VOLUME THE THIRD

LONDON: PRINTED FOR THE SOCIETY OF ENGLISH BIBLIOPHILISTS

MDCCCXCIV

Volume I.

Volume II.

Volume IV.

Volume V.

Frontispiece

[Margaret, Queen of Navarre, from a crayon drawing by Clouet, preserved at the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris]

Titlepage

Contents

SECOND DAY.

TALE XIX.

TALE XX.

THIRD DAY.

PROLOGUE.

TALE XXI.

TALE XXII.

TALE XXIII.

TALE XXIV.

TALE XXV.

TALE XXVI.

TALE XXVII.

TALE XXVIII.

TALE XXIX.

TALE XXX.

APPENDIX.

A. (Tale XX., Page 21.)

B. (Tale XXV., Page 131.)

C. (Tale XXVI., Page 143.)

D. (Tale XXX., Page 191).

List of Illustrations

Frontispiece

Titlepage

001a.jpg the Parting Between Pauline and The Gentlemen

001.jpg Page Image

020.jpg Tailpiece

021a.jpg the Lord de Riant Finding The Widow With Her Groom

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029.jpg Tailpiece

035a.jpg Rolandine Conversing With Her Husband

035.jpg Page Image

071.jpg Tailpiece

073a.jpg Sister Marie and the Prior

073.jpg Page Image

095.jpg Tailpiece

097a.jpg the Grey Friar Deceiving The Gentleman of Périgord

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112.jpg Tailpiece

113a.jpg Elisor Showing the Queen Her Own Image

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130.jpg Tailpiece

131a.jpg the Advocate's Wife Attending on The Prince

131.jpg Page Image

142.jpg Tailpiece

143a.jpg the Lord of Avannes Paying his Court in Disguise

143.jpg Page Image

170.jpg Tailpiece

171a.jpg the Secretary Imploring The Lady Not to Tell of his Wickedness

171.jpg Page Image

175.jpg Tailpiece

177a.jpg the Secretary Opening The Pasty

177.jpg Page Image

183.jpg Tailpiece

185a.jpg the Husbandman Surprised by The Fall of The Winnowing Fan

185.jpg Page Image

190.jpg Tailpiece

191a.jpg the You ng Gentleman Embracing his Mother

191.jpg Page Image

204.jpg Tailpiece

DETAILED CONTENTS OF VOLUME III.

SECOND DAY—Continued.

Tale XIX.

The honourable love of a gentleman, who, when his sweetheart

is forbidden to speak with him, in despair becomes a monk of the

Observance, while the lady, following in his footsteps, becomes a nun of

St. Clara

Tale XX. How the Lord of Riant is cured of his love fora beautiful widow

through surprising her in the arms of a groom

THIRD DAY.

Prologue

Tale XXI. The affecting history of Rolandine, who, debarred from

marriage by her father's greed, betrothes herself to a gentleman to

whom, despite his faithlessness, she keeps her plighted word, and does

not marry until after his death

Tale XXII.

How Sister Marie Her oet virtuously escapes the attempts of

the Prior of St. Martin in-the-Fields

Tale XXIII. The undeserved confidence which a gentleman of Perigord

places in the monks of the Order of St. Francis, causes the death of

himself, his wife and their little child

Tale XXIV. Concerning the unavailing love borne to the Queen of Castile

by a gentleman named Elisor, who in the end becomes a hermit

Tale XXV.

How a young Prince found means to conceal his intrigue with

the wife of a lawyer of Paris

Tale XXVI.

How the counsels of a discreet lady happily withdrew the

young Lord of Avannes from the perils of his foolish love for a lady of

Pampeluna

Tale XXVII. How the wife of a man who was valet to a Princess rid

herself of the solicitations of one who was among the same Princess's

servants, and at the same time her husband's guest

Tale XXVIII. How a Gascon merchant, named Bernard du Ha, while

sojourning at Paris, deceived a Secretary to the Queen of Navarre who

had thought to obtain a pasty from him

Tale XXIX. How the Priest of Carrelles, in Maine, when surprised with

the wife of an old husbandman, gets out of the difficulty by pretending

to return him a winnowing fan

Tale XXX. How a gentleman marries his own daughter and sister unawares

001a.jpg the Parting Between Pauline and The Gentlemen

[The Parting between Pauline and The Gentlemen]

001.jpg Page Image

TALE XIX.

Pauline, being in love with a gentleman no less than he was with her, and finding that he, because forbidden ever again to speak with her, had entered the monastery of the Observance, gained admittance for her own part into the convent of St. Clara, where she took the veil; thus fulfilling the desire she had conceived to bring the gentleman's love and her own to a like ending in respect of raiment, condition and manner of life. (1)

In the time of the Marquis of Mantua, (2) who had married the sister of the Duke of Ferrara, there lived in the household of the Duchess a damsel named Pauline, who was greatly loved by a gentleman in the Marquis's service, and this to the astonishment of every one; for being poor, albeit handsome and greatly beloved by his master, he ought, in their estimation, to have wooed some wealthy dame, but he believed that all the world's treasure centred in Pauline, and looked to his marriage with her to gain and possess it.

1 The incidents related in this tale appear to have taken

place at Mantua and Ferrara. M. de Montaiglon, however,

believes that they happened at Lyons, and that Margaret laid

the scene of her story in It aly, so that the personages she

refers to might not be identified. The subject of the tale

is similar to that of the poem called L'Amant rendu

Cordelier à l'Observance et Amour, which may perhaps have

supplied the Queen of Navarre with the plot of her

narrative.—M. and Ed.

2 This was John Francis II. of Gonzaga, who was born in

1466, and succeeded his father, Frederic I., in 1484. He

took an Active part in the wars of the time, commanding the

Venetian troops when Charles VIII. invaded It aly, and

afterwards supporting Ludovico Sforza in the defence of

Milan. When Sforza abandoned the struggle against France,

the Marquis of Mantua joined the French king, for whom he

acted as viceroy of Naples. Ultimately, however, he espoused

the cause of the Emperor Maximilian, when the latter was at

war with Venice in 1509, and being surprised and defeated

while camping on the island of La Scala, he fled in his

shirt and hid himself in a field, where, by the treachery of

a peasant who had promised him secrecy, he was found and

taken prisoner. By the advice of Pope Julius II., the

Venetians set him at liberty after he had undergone a year's

imprisonment. In 1490 John Francis married Isabella d'Esté,

daughter of Her cules I. Duke of Ferrara, by whom he had

several children. He died at Mantua in March 1519, his widow

surviving him until 1539. Among the many dignities acquired

by the Marquis in the course of his singularly chequered

life was that of gonfalonier of the Holy Church, conferred

upon him by Julius II.—L. and En.

The Marchioness, who desired that Pauline should through her favour make a more wealthy marriage, discouraged her as much as she could from wedding the gentleman, and often hindered the two lovers from talking together, pointing out to them that, should the marriage take place, they would be the poorest and sorriest couple in all It aly. But such argument as this was by no means convincing to the gentleman, and though Pauline, on her side, dissembled her love as well as she could, she none the less thought about him as often as before.

With the hope that time would bring them better fortune, this love of theirs continued for a long while, during which it chanced that a war broke out (3) and that the gentleman was taken prisoner along with a Frenchman, whose heart was bestowed in France even as was his own in It aly.

3 This would be the expedition which Louis XII. made into

It aly in 1503 in view of conquering the Kingdom of Naples,

and which was frustrated by the defeats that the French army

sustained at Seminara, Cerignoles, and the passage of the

Garigliano.—D.

Finding themselves comrades in misfortune, they began to tell their secrets to one another, the Frenchman confessing that his heart was a fast prisoner, though he gave not the name of its prison-house. However, as they were both in the service of the Marquis of Mantua, this French gentleman knew right well that his companion loved Pauline, and in all friendship for him advised him to lay his fancy aside. This the It alian gentleman swore was not in his power, and he declared that if the Marquis of Mantua did not requite him for his captivity and his faithful service by giving him his sweetheart to wife, he would presently turn friar and serve no master but God. This, however, his companion could not believe, perceiving in him no token of devotion, unless it were that which he bore to Pauline.

At the end of nine months the French gentleman obtained his freedom, and by his diligence compassed that of his comrade also, who thereupon used all his efforts with the Marquis and Marchioness to bring about his marriage with Pauline. But all was of no avail; they pointed out to him the poverty wherein they would both be forced to live, as well as the unwillingness of the relatives on either side; and they forbade him ever again to speak with the maiden, to the end that absence and lack of opportunity might quell his passion.

Finding himself compelled to obey, the gentleman begged of the Marchioness that he might have leave to bid Pauline farewell, promising that he would afterwards speak to her no more, and upon his request being granted, as soon as they were together he spoke to her as follows:—

"Heaven and earth are both against us, Pauline, and hinder us not only from marriage but even from having sight and speech of one another. And by laying on us this cruel command, our master and mistress may well boast of having with one word broken two hearts, whose bodies, perforce, must henceforth languish; and by this they show that they have never known love or pity, and although I know that they desire to marry each of us honourably and to worldly advantage,—ignorant as they are that contentment is the only true wealth,—yet have they so afflicted and angered me that never more can I do them loyal service. I feel sure that had I never spoken of marriage they would not have shown themselves so scrupulous as to forbid me from speaking to you; but I would have you know that, having loved you with a pure and honourable love, and wooed you for what I would fain defend against all others, I would rather die than change my purpose now to your dishonour. And since, if I continued to see you, I could not accomplish so harsh a penance as to restrain myself from speech, whilst, if being here I saw you not, my heart, unable to remain void, would fill with such despair as must end in woe, I have resolved, and that long since, to become a monk. I know, indeed, full well that men of all conditions may be saved, but would gladly have more leisure for contemplating the Divine goodness, which will, I trust, forgive me the errors of my youth, and so change my heart that it may love spiritual things as truly as hitherto it has loved temporal things. And if God grant me grace to win His grace, my sole care shall be to pray to Him without ceasing for you; and I entreat you, by the true and loyal love that has been betwixt us both, that you will remember me in your prayers, and beseech Our Lord to grant me as full a measure of steadfastness when I see you no more, as he has given me of joy in beholding you. Finally, I have all my life hoped to have of you in wedlock that which honour and conscience allow, and with this hope have been content; but now that I have lost it and can never have you to wife, I pray you at least, in bidding me farewell, treat me as a brother, and suffer me to kiss you."

When the hapless Pauline, who had always treated him somewhat rigorously, beheld the extremity of his grief and his uprightness, which, amidst all his despair, would suffer him to prefer but this moderate request, her sole answer was to throw her arms around his neck, weeping so bitterly that speech and strength alike failed her, and she swooned away in his embrace. The reupon, overcome by pity, love and sorrow, he must needs swoon also, and one of Pauline's companions, seeing them fall one on one side and one on the other, called aloud for aid, whereupon remedies were fetched and applied, and brought them to themselves.

Then Pauline, who had desired to conceal her love, was ashamed at having shown such transports; yet were her pity for the unhappy gentleman a just excuse. He, unable to utter the"Farewell for ever!"hastened away with heavy heart and set teeth, and, on entering his apartment, fell like a lifeless corpse upon his bed. The re he passed the night in such piteous lamentations that his servants thought he must have lost all his relations and friends, and whatsoever he possessed on earth.

In the morning he commended himself to Our Lord, and having divided among his servants what little worldly goods he had, save a small sum of money which he took, he charged his people not to follow him, and departed all alone to the monastery of the Observance, (4) resolved to take the cloth there and never more to quit it his whole life long.

4 The monastery of the Observance here referred to would

appear to be that at Ferrara, founded by Duke Her cules I.,

father of the Marchioness of Mantua. The name of

"Observance"was given to those conventual establishments

where the rules of monastic life were scrupulously observed,

however rigorous they might be. The monastery of the

Observance at Ferrara belonged to the Franciscan order,

reformed by the Pope in 1363.—D. and L.

The Warden, who had known him in former days, at first thought he was being laughed at or was dreaming, for there was none in all the land that less resembled a Grey Friar than did this gentleman, seeing that he was endowed with all the good and honourable qualities that one would desire a gentleman to possess. Albeit, after hearing his words and beholding the tears that flowed (from what cause he knew not) down his face, the Warden compassionately took him in, and very soon afterwards, finding him persevere in his desire, granted him the cloth: whereof tidings were brought to the Marquis and Marchioness, who thought it all so strange that they could scarcely believe it.

Pauline, wishing to show herself untrammelled by any passion, strove as best she might to conceal her sorrow, in such wise that all said she had right soon forgotten the deep affection of her faithful lover. And so five or six months passed by without any sign on her part, but in the meanwhile some monk had shown her a song which her lover had made a short time after he had taken the cowl. The air was an It alian one and pretty well known; as for the words, I have put them into our own tongue as nearly as I can, and they are these:—

What word shall be

Hers unto me,

When I appear in convent guise

Before her eyes?

Ah! sweet maiden,

Lone, heart-laden,

Dumb because of days that were;