The Heptameron - The Lord de Riant finding the Widow with her Groom
TALE XX.
The Lord of Riant, being greatly in love with a widow lady and finding
her the contrary of what he had desired and of what she had often
declared herself to be, was so affected thereby that in a moment
resentment had power to extinguish the flame which neither length of
time nor lack of opportunity had been able to quench. (1)
1 The unpleasant discovery related in this tale is
attributed by Margaret to a gentleman of Francis I.'s
household, but a similar incident figures in the
introduction to the Arabian Nights. Ariosto also tells
much the same tale in canto xxviii. of his Rolando
Furioso, and another version of it will be found in No. 24
of Morlini's Novella, first issued at Naples in 1520.
Subsequent to the Heptameron it supplied No. 29 of the
Comptes du Monde Adventureux, figured in a rare imitation
of the Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles printed at Rouen early in
the seventeenth century, and was introduced by La Fontaine
into his well-known tale Joconde. On the other hand, there
is certainly a locality called Rians in Provence, just
beyond the limits of Dauphiné, and moreover among Francis
I.'s "equerries of the stable" there was a Monsieur dc Rian
who received a salary of 200 livres a year from 1522 to
1529.—See the roll of the officers of the King's Household
in the French National Archives, Sect. Histor., K. 98.
Some extracts from Brantôme bearing on the story will be
found in the Appendix to this vol. (A).—L. and En.
In the land of Dauphiné there lived a gentleman named the Lord of Riant;
he belonged to the household of King Francis the First, and was as
handsome and worshipful a gentleman as it was possible to see. He
had long been the lover of a widow lady, whom he loved and revered so
exceedingly that, for fear of losing her favour, he durst not solicit
of her that which he most desired. Now, since he knew himself to be
a handsome man and one worthy to be loved, he fully believed what she
often swore to him—namely, that she loved him more than any living man,
and that if she were led to do aught for any gentleman, it would be for
him alone, who was the most perfect she had ever known. She at the same
time begged him to rest satisfied with this virtuous love and to seek
nothing further, and assured him that if she found him unreasonably
aiming at more, he would lose her altogether. The poor gentleman was not
only satisfied, but he deemed himself very fortunate in having gained
the heart of a lady who appeared to him so full of virtue.
It would take too long to tell you his love-speeches, his lengthened
visits to her, and the journeys he took in order to see her; it is
enough to say that this poor martyr, consumed by so pleasing a fire that
the more one burns the more one wishes to burn, continually sought for
the means of increasing his martyrdom.
One day the fancy took him to go post-haste to see the lady whom he
loved better than himself, and whom he prized beyond every other woman
in the world. On reaching her house, he inquired where she was, and was
told that she had just come from vespers, and was gone into the warren
to finish her devotions there. He dismounted from his horse and went
straight to the warren where she was to be found, and here he met with
some of her women, who told him that she had gone to walk alone in a
large avenue.
He was more than ever beginning to hope that some good fortune awaited
him, and continued searching for her as carefully and as quietly as he
could, desiring above all things to find her alone. He came in this way
to a summer-house formed of bended boughs, the fairest and pleasantest
place imaginable, (2) and impatient to see the object of his love, he
went in; and there beheld the lady lying on the grass in the arms of a
groom in her service, who was as ill-favoured, foul and disreputable as
the Lord of Riant was handsome, virtuous and gentle.
2 For a description of a summer-house of the kind referred
to, see Cap's edition of Palissy's Dessein du Jardin
Délectable, p. 69. Palissy there describes some summer-
houses formed of young elmtrees, with seats, columns,
friezes, and a roofing so cunningly contrived of bent boughs
that the rain could not penetrate into the interior. It is
to some such construction that Queen Margaret refers.—M.
I will not try to depict to you his resentment, but it was so great that
in a moment it had power to extinguish the flame which neither length of
time nor lack of opportunity had been able to impair.
"Madam," he said to her, being now as full of indignation as once he
had been of love, "much good may this do you! (3) The revelation of your
wickedness has to-day cured me, and freed me from the continual anguish
that was caused by the virtue I believed to be in you." (4)
3 The French words here are "prou face," which in Margaret's
time were very generally used in lieu of "Amen" or "So be
it."—M.
4 In Joconde La Fontaine gives the end of the adventure as
follows:—
"Sans rencontrer personne et sans etre entendu
Il monte dans sa chambre et voit près de la dame
Un lourdaud de valet sur son sein étendu.
Tous deux dormaient. Dans cet abord Joconde
Voulut les envoyer dormir en l'autre monde,
Mais cependant il n'en fit rien
Et mon avis est qu'il fit bien."
Both in La Fontaine's Conte and in Ariosto's Rolando the
lady is the Queen, and the favoured lover the King's dwarf.
—Ed.
And with this farewell he went back again more quickly than he had come.
The unhappy woman made him no other reply than to put her hand to her
face; for being unable to hide her shame, she covered her eyes that she
might not see him who in spite of her deceit now perceived it only too
clearly.
"And so, ladies, if you are not minded to love perfectly, do not, I
pray you, seek to deceive and annoy an honest man for vanity's sake; for
hypocrites are rewarded as they deserve, and God favours those who love
with frankness."
"Truly," said Oisille, "you have kept us a proper tale for the end of
the day. But that we have all sworn to speak the truth, I could not
believe that a woman of that lady's condition could be so wicked both
in soul and in body, and leave so gallant a gentleman for so vile a
muleteer."
"Ah, madam," said Hircan, "if you knew what a difference there is
between a gentleman who has worn armour and been at the wars all his
life, and a well-fed knave that has never stirred from home, you would
excuse the poor widow."
"I do not believe," said Oisille, "whatever you may say, that you could
admit any possible excuse for her."
"I have heard," said Simontault, "that there are women who like to
have apostles to preach of their virtue and chastity, and treat them as
kindly and familiarly as possible, saying that but for the restraints of
honour and conscience they would grant them their desire. And so these
poor fools, when speaking in company of their mistresses, swear that
they would thrust their fingers into the fire without fear of burning in
proof that these ladies are virtuous women, since they have themselves
thoroughly tested their love. Thus are praised by honourable men, those
who show their true nature to such as are like themselves; and they
choose such as would not have courage to speak, or, if they did, would
not be believed by reason of their low and degraded position."
"That," said Longarine, "is an opinion which I have before now heard
expressed by jealous and suspicious men, but it may indeed be called
painting a chimera. And even although it be true of one wretched woman,
the same suspicion cannot attach to all."
"Well," said Parlamente, "the longer we talk in this way, the longer
will these good gentlemen play the critics over Simontault's tale, and
all at our own expense. So in my opinion we had better go to vespers,
and not cause so much delay as we did yesterday."
The company agreed to this proposal, and as they were going Oisille
said:—
"If any one gives God thanks for having told the truth to-day,
Saffredent ought to implore His forgiveness for having raked up so vile
a story against the ladies."
"By my word," replied Saffredent, "what I told you was true, albeit I
only had it upon hearsay. But were I to tell you all that I have myself
seen of women, you would have need to make even more signs of the cross
than the priests do in consecrating a church."
"Repentance is a long way off," said Geburon, "when confession only
increases the sin."
"Since you have so bad an opinion of women," said Parlamente, "they
ought to deprive you of their honourable society and friendship."
"There are some women," he returned, "who have acted towards me so much
in accordance with your advice, in keeping me far away from things that
are honourable and just, that could I do and say worse to them, I should
not neglect doing so, in order that I might stir them up to revenge me
on her who does me so much wrong."
Whilst he spoke these words, Parlamente put on her mask (5) and went
with the others into the church, where they found that although the bell
had rung for vespers, there was not a single monk, present to say them.
5 Little masks hiding only the upper part of the face, and
called tourets-de-nez, were then frequently worn by ladies
of rank. Some verses by Christine de Pisan show them to have
been in vogue already in the fourteenth century. In the MS.
copy of Margaret's poem of La Coche presented to the
Duchess of Etampes, the ladies in the different miniatures
are frequently shown wearing masks of the kind referred to.
Some curious particulars concerning these tourets will be
found in M. Léon do Laborde's Le Palais Mazarin et les
grandes habitations de ville et de campagne au XVIIe
Siècle, Paris, 1846, 8vo, p. 314.—L.
The monks, indeed, had heard that the company assembled in the meadow to
tell the pleasantest tales imaginable, and being fonder of pleasure than
of their prayers, they had gone and hidden themselves in a ditch, where
they lay flat on their bellies behind a very thick hedge; and they had
there listened so eagerly to the stories that they had not heard the
ringing of the monastery bell, as was soon clearly shown, for they
returned in such great haste that they almost lacked breath to begin the
saying of vespers.
After the service, when they were asked why they had been so late and
had chanted so badly, they confessed that they had been to listen to the
tales; whereupon, since they were so desirous of hearing them, it was
granted that they might sit and listen at their ease every day behind
the hedge.
Supper-time was spent joyously in discoursing of such matters as they
had not brought to an end in the meadow. And this lasted through the
evening, until Oisille begged them to retire so that their minds might
be the more alert on the morrow, after a long, sound sleep, one hour
of which before midnight was, said she, better than three after it.
Accordingly the company parted one from another, betaking themselves to
their respective rooms; and in this wise ended the Second Day.
