The Tales of the Heptameron, Vol. II | Page 5

sunt.' (4)
4 From the ritual for the Feast of the Holy Innocents.--M.
I have heard much of such timid lovers, but I have never yet seen one
die. And since I myself have escaped death after all the troubles I have
borne, I do not think that any one can die of love."
"Ah, Saffredent!" said Dagoucin, "how do you expect to be loved since
those who are of your opinion never die? Yet have I known a goodly
number who have died of no other ailment than perfect love."
"Since you know such stories," said Longarine, "I give you my vote to
tell us a pleasant one, which shall be the ninth of to-day."
"To the end," said Dagoucin, "that signs and miracles may lead you to
put faith in what I have said, I will relate to you something which

happened less than three years ago."
[Illustration: 012.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 013a.jpg The Dying Gentleman receiving the Embraces of
his Sweetheart]
[The Dying Gentleman receiving the Embraces of his Sweetheart]
[Illustration: 013.jpg Page Image]

TALE IX.
_The perfect love borne by a gentleman to a damsel, being too deeply
concealed and disregarded, brought about his death, to the great regret
of his sweetheart_.
Between Dauphiné and Provence there lived a gentleman who was far
richer in virtue, comeliness, and honour than in other possessions, and
who was greatly in love with a certain damsel. I will not mention her
name, out of consideration for her kinsfolk, who are of good and
illustrious descent; but you may rest assured that my story is a true one.
As he was not of such noble birth as herself, he durst not reveal his
affection, for the love he bore her was so great and perfect that he
would rather have died than have desired aught to her dishonour.
Seeing that he was so greatly beneath her, he had no hope of marrying
her; in his love, therefore, his only purpose was to love her with all his
strength and as perfectly as he was able. This he did for so long a time
that at last she had some knowledge of it; and, seeing that the love he
bore her was so full of virtue and of good intent, she felt honoured by it,
and showed him in turn so much favour that he, who sought nothing
better than this, was well contented.
But malice, which is the enemy of all peace, could not suffer this
honourable and happy life to last, and certain persons spoke to the
maiden's mother of their amazement at this gentleman being thought so
much of in her house. They said that they suspected him of coming

there more on account of her daughter than of aught else, adding that he
had often been seen in converse with her. The mother, who doubted the
gentleman's honour as little as that of any of her own children, was
much distressed on hearing that his presence was taken in bad part, and,
dreading lest malicious tongues should cause a scandal, she entreated
that he would not for some time frequent her house as he had been
wont to do. He found this hard to bear, for he knew that his honourable
conversation with her daughter did not deserve such estrangement.
Nevertheless, in order to silence evil gossip, he withdrew until the
rumours had ceased; then he returned as before, his absence having in
no wise lessened his love.
One day, however, whilst he was in the house, he heard some talk of
marrying the damsel to a gentleman who did not seem to him to be so
very rich that he should be entitled to take his mistress from him. So he
began to pluck up courage, and engaged his friends to speak for him,
believing that, if the choice were left to the damsel, she would prefer
him to his rival. Nevertheless, the mother and kinsfolk chose the other
suitor, because he was much richer; whereupon the poor gentleman,
knowing his sweetheart to be as little pleased as himself, gave way to
such sorrow, that by degrees, and without any other distemper, he
became greatly changed, seeming as though he had covered the
comeliness of his face with the mask of that death, to which hour by
hour he was joyously hastening.
Meanwhile, he could not refrain from going as often as was possible to
converse with her whom he so greatly loved. But at last, when strength
failed him, he was constrained to keep his bed; yet he would not have
his sweetheart know of this, lest he should cast part of his grief on her.
And giving himself up to despair and sadness, he was no longer able to
eat, drink, sleep, or rest, so that