The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio
for granted that the mention of the latter city was in error and
substituting the name of the ancient capital of Anjou on their own
responsibility.]
Now this Gautier was exceedingly goodly of his body, being maybe
forty years old and as agreeable and well-mannered a gentleman as
might be; and withal, he was the sprightliest and daintiest cavalier
known in those days and he who went most adorned of his person. His
countess was dead, leaving him two little children, a boy and a girl,
without more, and it befell that, the King of France and his son being
at the war aforesaid and Gautier using much at the court of the
aforesaid ladies and speaking often with them of the affairs of the
kingdom, the wife of the king's son cast her eyes on him and
considering his person and his manners with very great affection, was
secretly fired with a fervent love for him. Feeling herself young and
lusty and knowing him wifeless, she doubted not but her desire might
lightly be accomplished unto her and thinking nought hindered her
thereof but shamefastness, she bethought herself altogether to put
that away and discover to him her passion. Accordingly, being one day
alone and it seeming to her time, she sent for him into her chamber,
as though she would discourse with him of other matters.
The count, whose thought was far from that of the lady, betook himself
to her without any delay and at her bidding, seated himself by her
side on a couch; then, they being alone together, he twice asked her
the occasion for which she had caused him come thither; but she made
him no reply. At last, urged by love and grown all vermeil for shame,
well nigh in tears and all trembling, with broken speech she thus
began to say: 'Dearest and sweet friend and my lord, you may easily as
a man of understanding apprehend how great is the frailty both of men
and of women, and that more, for divers reasons, in one than in
another; wherefore, at the hands of a just judge, the same sin in
diverse kinds of qualities of persons should not in equity receive one
same punishment. And who is there will deny that a poor man or a poor
woman, whom it behoveth gain with their toil that which is needful for
their livelihood, would, an they were stricken with Love's smart and
followed after him, be far more blameworthy than a lady who is rich
and idle and to whom nothing is lacking that can flatter her desires?
Certes, I believe, no one. For which reason methinketh the things
aforesaid [to wit, wealth and leisure and luxurious living] should
furnish forth a very great measure of excuse on behalf of her who
possesseth them, if, peradventure, she suffer herself lapse into
loving, and the having made choice of a lover of worth and discretion
should stand for the rest,[123] if she who loveth hath done that.
These circumstances being both, to my seeming, in myself (beside
several others which should move me to love, such as my youth and the
absence of my husband), it behoveth now that they rise up in my behalf
for the defence of my ardent love in your sight, wherein if they avail
that which they should avail in the eyes of men of understanding, I
pray you afford me counsel and succour in that which I shall ask of
you. True is it, that availing not, for the absence of my husband, to
withstand the pricks of the flesh nor the might of love-liking, the
which are of such potency that they have erst many a time overcome and
yet all days long overcome the strongest men, to say nothing of weak
women,--and enjoying the commodities and the leisures wherein you see
me, I have suffered myself lapse into ensuing Love his pleasures and
becoming enamoured; the which,--albeit, were it known, I acknowledge
it would not be seemly, yet,--being and abiding hidden, I hold[124]
well nigh nothing unseemly; more by token that Love hath been insomuch
gracious to me that not only hath he not bereft me of due discernment
in the choice of a lover, but hath lent me great plenty thereof[125]
to that end, showing me yourself worthy to be loved of a lady such as
I,--you whom, if my fancy beguile me not, I hold the goodliest, the
most agreeable, the sprightliest and the most accomplished cavalier
that may be found in all the realm of France; and even as I may say
that I find myself without a husband, so likewise are you without a
wife. Wherefore, I pray you, by the great love which I bear you, that
you deny me not your love in return, but have compassion on my youth,
the which, in very deed, consumeth for you, as ice before the fire.'
[Footnote 123: _i.e._ of her excuse.]
[Footnote 124: Lit. Thou holdest (or judges); but _giudichi_ in the
text is apparently a mistake for _giudico_.]
[Footnote 125: _i.e._ of discernment.]
With these words her tears welled up in such abundance that, albeit
she would fain have proffered him yet other prayers, she had no power
to speak farther, but, bowing her face, as if overcome, she let
herself fall, weeping, her head on the count's bosom. The latter, who
was a very loyal gentleman, began with the gravest reproofs to rebuke
so fond a passion and to repel the princess, who would fain have cast
herself on his neck, avouching to her with oaths that he had liefer be
torn limb from limb than consent unto such an offence against his
lord's honour, whether in himself or in another. The lady, hearing
this, forthright forgot her love and kindling into a furious rage,
said, 'Felon knight that you are, shall I be this wise flouted by you
of my desire? Now God forbid, since you would have me die, but I have
you put to death or driven from the world!' So saying, she set her
hands to her tresses and altogether disordered and tore them; then,
rending her raiment at the breast, she fell to crying aloud and
saying, 'Help! Help! The Count of Antwerp would do me violence.' The
count, seeing this, misdoubting far more the courtiers' envy than his
own conscience and fearful lest, by reason of this same envy, more
credence should be given to the lady's malice than to his own
innocence, started up and departing the chamber and the palace as
quickliest he might, fled to his own house, where, without taking
other counsel, he set his children on horseback and mounting himself
to horse, made off with them, as most he might, towards Calais.
Meanwhile, many ran to the princess's clamour and seeing her in that
plight and hearing [her account of] the cause of her outcry, not only
gave credence to her words, but added[126] that the count's gallant
bearing and debonair address had long been used by him to win to that
end. Accordingly, they ran in a fury to his houses to arrest him, but
finding him not, first plundered them all and after razed them to the
foundations. The news, in its perverted shape, came presently to the
army to the king and his son, who, sore incensed, doomed Gautier and
his descendants to perpetual banishment, promising very great guerdons
to whoso should deliver him to them alive or dead.
[Footnote 126: Sic (_aggiunsero_); but _semble_ should mean "believed,
in addition."]
The count, woeful for that by his flight he had, innocent as he was,
approved himself guilty, having, without making himself known or being
recognized, reached Calais with his children, passed hastily over into
England and betook himself in mean apparel to London, wherein ere he
entered, with many words he lessoned his two little children, and
especially in two things; first, that they should brook with patience
the poor estate, whereunto, without their fault, fortune had brought
them, together with himself,--and after, that with all wariness they
should keep themselves from ever discovering unto any whence or whose
children they were, as they held life dear. The boy, Louis by name,
who was some nine and the girl, who was called Violante and was some
seven years old, both, as far as their tender age comported, very well
apprehended their father's lessons and showed it thereafter by deed.
That this might be the better done,[127] he deemed it well to change
their names; wherefore he named the boy Perrot and the girl Jeannette
and all three, entering London, meanly clad, addressed themselves to
go about asking alms, like as we see yonder French vagabonds do.
[Footnote 127: _i.e._ That the secret might be the better kept.]
They being on this account one morning at a church door, it chanced
that a certain great lady, the wife of one of the king's marshals of
England, coming forth of the church, saw the count and his two little
ones asking alms and questioned him whence he was and if the children
were his, to which he replied that he was from Picardy and that, by
reason of the misfeasance of a rakehelly elder son of his, it had
behoved him depart the country with these two, who were his. The lady,
who was pitiful, cast her eyes on the girl and being much taken with
her, for that she was handsome, well-mannered and engaging, said,
'Honest man, an thou be content to leave thy daughter with me, I will
willingly take her, for that she hath a good favour, and if she prove
an honest woman, I will in due time marry her on such wise that she
shall fare well.' This offer was very pleasing to the count, who
promptly answered, 'Yes,' and with tears gave up the girl to the lady,
urgently commending her to her care.
Having thus disposed of his daughter, well knowing to whom, he
resolved to abide there no longer and accordingly, begging his way
across the island, came, not without sore fatigue, as one who was
unused to go afoot, into Wales. Here dwelt another of the king's
marshals, who held great state and entertained a numerous household,
and to his court both the count and his son whiles much resorted to
get food. Certain sons of the said marshal and other gentlemen's
children being there engaged in such boyish exercises as running and
leaping, Perrot began to mingle with them and to do as dextrously as
any of the rest, or more so, each feat that was practised among them.
The marshal, chancing whiles to see this and being much taken with
the manners and fashion of the boy, asked who he was and was told that
he was the son of a poor man who came there bytimes for alms;
whereupon he caused require him of the count, and the latter, who
indeed besought God of nought else, freely resigned the boy to him,
grievous as it was to him to be parted from him. Having thus provided
his son and daughter, he determined to abide no longer in England and
passing over into Ireland, made his way, as best he might, to
Stamford, where he took service with a knight belonging to an earl of
the country, doing all such things as pertain unto a lackey or a
horseboy, and there, without being known of any, he abode a great
while in unease and travail galore.
Meanwhile Violante, called Jeannette, went waxing with the gentlewoman
in London in years and person and beauty and was in such favour both
with the lady and her husband and with every other of the house and
whoso else knew her, that it was a marvellous thing to see; nor was
there any who noted her manners and fashions but avouched her worthy
of every greatest good and honour. Wherefore the noble lady who had
received her from her father, without having ever availed to learn who
he was, otherwise than as she had heard from himself, was purposed to
marry her honourably according to that condition whereof she deemed
her. But God, who is a just observer of folk's deserts, knowing her to
be of noble birth and to bear, without fault, the penalty of another's
sin, ordained otherwise, and fain must we believe that He of His
benignity permitted that which came to pass to the end that the gentle
damsel might not fall into the hands of a man of low estate.
The noble lady with whom Jeannette dwelt had of her husband one only