Excerpt 7 : The Duenna's lessons

The Duenna stayed there no longer, but returned at a trot to Fair Welcoming, who guarded the tower against his will, for he would prefer not to stand guard like this.

Blithely, she mounted the steps as fast as she could, all her limbs trembling. She looked for Fair Welcoming from room to room who came out to lean over the battlements, bored by his prison. Since he was pensive, sad, and mournful, she set herself to comfort him.

he said, 'however much you accuse me of being downcast, I am not in the least distressed, except only because you stay away from me. Without you, it is difficult to live in this place, so great a love do I have for you. Where have you dwelt for so long?' 
'Where? By my head! You shall know soon, and you shall take great joy in your knowledge if you are at all valiant or wise, for instead of greetings from a stranger, I bring more than a thousand salutes from the most courteous young man in the world, who abounds in every grace. I saw him just now in the street as he was going along, and he sent you this chaplet by me. He said that he would gladly see you and that, if it were not through your desire as well, he would never afterward seek to live nor have a single day of health. God and Saint Foy keep him, he said, unless he could speak to you freely just one single time, provided that you were pleased. To say no more, he loves his life on your account. He would gladly be naked at Pavia on condition that he knew how to do one thing that could give you pleasure. It wouldn't matter what happened to him as long as he could keep you near him.'

However, before accepting the present, Fair Welcoming asked who had sent it to him; he was afraid that it could have come from a place such that he would not wish to keep it. The Duenna, without telling any other tales, told him the whole truth: 'It's the young man you know and of whom you have heard so much talk, the one on whose account the late Foul Mouth made you suffer so greatly when he placed all the blame on you. May his soul not go to paradise! He has brought woe to many a good man. Now that the devils have carried him off and he is dead, we have escaped him, and I would snub at all his chatter as I would at two apples. We are free of him forever. Even if he could return to life now, he could not harm us, however skillful he might be at putting blame on you, for I know more about that game than he ever did. Believe me now and take this chaplet and wear it, and comfort the young man at least as much in return, since he loves you, do not doubt it, with good, not base love. And if he intends anything else, he did not disclose much of it to me.

But we can indeed have confidence in him: for your part, you know very well how to deny him if he asks anything that he ought not to. If he commits folly, let him drink it; and if he is not foolish, then he is wise. Since he has never committed any outrageous acts, I esteem him more and love him for it. He will never be so base as to demand anything of you that he should not demand. He is more loyal than any living person: those who keep his company are my witnesses, and I am witness to it as well. In his manners he is very orderly; there is no man born of a mother who ever heard any evil of him, except what Foul Mouth told of him. But all that has been forgotten. I myself have gradually forgotten it; I don't even remember the statements, except that they were false and wild and that the thief invented them and proved none of them. Indeed, I know well that the young man, since he is valiant and brave without fail, would have killed him, if he had known anything of it. His heart is so noble that there is no one in this country worth as much as he is.

In largesse, he would surpass King Arthur, indeed, Alexander. If he had had as much gold and silver to spend as they had, he would have given one hundred times more. He has such a good heart in him that his gifts would have astonished the whole world if he had had such plenty of possessions. No one can teach him about largesse. Now I advise you to take this chaplet, whose flowers smell sweeter than balm.'  
'By my Faith, I would be afraid of being blamed,' said Fair Welcoming who was very agitated, trembled, started, and sighed; he blushed, then grew pale and lost countenance. The Duenna thrust the chaplet into his hands and wanted to force him to take it, for he dared not stretch out his hand for it, but said, the better to excuse himself, that it would be better for him to refuse it. However, he wanted to hold it, whatever might happen.  
'The chaplet is very beautiful,' he said, 'but I would rather that all my clothes were burned to ashes than that I dared take it from him. Now suppose that I took it: what could we then say to Jealousy the quarrelsome? I know well that she will be filled with rage

and will tear it to pieces on my head and then kill me if she knows that it may have come from there; or I will be taken and held prisoner worse than I ever was in my life; or, if I escape from her and flee, where could I flee? You will see me buried alive if I am ever taken after my flight. I believe that, if I were caught in the act of fleeing, action would be brought against me. I will not accept the chaplet.'  
 
'Yes, you will, certainly. You will have neither blame nor loss.'  
'And what if she asks me where it came from?'  
'You have more than twenty replies.'  
'All the same, if she asks me, what can I say in response to her question? If I am accused or reprimanded for it, where shall I say that I got it? For I shall have to hide or tell some lie. If she knew, I guarantee you that I would be better off dead than alive.'  
'What shall you say? If you don't know what, if you have no better reply, say that I gave it to you. You know well that my reputation is such that you will reap no accusation or shame for taking anything that I might give you.'

Fair Welcoming, without saying anything else, took the chaplet, put it on his blond hair, and reassured himself. The Duenna laughed and swore by her soul, her body, her bones and skin that no chaplet was ever so becoming on him. Fair Welcoming, admiring himself in his mirror, looked at it often to see how becoming it was.

for a young man who has no one to teach him goes there to bathe at his peril. Then, if you follow my advice, you will arrive in a good harbor. Know then, that if only, when I was your age, I had been as wise about the games of love as I am now! For then I was a very great beauty, but now I must complain and moan when I look at my face, which has lost its charms; and I see the inevitable wrinkles whenever I remember how my beauty made the young men skip. I made them struggle so much that it was nothing short of a marvel. I was very famous then; word of my highly renowned beauty ran everywhere. At my house there was a crowd so big that no man ever saw the like. At night they knocked on my door: I was very cruel with them when I failed to keep my promises, which happened very often, for I had other company. They did many a foolish thing at which I got quite angry. Often my door was broken down, and many of them got into such battles as a result of their hatred and envy that

before they were separated they lost their members and their lives. If master Algus, the great calculator, had wanted to take the trouble and had come with his ten figures, by which he certifies and numbers everything, he could not, however well he knew how to calculate, have ascertained the number of these great quarrels. Those were the days when my body was strong and active! As I say, if I had been as wise then as I am now, I would possess the value of a thousand pounds of sterling silver more than I do now, but I acted too foolishly. I was beautiful, and young, foolish and wild, and had never been to a school of love where they read in the theory, but I know everything by practice. Experience has made me wise in love, which I have chased my whole life. Since I know everything about it now, right down to the battle, it would not be right if I were to fail to teach you the good things I know and have often experienced. He who gives advice to the young does well. Without fail, it is no wonder that you know nothing, for your beak is too yellow. But, in the end, I have so much knowledge about which I can lecture from a chair that I could never finish.

One should not avoid or despise everything that is very old; there one finds good sense and good custom. Many have proved often that, however much they have acquired, in the end, at least their good sense and good custom will remain. And since I had good sense and good custom, I have deceived many a worthy man when he fell captive in my nets, not without great harm to me. And I was deceived by many before I became aware of it. Then it was too late, o great misery! I was already past my youth. My door, which formerly was often open, both night and day, stayed constantly near its sill: 'No one is coming today, no one came yesterday,' I thought, 'unhappy wretch! I must live in sorrow.' My woeful heart should have left me. When I saw my door, and even myself, at such repose, I wanted to leave the country, for I couldn't endure the shame. How could I stand it when those handsome young men came along,

"those who formerly had held me so dear that they could not tire themselves of me, and I saw them look at me sideways as they passed by, they who had once been my dear guests? They went by near me, bounding along without counting me worth an egg, even those who had loved me most; they called me a wrinkled Duenna and worse before they had passed on by. Besides, my pretty child, no one, unless he were very attentive or had experienced great sorrows, would think or know what grief gripped my heart when in my thought I remembered the lovely speeches, the sweet caresses and pleasures, the kisses and the deeply delightful embraces that flew away so soon. Flew away? It is true and without return. I would have been better off to be imprisoned in a tower forever than to have been born so early. God! Into what torment was I put by the fair gifts which had failed me, and how wretched their remnants had made me! Alas! Why was I born so early? To whom can I complain,

to whom except you, son, whom I hold so dear? I have no other way to avenge myself than by teaching my doctrine. Therefore, fair son, I instruct you so that, when instructed, you will avenge me on those scoundrels; for if it pleases God, he will remind you of this sermon when the time comes. You must know that, thanks to your age, you have a very great advantage in retaining the sermon so that you will remember it. As Plato said: 'It is true that one retains better the knowledge one acquired during childhood, no matter what that knowledge might be.'   Certainly, dear son, my tender young one, if I had my youth, as you do now, the vengeance that I would take on them could not rightly be written. Everywhere I would go I would work such wonders with those scoundrels, who valued me so lightly and who vilified and despised me when they so basely passed by near me, that one would never have heard the like. They and others would pay for their pride and spite; I would have no pity on them.

For with the intelligence that God has given me – just as I have preached to you – do you know what condition I would put them in? I would so pluck them and seize their possessions, even wrongly and perversely, that I would make them dine on worms and lie naked on dunghills, especially and first of all those who loved me with a more loyal heart and who more willingly took trouble to serve and honor me. If I could, I wouldn't leave them anything worth one bud of garlic until I had everything in my purse and had put them all into poverty; I would make them stamp their feet in living rage behind me. But to regret it is worth nothing; what has vanished cannot return. I would never be able to keep any man, for my face is so wrinkled that they cannot protect themselves against my threat. A long time ago the scoundrels who despised me told me so, and from that time on I took to weeping. By God! Yet, it still pleases me when I think back. I rejoice in my thought and my limbs become nimble again when I remember the good times and the gay life for which my heart so strongly yearns.

Just to think of it and to remember it all rejuvenates my body. Remembering all that happened gives me all the blessings of the world, so that however they may have deceived me, at least I have had my fun. A young lady is not idle when she leads a gay life, especially she who thinks about acquiring enough to take care of her expenses.  
 
  Then I came to this country, where I met your lady, who has put me in her service to guard you in her enclosure. May God, the lord and guardian of all, grant that I may do a good job of it! With your fair conduct, I shall certainly do so! But to guard you would have been perilous because of the wondrously great beauty that Nature has given you, if she had not taught you so many abilities, so much good sense, worth, and grace. Now that time and space allow us to say, without disturbance, whatever we want, a little more than usual,

I must advise you completely, and you should not wonder if I interrupt my talk a little. I must tell you right away that I have no intention to make you fall in love, but if you want to get involved with it, I will gladly show the roads and the paths by which I should have traveled before my beauty had gone.  
  Then the Duenna grew quiet and sighed, to hear what he wanted to say, but she did not delay much; for, when she saw that he was being careful to listen to her and remain quiet, she took up her subject again, thinking, 'Whoever says nothing agrees to everything. Since he is pleased to hear all that I say, I can say everything without fear.'

but he committed no betrayal toward me for anything that she said. He so gave me his oath; he assured me thus.   'O fair, most sweet son,' said the Duenna, 'O beautiful tender flesh, I wish to teach you of the games of Love so that when you have learned them you will not be deceived. Conduct yourself according to my art [of love], for no one who is not well informed can pass through this training without selling his animals. Now give your attention to hearing and understanding, and to remembering everything that I say, for I know the whole story.

wastes his study and becomes mad. One should not read them in a school. He who wants a lover to have a generous heart and to put love in only one place has given too evil a burden to lovers. It is a false text, a false message. In it, Love, the son of Venus, lies, and no man should believe him; whoever does will pay dearly, as you will see by the end of my sermon. Fair son, never be generous; and keep your heart in several places, never in one. Don't give it, and don't lend it, but sell it very dearly and always to the highest bidder. See that he who buys it can never get a bargain: no matter how much he may give, never let him have anything in return; it were better if he were to burn or hang or maim himself. In all cases keep to these points: have your hands closed to giving and open to taking. Certainly, giving is great folly, except giving a little for attracting men when one plans to make them one's prey or when one expects such a return for the gift that one could not have sold it for more. I certainly allow you such giving. The gift is good where he who gives multiplies his gift and profits from it;

he who is certain of his profit cannot repent of his gift. I can indeed consent to such a gift. Next, about the bow and the five arrows which are very full of good qualities and which wound so readily, know how to fire them so wisely that Love, the good archer, never drew a better bow, fair son, than do you, who have many times launched your arrows. But you have not always known where the blow has fallen, for when one fires into the pack, the shot may hit someone for whom the archer does not care. But, whoever considers your manner, you know so well how to draw a bow and how to stretch nets that I can teach you nothing about it. With your ability, you can wound a person such that, if it pleases God, your prize will be magnificent.  
It is equally unnecessary for me to bother teaching you about decorating your garments or about the baubles of which you will make your ornaments, so that you will seem worth more to men. Such tutelage can never be important to you when you know by heart the song that you have heard me sing so often,

when we went out to play, about Pygmalion's statue. Take care to adorn yourself, and you will know more about it than an ox about plowing. There is no need for you to learn these trades. And if all this will not suffice, you will hear me say something later, if you are willing to listen, from which you will be able to take an example. But I can tell you this much: if you want to choose a lover, I advise you to give your love, but not too firmly, to that fair young man who so prizes you. Love others wisely, and I will seek out for you enough of them so that you can amass great wealth. It is good to become acquainted with rich men, if their hearts are not mean and miserly and if one knows how to pluck them well. Fair Welcoming may know whomever he wishes, provided that he gives each one to understand that he would not want to take another lover for a thousand marks of fine milled gold. He should swear that if he had wanted to allow his rose, which was in great demand, to be taken by another, he would have been weighed down with gold and jewels. He should say that his pure heart was so loyal

that no man would ever stretch out his hand for it except that man alone who was offering his hand at that particular moment. If there are a thousand, he should say to each: 'Fair lord, you alone will have the rose; no one else will ever have a part. May God fail me if I ever divide it.' He may so swear and pledge his faith to them. If he perjures himself, it doesn't matter; God laughs at such an oath and pardons it gladly.  
Jupiter and the gods laughed when lovers perjured themselves; and many times the gods who loved out of love perjured themselves. When Jupiter reassured his wife Juno, he swore by the Styx to her in a loud voice and falsely perjured himself. Since the gods give such examples, they should assure pure lovers that they too may swear falsely by all the saints, convents, and temples. But he is a great fool, so help me God, who believes in the oaths of lovers, for their hearts are too fickle. Young men are in no way stable – nor, often times, are the old – and therefore they belie the oaths and faith that they have given. Know another truth: he who is lord of the fair

should collect his market-toll everywhere; and he who cannot at one mill should quickly run to the next. The mouse who has but one hole for retreat has a very poor refuge and makes a very dangerous provision for itself. It is just so with a woman: she is the mistress of all the markets, since everyone labors to have her. She should take possessions everywhere. If, after she had reflected well, she wanted only one lover, she would have a very foolish idea. For, by Saint Lifard of Meun, whoever gives her love in a single place has a heart neither free nor unencumbered, but basely enslaved. Such a woman, who takes trouble to love one man alone, has indeed deserved to have a full measure of pain and woe. If she lacks comfort from him, she has no one to comfort her, and those who give their hearts in a single place are those who most lack comfort. In the end, when they are bored or irritated, all these men flee from their women. No woman can come to a good end. Dido, the queen of Carthage, could not hold Aeneas, no matter how much she had done for him;

she had received him poor, a wretched fugitive from the fair land of Troy, his birthplace, and had reclothed and fed him. Because of her great love for him, she honored his companions and, to serve and please him, had his ships rebuilt. To obtain his love, she gave him her city, her body, her possessions; and he so reassured her in turn that he promised and swore to her that he was and would forever be hers and would never leave her. She, however, had no joy of him, for the betrayer, without permission, fled by sea in his ships. As a result, the beautiful Dido lost her life. The next day, she killed herself in her chamber with the sword that he had given her in her own hand. Remembering her lover and seeing that she had lost her love, Dido, completely naked, raised its point upward and placed it under her two breasts, then let herself fall on it. It was a great pity to see, whoever saw her do such a deed. He would have been a hard man who was not touched by pity

when he thus saw the beautiful Dido on the tip of the blade. Her sorrow over him who tricked her was so great that she ran the blade through her body. Phyllis, too, waited so long for Demophoon that she hanged herself because he overstayed the time when he was to return and thus broke both his oath and his faith. What did Paris do with Oenone? She had given him her heart and her body, and he gave his love in return. But straightway he took back his gift. For on a tree by the river, instead of on paper, he had carved with his knife tiny letters that were not worth a tart. They were cut in the bark of a poplar and said that the Xanthus would turn back on itself as soon as he left her. Now the Xanthus may return to its source, for afterward he left her for Helen.   Again, what did Jason do with Medea? He deceived her shamefully, the false one, when he belied his faith to her after she had saved him from death. By means of her spells she delivered Jason from the bulls who shot fire from their mouths and who came to burn him or smash him to bits; he felt no fire and was not even wounded.

She made the serpent drunk so that it could not waken, so soundly did she make it sleep. As for the knights born of the earth, warlike and enraged, who wanted to kill Jason, she worked a spell so that when he threw the stone among them they attacked and killed each other. And it was through her art and her potion that she enabled him to get the Golden Fleece. Later, in order the better to bind Jason to herself, she renewed the youth of Aeson. She wanted nothing from him but that he love her as he had before and that he might look upon her merits so that he might the better keep his faith to her. Then he left her, the evil trickster, the false, disloyal thief, and when she discovered his desertion, she took her children and, because she had had them by Jason, strangled them in her grief and rage. In doing so she did not bear herself wisely; she abandoned a mother's pity and acted worse than an embittered stepmother. I could tell you a thousand examples of the same sort, but I would have too long a story to tell.

In short, all men betray and deceive women; they are all scoundrels, taking hold anywhere. Therefore, we should deceive them in return, not fix our hearts on only one. Any woman who does so is a fool; she should have several friends and, if possible, please them all in order to make them suffer. If she has no graces, let her learn them. Let her be haughtier toward those who, because of her hauteur, will take more trouble to serve her in order to deserve her love, but let her scheme to take from those who make light of her love. She should know games and songs and flee from quarrels and disputes. If she is not beautiful, she should pretty herself; the ugliest should wear the most coquettish adornments. And if, to her great sorrow, she should see her beautiful blond curls fall out, or if, because of a serious illness, she has to have them cut off and her beauty spoiled, or if it happens that some roisterer has torn them out in anger so that she can do nothing to recover her long locks, she should have someone bring her a dead woman's hair, or pads of light silk, stuffed into shapes.

Over her ears she should wear such horns that they could not be surpassed by stag, billy goat, or unicorn, even if it had to wound its forehead; if they need color, she should tint them with plant extracts, for fruits, woods, leaves, bark, and roots have strong medicinal properties. Lest she should suffer loss of complexion, a heartrending experience, she must make sure always to have pots of moistening skin creams in her rooms, so that she may hide away to put on her paint; but she must be very careful not to let any of her guests notice or see her or she would be in trouble.   If she has a lovely neck and white chest, she should see that her dressmaker lower her neckline, so that it reveals a half foot, in front and back, of her fine white flesh; thus she may deceive more easily. And if her shoulders are too large to be pleasing at dances and balls, she should wear a dress of fine cloth and thus appear less ungainly. And if, because of insect bites or pimples, she doesn't have beautiful, well-kept hands, she should be careful not to neglect them but should remove the spots with a needle or wear gloves

so that the pimples and scabs will not show. If her breasts are too heavy she should take a scarf or towel to bind them against her chest wrapping it right around her ribs, securing it with needle and thread or by a knot; thus she can be active at her play. And like a good little girl she should keep her chamber of Venus tidy. If she is intelligent and well brought up, she will leave no cobwebs around but will burn or destroy them, tear them down and sweep them up, so that no grime can collect anywhere. If her feet are ugly, she should keep them covered and wear fine stockings, if her legs are large. In short, unless she's very stupid she should hide any defect she is aware of. For example, if she knows that her breath is foul she should not trouble herself with fasting, and she should never speak to others on an empty stomach, and, if possible, keep her mouth away from people's noses. When she has the impulse to laugh, she should laugh discreetly and prettily, so that she shows little dimples at the corners of her mouth. She should avoid puffing her cheeks and screwing her face up in grimaces.

Her lips should be kept closed and her teeth covered; a woman should always laugh with her mouth closed, for the sight of a mouth stretched like a gash across the face is not a pretty one.   If her teeth are not even, but ugly and quite crooked, she will be less appreciated if the shows them when she laughs. There is a proper manner to cry. But every woman is adept enough to cry well on any occasion, for, even though the tears are not caused by grief or shame or hurt, they are always ready. All women cry; they are used to crying in whatever way they want.  
But no man should be disturbed when he sees such tears flowing as fast as rain, for these tears, these sorrows and lamentations flow only to trick him. A woman's weeping is nothing but a ruse; she will overlook no source of grief. But she must be careful not to reveal, in word or deed, what she is thinking of.  
 
  At table, it is suitable to behave properly.

Before sitting down, she should look around the house and let everyone understand that she herself knows how to run a house. Let her come and go, in the front rooms and in the back, and be the last to sit down, being sure to wait a little before she finally takes her seat. Then, when she is seated at table, she should serve everyone as well as possible. She should carve in front of the others and pass the bread to those around her. To deserve praise, she should serve food in front of the one who shares her plate. She should put a thigh or wing before him, or, in his presence, carve the beef or pork, meat or fish, depending upon what food there happens to be. She should never be miserly in her servings as long as there is anyone unsatisfied. She should not get her fingers wet up to the joint in the sauce, nor have her lips moist with soup, garlic, or fat meat, nor pile up too large morsels and stuffing her mouth. When she has to moisten a piece in any sauce, either sauce verte, cameline, or jauce,

she should hold the bit with her fingertips and bring it carefully up to her mouth, so that no drop of soup, sauce, or pepper falls on her breast. She must drink so neatly that she doesn't spill anything on herself, for anyone who happened to see her spill would think her either very clumsy or very greedy. Again, she must take care not to touch her drinking cup while she has food in her mouth. She should wipe her mouth so clean that grease will not stick to the cup, and should be particularly careful about her upper lip, for, when there is grease on it, untidy drops of it will show in her wine. She should drink only a little at a time, however great her appetite, and never empty a cup, large or small, in one breath, but rather drink little and often, so that she doesn't go around causing others to say that she gorges or drinks too much while her mouth is full. She should avoid swallowing the rim of her cup, as do many greedy wet nurses who are so foolish that they pour wine down their hollow throats as if they were casks, who pour it down in such huge gulps that they become completely fuddled and dazed. Now a lady must be careful not to get drunk, for a drunk, man or woman, cannot keep anything secret;

and when a woman gets drunk, she has no defenses at all in her, but blurts out whatever she thinks and abandons herself to anyone when she gives herself over to such bad conduct. She must also beware of falling asleep at the table, for she would be much less pleasant; many disagreeable things can happen to those who take such naps. There is no sense in napping in places where one should remain awake, and many have been deceived in this way, or have fallen many times, either forward or backward or sideways, and broken an arm or head or ribs. Let her recall Palinurus, the helmsman of Aeneas's ship. While awake, he steered it well, but when sleep conquered him, he fell from the rudder into the sea and drowned within sight of his companions, who afterward mourned him greatly.  
 
 
 
  Further, a lady must be careful not to be too reluctant to play, for she might wait around so long

that no one would want to offer her his hand. She should seek the diversion of love as long as youth deflects her in that direction, for, when old age assails a woman, she loses both the joy and the assault of Love. A wise woman will gather the fruit of love in the flower of her age, for she will lose it with the passing of time, the miserable wretch, without enjoying love. And if she does not believe this advice of mine, which I give for the benefit of all, know that she will regret it when age withers her.  
 
But I know that women will believe me, particularly those who are wise, and will stick to our rules and will say many paternosters for my soul, when I, who now teach and comfort them, am dead. I know that this lesson will be read in many schools.  
 
O fair sweet son, if you live – for I see well that you are writing down in the book of your heart all of my teaching, and that, when you depart from me, you will study more, if it pleases God, and will become a master like me – if you live I confer on you the license to teach,

in spite of all chancellors, in chambers or in cellars, in meadows, gardens, or thickets, under a tent or behind the tapestries, and to inform the students in wardrobes, attics, pantries, and stables, if you find no more pleasant places. And may my lesson be well taught when you have learned it well!  

A woman should be careful not to be locked up too much, for while she remains in the house, she is less seen by everybody, her beauty is less well-known, less desired, and less in demand. She should go often to the main church and go visiting, to weddings, on trips, to games, feasts, and carols, for in such places the God and Goddess of Love keep their schools and sing mass to their disciples.   But first, she has to look in the mirror to see whether she is well-dressed. When she is satisfied and goes through the streets, she should carry herself well, neither too stiffly nor too loosely, not too upright nor too bent over, but easily and graciously in any crowd.
She should move her shoulders and sides so elegantly that it is impossible to find anyone with more beautiful movements. And she should walk daintily in her pretty little shoes, so well made that they fit her feet without any wrinkles whatsoever.

If her dress drags or hangs down near the pavement, she should raise it on the sides or in front as if to have a little ventilation, or as if she were in the habit of tucking up her gown in order to step more freely. Then she should be careful to let all the passersby see the fine shape of her exposed foot. And if she is the sort to wear a coat, she should wear it so that it will not too much hinder the view of her lovely body which it covers.  
 
 
 
 
  She will want to show off her body and the cloth in which she is dressed, which should be neither too heavy nor too light, with threads of silver and small pearls, and particularly to show off her purse, which should be right out for everyone to see; therefore she should take the coat in both hands and widen and extend her arms,

whether on clean streets or on muddy ones. Remembering the wheel which the peacock makes with his tail, she should do the same with her coat, so that she displays openly for anybody she sees staring at her both her body and the fur linings of her clothing, squirrel or whatever costly fur she has used. If her face is not beautiful, she must be clever and show people her beautiful priceless blond tresses and her well-coifed neck. A beautiful head of hair is a very pleasant thing. A woman must always take care to imitate the she-wolf when she wants to steal ewes, for, in order not to fail completely, the wolf must attack a thousand to capture one; she doesn't know which she will take before she has taken it. So a woman ought to spread her nets everywhere to catch all men; since she cannot know which of them she may have the grace to catch, at least she ought to hook onto all of them in order to be sure of having one for herself. If she does so, it should never happen that she will have no catch at all

from among the thousands of fools who will rub up against her flanks. Indeed she may catch several, for art is a great aid to nature. And if she does hook several of those who want to put her on the spit, let her be careful, however events run, not to make appointments at the same hour with two of them. If several were to appear together they would think themselves deceived and they might even leave her. An event like this could set her back a long way, for at the least she would lose what each had brought her. She should never leave them anything on which they might grow fat, but plunge them into poverty so great that they may die miserable and in debt; in this way she will be rich, for what remains theirs is lost to her. She should not love a poor man, for a poor man is good for nothing; even if he were Ovid or Homer, he wouldn't be worth two drinking mugs. Nor should she love a foreign traveler, for his heart is as flighty as his body, which lodges in many places; no, I advise her not to love a foreigner.

However, if during his stay he offers her money or jewels she should take them all and put them in her coffer; then he may do as he pleases in haste or at his leisure. She must be very careful not to love or value any man who is too elegant or who is haughty about his beauty, for it is pride which tempts him. The man who pleases himself, never doubt it, incurs the wrath of God; so says Ptolemy, the great lover of knowledge. Such a man has so evil and bitter a heart that he cannot love well. What he says to one woman he says to all. He tricks many to despoil and rob them. I have seen many complaints of maidens thus deceived. And if any man, either an honest man or a swindler, should make promises, hoping to beg for her love and bind her to him by vows, she may exchange vows, but she must be careful not to put herself at his mercy, unless she gets hold of the money also.  
 
 
  If he makes any promise in writing, she must see if there is any deception

or if his good intentions are those of a true heart. She may then soon write a reply, but not without some delay. Delay excites lovers as long as it is not too great.   When she hears a lover's request, she should be reluctant to grant all her love, at the same time she should not deny him everything, but try to keep him in a state of balance between fear and hope. When he makes his demands more pressing and she does not yield, which has bound him so strongly, she must arrange things, through her strength and her craft, so that hope constantly grows little by little as fear diminishes until peace and concord bring the two together. In giving in to him, she, who knows so many wily ruses, should swear by God and by the saints that she has never wished to give herself to anyone, no matter how well he may have pleaded; then she should say, 'My lord, this is the way it is: by the faith which I owe to Saint Peter of Rome, I give myself to you out of pure love, not because of your gifts.

The man isn't born for whom I would do this for any gift, no matter how greatly he desired it. I have refused many a worthy man, for many have gazed adoringly at me. I think you must have cast a spell over me; you have sung me a wicked song.' Then she should embrace him closely and kiss him so that he will be even better deluded. But if she wants my advice, she should think only of what she can get. She is a fool who does not pluck her lover down to the last feather, for the better she can pluck the more she will have, and she will be more highly valued when she sells herself more dearly. Men scorn what they can get for nothing; they don't value it at a single husk. If they lose it, they care little, certainly not as much as does one who has bought it at a high price. Here then are the proper ways to pluck men: get your servants, the chambermaid, the wet nurse, your sister, even your mother, if she is not too particular, to help in the task and do all they can to get the lover to give them coats, jackets, gloves, or mittens;

ike kites, they will plunder whatever they can seize from him, so that he may in no way escape from their hands before he has spent his last penny. Let him give them money and jewels as though he were playing with buttons instead of money. The prey is captured much sooner when it is taken by several hands. On occasion let them say to him, 'Sir, since we must tell you so, don't you see that my lady needs a dress? How can you allow her to go without? By Saint Giles! If she wanted to be with a certain one in this town, she would be dressed like a queen and ride out in fine trappings. My lady, why do you wait so long before asking him for it? You are too shy toward him when he leaves you thus in your destitution.' Then, however pleased she is, she should order them to keep quiet, she, who has perhaps relieved him of so much that she has harmed him seriously. And if she sees that he recognizes that he may be giving her more than he ought to and that he may think himself seriously harmed by the large gifts which he is in the habit of feeding her, and if she feels that she does not dare urge him to give anything,

then she should ask him to lend to her, swearing that she is quite ready to pay him back by any day that he will name. But I certainly forbid that anything ever be given back.   If another of her friends returns – possibly, she has several of them, but has not given her heart to anyone of them, although she calls them all her sweethearts – she should complain, like a wise person, that her best clothes and her money are running out every day for usury, and that as a result she is in such great anguish and torment of heart that she will do nothing to please him unless he gets back her pledges. If the young man is not very wise and is blessed with money, he will put his hand to his purse immediately or in some way bring about the release of those pledges that don't need to be bought back but are, perhaps, all locked up on his account within some iron-bound coffer, since it may be necessary to hide them in order to be the better believed, if he searches her closet or clothes pole, until she gets the money.

She should reserve a third friend for a similar trick; I advise her to ask him for a silver belt, a dress, or a wimple, and then for money which she can spend. And if he has nothing to bring her and swears, in order to comfort her, and promises by his foot and his hand that he will bring her something the next day, she should turn deaf ears to him. Let her believe nothing; all his tales are tricks. All men are very expert liars. These wastrels have told me more lies, made me more vows and oaths in past times than there are saints in paradise. When he has nothing to pay with, at least let him pledge at the wine merchant's for two, three, or four pennies, or send him away to have a good time elsewhere. A woman who is not a simpleton should pretend to be a coward, to tremble, be fearful, distraught, and anxious when she must receive her lover; she should make him believe that she is receiving him in very great peril when she deceives her husband for him, or her guardians or her parents, and that if the thing that she wants to do in secret were open, she would be dead without fail.

She should swear that he cannot stay if his presence is to bring about her instant death. Afterward, when she has enchanted him well, he will do according to her will. She should also remember well, when her friend is to come, to receive him through the window, if she sees that no one will notice him, even though she might better do so through the door. She must swear that she would be destroyed and dead, and he, too, if it were known that he was within. No even sharp weapons, helm, halberd, pike, or club, hutches, cabinets, or chambers would protect him from being cut to pieces, limb by limb. Next, a lady must sigh and pretend to get angry, to attack him and run at him and say that he hasn't been late without some reason, and that some other woman was keeping him at home, someone whose solaces were more pleasing to him, and that now she is indeed betrayed when he hates her on account of another. She should certainly be called a miserable creature, when she loves without being loved. When the man, with his silly ideas,

hears this speech, he will believe, quite incorrectly, that she loves him very loyally and that she may be more jealous of him than Vulcan ever was of his wife Venus, when he found her in the act with Mars. The fool had so spied upon them that he captured the two of them in strong bonds, as they were joined and linked in the game of love, in the nets that he had forged of brass.  
As soon as Vulcan knew that he had caught the two of them in the act with the net that he had put around the bed – he was a great fool when he dared to do so, for he who thinks that he can keep his wife to himself has very little understanding – he had the gods come in haste, who laughed a lot and made fun when they saw them in this situation. Nearly all of the gods were amazed by the beauty of Venus, who made many complaints and laments, shamed and angered as she was at having been thus captured; never had she experienced such shame. But it was no great wonder if Venus gave herself to Mars, for Vulcan was so ugly and so blackened from his forge, on his hands, his face, and his neck,

that Venus would not have loved him for anything, even though she called him her husband. No, by God, not even if he had been Absalom, with his blond locks, or Paris, son of the king of Troy, would she ever have been compliant with him, since she, the fair one, knew very well what all women know how to do. Moreover, women are born free. The law, which takes away the freedom in which Nature placed them, has placed them under certain conditions. Nature is not so stupid that she has Marotte born only for Robichon, if we think about it, nor Robichon only for Marietta or Agnes or Perette. Instead, fair son, never doubt that she has made all women for all men and all men for all women, each woman fitting for every man and every man fitting for each woman. Thus, when they are engaged, captured by law, and married, in order to prevent quarreling, contention, and murder and to help in the rearing of children, who are their joint responsibility, they still exert themselves in every way,

these ladies and girls, ugly or beautiful, to return to their freedoms. They maintain their freedom as best they can; as a result, many evils will come, do come, and have come many times in the past. In fact, I would count over ten of them straightway, but I will move on, since I would be worn out and you overburdened with listening before I had numbered them. Formerly, when a man saw the woman who suited him best, he wanted to carry her off immediately, if someone stronger did not take her away from him; and he left her, if he pleased, when he had done his will with her. They also killed one another and abandoned the care and feeding of their offspring. This was the time before men made marriages through the counsel of wise men. And if you want to believe Horace, he spoke about it well and truthfully. He knew very well how to instruct and teach, and I would like to repeat his statement here, for a wise woman is not ashamed when she recounts a good authority. Formerly, before the time of Helen, there were battles spurred by fools, in which those who fought for them perished under great suffering; but the dead are not known when we do not read about them in written texts.

For these were not the first nor will they be the last through whom wars will come and have come between those who will keep and have kept their hearts set on the love of a woman. As a result, many have lost body and soul, and they will do so if the world endures. But pay good attention to Nature, for in order that you may see more clearly what wondrous power she has, I can give you many examples which will show this power in detail.

In the same way, you know, all women of every condition, whether girls or ladies, have a natural inclination to seek out voluntarily the roads and paths by which they might reach freedom, for they always seek it.

They think so especially when they see very clearly that there is plenty of food within, as much as each of them might ask for, and they would willingly enter there. They swim all around the trap, twist and bump into it and examine it so much that they find the hole and throw themselves through it. But when they have entered it, they are captured and held forever; and afterward they cannot keep from wanting to go back, but it is not possible to do so, since they are captured more securely than in a hoop-net. They have to live there in great sorrow until death delivers them from it.  
 
  That is just the sort of life that a young man seeks when he gives himself up, for he will never have shoes or hood or cowl large enough to prevent Nature from spreading in his heart. Then, when his state of freedom is gone, he is dead and in miserable state unless, out of great humility, he turns necessity into a virtue. But Nature, who makes him feel what freedom is, cannot lie.

Even Horace, who knows well the meaning of such a thing, tells us that if anyone wanted to take up a pitchfork to protect himself against Nature and shove her away, she would come back, and I agree. Nature will always run back, and she will not remain away on account of any habit. What good does it do to insist? Every creature wants to return to its nature; it will never leave it because of the violence of force or necessity. This fact must give a good deal of excuse to Venus, since she wanted to use her freedom, and to all ladies who play around, no matter how much they are bound in marriage, for Nature makes them act thus because she wants to draw them to freedom. Nature is too strong; she surpasses even training.

there is nothing that could hold it back from going immediately to seize the mouse. It would leave all its other food for it, no matter how hungry it was; and no matter what trouble one went to, nothing could reconcile the two. If anyone could raise a colt that had never seen a mare right to the time that it was a great charger bearing saddles and stirrups, and then afterward a mare came, you would hear him neigh immediately, and it would want to run against the mare if there were no one to rescue it. A black horse will mate not only with a black mare, but with a sorrel or dapple or gray, if the rein or bridle doesn't hold it back, since it doesn't examine any of them as long as it may find them untied or can jump on them. It would want to attack them all. And if it didn't stick to the black mare, she would come all the way to a black horse, indeed to a sorrel or a gray, just as her will urges her. The first that the mare saw would be her husband, since she in turn doesn't examine any of them as long as she may find them untied.   And what I say about the black mare, about the sorrel horse and mare

and the gray and black horses, I say about the cow and bull and the ewe and ram; for we do not doubt that these males want all females as their wives. Never doubt, fair son, that in the same way all females want all males. All women willingly receive them. By my soul, fair son, it is thus with every man and every woman as far as natural appetite goes. The law restrains them a little from exercising it. A little? Too much, it seems to me, for when the law has put them together, it wants either of them, the boy or the girl, to be able to have only the other, at least as long as he or she lives. But at the same time they are tempted to use their free will. I know very well that such a thing does rise up, only some keep themselves from it because of shame, others because they fear trouble; but Nature controls them to that end just as she does the animals of which we were just speaking. I know it from my own experience, for I always took the trouble to be loved by all men. And if I had not feared shame, which holds back and subdues many hearts,

when I went along the streets where I always wanted to go – so dressed up in adornments that a dressed-up doll would have been nothing in comparison – I would have received all or at least many of those young boys, if I had been able and if it had pleased them, who pleased me so much when they threw me those sweet glances. (Sweet God! What pity for them seized me when those looks came toward me!) I wanted them all one after the other, if I could have satisfied them all. And it seemed to me that, if they could have, they would willingly have received me. I do not except prelates or monks, knights, burgers, or canons, clerical or lay, foolish or wise, as long as they were at the height of their powers. They would have jumped out of their orders if they had not thought that they might fail when they asked for my love; but if they had known my thought and all our conditions, they would not have been in such doubt. And I think that several, if they had dared, would have broken their marriages. If one of them had had me in private he would not have remembered to be faithful. No man would have kept his situation, his faith, vows, or religion

unless he were some demented fool who was smitten by love and loved his sweetheart loyally. Such a man, perhaps, would have called me paid and thought about his own possessions, which he would not have given up at any price. But there are very few such lovers, so help me God and Saint Amand; I certainly think so. If he spoke to me for a long time, no matter what he said, lies or truth, I could have completely distressed him. Whatever he was, secular, or in an order, with a belt of red leather or of cord, no matter what headdress he wore, I think that he would have carried on with me if he thought that I wanted him or even if I had allowed him. Thus Nature regulates us by inciting our hearts to pleasure. For this reason Venus deserves less blame for loving Mars.  
Just as Mars and Venus, who loved each other, were in such a situation, there were many of the gods who would have wished, while they were making fun of Mars, that the others had been making fun of them in the same situation. Afterward, Dan Vulcan would rather have lost two thousand marks than that anyone should ever have known about that business,

for when the two who had such shame saw that everyone knew it, they then did in front of people's faces what they had done before in secret. Never afterward were they ashamed of the deed; the gods told the story about them and published it until it was well known throughout the heaven. The worse the deed was, the angrier Vulcan got, and could never afterward take any counsel. As the word bears witness, it would have been better for him to suffer than to have stretched his nets near the bed; it would have been better not to show emotion, but instead to pretend that he knew nothing, if he wanted to have the good graces of Venus, whom he held so dear. Thus a man who watches over his wife or his sweetheart should take care when his foolish spying works so well that he catches her in the act. For you may be sure that she will do worse when she is caught. And he who burns with that cruel sickness, jealousy, and captures her with his ingenuity will never, after the capture, have from her either a fair look or good service. Jealousy is a very foolish disease. It makes the jealous husband burn with worry.

But the woman should pretend to be jealous and make a pretense of suffering from this disease. Thus she amuses the simpleton, and the more she amuses him the more he will burn. And if he does not deign to deny his fault but says, in order to make her angry, that he really has another sweetheart, he should be careful that she does not fall into a rage. No matter what appearance she may make of it, if he takes another sweetheart, his greedy promiscuity should never bother her as much as a button. She should lead him to believe, so that he won't stop loving her, that she wants to get another friend and that she does so only to get rid of the one whom she wants to estrange, for it is quite right that she separate from him. And she should say: 'You have misbehaved very much with me, and I must avenge myself for this wrong. Since you have tricked me, I will deal you a similar trick.' Then, if he loves her at all, he will be in a worse situation than he ever was, and he will not know how to act. No man has the ability to carry a great love in his breast if he is not afraid of being tricked.
Then let the chambermaid rush back, make a face of terror,

and say: 'Unfortunate creatures, we are dead. My lord, or I don't know what man, has entered our court.' Then the lady must run and interrupt all business at hand. But she should hide the young man under the roof, in the stable, or in a closet until she may call him back. Then, the man who desires her return would undoubtedly prefer to be elsewhere out of fear or despair.  
  Then, if it is another friend with whom the lady has fixed a time – and she was not very wise to do so, since the first will not endure her stupidity at all, even though she may keep him in mind – she can lead him into some room. He may then do his will, but he will be unable to stay. As a result he will be very aggrieved and angry, for the lady will be able to say to him, 'There's no hope of your staying, since my lord is within, and four of my first cousins. So help me God and Saint Germanus, some other time when you can come, I will do whatever you want. But you will have to wait that long. Now I must go back, for they are waiting for me.'

But she should send him out of house so that she must not fear anything from him. Then the lady should return, since she may not keep the other one waiting too long in his discomfort or he will be very displeased. Then she may give him his ease again when it is all right for him to come forth from his prison and go to lie in her arms, within her bed, making sure that he does not lie there without fear. She should say and give him to understand that she is too foolish and bold, and even though she may be safer than those who follow their own desires, dancing through fields and vineyards, she should swear by her father's soul that she is paying too much for his love when she takes such a chance. For delight taken in security is less pleasant and has less value. And when they are to come together, let her take care that he never unites with her, however he may hold her in repose, if she sees daylight, unless she half-closes the windows so that the place may be in shadow; then, if she has a blemish or spot on her skin, he will never know of it.

Let her take care that he see no filth on her or he would set off on his way immediately and flee with his tail in the air; then she would be ashamed and grieved. And when they set about their labor, each of them should work so carefully and so exactly that the pleasure must come together for the one person and the other before they leave off the task; and between them, they should wait for each other so that they can direct their desires toward their good. One should not leave the other behind; they should not stop navigating until they come together into port. Then their pleasure will be complete. And if she has no pleasure whatsoever, she should pretend that she has a great deal; she must simulate all the signs that she knows to be appropriate to pleasure so that he will think that she is taking with gratitude what she doesn't think worth a chestnut. And if, in order that they may be safer, he gets the lady to come to his own dwelling, then she must have the intention, the day that she is to undertake the trip, of making herself delay a little so that he may desire her very much before he takes her at his own pleasure.

The longer the games of love are delayed, the more pleasant they are by reason of the delay; and those who enjoy them at their will are less desirous of them. When she comes to the house where she will be held so dear, then she should swear and give her lover to understand that she is all shivering and trembling in apprehension of her jealous husband, and that she is terribly afraid of being vilified or beaten when she goes back again. But, however distracted she acts and whether she tells the truth or lies, let him take her securely in fear, fearfully in security, and let them play their games out in their privacy.   And if she does not have the leisure to go to his dwelling to speak with him, nor dares receive him at her own because her jealous husband keeps her shut up so much, then, if she can, she should get her husband drunk if she knows no better way to set herself free. And if she cannot make him drunk on wine, she can take a pound of herbs more or less, which, at no danger to herself, she can get him to eat or drink. Then he will sleep so deeply that while he is sleeping

he will leave her free for whatever she wants, for he will be unable to deflect her from anything.

unless they should bathe together because it seems good to them. He can wait for her there if he knows that she is to come that way. No man can keep watch over a woman if she does not watch over herself. If it were Argus who guarded her and looked at her with his hundred eyes, of which one half watched while the other half slept, his guard would be worth nothing. (To revenge Io, whom Argus had changed into a cow and stripped of her human form, Jupiter had his head cut off. Mercury cut it off and thus revenged her against Juno.) Argus's watch would be worth nothing in this case; the man who guards such an object is a fool. But she should take care never to be so stupid, for anything that anyone, cleric or lay person, may tell her, as to believe at all that enchantment, sorcery, or incantation, that Balenus and his science, or that magic or necromancy can move a man by compulsion to love her or to hate someone else. Medea could never hold Jason with any enchantment, any more than Circe could keep Ulysses from fleeing, no matter what fate she could create.

A woman must be careful, no matter how much she claims a man as her lover, not to give him a gift that is worth very much. She may indeed give a pillow, a towel, a kerchief, or a purse, as long as they are not too expensive, a needle-case, a lace, a belt with metalwork that is worth little, a fine little knife, or a ball of thread of the kind that nuns usually make. (He who frequents nuns is a fool; it is better to love women of the world, for one does not get shamed as much, and they can follow their desires better. They know how to feed their husbands and families with words. Moreover, even though either kind of woman is costly, the nuns are much more expensive.)  
  But a man who would indeed be wise should be suspicious of all gifts from a woman, for truly, women's gifts are nothing but deceptive traps and a woman with any trace of generosity sins against her nature. We should leave generosity to men, for when we women are generous, it is a great misfortune, a great vice. Devils have made us this stupid.

But it doesn't matter to me; there is scarcely one that is accustomed to giving gifts. Fair son, you can very well use such gifts as I have told you about before to amuse these simpletons, as long as you do so to deceive them. Keep whatever people give you and let it remind you of the end toward which all youth is directed, if everyone can live that long: it is old age. It does not stop; it comes closer every day. Do not be considered a fool when you have arrived there. Be so furnished with possessions that no one will make fun of you for being old; for acquisitions that are not kept are not worth a grain of mustard.   Alas! I have not done so. Now, through my own wretched act, I am a poor woman. I abandoned to men I loved better the large gifts that were given me by those who abandoned themselves to me. They gave to me, and I gave away; I have kept nothing. Giving has reduced me to indigence. I did not remember old age which has now put me in such distress. I never thought of poverty. I let time go by just as it came,

taking no care to spend moderately.   By my soul, if I had been wise, I would have been a very rich lady, for I was acquainted with very great people when I was sweet and coquettish, and I certainly was held in considerable esteem by them, but when I got something of value from one of them, then, by the faith that I owe God or Saint Tiburtius, I would give it all to a scoundrel who brought me great shame but pleased me more. I called all the others 'my friend', but it was he alone that I loved. Understand, he didn't value me at one pea, and in fact told me so. He was bad – I never saw anyone worse – and he never ceased despising me. This scoundrel, who didn't love me at all, would call me a common whore. A woman has very poor judgment, and I was truly a woman. I never loved a man who loved me, but, you know, if that scoundrel had laid open my shoulder or broken my head, I would have thanked him for it. He wouldn't have known how to beat me so much that I would not have had him throw himself in my arms, for he knew very well how to make his peace, however much he had done against me.

He would never have treated me so badly, beaten me or dragged me or wounded my face or bruised it black, that he would not have begged my favor before he moved from the place. He would never have said so many shameful things to me that he would not have counseled peace to me and then made me happy in bed, so that we had peace and concord again. Thus he had me caught in his snare, for this false, treacherous thief was a very hard rider in bed. I couldn't live without him; I wanted to follow him always. If he had fled, I would certainly have gone as far as London in England to seek him, so much did he please me and make me happy. He put me to shame and I him, for he led a life of great gaiety with the lovely gifts that he had received from me. He put none of them into saving, but played everything at dice in the taverns. He never learned any other trade, and there was no need then for him to do so, for I gave him a great deal to spend, and I certainly had it for the taking. Everybody was my source of income, while he spent it willingly and always on ribaldry; he burned everything in his lechery.

He had such a tender mouth that he did not want to hear anything good. Living never pleased him except when it was passed in idleness and pleasure. In the end I saw him in a bad situation as a result, when gifts were lacking for us. He became poor and begged his bread, while I had nothing worth two carding combs and had never married a lord. Then, as I have told you, I came through these woods, scratching my temples. May this situation of mine be an example to you, fair sweet son; remember it! Act so wisely that it may be better with you because of my instruction. For when your rose is withered and white hairs assail you, gifts will certainly fail.' Thus preached the Duenna. Fair Welcoming, who had not spoken a word, listened very willingly to everything.