age may offer her; and in spite of all that may be urged in her favour, no grace of style or wit can ever atone for many of the tales that disgrace her pages. The plot of the work is detailed, as in the Decameron, in a long Introduction, which is one of the most interesting parts of the work, and from it we proceed to extract the following, to serve as a specimen of the book. re "On the first day of September, when the medicinal waters of the Pyrenees begin to resume their wonted efficacy, there met at Caulderets many persons from France, Spain, and else where. Some came to drink of the waters, and others to bathe in them, which are both such marvellous operations, that many a patient whom the physicians had given over has turned home completely cured. It is not my intention to declare to you the situation or the virtue of the baths, but only to tell you just so much as will serve to the matter that I have in hand. In these baths the sick were wont to remain more than three weeks, until they found, by their amendment, that they had strength to go home. But about the time when these persons were thinking of returning, there came on such a succession of rains that it seemed as if God had well nigh forgotten his promise that he made to Noah; for all the houses and lodgings of Caulderets were so filled with water that it was impossible to stay there. Those who were come from Spain returned by the mountains as well as they could, and those who knew the most about the roads were those who escaped the best. But the ladies and gentlemen of France, who thought to return to Therbes as easily as they had come, found the little streams all swollen to such a height that it was with the utmost difficulty that they crossed them. But when they reached Le Gaue Biarnois, which had been hardly two feet deep when they came, they found it so wide and impetuous that they turned aside to look for the bridges, which, however, being only of wood, had all been carried away by the torrent; and some of the party, who thought to stem the fury of the water by crossing in a band, were all swept away together, and those who had wished to follow them soon lost the power, as well as the inclination, to do so. Each, therefore, took his own opinion and path, and thus they separated. Some went over the mountains, and passing by Arragon, came to the comté of Rousillon, and from thence to Narbonne; others went straight to Barcelona, where some took shipping to Marseilles and others to Aigues Mortes. But a widow of great experience, named Oisille, determined to forget all the danger from the bad roads until she came to Our Lady of Serrance, being sure that, if there were any way of escaping from a danger, the monks would be certain to have found it out; and at last she arrived there, after passing many a strange and difficult spot, both to climb and descend, and where neither her age nor feebleness could prevent her from having to walk on foot most of the way. But the great sorrow was, that most of her people and horses died on the road, and she arrived at Serrance with only one man and woman of her retinue; but she met with a charitable reception from the monks." The Introduction then follows the wanderings of some of the other French ladies and gentlemen who had parted at the torrent or at Caulderets, and we are introduced to a little party who had found refuge in the abbey of St. Savin. Here they learn of the arrival of Oisille at Serrance, and also of the Chevalier Simontault, who had followed her; and as Serrance was not very distant they determined to join them there. This they accordingly do, and they are received with the utmost hospitality, and "the night seemed too short to praise God for the joy of their meeting." On inquiry, they find that Serrance must be their place of abode for some days, as the bridge by which they must pass to proceed further on their journey has been broken down, and it is impos sible to start until it is repaired. The prospect, however, of the long stay that they were to make at Serrance began to throw a gloom of dulness over the party; but too many merry hearts and faces were met there for this gloom long to continue. "Parlamente (who was Hircan's wife, and who, by the bye, was never idle or melancholy), having asked her husband's leave to speak, suddenly said to the aged widow Oisille, 'Madam, I marvel that you, who have so much experience, and who are, as it were, a mother to us all, should not find some pastime to while away the ennui which will settle on us during this long stay; for if we cannot have some pleasant and virtuous occupation, I am sure that we are all in danger of becoming ill. The young widow Longarine added to the proposal- and we shall weary one another, which is worse than wearying ourselves; for there is not one of us who has not some cause for sorrow, if each regards his own loss.' Emarsuite replied with a smile, "We have not all lost our husbands as you have; as for the loss of lovers, none need to trouble herself about that, for it is a loss that can soon be repaired. However, I quite agree that we ought to find some pleasant exercise wherewith to pass away the time as joyously as we can.' Her friend Nomantine subjoined, 'If I am to spend a day without pastime, I am sure I shall be dead by the morrow.' All the gentlemen at once fell in with the ladies' wishes, and they entreated Oisille to tell them what they were to do. 'My children,' she replied, 'you ask me a very difficult question-to teach you a pastime that shall deliver you from your ennui; for I have been searching for this remedy all my life and I have never found but one, and that is the reading of the holy Scriptures, in which alone can be found that true and perfect joy of heart whence proceed the repose and health of the body; and if you ask me what recipe it is that keeps me so joyous and healthy in my old age, I answer that the moment that I rise from bed I take the Holy Scriptures and read them; and there I see and consider the will of God, who for us hath sent his Son on the earth to announce his holy word and good tidings, by which he promises remission of our sins and satisfaction for our debts by the gift which he hath made unto us of his love, passion, and death. This consideration gives me such joy that I take my psalter, and with all humility I sing with my heart and pronounce with my lips those beautiful psalms and hymns which the Holy Spirit hath composed in the heart of David, and other authors. And this contentment which fills my heart does me so much good, that all the evils which may fall upon me day by day appear to me only blessings, since I have, by faith, Him in my heart who hath borne them all for me. And likewise before supper I retire to feed my soul with some spiritual lesson; and then at night I recollect all that I have done during the past day, and I ask pardon for my faults, and I thank God for his mercies, and in his love, fear, and peace, I take my rest, secured against every ill. See, my children, this is the pastime in which I have taken my refuge, after having sought in vain in other things, where I never could find the contentment of my soul; and it seems to me that if, every morning, you could devote an hour to the reading of the Scriptures, and would then, during mass, offer up your prayers, ye would then find in this desert spot all the charms that all the world's cities could offer you. For he who knows God sees all fair things in Him, and without Him all is deformed. Wherefore I pray you to receive my counsel, if you wish to live joyously." Hircan took up the subject and replied, "Madam, those who know the Holy Scriptures (and I trust that we all do) will confess that what you say is true; but, nevertheless, you should recollect that we still need some pastime and bodily exercise. For if we are in our own houses we have the chase and falconry, which make us pass and forget a thousand foolish thoughts; and the ladies have their work and household employments, and sometimes the dance, where they may take becoming exercise, and this makes me say (speaking on the part of the gentlemen here present) that you who are the oldest in the company should read to us in the morning the life which our great Saviour led on earth, and the great and wonderful works that he wrought for us. And then after dinner until vespers we must choose some pastime which shall not be hurtful to the soul, and yet pleasant to the body, and thus we shall pass a happy day." Oisille answered that she had had so much difficulty in forgetting all the vanities of the world, that she feared she might make an evil choice in such a pastime; the matter, however, should be left to the majority of 28 The Heptameron of Margaret de Valois. opinions, and she thereupon begged Hircan to be the first speaker." [Jan. tault to tell his story as quickly as he he merely answered by urging Simoncould." Thus are we introduced into the After a little pleasant bantering, it is decided that Hircan's wife, Parlamente, should propose the kind of main body of the work, and Simone pastime, and she accordingly devises the book itself. tault's first story is followed by a suc * the plan which forms the subject of cession of others, as each person tells "Every day after a tale in his or her turn. Some of the noon till four o'clock let us adjourn stories are pathetic, and these are to the fair meadow along the banks of told with much delicacy and feelthe river Gaue, where the trees are so ing; but the main portion consist of leafy that the sun cannot pierce the old staple of jealous husbands through the shade, nor mar the fresh and faithless wives, and too many of coolness, and there seated at our ease, each one shall tell some story that he has himself witnessed or heard from some person of good credit, and as we are ten in number, at the end of ten days we shall have achieved a hundred." these are told very loosely. As I have said before, however, one of the great charms of the book consists in the little sprightly dialogues that intervene between every story, and here we have all the light, natural ease, which This plan is readily received by all characterises the conversation of daily the company, and the rest of the day is spent in mutually informing each life. The lighter stories abound with other what a store of good stories each graceful playfulness and gentle touches had in some corner of memory. "As soon as the morning was come, they went into the chamber of Ma of wit; thus a modest nun, named Sister Marie, when the prior bade her look him in the face, is described as dame Oisille, whom they found al- demurring because her rules forbad ready at her orisons; and when she her to look upon any man; she con had read to them a good hour, and soles herself, however, with the reflecthey had devoutly heard mass, they tion that, as the prior is so ugly, it must went to dinner at ten, and afterwards be more of a penance to look at him all retired to their chambers in order than a sin! In others, however, the to do whatever might be needful; and jokes are very insignificant, and in one they did not fail to assemble at noon we have a long narration, where a lady time in the meadow, according to their gives an account of some faux pas in determination; and the meadow, in the third person, and continues it in this truth, was so fair and pleasant that it fashion till just towards the close, where would need a very Boccaccio to paint she is represented as unfortunately it in its true colours; my readers must sliding by mistake into the first, thereby content themselves with hearing that by an unlucky "I" revealing much course the jest in such stories can only none ever saw its equal anywhere. more than she had intended. Of lie in a very narrow compass, and the When the company were all assembled on the green grass, (which was so soft cushions or carpet,) Simontault began and delicate that they needed no long story stands poised very uneasily company!' this speech better than the rest, (for * Some relate Marguerite's own adventures. Thus in the first day we have the celebrated attempt of the Admiral de Bonnivet, which Brantôme and Bayle speak of. This brief notice shall be concluded with one of her most pathetic stories, and it will, I trust, give my readers no mean idea of Margaret's powers as a story-teller. "The Ninth Novel of the Second Day. "In the time of the Marquis of Mantua, who had espoused the sister of the Duke of Ferrara, there lived in the duchess's house a poor damsel named Pauline, who was so loved by one of the gentlemen of the marquis, that the fervour of his love astonished everybody, since being so poor, and such a pleasant companion, he ought to have sought for some wealthy bride (considering the good will which the duke bore to him); but it seemed to him that all the world's treasures lay in Pauline, and he should have all in having her. The marchioness, desiring that Pauline, by her favour, should get a richer husband, tried to prejudice her against him as much as she could, and continually hindered their speaking to each other, and remonstrated with them, saying that if they married, they would be the poorest and most miserable couple in Italy. But such reasons as this could not enter into the gentleman's head. Pauline, on her part, dissembled her love as much as she could, but she thought of it not a whit the less often. This acquaintance continued a long while, with the hope that time might at length bring them some better fortune. It brought, however, a war, in which the gentleman was taken prisoner, together with a Frenchman, who was as much in love in France as he was in Italy. And when they found themselves companions in misfortune, they began to discover their secrets to each other: and the Frenchman confessed that his heart was as much a prisoner as his friend's; but he refused to name the spot. As, however, both were in the service of the Marquis of Mantua, the French gentleman soon discovered that his companion loved Pauline, and, for the friendship that he bore to him, he counselled him to drive it from his thoughts. This, however, the Italian affirmed to be beyond his power, and if the marquis would not give him his mistress as a recompence for his long and faithful service, he declared that he would be come a cordelier, and would henceforth serve no other master but God. This his companion could not believe, as he saw no mark of religion in him at all, unless it were his love for Pauline. "At the end of nine months the French gentleman was released, and by his good diligence he obtained his companion's liberation too, and he exerted all his efforts to persuade the marquis and marchioness to consent to Pauline's marriage. But they continued to remonstrate on the poverty of the match, and at length they forbade him to speak to her any more, in order that absence and impossibility might drive the fancy from his brain. When he saw that he must obey, he asked leave from the marchioness to say one adieu to Pauline, since he was never to speak to her again. This was granted, and forthwith he addressed her thus:-'Since, Pauline, heaven and earth are against us, not only to hinder us from marrying together, but (which is still worse) to deprive us of seeing or speaking to each other, and our master and mistress have given us such strict injunctions respecting this, they may with good reason boast that with one word they have wounded two hearts, whose bodies henceforth can do naught but languish, and thereby they prove that pity or love never entered their bosoms. Well I know that their aim is to marry us into some wealthy connections, for they know not that the true riches lie in content; but they have done me such evil and wrong that I can never serve them any more. I believe that if I had never spoken of marriage, they would not have been so scrupulous about preventing our intercourse; but I assure you that I would rather die than ever sully the pure love with which I have wooed you. And, since I cannot endure this if I see you; and, if I see you not, my heart (which cannot continue empty) is filled with despair, which would lead to some unhappy end, I am resolved to devote myself to religion; not that I am ignorant that men can be saved in all estates and conditions, but that I may have more leisure to contemplate the divine goodness, which, I trust, will pardon the faults of my youth, and change my heart to love spiritual things as I once loved temporal. And, if God vouchsafes to me to attain this heavenly knowledge, my labour shall be incessantly employed in praying to God for you. And I entreat, too, that you, in consideration of the firm and loyal love which hath been between us both, will make mention of me in your orisons, and pray to our Lord that he will give me as much constancy when I see you not, as he hath given me content while I saw you. And, since I may never hope to kiss you as a husband, let me, at least, give you one last kiss as a brother.' Poor Pauline, who had always been very guarded towards him, seeing him now in the extremity of sorrow, and considering the reasonableness of his request, flung her arms round his neck, and wept with such bitterness and earnestness, that words, feeling, and strength all failed her, and she fell fainting in his arms; and pity for her sorrow, combined with his love and sadness, made him, too, do the like, until one of her companions, thus seeing them fall, called for help, and by dint of remedies restored them to themselves. Then Pauline, who had desired to dissemble her affection, was covered with confusion to see how she had betrayed her feelings; but pity for her poor lover partially served as an excuse. But he, not bearing to say that word 'adieu' for ever, rushed away, with his heart and teeth so compressed that, on entering into his room, he fell upon his bed like a lifeless corpse, and passed the night in such piteous lamentations that the servants supposed that he had lost all his friends and relations, and all that he could esteem precious on the earth. In the morning he commended himself to Our Saviour, and divided his few possessions among his servants; and, then taking with him a small sum of money, he told them not to follow him, and went alone to the monastery, to demand the proper dress, resolved that he would never wear any other. The prior, who had seen him at other times, at first thought it was only a jest, for nowhere in the country was there a gentleman who smacked less of the cordelier, since he possessed all the good graces and virtues that could be desired in a chevalier. But, after that he had heard his speech, and seen the tears running down his face in streams (knowing not from whence the spring arose), he received him kindly. And soon afterwards, seeing that he persevered, he gave him the proper dress, which he took with great devotion. And the marquis and marchioness were informed of this, and at first they could hardly believe it. Pauline, to disguise her love, dissembled her regret as much as she could, so that everybody said that she had soon forgotten her loyal follower's great affection; and thus five or six months passed without her making any other show. At length she was one day shown a song which her old lover had composed soon after he` took the cordelier's dress;* and when she had read it through, being alone in a chapel, she began to weep so bitterly, that she made the paper wet with her tears; and had it not been for the fear of showing her affection more than became her, she would have gone immediately into some hermitage, without ever again seeing any creature in the world; but her prudence constrained her to dissemble for a while, and, although she had made a resolution to leave the world entirely, yet she still feigned the contrary, and she changed her countenance so often, that when she was in company she was utterly different to herself. And she carried this resolution in her heart five or six months, appearing even more joyous than usual, until one day she went with her mistress to church to hear high mass; and, as the priest, deacon, and sub-deacon came out of the vestry to go to the great altar, her poor lover, who had not quite finished his year of probation, served as acolyte, and bearing the two canettes in his hands, covered with silk cloth, came first, with his eyes fixed on the ground. And when Pauline beheld him in this dress, whereby his beauty and grace were rather augmented than diminished, she was so astonished and troubled, that, to conceal the cause of her changing colour, she began to cough. Her poor lover, who knew the sound of her cough even better than that of his monastery's bells, durst not turn his head, but, as he passed be * I omit the long piece of poetry that follows. |