SEVENTH DISCOURSE[84*] (continued 4)

I have heard tell of another, which was asked of a gentleman which was fain to try his ground as a suitor for her hand, an if she would not like an husband. “Nay! sir,” she answered, “never talk to me of an husband, I’ll have no more of them; but for a lover, I’m not so sure.”—“Then, Madame, prithee, let me be that lover, since husband I may not be.” Her reply was, “Court me well, and persevere; mayhap you will succeed.”

A fair and honourable widow lady, of some thirty summers, one day wishing to break a jest with an honourable gentleman, or to tell truth, to provoke him to love-making, and having as she was about to mount her horse caught the front of her mantle on something and torn it somewhat in detaching it, taking it up said to him: “Look you, what you have done, so and so” (accosting him by his name); “you have ripped my front.”

“I should be right sorry to hurt it, Madam; ’tis too sweet and pretty for that.”

“Why! what know you of it?” she replied; “you have never seen it.”

“What! can you deny,” retorted the other, “that I have seen it an hundred times over, when you were a little lassie?”

“Ah! but,” said she, “I was then but a stripling, and knew not yet what was what.”

“Still, I suppose ’tis yet in the same place as of old, and hath not changed position. I ween I could even now find it in the same spot.”

“Oh, yes! ’tis there still, albeit mine husband hath rolled it and turned it about, more than ever did Diogenes with his tub.”

“Yes! and nowadays how doth it do without movement?”

“’Tis for all the world like a clock that is left unwound.”

“Then take you heed, lest that befall you that doth happen to clocks when they be not wound up, and continue so for long; their springs do rust by lapse of time, and they be good for naught after.”

“’Tis not a fair comparison,” said she, “for that the springs of the clock you mean be not liable to rust at all, but keep in good order, wound or unwound, always ready to be set a-going at any time.”

“Please God,” cried the gentleman, “whenas the time for winding come, I might be the watchmaker to wind it up!”

“Well, well!” returned the lady, “when that day and festive hour shall arrive, we will not be idle, but will do a right good day’s work. So God guard from ill him I love not as well as you.”

After this keen and heart pricking interchange of wit, the lady did mount her horse, after kissing the gentleman with much good-will, adding as she rode away, “Goodbye, till we meet again, and enjoy our little treat!”

But alas! as ill fate would have it, the fair lady did die within six weeks whereat her lover did well nigh die of chagrin. For these enticing words, with others she had said afore, had so heartened him with good hope that he was assured of her conquest, as indeed she was ready enough to be his. A malison on her untimely end, for verily she was one of the best and fairest dames you could see anywhere, and well worth a venial fault to possess,—or even a mortal sin!

Another fair young widow was asked by an honourable gentleman if she did keep Lent, and abstain from eating meat, as folks do then. “No!” she said, “I do not.”—“So I have observed,” returned the gentleman; “I have noted you made no scruple, but did eat meat at that season just as at any other, both raw and cooked.”—“That was at the time mine husband was alive; now I am a widow, I have reformed and regulated my living more seemly.”—“Nay! beware,” then said the other, “of fasting so strictly, for it doth readily happen to such as go fasting and anhungered, that anon, when the desire of meat cometh on them, they do find their vessels so narrow and contracted, as that they do thereby suffer much incommodity.”—“Nay! that vessel of my body,” said the lady, “that you mean, is by no means so narrow or hunger-pinched, but that, when mine appetite shall revive, I may not afford it good and sufficient refreshment.”

I knew another great lady, which all through her unmarried and married life was in all men’s mouths by reason of her exceeding stoutness. Afterward she came to lose her husband, and did mourn him with so extreme a sorrow that she grew as dry as wood.[128] Yet did she never cease to indulge her in the joys of former days, even going so far as to borrow the aid of a certain Secretary she had, and of other such to boot, and even of her cook, so ’twas reported. For all that, she did not win back her flesh, albeit the said cook, who was all fat and greasy, ought surely, I ween, to have made her fat. So she went on, taking now one, now another of her serving-men, all the while playing the part of the most prudish and virtuous dame in all the Court, with pious phrases ever on her lips, and naught but scandal against all other women, and never a word of good for any of them. Of like sort was that noble woman of Dauphiné, in the Cent Nouvelles of the Queen of Navarre, which was found lying flat on the grass with her groom or muleteer by a certain gentleman, that was ready to die of love for her but this sight did quick cure his love sickness for him.

I have heard speak of a very beautiful woman at Naples, which had the repute of going in like manner with a Moor, the ugliest fellow in the world, who was her slave and groom, but something made her love him.

12.

I have read in an old Romance, Jehan de Saintré, printed in black letter, how the late King John of France did rear the hero Jehan as his page. Now by custom of former days, great folk were used to send their pages to carry messages, as is done likewise to-day. But then they were wont to go everywhere, and up and down the countryside, a-horseback; I have even heard our fathers say they were not seldom sent on minor embassies, for by despatching a page and horse and a broad piece, the thing was done and so much expense well spared. This same little Jehan de Saintré (for so he did long continue to be called)[129*] was very much loved of his master the King, for that he was full of wit and intelligence, and was often sent to carry trifling messages to his sister, who was at the time a widow,—though the book saith not whose widow. This great lady did fall enamoured of the lad, after he had been several times on errands to her; so one day, finding a good opportunity and no one nigh, she did question him, asking him an if he did not love some lady or other at Court, and which of them all liked him best. This is a way a great many ladies have, whenas they be fain to score the first point and deliver their first attack on one they fancy, as myself have seen done. Well! little Jehan de Saintré, who had never so much as dreamed of love, told her, “No! not yet,” going on to describe several Court ladies, and what he thought of them. Then did she hold forth to him on the beauties and delights of love, but he only answered, “Nay! I care less than ever for’t.” For in those old days, even as to-day, some of our greatest ladies were slaves to love and much subject to detraction; for indeed folk so adroit as they have grown since, and ’twas only the cleverest that had the good fortune to impose on their husbands and pass as good women by virtue of their hypocrisies and little wiles. The lady then, seeing the lad to be well-favoured, goes on to tell him how she would give him a mistress that would love him well, provided he was a true lover to her, making him promise under pain of instant shame and disgrace, that above all he should be sure and secret. Eventually she did make her avowal to him, and tell him herself would fain be his lady and darling,—for in those days the word mistress was not as yet in vogue. At this the young page was sore astonished, thinking she did but make a mock of him, or wished to trap him and get him a whipping.

However she did very soon show so many unequivocal signs of fire and heat of love and such tender familiarities, as that he perceived ’twas no mockery; while she kept on telling him she would train and form him and make him a great man. The end was their loves and mutual joys did last a long while, during his pagehood and after he was no more a page, till at the last he had to depart on a distant journey,—when she did change him for a great, fat Abbé. This is the tale we find in the Nouvelles du monde advantureux, writ by a gentleman of the chamber to the Queen of Navarre, wherein we see the Abbé put an affront on the said Jehan de Saintré, that was so brave and valiant; yet did he in no long while pay the worthy Abbé back in good coin and three times over. ’Tis an excellent Tale, and cometh from the book I have named.[130*]

Here we see how ’tis not only of to-day that fair ladies do love pages, above all when they be gay and speckled like partridges. And verily, what creatures women be!—that be ready enough to have lovers galore, but husbands not! This they do for the love of freedom, which is indeed a noble thing. For they think, when once they be out of their husband’s rule, they are in Paradise, having their fine dower and spending it themselves, managing all the household, and handling the coin. All goeth through their hands; and instead of being servants, they be now mistresses, and do make free choice of their pleasures, and such as do best minister to the same.

Others again there be, which do surely hate the notion of making a second marriage, from distaste to lose their rank and dignity, their goods, riches and honours, their soft and luxurious living, and for this cause do restrain their passions. So have I known and heard speak of not a few great dames and Princesses, which from mere dread of their failing to find again the grandeurs of their first match, and so losing rank, would never marry again. Not that they did cease therefor one whit to follow after love and turn the same to their joy and delight,—yet all the while never losing their rank and dignity, their stools of state and honourable seats in Queens’ chambers and elsewhere. Lucky women, to enjoy their grandeur and mount high, yet abase them low, at one and the same time! But to say a word of reproach or remonstrance to them, never dream no such thing! Else no end would there be of anger and annoyance, denials and protestations, contradiction and revenge.

I have heard a tale told of a widow lady, and indeed I knew her myself, which had long enjoyed the love of an honourable gentleman, under pretext she would marry him; but he did in no wise make himself obtrusive. A great Princess, the lady’s mistress, was for reproaching her for her conduct. But she, wily and corrupt, did answer her: “Nay! Madam, but should it be denied us to love with an honourable love? surely that were too cruel.” Only God knoweth, this love she called honourable, was really a most lecherous passion. And verily all loves be so; they be born all pure, chaste and honourable, but anon do lose their maidenhead, so to speak, and by magic influence of some philosopher’s stone, be transformed into base metal, and grow dishonourable and lecherous.

The late M. de Bussy, who was one of the wittiest talkers of his time, and no less pleasing as a story-teller, one day at Court seeing a great lady, a widow, and of ripe years, who did still persist in her amorous doings, did exclaim: “What! doth this hackney yet frequent the stallion?” The word was repeated to the lady, which did vow mortal hate against the offender. On M. de Bussy’s learning this, “Well, well!” he said, “I know how to make my peace, and put this all right. Prithee, go tell her I said not so, but that this is what I really said, ‘Doth this filly[131] yet go to be mounted? For sure I am she is not wroth because I take her for a light o’ love, but for an old woman; and when she hears I called her filly, that is to say a young mare, she will suppose I do still esteem her a young woman.’” And so it was; for the lady, on hearing this change and improvement in the wording, did relax her anger and made it up with M. de Bussy; whereat we did all have a good laugh. Yet for all she might do, she was always deemed an old, half-foundered jade, that aged as she was, still went whinnying after the male.

This last was quite unlike another lady I have also heard tell of, who having been a merry wench in her earlier days, but getting well on in years, did set her to serve God with fast and prayer. An honourable gentleman remonstrating and asking her wherefore she did make such long vigils at Church and such severe fasts at table, and if it were not to vanquish and deaden the stings of the flesh, “Alas!” said she, “these be all over and done with for me.” These words she did pronounce as piteously as ever spake Milo of Croton, that strong and stalwart wrestler of old, (I have told the tale elsewhere, methinks), who having one day gone down into the arena, or wrestlers’ ring, but only for to view the game, for he was now grown very old, one of the band coming up to him did ask, an if he would not try yet a fall of the old sort. But he, baring his arms and right sadly turning back his sleeves, said only, gazing the while at his muscles and sinews: “Alas! they be dead now.”

Another like incident did happen to a gentleman I wot of, similar to the tale I have just told of M. de Bussy. Coming to Court, after an absence of six months, he there beheld a lady which was used to attend the academy, lately introduced at Court by the late King. “Why!” saith he, “doth the academy then still exist? I was told it had been abolished.”—“Can you doubt,” a courtier answered him, “her attendance? Why! her master is teaching her philosophy, which doth speak and treat of perpetual motion.” And in good sooth, for all the beating of brains these same philosophers do undergo, to discover perpetual motion, yet is there none more surely so than the motion Venus doth teach in her school.

A lady of the great world did give even a better answer of another, whose beauty they were extolling highly, only that her eyes did ever remain motionless, she never turning the same one way or the other. “We must suppose,” she said, “all her care doth go to move other portions of her body, and so hath she none to spare for her eyes.”

However, an if I would put down in writing all the witty words and good stories I know, to fill out my matter, I should never get me done. And so, seeing I have other subjects to attack, I will desist, and finish with this saying of Boccaccio, already cited above, namely, that women, maids, wives and widows alike, at least the most part of them, be one and all inclined to love. I have no thought to speak of common folk, whether in country or in town, for such was never mine intention in writing, but only of well-born persons, in whose service my pen is aye ready to run nimbly. But for mine own part, if I were asked my true opinion, I should say emphatically there is naught like married women, all risk and peril on their husbands’ side apart, for to win good enjoyment of love withal, and to taste quick the very essence of its delights. The fact is their husbands do heat them so, they be like a furnace, continually poked and stirred, that asks naught but fuel, water and wood or charcoal to keep up its heat for ever. And truly he that would have a good light, must always be putting more oil in the lamp. At the same time let him beware of a foul stroke, and those ambushes of jealous husbands wherein the wiliest be oft times caught![132*]

Yet is a man bound to go as circumspectly as he may, and as boldly to boot, and do like the great King Henri, who was much devoted to love, but at the same time exceeding respectful toward ladies, and discreet, and for these reasons much loved and well received of them. Now whenever it fell out that this monarch was changing night quarters and going to sleep in the bed of a new mistress, which expecting him, he would never go thither (as I learn on very good authority) but by the secret galleries of Saint-Germain, Blois or Fontainebleau, and the little stealthy back-stairs, recesses and garrets of his castles. First went his favourite valet of the chamber, Griffon by name, which did carry his boar-spear before him along with the torch, and the King next, his great cloak held before his face or else his night-gown, and his sword under his arm. Presently, being to bed with the lady, he would aye have his spear and sword put by the bed’s-head, the door well shut, and Griffon guarding it, watching and sleeping by turns. Now I leave it to you, an if a great King did give such heed to his safety (for indeed there have been some caught, both kings and great princes,—for instance the Duc de Fleurance Alexandre in our day), what smaller folks should do, following the example of this powerful monarch. Yet there are to be found proud souls which do disdain all precaution; and of a truth they be often trapped for their pains.

I have heard a tale related of King Francis, how having a fair lady as mistress,[133*] a connection that had long subsisted betwixt them, and going one day unexpectedly to see the said lady, and to sleep with her at an unusual hour, ’gan knock loudly on the door, as he had both right and might to do, being the master. She, who was at the moment in company of the Sieur de Bonnivet, durst not give the reply usual with the Roman courtesans under like circumstances, Non si puo, la signora è accompagnata,—“You cannot come in; Madam has company with her.” In this case the only thing to do was to devise quick where her gallant could be most securely hid. By good luck ’twas summer time, so they had put an heap of branches and leaves in the fire-place, as the custom is in France. Accordingly she did counsel and advise him to make at once for the fire-place, and there hide him among the leafage, all in his shirt as he was,—and ’twas a fortunate thing for him it was not winter. After the King had done his business with the lady, he was fain to make water; so getting up from the bed, he went to the fire-place to do so, for lack of other convenience. And so sore did he want to, that he did drown the poor lover worse than if a bucket of water had been emptied over him, for he did water him thoroughly, as with a garden watering-pot, all round and about, and even over the face, eyes, nose, mouth and everywhere; albeit by tight shut lips he may have escaped all but a drop or so in his chops. I leave you to fancy what a sorry state the poor gentleman was in, for he durst not move, and what a picture of patience and grim endurance he did present! The King having done, withdrew, and bidding his mistress farewell, left the chamber. The lady had the door immediately shut behind him, and calling her lover into her, did warm the poor man, giving him a clean shift to put on. Nor was it without some fun and laughter, after the fright they had had; for an if he had been discovered, both he and she had been in very serious peril.

’Twas the same lady, which being deep in love with this M. de Bonnivet, and desiring to convince the King of the contrary, for that he had conceived some touch of jealousy on the subject, would say thus to him: “Oh! but he’s diverting, that Sieur de Bonnivet, who thinks himself so handsome! and the more I tell him he is a pretty fellow, the more he doth believe it. ’Tis my great pastime, making fun of the man, for he’s really witty and ready-tongued, and no one can help laughing in his company, such clever retorts doth he make.” By these words she was for persuading the King that her common discourse with Bonnivet had naught to do with love and alliance, or playing his Majesty false in any wise. How many fair dames there be which do practise the like wiles, and to cloak the intrigues they are pursuing with some lover, do speak ill of him, and make fun of him before the world, though in private they soon drop this fine pretense; and this is what they call cunning and contrivance in love.

I knew a very great lady,[134*] who one day seeing her daughter, which was one of the fairest of women, grieving for the love of a certain gentleman, with whom her brother was sore angered, did say this to her amongst other things: “Nay! my child, never love that man. His manners and form be so bad, and he’s such an ugly fellow. He’s for all the world like a village pastry cook!” At this the daughter burst out a-laughing, making merry at his expense and applauding her mother’s description, allowing his likeness to a pastry-cook, red cap and all. For all that, she had her way; but some while after, in another six months that is, she did leave him for another man.

I have known not a few ladies which had no words bad enough to cast at women that loved inferiors,—their secretaries, serving-men and the like low-born persons, declaring publicly they did loathe such intrigues worse than poison. Yet would these very same ladies be giving themselves up to these base pleasures as much as any. Such be the cunning ways of women; before the world they do show fierce indignation against these offenders, and do threaten and abuse them; but all the while behind backs they do readily enough indulge the same vice themselves. So full of wiles are they! for as the Spanish proverb saith, Mucho sabe la zorra; mas sabe mas la dama enamorada,—“The fox knoweth much, but a woman in love knoweth more.”

13.

However, for all this fair lady of the tale told above did to lull King Francis’ anxiety, yet did she not drive forth every grain of suspicion from out his head, as I have reason to know. I do remember me how once, making a visit to Chambord to see the castle, an old porter that was there, who had been body servant to King Francis, did receive me very obligingly. For in his earlier days he had known some of my people both at Court and in the field, and was of his own wish anxious to show me everything. So having led me to the King’s bed-chamber, he did show me a phrase of writing by the side of the window on the left hand. “Look, Sir!” he cried, “read yonder words. If you have never seen the hand-writing of the King, mine old master, there it is.” And reading it, we found this phrase, “Toute femme varie,” writ there in large letters. I had with me a very honourable and very able gentleman of Périgord, my friend, by name M. des Roches, to whom I turned and said quickly: “’Tis to be supposed, some of the ladies he did love best, and of whose fidelity he was most assured, had been found of him to vary and play him false. Doubtless he had discovered some change in them that was scarce to his liking, and so, in despite, did write these words.” The porter overhearing us, put in: “Why! surely, surely! make no mistake, for of all the fair dames I have seen and known, never a one but did cry off on a false scent worse than ever his hunting pack did in chasing the stag; yet ’twas with a very subdued voice, for an if he had noted it, he would have brought ’em to the scent again pretty smartly.”

They were, ’twould seem, of those women, which can never be content with either their husbands or their lovers, Kings though they be, and Princes and great Lords; but must be ever chopping and changing. Such this good King had found them by experience to be, having himself first debauched the same and taken them from the charge of their husbands or their mothers, tempting them from their maiden or widowed estate.

I have both known and heard speak of a lady,[135*] so fondly loved of her Prince, as that for the mighty affection he bare her, he did plunge her to the neck in all sorts of favours, benefits and honours, and never another woman was to be compared with her for good fortune. Natheless was she so enamoured of a certain Lord, she would never quit him. Then whenas he would remonstrate and declare to her how the Prince would ruin both of them, “Nay! ’tis all one,” she would answer; “an if you leave me, I shall ruin myself, for to ruin you along with me. I had rather be called your concubine than this Prince’s mistress.” Here you have woman’s caprice surely, and wanton naughtiness to boot! Another very great lady I have known, a widow, did much the same; for albeit she was all but adored of a very great nobleman, yet must she needs have sundry other humbler lovers, so as never to lose an hour of her time or ever be idle. For indeed one man only cannot be always at work and afford enough in these matters; and the rule of love is this, that a passionate woman is not for one stated time, nor yet for one stated person alone, nor will confine her to one passion,—reminding me of that dame in the Cent Nouvelles of the Queen of Navarre, which had three lovers all at once, and was so clever she did contrive to manage them all three most adroitly.

The beautiful Agnes Sorel, the adored mistress of King Charles VII., was suspected by him of having borne a daughter that he thought not to be his, nor was he ever able to recognize her. And indeed, like mother, like daughter, was the word, as our Chroniclers do all agree. The same again did Anne Boleyn, wife of King Henry VIII. of England, whom he did behead for not being content with him, but giving herself to adultery. Yet had he chose her for her beauty, and did adore her fondly.

I knew another lady which had been loved by a very honourable gentleman, but after some while left by him; and one day it happened that these twain fell to discussing their former loves. The gentleman, who was for posing as a dashing blade, cried, “Ha! ha! and think you, you were my only mistress in those days? You will be much surprised to hear, I had two others all the while, would you not?” To this she answered on the instant, “You would be yet more surprised, would you not? to learn you were anything but mine only lover then, for I had actually three beside you to fall back on.” Thus you see how a good ship will always have two or three anchors for to ensure its safety thoroughly.

To conclude,—love is all in all for women, and so it should be! I will only add how once I found in the tablets of a very fair and honourable lady which did stammer a little Spanish, but did understand the same language well enough, this little maxim writ with her own hand, for I did recognize it quite easily: Hembra o dama sin compagnero, esperanza sin trabajo, y navio sin timon; nunca pueden hazer cost que sea buena,—“Man or woman without companion, hope without work, or ship without rudder, will never do aught good for much.” ’Tis a saying equally true for wife, widow and maid; neither one nor the other can do aught good without the company of a man, while the hope a lover hath of winning them is not by itself near so like to gain them over readily as with something of pains and hard work added, and some strife and struggle. Yet doth not either wife or widow give so much as a maid must, for ’tis allowed of all to be an easier and simpler thing to conquer and bring under one that hath already been conquered, subdued and overthrown, than one that hath never yet been vanquished,—and that far less toil and pains is spent in travelling a road already well worn and beaten than one that hath never been made and traced out,—and for the truth of these two instances I do refer me to travellers and men of war. And so it is with maids; indeed there be even some so capricious as that they have always refused to marry, choosing rather to live ever in maidenly estate. But an if you ask them the reason, “’Tis so, because my humour is to have it so,” they declare. Cybelé, Juno, Venus, Thetis, Ceres and other heavenly goddesses, did all scorn this name of virgin,—excepting only Pallas, which did spring from her father Jupiter’s brain, hereby showing that virginity is naught but a notion conceived in the brain. So, ask our maids, which will never marry, or an if they do, do so as late as ever they can, and at an over ripe age, why they marry not, “’Tis because I do not wish,” they say; “such is my humour and my notion.”

Several such we have seen at the Court of our Princes in the days of King Francis. The Queen Regent had a very fair and noble maid of honour, named Poupincourt,[136*] which did never marry, but died a maid at the age of sixty, as chaste as when she was born, for she was most discreet. La Brelandière again died a maid and virgin at the ripe age of eighty, the same which was governess of Madame d’Angoulême as a girl.

I knew another maid of honour of very great and exalted family, and at the time seventy years of age, which would never marry,—albeit she was no wise averse to love without marriage. Some that would fain excuse her for that she would not marry, used to aver she was meet to be no husband’s wife, seeing she had no affair at all. God knoweth the truth! but at any rate she did find a good enough one to have good fun elsewhere withal. A pretty excuse truly!

Mademoiselle de Charansonnet, of Savoy, died at Tours lately, a maid, and was interred with her hat and her white virginal robe, very solemnly, with much pomp, stateliness and good company, at the age of forty-five or over. Nor must we doubt in her case, ’twas any defect which stood in the way, for she was one of the fairest, most honourable and most discreet ladies of the Court, and myself have known her to refuse very excellent and very high-born suitors.

Mine own sister, Mademoiselle de Bourdeille, which is at Court maid of honour of the present Queen, hath in like wise refused very excellent offers, and hath never consented to marry, nor never will. So firm resolved is she and obstinate to live and die a maid, no matter to what age she may attain; and indeed so far she hath kept steady to her purpose, and is already well advanced in years.

Mademoiselle de Certan,[137*] another of the Queen’s maids of honour, is of the same humour, as also Mademoiselle de Surgières, the most learned lady of the Court, and therefore known as Minerva,—and not a few others.

The Infanta of Portugal, daughter of the late Queen Eleanor, I have seen of the same resolved mind; and she did die a maid and virgin at the age of sixty or over. This was sure from no want of high birth, for she was well born in every way, nor of wealth, for she had plenty, and above all in France, where General Gourgues did manage her affairs to much advantage, nor yet of natural gifts, for I did see her at Lisbon, at the age of five and forty, a very handsome and charming woman, of good and graceful appearance, gentle, agreeable, and well deserving an husband her match in all things, in courtesy and the qualities we French do most possess. I can affirm this, from having had the honour of speaking with this Princess often and familiarly.

The late Grand Prior of Lorraine, when he did bring his galleys from East to West of the Mediterranean Sea on his voyage to Scotland, in the time of the minority of King Francis II., passing by Lisbon and tarrying there some days, did visit and see her every day. She did receive him most courteously and took great delight in his company, loading him with fine presents. Amongst others, she gave him a chain to suspend his cross withal, all of diamonds and rubies and great pearls, well and richly worked; and it might be worth from four to five thousand crowns, going thrice round his neck. I think it might well be worth that sum, for he could always pawn it for three thousand crowns, as he did one time in London, when we were on our way back from Scotland. But no sooner was he returned to France than he did send to get it out again, for he did love it for the sake of the lady, with whom he was no little captivated and taken. And I do believe she was no less fond of him, and would willingly have unloosed her maiden knot for him,—that is by way of marriage, for she was a most discreet and virtuous Princess. I will say more, and that is, that but for the early troubles that did arise in France, into the which his brothers did draw him and kept him engaged therein, he would himself have brought his galleys back and returned the same road, for to visit this Princess again and speak of wedlock with her. And I ween he would in that case have hardly been shown the door, for he was of as good an house as she, and descended of great Kings no less than she, and above all was one of the handsomest, most agreeable, honourable and best Princes of Christendom. Now for his brothers, in particular the two eldest, for these were the oracles of the rest and captains of the ship, I did one day behold them and him conversing of the matter, the Cardinal telling them of his voyage and the pleasures and favours he had received at Lisbon. They were much in favour of his making the voyage once more and going back thither again, advising him to pursue his advantage in that quarter, as the Pope would at once have given him dispensation of his religious orders. And but for those accursed troubles I have spoke of, he would have gone, and in mine opinion the emprise had turned out to his honour and satisfaction. The said Princess did like him well, and spake to me of him very fondly, asking me as to his death,—quite like a woman in love, a thing easily enough perceived in such circumstances by a man of a little penetration.

I have heard yet another reason alleged by a very clever person, I say not whether maid or wife,—and she had mayhap had experience of the truth thereof,—why some women be so slow to marry. They declare this tardiness cometh propter mollitiem, “by reason of luxuriousness.” Now this word mollities doth mean, they be so luxurious, that is to say so much lovers of their own selves and so careful to have tender delight and pleasure by themselves and in themselves, or mayhap with their bosom friends, after the Lesbian fashion, and do find such gratification in female society alone, as that they be convinced and firmly persuaded that with men they would never win such satisfaction. Wherefore they be content to go without these altogether in their joys and toothsome pleasures, without ever a thought of masculine acquaintance or marriage.

Maids and virgins would seem in old days at Rome to have been highly honoured and privileged, so much so that the law had no jurisdiction over them to sentence them to death. Hence the story we read of a Roman Senator in the time of the Triumvirate, which was condemned to die among other victims of the Proscription, and not he alone, but all the offspring of his loins. So when a daughter of his house did appear on the scaffold, a very fair and lovely girl, but of unripe years and yet virgin, ’twas needful for the executioner to deflower her himself and take her maidenhead on the scaffold, and only then when she was so polluted, could he ply his knife upon her. The Emperor Tiberius did delight in having fair virgins thus publicly deflowered, and then put to death,—a right villainous piece of cruelty, pardy!

The Vestal Virgins in like manner were greatly honoured and respected, no less for their virginity than for their religious character; for indeed, an if they did show any the smallest frailty of bodily purity, they were an hundred times more rigorously punished than when they had failed to take good heed of the sacred fire, and were buried alive under the most pitiful and terrible circumstances. ’Tis writ of one Albinus, a Roman gentleman, that having met outside Rome some Vestals that were going somewhither a-foot, he did command his wife and children to descend from her chariot, to set them in it and so complete their journey. Moreover they had such weight and authority, as that very often they were trusted as umpires to make peace betwixt the Roman people and the Knights, when troubles did sometimes arise affecting the two orders. The Emperor Theodosius did expel them from Rome under advice of the Christians; but in opposition to the said Emperor the Romans did presently depute one Symmachus, to beseech him to restore them again, with all their wealth, incomings and privileges as before. These were exceedingly great, and indeed every day they were used to distribute so great a store of alms, as that neither native Roman nor stranger, coming or going, was ever suffered to ask an alms, so copious was their pious charity toward all poor folk. Yet would Theodosius never agree to bring them back again.

They were named Vestals from the Latin word vesta, signifying fire, the which may well turn and twist, shoot and sparkle, yet doth it never cast seed, nor receive the same,—and so ’tis with a virgin. They were bound so to remain virgins for thirty years, after which they might marry; but few of them were fortunate in so leaving their first estate, just like our own nuns which have cast off the veil and quitted the religious habit. They kept much state and went very sumptuously dressed,—of all which the poet Prudentius doth give a pleasing description, being apparently much in the condition of our present Lady Canonesses of Mons in Hainault and Réaumond in Lorraine, which be permitted to marry after. Moreover this same Prudentius doth greatly blame them because they were used to go abroad in the city in most magnificent coaches, correspondingly attired, and to the Amphitheatres to see the games of the Gladiators and combats to the death betwixt men and men, and men and wild beasts, as though finding much delight in seeing folk thus kill each other and shed blood. Wherefore he doth pray the Emperor to abolish these sanguinary contests and pitiful spectacles altogether. The Vestals at any rate should never behold suchlike barbarous sports; though indeed they might say for their part: “For lack of other more agreeable sports, the which other women do see and practise, we must needs content us with these.”

As for the estate of widows in many cases, there be many which do love just as soberly as these Vestals, and myself have known several such; but others again would far fainer take their joy in secret with men, and in the fullness of complete liberty, rather than subject to them in the bonds of marriage. For this reason, when we do see women long preserve their widowhood, ’tis best not over much to praise them as we might be inclined to do, till we do know their mode of life, and then only, according to what we have learned thereof, either to extol them most highly or scorn them. For a woman, when she is fain to unbend her severity, as the phrase is, is terribly wily, and will bring her man to a pretty market, an if he take not good heed. And being so full of guile, she doth well understand how to bewitch and bedazzle the eyes and wits of men in such wise they can scarce possibly recognize the real life they lead. For such or such an one they will mistake for a perfect prude and model of virtue, which all the while is a downright harlot, but doth play her game so cunningly and furtively none can ever discover aught.

I have known a great Lady in my time, which did remain a widow more than forty years, so acting all the while as to be esteemed the most respectable woman in country or Court, yet was she sotto coverto (under the rose) a regular, downright harlot. So featly had she followed the trade by the space of five and fifty years, as maid, wife and widow, that scarce a suspicion had she roused against her at the age of seventy, when she died. She did get full value of her privileges as a woman; one time, when a young widow, she fell in love with a certain young nobleman, and not able otherwise to get him, she did come one Holy Innocents’ day into his bed-chamber, to give him the usual greetings. But the young man gave her these readily enough, and with something else than the customary instrument. She had her dose,—and many another like it afterward.[138*]

Another widow I have known, which did keep her widowed estate for fifty years, all the while wantoning it right gallantly, but always with the most prudish modesty of mien, and many lovers at divers times. At the last, coming to die, one she had loved for twelve long years, and had had a son of him in secret, of this man she did make so small account she disowned him completely. Is not this a case where my word is illustrated, that we should never commend widows over much, unless we know thoroughly their life and life’s end?

But at this rate I should never end; and an end we must have. I am well aware sundry will tell me I have left out many a witty word and merry tale which might have still better embellished and ennobled this my subject. I do well believe it; but an if I had gone on so from now to the end of the world, I should never have made an end; however if any be willing to take the trouble to do better, I shall be under great obligation to the same.

Well! dear ladies, I must e’en draw to an end; and I do beg you pardon me, an if I have said aught to offend you. ’Tis very far from my nature, whether inborn or gotten by education, to offend or displeasure you in any wise. In what I say of women, I do speak of some, not of all; and of these, I do use only false names and garbled descriptions. I do keep their identity so carefully hid, none may discover it, and never a breath of scandal can come on them but by mere conjecture and vague suspicion, never by certain inference.

I fear me ’tis only too likely I have here repeated a second time sundry witty sayings and diverting tales I have already told before in my other Discourses. Herein I pray such as shall be so obliging as to read all my works, to forgive me, seeing I make no pretence to being a great Writer or to possess the retentive memory needful to bear all in mind. The great Plutarch himself doth in his divers Works repeat several matters twice over. But truly, they that shall have the task of printing my books, will only need a good corrector to set all this matter right.

NOTES