The Tales of the Heptameron, Vol. 2 (of 5)Marguerite, Queen, consort of Henry II, King of Navarre
General
The Tales of the Heptameron, Vol. 2 (of 5)
Marguerite, Queen, consort of Henry II, King of Navarre
Love stories, French -- Translations into English; Tales -- France -- Translations into English
About midnight he entered the lady’s house, and although there were a
good many persons going to and fro, he passed them unnoticed and thus
reached the gallery. Trying the first two doors, he found them shut; the
third, however, was not, and he softly pushed it open. And having thus
entered the lady’s room, he immediately bolted the door behind him. He
found that the whole chamber was hung with white linen, the floor and
ceiling also being covered with the same; and there was a bed draped
with cloth so fine and soft and so handsomely embroidered in white, that
nothing better were possible. And in the bed lay the lady alone, wearing
her cap and night-gown, and covered with pearls and gems. This, before
he was himself perceived by her, he was able to see by peeping round the
curtain; for there was a large wax candle burning, which made the room
as bright as day. And fearful lest he should be recognised by her, he
first of all put out the light. Then he undressed himself and got into
bed beside her.
The lady, taking him to be the Italian who had so long loved her, gave
him the best possible reception; but he, not forgetting that he was
there in another’s stead, was careful not to say a single word. His
only thought was to execute his vengeance at the cost of her honour and
chastity without being beholden to her for any boon. And although this
was contrary to her intention, the lady was so well pleased with this
vengeance that she deemed him rewarded for all she thought he had
endured. At last it struck one of the clock, and it was time to say
good-bye. Then, in the lowest tones he could employ, he asked her if she
were as well pleased with him as he was with her. She, believing him
to be her lover, said that she was not merely pleased but amazed at the
greatness of his love, which had kept him an hour without answering her.
Then he began to laugh aloud, and said to her--
“Now, madam, will you refuse me another time, as you have hitherto been
wont to do?”
The lady, recognising him by his speech and laughter, was in such
despair with grief and shame, that she called him villain, traitor, and
deceiver a thousand times over, and tried to throw herself out of bed
to search for a knife in order to kill herself, since she was so
unfortunate as to have lost her honour through a man whom she did not
love, and who to be revenged on her might publish the matter to the
whole world.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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