations in their houses, to the
end that being come thither and then surprised, they might effect an
exchange, the one of his wife, the other of him. For which cause he was
advised never to yield to the love and wishes of these ladies, seeing
the whole matter had been contrived and arranged merely to entrap him.
And herein he did show himself wise and did set his honour and good
conscience above all such detestable pleasures, winning thereby a high
and worthy repute. Yet at the last his squire did kill him. Divers
reasons are given therefor. At any rate ’twas a sore pity, for that
he was a very honourable young man, of good station, and one that did
promise well of his nature as well by reason of his noble actions as
of the fine and noble character he did manifest herein. For indeed, as
I have heard a very gallant man of my time say, and as is most true,
never yet was _bougre_ or catamite a brave, valiant and generous man
but only the great Julius Cæsar, seeing that by divine permission
and ordinance all such abominable folk are brought low and reduced
to shame. And this doth make me wonder how sundry, whom I have seen
stained by this horrid vice, have yet prospered under heaven in high
good fortune; yet doth God wait for them, and at the last we shall
surely see them meet their proper fate.

How many women there be in the world, which if they were examined
by midwives and doctors and expert surgeons, would be found no more
virgin one way than another, and which could at any moment bring
action against their husbands. Yet do they dissimulate it and dare not
discover the matter, for fear of bringing scandal on themselves and
their husbands, or perhaps because they do find therein some greater
pleasure than we can suppose. Or it may be for the purpose I have above
named,—to keep their husbands in such subjection, if they do make love
in other quarters, which indeed some husbands do on these terms allow
them to do. Yet are none of these reasons really sufficient to account
for the thing.

The _Summa Benedicti_ saith: If the husband chooseth thus to take his
part contrary to the order of nature, he commits a mortal sin; and if
he maintain that he may dispose of his own wife as he please, he doth
fall into a detestable and foul heresy of sundry Jews and evil Rabbis,
which are cited as saying thus, _duabus mulieribus apud synagogam
conquestis se fuisse a viris suis cognitu sodomitico cognitas,
responsum est ab illis Rabinis: virum esse uxoris dominum, proinde
posse uti ejus utcumque libuerit, non aliter quam qui piscem emit: ille
enim, tam anterioribus quam posterioribus partibus, ad arbitrium vesci
posse_.

This have I quoted only in Latin, forasmuch as it soundeth ill to
honourable and modest ears. Abominable wretches that they be,—thus to
desert a fair, pure and lawful habit, to adopt instead one that is
foul, dirty, filthy and forbid, and disgraceful to boot.

But if the man will take the woman so, it is lawful for her to separate
from him, if there is no other means to cure him. And yet, it is
stated again, such women as fear God ought never to consent thereto,
but rather cry out for help, regardless of the scandal which might
so arise, and of dishonour and the fear of death; for ’tis better,
saith the law, to die than to consent to evil. The same book doth say
another thing which I deem very strange: that whatsoever way a husband
know his wife, provided she may conceive thereby, herein is no mortal
sin, but only a venial one. Nor do these same smack at all of marital
purity, albeit, as I have before said, it may be permissible in case
of pregnant women, as well as such as have a strong and unpleasant
breath, whether from the mouth or nose. Thus have I known and heard
speak of several women to kiss whom and scent their breath was as bad
as smelling at a sewer; or to put it another way, I have heard it said
of a certain great lady, a very great one indeed I mean, that once one
of her ladies declared her breath stank more than a backhouse. These
are the very words she used.

I would say more of this, but in truth I have a horror of speaking
thereof at all. It hath vexed me to have said so much as I have; but
’tis needful sometimes to lay open public vices in order to reform the
same.

14.

Next it behoveth me to mention an ill opinion which many have held and
do still hold concerning the Court of our French Kings. Men say the
ladies thereof, both maids and wives, do oft times trip, indeed do so
customarily. But in this are they very much deceived, for truly there
be amongst these very chaste, honourable and virtuous women, nay! even
more than elsewhere. Virtue doth reside there just as much, or more
than in other places,—a fact we should duly prize, for that it can
readily be put to proof.

Je n’alléguerai que ce seul exemple de Mme. la grande-duchesse de
Florence d’aujourd’hui, de la maison de Lorraine,[94*] laquelle étant
arrivée á Florence le soir que le grand-duc l’épousa, et qu’il voulut
aller coucher avec elle pour la dépuceler, il la fit avant pisser dans
un bel urinoir de cristal, le plus beau et le plus clair qu’il put,
et en ayant vu l’urine, il la consulta avec son médecin, qui était un
très grand et très savant et expert personnage, pour savoir de lui, par
cette inspection, si elle était pucelle oui ou non. Le médecin l’ayant
bien fixement et doctement inspectée, il trouva qu’elle était telle
comme quand sortit du ventre de sa mère, et qu’il y allât hardiment,
et qu’il n’y trouverait point le chemin nullement ouvert, frayé ni
battu; ce qu’il fit, et en trouva la vérité telle et puis.

Then next morning, in amaze, he did exclaim thus: “Lo and behold, a
miracle,—that the girl should thus have come forth a virgin from yonder
Court of France!” Truly a curious investigation, and a strange opinion!
I know not if the tale be true, but it hath been confidently affirmed
to me as being so.

A fine repute for our Court. But indeed ’tis no long while since men
generally held that all the ladies of the Court and of Paris city were
not so virtuous of their body as they of the open countryside, and such
as never left their homes. There have been men known so scrupulous they
would never wed with girls or women which had travelled far afield,
and seen the world, be it ever so little. Thus in our native Guyenne,
in the days of my youth, I have heard not a few gallant gentlemen say
this and seen them swear to the same, that they would never wed girl
or woman which should ever have gone forth of the Port de Pille, to
journey away toward France. Poor silly creatures surely herein, albeit
wise and gallant men enough in other matters, to suppose that cuckoldry
did never abide in their own houses, at their hearths and in their
closets and bedchambers, just as readily,—or mayhap more so, seeing the
easy opportunities,—as in the Royal Palaces and the great Royal towns!
For could not lovers well enough come thither to suborn, win over,
court and undo their wives for them, when they were themselves away at
Court, at the wars, or the chase, attending their law business or on
their journeyings abroad? This they would never understand, but were
so simple as to think men would never dare to say one word of love to
their ladies, but speak only of their households, gardens, hunting and
hawking parties. And so by such blindness and rash confidence they did
get themselves cuckolded even more freely than elsewhere; for there is
no spot where a fair and clever woman, and an honourable and gallant
man, cannot find room and convenience for love-making. Poor fools and
idiots that they were! could they not realize how that Venus hath no
fixed and special place of abode, as of old in Cyprus, at Paphos and
Amathos, and see that she doth dwell everywhere, yea! even in the very
herdsmen’s cots and the lowly lap of shepherdesses the most simple
seeming?

Since some while now have they begun to abandon these silly prejudices.
For, having observed that in all parts was risk of this same unhappy
cuckoldry, they have of late taken wives wherever they have pleased or
been able. Nay! they have gone yet further; for they have sent them
or taken them with them to Court, to let their beauty be manifest and
have full appreciation, and so strike envy to the heart of all and
sundry,—as if for the very end of getting themselves a set of horns!

Others again do nowadays send their wives, or take the same along with
them, to plead and influence by their solicitations their suits at law;
whereof some really and truly have no law business at all, but do make
pretense they have. Or else, if they really have some case toward, they
will wilfully prolong the same, the better to prolong their amours.
Nay! sometimes husbands will actually leave their wives on duty at the
Courts, in the galleries and great Hall thereof, and so away to their
own homes, deeming these will better do their business for them, and
they will win their cause better so. And in truth I do know of several
which have so won them, more by the dexterity and delights of their
wives’ fore parts than by any claim of justice on their side. And so
many a time will the wives be gotten with child at this game, and then
to avoid scandal,—drugs having failed of their efficacy to preserve
them therefrom,—will speedily hie away home to their husbands, feigning
they are going thither to look up titles or documents of the which they
stand in need, or to institute some enquiry, or else that ’tis to await
Martinmas and the re-opening of the Courts, and that being unable in
vacation time to make any progress in their suit, they are fain to have
a bout of the male and see their households again and husbands. And so
they do in sooth, but they were well in child, ere ever they began!

I appeal to many a learned judge and presiding magistrate as to the
fine tit-bits these same have enjoyed from time to time of country
gentlemen’s wives.

’Tis no long while since a very fair, great and honourable lady, which
myself have known, going in this wise to forward her case at the Paris
Courts, one seeing it did say, “Why! what doth she think to do? She
will surely lose, for she hath no great claim of right and justice.”
But, tell me, doth not her right and justice lie in the beauty of her
fore part, even as Cæsar did bear his on the pommel and point of his
sword?[95*]

Thus are country gentlemen cuckolded by the men of the Law, in revenge
for the cuckoldries they themselves commit on judges’ and magistrates’
good ladies. And indeed some of these last I have seen who have been
a fair match, when all charms were displayed, for many wives and
daughters of Lords, Knights and high-born gentlemen of the Court and
other such.

I knew once a great lady, which had been very fair, but years had worn
out her beauty. Having a law case at Paris, and seeing her beauty was
no more meet to help her to forward and win her process, she did take
with her a certain neighbour of hers, a young and pretty woman. And to
this end she did supply her with a good sum of money, as much as ten
thousand crowns; and so what she could not herself do, willing as she
would have been, in this she did find her advantage, and the young lady
to boot, and both the twain were well pleased.

’Tis no long while since I saw a mother take thither one of her
daughters, albeit she was a married woman, to help her forward her
case, having no other business there at all. And truly she is a very
fair lady, and well worth a man’s while to listen to.

However ’tis high time I should make an end in this my grand discourse
concerning cuckoldry. For at the last would my long periods, tossed to
and fro in these deep waters and mighty torrents, be clean drowned;
and I should never have done, or have wit enough to get me out of the
thing, no more than out of that Labyrinth of yore, though I should have
the longest and strongest thread was ever in this world for guide and
safe conduct.

Finally I will conclude by saying this, that if we are the cause of
many ills, and do give torments, martyrdoms and evil times to the poor
cuckolds, still we do verily pay for the same through the nose, as the
saying is, and are mulcted in a triple interest. For verily the more
part of them that do them wrong and make unlawful love, the more part
of the same gallants, do endure quite as great ills as they inflict,
seeing all the jealousies they are liable to, not less from their
rivals in the pursuit than from the husbands themselves. Then consider
the anxieties and caprices they have to put up with, the risks they
run of danger and death, of maiming and wounds, of affronts, insults,
quarrels, terrors, pains and penalties of every kind. Think how they
must needs endure cold and wet, wind and heat. I say naught here of pox
and chancres, all the plagues and diseases they incur at this game, as
much with high-born dames as with those of low degree. Thus it is that
many and many a time they buy right dear what is granted them, and the
game is truly not worth the candle.

Yea! many such have we seen perish miserably, at the very time they
were set forth on their way to conquer a whole kingdom. Witness M. de
Bussi, the paragon of his day, and many another.

Of such I could cite an host more; but I will leave them unnamed, to
the end I may have done, only admonishing lovers and advising them
to practise the Italian proverb which saith, _Che molto guadagna chi
putana perde_! (He who loseth an harlot, gaineth much).

Amé, Count of Savoy, was often used to say:

En jeu d’armes et d’amours
Pour une joye cent doulours.

(“In the sport of arms and of love,
for one joy an hundred dolours.”)

using this quaint old word, the better to make out his rhyme. Another
saying of his was, that love and anger had this point of great
unlikeness one with the other, that whereas anger doth pass away soon
and very readily from the person affected, love doth so only with the
extreme of difficulty.

And this is why we should guard well against love of this sort for
that it doth cost us quite as much as it is worth, and doth often lead
to great ill fortunes. And to speak the real truth, the more part of
patient and contented cuckolds have an hundred fold better time, if
only they have the wit to recognise their position and come to an
agreement with their wives, than have the active agents. Yea! and many
an one have I seen, though his horns were in question, would make mock
at us and laugh at all the humours and pretty speeches of us gallants
in converse of love with the wife. The same again when we had perchance
to do with wily dames, who do make an understanding with their husbands
and so sell us. So I knew once a very brave and honourable gentleman,
who had long loved a certain fair and honourable lady and had had of
her the enjoyment he had been fain of for so long. But one day having
observed that the husband and she were making merry at some peculiarity
of his, he did take the thing in such dudgeon that he did leave her,
and for good; for taking a long journey for to divert his thoughts, he
did never speak to the lady again, so he told me. And truly suchlike
wily, cunning and fickle dames must be guarded against, as they were
savage beasts; for to content and appease their husbands, they will
quit their old lovers, and thereafter again take other ones, being in
no wise able to do without them altogether.

So too I have known a very honourable and great lady, which yet had
this ill fortune with her, that of five or six lovers I have seen her
have in my day, all died one after the other, not without sore grief
on her part therefor.[96] Wherefore did men say of her how that she was
Sejanus’ horse,[96] seeing all they which did mount her did die, and
scarce ever survived. Yet had she this good in her and this merit, that
whosoever it may have been, she was never known to change or abandon
any of her good friends and lovers while yet living, for to take others
instead. Only when they did come to die, she was ever eager to have a
new mount, to the end she might not go a-foot. Moreover, as the lawyers
themselves maintain, ’tis allowed to adopt any protector one may choose
for one’s estate and lands, whenas they are deprived of their first
master. Such constancy in this fair lady was much to be commended; but
albeit _she_ was so far firm in her good faith, yet have there ever
been an host of other dames that have been far from so constant.

Besides, to speak candidly, ’tis never advisable to grow old in one and
the same spot, and no man of spirit ever doth so. A man must be a bold
adventurer and ever be turning him this way and that, just as much in
love as in war and in other matters. For verily if a sailor do trust to
but one anchor in his ship, if he drag this, he is very likely to lose
his vessel, especially if it be in an exposed place and in a storm,
where squalls and tempestuous waves are more like to occur than in a
calm and in harbour.

And in what more dangerous and exposed waters could a man adventure
himself and sail forth than in making love to one fair lady only?
For though of herself she may not have been wily and cunning at the
beginning, yet we men do soon make her so and sharpen her wits by
the many strange tricks we play with her, whereby we do often hurt
ourselves, by making her able to carry the war into our own country,
having fashioned and trained her thereto. So is it better far, as
a certain gallant gentleman was used to say, to wed some fair and
honourable dame, albeit with the risk of having a touch of the horns
and suffering this misfortune of cuckoldry that is common to so many,
rather than to endure so many hardships and perils in the making of
other folks cuckold.

However this is all contrary to the opinion expressed by M. du Gua, to
whom one day I did make a proposition on the part of a certain great
lady which had begged me so to do, to marry him. But he did make this
answer only, that heretofore he had ever deemed me one of his best
friends, but that now I did make him think himself deceived in this,
by my holding such language to him, trying to hunt him into the very
thing he most did hate, that is to get him to marry and be cuckolded,
in lieu of his making other men so. He did further say he could always
wed plenty of women every year, speaking of marriage as an hidden
prostitution of a man’s repute and liberty, ordained by a specious law.
Moreover that the worst of it was, this, as myself also do see and have
noted to be the case, that the more part, nay! all, of them that have
thus taken delight in making other folks cuckold, when themselves come
to wed, infallibly do they fall into the married, I mean the cuckolded,
state. Never yet have I known it fall out otherwise, according to the
word, “As thou shalt do to others, so shall it be done unto you.”

Before making an end, I will say yet one word more,—how that I have
seen a dispute raised that is still undecided, to wit, in which
provinces and regions of our Christendom and Europe there be most
cuckolds and harlots? Men declare that in Italy the ladies are
exceedingly hot, and for that cause very whorish, as saith M. de
Bèze[97] in a Latin Epigram, to the effect that where the sun is hot
and doth shine with most power, there doth it the most heat women,
inditing a verse thus conceived;

Credible est ignes multiplicare suos.

(’Tis to believed he doth there multiply their fires.)

Spain is in the like case, though it lie more to the Westward; yet doth
the sun there warm fair ladies as well as ever it can in the East.

Flemish, Swiss, German, English and Scotch women, albeit they dwell
more to the Northward and inhabit cold regions, share no less in this
same natural heat; and indeed I have known them as hot as dames of any
other land.

The Greeks have good reason to be so, for that they are well to the
Eastward. So in Italy men do pray for _Greca in letto_,—or “a Greek
bedfellow.” And in sooth they do possess many attractive points and
merits, as is but to be expected, seeing in times of old they were the
delight of all the world, and have taught many a secret to the ladies
of Italy and Spain, from ancient times even to the present day,—so much
so that these do well nigh surpass their teachers, whether ancient or
modern. And verily was not the Queen and Empress of all harlots, which
was Venus, a Greek?

As for my fair countrywomen of France, in old days they were
notoriously very coarse and unrefined, contenting themselves with
doing of it in a coarse, rude fashion. But, beginning some fifty years
since, they have borrowed so much and learned from other nations so
many gentle ways, pretty tricks, charms and attractions, fine clothes,
wanton looks, or else themselves have so well studied to fashion
themselves therein, that we are bound to say that they do now surpass
all other women in every way. So, as I have heard even men of foreign
nations admit, they are better worth a man’s having than any others,
not to mention that naughty words in French are more naughty, better
sounding and more rousing, than in any other tongue.[98*]

Over and above all this, that excellent liberty we have in France, a
thing more to be esteemed than aught else, doth surely make our women
more desirable and lovable, more easy of access and more amenable,
than they of any other nation. Again adultery is not so constantly
punished as in other lands, by the good wisdom of our noble Councils
and French law-makers, which seeing abuses to arise by reason of such
harsh punishments, have something checked the same, and corrected the
rigorous laws of a former day, passed by men which herein did allow
themselves full license of merry disport, but deprived women altogether
of the same privilege. Thus was it not allowed to an innocent woman
to accuse her husband of adultery, by any laws imperial or canon, as
Cajetan doth assure us. But truly cunning men did make this rule for
the reasons named in the following Italian verses:

Perche, di quel che Natura concede
Cel’ vieti tu, dura legge d’honore.
Ella à noi liberal large ne diede
Com’ agli altri animai legge d’amore.
Ma l’huomo fraudulento, e senza fede,
Che fu legislator di quest’ errore,
Vendendo nostre forze e buona schiena,
Copri la sua debolezza con la pena.

(“Oh! over harsh law of honour, why dost thou forbid the thing
that Nature urges us to do? She grants us, as to all animals, the
enjoyment of love abundantly and liberally. But the base deceiver,
man, knowing only too well the vigour of our loins, has established
this mistaken law, so to conceal the weakness of the sexes.”)

In a word, ’tis good to love in this land of France. I appeal to our
authentic doctors in this science, and even to our courtesans, which
will be more apt than I to elaborate subtle details thereanent. And
to tell the very truth: harlots are there in all lands, and cuckolds
the same, as myself can surely testify, for that I have seen all the
countries I have named, and others to boot. Chastity abideth not in one
quarter of the earth more than another.

15.

Now will I further ask this one question only, and never another, one
which mayhap hath never yet been enquired into of any, or possibly
even thought of,—to wit, whether two ladies that be in love one with
the other, as hath been seen aforetime, and is often seen nowadays,
sleeping together in one bed, and doing what is called _donna con
donna_, imitating in fact that learned poetess Sappho, of Lesbos,
whether these can commit adultery, and between them make their husbands
cuckold.

Of a surety do they commit this crime, if we are to believe Martial
in Epigram CXIX of his First Book.[99*] Therein doth he introduce and
speak of a woman by name Bassa, a tribad, reproaching the same greatly
in that men were never seen to visit her, in such wise that folk
deemed her a second Lucretia for chasteness. But presently she came to
be discovered, for that she was observed to be constantly welcoming at
her house beautiful women and girls; and ’twas found that she herself
did serve these and counterfeit a man. And the poet, to describe this,
doth use the words, _geminos committere cunnos_. And further on,
protesting against the thing, he doth signify the riddle and give it
out to be guessed and imagined, in this Latin line:

Hic, ubi vir non est, ut sit adulterium,

(“a strange thing,” that is, “that where no man is, yet is adultery
done.”)

I knew once a courtesan of Rome, old and wily if ever there was one,
that was named Isabella de Luna,[100*] a Spanish woman, which did
take in this sort of friendship another courtesan named Pandora. This
latter was eventually married to a butler in the Cardinal d’Armaignac’s
household, but without abandoning her first calling. Now this same
Isabella did keep her, and extravagant and ill-ordered as she was in
speech, I have oft times heard her say how that she did cause her to
give her husbands more horns than all the wild fellows she had ever
had. I know not in what sense she did intend this, unless she did
follow the meaning of the Epigram of Martial just referred to.

* * * * *

’Tis said how that Sappho the Lesbian was a very high mistress in this
art, and that in after times the Lesbian dames have copied her therein,
and continued the practice to the present day. So Lucian saith: such
is the character of the Lesbian women, which will not suffer men at
all. Now such women as love this practice will not suffer men, but
devote themselves to other women and are called _tribads_, a Greek word
derived, as I have learned of the Greeks, from τρίδω, τρίδειν, that is
to say _fricare_. These tribads are called in Latin _fricatrices_, and
in French the same, that is women who do the way of _donne con donne_,
as it is still found at the present day.

Juvenal again speaks of these women, when he saith:[101*]

... frictum Grissantis adorat

talking of such a tribad, who adored and loved the embraces of one
Grissas.

The excellent and diverting Lucian hath a chapter on this subject, and
saith therein how that women do come mutually together. Moreover this
name of tribad, which doth elsewhere occur but rarely as applied to
these women, is freely employed by him throughout, and he saith that
the female sex must needs be like the notorious Philaenis, who was
used to parody the actions of manly love. At the same time he doth
add, ’tis better far for a woman to be given up to a lustful affection
for playing the male, than it is for a man to be womanish; so utterly
lacking in all courage and nobility of character doth such an one show
himself. Thus the woman, according to this, which doth counterfeit
the man, may well be reputed to be more valorous and courageous than
another, as in truth I have known some such to be, as well in body as
in spirit.

En un autre endroit, Lucien introduit deux dames devisantes de cet
amour; et une demande à l’autre si une telle avait été amoureuse
d’elle, et si elle avait couché avec elle, et ce qu’elle lui avait
fait. L’autre répondit librement: “Premièrement, elle me baisa ainsi
que font les hommes, non pas seulement en joignant les lèvres, mais
en ouvrant aussi la bouche, cela s’entend en pigeonne, la langue en
bouche; et, encore qu’elle n’eût point le membre viril et qu’elle fût
semblable à nous autres, si est-ce qu’elle disait avoir de coeur,
l’affection et tout le reste viril; et puis je l’embrassai comme un
homme, et elle me le faisait, me baisait et allentait (je n’entends
point bien ce mot), et me semblait qu’elle y prit plaisir outre mesure,
et cohabita d’une certain Jaçon beaucoup plus agréable que d’un
homme.” Voila ce qu’en dit Lucien.

Well, by what I have heard say, there be in many regions and lands
plenty of such dames and Lesbian devotees,—in France, in Italy, in
Spain, Turkey, Greece and other places. And wherever the women are kept
secluded, and have not their entire liberty, this practice doth greatly
prevail.

The Turkish women go to the baths more for this than for any other
reason, and are greatly devoted thereto. Even the courtesans, which
have men at their wish and at all times, still do employ this habit,
seeking out the one the other, as I have heard of sundry doing in
Italy and in Spain. In my native France women of the sort are common
enough; yet it is said to be no long time since they first began to
meddle therewith, in fact that the fashion was imported from Italy by a
certain lady of quality, whom I will not name.

Several others have I known which have given account of the same manner
of loves, amongst whom I have heard tell of a noble lady of the great
world, who was superlatively given this way, and who did love many
ladies, courting the same and serving them as men are wont. So would
she take them and keep them at bed and board, and give them whatever
they would. Her husband was right glad and well content thereat, as
were many other husbands I have known, all of whom were right glad
their wives did follow after this sort of affection rather than that
of men, deeming them to be thus less wild. But indeed I think they
were much deceived; for by what I have heard said, this is but an
apprenticeship, to come later to the greater one with men.

How many of these Lesbian dames have I seen who, for all their customs
and habits, yet fail not at the last to go after men! Even Sappho
herself, the mistress of them all, did she not end by loving her fond,
favourite Phaon, for whose sake she died? For after all, as I have
heard many fair ladies declare, there is nothing like men. All these
other things do but serve them but in the lack of men. And if they but
find a chance and opportunity free from scandal, they will straight
quit their comrades and go throw their arms round some good man’s neck.

I have known in my time two very fair and honourable damsels of a noble
house, cousins of one another, which having been used to lie together
in one bed for the space of three years, did grow so well accustomed
to this, that at the last getting the idea the said pleasure was but a
meagre and imperfect one compared with that to be had with men, they
did determine to try the latter, and soon became downright harlots. And
this was the answer a very honourable damsel I knew did once make to
her lover, when he asked her if she did never follow this way with her
lady friend,—“No, no!” she replied, “I like men too well.”

I have heard of an honourable gentleman who, desiring one day at Court
to seek in marriage a certain very honourable damsel, did consult one
of her kinswomen thereon. She told him frankly he would but be wasting
his time; for, as she did herself tell me, such and such a lady, naming
her, (’twas one I had already heard talk of) will never suffer her
to marry. Instantly I did recognize the hang of it, for I was well
aware how she did keep this damsel at bed and board, and did guard her
carefully. The gentleman did thank the said cousin for her good advice
and warning, not without a merry gibe or two at herself the while,
saying she did herein put in a word or two for herself as well as for
the other, for that she did take her little pleasures now and again
under the rose. But this she did stoutly deny to me.[102*]

This doth remind me of certain women which do thus and actually love
these friends so dearly they would not share them for all the wealth in
the world, neither with Prince nor great noble, with comrade or friend.
They are as jealous of them as a beggarman of his drinking barrel; yet
even he will offer this to any that would drink. But this lady was fain
to keep the damsel all to herself, without giving one scrap to others.

’Tis said how that weasels are touched with this sort of love, and
delight female with female to unite and dwell together. And so in
hieroglyphic signs, women loving one another with this kind of
affection were represented of yore by weasels. I have heard tell of a
lady which was used always to keep some of these animals, for that she
did take pleasure in watching her little pets together.

Voici un autre point, c’est que ces amours féminines se traitent en
deux façons, les unes par fricarelles, et par, comme dit ce poète,
_geminos committere connos_.

Cette façon n’apporte point de dommage, ce disent aucuns, comme quand
on s’aide d’instruments façonnés de ..., mais qu’on a voulu appeler des
g....

J’ai ouï conter q’un grand prince, se doutant de deux dames de sa cour
qui s’en aidaient, leur fit faire le guet si bien qu’il les surprit,
tellement que l’une se trouva saisie et accommodée d’un gros entre les
jambes, si gentiment attaché avec de petites bandelettes à l’entour du
corps qu’il semblait un membre naturel. Elle en fut si surprise qu’elle
n’eut loisir de l’ôter; tellement que ce prince la contraignit de lui
montrer comment elles deux se le faisaient.

On dit que plusieurs femmes en sont mortes, pour engendrer en leurs
matrices des apostumes faites par mouvements et frottements point
naturels.

J’en sais bien quelques-unes de ce nombre, dont ç’a été grand dommage,
car c’étaient de très belles et honnêtes dames et demoiselles,
qu’il eût bien mieux valu qu’elles eussent eu compagnie de quelques
honnêtes gentilhommes, qui pour cela ne les font mourir, mais vivre et
ressusciter, ainsi que j’espère le dire ailleurs; et même que pour la
guérison de tel mal, comme j’ai ouï conter à aucuns chirurgiens, qu’il
n’y a rien de plus propre que de les faire bien nettoyer làdedans par
ces membres naturels des hommes, qui sont meilleurs que des pessaires
qu’usent les médecins et chirurgiens, avec des eaux à ce composées;
et toutefois il y a plusieurs femmes, nonobstant les inconvénients
qu’elles en voient arriver souvent, si faut-il qu’elles en aient de ces
engins contrefaits.

—J’ai ouï faire un conte, moi étant lors à la Cour, que la reine mère
ayant fait commandement de visiter un jour les chambres et coffres
de tous ceux qui étaient logés dans le Louvre, sans épargner dames et
filles, pour voir s’il n’y avait point d’armes cachées et même des
pistolets, durant nos troubles, il y en eut une qui fut trouvée saisie
dans son coffre par le capitaine des gardes, non point de pistolets,
mais de quatre gros g..., gentiment façonnés, qui donnèrent bien de la
risée au monde, et à elle bien de l’étonnement.

Je connais la demoiselle: je crois qu’elle vit encore; mais elle n’eut
jamais bon visage. Tels instruments enfin sont très dangereux. Je
ferai encore ce conte de deux dames de la cour qui s’entr’aimaient
si fort et étaient si chaudes à leur métier, qu’en quelque endroit
qu’elles fussent ne s’en pouvaient garder ni abstenir que pour le
moins ne fissent quelques signes d’amourettes ou de baiser; qui les
scandalisaient si fort et donnaient à penser beaucoup aux hommes. Il
y en avait une veuve, et l’autre mariée; et comme la mariée, un jour
d’une grande magnificence, se fut fort bien parée et habillée d’une
robe de toile d’argent, ainsi que leur maîtresse était allée à vêpres,
elles entrèrent dans son cabinet, et sur sa chaise percée se mirent
à faire leur fricarelle si rudement et si impétueusement qu’elle en
rompit sous elles, et la dame mariée qui faisait le dessous tomba avec
sa belle robe de toile d’argent à la renverse tout à plat sur l’ordure
du bassin, si bien qu’elle se gâta et souilla si fort qu’elle ne sut
que faire que s’essuyer le mieux qu’elle put, se trousser, et s’en
aller en grande hâte changer de robe dans sa chambre, non sans pourtant
avoir été aperçue et bien sentie à la trace, tant elle puait: dont il
en fut ri assez par aucuns qui en surent le conte; même leur maîtresse
le sut, qui s’en aidait comme elle, et en rit son saoul. Aussi il
fallait bien que cette ardeur les maîtrisât fort, que de n’attendre un
lieu et un temps à propos, sans se scandaliser.

Still excuse may be made for maids and widows for loving these
frivolous and empty pleasures, preferring to devote themselves to these
than to go with men and come to dishonour, or else to lose their pains
altogether, as some have done and do every day. Moreover they deem they
do not so much offend God, and are not such great harlots, as if they
had to do with the men, maintaining there is a great difference betwixt
throwing water in a vessel and merely watering about it and round the
rim. However I refer me to them; I am neither their judge nor their
husband. These last may find it ill, but generally I have never seen
any but were right glad their wives should be companionable with their
lady friends. And in very deed this is a very different thing from that
with men, and, let Martial say what he please, this alone will make
no man cuckold. ’Tis no Gospel text, this word of a foolish poet. In
this at any rate he saith true, that ’tis much better for a woman to
be masculine and a very Amazon and lewd after this fashion, than for a
man to be feminine, like Sardanapalus or Heliogabalus, and many another
their fellows in sin. For the more manlike she is, the braver is she.
But concerning all this, I must refer me to the decision of wiser heads.

Monsieur du Gua and I were reading one day in a little Italian book,
called the _Book of Beauty_,[103*] writ in the form of a dialogue by
the Signor Angelo Firenzuola, a Florentine, and fell upon a passage
wherein he saith that women were originally made by Jupiter and created
of such nature that some are set to love men, but others the beauty
of one another. But of these last, some purely and holily, and as an
example of this the author doth cite the very illustrious Marguerite
of Austria, which did love the fair Laodamia Fortenguerre, but others
again wantonly and lasciviously, like Sappho the Lesbian, and in our
own time at Rome the famous courtesan Cecilia of Venice. Now this sort
do of their nature hate to marry, and fly the conversation of men all
ever they can.

Hereupon did Monsieur du Gua criticise the author, saying ’twas a
falsehood that the said fair lady, Marguerite of Austria, did love the
other fair dame of a pure and holy love. For seeing she had taken up
her rather than others which might well be equally fair and virtuous as
she, ’twas to be supposed it was to use her for her pleasures, neither
more nor less than other women that do the like. Only to cover up her
naughtiness, she did say and publish abroad how that her love for her
was a pure and holy love, as we see many of her fellows do, which do
dissemble their lewdness with suchlike words.

This was what Monsieur du Gua did remark thereanent; and if any man
doth wish to discuss the matter farther, well! he is at liberty to do
so.

This same fair Marguerite was the fairest Princess was ever in all
Christendom in her day. Now beauty and beauty will ever feel mutual
love of one sort or another, but wanton love more often than the other.
She was married three times, having at her first wedlock espoused King
Charles VIII. of France, secondly John, son of the King of Aragon, and
thirdly the Duke of Savoy, surnamed the Handsome. And men spake of them
as the handsomest pair and fairest couple of the time in all the world.
However the Princess did have little profit of this union, for that he
died very young, and at the height of his beauty, for the which she had
very deep sorrow and regret, and for that cause would never marry again.

She it was had that fair church[104] built which lyeth near Bourg en
Bresse, one of the most beautiful and noble edifices in Christendom.
She was aunt to the Emperor Charles, and did greatly help her nephew;
for she was ever eager to allay all differences, as she and the Queen
Regent did at the treaty of Cambrai, whereunto both of them did
assemble and met together there. And I have heard tell from old folk,
men and women, how it was a beauteous sight there to see these two
great Princesses together.

Cornelius Agrippa hath writ a brief Treatise on the virtue of women,
and all in panegyric of this same Marguerite. The book is a right good
one, as it could not but be on so fair a subject, and considering its
author, who was a very notable personage.

I have heard a tale of a certain great lady, a Princess, which among
all her maids of honour did love one above all and more than the rest.
At first were folk greatly surprised at this, for there were plenty of
others did surpass her in all respects. But eventually ’twas discovered
she was a hermaphrodite.

I have heard a certain great lady also named as being hermaphrodite.
She hath a virile member, but very tiny; yet hath she more of the
woman’s complexion, and I know, by having seen her, she is very fair. I
have heard sundry famous doctors say they have seen plenty such.

Well, this is all I shall say on the subject of this Chapter, one I
could have made a thousand times longer than I have done, having
matter so ample and lengthy, that if all the cuckold husbands and their
wives that do make them so, were to hold hands, and form a ring, I
verily believe this would be great enough to surround and encircle a
good half of the globe.

In the days of the late King Francis an old song was current, which
I have heard a very honourable and venerable dame repeat, to the
following effect:

Mais quand viendra la saison
Que les cocus s’assembleront,
Le mien ira devant, qui portera la bannière;
Les autres suivront après, le vostre sera au derrière.
La procession en sera grande,
L’on verra une très longue bande.

(But when the season shall come that the cuckolds shall muster, then
mine shall march in front, and shall bear the banner; the rest shall
follow after, while yours shall bring up the rear. A grand sight will
the procession of them be,—a long, long train!)

Yet would I not inveigh over much against honourable and modest wives,
which have borne themselves virtuously and faithfully in the fealty
sacredly sworn to their husbands; and I do hope anon to write a
separate chapter to their praise, and give the lie to Master Jean de
Meung.[105] Now this poet in his _Roman de la Rose_ did write these
words: Toutes vous autres femmes....

Estes ou fustes,
D’effet ou de volonté, putes.

(Ye women every one are, or have been, mere whores, if not in deed,
then in desire.)

By these verses he did incur such ill will on the part of the Court
ladies of that day, that by a plot sanctioned of the Queen and with
her privity, these did undertake one day to whip the poet, and did
strip him stark naked. But as all stood ready to strike, he did beseech
them that at any rate the greatest whore of all should begin first.
Then each for very shame durst not strike first; and in this wise he
did escape the whip. Myself have seen the story represented in an old
tapestry among the ancient furnishings of the Louvre.

16.

No less do I admire a certain Preacher, who one day preaching to a
worthy company, and taking occasion to reprove the habits of some women
and of their husbands which did endure to be cuckolded of them, did of
a sudden set to and shout out: “Yes, I know them well, I can see them,
and I am going to throw these two stones at the heads of the biggest
cuckolds in the assembly.” Then as he did make pretence to throw them,
there was never a man in all the congregation but did duck his head,
or put up his cloak, or his cape, or his arm, before his face, for to
ward off the blow. But the divine, rebuking them, cried, “Did I not
tell you? I did suppose there might be two or three cuckolds in my
congregation; but lo! by what I see, there is never a man but is one.”

Still, let these wild talkers say what they will, there be many very
chaste and honourable women, who if they had to give battle to their
opposites, would gain the day, not for their numbers but their virtue,
which doth resist and easily subdue its contrary.

Moreover when the aforenamed Jean de Meung doth blame those women
which are “whores, in desire,” meseems he ought rather to commend and
extol such to the skies, seeing that if they do burn so ardently in
their body and spirit, yet put no wrong in practice, they do herein
manifest their virtue, and the firmness and nobility of their heart.
For they do choose rather to burn and consume away in their own fire
and flame of desire, like that rare and wondrous bird the phœnix,
than forfeit and stain their honour. Herein they do resemble the
white ermine, which had rather die than foul itself,—’tis the device
of a very great lady I knew at one time, yet but ill carried out by
her,—seeing how, it being in their power to apply the remedy, yet do
they so nobly refrain, and seeing there is no greater virtue nor no
nobler victory than to master and subdue one’s own nature. Hereanent
we have a very excellent story in the _Cent Nouvelles_ of the Queen
of Navarre, concerning that honourable lady of Pampeluna, who albeit
in her heart and of desire a whore, and burning for the love of the
handsome and noble M. d’Avannes, did choose rather to die in her heat
of longing than seek her remedy, as she did find means to inform him in
her dying words.[106*]

Most unfairly and unjustly then did this same fair and honourable lady
bring to pass her own death; and, as I did hear an honourable gentleman
and lady say, when discoursing on this passage, the thing was not void
of offence against God, seeing she could have saved herself from death.
But to so bring it on herself and precipitate it, this is rightly
called suicide. And there be many of her kidney which by reason of this
great continence and abstinence from the pleasures of love, do bring
about their own death, both for body and spirit.

I have it from a very great physician,—and I fancy he hath given a like
lesson and instruction to several honourable dames,—that the human body
can scarce ever be well, unless all the parts and members thereof, from
the greatest to the least, do all of them and in due accord perform
those offices and functions which wise nature hath appointed them for
their proper health. All must make one harmony together, like a concert
of music, it being in no wise right that while some of the said parts
and members are active, others be out of work. So in a commonweal must
all officers, artisans, workmen and others, do their several tasks
unanimously, without idling and without throwing their work the one on
the other, if it is to go well and the body politic to continue healthy
and entire. And so is it likewise with the human body.

Suchlike fair ladies, whores in spirit but chaste in body, do verily
deserve everlasting praises. Not so they which are cold as marble,
dull, slack, and stirless as a rock, and have naught of the flesh
about them or any atom of feeling—though such are scarce ever really
to be found. These be neither fair nor sought after of men, and may be
described in the Latin poet’s words,

... Casta quam nemo rogavit,

(Chaste, seeing no man ever solicited her favours.)

As to this, I do know a great lady, who was used to say to sundry of
her companions that were fair of face, “Truly God hath done me a great
grace in that he hath not made me fair like you. For then should I have
loved like you, and been an harlot even as you are.” Wherefore the more
should men commend such women as are fair and yet chaste, seeing what
their natural bent is.

Very often too are we deceived in such women. For some of them there be
which, to see them so full of airs and graces, so rueful and pitiful of
mien, so cold and discreet in bearing, and so straitlaced and modest
in their words and severe costume, a man might well take for regular
Saints and most prudish dames. Yet are the same inwardly and of heart’s
desire, and eke outwardly in very deed, downright fine harlots.

Others again we see which by their pleasant ways and merry words,
their free gestures and worldly, modish dress, might well be deemed of
dissolute manners and ready to give themselves at a moment’s notice.
Yet of their body will these same be highly correct and respectable
dames,—in the world’s eye. As to their secret life, we can only guess
at the truth, so well is it hid away.

Of these things I could bring forward many and many an example, that
myself have seen and heard of; but I will content me with one which
Livy doth cite, and Boccaccio in even better terms, of a certain fair
Roman dame, by name Claudia Quinta.[107*] This lady did ever appear
abroad more than all the other Roman ladies in showy and something
immodest dress, and by her gay and free bearing did seem more worldly
than was meet, and so won a very ill name as touching her honour. Yet
when the great day came for the welcoming to the city of the goddess
Cybelé, she was cleared of all ill repute. For she had the especial
honour, above all other women, to receive the image of the goddess out
of the ship, to handle and convey the same to the town. At this were
all men astonished, for it had been declared that the best man and the
best woman of the city alone were worthy of this office. Note how folk
may be deceived in women. One is bound to know them well first, and
well examine them, before judging them, one sort as much as the other.

So must I, before making an end of this subject, name yet another
virtue and property cuckoldry doth contain. This I have of a very
honourable and fair lady of a good house, into whose closet being
one day entered in, I did find her in the very act of finishing the
inditing of a Tale with her own hand. This Tale she did show me very
freely, for I was one of her close friends, and she kept no secrets
from me. She was very witty and ready of words, and right well endowed
for love. Now the opening of the tale was after this wise:

“It doth seem,” she saith, “how that among other good properties
cuckoldry may bring with it, is the good and excellent knowledge
won thereby as to how the wit is right pleasantly exercised for the
pleasure and content of human nature. For this it is which doth watch
and invent and fashion the needful artifices to succeed, whereas mere
nature doth only furnish the desire and sensual appetite. And this may
be hid by many ruses and cunning devices that are practised in the
trade of love, which doth give horns to poor mankind. For ’tis needful
to cajole a jealous, suspicious and angry husband; ’tis needful to
cajole and blind the eyes of those that be most ready to suspect evil,
and to turn aside the most curious from knowledge of the truth. ’Tis
needful to inspire belief in good faith just where is naught but fraud,
and frankness where is naught but dissimulation. In a word so many
be the difficulties must be overcome to ensure success, these do far
exceed what natural endowment can reach. The wit must be given full
play, which doth furnish forth pleasure, and maketh more horns than
ever the body doth, which strictly speaking implanteth and fixeth the
same.”

Such were the very words of the said fair lady’s discourse, without
any change whatsoever, which she doth make at the beginning of her
story, that she writ herself. However she did disguise the thing under
other names; and so, following out the loves of the Lord and lady she
hath to do with, and to reach an end and proper perfection, she doth
allege that the appearance of love is but one of satisfaction and
content. ’Tis altogether without form until the entire gratification
and possession of the same, and many a time folk deem they have arrived
at this extreme, when really they are far enough from their desire.
Then for all recompense remaineth naught but the time lost, a cause for
bitter regrets. These last words do deserve to be carefully noted and
well weighed, for they do hit the mark and afford matter for serious
thought. Still there is no other thing but the actual enjoyment in love
whether for man or woman to prevent all regrets for the past time. And
for this cause the said honourable lady did give assignation to her
lover in a wood, whither oft times she would betake her to walk in a
very fair avenue, at the entrance whereof she did leave her women, and
so went forward to find him under a fine, spreading, shady chestnut.
For it was in summer-tide. “In the which retreat,” to go on with the
lady’s tale in her own words, “there is no doubt what life the twain
did lead for a space, and what a fine altar they did raise up to
the poor husband in the Temple of Ceraton (Temple of Horns), albeit
they were not in the island of Delos, the which fane was made all of
horns,—doubtless founded by some gay and gallant fellow of yore.”[108*]

This is the way the lady did make a mock of her husband, as well in her
writings as also in her pleasures and in very deed. Note well all she
saith, for her words do carry weight, being pronounced and writ down by
so clever and honourable a dame.

The Tale in truth is right excellent, and I would gladly have copied
the same and inserted it in this place. But alas! ’tis too long, for
the discourse and negotiations before coming to the end they did, are
finely expressed and eke lengthy. First she doth reproach her lover,
who was ever praising her extravagantly, how that ’twas the effect
rather of native and fresh passion in him than of any especial merit
in her, albeit she was one of the fairest and most honourable ladies
of the time. Then, for to combat this opinion, the lover must needs
give great proofs of his love, the which are right well specified and
depicted in the said Tale. Afterward, being now in accord, the pair
do exhibit all sorts of ruses, trickeries and love cajoleries, both
against the husband and against other folk,—all which be of a surety
very excellent and very wittily conceived.

I did beseech the lady to give me a copy of the Tale. This she did
very readily, and would have none copy it but herself, for fear of
indiscretion; the which copy I do hold as one of my most precious
possessions.

Now this lady was very right in assigning this virtue and good property
to cuckoldry. For before devoting herself to love, she was not clever
at all. But later, having once taken it in hand, she did become one of
the most witty and clever women in all France, as well in this province
as in others. And in truth she is by no means the only one I have seen
which hath got good training by the handling of love. For I have known
an host of dames which were most silly and awkward at their first
beginning; yet had the same not tarried a year at the school of Cupid
and his lady mother Venus before they came forth thereof right clever
and accomplished adepts in all ways. And for myself I have never yet
seen an harlot but was right clever and well able to hold her own.

Now will I ask yet this one question more,—in which season of the
year are the most cuckolds made, and which is the most meet for love,
and to shake the virtue of a woman, whether wife or maid? Without a
doubt common consent hath it there is never a time for this like the
Spring, the which doth awaken body and spirit, both put to sleep by
the wearisome, melancholic winter-tide. Seeing all birds and beasts
do rejoice at this season’s coming, and all betake them to love,
surely mankind, which have yet stronger feelings and promptings, will
experience the same even more, and womenfolk above all others,—an
opinion maintained by many philosophers and wise physicians. For truly
women do then entertain a greater heat and lovingness than at any
other season,—as I have heard sundry fair and honourable dames say,
and in especial a certain great lady, that did never miss, so sure
as Spring-tide came round, to be more touched and pricked of these
feelings than at any other period whatsoever. She was used to say she
did feel the fresh grass springing, and did crave after the same like
as mare and colts do, and she must needs taste thereof, or she should
grow pined and thin. And this she did, I do assure you, and at the
season did wax more lustful than ever. Thus three or four new intrigues
that I have seen her enter on in her life, all these she did commence
in Spring,—and not without reason; for of all the months in the year,
April and May be the most surely consecrated and devoted to Venus, at
the which times fair ladies do set them, more than afore, to pet their
bodies and deck them out daintily, to arrange their hair in wanton
wise and don light raiment. And it may well be said how that these new
changes in dress and ways do all aim at one and the same thing, to wit
lasciviousness, and to people the earth with cuckoos a-walking about
thereon, to match the winged ones that the air of heaven doth produce
in these same months of April and May.

Further, ’tis not to be supposed but that fair dames, maids and widows
alike, whenas they do behold in their walks abroad in their forests and
woods, their warrens, parks, meadows, gardens, shrubberies and other
pleasaunces, beasts and birds all a-making love together and sporting
in wanton wise, should feel strange prickings in their flesh, which do
make them fain to apply instant remedy for the smart. And this is just
one of the persuasive and moving things that a many lovers are wont
to say one to the other, when they see their mates lacking heat and
flame and zest; for then do they upbraid them, pointing to the example
of beasts and birds, the which whether wild or tame, as sparrows and
house-pigeons, are ever at some wanton sport, ever engendering and
conceiving, all nature at the work of reproduction, down to the very
trees and plants. Now this is what a fair Spanish lady found one day
to say to a cavalier who was over cold or over respectful: _Sa, gentil
cavallero, mira como los amores de todas suertes se tratan y triumfan
en este verano, y V. S. quada flaco y abatido_, that is to say, “See,
Sir cavalier, how every sort of love doth prevail and triumph in this
Spring-time; yet all the while you are slack and crest-fallen.”

Spring-time ended doth give place to Summer, which cometh after,
bringing its hot days with it. And seeing one heat doth provoke
another, fair dames do thereby double theirs; and truly no refreshment
can so well assuage the same as a _bain chaud et trouble de sperme
venerig_. ’Tis in no wise contrary to sense for an ill to be medicined
by its contrary, as like is medicined by like. For albeit a woman
should bathe her every day, and every day plunge in the clearest
fountain of a whole countryside, yet do this naught avail, nor yet
the lightest garments ever she can don, for to give her refreshing
coolness, though she tuck them up as short as she please, without
ever a petticoat, as many do in hot weather.[109*] And this is just
the worst of it; for in such costume are they drawn to look at
themselves, and take delight in their own beauty, and pore over their
own charms in the fair sunlight, and thus beholding their bodies so
fair, white, smooth, plump and in good case, do of a sudden feel the
heat of concupiscence and sore temptation. But indeed of such martyrs
of continence mighty few have ever been known; and silly fools would
they have been, had it been otherwise. And so they lie there in their
fine beds, unable to endure coverlet or sheet, but tucking up their
very shifts to display themselves half naked; then at daybreak, as the
rising sun doth shine in on them and they come to contemplate their
bodies more closely still and at their ease on all sides and in every
part, they grow exceeding fain after their lovers and fondly wait
their coming. And so, should these by any hap arrive at this moment,
lo! they are right welcome, and very soon clipped in their arms and
close embraced. “For then,” say they, “is the very best embracement and
enjoyment of any hour of day or night.”

None the less is there an old proverb which saith: “June and July,
mouth wet and body dry;” and to these may be added the month of August
likewise. The same is true also of men, who are in a parlous state
when they do get overheated at these seasons, and in especial when the
dog-star is in the ascendant,—a thing they should beware of. But if
they _will_ burn at their own candle, well! so much the worse for them!
Women run no such risk, for that every month, and every season, every
time and every planet, are good for them.

Then again the good summer fruits appear, that seem as if they must
refresh these worthy dames. Some I have noted to eat little of these,
others much. Yet for all this, scarce any change is seen in their heat,
whether they eat much or little, whether they refrain altogether or
eat thereof freely. For the worst of it is that, if there be sundry
fruits which have power to refresh, there are many others that have
just as powerful a heating effect,—to the which the ladies do most
often resort, as also to sundry simples that be of their nature good
and pleasant to eat in soups and salads, as for example asparagus,
artichokes, morels, truffles, mushrooms, and pumpkins. Then there be
sundry newfangled viands which the cooks, at their orders, do well know
how to contrive and accommodate at once to their gourmandise and their
wanton desires, and which doctors likewise are cunning in ordering
them. But if only some wise gallant, expert in these mysteries, would
undertake to complete this poor account of mine, he might well fulfil
the task far better than I can.

After all these fine dainties, look to yourselves, that’s all, poor
lovers and husbands! Verily if you be not well prepared, you are very
like to be disgraced, and find the fair ones have left you for pastures
new.

Nor is this all; for to these new fruits, and herbs of garden and
field, must be added great rich pasties, an invention of late times,
compounded of great store of pistachio nuts, pine-seeds and other
inflammatory drugs of the apothecary’s store, the which Summer doth
produce and give in greater abundance than Winter and the other
seasons. Moreover in Summer time is there usually a greater slaughter
of cockerels and young cocks; whereas in Winter ’tis rather the grown
birds, that are not so good or so fitting for this as the young ones,
these last being hotter, more ardent and more wanton than the other
sort. Here is one, amongst many, of the good pleasures and conveniences
that Summer-tide doth afford for lovers.

Now these pasties compounded in this wise of dainty trifles, of young
cocks and the tips of artichokes and truffles, or other heating viands,
are much used by many ladies, by what I hear said. And these same
ladies, when they are eating thereof and a-fishing in the platter,
putting their hand into the mess or plunging a fork therein, will
bring out and clap in their mouth now an artichoke or a truffle, now
a pistachio-nut or a cockscomb or other morsel, and at any of these
will cry out with a look of sad disappointment, “Bah! a blank.” But
when they come across one of the dear cock’s crests, and find these
under their teeth, lo! they do exclaim, “A prize, by’r lady!” and laugh
gaily. ’Tis like at the lottery in Italy; and a man might deem they
had drawn a real prize and won some rich and precious jewel.

Well! they surely owe good thanks to these same good little cockerels,
which Summer doth produce,—as doth the first half of Autumn likewise,
the which season I put along with Summer. The same time of each year
doth give us many other sorts of fruits and small fowl that are an
hundred times more hot than those of Winter-tide or the second half
of Autumn, the near neighbour of chill Winter. True this is reckoned
part of the season of Autumn; yet can we not gather therein all these
excellent simples at their best nor aught else as in the hot time of
the year. Yet doth Winter ever endeavour to supply what it may,—for
instance those good thistles which do engender an excellent heat
and concupiscence, whether raw or cooked, including the little hot
field thistles, on the which asses live and thrive and are vigorous
love-makers. These Summer doth harden and dry up, whereas Winter doth
make the same tender and delicate. Exceeding good salads are made of
these,—a new invented delicacy.

Furthermore, and beside all these things, so many other serviceable
drugs are sought out by apothecaries, dealers and perfumers, that
naught is overlooked, whether for these same pasties or for soups. And
of a surety good justification may be found by women for this keeping
up and maintaining of the heat in Winter time all ever they can. “For,”
say they, “just as we are careful to maintain the heat of the outside
of the body by heavy clothing and thick furs, why shall we not do the
same for the inside?” The men say on their side, “Nay! what availeth
it thus to add heat to heat, like putting silk on silk, contrary to
the Canons, seeing of their own selves they be hot enough already,
and that at whatsoever hour we are fain to assail them, they be always
ready by their natural complexion, without resort to any artificial aid
at all?” What would you have? Mayhap ’tis that they fear their hot and
boiling blood will lose strength and ebb in their veins, and grow chill
and icy, and if it be not kept hot, like that of an hermit that liveth
on roots alone.

Well! well! let them have their way. ’Tis all good for merry gallants;
for women being so constantly in ardour, at the smallest assailment
of love upon them, lo! they are taken at once, and the poor husbands
cuckold and horned like satyrs! Nay! sometimes they will go still
further, these worthy dames, for that they do sometimes share their
good pasties, broths and soups with their lovers out of compassion, to
the end these may be more doughty and not find themselves overexhausted
when it cometh to work, and so themselves may enjoy more exciting and
abundant pleasure. Likewise will they give them receipts to have dishes
compounded privately in their own kitchens. But herein have some been
sore deceived and disappointed. Thus a certain gallant gentleman I
have heard tell of, having in this wise taken his special soup and
coming all cock-a-whoop to accost his mistress, did threat her how
that he would give it her soundly, telling her he had taken his soup
and eat his pasty. She did merely answer him, “Well! you shall prove
your worth; at present I know naught about it.” Presently, when they
were now in each other’s arms and at work, these dainties did but serve
him poorly. Whereon the lady did declare that either his cook had
compounded them ill, or had been niggardly of the drugs and ingredients
needed, or else he had not made all due preparation before taking his
sovran medicine, or mayhap his body was for that while ill disposed to
take it and feel the proper effects thereof. Thus did she make mock of
the poor man.

Still ’tis to be remembered all simples and all drugs, all viands and
all medicines, are not suitable for all alike. With some they will
operate, while others do but draw blank. Moreover I have known women
which, eating of these viands, when ’twas cast up to them how they
would surely by this means have extraordinary and excessive enjoyment,
could yet declare, and affirm the same on oath, that such diet did
never cause them any temptation of any sort whatever. But God wot, they
must herein surely have been playing the pretended prude!

Now as to the claims of Winter, ladies that do champion this season,
maintain that for soups and hot viands, they do know as good receipts
for to make these every whit as good in Winter time as at any other
part of the year. They do possess ample experience, and do declare
this season very meet for love-making. True it is Winter is dim and
dark, close, quiet, retired and secret, yet so must love be, and be
performed in secret, in some retired and darkling spot,—whether in a
closet apart, or in a chimney corner near a good fire, the which doth
engender, by keeping close thereto and for a considerable while, as
much good heat as ever the Summer can provoke. Then how it is in the
dimly lit space betwixt bed and wall, where the eyes of the company,
provided they be near the fire a-warming of themselves, do but hardly
penetrate, or else seated on chests or beds in remote corners, so to
enjoy dalliance. For seeing man and maid pressing the one to the other,
folk deem ’tis but because of the cold and to keep them warm. Yet in
this wise are fine things done, when the lights are far withdrawn on a
distant table or sideboard.

Besides, which is best, Summer or Winter, when one is in bed? ’Tis the
greatest delight in all the world for lovers, man and maid, to cling
together and kiss close, to entwine one with other, for fear of the
nipping cold, and this not for a brief space but for a long while, and
so right pleasantly warm each other,—all this without feeling aught
at all of the excessive heat Summer doth provoke, and that extreme of
sweating that doth sore hinder the carrying out of love. For truly
in Summer time, instead of embracing tight and pressing together and
squeezing close, a pair must needs hold loosely and much apart. Then
Winter is best in this, say the ladies, according to the doctors: men
are more meet for love, more ardent and devoted thereto, in Winter than
in Summer.

I knew once in former days a very great Princess, who was possessed
of much wit, and both spake and wrote better than most. One day she
did set herself to compose verses in favour and praise of Winter, and
the meetness of that season for love. By this we may conceive herself
had found it highly favourable and fitting for the same. These stanzas
were very well composed, and I had them long preserved in my study.
Would I had valued them more, and could find them now, to give the same
here, to the end men might read therein and mark the great merits of
Wintertide and the good properties and meetness for love of that season.

I knew another very high-born lady, and one of the fairest women in
all the world, which being new widowed, and making pretence she cared
not, in view of her new weeds and state of widowhood, to go of evenings
after supper either to visit the Court, or the dance, or the Queen’s
_couchée_, and was fain not to seem worldly-minded, did never leave
her chamber, but suffering all and sundry of her attendants, male and
female, to hie them to the dance, and her son and every soul about
her, or even actually sending them thither, would retire to her secret
chamber. And thither her lover of old, well treated, loved and favoured
of her in her married life, would presently arrive. Or else, having
supped with her, he would stay on and never leave her, sitting out a
certain brother-in-law, who was much by way of guarding the fair lady
from ill. So there would they practise and renew their former loves,
and indulge in new ones preparatory to a second wedlock, the which was
duly accomplished the following Summer. Well! by all I can see after
duly considering the circumstances, I do believe no other season could
have been so favourable for their projects as Winter was, as indeed I
did overhear one of her dainty, intriguing maids also declare.

So now, to draw to an end, I do maintain and declare: that all seasons
be meet for love, when they be chosen suitably, and so as to accord
with the caprice of the men and women which do adopt the same. For
just as War, that is Mars’ pastime, is made at all seasons and times,
and just as the God doth give his victories as it pleaseth him, and
according as he doth find his fighting men well armed and of good
spirit to offer battle, so doth Venus in like wise, according as she
doth find her bands of lovers, men and maids, well disposed for the
fray. Indeed the seasons have scarce aught to do therewith, and which
of them is taken and which chosen doth make but little difference. Nor
yet do their simples, or fruits, their drugs, or drug-dealers, nor any
artifice or device that women do resort to, much avail them, whether to
augment their heat, or to refresh and cool the same.

For indeed, as to this last, I do know a great lady, whose mother,
from her childhood up, seeing her of a complexion so hot and lecherous
that it was like to take her one fine day straight on the road to the
brothel, did make her use sorrel-juice constantly by the space of
thirty years regularly at all her meals, whether with her meat or in
her soups and broths, or to drink great two-handled bowls full thereof
unmixed with other viands; in one word every sauce she did taste was
sorrel-juice, sorrel-juice, everlastingly. Yet were these mysterious
and cooling devices all in vain, for she ended by becoming a right
famous and most arrant harlot,—one that had never need of those pasties
I have spoke of above to give her heat of body, seeing she had enough
and to spare of her own. Yet is this lady as greedy as any to eat of
these same dishes!

Well! I must needs make an end, albeit I could have said much more
and alleged many more good reasons and instances. But we must not be
for ever gnawing contentedly at the same bone; and I would fain hand
over my pen to another and better writer than myself, to argue out the
merits of the divers seasons. I will only name the wish and longing a
worthy Spanish dame did once express. The same did wish and desire it
to be Winter when her love time should be, and her lover a fire, to
the end that when she should come to warm herself at him and be rid of
the bitter cold she should feel, he might enjoy the delight of warming
her, and she of absorbing his heat as she did get warm. Moreover she
would so have opportunity of displaying and exposing herself to him
often and at her ease, that he might enjoy the sight of her lovely
limbs hid before under her linen and skirts, as to warm herself the
more thoroughly, and keep up her other, internal, fire and heat of
concupiscence.

Next she did wish for Spring to come, and her lover to be a garden full
of flowers, with the which she might deck her head and her beautiful
throat and bosom, yea! and roll her lovely body among them between the
sheets.

Likewise she did oftimes wish it to be Summer, and her lover a clear
fountain or glittering stream, for to receive her in his fair, fresh
waters, when she should go to bathe therein and take sport, and so
fully and completely to let him see, touch over and over again, each of
her lovely, wanton limbs.

Finally she did desire it to be Autumn, for him to return once more
to his proper shape, and she to be a woman and her lover a man, that
both might in that season have wit, sense and reason to contemplate
and remember over all the by-gone happiness, and so live in these
delightsome memories and reveries of the past, and inquire and
discourse betwixt them which season had been most meet and pleasant for
their loves.

In such wise was this lady used to apportion and adjudge the seasons.
Wherein I do refer me to the decision of better informed writers than
myself to say which of the four was like to be in its qualities most
delightful and agreeable to the twain.

* * * * *

Now for good and all I do make an end of this present subject. If
any will know further thereof and learn more of the divers humours
of cuckolds, let him study an old song which was made at Court some
fifteen or sixteen years agone, concerning cuckolds, whereof this is
the burden:

Un cocu meine l’autre, et tousjours sont en peine;
Un cocu meine l’autre.

(One cuckoo maketh many, and all are in sorry case;
one cuckoo many maketh.)

I beg all honourable ladies which shall read any of my tales in this
chapter, if byhap they do pay any heed to the same, to forgive me
and if they be somewhat highly spiced, for that I could scarce have
disguised them in more modest fashion, seeing the sauce such must needs
have. And I will say further I could well have cited others still more
extravagant and diverting, were it not that, finding it impossible to
cover the same with any veil of decent modesty, I was afeared to offend
such honourable ladies as shall be at the pains and do me the honour to
read my books. Now will I add but one thing further, to wit, that these
tales which I have here set down are no petty stories of market-town
and village gossip, but do come from high and worthy sources, and deal
not with common and humble personages. I have cared not to have aught
to do but only with great and high subjects, albeit I have dealt with
such discreetly; and as I name no names, I think I have well avoided
all scandal and cause of offence.

Femmes, qui transformez vos marys en oyseaux,
Ne vous en lassez point, la forme en est très-belle;
Car, si vous les laissez en leurs premières peaux,
Ilz voudront vous tenir toujours en curatelle,
Et comme hommes voudront user de leur puissance;
Au lieu qu’estant oyseaux, ne vous feront d’offense.

(Ladies fair, which do transform your husbands into birds, weary not
of the task, the shape they so take is a right convenient one. For if
you do leave them in their first skins, they will for ever keep you
under watch and ward, and manlike will fain to use their power over
you; whereas being birds, they will do you no offence.)

Another Song:

Ceux qui voudront blasmer les femmes amiables
Qui font secrètement leurs bons marys cornards,
Les blasment à grand tort, et ne sont que bavards;
Car elles font l’aumosne et sont fort charitables.
En gardant bien la loy à l’aumosne donner,
Ne faut en hypocrit la trompette sonner.

(They that will be blaming well meaning wives which do in secret
give their husbands horns, these do much wrong by their reproaches,
and are but vain babblers; for indeed such dames are but giving alms
and showing good charity. They do well observe the Christian law of
almsgiving,—never, like the hypocrites, sound the trumpet to proclaim
your good deeds!)

An old Rhyme on the Game of Love,—found by the Author among some old
papers:

Le jeu d’amours, où jeunesse s’esbat,
A un tablier se peut accomparer.
Sur un tablier les dames on abat;
Puis il convient le trictrac préparer,
Et en celui ne faut que se parer.
Plusieurs font Jean. N’est-ce pas jeu honneste,
Qui par nature un joueur admoneste
Passer le temps de cœur joyeusement?
Mais en défaut de trouver la raye nette,
Il s’en ensuit un grand jeu de torment.

(The game of love, whereat youth takes its delight, may be likened
to a chess-board. On a chess-board we lay down the pieces,—_dames_,
ladies; then ’tis the time to marshal our men, and herein we have but
to make the best game we can. Many play the masterful king; and is it
not merely fair play, and an abomination of dame Nature, that a man
should make his game in hearty, joyous wise? But should he fail to
find a sound queen (quean), why! his game is like to end in woeful
pain and sorrow.[110])

[Illustration: Decorative scrollwork above chapter start]

SECOND DISCOURSE

On the question which doth give the more content in
love, whether touching, seeing or speaking.

INTRODUCTION

This is a question as concerning love that might well deserve a more
profound and deeper writer to solve than I, to wit: which doth afford
the more contentment in the fruition of love, whether contact or
attouchment, speech, or sight. Mr. Pasquier,[111] a great authority of
a surety in jurisprudence the which is his especial profession, as well
as in the polite and humane sciences, doth give a disquisition thereon
in his letters, the which he hath left us in writing. Yet hath he been
by far too brief, and seeing how distinguished a man he is, he should
not in this matter have shown himself so niggard of his wise words as
he hath been. For if only he had seen good to enlarge somewhat thereon,
and frankly to declare what he might well have told us, his letter
which he hath indited on this point had been an hundred times more
delightsome and agreeable.

He doth base his main discourse on sundry ancient rhymes of the Comte
Thibaut de Champagne,[111] the which verses I have never set eyes
on, save only the small fragment that M. Pasquier doth quote in his
letter. This same good and gallant Knight of yore doth, I conceive,
write exceeding well,—not certainly in such good set terms as do our
gallant poets of to-day, but still with excellent good sense and sound
reason. Moreover he had a right beauteous and worthy subject, to wit
the fair Queen Blanche of Castille, mother of Saint-Louis, of whom he
was not little enamoured, but indeed most deeply, and had taken her
for his mistress. But in this what blame or what reproach for the said
Queen? Though she had been the most prudent and virtuous of women, yet
could she in any wise hinder the world from loving her and burning at
the fire of her beauty and high qualities, seeing it is the nature of
all merit and high perfection to provoke love? The whole secret is not
to yield blindly to the will of the lover.

This is why we must not deem it strange, or blame this fair Queen,
if that she was too fondly loved, and that during her reign and
sovereignty there did prevail in France sore divisions and seditions
and much civil strife. For, as I have heard said by a very great
personage, seditions be oft stirred up as much for intrigues of love
as by embroilments of State; and in the days of our fathers was
current an old saw, which said that: All the world went mad after the
merry-hearted Queen.

I know not for sure of which Queen this word was said; but it may well
be ’twas pronounced by this same Comte Thibaut, who very like, either
because he was treated ill of her as concerning that he was fain of, or
that his love was scorned altogether, or another preferred before him,
did conceive in his heart such a disgust and discontent as did urge him
to his ruin in the wars and troubles of the time. So doth it often
fall out when a fair and high-born Queen or Princess or great lady doth
set her to govern a State, that every man doth love to serve her, and
to honour and pay respect to her, as well for the good happiness of
being agreeable to her and high in her favour, as to the end he may
boast him of governing and ruling the State along with her, and drawing
profit therefrom. I could allege many examples, but I had liever
refrain.[112*]

Be this as it may, this Comte Thibaut did find inducement in the fair
subject I have named to write excellent verses, and mayhap to pose the
question which M. Pasquier doth cite for us. To this latter I do refer
the curious reader, and do say naught here of rhymes good or ill; for
’twould be pure waste of words so to do. ’Twill be enough for me at
this present to declare what I think thereanent, whether of mine own
judgment or of that of other more experienced lovers than I.

OF THE SENSE OF TOUCH IN LOVE

Now as to touch, it must be allowed that touching is very delightsome,
for that the perfection of love is to enjoy the delight thereof, and
the said enjoyment cannot be had without touching. For even as hunger
and thirst can in no wise be assuaged or appeased except by eating and
drinking, so too doth not love pass by dint either of seeing or hearing
only, but by touching, kissing and the practice of Venus’ rites. To
this did that witty coxcomb Diogenes the Cynic allude facetiously, yet
somewhat nastily, when he said he only wished he could relieve his
hunger by rubbing his belly, even as _frottant la verge_ he did appease
the paroxysm of desire. I would fain have put this in plainer words,
but ’tis a thing must needs be passed over trippingly. He was something
like that lover of Lamia,[113*] who having been too extravagantly
fleeced by her to be able to enjoy her love any more, could not or
would not consent to lose the pleasure of her. Wherefore he did devise
this plan: he would think of her, and so thinking corrupt himself, and
in this fashion enjoy her in imagination. But she hearing of this, did
summon him before the Judge to render her satisfaction and payment for
his enjoyment. Whereupon the Judge did order that he should but _show_
her the money, whose sound and tinkle would be payment enough, and she
would so enjoy the gold in imagination just as the other in dreams and
fancy had had the gratification of _his_ desire.

True, many other sorts of love may be alleged against what I say, the
which the old philosophers do feign; but for these I do refer me to
these same philosophers and the like subtle persons who will fain be
discussing such points. In any case forasmuch as the fruit of mere
earthly love is no other thing but enjoyment thereof, it must needs be
deemed to be rightly attained only by dint of touching and kissing. So
likewise have many held this pleasure to be but thin and poor, apart
from seeing and speaking; whereof we have a good example in the _Cent
Nouvelles_ of the Queen of Navarre. An honourable gentleman, having
several separate times enjoyed the favours of a certain honourable
lady, at night time and disguised with a small hand-mask, (for regular
masks as now used were not yet employed), in a dark, ill-lighted
gallery or passage, albeit he was right well assured by the sense of
touch there was nothing here but what was good, tasty and exquisite,
yet was not content, but was fain to know with whom he had to do.
Wherefore one day as he was a-kissing her and did hold her in his
arms, he did make a mark with chalk on the back of her gown, which
was of black velvet; and then in the evening after supper, (for their
assignations were at a certain fixed hour), as the ladies were coming
into the ball-room, he did place himself behind the door. Thus noting
them attentively as they passed in, he saw his own fair one enter with
the chalk mark on her shoulder; and lo! it was such an one as he would
never have dreamed of, for in mien and face and words she might have
been taken for the very Wisdom of Solomon, and by that name the Queen
was wont to describe her.

Who then was thunderstruck? Who but the gentleman, by reason of his
great good fortune, thus loved of a woman which he had deemed least
like so to yield of all the ladies of the Court? True it is he was fain
to go further, and not stop at this; for he did much desire to discover
all, and know wherefore she was so set on hiding herself from him,
and would lief have herself thus served under cover and by stealth.
But she, crafty and wily as she was, did deny and re-deny everything,
to the renunciation of her share in Paradise and the damnation of her
immortal soul,—as is the way of women, when we will throw in their
faces love secrets they had rather not have known, albeit we be certain
of the fact, and they be otherwise most truthtelling.

She grew angry at his persistence; and in this way did the gentleman
lose his good fortune. For good it was of a surety, seeing the lady
was a great lady and well worth winning. Moreover as she was for
playing the sugared, chaste, demure prude, herein he might well have
found double pleasure,—part for the sensual enjoyment of so sweet,
good and delicate a morsel, part that of gazing at her oft times in
company, with her demure, coy mien, her cold and modest look and her
conversation all chaste, strict and precise, thinking the while in his
own mind of her wanton ways, her gay abandonment and naughtiness whenas
they two were alone together.

Thus we see the said gentleman was much at fault to have asked her any
questions. Rather should he have steadily pursued his pleasure and
eaten his meat in quiet, just as tasty without candle at all as if
illuminated by all the lights of a festal chamber. Still he had a right
to know who she was! and in a way his inquisitiveness was praiseworthy,
seeing, as the Tale doth declare, he was afeared he had to do with some
kind of demon. For devils of the sort love to change shape and take the
form of women for to have intercourse with men, and do so deceive them
sore. However, as I have heard sundry skilled in magic arts declare,
such do find it more easy to take on the shape and countenance of a
woman than to imitate her speech.

And this is why the said gentleman was right in wishing to see and
know with whom he had to do; and by what he said himself, ’twas her
refraining altogether from speech that did cause him more apprehension
than what he saw, and did set him on thinking of the Devil. And herein
he but showed a proper fear of God.

But surely, after having discovered all the truth, he should have said
never a word. But, nay! another will say to this, friendship and love
be not perfect but when openly declared of heart and mouth; and for
this cause the gentleman would fain have told her his passion. Anyhow
he did gain naught thereby; but rather lost all. Moreover by any who
had known the real honour of this gentleman, he will be excused, for
he was in no wise so cold or so discreet as naturally to play this
game and display such overcaution; and by what I have heard my mother
say, which was in the service of the Queen of Navarre, and did know
sundry secrets concerning the _Nouvelles_, and was one of the devisers
of this work, the hero of the Tale was my own uncle, the late M. de la
Chastaigneraie, a man of a rough, ready and somewhat fickle disposition.

The Tale is so disguised however as to carefully hide who it was; for
in reality the said mine Uncle was never in the service of the great
Princess, the mistress of the lady in question, though he was in that
of the King, her brother. And so he did continue, for he was much loved
both of the King and the Princess. As for the lady, I will by no means
tell her name; but she was a widow and lady-in-waiting to a very great
Princess, and one that was better at showing the part of a prude than
of a Court lady.

I have heard tell of another Court lady under our late Sovereigns, and
one I do know by acquaintance, who being enamoured of a very honourable
gentleman of the Court, was fain to imitate the way of love adopted by
the aforenamed lady. But every time she did return from her assignation
and rendez-vous, she would betake her to her chamber and there have
herself examined by one of her maids or chamberwomen on all sides, to
make sure she was not marked; by the which means she did guard herself
from being discovered and recognized. Nor was she ever marked until
the ninth time of meeting, when the mark was at once discovered and
noted by her women. Wherefore, for dread of being brought to shame
and falling into disgrace, she did break it all off, and never after
returned to the tryst.

It had been better worth her while, it may be suggested, to have let
her lover make these marks at his good pleasure, and then, directly
they were made, have unmade and rubbed out the same. In this way she
would have had double pleasure,—first of the amorous delight enjoyed,
and secondly that of making mock of her man, who was so keen to
discover his philosopher’s stone, to wit to find out and recognize her,
yet could never succeed.

I have heard tell of another in the days of King Francis in connection
with that handsome Squire, Gruffy by name, which was a squire of the
Stable under the said King, and died at Naples in the suite of M. de
Lantric on his journey thither. The dame in question was a very great
lady of the Court and did fall deep in love with him; for indeed he
was exceedingly handsome, and was commonly known by no other title
than _the handsome Gruffy_. I have seen the man’s portrait, which doth
certainly show him to have been so.[114*]

She did secretly summon one day her valet of the chamber, in whom she
had trust, but yet a man unknown to most by sight, into her closet.
This man she did charge to go tell Gruffy, the messenger being
handsomely dressed to seem to be one of her gentlemen, that a very
honourable and fair lady did send him greeting, and that she was so
smit with love for him she did greatly desire his acquaintance,—more
than that of any man at court. Yet must it be under this condition
that for nothing in all the wide world must he see her or discover who
she was. But at the hour of retiring, and when every member of the
Court should be abed, he would come for him and meet him at a certain
spot he would indicate, and from whence he would lead him to the
chamber of his lady. However there was yet a further condition, to wit
that he was to muffle his eyes in a fair white kerchief, like a trumpet
led into an enemy’s city at a truce, to the end he might not see nor
recognize the place and chamber wither he was to lead him, and that he
was to hold him by the hands all the time to hinder him from undoing
the said kerchief. For such were the conditions his mistress had
ordered him to offer, to the end she might not be known of him before a
certain fixed and given time which he did name and appoint to him. All
which being so, he was to ponder it over and decide at leisure whether
he would agree to the said conditions, and was to let the messenger
know his answer the next day. For he said he would come for him then
at a certain place he did name; but above all he must be alone. And
he said he would take him on so good an errand he would never regret
having gone on the same.

Truly an agreeable assignation, but conjoined with strange conditions!
I like no less that of a Spanish lady, which did summon one to a
meeting, but with the charge he should bring with him thither three
S.S.S.,[115*] which were to signify _sabio_, _solo_, _segreto_,
“prudent, alone and secret.” The other did assure her he would come,
but that she should adorn and furnish herself with three F.F.F., that
is she must not be _fea_, _flaca_ nor _fria_, “ill-favoured, slack nor
cold.”

To return to Gruffy’s story,—the go-between now left him, having
delivered his message. Who so embarrassed and full of thought as he?
Indeed, he had much cause for thought, whether it were not a trick
played him by some enemy at Court, to bring him into trouble,—his death
mayhap or at least the King’s displeasure. He pondered too what lady it
could be, tall, short or of middle stature, well or ill favoured,—which
last did most trouble him, though truly all cats be grey at night time,
they say, and all spots alike in the dark. However, after confiding
the matter to one of his intimate comrades, he did resolve to try
the risk, deeming that to win the love of a great lady, which he did
conclude her to be, he must suffer no fear or apprehension to stay him.
Wherefore the next night, when the King, the Queen and her ladies,
all the gentlemen and ladies of the Court, were retired to bed, he
made no fail to be at the spot the messenger had appointed him. The
latter in likewise soon came for him there with a companion to help
him keep guard, if the other were followed neither by page, lackey nor
gentleman. The instant he saw him, he said this only, “Come, Sir! the
lady waits you.” Then in a moment he bound his eyes, and did conduct
him through dark, narrow places and unknown passages, in such wise that
the other told him frankly he had no notion whither he was taking him.
Thus did he introduce him to the lady’s chamber, which was so dim and
dark he could see or distinguish naught therein, no more than in an
oven.

Well, there he did find the lady smelling right sweet and richly
perfumed, the which made him hope for some dainty treat. Whereupon
the valet did straightway make him disrobe, and himself aided him;
and next led him by the hand, after taking off the kerchief from his
face, to the lady’s bed, who was awaiting him with right good will.
Then did he lay himself down beside her, and began to caress her, in
the which he found naught but what was good and delicious, as well her
skin as her linen and magnificent bed, which he did explore with his
hands. So with right merry cheer did he spend his night with the fair
lady. I have heard her name, but will not repeat it. In a word he was
well and thoroughly satisfied at all points; and recognized how he was
excellently well lodged for the night. The only thing that troubled
him, he said, was that he could never draw one single word out of her.
She took good heed of this, seeing he was used oft times to speak with
her by day, as with other Court ladies, and so would have known her
voice directly. Yet at the same time, of frolickings and fondlings,
handlings and caresses, and every sort of love shows and wantonness,
she was most lavish; and he did find his entertainment much to his mind.

Next morning at break of day the messenger did not fail to come and
wake him, make him get up, and dress him, then bind eyes as before,
lead him back to the spot whence he had taken him, and commend him to
God till his next return, which he promised should be soon. Nor did
he omit to ask him if he had lied at all, and if he were not glad to
have trusted him, and whether he thought he had showed himself a good
quartermaster, and had found him good harbourage.

The handsome Gruffy, after thanking him an hundred times, bade him
farewell, saying he would always be ready to come back again for
such good entertainment, and would be very willing to return when he
pleased. This did he, and the merry doings continued a whole month,
at the end of which time it behoved Gruffy to depart on his Naples
journey. So he took leave of his mistress and bade her adieu with much
regret, yet without drawing one single word from her lips, but only
sighs and the tears which he did note to flow from her eyes. The end
was he did finally leave her without in the least recognizing her or
discovering who she was.

Since then ’tis said this lady did practice the same way of life with
two or three others in similar fashion, in this manner taking her
enjoyment. And some declared she was fain to adopt this crafty device,
because that she was very niggardly, and in this wise did spare her
substance, and was not liable to make gifts to her lovers. For in
truth is every great lady bound by her honour to give, be it much or
little, whether money or rings or jewels or it may be richly wrought
favours. In this way the gallant dame was able to afford her person
disport, yet spare her purse, merely by never revealing who she was;
and by this means could incur no reproof in relation to either of her
purses, whether the natural or the artificial, as she did never let her
identity be known. A sorry humour truly for a high-born dame to indulge!

Some will doubtless find her method good, while others will blame her,
and others again deem her a very astute person. Certain folk will
esteem her an excellent manager and a wise, but for myself I do refer
me to others better qualified to form a good judgement thereon than
I. At any rate she can in no wise incur such severe censure as that
notorious Queen which did dwell in the Hôtel de Nesle at Paris.[116]
This wicked woman did keep watch on the passers-by, and such as liked
her for their looks and pleased her best, whatsoever sort of folk they
were, she would have summoned to her side. Then after having gotten of
them what she would, she did have them cast down from the Tower, the
which is yet standing, into the water beneath, and so drowned them.[117]

I cannot say for sure if this be a true tale. At any rate the common
folk, at least the most of them at Paris, do declare it is. And so
familiar is the tale, that if one but point to the Tower, and ask about
it, they will of their own accord recount the story.

Well, let us quit these unholy loves, which be nothing better than
sheer monstrosities. The better part of our ladies of to-day do abhor
such, as they are surely right to do, preferring to have free and frank
intercourse with their lovers and not to deal with them as though they
were of stone or marble. Rather, having well and carefully chosen them,
they know well how to be bravely and generously served and loved of
them. Then when they have thoroughly tried their fidelity and loyalty,
they do give themselves up to an ardent love with them, and take their
pleasure with the same not masked, nor silent, nor dumb, nor yet in
the darkness of night and mystery. Nay! but in the free and open light
of day they do suffer them to see, touch, taste and kiss their fair
bodies, entertaining them the while with fine, lecherous discourse,
merry, naughty words and wanton conversation. Yet sometimes will
they have recourse to masks; for there be ladies which are at times
constrained to wear them when a-doing of it, whether it be on account
of sun-burn they do so, for fear of spoiling their complexion, or for
other causes. Or they may use them to the end that, if they do get
too hot in the work, and are suddenly surprised, their red cheeks may
escape note, and the disorder of their countenances. I have known such
cases. But the mask doth hide all, and so they befool the world.

OF THE POWER OF SPEECH IN LOVE

I have heard many fair ladies and cavaliers which have practised love
declare how that, but for sight and speech, they had rather be like
brute beasts, that following a mere natural appetite of the senses,
have no thought of love or affection, but only to satisfy their sensual
rage and animal heat.

Likewise have I heard many lords and gallants which have lain with
high-born ladies say, that they have ever found these an hundred times
more lascivious and outspoken in words than common women and the like.
Herein do they show much art, seeing it is impossible for a man, be
he as vigorous as he may, to be always hard at the collar and in full
work. So when the lover cometh to lie still and relax his efforts,
he doth find it so pleasant and so appetizing whenas his lady doth
entertain him with naughty tales and words of wit and wantonness, that
Venus, no matter how soundly put to sleep for the time being, is of a
sudden waked up again. Nay! more, many ladies, conversing with their
lovers in company, whether in the apartments of Queens and Princesses
or elsewhere, will strangely lure them on, for that they will be saying
such lascivious and enticing words to them that both men and women will
be just as wanton as in a bed together. Yet all the while we that be
onlookers will deem their conversation to be of quite other matters.

This again is the reason why Mark Antony did so love Cleopatra and
preferred her before his own wife Octavia, who was an hundred times
more beautiful and lovable than the Egyptian Queen. But this Cleopatra
was mistress of such happy phrases and such witty conversation, with
such wanton ways and seductive graces, that Antony did forget all else
for love of her.

Plutarch doth assure us, speaking of sundry quips and tricks of tongue
she was used to make such pretty play withal, that Mark Antony, when
he would fain imitate her, was in his bearing (albeit he was only too
anxious to play the gallant lover) like naught so much as a common
soldier or rough man-at-arms, as compared with her and her brilliant
ways of talk.[118*]

Pliny doth relate a story of her which I think excellent, and so I will
repeat the same here in brief. One day, being in one of her wildest
moods, she was attired most enticingly and to great advantage, and
especially did wear on her head a garland of divers blossoms most
suitable to provoke wanton imaginings. Well, as they sat at table,
and Mark Antony was fain to drink, she did amuse him with pleasant
discourse, and meanwhile all the time she spake, she kept plucking out
one by one fair flowers from her garland (but they were really strewed
over every one with poisonous essences), and tossing the same from time
to time into the cup Antony held ready to drink from. Presently when
she had ended her discourse and Mark Antony was on the point of lifting
the goblet to his lips to drink, Cleopatra doth stay him suddenly with
her hand, and having stationed some slave or condemned criminal ready
to hand, she did call this fellow to her and made them give him the
draught Mark Antony was about to swallow. On drinking this he fell down
dead; and she turning to Antony, said, “And if I did not love you as I
do, I should e’en now have been rid of you; yea! and would gladly have
had it so, only that I see plainly I cannot live without you.” These
words and this device were well fitted to confirm Mark Antony in his
passion, and to make him even more submissive before his charmer’s feet.

In such ways did her cleverness of tongue serve Cleopatra, whom all the
Historians do describe as having been exceedingly ready of speech. Mark
Antony was used never to call her anything but “the Queen,” by way of
greater distinction. So he did write to Octavius Cæsar, previous to the
time when they were declared open enemies: “What hath changed you,” he
writes, “concerning my loving the Queen? She is my wife. Is it but now
I have begun the connection? You fondle Drusilla, Tortalé, Leontiphé
and a dozen others; what reck you on whom you do bestow your favour,
when the caprice seizeth you?”

In this letter Mark Antony was for extolling his own constancy, and
reproaching the other’s changeableness, for loving so many women at
once, while himself did love only the Queen. And I only wonder Octavius
did not love her too after Antony’s death. It may well be he had his
pleasure when he had her come alone to his chamber, and he there beheld
her beauty and heard her address him; or mayhap he found her not so
fair as he had thought, or scorned her for some other reason, and did
wish to make his triumph of her at Rome and show her in his public
procession. But this indignity she did forestall by her self-inflicted
death.

There can be no doubt, to return to our first point, that when a woman
is fain after love, or is once well engaged therein, no orator in all
the world can talk better than she. Consider how Sophonisba hath been
described to us by Livy, Appian and other writers, and how eloquent she
did show herself in Massinissa’s case, when she did come to him for
to win over and claim his love, and later again when it behooved to
swallowed the fatal poison. In short, every woman, to be well loved, is
bound to possess good powers of speech; and in very deed there be few
known which cannot speak well and have not words enough to move heaven
and earth, yea! though this were fast frozen in mid winter.

Above all must they have this gift which devote themselves to love. If
they can say naught, why! they be so savourless, the morsel they give
us hath neither taste nor flavour. Now when M. du Bellay, speaking of
his mistress and declaring her ways, in the words,

De la vertu je sçavois deviser,
Et je sçavois tellement éguiser,
Que rien qu’honneur ne sortait de ma bouche;
Sage au parler et folastre à la couche.

(Of virtue I knew how to discourse, and hold such fair language,
naught but honour did issue from my mouth; modest in speech, and
wanton a-bed.)

doth describe her as “modest in speech, and wanton a-bed,”[119] this
means of course in speaking before company and in general converse. Yet
when that she is alone and in private with her lover, every gallant
dame is ready enough to be free of her speech and to say what she
chooseth, the better to provoke his passion.

I have heard tales told by sundry that have enjoyed fair and high-born
ladies, or that have been curious to listen to such talking with
others a-bed, how that these were every whit as free and bold in
their discourse as any courtesans they had ever known. And this is a
noteworthy fact that, accustomed as they were so to entertain their
husbands or lovers with lecherous and wanton words, phrases and
discourse, and even freely to name the most secret parts of their
bodies, and this without any disguisement, yet when the same ladies
be set to polite converse, they do never go astray and not one of
all these naughty words doth ever issue from their lips. Well, we
can only say they are right well skilled in self-command and the art
of dissimulation; for no other thing is there which is so frisky and
tricksome as a lady’s tongue or an harlot’s.

So I once knew a very fair and honourable lady of the great world,
who one day discoursing with an honourable gentleman of the Court
concerning military events in the civil wars of the time, did say
to him: “I have heard say the King hath had every spot in all that
countryside broke down.” Now when she did say “every spot,” what she
meant to say was “every bridge” (pont);[120*] but, being just come from
her husband, or mayhap thinking of her lover, she still had the other
word fresh in her mouth. And this same slip of the tongue did mightily
stir up the gentleman for her. Another lady I knew, talking with a
certain great lady and one better born than herself, and praising and
extolling her beauty, did presently say thus to her, “Nay! Madam, what
I tell you, is not to _futter_ you,” meaning to say, _flatter_ you,
and did afterward correct herself. The fact is her mind was full of
futtering and such like.

In short, lively speech hath a very great efficacy in the game of love;
and where it is lacking, the pleasure is incomplete. So in very truth
a fair body, if it have not a fair mind to match, is more like a mere
image of itself or idol than a true human body. However fair it may
be, it must needs be seconded by a fair mind likewise, if it is to be
really loved; and if this be not so by nature, it must be so fashioned
by art.

The courtesans of Rome do make great mock of the gentlewomen of the
same city, which are not trained in witty speech like themselves, and
do say of them that _chiavano come cani, ma che sono quiete della bocca
come sassi_, that is, “they yield them like bitches, but are dumb of
mouth like sticks and stones.”[121*]

And this is why I have known many honourable gentlemen which have
declined the acquaintance of ladies, and very fair ladies I tell you,
because that they were simpletons, without soul, wit or conversation,
and have quitted them for good and all, saying they would as soon have
to do with a beautiful statue of fair white marble, like that Athenian
youth which did love a statue, and went so far as to take his pleasure
thereof. And for the same reason strangers that do travel in foreign
lands do seldom care to love foreign women, nor are at all apt to take
a fancy to them. For they understand not what they say, and their words
in no wise touch their hearts. I speak of course of such as know not
their language. And if they _do_ go with them, ’tis but to satisfy
nature, and quench the mere brute flame of lust, and then _andar in
barca_ (“away to the ship”), as said an Italian who had come ashore
one day at Marseilles on his way to Spain, and enquired a place where
women were to be found. He was directed to a spot where a wedding feast
was being held. So when a lady came up to accost him and engage him
in conversation, he said to her only, _V. S. mi perdona, non voglio
parlare, voglio solamente chiavare, e poi me n’andar in barca_,—“Pardon
me, Madam; I want not to talk, but only to do, and then away again to
the ship.”

A Frenchman doth find no great pleasure with a German, Swiss, Flemish,
English, Scotch, Slavonian, or other foreign woman, albeit she should
chatter with the best, if he understand her not. But he taketh great
delight with his French mistress, or with an Italian or Spanish woman,
for generally speaking the most part of Frenchmen of our day, at any
rate such as have seen the world a little, can speak or understand
these languages. And God wot, it matters not if he be skilled and
meet for love, for whosoever shall have to do with a Frenchwoman, an
Italian, Spanish or Greek, and she be quick of tongue, he must needs
frankly own he is fairly catched and conquered.

In former times this our French tongue was not so excellent and rich a
language as nowadays it is; whereas for many a long year the Italian,
Spanish and Greek have been so. And I will freely own I have scarce
ever seen a lady of these nations, if she have but practised a little
the profession of love, but hath a very good gift of speech. I do refer
me to them that have dealt with such women. Certain it is, a fair lady,
if endowed with fair and witty words, doth afford double contentment.

OF THE POWER OF SIGHT IN LOVE

_1_

To speak next of the power of sight. Without a doubt, seeing the eyes
be the first part to join combat in love, it must be allowed that
these do give a very great contentment, whenas they are the means to
our beholding something fair and rare in beauty. And by my faith! what
thing is there in all the world a man may see fairer than a fair woman,
whether clothed and handsomely tricked out, or naked? If clothed,
then ’tis only the face you see naked; but even so, when a fair body,
of a beauteous shape, with fine carriage and graceful port, stately
look and proud mien, is presented to our view in all its charms, what
fairer and more delightsome display can there be in all the world?
Then again, when you come to enjoy a fair lady, thus fully dressed and
magnificently attired, the desire and enjoyment of her are doubled,
albeit a man doth see only the face, while all the other parts of the
body are hid. For indeed ’tis a hard matter to enjoy a great lady
according to all the conveniences one might desire, unless it were in
a chamber apart at full leisure and in a secret place, to do what one
best liketh. So spied upon is such an one of all observers!

And this is why a certain great lady I have heard speak of, if ever she
did meet her lover conveniently, and out of sight of other folk and
fear of surprise, would always seize the occasion at once, to content
her wishes as promptly and shortly as ever she could. And indeed she
did say to him one day, “They were fools, those good ladies of former
days, which being fain of over refinement in their love pleasure, would
shut themselves up in their closets or other privy places, and there
would so draw out their sports and pastimes that presently they would
be discovered and their shame made public. Nowadays must we seize
opportunity whenever it cometh, with the briefest delay possible, like
a city no sooner assailed than invested and straightway captured. And
in this wise we do best avoid the chance of scandal.”

And I ween the lady was quite right; for such men as have practised
love, have ever held this a sound maxim that there is naught to be
compared with a woman in her clothes. Again when you reflect how a man
doth brave, rumple, squeeze and make light of his lady’s finery, and
how he doth work ruin and loss to the grand cloth of gold and web of
silver, to tinsel and silken stuffs, pearls and precious stones, ’tis
plain how his ardour and satisfaction be increased manifold,—far more
than with some simple shepherdess or other woman of like quality, be
she as fair as she may.

And why of yore was Venus found so fair and so desirable, if not that
with all her beauty she was alway gracefully attired likewise, and
generally scented, that she did ever smell sweet an hundred paces
away? For it hath ever been held of all how that perfumes be a great
incitement to love.

This is the reason why the Empresses and great dames of Rome did
make much usage of these perfumes, as do likewise our great ladies
of France,—and above all those of Spain and Italy, which from the
oldest times have been more curious and more exquisite in luxury than
Frenchwomen, as well in perfumes as in costumes and magnificent attire,
whereof the fair ones of France have since borrowed the patterns
and copied the dainty workmanship. Moreover the others, Italian and
Spanish, had learned the same from old models and ancient statues of
Roman ladies, the which are to be seen among sundry other antiquities
yet extant in Spain and Italy; the which, if any man will regard them
carefully, will be found very perfect in mode of hair-dressing and
fashion of robes, and very meet to incite love. On the contrary, at
this present day our ladies of France do surpass all others. ’Tis to
the Queen of Navarre[122] they do owe thanks for this great improvement.

Wherefore is it good and desirable to have to do with suchlike fair
ladies so well appointed, so richly tricked out and in such stately
wise. So have I heard many courtiers, my comrades, declare, as we did
discourse together on these matters,

_De sorte que j’ai ouï dire à aucuns courtisans, mes compagnons, ainsi
que nous devisions ensemble, qu’ils les aimaient mieux ainsi que
désacoutrées et couchées neus entre deux linceuls, et dans un lit le
plus enrichi de broderie que l’on sut faire._

_D’autres disaient qu’il n’y avait que le naturel, sans aucun fard ni
artifice, comme un grand prince que je sais, lequel pourtant faisait
coucher ses courtisanes ou dames dans des draps de taffetas noir bien
tendus, toutes nues, afin que leur blancheur et délicatesse de chair
parut bien mieux parmi ce noir et donnât plus d’ébat.[122]_

There can be no real doubt the fairest sight of any in the whole
world would be that of a beautiful woman, all complete and perfect
in her loveliness; but such an one is ill to find. Thus do we find
it recorded of Zeuxis, the famous painter, how that being asked by
sundry honourable ladies and damsels of his acquaintance to make
them a portrait of the fair Helen of Troy and depict her to them as
beautiful as folk say she was, he was loath to refuse their prayer.
But, before painting the portrait, he did gaze at them all and each
steadfastly, and choosing from one or the other whatever he did find in
each severally most beautiful, he did make out the portrait of these
fragments brought together and combined, and by this means did portray
Helen so beautiful no exception could be taken to any feature. This
portrait did stir the admiration of all, but above all of them which
had by their several beauties and separate features helped to create
the same no less than Zeuxis himself had with his brush. Now this
was as good as saying that in one Helen ’twas impossible to find all
perfections of beauty combined, albeit she may have been most exceeding
fair above all women.

Be this as it may, the Spaniard saith that to make a woman all perfect,
complete and absolute in loveliness, she must needs have thirty
several beauties,[123] the which a Spanish lady did once enumerate to
me at Toledo, a city where be very fair and charming women, and well
instructed to boot. The thirty then are as followeth:

(Translated, for the reader’s better comprehension:)
Three things white: skin, teeth and hands.
Three black: eyes, brows and lids.
Three red: lips, cheeks and nails.
Three long: body, hair and hands.
Three short: teeth, ears and feet.
Three wide: chest or bosom, forehead and space betwixt the eyes.
Three narrow: mouth (upper and lower), girth or waist, and ankle.
Three big and thick: arm, thigh and calf.
Three long and fine: fingers, hair and lips.
Three small and delicate: breasts, nose and head.

Making thirty in all.

’Tis not inconceivable nor impossible but that all these beauties
should be united all together in one and the same fair lady; but in
that case she must needs be framed in the mould of absolute perfection.
For indeed to see them all so combined, without there being a single
one to carp at and find at fault is scarce possible. I do refer me to
such as have seen beautiful women, or will see such anon, and who would
fain be heedful in noting the same and appraising them, what they shall
say of them. But though they be not complete and perfectly beautiful
in all these points, yet will a beautiful woman alway be beautiful,
and if she have but the half, and those the chief ones, of the parts
and features I have named. For truly I have seen many which had more
than the half, and were exceeding fair and very lovable. Just as a wood
seemeth ever beautiful in Spring-tide, even though it be not filled
with all the little pretty shrubs one might wish for. Yet are there
plenty of fine, tall, spreading trees, which by their abundance may
very well hide the lack of other smaller vegetation.

M. de Ronsard[124*] must pardon me, if he will. Never did his mistress,
whom he hath represented as so very beautiful, really attain such
perfection, nor any other lady he ever saw in his day or did describe.
He calleth her his fair Cassandra, and sure I am she _was_ fair, but
he hath disguised her under a fictitious name. And the same is equally
true of his Marie, who never bore other name but that, as it is of
the first mentioned. Still it is allowed to poets and painters to say
and do what pleaseth them,—for instance you will find in the _Orlando
Furioso_ wondrous fair beauties portrayed by Ariosto, those of Alcina
and of many another fair one.

All this is well enough; but as I have heard a great personage of my
acquaintance say, never could plain nature make so fair and perfect
a woman as the keen and subtile imagination of some eloquent poet
might featly describe, or the pencil and brush of some inspired
painter represent. No matter! a man’s eyes are ever satisfied to see
a beautiful woman of fair, clear-complexioned and well-featured face.
Yea! and though it be somewhat brown of hue, ’tis all one; the brunette
is as good as the blonde many a time, as the Spanish girl hath it,
_Aunque io sia morisca, no soy de menos preciar_,—“Brown though I be, I
am not to be scorned for that.”[125*] So the fair Marfisa _era brunetta
alquanto_—“was something brown of face.” Still must not the brown
overset the white too much! Again, a beautiful countenance must be
borne by a body fashioned and built to correspond. This doth hold good
of little as well as big, but tall stature will ever take first place.

Well, as to seeking out suchlike exquisite points of beauty as I have
just spoke of, and as poets have of old depicted, this we may very well
dispense with, and find pleasure enough in our common and everyday
beauties. Not that I would say common in any ill sense, for verily
we have some so rare that, by my faith! they be better far than all
those which your fantastic poets, and whimsical painters, and lyrical
extollers of female charms could ever delineate.

Alas! the worst of it is this. Whenas we do see suchlike fair beauties
and gracious countenances, we do admire and long for the fair bodies to
match, for the love of the pretty faces. But lo! in some cases, when
these come to be revealed and brought to light, we do lose all appetite
therefor. They be so ugly, spoiled, blotched, disfigured and hideous,
they do give the lie direct to the face. This is one of the ways we men
are oft sore taken in.

Hereof we have a good example in a certain gentleman of the Island
of Majorca, by name Raymond Lulle,[126] of a very good, wealthy
and ancient family. This nobleman by reason of his high birth, his
valour and merit, was appointed in the prime of his years to the
governorship of the said island. While in this office, as will oft
happen to Governors of provinces and cities, he did grow enamoured of a
beautiful lady of the island, one of the most accomplished, beautiful
and ready-witted women of those parts. Long and eagerly did he court
her; and at length, seeing he was ever demanding the reward of his
exertions, the lady after refusing as long as ever she could, did one
day give him an assignation. This he did not fail to keep, nor did
she; but presently appeared thereat, more beautiful than ever and more
richly apparelled. Then just as he thought the gates of Paradise were
opening for him, lo! she stepped forward and did show him her breast
and bosom all covered over with a dozen plasters, and tearing these off
one after other and angrily tossing them to the ground, did exhibit
a horrid cancer to him. So with tears in her eyes, she did rehearse
all her wretchedness and her affection to him, and asked him,—was
there then such mighty cause why he should be so much enamoured of
her, making him so sad and dismal a discourse, that he did presently
leave her, all overcome with ruth for the grief of this fair lady. Then
later, after making supplication to God for her restoration to health,
he did give up his office, and turned hermit.

Afterward, on returning from the Holy Wars, to the which he had vowed
himself, he went to study at Paris under Arnaldus de Villanova, a
learned philosopher; then after finishing his course there, he did
withdraw into England, where the King of that day did welcome him with
all the good will in the world for the sake of his deep learning, and
seeing he did transmute sundry ingots and bars of iron, copper and tin,
scorning the common, trivial fashion of transmuting lead and iron into
gold. For he knew how more than one of his contemporaries could do this
much as well as he, whereas he had skill to do both this and the other
as well. But he was fain to perform a feat above the capacity of the
rest of alchemists.

I have this tale from a gallant gentleman, which told me himself had it
of the jurisconsult Oldrade. This author doth speak of Raymond Lulle
in the Commentary he made on the Code _De Falsa Moneta_ (“On False
Coining”). Likewise he had it, so he said, on the authority of Carolus
Bovillus,[127] a native of Picardy, who hath writ in Latin a life of
this same Raymond Lulle.

This is how he did rid himself of his craving for the love of this fair
lady. Other men, ’tis very like, had done differently, and would not
have ceased to love, but shutting their eyes would e’en have taken what
they did desire of her. This he might well enough have done, had he
been so minded, seeing the part he did aim at was in no wise touched
by any such disease.

I knew once a gentleman and a widow lady of the great world, which were
not so scrupulous. For though the lady was afflicted with a great and
foul cancer of the breast, yet he did not hesitate to wed her, nor she
to take him, contrary to her mother’s advice.

I knew likewise a very honourable gentleman, and a great friend of
mine, who told me that one time being at Rome, he did chance to love a
certain Spanish lady, one of the fairest was ever seen in that city.
Now when he did go with her, she would never suffer him to see her,
nor ever to touch her, but only with her clothes on. For, if ever he
was for touching her, she would cry out in Spanish, _Ah! no me tocays,
hareis me quosquillas_, that is to say, “Nay! do not touch me; you
tickle me.” But one morning, passing by her house and finding the door
open, he goes boldly in. So having entered, without meeting either
domestic, page or any living soul, he did penetrate to her bedchamber,
and there found her so fast asleep he had leisure to behold and examine
her at his ease, for that it was very hot weather. And he declared he
did never see aught so fair as was her body, excepting only that he
did discover how that, while the one thigh was fair, white, smooth and
well-shapen, the other was all dried up, withered and shrunken, so
that it looked no bigger than a young child’s arm. Who so astonished
as my friend? Who yet did not much compassionate her, and never after
returned to visit her, nor had any subsequent dealings with her.

Many ladies there be which are not indeed thus shrunken by disease, yet
are so thin, scraggy, withered and fleshless they can show naught but
the mere skeleton of a woman. Thus did I know one, a very great lady,
of whom the Bishop of Sisteron,[128] one of the wittiest men at Court,
did by way of jest and gibe declare that it were better to sleep with
a rat-trap of brass-wire than with her. In a like strain did another
gentleman of the Court, when we were rallying him on having dealings
with a certain great lady, reply, “Nay! but you are all wrong, for
indeed I do love good flesh too well, and she hath naught but bones.”
Yet to look at these two ladies, so fair and beauteous of face, you
would have supposed them both most fleshy and right dainty morsels.

A very high-born Prince of the great world did chance once to be in
love with two very fair ladies at one and the same time, as doth often
happen to the great, which do love change and variety. The one was
exceeding fair, the other a brunette, but both the twain right handsome
and most lovable women. So one day as he came away from visiting the
dark one, her fair rival being jealous did say to him: “Ah, ha! so
you’ve been flying for crow!” Whereto the Prince did make answer,
something angered and ruffled at the word: “And when I am with you, my
lady, what am I flying for then?” The lady straight made answer: “Why!
for a phœnix, to be sure!” But the Prince, who had as ready a tongue as
most, did retort: “Nay! say rather for a bird of Paradise, the which
hath ever more feathers than flesh”; casting up at her by this word how
that she was rather thin and meagre. The fact is she was too young a
thing to be very fat, stoutness commonly coming only upon such women as
are getting on in years, at the time when they do begin to lay on flesh
and get bigger in limbs and all bodily parts.

A certain gentleman did make a good reply to a great Lord I wot of.
Both had handsome wives. The great Lord in question found the gentleman
much to his taste, and most enticing. So one day he said to him, “Sir!
I must e’en sleep with your wife.” To this the gentleman, without a
thought, for he was very ready of tongue, did answer, “I am willing
enough, but on condition I sleep with yours.” The Lord replied, “Why!
what would you be at? I tell you, mine is so thin, you would not find
her to your taste at all.” To this the gentleman did retort, “Yea! by
my faith! _je la larderai si menu que je la rendrai de bon gout_.”

Many women there be whose pretty, chubby faces make men fain to enjoy
them yet when they do come to it, they find them so fleshless the
pleasure and temptation be right soon done away. Among other defects,
we do often find the _gridiron_ form, as it called, the bones so
prominent and fleshless they do press and chafe a man as sorely as
though he had a mule’s packsaddle on him. To remedy this, there be some
dames are used to employ little cushions or pads, very soft and very
delicately made, to bear the brunt and avoid chafing. I have heard
speak of many which have used these in such wise that lovers not in
the secret, when they do come to them, find naught but what is good to
touch, and are quite persuaded ’tis their mistress’s natural plumpness.
For above the satin, they will wear thin, loose, white muslin. In this
way the lover would leave the lady well pleased and satisfied, and
himself deem her a right good mistress.

Other women again there be which have the skin all veined and marked
like marble, or like mosaic work, dappled like a fawn’s coat, itchy and
subject to sores and farcies; in a word so foul and disfigured the
sight thereof is very far from pleasant.

I have heard speak of a certain great lady, and I have known her myself
and do know her still, who is all shaggy and hairy over the chest,
stomach, shoulders and all down the spine, like a savage. I leave you
to imagine the effect. The proverb hath it, no person thus hairy is
ever rich or wanton; but verily in this case the lady is both the one
and the other, I can assure you, and is well able to win admirers, to
please their eye and gain their love.

Others’ skin is like goose flesh or like a feathered starling, all
rugged and cross-grained, and black as the devil. Others are blessed
with great dangling bosoms, hanging down worse than a cow’s giving its
calf milk. Very sure am I these be not the fair breasts of Helen, who
one day desiring to present to the Temple of Diana an elegant cup in
fulfilment of a vow, and employing a goldsmith to make it for her, did
cause him to model the same on one of her lovely breasts. He did make
the goblet of white gold and in such wise that folk knew not which to
admire the most, the cup itself or its resemblance to the beautiful
bosom which he had taken for his pattern. It looked so round and sweet
and plump, the copy only made men the more to desire the real thing.
Pliny doth make especial mention thereof,[129*] in the place where he
treateth of the existence of white gold. ’Tis very strange, but of
white gold was this goblet made.

But who, I should like to know, would care to model golden cups on the
great ugly breasts I speak of and have seen. We should be bound to give
the goldsmith a big supply of gold, and then all our expense would but
end in laughter and mockery, when we should cry, “Look! see our cup
wrought on the model of so and so’s breasts.” Indeed they would not
so much be like drinking cups at all as those great wooden puncheons,
round and big-bellied, we see used for feeding swine withal.

Others there be the nipples of whose breasts are for all the world like
a rotten pear. Others again whose bodies are all rough and wrinkled,
that you would take them for old leathern game-bags, such as troopers
and innkeepers carry. This cometh to women which have borne children,
but who have not been properly seen to by the midwives. On the contrary
there be others which have the same sweet and smooth and polished, and
their bosom as plump and pretty as if they were still maids.

* * * * *

Other women there be have their parts so pale and wan you would say
they had the fever. Such do resemble some drunkards, which though they
do drink more wine than a sucking pig, are yet always as pale as the
dead. Wherefore do men call them traitors to their wine, as in contrast
with such tipplers as are rosy-faced. In like fashion women that are
pale in this region might very well be spoke of as traitors to Venus,
were it not for the proverb which saith, “a pale whore and a red-faced
scamp.” Be this as it may, there is no doubt their being pale and wan
is not agreeable to see; and is very far from resembling that of one of
the fairest ladies of our time, and one that doth hold high rank (and
myself have seen her), who they used to say did commonly sport three
fine colours all together, to wit scarlet, white and black. For her
mouth was brilliant and as red as coral, her hair pretty and curly and
as black as ebony. So should it ever be, for indeed this is one of the
chiefest beauties of a woman. Then the skin was white as alabaster,
and was finely shadowed by this dark hair. A fair sight in truth!

I have heard Madame de Fontaine-Chalandray, known as _the fair
Torcy_,[130*] relate how that her Mistress, Queen Eleanor, being robed
and dressed, did appear a very beauteous Princess, and indeed there be
many which have seen her looking so at our King’s Court, and of a good
noble figure. But being stripped, she did seem a very giantess in body,
so long was it and big; whereas going lower down, she seemed but a
dwarf, so short and small were her thighs and legs and all those parts.

Another great lady I have heard speak of was just the opposite. For
whereas in body she looked a dwarf, so short and diminutive was it, for
the rest down below she was a perfect giantess or colossus, so big,
long and high-forked were her thighs and legs, though at the same time
well-proportioned and fleshy.

There be many husbands and lovers among us Christians which do desire
to be in all respects different from the Turks, which last take no
pleasure in looking at women closely, because they say, as I have
stated above, they have no shape. We Christians on the other hand do
find, ’tis said, great contentment in regarding them carefully and do
delight in such. Nay! not only do men enjoy seeing them, but likewise
in kissing, and many ladies have shown their lovers the way. Thus a
Spanish lady did reply to her lover on his quitting her one day with
the words, _Bezo las manos y los pies, Señora; Senor, en el medio esta
la mejore stacion_.

Other women have their thighs so ill proportioned, so unattractive
looking and so badly made that they deserve not to be regarded or
desired at all; and the same is true of their legs, which in some be
so stout and heavy you would say the thick part thereof was a rabbit’s
belly when it is with young. In others again they be so thin and tiny
and so like a stork’s shanks, you might well deem them flute pipes
rather than a woman’s thighs and legs. What the rest is like, I will
e’en leave you to imagine!

If I were to detail all the other beauties and deformities women are
subject to, truly I should never have done. Now all I do say hereanent,
or might say, is never of low-born or common women, but always of
high-born, or at least well-born, ladies, which by their fairness of
face do set the world on fire, but what of their person is hid doth but
ill correspond.

_2_

It is no long while agone since in a certain district of Guyenne
a married dame, of very good station and descent, had a strange
adventure. As she was overlooking her children’s studies, lo! their
tutor, by some madness or frenzy of the brain, or maybe from a
fierce access of love that did suddenly master him, did take a sword
belonging to her husband and which lay on the bed, and did assail her
so furiously as that he did transpierce her two thighs and her two
labia from the one part to the other. Whereof she did after all but
die, and would have right out but for the help of an excellent surgeon.
She might well say of her poor body how that it had been in two divers
wars and assailed in two different ways. The sight thereof afterward
was, I imagine, scarce agreeable, seeing it was so scarred and its
_wings_ so torn. I say _wings_, for while the Greeks do call these
labia _hymenaea_, the Latins name the same _alae_ (wings), the moderns
_labia_, or lips, and sundry other names. For truly there is no beast
or bird, be it falcon, raw and untrained, like that of our young girls,
or hawk, whether haggard or well practised, as of our married women and
widows, that doth go more nimbly or hath the wing so active.

Other women, for dread of colds and catarrhs, do smother themselves in
bed with cape and mufflers about the head, till upon my word they do
look more like old witches than young women. Yet once out of bed, they
are as smart as dolls. Others again be all rouged and painted up like
images, fine enough by day; but a-nights the paint is off, and they are
as ugly as sin.

It were well to examine suchlike dames before loving, marrying and
enjoying the same, as Octavius Caesar was used to do.[131*] For along
with his friends he did have sundry great ladies and Roman matrons
stripped naked, and even virgins of marriageable age, and did examine
them from head to foot, as if they had been slave-women and purchased
serfs. The said examination was carried out by a certain horse-jockey
or dealer by name Toranus, and according as this man did approve and
find them to his liking, and unspoiled, would the Emperor take his
pleasure with them.

This is precisely what the Turks do in their slave-market at
Constantinople and other great towns, when they buy slaves, whether
male or female.

Well! I will say no more of all this; indeed methinks I have already
said over much. So this is how we be sore deceived in many sights
we at the first imagine and believe very admirable. But if we be
thus deceived in some good ladies, no less are we edified and well
satisfied in other some, the which are so fair and sweet and clean,
so fresh and plump, so lovable and desirable, in one word so perfect
in all their bodily parts, that after them all sights in this world
are but mean and empty. Whence it cometh there be men, which at such a
sight do so lose their wits they must at once to work. Moreover ’tis
often the case that such fair dames do find pleasure in showing their
persons and do make no difficulty so to do, knowing themselves as
they do without spot or blemish, to the end they may the better rouse
temptation and concupiscence in our manly bosoms.

One day when we were together at the siege of La Rochelle, the late
unfortunate Duc de Guise,[132] which did me the honour to hold me in
affection, did come and show me some tables he had just filched from
Monsieur the King’s brother,[132] our General in that enterprise, from
out the pocket of his breeches, and said thus: “Monsieur hath done me a
displeasure and mocked me concerning my love for a certain lady. Well I
would fain now take my revenge; look at these tables of his, and read
what I have writ therein.” With this he did hand me the tables, and I
saw writ therein in his hand these four verses following, which he had
just made up,—only that the word was set down outright in the first
line:

Si vous ne m’avez congeue,
Il n’a pas tenu à moy;
Car vous m’avez bien vue nue,
Et vous ay monstré de quoy.

(If you have not known me, this is no fault of mine. For indeed you
have seen me naked, and I have shown you all you need.)

After, he did tell me the lady’s name, an unmarried girl to say truth,
which I did already suspect. I said I was greatly surprised the Prince
had never touched or known her, seeing his opportunities had been very
ample, and he was credited by common report with being her lover. But
he did answer, ’twas not so, and that it was solely by his own fault.
To which I replied, “Then it must needs, my Lord, have been, either
that at the time he was so weary and so sated in other quarters he was
unable to bear the brunt, or else that he was so entranced with the
contemplation of her naked charms that he did give never a thought to
the active part.”—“Well! it may be,” the Prince answered, “he was good
to do it; but anyhow this time he failed to take his opportunity. So I
am having my fun of him, and I am going to put his tables back in his
pocket, which he will presently examine, as is his wont, and must needs
read what I have writ. And so I have my revenge.” This he did, and
never after did they twain meet without having a good laugh over it,
and a merry passage of arms. For at that period was great friendship
and intimacy betwixt these two, though after so strangely altered.

A lady of the great world, or to speak strictly a young maid, was held
in much love and close intimacy by a certain great Princess.[133*]
The latter was one time in her bed, resting, as was her wont, when a
gentleman did come to see the damsel, one which was deep in love with
her, albeit he had naught at all but his love to aid his suit. Then
the fair lady, being so well loved and on such intimate terms with her
Mistress the Princess, did come to her as she lay, and nimbly, without
any warning whatsoever, did suddenly drag away all the coverings from
off her, in such wise that the gentleman, by no means slow to use his
eyes, did instantly cast them on her, and beheld, as he did tell me the
tale afterward, the fairest sight ever he saw or is like to see,—her
beautiful body, and all her lovely, white, exquisite person, that did
make him think he was gazing on the beauties of Paradise. But this
scarce lasted an instant; for the moment the bed-clothes were thrown
off, the lady did snatch back the same, the girl having meanwhile run
off. Yet as luck would have it, the more the fair lady did struggle to
pull back the coverings, the more she did display her charms. This in
no wise spoiled the sight and the pleasure the gentleman had therein,
who you may be sure did not put himself about to help her,—he had been
a fool so to do. However, presently in one way or another she did
get her coverings over her again as before, chiding her favourite,
but gently withal, and telling her she should pay for her pranks.
The damsel, who had slipped away a little out of her reach, did only
reply, “Madam, you did play me a trick a while agone; forgive me if
that I have paid you back in your own coin.” And so saying, through the
chamber-door and away! But peace was not long a-making.

Meanwhile the gentleman was so content with what he had seen, and so
full of ecstasy, delight and satisfaction, I have heard him declare an
hundred times over he did wish for naught else his life long but only
to live and dream of this fair sight day by day. And in sooth he was
right for to judge by the fair face that is without a rival and the
beauteous bosom that hath so ravished mankind, there must indeed have
been yet more exquisite dainties. And he did affirm that among these
charms, the said lady did possess the finest figure, and the best
developed, ever he did set eyes on. And it may well be so, for she was
of a very rich and opulent figure, and this must needs be one of the
chief of all a woman’s beauties, and like a frontier fortress, one of
the most necessary and indispensable.

When the said gentleman had told me all his tale, I could only bid him,
“Live on, my friend, live on; with this divine sight to dream on and
this happy contemplation, you should never die. And heaven grant me
before I die, at least to see so fair a spectacle!”

The said gentleman did surely owe an eternal debt of gratitude to the
damsel, and did ever after honour and love her with all his heart. And
he did woo her right eagerly as lover, yet married her not at the last;
for another suitor, richer than he, did carry her off, for truly ’tis
the way of all women to run after the solid good things of life.

Sights like this be fair and right pleasant; yet must we beware they
work not harm, as the view of the beauteous Diana in her nakedness did
to poor Acteon, or yet another I am about to tell of.

A great King did in his day love fondly a very beautiful, honourable
and great lady, a widow, so that men did esteem him bewitched of her
charms.[134*] For little did he reck of other women, or even of his
wife, except only now and again, for this fair lady did always have
the pick of the flowers of his garden. This did sorely grieve the
Queen, for she knew herself as fair and lovable, as well deserving of
loyal service and as worthy to enjoy such dainty morsels as the other.
All this did both anger and surprise her much; wherefore having made
her moan to a great lady which was her chief favourite, she did plot
with her and contrive if there were no way whereby she might e’en
spy through some peep-hole the game her husband and the lady should
play together. And accordingly she did contrive to make sundry holes
in the ceiling of the said lady’s chamber, for to see it all and the
life they twain should lead with one another. So they did set them to
view the sight; yet beheld naught but what was fair to see, for they
did behold only a most beauteous, white and delicately made woman,
tender and sweet, half muffled in her shift, entertaining of her lover
with pretty, dainty caresses and most tricksome pranks, and her lover
performing the like to her. Then presently the twain would lie and
frolic together on the thick, soft carpet which was by the bed-side, so
to escape the heat and the better to enjoy the cool. For it was then
at the hottest of the year; and myself have also known another very
great Prince which was used to take his amusement with his wife in this
fashion, to avoid the heat brought on by the great warmth of the summer
season, as himself did declare.

The unhappy Queen then, having seen and observed it all, did of very
despite set to and weep, sob, sigh and make sore moan, thinking, and
saying too, how that her husband did never the like with her, nor ever
went through suchlike amorous follies as she had seen him perform with
his mistress.

The other lady, which was with her, did what she could for to comfort
her, and chided her for making so sad a moan, saying what was true
enough, that as she had been so curious as to spy out such doings, she
could scarce have expected else. To this the Queen did make no other
answer but only this, “Alas! yes, I was wilful, and fain to see a thing
I should never have beheld, for verily the sight thereof did hurt me
very sore!” Natheless did she find some comfort anon and resolution of
mind, and did leave off sorrowing.

I have heard yet another story of an honourable lady who when a girl
was whipped by her mother twice every day, not that she had done aught
wrong, but because, as she supposed, her mother did find a pleasure in
seeing her so wriggle.

I have heard even a worse thing of a great Lord and Prince, more than
eighty years agone, how that before going to cohabit with his wife, he
was used to have himself whipped, not being able to be moved nor to do
anything without this ridiculous remedy. I should greatly like some
competent physician to tell me the reason hereof.

That great and distinguished author, Pico della Mirandola,[135] doth
declare himself to have seen a gallant of his day, who the more he was
thrashed with heavy blows of a stirrup-leather, the more was he thereby
fierce after women. Never was he so valiant with them as after he had
been so leathered, though when it was once well done, he was as fierce
as any man. Truly here be some strange and terrible caprices! At any
rate to see others whipped is a more agreeable sort of humour than this
last!

_3_

When I was at Milan, I was one day told a diverting tale,—how the
late Marquis de Pescaire,[136] dead no long while agone, erst Viceroy
of Sicily, did fall deeply in love with a very fair lady. And so one
morning, believing her husband was gone abroad, he set forth to visit
her, finding her still a-bed; but in conversation with her, he did win
naught else but only to see her, gaze at her under the clothes at his
leisure, and touch her with his hand. While this was a-doing, lo! the
husband did appear, a man which was not of the high consideration of
the Marquis in any respect, and did surprise them in such sort that
the Marquis had no time to get back his glove, the which was lost some
way or another among the sheets, as doth frequently happen. Presently,
after exchanging a few words with him, he did leave the chamber,
conducted to the door by the husband. The latter on returning did,
as chance would have it, discover the Marquis’s glove lost among the
sheets, the lady not having noticed the same. This he did take and lock
up, and after, putting on a cold demeanour toward his wife, did long
remain without sleeping with her or touching her at all. Wherefore one
day she being alone in her chamber, did set hand to pen and write this
quatrain following:

Vigna era, vigna son.
Era podata, or piu non son;
E non so per qual cagion
Non mi poda il mio patron.

So leaving these verses writ out on the table, anon the husband came
and saw the lines; and so taketh pen and doth thus reply:

Vigna eri, vigna sei,
Eri podata, e piu non sei.
Per la granfa del leon,
Non ti poda il tuo patron.

These he did leave likewise on the table. The whole was carried to the
Marquis, who made answer:

A la vigna chez voi dite
Io fui, e qui restai;
Alzai il pampano; guardai la vite;
Ma, se Dio m’ajuti, non toccai.

This in turn was shown to the husband, who satisfied with so honourable
a reply and fair apology, did take his vine to him again, and did
cultivate the same as industriously as heretofore; and never were
husband and wife happier together.

I will now translate the verses from the Italian, that all may follow
the sense:

“I was a vine, and am so still. I was well cultivated; but am so no
more. And I know not for what cause my master doth not now cultivate me
as before.”

ANSWER:

“A vine thou wert, and art so still; thou wert well cultivated, and art
so no more. Because of the lion’s claw, for this cause thy master doth
not now cultivate thee as before.”

ANSWER OF THE MARQUIS:

“The vine you both do speak of I visited ’tis true, and tarried a
space. I lifted the cluster, and looked at the grape; but, so God help
me, touched not at all.”

By the “lion’s claw” the husband meaneth to signify the glove he had
found lost between the sheets.

A good husband this, which did not take umbrage overmuch, and putting
away his suspicions, did thus forgive his wife. And there is no doubt
there be ladies which do take such a delight in themselves they do love
to see themselves naked and gaze at their own beauty, in such wise that
they are filled with ravishment beholding themselves so lovely, like
Narcissus. What then, I ask, is it like we men should do, whenas we do
see and gaze at the same?

Mariamné, the wife of Herod,[137] a fair and honourable lady, when that
one day her husband was fain to sleep with her at full midday, and see
openly all her charms, did refuse flatly, so Josephus doth record. Nor
did he insist on his rights as a husband, as did a great Lord I knew
once with his wife, one of the fairest of the fair, whom he did enjoy
thus in open day, and did strip her stark naked, she protesting stoutly
the while. After, he did send her women to her to dress her again, who
did find her all in tears and filled with shame. Other dames on the
contrary there be which do make no set scruples of the sort at making
display of their beauty and showing themselves thus, the better to
stir their lovers’ passion and caprice, and draw them the more fondly
to them. Yet will they in no wise suffer them to enjoy their most
precious favour. Some indeed, ill liking to halt on so pleasant a
road, soon go further; but others there be,—I have heard tell of not a
few such,—which have long time entertained their lovers with such fair
sights, and no more.

Happy they which have patience so to bide their time, without yielding
overmuch to temptation. Yet must the man be fair bewitched of virtue
who seeing a beautiful woman, doth give his eyes no gratification.
So was Alexander the Great used to say at whiles to his friends how
that the Persian maids did much hurt the eyes of such as did gaze at
them. And for this cause, when he held prisoners the daughters of King
Darius, he would never greet them but with downcast eyes, and likewise
as seldom as ever he could, for fear he should have been overcome by
the excellence of their beauty.

Not in those times only, but likewise in our own days, among all the
women of the East, the Persian fair ones do bear the bell and prize of
beauty, and fine proportion of bodily parts, and natural charm, as well
as of becoming grace and fitness in dress and foot-gear—and above all
others, they of the ancient and royal city of Shiraz.[138] These last
be so commended for their beauty, fair skin, civility of manners and
sweet grace, that the Moors do say in an old and well-known proverb,
how that their Prophet Mahomet would never go to Shiraz, for fear,
had he once set eyes on its lovely women, his soul after death would
never have entered Paradise. Travellers which have been to that city
and writ thereof, do say the same. And herein observe the hypocrisy of
that same dissolute and rascal Prophet and his pretended continence;
as if it were not to be found writ down, as Belon doth tell us, in an
Arab work entitled “Of the Good Customs of Mahomet,” extolling the
Prophet’s corporeal vigour, how that he was used to boast of working
and satisfying all his eleven wives which he had in a single hour, one
after the other. To the deuce with the rascally fellow! Let us speak no
more of him. When all is said and done, I had as lief never have named
him at all!

I have heard this question raised concerning the behaviour of Alexander
which I have described above and that of Scipio Africanus,—to wit which
of the twain did merit the greater praise of continency?

Alexander, distrusting the strength of his chasteness, did refuse even
to look at the fair Persian maids. Scipio, after the taking of New
Carthage, did look at the beautiful Spanish girl his soldiers brought
him and offered him as his share of the booty, which maid was so
excellent in beauty and of so fair a time of life and flower of age,
that wheresoever she did pass, she would brighten and charm the eyes
of all that did behold her, and eke of Scipio himself. But he, after
greeting her right courteously, did make inquiry of what city of Spain
she was and of her family.

Then was he informed, among other things, how that she was betrothed
to a young man, Alucius by name, Prince of the Celtiberians, to whom
he did give her up and to her father and mother, without ever laying a
hand on her. By which conduct he did lay the said lady, her relations
and her betrothed, under such obligation that they did ever after
show themselves most well affectioned to the city of Rome and the
Commonwealth.

Yet who knoweth but in her secret soul this fair damsel had not rather
have been assailed first of all by Scipio,—who, remember, was young,
handsome, brave, valiant and victorious? It may well be that if some
bosom friend, male or female of the girl’s had asked her on her faith
and conscience whether she had not wished it so, I leave it to the
reader to suppose what she would have answered, and if at the least she
would not have made some little sign or gesture signifying what her
real wish had been. For think how the climate of her country and that
westering sun of Spain might well have made her hot and keen for love,
as it hath many another fair lady of that land, as fair and gracious as
she, in our own day, as myself have seen many an one. It can scarce be
doubted then, if this fair and honourable maid had but been asked and
courted of the young and handsome Scipio, but she would have taken him
at the word, yea! even on the altar of her heathen gods!

Herein hath Scipio doubtless been commended highly of some for his
noble gift of continence. Yet hath he been no less blamed of others;
for wherein may a brave and valorous gallant better show forth the
generosity of his heart towards a fair and honourable lady than by
manifesting to her in deeds that he doth prize her beauty and highly
admire it. Better this than treating her with that cold respect, that
modesty and discretion, the which I have heard many good gentlemen and
honest ladies call rather by the name of silliness and want of spirit
than of virtue? Nay, verily! ’tis not such qualities at all a beautiful
and worthy dame doth love in her heart of hearts, but rather good love
and service that is prudent, discreet and secret. In one word, as an
honourable lady did one day exclaim a-reading of this tale, Scipio was
a fool, valiant and noble captain as he was, to go out of his way so to
bind folk to him under obligation and to the Roman side by any such
silly ways, when he might have done it just as well by other means more
convenient. Beside, ’twas booty of War, whereof a man may take his joy
and triumph as legitimately as of any other thing whatsoever in the
world, or more so.

The great First Founder of Rome did not so, on occasion of the rape of
the fair Sabine women, toward her which fell to his share. Rather he
did to her according to his good pleasure, and paid her no cold respect
whatever. This she did relish well enough and felt no grievance,
neither she nor her companions, which did very soon make accord with
their new husbands and ravishers. The women for their part did make no
complaint like their fathers and mothers, which did rouse a fierce war
of reprisals.

True it is, folk be of different sorts, and there be women _and_
women. Some are loth to yield to any stranger in this sort, herein
more resembling the wife of King Ortiagon,[139*] one of the Galatian
monarchs of Asia Minor. She was of a perfect beauty, and being taken
captive on the Kings’ defeat by a Roman Centurion and solicited in her
honour, she did stand firm in refusal, having a horror of yielding
herself to him, a man of so low and base a station compared with
herself. Wherefore he did have her by force and violence, whom the
fortune and chance of War had given him by right of conquest to make
his slave of. But ’twas no long while before he did repent him, and
meet with vengeance for this offence; for the Queen, having promised
him a great ransom for her liberty, and both being come to the
appointed place for him to receive the money, she did have him slain,
as he was a-counting of the gold, and did carry away it and his head to
her husband. To this last she did confess freely how that the Roman
had indeed violated her chastity, but that she had taken her vengeance
of him therefor in this fashion,—the which her husband did approve and
did highly honour her for her behaviour. And from that day forth, said
the history, she did faithfully keep her honour unsullied to the last
day of her life with all scrupulousness and seriousness. Anyway she did
enjoy this good treat, albeit it did come from a low-born fellow.[140*]

Lucretia did otherwise, for she tasted not the pleasure at all, albeit
solicited by a gallant King. Herein was she doubly a fool, first not
to gratify him on the spot and readily enough, and secondly to kill
herself.

To return once more to Scipio, ’twould seem he knew not yet the ways
of War concerning booty and pillage. For by what I learn of a great
Captain of our troops, there is no such dainty morsel for loot as a
woman taken in War. The same good soldier did make much mock of sundry
others his comrades, which were used to insist above all things, at
assaults and surprises of towns, on the saving of the women’s honour,
as well as on divers other occasions and rencontres. This is sheer
folly, seeing women do always love men of arms more than any others,
and the very roughness of these doth give them the better appetite.
So who can find aught to blame? The pleasure is theirs; their honour
and their husbands’ is in no way fouled; and where is the mighty harm
and ruin? And yet another point,—they do oft by this means save their
husbands’ goods and lives,—as did Eunoé, wife of Bogud or Bocchus, King
of Mauretania, to whom Cæsar did give great possessions and to her
husband likewise, not so much, we may well believe, for having followed
his side, as Juba, King of Bithynia did that of Pompey, as because she
was a beautiful woman, and Cæsar did have the enjoyment of her pleasant
favours.[141*]

Many other excellent conveniences are there and advantages of these
loves I must needs pass over. Yet, this same great Captain would
exclaim, in spite of them all would other commanders, his comrades and
fellows, obeying silly, old-fashioned laws of War, be fain to preserve
the honour of women. But surely ’twere more meet first to find out in
secrecy and confidence their real wishes, and then decide what to do.
Or mayhap they be of the complexion of our friend Scipio, who was worse
than the gardener’s dog, which, as I have before said, will neither
himself eat the cabbages in the garden, nor yet let other folk taste of
them. This is the way he did treat the unhappy Massinissa, who had so
oft times risked his life for him and for the Roman People, and so sore
laboured, sweated and endeavoured, for to gain him glory and victory.
Yet after all he did refuse him the fair Queen Sophonisba and did rob
him of her, seeing he had chose her for his chiefest and most precious
spoil. He did take her from him to send her to Rome, there to live
out the rest of her days as a wretched slave,—if Massinissa had not
found a remedy to save her from this fate. The Conqueror’s glory had
been fairer and nobler, if she had appeared at Rome as a glorious and
stately Queen, and wife of Massinissa, so that folk would have said,
as they saw her go by: “Look! one of the fair vestiges of Scipio’s
conquests.” Surely true glory doth lie much rather in the display of
great and noble things than of mean and degraded.

In fine, Scipio, in all this discussion, was shown to have committed
grievous faults, whether because he was an enemy of the whole female
sex, or as having been altogether impotent to satisfy its wishes. And
yet ’tis said that in his later years he did engage in a love intrigue
with one of his wife’s maids,—the which the latter did very patiently
endure, for reasons that might easily be alleged to account for the
said complaisancy.

_4_

However, to return from the digression I have just been indulging in
and come back into the direct course of my argument, I do declare as my
last word in this discourse, that nothing in all the wide world is so
fair to see and look upon as a beautiful woman splendidly attired or
else daintily disrobed and laid upon a fair bed, provided always she be
sound and sweet, without blemish, blot or defect, as I have afore said.

King Francis I. was used to say, no gentleman, howsoever magnificent,
could in any better wise receive a great Lord, howsoever mighty and
high-born, at his mansion or castle, than by offering to his view on
his first arrival a beautiful woman, a fine horse and a handsome hound.
For by casting his gaze now on the one, now on the other and presently
on the third, he would never be a-weary in that house, having there the
three things most pleasant to look upon and admire, and so exercising
his eyes right agreeably.

Queen Isabelle of Castile was wont to say, there were four things did
give her very great pleasure to behold: _Hombre d’armas en campo,
obisbo puesto en pontifical, linda dama en la cama, y ladron en la
horca_,—“A man of arms in the field, a Bishop in his pontificals, a
fair lady in her bed, and a thief on the gallows.”

I have heard the late Cardinal de Lorraine,[142*] a short while since
deceased, relate how on the occasion of his going to Rome to the Court
of Pope Paul IV., to break off the truce made with the Emperor, he did
pass through Venice, where he was very honourably received, we cannot
doubt, seeing he was so high in the favour of so high and puissant a
King. The most noble and magnificent Senate of that city did set forth
in a body to meet him. Presently, passing up the Grand Canal, where
every window of all the houses was crowded with all the fairest ladies
of the place, who had assembled thither to see the state entry, there
was a certain great man of the highest rank which did discourse to him
on the business of the State, and spake at length of great matters. But
after a while, seeing the Cardinal was for ever casting his eyes and
fixing them on all these beautiful dames, he said to him in his native
Venetian dialect: “My Lord Cardinal, I think you heed me not, and you
are right enough. For surely ’tis much more pleasure and diversion to
watch these fair ladies at the windows and take delight of their beauty
than to listen to the talk of a peevish old man like me, even though he
should be talking of some great achievement and success to redound to
your advantage.” On this the Cardinal, who had no lack of ready wit and
memory, did repeat to him word for word all he had said, leaving the
good old man excellently well pleased with him, and full of wonder and
esteem, seeing that for all his feasting of his eyes on the fair ladies
of Venice, he had neither forgot nor neglected aught of all he had said
to him.

Any man which hath seen the Court of our French Kings, Francis I.,
Henri II., and other Sovereigns his sons, will freely allow, whosoever
he be and though he have seen all the world, he hath never beheld
aught so fair and admirable as the ladies which did frequent their
Court and that of the Queens and Princesses, their wives, mothers and
sisters. Yet a still fairer sight would he have seen, say some, if only
the grandsire of Master Gonnin had yet been alive, who by dint of his
contrivances, illusions, witchcrafts and enchantments could have shown
the same all undressed and stript naked, as they say he did once in
a private company at the behest of King Francis. For indeed he was a
man very expert and subtile in his art of sorcery; whose grandson, the
which we have ourselves seen, knew naught at all in this sort to be
compared with him.

This sight I ween would be as agreeable and diverting as was of yore
that of the Egyptian women at Alexandria, on occasion of the reception
and welcoming of their great god Apis, to greet whom they were used to
go forth in great state, and lifting their gowns, bodices and shifts,
and tucking up the same as high as ever they could, did show the god
themselves right out. If any will see the tale, let him read Alexander
ab Alexandro, in the 6th book of his _Dies Joviales_.[143*] I think
such a sight must indeed have been a right agreeable one, for in those
days the ladies of Alexandria were exceeding fair, as they are still to
this day.

Doubtless the old and ugly women did in like wise; but there! what
matter? The eye should never strain but after what is fair and comely,
and avoid the foul and unlovely all it may.

In Switzerland, men and women do meet promiscuously in the baths, hot
and cold, without doing any dishonest deed, but are satisfied with
putting a linen cloth in front of them. If this be pretty loose, well!
we may see something, mayhap agreeable or mayhap not, according as our
companion is fair or foul.

Before ending this part of my discourse, I will add yet one word more.
Just think again to what sore temptations were exposed the young
lords, knights and nobles, plebeians and other men of Rome, and what
delectation of the eye they did enjoy in ancient times on the day when
was kept the feast of Flora at Rome. This Flora, ’tis said, was the
most engaging and successful courtesan that did ever practise harlotry
at Rome,[144*] or in any other city. And what did yet more recommend
her herein was the fact she was of a good house and noble lineage; for
dames of such high sort do naturally please the more, and to go with
such doth afford greater gratification.

Thus the lady Flora had this excellence and advantage over Laïs, seeing
the latter would give herself to any like a common strumpet, but Flora
to great folk only. And indeed she had this writing put up at the
entering in of her door, “Kings, Princes, Dictators, Consuls, Censors,
Pontifices, Quæstors, Ambassadors, and other the like great Lords,
enter; but no other.”

Laïs did ever ask payment beforehand, but Flora never, saying she did
act so with great folk to the end they might likewise act by her as
great and illustrious men should, and also that a woman of much beauty
and high lineage will ever be esteemed as she doth value herself. So
would she take naught but what was freely given her, declaring every
gentle dame should do pleasure to her lover for love’s sake, and not
for avarice, for that all things have their price save and except true
love alone.

In a word, she did in her day so excellently and sweetly practise love,
and did win her such gallant lovers, that whenever she did quit her
lodging now and again to walk abroad in the city, there was talk of
her enough to last a month, as well for her beauty, her fair and rich
attire, her gallant bearing and engaging mien, as for the ample suite
of courtiers and lovers and great lords which went with her, and did
follow and attend her like veritable slaves,—an honour she did take
with no ill grace. And ambassadors from foreign lands, when they did
return to their own country, would ever find more delight in tales
of the beauty and wondrous excellence of the divine Flora than in
describing the greatness of the Roman State. And above all would they
extol her generosity, a thing contrary to the common bias of suchlike
dames; but then she was out of the common altogether, seeing she was of
noble origin.

Eventually she did die so rich and opulent that the worth of her money,
furniture and jewels were enough to rebuild the walls of Rome, and
furthermore to free the State of debt. She did make the Roman People
her heir in chief; and in memory thereof was erected at Rome a very
sumptuous Temple, which was called from her name the Florianum.

The first Festival ever the Emperor Galba did celebrate was that of the
fond Flora, at the which ’twas allowed all Roman men and women to do
every sort of debauchery, dissoluteness, abomination and extravagance
they chose and could imagine. Indeed _she_ was deemed the most
religious and most gallant dame, which on that day did best play the
dissolute, debauched and abandoned wanton.

Think of it! Never a _fiscaigne_ (’tis a lascivious dance the loose
women and Moorish slave-girls dance on Sundays at Malta publicly
in the open square), nor saraband did come near these Floralia for
naughtiness; and never a movement or wanton posture or provocative
gesture or lascivious twist and twirl did these Roman dames omit. Nay!
the more dissolute and extravagant the figures she did devise, the
more gallant and gay was deemed the performer; for the Romans did hold
this creed that the more wanton and lecherous the gesture and carriage
wherewith a woman did approach the Temple of this goddess, the more
like was she to win the same charms and opulence Flora herself had
enjoyed.

Verily a fine creed, and a fine mode of solemnizing a festival! but
remember they were but Pagans. Well! little doubt there was never a
sort of naughtiness they did fail to bethink them of, and that for long
beforehand these worthy dames would be a-studying of their lessons,
just as our own countrywomen will set to work to learn a ballet, and
would devote all their heart and soul to these things. Then the young
men, and the old ones too, would be no less eager to look on and behold
their quaint grimacings and wanton tricks. If such a show could be held
in our days, folks would be right glad to profit by the same in every
sense; and to be present at such a sight, the public would verily crowd
itself to death!

Further details let each imagine for himself; I leave the task to our
merry gallants. Let any that is fain, read Suetonius, as also Pausanias
in Greek and Manilius in Latin, in the books they have writ[145*]
concerning illustrious, amorous and famous ladies, and he will learn
the whole in full.

This one more story, and then an end. We read how the Lacedæmonians set
forth once to lay siege to Messené; but the Messenians were beforehand
with them. For they did sally out upon the enemy, some of them,
whilst the rest did make all haste and away to Lacedæmon, thinking to
surprise their town and pillage it, while the Spartans were occupied
before Messené. They were however valorously repelled and driven off
by the women which had been left behind. Hearing of their design, the
Lacedæmonians did turn about and make their way back toward their own
city. But from a long way off they did make out their women all armed,
who had already driven off the enemy whose attack on the city they had
dreaded. Then did the said women straightway inform them of all, and
relate their victory,—the news whereof did so delight them they did set
to on the spot to kiss, fondle and caress the victors. In such wise
that, forgetting all shame and without even waiting to take off their
harness, neither men nor women, they did gallantly do the thing with
them on the very spot where they had met them first. Then were things
to be seen not usual in War, and a right pleasant rattle and tinkle of
arms and armour and the like to make itself heard. In memory whereof
they did have built a temple and statue to the goddess Venus, under the
title of the _Armed Venus_, unlike all other images of the goddess,
which do always represent her naked. A merry tale of a merry encounter,
and a happy idea to depict Venus armed, and call her by that title!

’Tis no uncommon sight among men of arms, especially at the taking of
towns by assault, to see soldiers fully armed enjoying women, having
neither the time nor patience to disarm before satisfying their lust
and appetite, so fierce and eager are they. But to see soldier and
woman both armed in cohabitation together is a thing seldom seen.

Well, well! enough! we must needs make an end,—albeit I could have
filled out this discourse to more ample length by not a few other
examples, had I not feared to seem over wanton, and incur an ill repute
of naughtiness.

However, after so much praise of fair ladies, I do feel me bound to
repeat the words of a Spaniard, who one day wishing ill to a woman, did
describe her in very proper terms to me thus:

_Señor, vieja es como la lampada azeytunada d’iglesia, y de hechura del
armario, larga y desvayada, el color y gesto como mascara mal pintada,
el talle como una campana o mola de el andar y vision d’una antigua
fantasma de la noche, que tanto tuviese encontrar-la de noche, como ver
una mandragora. Iesus! Iesus! Dios me libre de su mal encuentro! No se
contenta de tener en su casa por huesped al provisor del obisbo, ni se
contenta con la demasiada conversacion del vicario ni del guardian,
ni de la amistad antigua del dean, sino que agora de nuevo ha tomado
al que pide para las animas del purgatorio, para acabar su negra
vida_;—“Sir! look at her! She is like an old, greasy Church lamp. Form
and shape are those of a great aumry, all mis-shapen and ill made;
complexion and features like a badly drawn mask; figure as shapely as a
monastery bell or a great millstone. Her face is like an old idol; her
look and gait like an antic ghost that walks by night. I should be as
sore afraid to meet her in the dark as to face a horrid mandrake. The
good Jesus keep me from such an encounter! The Bishop’s Ordinary is
her constant guest, but she is not satisfied; the garrulous Vicar and
the good old Dean are her oldest friends, but she is not content. She
must needs entangle now the Pardoner for poor souls in Purgatory, to
complete the infamy of her black and odious life.”

Observe how the Spaniard, which hath so well described the thirty
beauties of a fair lady (have I not quoted them above, in this same
Discourse?), can, when he so wills, abuse the sex with the like gusto.

[Illustration: Decorative scrollwork above chapter start]

THIRD DISCOURSE

Concerning the beauty of a fine leg, and the virtue
the same doth possess.

Among many and sundry beauties the which I have at divers times known
us courtiers to praise, and which are right well adapted to attract
love, one of the highest esteemed is a fine leg on a fine woman. Many
fair ladies have I known take great pride therein, and use great pains
to have and to keep the same beautiful. Amongst others I have heard
tell of a noble Princess[146*] of the great world, and one that I did
myself know, which did cherish one of her ladies above all the rest,
and did favour her beyond all, for this only because she could draw on
her mistress’ hose so close and tight, and arrange them so cleverly
to fit the leg, and fasten the garter so prettily,—better than any
other. For this only reason she gat great preferment at her hands, and
even did win considerable wealth. Now in view of all this care she
took to keep her leg in such good trim, we may be very sure ’twas not
to hide the same under her petticoats or under skirts or frock, but
to make display thereof at whiles with fine drawers of cloth of gold
and silver, or other the like rich stuff, very prettily and daintily
made, which she did commonly wear. For verily a woman taketh not such
pleasure in her body without being fain to give others a share also in
the sight, yea! and the enjoyment thereof.

Moreover this lady could not make excuse, saying ’twas all done to
pleasure her husband, as the most part of women, and even of old women,
will ever declare, whenas they do make themselves so seductive and gay,
though they be quite elderly; for she was a widow. True it is in her
husband’s lifetime she had done the same, and would not leave off the
habit afterward, merely because she had lost him.

I have known many fair and honourable ladies, both wives and maids,
which are no less painstaking thus to keep their fine legs in well
cared for, seemly and attractive guise. And very right they be so to
do; for truly there is more wanton seduction doth lie therein than you
would readily suppose.

I have heard speak of a very great lady, of the days of King Francis,
and a right fair dame, who having broken a leg and had the same set,
did after find ’twas ill done, and the limb was left all twisted. So
stout of heart was she, that she did make the bone-setter break it
afresh, for to restore it to its right shape as before, and make it as
fine and straight as ever. Hereat a certain lady did express no little
surprise; but another fair lady, and a well experienced one, did answer
thus and said, “Ah! I see plainly you know not what amorous virtue a
fine leg hath in it.”

I knew in former days a very fair and honourable damsel of the great
world, who being much in love with a great Lord, for to attract him to
her and by way of trying some good device to win him to her,—a design
wherein she could never succeed, one day being in a wooded avenue and
seeing him approach, did make a pretense as though her garter were
coming down. So withdrawing a little on one side, she did lift up her
leg, and began to pull up her stocking and re-adjust her garter. The
great lord did note it all well, and found her leg an exceeding fine
one. Indeed he did lose his head so completely that this sight of her
did work more effect on him than ever her face had done, for he did
think to himself how that two such fine columns must needs support a
very fine building. And later he did admit as much to his mistress, who
afterward did with him as she would. A noteworthy device truly, and a
pretty bit of love practice!

I have heard speak likewise of a fair and honourable lady, and one
especially witty and of a gay good humour, who one day, when her
chamber valet was a-drawing on of her hose, did ask him if this did not
put him in heat, temptation and concupiscence;[147] nay! she put it yet
more plainly, and said the plain word right out. The valet, thinking to
please and for the respect he bare his mistress, did answer her, No!—At
this she did of a sudden lift her hand and gave him a sound cuff on the
head, crying out, “Begone with you! you shall never serve me more. You
are a simpleton, and I do give you notice from this day.”

There be many young ladies’ valets nowadays which be not so
self-restrained at the rising of their mistresses from bed and in the
dressing of them and putting on of their foot-gear. Moreover many a
gentleman would have found it hard to act thus, seeing so fair a treat
spread out before his eyes.

’Tis not only in our own day men have esteemed the beauty of fine legs
and pretty feet (for ’tis one and the same thing); but in the time of
the old Romans likewise we do read how Lucius Vitellius, father of the
Emperor Vitellius, being very sore smit with love for Messalina and
desiring to be in favour with her husband by her means, did one day
beseech her to do him the honour of granting him a boon.[148*] The
Empress asked him, “What boon?”—“’Tis this, Madam,” he replied, “that
you be pleased one day to suffer me to take off your shoes.” Messalina,
who was ever full of courtesy for her subjects, could not refuse him
this favour. Then he, after removing her shoes, did keep one of them,
and bore the same always about with him betwixt his shirt and his skin,
kissing it as oft as ever he had opportunity, in this wise worshipping
his lady’s pretty feet in the guise of her slippers, forasmuch as
he could not have at his disposal the foot itself nor the fine leg
appertaining thereto.

Then you have that English Lord in the _Cent Nouvelles_ of the Queen of
Navarre, which did in like wise wear his mistress’ glove by his side,
and that so richly adorned. Again I have known many gentlemen which,
before donning of their silk stockings, would beg their fair ladies and
mistresses to try on the same and wear them the first a week or ten
days, more or less; after which themselves would wear them in great
respect and high content of mind and body.

I knew once a Lord of the great world, who being at sea with a very
great lady and one of the fairest of womankind, had the happiness,
seeing he was travelling with her through his country and as her women
were all ill of seasickness and so in very ill case to serve her, to
be obliged to put her to bed with his own hands every night and get her
up in the morning. But in so doing and in putting on of her foot-gear
and taking off the same, he did grow so much enamoured as to be well
nigh desperate, albeit she was his near kinswoman. For verily the
temptation herein was too exceeding great, and there doth not exist the
man so mortified in spirit but he is something moved by the same.

We do read of the wife of Nero, Poppæa Sabina, which was the favourite
of all his wives and mistresses, how that, beside being the most lavish
of women in all sorts of superfluities, ornaments, embellishments,
gawds and costly weeds, she did wear shoes and slippers all of pure
gold. This luxury was not like to make her hide her foot and leg from
Nero, her cuckold mate; nor yet did he enjoy the sole delight and
pleasure of the sight, for there was many another lover had the same
privilege. Well might she display this extravagance for herself, seeing
she was used to have her horses’ hoofs, which did draw her chariot,
shod with shoes of silver.

Saint Jerome doth reprove in very severe terms a lady of his time which
was over careful of the beauty of her leg, using these exact words:
“With her little brown boot, well fitting and well polished, she doth
decoy young men, and the tinkle of her shoe-buckles is a snare unto
them.” No doubt this was some dainty fashion of foot-gear in vogue in
those days, that was over luxurious and ill becoming to modest women.
The wearing of foot-gear of the sort is to this present day in use
among Turkish ladies, and those the best-born and most virtuous.

I have seen the question raised and discussed which is the more
seductive and alluring, the naked leg, or the leg covered and
stockinged? Many hold there is naught like the natural article, when
’tis well made and perfectly turned, according to the points of beauty
enumerated by the Spaniard I did quote from a little above, and is
white, fair and smooth, and appropriately displayed in a fine bed. For
if it be otherwise and a lady were fain to show her leg all bare in
walking and so on, and with shoes on her feet, albeit she should be the
most magnificently dressed out possible, yet would she never be deemed
becomingly apparelled. Nor would she really and truly look so fair as
one that should be properly equipped with pretty hose of coloured silk
or else of white thread, such as be made at Florence for summer wear,
and which I have often seen our ladies wearing in former times, before
the great vogue we do now see of silk stockings. But the hose must ever
be drawn close and stretched as tight as a drum and so fastened with
clasps or otherwise, according to the preference and good pleasure of
the wearer. Further must the foot be fitted with a pretty white shoe,
or a slipper of black velvet or velvet of some other colour, or else a
neat little high-heeled shoe, cut to perfection, such as I have seen
a certain very noble lady of the great world wear, of such sort that
naught could well be better or more dainty.

Wherein again the beauty of the foot must be considered. If this be
too large, ’tis not pretty; but an if it be too tiny, it doth give
a naughty hint and ill notion of its wearer. Rather it should be of
a middling size, as I have seen sundry which have been exceeding
appetizing, above all when their owners did thrust the same half in,
half out, and just show them beneath their petticoat, and make them
shift and quiver in little tricksome, wanton movements, being shod
with a pretty little high-heeled shoe, thinly soled, or else a white
slipper, pointed, not square-toed in front; but the white is the most
daintiest. But these little high-heeled shoes and pumps be for big,
tall women, not for the short and dwarfish ones, which do have their
great horse-shoes with soles two feet thick. One had as lief as these
see a giant’s club on the swing, or a fool’s bawble.

Another thing a woman should beware of is the disguising her sex and
dressing herself as a boy, whether for a masquerade or for any other
occasion. For so attired, though she have the finest leg in the world,
yet doth she look ill-shapen in that part, seeing all things have their
proper setting and suitable array. Thus in falsifying of their sex,
they do altogether disfigure their beauty and natural grace.

This is why ’tis not becoming for a woman to dress as a boy for to
display her charms to the more advantage,—unless indeed it be merely to
don a dainty, gallant cap with the Guelf or Ghibelline feather stuck
therein, or perched above the brow, in such wise to be distinctively
neither male nor female, after the fashion our ladies have of late
adopted. Yet even this doth not suit all women equally well; the face
must be saucy and of just the right expression to carry it off, as
we have seen in the case of our Queen Marguerite of Navarre. Her it
did suit so well that, seeing her face only when she was so bedecked,
no man could tell which sex she came the nearer to, whether she more
looked the handsome boy or the beautiful woman she really was.

This doth remind me of another lady of the great world, and one I knew,
which wishing to imitate the same mode when about twenty-five years
of age, and altogether over tall and big statured, a great masculine
looking woman and but lately come to Court, and thinking to play the
gallant dame, did one day appear so attired in the ball-room. Nor did
she fail to be much stared at and rallied not a little on her costume.
Even the King himself did pronounce his judgement thereon, for indeed
he was one of the wittiest men in his realm, and declared she did
resemble a mountebank’s wench, or still better one of those painted
figures of women that are imported from Flanders and set up in front
of the chimney-pieces in inns and taverns with German flutes at their
lips. In fact he went so far as to have her told that if she did appear
any more in that dress and get-up, he would order her to bring her
flute with her for to play a merry greeting to the noble company withal
and divert them with her music. Such cruel sport did he make of her, as
well because the said head-gear did so ill suit her as for a grudge he
had against her husband.

So we see such masquerading doth not suit all ladies alike. For when
this same Queen of Navarre, the fairest woman in all the world, was
pleased to adopt a further disguise beyond the cap, she did never
appear so fair as she really was, nor ever would have. And indeed what
shape could she have taken more beauteous than her own, seeing there
is none better she could have borrowed from any in all the world? And
if she had chose to show her leg, the which I have heard sundry of her
women describe as the finest and best ever known, otherwise than in its
proper form, and appearing well and fitly stockinged and shod below her
fine clothes, never would it have been deemed so handsome as it was.
Thus with a due regard to surroundings doth it behove fair ladies to
show and make display of their beauties.

I have read in a Spanish book entitled _El Viage del Principe_, or “The
Prince’s Voyage,” to wit that which the King of Spain[149] did make in
his Province of the Low Countries, in the time of the Emperor Charles
his father, how among other fine receptions he did meet with among his
rich and wealthy cities of those parts, was one of the Queen of Hungary
in the fair city of Bains, which did give rise to a proverb, _Mas brava
que las fiestas de Bains_,—“Finer than the festivities of Bains.”

Among other magnificent shows was this. During the siege of a sham
castle that was erected, and besieged in form as a place of war, (a
description of the same is given elsewhere in my Works), she did one
day give an entertainment, notable among all others, to the Emperor
her good brother, the Queen Eleanor her sister, the King her nephew,
and all the Lords, nights and ladies of the Court. Toward the end of
the show did appear a lady, accompanied by six Oreads, or mountain
nymphs, clad in the antique mode, in the costume of nymphs of the
Virgin Huntress, all attired in cloth of silver and green and crescents
on their brow all beset with diamonds in such wise that they seemed to
imitate the brilliancy of the moon, and carrying each her bow and arrow
in hand, and rich quivers at their side, their shoes in like wise of
cloth of silver, well fitting and well put on so as that they could not
be better. And so caparisoned they did enter the great hall, leading
their dogs after them, and did present to the Emperor and laid on the
table before him all sorts of game in pasties, the which they had taken
in their hunting.

Thereafter did come Pales, the goddess of shepherds, with six nymphs of
the meadows, clad all in white of cloth of silver, with furniture of
the same on their heads all beset with pearls, wearing likewise hosen
of the same material with white slippers; and these did bring all sorts
of milk confections, and laid the same before the Emperor.

Then for the third band, came the goddess Pomona, with her Naïads,
or water nymphs, which did bring the last offering of fruits. And
this goddess was the daughter of Donna Beatrix Pacecho, Comtesse
d’Autremont, lady-in-waiting of Queen Eleanor, a child at that time of
some nine years old.[150*] She it is that is now wife of the Admiral de
Chastillon, he having wedded her as his second wife. This pretty maid
and goddess did bring in, she and her companions, all sorts of fruits
such as could be found at that season, for it was Summer time, the
richest and rarest procurable, and did present the same to the Emperor
with a set speech so eloquent, so fine and pronounced with so sweet a
grace that she did win the great love and admiration of the Emperor and
all the company there assembled, her youth being taken in account, that
from that day forward ’twas foretold of all that she would be what she
is to-day, a fair, wise, honourable, virtuous, clever and witty lady.

She was similarly attired as a nymph like the rest of her companions,
all being clad in cloth of silver and white, with hosen and shoes of
the same, and their heads decked with much wealth of jewels. But these
were all emeralds this time, to represent in part the colour of the
fruit they did offer. And besides the gift of fruit, she did make one
to the Emperor and the King of Spain of a Tree of Victory all enamelled
in green, the boughs laden with great pearls and precious stones, right
rich to behold and of inestimable worth; also to the Queen Eleanor a
fan, with a mirror in the mid thereof, the whole garnished with jewels
of great price.

Verily this Princess and Queen of Hungary did show right well that she
was an honourable lady in all points, and that her address and tact was
as admirable as was her skill in the art of war. And indeed, by all I
have heard said, the Emperor her brother did feel no little content and
comfort to have so honourable a sister and so worthy of him.

Now have I laid myself open to blame and might fairly enough be
asked why I have made this digression in the course of my Discourse.
’Tis to point out how that all these maids that did represent these
characters had been chose out and selected as being the fairest among
all the suite of the Queens of France and of Hungary and of Madame de
Lorraine,—being Frenchwomen, Italians, Flemish, German and Lorrainers.
In all the number was no defect of beauty; and God knoweth if the
Queen of Hungary had been painstaking and exact to choose such as were
fairest and most graceful.

Madame de Fontaine-Chalandry, who is yet alive, could give us good
assurance of this, who was at the time maid of honour of the Queen
Eleanor, and one of the fairest. She was known also by the name of “the
fair Torcy,” and hath told me the tale of all these doings. And I have
it for sure both of her and from other quarters too how that all the
lords, gentlemen and knights of that Court did take their diversion in
looking at and examining fine legs, limbs and pretty little feet of
these ladies. For attired thus as nymphs, they were dressed in short
gowns, and could make a very engaging display, more enticing even than
their pretty faces, which admirers could see every day, whereas ’twas
not so with their other beauties. And so sundry courtiers did grow more
enamoured by the sight and display of these same fine legs, than ever
of their pretty faces, seeing that atop of such fine columns there be
commonly found fine cornices with their friezes, fine architraves, and
rich capitals, smoothly polished and curiously carved.

So must I be allowed yet another digression, and to say my say
as I please, now we be upon the subject of shows and suchlike
representations. Almost at the same moment as these noble festivities
were a-doing in the Low Countries, and above all at Bains, on occasion
of the reception of the King of Spain, was made the state entry of King
Henri, on his way back from visiting his province of Piedmont and his
garrisons there, into Lyons, which was of a surety one of the finest
and most triumphant ever known, as I have heard honourable ladies and
gentlemen of the Court declare, which were there at the time.

Well! if this show and representation of Diana and her hunt was found
admirable at these Royal festivities of the Queen of Hungary, another
was contrived at Lyons which was different again and still more
lifelike.[151*] For as the King was marching along, and just about to
reach a grand obelisk of Classic fashion, on the right hand of his way
he did actually find a meadow by the side of the high road surrounded
by a wall something more than six feet high, and the said meadow
within filled up with earth to the same height. This had been regularly
filled up with trees of moderate growth, planted in between with thick
undergrowth and many shrubs and smaller brushwood, as well as with a
good supply of fruit trees. In this miniature forest did disport them
many little stags all alive, and fawns and roebuck, though of course
tame ones. Presently his Majesty did hear sundry hunting-horns and
trumpets sound softly; and thereupon instantly did behold through
the aforesaid wood Diana a-hunting with her companions and forest
maids, holding in her hand a richly dight Turkish bow, and her quiver
hanging at her side, attired in the costume of a nymph, after the
fashion the remains of Antiquity do yet show us. Her body was clad in
a short doublet with six great round scallops of black cloth of gold,
strewn with silver stars, the sleeves and body of crimson satin with
borderings of gold, tucked up to mid thigh, displaying her fine limb
and pretty leg, and her sandals of the antique shape, set with pearls
embedded in embroideries. Her hair was interlaced with heavy strings of
rich pearls, with wealth of precious stones and jewels of price; while
above the brow a little silver crescent was set, blazing with tiny
little diamonds. For gold would not have been so well, nor so true a
representation of the natural crescent, which is clear and silvery.

Her companions were accoutred in divers sorts of costumes of lustring
striped with gold, both wide and narrow stripes, always in the antique
mode, as well as sundry other colours of an antique sort, varied
and intermingled as well for curiousness of effect as for gaiety of
appearance. Hosen and shoes were of satin; their heads decked out in
like wise in the character of nymphs, with many pearls and precious
stones.

Some were leading in leash sleuth-hounds, small greyhounds, spaniels
and other dogs by cords of silk white and black, the King’s colours
which he bare for the love of a lady named Diana whom he loved; others
did go along with and encourage the running dogs, that were in full
cry. Others again did carry little darts of hard wood,[152*] the point
gilded, and having pretty little hanging tassels of black and white
silk, and hunting-horns and trumpets mounted in gold and silver hanging
in bandoleers with cords of thread of silver and black silk.

And so soon as ever they did perceive the King, a lion did sally forth
of the wood, which was tamed and trained long before for this, and did
throw himself at the feet of the said goddess, giving her welcome. So
she, seeing him so mansuete and gentle, did take him by a great rope of
silver cord and black silk, and on the instant did present the same to
the King. Thus coming forward with the lion to the edge of the wall of
the meadow bordering the road, and within a pace or so of his Majesty,
she did make offer to him of the beast in a rhymed stanza, of the sort
composed in those days, yet not so ill wrought either or ill sounding.
And according to this rhyme, the which she did pronounce with a very
good grace and sweetness, under the guise of the lion so gentle and
well behaved she did offer him his town of Lyons, now all gentle, well
behaved and brought under to his laws and orders.

All this being said and done with a very sweet grace, Diana and all her
companions did make him an humble reverence; whereupon having looked at
them all with a favourable eye and greeted them graciously, signifying
he had found their hunting shows right agreeable and thanking them
heartily, he did so part from them and went on his way to his entry
into the city.[153*] Now observe that this same Diana and all her
nymphs were the most highly thought on and fairest wives, widows and
maids of Lyons, where is no lack of such, which did play their mystery
so well and in such engaging sort that the most part of the Princes,
Lords, gentlemen and courtiers were exceedingly delighted thereat. I
leave you to judge whether they had not good cause so to be.

Madame de Valentinois, known as Diane de Poitiers, the King’s mistress,
in whose name this hunting was made, was not less well content, and did
like well all her life long the good town of Lyons. And indeed she was
their neighbour, by reason of the Duchy of Valentinois which is quite
close to that place.

Well! as we are on the subject of the pleasure to be derived from
the sight of a fine leg, we may be assured, as I have heard say,
that not the King only, but all these Court gallants, did find a
marvellous great pleasure in contemplating and gazing at those of
these fair nymphs, so gaily attired and high kilted as that they did
give as much,—or more,—temptation to ascend to a yet higher level, as
admiration and reason to approve so pretty and pleasantly contrived a
divertisement.

However, to quit our digression and return to the point at which we
left our main subject, I mention how we have seen played at our Court
and represented by our Queens right graceful ballets, and especially
by the Queen Mother; yet as a rule, for us courtiers we would be ever
casting our eyes on the feet and legs of the ladies which did take
part in them, and did find by far our greatest pleasure in seeing them
display their legs so agreeably, and so move and twinkle their feet
so nimbly as that naught could be better.[154*] For their petticoats
and frocks were much shorter than usual, though not so much so as in
the nymphs’ costume, nor so high as they should have been and as was
desired of many. Yet did our eyes fasten somewhat on those parts, and
especially when they were dancing the quick step, which making the
skirts to flutter up, would generally show something or other pleasant
to look at,—a sight that I have seen several find altogether too much
for them, so that they did lose all self-control over themselves.

The fair ladies of Sienna, at the first beginning of the revolt of
their city and republic, did form three companies of the most beautiful
and greatest ladies were in that town. Each company did mount to a
thousand, so as the whole was three thousand strong. One company was
clad in violet lustring, one in white, and one in red, all being
attired as nymphs with very short skirts, in such wise that they did
make full display of fine limbs and legs. In this wise they did pass
in review before all their fellow townsmen as well as before his Grace
the Cardinal of Ferrara and M. de Termes, Lieutenants General of our
French King Henri, all firmly resolved and determined to die for the
Republic and for France, and all ready to give a hand to the work of
fortifying the said city. Indeed all and each did carry a fascine
ready on shoulder; and did rouse by their gallantry the admiration of
all. This tale I do set down in another place, where I am speaking of
high-spirited women; for truly ’tis one of the finest exploits was ever
done by gallant dames.

For the present I will content me with saying how I have heard it told
by many gentlemen and soldiers, both French and foreign, and especially
by sundry of that town, that never aught finer was seen, seeing they
were all great ladies and of the chiefest families of that place, and
each fairer than another, for ’tis well known that beauty is far from
lacking in that city, but is very general therein. But if it were a
fine sight to behold their handsome faces, ’twas no less so to see and
gaze upon their handsome limbs and fine legs, with their pretty hosen
and shoes well fitting and well put on, as the dames of those parts
know right well how to do. Then they did all wear their gowns very
short, in the guise of nymphs, that they might march the easier,—the
which was enough to tempt and warm up the most chilliest and mortified
of mankind. And what did most pleasure the onlookers was this, that
whereas they might any day see their faces, they could not so behold
these fine and handsome legs of theirs. He was no fool which did devise
this same mode and costume of nymphs, for it doth readily afford many
fine sights and agreeable spectacles. The skirts be cut very short, and
are divided up the side to boot, as we do yet see it represented in the
fine Roman antiques, which doth still more flatter the wantonness of
the eye.

But in our own day, with the fair ladies of Chios,[155*] matrons and
maids, what and how is it they be so attractive? Why! truly ’tis their
beauty and their charms of face and figure,—but also their superb
fashions of dress, and above all their very short gowns, which do make
full display of their dainty, well shod feet.

This doth remind me how one time at Court a lady of very tall and
imposing figure, looking at a magnificent and noble hunting piece in
tapestry, wherein Diana and all her band of virgin huntresses were very
naturally represented, and all by the fashion of their dress did show
their pretty feet and fine legs, did chance to have with her one of
her companions, which was of very low and small stature, and who was
likewise diverting herself along with the other in examining the said
tapestry. To her she did say thus: “Ha! ha! little one, if all we women
did dress after that fashion, you would be in a bad way and would lose
all advantage, for your great high-heeled shoes would betray you; and
you would never have such grace in your walk, nor such charm in showing
of your leg, as we that are tall and stately. You would have to keep
close and scarce show at all. Give thanks then to the days we live
in and the long gowns we wear, which be so favourable to you, and do
hide your legs so conveniently. For indeed with your great high-heeled
shoes a foot tall, these be more like a cudgel than a woman’s leg. If
a man had never a weapon to fight withal, he would but have to cut off
a leg and grasp it by the end where your foot is shod and encased in
your high shoes, and he would have a beautiful club for the fiercest
encounter.”

This lady was very right in what she said, for truly the prettiest leg
in the world, if it be so imprisoned in these great, heavy, high-heeled
shoes, doth lose its beauty altogether, seeing this great club foot
doth cause too great a deformity for anything; for if a pretty foot
well shod and dainty goeth not with the leg, all is of no avail. Now
these dames which do adopt these great, heavy, lumbering high-heeled
shoes think no doubt to embellish and better their figures and thereby
appear more beautiful and be the more loved; but on the other hand
they do worsen their fine leg and foot, which be surely in their
natural beauty worth as much as a fine tall figure that is but a sham.

Similarly in time of yore, a pretty foot did carry with it so much of
wanton fascination, that many prudish minded and chaste Roman ladies,
or at the least such as did feign to be so,—and even in our own day
some do the like in Italy in imitation of antique morals,—do as much
scruple about showing this part in public as their faces, hiding it
under their flowing gowns all ever they can, so that none may see it;
and in walking do go so prudishly, discreetly and carefully as that it
never passeth out from under their robe.

This is well enough for such as are trained in prudish bearing and
respectability, and are for never offering temptation; we must say this
much for them. Yet I ween, and if they had their free choice, they
would make display enough both of foot and leg, and of other things to
boot. Beside, they do consent to show the same to their husbands, for
all their hypocrisy and petty scruples about being dames of position
and respectability. However I but relate the fact as it is.

I do know of a certain gentleman, a very gallant and honourable man,
which only by having seen at Rheims at the Consecration of the late
King, the lovely leg, in a white silk stocking, of a great and very
fair lady, a widow and of tall stature, from underneath those scaffolds
they erect for ladies to see the ceremony from, did fall so deep in
love with her as that he grew well nigh desperate with passion. Thus
what her handsome face had failed to effect, this her fine development
of leg did bring about; though truly the said lady did deserve by the
beauty of all her person to drive an honourable gentleman to his death.
And I have known other men too of the like humour.

At any rate for final word will I say this, and I have known the same
to be held as an incontrovertible maxim by many gallant courtiers, my
comrades, that the display of a fine leg and pretty foot is a thing
most dangerously apt to fascinate wanton eyes to love; and I wonder
much that some of our many good writers, whether poets or others, have
never writ the praises thereof, as they have of other parts of fair
ladies’ bodies. For myself, I would have writ more on this subject, but
that I was afeared, if I did overmuch belaud these parts of the person,
I should be reproached as scarce enough heeding the rest. Beside I have
perforce to treat of other matters, and may not tarry too long over one.

Wherefore I do now make an end with this little word of advice: “For
God’s sake, Ladies, be not so careful to make you seem of taller
stature and other than you are; but rather look to the beauty of your
legs, the which be so fair and fine, at any rate with some of you. But
ye do mar the charm of them with those monstrous high-heeled boots and
huge horse-shoes ye do wear. Doubtless ye do need such; but by having
the same of such exaggerated size, ye do disgust folk far more than ye
imagine.”

* * * * *

I have said my say. Whosoever will, may bepraise the other beauties of
woman, as sundry of our poets have done; but I maintain, a fine leg, a
limb well shapen and a pretty foot, do exercise no small fascination
and power in the realm of Love.

[Illustration: Decorative scrollwork above chapter start]

FOURTH DISCOURSE

Concerning old dames as fond to practise love as
ever the young ones be.

I have spoke afore of old dames which be fain to play the wanton; yet
do I further append this discourse here. So by way of commencement, I
will say how one day myself being at the Court of Spain and conversing
with a very honourable and fair lady, but withal something advanced in
age, I did hear her pronounce these words: _Que ningunas damas lindas,
o alo menos pocas, se hazen viejas de la cinta hasta abaxo_, “that
never a fair lady, or at the least very few such, are old from the
waist downwards.” On my asking her in what sense she did mean this,
whether ’twas the beauty of person from waist down that did never
diminish in any wise by reason of age, or the desire and appetite of
concupiscence that did not at all fail or grow chilled in these parts,
she did make answer she intended both the one and the other. “For
indeed,” she went on, “as to the prickings of the flesh, no cure is
there for these you must know, but death only; albeit old age would
seem to be an obstacle thereto. Yet doth every beautiful woman ever
fondly love her own self, and in so loving, ’tis not for her own, but
some other’s sake; and is in no wise like Narcissus, the which, so
foolish was the youth, himself lover and beloved, did think scorn of
all other affections.”

A beautiful woman hath naught of this humour about her. So have I heard
it related of a very fair lady, which after first loving herself and
taking much joy of her own beauty alone and by herself, and in her bed
stripping of herself quite naked, and so looking at her own person,
and admiring and contemplating the same, did curse her hard fate to be
vowed to one sole husband that was not worthy to enjoy so fair a body,
holding him to be in no wise her equal in merit. At the last was she
so fired by such contemplations and sights and longings as that she
did bid a long farewell to her virtue and her marriage vow, and did
practise new love with a new lover.

This is how a woman’s beauty doth kindle and inflame her, constraining
her to have resort to such, whether husbands or lovers, as may satisfy
her desire; while ’tis always the nature of one love to lead to
another. Wherefore being thus fair and sought after of some admirer,
and if she disdain not to answer to his passion, she is at once in the
snare. So Laïs, the famous courtesan, was used to declare, that so
soon as ever a woman doth open her mouth to make a gentle reply to her
friend, lo! her heart is flown, and the door opened straightway.

Moreover no fair and honourable woman doth ever refuse any good
praise that men render her; and once she is gratified and doth suffer
such commendation of her beauty, grace and gentle ways, the which we
courtiers be ever wont to make by way of first assault of love, though
it may be some while a-doing, yet in the long run we do always win the
place.

Further, it is a true thing that no beautiful woman, having once made
essay of the game of love, doth ever unlearn the same, and for ever
after is the sport right pleasant and delightsome to her. Just as when
a man hath grown accustomed to good living, ’tis exceeding disagreeable
to discontinue the same; and as this is better for the health, the more
a man is got on in years, (as the doctors declare), so the more a woman
advanceth in age, all the more is she greedy after the good cheer she
is accustomed to. This daintiness is nowise forgot or remitted because
of the weight of years, but more like by some long sickness, (so the
faculty tell us), or other accident; and albeit disinclination may be
experienced for some while, yet will the taste for such good things be
renewed anon.

’Tis said, again, how that all activities do decrease and diminish
by reason of age, which doth rob folk of the strength to properly
exercise the same,—except only that of Venus, the which is carried out
very luxuriously, without sore trouble or much exertion, in a soft,
comfortable bed, and altogether at ease. I do speak now of the woman,
and not of the man, to the share of which latter falleth all the labour
and task-work in this province. A man then, once deprived of this
pleasure, doth easily and early abstain from further indulgence,—albeit
sometimes it may be in spite of himself; whereas a woman, be she of
what age she will, doth take to her, like a furnace, and burn up, all
stuff that cometh her way. Nay! even though a dame should be so aged
as to look but ill, and find herself in no such good case as in her
younger years, yet she may by dint of money find means to get gallant
cavaliers at the current rate, and good ones too, as I have heard say.
All commodities that cost dear do sore vex the purse,—(this goes
counter to Heliogabalus’ opinion, who the dearer he did buy his viands,
the better he thought them),—except only the commodities of Love,
the which be the more agreeable in proportion as they cost more, by
reason of the great desire felt to get good value of the bargain and
thoroughly enjoy the article purchased. So the poor talent one hath, is
made to do triple service, or even hundredfold service, if that may any
way be.

This is what a certain Spanish courtesan meant by her word to two brave
gentlemen which did pick a quarrel together over her, and sallying
forth to her house, did take sword in hand and fall to a-fighting. But
she putting head out of window, did cry out to them: _Señores, mis
amores se ganan con oron y plata, non con hierro_,—“Nay! Sirs, my love
is won with gold and silver, not with iron.”

All love well purchased is well and good. Many a lady and many a
cavalier which have done such traffic could tell us so much. But to
allege here examples of ladies,—and there be many such,—which have
burned as hot in their old age as ever in youth, and have satisfied,
or to put it better, have kept up, their fires with second husbands
and new lovers, would be for me now a waste of labour, seeing I have
elsewhere given many such. Yet will I bring forward one or two here
also, for my subject doth require it and is suitable to such matters.

I have heard speak of a great lady, one that was as well talked about
as any of her day, which one day seeing a young gentleman with very
white hands, did ask him what he was used to do to have them so. To
this he made answer, by way of jape and jest, that so oft as ever he
could, he would be a-rubbing of them with the spirit of love. “Ah!
well,” she replied, “’tis my bad luck then; for more than sixty years
have I been washing myself therewith, and I’m just as bad as the day I
began. Yet do I bathe so every day.”

I have heard speak of a lady of pretty advanced age, who wishing to
marry again, did one day ask a physician’s advice, basing her reasons
for so doing on the fact that she was exceeding full of all sorts of
evil humours, which had assailed and ever afflicted her since she
was a widow. Yet had this never so happed in the lifetime of her
husband, seeing that by dint of the constant exercises they did perform
together, the said humours were consumed. The physician, who was a
merry fellow, and willing enough to please her herein, did counsel
her to marry again, and in this fashion to chase away the humours
from her, saying ’twas better far to be happy than sad. The lady did
put this advice in practise, and found it answer very well, indeed,
superannuated as she was. This was, I mean, with a new husband and
lover,—which did love her at least as much for the sake of her good
money as for any pleasure he gat of her. Though of a surety there be
many quite old dames, with whom as much enjoyment is to be had as with
younger women; nay! ’tis sometimes greater and better with such, by
reason of their understanding the art and science of love better, and
so the more stimulating their lovers’ taste therefor.

The courtesans of Rome and of Italy generally, when they are verging
toward ripe years, do maintain this maxim, that _una galina vecchia fa
miglior brodo che un’ altra_,—“an old hen doth make better broth than
any other.”

The Latin poet Horace doth make mention of an old woman, which did so
stir and toss about when she came to bed, and move her so violently
and restlessly, that she would set not alone the bed but the whole
house a-trembling. A gallant old dame in sooth! Now the Latins do name
suchlike agitation and wanton movement _subare a sue_.

We do read of the Emperor Caligula, that of all his women which he had,
he did love best Cæsonia, and this not so much by reason of her beauty,
nor because she was in the flower of age, for indeed she was by then
well on in years, but on account of her exceeding lustfulness and the
wantonness that was in her, as well as the good pains she did take in
the exercise thereof, and the experience her age, and long practise had
taught her, herein leaving all the other women in the lurch, albeit
handsomer and younger than herself. He was used to take her commonly
to the wars with him, clad and armed like a man, and riding in manlike
wise side by side with him, going so far even as often times to show
her to his comrades all naked, and make her exhibit to them her feats
of suppleness.

Thus are we bound to allow that age had in no wise diminished the
lady’s beauty, seeing how greatly the Emperor was attached to her.
Natheless, with all this fond love he did bear her, very oft whenas he
was a-kissing and touching her fair neck, he could not hinder himself,
so bloody-minded was he, from saying: “Ah! the beautiful neck it is;
yet ’tis in my power at will to have it cut.” Alas and alas! the poor
woman was slain along with her husband with a sword thrust through
the body by a Centurion, and her daughter broken and dashed to death
against a wall,—the which could never have been but for the ill deeds
of her father.[156]

We read further of Julia, step-mother of the Emperor Caracalla,[157]
how that one day being as it were by inadvertence half naked, she did
expose one-half of her body to his eyes; whereupon he said these words,
“Ha, ha! but I could relish it well enough, an if it were allowed me!”
She answered straightway, “So please you, know you not you are Emperor,
and therefore make laws instead of obeying them?” On hearing these
words and seeing her readiness, he did marry her and couple with her.

A reply of pretty much the same import was given to one of our last
three French Kings, whose name I will not mention. Being enamoured and
fallen deep in love with a very fair and honourable lady, after having
made the earlier advances and preliminaries of his suit to her, did
one day cause his pleasure to be conveyed to her more at length by an
honourable and very judicious and adroit gentleman I know by name and
repute. So he, conveying to her the Sovereign’s little missive, did
use all his eloquence to persuade her to consent. But she, no fool at
this game, did defend herself the best she could by many excellent
reasons the which she well knew how to allege, without forgetting the
chiefest, her honour,—that mighty, or rather mighty small, treasure. At
the last, the gentleman after much disputing and many protestations,
did ask her finally what she did desire he should tell the King. Then
she, after some moments of reflection, did suddenly, as if brought to
bay, pronounce these words following: “What are you to tell him?” she
cried, “why! what else but this? tell him I know well enough that no
refusal was ever advantageous to any, man or woman, which doth make
such to his King and Sovereign; and that very oft a Prince, exerting
the power he hath, will rather give the orders and taking a thing than
go on begging and praying for it.” Not ill content with this reply,
the gentleman doth straightway bear it to the King; who taking time by
the fore-lock, doth hie him to the lady in her chamber, and without
any over great effort or resistance doth have his will. The reply was
at once witty, and showed her good will to pleasure her King. Albeit
men say ’tis never well to have sport or dealings with the King, yet
must we except this particular game, wherefrom never was ill advantage
gotten, if only the woman do behave her prudently and faithfully.

To return to the afore named Julia, step-mother of the Emperor, she
must need have been a very harlot to love and take for husband one
which had on her own bosom slain some while before their own proper
son;[158] verily she was a base harlot and of base heart. Still ’twas a
grand thing to be Empress, and for such an honour all else is forgot.
This Julia was greatly loved of her husband, albeit she was well
advanced in years. Yet had she lost naught of her beauty; but was very
fair and very ready-witted, as those her words do witness, which did
make yet greater the bed of her greatness.

Filippo Maria, Third Duke of Milan,[159] did wed as second wife
Beatrix, widow of the late deceased Facino Cane,[159] being then an old
woman. But she did bring him for marriage portion four hundred thousand
crowns, without reckoning other furnishings, rings and jewelry, which
did amount to a great sum, and quite wiped out all thought of her age.
Yet spite of all, she did fall under her husband’s suspicions of having
gone to play the wanton elsewhere, and for this suspicion was done to
death of him. You see how little did old age destroy her taste for the
games of love. We must e’en suppose the great practice she had had
thereof had but given her the desire for more and more.

Constance, Queen of Sicily,[159] who from her youth up and near all her
days, had been vestal and never budged forth of a cloister-cell, but
lived there in life-long chastity, getting her freedom to come out in
the world at last at the age of fifty, though in no wise fair and quite
decrepit, yet was fain to taste the joys of the flesh and marry. She
did grow pregnant of a child at the age of fifty-two, and did desire to
be brought to bed publicly in the open meadows about Palermo, having
had a tent or pavilion set up there on purpose, to the end folk might
have never a doubt but the fruit of her body was verily to hand. And
this was one of the greatest miracles ever seen since the days of Saint
Elizabeth. Natheless the _History of Naples_[159] doth affirm ’twas
reputed a supposititious child. At any rate he did grow up a great man
for all that; but indeed these, and the greater part of valiant men,
are just the folk that be often bastards, as a high-born friend of mine
did one day remark to me.

I knew once an Abbess of Tarascon, sister of Madame d’Usez, of the
noble house of Tallard,[160] which did leave off her religious habit
and quit her convent at over fifty years of age, and did wed the great
Chanay we have seen play so gamesome a part at Court.

* * * * *

Many other women of religion have done the like, whether in wedlock
or otherwise, for to taste the joys of the flesh, and this at a very
ripe age. If such as these do so, what are we to expect our everyday
dames to do, which have been broken in thereto from their tenderest
years? Is age like to hinder them from now and again tasting and eating
tit-bits, the customary enjoyment whereof they have so long been used
to? Else what would become of so many good strengthening soups and
cunningly compounded broths, so much ambergris and other warming and
comfortable drugs for to warm and comfort their stomach now grown old
and chilly? For ’tis not open to doubt but that such like decoctions,
while they do recreate and keep sound their weakly stomachs, do
likewise perform another function on the sly, in giving them more heat
of body, and rousing some degree of passionate warmth. This is sure
and certain,—without appealing to the opinion of physicians, to whom
however I do refer me as to the matter.

And another and yet greater advantage for them is this. Being now aged
and coming nigh on to their fifty years, they need feel no more fear of
getting with child, and so have full, plenary and most ample freedom
to enjoy and make up all arrears of those pleasures which mayhap some
of them have not dared take hitherto for dread of the consequences. So
it is that there be many which do give more rein to their amours when
got to the wrong side of fifty than when still on the right. Not a few
ladies both of the highest and less exalted rank have I heard tell of
as being of this complexion, so much so that I have known or heard of
several that have many a time and oft longed for their fifty years to
have come and gone, to hinder them of conceiving and suffer them to
do it the more freely without risk or scandal of any sort. Nay! why
_should_ they refrain them on the approach of old age? Indeed you might
well say that after death itself there be women which yet feel some
movement and pricking of the flesh. This bringeth me to another tale I
must needs tell.

I had in former days a younger brother called Captain Bourdeille,[161*]
one of the bravest and most valiant captains of his time. I am bound
to say thus much of him, albeit he was my brother, without going too
far in my panegyric of him. The same is proved by the fights he fought
both in battle and in the lists; for indeed he was of all gentlemen
of France the one that had most skill of arms, so that in Piedmont he
was known as one of the Rodomonts of those parts. He was slain at the
assault of Hedin, the last time that place was retaken.

He was intended by his father and mother for a life of letters; and
with this view was sent at the age of eighteen into Italy to study.
He did take up his abode at Ferrara, for the reason that Madame Renée
de France, Duchess of Ferrara, was much attached to my mother, and
did keep him in that city to pursue his studies, for there was an
University there. However, seeing he was fitted neither by birth nor
disposition for this sort of life, he did study scarce at all, but did
rather amuse himself with the delights of love and courtship. In fact
he did fall deep in love with a certain French lady, a widow, which
was in the service of the Duchess, known as Mlle. de La Roche (or de
La Mothe) and did have much pleasure with her, each loving the other
exceeding well, till at the last my brother, being recalled home again
by his father, who saw he was ill fitted for letters, was reluctantly
constrained to return.

The lady, loving him greatly, and greatly fearing it might turn out
ill with him, for she was much of Luther’s way of thinking, who was
then widely followed, did beg my brother to take her with him to
France and to the Court of Marguerite, Queen of Navarre,[162] in whose
service she had been, and who had given her to Madame Renée, when she
was married and went to live in Italy. My brother, who was young and
quite heedless, was only too glad of such excellent company, and did
willingly escort her to Paris, where the Queen was then residing.
This last was right glad to behold her, for of all women she was the
wittiest and most ready of tongue, and was a handsome widow to boot and
perfect in all accomplishments.

My brother, after having tarried some days with my grandmother and
my mother, who was then performing her Court service, did presently
go home to see his father. After some while, sickening utterly of
letters, and seeing himself in no wise fitted for their pursuit, he
doth quit that career altogether and away to the wars in Piedmont and
Parma, where he did win much honour. So he did serve in these wars by
the space of five or six months without returning home. At the end
of this time he went to see his mother, who was at the time at Court
with the Queen of Navarre; the Queen was then holding Court at Pau,
and my brother did make his reverence to her as she was returning from
Vespers. Being one of the best natured Princesses was ever in this
world, she did receive him right graciously, and taking him by the
hand, did walk with him up and down the Church for an hour or twain,
asking him news of the wars in Piedmont and Italy and of many other
matters. To all this my brother did make answer so well that she was
very well satisfied (for indeed he was as ready of tongue as any of
his time) as well with his wit as with his person,—for he was a most
handsome man, and of the age then of twenty-four. At the last, after
long discourse with him, for ’twas ever the nature and complexion
of the said noble Princess in no wise to scorn good talk and the
conversation of good and honourable folk, gliding from subject to
subject and still walking up and down the while, she did quietly bring
my brother right over the tomb of Mlle. de La Roche, which had died
three months before, and there staid him. Presently taking his hand,
she said thus; “Cousin mine” (she called him so, seeing that a daughter
of Albret had married into our house of Bourdeille; but for all that
I do keep no greater state than another, nor suffer my ambition to
run away with me), “cannot you feel something move down below under
your feet?”—“Why! no, Madame,” he did reply.—“Nay! take heed and mark
carefully, cousin,” she did resume.—But my brother only made answer,
“Madame, I _have_ taken heed, but I can feel nothing moving. The stone
I tread on is firm enough.”—“Well, well! I must tell you then,” the
Queen went on, without keeping him longer in suspense, “that you are
standing above the tomb and the body of poor Mlle. de La Roche, whom
erst you did love so fondly; she is interred beneath this spot. Now
seeing that our souls do possess feeling after our death, how can we
doubt that this excellent creature, dead but lately, was moved so soon
as ever you came over her? And if you did not mark it by reason of the
grossness of the tomb, no doubt for this cause was she the more stirred
and moved in herself. Now forasmuch as ’tis a right pious office to
have memory of the dead, and specially of them we have loved, I do
beseech you give her a _Pater noster_ and an _Ave Maria_ and a _de
Profundis_ to boot, and sprinkle her resting place with holy water; so
shall you win the name of a very faithful lover and a good Christian.
And to this end will I now leave you,” and so quits him and hies her
away. My brother, (who is since dead), failed not to perform what she
had said, and then went to see her again; whereupon she did somewhat
take him to task and rally him, for she was familiar with folk,—in a
good sense that is,—and had graceful skill in gentle mockery.

Such then was the view this Princess did hold, but more by way of witty
conceit and gentle sentiment than from actual belief, as I think.

These gentle words of the Princess do further remind me of an epitaph
over a courtesan that is buried at the Church of our Lady of the People
(del Popolo) at Rome, which doth read thus: _Quaesco, viator, ne me
diutius calcatam amplius calces_, “To him that passeth by: ‘I have been
kicked and spurned enough in my lifetime; spurn me no more.’” The Latin
expression hath more grace than the English equivalent. I do put the
thing down here more by way of a jest than anything else.

Well, to draw to an end, no need to be astonished that the Spanish
lady named above did hold the maxim she did enunciate good of all such
fair ladies as have been greatly loved of others, and have loved, and
do love, themselves, and do take delight in being praised, albeit they
may have but little left of their by-gone beauty. But yet ’tis ever
the chiefest pleasure you can give them, and the one they do love the
most, whenas you tell them they are still the same, and are in no wise
changed or aged, and above all those of them which grow not old from
the waist downwards.

I have heard speak of a very fair and honourable lady which one day did
say thus to her lover: “I know not whether for the future old age will
bring me increasing inconvenience and incapacity,”—she was fifty-five
years old; “but, God be thanked, I did never do myself pleasure so well
as I do now, nor ever took greater joy therein. Whether this do last
out and continue till my extremest old age or no, I have no fault to
find, nor complaint to make of my days gone by.”

Now as concerning love and concupiscence, I have both here and
elsewhere adduced examples enough, without dwelling longer on this
subject. Let us now consider a while the maxim as concerning this
special beauty of fair ladies, how that it doth not diminish by reason
of old age.

For sure, the aforesaid Spanish lady did allege many good reasons and
seemly comparisons, likening these fair ladies to fine old buildings of
yore whose ruins do yet remain superb and imposing. So amid the noble
antiquities of Rome do we see the ruins of palaces, superb relics of
Collosseum and Thermæ, which to this day do plainly show what they once
were, and do inspire all beholders with wonder and awe, their mere
ruins being wondrous and surprising. Nay, more! on these same ruins
men do still build right noble edifices, proving that the foundations
be better and finer than fresh new ones. So very often in their
constructions, the which our good architects and masons do undertake,
if that they find some old ruins and ancient foundations, straightway
do they build on these, and that in preference to laying new ones.

Likewise have I seen good galleys and ships built and reconstructed
on old hulls and old keels, the which had long lain in harbour doing
nothing; and these were every whit as good and sound as others which
the ship-carpenters did frame and build all new, and of new timber
fresh from the forest.

Furthermore, our Spanish lady was used to say,—do we not many a time
see the summits of high towers carried away, overthrown and disfigured
by winds, storms and lightning, while the base doth remain safe and
sound? For ’tis ever against such lofty points that storms do spend
their fury. The sea winds moreover do corrode and eat away the upper
stones of a building and do wear them hollow more than those at the
bottom, seeing these be not so much exposed as the ones higher up.

In like wise many fair ladies do lose the brilliancy and beauty of
their pretty faces by various accidents whether of cold or heat, of
sun and moon, and the like, as well as, more’s the pity, by reason of
various cosmetics, the which they do apply to them, thinking so to
heighten their charms, but really and truly spoiling all their beauty
thereby. Whereas in other parts, they do apply no other preparation but
only nature’s method, feeling therefore neither cold, nor rain, nor
wind, neither sun nor moon, none of which do affect them at all.

If heat do inconvenience them, they know many means to gain relief
and coolness; as likewise they can guard against cold in plenty of
ways. So many inconveniences and injuries must needs be warded off
from a woman’s beauty of face, but few or none from that which lieth
elsewhere. Wherefore we should never conclude, because a woman’s
countenance is spoiled, that she is all foredone all over, and that
naught doth remain of fine and good, and that ’tis useless to build on
that foundation.

I have heard a tale told of a certain great lady, which had been
exceeding fair and much devoted to love. One of her old lovers having
lost sight of her for the space of four years, through some journey he
did undertake, on returning from the same did find her sadly changed
from the fair countenance he had known erstwhile, the which did so
disappoint him and chill his ardour as that he did no more care to
board her nor to renew with her again the pleasure of former days.
She did recognize him readily enough, did endeavour all she could to
get him to come and see her. Accordingly to this end she did one day
counterfeit sickness, and when he had come to visit her by daylight did
thus say to him: “I know well enough, Sir! you do scorn me for my poor
face so changed by age; but come, look you, and see if there be aught
changed there. If my face has deceived you, at any rate there is no
deception about that.” So the gentleman examining her and finding her
as fair and sound as ever, did straight recover appetite and did enjoy
the flesh he had thought to be spoiled. “Now this is the way, Sir,”
said the lady, “you men are deceived! Another time, give no credence
to the lies our false faces tell; for indeed the rest of our bodies
doth by no means always match them. This is the lesson I would have you
learn.”

Another lady of the like sort, being thus sorely changed of her fair
face, was in such great anger and despite against the same, that she
would never more look at it in her mirror, saying ’twas unworthy of so
much honour. So she had her head always dressed by her maids; and to
make up, would ever look at the other parts of herself only and gaze at
these, taking as much pride and delight therein as she had aforetime
done in her beautiful face.

I have heard speak of another lady, who whenever she did lie by
daylight with her lover, was used to cover her face with a fair white
kerchief of fine Holland web, for fear lest, if he should look in her
face, the upper works might chill and stay his affection, and move him
to mere disgust; for indeed below was naught to chide at, but all was
as fine as ever. This doth remind me of yet another very honourable
lady I have heard tell of, who did make a diverting and witty reply.
Her husband one day asking her why her hair in one place was not grown
white and hoary like that of her head, “Ah, yes,” she did exclaim, “the
wretch it is! It hath done all the folly, yet doth it feel naught, nor
experience any ill consequences. Many and many a time hath it made my
head to suffer; whereas it doth ever remain unchanged, in the same good
estate and vigour, and keepeth the same complexion, and above all the
same natural heat, and the same appetite and sound health. But how far
otherwise it is with my other parts, which do endure aches and pains
for it, and my hair which hath long ago grown white and hoary.”

And she had good reason so to speak; for truly this doth engender in
women many ills, and gout and other sicknesses. Moreover for being over
hot at it, so the doctors say, do they grow prematurely hoary-headed.
Thus we see fair ladies do never grow old in some parts, either in one
fashion or the other.

I have heard many men relate,—men which have followed women freely,
even going with courtesans,—how that they have scarce ever seen pretty
women get old in certain parts, did always keep all their former
beauty, and good will and hearty disposition to boot as good as
aforetime. Nay, more! I have heard not a few husbands declare they did
find their _old women_ (so they called them) as fair and fine as ever,
and as full of desire and wantonness, beauty and good will, discovering
no change at all but of face, and were as fain to love them as ever
they were in their young days.

In fine, how many men there be which do love old women for many reasons
better than young! Just as there be many which do love old horses
best, whether for a good day’s work, or for the riding-school and
display,—such animals as have been so well drilled in their youth as
that you will have never a fault to find with them when grown old.
Right well trained have they been, and have never after forgot their
pretty cunning.

I have myself seen in our Royal stables a horse they called
_Quadragant_, first broke in the time of King Henri. He was over two
and twenty years old; but aged as he was, he yet went very well, and
had forgot naught of his exercises. He could still give his King, and
all which did see him go through his paces, great and real pleasure.
I have seen the like done by a tall charger called _Gonzago_, from the
stud-farm of Mantua, and which was of the same age as _Quadragant_.

I have likewise seen that magnificent and well-known black, which had
been set to stallion’s work. Signor Antonio, who had charge of the
Royal stud, did show him me at Meung,[163] one day I did pass that way,
making him do the two strides and a leap, and the round step,—both
which he did execute as well as the day M. de Carnavallet had first
trained him,—for he was his horse. The late M. de Longueville was fain
to hire him of his master for three thousand livres; however King
Charles would not have it, but took him for himself, recompensing the
owner in another way. A whole host of others I could easily name; but
I should never have done, and so do refer me to those worthy squires
which have seen so many of the sort.

Our late King Henri, at the camp of Amiens, had chose for his mount on
the day of battle an horse called _le Bay de la Paix_, a very fine and
strong charger, and aged. But he died of fever in the camp of Amiens;
so the most expert farriers did declare, but ’twas deemed a strange
thing to have happed.

The late Duc de Guise did send to his stud-farm of Esclairon[163] for
the bay _Sanson_, which was there serving the mares as stallion, to be
his mount at the battle of Dreux, where he did carry him excellently.

In his first wars the late Prince[164*] did take from the stud at Mun
two and twenty horses, which were there as stallions, to serve him in
his campaigns; and did divide the same among the different lords which
were with him, after reserving his own share. Whereof the gallant
Avaret did have a charger which the great Constable had given to King
Henri, and which was called _le Compère_ (Old Gossip). Aged as he was,
never was seen a better mount; his master did prove him in some good
tough rencontres, and he did carry him right well. Captain Bourdet gat
the Arab, on whose back our late King Henri was wounded and slain, a
horse the late M. de Savoie had given him, called _le Malheureux_ (the
Unlucky). This was his name when he was presented to the King, and
verily ’twas one of very ill omen to him. Never in his youth was he
near so good as he was in his old age; though ’tis true his master,
which was one of the most gallant gentlemen of France, did show him
ever to the best advantage. In a word, of all these stallions, was not
one that age did hinder from serving his master well, and his Prince
and country. Indeed there be some old horses that will never give up;
hence ’tis well said, no good horse doth ever become a mere hack.

Of such sort be many fair dames, which in their old age be every whit
as good as other women in their youth, and do give as great pleasure,
from their having been in their time thoroughly well taught and
trained. And be sure such lessons are not easily forgot. Then again the
best of it is these be always most liberal and generous in giving, so
as to keep in hand their cavalier and riders, which do get more money
and demand an higher salary to bestride an old mount than a young one.
’Tis just the opposite with squires and real horsemen, which do never
care so much to mount broke horses as young ones that be yet to break.
However this is but reasonable after all.

There is a question I have seen debated on the subject of women of
years, to wit: which doth bring the greater glory, to love a woman
of years and have the enjoyment of her, or to so do with a young
one. Not a few have I heard pronounce for the older woman. For they
would maintain that the foolishness and heat which be in youth are of
themselves debauched enough already and right easy to undo; whereas the
prudence and coldness that would seem natural to age cannot but with
difficulty be led astray. And so they which do succeed in corrupting
such win the higher repute.

In like wise was the famous courtesan Laïs used to boast and glorify
herself greatly of the fact that the philosophers did come so oft to
visit her and learn in her school, more than of all the young and giddy
folks which did frequent her society. So also Flora was ever proud to
see great and dignified Roman senators arrive at her door, rather than
young and foolish gallants. Thus methinks ’tis great glory to vanquish
and overcome the wise prudence which should be in persons of ripe age,
so far as pleasure and satisfaction go.

I do refer me to such men as have made experiment hereof, of the which
sundry have told me how that a trained mount is ever more agreeable
than a wild colt and one that doth not so much as know the trot.
Furthermore, what pleasure and what greatest delight may not a man
enjoy in mind, whenas he doth behold enter a ball-room, or one of the
Queen’s apartments, or a Church, or other place crowded with company,
a lady of ripe years and dignity, _de alta guisa_ (of lofty carriage)
as they say in Italian, and above all a lady of honour to the Queen or
some Princess, or the governess of some King’s daughter, young queen
or great princess, or mayhap mother of the maids of honour, one that
is chose out and set in this high and sober office by reason of her
modest and seemly carriage? You shall see her assuming all the part of
the prudish, chaste and virtuous dame, while everybody doth of course
suppose her so, by reason of her years; then what joy, when a man doth
think in his heart, or e’en say it out to some trusty comrade and
confidant of his, “Look at her yonder, with her solemn ways, her staid
and cold and scornful mien! To see her, would you not deem butter would
not melt in her mouth? Yet, alack-a-day! never a weathercock in all the
wide world doth so shift and whirl so swift and nimbly as doth she.”

For myself, I do verily believe the man which hath known this joy and
can so say, is right well content at heart. Ha! ha! but I have known a
many such dames in this world, which did counterfeit to be most modest,
prudish and censorious duennas, yet were exceeding dissolute and
lecherous when they did come to it. Yea! and they would be put on their
backs far more than most young damsels, which, by reason of their too
much inexperience, be afraid of the gentle strife! So do they say there
is naught so good as old vixens for hunting abroad and getting food for
their cubs to eat.

We read how of old days several Roman Emperors did take their pleasure
in the debauching and having their will of suchlike high-born ladies of
honour and repute, as well for the pleasure and contentment to be had
therein,—and in good sooth there is more with such than with women of
inferior sort,—as for sake of the glory and honour they did arrogate
to themselves for having so debauched and bested them. So in like
wise have I known in my own time not a few great Lords, Princes and
Noblemen, which have found great boast and great content at heart, by
reason of having done the same.

Julius Cæsar and Octavius,[165*] his successor, were exceeding ardent
after such sort of conquests, as I have alleged before; and after
them Caligula, who summoning to his feasts the most illustrious Roman
ladies together with their husbands, would gaze steadfastly at the
same and examine them minutely, nay! would actually put out his hand
and lift their faces up, if by chance any of them did hang their heads
as conscious of being dames of honour and repute,—though truly other
some were fain but to counterfeit this modesty, and play the shamefaced
prude. But verily there cannot have been a many genuine prudes in
the days of these dissolute Emperors; yet must they needs make the
pretense, albeit nothing more. Else had the game not been worth the
playing; and I have myself in our day seen many a fair lady do the like.

Afterward such of them as did hit the worthy Emperor’s taste, these he
would take aside openly and from their very husbands’ side, and leading
them from the hall would escort them to a privy chamber, where he would
take his pleasure of them to his full content. This done he would
lead them back to sit down once more in their place; and then before
all the company would proceed to commend their beauties and special
hidden charms that were in them, specifying these same separately
and severally. And any which had any blemishes, faults or defects of
beauty, these he would by no means let off in silence, but was used
always to describe and declare the same openly, without disguising or
concealing aught.

Nero was even yet worse than this, being so curious as that he did
examine his own mother’s dead body, gazing steadfastly upon the same
and handling all her limbs and parts, commending some and abusing
others.

I have heard the same thing told of sundry great Lords of Christian
days, which have had this same strange curiosity toward their dead
mothers.

Nor was this all with the said Caligula; for he was used to retail
all their movements, their naughty ways and tricks, and the modes and
fashions they did follow in their doing of it, and in special of any
which had been modest and prudish, or which had made pretense to be so
at table. For verily if a-bed they were fain to do the like, there is
small doubt but the cruel tyrant did menace them with death, unless
they would do all his pleasure for his full content, and so constrained
them by the terror of execution. Then after would he speak despitefully
of them to his heart’s content, to the sore shame and general mockery
of the poor dames, who thinking to be accounted chaste and modest as
ever women can be, and to play the hypocrite and counterfeit _donne da
ben_ (virtuous ladies), were utterly and entirely revealed in their
true colours and made known as mere harlots and wanton wenches. And
truly this was no bad business so to discover them in a character they
did never wish to be known. And better still, ’twas always, as I have
said, great ladies that were so entreated, such as wives of consuls,
dictators, prætors, quæstors, senators, censors, knights, and others
of the highest estate and dignity, as we might say in our own days and
Christian lands, mighty Queens, (which yet are not to be compared
with Consuls’ wives, seeing these were paramount over all men),
Princesses of greater and less puissance, Duchesses, Marchionesses, and
Countesses, great and small, Baronesses, Knights’ dames, and the like
ladies of rank and rich estate. And truly there is no doubt at all but
that many Christian Emperors and Kings, if they had the power to do the
like of the Emperor Caligula toward ladies of such quality, would avail
themselves thereof. But then they be Christians, which have the fear
of God before their eyes, his holy ordinances, their own conscience
and honour, and the ill-repute of their fellows, to say naught of the
ladies’ husbands, to whose generous spirit suchlike tyranny would be
unendurable. Wherein of a surety our Christian Kings be deserving of
high esteem and commendation, thus to win the love of fair ladies
rather by dint of gentleness and loving arts than by brute force and
harsh rigour,—and the conquest so gained is by far a nobler one.

I have heard speak of two great Princes[166] which have taken exceeding
pleasure in thus discovering their ladies’ beauties, charms and
especial graces, as well as their deformities, blemishes and defects,
together with their little ways, privy movements and wanton wiles,—not
however in public, as did Caligula, but in privity, with their close
and particular friends. Truly a sad fashion to entreat the pretty
persons of these poor ladies. Thinking to do well and sport agreeably
for to pleasure their husbands, they be but scorned therefor and made a
laughing-stock.

Well, to return to our former comparison,—just as we do see beautiful
buildings based on better foundations and of better stone and material
some than others, and for this cause endure longer in their glory and
beauty, even so there be some dames of bodies so well complexioned and
fairly fashioned, and endowed with so fine a beauty, as that time doth
in no wise so prevail over them as with others, nor seem to undermine
their comeliness at all.

We read in history how that Artaxerxes,[167] among all the wives he
had, did love the most Astacia, which was a woman of very ripe age, yet
still most beautiful, and had been the mistress of his late brother
Darius. His son did fall so deep in love with her, so exceeding fair
was she in spite of years, that he did demand to share her with his
father, in the same way as his share of the Kingdom. But the father,
angered by this and jealous at the notion of another sharing with him
this dainty morsel, did make her Priestess of the Sun, forasmuch as in
Persia women which hold this estate must vow themselves to absolute
chastity.

We read again in the History of Naples how Ladislas, a Hungarian and
King of Naples, did besiege in Taranto the Duchess Marie, widow of
Rammondelo de Balzo, and after sundry assaults and feats of arms, did
take her by arrangement with her children, and wed her, albeit she was
of ripe years, yet exceeding fair to look upon, and carried her with
him to Naples. She was thereafter known as Queen Marie and fondly loved
and cherished of the King.

Myself once saw the fair Duchesse de Valentinois (Diane de Poitiers)
at the age of seventy, as fair of face, as fresh-looking and lovable
as at thirty; and verily she was well loved and courted by one of the
greatest and most gallant Kings in all the world. I may tell her age
frankly, without wrong to the beauty of this fair lady, seeing whenever
a lady is loved of a great King, ’tis sure sign perfection doth
abundantly reside in her, and make her dear to him. And surely that
beauty which is given of heaven should never be spared in favour of
heaven’s demigods.

I saw this lady, six months before she died, still so very fair I can
imagine no heart so flinty as not to have been stirred thereby, and
though a while before she had broke a leg on the stony pavement of
Orleans, riding and sitting her horse as lightly and cleverly as she
had ever done. But the horse slipped and fell under her; and for this
broken limb, and all the pains and sufferings she did endure, one would
have thought her fair face must have been changed. But nothing of the
sort, for her beauty, grace, majesty and gallant mien were just what
they had ever been. And above all, she did possess an extraordinary
whiteness of skin, without any recourse had to paint; only ’tis said
that every morning she did employ certain washes compounded of spring
water and sundry drugs, the which I cannot name like good doctors or
cunning apothecaries can. I do believe that if this fair lady had
lived yet another hundred years, she would never have aged, whether
in face, so excellently framed was it, or in body, the parts covered
and concealed that is, of such excellent temper and good condition was
this. The pity is earth should ever cover these beauteous forms!

Likewise myself have seen the Marquise de Rothelin,[168] mother of the
Dowager Princess de Condé and the late deceased M. de Longueville, in
no wise diminished of her beauty by time or age, but keeping the fresh
flower of her youth as aforetime, except only that her face did grow
something redder toward the end. Yet did her beautiful eyes, that were
unmatched in all the world, and which her daughter hath inherited,
never alter, but were to the last as meet to wound hearts as ever.

Another I have seen in like case was Madame de la Bourdaisière,[169]
afterward by a second marriage wife to the Maréchal d’Aumont. This lady
in her later days was so fair to look on you would have said she was
in her early youth still, and her five daughters, all beautiful women,
did in no wise eclipse her. And readily enough, if the choice had been
to make, would a man have left the daughters to take the mother in
preference; yet had she borne a number of children. And truly of all
women she did most take heed of her good looks, for she was a mortal
enemy of the night damp and moonlight, and did avoid these all ever she
could. The ordinary use of paint for the face, practised by so many
ladies, was quite unknown to her.

I have also seen, and this is a more striking instance still, Madame
de Mareuil, mother of the Marquise de Mézières and grandmother of the
Princess-Dauphin, at the age of an hundred, at which she died, looking
as fresh and upright, as alert, healthy and comely as at fifty. She had
been a very handsome woman in her younger days.

Her daughter, the Marquise de Mézières named above, was of like sort
and died in the like good case, but she was twenty years younger when
this took place, and her figure had shrunk somewhat. She was aunt of
Mme. de Bourdeille, my elder brother’s wife, and did bring him the like
excellent qualities. For albeit she have passed her fifty-third year
and hath had fourteen children, one may truthfully say this,—and others
which see her are of better judgment than I, and do assure me of the
fact,—that the four daughters she hath by her side do look like her
own sisters. So do we often see winter fruits, and relics of the past
season, match those of Summer itself, and keep their sweetness, and be
as fine and savour as these, and even more.

The Amirale de Brion too, and her daughter, Mme. de Barbézieux,[170]
did continue very handsome women to quite old age.

I have been told of late how that the fair Paule de Toulouse,[170] so
renowned of old days, is yet as beautiful as ever, though she is now
eighty-four, and no change is to be seen, whether in her fine, tall
figure or her beautiful face.

Another I have seen is the Présidente de Conte, of Bordeaux, of equal
age and equal beauty, in all ways most lovable and desirable; and
indeed she was a woman of many perfections. Many other such could I
name, but I should never have done.

A young Spanish knight speaking of love to a lady of advanced age, but
still handsome, she did make him this answer: _A mis completas desta
manera me habla V. M.?_ “How can you speak so to my complines?”—meaning
to signify by complines her age and the decline of her best days, and
the approach of night. The knight did reply: _Sus completas valen mas,
y son mas graciosas que las horas de prima de qualquier otra dama_,
“Your complines are better worth, and more fair and delectable than the
hours of prime of any other lady.” A very pretty conceit surely!

Another speaking in like wise of love to a lady of ripe years, and
she making objection to him of her withered beauty,—which yet was not
over and above so,—did thus answer her: _A las visperas se conoce la
fiesta_,—“at vespers is the feast at its best.”

We have yet among us to this day Madame de Nemours, of yore in the
April of her beauty the wonder of the world, which doth still defy
all devastating time. I may truly say of her, as may all that have
seen her with me, that she was erst the fairest dame, in her blooming
days, in all Christendom. I did see her one day dance, as I have told
elsewhere, with the Queen of Scots, they twain all alone together and
without any other ladies to bear them company, by way of a caprice, so
that all such, men and women, as did behold them knew not to which to
adjudge the palm of beauty. Verily, as one said at the time, you would
have thought them those two suns which we read in Pliny to have once
appeared together in the sky, to dazzle the world. Madame de Nemours,
at that time Madame de Guise, did show the more luxurious figure; and
if it be allowed me so to say without offence to the Queen of Scots,
she had the more imposing and apparent dignity of port, albeit she was
not a Queen like the other. But then she was grand-daughter of that
great King,[171] the father of his people, whom she did resemble in
many of her features, as I have seen him portrayed in the gallery of
the Queen of Navarre, showing in every look the great monarch he was.

I think I was the first which did call her by this name of
Grand-daughter of the great King, Father of his People. This was at
Lyons, time when the King did return out of Poland; and often would
I call her so, and she did me the honour to deem it well, and like it
at my hands. She was in very deed a true grand-daughter of that great
King, and especially in goodness of heart and beauty. For she was ever
very good-hearted, and few or none are to be found that she ever did
ill or displeasure to, while many did win great advantage in the time
of her favour, that is to say in the time of her late husband, Monsieur
de Guise, which did enjoy high consideration in France. Thus were there
two very noble perfections united in this lady, goodness and beauty,
and both of these hath she right well maintained to this present day,
and by their means hath married two most honourable husbands, and two
that few or none at all could have been found to match. And indeed, and
if another could be found of like sort and worthy of her, and if she
did wish for a third, she might well enjoy one more, so fair is she yet.

And ’tis a fact that in Italy folk do hold the ladies of Ferrara for
good and tasty morsels,—whence hath come the saying, _potta ferraresa_,
just as they say, _cazzo mantuano_ (a Mantua verge). As to this, when
once a great Lord of that country was making court to a great and
beauteous Princess of France, and they were all commending him at
Court for his excellent merits, valiance and the high qualities which
did make him deserving of her favours, there was one, the late M.
d’Au,[172] Captain of the Scottish Guards, which did come nearer the
point than any with these words, “Nay! you do forget the chief of all,
his _cazzo mantuano_ to wit.”

I did once hear a like speech, how when the Duke of Mantua, which
was nicknamed the _Gobin_ (Hunchback), because he was excessively
hunchbacked, was desirous of wedding the sister of the Emperor
Maximilian, the lady was told that he was so sadly deformed. But she
only made answer, as ’tis said: _Non importa purche la campana habbia
qualche diffetto, ma ch’ el sonaglio sia buono_ (“No matter if the bell
have some flaw, provided the clapper be good”),—meaning thereby this
same _cazzo mantuano_. Some indeed aver she did never say the thing at
all, seeing she was too modest and well brought up; but at any rate
others did say it for her.

But to return to this same Princess of Ferrara,[173*] I did see her
at the marriage of the late M. de Joyeuse appear clad in a mantle of
the Italian fashion, the sleeves drawn back half way up the arms in
the Siennese mode. But there was no lady there which could outshine
her, and no man but said: “This fair Princess cannot make herself
any fairer, so fair is she already. And ’tis easy to judge by her
beauteous face that she hath other hidden beauties of great charm and
parts which are not seen. Just as by looking at the noble façade of a
fine building, ’tis easy to judge that within there be fair chambers,
antechambers and closets, fair alcoves and privy places.” In many
another spot likewise hath she displayed her beauty, and no long
while since, in this autumn of her days, and especially in Spain at
the marriage of Monsieur and Madame de Savoie, in such wise that the
admiration of her and her charms did remain graven in that land for all
time. And if my pen had wings of power and range enough to raise her
to the skies, right gladly would I devote it to the task; but ’tis too
weak for such emprise. Yet will I speak of her again later. No doubt is
there but this Princess was a very beautiful woman in her Springtide,
her Summer and Autumn, yea! and is still in her Winter, albeit she hath
had many griefs and many children.

The worst of it is that the Italians, scorning a woman which hath had
a number of children, do call such an one _scrofa_, that is to say a
“sow.” But surely they which do bear handsome, gallant and noble sons,
as did this Princess, are praiseworthy, and do in no wise merit this
ugly name, but rather that of heaven’s favourites.

I will only add this remark: What a strange and wondrous inconsistency
is here, that the thing of all others most fickle and inconsistent doth
offer such resistance to time, to wit a pretty woman! ’Tis not I which
do say this; sorry should I be to do so. For truly I do esteem highly
the constancy of many of the sex, nor are all inconstant. ’Tis from
another I borrow the remark.

I would gladly adduce the names of ladies of other lands, as well as of
our own, that have still been fair in their Autumn and Winter; but for
this while I will mention two only in this class.

One is the good Queen Elizabeth of England, the which is reigning at
this day, and who they tell me is as fair as ever. If this be true, I
do hold her for a very fair and beauteous Princess; for myself have
seen her in her Summertide and in her Autumn season. As for her Winter,
she doth now approach near the same, if she be not there already; for
’tis long ago I did see her, and the first time ever I saw her, I know
what age they did give her then.[174*] I do believe what hath kept her
so long in her prime of beauty is that she hath never been wed, nor
borne the burden of marriage, the which is a very grievous one, above
all when a woman hath many children. The said Queen is deserving of all
praise on all accounts, were it not for the death of that gallant,
beautiful and peerless Princess, the Queen of Scots, the which hath
sore stained her good repute.

The second foreign Princess I shall name is the Marquise de Gouast,
Donna Maria of Aragon, which lady myself have seen still very beautiful
in her final season. And I will show this in an account, the which I
will abridge all ever I can.

After the death of King Henri[175] of France, one month later died also
Pope Paul IV.,[175] Caraffa, and it became needful for the election of
a new Pope that all the Cardinals should meet together. Amongst others
there came from France the Cardinal de Guise, and did fare to Rome
by sea with the King’s galleys, whereof the General was François de
Lorraine, Grand Prior of France, brother of the said Cardinal, who did
convoy him, as a good brother should, with a fleet of sixteen galleys.
And they did make such good speed and with so fine a wind astern, as
that they did arrive in two days and two nights at Civita Vecchia, and
from there presently to Rome. But being come thither, the Grand Prior
seeing they were not yet ready to proceed to the new election (and as
a fact it was yet three months more a-doing), and that accordingly his
brother could not at present return, and his galleys were but lying
idle in port meantime, he did determine to go on to Naples to see that
town and spend his leisure there.

So on his arrival, the Viceroy, at that time the Duke of Alcala, did
receive him as if he had been a King. But before his actual arrival
he did salute the town with a very fine salvo of artillery which did
last a great while; and the same honour was repaid him by the town and
its forts, so as you would have said the very heavens were strangely
thundering during the said cannonade. And keeping his galleys in line
of battle and review order, and at some distance to seaward, he did
despatch in a skiff M. de l’Estrange,[176*] a gentleman of Languedoc,
a very discreet and honourable man, and one which could speak very
gracefully, to the Viceroy, to the end he might not startle him, and to
ask his leave (seeing that albeit we were at peace and on the best of
terms we did come with all the terrors of war) to enter the harbour,
for to see the town and visit the sepulchres of his ancestors which
were there interred, and cast holy water upon them and make a prayer.

This the Viceroy did accord very readily. Then did the Grand Prior
advance and renew the salvo with as fine and furious a cannonade as
before, both with the main-deck guns and his sixteen galleys and other
pieces of ordnance and with arquebus fire, in such wise that all his
fleet was a mass of flame. So did he make entry most proudly to the
mole, with standards and pennants flying, and dressed with flags of
crimson silk, and his own of damask, and with all the galley-slaves
clad in crimson velvet, and the soldiers of his body-guard the same,
and wearing short cloaks covered with silver broidery. The commander
of these was Captain Geoffroy, a Provençal and a brave and gallant
soldier. Altogether our French galleys were found of all right fine,
swift and well careened and above all the “Ship Royal,” to the which
never a fault could be found; for indeed this Prince was in all ways
exceeding magnificent and right liberal.

So being come to the mole in this gallant array, he did there land and
all we his suite with him, at a spot where the Viceroy had commanded
to have ready horses and coaches for to receive us and carry us to the
town. And truly we did there find an hundred steeds,—coursers, jennets,
Spaniards, barbs and other horses, each finer than the other, with
saddle-cloths of velvet all wrought with broidery, some silver and
some gold. He that would ride a-horse did so, and he that preferred to
go in a coach, found one ready, for there were a score there of the
finest and richest, excellently horsed and drawn by the finest cattle
ever seen. There too stood many great Princes and Lords, as well of the
Kingdom of Naples as of Spain, which did welcome the Grand Prior most
honourably on behalf of the Viceroy. On landing he did mount a Spanish
horse, the finest I have seen for many a long day, which the Viceroy
did after present to him; and did manage him right well, and make him
perform some brilliant curvets, as was much spoke of at the time.
The Prince, who was a very good horseman, as good indeed as he was a
seaman, did make a very fine show thus mounted; and he did display his
horse’s paces to the best advantage, and in most graceful style, seeing
he was one of the handsomest Princes of his day, and one of the most
pleasant and accomplished, and of a fine, tall and active figure,—which
is a rare thing with suchlike great personages. Thus was he conducted
by all these Lords and many another noble gentleman to the Viceroy’s
Palace, where this last did await him and paid him all possible honour,
and lodged him in his own house, and did feast him most sumptuously,
both him and all his band. This he was well able to do, seeing he did
profit him by twenty thousand crowns through this journey. We were, I
daresay, a couple of hundred gentlemen that were with him, Captain of
galleys and others, and were lodged with most of the great Lords of the
city, and that most sumptuously.

First thing in the morning, on coming out from our chambers, we did
find attendants so well appointed as that they would present themselves
instantly to ask what we were fain to do, and whither we would go to
take our pleasure. And if we did call for horses or coaches, in a
moment, our wish was no sooner expressed than satisfied. So they would
away at once to seek whatever mount we did crave, and all these so
fine, rich and magnificent as might have contented a King; and then
off on our way to take our day’s pleasure, in such wise as each did
prefer. In very fact were we well nigh spoiled by excess of enjoyment
and all delights in that fair city; nor can we say there was any lack
of such, for indeed I have never seen a town better supplied therewith
in every sort. One alone was wanting, to wit the familiar converse,
frank and free, with ladies of honour and repute,—for of others there
was enough and to spare. But the defect was well and wisely remedied
for the time being by the complaisance of this same Marquise de Gouast,
in whose honour is the present discourse writ. For she, being a right
courteous lady and full of all honourable feeling, and well fitting
the nobility of her house, having heard the high repute of the Grand
Prior for all the perfections that were in him, and having seen him
pass through the city on horseback and recognized his worth, as is meet
between folk of high station toward one another, with the magnanimity
she did ever show in all things, did send one day a very honourable
and well mannered gentleman of her attendance to greet the Prince from
her, charging him to say, that if her sex and the custom of the country
had suffered her to visit him, she would right gladly have come very
readily to offer him her best services, as all the great Lords of the
Kingdom had done. But she did beg him to take the will for the deed,
offering him the use of her houses, castles and her best service in all
things.

The Grand Prior, who was courtesy itself, did thank her most heartily,
as was but meet; and did send word how that he would come to kiss
her hands straightway after dinner. And this he did not fail to do,
accompanied by all of us gentlemen which were with him in his suite. We
did find the Marquise in her guest hall along with her two daughters,
Donna Antonina and Donna Hieronima,—or was it Donna Joanna?[177*] for
indeed I cannot say for sure, it having now slipped my memory,—as well
as many other fair dames and damsels, so richly apparelled and of such
a charming grace as that I have never, outside our own Court of France
and that of Spain, seen elsewhere a more beauteous band of fair ladies.

Then did the Marquise salute the Grand Prior in the French fashion
and did welcome him with every mark of honour; and he did return the
same, even yet more humbly,—_con mas gran sosiego_ (with the very
greatest respect), as they say in Spanish. Their discourse was for the
present of mere commonplaces; while the rest of us, such as could speak
Italian or Spanish, did accost the other ladies, whom we did find most
honourable and gallant, and of very pleasing conversation.

On our departure, the Marquise, having learned from the Grand Prior
that he did purpose to make a stay of a fortnight in the place, said
thus to him: “Sir, if at any time you know not what to do and are in
lack of pastime, your coming hither will ever do me much honour, and
you shall be most welcome, as it were at the house of your own lady
mother; and I beg you to use the same precisely as though it were your
own, neither more nor less. I have the good fortune to be loved and
visited by honourable and fair dames of this Kingdom and city as much
as any lady therein; and seeing your youth and merit do set you to love
the conversation of honourable ladies, I will beseech them to resort
hither yet more frequently than they do use, to bear you company and
all the fair and noble gentlefolk which be with you. Here stand my
two daughters, the which I will direct, albeit they are not so well
accomplished as they should be, to bear you company after the French
fashion, to wit to laugh, dance, play and talk freely, modestly and
honourably, even as you do at the Court of France. And I would gladly
enough offer myself for one; only ’twould be very irksome to a young
Prince, handsome and gallant like yourself, to have to entertain an
old woman, worn out, tiresome and unlovable such as I. For verily and
indeed youth and age do scarce accord well together.”

These words the Grand Prior did straightway take objection to, assuring
her that old age had gat no hold at all upon her, and that he would
never hear of any such thing, but that her Autumn did overpass all the
Springtides and Summers that were in that hall. And truly she did still
seem a very handsome and very lovable woman, yea! even more than her
two daughters, pretty and young as these were. Yet was she then very
nigh sixty good years old. This little speech of the Prince did much
pleasure the Marquise, as we could easily see by her laughing face and
all her words and ways.

We did leave her house exceeding delighted with the lady,—and above all
the Grand Prior himself, who had instantly fallen in love with her,
as he did inform us. Little doubt then but this fair and honourable
lady, and her fair band of attendant dames, did draw the Grand Prior to
resort every day to her house; for indeed if we went not there after
dinner, we did so in the evening. The Prince did take for mistress her
eldest daughter, albeit he did better love the mother; but ’twas done
_per adumbrar la cosa_,—“to veil the matter.”

Tiltings at the ring were held in plenty, whereat the Grand Prior did
bear away the prize, as well as many ballets and dances. In a word, the
gay society he did enjoy was the cause of this, that whereas he had
purposed to tarry but a fortnight, we were there for a good six weeks.
Nor were we in any wise irked thereby, for we had likewise gotten us
mistresses no less than our General. Nay! we had certainly remained
longer still, had not a courier come from the King, bringing him news
of the breaking out of the war in Spain. For this cause he had to weigh
anchor and carry his galleys from the Eastern shore to the Western,
though in fact they did not cross over till eight months later.

So had we to take leave of all these delightsome pleasures, and quit
the good and gracious town of Naples; and truly ’twas not without great
sadness and many regrets to our General and all of us, but we were
right sorry to leave a place where we had been so happy.

At the end of some six years, or mayhap longer, when we were on our
way to the succour of Malta, I was again at Naples and did make enquiry
if the aforesaid fair lady were yet alive. I was told yes! and that
she was in that town. Instantly I made a point of going to see her;
and was immediately recognized by an old seneschal of her house, which
did away to tell his mistress that I was fain to kiss her hands. She,
remembering my name of Bourdeille, did summon me up to her chamber to
see her. I found her keeping her bed, by reason of a slight rash she
had on one of her cheeks. She did make me, I swear, a right excellent
welcome. I did find her very little changed, and still so handsome a
woman she might well have made any man commit a mortal sin, whether in
will or deed.

She did ask me eagerly for news of my late General the Grand Prior,
and lovingly, and how he had died; and saying she had been told how
that he had been poisoned, did curse an hundred times over the wretch
that had done the deed. I told her ’twas not so, and bade her disabuse
her fancy of any such idea, informing her how he had died really of a
treacherous and secret pleurisy he had caught at the battle of Dreux,
where he had fought like a Cæsar all day long. But at evening, after
the last charge, being greatly heated by fight and a-sweat, and then
withdrawing on a night of the most bitter hard frost, he was chilled to
the bone. He did conceal his sickness, and died of it a month or six
weeks afterward.

She did manifest, both by words and manner, her deep regret for him.
And note now, two or three years before this, he had despatched two
galleys on a freebooting expedition under the charge of Captain
Beaulieu, one of the Lieutenants of his galleys. He had adopted the
flag of the Queen of Scots, one which had never been seen or known
in the Eastern seas, and which did cause folk much amaze; for ’twas
out of the question to take that of France, because of the alliance
with the Turks. Now the Grand Prior had given orders to the said
Captain Beaulieu to land at Naples and pay a visit on his behalf to
the Marquise de Gouast and her daughters, to which three ladies he did
send by his hand an host of presents, all the little novelties then
in vogue at the Court and Palace, in Paris and in France generally.
Indeed this same noble Grand Prior was ever the soul of generosity
and magnificence. This task Captain Beaulieu did not fail to perform,
and did present all his master’s gifts; himself was most excellently
received, and rewarded by a fine present for his mission.

The Marquise did feel such obligation for these gifts and for that he
had continued to remember her, that she did tell me again and again how
gratified she had been and how she had loved him yet more than afore
for his goodness. Again for love of him, she did a graceful courtesy
to a gentleman of Gascony, which was at that time an officer in the
galleys of the Grand Prior. This gentleman was left behind, when we set
sail, sick unto death. But so kind was fortune to him, that addressing
himself to the said lady in his adversity, he was so well succoured of
her that his life was saved. She did take him in her household, and did
serve him so well, as that a Captaincy falling vacant in one of her
Castles, she did bestow the same on him, and procured him to marry a
rich wife to boot.

None of the rest of us were aware what had become of the poor
gentleman, and we deemed him dead. But lo! at the time of this latter
voyage to Malta, there was amongst us a gentleman, younger brother
of him I spake of, which did one day in heedless talk tell me of the
main occasion for his going abroad. This he said was to seek news of
a brother of his that had formerly been in the service of the Grand
Prior, and had tarried behind sick at Naples more than six years before
and had never been heard of since. Then did I bethink me, and presently
did make enquiry for news of him of the folk belonging to the Marquise.
These told me of his good fortune, and I did at once inform the younger
brother. The latter did thank me very heartily, and accompanied me to
pay his respects to the said lady, who did take him into great favour
also, and went to visit him at his lodging.

Truly a pretty gratitude and remembrance of a friendship of old
days,—which remembrance she did still cherish, as I have said. For she
did make me even better cheer than before, and did entertain me with
tales of the old happy time and many other subjects,—all which did make
me to find her company very pleasant and agreeable. For she was of a
good intelligence and bright wit, and an excellent talker.

She did beseech me an hundred times over to take no other lodging or
meal but with her; but to this I would never consent, it not being my
nature ever to be importunate or self-seeking. But I did use to go and
visit her every day for the seven or eight days we did tarry there, and
I was always most welcome, and her chamber ever open to me without any
difficulty.

When at last I bade her adieu, she did give me letters of
recommendation to her son, the Marquis de Pescaïre, General at that
time in the Spanish army.[178*] Besides which, she did make me promise
that on my return I would come to see her, and take up my lodging in
no other house but hers.

However so great was my ill luck that the galleys which did carry us
did land us only at Terracina, from whence we hied to Rome, and I was
unable to retrace my steps. Moreover I was fain at that time to join
the wars in Hungary; but being at Venice, we did learn the death of
the great Sultan Soliman.[179*] ’Twas there I did curse my luck an
hundred times over, for that I had not anyhow returned to Naples, where
I should have passed my time to advantage. Indeed it may well be, that
by favour of my lady the Marquise I should there have found some good
fortune, whether by marriage or otherwise. For she did certainly do me
the honour to like me well.

I suppose my evil destiny willed it not so, but was determined to take
me back again to France to be for ever unfortunate there. In this hath
dame Fortune never showed me a favourable countenance, except only so
far as appearances go and a fair repute as a good and gallant man of
worth and honour. Yet goods and rank have I never gotten like sundry
of my comrades,—and even some of our lower estate, men I have known
which would have deemed themselves happy if I had but spoke to them in
a courtyard, or King’s or Queen’s apartment, or in hall, though only
aside and over the shoulder. Yet to-day I do see these same fellows
advanced and grown exceeding big with the rapidity of pumpkins,—though
indeed I do make but light of them and hold them no greater than myself
and would not defer to any of them by so much as the length of my nail.

Well, well! I may herein apply to myself the word which our Redeemer
Jesus Christ did pronounce out of his own mouth, “a prophet hath no
honour in his own country.” Mayhap had I served foreign Princes as well
as I have done mine own, and sought adventure among them as I have
among those of our land, I should now be more laden with wealth and
dignities than I actually am with years and vexations. Patience! if
’tis my Fate hath spun it so, I do curse the jade; if ’tis my Princes
be to blame, I do give them to all the devils, an if they be not there
already!

This doth end my account of this most honourable lady. She is dead,
with an excellent repute as having been a right fair noble dame and
having left behind her a good and generous line, as the Marquis eldest
son, Don Juan, Don Carlos, Don Cæsar d’Avalos, all which myself have
seen and have spoke of them elsewhere. The daughters no less have
followed in their brothers’ steps. And herewith I do terminate the main
thread of my principal Discourse.

NOTES AND APPENDICES

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

(This list is simply a selection from the many editions of the works
of Brantôme in French and German. There are also texts in Spanish and
Italian. A complete bibliography would fill many pages and would not be
essential to the present text.)

EDITIONS

— Leyde, 1666, chez Sambix le jeune, 2 vol. in-12. Le titre portait.
“_Vies des dames galantes._”

— Leyde, 1666, chez Jean de la Tourterelle, 2 vol. in-12. Le titre
portait. “_Mémoires de messire Pierre de Bourdeille, seigneur de
Brantôme, contenans les vies des dames galantes de son temps._”

— Leyde, 1722, chez Jean de la Tourterelle, 2 vol. in-12. Titre rouge et
noir. Mème titre que dans l’édition précédente et mêmes fautes.

— Londres, 1739, Wood et S. Palmer, 2 vol. in-12, titre rouge et noir.
“_Mémoires de messire Pierre de Bourdeille, seigneur de Brantôme,
contenant les vies des dames galantes de son temps._” Édition copiée
sur les précédentes.

— La Haye, 1740, 15 vol. in-12. Cette édition est de Le Duchat, Lancelot
et Prosper Marchand, et les remarques critiques ont servi aux éditions
postérieures.

— Londres, 1779, aux dépens du libraire, 15 vol. in-8^o. “_Œuvres du
seigneur de Brantôme, nouvelle édition considérablement augmentée,
accompagnée de remarques historiques et critiques et distribuée, dans
un meilleur ordre._” Les _Dames galantes_ occupent les tomes III et IV.

— Paris, 1822, Foucault, 8 vol. in-8^o. “_Œuvres complétes du seigneur
de Brantôme, accompagnées de remarques historiques et critiques.
Nouvelle édition collationnée sur les manuscrits de la Bibliothèque du
Roi._” (Monmerqué). Les _Dames galantes_ occupent le VII^e vol.

— Paris, 1834, Ledoux, 2 vol. in-8^o. “_Les Dames galantes, par le
seigneur de Brantôme, nouvelle édition avec une préface de M. Ph.
Chasles._” Édition qui a beaucop et mal profité de l’édition
précédente.

— Paris, 1841–1869, Garnier frères, 1 vol. in-18. Édition populaire
plusieurs fois réimprimée et faite d’après l’édition de 1740.

— Paris, 1857, A. Delahays, 1 vol. in-12. “_Œuvres de Brantôme, nouvelle
édition revue d’après les meilleurs textes, avec une préface historique
et critique par H. Vigneau. Vies des Dames galantes._” Édition faite
d’après les éditions antéricures. Les notes sont bonnes.

Il a été fait une nouvelle édition de ce travail en 1857, chez
Delahays, en in-18.

— Paris, 1876, Renouard, libraire de la Société de l’histoire de France.
“_Œuvres complètes de Pierre de Bourdeille, seigneur de Brantôme,
publiées d’après les manuscrits, avec variantes et fragments inédits,
pour la Société de l’histoire de France, par Ludovic Lalanne. Tome
neuvième. Des Dames_” (suite). Un gros vol. in-8 de 743 pages, titre
non compris.

Cette édition est la première qui indique les sources auxquelles
Brantôme a puisé ses historiettes. M. Lalanne n’a laissé aucun passage
sans une explication toujours courte et toujours substantielle.

— L’Œuvre du Seigneur de Brantôme. “_Vie des Dames galantes._”
Introduction and notes by B. de Villeneuve. Paris, 1913.

— _Les Dames galantes._ Publiées d’apres les manuscrits de la
Bibliothèque Nationale, par Henri Bouchot. 2 vols. E. Flammarion.
Paris. (A very fine edition.)

— Brantôme: _Das Leben der Galanten Damen._ (Dionysos-Bücherei).
Introduction by George Harsdörfer. 2 vols. Berlin. (The best German
edition.)

— Brantôme: _Lives of Fair and Gallant Ladies._ Translated from the
original by A. R. Allinson. 2 vols. Paris. Carrington. 1902.

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_APPENDIX—A_

BRANTÔME: By ARTHUR TILLEY

Like Montaigne, Brantôme pretended to be careless of literary fame,
but in reality took every pains to secure it; like Montaigne he
loved digressions, _gaillardes escapades_, from his main theme; like
Montaigne he has drawn for us, though in his case unconsciously, a
portrait of himself; like Montaigne he was curious of information,
fond of travel and books. But these points of similarity are after all
superficial; the difference is fundamental. While Montaigne tested the
world and society by the light of his shrewd common sense, Brantôme
accepted them without question or reflexion. Montaigne was essentially
a thinker, Brantôme was merely a reporter; Montaigne was a moralist,
for Brantôme the word morality had no meaning. Montaigne criticised
his age, Brantôme reflected it. That indeed is Brantôme’s chief value,
that he reflects his age like a mirror, but it must be added that he
reflects chiefly its more trivial, not to say its more scandalous side.
He is the Suetonius of the French Renaissance.

Pierre de Bourdeille, “reverend father in God, abbé de Brantôme,”
belonged to a noble and ancient family of Perigord. The precise date
of his birth is uncertain, but it must be placed somewhere between
1539 and 1542. He spent his childhood with his grandmother, Louise de
Vivonne, wife of the seneschal of Poitou, at the court of Margaret
of Navarre, and after studying first at Paris and then at Poitiers,
travelled for more than a year in Italy, returning to France at the
beginning of 1560, when he made his first appearance at the court.
Though he already held other benefices besides the abbey from which
he took his title, he was not in orders. The next fourteen years were
spent by him either in fighting on the Catholic side in the religious
wars, or in attendance at the court, or in travel. In 1574 his military
career came to an end, for his duties as gentleman of the chamber, to
which post he had been appointed in 1568, kept him at court, frivolous,
idle, and discontented. At last the refusal of Henry III. to bestow on
him the promised post of governor of Perigord filled him with such fury
that he determined to enter the service of Spain. But a fall from his
horse, which kept him in bed for four years (1583–1587), saved him from
being a renegade to his country and turned him into a man of letters.

For it was during this forced inactivity, apparently in 1584, that he
began his literary labours, which he continued for the next thirty
years, most of which he spent on his estate. He died in 1614, leaving
a will of portentous length, in which, among other things, he charged
his heirs to have his works printed _en belle et grand lettre et grand
volume_. The charge was neglected, and it was not till 1665–1666 that
an incomplete and defective edition was published at Leyden, in the
Elzevir form. Previous to this, however, several copies had been made
of his manuscripts, and Le Laboureur in his edition of Castelnau’s
Memoirs, published in 1659, had printed long extracts.

Brantôme was a disappointed man when he wrote his memoirs. He had
been an assiduous courtier for a quarter of a century and had gained
nothing by it, while he had seen men whose merits he believed to be
inferior to his rise to wealth and honour. But though he had the love
of frivolity and the moral indifference of a true courtier, he had not
his pliability. “He was violent,” says Le Laboureur, “difficult to live
with and of a too unforgiving spirit.” Perhaps the best thing that can
be said in his favour is that among his most intimate friends were two
of the most virtuous characters of their time, Téligny, the son-in-law
of Coligny, and Téligny’s brother-in-law, François de la Noue. Among
his other friends were Louis de Bérenger, seigneur du Guast, who was
assassinated by order of Marguerite de Valois, and above all Filippo
Strozzi, the son of Piero Strozzi, who was his friend for over twenty
years, and who exercised over him considerable influence.

The names by which Brantôme’s writings are generally known are not
those which he himself gave them. Thus the titles _Dames illustres_
and _Dames galantes_ are an invention of the Leyden publisher for the
_Premier et Second livre des Dames_. The other main division of his
writings, _Hommes_, consisted in Brantôme’s manuscript of two volumes,
the first containing the _Grands capitaines_, French and Spanish,
and the second _Les couronnels, Discours sur les duels, Rodomontades
espagnoles_, and a separate account of La Noue. His original manuscript
was completed while Margaret was still the wife of Henry IV., that is
to say before November, 1599, but some time after her divorce he made
a carefully revised copy. It is upon this copy that the text of M.
Lalanne’s edition is based for the first five volumes.

Regarded strictly as biographies Brantôme’s lives have slender merit,
for the majority give one little or no idea of the character of the
persons treated. He is at least successful with those who had in
them elements of real greatness, such as Coligny and Condé. Even the
long life of François de Guise, though it contains some interesting
and valuable information, throws little light on Guise himself. But
he gives us good superficial portraits of Charles IX., Catharine de
Medici, and the Constable de Montmorency, while several of the minor
lives, such as Brissac and his brother Cosse, Matignon, and Mary
of Hungary, are not only amusing but hit off the characters with
considerable success. One of the most entertaining is the unfinished
account of his father. On the other hand the account of Margaret of
Valois, though it contains some interesting details, is too ecstatic
in its open-mouthed admiration to have any value as a biography. The
conclusion of the account of Monluc may be quoted not only for its
reference to Monluc’s conversational powers, but as throwing light on
Brantôme’s own character.

Much of the interest of Brantôme’s book is to be found in his numerous
digressions, for which he is constantly apologizing. Thus in the middle
of the account of Montmorency we have a laudatory sketch of Michel
de l’Hospital, in that of Tavannes a digression on the order of St.
Michael, in that of Bellegarde an account of his own treatment by Henry
III. The digressions are frequently made occasions for amusing stories,
which, like Montaigne’s, are distinguished from such as Bouchet and
Beroalde de Verville collected, in that they generally illustrate some
trait of human character.

Like Montaigne again, Brantôme copies freely and without acknowledgment
from books. Whole pages are taken from _Le loyal serviteur_, stories
are borrowed from Rabelais, Des Periers, and the _Heptameron_, as
well as from most of the writers dealt with in the last chapter. But
Brantôme, unlike Montaigne, tries to conceal his thefts by judicious
alterations, or by pretending that he heard the story himself, or even
that he was a witness of the event related. _J’ai ouy conter_ and _J’ai
vu_ are frequently in his mouth. He was doubtless chiefly influenced in
these endeavours to conceal his borrowings by the same form of vanity
as Montaigne, the desire to be regarded, not as a man of letters, but
as a gentleman who amused himself by putting down his reminiscences
on paper. It is for this reason that he tries to give a negligent
and conversational air to his style. The result is that he is often
ungrammatical and sometimes obscure. Yet his style, at any rate in the
eyes of a foreigner, has considerable merit, and chiefly from its power
of vivid presentment. For Brantôme, like other Gascons, like Montaigne
and Monluc and Henry IV., saw things vividly and can make his readers
see them. He has a store of expressive words and phrases such as _un
peu hommasse_ (of Mary of Hungary). A noticeable feature of his style
is his love of Italian and Spanish words, reflecting in this, as in
other features, the prevailing fashion of the Court.

Brantôme’s keen enjoyment of the world pageantry was seldom disturbed
by inconvenient reflexion. His only quarrel with society was that
the ruling powers were blind to his own merits. He thought the duel,
even in the treacherous and bloodthirsty fashion in which it was then
carried on, an excellent institution, and at the end of his account of
Coligny he inserts an elaborate disquisition on the material benefits
which the religious wars had conferred on France. All classes had
profited, nobles, clergy, magistrates, merchants, artisans.

And all this is said in sober earnest, without a suspicion of irony.
One might at any rate give Brantôme credit for originality had he not
told us at the outset that this was the substance of a conversation
which he overheard at Court between two great persons, one a soldier
and the other a statesman, and both excellent Catholics. Brantôme was
the echo as well as the mirror of the Court.

Brantôme’s glowing panegyric on Margaret of Valois induced that
virtuous princess to write her memoirs, partly in order to supplement
his account of her, partly to correct a few errors into which he had
fallen. It is to Brantôme accordingly that her memoirs are addressed.
They were written about the year 1597 in the château of Usson in
Auvergne, where she had resided, nominally as a prisoner, since 1587.

[From _The Literature of the French Renaissance_, Vol. II. 1904.]

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_APPENDIX—B_

BRANTÔME: By GEORGE SAINTSBURY

The complement and counterpart of this moralising[180] on human
business and pleasure is necessarily to be found in chronicles of
that business and that pleasure as actually pursued. In these the
sixteenth century is extraordinarily rich. Correspondence had hardly
yet attained the importance in French literature which it afterwards
acquired, but professed history and, still more, personal memoirs were
largely written. The name of Brantôme has been chosen as the central
and representative name of this section of writers, because he is on
the whole the most original and certainly the most famous of them.
His work, moreover, has more than one point of resemblance to that of
the great contemporary author (Montaigne) with whom he is linked at
the head of this chapter. Brantôme neither wrote actual history nor
directly personal memoirs, but desultory biographical essays, forming a
curious and perhaps designed pendant to the desultory moral essays of
his neighbour Montaigne. Around him rank many writers, some historians
pure and simple, some memoir-writers pure and simple, of whom not a few
approach him in literary genius, and surpass him in correctness and
finish of style, while almost all exceed him in whatever advantage may
be derived from uniformity of plan, and from regard to the decencies of
literature.

Pierre de Bourdeille (s) (who derived the name by which he is, and
indeed was during his lifetime, generally known from an abbacy given
to him by Henri II. when he was still a boy) was born about 1540, in
the province of Perigord, but the exact date and place of his birth
have not been ascertained. He was the third son of François, Comte de
Bourdeilles, and his mother, Anne de Vivonne de la Chataigneraie, was
the sister of the famous duelist whose encounter with Jarnac his nephew
has described in a well-known passage. In the court of Marguerite
d’Angoulême, the literary nursery of so great a part of the talent
of France at this time, he passed his early youth, went to school at
Paris and at Poitiers, and was made Abbé de Brantôme at the age of
sixteen. He was thus sufficiently provided for, and he never took any
orders, but was a courtier and a soldier throughout the whole of his
active life. Indeed almost the first use he made of his benefice was
to equip himself and a respectable suite for a journey into Italy,
where he served under the Maréchal de Brissac. He accompanied Mary
Stuart to Scotland, served in the Spanish army in Africa, volunteered
for the relief of Malta from the Turks, and again for the expedition
destined to assist Hungary against Soliman, and in other ways led the
life of a knight-errant. The religious wars in his own country gave him
plenty of employment; but in the reigns of Charles IX. and Henri III.
he was more particularly attached to the suite of the queen dowager
and her daughter Marguerite. He was, however, somewhat disappointed in
his hopes of recompense; and after hesitating for a time between the
Royalists, the Leaguers, and the Spaniards, he left the court, retired
into private life, and began to write memoirs, partly in consequence of
a severe accident. He seems to have begun to write about 1594, and he
lived for twenty years longer, dying on the 15th of July, 1614.

The form of Brantôme’s works is, as has been said, peculiar. They are
usually divided into two parts, dealing respectively with men and
women. The first part in its turn consists of many subdivisions, the
chief of which is made up of the _Vies des Grand Capitaines Étrangers
et Français_, while others consist of separate disquisitions or essays,
_Des Rodomontades Espagnoles_, “On some Duels and Challenges in
France” and elsewhere, “On certain Retreats, and how they are sometimes
better than Battles,” etc. Of the part which is devoted to women the
chief portion is the celebrated _Dames Galantes_, which is preceded
by a series of _Vies des Dames Illustres_, matching the _Grands
Capitaines_. _The Dames Galantes_ is subdivided into eight discourses,
with titles which smack of Montaigne. These discourses are, however, in
reality little but a congerie of anecdotes, often scandalous enough.
Besides these, his principal works, Brantôme left divers _Opuscula_,
some of which are definitely literary, dealing chiefly with Lucan.
None of his works were published in his lifetime, nor did any appear
in print until 1659. Meanwhile manuscript copies had, as usual, been
multiplied, with the result, also usual, that the text was much
falsified and mutilated.

The great merit of Brantôme lies in the extraordinary vividness of his
powers of literary presentment. His style is careless, though it is
probable that the carelessness is not unstudied. But his irregular,
brightly coloured, and easily flowing manner represents, as hardly any
age has ever been represented, the characteristics of the great society
of his time. It is needless to say that the morals of that time were
utterly corrupt, but Brantôme accepts them with a placid complacency
which is almost innocent. No writer, perhaps, has ever put things
more disgraceful on paper; but no writer has ever written of such
things in such a perfectly natural manner. Brantôme was in his way a
hero-worshipper, though his heroes and heroines were sometimes oddly
coupled. Bayard and Marguerite de Valois represent his ideals, and a
good knight or a beautiful lady _de par le monde_ can do no wrong. This
unquestioning acceptance of, and belief in, the moral standards of his
own society give a genuineness and a freshness to his work which are
very rare in literature. Few writers, again, have had the knack of
hitting off character, superficially it is true, yet with sufficient
distinction, which Brantôme has. There is something individual about
all the innumerable characters who move across his stage, and something
thoroughly human about all, even the anonymous men and women, who
appear for a moment as the actors in some too frequently discreditable
scene. With all this there is a considerable vein of moralising in
Brantôme which serves to throw up the relief of his actual narratives.
He has sometimes been compared to Pepys, but, except in point of
garrulity and of readiness to set down on paper anything that came into
their heads, there is little likeness between the two. Brantôme was
emphatically an _écrivain_ (unscholarly and Italianised as his phrase
sometimes appears, if judged by the standards of a severer age), and
some of the best passages from his works are among the most striking
examples of French prose.

[From _A Short History of French Literature_. 6th Ed. Oxford, 1901.]

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NOTES TO VOLUME I

HISTORICAL NOTE

[1] P. VII:

◆The Duc d’Alençon was later called the Duc d’Anjou. He died at
Château-Thierry, on Sunday, June 10, 1584, from dysentery, which
had almost reduced him to a shadow. Nevers, in his _Mémoires_ (Vol.
I, p. 91), maintains that he was poisoned by a maid of one of his
mistresses. According to L’Estoile’s account, the Duke was given
a magnificent funeral in Paris. He was by no means handsome; his
pimpled and deformed nose earned for him an epigram during his
expedition in Flanders:

Flamands, ne soyez estonnez
Si à François voyez deux nez:
Car par droit, raison et usage,
Faut deux nez à double visage.

[2] P. VIII:

◆Pierre de Bourdeille, Seigneur de l’Abbaye de Brantôme. Was born
in Périgord, 1527; died 1614. Of an old and distinguished family.
Served his apprenticeship to war under the famous Captain François
de Guise. Later Gentleman of the Chamber to two French Kings in
succession, Charles IX. and Henri III., being high in favour
with the latter; Chamberlain to the Duc d’Alençon. As soldier or
traveller visited most parts of Europe; intimate with many of the
most famous men of his day, including the poet Ronsard. Some time
after the death of Charles IX. he retired (disappointed apparently
by a diminution of Court favour, and suffering from the results of
a serious accident due to a fall from his horse) to his estates
in Guyenne, where he employed his leisure in the composition of a
number of voluminous works based on reminiscences of the active
period of his life.

These are:
_Vies des Hommes illustres et grands Capitaines français_,
_Vies des Grands Capitaines étrangers_,
_Vies des Dames illustres_,
_Vies des Dames galantes_,
_Anecdotes touchant des Duels_,
_Rodomontades et Jurements espagnols_,
and sundry fragments.

[3] P. XXVI:

Souvent femme varie,
Bien fol qui s’y fie!

(Woman is changing ever; fool the man who trusts her!)

[4] P. 3:

◆The word which Molière popularized does not date from that time;
it was used much earlier, and in the thirteenth century we see a
man pay a fine of twenty ounces of gold for calling an unfortunate
husband _coucou_ (cuckold). (_Usatica regni Majorici_, _Anno_
1248.) About the middle of the fifteenth century, in a letter
of remission to a guilty fellow, we find this curious remark:
“_Cogul_, which is the same (in the vernacular) as _coulz_ or
_couppault_, is one of the vilest insults to be thrust at a married
man.” At times the word _coux_ was used:

Suis-je mis en la confrairie
Saint Arnoul le seignenur des Coux.

But it was just about the fifteenth century that the confusion
appeared between this word and the bird of April (cuckoo); the word
_coucou_ (cuckoo), which had been explained by a fable, merely
imitated the cry, whereas the word _cocu_ (cuckold) had been
derived from the early Low Latin _cugus_. “Couquou, thus named
after its manner of singing and because it is famed for laying its
eggs in the nests of other birds; so, inconsistently, he is called
a _cocu_ (cuckold) in whose nest another man comes.” (Bouchet,
_Serées_.) There is also a play by Passerat on the metamorphosis of
a cuckoo which is worth mentioning. (Bib. Nat., manuscrit français,
22565, f^o 24 v^o.)

[5] P. 4:

◆In the present work the Author constantly uses the words _belle et
honneste_ (fair and honourable) to describe such and such a lady,
of whom at the same time he speaks as being an unmitigated whore.
But when he adds, as he does sometimes, _vertueuse_ (virtuous) to
_belle et honneste_, he implies by this that the lady was chaste
and modest, and raised no talk about herself.

[6] P. 7:

◆The prothonotary Baraud was one of those churchmen of whom Brantôme
says elsewhere: “It was customary at the time that prothonotaries,
even those of good families, should scarcely be learned, but give
themselves up to pleasure,” etc.

[7] P. 10:

◆Cosimo de Medici, who had his wife Eleonora de Toledo poisoned. The
daughter of whom Brantôme speaks was Isabella, whom he married to
Paolo Orsini, the Duke of Bracciano. But Cosimo had too marked an
affection for this daughter; although she was married, he insisted
that she live in Florence and remain with him. Vasari, who painted
for the Medici one of the arches of the Palazzo Vecchio, one day
surprised the father and the daughter, and recounts the strange
adventure which he witnessed. After the death of Cosimo, Paolo
Orsini called Isabella to his apartment, and there, according to
Litta, “with a rope around her neck coldly strangled her on the
night of July 16, 1576, in the act of consummating the marriage.”
(Medici, t, IV, tavola xiv.) That unhappy woman was one of the most
marvellous of her time: beautiful, cultured, musical, she had all
the brilliant advantages of the mind and of the body. Meanwhile,
she had had as a lover Troilo Orsini, who was attached to her
husband as a bodyguard, and who was assassinated in France, where
he had retired.

◆Louis de Clermont de Bussy d’Amboise was born towards the middle
of the XVIth Century, and took an active part in the Massacre of
Saint Bartholomew. On that occasion, profiting by the confusion,
he murdered his kinsman Antoine de Clermont, with whom he was at
law for the possession of the Marquisat de Renel. Having obtained
from his patron the Duc d’Anjou the governorship of the Castle of
Angers, he made himself the terror of the countryside. Letters of
his addressed to the wife of the Comte de Montsoreau, whom he was
endeavouring to seduce, having fallen into Charles IX.’s hands,
were by him shown to the husband. The latter forced his wife
to write a reply to her lover appointing a rendez-vous. On his
appearing there, Montsoreau and a band of armed men fell upon and
despatched him (1579). The comment of the historian de Thou is in
these words: “The entire Province was overjoyed at Bussy’s death,
while the Duke of Anjou himself was not sorry to be rid of him.”
[Transl.]

[8] P. 11:

◆René de Villequier, Baron de Clairvaux, murdered his first wife,
Françoise de la Marck, in cold blood, in 1577 at the Castle of
Poitiers, where the Court was residing. He killed at the same time
a young girl who was holding a mirror before her mistress at the
moment. According to some authorities he acted on the suggestion of
the king, Henri III. At any rate he got off with absolute impunity,
and within a very short time after was decorated by his Sovereign
with the Order of the St. Esprit. [Transl.]

[9] P. 12:

◆Sampietro, the famous soldier of fortune, and commander of the
Italian troops under the French Kings Francis I. and Henri II.,
was born near Ajaccio in Corsica in 1501. He was of humble birth,
but his many brilliant feats of war made him celebrated throughout
Europe. He actually strangled his wife,—Vanina, a lady of good
family, but not in consequence of such misconduct on her part
as Brantôme represents. The real circumstances were as follows.
Sampietro having attempted to raise his Corsican compatriots in
revolt against the Genoese, he was imprisoned and all but put to
death by the latter. This roused in him so implacable a hatred
of the Genoese State, that on learning that his wife during his
absence at Constantinople had condescended to implore his pardon
from the Genoese, he deliberately put her to death in the way
described. He was himself eventually murdered, being treacherously
stabbed in the back by his Lieutenant and friend Vitelli at the
instigation of his Genoese enemies. [Transl.]

◆This is another allusion to Paolo Orsini, Duke of Bracciano, who
could not overtake Troilo Orsini, and killed Isabella that he might
marry Vittoria Accoramboni, whose husband he had assassinated.
(Litta, Orsini, t, VII, tav. XXIX.)

[10] P. 15:

◆The Avalos family originally came from Spain, and gave Italy the
Marquis de Pescaire, one of the greatest captains of the sixteenth
century. It is of him that Brantôme speaks as the _viceroy_. Maria
d’Avalos was married to Carlos Gesualdo, prince of Venousse, and
was the niece of this Marquis de Pescaire and of Del Guasto, whom
Brantôme describes as “dameret” (foppish) to such a degree that he
perfumed the saddles of his horses. He was the one who lost the
battle of Cérisoles in 1544.

[11] P. 16:

◆Iliad, Bk. III,—

◆Paul de Caussade de Saint-Mégrin, favorite of the king, was killed
on leaving the Louvre by a band of assassins led by Mayenne. He was
the lover of Catherine de Clèves, Duchess de Guise. Henri IV., then
king of Navarre, who had good reasons not to like favorites, says
apropos of this: “I am thankful to the Duc de Guise for refusing
to tolerate that a bed favorite like Saint-Mégrin should make him
a cuckold. This treatment ought to be meted out to all the little
court gallants who try to approach the princesses with the aim of
making love to them.”

◆Françoise de Saillon, married to Jacques de Rohan. She was saved by
a miracle, says Jean Bourdigné’s chronicle, in 1526.

[12] P. 17:

◆Brantôme refers to Françoise de Foix, Chateaubriant’s lady,
regarding whom an old pamphlet of 1606 says as follows: “She could
do what she desired, and she desired many things that she ought not
to at all. During her lifetime, her husband was ever afflicted and
tormented.” (Factum pour M. le connestable contre Madame de Guise,
1606.) That is also the opinion of Gaillard in his _Histoire de
Françoise I^{er}_, t. VII, p. 179, in the 1769 edition, who sees in
this passage an allusion to Mme. de Chateaubriant.

◆Jean de Bourdigné, author of _Histoire agrégative des Annales et
Chroniques d’Anjou et du Maine_ (Angers, 1529, fol.), was born at
Angers. He was a priest and Canon of the Cathedral of his native
town. The book is very rare; as a history it is almost worthless,
being full of the wildest fables.

◆Francis I. king of France, 1515–1547.

[13] P. 21:

◆Philip II. had his wife Isabelle de Valois poisoned; he suspected
her of adultery with Don Carlos, his son of a former marriage.

[14] P. 22:

◆Louis X., surnamed le Hutin, had caused his wife Marguerite de
Bourgogne to be strangled at the Château-Gaillard. She had been
imprisoned there in 1314. As to Gaston II., of Foix, outraged by
the life of debauch Jeanne d’Artois (his mother) led, he obtained
from Philippe de Valois an order of internment in 1331.

◆Anne Boleyn, who was the cause of the Anglican schism. The king
had had her beheaded because of her infidelity and married Jane
Seymour. As to the charge of which Brantôme speaks, Henry VIII. was
so keen on that matter that he had caused Catherine Howard to be
beheaded because he had not been quite convinced of her virginity.

[15] P. 23:

◆Baldwyn II., cousin and successor of the first Baldwyn, king of
Jerusalem, brother of Godfrey de Bouillon, reigned from 1119 to
1131. Brantôme is mistaken here. Baldwyn II. had married Morphie,
daughter of Prince de Mélitine; but he had not been formerly
married. Does he wish to speak of Baudoin I^{er}, who repudiated
the daughter of the Prince d’Arménie and then Adéle de Monferrat?
(Cf. Guillaume de Tyr, liv. II, c. xv.)

◆Read _Melitene_; this is how the Ancients named this town, the
modern name of which is _Meletin_, in Latin _Malatia_; in Armenia,
on the Euphrates.

◆_History of the Holy Land_; by William of Tyre.

◆Louis VII. succeeded his father, Louis le Gros, on the throne of
France 1137, and died 1180. His wife, whom he divorced soon after
his return from the Holy Land, whither she had accompanied him,
was Eleanore of Guienne. This divorce was very painful to Louis
VII., surnamed le Jeune, because he had to give up the duchy of
Aquitaine and cast off the beautiful equestrian seal which he had
had engraved for himself in his rank as duke.

[16] P. 24:

◆Suetonius, _Cæsar_, Chap. VI. Brantôme is thinking of Clodius; but
Cicero never made the speech in question.

◆Brantôme (Lalanne edition, t. VIII, p. 198) repeats this anecdote
without giving further details.

[17] P. 25:

◆Fulvia. (Sallust, Chap. XXIII.)

◆Octavius (Augustus), first Roman Emperor, was the son of C.
Octavius, by Atia, a daughter of Julia, the sister of Julius Cæsar.
He was therefore the grand-nephew of the latter, the founder of the
Empire and virtual, though not nominal, first Emperor. He married
Livia after his divorce of Scribonia.

[18] P. 26:

◆Caligula, the third Roman Emperor, A. D. 37–41. His name was Caius
Cæsar, Caligula being properly only a friendly nickname, “Little
Boots,” bestowed on him as a boy by the soldiers in his father,
Germanicus’ camp in Germany, where he was brought up. He was
inordinately cruel and licentious and madly extravagant. Eventually
murdered.

◆Brantôme does not appear to know very well the persons he is
speaking of here: Hostilla is Orestilla; Tullia is Lollia;
Herculalina is Urgulanilla.

[19] P. 27:

◆Claudius, the fourth Roman Emperor, A. D. 41–54. The notorious
Messalina was his third wife. For a lurid picture of her
immoralities see Juvenal’s famous Sixth Satire.

[20] P. 28:

◆Giovanni Boccaccio, the author of the Decameron, was born at
Paris in 1313, being the (illegitimate) son of a wealthy merchant
of Florence. He died 1375 at Certaldo, a village near Florence, the
original seat of the family.

◆Does the following _chanson_ refer to the same woman?

On void Simonne
Proumener aux bordeaux
Matin, soir, nonne,
Avec ses macquereaux.

(Bib. Nat., ms. français 22565, f^o 41 v^o.)

[21] P. 29:

◆This is indeed one of the most curious passages of the book,
and I am glad to remove one of Lalanne’s doubts. Brantôme is
really talking of a statue, an antique piece which was found July
21, 1594, in a field near the Saint-Martin priory. It had been
admirably conserved. Unfortunately, Louis XIV. having claimed it
later, it was placed on a barge which sank in the Garonne, and was
never recovered. (O’Reilly, History of Bordeaux, 1863, Vol. II.)
The statue is described as having had one breast uncovered and
curled hair, a description that agrees only partly with Visconti’s
type (_Iconographie romaine_, t. II., planche 28), in which
Messalina is not décolleté and carries her son. Was the Bordeaux
statue indeed a Messalina?

[22] P. 31:

◆Brantôme is mistaken; Nero caused Octavia to be killed. (See
Suetonius, _Nero_, Chap. XXXV.)

◆Nero, fifth Roman Emperor, A. D. 54–63.

◆Domitian succeeded his father Titus on the Imperial throne; reigned
from A. D. 81 to 96.

◆Pertinax, a man of peasant birth, but who had carved out for
himself a distinguished career as soldier and administrator, was
elected Emperor by the Prætorian Guards on the murder of Commodus,
A. D. 193. Himself murdered after a two months’ reign.

[23] P. 32:

◆Septimius Severus, Emperor from A. D. 193 to 211. He was a great
general and conducted successful campaigns in Britain, where he
died,—at York.

[24] P. 33:

◆Philippe Auguste, King of France 1180–1223. Philip Augustus
repudiated Ingeburga after twenty-eight days of marriage, and
married Agnes de Méranie. The censure of the church induced the
king to discard the second marriage and return to Ingeburga (1201).
The latter was reputed to have a secret vice which greatly angered
the king.

[25] P. 34:

◆Marguerite, daughter of the Archduke Maximilian, whom Charles VIII.
rejected in order to marry Anne of Brittany (1491). Louis XII.
turned away Jeanne in order to marry the widow of Charles VIII.

◆Charles VIII., 1483–1498, of the House of Valois.

◆Louis XII., successor of the last named, reigned 1498–1515, the
immediate predecessor of Francis I.

[26] P. 35:

◆Alfonso V., king of Aragon, who left maxims which were collected by
Antonio Beccadelli, surnamed Panormita.

◆Twenty-second tale. M. de Bernage was equerry of King Charles VIII.
and the lord of Civray, near Chenonceaux.

[27] P. 36:

◆It is not Semiramis, but Thomyris, who, according to Justin (Bk.
I.) and Herodotus (Bk. II.), thrust the head of Cyrus into a vat of
blood. Xenophon says, on the contrary, that Cyrus died a natural
death.

[28] P. 40:

◆Albert de Gondy, Duke de Retz, was reputed as a practitioner of
Aretino’s principles. His wife, Claudine Catherine de Clermont,
deserved, perhaps wrongfully, to occupy a place in the pamphlet
entitled: “Bibliothèque de Mme. de Montpensier.”

[29] P. 41:

◆Elephantis is referred to by Martial and Suetonius as the writer of
amatory works—“molles Elephantidos libelli,” but nothing is known
of her otherwise. She was probably a Greek, not a Roman.

◆Heliogabalus, or Elagabalus, Emperor from A. D. 218 to 222. Born at
Emesa, and originally high-priest of Elagabalus the Syrian Sun-god.
After a very short reign marked by every sort of extravagant folly,
he was succeeded by Alexander Severus.

◆The Cardinal de Lorraine, Cardinal du Perron, and others, had been
already represented in the same way along with Catherine de Medici,
Mary Stuart and the Duchesse de Guise, in two paintings mentioned
in the _Légende du Cardinal de Lorraine_, fol. 24, and in the
_Réveille-Matin des Français_, pp. 11 and 123.

[30] P. 42:

◆I agree with Lalanne that this prince was no other than the Duke
d’Alençon. As to the fable of the coupling of the lions, it came
from an error of Aristotle, which was repeated by most naturalists
until the eighteenth century.

[31] P. 45:

◆Ronsard the poet was born 1524, being the son of Louis de Ronsard,
sieur de la Poissonnière, an officer in the household of King
Francis I., and died 1586. He enjoyed an immense reputation in
his lifetime, and was the favourite poet of Mary Queen of Scots.
Her lover, the unfortunate Chastelard, read his _Hymne de la
mort_ on the scaffold, and refused any other book or confessor to
prepare him for death. Originator and leading member of the famous
_Pleïade_ of Poets.

[32] P. 46:

◆He was a Florentine, Luigi di Ghiaceti, who had grown rich by
negotiating the taxes with the king. He married the beautiful
Mlle. d’Atri, and to please her he had bought for 400,000 francs
the estate of Chateauvilain. Mme. de Chateauvilain was a model
of virtue, if Brantôme is to be believed; but we wonder, fully
agreeing with the author of the notes to the _Journal de Henri
III._, where this lady could have acquired her virtue—was it at the
court or at her husband’s estate? Besides this gallery of pictures
which is mentioned here, Louis Adjecet (the French form for Luigi
Ghiaceti) had mistresses with whom he indulged in the low appetites
of rich upstarts. He was killed in 1593 by an officer; and his wife
withdrew to Langres, where she lived with her children.

[33] P. 47:

◆Ariosto, _Orlando furioso_, canto XLII., stanza 98.

Ecco un donzello a chi l’ufficio tocca
Por su la mensa un bel nappo d’or fino....

◆Very likely Bernardin Turissan. Brantôme is perhaps referring to
the _Ragionamento della Nanna_, printed in Paris in 1534, without
the name of the publisher. The _peggio_ must have been one of those
infamous Italian books which the noblemen of the court wrangled
over. The _Nanna_ was well known at the French court (see _Le
Divorce satyrique_, t. I. of the _Journal de Henri III._, 1720
edition, p. 190).

◆Bernardino Turisan, who used as his sign the well-known mark of the
Manutii, his kinsmen.

◆Pietro Aretino was born at Arezzo in Tuscany in 1492. The natural
son of a plain gentleman he became the companion and protégé of
Princes, and their unscrupulous and adroit flatterer. Friend of
Michael Angelo and Titian. His works are full of learning and
wit,—and obscenity.

[34] P. 48:

◆This book, entitled _La Somme des péchés et les remèdes d’iceux_
(Compendium of all Sins, and the Remedies of the same), printed at
Lyons, by Charles Pesnot c. 1584, 4to, and several times since, was
compiled by Jean Benedict, a Cordelier monk of Brittany. He has
filled it with filth and foulness as full as did the Jesuit Sanchez
his treatise _De Matrimonio_ (on Marriage). It is a singular fact
that a work so indecent should have been none the less dedicated to
the Holy Virgin. As we see from the text, Brantôme and his fellows
quite well understood how to turn such works to their advantage and
find fresh stories of lubricity in their pages.

[35] P. 49:

◆This Bonvisi, a Lyons banker, had had as receiver Field Marshal
de Retz, the son of a Gondi, who had become a bankrupt in Lyons.
(Notes of the Confession de Sancy, 1720 edition, t. II., p. 244.)

[36] P. 51:

◆L. Aurelius Commodus (not Sejanus), Emperor A. D. 180–192, was the
son of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius and Faustina. Annius Verus was
his brother, and received the appellation of _Cæsar_ along with his
elder brother in 166.

[37] P. 58:

◆_Antonomasia_, properly.

[38] P. 60:

◆The Sanzays were a family of Poitou who had settled in Brittany.
René de Sanzay, head of the family at the time in question, had
four sons: René, Christophe, Claude, and Charles. René continued
the line. Claude was his lieutenant in 1569, as colonel of his
forces. Charles married and died only in 1646 (?). Christophe, the
second son, was a prothonotary. It seems that Brantôme had Claude
in mind. Moreover, the constable of Montmorency having died in
1568 and Claude having been a lieutenant of his brother in 1569,
we may conjecture that the adventure of which Brantôme speaks had
happened to him previously, for the constable is concerned with his
ransom. (Bib. Nat., Cabinet des titres, art. Sanzay.)

[39] P. 61:

◆Cicero, _De officis_, Bk. IV., Chap. ix.

◆The second son of Charles V.; he was assassinated at the Gate of
Barbette, at the end of Rue Vieille-du-Temple, in 1407, by the
orders of Jean Sans peur. He had had for a long time adulterous
relations with his sister-in-law Isabeau de Bavière. The woman
in question here was Marie d’Enghien, wife of Aubert de Cany and
mother of the Bâtard d’Orléans. This anecdote has inspired several
story-tellers, such as Bandello, Strappardo, Malespini, etc. See
also the first of the _Cents Nouvelles nouvelles_.

◆“Candaules was the last Heracleid king of Lydia. According to the
account of Herodotus, he was extremely proud of his wife’s beauty,
and insisted on exhibiting her unveiled charms, but without her
knowledge, to Gyges, his favourite officer. Gyges was seen by the
queen, as he was stealing from her chamber, and the next day she
summoned him before her, intent on vengeance, and bade him choose
whether he would undergo the punishment of death himself, or would
consent to murder Candaules and receive the kingdom together with
her hand. He chose the latter alternative, and became the founder
of the dynasty of the Mermnadæ, about B. C. 715.”

[40] P. 62:

◆Jean Dunois, comte d’Orléans et de Longueville, Grand Chamberlain
of France, was his natural son by Mariette d’Enghien, wife
of Aubert de Cany-Dunois, and is famous in history under the
name of the Bastard of Orleans. Born at Paris 1402; died 1468.
Distinguished himself at the sieges of Montargis and Orleans (where
he was seconded by Jeanne d’Arc) and in many other encounters. The
gallant champion of Charles VII. and the great enemy of the English.

[41] P. 65:

◆Henri III., 1574–1589, last king of the House of Valois; succeeded
Charles IX.

◆Emmanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy, surnamed _Tête de fer_. He had
married Marguerite, sister of Henri II. It was during this journey
that the Duchess Marguerite tried to obtain from her nephew Henri
III. the retrocession of several fortresses which France still
held. (Litta, t. VI., tav. xiv.)

[42] P. 66:

◆Sainte-Soline abandoned Strozzi at the battle of the Iles Ter
Tercères.

[43] P. 67:

◆Capaneus was one of the mythical seven heroes who marched from
Argos against Thebes (Aeschylus, _Septem contra Thebas_). “During
the siege, he was presumptuous enough to say, that even the fire
of Zeus should not prevent his scaling the walls of the city; but
when she saw his body was burning, his wife Euadné leaped into the
flames and destroyed herself.”

◆Alcestis was a daughter of Pelias, and the wife of Admetus, King of
Pheræ in Thessaly. According to the legend, Apollo having induced
the Fates to promise Admetus deliverance from death, if at the
hour of his decease his father, mother or wife would die for him,
Alcestis sacrificed herself for her husband’s sake. But Heracles
brought her back again from the underworld, and “all ended well.”
The story is the subject of Euripides’ beautiful play of _Alcestis_.

[44] P. 68:

◆Tancred, one of the chief heroes of the First Crusade, was the son
of Odo the Good, of Sicily. Date of his birth is uncertain; he died
1112. Type of the gallant soldier and adventurer and the “very
perfect, gentle knight.”

◆Philippe I.—1060–1108.

◆See Guillaume de Tyr, liv. XI., who tells this anecdote about
Tancrède. Bertrade d’Anjou, the wife of Foulques, had been carried
off by Philip I., to whom she bore, among other children, Cécile,
who married Tancrède.

◆Compare this Albanian savagery with the story of Councillor Jean
Lavoix, who lived with the wife of an attorney named Boulanger. The
wife having decided to discontinue that liaison, the Councillor
grew so furious that he caused her to be slashed and disfigured,
although he could not get her nose cut off. He was pardoned after
having paid his judges. The following song was written about him:

Chasteauvillain, Poisle et Levois,
Seront jugez tous d’une voix
Par un arrest aussi leger
Que fust celluy de Saint-Leger.
Car le malheur est tel en France
Que tout se juge par la finance.

(Bib. Nat., ms. français, 22563, f^o 101.)

[45] P. 70:

◆See the _Annales d’Aquitaine_, f^o 140 v^o.—Jeanne de Montal,
married to Charles d’Aubusson, lord of La Borne. This Charles had
had a liaison with the prioress of Blessac, who bore him four
children. He was tried for theft and robbery in the convents of his
vicinity, and hanged, February 23, 1533. (Anselme, t. V., p. 835.)
A genealogy by Pierre Robert states precisely what Brantôme records
here.

◆See Brantôme in the Lalanne edition, t. VIII., p. 148. There
must be some mistake here. Jacques d’Aragon, the titular king of
Majorca, died in an expedition in 1375, according to the _Art de
verifier les dates_.

◆Charles VII. (surnamed the Victorious), crowned at Poitiers 1422,
consecrated at Rheims 1429; died 1461, the King for whom Jeanne
d’Arc fought against the Burgundians and English, and who really
owed his crown to her.

◆Francis I., 1515–1547.

◆Jeanne I., Queen of Naples, 1353–1381, daughter of Charles Duke of
Calabria and grand-daughter of the wise King Robert of Naples.

[46] P. 72:

◆The proverb says, the ferret. It should be the ermine, which animal
is said to allow itself to be caught rather than soil itself.

◆The opinion that the female ferret would die if it did not find
a male to satisfy her during the mating season was still held by
naturalists at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Lalanne
is mistaken about the ermine, which, on the contrary, dies of the
slightest contamination:

Et moi, je suis si délicate
Qu’une tache me fait mourir.

(Florian, _Fables_, liv. III., fab. xiii.)

[47] P. 78:

◆Nouvelle III.

◆Unhappy husbands were classified as follows:

Celluy qui, marié, par sa femme est coqu
Et (qui) pas ne le sçait, d’une corne est cornu.
Deux en a cestui-là qui peut dissimuler;
Qui le voit et le souffre, celluy trois en porte;
Et quatre cestui-là qui meine pour culler
Chez lui des poursuivans. Cil qui en toute sorte
Dit qu’il n’est de ceux-là, et en sa femme croid,
Cinq cornes pour certain sur le front on lui void.

(Bib. Nat., ms. français 22565, f^o 41.)

[48] P. 79:

◆It was the marriage of Marguerite of France, the Duchess de Savoie,
to Emmanuel Philibert, the Duke de Savoie, which caused the army to
grumble.

◆Boccaccio, Seventh tale of the second day.

◆Brantôme alludes here most likely to Marguerite of France, sister
of Henri II., who was 45 when she married the Duke of Savoy.

[49] P. 80:

◆Mlle. de Limeuil was the mistress of the Prince de Condé. During
the journey of the court at Lyons, in July, 1564, she was confined
in the cabinet of the queen mother, who was so furious that she
had her locked up in a Franciscan monastery at Auxonne. But the
_Confession de Sancy_ and several authors of that time differ from
Brantôme in saying that the child was a son and not a daughter,
and died immediately after birth. The Huguenots wrote verses about
the adventure; but the young lady nevertheless married an Italian,
Scipion Sardini, for whom she soon forgot the Prince de Condé.
Mlle. de Limeuil called herself Isabelle de La Tour de Turenne, and
was Dame de Limeuil.

[50] P. 81:

◆Cosimo I., Duke of Tuscany. Besides, Pope Alexander VI. was also in
a somewhat similar situation.

[51] P. 82:

◆Ferdinand II., King of Naples, 1495–96. Died prematurely at the age
of 26. Ferdinand II. married the sister of his father, the daughter
of the king of Naples and not of Castile.

[52] P. 86:

◆An ancient city of Italy. At the fort of Monte Cimino, in the
Campagna 40 miles NNW. of Rome.

◆_La Nanna_ by Aretino, in the chapter on married women, tells
of similar practices of deception regarding the virtue of newly
married women.

[53] P. 89:

◆Henry IV. of Castile, 1454–1474, a feeble and dissipated Prince,
was a brother of Isabelle of Castile. The young man chosen was not
a nobleman, but simply an Antinous of negligible origin whom the
king created Duke d’Albuquerque. A child, Jeanne, was born of this
complacent match, but she did not reign. Castile preferred Henri
III.’s sister, Isabelle.

◆Fulgosius (Battista Fregose), born at Genoa 1440, of a family
famous in Genoese history, and for a time Doge of his native
City. His chief Work, _Factorum et Dictorum Memorabilium libri
IX_. (Memorable Deeds and Words, 9 bks.), has been more than once
reprinted. This particular statement is to be found in ch. 3. of
Bk. IX.

[54] P. 91:

◆We have here, perhaps, a discreet allusion to Henri IV.’s passion
for Mlle. de Tignonville, who had been unmanageable until she
married. (See the _Confession de Sancy_, and t. II., p. 128, of the
_Journal de Henri III._)

[55] P. 94:

◆François de Lorraine, Duc de Guise, who was killed by Poltrot.

[56] P. 96:

◆The famous Diane de Poitiers, eldest daughter of Jean de Poitiers,
Seigneur de St. Vallier, belonging to one of the most ancient
families in Dauphiné, was born 1499. At the age of 13 she was
married to Louis de Brèze, Comte de Maulevrier, Grand Seneschal
of Normandy. She became a widow in 1531. The story of François I.
having pardoned her father at the price of her honour, as told by
Brantôme and others, is apparently apocryphal. It was not till
after the death of her husband, to whom she was faithful and whose
name she honoured, that she became the mistress of François I. She
was as renowned for her wit and charms of mind as for her beauty.
Died 1566.

◆M. de Saint-Vallier, father of Diane de Poitiers. It is not known
whether he uttered the word, but his pardon came in time. The
headsman had already begged his pardon, according to custom, for
killing him, and was about to cut his head off when a clerk,
Mathieu Delot, rose and read the royal letter which commuted the
capital sentence to imprisonment. The letter is dated February 17,
1523. (Ms. Saint-Germain, 1556, f^o 74.)

[57] P. 97:

◆Duke d’Etampes, chevalier of the order and governor of Brittany,
an obliging and kind husband.—François de Vivonne, lord of La
Chasteigneraie, was among the least meek-minded of the court.
Princess de La Roche-sur-Yon having stupidly asked him one day for
a domestic favor, he called her “a little muddy princess,” which
afforded King Francis I. no little laughter. He was killed by
Jarnac in a famous duel.

[58] P. 98:

◆An allusion to the demon who threw to the ground the archangel
Saint Michael, and who was represented on the collar of the order.
It is rather difficult to know of which lady Brantôme is speaking
here: the collar of Saint Michael had been given to so many people
that it was called “the collar for all animals.” (Castelnau,
_Mémoires_, I., p. 363.)

[59] P. 99:

◆Where did Brantôme get this story? Gui de Châtillon had expended
on banquets the greater part of his fortune and sold his county to
Louis d’Orléans; the latter was merely seventeen at the time. It is
difficult to admit that he could have carried on a liaison with a
woman so ripe in years. After the death of Gui, Marguerite married
an officer of the Duke d’Orléans.

[60] P. 101:

◆Apparently Queen Marguerite de Valois. Marguerite de Valois,
sister of François I., was born at Angouleme in 1492. Married in
1509 to Charles 4th Duc d’Alençon, who died (1525) soon after
the disastrous battle of Pavia, at which François I. was taken
prisoner. In 1527 she married Henri d’Albret, king of Navarre.
She was a Princess of many talents and accomplishments, and the
delight of her brother François I., who called her his _Mignonne_,
and his _Marguerite des Marguerites_; Du Bellay and Clément Marot
were both members of her literary coterie. Authoress of the famous
_Heptameron_, or _Nouvelles de la Reine de Navarre_, composed in
imitation of Boccaccio’s _Decameron_. Died 1549.

◆This is also an allusion to Queen Marguerite. Martigues, one of her
lovers, had received from her a scarf and a little dog which he
wore at the tournaments.

[61] P. 103:

◆Henri III., who had a short-lived affair with Catherine Charlotte
de La Tremoille, the wife of Prince de Condé. But the victory
was too easy; the princess was quite corrupt. Later on, the king
prostituted her with one of his pages, with whom she conspired to
poison her husband. The plot failed. When brought before the Court,
she was pardoned; but a servant named Brilland was torn apart by
four horses. It was also Henri III. who had debauched Marie de
Clèves, the first wife of the same Prince de Condé.

◆May very well refer to Henri de Lorraine, Duc de Guise,
assassinated at Blois.

◆Most probably refers to Marguerite de Valois, the king of Navarre,
the Duc d’Anjou and the St. Bartholomew.

[62] P. 105:

◆Louis de Béranger du Guasi, one of Henri III.’s favorites,
assassinated in 1575 by M. de Viteaux. His epitaph is in the
_Manuscrit français_ 22565, f^o 901^o (Bibliothèque Nationale).
Brantôme, who boasts of being a swordsman, forgets that D’Aubigné
was also one.

◆A small town of Brittany (Dep. Ille-et-Vilaine), 14 miles from St.
Mâlo. Has a cathedral of 12th and 13th centuries; the bishopric was
suppressed in 1790.

[63] P. 107:

◆To take a journey to Saint-Mathurin was a proverbial expression
which meant that a person was mad. Henri Estienne says that this
is a purely imaginary saint; be that as it may, he was credited
with curing madmen, and the satirical songs of the time are full of
allusions to that healing power. (See _Journal de Henri III_, 1720
edition, t. II., pp. 307 and 308.)

[64] P. 108:

◆Lalanne proves by a passage from Spartianus that this anecdote is
apocryphal, or that at least Brantôme has embellished it for his
own needs. (_Dames_, tom. IX., p. 116.)

◆Hadrian (P. Aelius Hadrianus), 14th in the series of Roman
Emperors, A. D. 117–138, succeeded his guardian and kinsman Trajan.
His wife, Sabina, here mentioned, was a grand-daughter of Trajan’s
sister Marciana.

[65] P. 109:

◆Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (“The Philosopher”) succeeded Antonius
Pius as Emperor in A. D. 168. Died 180. His wife Faustina (as
profligate a woman as Messalina herself) was daughter of Pius.
Author of the famous _Meditations_. His son Commodus, who succeeded
him as Emperor, was a complete contrast in character to his father,
being vicious, weak, cruel and dissolute.

◆Another embellished passage. Faustine had died before Antoninus
Commodus was emperor. Moreover, she was only washed (_sublevare_,
says the text) with the blood of the gladiator. (J. Capitolin,
_Marc-Antoine le Philosophe_, Chap. xix.)

[66] P. 113:

◆A discreet and veiled allusion to the amours of Marguerite de
Valois and of the Duchess de Nevers with La Môle and Coconas.
Implicated in the affair of Field Marshals de Cossé and de
Montmorency, La Môle, a Provençal nobleman, and Coconas, a
Piedmontese, were beheaded on the square of Grève towards the end
of April, 1574, and not killed in battle as Brantôme tries to
insinuate. The two princesses, mad with despair, transported the
bodies in their carriages to the place of burial, at Montmartre,
and kept the heads, which they had had embalmed. (_Mémoires de
Nevers_, I., p. 75, and _Le Divorce satirique_.)

[67] P. 114:

◆It is Philippe Strozzi, Field Marshal of France, who was born at
Venice. Made lieutenant of the naval army in 1579 in order to
further the pretensions of Antonio of Portugal, he was defeated,
July 28, 1583, and put to death in cold blood by Santa Cruz, his
rival. (_Vie et mort ... de Philippe Strozzi._ Paris, Guil. Lenoir,
1608.)

[68] P. 119:

◆Thomas de Foix, lord of L’Escu or Lescun, was the brother of Mme.
de Chateaubriant, mistress of François I^{er}. He was captured at
Pavia and carried, mortally wounded, to the home of the lady of
whom Brantôme speaks. It was he who, by the surrender of Cremona in
1522, caused France to lose Italy. (Guicciardini, t. III., p. 473,
Fribourg edition, 1775.)

[69] P. 120:

◆Paolo Jovio, _Dialogo delle imprese militari ed amorose_, 1559, p.
13.

◆Blaise de Montluc, author of the _Commentaires_, a diabolical
Gascon, made Field Marshal of France in 1574. The siege of La
Rochelle, which is here mentioned, took place in 1573. For details
on this personage, see the De Ruble edition of the _Commentaires_,
1854–74, 5 vols.

◆Paulus Jovius (Paolo Giovio), Historian, was a native of Como; born
1483, died 1552.

[70] P. 122:

◆In his _Contre-Repentie_ (fol. 444, A. of his _Works_, 1576).
Joachim du Bellay, the poet, was born about 1524 at Lire in Anjou,
of a noble and distinguished family of that Province. After an
unfortunate youth, his talents ensured him a welcome at the Court
of François I. and his sister Marguerite de Valois, where he spent
some years. Died young, after a life of ill health, in 1560.

◆Francis Rabelais was born about 1483 at Chinon in Touraine, where
his father was an apothecary. After a stormy youth and some years
spent as a Monk in more than one Monastery of more than one Order,
and later wandering the country as a vagabond secular priest, he
was admitted Doctor in the Faculty of Medicine at Montpellier.
Countless stories of his pranks and adventures are told, many no
doubt mythical. He visited Rome as well as most parts of France in
the course of his life. He died Curé of Meudon, about 1553.

[71] P. 123:

◆Chastity-belts of this sort were already in use at Venice at the
time.

◆There is in the Hennin collection of prints at the Bibliothèque
Nationale (t. III., f^o 64) a satirical print representing what
Brantôme relates here. A lady returns to her husband the key; but
behind the bed, the lover, hidden by a duenna, receives from the
latter a key similar to the husband’s. This instrument of jealousy
was the _cingulum pudicitiæ_ of the Romans, the “Florentine lock”
of the sixteenth century. Henri Aldegraver also engraved on the
sheath of a dagger a lady who is adorned with a lock of this kind.
(Bartsch, _Peintre-Graveur_, VIII., p. 437.) These refinements
in jealousy as well as the refinements in debauchery (of which
Brantôme will speak later) were of Italian origin. (See on this
subject _La Description de l’Ile des Hermaphrodites_, Cologne,
1724, p. 43.)

[72] P. 124:

◆Lampride, _Alexandre Sévère_, Chap. XXII.

[73] P. 125:

◆Nicolas d’Estouteville, lord of Villeconnin, and not Villecouvin,
nobleman of the Chambre, died in Constantinople in February, 1567.
He had gone to Turkey to forget a disappointment in love or in
politics. Here is his epitaph:

Le preux Villeconin en la fleur de ses ans,
Hélas! a délaissé nos esbatz si plaisans,
Laissant au temple sainct de la digne Memoire
Son labeur, son renom, son honneur et sa gloire.

[74] P. 127:

◆Dr. Subtil, surname of J. Scott or Duns.

[75] P. 128:

◆Saint Sophronie.

◆See De Thou liv. XLIX. There were, at the court of France, other
women who had escaped from Cyprus and who scarcely resembled this
heroine. Témoin de la Dayelle, of whom Brantôme speaks in the
_Dames illustres_, in the chapter on the Medicis. (_Journal de
Henri III._, 1720 edition, t. II., p. 142.)

[76] P. 132:

◆Guillot le Songeur is, according to Lalanne, Don Guilan el Cuidador
of the _Amadis de Gaule_.

◆“Guillot le Songeur,” a name applied to any Pensive man,—from the
knight Julian le Pensif, one of the characters of the _Amadis of
Gaul_.

[77] P. 136:

◆Danae, daughter of Acrisius, King of Argos, who confined her in
brazen tower, where Jupiter obtained access in the form of a golden
shower.

[78] P. 137:

◆An allusion to Duke Henri de Guise. His wife Catherine de Clèves
had, in addition to her “bed lovers,” many other intrigues. (See
the _Confession de Sancy_, Chap. VIII., notes.)

[79] P. 138:

◆Trajan (M. Ulpius Trajanus), Emperor A. D. 98–117. His wife
Plotina, here mentioned, was a woman of extraordinary merits and
virtues, according to the statements of all writers, with one
exception, who speak of her. She persuaded her husband to adopt
Hadrian who became his successor; but Dion Cassius is the only
author who says a word as to her intercourse with the latter having
been of a criminal character, and such a thing is utterly opposed
to all we know of her character.

[80] P. 141:

◆This refers very likely to Brantôme’s voyage to Scotland. He had
accompanied Queen Mary Stuart in August, 1561, at the time of
her departure from France. Riccio, who was the favorite of “low
rank,” had arrived one year later; but Brantôme, who is relating
something which happened a long time before, is not precise: he is
unquestionably responding to a request of Queen Catherine.

[81] P. 144:

◆In this passage, where Brantôme cleverly avows his wiles as a
courtier, he refers to the Queen of Spain, Elizabeth, the wife of
Philip II. The sister of the princess was Marguerite, Queen of
Navarre. The two young infantas, whose portraits are examined in
detail, were: the first, Isabella Claire Eugenie (later married to
Albert of Austria), who became a nun towards the end of her life;
the other, Catherine, married Charles Emmanuel de Savoie in 1585.
It is difficult to-day to see the resemblance of the two princesses
to their father, in spite of the great number of portraits of all
these personages; in fact, we can say that they were scarcely more
beautiful than their mother. (Cf. the beautiful portrait in crayon
of Queen Elizabeth at the Bibliothèque Nationale, Estampes Na 21,
f^o 69.)

◆The two Joyeuses: M. du Bouchage, and a gay companion.

[82] P. 145:

◆Marguerite de Lorraine, married to Anne (Duke) de Joyeuse, the
favorite of Henri III. The sister-in-law of whom Brantôme speaks
could be neither Mme. du Bouchage nor Mme. de Mercoeur, who were
spared by the crudest pamphleteers; he undoubtedly refers to
Henriette, Duchess de Montpensier.

[83] P. 146:

◆François de Vendôme, vidam of Chartres? (See _Fæneste_, 1729
edition, p. 345.)

[84] P. 148:

◆Ariosto, _Orlando furioso_, canto V., stanza 57:

Io non credo, signor, che ti sia nova
La legge nostra....

[85] P. 149:

◆How can Brantôme, who had friends in the Huguenot camp,
deliberately relate such absurd tales?

[86] P. 150:

◆There is a close likeness between this woman and the Godard de
Blois, a Huguenot, who was hanged for adultery in the year 1563.

[87] P. 152:

◆At that period several persons bore the name of Beaulieu. Brantôme
may have in mind Captain Beaulieu, who held Vincennes for the Ligue
in 1594. (Chron. Novenn. III., liv. VII.) The chief prior was
Charles de Lorraine, son of the Duke de Guise.

[88] P. 154:

◆The Comtesse de Senizon was accused of having contrived his escape,
and brought to book for it.

[89] P. 155:

◆According to his habit, Brantôme disfigures what he quotes. Vesta
Oppia alone has the right to the name of “good woman”; Cluvia was
a profession-courtesan. (Cf. Livy, XXVI., Chap. xxxiii.)

[90] P. 156:

◆This more human reason is probably truer than the one generally
given of Jean’s chivalrous conduct regarding his pledge.

◆Jean (surnamed le Bon), King of France, 1350–1364. Taken prisoner
by Edward the Black Prince at the battle of Poitiers.

[91] P. 159:

◆Proverb marking the small connection that often exists between
gifts of body and good qualities of mind and character.

[92] P. 161:

◆The quotation as given in the text is mutilated and the words
transposed. It should read:

“Si tibi simplicitas uxoria, deditus uni
Est animus: ...
...
Nil unquam invita donabis con juge: vendes
Hac obstante nihil; nihil, haec si nolit, emetur.”

Juvenal, Sat. VI, 205 sqq.

That is to say, “If you are attached solely and entirely to your
wife, ... you will not be able to give a thing away, or sell or buy
a thing, without her consent.”

[93] P. 164:

◆They used to say of those Italian infamies: “_In Spagna, gli preti;
in Francia, i grandi; in Italia, tutti quanti._”

◆Why not let Boccaccio have the responsibility of this baseness?
(Decameron, Vth day, Xth story.)

[94] P. 168:

◆Christine de Lorraine, daughter of Duke Charles, married to
Ferdinand I. de Medici. This young princess had arrived in Italy
adorned in her rich French gowns, which she soon cast off in favor
of Italian fashions. This concession quickly made her a favorite.
It was at the wedding of Christine that the first Italian operas
were performed. (Litta, _Medici di Firenze_, IV., tav. xv.)

[95] P. 171:

◆Brantôme is very likely thinking of Princess de Condé, whom Pisani
brought before the Parliament, which acquitted her.

[96] P. 174–175:

◆Probably an allusion to Mme. de Simiers and not to Marguerite de
Valois, as Lalanne thinks. More tenacious if not more constant than
the princess, Louise de Vitry, Lady de Simiers, lost successively
Charles d’Humières at Ham, Admiral de Villars at Dourlens, and the
Duke de Guise, whom she deeply loved and who gave her so little in
return; this does not include Count de Randan, who died at Issoire,
and others of less importance. When she reached old age, old
Desportes alone remained for her. He had been her first lover, a
poet, whom she had forgotten among her warriors; but it was much too
late for both of them.

◆Brantôme is mistaken; it is Seius and not Séjanus.

[97] P. 177:

◆Théodore de Bèze, the Reformer; born at Vézelais, in the Nivernais,
1519. Author, scholar, jurist and theologian. Died 1595.

[98] P. 178:

◆All the satirical authors agree in charging Catherine de’Medici
with this radical change of the old French manners. It would be
juster to think also of the civil wars in Italy, which were not
without influence upon the looseness of the armies, and, therefore,
upon the whole of France.

[99] P. 179:

◆It is the 91st epigram of Bk. I.

[100] P. 180:

◆Isabella de Luna, a famous courtesan mentioned by Bandello.

◆Cardinal d’Armagnac was Georges, born in 1502, who was successively
ambassador in Italy and archbishop of Toulouse, and finally
archbishop of Evignon.

[101] P. 181:

◆Quotation badly understood. _Crissantis_, in the Latin verse, is a
participle and not a proper noun. (Cf. Juvenal, sat. iv.)

◆_Filènes_, from _Philenus_, a courtesan in Lucian.

◆The line should read,

Ipsa Medullinæ frictum crissantis adorat.

[102] P. 184:

◆Brantôme seems to speak of himself; yet he might merely have played
the side rôle of confidant in the comedy.

[103] P. 187:

◆Brantôme refers to the _Dialogue de la beauté des dames_.
Marguerite d’Autriche is not (as he says) the Duchess de Savoie,
who died in 1530, but the natural daughter of the Emperor; she
married Alessandro de’Medici, and later Ottavio Farnese.

[104] P. 189:

◆The famous Church of Brou, at Bourg, was built in 1511–36 by
the beautiful Marguerite of Austria, wife of Philobert II., le
Beau, Duke of Savoy, in fulfilment of a vow made by Marguerite of
Bourbon, her mother-in-law. It contains the magnificent tombs of
Marguerite herself, her husband and mother-in-law. Celebrated in a
well-known poem, “The Church of Brou,” of Matthew Arnold.

[105] P. 190:

◆Jean de Meung, the poet (nicknamed Clopinel on account of his
lameness), was born at the small town of Meung-sur-Loire in the
middle of the XIIIth Century. Died at Paris somewhere about 1320.
His famous _Roman de la Rose_ was a continuation of an earlier work
of the same name by Guillaume de Lorris, completed and published in
its final form by Jean de Meung.

[106] P. 192:

◆Twenty-sixth Tale. It is Lord d’Avesnes, Gabriel d’Albret.

[107] P. 194:

◆Claudia Quinta (Livy XXIX, 14).

[108] P. 196:

◆Plutarch, Œuvres mêlées, LXXVII, t. II., p. 167, in the 1808
edition.

[109] P. 200:

◆The vogue of drawers dated from about 1577; three years later the
hoop was in great favor and served to do away with the petticoat.
Brantôme probably means that the lady discards the petticoat and
wears the hoop over the drawers.

[110] P. 212:

◆The pun on _raynette_ and _raye nette_ cannot be reproduced in
English.

[111] P. 213:

◆Etienne Pasquier, the great lawyer and opponent of the Jesuits, was
born at Paris, 1529; died 1615.

◆Thibaut, sixth of the name, Comte de Champagne et Brie,
subsequently King of Navarre, was born 1201. Surnamed _Faiseur de
Chansons_ from his poetic achievements. Brought up at the Court of
Philippe-Auguste. The whole romance of his love for Queen Blanche
of Castille is apparently apocryphal; it rests almost entirely on
statements of one (English) historian, Matthew Paris. She was 16
years older than he, and is never once mentioned in his poems.

◆E. Pasquier, _Œuvres_, 1723, t. II, p. 38. “Which of the two,”
says Pasquier, “brings more satisfaction to a lover—to feel and
touch his love without speaking to her, or to see and speak to her
without touching her?” In the dialogue between Thibaut de Champagne
and Count de Soissons, Thibaut preferred to speak.

[112] P. 215:

◆Brantôme aims here at Queen Catherine de’Medici and her favorites.

◆_Cf._ Plutarch, De Stoicorum repugnantiis, c. xxi.

[113] P. 216:

◆_Id._, Demetrius, cap. xxvii. Brantôme is mistaken; the woman in
question was Thônis.

◆Eighteenth Tale.

◆The “wheel of the nose” was a sort of “mask beard” that women wore
in cold weather; it was attached to the hood below the eyes.

[114] P. 220:

◆It was François de Compeys, lord of Gruffy, who sold his estate in
1518 in order to expatriate himself.

[115] P. 221:

◆It is not three but four S’s that the perfect lover must carry with
him, according to Luis Barabona (_Lagrimas de Angelica_, canto
IV.), and these four S’s mean:

SABIO, SOLO, SOLICITO ET SEGRETO.

These initial letters were much in vogue in Spain during the sixteenth
century.

[116] P. 224:

◆This story was popular in Paris; it was amplified and embellished
into a drama and ascribed to Marguerite de Bourgogne. Was it not
Isabeau de Bavière?

◆Isabeau, or Isabelle, de Bavière, wife of the half imbecile Charles
VI. of France, and daughter of Stephen II., Duke of Bavaria, was
born 1371; died 1435. Among countless other intrigues was one
with the Duc d’Orléans, her husband’s brother. One of her lovers,
Louis de Boisbourdon, was thrown into the Seine in a leather sack
inscribed _Laissez passer la justice du roi_. The famous story of
the Tour de Nesles seems mythical.

[117] P. 225:

◆See under _Buridan_, in Bayle’s _Dict. Critique_. Compare also
Villon, in his Ballade of the _Dames des Temps Jadis_ (Fair Dames
of Yore):

Semblablement où est la reine,
Qui commanda que Buridan
Fust jeté en un sac en Seine?

(Likewise where is the Queen, who commanded Buridan to be cast in a
sack into the Seine?)

[118] P. 227:

◆Plutarch, Anthony, Chap. xxxii.

[119] P. 229:

◆Livy, lib. XXX., cap. xv. Appien, _De Rebus punicis_, XXVII.

◆Joachim du Bellay, _Œuvres poétiques_, 1597.

◆_La Vieille Courtisane_ (“The Old Courtesan”), fol. 449. B. of the
_Œuvres poét._ of Joachim du Bellay, edition of 1597.

[120] P. 230:

◆This pun is difficult to explain.

[121] P. 231:

◆Lucian, _Amours_, XV.

[122] P. 235:

◆Marguerite, wife of Henri IV., whose elegance drew from the old
Queen Catherine this remark: “No matter where you may go, the court
will take the fashion from you, and not you from the court.”

(Brantôme, _Elogé de la reine Marguerite_.)

◆Brantôme alludes to the Duke d’Anjou.

◆Jeanne de Navarre, wife of Philippe le Bel, King of France,
daughter and sole heiress of Henri I. of Navarre, was born
1272, died 1305 at the early age of 33. She was a beautiful and
accomplished Princess, and the tales told by some historians
reflecting on her character are apparently quite without foundation.

◆The _Divorce satyrique_ attributes this contrivance to Queen
Marguerite, who adopted it to make her husband, the King of
Navarre, more deeply enamoured and more naughty.

[123] P. 236:

◆These are taken from an old French book entitled: _De la louange
et beauté des Dames_ (“Of the Praise and Beauty of Ladies”).
François Corniger has put the same into 18 Latin lines. Vencentio
Calmeta has rendered them also into Italian verse, commencing with
the words: _Dolce Flaminia_.

◆Pliny speaks of this Helen of Zeuxis.

[124] P. 237:

◆Ronsard, _Œuvres_, 1584 edition, p. 112. It is a poem addressed to
the famous painter Clouet, according to Janet, in which the poet
sings the praises of his fair lady. This poem has more than one
point in common with the present chapter of the _Dames_.

[125] P. 238:

◆Marot had arranged this Spanish proverb into a quatrain, and at the
time of the Ligue it was applied to the Infanta of Spain:

Pourtant, si je suis brunette,
Amy, n’en prenez esmoy,
Car autant aymer souhaitte
Qu’une plus blanche que moy.

[126] P. 239:

◆Raymond Lulle was a native of Majorca, and lived towards the end
of the thirteenth century: he was reputed to be a magician. The
story that Brantôme tells was taken from the _Opuscula_ by Charles
Bovelles, fol. XXXIV. of the in-4^o edition of 1521. The famous
Raimond Lulle (generally known in England as Raimond Lully),
philosopher and schoolman, was celebrated throughout the Middle
Ages for his logic and his commentary on Aristotle, and above all
for his art of Memory, or Ars Lulliana. He was born at Palma, the
capital of Majorca, in 1235. He travelled in various countries, and
died (1315) in Africa after suffering great hardships, having gone
there as a missionary.

[127] P. 240:

◆Or Charles de Bouvelles. His life of Raymond Lulle is a quarto,
printed at Paris, and published by Ascencius. It is dated 3rd of
the Nones of December, 1511. Several other works by the same author
are extant.

◆Arnauld de Villeneuve, a famous alchemist of the end of the
thirteenth century; he died in a shipwreck, in 1313.

◆Oldrade, a jurist, was born at Lodi in the thirteenth century. His
_Codex de falsa moneta_ is not known.

[128] P. 242:

◆Sisteron, in the Department of the Basses-Alpes, on the Durance.
Seat of a Bishopric from the 4th Century down to 1770.

◆Aimeric de Rochechouart (1545–1582) was the bishop of Sisteron; he
succeeded his uncle Albin de Rochechouart. As to the “very great
lady,” that applies to one of a dozen princesses.

[129] P. 244:

◆Pliny, XXXIII., cap. iv. Brantôme is mistaken about the temple.

[130] P. 246:

◆Claude Blosset, lady of Torcy, the daughter of Jean Blosset and
of Anne de Cugnac. She married Louis de Montberon (in 1553),
Baron de Fontaines and Chalandray, first gentleman of the king’s
bed-chamber. The beautiful Torcy, as she was called, had been
presented to Queen Eleonor by Mme. de Canaples, the enemy of Mme.
d’Etampes.

◆Hubert Thomas, _Annales de vita Friderici II. Palatini_ (Francfort,
1624), gives no idea of this exaggeration of Queen Eleonor’s bust,
who was promised to Frederick Palatine.

[131] P. 248:

◆Suetonius, _Octavius Augustus_, cap. lxix.

[132] P. 249:

◆Henri de Lorraine, Duc de Guise, nicknamed _le Balafré_, born 1550.
Murdered by the King’s (Henri III.) orders at Blois in 1588.

◆Duc d’Anjou, afterwards Henri III.

[133] P. 250:

◆The personages in question are probably Bussy d’Amboise and
Marguerite de Valois.

[134] P. 252:

◆The king was Henri II., and the grand widow lady the Duchess de
Valentinois. They thought it was due to a charm.

[135] P. 254:

◆Pico della Mirandola, _Opera omnia_, t. II., liv. III., chap.
xxii., in the 1517 edition.

◆Pico della Mirandola, one of the greatest of all the brilliant
scholars of the Renaissance, and so famous for the precocity
and versatility of his talents, was born 1463. After completing
his studies at Bologna and elsewhere, he visited Rome, where he
publicly exhibited a hundred propositions _De omni re scribili_,
which he undertook to defend against all comers. The maturity of
his powers he devoted to the study of religion and the Platonic
philosophy. He died 1494, on the day of Charles VIII.’s entry into
Florence.

[136] P. 255:

◆Ferdinando Francesco Avalos, Marquis de Pescaire, of a well-known
Neapolitan family, began his career as a soldier in 1512 at
the battle of Ravenna. Distinguished himself by the capture of
Milan (1521) and numerous other brilliant feats of arms. Took an
important part in the battle of Pavia, where François I. of France
was taken prisoner. Wounded in that battle, and died in the same
year, 1525. His wife was the celebrated Vittoria Colonna.

[137] P. 257:

◆Josephus, _The Antiquities of the Jews_, Bk. XV., Chap. vii. Herod
the Great; died B. C. 4. He put to death his wife Mariamné, as well
as her grandfather and his own sons by her.

[138] P. 258:

◆Shiraz, a town of Persia, capital of the Province of Fars, famous
for its roses, wine and nightingales, sung by the Persian poets
Hafiz and Saadi.

◆Plutarch, _Alexander_, Chap. XXXIX.

◆It is in his_ Observations de plusieurs singularités_ (Paris, 1554)
that Belon reports this fact. (Liv. III., chap. x., p. 179.)

[139] P. 261:

◆The usual form is Ortiagon. The woman is the beautiful Queen
Chiomara. (Cf. Livy, XXXVIII., cap. xxiv., and Boccaccio, _De
claris mulieribus_, LXXIV.) Chiomara, wife of Ortiagon, King of
Galatia, was taken prisoner by the Romans when Cn. Manlius Vulso
invaded Galatia, B. C. 189. The story is told by Polybius (XXII.,
21).

[140] P. 262:

◆Suetonius, _Cæsar_, LII.

[141] P. 263:

◆Livy, XXX., cap. xv.

◆Plutarch, _Cato the Elder_. Brantôme attributes the anecdote to
Scipion.

[142] P. 265:

◆Charles de Lorraine, Cardinal de Guise, known as Cardinal de
Lorraine, died in 1574. He played an important rôle at the Council
of Trente. Brantôme refers to the truce of Vaucelles between Henri
II. and the Emperor, which Cardinal Caraffa had succeeded in
breaking in 1556. This passage had evidently been written before
1588, the year of the death of another Cardinal de Guise, the
brother of Balafré.

◆The beautiful Venitians are described by Vecellio as wearing
exquisite gowns on holidays. (See Vecellio, _Habiti antichi_,
Venice, 1590.)

[143] P. 266:

◆This passage is not in the _Dies geniales_ by Alessandro, but in
Herodotus, II., chap. ix.

[144] P. 267:

◆What Brantôme says of Flora is not true. The woman in question was
not called Flora, but Acca Taruntia.

[145] P. 269:

◆Pausanius, Suetonius, and Manilius have not written special works
on women. Brantôme is no doubt referring to the anecdotes that are
found in their works.

[146] P. 273:

◆This princess was Catherine de’Medeci.

[147] P. 275:

◆The same story has been told of Mademoiselle, cousin german of
Louis XIV., with this addition that she was in the habit of giving
any of her pages who were tempted by her charms a few louis to
enable them to satisfy their passion elsewhere.

[148] P. 276:

◆Suetonius, _Vitellius_, cap. ii.: “Messalina petit ut sibi pedes
præberet excalceandos.” Brantôme prefers to quote in his own manner.

◆LVIIth Tale.

◆Undoubtedly the grand prior François de Lorraine, who accompanied
Mary Stuart to Scotland; however, D’Aumale and René d’Elbeuf also
accompanied her.

[149] P. 281:

◆Philip II., of Spain, son of Charles the Fifth, born 1527; died
1588. The husband of Queen Mary of England.

[150] P. 282:

◆Béatrix Pacheco was lady of honor to Eleonor d’Autriche prior
to 1544 with several other Spanish ladies; she became Countess
d’Entremont through her marriage with Sébastien d’Entremont. Her
daughter, the woman in question here, was Jacqueline, the second
wife of Admiral de Coligny, against whom the enemies of her husband
turned; she was not, however, beyond reproach.

[151] P. 284:

◆The description which follows was textually taken by Brantôme from
account printed at Lyons, in 1549, entitled: “La magnificence de la
superbe et triomphante entrée de la noble et antique cité de Lyon
faicte au très-chrestien Roy de France Henry deuxiesme.”

[152] P. 286:

◆Brazilian wood, known before the discovery of America. _Brésil_ is
a common noun here.

[153] P. 287:

◆The king’s visit to Lyons took place September 18, 1548.

[154] P. 288:

◆La _volte_ was a dance that had come from Italy in which the
gentleman, after having made his partner turn two or three times,
raised her from the floor in order to make her cut a caper in the
air. This is the caper of which Brantôme is speaking.

◆Paul de Labarthe, lord of Thermes, Field Marshal of France, died in
1562. (Montluc, Ruble edition, t. II., p. 55.)

[155] P. 289:

◆Scio (Chios) was the only island in the Orient where the women wore
short dresses.

[156] P. 298:

◆Suetonius, _Caligula_, XXV. “Cæsonia was first the mistress and
afterwards the wife of the Emperor Caligula. She was neither
handsome nor young when Caligula fell in love with her; but she
was a woman of the greatest licentiousness.... At the time he was
married to Lollia Paulina, whom, however, he divorced in order to
marry Cæsonia, who was with child by him, A. D. 38.... Cæsonia
contrived to preserve the attachment of her imperial husband down
to the end of his life; but she is said to have effected this
by love-potions, which she gave him to drink, and to which some
persons attributed the unsettled state of Caligula’s mental powers
during the latter years of his life. Cæsonia and her daughter
(Julia Drusilla) were put to death on the same day that Caligula
was murdered, A. D. 41.”

[157] P. 299:

◆The Emperor Caracalla (M. Aurelius Antoninus) was the son of the
Emperor Septimus Severus and was born at Lyons, at the time
his father was Governor of Gallia Lugdunensis. Caracalla (like
Caligula) is really only a nickname, derived from the long Gaulish
cloak which he adopted and made fashionable. Reigned from Severus’
death at York in 211 to his own assassination in 217. His brother
Geta was at first associated with him in the Empire. Him he
murdered, and is said to have suffered remorse for the act to the
end of his life,—remorse from which he sought distraction in every
kind of extravagant folly and reckless cruelty.

◆Spartianus, _Caracalla_, Chap. x.

[158] P. 300:

◆This son was Geta.

[159] P. 301:

◆Béatrix was the daughter of Count Guillaume de Tenda; to her second
husband, Phillipe Marie Visconti, she brought all the wealth of her
first husband, Facino Cane. In spite of her ripe years, Béatrix was
suspected of adultery with Michel Orombelli, and Phillipe Marie had
them both killed. As a matter of fact this was a convenient way of
appropriating Facino Cane’s wealth.

◆Collenuccio, liv. IV., anno 1194.

◆Filippo Maria Visconti; born 1391, died 1447. Last Duke of Milan of
the house of Visconti, the sovereignty passing at his death to the
Sforzas.

◆Facino (Bonifacio) Cane, the famous _condottiere_ and despot
of Alessandria, was born of a noble family about 1360. The
principality he eventually acquired in N. Italy embraced, besides
Alessandria, Pavia, Vercelli, Tortona, Varese, and all the shores
of the Lago Maggiore. Died 1412.

◆Mother of Frederick II.

◆Pandolfo Collenuccio, famous as author, historian and juris-consult
towards the end of the XIVth century. Born at Pesaro, where he
spent most of his life, and where he was executed (1500) by order
of Giovanni Sforza, in consequence of his intrigues with Cæsar
Borgia, who was anxious to acquire the sovereignty of that city.

[160] P. 302:

◆Daughter of Bernardin de Clermont, Vicomte de Tallard.

◆Brantôme undoubtedly aims here at Marguerite de Clermont.

[161] P. 303:

◆Jean de Bourdeille.

◆Renée, daughter of Louis XII., married to the Duke of Ferraro. She
was ungainly but very learned.

[162] P. 304:

◆Marguerite d’Angoulème.

[163] P. 312:

◆Meung-sur-Loire, dep. Loiret, on right bank of the Loire, eleven
miles below Orléans.

◆Eclaron, dép. Maute-Marne.

◆Leonor, Duke de Longueville.

◆François de Lorraine, Duke de Guise.

[164] P. 313:

◆Louis I., Prince de Condé.

◆Captain Averet, died at Orléans in 1562.

◆_Compère_ was the name King Henri II. gave the Constable de
Montmorency.

[165] P. 316:

◆_Octavius_ is translated _Octavie_ by Brantôme. _Cf._ Suetonius,
_Caligula_, XXXVI., and _Octavius Augustus_, LXIX.

◆Suetonius, _Nero_, XXXIV.

[166] P. 318:

◆Brantôme undoubtedly refers to Henri III. and to the Duke
d’Alençon, his brother.

[167] P. 319:

◆Plutarch names this woman _Aspasia_ and makes her a priestess of
Diana. _Cf._ _Artaxerxes-Mnemon_, Chap. XXVI.

◆Collenuccio, liv. V., p. 208.

◆Artaxerxes I. (Longimanus), King of Persia for forty years, B. C.
465 to 425; he succeeded his father Xerxes, having put to death his
brother Darius.

[168] P. 320:

◆Wife of François d’Orléans.

◆Diane died at the age of 66, April 22, 1566; she was born in 1499.

◆Jacqueline de Rohan-Gié, married to François d’Orléans, Marquis de
Rothelin.

[169] P. 321:

◆François Robertet, widow of Jean Babou, whose second husband was
Field Marshal d’Aumont.

◆Catherine de Clermont, wife of Guy de Mareuil, grandmother of the
Duke du Montpensier, François, surnamed the _Prince-Dauphin_.

◆Gabrielle de Mareuil, married to Nicolas d’Anjou, Marquis de
Mézières.

◆Jacqueline or Jacquette de Montberon.

◆Françoise Robertet, widow of Jean Babon de la Bourdaisière.

[170] P. 322:

◆Paule Viguier, baronne de Fontenille.

◆Françoise de Longwi.

◆The praise of this Toulousean beauty is to be found in the very
rare opuscule by G. Minot, _De la beauté_, 1587.

[171] P. 323:

◆Anne d’Este. She was not exempt from the faults of a corrupt court.

◆This journey occurred in 1574.

◆Louis XII.

[172] P. 324:

◆Jean d’O, seigneur de Maillebois.

◆It is not François Gonzagne, but Guillaume Gonzagne, his brother
and successor to the duchy of Mantoue, born in 1538, died in 1587.

[173] P. 325:

◆He returns here to the Duchess de Guise.

[174] P. 326:

◆At the wedding of Charles Emmanuel, married to Catherine, daughter
of Philip II. of Spain.

[175] P. 327:

◆Marie d’Aragon, wedded to Alphonse d’Avalos, Marquis del Guasto or
Vasto.

◆Henri II., son of Francis I., and husband of Catherine de Medici.
Born 1518. Came to throne in 1547; accidentally killed in a tourney
by Montgommeri 1559.

◆Paul IV. (of the illustrious Neapolitan family of Caraffa) was
raised to the chair of St. Peter in 1558; died 1559.

◆This viceroy was Don Perafan, Duke d’Alcala, who entered Naples
June 12, 1559.

[176] P. 328:

◆Claude de Lestrange?

[177] P. 331:

◆Brantôme’s memory fails him. Of the two daughters of the Marquess,
Béatrix, the first married Count de Potenza; the other, Prince de
Sulmone.

[178] P. 336:

◆His son was François Ferdinand, Viceroy of Sicily, died in 1571.

[179] P. 337:

◆Soliman II.

[180] P. 351:

◆Referring to Montaigne’s _Essays_.

END OF VOLUME ONE

—————————————— End of Book ——————————————

Transcriber’s Note (continued)

The book contains long passages of older French in which the reader
will notice many flaws in grammar, spelling and accents. These may make
some of the French difficult to read but it will be obvious that this
cannot be fixed without sometimes inadvertently changing the intended
meaning. For that reason all passages in French are presented unchanged
in this transcription.

Similarly with the passages in Italian and Spanish.

For the rest of the text, the many inconsistencies in English spelling,
capitalisation, and hyphenation have been left unchanged except where
noted below. Other minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note.

Page xxvi – “ocasionally” changed to “occasionally” (occasionally
borrow)

Page 5 – “satsified” changed to “satisfied” (would fain be satisfied)

Page 18 – “emprisonment” changed to “imprisonment” (in perpetual
imprisonment)

Page 27 – “notorios” changed to “notorious” (most notorious harlot)

Page 46 – “pourtrayed” changed to “portrayed” (were portrayed a
number of)

Page 133 – “armourors” changed to “armourers” (armourers that do
make swords)

Page 145 – “si” changed to “is” (love is mastered by scorn)

Page 152 – “exceeding” changed to “exceedingly” (an exceedingly
narrow)

Page 157 – “hade” changed to “had” (that had made)

Page 162 – “acommodating” changed to “accommodating” (far more
accommodating)

Page 199 – “consecrate” changed to “consecrated” (the most surely
consecrated and devoted to Venus)

Page 226 – “alway” changed to “always” (always hard at the collar)

Page 236 – “thans” changed to “than” (than Zeuxis himself)

Page 237 – “alway” changed to “always” (yet will a beautiful woman
always be beautiful)

Page 237 – “an” changed to “and” (and if she have but the half)

Page 242 – “witties” changed to “wittiest” (one of the wittiet men
at Court)

Page 248 – “vigins” changed to “virgins” (even virgins of marriageable
age)

Page 288 – “nypmh” changed to “nymphs” (in the nymphs’ costume)

——————————

The numbered references to endnotes on the pages of the book are
incorrect in most cases. Many other pages of the book should have
had references to endnotes but those references are missing.

In order to reindex the references in this transcription, a temporary
‘placeholder’ reference was added to those pages where there should
have been at least one numbered reference to endnotes but it was
omitted in the book.

The transcriber has retained these placeholder references as they are
helpful to the reader. Placeholder references are distinguished by an
asterisk next to the index number (as in [99*], for example). Their
role is exactly the same as that of the references originally present
in the book; namely to direct the reader to the correct page header in
the endnotes. Under that page header will be found all the author’s
notes relevant to the page.

Where originally there were more than one numbered reference to
endnotes on a page of the book, these now have the same index number
in this transcription. That index number links to the respective page
header in the endnotes.

Endnotes have been reformatted so that each separate note is
distinguished by a prefixing ◆ character.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Lives of Fair and Gallant Ladies. Vol 1" ***

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