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diff --git a/18575-0.txt b/18575-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5ad2bc0 --- /dev/null +++ b/18575-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18112 @@ +Project Gutenberg’s One Hundred Merrie And Delightsome Stories, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: One Hundred Merrie And Delightsome Stories + Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles + +Author: Various + +Editor: Antoine de la Salle + +Illustrator: Léon Lebèque + +Translator: Robert B. Douglas + +Release Date: June 13, 2006 [EBook #18575] +Last Updated: August 9, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CENT NOUVELLES NOUVELLES *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +[Illustration: cover.jpg Cover] + +[Illustration: spines.jpg Spines] + +[Illustration: titlepage.jpg Titlepage] + + + + + +ONE HUNDRED MERRIE AND DELIGHTSOME STORIES + +Right Pleasaunte To Relate In All Goodly Companie By Way Of Joyance And Jollity + + +LES CENT NOUVELLES NOUVELLES + +Now First Done Into The English Tongue By Robert B. Douglas + + +Various Authors + + +Edited by Antoine de la Salle + + +Illustrated by Léon Lebèque + + +Paris + +Charles Carrington + +13 Faubourg Montmartre + +1899 + + + + +CONTENTS + +INTRODUCTION + + +STORY THE FIRST -- THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL. + +_The first story tells of how one found means to enjoy the wife of his +neighbour, whose husband he had sent away in order that he might have +her the more easily, and how the husband returning from his journey, +found his friend bathing with his wife. And not knowing who she was, he +wished to see her, but was permitted only to see her back--, and then +thought that she resembled his wife, but dared not believe it. And +thereupon left and found his wife at home, she having escaped by a +postern door, and related to her his suspicions._ + + +STORY THE SECOND -- THE MONK-DOCTOR. + +_The second story, related by Duke Philip, is of a young girl who had +piles, who put out the only eye he had of a Cordelier monk who was +healing her, and of the lawsuit that followed thereon._ + + +STORY THE THIRD -- THE SEARCH FOR THE RING. + +_Of the deceit practised by a knight on a miller’s wife whom he made +believe that her front was loose, and fastened it many times. And the +miller informed of this, searched for a diamond that the knight’s lady +had lost, and found it in her body, as the knight knew afterwards: so he +called the miller “fisherman”, and the miller called him “fastener”._ + + +STORY THE FOURTH -- THE ARMED CUCKOLD. + +_The fourth tale is of a Scotch archer who was in love with a fair +and gentle dame, the wife of a mercer, who, by her husband’s orders +appointed a day for the said Scot to visit her, who came and treated her +as he wished, the said mercer being hid by the side of the bed, where he +could see and hear all._ + + +STORY THE FIFTH -- The Duel with the Buckle-Strap. + +_The fifth story relates two judgments of Lord Talbot. How a Frenchman +was taken prisoner (though provided with a safe-conduct) by an +Englishman, who said that buckle-straps were implements of war, and who +was made to arm himself with buckle-straps and nothing else, and meet +the Frenchman, who struck him with a sword in the presence of Talbot. +The other, story is about a man who robbed a church, and who was made to +swear that he would never enter a church again._ + + +STORY THE SIXTH --THE DRUNKARD IN PARADISE. + +_The sixth story is of a drunkard, who would confess to the Prior of the +Augustines at the Hague, and after his confession said that he was then +in a holy state and would die; and believed that his head was cut off +and that he was dead, and was carried away by his companions who said +they were going to bury him._ + + +STORY THE SEVENTH -- THE WAGGONER IN THE BEAR. + +_Of a goldsmith of Paris who made a waggoner sleep with him and his +wife, and how the waggoner dallied with her from behind, which the +goldsmith perceived and discovered, and of the words which he spake to +the waggoner._ + + +STORY THE EIGHTH -- TIT FOR TAT. + +_Of a youth of Picardy who lived at Brussels, and made his master’s +daughter pregnant, and for that cause left and came back to Picardy to +be married. And soon after his departure the girl’s mother perceived the +condition of her daughter, and the girl confessed in what state she was; +so her mother sent her to the Picardian to tell him that he must undo +that which he had done. And how his new bride refused then to sleep with +him, and of the story she told him, whereupon he immediately left her +and returned to his first love, and married her._ + + +STORY THE NINTH -- THE HUSBAND PANDAR TO HIS OWN WIFE. + +_Of a knight of Burgundy, who was marvellously amorous of one of his +wife’s waiting women, and thinking to sleep with her, slept with his +wife who was in the bed of the said tire-woman. And how he caused, by +his order, another knight, his neighbour to sleep with the said woman, +believing that it was really the tirewoman--and afterwards he was not +well pleased, albeit that the lady knew nothing, and was not aware, I +believe, that she had had to do with aught other than her own husband._ + + +STORY THE TENTH -- THE EEL PASTIES. + +_Of a knight of England, who, after he was married, wished his mignon to +procuré him some pretty girls, as he did before; which the mignon would +not do, saying that one wife sufficed; but the said knight brought him +back to obedience by causing eel pasties to be always served to him, +both at dinner and at supper._ + + +STORY THE ELEVENTH -- A SACRIFICE TO THE DEVIL. + +_Of a jealous rogue, who after many offerings made to divers saints to +curé him of his jealousy, offered a candle to the devil who is usually +painted under the feet of St. Michael; and of the dream that he had and +what happened to him when he awoke._ + + +STORY THE TWELFTH -- THE CALF. + +_Of a Dutchman, who at all hours of the day and night ceased not to +dally with his wife in love sports; and how it chanced that he laid her +down, as they went through a wood, under a great tree in which was a +labourer who had lost his calf. And as he was enumerating the charms of +his wife, and naming all the pretty things he could see, the labourer +asked him if he could not see the calf he sought, to which the Dutchman +replied that he thought he could see a tail._ + + +STORY THE THIRTEENTH -- THE CASTRATED CLERK. + +_How a lawyer’s clerk in England deceived his master making him believe +that he had no testicles, by which reason he had charge over his +mistress both in the country and in the town, and enjoyed his pleasure._ + + +STORY THE FOURTEENTH -- THE POPE-MAKER, OR THE HOLY MAN. + +_Of a hermit who deceived the daughter of a poor woman, making her +believe that her daughter should have a son by him who should become +Pope; and how, when she brought forth it was a girl, and thus was the +trickery of the hermit discovered, and for that cause he had to flee +from that countery._ + + +STORY THE FIFTEENTH -- THE CLEVER NUN. + +_Of a nun whom a monk wished to deceive, and how he offered to shoo her +his weapon that she might feel it, but brought with him a companion whom +he put forward in his place, and of the answer she gave him._ + + +STORY THE SIXTEENTH -- ON THE BLIND SIDE. + +_Of a knight of Picardy who went to Prussia, and, meanwhile his lady +took a lover, and was in bed with him when her husband returned; and how +by a cunning trick she got her lover out of the room without the knight +being aware of it._ + + +STORY THE SEVENTEENTH -- THE LAWYER AND THE BOLTING-MILL. + +_Of a President of Parliament, who fell in love with his chamber-maid, +and would have forced her whilst she was sifting flour, but by fair +speaking she dissuaded him, and made him shake the sieve whilst she +went unto her mistress, who came and found her husband thus, as you will +afterwards hear._ + + +STORY THE EIGHTEENTH -- FROM BELLY TO BACK. + +_Of a gentleman of Burgundy who paid a chambermaid ten crowns to sleep +with her, but before he left her room, had his ten crowns back, and +made her carry him on her shoulders through the host’s chamber. And in +passing by the said chamber he let wind so loudly that all was known, as +you will hear in the story which follows._ + + +STORY THE NINETEENTH -- THE CHILD OF THE SNOW. + +_Of an English merchant whose wife had a child in his absence, and told +him that it was his; and how he cleverly got rid of the child--for his +wife having asserted that it was born of the snow, he declared it had +been melted by the sun._ + + +STORY THE TWENTIETH -- THE HUSBAND AS DOCTOR. + +_Of a young squire of Champagne who, when he married, had never mounted +a Christian creature,--much to his wife’s regret. And of the method her +mother found to instruct him, and how the said squire suddenly wept at +a great feast that was made shortly after he had learned how to perform +the carnal act--as you will hear more plainly hereafter._ + + +STORY THE TWENTY-FIRST -- THE ABBESS CURED + +_Of an abbess who was ill for want of--you know what--but would not have +it done, fearing to be reproached by her nuns, but they all agreed to do +the same and most willingly did so._ + + +STORY THE TWENTY-SECOND -- THE CHILD WITH TWO FATHERS. + +_Of a gentleman who seduced a young girl, and then went away and joined +the army. And before his return she made the acquaintance of another, +and pretended her child was by him. When the gentleman returned from the +war he claimed the child, but she begged him to leave it with her second +lover, promising that the next she had she would give to him, as is +hereafter recorded._ + + +STORY THE TWENTY-THIRD -- THE LAWYER’S WIFE WHO PASSED THE LINE. + +_Of a clerk of whom his mistress was enamoured, and what he promised to +do and did to her if she crossed a line which the said clerk had made. +Seeing which, her little son told his father when he returned that he +must not cross the line; or said he, “the clerk will serve you as he did +mother.”_ + + +STORY THE TWENTY-FOURTH -- HALF-BOOTED. + +_Of a Count who would ravish by force a fair, young girl who was one of +his subjects, and how she escaped from him by means of his leggings, +and how he overlooked her conduct and helped her to a husband, as is +hereafter related._ + + +STORY THE TWENTY-FIFTH -- FORCED WILLINGLY. + +_Of a girl who complained of being forced by a young man, whereas +she herself had helped him to find that which he sought;--and of the +judgment which was given thereon._ + + +STORY THE TWENTY-SIXTH --THE DAMSEL KNIGHT. + +_Of the loves of a young gentleman and a damsel, who tested the loyalty +of the gentleman in a marvellous and courteous manner, and slept three +nights with him without his knowing that it was not a man,--as you will +more fully hear hereafter._ + + +STORY THE TWENTY-SEVENTH -- THE HUSBAND IN THE CLOTHES-CHEST. + +_Of a great lord of this kingdom and a married lady, who in order +that she might be with her lover caused her husband to be shut in a +clothes-chest by her waiting women, and kept him there all the night, +whilst she passed the time with her lover; and of the wagers made +between her and the said husband, as you will find afterwards recorded._ + + +STORY THE TWENTY-EIGHTH --THE INCAPABLE LOVER. + +_Of the meeting assigned to a great Prince of this kingdom by a damsel +who was chamber-woman to the Queen; of the little feats of arms of the +said Prince and of the neat replies made by the said damsel to the Queen +concerning her greyhound which had been purposely shut out of the room +of the said Queen, as you shall shortly hear._ + + +STORY THE TWENTY-NINTH -- THE COW AND THE CALF. + +_Of a gentleman to whom--the first night that he was married, and after +he had but tried one stroke--his wife brought forth a child, and of +the manner in which he took it,--and of the speech that he made to his +companions when they brought him the caudle, as you shall shortly hear._ + + +STORY THE THIRTIETH -- THE THREE CORDELIERS. + +_Of three merchants of Savoy who went on a pilgrimage to St. Anthony +in Vienne, and who were deceived and cuckolded by three Cordeliers who +slept with their wives. And how the women thought they had been with +their husbands, and how their husbands came to know of it, and of the +steps they took, as you shall shortly hear._ + + +STORY THE THIRTY-FIRST -- TWO LOVERS FOR ONE LADY. + +_Of a squire who found the mule of his companion, and mounted thereon +and it took him to the house of his master’s mistress; and the squire +slept there, where his friend found him; also of the words which passed +between them--as is more clearly set out below._ + + +STORY THE THIRTY-SECOND -- THE WOMEN WHO PAID TITHE. + +_Of the Cordeliers of Ostelleria in Catalonia, who took tithe from the +women of the town, and how it was known, and the punishment the lord of +that place and his subjects inflicted on the monks, as you shall learn +hereafter._ + + +STORY THE THIRTY-THIRD -- THE LADY WHO LOST HER HAIR. + +Of a noble lord who was in love with a damsel who cared for another +great lord, but tried to keep it secret; and of the agreement made +between the two lovers concerning her, as you shall hereafter hear. + + +STORY THE THIRTY-FOURTH -- THE MAN ABOVE AND THE MAN BELOW. + +_Of a married woman who gave rendezvous to two lovers, who came and +visited her, and her husband came soon after, and of the words which +passed between them, as you shall presently hear._ + + +STORY THE THIRTY-FIFTH -- THE EXCHANGE. + +_Of a knight whose mistress married whilst he was on his travels, and on +his return, by chance he came to her house, and she, in order that she +might sleep with him, caused a young damsel, her chamber-maid, to go to +bed with her husband; and of the words that passed between the husband +and the knight his guest, as are more fully recorded hereafter._ + + +STORY THE THIRTY-SIXTH -- AT WORK. + +_Of a squire who saw his mistress, whom he greatly loved, between +two other gentlemern, and did not notice that she had hold of both of +them till another knight informed him of the matter as you will hear._ + + +STORY THE THIRTY-SEVENTH -- THE USE OF DIRTY WATER. + +_Of a jealous man who recorded all the tricks which he could hear or +learn by which wives had deceived their husbands in old times; but at +last he was deceived by means of dirty water which the lover of the said +lady threw out of window upon her as she was going to Mass, as you shall +hear hereafter._ + + +STORY THE THIRTY-EIGHTH -- A ROD FOR ANOTHER’S BACK. + +_Of a citizen of Tours who bought a lamprey which he sent to his wife +to cook in order that he might give a feast to the priest, and the said +wife sent it to a Cordelier, who was her lover, and how she made a woman +who was her neighbour sleep with her husband, and how the woman was +beaten, and what the wife made her husband believe, as you will hear +hereafter._ + + +STORY THE THIRTY-NINTH -- BOTH WELL SERVED. + +_Of a knight who, whilst he was waiting for his mistress amused himself +three times with her maid, who had been sent to keep him company that +he might not be dull; and afterwards amused himself three times with +the lady, and how the husband learned it all from the maid, as you will +hear._ + + +STORY THE FORTIETH -- THE BUTCHER’S WIFE WHO PLAYED THE GHOST IN THE +CHIMNEY. + +_Of a Jacobin who left his mistress, a butcher’s wife, for another woman +who was younger and prettier, and how the said butcher’s wife tried to +enter his house by the chimney._ + + +STORY THE FORTY-FIRST -- LOVE IN ARMS. + +_Of a knight who made his wife wear a hauberk whenever he would do you +know what; and of a clerk who taught her another method which she almost +told her husband, but turned it off suddenly._ + + +STORY THE FORTY-SECOND -- THE MARRIED PRIEST. + +_Of a village clerk who being at Rome and believing that his wife was +dead became a priest, and was appointed curé of his own town, and when +he returned, the first person he met was his wife._ + + +STORY THE FORTY-THIRD -- A BARGAIN IN HORNS. + +_Of a labourer who found a man with his wife, and forwent his revenge +for a certain quantity of wheat, but his wife insisted that he should +complete the work he had begun._ + + +STORY THE FORTY-FOURTH --THE MATCH-MAKING PRIEST. + +_Of a village priest who found a husband for a girl with whom he was in +love, and who had promised him that when she was married she would do +whatever he wished, of which he reminded her on the wedding-day, and the +husband heard it, and took steps accordingly, as you will hear._ + + +STORY THE FORTY-FIFTH -- THE SCOTSMAN TURNED WASHERWOMAN + +_Of a young Scotsman who was disguised as a woman for the space of +fourteen years, and by that means slept with many girls and married +women, but was punished in the end, as you will hear._ + + +STORY THE FORTY-SIXTH -- HOW THE NUN PAID FOR THE PEARS. + +_Of a Jacobin and a nun, who went secretly to an orchard to enjoy +pleasant pastime under a pear-tree; in which tree was hidden one who +knew of the assignation, and who spoiled their sport for that time, as +you will hear._ + + +STORY THE FORTY-SEVENTH --TWO MULES DROWNED TOGETHER. + +_Of a President who knowing of the immoral conduct of his wife, caused +her to be drowned by her mule, which had been kept without drink for a +week, and given salt to eat--as is more clearly related hereafter._ + + +STORY THE FORTY-EIGHTH -- THE CHASTE MOUTH. + +_Of a woman who would not suffer herself to be kissed, though she +willingly gave up all the rest of her body except the mouth, to her +lover--and the reason that she gave for this._ + + +STORY THE FORTY-NINTH --THE SCARLET BACKSIDE. + +_Of one who saw his wife with a man to whom she gave the whole of her +body, except her backside, which she left for her husband and he made +her dress one day when his friends were present in a woollen gown on the +backside of which was a piece of fine scarlet, and so left her before +all their friends._ + + +STORY THE FIFTIETH -- TIT FOR TAT. + +_Of a father who tried to kill his son because the young man wanted to +lie with his grandmother, and the reply made by the said son._ + + +STORY THE FIFTY-FIRST -- THE REAL FATHERS. + +_Of a woman who on her death-bed, in the absence of her husband, made +over her children to those to whom they belonged, and how one of the +youngest of the children informed his father._ + + +STORY THE FIFTY-SECOND -- THE THREE REMINDERS. + +_Of three counsels that a father when on his deathbed gave his son, but +to which the son paid no heed. And how he renounced a young girl he had +married, because he saw her lying with the family chaplain the first +night after their wedding._ + + +STORY THE FIFTY-THIRD -- THE MUDDLED MARRIAGES. + +_Of two men and two women who were waiting to be married at the first +Mass in the early morning; and because the priest could not see well, he +took the one for the other, and gave to each man the wrong wife, as you +will hear._ + + +STORY THE FIFTY FOURTH -- THE RIGHT MOMENT. + +_Of a damsel of Maubeuge who gave herself up to a waggoner, and refused +many noble lovers; and of the reply that she made to a noble knight +because he reproached her for this--as you will hear._ + + +STORY THE FIFTY-FIFTH -- A CURÉ FOR THE PLAGUE. + +_Of a girl who was ill of the plague and caused the death of three men +who lay with her, and how the fourth was saved, and she also._ + + +STORY THE FIFTY-SIXTH -- THE WOMAN, THE PRIEST, THE SERVANT, AND THE +WOLF. + +_Of a gentleman who caught, in a trap that he laid, his wife, the +priest, her maid, and a wolf; and burned them all alive, because his +wife committed adultery with the priest._ + + +STORY THE FIFTY-SEVENTH -- THE OBLIGING BROTHER. + +_Of a damsel who married a shepherd, and how the marriage was arranged, +and what a gentleman, the brother of the damsel, said._ + + +STORY THE FIFTY-EIGHTH -- SCORN FOR SCORN. + +_Of two comrades who wished to make their mistresses better inclined +towards them, and so indulged in debauchery, and said, that as after +that their mistresses still scorned them, that they too must have played +at the same game--as you will hear._ + + +STORY THE FIFTY-NINTH -- THE SICK LOVER. + +_Of a lord who pretended to be sick in order that he might lie with the +servant maid, with whom his wife found him._ + + +STORY THE SIXTIETH -- THREE VERY MINOR BROTHERS. + +_Of three women of Malines, who were acquainted with three cordeliers, +and had their heads shaved, and donned the gown that they might not be +recognised, and how it was made known._ + + +STORY THE SIXTY-FIRST -- CUCKOLDED--AND DUPED. + +_Of a merchant who locked up in a bin his wife’s lover, and she secretly +put an ass there which caused her husband to be covered with confusion._ + + +STORY THE SIXTY-SECOND -- THE LOST RING. + +_Of two friends, one of whom left a diamond in the bed of his hostess, +where the other found it, from which there arose a great discussion +between them, which the husband of the said hostess settled in an +effectual manner._ + + +STORY THE SIXTY-THIRD -- MONTBLERU; OR THE THIEF. + +_Of one named Montbleru, who at a fair at Antwerp stole from his +companions their shirts and handkerchiefs, which they had given to the +servant-maid of their hostess to be washed; and how afterwards they +pardoned the thief, and then the said Montbleru told them the whole of +the story._ + + +STORY THE SIXTY-FOURTH -- THE OVER-CUNNING CURÉ. + +_Of a priest who would have played a joke upon a gelder named +Trenche-couille, but, by the connivance of his host, was himself +castrated._ + + +STORY THE SIXTY-FIFTH -- INDISCRETION REPROVED, BUT NOT PUNISHED. + +_Of a woman who heard her husband say that an innkeeper at Mont St. +Michel was excellent at copulating, so went there, hoping to try for +herself, but her husband took means to prevent it, at which she was much +displeased, as you will hear shortly._ + + +STORY THE SIXTY-SIXTH -- THE WOMAN AT THE BATH. + +_Of an inn-keeper at Saint Omer who put to his son a question for which +he was afterwards sorry when he heard the reply, at which his wife was +much ashamed, as you will hear, later._ + + +STORY THE SIXTY-SEVENTH -- THE WOMAN WITH THREE HUSBANDS + +_Of a “fur hat” of Paris, who wished to deceive a cobbler’s wife, but +over-reached, himself, for he married her to a barber, and thinking that +he was rid of her, would have wedded another, but she prevented him, as +you will hear more plainly hereafter._ + + +STORY THE SIXTY-EIGHTH -- THE JADE DESPOILED. + +_Of a married man who found his wife with another man, and devised +means to get from her her money, clothes, jewels, and all, down to +her chemise, and then sent her away in that condition, as shall be +afterwards recorded._ + + +STORY THE SIXTY-NINTH -- THE VIRTUOUS LADY WITH TWO HUSBANDS. + +_Of a noble knight of Flanders, who was married to a beautiful and noble +lady. He was for many years a prisoner in Turkey, during which time his +good and loving wife was, by the importunities of her friends, induced +to marry another knight. Soon after she had remarried, she heard that +her husband had returned from Turkey, whereupon she allowed herself to +die of grief, because she had contracted a fresh marriage._ + + +STORY THE SEVENTIETH -- THE DEVIL’S HORN. + +_Of a noble knight of Germany, a great traveller in his time; who after +he had made a certain voyage, took a vow to never make the sign of +the Cross, owing to the firm faith and belief that he had in the holy +sacrament of baptism--in which faith he fought the devil, as you will +hear._ + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-FIRST -- THE CONSIDERATE CUCKOLD + +_Of a knight of Picardy, who lodged at an inn in the town of St. Omer, +and fell in lave with the hostess, with whom he was amusing himself--you +know how--when her husband discovered them; and how he behaved--as you +will shortly hear._ + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-SECOND -- NECESSITY IS THE MOTHER OF INVENTION. + +_Of a gentleman of Picardy who was enamoured of the wife of a knight his +neighbour; and how he obtained the lady’s favours and was nearly caught +with her, and with great difficulty made his escape, as you will hear +later._ + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-THIRD -- THE BIRD IN THE CAGE. + +_Of a curé who was in love with the wife of one of his parishioners, +with whom the said curé was found by the husband of the woman, the +neighbours having given him warning--and how the curé escaped, as you +will hear._ + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-FOURTH -- THE OBSEQUIOUS PRIEST. + +_Of a priest of Boulogne who twice raised the body of Our Lord whilst +chanting a Mass, because he believed that the Seneschal of Boulogne +had come late to the Mass, and how he refused to take the Pax until the +Seneschal had done so, as you will hear hereafter._ + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-FIFTH -- THE BAGPIPE. + +_Of a hare-brained half-mad fellow who ran a great risk of being put +to death by being hanged on a gibbet in order to injure and annoy the +Bailly, justices, and other notables of the city of Troyes in Champagne +by whom he was mortally hated, as will appear more plainly hereafter._ + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-SIXTH -- CAUGHT IN THE ACT. + +_Of the chaplain to a knight of Burgundy who was enamoured of the wench +of the said knight, and of the adventure which happened on account of +his amour, as you will hear below._ + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-SEVENTH -- THE SLEEVELESS ROBE. + +_Of a gentleman of Flanders, who went to reside in France, but whilst he +was there his mother was very ill in Flanders; and how he often went +to visit her believing that she would die, and what he said and how he +behaved, as you will hear later._ + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-EIGHTH -- THE HUSBAND TURNED CONFESSOR. + +_Of a married gentleman who made many long voyages, during which time his +good and virtuous wife made the acquaintance of three good fellows, as +you will hear; and how she confessed her amours to her husband when he +returned from his travels, thinking she was confessing to the curé, and +how she excused herself, as will appear._ + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-NINTH -- THE LOST ASS FOUND. + +_Of a good man of Bourbonnais who went to seek the advice of a wise man +of that place about an ass that he had lost, and how he believed that he +miraculously recovered the said ass, as you will hear hereafter._ + + +STORY THE EIGHTIETH -- GOOD MEASURE! + +_Of a young German girl, aged fifteen or sixteen or thereabouts who was +married to a gentle gallant, and who complained that her husband had too +small an organ for her liking, because she had seen a young ass of only +six months old which had a bigger instrument than her husband, who was +24 or 26 years old._ + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-FIRST -- BETWEEN TWO STOOLS. + +_Of a noble knight who was in love with a beautiful young married lady, +and thought himself in her good graces, and also in those of another +lady, her neighbour; but lost both as is afterwards recorded._ + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-SECOND -- BEYOND THE MARK. + +_Of a shepherd who made an agreement with a shepherdess that he should +mount upon her “in order that he might see farther,” but was not to +penetrate beyond a mark which she herself made with her hand upon the +instrument of the said shepherd--as will more plainly appear hereafter._ + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-THIRD -- THE GLUTTONOUS MONK. + +_Of a Carmelite monk who came to preach at a village and after his +sermon, he went to dine with a lady, and how he stuffed out his gown, as +you will hear._ + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-FOURTH -- THE DEVIL’S SHARE. + +_Of one of his marshals who married the sweetest and most lovable woman +there was in all Germany. Whether what I tell you is true--for I do +not swear to it that I may not be considered a liar--you will see more +plainly below._ + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-FIFTH -- NAILED! + +_Of a goldsmith, married to a fair, kind, and gracious lady, and very +amorous withal of a curé, her neighbour, with whom her husband found her +in bed, they being betrayed by one of the goldsmith’s servants, who was +jealous, as you will hear._ + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-SIXTH -- FOOLISH PEAR. + +_Of a young man of Rouen, married to a fair, young girl of the age of +fifteen or thereabouts; and how the mother of the girl wished to have +the marriage annulled by the Judge of Rouen, and of the sentence which +the said Judge pronounced when he had heard the parties--as you will +hear more plainly in the course of the said story._ + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-SEVENTH -- WHAT THE EYE DOES NOT SEE. + +_Of a gentle knight who was enamoured of a young and beautiful girl, +and how he caught a malady in one of his eyes, and therefore sent for a +doctor, who likewise fell in love with the same girl, as you will +hear; and of the words which passed between the knight and the doctor +concerning the plaster which the doctor had put on the knight’s good +eye._ + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-EIGHTH -- A HUSBAND IN HIDING. + +_Of a poor, simple peasant married to a nice, pleasant woman, who did +much as she liked, and who in order that she might be alone with her +lover, shut up her husband in the pigeon-house in the manner you will +hear._ + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-NINTH -- THE FAULT OF THE ALMANAC. + +_Of a curé who forgot, either by negligence or ignorance, to inform his +parishioners that Lent had come until Palm Sunday arrived, as you +will hear--and of the manner in which he excused himself to his +parishioners._ + + +STORY THE NINETIETH -- A GOOD REMEDY. + +_Of a good merchant of Brabant whose wife was very ill, and he supposing +that she was about to die, after many remonstrances and exhortations for +the salvation of her soul, asked her pardon, and she pardoned him all +his misdeeds, excepting that he had not worked her as much as he ought +to have done--as will appear more plainly in the said story._ + + +STORY THE NINETY-FIRST -- THE OBEDIENT WIFE. + +_ Of a man who was married to a woman so lascivious and lickerish, that +I believe she must have been born in a stove or half a league from the +summer sun, for no man, however well he might work, could satisfy her; +and how her husband thought to punish her, and the answer she gave him._ + + +STORY THE NINETY-SECOND -- WOMEN’S QUARRELS. + +_Of a married woman who was in love with a Canon, and, to avoid +suspicion, took with her one of her neighbours when she went to visit +the Canon; and of the quarrel that arose between the two women, as you +will hear._ + + +STORY THE NINETY-THIRD -- HOW A GOOD WIFE WENT ON A PILGRIMAGE. + +_Of a good wife who pretended to her husband that she was going on +a pilgrimage, in order to find opportunity to be with her lover the +parish-clerk--with whom her husband found her; and of what he said and +did when he saw them doing you know what._ + + +STORY THE NINETY-FOURTH -- DIFFICULT TO PLEASE. + +_Of a curé who wore a short gown, like a gallant about to be married, +for which cause he was summoned before the Ordinary, and of the sentence +which was passed, and the defence he made, and the other tricks he +played afterwards--as you will plainly hear._ + + +STORY THE NINETY-FIFTH -- THE SORE FINGER CURED. + +_Of a monk who feigned to be very ill and in danger of death, that he +might obtain the favours of a certain young woman in the manner which is +described hereafter._ + + +STORY THE NINETY-SIXTH -- A GOOD DOG. + +_Of a foolish and rich village curé who buried his dog in the +church-yard; for which cause he was summoned before his Bishop, ana +how he gave 60 gold crowns to the Bishop, and what the Bishop said to +him--which you will find related here._ + + +STORY THE NINETY-SEVENTH -- BIDS AND BIDDINGS. + +_Of a number of boon companions making good cheer and drinking at +a tavern, and how one of them had a quarrel with his wife when he +returned home, as you will hear._ + + +STORY THE NINETY-EIGHTH -- THE UNFORTUNATE LOVERS. + +_Of a knight of this kingdom and his wife, who had a fair daughter aged +fifteen or sixteen. Her father would have married her to a rich old +knight, his neighbour, but she ran away with another knight, a young +man who loved her honourably; and, by strange mishap, they both died sad +deaths without having ever co-habited,--as you will hear shortly._ + + +STORY THE NINETY-NINTH -- THE METAMORPHOSIS. + +_Relates how a Spanish Bishop, not being able to procure fish, ate +two partridges on a Friday, and how he told his servants that he had +converted them by his prayers into fish--as will more plainly be related +below._ + + +STORY THE HUNDREDTH AND LAST -- THE CHASTE LOVER. + +_Of a rich merchant of the city of Genoa, who married a fair damsel, +who owing to the absence of her husband, sent for a wise clerk--a young, +fit, and proper man--to help her to that of which she had need; and +of the fast that he caused her to make--as you will find more plainly +below._ + + + + +[Illustration: contents.jpg Contents] + + +[Illustration: intro.jpg Introduction] + + +***** + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +The highest living authority on French Literature--Professor George +Saintsbury--has said: + +“The _Cent Nouvelles_ is undoubtedly the first work of literary prose in +French, and the first, moreover, of a long and most remarkable series of +literary works in which French writers may challenge all comers with the +certainty of victory. The short prose tale of a comic character is the +one French literary product the pre-eminence and perfection of which it +is impossible to dispute, and the prose tale first appears to advantage +in the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_. The subjects are by no means new. +They are simply the old themes of the _fabliaux_ treated in the old way. +The novelty is in the application of prose to such a purpose, and in the +crispness, the fluency, and the elegance, of the prose used.” + +Besides the literary merits which the eminent critic has pointed out, +the stories give us curious glimpses of life in the 15th Century. We get +a genuine view of the social condition of the nobility and the middle +classes, and are pleasantly surprised to learn from the mouths of the +nobles themselves that the peasant was not the down-trodden serf that we +should have expected to find him a century after the Jacquerie, and 350 +years before the Revolution. + +In fact there is an atmosphere of tolerance, not to say _bonhommie_ +about these stories which is very remarkable when we consider under what +circumstances they were told, and by whom, and to whom. + +This seems to have struck M. Lenient, a French critic, who says: + +“Generally the incidents and personages belong to the _bourgeoisée_; +there is nothing chivalric, nothing wonderful; no dreamy lovers, +romantic dames, fairies, or enchanters. Noble dames, bourgeois, nuns, +knights, merchants, monks, and peasants mutually dupe each other. The +lord deceives the miller’s wife by imposing on her simplicity, and the +miller retaliates in much the same manner. The shepherd marries the +knight’s sister, and the nobleman is not over scandalized. + +“The vices of the monks are depicted in half a score tales, and the +seducers are punished with a severity not always in proportion to the +offence.” + +It seems curious that this valuable and interesting work has never +before been translated into English during the four and a half centuries +the book has been in existence. This is the more remarkable as the work +was edited in French by an English scholar--the late Thomas Wright. It +can hardly be the coarseness of some of the stories which has prevented +the _Nouvelles_ from being presented to English readers when there are +half a dozen versions of the _Heptameron_, which is quite as coarse as +the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_, does not possess the same historical +interest, and is not to be compared to the present work as regards +either the stories or the style. + +In addition to this, there is the history of the book itself, and +its connection with one of the most important personages in French +history--Louis XI. Indeed, in many French and English works of +reference, the authorship of the _Nouvelles_ has been attributed to him, +and though in recent years, the writer is now believed--and no doubt +correctly--to have been Antoine de la Salle, it is tolerably certain +that Prince Louis heard all the stories related, and very possibly +contributed several of them. The circumstances under which these stories +came to be narrated requires a few words of explanation. + +At a very early age, Louis showed those qualities by which he was later +distinguished. When he was only fourteen, he caused his father, Charles +VII, much grief, both by his unfilial conduct and his behaviour to the +beautiful Agnes Sorel, the King’s mistress, towards whom he felt an +implacable hatred. He is said to have slapped her face, because he +thought she did not treat him with proper respect. This blow was, it is +asserted, the primary cause of his revolt against his father’s authority +(1440). The rebellion was put down, and the Prince was pardoned, but +relations between father and son were still strained, and in 1446, Louis +had to betake himself to his appanage of Dauphiné, where he remained +for ten years, always plotting and scheming, and braving his father’s +authority. + +At length the Prince’s Court at Grenoble became the seat of so many +conspiracies that Charles VII was obliged to take forcible measures. +It was small wonder that the King’s patience was exhausted. Louis, not +content with the rule of his province, had made attempts to win over +many of the nobility, and to bribe the archers of the Scotch Guard. +Though not liberal as a rule, he had also expended large sums to +different secret agents for some specific purpose, which was in all +probability to secure his father’s death, for he was not the sort of man +to stick at parricide even, if it would secure his ends. + +The plot was revealed to Charles by Antoine de Chabannes, Comte de +Dampmartin. Louis, when taxed with his misconduct, impudently denied +that he had been mixed up with the conspiracy, but denounced all his +accomplices, and allowed them to suffer for his misdeeds. He did not, +however, forget to revenge them, so far as lay in his power. The fair +Agnès Sorel, whom he had always regarded as his bitterest enemy, died +shortly afterwards at Jumièges, and it has always been believed, and +with great show of reason, that she was poisoned by his orders. He was +not able to take vengeance on Antoine de Chabannes until after he became +King. + +Finding that his plots were of no avail, he essayed to get together +an army large enough to combat his father, but before he completed his +plans, Charles VII, tired of his endless treason and trickery, sent an +army, under the faithful de Chabannes, into the Dauphiné, with orders to +arrest the Dauphin. + +The forces which Louis had at his disposal were numerically so much +weaker, that he did not dare to risk a battle. + +“If God or fortune,” he cried, “had been kind enough to give me but half +the men-at-arms which now belong to the King, my father, and will be +mine some day, by Our Lady, my mistress, I would have spared him the +trouble of coming so far to seek me, but would have met him and fought +him at Lyon.” + +Not having sufficient forces, and feeling that he could not hope for +fresh pardon, he resolved to fly from France, and take refuge at the +Court of the Duke of Burgundy. + +One day in June, 1456, he pretended to go hunting, and then, attended +by only half a dozen friends, rode as fast as he could into Burgundian +territory, and arrived at Saint Claude. + +From there he wrote to his father, excusing his flight, and announcing +his intention of joining an expedition which Philippe le Bon, the +reigning Duke of Burgundy was about to undertake against the Turks. The +Duke was at that moment besieging Utrecht, but as soon as he heard the +Dauphin had arrived in his dominions, he sent orders that he was to +be conducted to Brussels with all the honours befitting his rank and +station. + +Shortly afterwards the Duke returned, and listened with real or +pretended sympathy to all the complaints that Louis made against +his father, but put a damper on any hopes that the Prince may have +entertained of getting the Burgundian forces to support his cause, by +saying; + +“Monseigneur, you are welcome to my domains. I am happy to see you here. +I will provide you with men and money for any purpose you may require, +except to be employed against the King, your father, whom I would on no +account displease.” + +Duke Philippe even tried to bring about a reconciliation between Charles +and his son; but as Louis was not very anxious to return to France, nor +Charles to have him there, and a good many of the nobles were far from +desiring that the Prince should come back, the negotiations came to +nothing. + +Louis could make himself agreeable when he pleased, and during his stay +in the Duke’s domains, he was on good terms with Philippe le Bon, who +granted him 3000 gold florins a month, and the castle of Genappe as a +residence. This castle was situated on the Dyle, midway between Brussels +and Louvain, and about eight miles from either city. The river, or a +deep moat, surrounded the castle on every side. There was a drawbridge +which was drawn up at night, so Louis felt himself quite safe from any +attack. + +Here he remained five years (1456-1461) until the death of his father +placed him on the throne of France. + +It was during these five years that these stories were told to amuse his +leisure. Probably there were many more than a hundred narrated--perhaps +several hundreds--but the literary man who afterwards “edited” the +stories only selected those which he deemed best, or, perhaps, those he +heard recounted. The narrators were the nobles who formed the Dauphin’s +Court. Much ink has been spilled over the question whether Louis himself +had any share in the production. In nearly every case the author’s name +is given, and ten of them (Nos. 2, 4, 7, 9, 11, 29, 33, 69, 70 and +71) are described in the original edition as being by “Monseigneur.” + Publishers of subsequent editions brought out at the close of the 15th, +or the beginning of the 16th, Century, jumped to the conclusion that +“Monseigneur” was really the Dauphin, who not only contributed largely +to the book, but after he became King personally supervised the +publication of the collected stories. + +For four centuries Louis XI was credited with the authorship of the +tales mentioned. The first person--so far as I am aware--to throw any +doubt on his claim was the late Mr. Thomas Wright, who edited an edition +of the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_, published by Jannet, Paris, 1858. He +maintained, with some show of reason, that as the stories were told in +Burgundy, by Burgundians, and the collected tales were “edited” by a +subject of the Duke (Antoine de la Salle, of whom I shall have occasion +to speak shortly) it was more probable that “Monseigneur” would mean the +Duke than the Dauphin, and he therefore ascribed the stories to Philippe +le Bel. Modern French scholars, however, appear to be of opinion that +“Monseigneur” was the Comte de Charolais, who afterwards became famous +as Charles le Téméraire, the last Duke of Burgundy. + +The two great enemies were at that time close friends, and Charles was a +very frequent visitor to Genappe. It was not very likely, they say, that +Duke Philippe who was an old man would have bothered himself to tell +his guest indecent stories. On the other hand, Charles, being then only +Comte de Charolais, had no right to the title of “Monseigneur,” but they +parry that difficulty by supposing that as he became Duke before +the tales were printed, the title was given him in the first printed +edition. + +The matter is one which will, perhaps, never be satisfactorily settled. +My own opinion--though I claim for it no weight or value--is that Louis +appears to have the greatest right to the stories, though in support of +that theory I can only adduce some arguments, which if separately weak +may have some weight when taken collectively. Vérard, who published +the first edition, says in the Dedication; “Et notez que par toutes les +Nouvelles où il est dit par Monseigneur il est entendu par Monseigneur +le Dauphin, lequel depuis a succédé à la couronne et est le roy Loys +unsieme; car il estoit lors es pays du duc de Bourgoingne.” + +The critics may have good reason for throwing doubt on Vérard’s +statement, but unless he printed his edition from a M.S. made after +1467, and the copyist had altered the name of the Comte de Charolais to +“Monseigneur” it is not easy to see how the error arose, whilst on the +other hand, as Vérard had every facility for knowing the truth, and some +of the copies must have been purchased by persons who were present when +the stories were told, the mistake would have been rectified in the +subsequent editions that Vérard brought out in the course of the next +few years, when Louis had been long dead and there was no necessity to +flatter his vanity. + +On examining the stories related by “Monseigneur,” it seems to me that +there is some slight internal evidence that they were told by Louis. + +Brantôme says of him that, “he loved to hear tales of loose women, +and had but a poor opinion of woman and did not believe they were all +chaste. (This sounds well coming from Brantôme) Anyone who could relate +such tales was gladly welcomed by the Prince, who would have given all +Homer and Virgil too for a funny story.” The Prince must have heard many +such stories, and would be likely to repeat them, and we find the +first half dozen stories are decidedly “broad,” (No XI was afterwards +appropriated by Rabelais, as “Hans Carvel’s Ring”) and we may suspect +that Louis tried to show the different narrators by personal example +what he considered a really “good tale.” + +We know also Louis was subject to fits of religious melancholy, and +evinced a superstitious veneration for holy things, and even wore +little, leaden images of the saints round his hat. In many of the +stories we find monks punished for their immorality, or laughed at +for their ignorance, and nowhere do we see any particular veneration +displayed for the Church. The only exception is No LXX, “The Devil’s +Horn,” in which a knight by sheer faith in the mystery of baptism +vanquishes the Devil, whereas one of the knight’s retainers, armed +with a battle-axe but not possessing his master’s robust faith in the +efficacy of holy water, is carried off bodily, and never heard of again. +It seems to me that this story bears the stamp of the character of +Louis, who though suspicious towards men, was childishly credulous in +religious matters, but I leave the question for critics more capable +than I to decide. + +Of the thirty-two noblemen or squires who contributed the other stories, +mention will be made in the notes. Of the stories, I may here mention +that 14 or 15 were taken from Boccaccio, and as many more from Poggio or +other Italian writers, or French _fabliaux_, but about 70 of them appear +to be original. + +The knights and squires who told the stories had probably no great skill +as _raconteurs_, and perhaps did not read or write very fluently. The +tales were written down afterwards by a literary man, and they owe “the +crispness, fluency, and elegance,” which, as Prof. Saintsbury remarks, +they possess in such a striking degree, to the genius of Antoine de la +Sale. He was born in 1398 in Burgundy or Touraine. He had travelled much +in Italy, and lived for some years at the Court of the Comte d’ Anjou. +He returned to Burgundy later, and was, apparently, given some sort +of literary employment by Duke Philippe le Bel. At any rate he was +appointed by Philippe or Louis to record the stories that enlivened the +evenings at the Castle of Genappe, and the choice could not have fallen +on a better man. He was already known as the author of two or three +books, one of which--_Les Quinze Joyes de Mariage_--relates the woes +of married life, and displays a knowledge of character, and a quaint, +satirical humour that are truly remarkable, and remind the reader +alternately of Thackeray and Douglas Jerrold,--indeed some of the +Fifteen Joys are “Curtain Lectures” with a mediaeval environment, and +the word pictures of Woman’s foibles, follies, and failings are as +bright to-day as when they were penned exactly 450 years ago. They show +that the “Eternal Feminine” has not altered in five centuries--perhaps +not in five thousand! + +The practised and facile pen of Antoine de la Sale clothed the dry bones +of these stories with flesh and blood, and made them live, and move. +Considering his undoubted gifts as a humourist, and a delineator of +character it is strange that the name of Antoine de la Sale is not held +in higher veneration by his countrymen, for he was the earliest exponent +of a form of literary art in which the French have always excelled. + +In making a translation of these stories I at first determined to adhere +as closely as possible to the text, but found that the versions differed +greatly. I have followed the two best modern editions, and have made as +few changes and omissions as possible. + +Three or four of the stories are extremely coarse, and I hesitated +whether to omit them, insert them in the original French, or translate +them, but decided that as the book would only be read by persons of +education, respectability, and mature age, it was better to translate +them fully,--as has been done in the case of the far coarser passages of +Rabelais and other writers. This course appeared to me less hypocritical +than that adopted in a recent expensive edition of Boccaccio in which +the story of Rusticus and Alibech was given in French--with a highly +suggestive full-page illustration facing the text for the benefit of +those who could not read the French language. + +ROBERT B. DOUGLAS. + +Paris, 21st October 1899. + + +***** + + Good friends, my readers, who peruse this book, + Be not offended, whilst on it you look: + Denude yourselves of all deprav’d affection, + For it contains no badness nor infection: + ‘T is true that it brings forth to you no birth + Of any value, but in point of mirth; + Thinking therefore how sorrow might your mind + Consume, I could no apter subject find; + One inch of joy surmounts of grief a span; + Because to laugh is proper to the man. + + (RABELAIS: _To the Readers_). + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 01.jpg Story the First -- THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL.] + + + + +STORY THE FIRST --THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL. [1] + +By Monseigneur Le Duc + +_The first story tells of how one found means to enjoy the wife of his +neighbour, whose husband he had sent away in order that he might have +her the more easily, and how the husband returning from his journey, +found his friend bathing with his wife. And not knowing who she was, he +wished to see her, but was permitted only to see her back--, and then +thought that she resembled his wife, but dared not believe it. And +thereupon left and found his wife at home, she having escaped by a +postern door, and related to her his suspicions._ + + +In the town of Valenciennes there lived formerly a notable citizen, who +had been receiver of Hainault, who was renowned amongst all others +for his prudence and discretion, and amongst his praiseworthy virtues, +liberality was not the least, and thus it came to pass that he enjoyed +the grace of princes, lords, and other persons of good estate. And this +happy condition, Fortune granted and preserved to him to the end of his +days. + +Both before and after death unloosed him from the chains of matrimony, +the good citizen mentioned in this Story, was not so badly lodged in +the said town but that many a great lord would have been content and +honoured to have such a lodging. His house faced several streets, in +one of which was a little postern door, opposite to which lived a good +comrade of his, who had a pretty wife, still young and charming. + +And, as is customary, her eyes, the archers of the heart, shot so many +arrows into the said citizen, that unless he found some present remedy, +he felt his case was no less than mortal. + +To more surely prevent such a fate, he found many and subtle manners of +making the good comrade, the husband of the said quean, his private and +familiar friend, so, that few of the dinners, suppers, banquets, baths, +and other such amusements took place, either in the hotel or elsewhere, +without his company. And of such favours his comrade was very proud, and +also happy. + +When our citizen, who was more cunning than a fox, had gained the +good-will of his friend, little was needed to win the love of his wife, +and in a few days he had worked so much and so well that the gallant +lady was fain to hear his case, and to provide a suitable remedy +thereto. It remained but to provide time and place; and for this she +promised him that, whenever her husband lay abroad for a night, she +would advise him thereof. + +The wished-for day arrived when the husband told his wife that he was +going to a chateau some three leagues distant from Valenciennes, and +charged her to look after the house and keep within doors, because his +business would not permit him to return that night. + +It need not be asked if she was joyful, though she showed it not either +in word, or deed, or otherwise. Her husband had not journeyed a league +before the citizen knew that the opportunity had come. + +He caused the baths to be brought forth, and the stoves to be heated, +and pasties, tarts, and hippocras, and all the rest of God’s good gifts, +to be prepared largely and magnificently. + +When evening came, the postern door was unlocked, and she who was +expected entered thereby, and God knows if she was not kindly received. +I pass over all this. + +Then they ascended into a chamber, and washed in a bath, by the side of +which a good supper was quickly laid and served. And God knows if they +drank often and deeply. To speak of the wines and viands would be +a waste of time, and, to cut the story short, there was plenty of +everything. In this most happy condition passed the great part of this +sweet but short night; kisses often given and often returned, until they +desired nothing but to go to bed. + +Whilst they were thus making good cheer, the husband returned from his +journey, and knowing nothing of this adventure, knocked loudly at the +door of the house. And the company that was in the ante-chamber refused +him entrance until he should name his surety. + +Then he gave his name loud and clear, and so his good wife and the +citizen heard him and knew him. She was so amazed to hear the voice of +her husband that her loyal heart almost failed her; and she would have +fainted, had not the good citizen and his servants comforted her. + +The good citizen being calm and well advised how to act, made haste +to put her to bed, and lay close by her; and charged her well that she +should lie close to him and hide her face, so that no one could see it. +And that being done as quickly as may be, yet without too much haste, +he ordered that the door should be opened. Then his good comrade sprang +into the room, thinking to himself that there must be some mystery, else +they had not kept him out of the room. And when he saw the table laid +with wines and goodly viands, also the bath finely prepared, and the +citizen in a handsome bed, well curtained, with a second person by +his side, God knows he spoke loudly, and praised the good cheer of his +neighbour. He called him rascal, and whore-monger, and drunkard, and +many other names, which made those who were in the chamber laugh long +and loud; but his wife could not join in the mirth, her face being +pressed to the side of her new friend. + +“Ha!” said the husband, “Master whore-monger, you have well hidden from +me this good cheer; but, by my faith, though I was not at the feast, you +must show me the bride.” + +And with that, holding a candle in his hand, he drew near the bed, and +would have withdrawn the coverlet, under which, in fear and silence, +lay his most good and perfect wife, when the citizen and his servants +prevented him; but he was not content, and would by force, in spite of +them all, have laid his hand upon the bed. + +But he was not master there, and could not have his will, and for good +cause, and was fain to be content with a most gracious proposal which +was made to him, and which was this, that he should be shown the +backside of his wife, and her haunches, and thighs--which were big and +white, and moreover fair and comely--without uncovering and beholding +her face. + +The good comrade, still holding a candle in his hand, gazed for long +without saying a word; and when he did speak, it was to praise highly +the great beauty of that dame, and he swore by a great oath that he had +never seen anything that so much resembled the back parts of his own +wife, and that were he not well sure that she was at home at that time, +he would have said it was she. + +She had by this somewhat recovered, and he drew back much disconcerted, +but God knows that they all told him, first one and then the other, that +he had judged wrongly, and spoken against the honour of his wife, and +that this was some other woman, as he would afterwards see for himself. + +To restore him to good humour, after they had thus abused his eyes, the +citizen ordered that they should make him sit at the table, where he +drowned his suspicions by eating and drinking of what was left of the +supper, whilst they in the bed were robbing him of his honour. + +The time came to leave, and he said good night to the citizen and his +companions, and begged they would let him leave by the postern door, +that he might the sooner return home. But the citizen replied that he +knew not then where to find the key; he thought also that the lock was +so rusted that they could not open the door, which they rarely if ever +used. He was content therefore to leave by the front gate, and make a +long detour to reach his house, and whilst the servants of the citizen +led him to the door, the good wife was quickly on her feet, and in a +short time, clad in a simple sark, with her corset on her arm, and come +to the postern. She made but one bound to her house, where she awaited +her husband (who came by a longer way) well-prepared as to the manner in +which she should receive him. + +Soon came our man, and seeing still a light in the house, knocked at the +door loudly; and this good wife, who was pretending to clean the house, +and had a besom in her hands, asked -- what she knew well; “Who is +there?” + +And he replied; “It is your husband.” + +“My husband!” said she. “My husband is not here! He is not in the town!” + +With that he knocked again, and cried, “Open the door! I am your +husband.” + +“I know my husband well,” quoth she, “and it is not his custom to return +home so late at night, when he is in the town. Go away, and do not knock +here at this hour.” + +But he knocked all the more, and called her by name once or twice. Yet +she pretended not to know him, and asked why he came at that hour, but +for all reply he said nothing but, “Open! Open!” + +“Open!” said she. “What! are you still there you rascally whore-monger? +By St. Mary, I would rather see you drown than come in here! Go! and +sleep as badly as you please in the place where you came from.” + +Then her good husband grew angry, and thundered against the door as +though he would knock the house down, and threatened to beat his wife, +such was his rage,--of which she had not great fear; but at length, +because of the noise he made, and that she might the better speak her +mind to him, she opened the door, and when he entered, God knows whether +he did not see an angry face, and have a warm greeting. For when her +tongue found words from a heart overcharged with anger and indignation, +her language was as sharp as well-ground Guingant razors. + +And, amongst other things, she reproached him that he had wickedly +pretended a journey in order that he might try her, and that he was a +coward and a recreant, unworthy to have such a wife as she was. + +Our good comrade, though he had been angry, saw how wrong he had been, +and restrained his wrath, and the indignation that in his heart he had +conceived when he was standing outside the door was turned aside. So he +said, to excuse himself, and to satisfy his wife, that he had returned +from his journey because he had forgotten a letter concerning the object +of his going. + +Pretending not to believe him, she invented more stories, and charged +him with having frequented taverns and bagnios, and other improper and +dissolute resorts, and that he behaved as no respectable man should, and +she cursed the hour in which she had made his acquaintance, and doubly +cursed the day she became his wife. + +The poor man, much grieved, seeing his wife more troubled than he liked, +knew not what to say. And his suspicions being removed, he drew near +her, weeping and falling upon his knees and made the following fine +speech. + +“My most dear companion, and most loyal wife, I beg and pray of you +to remove from your heart the wrath you have conceived against me, and +pardon me for all that I have done against you. I own my fault, I see +my error. I have come now from a place where they made good cheer, and +where, I am ashamed to say, I fancied I recognised you, at which I was +much displeased. And so I wrongfully and causelessly suspected you to be +other than a good woman, of which I now repent bitterly, and pray of you +to forgive me, and pardon my folly.” + +The good woman, seeing her husband so contrite, showed no great anger. + +“What?” said she, “You have come from filthy houses of ill-fame, and you +dare to think that your honest wife would be seen in such places?” + +“No, no, my dear, I know you would not. For God’s sake, say no more +about it.” said the good man, and repeated his aforesaid request. + +She, seeing his contrition, ceased her reproaches, and little by little +regained her composure, and with much ado pardoned him, after he had +made a hundred thousand oaths and promises to her who had so wronged +him. And from that time forth she often, without fear or regret, passed +the said postern, nor were her escapades discovered by him who was most +concerned. And that suffices for the first story. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SECOND -- THE MONK-DOCTOR. + +By Monseigneur + +_The second story, related by Duke Philip, is of a young girl who had +piles, who put out the only eye he had of a Cordelier monk who was +healing her, and of the lawsuit that followed thereon._ + + +In the chief town of England, called London, which is much resorted to +by many folks, there lived, not long ago, a rich and powerful man who +was a merchant and citizen, who beside his great wealth and treasures, +was enriched by the possession of a fair daughter, whom God had given +him over and above his substance, and who for goodness, prettiness, +and gentleness, surpassed all others of her time, and who when she was +fifteen was renowned for her virtue and beauty. + +God knows that many folk of good position desired and sought for her +good grace by all the divers manners used by lovers,--which was no +small pleasure to her father and mother, and increased their ardent and +paternal affection for their beloved daughter. + +But it happened that, either by the permission of God, or that Fortune +willed and ordered it so, being envious and discontented at the +prosperity of this beautiful girl, or of her parents, or all of +them,--or may be from some secret and natural cause that I leave to +doctors and philosophers to determine, that she was afflicted with an +unpleasant and dangerous disease which is commonly called piles. + +The worthy family was greatly troubled when they found the fawn they so +dearly loved, set on by the sleuth-hounds and beagles of this unpleasant +disease, which had, moreover, attacked its prey in a dangerous place. +The poor girl--utterly cast down by this great misfortune,--could do +naught else than weep and sigh. Her grief-stricken mother was much +troubled; and her father, greatly vexed, wrung his hands, and tore his +hair in his rage at this fresh misfortune. + +Need I say that all the pride of that household was suddenly cast down +to the ground, and in one moment converted into bitter and great grief. + +The relations, friends, and neighbours of the much-enduring family came +to visit and comfort the damsel; but little or nothing might they profit +her, for the poor girl was more and more attacked and oppressed by that +disease. + +Then came a matron who had much studied that disease, and she turned and +re-turned the suffering patient, this way, and that way, to her great +pain and grief, God knows, and made a medicine of a hundred thousand +sorts of herbs, but it was no good; the disease continued to get worse, +so there was no help but to send for all the doctors of the city and +round about, and for the poor girl to discover unto them her most +piteous case. + +There came Master Peter, Master John, Master This, Master That--as many +doctors as you would, who all wished to see the patient together, and +uncover that portion of her body where this cursed disease, the piles +had, alas, long time concealed itself. + +The poor girl, as much cast down and grieved as though she were +condemned to die, would in no wise agree or permit that her affliction +should be known; and would rather have died than shown such a secret +place to the eyes of any man. + +This obstinacy though endured not long, for her father and her mother +came unto her, and remonstrated with her many times,--saying that she +might be the cause of her own death, which was no small sin; and many +other matters too long to relate here. + +Finally, rather to obey her father and mother than from fear of death, +the poor girl allowed herself to be bound and laid on a couch, head +downwards, and her body so uncovered that the physicians might see +clearly the seat of the disease which troubled her. + +They gave orders what was to be done, and sent apothecaries with +clysters, powders, ointments, and whatsoever else seemed good unto them; +and she took all that they sent, in order that she might recover her +health. + +But all was of no avail, for no remedy that the said physicians could +apply helped to heal the distressing malady from which she suffered, nor +could they find aught in their books, until at last the poor girl, what +with grief and pain was more dead than alive, and this grief and great +weakness lasted many days. + +And whilst the father and mother, relations, and neighbours sought for +aught that might alleviate their daughter’s sufferings, they met with +an old Cordelier monk, who was blind of one eye, and who in his time +had seen many things, and had dabbled much in medicine, therefore his +presence was agreeable to the relations of the patient, and he having +gazed at the diseased part at his leisure, boasted much that he could +cure her. + +You may fancy that he was most willingly heard, and that all the +grief-stricken assembly, from whose hearts all joy had been banished, +hoped that the result would prove as he had promised. + +Then he left, and promised that he would return the next day, provided +and furnished with a drug of such virtue, that it would at once remove +the great pain and martyrdom which tortured and annoyed the poor +patient. + +The night seemed over-long, whilst waiting for the wished-for morrow; +nevertheless, the long hours passed, and our worthy Cordelier kept his +promise, and came to the patient at the hour appointed. You may guess +that he was well and joyously received; and when the time came when he +was to heal the patient, they placed her as before on a couch, with her +backside covered with a fair white cloth of embroidered damask, having, +where her malady was, a hole pierced in it through which the Cordelier +might arrive at the said place. + +He gazed at the seat of the disease, first from one side, then from the +other: and anon he would touch it gently with his finger, or inspect the +tube by which he meant to blow in the powder which was to heal her, or +anon would step back and inspect the diseased parts, and it seemed as +though he could never gaze enough. + +At last he took the powder in his left hand, poured upon a small flat +dish, and in the other hand the tube, which he filled with the said +powder, and as he gazed most attentively and closely through the opening +at the seat of the painful malady of the poor girl, she could not +contain herself, seeing the strange manner in which the Cordelier gazed +at her with his one eye, but a desire to burst out laughing came upon +her, though she restrained herself as long as she could. + +But it came to pass, alas! that the laugh thus held back was converted +into a f--t, the wind of which caught the powder, so that the greater +part of it was blown into the face and into the eye of the good +Cordelier, who, feeling the pain, dropped quickly both plate and tube, +and almost fell backwards, so much was he frightened. And when he came +to himself, he quickly put his hand to his eye, complaining loudly, and +saying that he was undone, and in danger to lose the only good eye he +had. + +Nor did he lie, for in a few days, the powder which was of a corrosive +nature, destroyed and ate away his eye, so that he became, and remained, +blind. + +Then he caused himself to be led one day to the house where he had met +with this sad mischance, and spoke to the master of the house, to whom +he related his pitiful case, demanding, as was his right, that there +should be granted to him such amends as his condition deserved, in order +that he might live honourably. + +The merchant replied that though the misadventure greatly vexed him, he +was in nowise the cause of it, nor could he in any way be charged with +it, but that he would, out of pity and charity, give him some money, and +though the Cordelier had undertaken to cure his daughter and had not +so done, would give him as much as he would if she had been restored to +health, though not forced to do so. + +The Cordelier was not content with this offer, but required that he +should be kept for the rest of his life, seeing that the merchant’s +daughter had blinded him, and that in the presence of many people, and +thereby he was deprived from ever again performing Mass or any of the +services of the Holy Church, or studying what learned men had written +concerning the Holy Scriptures, and thus could no longer serve as a +preacher; which would be his destruction, for he would be a beggar and +without means, save alms, and these he could no longer obtain. + +But all that he could say was of no avail, and he could get no other +answer than that given. So he cited the merchant before the Parliament +of the said city of London, which called upon the aforesaid merchant to +appear. When the day came, the Cordelier’s case was stated by a lawyer +well-advised as to what he should say, and God knows that many came to +the Court to hear this strange trial, which much pleased the lords of +the said Parliament, as much for the strangeness of the case as for the +allegations and arguments of the parties debating therein, which were +not only curious but amusing. + +To many folk was this strange and amusing case known, and was often +adjourned and left undecided by the judges, as is their custom. And +so she, who before this was renowned for her beauty, goodness, and +gentleness, became notorious through this cursed disease of piles, but +was in the end cured, as I have been since told. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 03.jpg Story the Third -- THE SEARCH FOR THE RING.] + + + + +STORY THE THIRD -- THE SEARCH FOR THE RING. [3] + +By Monseigneur de la Roche + +_Of the deceit practised by a knight on a miller’s wife whom he made +believe that her front was loose, and fastened it many times. And the +miller informed of this, searched for a diamond that the knight’s lady +had lost, and found it in her body, as the knight knew afterwards: so he +called the miller “fisherman”, and the miller called him “fastener”._ + + +In the Duchy of Burgundy lived formerly a noble knight, whose name is +not mentioned in the present story, who was married to a fair and +gentle lady. And near the castle of the said knight lived a miller, also +married to a fair young wife. + +It chanced once, that the knight, to pass the time and enjoy himself, +was strolling around his castle, and by the banks of the river on which +stood the house and mill of the said miller, who at that time was not at +home, but at Dijon or Beaune,--he saw and remarked the wife of the said +miller carrying two jars and returning from the river, whither she had +been to draw water. + +He advanced towards her and saluted her politely, and she, being +well-mannered, made him the salutation which belonged to his rank. The +knight, finding that the miller’s wife was very fair but had not much +sense, drew near to her and said. + +“Of a truth, my friend, I see well that you are in ill case, and +therefore in great peril.” + +At these words the miller’s wife replied. + +“Alas, monseigneur, and what shall I do?” + +“Truly, my dear, if you walk thus, your ‘front piece’ is in danger +of falling off, and if I am not mistaken, you will not keep it much +longer.” + +The foolish woman, on hearing these words was astonished and +vexed;--astonished to think how the knight could know, without seeing, +of this unlucky accident, and vexed to think of the loss of the best +part of her body, and one that she used well, and her husband also. + +She replied; “Alas! sir, what is this you tell me, and how do you know +that my ‘front piece’ is in danger of falling off? It seems to keep its +place well.” + +“There, there! my dear,” replied the knight. “Let it suffice that I have +told you the truth. You would not be the first to whom such a thing had +happened.” + +“Alas, sir,” said she. “I shall be an undone, dishonoured and lost +woman; and what will my husband say when he hears of the mischance? He +will have no more to do with me.” + +“Be not discomforted to that degree, my friend; it has not happened yet; +besides there is a sure remedy.” + +When the young woman heard that there was a remedy for her complaint, +her blood began to flow again, and she begged the knight for God’s sake +that he would teach her what she must do to keep this poor front-piece +from falling off. The knight, who was always most courteous and +gracious, especially towards the ladies, replied; + +“My friend, as you are a good and pretty girl, and I like your husband, +I will teach you how to keep your front-piece.” + +“Alas, sir, I thank you; and certainly you will do a most meritorious +work: for it would be better to die than to live without my front-piece. +And what ought I to do sir? + +“My dear,” he said, “to prevent your front-piece from falling off, you +must have it fastened quickly and often.” + +“Fastened, sir? And who will do that? Whom shall I ask to do this for +me?” + +“I will tell you, my dear,” replied the knight. “And because I warned +you of this mischance being so near, and told you of the remedy +necessary to obviate the inconveniences which would arise, and which +I am sure would not please you,--I am content, in order to further +increase the love between us, to fasten your front-piece, and put it in +such a good condition that you may safely carry it anywhere, without any +fear or doubt that it will ever fall off; for in this matter I am very +skilful.” + +It need not be asked whether the miller’s wife was joyful. She employed +all the little sense she had to thank the knight. So they walked +together, she and the knight, back to the mill, where they were no +sooner arrived than the knight kindly began his task, and with a tool +that he had, shortly fastened, three or four times, the front-piece of +the miller’s wife, who was most pleased and joyous; and after having +appointed a day when he might again work at this front-piece, the knight +left, and returned quickly to his castle. + +On the day named, he went again to the mill, and did his best, in the +way above mentioned, to fasten this front-piece; and so well did he work +as time went on, that this front-piece was most safely fastened, and +held firmly and well in its place. + +Whilst our knight thus fastened the front-piece of the miller’s wife, +the miller one day returned from his business, and made good cheer, as +also did his wife. And as they were talking over their affairs, this +most wise wife said to her husband. + +“On my word, we are much indebted to the lord of this town.” + +“Tell me how, and in what manner,” replied the miller. + +“It is quite right that I should tell you, that you may thank him, as +indeed you must. The truth is that, whilst you were away, my lord passed +by our house one day that I was carrying two pitchers from the river. +He saluted me and I did the same to him; and as I walked away, he saw, +I know not how, that my front-piece was not held properly, and was +in danger of falling off. He kindly told me so, at which I was as +astonished and vexed as though the end of the world had come. The good +lord who saw me thus lament, took pity on me, and showed me a good +remedy for this cursed disaster. And he did still more, which he would +not have done for every one, for the remedy of which he told me,--which +was to fasten and hold back my front-piece in order to prevent it from +dropping off,--he himself applied, which was great trouble to him, and +he did it many times because that my case required frequent attention. + +“What more shall I say? He, has so well performed his work that we can +never repay him. By my faith, he has in one day of this week fastened it +three times; another day, four times; another day, twice; another day, +three times; and he never left me till I was quite cured, and brought +to such a condition that my front-piece now holds as well and firmly as +that of any woman in our town.” + +The miller, on hearing this adventure, gave no outward sign of what +was passing in his mind, but, as though he had been joyful, said to his +wife: + +“I am very glad, my dear, that my lord hath done us this service, and, +God willing, when it shall be possible, I will do as much for him. But +at any rate, as it is not proper it should be known, take care that you +say no word of this to anyone; and also, now that you are cured, you +need not trouble my lord any further in this matter.” + +“You have warned me,” replied his wife, “not to say a word about it and +that is also what my lord bade me.” + +Our miller, who was a good fellow, often thought over the kindness that +my lord had done him, and conducted himself so wisely and carefully that +the said lord never suspected that he knew how he had been deceived, and +imagined that he knew nothing. But alas, his heart and all his thoughts +were bent on revenge and how he could repay in like manner the deceit +practised on his wife. And at length he bethought himself of a way by +which he could, he imagined, repay my lord in butter for his eggs. + +At last, owing to other circumstances, the knight was obliged to mount +his horse and say farewell to his wife for a month; at which our miller +was in no small degree pleased. + +One day, the lady had a desire to bathe, and caused the bath to be +brought forth and the stoves to be heated in her private apartments; of +which our miller knew soon, because he learned all that went on in the +house; so he took a fine pike, that he kept in the ditch near his house, +and went to the castle to present it to the lady. + +None of the waiting-women would he let take the fish, but said that he +must present it himself to the lady, or else he would take it back home. +At last, because he was well-known to the household, and a good fellow, +the lady allowed him to enter whilst she was in her bath. + +The miller gave his present, for which the lady thanked him, and caused +it to be taken to the kitchen and cooked for supper. + +Whilst he was talking, the miller perceived on the edge of the bath, a +fine large diamond which she had taken from her finger, fearing lest the +water should spoil it. He took it so quietly that no one saw him, and +having gained his point, said good night to the lady and her women, and +returned to the mill to think over his business. + +The lady, who was making good cheer with her attendants, seeing that +it was now very late, and supper-time, left the bath and retired to +her bed. And as she was looking at her arms and hands, she saw not the +diamond, and she called her women, and asked them where was the diamond, +and to whom she had given it. Each said, “It was not to me;”--“Nor to +me,”--“Nor to me either.” + +They searched inside and outside the bath, and everywhere, but it was no +good, they could not find it. The search for this diamond lasted a long +time, without their finding any trace of it, which caused the lady much +vexation, because it had been unfortunately lost in her chamber, and +also because my lord had given it to her the day of their betrothal, and +she held it very precious. They did not know whom to suspect nor whom to +ask, and much sorrow prevailed in the household. + +Then one of the women bethought herself, and said. + +“No one entered the room but ourselves and the miller; it seems right +that he should be sent for.” + +He was sent for, and came. The lady who was much vexed, asked the miller +if he had not seen her diamond. He, being as ready to lie as another is +to tell the truth, answered boldly, and asked if the lady took him for a +thief? To which she replied gently; + +“Certainly not, miller; it would be no theft if you had for a joke taken +away my diamond.” + +“Madame,” said the miller, “I give you my word that I know nothing about +your diamond.” + +Then were they all much vexed, and my lady especially, so that she could +not refrain from weeping tears in great abundance at the loss of this +trinket. They all sorrowfully considered what was to be done. One said +that it must be in the chamber, and another said that they had searched +everywhere, and that it was impossible it should be there or they would +have found it, as it was easily seen. + +The miller asked the lady if she had it when she entered the bath; and +she replied, yes. + +“If it be so, certainly, madam, considering the diligence you have made +in searching for it, and without finding it, the affair is very strange. +Nevertheless, it seems to me that if there is any man who could give +advice how it should be found, I am he, and because I would not that +my secret should be discovered and known to many people, it would be +expedient that I should speak to you alone.” + +“That is easily managed,” said the lady. So her attendants left, but, as +they were leaving, Dames Jehanne, Isabeau, and Katherine said, + +“Ah, miller, you will be a clever man if you bring back this diamond.” + +“I don’t say that I am over-clever,” replied the miller, “but I venture +to declare that if it is possible to find it I am the man to do so.” + +When he saw that he was alone with the lady, he told her that he +believed seriously, that as she had the diamond when she entered the +bath, that it must have fallen from her finger and entered her body, +seeing that there was no one who could have stolen it. + +And that he might hasten to find it, he made the lady-get upon her bed, +which she would have willingly refused if she could have done otherwise. + +After he had uncovered her, he pretended to look here and there, and +said, + +“Certainly, madam, the diamond has entered your body.” + +“Do you say, miller, that you have seen it?” + +“Truly, yes.” + +“Alas!” said she, “and how can it be got out?” + +“Very easily, madam. I doubt not to succeed if it please you.” + +“May God help you! There is nothing that I would not do to get it +again,” said the lady, “or to advance you, good miller.” + +The miller placed the lady on the bed, much in the same position as the +lord had placed _his_ wife when he fastened her front-piece, and with a +like tool was the search for the diamond made. + +Whilst resting after the first and second search that the miller made +for the diamond, the lady asked him if he had not felt it, and he said, +yes, at which she was very joyful, and begged that he would seek until +he had found it. + +To cut matters short, the good miller did so well that he restored to +the lady her beautiful diamond, which caused great joy throughout the +house, and never did miller receive so much honour and advancement as +the lady and her maids bestowed upon him. + +The good miller, who was high in the good graces of the lady after the +much-desired conclusion of his great enterprise, left the house and went +home, without boasting to his wife of his recent adventure, though he +was more joyful over it than though he had gained the whole world. + +A short time after, thank God, the knight returned to his castle, and +was kindly received and humbly welcomed by the lady, who whilst +they were enjoying themselves in bed, told him of the most wonderful +adventure of the diamond, and how it was fished out of her body by the +miller; and, to cut matters short, related the process, fashion, and +manner employed by the said miller in his search for the diamond, which +hardly gave her husband much joy, but he reflected that the miller had +paid him back in his own coin. + +The first time he met the good miller, he saluted him coldly, and said, + +“God save you! God save you, good diamond-searcher!” + +To which the good miller replied, + +“God save you! God save you, fastener of front-pieces!” + +“By our Lady, you speak truly,” said the knight. “Say nothing about me, +and I will say nothing about you.” + +The miller was satisfied, and never spoke of it again; nor did the +knight either, so far as I know. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 04.jpg Story the Fourth -- THE ARMED CUCKOLD.] + + + + +STORY THE FOURTH -- THE ARMED CUCKOLD. [4] + +By Monseigneur + +_The fourth tale is of a Scotch archer who was in love with a fair +and gentle dame, the wife of a mercer, who, by her husband’s orders +appointed a day for the said Scot to visit her, who came and treated her +as he wished, the said mercer being hid by the side of the bed, where he +could see and hear all._ + + +When the king was lately in the city of Tours, a Scottish gentleman, an +archer of his bodyguard, was greatly enamoured of a beautiful and gentle +damsel married to a mercer; and when he could find time and place, +related to her his sad case, but received no favourable reply,--at which +he was neither content nor joyous. Nevertheless, as he was much in +love, he relaxed not the pursuit, but besought her so eagerly, that the +damsel, wishing to drive him away for good and all, told him that she +would inform her husband of the dishonourable and damnable proposals +made to her,--which at length she did. + +The husband,--a good and wise man, honourable and valiant, as you will +see presently,--was very angry to think that the Scot would dishonour +him and his fair wife. And that he might avenge himself without trouble, +he commanded his wife that if the Scot should accost her again, she +should appoint a meeting on a certain day, and, if he were so foolish as +to come, he would buy his pleasure dearly. + +The good wife, to obey her husband’s will, did as she was told. The poor +amorous Scot, who spent his time in passing the house, soon saw the +fair mercer, and when he had humbly saluted her, he besought her love +so earnestly, and desired that she would listen to his final piteous +prayer, and if she would, never should woman be more loyally served and +obeyed if she would but grant his most humble and reasonable request. + +The fair mercer, remembering the lesson that her husband had given her, +finding the opportunity propitious, after many subterfuges and excuses, +told the Scot that he could come to her chamber on the following +evening, where he could talk to her more secretly, and she would give +him what he desired. + +You may guess that she was greatly thanked, and her words listened to +with pleasure and obeyed by her lover, who left his lady feeling more +joyous than ever he had in his life. + +When the husband returned home, he was told of all the words and deeds +of the Scot, and how he was to come on the morrow to the lady’s chamber. + +“Let him come,” said the husband. “Should he undertake such a mad +business I will make him, before he leaves, see and confess the evil he +has done, as an example to other daring and mad fools like him.” + +The evening of the next day drew near,--much to the joy of the amorous +Scot, who wished to see and enjoy the person of his lady;--and much also +to the joy of the good mercer who was desiring a great vengeance to +be taken on the person of the Scot who wished to replace him in the +marriage bed; but not much to the taste of his fair wife, who expected +that her obedience to her husband would lead to a serious fight. + +All prepared themselves; the mercer put on a big, old, heavy suit +of armour, donned his helmet and gauntlets, and armed himself with a +battle-axe. Like a true champion, he took up his post early, and as he +had no tent in which to await his enemy, placed himself behind a curtain +by the side of the bed, where he was so well-hidden that he could not be +perceived. + +The lover, sick with desire, knowing the longed-for hour was now at +hand, set out for the house of the mercer, but he did not forget to +take his big, good, strong two-handed sword; and when he was within the +house, the lady went up to her chamber without showing any fear, and +he followed her quietly. And when he came within the room, he asked the +lady if she were alone? To which she replied casually, and with some +confusion, that she was. + +“Tell me the truth,” said the Scot. “Is not your husband here?” + +“No,” said she. + +“Well! let him come! By Saint Aignan, if he should come, I would split +his skull to the teeth. By God! if there were three of them I should not +fear them. I should soon master them!” + +After these wicked words, he drew his big, good sword, and brandished it +three or four times; then laid it on the bed by his side. + +With that he kissed and cuddled her, and did much more at his leisure +and convenience, without the poor coward by the side of the bed, who was +greatly afraid he should be killed, daring to show himself. + +Our Scot, after this adventure, took leave of the lady for a while, and +thanked her as he ought for her great courtesy and kindness, and went +his way. + +As soon as the valiant man of arms knew that the Scot was out of the +house, he came out of his hiding place, so frightened that he could +scarcely speak, and commenced to upbraid his wife for having let the +archer do his pleasure on her. To which she replied that it was his +fault, as he had made her appoint a meeting. + +“I did not command you,” he said, “to let him do his will and pleasure.” + +“How could I refuse him,” she replied, “seeing that he had his big +sword, with which he could have killed me?” + +At that moment the Scot returned, and came up the stairs to the chamber, +and ran in and called out, “What is it?” Whereupon the good man, to save +himself, hid under the bed for greater safety, being more frightened +than ever. + +The Scot served the lady as he had done before, but kept his sword +always near him. After many long love-games between the Scot and the +lady, the hour came when he must leave, so he said good-night and went +away. + +The poor martyr who was under the bed would scarcely come out, so much +did he fear the return of his adversary,--or rather, I should say, his +companion. At last he took courage, and by the help of his wife was, +thank God, set on his feet, and if he had scolded his wife before he was +this time harder upon her than ever, for she had consented, in spite of +his forbidding her, to dishonour him and herself. + +“Alas,” said she, “and where is the woman bold enough to oppose a man so +hasty and violent as he was, when you yourself, armed and accoutred and +so valiant,--and to whom he did more wrong than he did to me--did not +dare to attack him, and defend me?” + +“That is no answer,” he replied. “Unless you had liked, he would never +have attained his purpose. You are a bad and disloyal woman.” + +“And you,” said she, “are a cowardly, wicked, and most blamable man; for +I am dishonoured since, through obeying you, I gave a rendezvous to the +Scot. Yet you have not the courage to undertake the defence of the wife +who is the guardian of your honour. For know that I would rather have +died than consent to this dishonour, and God knows what grief I feel, +and shall always feel as long as I live, whilst he to whom I looked for +help suffered me to be dishonoured in his presence.” + +He believed that she would not have allowed the Scot to tumble her if +she had not taken pleasure in it, but she maintained that she was forced +and could not resist, but left the resistance to him and he did not +fulfil his charge. Thus they both wrangled and quarrelled, with many +arguments on both sides. But at any rate, the husband was cuckolded and +deceived by the Scot in the manner you have heard. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FIFTH -- THE DUEL WITH THE BUCKLE-STRAP. [5] + +By Philippe De Laon. + +_The fifth story relates two judgments of Lord Talbot. How a Frenchman +was taken prisoner (though provided with a safe-conduct) by an +Englishman, who said that buckle-straps were implements of war, and who +was made to arm himself with buckle-straps and nothing else, and meet +the Frenchman, who struck him with a sword in the presence of Talbot. +The other, story is about a man who robbed a church, and who was made to +swear that he would never enter a church again._ + +Lord Talbot (whom may God pardon) who was, as every one knows, so +victorious as leader of the English, gave in his life two judgments +which were worthy of being related and held in perpetual remembrance, +and in order that the said judgments should be known, I will relate +them briefly in this my first story, though it is the fifth amongst the +others. I will tell it thus. + +During the time that the cursed and pestilent war prevailed between +France and England, and which has not yet finished, (*) it happened, +as was often the case, that a French soldier was taken prisoner by +an Englishman, and, a ransom having been fixed, he was sent under a +safe-conduct, signed by Lord Talbot, to his captain, that he might +procure his ransom and bring it back to his captor. + +As he was on his road, he was met by another Englishman, who, seeing he +was a Frenchman, asked him whence he came and whither he was going? The +other told him the truth. + +“Where is your safe-conduct?” asked the Englishman. + +“It is not far off,” replied the Frenchman. With that he took the +safe-conduct, which was in a little box hung at his belt, and handed +it to the Englishman, who read it from one end to the other. And, as is +customary, there was written on the safe-conduct, “Forbidden to carry +any implements of warfare.” + +The Englishman noted this, and saw that there were _esguillettes_ on +the Frenchman’s doublet. (**) He imagined that these straps were real +implements of war, so he said, + +“I make you my prisoner, because you have broken your safe-conduct.” + +“By my faith, I have not,” replied the Frenchman, “saving your grace. +You see in what condition I am.” + +“No! no!” said the Englishman. “By Saint John you have broken your +safe-conduct. Surrender, or I will kill you.” + +The poor Frenchman, who had only his page with him, and was quite +unprovided with weapons, whilst the other was accompanied by three +or four archers, did the best thing he could, and surrendered. The +Englishman led him to a place near there, and put him in prison. + + (*) It had virtually finished, and the English only retained + the town of Calais when this tale was written (about 1465) + but they had not relinquished their claim to the French + Crown, and hostilities were expected to recommence. + + (**) _Esguillettes_ were small straps or laces, used to + fasten the cuirass to the doublet. + +The Frenchman, finding himself thus ill-treated, sent in great haste +to his captain, who when he heard his man’s case, was greatly and +marvellously astonished. Thereupon he wrote a letter to Lord Talbot, +and sent it by a herald, to ask how it was that one of his men had +been arrested by one of Lord Talbot’s men whilst under that general’s +safe-conduct. + +The said herald, being well instructed as to what he was to say and do, +left his master, and presented the letters to Lord Talbot. He read them, +and caused them to be read also by one of his secretaries before many +knights and squires and others of his followers. + +Thereupon he flew into a great rage, for he was hot-tempered and +irritable, and brooked not to be disobeyed, and especially in matters of +war; and to question his safe-conduct made him very angry. + +To shorten the story, he caused to be brought before him both the +Frenchman and the Englishman, and told the Frenchman to tell his tale. + +He told how he had been taken prisoner by one of Lord Talbot’s people, +and put to ransom; + +“And under your safe-conduct, my lord, I was on my way to my friends to +procure my ransom. I met this gentleman here, who is also one of +your followers, who asked me whither I was going, and if I had a +safe-conduct? I told him, yes, and showed it to him. And when he had +read it he told me that I had broken it, and I replied that I had not, +and that he could not prove it. But he would not listen to me, and I was +forced, if I would not be killed on the spot, to surrender. I know of no +cause why he should have detained me, and I ask justice of you.” + +Lord Talbot, when he had heard the Frenchman, was not well content, +nevertheless when the latter had finished, my Lord turned to the +Englishman and asked, + +“What have you to reply to this?” + +“My lord,” said he, “it is quite true, as he has said, that I met him +and would see his safe-conduct, which when I had read from end to end, I +soon perceived that he had broken and violated; otherwise I should never +have arrested him.” + +“How had he broken it?” asked Lord Talbot. “Tell me quickly!” + +“My Lord, because in his safe-conduct he is forbidden all implements of +war, and he had, and has still, real implements of war; that is to say +he has on his doublet, buckle-straps, which are real implements of war, +for without them a man cannot be armed.” + +“Ah!” said Lord Talbot, “and so buckle-straps are implements of war +are they? Do you know of any other way in which he had broken his +safe-conduct?” + +“Truly, my lord, I do not,” replied the Englishman. + +“What, you villain!” said Lord Talbot. “Have you stopped a gentleman +under my safe-conduct for his buckle-straps? By St. George, I will show +you whether they are implements of war.” + +Then, hot with anger and indignation, he went up to the Frenchman, and +tore from his doublet the two straps, and gave them to the Englishman; +then he put a sword in the Frenchman’s hand, and drawing his own good +sword out of the sheath, said to the Englishman, + +“Defend yourself with that implement of war, as you call it, if you know +how!” + +Then he said to the Frenchman, + +“Strike that villain who arrested you without cause or reason, and we +shall see how he can defend himself with this implement of war. If you +spare him, by St. George I will strike you.” + +Thus the Frenchman, whether he would or not, was obliged to strike at +the Englishman with the sword, and the poor Englishman protected himself +as best he could, and ran about the room, with Talbot after him, who +made the Frenchman keep striking the other, and cried out; + +“Defend yourself, villain, with your implement of war!” In truth, the +Englishman was so well beaten that he was nearly dead, and cried for +mercy to Talbot and the Frenchman. The latter was released from his +ransom by Lord Talbot, and his horse, harness, and all his baggage, were +given back to him. + +Such was the first judgment of Lord Talbot; there remains to be given an +account of the other, which was thus. + +He learned that one of his soldiers had robbed a church of the pyx in +which is placed the Corpus Domini, and sold it for ready money--I +know not for how much, but the pyx was big and fine, and beautifully +enamelled. + +Lord Talbot, who though he was very brutal and wicked in war, had always +great reverence for the Church, and would never allow a monastery or +church to be set on fire or robbed, heard of this, and he was very +severe on those who broke his regulations. + +So he caused to be brought before him the man who had stolen the pyx +from the church; and when he came, God knows what a greeting he had. +Talbot would have killed him, if those around had not begged that his +life might be saved. Nevertheless, as he would punish him, he said. + +“Rascal traitor! why have you dared to rob a church in spite of my +orders?” + +“Ah, my lord,” said the poor thief, “for God’s sake have mercy upon me; +I will never do it again.” + +“Come here, villain,” said Talbot; and the other came up about as +willingly as though he were going to the gallows. And the said Lord +Talbot rushed at him, and with his fist, which was both large and heavy, +struck him on the head, and cried. + +“Ha! you thief! have you robbed a church?” + +And the other cried, + +“Mercy my lord! I will never do it again.” + +“Will you do it again?” + +“No, my lord!” + +“Swear then that you will never again enter a church of any kind. Swear, +villain!” + +“Very good, my lord,” said the other. + +Then Talbot made the thief swear that he would never set foot in a +church again, which made all who were present and who heard it, laugh, +though they pitied the thief because Lord Talbot had forbidden him +the church for ever, and made him swear never to enter it. Yet we may +believe that he did it with a good motive and intention. Thus you +have heard the two judgments of Lord Talbot, which were such as I have +related to you. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SIXTH -- THE DRUNKARD IN PARADISE. [6] + +By Monseigneur de Lannoy + +_The sixth story is of a drunkard, who would confess to the Prior of the +Augustines at the Hague, and after his confession said that he was then +in a holy state and would die; and believed that his head was cut off +and that he was dead, and was carried away by his companions who said +they were going to bury him._ + +In the city of The Hague in Holland, as the prior of the Augustine +Monastery was one day saying his prayers on the lawn near the chapel of +St. Antony, he was accosted by a great, big Dutchman who was exceedingly +drunk, and who lived in a village called Schevingen, about two leagues +from there. + +The prior, who saw him coming from afar, guessed his condition by his +heavy and uncertain step, and when they met, the drunkard saluted the +prior, who returned the salute, and passed on reading his prayers, +proposing neither to stop nor question him. + +The drunkard, being half beside himself, turned and pursued the prior, +and demanded to be confessed. + +“Confession!” said the prior. “Go away! Go away! You have confessed +already.” + +“Alas, sir,” replied the drunkard, “for God’s sake confess me. At +present, I remember all my sins, and am most contrite.” + +The prior, displeased to be interrupted by a drunkard, replied. + +“Go your ways; you have no need of confession, for you are in a very +comfortable case as it is.” + +“Oh, no,” said the drunkard, “as sure as death you shall confess me, +master Curé, for I am most devout,” and he seized him by the sleeve, and +would have stopped him. + +The priest would not listen to him, and made wonderful efforts to +escape, but it was no good, for the other was obstinate in his desire to +confess, which the priest would not hear. + +The devotion of the drunkard increased more and more, and when he saw +that the priest still refused to hear his sins, he put his hand on his +big knife and drew it from its sheath, and told the priest he would kill +him, if he did not listen to his confession. + +The priest, being afraid of a knife in such dangerous hands, did not +know what to do, so he asked the other, + +“What is is you want?” + +“I wish to confess,” said he. + +“Very well; I will hear you,” said the priest. “Come here.” + +Our drunkard,--being more tipsy than a thrush in a vineyard,--began, so +please you, his devout confession,--over which I pass, for the priest +never revealed it, but you may guess it was both novel and curious. + +The priest cut short the wearisome utterances of the drunkard, and gave +him absolution, and, to get rid of him, said; + +“Go away now; you have made a good confession.” + +“Say you so, sir?” he replied. + +“Yes, truly,” said the priest, “it was a very good confession. Go, and +sin no more!” + +“Then, since I have well confessed and received absolution, if I were to +die now, should I go to paradise?” asked the drunkard. + +“Straight! Straight!” replied the priest. “There can be no doubt about +it.” + +“Since that is so,” said the drunkard, “and I am now in a holy state, I +would like to die at once, in order that I may go to heaven.” + +With that he took and gave his knife to the priest, begging of him to +cut off his head, in order that he might go to paradise. + +“Oh, no!” said the priest, much astonished. “It is not my business to do +that--you must go to heaven by some other means.” + +“No,” replied the drunkard, “I wish to go there now, and to die here by +your hands. Come, and kill me.” + +“I will not do that,” said the prior. “A priest must not kill any one.” + +“You shall I swear; and if you do not at once despatch me and send me +to heaven I will kill you with my own hands,” and at these words +he brandished his big knife before the eyes of the priest, who was +terrified and alarmed. + +At last, having thought the matter over,--that he might get rid of this +drunkard, who was becoming more and more aggressive, and perchance might +have taken his life, he seized the knife, and said; + +“Well! since you wish to die by my hands in order that you may go to +paradise,--kneel down before me.” + +The words were hardly uttered before the drunkard fell flat, and with +some trouble raised himself to his knees, and with his hands joined +together, awaited the blow of the sword which was to kill him. + +The priest gave the drunkard a heavy blew with the back of the knife, +which felled him to the ground, where he lay, and would not get up, +believing himself to be in paradise. + +Then the priest left, not forgetting for his own safety to take the +knife with him, and ere he had gone far he met a waggon full of people +some of whom had been along with the drunkard that day, to whom he +recounted all the story--begging that they would raise him and convey +him home; he also gave them the knife. + +They promised to take charge of him, and the priest went away. They had +hardly started on their way, when they perceived the good toper, lying +as though dead, with his face to the ground; and when they were nigh +to him, they all with one voice shouted his name,--but, shout as they +would, he made no reply. Then they cried out again, but it was no use. + +Then some of them descended from the waggon, and they took him by the +head, and the feet, and the legs, and raised him from the ground, and so +shook him that he opened his eyes and said, + +“Leave me alone! Leave me alone! I am dead!” + +“No, you are not,” said his companions. “You must come along with us.” + +“I will not,” said the drunkard. “Where should I go? I am dead, and +already in heaven.” + +“You must come,” said the others. “We will get some drink.” + +“Drink?” said the other. “I shall never drink again; I am dead;” and for +all that his comrades could say or do, they could not get it out of his +head but that he was dead. + +The dispute lasted long, and they could not persuade the drunkard to +accompany them; for to all that they said he always replied, “I am +dead”. + +At last one of them bethought himself, and said, + +“Then since you are dead, you must not lie here and be buried like a +beast of the field. Come! come along with us, and we will carry you +in our waggon to the grave-yard of our town as befits a Christian. +Otherwise you will not go to heaven.” + +When the drunkard heard that he must be buried in order that he might +go to heaven, he was satisfied to obey, so he was soon tucked up in +the waggon, where he was quickly asleep. The waggon was drawn by good +cattle, and they were speedily at Schevingen, where the good drunkard was +put down in front of his house. His wife and servants were called, and +the body given to them, for he slept so soundly that he was carried +from the waggon to the house and put in his bed without ever waking, and +being laid between the sheets, at last woke up two days later. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 07.jpg THE WAGGONER IN THE BEAR.] + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTH -- THE WAGGONER IN THE BEAR. + +By Monseigneur + +_Of a goldsmith of Paris who made a waggoner sleep with him and his +wife, and how the waggoner dallied with her from behind, which the +goldsmith perceived and discovered, and of the words which he spake to +the waggoner._ + + +A goldsmith of Paris, once, in order to complete some of his wares in +time for the fair of Lendit, laid in a large stock of willow charcoal. +It happened one day amongst others, that the waggoner who delivered this +charcoal, knowing that the goldsmith was in great haste, brought two +waggons more than he had on any previous day, but hardly had he entered +Paris with the last load than the city gates were shut on his heels. +Nevertheless, he was well received by the goldsmith, and after the +charcoal was unloaded, and the horses stabled, they all supped at their +leisure, and made great cheer, and drank heavily. Just as the meal +finished the clock struck midnight, which astonished them greatly, so +quickly had the time passed at supper. + +Each one thanked God, and being heavy-eyed, only asked to go to bed, but +as it was so late, the goldsmith detained the waggoner, fearing that he +might meet the watch, who would have put him into the Châtelet had they +found him at that hour of the night. + +At that time the goldsmith had many persons working for him, and he was +obliged to make the waggoner lie with him and his wife, and, not +being of a suspicions nature, he made his wife lie between him and the +waggoner. + +He had great trouble to arrange this, for the good waggoner refused his +hospitality, and would rather have slept in the barn or stable, but he +was obliged to obey the goldsmith. And after he had undressed, he got +into bed, in which already were the goldsmith and his wife, as I have +already said. + +The wife feeling the waggoner approach her, moved nearer her husband, +both on account of the cold and the smallness of the bed, and, instead +of a pillow, placed her head upon her husband’s breast, whilst her +backside rested on the waggoner’s knees. + +Our goldsmith soon went to sleep, and his wife pretended to also, +and the waggoner, being tired from his work, did the same. But as +the stallion grows hot as soon as he approaches the mare, so did this +stallion lift up his head on feeling so near to him the aforesaid woman. + +It was not within the power of the waggoner to refrain from attacking +her closely; and this lasted for some time without the woman waking, or +at least pretending to wake. Nor would the husband have awaked, had it +not been that the head of his wife reclined on his breast, and owing to +the assault of this stallion, gave him such a bump that he quickly woke. + +He thought at first that his wife was dreaming, but as her dream +continued, and he heard the waggoner moving about and breathing hard, +he gently put down his hand, and found what ravage the stallion of the +waggoner was making in his warren;--at which, as he loved his wife, he +was not well content. He soon made the waggoner with draw, and said to +him, + +“What are you doing, you wicked rascal? You must be mad to attack my +wife in that way. Don’t do it again! Morbleu! I declare to you that if +she had woke just now when your machine was pushing her, I don’t know +what she would have done; but I feel certain, as I know her well, that +she would have scratched your face, and torn out your eyes with her +nails. You don’t know what she will do when she loses her temper, and +there is nothing in the world which puts her out more. Take it away, I +beg, for your own sake.” + +The waggoner, in a few words, declared that it was unintentional, and, +as day was breaking, he rose and took his leave and went away with his +cart. + +You may fancy that the good woman on whom the waggoner made this attempt +was displeased in another way than her husband fancied; and afterwards +it was said that the waggoner met her in the proper way: but I would not +believe it or credit the report. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE EIGHTH -- TIT FOR TAT. [8] + +By Monseigneur de la Roche + +_Of a youth of Picardy who lived at Brussels, and made his master’s +daughter pregnant, and for that cause left and came back to Picardy to +be married. And soon after his departure the girl’s mother perceived the +condition of her daughter, and the girl confessed in what state she was; +so her mother sent her to the Picardian to tell him that he must undo +that which he had done. And how his new bride refused then to sleep with +him, and of the story she told him, whereupon he immediately left her +and returned to his first love, and married her._ + +In the city of Brussels, where a good many adventures have happened in +our time, there lived not long ago a young man of Picardy, who served +his master well and faithfully for a long period. And amongst other +services which he did the said master was this; that by his civil +speech, bearing, and courtesy he so gained the graces of his master’s +daughter, that he lay with her, and owing to his meritorious actions she +became pregnant. + +The youth, knowing the lady was in that condition, was not such a fool +as to wait until his master should perceive and know it. So he quickly +asked leave to absent himself for a few days,--albeit he had no +intention to return--pretending that he must go to Picardy to see his +father and mother, and some others of his relations. + +Then he took farewell of his master and mistress, and had a most +piteous leave-taking with the daughter; to whom he promised quickly to +return,--which he did not, and for good cause. + +When he was in Picardy, at the house of his father, his master’s +daughter grew so big with child that her sad condition could no longer +be concealed; amongst others, her worthy mother, who was experienced in +such matters, was the first to notice it. She took her daughter on one +side, and asked her how she came to be in that condition, and who was +the cause of it. The girl had to be much pressed and scolded before she +would say anything, but at last was forced to confess her sad condition, +and own that it was the Picardian, who, a short while before, had been +servant to her father, who had seduced her, and left her in that pitiful +case. + +Her mother was furious, and abused her till she could say no more, which +the poor girl bore so patiently and without saying a word, that it was +enough to excuse her for letting herself be put in the family-way by the +Picardian. + +But alas! her patient endurance had no effect upon her mother, who said; + +“Go away! go away! disgraceful hussy! and do your best to find the man +who made you pregnant, and tell him to undo that which he has done! +Never come back to me till he has undone the wrong he has done you.” + +The poor girl, who was in the condition you have heard, was crushed and +overcome by the wrath of her cruel mother, and set out in search of the +young man who had ruined her; and you may well imagine, had to endure +much trouble and pain before she could hear any news of him. + +But at last, as God so willed it, after much wandering about through +Picardy, she came, one Sunday, to a large village in the county of +Artois, and she came most opportunely, for on that day her friend, the +Picardian who had deceived her, was to be married, at which she was very +joyful. And she cared so little about obeying her mother, that, big as +she was, she pressed amongst the crowd, and when she saw her lover, she +saluted him. He, when he saw her, blushed, and returned her salutation, +and said to her; + +“You are very welcome! What brings you here at this time, my dear?” + +“My mother,” she replied, “sent me to you, and God knows that you have +caused me much upbraiding. She charged and commanded me that I should +tell you that you must undo that which you have done, or, if you do not, +I am never to go back to her.” + +The other, when he heard this, to get rid of her as soon as he could, +spoke as follows. + +“My dear, I will willingly do that which you ask and your mother +requires me to do, for it is very reasonable, but at this moment I +cannot be seen talking to you. I beg of you to have patience for to-day, +and to-morrow I will attend to your request.” + +With that she was content, and then he caused her to be taken and put +in a fair chamber, and commanded that she should be well-treated, as she +deserved to be, after the great trouble and difficulty she had had in +seeking him out. + +Now you must know that the bride had kept her eyes open, and when she +saw her husband talking to a woman big with child, she had misgivings, +and was by no means satisfied, but much troubled and vexed in mind. + +She nursed her wrath, and said nothing until her husband came to bed. +And when he would have cuddled and kissed her, and done his proper duty +as a husband, and so earned his “caudle”, (*) she turned herself first +on one side and then on the other, so that he could not attain his +purpose, at which he was greatly astonished and angry, and said to her, + + (*) It was the custom in the Middle Ages to bring in the + middle of the wedding night, a caudle of hot milk, soup, or + spiced wine to the married couple. + +“Why do you do that, my dear?” + +“I have good cause,” she replied, “for I see from your acts that you do +not care for me. There are many others you like better than me.” + +“By my faith,” said he, “there is no woman in the world I love better +than you.” + +“Ah!” she said, “did I not see you after dinner holding discourse for a +long time with a woman who was in the room! I saw you only too plainly, +and you cannot excuse yourself.” + +“By our Lady,” he replied, “you have no cause to be jealous about her,” + and with that he told her that it was the daughter of his master at +Brussels, and how he had lain with her and made her pregnant, and on +that account he had left the place; and how also after his departure, +she became so big with child that it was perceived, and then she had +confessed to her mother who had seduced her, and her mother had sent her +to him that he might undo that which he had done, or else she must never +return home. + +When the young man had finished his story, his wife who had been struck +by one portion of it, said; + +“What? Do you say that she told her mother you had slept with her?” + +“Yes,” he said; “she made it all known to her.” + +“On my word!” she replied, “then she proved herself very stupid. The +waggoner at our house slept with me more than forty nights, but you +don’t suppose that I breathed a word of that to my mother. I took good +care to say nothing.” + +“Truly,” quoth he, “the devil takes care that the gibbet is not cheated. +(**) Go back to your waggoner if you like; for I care nothing for you.” + + (**) In other words, we are punished for our ill-deeds. + +Thereupon he arose and went to the woman he had seduced, and left the +other one; and when the morning came and this news was noised abroad, +God knows that it amused many and displeased many others, especially the +father and mother of the bride. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 09.jpg THE HUSBAND PANDAR TO HIS OWN WIFE] + + + + +STORY THE NINTH -- THE HUSBAND PANDAR TO HIS OWN WIFE. [9] + +By Monseigneur + +_Of a knight of Burgundy, who was marvellously amorous of one of his +wife’s waiting women, and thinking to sleep with her, slept with his +wife who was in the bed of the said tire-woman. And how he caused, by +his order, another knight, his neighbour to sleep with the said woman, +believing that it was really the tirewoman--and afterwards he was not +well pleased, albeit that the lady knew nothing, and was not aware, I +believe, that she had had to do with aught other than her own husband._ + + +In order to properly continue these stories, the incidents of which +happen in divers places and under various circumstances, there should +not be omitted the tale of a gentle knight of Burgundy, who lived in +a castle of his own that was fair and strong, and well provided with +retainers and artillery, as his condition required. + +He fell in love with a fair damsel of his household, who was chief +tire-woman to his wife, and his great affection for her took such +hold upon him that he could not be happy without her, and was always +conversing with her and beseeching her, and, in short, life seemed no +good without her, so filled with love of her was he. + +The girl, being chaste and prudent, wished to keep her honour, which she +valued as she did her own soul, and would not betray the duty she owed +to her mistress, and therefore she lent no ear to her master when he +importuned her. And whenever he spoke to her, God knows what a rebuff +he met, and how she remonstrated with him as to his boldness and +ill-conduct. Moreover, she told him that if he continued she would +inform her mistress. + +But, in spite of her threats, he would not abandon the enterprise, but +pursued her more and more, so that at last the girl was forced to tell +her mistress. + +The lady being informed of her lord’s love affair, though she did not +show it, was not well pleased; but she devised a plan, which was this. + +She charged the girl that the next time the knight solicited her, that +she should lay aside all reserve, and inform him that on the following +night she would expect him in her chamber and in her bed; “And if he +should accept the rendezvous,” added the lady; “I will take your place; +and leave the rest to me.” + +The girl was pleased to obey her mistress, as was her duty, and promised +she would do as she was bid. + +It was not long before my lord again returned to the charge, and prayed +her more warmly than before, saying that if she did not grant his +prayer, he would rather die than live longer in this hopeless passion. + +What need is there of a long story? The girl, being thoroughly +well-instructed by her mistress, appointed an hour at which he should +come to her the next night, at which he was so well-pleased that his +heart leapt for joy, and he promised himself that he would not fail to +be there. + +The desired day arrived, but in the evening, a gentle knight, a +neighbour of my lord and his great friend, came to see him, for whom my +lord made, as he well knew how, great cheer; as did my lady also, and +the rest of the household were not behind-hand, knowing that to be the +good pleasure of my lord and my lady. + +After much feasting and a supper and a banquet, it was time to retire +to rest, and having said good-night to the lady and her women, the two +knights began to talk over various matters, and, amongst other +things, the visitor asked my lord if there were any pretty women with +shoulder-knots in the village, (*) for the weather being fine, and +having made good cheer, he had a desire for a woman. + + (*) In some towns of the south of France, in the Middle + Ages, the courtesans used to wear a knot of coloured ribbon + on the shoulder. + +My lord, on account of the great love he bore his friend, would hide +nothing from him, and told him how he had that night agreed to sleep +with the tire-woman; and that he might do his friend pleasure, when he +had been with her a certain time, he would, he said, rise gently, and go +away, and let the visitor do the rest. + +The visitor thanked his host, and God knows that the hour seemed long in +coming. At last the host took leave of his guest, and went to his room, +as was his custom, to undress. + +Now you must know that whilst the knights were talking, my lady went to +the bed in which my lord expected to find the tiring-maid, and there she +awaited whatever God might be pleased to send her. + +My lord was a long time undressing, to give time to his wife to go to +sleep. He then dismissed his valet, and in his long dressing-gown went +to where his lady awaited him,--he thinking to find some-one else,--and +silently undressed and got into bed. + +And as the candle was put out, and the lady uttered no word, he believed +he was with the woman. Hardly had he got into bed before he began to +perform his duty, and so well did he acquit himself, that three, even +four, times did not content him; whereat his wife felt great pleasure, +and thinking that that was all, fell asleep. + +My lord, now much lighter than when he came, seeing that the lady slept, +and remembering his promise, rose quietly and went to his friend, who +was awaiting orders to go into action, and told him to take his place, +but that he must not speak a word, and must come away when he had done +all that he wished. + +The other, as wide-awake as a rat, and straining at the leash like a +greyhound,--went, and lay down by the lady without her knowing of it. +And though he felt assured that my lord had already worked well, and +he was in haste, he did better, at which my lady was in no small degree +astonished, and after this amusement--which was not distasteful to +her--she again fell asleep. + +Then the good knight left her, and returned to my lord, who again +resumed his place by my lady’s side as before, and made a fresh attack +upon her--so well did the exercise please him. + +Thus the hours passed,--either in sleeping or doing something +else,--until day broke; and as he turned round in bed, expecting +to behold the tire-woman, he saw and knew that it was his wife, who +thereupon said to him. + +“Are you not a recreant, cowardly, and wicked whoremonger? You thought +to have had my tire-woman, and it is upon me that you have so many times +essayed your unbridled and measureless lust. Thank God you have been +deceived, for no one else shall ever have that which belongs to me.” + +The good knight was both astonished and angry, and no wonder. And when +he spoke at last, he said. + +“My dear, I cannot hide from you my folly, and I greatly grieve ever to +have undertaken such an enterprise. I beg of you to be satisfied with +what you have done, and never mention it for never in all my life shall +it occur again. That I promise you on my honour; and that you may never +have occasion to be reminded of it, I will send away the woman who has +played this trick upon me.” + +The lady, who was more satisfied with this adventure than her woman, and +seeing how contrite her husband was, allowed herself to be gained-over, +but not without making some remonstrances and scoldings. + +In the end, all was arranged satisfactorily, but the knight, who had a +flea in his ear, as soon as he rose, went to his companion, to whom +he related the adventure at full length, and demanded from him two +promises; the first was that he should strictly promise to say nothing +of the matter, and the second that he should never meet his wife again. + +The other, who was much vexed at this unfortunate affair, comforted the +knight as best he could, and promised to perform his very reasonable +requests; then mounted his horse and rode off. The tire-woman, who was +not to blame for the _contretemps_, bore the punishment however, and was +sent away. The knight and the lady lived long together without her ever +being aware that she had had to do with a strange knight. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE TENTH -- THE EEL PASTIES. [10] + +By Monseigneur de la Roche + +_Of a knight of England, who, after he was married, wished his mignon to +procure him some pretty girls, as he did before; which the mignon would +not do, saying that one wife sufficed; but the said knight brought him +back to obedience by causing eel pasties to be always served to him, +both at dinner and at supper._ + + +Many wonderful and curious adventures have occurred in England, though +their recital would be out of place amongst these tales. Nevertheless, +the present story is appropriate to be told here to increase the number +of these tales, and is of a great lord of the kingdom of England, who +was very rich and powerful, and who, amongst all his servitors, had +especial trust, confidence, and affection in a young gentleman of his +household, and that for various reasons. And because of his loyalty, +diligence, cunning, and prudence, and other good qualities he found in +him, he hid from him nothing concerning his love-affairs. + +As time went on, the said young gentleman, by his cleverness, grew +so much in his master’s favour, that he not only knew his master’s +love-affairs, but acted as emissary and go-between on every occasion, as +long as his master was unmarried. + +But a certain time after that, it happened that by the advice of +his relatives, friends, and well-wishers, my lord was married to a +beautiful, noble, good, and rich lady, much to the joy of many persons; +and amongst other our _mignon_ was not the least joyful, as he said to +himself that the marriage would be to his master’s welfare and honour, +and would cause him he hoped to cease from those pleasures of love which +he had hitherto practised. + +One day he told the lord how glad he was that he had married a fair and +good lady, for now he would not need to have women sought for him as +before. To which my lord replied that nevertheless he did not intend +to abandon all his love-affairs, and although he was married would +sometimes employ the young man’s services. + +The youth was not pleased to hear this, and replied that such amours +should cease now that his love was shared by a lady who excelled all +others in beauty, prudence, and goodness. + +“Do as you please, my lord,” said he, “but, for my part, I will never +carry a message to any woman if it is to prejudice my mistress.” + +“I know not what you mean by prejudice,” said his master, “but you must +prepare to go to such and such ladies. For I would have you know that +your duties will be as they were before.” + +“Oh, my lord,” said the youth, “it seems that you take a pleasure in +abusing women, which is not right; for you know well that all those +you have named are not to be compared in beauty or other respects to my +lady, to whom you are offering a deadly insult if she should ever hear +of your misconduct. And what is more, you cannot be ignorant that in so +doing you damn your own soul.” + +“Cease your preaching,” said my lord, “and do as I command.” + +“Pardon me, my lord,” said the youth. “I would rather die than, through +my means, trouble should arise between you and my lady; and I beg of you +to be satisfied with me as I am, for certainly I will no more act as I +once used.” + +My lord, who saw how obstinate the young man was, pressed him no more +at that time. But three or four days after that, without alluding to the +conversation they had had, he demanded of the young man, amongst other +things, what dish he preferred, and he replied that no dish pleased him +so much as eel pasties. + +“By St. John, it is a good dish,” said his master; “you have not chosen +badly.” + +That being said, my lord retired, and caused to be sent to him his +major-domo, whom he charged by his obedience that he should serve to the +young man nothing but eel pasties, whatsoever he might say or do; and +the major-domo promised to perform his commands, which he did, for on +the same day, as the said youth was seated at table in his chamber, his +servant brought unto him many fair and large eel pasties which had been +delivered to him from the kitchen,--at which he was pleased, and ate his +fill. + +On the morrow it was the same, and the five or six following days he was +brought like pasties, of which he was already weary. So the youth asked +of his servants why they brought him nothing but these pasties? + +“By my faith, sir,” they replied, “they will give us nothing else. We +see very well that they send to the hall and elsewhere, other meats; but +for you there is nothing but pasties.” + +The young man, being wise and prudent, and caring little for his +stomach, made no complaint, and several days passed; during which he +was still served with these everlasting pies, at which he was not best +pleased. + +One day he determined to go and dine with the stewards, where he was +served as before with eel pasties. And when he saw that, he could not +help asking why they served him differently to the others. + +“God’s death!” quoth he, “I am so stuffed that I can eat no more. It +seems to me that I see nothing but eel pies. Let me tell you there is no +sense in it,--you carry the joke too far. For more than a month you have +played this trick upon me. I am so worn-out that I have neither health +nor strength. I do not like to be treated in this manner.” + +The stewards told him that they only did as their master had bidden +them, and that it was not their own doing. The young man, wearied of +these pies, determined to complain to my lord, and ask him why he had +caused the eel pies to be always served, and forbidden the cooks to +supply any other dish. + +In reply, my lord said unto him, “Did you not tell me that eel pie was +the dish that you most liked in all the world?” + +“By St. John, yes, my lord,” said the youth. + +“Then why do you complain now,” said my lord, “since I cause you to be +served with that which you like?” + +“I like them,” replied the young man, “in moderation. I like exceedingly +to have eel pies once, or twice, or three times, or now and then, and +there is no dish I love better. But to eat it always, and nothing else +beside,--by Our Lady I will not. Any man would be sick and weary. My +stomach is so sick of eel pasties, that the moment I smell them I have +already dined. For God’s sake, my lord, command that I be given some +other food that I may recover my appetite; otherwise I am a dead man.” + “Ah!” said my lord, “Yet it seems that you do not think I shall be a +dead man if I content myself with the charms of my wife. By my soul, you +may believe that I am as weary of them as you are of the pasties, +and would as willingly have a change,--though there is none I love +so much--as you desire another dish, though you like pasties best. In +short, you shall eat no other food until you consent to serve me as you +did before, and bring me a variety of women,--even as you would have a +variety of dishes.” + +The young man, when he heard this subtle comparison, was confused, and +promised his master that he would do all that was desired, if he +could but be quit of his pasties, and would carry messages and conduct +intrigues as before. And from that time forth my lord, to spare my lady, +and by the good help of his _mignon_, passed his time with fair and +honest damsels, and the young man was relieved of his eel pasties, and +restored to his old office. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE ELEVENTH -- A SACRIFICE TO THE DEVIL. [11] + +By Monseigneur + +_Of a jealous rogue, who after many offerings made to divers saints to +curé him of his jealousy, offered a candle to the devil who is usually +painted under the feet of St. Michael; and of the dream that he had and +what happened to him when he awoke._ + + +A cowardly, jealous old hunks (I will not say that he was a cuckold) +knew not to whom to have recourse to be cured of his jealous grief and +misery. To-day he would make one pilgrimage, and to-morrow another, +and often would send his servants to perform his devotions and make +offerings whilst he was seated in his house to look after his wife, who +passed her time miserably with the most cursed husband and suspicious +grumbler that ever woman married. + +One day, as he thought of the many offerings that he had made or was to +make to the various saints in heaven and amongst others to St. Michael, +he bethought him that he would make one to the figure that is under the +feet of the said St. Michael. + +With that he commanded one of his servants to light and bring a large +wax candle, and offer it on his behalf. Soon it was reported to him that +his orders had been obeyed. + +“Thus,” said he to himself, “I shall see if God or the devil can cure +me,” and in his usual ill-temper he went to bed with his good and honest +wife, and perhaps because he had so many fancies and whims in his head +that nature was restrained, she lay in peace. + +In fact he slept soundly, and when he was in the depth of his sleep, +he to whom the candle had that day been offered, appeared unto him in +a vision, and thanked him for his offering, declaring that such a +sacrifice had never before been made to him. Moreover, he told the man +that he had not lost his labour, and should obtain his request, and +whilst the other lay still in deep sleep, it seemed to him that a ring +was placed on his finger, and he was told that whilst that ring was on +his finger he should never be jealous or have any cause for jealousy. + +After the vision had vanished, our jealous hunks awoke, and expected to +find on his finger the said ring, and found that one of his fingers +was in the backside of his wife, at which both he and she were much +astonished. + +But of the rest of the life of this jealous fool, and of his business +and condition, this story is silent. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 12.jpg Story the Twelfth -- THE CALF.] + + + + +STORY THE TWELFTH -- THE CALF. [12] + +By Monseigneur de la Roche + +_Of a Dutchman, who at all hours of the day and night ceased not to +dally with his wife in love sports; and how it chanced that he laid her +down, as they went through a wood, under a great tree in which was a +labourer who had lost his calf. And as he was enumerating the charms of +his wife, and naming all the pretty things he could see, the labourer +asked him if he could not see the calf he sought, to which the Dutchman +replied that he thought he could see a tail._ + + +In the borders of Holland there formerly lived a foolish fellow, who +determined to do the worst thing he could--that is, get married. And so +entranced was he with the joys of wedlock, that although it was winter, +he was so heated that the night--which at that season was nine or ten +hours--was not sufficiently long to enable him to appease the ardent +desires which he felt. + +Wherever he met his wife he put her on her back; whether it was in the +chamber, or in the stable, or any other place, he always attacked her. +And this did not last only one or two months, but longer than I care to +tell, for it would not be convenient that many women should hear of the +zeal of this insatiable worker. What more shall I say? He performed +so often that his memory has never been forgotten, or will be, in that +country. And in truth the woman who formerly complained to the Bailli of +Amiens had not such good cause as this man’s wife, but, notwithstanding +that she could often have dispensed with this pleasant task she was +always obedient to her husband, and never restive under the spur. + +It chanced one day, after dinner, when the weather was very fine, and +the sun shot its rays over the flower-embroidered earth, that the fancy +came to this man and his wife that they two would go alone to the woods, +and they started on their road. + +Now, in order that you may learn my story, let me tell you that exactly +at the same time as these good folk went forth to play in the wood, it +chanced that a labourer had lost his calf, which he had put to graze in +a field at the edge of the wood; but when he came to search for his calf +he could not find it, at which he was sad at heart. + +So he set out to search for the said calf both in the wood and in the +fields, and the places round about, to gather news of it. + +He bethought him that perchance it might have wandered into some thicket +to graze, or to some grassy ditch which it would not leave till it had +filled its belly; and to the end that he might the better see, without +running hither and thither, whether his surmise was right, he chose the +highest and thickest tree that he could find, and climbed into it, and +when he had climbed to the top of his tree, from whence he could see all +the adjacent fields and wood, he was sure that he was half-way towards +finding his calf. + +Whilst the honest fellow was casting his eyes on all sides to find +his calf, there came through the wood our man and his wife, singing, +playing, and rejoicing, as light hearts will do in a pleasant place. Nor +was it wonderful that the desire came to him to tumble his wife in such +a pleasant and suitable place, and looking now to the right now to the +left for a spot where he might conveniently take his pleasure, he saw +the big tree in which was the labourer--though he knew it not--and under +that tree he prepared to accomplish his pleasant purposes. + +And when he came to that place, his desires soon inflamed him, and he +waited not to begin his work, but attacked his wife and threw her on the +ground, for at that time he was very merry and his wife also. + +He would fain see her both before and behind, and for that reason took +off her dress, so that she was only in her petticoat, and that he pulled +up very high in spite of her efforts, and that he might the better see +at his ease her beauties, he turned her this way and that, and three +or four times did his strong hand fall upon her big buttocks. Then he +turned her on the other side, and as he had regarded her backside, +so did he her front, to which the good, honest woman would in no wise +consent, and besides the resistance that she made, her tongue was not +idle. + +She called him “ungracious”, “a fool”, “a madman”, “disgusting”, and +many other things, but it was no good; he was stronger than she was, +and would make an inventory of all her charms, and she was forced to +let him,--preferring, like a wise woman, to please her husband, than to +annoy him by a refusal. + +Having broken down all her defences, this valiant man feasted his eyes +on her front part, and, shame to say, was not content until his hands +had revealed to his eyes all the secrets for which he searched. + +And as he was profoundly studying her body, he would say, “I see this! +I see that! Now again this! Now again that!” until whosoever heard him +would have thought he saw all the world and much beside. And, finally, +after a long and thorough examination, he cried, “Holy Mary! what a lot +of things I see!” + +“Alas, good people,” then said the labourer in the tree; “you do not +happen to see my calf? It seems to me, sir, that I can see its tail.” + +The other was much vexed and astonished, and replied quickly, + +“That tail is not the tail of your calf,” and with that he walked away, +and his wife after him. + +If it should be asked what moved the labourer to put that question, the +writer of this story would reply that the hair in front of this woman +was very long and thick, as is usual with the Dutch women, and he might +well have thought it was the tail of his calf, and as also her husband +was saying that he could see so many things--nearly everything there was +in the world--the labourer thought to himself that the calf could hardly +be far off, but might be hidden inside along with the other things. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 13.jpg THE CASTRATED CLERK.] + + + + +STORY THE THIRTEENTH -- THE CASTRATED CLERK. [13] + +By Monseigneur L’amant De Brucelles. + +_How a lawyer’s clerk in England deceived his master making him believe +that he had no testicles, by which reason he had charge over his +mistress both in the country and in the town, and enjoyed his pleasure._ + + +At London, in England, there formerly lived a lawyer, who, amongst his +other servitors, had a clerk who was clever, and diligent, wrote well, +and was a handsome lad, and was, moreover, let it be stated, as cunning +as any man of his age. + +This gentle and lusty clerk was much smitten with his mistress,--a +beautiful, kind, and gentle dame--who so much admired him that if ever +he had but dared to reveal his affection, the god of love would have led +her to confess that he was the only man on earth who pleased her. + +It chanced that once, being in a suitable place, and all fear being +laid aside, he recounted unto the said lady his sad, but not unpleasant, +case; and she by the great courtesy which God had not forgotten to give +her, being already touched as has before been said, did not long delay; +for after she had addressed to him many excuses and remonstrances, she +was glad to let him know that he pleased her well. + +The other,--who was no fool--was more joyed than he had ever been, and +determined to hammer the iron while it was hot, and so warmly pursued +her, that ere long he enjoyed her love. + +The love of the mistress for the clerk, and of the clerk for the +mistress, was for a long time so ardent, that never were people more +taken with each other; for not seldom did they forget to eat and drink, +and it would not have been in the power of Malbouche or Dangier (*) nor +other such cursed sprites, to have disturbed their happiness. + + (*) Allegorical personages, typifying slander and jealousy, + mentioned in the Romaunt de la Rose. + +In this joyous state and pleasant pastime, they passed many days such +as are rarely given to lovers, and so fond were they of each other, that +they would almost have renounced their share of paradise, to live in the +world in that condition. + +It chanced one day they were together, talking of the great affection +they bore each other, and devising how they could safely continue to +take their pleasure without some inkling of their dangerous pastime +being known to her husband, who was as jealous as a man could be. + +You may fancy that more than one idea occurred to them, which I here +pass over, but the final conclusion and supreme resolution of the good +clerk, was to vow to act carefully and bring his undertaking to a lucky +termination,--in which he failed not, and this is how he accomplished +his end. + +You must know that while the clerk was on intimate and friendly terms +with his mistress, and diligently served and pleased her, he was at +the same time not less diligent to serve and please his master, that +he might the better conceal his own faults and blind the eyes of the +jealous husband, who little suspected what was being prepared for him. + +One day soon after, our clerk, seeing that his master was well satisfied +with him, spoke to him when he was alone, most humbly, softly, and with +great respect, and told him that he had a great secret which he would +willingly reveal if he dared. + +And, it must be told, that like women, who have tears at their command +and can shed them whenever they like, our clerk, whilst he spoke, let +fall from his eyes tears in great abundance,--which any man would have +taken to be signs of sorrow, pity, and honest purpose. + +When the poor abused master heard his clerk, he was much astonished, and +said, + +“What is the matter, my son, and why do you weep?” + +“Alas, sir, I have much more cause than anyone else to be sorrowful, +but my case is so strange, and not the less pitiful, that it should be +hidden; nevertheless I have determined to tell you, if I can lay aside +the fear which for long has haunted me.” + +“Do not weep, my son,” replied his master, “and tell me what it is, and +I assure you that if it is possible for me to aid, you I will willingly +give you all the assistance I can.” + +“Master,” said the cunning clerk, “I thank you; but I have thought the +matter over, and I do not think my tongue will be able to relate the +great misfortune that I have long time borne.” + +“Leave all your grief and pratings,” replied the master. “Nothing ought +to be hidden from me, as your master, and I wish to know what is the +matter; therefore come here and tell me.” + +The clerk, who knew the length of his master’s foot, had to be much +entreated, and pretended to be in great fear, and shed great abundance +of tears before he would accede and say what he had to say, and then +made his master promise that he would reveal the secret to no man, for +he would rather die than have his misfortune known. + +The master having given this promise, the clerk--pale, and trembling +like a man who was going to be hanged--told his story. + +“My most worthy master, I know that all people, and you amongst them, +imagine that I am a natural man like any other, capable of having +connexion with a woman, and creating children; but I affirm and can +prove that I am not such--to my great sorrow, alas.” + +And with these words he pulled out his member and showed his bag. He +had with much time and trouble pushed up his testicles towards his lower +belly, and so well concealed them that it seemed as though he had none. +Then he said, + +“Master, you now know my misfortune, which I again beg of you not to let +be known, and, moreover, I humbly beg of you by all the services I have +ever rendered,--which would have been greater if my power had equalled +my will--that you will allow me to pass the rest of my life in some holy +monastery, where I may spend my time in the service of God, for I am of +no use in the world.” + +His worthy and much-abused master discoursed unto him of the austerities +of a religious life, and how little merit there was in becoming a monk +out of grief for a misfortune, and by many other means, too numerous to +recount here, prevailed on him to renounce his intention. And you must +know, moreover, that he would on no account lose his clerk, on account +of his skill in writing, and diligence, and the use he intended to make +of him. What need to say more? He so remonstrated that the clerk, in +short, promised to remain for a further time in his service. And as the +clerk had revealed his secret, so also did the master lay bare his own +heart, and said; + +“My son, I am not glad to hear of your misfortune; but in the end God +orders all things for the best, and knows what is most suitable for us. +You can in future serve me well, and merit all that is in my power to do +for you. I have a young wife, who is light-hearted and flighty, and I am +old and staid; which might give occasion to some to dishonour me and her +also, if she should prove other than chaste, and afford me matter for +jealousy, and many other things. I entrust her to you that you may watch +over her, and I beg of you to guard her so that I may have no reason to +be jealous.” + +After long deliberation, the clerk gave his reply, and when he spoke, +God knows how he praised his most fair and kind mistress, saying that +she excelled all others in beauty and goodness, of that he was sure. +Nevertheless, that service or any other he would perform with all his +heart, and never leave her whatever might happen, but inform his master +of all that occurred, as a good servant should. + +The master, pleased and joyful at the new guardian he had found for his +wife, left the house, and went to the town to do his business. And the +good clerk at once entered upon his duties, and, as much as they dared, +employed the members with which they were provided, and made great cheer +over the subtle manner in which the husband had been deceived. For a +long period did they continue thus to enjoy themselves; and if at any +time the good husband was forced to go abroad, he took care to leave +his clerk behind; rather would he borrow a servant from one of his +neighbours than not leave the clerk to mind house. And if the lady +had leave to go on any pilgrimage, she would rather go without her +tire-woman than without the kind and obliging clerk. + +In short, as you may suppose, never could clerk boast of a more lucky +adventure, and which--so far as I know--never came to the knowledge of +the husband, who would have been overcome with grief had he learned of +the trick. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 14.jpg THE POPE-MAKER, OR THE HOLY MAN.] + + + + +STORY THE FOURTEENTH -- THE POPE-MAKER, OR THE HOLY MAN. [14] + +By Monseigneur de Crequy + +_Of a hermit who deceived the daughter of a poor woman, making her +believe that her daughter should have a son by him who should become +Pope; and how, when she brought forth it was a girl, and thus was the +trickery of the hermit discovered, and for that cause he had to flee +from that countery._ + + +The borders of Burgundy furnish many adventures worthy to be written and +remembered, and have provided the present story, not to speak of many +others which could be related. I will here only speak of an adventure +which happened formerly in a big village on the river Ousche. + +There was, and is still, a mountain near, on which a hermit--of +God knows what sort--made his residence, and who under the cloak of +hypocrisy did many strange things, which did not come to the knowledge +of the common people until the time when God would no longer suffer his +most damnable abuses to continue. + +This holy hermit was during all his life as lewd and mischievous as an +old ape, but surpassed all ordinary mortals in cunning. And this is what +he did. + +He sought amongst all the women and pretty girls the one most worthy to +be loved and desired, and resolved that it was the daughter of a poor, +simple woman,--a widow who was very devout and charitable--and made up +his mind that, if he could have his way, she should become his prey. + +One night, about midnight, when the weather was very rough and stormy, +he descended from the mountain and came to the village, and passing by +bye-roads and footpaths, came to where the mother and daughter lived, +without being seen or heard. He knew the house, which was not large, and +to which he had often been for devotional purposes. + +He bored a hole in a part of the wall not exposed, and near the spot +where stood the bed of the simple widow woman, and passing a long, +hollow stick, with which he was provided, and without awaking the widow, +placed it near her ear, and said in a low voiced three times, + +“Hear my voice, woman of God. I am an angel of the Creator, and have +been sent to you to announce that for your many good deeds which you +have performed there shall issue from your seed, that is your daughter, +one who shall unite, reform, and restore his bride the Church. And it +shall be in this manner. Thou shalt go to the mountain, to the holy +hermit, and take thy daughter, and relate to him at length that which +God now commands you by me. He shall know thy daughter, and from them +shall spring a son, the elect of God, and destined to fill the Holy Seat +of Rome, who shall do such good deeds that he may fitly be compared to +St. Peter and St. Paul. Hearken to my voice! Obey God!” + +The foolish widow, much astonished and surprised, and half ravished with +delight, really believed that God had sent this messenger. She vowed to +herself that she would not disobey, and it was long ere she slept again, +and then not very soundly, so greatly did she desire and await the day. + +Meanwhile the good hermit returned to his hermitage in the mountain. The +much-desired day at last dawned, and the sun pierced into the chamber of +the said widow, and both mother and daughter rose in great haste. + +When they were up and dressed, and their little household set in order, +the mother asked her daughter if she had heard anything in the night. + +The daughter replied, “No, mother; nothing.” + +“It was not to you,” said the mother, “that the message was first +delivered, albeit it concerns you greatly.” + +Then she related at length the angel’s message which God had sent her, +and asked her what she should reply thereto? + +The girl, who was like her mother, simple and devout, replied; “Praise +be to God. Whatever pleases you, mother, shall be done.” + +“That is well spoken,” replied the mother. “Let us go to the mountain to +the holy man, as the angel bade us.” + +The hermit was on the watch to see whether the foolish woman would bring +her innocent daughter, and beheld them coming. He left his door half +open, and knelt down in prayer in his chamber, in order that he might be +found at his devotions. + +It happened as he wished, for the good woman and her daughter, when they +saw the door open, entered at once; and when they beheld the hermit in +holy contemplation, as though he had been a god, they did homage to him. + +The hermit, with his eyes bent down to the earth, said in a humble +voice; “God save you both.” + +Then the poor, old woman, anxious that he should know the cause of her +coming, took him on one side, and told him from beginning to end the +story--which he knew better than she did. And as she related the tale +with great veneration and respect, the hermit folded his hands and +turned up his eyes to heaven, and the good old woman wept, more for joy +than for grief; and the poor girl also wept when she saw this good and +holy hermit pray with such deep devotion she did not know why. + +When the story was finished, the old woman awaited the reply, which he +did not hasten to give. But after a certain time he spoke, and said, + +“Praise be to God! But, my dear friend, are you really sure that the +message you say you heard, may not have been some fancy or illusion +created by your own heart? The matter is a serious one.” + +“I certainly heard the voice, father, which brought me this joyful +message, as plainly as I now hear you, and I do not think I was asleep.” + +“Well,” said he, “I should be unwilling to act against the wishes of my +Creator; but it seems best to me that you and I should again sleep upon +this matter, and if the angel should appear to you again, come back and +tell me, and God will give us good counsel. We should not believe too +readily, good mother. The devil, who is always envious of the good, has +many tricks, and can change himself into an angel of light. Believe me, +mother, it is no light thing you ask of me, and it is no marvel if I +seem to hesitate. Have I not sworn before God, a vow of chastity? And +here you bring me word that I am to break my oath! Return to your house +and pray to God, and to-morrow we shall see what will happen. God be +with you.” + +After much discussion, they left the hermit and returned home +thoughtfully. + +To cut the story short, our hermit, at the accustomed time set forth, +carrying a hollow stick instead of a staff, and putting it near the +pillow of the foolish woman, delivered much the same message as on the +previous night; and that being done, returned at once to his hermitage. + +The good woman, filled with joy, rose early and related all the story +to her daughter, showing how the vision of the previous night had been +confirmed. “There is no time to be lost! We must go to the holy man!” + +They went, and he saw them coming, and took his breviary and acted the +hypocrite as before, but God knows he was not thinking of his devotions. +And just as he had finished, and was about to recommence, there were the +two women in front of his hut saluting him, and you may fancy that the +old lady hurried through her narration; whereupon the good man made the +sign of the cross, and feigning great surprise, said, + +“Oh God! my Creator! What is this? Do with me as you will--though, if +it were not for thy great grace, I am not worthy to perform such a great +work!” + +“But see, father!” said the much-abused and deceived woman: “the message +is true, since the angel has again appeared unto me.” + +“In truth, my dear friend, this matter is of great importance and very +difficult and strange, so that I yet can give but a doubtful reply. +Not that I would tempt God by demanding another vision, but there is a +saying ‘The third time is sure’. Therefore I beg and desire of you to +let pass this night also, and await the pleasure of God, and if of His +great mercy it please Him to show us also this night as on the previous +nights, we will do as He bids us to His praise.” + +It was not with a good grace that the foolish old woman was induced to +put off this act of obedience to God, but she knew the hermit was wiser +than she was. + +When she was in bed, and thinking over all these marvellous visions, +this perverse hypocrite came down from his mountain, placed his hollow +stick to her ear, as before, and commanded her, once for all, to +obey the message and take her daughter to the hermit for the purpose +mentioned. + +She did not forget, as soon as it was day, to do her duty, and when +she and her daughter had given thanks to God, they set out for the +hermitage, where the hermit came forth to meet them, and saluted and +blessed them in the name of God. + +The good woman, more joyous than ever, informed him of the last vision. +The hermit took her by the hand and led her into the chapel, and +the girl followed them. There they made most devout prayers to the +all-powerful God who had vouchsafed to show them this mystery. + +Then the hermit delivered a short sermon, touching dreams, visions, +apparitions, and revelations, which often come to certain people, and +alluded to the cause for which they were there assembled, and God knows +that he preached well and righteously. + +“Since God willed and commanded that he should create a successor to the +Pope, and had deigned to reveal His will not once or twice, but three +times, he must needs believe and conclude that great results must follow +from this deed. It is my opinion,” he concluded, “that we should no +longer defer the execution of His orders, seeing that we have already +delayed so long, through refusing to believe in this holy vision.” + +“That is well said, father. What would it please you to do?” replied the +old woman. + +“You will leave your fair daughter here,” said the hermit, “and she and +I will pray together, and moreover do whatever God shall teach us.” + +The good widow was much pleased, and her daughter was content to obey. +When the hermit found himself alone with the damsel, he made her strip +entirely as though he would baptise her, and you may fancy that the +hermit did not long remain dressed. But why make a long story? He lay +with her so long, and so often repeated it both in his cell and at her +home, that at last she could not leave the house for shame, for her +belly began to swell,--at which you need not be told she was overjoyed. + +But if the daughter rejoiced to find herself pregnant, the mother +rejoiced a hundred times more, and the hypocritical hermit also +pretended to rejoice at the news, though inwardly he was bitterly vexed. + +The poor credulous mother, really believing that her daughter would +bring forth a son who should in due time be Pope of Rome, could not +help relating the story to one of her intimate friends, who was as +much astonished as though she had found horns growing on her head, but, +nevertheless, suspected no trickery. + +Ere long the neighbour had told the other male and female neighbours, +how the daughter of such an one was pregnant by the holy hermit of a son +who was to be Pope of Rome. + +“And what I tell you,” she said, “the mother of the girl told me, and +God revealed it to her.” + +The news soon spread through all the neighbouring towns. Soon afterwards +the girl was brought to bed, and duly delivered of a female child, at +which she and her foolish mother were both astonished and angry, and +the neighbours also, who expected the holy hermit to have been there to +receive the child. + +The report spread quite as quickly as the previous one, and the hermit +was one of the first to hear of it, and quickly fled into another +country--I know not where--to deceive another woman or girl, or perhaps +into the desert of Egypt to perform penance, with a contrite heart, for +his sin. However that may be, the poor girl was dishonoured; which was a +great pity, for she was fair, good, and amiable. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FIFTEENTH -- THE CLEVER NUN. + +By Monseigneur De La Roche + +_Of a nun whom a monk wished to deceive, and how he offered to shoo her +his weapon that she might feel it, but brought with him a companion whom +he put forward in his place, and of the answer she gave him._ + +In the fair country of Brabant, near to a monastery of white monks (*), +is situated a nunnery of devout and charitable nuns, but their name and +order need not be mentioned. + + (*) Either Carthusians, who wear white robes and hoods, or + Dominicans who wear white robes and black hoods. + +The two convents being close together, there was always a barn for +the threshers, as the saying is, for, thank God, the nuns were so +kind-hearted that few who sought amorous intercourse with them were +refused, provided only they were worthy to receive their favours. + +But, to come to the story, there was amongst these white monks, a young +and handsome monk who fell in love with one of the nuns, and after some +preliminaries, had the courage to ask her for the love of God to grant +him her favours. + +The nun, who knew how he was furnished, though she was by nature +courteous, gave him a harsh and sharp reply. He was not to be rebuffed, +however, but continued to implore her love with most humble requests, +until the pretty nun was forced either to lose her reputation for +courtesy, or give the monk what she had granted to many others as soon +as she was asked. + +She said to him; “Truly you weary me with requests for that which +honestly I ought not to give you. But I have heard what sort of weapon +you carry, and if it be so you have not much to thank Nature for.” + +“I do not know who told you,” replied the monk, “but I am sure that you +will be satisfied with me, and I will prove to you that I am as good a +man as any other.” + +“Oh, yes. I believe you are a man,” said she “but your machine is so +small that if you were to put it in a certain place, I should hardly +know that it was there.” + +“It is quite the reverse,” said the monk, “and, if I were in that place, +I would do so well that you would confess that those who gave me that +reputation were liars.” + +After these fair speeches, the kind nun, that she might know what he +could do, and perhaps not forgetting her own share in the pleasure, told +him to come to the window of her cell at midnight; for which favour he +thanked her gratefully. + +“But at any rate,” said she, “you shall not enter until I really know +what sort of lance you carry, and whether you can be of use to me or +not.” + +“As you please,” replied the monk, and with that he quitted his +mistress, and went straight to Brother Conrad, one of his companions, +who was furnished, God knows how well, and for that reason was much +esteemed in the nunnery. + +To him the young monk related how he had begged a favour of such an one, +and how she had refused, doubting whether his foot would fit her shoe, +but in the end had consented that he should come to her, but would +first feel and know with what sort of lance he would charge against her +shield. + +“I have not,” said he, “a fine thick lance, such as I know she would +desire to meet. Therefore I beg of you with all my heart, to come with +me this night at the hour when I am to meet her, and you will do me the +greatest service that ever one man did to another. I know very well that +she will want to touch and handle the lance, and this is what you must +do. You will be behind me; but do not speak. Then take my place, and put +your great machine in her hand. She will open the door then, I expect, +and you will go away and I will enter in,--and leave the rest to me.” + +Brother Conrad greatly doubted whether it would happen as his friend +wished, but he agreed to do as he was asked. At the appointed hour they +set forth to visit the nun. When they came to the window, the young +monk, who was more eager than a stallion, knocked once with his stick, +and the nun did not wait for him to knock a second time, but opened the +window, and said in a low voice; + +“Who is there?” + +“It is I,” he replied; “Open your door, lest anyone should hear us.” + +“By my faith,” quoth she, “you shall not be entered on the roll of my +lovers, until you have passed a review, and I know what equipments you +have. Come hither, and show me what it is like.” + +“Willingly,” said he. + +Then Brother Conrad took his place, and slipped into the nun’s hand his +fine, powerful weapon, which was thick, long, and round. But as soon as +she felt it she recognized it, and said; + +“No! No! I know that well enough. That is the lance of Brother Conrad. +There is not a nun here who does not know it! You thought I should be +deceived, but I know too much for you! Go and try your luck elsewhere!” + +And with that she closed the window, being very angry and ill-pleased, +not with Brother Conrad, but with the other monk; and they after this +adventure, returned to their convent, pondering over all that had +happened. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 16.jpg ON THE BLIND SIDE.] + + + + +STORY THE SIXTEENTH -- ON THE BLIND SIDE. [16] + +By Monseigneur Le Duc. + +_Of a knight of Picardy who went to Prussia, and, meanwhile his lady +took a lover, and was in bed with him when her husband returned; and how +by a cunning trick she got her lover out of the room without the knight +being aware of it._ + +In the County of Artois there lived formerly a noble knight, rich and +powerful, and married to a beautiful dame of high family. These two +lived together for long, and passed their days in peace and happiness. +And because the most powerful Duke of Burgundy, Count of Artois, and +their lord, was then at peace with all the great princes of Christendom, +the knight, who was most devout, reflected that he ought to offer to God +the body which had been given him, and which was fair and strong, and as +well-formed as that of any man in that country, save that he had lost +an eye in a battle. To perform the vow he had made,--after he had taken +leave of his wife and relatives, he betook himself to the noble knights +of Prussia,--the true defenders of the holy-Christian church (*); and in +Prussia he fought valiantly and had many adventures--which I pass over +here--and at the end was safe and sound, though he had shown great +prowess, and the reports of his valour had been widely spread about by +those who had seen them and returned to their own country, or by the +letters they had written to many who had heard of his deeds with much +pleasure. + + (*) Doubtless there was a confusion In the writer’s mind + between Prussia and Hungary, and he alludes to the Crusade + against the Turks which ended disastrously for the Crusaders + in 1396, and in which Jean sans Peur and many Burgundian + knights took part. + +Now you must know that his lady, who stayed at home, had bestowed +her affection on a squire who sought her love, and was glad to have a +substitute for her liege lord, who was away fighting the Saracens. + +Whilst my lord was fasting and doing penance, my lady made good cheer +with the squire; often did my lord dine and sup on bread and water, +whilst my lady was enjoying all the good things which God had given her +in plenty; my lord,--if he could do no better,--lay upon straw, and my +lady rested in a fine bed with the squire. + +To cut matters short, whilst my lord was fighting the Saracens, my lady +was indulging in another sort of combat with the squire, and did so well +thereat, that if my lord had never returned he would not have been much +missed or regretted. + +The knight finding that--thanks be to God--the Saracens were no longer +on the offensive; and that it was a long time since he had seen his +home, and his good wife, who much desired and regretted him, as she had +many times told him in her letters, prepared to return, and started +with the few retainers he had. And he fared so well, owing to the great +desire he had to return to his home, and the arms of his wife, that in a +few days he was near there. + +Being more anxious than any of his followers, he was always the first to +rise, and the foremost on the journey. In fact, he made such speed +that he often rode alone, a quarter of a league or more ahead of his +retainers. + +One day, it chanced the knight had lodged about six leagues from his +home. He rose early in the morning and mounted his horse, intending to +arrive at his house before his wife, who knew nothing of his coming, was +awake. + +He set out as he intended, and, when on the road, he said to his +followers, “Come at your leisure; there is no need for you to follow me. +I will ride on fast that I may surprise my wife in bed.” + +His retainers being weary, and their horses also, did not oppose his +wishes, but travelled along at their ease, though they had some fears +for the knight, who rode thus fast in the dark and alone. + +He made such speed that soon he was in the courtyard of his castle, +where he found a serving-man, to whom he gave his horse; then, in his +boots and spurs, he went straight, and without meeting any one, for it +was yet early in the morning, towards the chamber where my lady slept, +and where the squire was doing that which the knight longed to do. + +You may guess that the squire and the lady were both astonished when the +knight thundered on the door--which was locked--with his staff. + +“Who is there?” asked the lady. + +“It is I,” replied the knight. “Open the door!” + +The lady, who knew her husband’s voice, did not feel comfortable; +nevertheless she caused the squire to dress himself which he did as +quickly as he could, wondering how he should escape from his dangerous +position. She meanwhile pretended to be asleep, and not recognise her +husband’s voice, and when he knocked at the door a second time, she +asked again, “Who is there?” “It is your husband, wife! Open the door +quickly!” + +“My husband?” said she. “Alas, he is far from here! May God soon bring +him back in safety.” + +“By my soul, wife, I am your husband! Did you not know my voice? I knew +yours as soon as I heard you speak.” + +“When he does come, I shall know of it long beforehand, that I may +receive him as I ought, and that I may call together his relations +and friends to wish him a hearty welcome. Go away! Go away! and let me +sleep!” + +“By St. John I will take care you do not! Open the door! Do you not know +your own husband?” and with that he called her by her name. + +She saw that her lover was by that time quite ready, and made him stand +behind the door. Then she said to the knight. + +“Is it really you? For God’s sake pardon me! And are you in good +health?” + +“Yes; thank God,” said the knight. + +“God be praised!” said the lady. “I will come directly and let you in; +but I am not dressed, and must get a candle.” + +“Take your time!” said the knight. + +“Truly,” said the lady, “just as you knocked, my lord, I was much +disturbed by a dream I had about you.” + +“And what was that, my dear?” + +“Faith, my lord! I dreamed that you came back, and talked with me, and +that you saw as well with one eye as with the other. + +“Would to God it were so,” said my lord. + +“By our Lady,” said his wife, “I believe it is as I say.” + +“By my word”, replied the knight, “you are very foolish. How could it be +so?” + +“I maintain,” said she, “that it is so.” + +“There is nothing of the kind,” said the knight. “You must be mad to +think so.” + +“Ah, my lord,” she replied, “you will never make me believe it is not as +I say, and, to set my mind at rest, I ask of you to give me a proof.” + +Thereupon she opened the door, holding a lighted candle in her hand, and +he, not displeased at her words, permitted her to make trial, and thus +the poor man allowed her to cover up his eye with her one hand, whilst +with the other she held the candle before his blind eye. Then she said; + +“My lord! on your oath, can you not see well?” + +“I swear I cannot,” said my lord. + +Whilst this trick was being played, my lord’s substitute stole out of +the chamber without being perceived by him. + +“Wait a moment, my lord,” said she. “_Now_ cannot you see well? Tell me +the truth!” + +“No, by God, my dear,” replied the knight. “How should I see? You have +stopped up my right eye, and the other I lost more than ten years ago.” + +“Then,” said she, “I see it was but an idle, foolish dream; but, be that +as it may, God be praised and thanked that you are here.” + +“Amen,” said the knight, and with that he kissed and embraced her many +times, and they rejoiced greatly. + +And my lord did not forget to tell her how he had left his retainers +behind, and what speed he had made that he might find her in bed. + +“Truly,” said my lady, “you are a good husband.” + +And with that there came women and other servants, who took off the +knight’s armour, and undressed him. That being done, he got into bed +with the lady, and enjoyed what the squire had left--who, for his part, +meanwhile went his way, happy and joyful to have escaped. + +Thus was the knight deceived, as you have heard; nor was he ever +informed of it that I am aware, though it was known to many people. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 17.jpg THE LAWYER AND THE BOLTING-MILL.] + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTEENTH -- THE LAWYER AND THE BOLTING-MILL. + +By Monseigneur Le Duc. + +_Of a President of Parliament, who fell in love with his chamber-maid, +and would have forced her whilst she was sifting flour, but by fair +speaking she dissuaded him, and made him shake the sieve whilst she +went unto her mistress, who came and found her husband thus, as you will +afterwards hear._ + +There lived formerly at Paris a President of the Court of Accounts, who +was a learned clerk, a knight, and a man of ripe age, but right joyous +and pleasant to both men and women. + +This worthy lord had married a woman who was both elderly and sickly, +and by her had divers children. And amongst the other damsels, waiting +women, and servant maids in his house, was a serving-wench whom nature +had made most fair, and who did the household work; made the beds, +baked the bread, and did other low offices. The gentleman, who made +love whenever he found a chance, did not conceal from the fair wench his +intentions towards her, and made attempts upon her virtue, promising her +many rich gifts, and explaining to her that it was her duty to let him +have his way, and trying first this way and then that to seduce her. But +he was grieved to find that he could not induce her to return his love. +The girl was wise and chaste, and not so foolish as to grant her master +any favour, but spoke him so fairly that he did not lose heart, though +he would have preferred a different kind of answer. + +When he found that kindness was of no use, he tried harshness and rough +words, but the wench was not frightened, and told him that, “He might +do as he pleased, but whilst she had life she would never let him near +her.” + +The gentleman, seeing that her mind was fully made-up, spake no more +to her for some days, but spared not loving looks and signs; which much +annoyed her, and if she had not feared to make discord between husband +and wife, she would have told the latter how unfaithful her spouse was, +but, in the end, she resolved to conceal this as long as she could. + +The infatuation of the old man increased every day, and begging and +praying no longer sufficed. He went to her and renewed his entreaties +and vows, which he confirmed by a hundred thousand oaths. But--to cut +matters short--it was all no good; he could not obtain a single word, or +the least shadow of hope, that he would ever attain his purpose. + +Thereupon he left her, but he did not forget to say that if ever he +found a favourable opportunity she would have to comply with his wishes, +or it would be the worse for her. + +The wench was not much frightened, thought no more of it, and went about +her duties as usual. + +Some time afterwards, one Monday morning, the pretty servant, having +some pies to make, was sifting meal. Now you must know that the room +where she was thus engaged, was not far from her master’s bedroom, and +he heard the noise of the sieve, and knew very well that it was made by +the servant-girl at her work. + +He thought that perhaps she was not alone, but, if she should be, he +would never find a better chance. + +He said to himself, “Though she has often refused me by word of mouth, I +shall succeed at last if I only keep to my purpose.” + +It was early dawn, and his wife was not awake, at which he was glad. He +stole quietly out of bed; put on his dressing-gown and his slippers, and +crept to the damsel’s room so quietly that she never knew he was there +until she saw him. + +The poor girl was much astonished, and trembled; suspecting that her +master had come to take that which she would never give him. + +Seeing she was frightened, he said nothing but attacked her with such +violence that he would soon have taken the place by storm if she had not +sued for peace. She said to him; + +“Alas, sir, I beg for mercy! My life and honour are in your hands;--have +pity on me!” + +“I care nothing about honour,” said her master, who was very hot and +excited. “You are in my hands and cannot escape me,” and with that he +attacked her more violently than before. + +The girl, finding resistance was useless, bethought herself of a +stratagem, and said, + +“Sir, I prefer to surrender of free-will than by force. Leave me alone, +and I will do all that you may require.” + +“Very well,” said her master, “but be sure that I will not let you go +free.” + +“There is but one thing I would beg of you, sir” replied the girl. +“I greatly fear that my mistress may hear you; and if, by chance, she +should come and find you here, I should be lost and ruined, for she +would either beat me or kill me.” + +“She is not likely to come,” said he, “she is sleeping soundly.” + +“Alas, sir, I am in great fear of her and, as I would be assured, I beg +and request of you, for my peace of mind and our greater security in +what we are about to do, that you let me go and see whether she is +sleeping, or what she is doing.” + +“By our Lady! you would never return,” said the gentleman. + +“I swear that I will,” she replied, “and that speedily.” + +“Very good then,” said he. “Make haste!” + +“Ah, sir,” said she. “It would be well that you should take this sieve +and work as I was doing; so that if my lady should by chance awake, she +will hear the noise and know that I am at work.” + +“Give it to me, and I will work well;--but do not stay long.” + +“Oh, no, sir. Hold this sieve, and you will look like a woman.” + +“As to that, God knows I care not,” said he, and with that laid hold of +the sieve and began to work it as best he could. + +Meanwhile the virtuous wench mounted to her lady’s room and woke her, +and told her how her husband had attempted her virtue, and attacked her +whilst she was sifting meal, “And if it please you to come and see how I +escaped him,” she said, “come down with me and behold him.” + +The lady rose at once, put on her dress, and was soon before the door +of the room where her lord was diligently sifting. And when she saw him +thus employed, and struggling with the sieve, she said to him; + +“Ah, master, what is this? Where are now all your learning, your honour, +your knowledge and prudence?” + +He saw that he had been deceived, and replied quickly. + +“Wife, they are all collected at the end of my c--k.”, and with that, +being much annoyed and angry, he threw down the sieve and went back to +his room. + +His wife followed him, and began to lecture him again, but he paid +little heed. When he was ready, he ordered his mule, and went to the +palace, where he related his adventure to divers gentlemen, who laughed +loudly thereat. And, although he was at first angry with the wench, +he afterwards helped her, by his influence and rich gifts, to find a +husband. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 18.jpg FROM BELLY TO BACK.] + + + + +STORY THE EIGHTEENTH -- FROM BELLY TO BACK. [18] + +By Monseigneur De La Roche. + +_Of a gentleman of Burgundy who paid a chambermaid ten crowns to sleep +with her, but before he left her room, had his ten crowns back, and +made her carry him on her shoulders through the host’s chamber. And in +passing by the said chamber he let wind so loudly that all was known, as +you will hear in the story which follows._ + +A gentleman of Burgundy went on some business to Paris, and lodged at a +good inn, for it was his custom always to seek out the best lodgings. He +knew a thing or two, and he noticed that the chambermaid did not look a +sort of woman who was afraid of a man. So, without much ado, or making +two bites at a cherry, he asked if he could sleep with her? + +But she set her back up at once. “How dare you make such a proposal +to me,” she said. “I would have you to know that I am not one of those +girls who bring scandal upon the houses in which they live.” And in +short, for all he could say she refused to have anything to do with him +“for any money.” + +The gentleman who knew well what all these protestations were worth, +said to her; + +“My dear, if fitting time and place were given me, I would tell you +something you would be glad to learn; but as, perhaps, it might hurt +your reputation if you were seen conversing with me, talk to my valet, +and he will arrange matters on my behalf.” + +“I have nothing to say either to him or to you,” she replied, and with +that she walked away, and the gentleman called his valet, who was a +clever rogue, and ordered him to follow her and win her over at any +cost. + +The valet, who was well trained, promised that he would perform his +task, and, as soon as he found her, set to work to employ honied +phrases, and if she had not been of Paris, and not the least cunning of +the women of that city, his soft speeches and the promises he made on +behalf of his master, would soon have gained her heart. + +But as it was, after much talk between them, she cut matters short by +saying; + +“I know well what your master wants, but he shall not touch me unless I +have ten crowns.” + +The servant reported this to his master, who was not so generous, or +at least not in such a case, as to give ten crowns to enjoy a kitchen +wench. + +“Be that as it may,” replied the valet, “she will not budge from that; +and even then you must use precautions in going to her chamber, for you +must pass through that of the host. What do you intend to do?” + +“By my oath!” said his master, “I regret sorely having to pay ten +crowns, but I am so smitten with the wench that I cannot give her up. To +the devil with avarice! she shall have the money.” + +“Shall I tell her then you will give her the money?” + +“Yes, in the devil’s name! Yes!” + +The valet found the girl, and told her she should have the money, and +perhaps something more. + +“Very good,” she replied. + +To cut matters short, a time was arranged for the gentleman to come to +her, but, before she would show him the way to her room, she insisted on +the ten crowns being paid down. + +The Burgundian was not over-pleased, and as he was on the way to her +chamber, it struck him that he was paying dearly for his amusement, and +he resolved that he would play her a trick. + +He stole into her room so quietly that neither the host nor his wife +awaked. There he undressed, and said to himself that he would at least +have his money’s worth. He did marvels, and got as good as he sent. + +What with jesting and other matters, the hours passed quickly, and dawn +was near. He was then more willing to sleep than to do anything else, +but the fair chambermaid said to him; + +“Sir, I have heard and seen so much of your nobleness, honour, and +courtesy that I have consented to allow you to take that which I hold +dearest in all the world. I now beg and request of you that you will +at once dress and hasten away, for it is now day, and if by chance my +master or mistress should come here, as is often their custom in the +morning, and should find you here, I should be dishonoured, nor would it +do you any good.” + +“I care not,” quoth he, “what good or evil may happen, but here I will +remain, and sleep at my ease and leisure before I leave. I am entitled +to that for my money. Do you think you have so easily earned my ten +crowns? You took them quickly enough. By St. George! I have no fear; but +I will stay here and you shall bear me company, if you please.” + +“Oh, sir,” she replied, “by my soul I cannot do this. You must leave. It +will be full day directly, and if you are found here what will become of +me? I would rather die than that should happen; and if you do not make +haste I much fear some one will come.” + +“Let them come,” said the gentleman. “I care not, but, I tell you +plainly, that until you give me back my ten crowns, I will not leave +here, happen what may.” + +“Your ten crowns?” she answered. “Are you a man of that sort, and so +devoid of any courtesy or grace as to take back from me in that fashion, +that which you have given? By my faith that is not the way to prove +yourself a gentleman.” + +“Whatever I am,” said he, “I will not leave here, or shall you either, +until you have given me back my ten crowns; you gained them too easily.” + +“May God help me,” she replied, “though you speak thus I do not believe +you would be so ungrateful, after the pleasure I have given you, or so +discorteous, as not to aid me to preserve my honour, and therefore I beg +of you to grant my request, and leave here.” + +The gentleman said that he would do nothing of the sort, and in the +end the poor girl was forced--though God knows with what regret--to +hand-over the ten crowns in order to make him go. When the money had +returned to the hand that gave it, the girl was very angry, but the man +was in great glee. + +“Now,” said the girl, angrily, “that you have thus tricked and deceived +me, at least make haste. Let it suffice that you have made a fool of me, +and do not by delay bring dishonour upon me by being seen here.” + +“I have nothing to do with your honour,” said he. “Keep it as much as +like, but you brought me here and you must take me back to the place +from whence I came, for I do not intend to have the double trouble of +coming and returning.” + +The chambermaid, seeing that she only made him more obstinate, and that +day was breaking fast, took the gentleman on her back, and though sick +at heart with fear and anger, began to carry him. And as she was picking +her way carefully and noiselessly, this courteous gentleman, who after +having ridden on her belly was now riding on her back, broke wind so +loudly that the host awoke, and called out in his fright; + +“Who is there?” + +“It is your chambermaid,” said the gentleman, “who is taking me back to +the place from whence she brought me.” + +At these words the poor girl’s heart and strength failed her. She could +no longer bear her unpleasant burden, and she fell on the floor and +rolled one way, whilst the squire went rolling the other. + +The host, who knew what was the matter, spoke sharply to the girl, who +soon afterwards left his house; and the gentleman returned to Burgundy, +where he often gleefully related to his gallant companions the above +written adventure. + + +***** + + + +STORY THE NINETEENTH -- THE CHILD OF THE SNOW. [19] + +By Philippe Vignier. + +_Of an English merchant whose wife had a child in his absence, and told +him that it was his; and how he cleverly got rid of the child--for his +wife having asserted that it was born of the snow, he declared it had +been melted by the sun._ + +Moved by a strong desire to see and know foreign countries, and to meet +with adventures, a worthy and rich merchant of London left his fair and +good wife, his children, relations, friends, estates, and the greater +part of his possessions, and quitted the kingdom, well furnished with +money and great abundance of merchandise, such as England can supply +to foreign countries, and with many other things which, for the sake of +brevity, I do not mention here. + +On this first voyage, the good merchant wandered about for a space of +five years, during which time his good wife looked after his property, +disposed of much merchandise profitably, and managed so well that her +husband, when he returned at the end of five years, greatly praised her, +and loved her more than ever. + +The merchant, not content with the many strange and wonderful things +he had seen, or with the large fortune he had made, four or five months +after his return, again set forth in quest of adventures in foreign +lands, both Christian and pagan, and stayed there so long that ten years +passed before his wife again saw him, but he often wrote to her, that +she might know that he was still alive. + +She was young and lusty, and wanted not any of the goods that God could +give, except the presence of her husband. His long absence constrained +her to provide herself with a lover, by whom shortly she had a fine boy. + +This son was nourished and brought up with the others, his +half-brothers, and, when the merchant returned, was about seven years +old. + +Great were the rejoicings between husband and wife when he came back, +and whilst they were conversing pleasantly, the good woman, at the +demand of her husband, caused to be brought all their children, not +omitting the one who had been born during the absence of him whose name +she bore. + +The worthy merchant seeing all these children, and remembering perfectly +how many there should be, found one over and above; at which he was much +astonished and surprised, and he inquired of his wife who was this fair +son, the youngest of their children? + +“Who is he?” said she; “On my word, husband, he is our son! Who else +should he be?” + +“I do not know,” he replied, “but, as I have never seen him before, is +it strange that I should ask?” + +“No, by St. John,” said she; “but he is our son.” + +“How can that be?” said her husband. “You were not pregnant when I +left.” + +“Truly I was not, so far as I know,” she replied, “but I can swear that +the child is yours, and that no other man but you has ever lain with +me.” + +“I never said so,” he answered, “but, at any rate, it is ten years since +I left, and this child does not appear more than seven. How then can it +be mine? Did you carry him longer than you did the others?” + +“By my oath, I know not!” she said; “but what I tell you is true. +Whether I carried it longer than the others I know not, and if you +did not make it before you left, I do not know how it could have come, +unless it was that, not long after your departure, I was one day in our +garden, when suddenly there came upon me a longing and desire to eat +a leaf of sorrel, which at that time was thickly covered with snow. I +chose a large and fine leaf, as I thought, and ate it, but it was only +a white and hard piece of snow. And no sooner had I eaten it than I +felt myself to be in the same condition as I was before each of my other +children was born. In fact, a certain time afterwards, I bore you this +fair son.” + +The merchant saw at once that he was being fooled, but he pretended to +believe the story his wife had told him, and replied; + +“My dear, though what you tell me is hardly possible, and has never +happened to anyone else, let God be praised for what He has sent us. If +He has given us a child by a miracle, or by some secret method of which +we are ignorant, He has not forgotten to provide us with the wherewithal +to keep it.” + +When the good woman saw that her husband was willing to believe the tale +she told him, she was greatly pleased. The merchant, who was both wise +and prudent, stayed at home the next ten years, without making any other +voyages, and in all that time breathed not a word to his wife to make +her suspect he knew aught of her doings, so virtuous and patient was he. + +But he was not yet tired of travelling, and wished to begin again. He +told his wife, who was very dissatisfied thereat. + +“Be at ease,” he said, “and, if God and St. George so will, I will +return shortly. And as our son, who was born during my last voyage, is +now grown up, and capable of seeing and learning, I will, if it seem +good to you, take him with me.” + +“On my word”, said she “I hope you will, and you will do well.” + +“It shall be done,” he said, and thereupon he started, and took with him +the young man, of whom he was not the father, and for whom he felt no +affection. + +They had a good wind, and came to the port of Alexandria, where the good +merchant sold the greater part of his merchandise very well. But he was +not so foolish as to keep at his charge a child his wife had had by +some other man, and who, after his death, would inherit like the other +children, so he sold the youth as a slave, for good money paid down, and +as the lad was young and strong, nearly a hundred ducats was paid for +him. + +When this was done, the merchant returned to London, safe and sound, +thank God. And it need not be told how pleased his wife was to see him +in good health, but when she saw her son was not there, she knew not +what to think. + +She could not conceal her feelings, and asked her husband what had +become of their son? + +“Ah, my dear,” said he, “I will not conceal from you that a great +misfortune has befallen him.” + +“Alas, what?” she asked. “Is he drowned?” + +“No; but the truth is that the wind and waves wafted us to a country +that was so hot that we nearly died from the great heat of the sun. And +one day when we had all left the ship, in order that we each might dig a +hole in which to shield ourselves from the heat,--our dear son, who, as +you know was made of snow, began to melt in the sun, and in our presence +was turned into water, and ere you could have said one of the seven +psalms, there was nothing left of him. Thus strangely did he come +into the world, and thus suddenly did he leave it. I both was, and +am, greatly vexed, and not one of all the marvels I have ever seen +astonished me so greatly.” + +“Well!” said she. “Since it has pleased God to give and to take away, +His name be praised.” + +As to whether she suspected anything or not, the history is silent and +makes no mention, but perhaps she learned that her husband was not to be +hood-winked. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 20.jpg THE HUSBAND AS DOCTOR.] + + + + +STORY THE TWENTIETH -- THE HUSBAND AS DOCTOR. + +By Philippe De Laon. + +_Of a young squire of Champagne who, when he married, had never mounted +a Christian creature,--much to his wife’s regret. And of the method her +mother found to instruct him, and how the said squire suddenly wept at +a great feast that was made shortly after he had learned how to perform +the carnal act--as you will hear more plainly hereafter._ + + +It is well known that in the province of Champagne you are sure to meet +heavy and dull-witted persons--which has seemed strange to many persons, +seeing that the district is so near to the country of Mischief. (*) +Many stories could be told of the stupidity of the Champenois, but this +present story will suffice. + + (*) _Mal-Eugen_ in the original. The author probably means + Picardy or Lorraine. + +In this province, there lived a young man, an orphan, who at the death +of his father and mother had become rich and powerful. He was stupid, +ignorant, and disagreeable, but hard-working and knew well how to +take care of himself and his affairs, and for this reason, many +persons,--even people of condition,--were willing to give him their +daughter in marriage. + +One of these damsels, above all others, pleased the friends and +relations of our Champenois, for her beauty, goodness, riches, and so +forth. They told him that it was time he married. + +“You are now,” they said, “twenty-three years old, and there could not +be a better time. And if you will listen to us, we have searched out +for you a fair and good damsel who seems to us just suited to you. It is +such an one--you know her well;” and they told him her name. + +The young man, who cared little whether he was married or not, as +long as he lost no money by it, replied that he would do whatever they +wished. “Since you think it will be to my advantage, manage the business +the best way you can, and I will follow your advice and instructions.” + +“You say well,” replied these good people. “We will select your wife as +carefully as though it were for ourselves, or one of our children.” + +To cut matters short, a little time afterwards our Champenois was +married; but on the first night, when he was sleeping with his wife, +he, never having mounted on any Christian woman, soon turned his back +to her, and a few poor kisses was all she had of him, but nothing on her +back. You may guess his wife was not well pleased at this; nevertheless, +she concealed her discontent. + +This unsatisfactory state of things lasted ten days, and would have +continued longer if the girl’s mother had not put a stop to it. + +It should be known to you that the young man was unskilled in the +mysteries of wedlock, for during the lifetime of his parents he had been +kept with a tight hand, and, above all things, had been forbidden to +play at the beast with two backs, lest he should take too much delight +therein, and waste all his patrimony. This was wise of his parents, for +he was not a young man likely to be loved for his good looks. + +As he would do nothing to anger his father or mother, and was, moreover, +not of an amorous disposition, he had always preserved his chastity, +though his wife would willingly have deprived him of it, if she had +known how to do so honestly. + +One day the mother of the bride came to her daughter, and asked her all +about her husband’s state and condition, and the thousand other things +which women like to know. To all of these questions the bride replied +that her husband was a good man, and she hoped and believed that she +would be happy with him. + +But the old woman knew by her own experience that there are more things +in married life than eating and drinking, so she said to her daughter; + +“Come here, and tell me, on your word of honour, how does he acquit +himself at night?” + +When the girl heard this question she was so vexed and ashamed that she +could not reply, and her eyes filled with tears. Her mother understood +what these tears meant, and said; + +“Do not weep, my child! Speak out boldly! I am your mother, and you +ought not to conceal anything from me, or be afraid of telling me. Has +he done nothing to you yet?” + +The poor girl, having partly recovered, and being re-assured by +her mother’s words, ceased her tears, but yet could make no reply. +Thereupon, her mother asked again; + +“Lay aside your grief and answer me honestly: has he done nothing to you +yet?” + +In a low voice, mingled with tears, the girl replied, “On my word, +mother, he has never yet touched me, but, except for that, there is no +more kind or affectionate man.” + +“Tell me,” said the mother; “do you know if he is properly furnished +with all his members? Speak out boldly, if you know.” + +“By St. John! he is all right in that respect,” replied the bride. “I +have often, by chance, felt his luggage as I turned to and fro in our +bed when I could not sleep.” + +“That is enough,” said the mother; “leave the rest to me. This is what +_you_ must do. In the morning you must pretend to be very ill--even as +though your soul were departing from your body. Your husband will, I +fully expect, seek me out and bid me come to you, and I will play my +part so well that your business will be soon settled, for I shall take +your water to a certain doctor, who will give such advice as I order.” + +All was done as arranged, for on the morrow, as soon as it was dawn, the +girl, who was sleeping with her husband, began to complain and to sham +sickness as though a strong fever racked her body. + +Her booby husband was much vexed and astonished, and knew not what to +say or do. He sent forthwith for his mother-in-law, who was not long in +coming. As soon as he saw her, “Alas! mother!” said he, “your daughter +is dying.” + +“My daughter?” said she. “What does she want?” and whilst she was +speaking she walked to the patient’s chamber. + +As soon as the mother saw her daughter, she asked what was the matter; +and the girl, being well instructed what she was to do, answered not at +first, but, after a little time, said, “Mother, I am dying.” + +“You shall not die, please God! Take courage! But how comes it that you +are taken ill so suddenly?” + +“I do not know! I do not know!” replied the girl. “It drives me wild to +answer all these questions.” + +The old woman took the girl’s hand, and felt her pulse; then she said to +her son-in-law; + +“On my word she is very ill. She is full of fire, and we must find some +remedy. Have you any of her water?” + +“That which she made last night is there,” said one of the attendants. + +“Give it me,” said the mother. + +She took the urine, and put it in a proper vessel, and told her +son-in-law that she was about to show it to such-and-such a doctor, that +he might know what he could do to her daughter to cure her. + +“For God’s sake spare nothing,” said she. “I have yet some money left, +but I love my daughter better than money.” + +“Spare!” quoth he. “If money can help, you shall not want.” + +“No need to go so fast,” said she. “Whilst she is resting, I will go +home; but I will come back if I am wanted.” + +Now you must know that the old woman had on the previous day, when she +left her daughter, instructed the doctor, who was well aware of what he +ought to say. So the young man carried his wife’s water to the doctor, +and when he had saluted him, related how sick and suffering his wife +was. + +“And I have brought you some of her water that you may judge how ill she +is, and more easily cure her.” + +The doctor took the vessel of urine, and turned it about and examined +it, then said; + +“Your wife is afflicted with a sore malady, and is in danger of dying +unless help be forthcoming; her water shows it.” + +“Ah, master, for God’s sake tell me what to do, and I will pay you well +if you can restore her to health, and prevent her from dying.” + +“She need not die,” said the doctor; “but unless you make haste, all the +money in the world will not save her life.” + +“Tell me, for God’s sake,” said the other, “what to do, and I will do +it.” + +“She must,” said the doctor, “have connection with a man, or she will +die.” + +“Connection with a man?” said the other, “What is that?” + +“That is to say,” continued the doctor, “that you must mount on the top +of her, and speedily ram her three or four times, or more if you can; +for, if not, the great heat which is consuming her will not be put out.” + +“Ah! will that be good for her?” + +“There is no chance of her living,” said the doctor, “if you do not do +it, and quickly too.” + +“By St. John,” said the other, “I will try what I can do.” + +With that he went home and found his wife, who was groaning and +lamenting loudly. + +“How are you, my dear?” said he. + +“I am dying, my dear,” she replied. + +“You shall not die, please God,” said he. “I have seen the doctor, who +has told me what medicine will cure you,” and as he spoke, he undressed +himself, and lay down by his wife, and began to execute the orders he +had received from the doctor. + +“What are you doing?” said she. “Do you want to kill me?” + +“No! I am going to cure you,” he replied. “The doctor said so;” and +Nature instructing him, and the patient helping, he performed on her two +or three times. + +When he was resting from his labours, much astonished at what had +happened, he asked his wife how she was? + +“I am a little better than I was before;” she replied. + +“God be praised,” said he. “I hope you will get well and that the doctor +told me truly:” and with that he began again. + +To cut matters short, he performed so well that his wife was cured in +a few days, at which he was very joyful, and so was her mother when she +knew it. + +The young man after this became a better fellow than he was before, +and his wife being now restored to health, he one day invited all his +relations and friends to dinner, and also the father and mother of his +wife, and he served grand cheer after his own fashion. They drank to +him, and he drank to them, and he was marvellous good company. + +But hear what happened to him: in the midst of the dinner he began to +weep, which much astonished all his friends who were at table with +him, and they demanded what was the matter, but he could not reply for +weeping scalding tears. At last he spoke, and said; + +“I have good cause to weep.” + +“By my oath you have not,” replied his mother-in-law. “What ails you? +You are rich and powerful, and well housed, and have good friends; and +you must not forget that you have a fair and good wife whom God brought +back to health when she was on the edge of the grave. In my opinion you +ought to be light-hearted and joyful.” + +“Alas!” said he, “woe is me! My father and mother, who both loved me, +and who amassed and left me so much wealth, are both dead, and by my +fault, for they died of a fever, and if I had well towzled them both +when they were ill, as I did to my wife, they would still be on their +feet.” + +There was no one at table who, on hearing this, would not have liked to +laugh, nevertheless they restrained themselves as best they could. The +tables were removed, and each went his way, and the young man continued +to live with his wife, and--in order that she might continue in good +health--he failed not to tail her pretty often. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE TWENTY-FIRST -- THE ABBESS CURED [21] + +By Philippe De Laon. + +_Of an abbess who was ill for want of--you know what--but would not have +it done, fearing to be reproached by her nuns, but they all agreed to do +the same and most willingly did so._ + + +In Normandy there is a fair nunnery, the Abbess of which was young, +fair, and well-made. It chanced that she fell ill. The good sisters who +were charitable and devout, hastened to visit her, and tried to comfort +her, and do all that lay in their power. And when they found she was +getting no better, they commanded one of the sisters to go to Rouen, and +take her water to a renowned doctor of that place. + +So the next day one of the nuns started on this errand, and when she +arrived there she showed the water to the physician, and described at +great length the illness of the Lady Abbess, how she slept, ate, drank, +etc. + +The learned doctor understood the case, both from his examination of +the water, and the information given by the nun, and then he gave his +prescription. + +Now I know that it is the custom in many cases to give a prescription in +writing, nevertheless this time he gave it by word of mouth, and said to +the nun; + +“Fair sister, for the abbess to recover her health there is but one +remedy, and that is that she must have company with a man; otherwise in +a short time she will grew so bad that death will be the only remedy.” + +Our nun was much astonished to hear such sad news, and said, + +“Alas! Master John! is there no other method by which our abbess can +recover her health?” + +“Certainly not,” he replied; “there is no other, and moreover, you must +make haste to do as I have bid you, for if the disease is not stopped +and takes its course, there is no man living who could cure it.” + +The good nun, though much disconcerted, made haste to announce the news +to the Abbess, and by the aid of her stout cob, and the great desire she +had to be at home, made such speed that the abbess was astonished to see +her returned. + +“What says the doctor, my dear?” cried the abbess. “Is there any fear of +death?” + +“You will be soon in good health if God so wills, madam,” said the +messenger. “Be of good cheer, and take heart.” + +“What! has not the doctor ordered me any medicine?” said the Abbess. + +“Yes,” was the reply, and then the nun related how the doctor had looked +at her water, and asked her age, and how she ate and slept, etc. “And +then in conclusion he ordered that you must have, somehow or other, +carnal connection with some man, or otherwise you will shortly be dead, +for there is no other remedy for your complaint.” + +“Connection with a man!” cried the lady. “I would rather die a thousand +times if it were possible.” And then she went on, “Since it is thus, and +my illness is incurable and deadly unless I take such a remedy, let +God be praised! I will die willingly. Call together quickly all the +convent!” + +The bell was rung, and all the nuns flocked round the Abbess, and, when +they were all in the chamber, the Abbess, who still had the use of her +tongue, however ill she was, began a long speech concerning the state of +the church, and in what condition she had found it and how she left it, +and then went on to speak of her illness, which was mortal and incurable +as she well knew and felt, and as such and such a physician had also +declared. + +“And so, my dear sisters, I recommend to you our church, and that you +pray for my poor soul.” + +At these words, tears in great abundance welled from all eyes, and the +heart’s fountain of the convent was moved. This weeping lasted long, and +none of the company spoke. + +After some time, the Prioress, who was wise and good, spoke for all the +convent, and said; + +“Madam, your illness--what it is, God, from whom nothing is hidden, +alone knows--vexes us greatly, and there is not one of us who would not +do all in her power to aid your recovery. We therefore pray you to spare +nothing, not even the goods of the Church, for it would be better for us +to lose the greater part of our temporal goods than be deprived of the +spiritual profit which your presence gives us.” + +“My good sister,” said the Abbess, “I have not deserved your kind offer, +but I thank you as much as I can, and again advise and beg of you to +take care of the Church--as I have already said--for it is a matter +which concerns me closely, God knows; and pray also for my poor soul, +which hath great need of your prayers.” + +“Alas, madam,” said the Prioress, “is it not possible that by great +care, or the diligent attention of some physician, that you might be +restored to health?” + +“No, no, my good sister,” replied the Abbess. “You must number me among +the dead--for I am hardly alive now, though I can still talk to you.” + +Then stepped forth the nun who had carried the water to Rouen, and said; + +“Madam, there is a remedy if you would but try it.” “I do not choose +to,” replied the Abbess. “Here is sister Joan, who has returned from +Rouen, and has shown my water, and related my symptoms, to such and such +a physician, who has declared that I shall die unless I suffer some man +to approach me and have connection with me. By this means he hopes, and +his books informed him, that I should escape death; but if I did not do +as he bade me, there was no help for me. But as for me, I thank God that +He has deigned to call me, though I have sinned much. I yield myself to +His will, and my body is prepared for death, let it come when it may.” + +“What, madam!” said the infirmary nun, “would you murder yourself? It +is in your power to save yourself, and you have but to put forth your +hand and ask for aid, and you will find it ready! That is not right; and +I even venture to tell you that you are imperilling your soul if you die +in that condition.” + +“My dear sister,” said the Abbess, “how many times have I told you that +it is better for a person to die than commit a deadly sin. You know that +I cannot avoid death except by committing a deadly sin. Also I feel sure +that even by prolonging my life by this means, I should be dishonoured +for ever, and a reproach to all. Folks would say of me, ‘There is the +lady who ----‘. + +“All of you,--however you may advise me--would cease to reverence and +love me, for I should seem--and with good cause--unworthy to preside +over and govern you.” + +“You must neither say nor think that,” said the Treasurer. “There is +nothing that we should not attempt to avoid death. Does not our good +father, St. Augustine, say that it is not permissible to anyone to take +his own life, nor to cut off one of his limbs? And are you not acting in +direct opposition to his teaching, if you allow yourself to die when you +could easily prevent it?” + +“She says well!” cried all the sisters in chorus. “Madam, for God’s sake +obey the physician, and be not so obstinate in your own opinion as to +lose both your body and soul, and leave desolate, and deprived of your +care, the convent where you are so much loved.” + +“My dear sisters,” replied the Abbess, “I much prefer to bow my head to +death than to live dishonoured. And would you not all say--‘There is the +woman who did so and so’.” + +“Do not worry yourself with what people would say: you would never be +reproached by good and respectable people.” + +“Yes, I should be,” replied the Abbess. + +The nuns were greatly moved, and retired and held a meeting, and passed +a resolution, which the Prioress was charged to deliver to the Abbess, +which she did in the following words. + +“Madam, the nuns are greatly grieved,--for never was any convent more +troubled than this is, and you are the cause. We believe that you are +ill-advised in allowing yourself to die when we are sure you could +avoid it. And, in order that you should comprehend our loyal and +single-hearted love for you, we have decided and concluded in a general +assembly, to save you and ourselves, and if you have connection secretly +with some respectable man, we will do the same, in order that you may +not think or imagine that in time to come you can be reproached by any +of us. Is it not so, my sisters?” + +“Yes,” they all shouted most willingly. + +The Abbess heard the speech, and was much moved by the testimony of the +love the sisters bore her, and consented, though with much regret, that +the doctor’s advice should be carried out. Monks, priests, and clerks +were sent for, and they found plenty of work to do, and they worked +so well that the Abbess was soon cured, at which the nuns were right +joyous. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE TWENTY-SECOND -- THE CHILD WITH TWO FATHERS. [22] + +By Caron. + +_Of a gentleman who seduced a young girl, and then went away and joined +the army. And before his return she made the acquaintance of another, +and pretended her child was by him. When the gentleman returned from the +war he claimed the child, but she begged him to leave it with her second +lover, promising that the next she had she would give to him, as is +hereafter recorded._ + + +Formerly there was a gentleman living at Bruges who was so often and so +long in the company of a certain pretty girl that at last he made her +belly swell. + +And about the same time that he was aware of this, the Duke called +together his men-at-arms, and our gentleman was forced to abandon his +lady-love and go with others to serve the said lord, which he willingly +did. But, before leaving, he provided sponsors and a nurse against the +time his child should come into the world, and lodged the mother with +good people to whose care he recommended her, and left money for her. +And when he had done all this as quickly as he could, he took leave of +his lady, and promised that, if God pleased, he would return quickly. + +You may fancy if she wept when she found that he whom she loved better +than any one in the world, was going away. She could not at first speak, +so much did her tears oppress her heart, but at last she grew calmer +when she saw that there was nothing else to be done. + +About a month after the departure of her lover, desire burned in her +heart, and she remembered the pleasures she had formerly enjoyed, and of +which the unfortunate absence of her friend now deprived her. The God of +Love, who is never idle, whispered to her of the virtues and riches of a +certain merchant, a neighbour, who many times, both before and since the +departure of her lover, had solicited her love, so that she decided +that if he ever returned to the charge he should not be sent away +discouraged, and that even if she met him in the street she would behave +herself in such a way as would let him see that she liked him. + +Now it happened that the day after she arrived at this determination, +Cupid sent round the merchant early in the morning to present her with +dogs and birds and other gifts, which those who seek after women are +always ready to present. + +He was not rebuffed, for if he was willing to attack she was not the +less ready to surrender, and prepared to give him even more than he +dared to ask; for she found in him such chivalry, prowess, and virtue +that she quite forgot her old lover, who at that time suspected nothing. + +The good merchant was much pleased with his new lady, and they so loved +each other, and their wills, desires, and thoughts so agreed, that it +was as though they had but a single heart between them. They could +not be content until they were living together, so one night the wench +packed up all her belongings and went to the merchant’s house, thus +abandoning her old lover, her landlord and his wife, and a number of +other good people to whose care she had been recommended. + +She was not a fool, and as soon as she found herself well lodged, +she told the merchant she was pregnant, at which he was very joyful, +believing that he was the cause; and in about seven months the wench +brought forth a fine boy, and the adoptive father was very fond both of +the child and its mother. + +A certain time afterwards the gentleman returned from the war, and came +to Bruges, and as soon as he decently could, took his way to the house +where he had left his mistress, and asked news of her from those whom he +had charged to lodge her and clothe her, and aid her in her confinement. + +“What!” they said. “Do you not know? Have you not had the letters which +were written to you?” + +“No, by my oath,” said he. “What has happened?’ + +“Holy Mary!” they replied, “you have good reason to ask. You had not +been gone more than a month when she packed up her combs and mirrors +and betook herself to the house of a certain merchant, who is greatly +attached to her. And, in fact, she has there been brought to bed of a +fine boy. The merchant has had the child christened, and believes it to +be his own.” + +“By St. John! that is something new,” said the gentleman, “but, since +she is that sort of a woman, she may go to the devil. The merchant may +have her and keep her, but as for the child I am sure it is mine, and I +want it.” + +Thereupon he went and knocked loudly at the door of the merchant’s +house. By chance, the lady was at home and opened the door, and when +she recognised the lover she had deserted, they were both astonished. +Nevertheless, he asked her how she came in that place, and she replied +that Fortune had brought her there. + +“Fortune?” said he; “Well then, fortune may keep you; but I want my +child. Your new master may have the cow, but I will have the calf; so +give it to me at once, for I will have it whatever may happen.” + +“Alas!” said the wench, “what will my man say? I shall be disgraced, for +he certainly believes the child is his.” + +“I don’t care what he thinks,” replied the other, “but he shall not have +what is mine.” + +“Ah, my friend, I beg and request of you to leave the merchant this +child; you will do him a great service and me also. And by God! you will +not be tempted to have the child when once you have seen him, for he is +an ugly, awkward boy, all scrofulous and mis-shapen.” + +“Whatever he is,” replied the other, “he is mine, and I will have him.” + +“Don’t talk so loud, for God’s sake!” said the wench, “and be calm, I +beg! And if you will only leave me this child, I promise you that I will +give you the next I have.” + +Angry as the gentleman was, he could not help smiling at hearing these +words, so he said no more and went away, and never again demanded the +child, which was brought up by the merchant. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 23.jpg THE LAWYER’S WIFE WHO PASSED THE LINE.] + + + + +STORY THE TWENTY-THIRD -- THE LAWYER’S WIFE WHO PASSED THE LINE. [23] + +By Monseigneur De Commesuram. + +_Of a clerk of whom his mistress was enamoured, and what he promised to +do and did to her if she crossed a line which the said clerk had made. +Seeing which, her little son told his father when he returned that he +must not cross the line; or said he, “the clerk will serve you as he did +mother.”_ + + +Formerly there lived in the town of Mons, in Hainault, a lawyer of a +ripe old age, who had, amongst his other clerks, a good-looking and +amiable youth, with whom the lawyer’s wife fell deeply in love, for it +appeared to her that he was much better fitted to do her business than +her husband was. + +She decided that she would behave in such a way that, unless he were +more stupid than an ass, he would know what she wanted of him; and, to +carry out her design, this lusty wench, who was young, fresh, and buxom, +often brought her sewing to where the clerk was, and talked to him of a +hundred thousand matters, most of them about love. + +And during all this talk she did not forget to practise little tricks: +sometimes she would knock his elbow when he was writing; another time +she threw gravel and spoiled his work, so that he was forced to write it +all over again. Another time also she recommenced these tricks, and took +away his paper and parchment, so that he could not work,--at which he +was not best pleased, fearing that his master would be angry. + +For a long time his mistress practised these tricks, but he being young, +and his eyes not opened, he did not at first see what she intended; +nevertheless at last he concluded he was in her good books. + +Not long after he arrived at this conclusion, it chanced that the lawyer +being out of the house, his wife came to the clerk to teaze him as was +her custom, and worried him more than usual, nudging him, talking to +him, preventing him from working, and hiding his paper, ink &c. + +Our clerk more knowing than formerly, and seeing what all this meant, +sprang to his feet, attacked his mistress and drove her back, and begged +of her to allow him to write--but she who asked for nothing better than +a tussle, was not inclined to discontinue. + +“Do you know, madam,” said he, “that I must finish this writing which I +have begun? I therefore ask of you to let me alone or, morbleu, I will +pay you out.” + +“What would you do, my good lad?” said she. “Make ugly faces?” + +“No, by God!* + +“What then?” + +“What?” + +“Yes, tell me what!” + +“Why,” said he, “since you have upset my inkstand, and crumpled my +writing, I will well crumple your parchment, and that I may not be +prevented from writing by want of ink, I will dip into your inkstand.” + +“By my soul,” quoth she, “you are not the man to do it. Do you think I +am afraid of you?” + +“It does not matter what sort of man I am,” said the clerk, “but if you +worry me any more, I am man enough to make you pay for it. Look here! +I will draw a line on the floor, and by God, if you overstep it, be it +ever so little, I wish I may die if I do not make you pay dearly for +it.” + +“By my word,” said she, “I am not afraid of you, and I will pass the +line and see what you will do,” and so saying the merry hussy made a +little jump which took her well over the line. + +The clerk grappled with her, and threw her down on a bench, and punished +her well, for if she had rumpled him outside and openly, he rumpled her +inside and secretly. + +Now you must know that there was present at the time a young child, +about two years old, the son of the lawyer. It need not be said +either, that after this first passage of arms between the clerk and his +mistress, there were many more secret encounters between them, with less +talk and more action than on the first occasion. + +You must know too that, a few days after this adventure, the little +child was in the office where the clerk was writing, when there came in +the lawyer, the master of the house, who walked across the room to +his clerk, to see what he wrote, or for some other matter, and as he +approached the line which the clerk had drawn for his wife, and which +still remained on the floor, his little son cried, + +“Father, take care you do not cross the line, or the clerk will lay you +down and tumble you as he did mother a few days ago.” + +The lawyer heard the remark, and saw the line, but knew not what to +think; but if he remembered that fools, drunkards, and children always +tell the truth, at all events he made no sign, and it has never come to +my knowledge that he ever did so, either through want of confirmation of +his suspicions, or because he feared to make a scandal. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE TWENTY-FOURTH -- HALF-BOOTED. [24] + +By Monseigneur De Fiennes. + +_Of a Count who would ravish by force a fair, young girl who was one of +his subjects, and how she escaped from him by means of his leggings, +and how he overlooked her conduct and helped her to a husband, as is +hereafter related._ + + +I know that in many of the stories already related the names of the +persons concerned are not stated, but I desire to give, in my little +history, the name of Comte Valerien, who was in his time Count of St. +Pol, and was called “the handsome Count”. Amongst his other lordships, +he was lord of a village in the district of Lille, called Vrelenchem, +about a league distant from Lille. + +This gentle Count, though of a good and kind nature, was very amorous. +He learned by report from one of his retainers, who served him in these +matters, that at the said Vrelenchem there resided a very pretty girl +of good condition. He was not idle in these matters, and soon after he +heard the news, he was in that village, and with his own eyes confirmed +the report that his faithful servants had given him concerning the said +maiden. + +“The next thing to be done,” said the noble Count, “is that I must speak +to her alone, no matter what it may cost me.” + +One of his followers, who was a doctor by profession, said, “My lord, +for your honour and that of the maiden also, it seems to me better that +I should make known to her your will, and you can frame your conduct +according to the reply that I receive.” + +He did as he said, and went to the fair maiden and saluted her +courteously, and she, who was as wise as she was fair and good, politely +returned his salute. + +To cut matters short, after a few ordinary phrases, the worthy messenger +preached much about the possessions and the honours of his master, and +told her that if she liked she would be the means of enriching all her +family. + +The fair damsel knew what o’clock it was. (*) Her reply was like +herself--fair and good--for it was that she would obey, fear, and serve +the Count in anything that did not concern her honour, but that she held +as dear as her life. + + (*) A literal translation. La bonne fille entendit tantost + quelle heure il estoit. + +The one who was astonished and vexed at this reply was our go-between, +who returned disappointed to his master, his embassy having failed. It +need not be said that the Count was not best pleased at hearing of this +proud and harsh reply made by the woman he loved better than anyone in +the world, and whose person he wished to enjoy. But he said, “Let us +leave her alone for the present. I shall devise some plan when she +thinks I have forgotten her.” + +He left there soon afterwards, and did not return until six weeks had +passed, and, when he did return it was very quietly, and he kept himself +private, and his presence unknown. + +He learned from his spies one day that the fair maiden was cutting grass +at the edge of a wood, and aloof from all company; at which he was very +joyful, and, all booted as he was, set out for the place in company with +his spies. And when he came near to her whom he sought, he sent away his +company, and stole close to her before she was aware of his presence. + +She was astonished and confused, and no wonder, to see the Count so +close to her, and she turned pale and could not speak, for she knew by +report that he was a bold and dangerous man to women. + +“Ha, fair damsel,” said the Count, “you are wondrous proud! One is +obliged to lay siege to you. Now defend yourself as best you can, for +there will be a battle between us, and, before I leave, you shall suffer +by my will and desire, all the pains that I have suffered and endured +for love of you.” + +“Alas, my lord!” said the young girl, who was frightened and surprised. +“I ask your mercy! If I have said or done anything that may displease +you, I ask your pardon; though I do not think I have said or done +anything for which you should owe me a grudge. I do not know what report +was made of me. Dishonourable proposals were made to me in your name, +but I did not believe them, for I deem you so virtuous that on no +account would you dishonour one of your poor, humble subjects like me, +but on the contrary protect her.” + +“Drop this talk!” said my lord, “and be sure that you shall not escape +me. I told you why I sent to you, and of the good I intended to do you,” + and without another word, he seized her in his arms, and threw her down +on a heap of grass which was there, and pressed her closely, and quickly +made all preparations to accomplish his desire. + +The young girl, who saw that she was on the point of losing that which +she held most precious, bethought her of a trick, and said, + +“Ah, my lord, I surrender! I will do whatever you like, and without +refusal or contradiction, but it would be better that you should do with +me whatever you will by my free consent, than by force and against my +will accomplish your intent.” + +“At any rate,” said my lord, “you shall not escape me! What is it you +want?” + +“I would beg of you,” said she, “to do me the honour not to dirty me +with your leggings, which are greasy and dirty, and which you do not +require.” + +“What can I do with them?” asked my lord. + +“I will take them off nicely for you,” said she, “if you please; for +by my word, I have neither heart nor courage to welcome you if you wear +those mucky leggings.” + +“The leggings do not make much difference,” said my lord, “nevertheless +if you wish it, they shall be taken off.” + +Then he let go of her, and seated himself on the grass, and stretched +out his legs, and the fair damsel took off his spurs, and then tugged +at one of his leggings, which were very tight. And when with much +difficulty she had got it half off, she ran away as fast as her legs +could carry her with her will assisting, and left the noble Count, and +never ceased running until she was in her father’s house. + + +[Illustration: 24.jpg HALF-BOOTED] + + +The worthy lord who was thus deceived was in as great a rage as he could +be. With much trouble he got on his feet, thinking that if he stepped +on his legging he could pull it off, but it was no good, it was too +tight, and there was nothing for him to do but return to his servants. +He did not go very far before he found his retainers waiting for him by +the side of a ditch; they did not know what to think when they saw him +in that disarray. He related his story, and they put his boots on for +him, and if you had heard him you would have thought that she who thus +deceived him was not long for this world, he so cursed and threatened +her. + +But angry as he was for a time, his anger soon cooled, and was converted +into sincere respect. Indeed he afterwards provided for her, and married +her at his own cost and expense to a rich and good husband, on account +of her frankness and loyalty. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE TWENTY-FIFTH -- FORCED WILLINGLY. [25] + +By Philippe De Saint-Yon. + +_Of a girl who complained of being forced by a young man, whereas +she herself had helped him to find that which he sought;--and of the +judgment which was given thereon._ + + +The incident on which I found my story happened so recently that I need +not alter, nor add to, nor suppress, the facts. There recently came +to the provost at Quesnay, a fair wench, to complain of the force and +violence she had suffered owing to the uncontrollable lust of a young +man. The complaint being laid before the provost, the young man accused +of this crime was seized, and as the common people say, was already +looked upon as food for the gibbet, or the headsman’s axe. + +The wench, seeing and knowing that he of whom she had complained was +in prison, greatly pestered the provost that justice might be done +her, declaring that without her will and consent, she had by force been +violated and dishonoured. + +The provost, who was a discreet and wise man, and very experienced in +judicial matters, assembled together all the notables and chief men, and +commanded the prisoner to be brought forth, and he having come before +the persons assembled to judge him, was asked whether he would confess, +by torture or otherwise, the horrible crime laid to his charge, and the +provost took him aside and adjured him to tell the truth. + +“Here is such and such a woman,” said he, “who complains bitterly that +you have forced her. Is it so? Have you forced her? Take care that you +tell the truth, for if you do not you will die, but if you do you will +be pardoned.” + +“On my oath, provost,” replied the prisoner, “I will not conceal from +you that I have often sought her love. And, in fact, the day before +yesterday, after a long talk together, I laid her upon the bed, to do +you know what, and pulled up her dress, petticoat, and chemise. But +my weasel could not find her rabbit hole, and went now here now there, +until she kindly showed it the right road, and with her own hands pushed +it in. I am sure that it did not come out till it had found its prey, +but as to force, by my oath there was none.” + +“Is that true?” asked the provost. + +“Yes, on my oath,” answered the young man. + +“Very good,” said he, “we shall soon arrange matters.” + +After these words, the provost took his seat in the pontifical chair, +surrounded by all the notable persons; and the young man was seated on +a small bench in front of the judges, and all the people, and of her who +accused him. + +‘“Now, my dear,” said the provost, “what have you to say about the +prisoner?” + +“Provost!” said she, “I complain that he has forced me and violated me +against my will and in spite of me. Therefore I demand justice.” + +“What have you to say in reply?” asked the provost of the prisoner. + +“Sir,” he replied, “I have already told how it happened, and I do not +think she can contradict me.” + +“My dear!” said the provost to the girl, “think well of what you are +saying! You complain of being forced. It is a very serious charge! He +says that he did not use any force, but that you consented, and indeed +almost asked for what you got. And if he speaks truly, you yourself +directed his weasel, which was wandering about near your rabbit-hole, +and with your two hands--or at least with one--pushed the said weasel +into your burrow. Which thing he could never have done without your +help, and if you had resisted but ever so little he would never have +effected his purpose. If his weasel was allowed to rummage in your +burrow, that is not his fault, and he is not punishable.” + +“Ah, Provost,” said the girl plaintively, “what do you mean by that? It +is quite true, and I will not deny it, that I conducted his weasel into +my burrow--but why did I do so? By my oath, Sir, its head was so stiff, +and its muzzle so hard, that I was sure that it would make a large cut, +or two or three, on my belly, if I did not make haste and put it where +it could do little harm--and that is what I did.” + +You may fancy what a burst of laughter there was at the end of +this trial, both from the judges and the public. The young man was +discharged,--to continue his rabbit-hunting if he saw fit. + +The girl was angry that he was not hanged on a high forked tree for +having hung on her “low forks” (*). But this anger and resentment did +not last long, for as I heard afterwards on good authority, peace was +concluded between them, and the youth had the right to ferret in the +coney burrow whenever he felt inclined. + + (*) A play upon words, which is not easily translatable, in + allusion to the gallows. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE TWENTY-SIXTH -- THE DAMSEL KNIGHT. [26] + +By Monseigneur De Foquessoles. + +_Of the loves of a young gentleman and a damsel, who tested the loyalty +of the gentleman in a marvellous and courteous manner, and slept three +nights with him without his knowing that it was not a man,--as you will +more fully hear hereafter._ + + +In the duchy of Brabant--not so long ago but that the memory of it is +fresh in the present day--happened a strange thing, which is worthy of +being related, and is not unfit to furnish a story. And in order that it +should be publicly known and reported, here is the tale. + +In the household of a great baron of the said country there lived and +resided a young, gracious, and kind gentleman, named Gerard, who was +greatly in love with a damsel of the said household, named Katherine. +And when he found opportunity, he ventured to tell her of his piteous +case. Most people will be able to guess the answer he received, and +therefore, to shorten matters, I omit it here. + +In due time Gerard and Katherine loved each other so warmly that there +was but one heart and one will between them. This loyal and perfect love +endured no little time--indeed two years passed away. Love, who blinds +the eyes of his disciples, had so blinded these two that they did not +know that this affection, which they thought secret, was perceived by +every one; there was not a man or a woman in the chateau who was not +aware of it--in fact the matter was so noised abroad that all the talk +of the household was of the loves of Gerard and Katherine. + +These two poor, deluded fools were so much occupied with their own +affairs that they did not suspect their love affairs were discussed by +others. Envious persons, or those whom it did not concern, brought +this love affair to the knowledge of the master and mistress of the +two lovers, and it also came to the ears of the father and mother of +Katherine. + +Katherine was informed by a damsel belonging to the household, who was +one of her friends and companions, that her love for Gerard had been +discovered and revealed both to her father and mother, and also to the +master and mistress of the house. + +“Alas, what is to be done, my dear sister and friend?” asked Katherine. +“I am lost, now that so many persons know, or guess at, my condition. +Advise me, or I am ruined, and the most unfortunate woman in the world,” + and at these words her eyes filled with tears, which rolled down her +fair cheeks and even fell to the edge of her robe. + +Her friend was very vexed to see her grief, and tried to console her. + +“My sister,” she said, “it is foolish to show such great grief; for, +thank God, no one can reproach you with anything that touches your +honour or that of your friends. If you have listened to the vows of a +gentleman, that is not a thing forbidden by the Court of Honour, it is +even the path, the true road, to arrive there. You have no cause for +grief, for there is not a soul living who can bring a charge against +you. But, at any rate, I should advise that, to stop chattering tongues +which are discussing your love affairs, your lover, Gerard, should, +without more ado, take leave of our lord and lady, alleging that he is +to set out on a long voyage, or take part in some war now going on, and, +under that excuse, repair to some house and wait there until God and +Cupid have arranged matters. He will keep you informed by messages how +he is, and you will do the same to him; and by that time the rumours +will have ceased, and you can communicate with one another by letter +until better times arrive. And do not imagine that your love will +cease--it will be as great, or greater, than ever, for during a long +time you will only hear from each other occasionally, and that is one of +the surest ways of preserving love.” + +The kind and good advice of this gentle dame was followed, for as soon +as Katherine found means to speak to her lover, Gerard, she told him +how the secret of their love had been discovered and had come to the +knowledge of her father and mother, and the master and mistress of the +house. + +“And you may believe,” she said, “that it did not reach that point +without much talk on the part of those of the household and many of the +neighbours. And since Fortune is not so friendly to us as to permit us +to live happily as we began, but menaces us with further troubles, it is +necessary to be fore-armed against them. Therefore, as the matter much +concerns me, and still more you, I will tell you my opinion.” + +With that she recounted at full length the good advice which had been +given by her friend and companion. + +Gerard, who had expected a misfortune of this kind, replied; + +“My loyal and dear mistress, I am your humble and obedient servant, and, +except God, I love no one so dearly as you. You may command me to +do anything that seems good to you, and whatever you order shall be +joyfully and willingly obeyed. But, believe me, there is nothing left +for me in the world when once I am removed from your much-wished-for +presence. Alas, if I must leave you, I fear that the first news you will +hear will be that of my sad and pitiful death, caused by your absence, +but, be that as it may, you are the only living person I will obey, and +I prefer rather to obey you and die, than live for ever and disobey you. +My body is yours. Cut it, hack it, do what you like with it!” + +You may guess that Katherine was grieved and vexed at seeing her lover, +whom she adored more than anyone in the world, thus troubled. Had it not +been for the virtue with which God had largely endowed her, she would +have proposed to accompany him on his travels, but she hoped for happier +days, and refrained from making such a proposal. After a pause, she +replied; + +“My friend you must go away, but do not forget her who has given you her +heart. And that you may have courage in the struggle which is imposed +on you, know that I promise you on my word that as long as I live I will +never marry any man but you of my own free-will, provided that you are +equally loyal and true to me, as I hope you will be. And in proof of +this, I give you this ring, which is of gold enamelled with black tears. +If by chance they would marry me to some one else, I will defend myself +so stoutly that you will be pleased with me, and I will prove to you +that I can keep my promise without flinching from it. And, lastly, I beg +of you that wherever you may stop, you will send me news about yourself, +and I will do the same.” + +“Ah, my dear mistress,” said Gerard, “I see plainly that I must leave +you for a time. I pray to God that he will give you more joy and +happiness than I am likely to have. You have kindly given me, though I +am not worthy of it, a noble and honourable promise, for which I cannot +sufficiently thank you. Still less do I deserve it, but I venture in +return to make a similar promise, begging most humbly and with all my +heart, that my vow may have as great a weight as if it came from a much +nobler man than I. Adieu, dearest lady. My eyes demand their turn, and +prevent my tongue from speaking.” + +With these words he kissed her, and pressed her tightly to his bosom, +and then each went away to think over his or her griefs. + +God knows that they wept with their eyes, their hearts, and their heads, +but ere they showed themselves, they concealed all traces of their +grief, and put on a semblance of cheerfulness. + +To cut matters short, Gerard did so much in a few days that he obtained +leave of absence from his master--which was not very difficult, not that +he had committed any fault, but owing to his love affair with Katherine, +with which her friends were not best pleased, seeing that Gerard was +not of such a good family or so rich as she was, and could not expect to +marry her. + +So Gerard left, and covered such a distance in one day that he came to +Barrois, where he found shelter in the castle of a great nobleman of +the country; and being safely housed he soon sent news of himself to the +lady, who was very joyful thereat, and by the same messenger wrote to +tell him of her condition, and the goodwill she bore him, and how she +would always be loyal to him. + +Now you must know that as soon as Gerard had left Brabant, many +gentlemen, knights and squires, came to Katherine, desiring above all +things to make her acquaintance, which during the time that Gerard +had been there they had been unable to do, knowing that her heart was +already occupied. + +Indeed many of them demanded her hand in marriage of her father, and +amongst them was one who seemed to him a very suitable match. So he +called together many of his friends, and summoned his fair daughter, and +told them that he was already growing old, and that one of the greatest +pleasures he could have in the world was to see his daughter well +married before he died. Moreover, he said to them; + +“A certain gentleman has asked for my daughter’s hand, and he seems to +me a suitable match. If your opinion agrees with mine, and my daughter +will obey me, his honourable request will not be rejected.” + +All his friends and relations approved of the proposed marriage, on +account of the virtues, riches, and other gifts of the said gentleman. +But when they asked the opinion of the fair Katherine, she sought to +excuse herself, and gave several reasons for refusing, or at least +postponing this marriage, but at last she saw that she would be in the +bad books of her father, her mother, her relatives, friends, and her +master and mistress, if she continued to keep her promise to her lover, +Gerard. + +At last she thought of a means by which she could satisfy her parents +without breaking her word to her lover, and said, + +“My dearest lord and father, I do not wish to disobey you in anything +you may command, but I have made a vow to God, my creator, which I must +keep. Now I have made a resolution and sworn in my heart to God that +I would never marry unless He would of His mercy show me that that +condition was necessary for the salvation of my poor soul. But as I do +not wish to be a trouble to you, I am content to accept this condition +of matrimony, or any other that you please, if you will first give me +leave to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Nicolas at Varengeville +(*) which pilgrimage I vowed and promised to make before I changed my +present condition.” + + (*) A town of Lorraine, on the Meurthe, about six miles from + Kancy. Pilgrims flocked thither from all parts to worship + the relics of St. Nicolas. + +She said this in order that she might see her lover on the road, and +tell him how she was constrained against her will. + +Her father was rather pleased to hear the wise and dutiful reply of +his daughter. He granted her request, and wished to at once order her +retinue, and spoke to his wife about it when his daughter was present. + +“We will give her such and such gentlemen, who with Ysabeau, Marguerite +and Jehanneton, will be sufficient for her condition.” + +“Ah, my lord,” said Katherine, “if it so please you we will order it +otherwise. You know that the road from here to St. Nicolas is not very +safe, and that when women are to be escorted great precautions must be +taken. I could not go thus without great expense; moreover, the road is +long, and if it happened that we lost either our goods or honour (which +may God forfend) it would be a great misfortune. Therefore it seems good +to me--subject to your good pleasure--that there should be made for me a +man’s dress and that I should be escorted by my uncle, the bastard, each +mounted on a stout horse. We should go much quicker, more safely, and +with less expense, and I should have more confidence than with a large +retinue.” + +The good lord, having thought over the matter a little while, spoke +about it to his wife, and it seemed to them that the proposal showed +much common sense and dutiful feeling. So everything was prepared for +their departure. + +They set out on their journey, the fair Katherine and her uncle, the +bastard, without any other companion. Katherine, who was dressed in +the German fashion very elegantly, was the master, and her uncle, the +bastard, was the serving man. They made such haste that their pilgrimage +was soon accomplished, as far as St. Nicolas was concerned, and, as they +were on their return journey-praising God for having preserved them, and +talking over various matters Katherine said to her uncle, + +“Uncle, you know that I am sole heiress to my father, and that I could +bestow many benefits upon you, which I will most willingly do if you +will aid me in a small quest I am about to undertake--that is to go to +the castle of a certain lord of Barrois (whom she named) to see Gerard, +whom you know. And, in order that when we return we may have some news +to tell, we will demand hospitality, and if we obtain it we will stop +there for some days and see the country, and you need be under no fear +but that I shall take care of my honour, as a good girl should.” + +The uncle, who hoped to be rewarded some day, and knew she was virtuous, +vowed to himself that he would keep an eye upon her, and promised to +serve her and accompany her wherever she wished. He was much thanked no +doubt, and it was then decided that he should call his niece, Conrad. + +They soon came, as they desired, to the wished-for place, and addressed +themselves to the lord’s major-domo, who was an old knight, and who +received them most joyfully and most honourably. + +Conrad asked him if the lord, his master, did not wish to have in his +service a young gentleman who was fond of adventures, and desirous of +seeing various countries? + +The major-domo asked him whence he came, and he replied, from Brabant. + +“Well then,” said the major-domo, “you shall dine here, and after dinner +I will speak to my lord.” + +With that he had them conducted to a fair chamber, and ordered the table +to be laid, and a good fire to be lighted, and sent them soup and a +piece of mutton, and white wine while dinner was preparing. + +Then he went to his master and told him of the arrival of a young +gentleman of Brabant, who wished to serve him, and the lord was content +to take the youth if he wished. + +To cut matters short, as soon as he had served his master, he returned +to Conrad to dine with him, and brought with him, because he was of +Brabant, the aforesaid Gerard, and said to Conrad; + +“Here is a young gentleman who belongs to your country.” + +“I am glad to meet him,” said Conrad. + +“And you are very welcome,” replied Gerard. + +But he did not recognise his lady-love, though she knew him very well. + +Whilst they were making each other’s acquaintance, the meat was brought +in, and each took his place on either hand of the major-domo. + +The dinner seemed long to Conrad, who hoped afterwards to have some +conversation with her lover, and expected also that she would soon be +recognised either by her voice, or by the replies she made to questions +concerning Brabant; but it happened quite otherwise, for during all the +dinner, the worthy Gerard did not ask after either man or woman in all +Brabant; which Conrad could not at all understand. + +Dinner passed, and after dinner my lord engaged Conrad in his service; +and the major-domo, who was a thoughtful, experienced man, gave +instructions that as Gerard and Conrad came from the same place, they +should share the same chamber. + +After this Gerard and Conrad went off arm in arm to look at their +horses, but as far as Gerard was concerned, if he talked about +anything it was not Brabant. Poor Conrad--that is to say the fair +Katherine--began to suspect that she was like forgotten sins, and had +gone clean out of Gerard’s mind; but she could not imagine why, at +least, he did not ask about the lord and lady with whom she lived. The +poor girl was, though she could not show it, in great distress of mind, +and did not know what to do; whether to still conceal her identity, and +test him by some cunning phrases, or to suddenly make herself known. + +In the end she decided that she would still remain Conrad, and say +nothing about Katherine unless Gerard should alter his manner. + +The evening passed as the dinner had done, and when they came to their +chamber, Gerard and Conrad spoke of many things, but not of the one +subject pleasing to the said Conrad. When he saw that the other only +replied in the words that were put into his mouth, she asked of what +family he was in Brabant, and why he left there, and where he was when +he was there, and he replied as it seemed good to him. + +“And do you not know,” she said, “such and such a lord, and such +another?” + +“By St. John, yes!” he replied. + +Finally, she named the lord at whose castle she had lived; and he +replied that he knew him well, but not saying that he had lived there, +or ever been there in his life. + +“It is rumoured,” she said, “there are some pretty girls there. Do you +know of any?” + +“I know very little,” he replied, “and care less. Leave me alone; for I +am dying to go to sleep!” + +“What!” she said. “Can you sleep when pretty girls are being talked +about? That is a sign that you are not in love!” + +He did not reply, but slept like a pig, and poor Katherine began to have +serious doubts about him, but she resolved to try him again. + +When the morrow came, each dressed himself, talking and chattering +meanwhile of what each liked best--Gerard of dogs and hawks, and Conrad +of the pretty girls of that place and Brabant. + +After dinner, Conrad managed to separate Gerard from the others, and +told him that the country of Barrois was very flat and ugly, but Brabant +was quite different, and let him know that he (Conrad) longed to return +thither. + +“For what purpose?” asked Gerard. “What do you see in Brabant that is +not here? Have you not here fine forests for hunting, good rivers, and +plains as pleasant as could be wished for flying falcons, and plenty of +game of all sorts?” + +“Still that is nothing!” said Conrad. “The women of Brabant are very +different, and they please me much more than any amount of hunting or +hawking!” + +“By St. John! they are quite another affair,” said Gerard. “You are +exceedingly amorous in your Brabant, I dare swear!” + +“By my oath!” said Conrad, “it is not a thing that can be hidden, for +I myself am madly in love. In fact my heart is drawn so forcibly that I +fear I shall be forced to quit your Barrois, for it will not be possible +for me to live long without seeing my lady love.” + +“Then it was a madness,” said Gerard, “to have left her, if you felt +yourself so inconstant.” + +“Inconstant, my friend! Where is the man who can guarantee that he will +be constant in love. No one is so wise or cautious that he knows for +certain how to conduct himself. Love often drives both sense and reason +out of his followers.” + +The conversation dropped as supper time came, and was not renewed till +they were in bed. Gerard would have desired nothing better than to go to +sleep, but Conrad renewed the discussion, and began a piteous, long, and +sad complaint about his ladylove (which, to shorten matters, I omit) and +at last he said, + +“Alas, Gerard, and how can you desire to sleep whilst I am so wide +awake, and my soul is filled with cares, and regrets, and troubles. It +is strange that you are not a little touched yourself, for, believe +me, if it were a contagious disease you could not be so close to me and +escape unscathed. I beg of you, though you do not feel yourself, to have +some pity and compassion on me, for I shall die soon if I do not behold +my lady-love.” + +“I never saw such a love-sick fool!” cried Gerard. “Do you think that I +have never been in love? I know what it is, for I have passed through +it the same as you--certainly I have! But I was never so love-mad as to +lose my sleep or upset myself, as you are doing now. You are an idiot, +and your love is not worth a doit. Besides do you think your lady is the +same as you are? No, no!” + +“I am sure she is,” replied Conrad; “she is so true-hearted.” + +“Ah, you speak as you wish,” said Gerard, “but I do not believe that +women are so true as to always remain faithful to their vows; and those +who believe in them are blockheads. Like you, I have loved, and still +love. For, to tell you the truth, I left Brabant on account of a love +affair, and when I left I was high in the graces of a very beautiful, +good, and noble damsel, whom I quitted with much regret; and for no +small time I was in great grief at not being able to see her--though I +did not cease to sleep, drink, or eat, as you do. When I found that +I was no longer able to see her, I cured myself by following Ovid’s +advice, for I had not been here long before I made the acquaintance of a +pretty girl in the house, and so managed, that--thank God--she now likes +me very much, and I love her. So that now I have forgotten the one I +formerly loved, and only care for the one I now possess, who has turned +my thoughts from my old love!” + +“What!” cried Conrad. “Is it possible that, if you really loved the +other, you can so soon forget her and desert her? I cannot understand +nor imagine how that can be!” + +“It is so, nevertheless, whether you understand it or not.” “That is not +keeping faith loyally,” said Conrad. “As for me, I would rather die +a thousand times, if that were possible, than be so false to my lady. +However long God may let me live, I shall never have the will, or even +the lightest thought, of ever loving any but her.” + +“So much the greater fool you,” said Gerard, “and if you persevere in +this folly, you will never be of any good, and will do nothing but dream +and muse; and you will dry up like the green herb that is cast into the +furnace, and kill yourself, and never have known any pleasure, and +even your mistress will laugh at you,--if you are lucky enough to be +remembered by her at all.” + +“Well!” said Conrad. “You are very experienced in love affairs. I would +beg of you to be my intermediary, here or elsewhere, and introduce me to +some damsel that I may be cured like you.” + +“I will tell you what I will do,” said Gerard. “Tomorrow I will speak to +my mistress and tell her that we are comrades, and ask her to speak to +one of her lady friends, who will undertake your business, and I do not +doubt but that, if you like, you will have a good time, and that the +melancholy which now bears you down will disappear--if you care to get +rid of it.” + +“If it were not for breaking my vow to my mistress, I should desire +nothing better,” said Conrad, “but at any rate I will try it.” + +With that Gerard turned over and went to sleep, but Katherine was so +stricken with grief at seeing and hearing the falsehood of him whom she +loved more than all the world, that she wished herself dead and more +than dead. Nevertheless, she put aside all feminine feeling, and assumed +manly vigour. She even had the strength of mind to talk for a long time +the next day with the girl who loved the man _she_ had once adored; and +even compelled her heart and eyes to be witnesses of many interviews and +love passages that were most galling to her. + +Whilst she was talking to Gerard’s mistress, she saw the ring that she +had given her unfaithful lover, but she was not so foolish as to admire +it, but nevertheless found an opportunity to examine it closely on the +girl’s finger, but appeared to pay no heed to it, and soon afterwards +left. + +As soon as supper was over, she went to her uncle, and said to him; + +“We have been long enough in Barrois! It is time to leave. Be ready +to-morrow morning at daybreak, and I will be also. And take care that +all our baggage is prepared. Come for me as early as you like.” + +“You have but to come down when you will,” replied the uncle. + +Now you must know that after supper, whilst Gerard was conversing with +his mistress, she who had been his lady-love went to her chamber and +began to write a letter, which narrated at full length the love affairs +of herself and Gerard, also “the promises which they made at parting, +how they had wished to marry her to another and how she had refused, and +the pilgrimage that she had undertaken to keep her word and come to him, +and the disloyalty and falsehood she had found in him, in word, act, +and deed. And that, for the causes mentioned, she held herself free +and disengaged from the promise she had formerly made. And that she was +going to return to her own country and never wished to see him or meet +him again, he being the falsest man who ever made vows to a woman. And +as regards the ring that she had given him, that he had forfeited it by +passing it into the hands of a third person. And if he could boast that +he had lain three nights by her side, there was no harm, and he might +say what he liked, and she was not afraid.” + +_Letter written by a hand you ought to know_, and underneath _Katherine +etc., otherwise known as Conrad_; and on the back, _To the false Gerard_ +etc. + +She scarcely slept all night, and as soon as she saw the dawn, she rose +gently and dressed herself without awaking Gerard. She took the letter, +which she had folded and sealed, and placed it in the sleeve of Gerard’s +jerkin; then in a vow voice prayed to God for him, and wept gently on +account of the grief she endured on account of the falseness she had met +with. + +Gerard still slept, and did not reply a word. Then she went to her +uncle, who gave her her horse which she mounted, and they left the +country, and soon came to Brabant, where they were joyfully received, +God knows. + +You may imagine that all sorts of questions were asked about their +adventures and travels, and how they had managed, but whatever they +replied they took care to say nothing about their principal adventure. + +But to return to Gerard. He awoke about 10 o’clock on the morning of the +day when Katherine left, and looked to see if his companion Conrad was +already risen. He did not know it was so late, and jumped out of bed +in haste to seek for his jerkin. When he put his arm in the sleeve, +out dropped the letter, at which he was much astonished, for he did not +remember putting it there. + +At any rate, he picked it up, and saw that it was sealed, and had +written on the back, _To the false Gerard_. If he had been astonished +before, he was still more so now. + +After a little while he opened it and saw the signature, _Katherine +known as Conrad_ etc. + +He did not know what to think, nevertheless he read the letter, and in +reading it the blood mounted to his cheeks, and his heart sank within +him, so that he was quite changed both in looks and complexion. + +He finished reading the letter the best way he could, and learned that +his falseness had come to the knowledge of her who wished so well to +him, and that she knew him to be what he was, not by the report of +another person, but by her own eyes; and what touched him most to the +heart was that he had lain three nights with her without having thanked +her for the trouble she had taken to come so far to make trial of his +love. + +He champed the bit, and was wild with rage, when he saw how he had been +mystified. After much thought, he resolved that the best thing to do was +to follow her, as he thought he might overtake her. + +He took leave of his master and set out, and followed the trail of their +horses, but did not catch them up before they came to Brabant, where +he arrived opportunely on the day of the marriage of the woman who had +tested his affection. + +He wished to kiss her and salute her, and make some poor excuse for his +fault, but he was not able to do so, for she turned her back on him, +and he could not, all the time that he was there, find an opportunity of +talking with her. + +Once he advanced to lead her to the dance, but she flatly refused in the +face of all the company, many of whom took note of the incident. For, +not long after, another gentleman entered, and caused the minstrels to +strike up, and advanced towards her, and she came down and danced with +him. + +Thus, as you have heard, did the false lover lose his mistress. If there +are others like him, let them take warning by this example, which is +perfectly true, and is well known, and happened not so very long ago. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 27.jpg THE HUSBAND IN THE CLOTHES-CHEST.] + + + + +STORY THE TWENTY-SEVENTH -- THE HUSBAND IN THE CLOTHES-CHEST. [27] + +By Monseigneur De Beauvoir. + +_Of a great lord of this kingdom and a married lady, who in order +that she might be with her lover caused her husband to be shut in a +clothes-chest by her waiting women, and kept him there all the night, +whilst she passed the time with her lover; and of the wagers made +between her and the said husband, as you will find afterwards recorded._ + + +It is not an unusual thing, especially in this country, for fair dames +and damsels to often and willingly keep company with young gentlemen, +and the pleasant joyful games they have together, and the kind requests +which are made, are not difficult to guess. + +Not long ago, there was a most noble lord, who might be reckoned as one +of the princes, but whose name shall not issue from my pen, who was much +in the good graces of a damsel who was married, and of whom report spoke +so highly that the greatest personage in the kingdom might have deemed +himself lucky to be her lover. + +She would have liked to prove to him how greatly she esteemed him, +but it was not easy; there were so many adversaries and enemies to be +outwitted. And what more especially annoyed her was her worthy husband, +who kept to the house and played the part of the cursed Dangier, (*) and +the lover could not find any honourable excuse to make him leave. + + (*) Allegorical personage typifying jealousy, taken from _Le + Romaunt de la Rose_. + +As you may imagine, the lover was greatly dissatisfied at having to wait +so long, for he desired the fair quarry, the object of his long chase, +more than he had ever desired anybody in all his life. + +For this cause he continued to importune his mistress, till she said to +him. + +“I am quite as displeased as you can be that I can give you no better +welcome; but, you know, as long as my husband is in the house he must be +considered.” + +“Alas!” said he, “cannot you find any method to abridge my hard and +cruel martyrdom?” + +She--who as has been said above, was quite as desirous of being with her +lover as he was with her--replied; + +“Come to-night, at such and such an hour, and knock at my chamber +door. I will let you in, and will find some method to be freed from my +husband, if Fortune does not upset our plans.” + +Her lover had never heard anything which pleased him better, and after +many gracious thanks,--which he was no bad hand at making--he left her, +and awaited the hour assigned. + +Now you must know that a good hour or more before the appointed time, +our gentle damsel, with her women and her husband, had withdrawn to her +chamber after supper; nor was her imagination idle, but she studied +with all her mind how she could keep her promise to her lover. Now she +thought of one means, now of another, but nothing occurred to her by +which she could get rid of her cursed husband; and all the time the +wished-for hour was fast approaching. + +Whilst she was thus buried in thought, Fortune was kind enough to do her +a good turn, and her husband a bad one. + +He was looking round the chamber, and by chance he saw at the foot of +the bed his wife’s clothes-chest. In order to make her speak, and arouse +her from her reverie, he asked what that chest was used for, and why +they did not take it to the wardrobe, or some other place where it would +be more suitable. + +“There is no need, Monseigneur,” said Madame; “no one comes here but us. +I left it here on purpose, because there are still some gowns in it, but +if you are not pleased, my dear, my women will soon take it away.” + +“Not pleased?” said he. “No, I am not; but I like it as much here as +anywhere else, since it pleases you; but it seems to me much too small +to hold your gowns well without crumpling them, seeing what great and +long trains are worn now.” + +“By my word, sir,” said she, “it is big enough.” + +“It hardly seems so,” replied he, “really; and I have looked at it +well.” + +“Well, sir,” said she, “will you make a bet with me?” + +“Certainly I will,” he answered; “what shall it be?” + +“I will bet, if you like, half a dozen of the best shirts against the +satin to make a plain petticoat, that we can put you inside the box just +as you are.” + +“On my soul,” said he, “I will bet I cannot get in.” + +“And I will bet you can.” + +“Come on!” said the women. “We will soon see who is the winner.” + +“It will soon be proved,” said Monsieur, and then he made them take +out of the chest all the gowns which were in it, and when it was empty, +Madam and her women put in Monsieur easily enough. + +Then there was much chattering, and discussion, and laughter, and Madam +said; + +“Well, sir; you have lost your wager! You own that, do you not?” + +“Yes,” said he, “you are right.” + +As he said these words, the chest was locked, and the girls all +laughing, playing, and dancing, carried both chest and man together, and +put it in a big cupboard some distance away from the chamber. + +He cried, and struggled, and made a great noise; but it was no good, +and he was left there all the night. He could sleep, or think, or do the +best he could, but Madam had given secret instructions that he was not +to be let out that day, because she had been too much bothered by him +already. + +But to return to the tale we had begun. We will leave our man in his +chest, and talk about Madam, who was awaiting her lover, surrounded +by her waiting women, who were so good and discreet that they never +revealed any secrets. They knew well enough that the dearly beloved +adorer was to occupy that night the place of the man who was doing +penance in the clothes-chest. + +They did not wait long before the lover, without making any noise or +scare, knocked at the chamber door, and they knew his knock, and quickly +let him in. He was joyfully received and kindly entertained by Madam and +her maids; and he was glad to find himself alone with his lady love, who +told him what good fortune God had given her, that is to say how she had +made a bet with her husband that he could get into the chest, how he had +got in, and how she and her women had carried him away to a cupboard. + +“What?” said her lover. “I cannot believe that he is in the house. By my +word, I believed that you had found some excuse to send him out whilst I +took his place with you for a time.” + +“You need not go,” she said. “He cannot get out of where he is. He may +cry as much as he will, but there is no one here likes him well enough +to let him out, and there he will stay; but if you would like to have +him set free, you have but to say so.” + +“By Our Lady,” said he, “if he does not come out till I let him out, he +will wait a good long time.” + +“Well then, let us enjoy ourselves,” said she, “and think no more about +him.” + +To cut matters short, they both undressed, and the two lovers lay down +in the fair bed, and did what they intended to do, and which is better +imagined than described. + +When day dawned, her paramour took leave of her as secretly as he could, +and returned to his lodgings to sleep, I hope, and to breakfast, for he +had need of both. + +Madam, who was as cunning as she was wise and good, rose at the usual +hour, and said to her women; + +“It will soon be time to let out our prisoner. I will go and see what he +says, and whether he will pay his ransom.” + +“Put all the blame on us,” they said. “We will appease him.” + +“All right, I will do so,” she said. + +With these words she made the sign of the Cross, and went nonchalantly, +as though not thinking what she was doing, into the cupboard where her +husband was still shut up in the chest. And when he heard her he began +to make a great noise and cry out, “Who is there? Why do you leave me +locked up here?” + +His good wife, who heard the noise he was making replied timidly, as +though frightened, and playing the simpleton; + +“Heavens! who is it that I hear crying?” + +“It is I! It is I!” cried the husband. + +“You?” she cried; “and where do you come from at this time?” + +“Whence do I come?” said he. “You know very well, madam. There is no +need for me to tell you--but what you did to me I will some day do to +you,”--for he was so angry that he would willingly have showered abuse +upon his wife, but she cut him short, and said; + +“Sir, for God’s sake pardon me. On my oath I assure you that I did not +know you were here now, for, believe me, I am very much astonished that +you should be still here, for I ordered my women to let you out whilst I +was at prayers, and they told me they would do so; and, in fact, one of +them told me that you had been let out, and had gone into the town, +and would not return home, and so I went to bed soon afterwards without +waiting for you.” + +“Saint John!” said he; “you see how it is. But make haste and let me +out, for I am so exhausted that I can stand it no longer.” + +“That may well be,” said she, “but you will not come out till you have +promised to pay me the wager you lost, and also pardon me, or otherwise +I will not let you out.” + +“Make haste, for God’s sake! I will pay you--really.” + +“And you promise?” + +“Yes--on my oath!” + +This arrangement being concluded, Madam opened the chest, and Monsieur +came out, tired, cramped, and exhausted. + +She took him by the arm, and kissed him, and embraced him as gently as +could be, praying to God that he would not be angry. + +The poor blockhead said that he was not angry with her, because she knew +nothing about it, but that he would certainly punish her women. + +“By my oath, sir,” said she, “they are well revenged upon you--for I +expect you have done something to them.” + +“Not I certainly, that I know of--but at any rate the trick they have +played me will cost them dear.” + +He had hardly finished this speech, when all the women came into the +room, and laughed so loudly and so heartily that they could not say a +word for a long time; and Monsieur, who was going to do such wonders, +when he saw them laugh to such a degree, had not the heart to interfere +with them. Madame, to keep him company, did not fail to laugh also. +There was a marvellous amount of laughing, and he who had the least +cause to laugh, laughed one of the loudest. + +After a certain time, this amusement ceased, and Monsieur said; + +“Mesdames, I thank you much for the kindness you have done me.” + +“You are quite welcome, sir,” said one of the women, “and still we are +not quits. You have given us so much trouble, and caused as so much +mischief, that we owed you a grudge, and if we have any regret it is +that you did not remain in the box longer. And, in fact, if it had not +been for Madame you would still be there;--so you may take it how you +will!” + +“Is that so?” said he. “Well, well, you shall see how I will take it. +By my oath I am well treated, when, after all I have suffered, I am only +laughed, at, and what is still worse, must pay for the satin for the +petticoat. Really, I ought to have the shirts that were bet, as a +compensation for what I have suffered.” + +“By Heaven, he is right,” said the women. “We are on your side as to +that, and you shall have them. Shall he not have them, Madame?” + +“On what grounds?” said she. “He lost the wager.” + +“Oh, yes, we know that well enough: he has no right to them,--indeed he +does not ask for them on that account, but he has well deserved them for +another reason.” + +“Never mind about that,” said Madame. “I will willingly give the +material out of love for you, mesdames, who have so warmly pleaded for +him, if you will undertake to do the sewing.” + +“Yes, truly, Madame.” + +Like one who when he wakes in the morning has but to give himself a +shake and he is ready, Monsieur needed but a bunch of twigs to beat his +clothes and he was ready, and so he went to Mass; and Madame and her +women followed him, laughing loudly at him I can assure you. + +And you may imagine that during the Mass there was more than one giggle +when they remembered that Monsieur, whilst he was in the chest (though +he did not know it himself) had been registered in the book which has no +name. (*) And unless by chance this book falls into his hands, he will +never,--please God--know of his misfortune, which on no account would I +have him know. So I beg of any reader who may know him, to take care not +to show it to him. + + (*) The Book of Cuckolds. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 28.jpg The incapable Lover.] + + + + +STORY THE TWENTY-EIGHTH -- THE INCAPABLE LOVER. [28] + +By Messire Miohaut De Changy. + +_Of the meeting assigned to a great Prince of this kingdom by a damsel +who was chamber-woman to the Queen; of the little feats of arms of the +said Prince and of the neat replies made by the said damsel to the Queen +concerning her greyhound which had been purposely shut out of the room +of the said Queen, as you shall shortly hear._ + + +If in the time of the most renowned and eloquent Boccaccio, the +adventure which forms the subject of my tale had come to his knowledge, +I do not doubt but that he would have added it to his stories of great +men who met with bad fortune. For I think that no nobleman ever had a +greater misfortune to bear than the good lord (whom may God pardon!) +whose adventure I will relate, and whether his ill fortune is worthy +to be in the aforesaid books of Boccaccio, I leave those who hear it to +judge. + +The good lord of whom I speak was, in his time, one of the great +princes of this kingdom, apparelled and furnished with all that befits a +nobleman; and amongst his other qualities was this,--that never was man +more destined to be a favourite with the ladies. + +Now it happened to him at the time when his fame in this respect most +flourished, and everybody was talking about him, that Cupid, who casts +his darts wherever he likes, caused him to be smitten by the charms of +a beautiful, young, gentle and gracious damsel, who also had made a +reputation second to no other of that day on account of her great and +unequalled beauty and her good manners and virtues, and who, moreover, +was such a favourite with the Queen of that country that she shared the +royal bed on the nights when the said Queen did not sleep with the king. + +This love affair, I must tell you, had advanced to such a point that +each only desired time and place to say and do what would most +please both. They were many days considering how to find a convenient +opportunity, and at last, she--who was as anxious for the welfare of her +lover as she was for the safety of her own reputation--thought of a good +plan, of which she hastened to inform him, saying as follows; + +“My dearest friend, you know that I sleep with the Queen, and that it +is not possible for me--unless I would spoil everything--to resign +that honour and position which the noblest lady of the land would think +herself proud and happy to obtain. So that, though I would like to +please you and do your pleasure, I would remain on good terms with her, +and not desert her who can and does give me all the advancement and +honour in the world. I do not suppose that you would have me act +otherwise.” + +“No, by my soul, dearest,” replied the worthy lord; “but at any rate I +would beg you that in serving your mistress your devoted lover should +not be forgotten, and that you do for him all that lies in your power, +for he would rather gain your love and good-will than aught else in the +world.” + +“This is what I will do for you, Monseigneur,” said she. “The Queen, as +you know, has a greyhound of which she is very fond, that sleeps in +her chamber. I will find means to shut it out of the room without her +knowledge, and when everybody has retired, I will jump out of bed, run +to the reception room, and unbolt the door. Then, when you think that +the Queen is in bed, you must come quietly, and enter the reception room +and close the door after you. There you will find the greyhound, who +knows you well enough, and will let you approach it; pull its ears and +make it cry out, and when the Queen hears that, I expect that she will +make me get out of bed at once to let it in. Then I will come to you, +and fail me not, if ever you would speak to me again.” + +“My most dear and loyal sweetheart,” said Monseigneur, “I thank you all +I can. Be sure that I will fail not to be there.” + +Then he rose and went away, and the lady also; each thinking and +desiring how to carry out the proposed plan. + +What need of a long story? The greyhound wanted to come into the chamber +of his mistress at the usual time, as it had been accustomed, but the +damsel had condemned it to banishment, and it was quickly made to beat a +retreat. The Queen went to bed without noticing the absence of the dog, +and soon afterwards there came to keep her company, the gentle damsel, +who was only waiting to hear the greyhound cry out as the signal for the +battle. + +It was not long before the worthy lord set to work, and soon managed to +reach the chamber where the greyhound was sleeping. He felt for it, with +his foot or with his hand, until he found it, then he took it by the +ears and made it cry aloud two or three times. + +The Queen, who heard it, soon knew that it was her greyhound, and +thought that it wanted to come in. She called the damsel, and said; + +“My dear, my greyhound is howling outside. Get up, and let it in!” + +“Willingly, madam,” said the damsel, and as she awaited the battle, the +day and hour of which she had herself appointed, she only armed herself +with her chemise, and in that guise, came to the door and opened it, and +soon met with him who was awaiting her. + +He was so delighted and so surprised to see his ladylove so beautiful, +and so well-prepared for the encounter, that he lost his strength and +sense, and had not force enough left to draw his dagger, and try whether +it could penetrate her cuirass. Of kissing, and cuddling, and +playing with her breasts, he could do plenty; but for the grand +operation--nihil. + +So the fair damsel was forced to return without leaving him that which +he could not gain by force of arms. But when she would quit him, he +tried to detain her by force and by soft speeches, but she dared not +stay, so she shut the door in his face, and came back to the Queen, who +asked her if she had let the greyhound in? And she said, “No, because +she could not find it though she had looked well for it.” + +“Oh, well” said the Queen, “go to bed. It will be all right.” + +The poor lover was very dissatisfied with himself, and thought himself +dishonoured and disgraced, for he had up till then had such confidence +in himself that he believed he could in less than one hour have tackled +three ladies, and come off every time with honour. + +At last his courage returned, and he said to himself that if he +ever were so fortunate as to find another such opportunity with his +sweetheart, she should not escape as she did the previous time. + +Thus animated and spurred on by shame and desire, he again took the +greyhound by the ears, and made it cry out much louder than it had +before. + +Awakened by this cry, the Queen again sent her damsel, who opened the +door as before, but had to return to her mistress without getting any +more pleasure than she had the first time. + +A third time did the poor gentleman do all in his power to tumble her, +but the devil a bit could he find a lance to encounter her with, though +she awaited his onslaught with a firm foot. And when she saw that she +could not have her basket pierced, and that he could not lay his lance +in rest, whatever advantage she gave him, she knew that the joust had +come to nothing, and had a very poor opinion of the jouster. + +She would no longer stay with him for all that he could say or do. She +wished to return to the chamber, but her lover held her by force and +said; + +“Alas, sweetheart, stay a little longer, I pray!” + +“I cannot,” she said: “let me go! I have stayed too long already, +considering the little I got by it,” and with that she turned towards +the chamber, but he followed her and tried to detain her. + +When she saw that--to pay him out, and also hoodwink the Queen--she +called out loud, + +“Get out! get out! dirty beast that you are! By God! you shall not come +in here, dirty beast that you are!” and so saying she closed the door. + +The Queen, who heard it, asked, + +“To whom are you speaking, my dear?” + +“To this dirty dog, madam, who has given me such trouble to look for +him. He was lying quite flat, and with his nose on the ground, hidden +under a bench, so that I could not find him. And when I did find him he +would not get up for anything that I could do. I would willingly have +put him in, but he would not deign to lift up his head, so, in disgust, +I have shut the door upon him and left him outside.” + +“You did quite right, my dear,” said the Queen. “Come to bed, and go to +sleep!” + +Such, as you have heard, was the bad luck of this noble lord; and since +he could not when his lady would, I believe that since then, when he had +the power, his lady’s will was not to be had. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE TWENTY-NINTH -- THE COW AND THE CALF. + +By Monseigneur + +_Of a gentleman to whom--the first night that he was married, and after +he had but tried one stroke--his wife brought forth a child, and of +the manner in which he took it,--and of the speech that he made to his +companions when they brought him the caudle, as you shall shortly hear._ + + +It is not a hundred years ago since a young gentleman of this country +wished to know and experience the joys of matrimony, and--to cut matters +short--the much-desired day of his marriage duly came. + +After much good cheer and the usual amusements, the bride was put to +bed, and a short time afterwards her husband followed, and lay close to +her, and without delay duly began the assault on her fortress. With some +trouble he entered in and gained the stronghold, but you must understand +that he did not complete the conquest without accomplishing many feats +of arms which it would take long to enumerate; for before he came to the +donjon of the castle he had other outworks, with which it was provided, +to carry, like a place that had never been taken or was still quite new, +and which nature had provided with many defences. + +When he was master of the place, he broke his lance, and ceased the +assault. But the fair damsel when she saw herself at the mercy of her +husband, and how he had foraged the greater part of her manor, wished +to show him a prisoner whom she held confined in a secret place,--or to +speak plainly she was delivered on the spot, after this first encounter, +of a fine boy; at which her husband was so ashamed and so astonished +that he did not know what to do except to hold his tongue. + +Out of kindness and pity, he did all that he possibly could for both +mother and child, but, as you may believe, the poor woman could not +restrain from uttering a loud cry when the child was born. Many persons +heard this cry, and believed that it was “the cry of the maidenhead,” + (*) which is a custom of this country. + + (*) A singular custom which obliged the bride to utter a + loud cry when she lost her virginity, and to which the + groomsmen replied by bringing a large bowl of caudle or some + invigorating drink into the bed chamber. From some verses + written by Clement Marot on the marriage of the Duke of + Ferrara to Princess Rénée, it would appear that the custom + existed at the Court of France. + +Immediately all the gentlemen in the house where the bridegroom resided, +came and knocked at the door of the chamber, and brought the caudle; but +though they knocked loudly they received no reply, for the bride was in +a condition in which silence is excusable, and the bridegroom had not +much to chatter about. + +“What is the matter?” cried the guests. “Why do you not open the door? +If you do not make haste we will break it open; the caudle we have +brought you will be quite cold;” and they began to knock louder than +ever. + +But the bridegroom would not have uttered a word for a hundred francs; +at which those outside did not know what to think, for he was not +ordinarily a silent man. At last he rose, and put on a dressing-gown he +had, and let in his friends, who soon asked him whether the caudle had +been earned, and what sort of a time he had had? Then one of them +laid the table-cloth, and spread the banquet, for they had everything +prepared, and spared nothing in such cases. They all sat round to eat, +and the bridegroom took his seat in a high-backed chair placed near his +bed, looking very stupid and pitiful as you may imagine. And whatever +the others said, he did not answer a word, but sat there like a statue +or a carved idol. + +“What is the matter?” cried one. “You take no notice of the excellent +repast that our host has provided. You have not said a single word yet.” + +“Marry!” said another, “he has no jokes ready.” + +“By my soul!” said another, “marriage has wondrous properties. He has +but been married an hour and he has lost his tongue. If he goes on at +that rate there will soon be nothing left of him.” + +To tell the truth, he had formerly been known as a merry fellow, fond of +a joke, and never uttered a word but a jest; but now he was utterly cast +down. + +The gentlemen drank to the bride and bridegroom, but devil a drop would +either of them quaff in return; the one was in a violent rage, and the +other was far from being at ease. + +“I am not experienced in these affairs,” said a gentleman, “but it seems +we must feast by ourselves. I never saw a man with such a grim-looking +face, and so soon sobered by a woman. You might hear a pin drop in his +company. Marry! his loud jests are small enough now!” + +“I drink to the bridegroom,” said another, but the bridegroom neither +drank, eat, laughed, or spoke. Nevertheless, after some time that he had +been both scolded and teased by his friends, like a wild boar at bay, he +retorted; + +“Gentlemen, I have listened for some time to your jokes and reproofs. I +would like you to understand that I have good reason to reflect and keep +silent, and I am sure that there is no one here but would do the same +if he had the same reasons that I have. By heavens! if I were as rich +as the King of France, or the Duke of Burgundy, or all the princes of +Christendom, I should not be able to provide that which, apparently, I +shall _have_ to provide. I have but touched my wife once, and she has +brought forth a child! Now if each time that I begin again she does the +same, how shall I be able to keep my family?” + +“What? a child?” said his friends. + +“Yes, yes! Really a child! Look here!” and he turned towards the bed and +lifted up the clothes and showed them. + +“There!” said he. “There is the cow and the calf! Am I not well +swindled?” + +Many of his friends were much astonished, and quite excused their host’s +conduct, and went away each to his own home. And the poor bridegroom +abandoned his newly-delivered bride the first night, fearing that she +would do the same another time, and not knowing what would become of him +if so. + +***** + + + +STORY THE THIRTIETH -- THE THREE CORDELIERS. + +By Monsigneur De Beauvoir + +_Of three merchants of Savoy who went on a pilgrimage to St. Anthony in +Bienne, (*) and who were deceived and cuckolded by three Cordeliers who +slept with their wives. And how the women thought they had been with +their husbands, and how their husbands came to know of it, and of the +steps they took, as you shall shortly hear._ + + (*) This according to M. Lacroix is the old town of La Mothe + St. Didier in Dauphiné, which took the name of Saint Antoine + on account of the relics of the Saint, which were brought + there in the 11th century. + +It is as true as the Gospel, that three worthy merchants of Savoy set +out with their wives to go on a pilgrimage to St. Anthony of Vienne. And +in order to render their journey more devout and more agreeable to God +and St. Anthony, they determined that from the time they left their +houses, and all through the journey, they would not sleep with their +wives, but live in continence, both going and returning. + +They arrived one night in the town, where they found good lodgings, and +had excellent cheer at supper, like those who have plenty of money and +know well what to do with it, and enjoyed themselves so much that each +determined to break his oath, and sleep with his wife. + +However, it happened otherwise, for when it was time to retire to rest, +the women said good night to their husbands and left them, and shut +themselves up in a chamber near, where each had ordered her bed to be +made. + +Now you must know that that same evening there arrived in the house +three Cordeliers, who were going to Geneva, and who ordered a chamber +not very far from that of the merchant’s wives. + +The women, when they were alone, began to talk about a hundred thousand +things, and though there were only three of them they made enough noise +for forty. + +The good Cordeliers, hearing all this womens’ chatter, came out of their +chamber, without making any noise, and approached the door without being +heard. They saw three pretty women, each lying by herself in a fair bed, +big enough to accommodate a second bed-fellow; then they saw and heard +also the three husbands go to bed in another chamber, and they said to +themselves that fortune had done them a good turn, and that they would +be unworthy to meet with any other good luck if they were cowardly +enough to allow this opportunity to escape them. + +“So,” said one of them, “there needs no further deliberation as to what +we are to do; we are three and they are three--let each take his place +when they are asleep.” + +As it was said, so it was done, and such good luck had the good brothers +that they found the key of the room in which the women were, and opened +the door so gently that they were not heard by a soul, and they were not +such fools when they had gained the outworks as not to close the door +after them and take out the key, and then, without more ado, each picked +out a bed-fellow, and began to ruffle her as well as he could. + +One of the women, believing it was her husband, spoke, and said; + +“What are you doing? Do you not remember your vow?” But the good +Cordelier answered not a word, but did that for which he came, and did +it so energetically that she could not help assisting in the +performance. + +The other two also were not idle, and the good women did not know what +had caused their husbands thus to break their vow. Nevertheless, they +thought they ought to obey, and bear it all patiently without speaking, +each being afraid of being heard by her companions, for really each +thought that she alone was getting the benefit. + +When the good Cordeliers had done all they could, they left without +saying a word, and returned to their chamber, each recounting his +adventures. One had broken three lances; another, four; and the other, +six. They rose early in the morning, and left the town. + +The good ladies, who had not slept all night, did not rise very early in +the morning, for they fell asleep at daybreak, which caused them to get +up late. + +On the other hand, their husbands, who had supped well the previous +night, and who expected to be called by their wives, slept heavily till +an hour so late that on other days they had generally travelled two +leagues by that time. + +At last the women got up, and dressed themselves as quickly as they +could, and not without talking. And, amongst other things, the one who +had the longest tongue, said; + +“Between ourselves, mesdames--how have you passed the night? Have +your husbands worked like mine did? He has not ceased to ruffle me all +night.” + +“By St. John!” said they, “if your husband ruffled you well last night, +ours have not been idle. They have soon forgotten what they promised at +parting; though believe us we did not forget to remind them.” + +“I warned mine also,” said the first speaker, “when he began, but he +did not leave off working, and hurried on like a hungry man who had been +deprived of my company for two nights.” + +When they were attired, they went to find their husbands, who were +already dressed; + +“Good morning, good morning! you sleepers!” cried the ladies. + +“Thank you,” said the men, “for having called us.” + +“By my oath!” said one lady. “We have no more qualms of conscience for +not calling you than you have for breaking your vow.” + +“What vow?” said one of the men. + +“The vow,” said she, “that you made on leaving, not to sleep with your +wife.” + +“And who has slept with his wife?” asked he. “You know well enough,” + said she, “and so do I.” + +“And I also,” said her companion. “Here is my husband who never gave me +such a tumbling as he did last night--indeed if he had not done his duty +so well I should not be so pleased that he had broken his vow, but I +pass over that, for I suppose he is like young children, who when they +know they deserve punishment, think they may as well be hanged for a +sheep as a lamb.” + +“By St. John! so did mine!” cried the third. “But I am not going to +scold him for it. If there was any harm done there was good reason for +it.” + +“And I declare by my oath,” cried one of the men, “that you dream, and +that you are drunken with sleep. As for me I slept alone, and did not +leave my bed all night.” + +“Nor did I,” said another. + +“Nor I, by St. John!” said the third. “I would not on any account break +my oath. And I feel sure that my friend here, and my neighbour there, +who also promised, have not so quickly forgotten.” + +The women began to change colour and to suspect some trickery, when one +of the husbands began to fear the truth. Without giving the women time +to reply, he made a sign to his companions, and said, laughing; + +“By my oath, madam, the good wine here, and the excellent cheer +last night made us forget our promise; but be not displeased at the +adventure; if it please God we each last night, with your help, made +a fine baby, which is a work of great merit, and will be sufficient to +wipe out the fault of breaking our vow!” + +“May God will it so!” said the women. “But you so strongly declared that +you had not been near us that we began to doubt a little.” + +“We did it on purpose,” said he, “in order to hear what you would say.” + +“And so you committed a double sin; first to break your oath, then to +knowingly lie about it; and also you have much troubled us.” + +“Do not worry yourselves about that,” said he; “it is no great matter; +but go to Mass, and we will follow you.” + +The women set out towards the church, and their husbands remained +behind, without following them too closely; then they all said together, +without picking their words; + +“We are deceived! Those devils of Cordeliers have cuckolded us; they +have taken our places, and shown us the folly of not sleeping with our +wives. They should never have slept out of our rooms, and if it was +dangerous to be in bed with them, is there not plenty of good straw to +be had?” + +“Marry!” said one of them, “we are well punished this time; but at any +rate it is better that the trick should only be known to us than to +us and our wives, for there would be much danger if it came to their +knowledge. You hear by their confession that these ribald monks have +done marvels--both more and better than we could do. And, if our wives +knew that, they would not be satisfied with this experience only. My +advice is that we swallow the business without chewing it.” + +“So help me God!” cried the third, “my friend speaks well. As for me, I +revoke my vow, for it is not my intention to run any more risks.” + +“As you will,” said the other two; “and we will follow your example.” + +So all the rest of the journey the wives slept with their husbands, +though the latter took care not to explain the cause. And when the +women saw that, they demanded the cause of this sudden change. And they +answered deceitfully, that as they had begun to break their vow they had +better go on. + +Thus were the three worthy merchants deceived by the three good +Cordeliers, without it ever coming to the knowledge of their wives, who +would have died of grief had they known the truth; for every day we see +women die for less cause and occasion. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE THIRTY-FIRST -- TWO LOVERS FOR ONE LADY. [31] + +By Monseigneur De La Barde. + +_Of a squire who found the mule of his companion, and mounted thereon +and it took him to the house of his master’s mistress; and the squire +slept there, where his friend found him; also of the words which passed +between them--as is more clearly set out below._ + + +A gentleman of this kingdom--a squire of great renown and +reputation--fell in love with a beautiful damsel of Rouen, and did all +in his power to gain her good graces. But fortune was contrary to +him, and his lady so unkind, that finally he abandoned the pursuit in +despair. + +He was not very wrong to do so, for she was provided with a lover--not +that the squire knew of that, however much he might suspect it. + +He who enjoyed her love was a knight, and a man of great authority, +and was so familiar with the squire as to tell him much concerning his +love-affair. Often the knight said; “By my faith, friend, I would have +you know that I have a mistress in this town to whom I am devoted; for, +however tired I may be, I would willingly go three or four leagues to +see her--a mere couple of leagues I would run over without stopping to +take breath.” + +“Is there no request or prayer that I can make” said the squire, “that +will cause you to tell me her name?” + +“No, no!” said the other, “you shall not know that.” + +“Well!” said the squire, “when I am so fortunate as to have something +good, I will be as reticent as you are.” + +It happened some time after this that the good knight asked the squire +to supper at the castle of Rouen, where he was then lodged. He came, and +they had some talk; the gentle knight, who had an appointment to see his +lady at a certain hour, said farewell to the squire, and added, + +“You know that we have various things to see to to-morrow, and that we +must rise early in order to arrange various matters. It is advisable +therefore to go to bed early, and for that reason I bid you goodnight.” + +The squire, who was cunning enough, suspected that the good knight +wished to go somewhere, and that he was making the duties of the morrow +an excuse to get rid of him, but he took no notice, and on taking leave +and wishing good-night to his host, said; + +“Monseigneur you say well; rise early to-morrow morning, and I will do +the same.” + +When the good squire went down, he found a little mule at the foot of +the staircase of the castle, with no one minding it. He soon guessed +that the page he had met as he came down had gone to seek for a +saddle-cloth for his master. + +“Ah, ah” he said to himself, “my host did not get rid of me at this +early hour for nothing. Here is his mule, which only waits till I am +gone to carry his master to some place he does not wish me to know. Ah, +mule!” said he, “if you could speak, you could tell me some news. Let me +beg of you to lead me where your master wishes to be.” + +With that he made his page hold the stirrup, and mounted the mule, +and laid the reins on the mule’s neck, and let it amble on wherever it +liked. + +And the little mule led him by streets and alleys here and there, till +at last it stopped before a little wicket, which was in a side street +where its master was accustomed to come, and which was the garden +gate of the house of the very damsel the squire had so loved and had +abandoned in despair. + +He dismounted, and tapped gently at the wicket, and a damsel, who was +watching through a hidden lattice, believing it to be the knight, came +down and opened the door, and said; + +“Monseigneur you are welcome; mademoiselle is in her chamber, and awaits +you.” + +She did not recognise him, because it was late, and he had a velvet cap +drawn down over his face. And the good squire replied, “I will go to +her.” + +The he whispered to his page, “Go quickly and put the mule where we +found it; then go to bed.” + +“It shall be done, sir,” he said. + +The woman closed the gate, and led the way to the chamber. Our good +squire, much occupied with the business in hand, walked boldly to the +room where the lady was, and he found her simply dressed in a plain +petticoat, and with a gold chain round her neck. + +He saluted her politely, for he was kind, courteous and well-spoken, but +she, who was as much astonished as though horns had sprouted out of her +head, did not for the moment know how to reply, but at last she asked +him what he sought there, why he came at that hour, and who had sent +him? + +“Mademoiselle,” said he, “you may well imagine that if I had had to rely +on myself alone I should not be here; but, thank God, one who has more +pity for me than you ever had, has done this kindness to me.” + +“Who brought you here, sir?” she asked. + +“By my oath, mademoiselle, I will not conceal that from you; it was such +and such a lord (and he named the knight who had invited him to supper), +who sent me here.” + +“Ah!” she cried. “Traitor and disloyal knight that he is, has he +betrayed my confidence? Well, well! I will be revenged on him some day.” + +“Oh, mademoiselle! it is not right of you to say that, for it is no +treason to give pleasure to one’s friend, or to render him aid and +service when one can. You know what a great friendship exists between +him and me, and that neither hides from the other what is in his heart. +It happened that not long ago I related and confessed to him the great +love I bore you, and that because of you I had no happiness left in the +world, for that by no means could I ever win your affection, and that it +was not possible for me to long endure this horrible martyrdom. When the +good knight knew that my words were really true, and was aware of the +sorrow I endured, he was fain to tell me how he stood with regard to +you, and preferred to lose you, and so save my life, than to see me die +miserably and retain your affection. And if you are such a woman as you +should be, you would not hesitate to give comfort and consolation to me, +your obedient servant, who has always loyally served and obeyed you.” + +“I beg of you,” she said, “not to speak of that, and to leave here at +once. Cursed be he who made you come!” + +“Do you know, mademoiselle,” he replied, “that it is not my intention to +leave here before to-morrow morning?” + +“By my oath,” she cried, “you will go now, at once!” + +“Morbleu! I will not--for I will sleep with you.” + +When she saw that he was not to be got rid of by hard words, she +resolved to try kindness, and said; + +“I beg of you with all my heart to leave my house now, and by my oath, +another time I will do whatever you wish.” + +“Bah!” said he; “Waste no more words, for I shall sleep here,” and +with that he removed his cloak, and led the damsel to the table, and +finally--to cut the tale short--she went to bed with him by her side. + +They had not been in bed long, and he had but broken one lance, when +the good knight arrived on his mule, and knocked at the wicket. When the +squire heard that and knew who it was, he began to growl, imitating a +dog very well. + +The knight, hearing this, was both astonished and angry. He knocked +at the door more loudly than before, and the other growled louder than +ever. + +“Who is that growling?” said he outside. “Morbleu! but I will soon find +out! Open the door, or I will carry it away!” + +The fair damsel, who was in a great rage, went to the window in her +chemise, and said; + +“Are you there, false and disloyal knight? You may knock as much as you +like, but you will not come in!” + +“Why shall I not come in?” said he. + +“Because,” said she, “you are the falsest man that ever woman met, and +are not worthy to be with respectable people.” + +“Mademoiselle,” said he, “you blason my arms very well, but I do not +know what excites you, for I have never been false to you that I am +aware of.” + +“Yes, you have,” she cried, “done me the greatest wrong that ever man +did to woman.” + +“I have not, I swear. But tell me who is in there?” + +“You know very well, wretched traitor that you are,” she replied. + +Thereupon the squire, who was in bed, began to growl like a dog as +before. + +“Marry!” said he outside, “I do not understand this. Who is this +growler?” + +“By St. John! you shall know,” cried the other, and jumped out of bed +and came to the window, and said; + +“And please you, sir, you have no right to wake us up.” + +The good knight, when he knew who spoke to him, was marvellously +astonished, and when at last he spoke, he said. + +“How did you come here?” + +“I supped at your house and slept here.” + +“The fault is mine,” said he. Then addressing the damsel, he added, +“Mademoiselle, do you harbour such guests in your house?” + +“Yes, monseigneur,” she replied, “and thank you for having sent him.” + +“I?” said he. “By St. John I have nothing to do with it. I came to +occupy my usual place, but it seems I am too late. At least I beg, since +I cannot have anything else, that you open the door and let me drink a +cup of wine.” + +“By God, you shall not enter here!” she cried. + +“By St. John! he shall,” cried the squire, and ran down and opened the +door, and then went back to bed, and she did also, though, God knows, +much ashamed and dissatisfied. + +When the good knight entered the chamber, he lighted a candle, and +looked at the couple in bed and said; + +“Good luck to you, mademoiselle, and to you also squire.” + +“Many thanks, monseigneur,” said he. + +But the damsel could not say a word, her heart was so full, for she felt +certain that the knight had connived at the squire’s coming, and she +felt so angry that she would not speak to him. + +“Who showed you the way here, squire?” asked the knight. + +“Your little mule, monseigneur,” said he. “I found it at the foot of the +stairs, when I supped with you at the castle. It was there alone, and +seemingly lost, so I asked it what it was waiting for, and it replied +that it was waiting for its saddle-cloth and you. ‘To go where?’ I +asked. ‘Where we usually go,’ replied the mule. ‘I am sure,’ said I, +‘that your master will not leave the house to-night, for he is going +to bed, so take me where you usually go, I beg.’ It was content, so I +mounted on it, and it brought me here, for which I give it thanks.” + +“God reward the little beast that betrayed me,” said the good knight. + +“Ah, you have fully deserved it, monseigneur,” said the damsel, when at +last she was able to speak. “I know well that you have deceived me, +but I wish you to know that it is not much to your honour. There was +no need, if you would not come yourself, to send some one else +surreptitiously. It was an evil day for me when first I saw you.” + +“Morbleu! I never sent him,” he said; “but since he is here I will not +drive him away. Besides there is enough for the two of us; is there not +my friend?” + +“Oh, yes, monseigneur, plenty of spoil to divide. Let us celebrate the +arrangement by a drink.” + +He went to the side-board and filled a large cup with wine, and said, “I +drink to you, friend.” + +“And I pledge you, friend,” said the other, and poured out another cup +for the damsel, who refused to drink, but at last, unwillingly, kissed +the cup. + +“Well, friend,” said the knight, “I will leave you here. Ruffle her +well; it is your turn to-day and will be mine to morrow, please God, and +I hope you will be as obliging to me, if ever you find me here, as I am +to you now.” + +“By Our Lady, friend, doubt not but I shall be.” + +Then the knight went away and left the squire, who did as well as he +could on the first night. And he told the damsel the whole truth of his +adventure, at which she was somewhat relieved to find that he had not +been sent. + +Thus was the fair damsel deceived by the mule, and obliged to obey the +knight and the squire, each in his turn--an arrangement to which she +finally became accustomed. The knight and squire grew more attached to +each other than before this adventure; their affection increased, and no +evil counsels engendered discord and hate between them. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 32.jpg THE WOMEN WHO PAID TITHE.] + + + + +STORY THE THIRTY-SECOND -- THE WOMEN WHO PAID TITHE. [32] + +By Monseigneur De Villiers. + +_Of the Cordeliers of Ostelleria in Catalonia, who took tithe from the +women of the town, and how it was known, and the punishment the lord of +that place and his subjects inflicted on the monks, as you shall learn +hereafter._ + + +In order that I may not be excluded from the number of fortunate and +meritorious writers who have worked to increase the number of stories +in this book, I will briefly relate a new story, which will serve as a +substitute for the tale previously required of me. + +It is a well-known fact that in the town of Hostelleria, in Catalonia, +(*) there arrived some minor friars of the order of Observance, (**) who +had been driven out of the kingdom of Spain. + + (*) Hostalrich, a town of Catalonia, some 28 miles from + Girona. + + (**) One of the principal branches of the order of + Franciscans. + + +They managed to worm themselves into the good graces of the Lord of that +town, who was an old man, so that he built for them a fair church and a +large convent, and maintained and supported them all his life as best he +could. And after him came his eldest son, who did quite as much for them +as his worthy father had done. + +In fact they prospered so, that, in a few years they had everything that +a convent of mendicant friars could desire. Nor were they idle during +all the time they were acquiring these riches; they preached both in the +town and in the neighbouring villages, and had such influence over the +people that there was not a good christian who did not confess to them, +they had such great renown for pointing out faults to sinners. + +But of all who praised them and held them in esteem, the women were +foremost, such saints did they deem them on account of their charity and +devotion. + +Now listen to the wickedness, deception, and horrible treason which +these false hypocrites practised on the men and women who every day gave +them so many good gifts. They made it known to all the women in the town +that they were to give to God a tenth of all their goods. + +“You render to your Lord such and such a thing; to your parish and +priest such and such a thing; and to us you must render and deliver the +tithe of the number of times that you have carnal connection with your +husband. We will take no other tithe from you, for, as you know, we +carry no money--for the temporal and transitory things of this world are +nothing to us. We ask and demand only spiritual goods. The tithes +which we ask and which you owe us are not temporal goods; as the Holy +Sacrament, which you receive, is a divine and holy thing, so no one may +receive the tithe but us, who are monks of the order of the Observance.” + +The poor simple women, who believed the good friars were more like +angels than terrestrial beings, did not refuse to pay the tithe. There +was not one who did not pay in her turn, from the highest to the lowest, +even the wife of the Lord was not excused. + +Thus were all the women of the town parcelled out amongst these rascally +monks, and there was not a monk who did not have fifteen or sixteen +women to pay tithes to him, and God knows what other presents they had +from the women, and all under cover of devotion. + +This state of affairs lasted long without its ever coming to the +knowledge of those who were most concerned in the payment of the new +tithe; but at last it was discovered in the following manner. + +A young man who was newly married, was invited to supper at the house of +one of his relations--he and his wife--and as they were returning home, +and passing the church of the above-mentioned good Cordeliers, suddenly +the bell rang out the _Ave Maria_, and the young man bowed to the ground +to say his prayers. + +His wife said, “I would willingly enter this church.” + +“What would you do in there at this hour?” asked her husband. “You can +easily come again when it is daylight; to-morrow, or some other time.” + +“I beg of you,” she said, “to let me go: I will soon return.” + +“By Our Lady!” said he, “you shall not go in now.” + +“By my oath!” she replied, “it is compulsory. I must go in, but I will +not stay. If you are in a hurry to get home, go on, and I will follow +you directly.” + +“Get on! get forward!” he said, “you have nothing to do here. If you +want to say a _Pater noster_, or an _Ave Maria_, there is plenty of room +at home, and it is quite as good to say it there as in this monastery, +which is now as dark as pitch.” + +“Marry!” said she, “you may say what you like, but by my oath, it is +necessary that I should enter here for a little while.” + +“Why?” said he. “Do you want to sleep with any of the brothers.” + +She imagined that her husband knew that she paid the tithe, and replied; + +“No, I do not want to sleep with him; I only want to pay.” + +“Pay what?” said he. + +“You know very well,” she answered; “Why do you ask?” + +“What do I know well?” he asked, “I never meddle with your debts.” + +“At least,” she said, “you know very well that I must pay the tithe.” + +“What tithe?” + +“Marry!” she replied. “It always has to be paid;--the tithe for our +nights together. You are lucky--I have to pay for us both.” + +“And to whom do you pay?” he asked. + +“To brother Eustace,” she replied. “You go on home, and let me go in and +discharge my debt. It is a great sin not to pay, and I am never at ease +in my mind when I owe him anything.” + +“It is too late to-night,” said he, “he has gone to bed an hour ago.” + +“By my oath,” said she, “I have been this year later than this. If one +wants to pay one can go in at any hour.” + +“Come along! come along!” he said. “One night makes no such great +matter.” + +So they returned home; both husband and wife vexed and displeased--the +wife because she was not allowed to pay her tithe, and the husband +because he had learned how he had been deceived, and was filled with +anger and thoughts of vengeance, rendered doubly bitter by the fact that +he did not dare to show his anger. + +A little later they went to bed together, and the husband, who was +cunning enough, questioned his wife indirectly, and asked if the other +women of the town paid tithes as she did? + +“By my faith they do,” she replied. “What privilege should they have +more than me? There are sixteen to twenty of us who pay brother Eustace. +Ah, he is so devout. And he has so much patience. Brother Bartholomew +has as many or more, and amongst others my lady (*) is of the number. +Brother Jacques also has many; Brother Anthony also--there is not one of +them who has not a number.” + + (*) The wife of the Seigneur. + +“St. John!” said the husband, “they do not do their work by halves. Now +I understand well that they are more holy than I thought them; and truly +I will invite them all to my house, one after the other, to feast them +and hear their good words. And since Brother Eustace receives your +tithes, he shall be the first. See that we have a good dinner to-morrow, +and I will bring him.” + +“Most willingly,” she replied, “for then at all events I shall not have +to go to his chamber to pay him; he can receive it when he comes here.” + +“Well said,” he replied; “give it him here;” but as you may imagine he +was on his guard, and instead of sleeping all night, thought over at his +leisure the plan he intended to carry out on the morrow. + +The dinner arrived, and Brother Eustace, who did not know his host’s +intentions stuffed a good meal under his hood. And when he had well +eaten, he rolled his eyes on his hostess, and did not spare to press her +foot under the table--all of which the host saw, though he pretended not +to, however much to his prejudice it was. + +After the meal was over and grace was said, he called Brother Eustace +and told him that he wanted to show him an image of Our Lady that he had +in his chamber, and the monk replied that he would willingly come. + +They both entered the chamber, and the host closed the door so that +he could not leave, and then laying hold of a big axe, said to the +Cordelier. + +“By God’s death, father! you shall never go out of this room--unless it +be feet foremost--if you do not confess the truth.” + +“Alas, my host, I beg for mercy. What is it you, would ask of me?” + +“I ask,” said he, “the tithe of the tithe you have received from my +wife.” + +When the Cordelier heard the word tithes, he began to think that he was +in a fix, and did not know what to reply except to beg for mercy, and to +excuse himself as well as he could. + +“Now tell me,” said the husband, “what tithe it is that you take from my +wife and the others?” + +The poor Cordelier was so frightened that he could not speak, and +answered never a word. + +“Tell me all about it,” said the young man, “and I swear to you I will +let you go and do you no harm;--but if you do not confess I will kill +you stone dead.” + +When the other felt convinced that he had better confess his sin and +that of his companions and escape, than conceal the facts and be in +danger of losing his life, he said; + +“My host, I beg for mercy, and I will tell you the truth. It is true +that my companions and I have made all the women of this town believe +that they owe us tithes for all the times their husbands sleep with +them. They believed us, and they all pay--young and old--when once they +are married. There is not one that is excused--my lady even pays like +the others--her two nieces also--and in general there is no one that is +exempt.” + +“Marry!” said the other, “since my lord and other great folks pay it, I +ought not to be dissatisfied, however much I may dislike it. Well! you +may go, worthy father, on this condition--that you do not attempt to +collect the tithe that my wife owes you.” + +The other was never so joyous as when he found himself outside the +house, and said to himself that he would never ask for anything of the +kind again, nor did he, as you will hear. + +When the host of the Cordelier was informed by his wife of this new +tithe, he went to his Lord and told him all about the tax and how it +concerned him. You may imagine that he was much astonished, and said; + +“Ah, cursed wretches that they are! Cursed be the hour that ever my +father--whom may God pardon--received them! And now they take our spoils +and dishonour us, and ere long they may do worse. What is to be done?” + +“By my faith, Monseigneur” said the other, “if it please you and seem +good to you, you should assemble all your subjects in this town, for +the matter touches them as much as you. Inform them of this affair, and +consult with them what remedy can be devised before it is too late.” + +Monseigneur approved, and ordered all his married subjects to come to +him, and in the great hall of his castle, he showed them at full length +why he had called them together. + +If my lord had been astonished and surprised when he heard the news, +so also were all the good people who were there assembled. Some of them +said, “We ought to kill them,” others “They should be hanged!” others +“Drown them!” Others said they could not believe it was true--the monks +were so devout and led such holy lives. One said one thing, another said +another. + +“I will tell you,” said the Seigneur, “what we will do. We will bring +our wives hither, and Master John, or some other, shall preach a little +sermon in which he will take care to make allusion to tithes, and ask +the women, in the name of all of us, whether they discharge their debts, +as we are anxious they should be paid, and we shall hear their reply.” + +After some discussion they all agreed to the Seigneur’s proposal. So +orders were issued to all the married women of the town, and they all +came to the great hall, where their husbands were assembled. My lord +even brought my lady, who was quite astonished to see so many persons. +An usher of my lord’s commanded silence, and Master John, who was +slightly raised above the other people, began the address which follows; + +“Mesdames and mesdemoiselles, I am charged by my lord and those of his +council to explain briefly the reason why you are called together. It +is true that my lord, his council, and all his people who are here met +together, desire to make a public examination of their conscience,--the +cause being that that they wish (God willing) to make ere long a holy +procession in praise of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and His Glorious Mother, +and from the present moment to be in such a devout frame of mind that +they may the better praise him in their prayers, and that all the works +which they do may be most agreeable to God. You know that there have +been no wars in our time, and that our neighbours have been terribly +afflicted both by pestilence and famine. Whilst others have been cast +down, we have nothing to complain of, and we must own that God has +preserved us. There is good reason that we should acknowledge that this +is not due to our own virtues, but to the great and liberal mercy of +our Blessed Redeemer, who cries, calls, and invites us to put up in our +parish church, devout prayers, to which we are to add great faith and +firm devotion. The holy convent of the Cordeliers in this town has +greatly aided, and still aids us in preserving the above-mentioned +benefits. Moreover, we wish to know if you women also perform that +which you have undertaken, and whether you sufficiently remember the +obligation you owe the Church, and therefore it will be advisable that, +by way of precaution, I should mention the principal points. Four times +a year,--that is to say at the four Natales (*) you must confess to some +priest or monk having the power of absolution, and if at each festival +you receive your Creator that will be well done, but twice, or at least +once a year, you ought to receive the Communion. Bring an offering every +Sunday to each Mass; those who are able should freely give tithes to +God--as fruit, poultry, lambs, pigs, and other accustomed gifts. You owe +also another tithe to the holy monks of the convent of St. Francis, and +which we earnestly desire to see paid. It greatly concerns us, and we +desire it to be continued, nevertheless there are many of you who +have not acted properly in this respect, and who by negligence, or +backwardness, have neglected to pay in advance. You know that the good +monks cannot come to your houses to seek their tithes;--that would +disturb and trouble them too much; it is quite enough if they take the +trouble to receive it. It is important that this should be mentioned--it +remains to see who have paid, and who still owe.” + + (*) The four principal festivals in the life of Christ-- + Christmas, Easter, Whitsuntide, and Ascension. + +Master John had no sooner finished his discourse, than more than twenty +women began to cry at the same time, “I have paid!” “I have paid!” + “I owe nothing!” “Nor I,” “Nor I.” A hundred other voices chimed +in--generally to say that they owed nothing--and four or six pretty +young women were even heard to declare that they had paid well in +advance, one four times; one, six; and another, ten. + +There were also I know not how many old women who said not a word, and +Master John asked them if they had paid their tithe, and they replied +that they had made an arrangement with the Cordeliers. + +“What!” said he, “you do not pay? You ought to advise and persuade the +others to do their duty, and you yourselves are in default!” + +“Marry!” said one of them, “I am not to blame. I have been several times +to perform my duty, but my confessor would not listen to me: he always +says he is too busy.” + +“St. John!” said the other old women, “we have compounded with the monks +to pay them the tithe we owe them in linen, cloth, cushions, quilts, +pillow-cases and such other trifles; and that by their own instructions +and desire, for we should prefer to pay like the others.” + +“By Our Lady!” said Master John, “there is no harm done; it is quite +right. + +“I suppose they can go away now; can they not?” said the Seigneur to +Master John. + +“Yes!” said he, “but let them be sure and not forget to pay the tithe.” + +When they had all left the hall, the door was closed, and every man +present looked hard at his neighbour. + +“Well!” said the Seigneur. “What is to be done? We know for certain what +these ribald monks have done to us, by the confession of one of them, +and by our wives; we need no further witness.” + +After many and various opinions, it was resolved to set the convent on +fire, and burn both monks and monastery. + +They went to the bottom of the town, and came to the monastery, and took +away the _Corpus Domini_ and all the relics and sent them to the parish +church. Then without more ado, they set fire to the convent in several +places, and did not leave till all was consumed--monks, convent, church, +dormitory, and all the other buildings, of which there were plenty. So +the poor Cordeliers had to pay very dearly for the new tithe they had +levied. Even God could do nothing, but had His house burned down. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE THIRTY-THIRD -- THE LADY WHO LOST HER HAIR. + +By Monseigneur. + +_Of a noble lord who was in love with a damsel who cared for another +great lord, but tried to keep it secret; and of the agreement made +between the two lovers concerning her, as you shall hereafter hear._ + + +A noble knight who lived in the marches of Burgundy, who was wise, +valiant, much esteemed, and worthy of the great reputation he had, was +so much in the graces of a fair damsel, that he was esteemed as her +lover, and obtained from her, at sundry times, all the favours that she +could honourably give him. She was also smitten with a great and noble +lord, a prudent man, whose name and qualities I pass over, though if I +were to recount them there is not one of you who would not recognise the +person intended, which I do not wish. + +This gentle lord, I say, soon perceived the love affair of the valiant +gentleman just named, and asked him if he were not in the good graces of +such and such a damsel,--that is to say the lady before mentioned. + +He replied that he was not, but the other, who knew the contrary to be +case, said that he was sure he was, + +“For whatever he might say or do, he should not try to conceal such a +circumstance, for if the like or anything more important had occurred to +him (the speaker) he would not have concealed it.” + +And having nothing else to do, and to pass the time, he found means to +make her fall in love with him. In which he succeeded, for in a very +short time he was high in her graces and could boast of having obtained +her favours without any trouble to win them. + +The other did not expect to have a companion, but you must not think +that the fair wench did not treat him as well or better than before, +which encouraged him in his foolish love. And you must know that the +brave wench was not idle, for she entertained the two at once, and would +with much regret have lost either, and more especially the last-comer, +for he was of better estate and furnished with a bigger lance than her +first lover; and she always assigned them different times to come, one +after the other, as for instance one to-day and the other to-morrow. + +The last-comer knew very well what she was doing, but he pretended +not to, and in fact he cared very little, except that he was rather +disgusted at the folly of the first-comer, who esteemed too highly a +thing of little value. + +So he made up his mind that he would warn his rival, which he did. He +knew that the days on which the wench had forbidden him to come to +her (which displeased him much) were reserved for his friend the +first-comer. He kept watch several nights, and saw his rival enter by +the same door and at the same hour as he did himself on the other days. + +One day he said to him, “You well concealed your amours with such an +one. I am rather astonished that you had so little confidence in me, +considering what I know to be really the case between you and her. And +in order that you may understand that I know all, let me tell you that +I saw you enter her house at such and such an hour, and indeed no longer +ago than yesterday I had an eye upon you, and from a place where I was, +I saw you arrive--you know whether I speak the truth.” + +When the first-comer heard this accusation, he did not know what to say, +and he was forced to confess what he would have willingly concealed, +and which he thought no one knew but himself; and he told the last-comer +that he would not conceal the fact that he was in love, but begged him +not to make it known. + +“And what would you say,” asked the other, “if you found you had a +companion?” + +“Companion?” said he; “What companion? In a love affair? I never thought +of it.” + +“By St. John!” said the last-comer, “I ought not to keep you longer in +suspense--it is I. And since I see that you are in love with a woman +who is not worth it, and if I had not more pity on you than you have on +yourself I should leave you in your folly, but I cannot suffer such a +wench to deceive you and me so long.” + +If any one was astonished at this news it was the first-comer who +believed himself firmly established in the good graces of the wench, and +that she loved no one but him. He did not know what to say or think, and +for a long time could not speak a word. When at last he spoke, he said, + +“By Our Lady! they have given me the onion (*) and I never suspected it. +I was easily enough deceived. May the devil carry away the wench, just +as she is!” + + (*) i.e. “they have made a fool of me.” + +“She has fooled the two of us,” said the last-comer; + +“at least she has begun well,--but we must even fool her.” + +“Do so I beg,” said the first. “St. Anthony’s fire burn me if ever I see +the jade again.” + +“You know,” said the second, “that we go to her each in turn. Well, the +next time that you go, you must tell her that you well know that I am +in love with her, and that you have seen me enter her house at such an +hour, and dressed in such a manner, and that, by heaven, if ever you +find me there again you will kill me stone dead, whatever may happen to +you. I will say the same thing about you, and we shall then see what she +will say and do, and then we shall know how to act.” + +“Well said, and just what I would wish,” said the first. + +As it was arranged, so was it done, for some days later it was the +last-comer’s turn to go and visit her; he set out and came to the place +appointed. + +When he was alone with the wench, who received him very kindly and +lovingly it appeared, he put on--as he well knew how--a troubled, +bothered air, and pretended to be very angry. She, who had been +accustomed to see him quite otherwise, did not know what to think, and +she asked what was the matter, for his manner showed that his heart was +not at ease. + +“Truly, mademoiselle,” said he, “you are right; and I have good cause to +be displeased and angry. Moreover, it is owing to you that I am in this +condition.” + +“To me?” said she. “Alas, I have done nothing that I am aware of, for +you are the only man in the world to whom I would give pleasure, and +whose grief and displeasure touch my heart.” + +“The man who refuses to believe that will not be damned,” said he. “Do +you think that I have not perceived that you are on good terms with +so-and-so (that is to say the first-comer). It is so, by my oath, and +I have but too often seen him speak to you apart, and, what is more, I +have watched and seen him enter here. But by heaven, if ever I find him +here his last day has come, whatever may happen to me in consequence. I +could not allow him to be aware that he has done me this injury--I would +rather die a thousand times if it were possible. And you are as false as +he is for you know of a truth that after God I love no one but you, and +yet you encourage him, and so do me great wrong!” + +“Ah, monseigneur!” she replied, “who has told you this story? By my +soul! I wish that God and you should know that it is quite otherwise, +and I call Him to witness that never in my life have I given an +assignation to him of whom you speak, nor to any other whoever he may +be--so you have little enough cause to be displeased with me. I will not +deny that I have spoken to him, and speak to him every day, and also to +many others, but I have never had aught to do with him, nor do I believe +that he thinks of me even for a moment, or if so, by God he is mistaken. +May God not suffer me to live if any but you has part or parcel in what +is yours entirely.” + +“Mademoiselle,” said he, “you talk very well, but I am not such a fool +as to believe you.” + +Angry and displeased as he was, he nevertheless did that for which he +came, and on leaving, said, + +“I have told you, and given you fair warning that if ever I find any +other person comes here, I will put him, or cause him to be put, in such +a condition that he will never again worry me or any one else.” + +“Ah, Monseigneur,” she replied, “by God you are wrong to imagine such +things about him, and I am sure also that he does not think of me.” + +With that, the last-comer left, and, on the morrow, his friend, the +first-comer did not fail to come early in the morning to hear the news, +and the other related to him in full all that had passed, how he had +pretended to be angry and threatened to kill his rival, and the replies +the jade made. + +“By my oath,” said the first, “she acted the comedy well! Now let me +have my turn, and I shall be very much surprised if I do not play my +part equally well.” + +A certain time afterwards his turn came, and he went to the wench, who +received him as lovingly as she always did, and as she had previously +received her other lover. If his friend the last-comer had been cross +and quarrelsome both in manner and words, he was still more so, and +spoke to her in this manner; + +“I curse the hour and the day on which I made your acquaintance, for +it is not possible to load the heart of a poor lover with more sorrows, +regrets, and bitter cares than oppress and weigh down my heart to-day. +Alas! I chose you amongst all others as the perfection of beauty, +gentleness, and kindness, and hoped that I should find in you truth and +fidelity, and therefore I gave you all my heart, believing in truth that +it was safe in your keeping, and I had such faith in you that I would +have met death, or worse, had it been possible, to save your honour. +Yet, when I thought myself most sure of your faith, I learned, not only +by the report of others but by my own eyes, that another had snatched +your love from me, and deprived me of the hope of being the one person +in the world who was dearest to you.” + +“My friend,” said the wench, “I do not know what your trouble is, but +from your manner and your words I judge that there is something +the matter, but I cannot tell what it is if you do not speak more +plainly--unless it be a little jealousy which torments you, and if so, I +think, if you are wise, that you will soon banish it from your mind. For +I have never given you any cause for that, as you know me well enough +to be aware, and you should be sorry for having used such expressions to +me.” + +“I am not the sort of man,” said he, “to be satisfied with mere words. +Your excuses are worth nothing. You cannot deny that so-and-so (that +is to say the last-comer) does not keep you. I know well he does, for I +have noticed you, and moreover, have watched, and saw him yesterday come +to you at such an hour, dressed in such and such a manner. But I swear +to God he has had his last pleasure with you, for I bear him a grudge, +and were he ten times as great a man as he is, when I meet him I will +deprive him of his life, or he shall deprive me of mine; one of us two +must die for I cannot live and see another enjoy you. You are false and +disloyal to have deceived me, and it is not without cause that I curse +the hour I made your acquaintance, for I know for a certainty that you +will cause my death if my rival knows my determination, as I hope he +will. I know that I am now as good as dead, and even if he should spare +me, he does but sharpen the knife which is to shorten his own days, and +then the world would not be big enough to save me, and die I must.” + +The wench could not readily find a sufficient excuse to satisfy him in +his present state of mind. Nevertheless, she did her best to dissipate +his melancholy, and drive away his suspicions, and said to him; + +“My friend, I have heard your long tirade, which, to tell the truth, +makes me reflect that I have not been so prudent as I ought, and have +too readily believed your deceitful speeches, and obeyed you in all +things, which is the reason you now think so little of me. Another +reason why you speak to me thus, is that you know that I am so much in +love with you that I cannot bear to live out of your presence. And for +this cause, and many others that I need not mention, you deem me your +subject and slave, with no right to speak or look at any but you. Since +that pleases you, I am satisfied, but you have no right to suspect me +with regard to any living person, nor have I any need to excuse myself. +Truth, which conquers all things, will right me in the end!” + +“By God, my dear,” said the young man, “the truth is what I have already +told you--as both and he will find to your cost if you do not take +care.” + +After these speeches, and others too long to recount here, he left, and +did not forget on the following morning to recount everything to his +friend the last-comer; and God knows what laughter and jests they had +between them. + +The wench, who still had wool on her distaff (*), saw and knew very well +that each of her lovers suspected the other, nevertheless she continued +to receive them each in his turn, without sending either away. She +warned each earnestly that he must come to her in the most secret +manner, in order that he should not be perceived. + + (*) i.e. plenty of tricks or resources. + +You must know that when the first-comer had his turn that he did not +forget to complain as before, and threatened to kill his rival should he +meet him. Also at his last meeting, he pretended to be more angry than +he really was, and made very light of his rival, who, according to him, +was as good as dead if he were caught with her. But the cunning and +double-dealing jade had so many deceitful speeches ready that her +excuses sounded as true as the Gospel. For she believed that, whatever +doubts and suspicions they had, the affair would never really be found +out, and that she was capable of satisfying them both. + +It was otherwise in the end, for the last-comer, whom she was greatly +afraid to lose, one day read her a sharp lesson. In fact he told +her that he would never see her again, and did not for a long time +afterwards, at which she was much displeased and dissatisfied. + +And in order to embarrass and annoy her still more, he sent to her a +gentleman, a confidential friend, to point out how disgusted he was to +find he had a rival, and to tell her, in short, that if she did not send +away this rival, that he would never see her again as long as he lived. + +As you have already heard, she would not willingly give up his +acquaintance, and there was no male or female saint by whom she did +not perjure herself in explaining away her love passages with her other +lover, and at last, quite beside herself, she said to the squire; + +“I will show your master that I love him; give me your knife.” + +Then, when she had the knife, she took off her headdress, and with the +knife cut off all her hair--not very evenly. + +The squire, who knew the facts of the case, took this present, and said +he would do his duty and give it to his master, which he soon did. The +last-comer received the parcel, which he undid, and found the hair of +his mistress, which was very long and beautiful. He did not feel much at +ease until he had sent for his friend and revealed to him the message he +had sent, and the valuable present she had given him in return, and then +he showed the beautiful long tresses. + +“I fancy,” said he, “I must be very high in her good graces. You can +scarcely expect that she would do as much for you.” + +“By St. John!” said the other, “this is strange news. I see plainly that +I am left out in the cold. It is finished! You are the favoured one. But +let us” he added, “think what is to be done. We must show her plainly +that we know what she is.” + +“That’s what I wish,” said the other. + +They thought the matter over, and arranged their plan as follows. + +The next day, or soon afterwards, the two friends were in a chamber +where there were assembled their fair lady and many others. Each took +his place where he liked; the first-comer sat near the damsel, and after +some talk, he showed her the hair which she had sent to his friend. + +Whatever she may have thought, she was not startled, but said she did +not know whose hair it was, but it did not belong to her. + +“What?” he said. “Has it so quickly changed that it cannot be +recognised?” + +“That I cannot say,” she replied, “but it does not belong to me.” + +When he heard that, he thought it was time to play his best card, and, +as though by accident, gave her _chaperon_ (*) such a twitch that it +fell to the ground, at which she was both angry and ashamed. And all +those who were present saw that her hair was short, and had been badly +hacked. + + (*) The chaperon, in the time of Charles VII, was fastened + to the shoulder by a long band which sometimes passed two or + three times round the neck, and sometimes hung down the + back. + +She rose in haste, and snatched up her head-dress, and ran into another +chamber to attire herself, and he followed her. He found her angry and +ashamed, and weeping bitterly with vexation at being thus caught. He +asked her what she had to weep about, and at what game she had lost her +hair? + +She did not know what to reply, she was so vexed and astonished; and he, +who was determined to carry out the arrangement he had concluded with +his friend, said to her; + +“False and disloyal as you are, you have not cared that I and my +friend were deceived and dishonoured. You wished,--as you have plainly +shown--to add two more victims to your list, but, thank God, we were on +our guard. And, in order that you may see that we both know you, here is +your hair which you sent him, and which he has presented to me; and do +not believe that we are such fools as you have hitherto thought us.” + +Then he called his friend, who came, and the first said, + +“I have given back this fair damsel her hair, an have begun to tell her +how she has accepted the love of both of us, and how by her manner of +acting she has shown us that she did not care whether she disgraced us +both--may God save us!” + +“Truly--by St. John!” said the other, and thereupon he made a long +speech to the wench, and God knows he talked to her well, remonstrating +with her on her cowardice and disloyal heart. Never was woman so well +lectured as she was at that time, first by one then by the other. + +She was so taken by surprise that she did not know what to reply, except +by tears, which she shed abundantly. + +She had never had enough pleasure out of both her lovers to compensate +for the vexation she suffered at that moment. + +Nevertheless, in the end they did not desert her, but lived as they did +before, each taking his turn, and if by chance they both came to her +together, the one gave place to the other, and they were both good +friends as before, without ever talking of killing or fighting. + +For a long time the two friends continued this pleasant manner of +loving, and the poor wench never dared to refuse either of them. And +whenever the one wished to have intercourse with her, he told the other, +and whenever the second went to see her, the first stayed at home. They +made each other many compliments, and sent one another rondels and +songs which are now celebrated, about the circumstances I have already +related, and of which I now conclude the account. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 34.jpg THE MAN ABOVE AND THE MAN BELOW.] + + + + +STORY THE THIRTY-FOURTH -- THE MAN ABOVE AND THE MAN BELOW. [34] + +By Monsigneur De La Roche. + +_Of a married woman who gave rendezvous to two lovers, who came and +visited her, and her husband came soon after, and of the words which +passed between them, as you shall presently hear._ + + +I knew in my time a brave and worthy woman, deserving to be remembered +and respected, for her virtues should not be hidden and kept dark, but +publicly blazoned to the world. You will shortly hear, if you will, in +this story something which will increase and magnify her fame. + +This gallant wench was married to a countryman of ours, and had many +lovers seeking and desiring her favours,--which were not over difficult +to obtain, for she was so kind and compassionate that she both would and +could bestow herself freely whenever she liked. + +It happened one day that two men came to see her, as both were +accustomed, to ask for a rendezvous. She would not have retreated before +two or even three, and appointed a day and hour for each to come to +her--the one at eight o’clock the morrow morning, and the other at +nine, and charged each one expressly that he should not fail to keep his +appointed hour. + +They promised on their faith and honour that if they were alive they +would keep their assignation. + +When the morrow came, at about 6 o’clock in the morning, the husband +of this brave wench rose, dressed himself, and called his wife, but she +bluntly refused to get up when ordered. + +“Faith!” she said, “I have such a headache that I cannot stand on my +feet, or if I did get up I should die, I am so weak and worn-out; and, +as you know, I did not sleep all the night. I beg of you to leave me +here, and I hope that when I am alone I shall get a little rest.” + +Her husband, though he suspected something, did not dare to contradict +her or reply, but went about his business in the town, whilst his wife +was not idle at home, for eight o’clock had no sooner struck than the +honest fellow, to whom on the previous day an assignation had been +given, came and knocked at the door, and she let him in. He soon took +off his long gown and his other clothes, and joined madame in bed, in +order to cheer her up. + +Whilst these two were locked in each other’s arms, and otherwise +engaged, the time passed quickly without her noticing it, when she heard +some one knock loudly at the door. + +“Ah!” she said, “as I live, there is my husband; make haste and take +your clothes.” + +“Your husband?” he said, “Why, do you know his knock?” + +“Yes,” she replied, “I know it very well. Make haste lest he find you +here.” + +“If it be your husband, he must find me here, for I know not where I can +hide.” + +“No, please God, he must not find you here, for you would be killed and +so should I, he is so terrible. Get up into this little attic, and keep +quite quiet and do not move, that he may not find you here.” + +The other climbed into the garret as he was told, and found the planks +stripped away in many places, and the laths broken. + +As soon as he was safe, mademoiselle made one bound to the door, knowing +very well that it was not her husband who was there, and let in the +man who had promised to come to her at nine o’clock. They came into +the chamber, where they were not long on their feet, but laid down and +cuddled and kissed in the same manner as he in the garret had done, +whilst he, through a chink, kept his eye on the couple, and was not best +pleased. He could not make up his mind whether he should speak or hold +his tongue. At last he determined to keep silence, and not say a word +till the opportunity came,--and you may guess that he had plenty of +patience. + +Whilst he was waiting and looking at the lady engaged with the last +comer, the worthy husband came home to enquire after the health of his +good wife, as it was very proper of him to do. + +She soon heard him, and as quickly as may be, made her lover get out of +bed, and as she did not know where to hide him, since she could not put +him in the garret, she made him lie down between the bed and the wall, +and covered him with his clothes, and said to him. + +“I have no better place to put you--have a little patience.” + +She had hardly finished speaking when her husband came into the room, +and though he had heard nothing, he found the bed all rumpled and tossed +about, the quilt dirty and soiled, and looking more like the bed of a +bride than the couch of an invalid. + +The doubts he had formerly entertained, combined with the appearance of +the bed, made him call his wife by her name, and say. + +“Wicked whore that you are! I did not believe you when you shammed +illness this morning! Where is the whoremonger? I swear to God, if I +find him, he will have a bad end, and you too.” Then, putting his hand +on the quilt, he went on. “This looks nice, doesn’t it? It looks as +though the pigs had slept on it!” + +“What is the matter with you, you nasty drunkard?” she replied. “Why +make me suffer when you get too much wine in your belly? That’s a nice +salutation, to call me a whore! I would have you to know that I am +nothing of the kind, but much too virtuous and too honest for a rascal +like you, and my only regret is that I have been so good to you, for +you are not worth it. I do not know why I do not get up and scratch +your face in such a manner that you would remember it all your life, for +having abused me without cause.” + +If you ask how she dared reply to her husband in this manner, I should +answer there were two reasons,--that is she had both right and might on +her side. For, as you may guess, if it had come to blows, both the +lover in the garret, and the one by the bed, would have come to her +assistance. + +The poor husband did not know what to say when he heard his wife abuse +him thus, and as he saw that big words were of no use, he left the +matter to God, who does justice to all, and replied; + +“You make many excuses for your palpable faults, but I care little what +you say. I am not going to quarrel and make a noise; there is One above +who will repay all!” + +By “One above”, he meant God,--as though he had said, + +“God, who gives everyone his due, will repay you according to your +deserts.” But the gallant who was in the garret, and heard these words, +really believed they were meant for him, and that he was expected to pay +for the misdeeds of another besides himself, and he replied aloud; + +“What? Surely it will suffice if I pay half! The man who is down by the +side of the bed can pay the other half--he is as much concerned as I +am!” + +You may guess that the husband was much astonished, for he thought that +God was speaking to him; and the man by the bed did not know what to +think, for he knew nothing about the existence of the other man. He +quickly jumped up, and the other man came down, and they recognised each +other. + +They went off together, and left the couple looking vexed and angry, but +they did not trouble much about that and for good reason. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE THIRTY-FIFTH -- THE EXCHANGE. + +By Monseigneur De Villiers. + +_Of a knight whose mistress married whilst he was on his travels, and on +his return, by chance he came to her house, and she, in order that she +might sleep with him, caused a young damsel, her chamber-maid, to go to +bed with her husband; and of the words that passed between the husband +and the knight his guest, as are more fully recorded hereafter._ + + +A gentleman, a knight of this kingdom, a most virtuous man, and of great +renown, a great traveller and a celebrated warrior, fell in love with a +very beautiful damsel, and so advanced in her good graces that nothing +that he demanded was refused him. It happened, I know not how long after +that, this good knight, to acquire honour and merit, left his castle, +in good health and well accompanied, by the permission of his master, to +bear arms elsewhere, and he went to Spain and various places, where he +did such feats that he was received in great triumph at his return. + +During this time the lady married an old knight who was courteous and +wise, and who in his time had been a courtier, and--to say truth--was +known as the very mirror of honour. It was a matter for regret that he +did not marry better, but at any rate he had not then discovered his +wife’s misconduct, as he did afterwards, as you shall hear. + +The first-named knight, returning from the war, as he was travelling +through the country, arrived by chance one night at the castle where his +mistress lived, and God knows what good cheer she and her husband made +for him, for there had been a great friendship between them. + +But you must know that whilst the master of the house was doing all +he could to honour his guest, the guest was conversing with his former +lady-love, and was willing to renew with her the intimacy that had +existed before she married. She asked for nothing better, but excused +herself on account of want of opportunity. + +“It is not possible to find a chance.” + +“Ah, madam,” he said, “by my oath, if you want to, you will make a +chance. When your husband is in bed and asleep, you can come to my +chamber, or, if you prefer it, I will come to you.” + +“It cannot be managed so,” she replied; “the danger is too great; for +monseigneur is a very light sleeper, and he never wakes but what he +feels for me, and if he did not find me, you may guess what it would +be.” + +“And when he does find you,” he said, “what does he do to you?” + +“Nothing else,” she replied; “he turns over on the other side.” + +“Faith!” said he, “he is a very bad bed-fellow; it is very lucky for you +that I came to your aid to perform for you what he cannot.” + +“So help me God,” she said, “when he lies with me once a month it is the +best he can do. I may be difficult to please, but I could take a good +deal more than that. + +“That is not to be wondered at,” he said; “but let us consider what we +shall do.” + +“There is no way that I see,” she replied, “that it can be managed.” + +“What?” he said; “have you no woman in the house to whom you can explain +the difficulty?” + +“Yes, by God! I have one,” she said, “in whom I have such confidence +that I would tell her anything in the world I wanted kept secret? +without fearing that she would ever repeat it.” + +“What more do we want then?” he said. “The rest concerns you and her.” + +The lady who was anxious to be with her lover, called the damsel, and +said, + +“My dear, you must help me to-night to do something which is very dear +to my heart.” + +“Madam,” said the damsel, “I am ready and glad, as I ought to be, to +serve you and obey you in any way possible; command me, and I will +perform your orders.” + +“I thank you, my dear,” said madam, “and be sure that you will lose +nothing by it. This is what is the matter. The knight here is the man +whom I love best in all the world, and I would not that he left here +without my having a few words with him. Now he cannot tell me what is +in his heart unless we be alone together, and you are the only person to +take my place by the side of monseigneur. He is accustomed, as you know, +to turn in the night and touch me, and then he leaves me and goes to +sleep again.” + +“I will do your pleasure, madam; there is nothing that you can command +that I will not do.” + +“Well, my dear,” she said, “you will go to bed as I do, keeping a good +way off from monseigneur, and take care that if he should speak to you +not to reply, and suffer him to do whatever he may like.” + +“I will do your pleasure, madam.” + +Supper-time came. There is no need to describe the meal, suffice it to +say there was good cheer and plenty of it, and after supper, sports, and +the visitor took madam’s arm, and the other gentlemen escorted the other +damsels. The host came last, and enquired about the knight’s travels +from an old gentleman who had accompanied him. + +Madame did not forget to tell her lover that one of her women would take +her place that night, and that she would come to him; at which he was +very joyful, and thanked her much, and wished that the hour had come. + +They returned to the reception hall, where monseigneur said good +night to his guest, and his wife did the same. The visitor went to +his chamber, which was large and well-furnished, and there was a fine +sideboard laden with spices and preserves, and good wine of many sorts. + +He soon undressed, and drank a cup, and made his attendants drink also, +and then sent them to bed, and remained alone, waiting for the lady, who +was with her husband. Both she and her husband undressed and got into +bed. + +The damsel was in the _ruelle_, and as soon as my lord was in bed, she +took the place of her mistress, who--as her heart desired--made but one +bound to the chamber of the lover, who was anxiously awaiting her. + +Thus were they all lodged--monseigneur with the chambermaid, and his +guest with madame--and you may guess that these two did not pass all the +night in sleeping. + +Monseigneur, as was his wont, awoke an hour before day-break, and turned +to the chamber-maid, believing it to be his wife, and to feel her he put +out his hand, which by chance encountered one of her breasts, which were +large and firm, and he knew at once that it was not his wife, for she +was not well furnished in that respect. + +“Ha, ha!” he said to himself, “I understand what it is! They are playing +me a trick, and I will play them another.” + +He turned towards the girl, and with some trouble managed to break a +lance, but she let him do it without uttering a word or half a word. + +When he had finished, he began to call as loudly as he could to the man +who was sleeping with his wife. + +“Hallo! my lord of such a place! Where are you? Speak to me!” + +The other, when he heard himself called, was much astonished, and the +lady quite overwhelmed with shame. + +“Alas!” she said, “our deeds are discovered: I am a lost woman!” + +Her husband called out, + +“Hallo, monseigneur! hallo, my guest! Speak to me.” + +The other ventured to speak, and said, + +“What is it, so please you, monsiegneur?” + +“I will make this exchange with you whenever you like.” + +“What exchange?” he asked. + +“An old, worn-out false, treacherous woman, for a good, pretty, and +fresh young girl. That is what I have gained by the exchange and I thank +you for it.” + +None of the others knew what to reply, even the poor chamber-maid wished +she were dead, both on account of the dishonour to her mistress and the +unfortunate loss of her own virginity. + +The visitor left the lady and the castle as soon as could, without +thanking his host, or saying farewell. And never again did he go there, +so he never knew how she settled the matter with her husband afterwards, +so I can tell you no more. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE THIRTY-SIXTH -- AT WORK. + +By Monseigneur De La Roche. + +_Of a squire who saw his mistress, whom he greatly loved, between +two other gentlemern, and did not notice that she had hold of both of +them till another knight informed him of the matter as you will hear._ + + +A kind and noble gentleman, who wished to spend his time in the service +of the Court of Love, devoted himself, heart, body, and goods, to a fair +and honest damsel who well deserved it, and who was specially suited to +do what she liked with men; and his amour with her lasted long. And he +thought that he stood high in her good graces, though to say the truth, +he was no more a favourite than the others, of whom there were many. + +It happened one day that this worthy gentleman found his lady, by +chance, in the embrasure of a window, between a knight and a squire, to +whom she was talking. Sometimes she would speak to one apart and not let +the other hear, another time she did the same to the other, to please +both of them, but the poor lover was greatly vexed and jealous, and did +not dare to approach the group. + +The only thing to do was to walk away from her, although he desired her +presence more than anything else in the world. His heart told him that +this conversation would not tend to his advantage, in which he was not +far wrong. For, if his eyes had not been blinded by affection, he could +easily have seen what another, who was not concerned, quickly perceived, +and showed him, in this wise. + +When he saw and knew for certain that the lady had neither leisure nor +inclination to talk to him, he retired to a couch and lay down, but he +could not sleep. + +Whilst he was thus sulking, there came a gentleman, who saluted all the +company, and seeing that the damsel was engaged, withdrew to the recess +where the squire was lying sleepless upon the couch; and amongst other +conversation the squire said, + +“By my faith, monseigneur, look towards the window; there are some +people who are making themselves comfortable. Do you not see how +pleasantly they are talking.” + +“By St. John, I see them,” said the knight, “and see that they are doing +something more than talking.” + +“What else?” said the other. + +“What else? Do you not see that she has got hold of both of them?” + +“Got hold of them!” + +“Truly yes, poor fellow! Where are your eyes? But there is a great +difference between the two, for the one she holds in her left hand is +neither so big nor so long as that which she holds in her right hand.” + +“Ha!” said the squire, “you say right. May St. Anthony burn the wanton;” + and you may guess that he was not well pleased. + +“Take no heed,” said the knight, “and bear your wrong as patiently +as you can. It is not here that you have to show your courage: make a +virtue of necessity.” + +Having thus spoken, the worthy knight approached the window where the +three were standing, and noticed by chance that the knight on the left, +hand, was standing on tip-toe, attending to what the fair damsel and the +squire were saying and doing. + +Giving him a slight tap on his hat, the knight said, + +“Mind your own business in the devil’s name, and don’t trouble about +other people.” + +The other withdrew, and began to laugh, but the damsel, who was not the +sort of woman to care about trifles, scarcely showed any concern, but +quietly let go her hold without brushing or changing colour, though she +was sorry in her heart to let out of her hand what she could have well +used in another place. + +As you may guess, both before and after that time, either of those two +would most willingly have done her a service, and the poor, sick lover +was obliged to be a witness of the greatest misfortune which could +happen to him, and his poor heart would have driven him to despair, +if reason had not come to his help, and caused him to abandon his love +affairs, out of which he had never derived any benefit. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 37.jpg THE USE OF DIRTY WATER.] + + + + +STORY THE THIRTY-SEVENTH -- THE USE OF DIRTY WATER. + +By Monseigneur De La Roche. + +_Of a jealous man who recorded all the tricks which he could hear or +learn by which wives had deceived their husbands in old times; but at +last he was deceived by means of dirty water which the lover of the said +lady threw out of window upon her as she was going to Mass, as you shall +hear hereafter._ + + +Whilst others are thinking and ransacking their memories for adventures +and deeds fit to be narrated and added to the present history, I will +relate to you, briefly, how the most jealous man in this kingdom, in his +time, was deceived. I do not suppose that he was the only one who ever +suffered this misfortune, but at any rate I will not omit to describe +the clever trick that was played upon him. + +This jealous old hunks was a great historian, and had often read and +re-read all sorts of stories; but the principal end and aim of all his +study was to learn and know all the ways and manners in which wives had +deceived their husbands. For--thank God--old histories like Matheolus +(*), Juvenal, the Fifteen Joys of Marriage (**), and more others than I +can count, abound in descriptions of deceits, tricks, and deceptions of +that sort. + + (*) _Le Lime_, de Matheolus, a poem of the early part of the + 15th Century, written by Jean le Febvre, Bishop of + Therouenne. It is a violent satire against women. + + (**) A curious old work the authorship of which is still + doubtful. It is often ascribed to Antoine de la Sale, who is + believed to have partly written and edited the _Cent + Nouvelles Nouvelles_. The allusion is interesting as showing + that the Quinze Joyes de mariage was written before the + present work. + +Our jealous husband had always one or other of these books in his hand, +and was as fond of them as a fool is of his bauble,--reading or studying +them; and indeed he had made from these books a compendium for his own +use, in which all the tricks and deceits practised by wives on their +husbands were noted and described. + +This he had done in order to be forewarned and on his guard, should +his wife perchance use any of the plans or subterfuges chronicled or +registered in his book. For he watched his wife as carefully as the most +jealous Italian would, and still was not content, so ruled was he by +this cursed passion of jealousy. + +In this delectable state did the poor man live three or four years with +his wife, and the only amusement she had in that time was to escape +out of his hateful presence by going to Mass, and then she was always +accompanied by an old servant, who was charged to watch over her. + +A gentle knight, who had heard how the fair lady was watched, one day +met the damsel, who was both beautiful and witty, and told her how +willing he was to do her a service, that he sighed for her love, and +condoled with her evil fortune in being allied to the most jealous +wretch there was on the face of the earth, and saying, moreover, that +she was the sole person on earth for whom he cared. + +“And since I cannot tell you here how much I love you, and many other +things which I hope you will be glad to hear, I will, if you wish, put +it all in writing and give it you to-morrow, begging also that any small +service that I most willingly do for you, be not refused.” + +She gladly listened, but owing to the presence of Dangier, (*) who was +near, hardly replied; nevertheless she said she would be glad to have +his letter when it came. + + (*) See note page 159. + +Her lover was very joyful when he took leave of her, and with good +cause, and the damsel said farewell to him in a kind and gracious +manner, but the old woman, who watched her, did not fail to ask her what +conversation had taken place between her and the man who had just left. + +“He brought me news of my mother,” she replied; “at which I am very +joyful, for she is in good health.” + +The old woman asked no more, and they returned home. + +On the morrow, the lover, provided with a letter written God knows +in what terms, met the lady, and gave her this letter so quickly and +cunningly that the old servant, who was watching, saw nothing. + +The letter was opened by her most joyfully when she was alone. The gist +of the contents was that he had fallen in love with her, and that he +knew not a day’s happiness when he was absent from her, and finally +hoped that she would of her kindness appoint a suitable place where she +could give him a reply to this letter. + +She wrote a reply in which she said she could love no one but her +husband, to whom she owed all faith and loyalty; nevertheless, she was +pleased to know the writer was so much in love with her, but, though she +could promise him no reward, would be glad to hear what he had to say, +but certainly that could not be, because her husband never left her +except when she went to church, and then she was guarded, and more than +guarded, by the dirtiest old hag that ever interfered with anybody. + +The lover, dressed quite differently to what he had been the preceding +day, met the lady, who knew him at once, and as he passed close to her, +received from her hand the letter already mentioned. That he was anxious +to know the contents was no marvel. He went round a corner, and there, +at his leisure, learned the condition of affairs, which seemed to be +progressing favourably. + +It needed but time and place to carry out his enterprise, and he thought +night and day how this was to be accomplished. At last he thought of +a first-rate trick, for he remembered that a lady friend of his lived +between the church where his lady went to Mass and her house, and he +told her the history of his love affair, concealing nothing from her, +and begging her to help him. + +“Whatever I can do for you, I will do with all my heart,” she said. + +“I thank you,” said he. “Would you mind if I met her here?” + +“Faith!” she said, “to please you, I do not mind!” + +“Well!” he replied, “if ever it is in my power to do you a service, you +may be sure that I will remember this kindness.” + +He was not satisfied till he had written again to his lady-love and +given her the letter, in which he said that he had made an arrangement +with a certain woman, “who is a great friend of mine, a respectable +woman, who can loyally keep a secret, and who knows you well and loves +you, and who will lend us her house where we may meet. And this is the +plan I have devised. I will be to-morrow in an upper chamber which looks +on the street, and I will have by me a large pitcher of water mingled +with ashes, which I will upset on you suddenly as you pass. And I shall +be so disguised that neither your old woman, nor anyone else in the +world, will recognise me. When you have been drenched with this water, +you will pretend to be very angry and surprised, and take refuge in the +house, and send your Dangier to seek another gown; and while she is on +the road we will talk together.” + +To shorten the story, the letter was given, and the lady, who was very +well pleased, sent a reply. + +The next day came, and the lady was drenched by her lover with a pitcher +of water and cinders, in such fashion that her kerchief, gown, and other +habiliments were all spoiled and ruined. God knows that she was very +astonished and displeased, and rushed into the house, as though she were +beside herself, and ignorant of where she was. + +When she saw the lady of the house, she complained bitterly of the +mischief which had been done, and I cannot tell you how much she grieved +over this misadventure. Now she grieved for her kerchief, now for her +gown, and another time for her other clothes,--in short, if anyone had +heard her, they would have thought the world was coming to an end. + +The old woman, who was also in a great rage, had a knife in her hand, +with which she scraped the gown as well as she could. + +“No, no, my friend! you only waste your time. It cannot be cleaned as +easily as that: you cannot do any good. I must have another gown and +another kerchief-there is nothing else to be done. Go home and fetch +them, and make haste and come back, or we shall lose the Mass in +addition to our other troubles.” + +The old woman seeing that there was imperative need of the clothes, did +not dare to refuse her mistress, and took the gown and kerchief under +her mantle, and went home. + +She had scarcely turned on her heels, before her mistress was conducted +to the chamber where her lover was, who was pleased to see her in a +simple petticoat and with her hair down. + +Whilst they are talking together, let us return to the old woman, who +went back to the house, where she found her master, who did not wait for +her to speak, but asked her at once, + +“What have you done with my wife? where is she?” + +“I have left her,” she replied, “at such a person’s house, in such a +place.” + +“And for what purpose?” said he. + +Then she showed him the gown and the kerchief, and told him about the +pitcher of water and ashes, and said that she had been sent to seek +other clothes, for her mistress could not leave the place where she was +in that state. + +“Is that so?” said he. “By Our Lady! that trick is not in my book! Go! +Go! I know well what has happened.” + +He would have added that he was cuckolded, and I believe he was at that +time, and he never again kept a record of the various tricks that had +been played on husbands. Moreover, it is believed that he never forgot +the trick which had been played on him. There was no need for him to +write it down--he preserved a lively memory of it the few good days that +he had to live. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 38.jpg A ROD FOR ANOTHER’S BACK.] + + + + +STORY THE THIRTY-EIGHTH -- A ROD FOR ANOTHER’S BACK. [38] + +By The Seneschal Of Guyenne. + +_Of a citizen of Tours who bought a lamprey which he sent to his wife +to cook in order that he might give a feast to the priest, and the said +wife sent it to a Cordelier, who was her lover, and how she made a woman +who was her neighbour sleep with her husband, and how the woman was +beaten, and what the wife made her husband believe, as you will hear +hereafter._ + + +There was formerly a merchant of Tours, who, to give a feast to his +curé and other worthy people, bought a large lamprey, and sent it to his +house, and charged his wife to cook it, as she well knew how to do. + +“And see,” said he, “that the dinner is ready at twelve o’clock, for I +shall bring our curé, and some other people” (whom he named). + +“All shall be ready,” she replied, “bring whom you will.” + +She prepared a lot of nice fish, and when she saw the lamprey she wished +that her paramour, a Cordelier, could have it, and said to herself, + +“Ah, Brother Bernard, why are you not here? By my oath, you should not +leave till you had tasted this lamprey, or, if you liked, you should +take it to your own room, and I would not fail to keep you company.” + +It was with great regret that the good woman began to prepare the +lamprey for her husband, for she was thinking how the Cordelier could +have it. She thought so much about it that she finally determined to +send the lamprey by an old woman, who knew her secret. She did so, and +told the Cordelier that she would come at night, and sup and sleep with +him. + +When the Cordelier heard that she was coming, you may guess that he was +joyful and contented, and he told the old woman that he would get some +good wine to do honour to the lamprey. The old woman returned, and +delivered his message. + +About twelve o’clock came our merchant, the curé, and the other guests, +to eat this lamprey, which had now gone far out of their reach. When +they were all in the merchant’s house, he took them all into the kitchen +to show them the big lamprey that he was going to give them, and called +his wife, and said, + +“Show us our lamprey, I want to tell our guests how cheap I bought it.” + +“What lamprey?” she asked. + +“The lamprey that I gave you for our dinner, along with the other fish.” + +“I have seen no lamprey,” she said; “I think you must be dreaming. Here +are a carp, two pike, and I know not what fish beside, but I have seen +no lamprey to day.” + +“What?” said he. “Do you think I am drunk?” + +“Yes,” replied the curé and the other guests, “we think no less. You are +too niggardly to buy such a lamprey.” + +“By God,” said his wife, “he is either making fun of you or he is +dreaming--for certainly I have never seen this lamprey.” + +Her husband grew angry, and cried, + +“You lie, you whore! Either you have eaten it, or you have hidden it +somewhere. I promise you it will be the dearest lamprey you ever had.” + +With that he turned to the curé and the others, and swore by God’s death +and a hundred other oaths, that he had given his wife a lamprey which +had cost him a franc; but they, to tease him and torment him still more, +pretended not to believe him, and that they were very disappointed, and +said; + +“We were invited to dinner at such houses, but we refused in order to +come here, thinking we were going to eat this lamprey; but, as far as we +can see, there is no chance of that.” + +Their host, who was in a terrible rage, picked up a stick, and advanced +towards his wife to thrash her, but the others held him back, and +dragged him by force out of the house, and with much trouble appeased +him as well as they could. Then, since they could not have the lamprey, +the curé had the table laid, and they made as good cheer as they could. + +The good dame meanwhile sent for one of her neighbours, who was a widow, +but still good-looking and lively, and invited her to dinner; and when +she saw her opportunity, she said; + +“My dear neighbour, it would be very kind of you to do me a great +service and pleasure, and if you will do this for me, I will repay you +in a manner that will please you.” + +“And what do you want me to do?” asked the other. + +“I will tell you,” said she. “My husband is so violent in his night-work +that it is astounding, and, in fact, last night he so tumbled me, that +by my oath I am afraid of him to-night. Therefore I would beg of you to +take my place, and if ever I can do anything for you in return, you may +command me--body and goods.” + +The good neighbour, to oblige her, promised to take her place--for which +she was greatly thanked. + +Now you must know that our merchant when he returned from dinner, laid +in a good stock of birch rods, which he carried secretly into his house, +and hid near his bed, saying to himself that if his wife worried him she +should be well paid. + +But he did not do this so secretly but what his wife was on her guard +and prepared, for she knew by long experience her husband’s brutality. + +He did not sup at home, but stopped out late, and came home when he +expected she would be in bed and naked. But his design failed, for late +that evening she made her neighbour undress and go to bed in her place, +and charged her expressly not to speak to her husband when he came, but +pretend to be dumb and ill. And she did more, for she put out the fire +both in the chamber and in the kitchen. That being done, she told her +neighbour that as soon as ever her husband rose in the morning, she was +to leave and return to her own house, and she promised that she would. + +The neighbour being thus put to bed, the brave woman went off to the +Cordelier to eat the lamprey and gain her pardons, as was her custom. + +While she was feasting there, the merchant came home after supper, full +of spite and anger about the lamprey, and to execute the plan he had +conceived, took his rods in his hand and then searched for a light for +the candle, but found no fire even in the chimney. + +When he saw that, he went to bed without saying a word, and slept till +dawn, when he rose and dressed, and took his rods, and so thrashed his +wife’s substitute, in revenge for the lamprey, till she bled all over, +and the sheets of the bed were as bloody as though a bullock had been +flayed on them, but the poor woman did not dare to say a word, or even +to show her face. + +His rods being all broken, and his arm tired, he left the house, and the +poor woman, who had expected to enjoy the pleasant pastime of the +sports of love, went home soon afterwards to bemoan her ill-luck and +her wounds, and not without cursing and threatening the woman who had +brought this upon her. + +Whilst the husband was still away from home, the good woman returned +from seeing the Cordelier, and found the bed-chamber all strewn with +birch twigs, the bed all crumpled, and the sheets covered with blood, +and she then knew that her neighbour had suffered bodily injury, as she +had expected. She at once remade the bed, and put on fresh and clean +sheets, and swept the chamber, and then she went to see her neighbour, +whom she found in a pitiable condition, and it need not be said was not +able to give her any consolation. + +As soon as she could, she returned home, and undressed, and laid down +on the fair white bed that she had prepared, and slept well till her +husband returned from the town, his anger quite dissipated by the +revenge he had taken, and came to his wife whom he found in bed +pretending to sleep. + +“What is the meaning of this, mademoiselle?” he said. “Is it not time +to get up?” + +“Oh dear!” she said, “is it day yet? By my oath I never heard you get +up. I was having a dream which had lasted a long time.” + +“I expect,” he replied, “that you were dreaming about the lamprey, +were you not? It would not be very wonderful if you did, for I gave you +something to remember it by this morning.” + +“By God!” she said, “I never thought about you or your lamprey.” + +“What?” said he. “Have you so soon forgotten?” + +“Forgotten?” she answered. “Why not? a dream is soon forgotten.” + +“Well, then, did you dream about the bundle of birch rods I used on you +not two hours ago?” + +“On me?” she asked. + +“Yes, certainly; on you,” he said. “I know very well I thrashed you +soundly, as the sheets of the bed would show.” + +“By my oath, dear friend,” she replied, “I do not know what you did +or dreamed, but for my part I recollect very well that this morning you +indulged in the sports of love with much desire; I am sure that if you +dreamed you did anything else to me it must be like yesterday, when you +made sure you had given me the lamprey.” + +“That would be a strange dream,” said he. “Show yourself that I may see +you.” + +She turned down the bed-clothes and showed herself quite naked, and +without mark or wound. He saw also that the sheets were fair and white, +and without any stain. It need not be said that he was much astonished, +and he thought the matter over for a long time, and was silent. At last +he said; + +“By my oath, my dear, I imagined that I gave you a good beating this +morning, even till you bled--but I see well I did nothing of the kind, +and I do not know exactly what _did_ happen.” + +“Marry!” she said “Get the idea that you have beaten me out of your +head, for you never touched me, as you can see. Make up your mind that +you dreamed it.” + +“I am sure you are right,” said he, “and I beg of you to pardon me, +for I did wrong to abuse you before all the strangers I brought to the +house.” + +“That is easily pardoned,” she replied; “but at any rate take care that +you are not so rash and hasty another time.” + +“No, I will not be, my dear!” said he. + +Thus, as you have heard, was the merchant deceived by his wife, and +made to believe that he had dreamed that he had bought the lamprey; also +in the other matters mentioned above. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 39.jpg BOTH WELL SERVED.] + + + + +STORY THE THIRTY-NINTH -- BOTH WELL SERVED. [39] + +By Monseigneur De Saint Pol. + +_Of a knight who, whilst he was waiting for his mistress amused himself +three times with her maid, who had been sent to keep him company that +he might not be dull; and afterwards amused himself three times with +the lady, and how the husband learned it all from the maid, as you will +hear._ + + +A noble knight of the Marches of Haynau--rich, powerful, brave, and a +good fellow--was in love with a fair lady for a long time, and was so +esteemed and secretly loved by her, that whenever he liked he repaired +to a private and remote part of her castle, where she came to visit him, +and they conversed at their leisure of their pleasant mutual love. + +Not a soul knew of their pleasant pastime, except a damsel who served +the lady, and who had kept the matter secret for a long time, and had +served the dame so willingly in all her affairs that she was worthy of a +great reward. Moreover, she was such a good girl, that not only had she +gained the affection of her mistress for her services in this and other +matters, but the husband of the lady esteemed her as much as his wife +did, because he found her good, trustworthy, and diligent. + +It chanced one day that the lady knew her aforesaid lover to be in +the house, but could not go to him as soon as she wished, because her +husband detained her; at which she was much vexed, and sent the damsel +to tell him that he must yet have patience, and that, as soon as she +could get rid of her husband, she would come to him. + +The damsel went to the knight, who was awaiting the lady, and delivered +her message, and he, being a courteous knight, thanked her much for her +message, and made her sit by him; then tenderly kissed her two or +three times. She did not object, which gave the knight encouragement to +proceed to other liberties, which also were not refused him. + +This being finished, she returned to her mistress, and told her that her +lover was anxiously awaiting her. + +“Alas!” said the lady, “I know full well he is, but my husband will not +go to bed, and there are a lot of people here whom I cannot leave. God +curse them! I would much rather be with him. He is very dull, is he +not--all alone up there?” + +“Faith! I believe he is,” replied the damsel, “but he comforts himself +as well as he can with the hope of your coming.’’ + +“That I believe, but at any rate he has been all alone, and without a +light, for more than two hours; it must be very lonely. I beg you, my +dear, to go back to him again and make excuses for me, and stay with +him. May the devil take the people who keep me here!” + +“I will do what you please, madam, but it seems to me that he loves you +so much you have no need to make excuses; and also, that, if I go, you +will have no woman here, and perhaps monseigneur may ask for me and I +cannot be found.” + +“Do not trouble about that,” said the lady. “I will manage that all +right if he should ask for you. But it vexes me that my friend should be +alone--go and see what he is doing, I beg.” + +“I will go, since you wish it,” she replied. + +That she was pleased with her errand need not be said, though to conceal +her willingness she had made excuses to her mistress. She soon came to +the knight, who was still waiting, and said to him; + +“Monseigneur, madame has sent me to you again to make her excuses for +keeping you so long waiting, and to tell you how vexed she is.” + +“You may tell her,” said he, “that she may come at her leisure, and not +to hurry on my account, for you can take her place.” + +With that he kissed and cuddled her, and did not suffer her to depart +till he had tumbled her twice, which was not much trouble to him, for he +was young and vigorous, and fond of that sport. + +The damsel bore it all patiently, and would have been glad to often have +the same luck, if she could without prejudice to her mistress. + +When she was about to leave, she begged the knight to say nothing to her +mistress. + +“Have no fear,” said he. + +“I beg of you to be silent,” she said. + +Then she returned to her mistress, who asked what her friend was doing? + +“He is still,” the damsel replied, “awaiting you.” + +“But,” said the lady, “is he not vexed and angry?” + +“No,” said the damsel, “since he had company. He is much obliged to you +for having sent me, and if he often had to wait would like to have me to +talk to him to pass the time,--and, faith! I should like nothing better, +for he is the pleasantest man I ever talked to. God knows that it +was good to hear him curse the folks who detained you--all except +monseigneur; he would say nothing against him.” + +“St. John! I wish that he and all his company were in the river, so that +I could get away.” + +In due time monseigneur--thank God--sent away his servants, retired +to his chamber, undressed, and went to bed. Madame, dressed only in +a petticoat, put on her night-dress, took her prayer-book, and +began,--devoutly enough God knows--to say her psalms and paternosters, +but monseigneur, who was as wide awake as a rat, was anxious for a +little conversation, and wished madame to put off saying her prayers +till the morrow, and talk to him. + +“Pardon me,” she replied, “but I cannot talk to you now--God comes first +you know. Nothing would go right in the house all the week if I did not +give God what little praise I can, and I should expect bad luck if I did +not say my prayers now.” + +“You sicken me with all this bigotry,” said monseigneur. “What is +the use of saying all these prayers? Come on, come on! and leave +that business to the priests. Am I not right, Jehannette?” he added, +addressing the damsel before mentioned. + +“Monseigneur,” she replied, “I do not know what to say, except that as +madame is accustomed to serve God, let her do so.” + +“There, there!” said madame to her husband, “I see well that you want +to argue, and I wish to finish my prayers, so we shall not agree. I will +leave Jehannette to talk to you, and will go to my little chamber behind +to petition God.” + +Monseigneur was satisfied, and madame went off at full gallop to her +friend, the knight, who received her with God knows how great joy, and +the honour that he did her was to bend her knees and lay her down. + +But you must know that whilst madame was saying her prayers with her +lover, it happened, I know not how, that her husband begged Jehannette, +who was keeping him company, to grant him her favours. + +To cut matters short, by his promises and fine words she was induced to +obey him, but the worst of it was that madame, when she returned from +seeing her lover, who had tumbled her twice before she left, found her +husband and Jehannette, her waiting-woman, engaged in the very same work +which she had been performing, at which she was much astonished; and +still more so were her husband and Jehannette at being thus surprised. + +When madame saw that, God knows how she saluted them, though she would +have done better to hold her tongue; and she vented her rage so on poor +Jehannette that it seemed as though she must have a devil in her belly, +or she could not have used such abominable words. + +Indeed she did more and worse, for she picked up a big stick and laid +it across the girl’s shoulders, on seeing which, monseigneur, who was +already vexed and angry, jumped up and so beat his wife that she could +not rise. + +Having then nothing but her tongue, she used it freely God knows, but +addressed most of her venomous speeches to poor Jehannette, who no +longer able to bear them, told monseigneur of the goings-on of his wife, +and where she had been to say her prayers, and with whom. + +The whole company was troubled--monseigneur because he had good cause to +suspect his wife, and madame, who was wild with rage, well beaten, and +accused by her waiting-woman. + +How this unfortunate household lived after that, those who know can +tell. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FORTIETH -- THE BUTCHER’S WIFE WHO PLAYED THE GHOST IN THE +CHIMNEY. + +By Michault De Changy. + +_Of a Jacobin who left his mistress, a butcher’s wife, for another woman +who was younger and prettier, and how the said butcher’s wife tried to +enter his house by the chimney._ + + +It happened formerly at Lille, that a famous clerk and preacher of the +order of St. Dominic, converted, by his holy and eloquent preaching, +the wife of a butcher; in such wise that she loved him more than all the +world, and was never perfectly happy when he was not with her. + +But in the end Master Monk tired of her, and wished that she would not +visit him so often, at which she was as vexed as she could be, but the +rebuff only made her love him the more. + +The monk, seeing that, forbade her to come to his chamber, and charged +his clerk not to admit her, whatever she might say; at which she was +more vexed and infuriated than ever, and small marvel. + +If you ask me why the monk did this, I should reply that it was not from +devotion, or a desire to lead a chaste life, but that he had made the +acquaintance of another woman, who was prettier, much younger, and +richer, and with whom he was on such terms that she had a key to his +chamber. + +Thus it was that the butcher’s wife never came to him, as she had been +accustomed, so that his new mistress could in all leisure and security +come and gain her pardons and pay her tithe, like the women of +Ostelleria, of whom mention has been made. + +One day, after dinner, there was a great feast held in the chamber of +Master Monk, and his mistress had promised to come and bring her +share both of wine and meat. And as some of the other brothers in that +monastery were of the same kidney, he secretly invited two or three of +them; and God knows they had good cheer at this dinner, which did not +finish without plenty of drink. + +Now you must know that the butcher’s wife was acquainted with many of +the servants of these preachers, and she saw them pass her house, some +bearing wine, some pasties, some tarts, and so many other things that it +was wonderful. + +She could not refrain from asking what feast was going forward at +their house? And the answer was that all this dainties were for such an +one,--that is to say her monk--who had some great people to dinner. + +“And who are they?” she asked. + +“Faith! I know not,” he said. “I only carry my wine to the door, and +there our master takes it from us. I know not who is there!” + +“I see,” she said, “that it is a secret. Well, well! go on and do your +duty.” + +Soon there passed another servant, of whom she asked the same questions, +and he replied as his fellow had done, but rather more, for he said, + +“I believe there is a damsel there;--but she wishes her presence to be +neither seen nor known.” + +She guessed who it was, and was in a great rage, and said to herself +that she would keep an eye upon the woman who had robbed her of the love +of her friend, and, no doubt, if she had met her she would have read her +a pretty lesson, and scratched her face. + +She set forth with the intention of executing the plan she had +conceived. When she arrived at the place, she waited long to meet the +person she most hated in the world, but she had not the patience to wait +till her rival came out of the chamber where the feast was being held, +so at last she determined to use a ladder that a tiler, who was at work +at the roof, had left there whilst he went to dinner. + +She placed this ladder against the kitchen chimney of the house, with +the intention of dropping in and saluting the company, for she knew well +that she could not enter in any other way. + +The ladder being placed exactly as she wished it, she ascended it to +the chimney, round which she tied a fairly thick cord that by chance she +found there. Having tied that firmly, as she believed, she entered the +said chimney and began to descend; but the worst of it was that she +stuck there without being able to go up or down, however much she +tried--and this was owing to her backside being so big and heavy, and to +the fact that the cord broke, so that she could not climb back. She was +in sore distress, God knows, and did not know what to say or do. She +reflected that it would be better to await the arrival of the tiler, and +make an appeal to him when he came to look for his ladder and his rope; +but this hope was taken from her, for the tiler did not come to work +until the next morning, on account of the heavy rain, of which she had +her share, for she was quite drenched. + +When the evening grew late, the poor woman heard persons talking in +the kitchen, whereupon she began to shout, at which they were much +astonished and frightened, for they knew not who was calling them, +or whence the voice came. Nevertheless, astonished as they were, they +listened a little while, and heard the voice now in front and now +behind, shrieking shrilly. They believed it was a spirit, and went to +tell their master, who was in the dormitory, and was not brave enough to +come and see what it was, but put it off till the morning. + +You may guess what long hours the poor woman spent, being all night in +the chimney. And, by bad luck, it rained heavily for a long time. + +The next day, early in the morning, the tiler came to work, to make +up for the time the rain had made him lose on the previous day. He was +quite astonished to find his ladder in another place than where he left +it, and the rope tied round the chimney, and did not know who had done +it. He determined to fetch the rope, and mounted the ladder and came +to the chimney, and undid the cord, and put his head down the chimney, +where he saw the butcher’s wife, looking more wretched than a drowned +cat, at which he was much astonished. + +“What are you doing here, dame?” he asked. “Do you want to rob the poor +monks who live here?” + +“Alas, friend,” she replied, “by my oath I do not. I beg of you to help +me to get out, and I will give you whatever you ask.” + +“I will do nothing of the kind,” he said, “if I do not know who you are +and whence you come.” + +“I will tell you if you like,” she said, “but I beg of you not to repeat +it.” + +Then she told him all about her love affair with the monk, and why she +had come there. The tiler took pity on her, and with some trouble, +and by means of his rope, pulled her out, and brought her down to the +ground. And she promised him that if he held his tongue she would give +him beef and mutton enough to supply him and his family all the year, +which she did. And the other kept the matter so secret that everybody +heard of it. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 41.jpg Love in Arms.] + + + + +STORY THE FORTY-FIRST -- LOVE IN ARMS. + +By Monseigneur De La Roche. + +_Of a knight who made his wife wear a hauberk whenever he would do you +know what; and of a clerk who taught her another method which she almost +told her husband, but turned it off suddenly._ + + +A noble knight of Haynau, who was wise, cunning, and a great traveller, +found such pleasure in matrimony, that after the death of his good +and prudent wife, he could not exist long unmarried, and espoused a +beautiful damsel of good condition, who was not one of the cleverest +people in the world, for, to tell the truth, she was rather dull-witted, +which much pleased her husband, because he thought he could more easily +bend her to his will. + +He devoted all his time and study to training her to obey him, and +succeeded as well as he could possibly have wished. And, amongst other +matters, whenever he would indulge in the battle of love with her--which +was not as often as she would have wished--he made her put on a splendid +hauberk, at which she was at first much astonished, and asked why she +was armed, and he replied that she could not withstand his amorous +assaults if she were not armed. So she was content to wear the hauberk; +and her only regret was that her husband was not more fond of making +these assaults, for they were more trouble than pleasure to him. + +If you should ask why her lord made her wear this singular costume, +I should reply that he hoped that the pain and inconvenience of the +hauberk would prevent his wife from being too fond of these amorous +assaults; but, wise as he was, he made a great mistake, for if in each +love-battle the hauberk had broken her back and bruised her belly, she +would not have refused to put it on, so sweet and pleasant did she find +that which followed. + +They thus lived together for a long time, till her husband was ordered +to serve his prince in the war, in another sort of battle to that +above-mentioned, so he took leave of his wife and went where he was +ordered, and she remained at home in the charge of an old gentleman, and +of certain damsels who served her. + +Now you must know that there was in the house a good fellow, a clerk, +who was treasurer of the household, and who sang and played the +harp well. After dinner he would often play, which gave madame great +pleasure, and she would often come to him when she heard the sound of +his harp. + +She came so often that the clerk at last made love to her, and she, +being desirous to put on her hauberk again, listened to his petition, +and replied; + +“Come to me at a certain time, in such a chamber, and I will give you a +reply that will please you.” + +She was greatly thanked, and at the hour named, the clerk did not fail +to rap at the door of the chamber the lady had indicated, where she was +quietly awaiting him with her fine hauberk on her back. + +She opened the door, and the clerk saw her armed, and thinking that some +one was concealed there to do him a mischief, was so scared that, in his +fright, he tumbled down backwards I know not how many stairs, and might +have broken his neck, but luckily he was not hurt, for, being in a good +cause, God protected him. + +Madame, who saw his danger, was much vexed and displeased; she ran down +and helped him to rise, and asked why he was in such fear? He told her +that truly he thought he had fallen into an ambush. + +“You have nothing to fear,” she said, “I am not armed with the intention +of doing you any hurt,” and so saying they mounted the stairs together, +and entered the chamber. + +“Madame,” said the clerk, “I beg of you to tell me, if you please, why +you have put on this hauberk?” + +She blushed and replied, “You know very well.” + +“By my oath, madame, begging your pardon,” said he, “if I had known I +should not have asked.” + +“My husband,” she replied, “whenever he would kiss me, and talk of love, +makes me dress in this way; and as I know that you have come here for +that purpose, I prepared myself accordingly.” + +“Madame,” he said, “you are right, and I remember now that it is the +manner of knights to arm their ladies in this way. But clerks +have another method, which, in my opinion is much nicer and more +comfortable.” + +“Please tell me what that is,” said the lady. + +“I will show you,” he replied. Then he took off the hauberk, and the +rest of her apparel down to her chemise, and he also undressed himself, +and they got into the fair bed that was there, and--both being disarmed +even of their chemises--passed two or three hours very pleasantly. And +before leaving, the clerk showed her the method used by clerks, which +she greatly praised, as being much better than that of knights. They +often met afterwards, also in the same way, without its becoming known, +although the lady was not over-cunning. + +After a certain time, her husband returned from the war, at which she +was not inwardly pleased, though outwardly she tried to pretend to be. +His coming was known, and God knows how great a dinner was prepared. +Dinner passed, and grace being said, the knight--to show he was a good +fellow, and a loving husband--said to her, + +“Go quickly to our chamber, and put on your hauberk.” She, remembering +the pleasant time she had had with her clerk, replied quickly, + +“Ah, monsieur, the clerks’ way is the best.” + +“The clerks’ way!” he cried. “And how do you know their way?” and he +began to fret and to change colour, and suspect something; but he never +knew the truth, for his suspicions were quickly dissipated. + +Madame was not such a fool but what she could see plainly that her +husband was not pleased at what she had said, and quickly bethought +herself of a way of getting out of the difficulty. + +“I said that the clerks’ way is the best; and I say it again.” + +“And what is that?” he asked. + +“They drink after grace.” + +“Indeed, by St. John, you speak truly!” he cried. “Verily it is their +custom, and it is not a bad one; and since you so much care for it, we +will keep it in future.” + +So wine was brought and they drank it, and then Madame went to put on +her hauberk, which she would willingly have done without, for the gentle +clerk had showed her another way which pleased her better. + +Thus, as you have heard, was Monsieur deceived by his wife’s ready +reply. No doubt her wits had been sharpened by her intercourse with the +clerk, and after that he showed her plenty of other tricks, and in the +end he and her husband became great friends. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FORTY-SECOND -- THE MARRIED PRIEST. [42] + +By Meriadech. + +_Of a village clerk who being at Rome and believing that his wife was +dead became a priest, and was appointed curé of his own town, and when +he returned, the first person he met was his wife._ + + +In the year ‘50 (*) just passed, the clerk of a village in the diocese +of Noyon, that he might gain the pardons, which as every one knows were +then given at Rome (**), set out in company with many respectable people +of Noyon, Compeigne, and the neighbouring places. + + (*) 1450 + + (**) Special indulgences were granted that year on account + of the Jubilee + +But, before leaving, he carefully saw to his private affairs, arranged +for the support of his wife and family, and entrusted the office of +sacristan, which he held, to a young and worthy clerk to hold until his +return. + +In a fairly brief space of time, he and his companions arrived at Rome, +and performed their devotions and their pilgrimage as well as they knew +how. But you must know that our clerk met, by chance, at Rome, one of +his old school-fellows, who was in the service of a great Cardinal, and +occupied a high position, and who was very glad to meet his old friend, +and asked him how he was. And the other told him everything--first of +all that he was, alas! married, how many children he had, and how that +he was a parish clerk. + +“Ah!” said his friend, “by my oath! I am much grieved that you are +married.” + +“Why?” asked the other. + +“I will tell you,” said he; “such and such a Cardinal has charged me to +find him a secretary, a native of our province. This would have suited +you, and you would have been largely remunerated, were it not that your +marriage will cause you to return home, and, I fear, lose many benefits +that you cannot now get.” + +“By my oath!” said the clerk, “my marriage is no great consequence, +for--to tell you the truth--the pardon was but an excuse for getting out +of the country, and was not the principal object of my journey; for +I had determined to enjoy myself for two or three years in travelling +about, and if, during that time, God should take my wife, I should only +be too happy. So I beg and pray of you to think of me and to speak well +for me to this Cardinal, that I may serve him; and, by my oath, I +will so bear myself that you shall have no fault to find with me; and, +moreover, you will do me the greatest service that ever one friend did +another.” + +“Since that is your wish,” said his friend, “I will oblige you at once, +and will lodge you too if you wish.” + +“Thank you, friend,” said the other. + +To cut matters short, our clerk lodged with the Cardinal, and wrote and +told his wife of his new position, and that he did not intend to return +home as soon as he had intended when he left. She consoled herself, and +wrote back that she would do the best she could. + +Our worthy clerk conducted himself so well in the service of the +Cardinal, and gained such esteem, that his master had no small regret +that his secretary was incapable of holding a living, for which he was +exceedingly well fitted. + +Whilst our clerk was thus in favour, the curé of his village died, and +thus left the living vacant during one of the Pope’s months. (*) +The Sacristan who held the place of his friend who had gone to Rome, +determined that he would hurry to Rome as quickly as he could, and do +all in his power to get the living for himself. He lost no time, and in +a few days, after much trouble and fatigue, found himself at Rome, and +rested not till he had discovered his friend--the clerk who served the +Cardinal. + +After mutual salutations, the clerk asked after his wife, and the other, +expecting to give him much pleasure and further his own interests in +the request he was about to make, replied that she was dead--in which +he lied, for I know that at this present moment (**) she can still worry +her husband. + + (*) During eight months of the year, the Pope had the right + of bestowing all livings which became vacant. + + (**) That is when the story was written. + +“Do you say that my wife is dead?” cried the clerk. “May God pardon her +all her sins.” + +“Yes, truly,” replied the other; “the plague carried her off last year, +along with many others.” + +He told this lie, which cost him dear, because he knew that the clerk +had only left home on account of his wife, who was of a quarrelsome +disposition, and he thought the most pleasant news he could bring was +to announce her death, and truly so it would have been, but the news was +false. + +“And what brings you to this country?” asked the clerk after many and +various questions. + +“I will tell you, my friend and companion. The curé of our town is dead; +so I came to you to ask if by any means I could obtain the benefice. I +would beg of you to help me in this matter. I know that it is in your +power to procure me the living, with the help of monseigneur, your +master.” + +The clerk, thinking that his wife was dead, and the cure of his native +town vacant, thought to himself that he would snap up this living, and +others too if he could get them. But, all the same, he said nothing to +his friend, except that it would not be his fault if the other were not +curé of their town,--for which he was much thanked. + +It happened quite otherwise, for, on the morrow, our Holy Father, at the +request of the Cardinal, the master of our clerk, gave the latter the +living. + +Thereupon this clerk, when he heard the news, came to his companion, and +said to him, + +“Ah, friend, by my oath, your hopes are dissipated, at which I am much +vexed.” + +“How so?” asked the other. + +“The cure of our town is given,” he said, “but I know not to whom. +Monseigneur, my master, tried to help you, but it was not in his power +to accomplish it.” + +At which the other was vexed, after he had come so far and expended so +much. So he sorrowfully took leave of his friend, and returned to his +own country, without boasting about the lie he had told. + +But let us return to our clerk, who was as merry as a grig at the news +of the death of his wife, and to whom the benefice of his native town +had been given, at the request of his master, by the Holy Father, as +a reward for his services. And let us record how he became a priest at +Rome, and chanted his first holy Mass, and took leave of his master for +a time, in order to return and take possession of his living. + +When he entered the town, by ill luck the first person that he chanced +to meet was his wife, at which he was much astonished I can assure you, +and still more vexed. + +“What is the meaning of this, my dear?” he asked. “They told me you were +dead!” + +“Nothing of the kind,” she said. “You say so, I suppose, because you +wish it, as you have well proved, for you have left me for five years, +with a number of young children to take care of.” + +“My dear,” he said, “I am very glad to see you in good health, and I +praise God for it with all my heart. Cursed be he who brought me false +news.” + +“Amen!” she replied. + +“But I must tell you, my dear, that I cannot stay now; I am obliged to +go in haste to the Bishop of Noyon, on a matter which concerns him; but +I will return to you as quickly as I can.” + +He left his wife, and took his way to Noyon; but God knows that all +along the road he thought of his strange position. + +“Alas!” he said, “I am undone and dishonoured. A priest! a clerk! and +married! I suppose I am the first miserable wretch to whom that ever +occurred!” + +He went to the Bishop of Noyon, who was much surprised at hearing his +case, and did not know what to advise him, so sent him back to Rome. + +When he arrived there, he related his adventure at length to his master, +who was bitterly annoyed, and on the morrow repeated it to our Holy +Father, in the presence of the Sacred College and all the Cardinals. + +So it was ordered that he should remain priest, and married, and curé +also; and that he should live with his wife as a married man, honourably +and without reproach, and that his children should be legitimate and not +bastards, although their father was a priest. Moreover, that if it was +found he lived apart from his wife, he should lose the living. + +Thus, as you have heard, was this gallant punished for believing the +false news of his friend, and was obliged to go and live in his own +parish, and, which was worse, with his wife, with whose company he would +have gladly dispensed if the Church had not ordered it otherwise. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 43.jpg A BARGAIN IN HORNS.] + + + + +STORY THE FORTY-THIRD -- A BARGAIN IN HORNS. + +By Monseigneur De Fiennes. + +_Of a labourer who found a man with his wife, and forwent his revenge +for a certain quantity of wheat, but his wife insisted that he should +complete the work he had begun._ + + +There lived formerly, in the district of Lille, a worthy man who was a +labourer and tradesman, and who managed, by the good offices of himself +and his friends, to obtain for a wife a very pretty young girl, but who +was not rich, neither was her husband, but he was very covetous, and +diligent in business, and loved to gain money. + +And she, for her part, attended to the household as her husband desired; +who therefore had a good opinion of her, and often went about his +business without any suspicion that she was other than good. + +But whilst the poor man thus came and went, and left his wife alone, +a good fellow came to her, and, to cut the story short, was in a short +time the deputy for the trusting husband, who still believed that he +had the best wife in the world, and the one who most thought about the +increase of his honour and his worldly wealth. + +It was not so, for she gave him not the love she owed him, and cared not +whether he had profit or loss by her. The good merchant aforesaid, being +out as usual, his wife soon informed her friend, who did not fail to +come as he was desired, at once. And not to lose his time, he approached +his mistress, and made divers amorous proposals to her, and in short +the desired pleasure was not refused him any more than on the former +occasions, which had not been few. + +By bad luck, whilst the couple were thus engaged, the husband arrived, +and found them at work, and was much astonished, for he did not know +that his wife was a woman of that sort. + +“What is this?” he said. “By God’s death, scoundrel, I will kill you on +the spot.” + +The other, who had been caught in the act, and was much scared, knew +not what to say, but as he was aware that the husband was miserly and +covetous, he said quickly: + +“Ah, John, my friend, I beg your mercy; pardon me if I have done you any +wrong, and on my word I will give you six bushels of wheat.” + +“By God!” said he, “I will do nothing of the kind. You shall die by my +hands and I will have your life if I do not have twelve bushels.” + +The good wife, who heard this dispute, in order to restore peace, came +forward, and said to her husband. + +“John, dear, let him finish what he has begun, I beg, and you shall have +eight bushels. Shall he not?” she added, turning to her lover. + +“I am satisfied,” he said, “though on my oath it is too much, seeing how +dear corn is.” + +“It is too much?” said the good man. “Morbleu! I much regret that I did +not say more, for you would have to pay a much heavier fine if you were +brought to justice: however, make up your mind that I will have twelve +bushels, or you shall die.” + +“Truly, John,” said his wife, “you are wrong to contradict me. It seems +to me that you ought to be satisfied with eight bushels, for you know +that is a large quantity of wheat.” + +“Say no more,” he replied, “I will have twelve bushels, or I will kill +him and you too.” + +“The devil,” quoth the lover; “you drive a bargain; but at least, if I +must pay you, let me have time.” + +“That I agree to, but I will have my twelve bushels.” + +The dispute ended thus, and it was agreed that he was to pay in two +instalments,--six bushels on the morrow, and the others on St. Remy’s +day, then near. + +All this was arranged by the wife, who then said to her husband. + +“You are satisfied, are you not, to receive your wheat in the manner I +have said?” + +“Certainly,” he replied. + +“Then go,” she said, “whilst he finishes the work he had begun when you +interrupted him; otherwise the contract will not be binding.” + +“By St. John! is it so?” said the lover. + +“I always keep my word,” said the good merchant. “By God, no man shall +say I am a cheat or a liar. You will finish the job you have begun, and +I am to have my twelve bushels of wheat on the terms agreed. That was +our contract--was it not?” + +“Yes, truly,” said his wife. + +“Good bye, then,” said the husband, “but at any rate be sure that I have +six bushels of wheat to-morrow.” + +“Don’t be afraid,” said the other. “I will keep my word.” So the good +man left the house, quite joyful that he was to have twelve bushels of +wheat, and his wife and her lover recommenced more heartily than ever. I +have heard that the wheat was duly delivered on the dates agreed. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 44.jpg The match-making Priest.] + + + + +STORY THE FORTY-FOURTH -- THE MATCH-MAKING PRIEST. + +By Monseigneur De La Roche. + +_Of a village priest who found a husband for a girl with whom he was in +love, and who had promised him that when she was married she would do +whatever he wished, of which he reminded her on the wedding-day, and the +husband heard it, and took steps accordingly, as you will hear._ + + +In the present day they are many priests and curés who are good fellows, +and who can as easily commit follies and imprudences as laymen can. + +In a pretty village of Picardy, there lived formerly a curé of a +lecherous disposition. Amongst the other pretty girls and women of his +parish, he cast eyes on a young and very pretty damsel of nubile age, +and was bold enough to tell her what he wanted. + +Won over by his fair words, and the hundred thousand empty promises he +made, she was almost ready to listen to his requests, which would have +been a great pity, for she was a nice and pretty girl with pleasant +manners, and had but one fault,--which was that she was not the most +quick-witted person in the world. + +I do not know why it occurred to her to answer him in that manner, but +one day she told the curé, when he was making hot love to her, that she +was not inclined to do what he required until she was married, for if +by chance, as happened every day, she had a baby, she would always be +dishonoured and reproached by her father, mother, brothers, and all her +family, which she could not bear, nor had she strength to sustain the +grief and worry which such a misfortune would entail. + +“Nevertheless, if some day I am married, speak to me again, and I will +do what I can for you, but not otherwise; so give heed to what I say and +believe me once for all.” + +The cure was not over-pleased at this definite reply, bold and sensible +as it was, but he was so amorous that he would not abandon all hope, and +said to the girl; + +“Are you so firmly decided, my dear, not to do anything for me until you +are married?” + +“Certainly, I am,” she replied. + +“And if you are married, and I am the means and the cause, you will +remember it afterwards, and honestly and loyally perform what you have +promised?” + +“By my oath, yes,” she said, “I promise you.” + +“Thank you,” he said, “make your mind easy, for I promise you faithfully +that if you are not married soon it will not be for want of efforts or +expense on my part, for I am sure that you cannot desire it more than +I do; and in order to prove that I am devoted to you soul and body, you +will see how I will manage this business.” + +“Very well, monsieur le curé,” she said, “we shall see what you will +do.” + +With that she took leave of him, and the good curé, who was madly in +love with her, was not satisfied till he had seen her father. He talked +over various matters with him, and at last the worthy priest spoke to +the old man about his daughter, and said, + +“Neighbour, I am much astonished, as also are many of your neighbours +and friends, that you do not let your daughter marry. Why do you keep +her at home when you know how dangerous it is? Not that--God forbid--I +say, or wish to say, that she is not virtuous, but every day we see +girls go wrong because they do not marry at the proper age. Forgive me +for so openly stating my opinion, but the respect I have for you, and +the duty I owe you as your unworthy pastor, require and compel me to +tell you this.” + +“By the Lord, monsieur le curé,” said the good man, “I know that your +words are quite true, and I thank you for them, and do not think that +I have kept her so long at home from any selfish motive, for if her +welfare is concerned I will do all I can for her, as I ought. You would +not wish, nor is it usual, that I should buy a husband for her, but if +any respectable young man should come along, I will do everything that a +good father should.” + +“Well said,” replied the curé, “and on my word, you could not do better +than marry her off quickly. It is a great thing to be able to see your +grandchildren round you before you become too old. What do you say +to so-and-so, the son of your neighbour?--He seems to me a good, +hard-working man, who would make a good husband.” + +“By St. John!” said the old man, “I have nothing but good to say about +him. For my own part, I know him to be a good young man and a good +worker. His father and mother, and all his relatives, are respectable +people, and if they do me the honour to ask my daughter’s hand in +marriage for him, I shall reply in a manner that will satisfy them.” + +“You could not say more,” replied the curé, “and, if it please God, the +matter shall be arranged as I wish, and as I know for a fact that this +marriage would be to the benefit of both parties, I will do my best to +farther it, and with this I will now say farewell to you.” + +If the curé had played his part well with the girl’s father, he was +quite as clever in regard to the father of the young man. He began with +a preamble to the effect that his son was of an age to marry, and ought +to settle down, and brought a hundred thousand reasons to show that the +world would be lost if his son were not soon married. + +“Monsieur le curé,” replied also the second old man, “there is much +truth in what you say, and if I were now as well off as I was, I know +not how many years ago, he would not still be unmarried; for there is +nothing in the world I desire more than to see him settled, but want +of money has prevented it, and so he must have patience until the Lord +sends us more wealth than we have at present.” + +“Then,” said the curé, “if I understand you aright, it is only money +that is wanting.” + +“Faith! that is so,” said the old man. “If I had now as much as I had +formerly, I should soon seek a wife for him.” + +“I have concerned myself,” said the curé, “because I desire the welfare +and prosperity of your son, and find that the daughter of such an one +(that is to say his ladylove) would exactly suit him. She is pretty and +virtuous, and her father is well off, and, as I know, would give +some assistance, and--which is no small matter--is a wise man of good +counsel, and a friend to whom you and your son could have recourse. What +do you say?” + +“Certainly,” said the good man, “if it please God that my son should be +fortunate enough to be allied to such a good family; and if I thought +that he could anyhow succeed in that, I would get together what money I +could, and would go round to all my friends, for I am sure that he could +never find anyone more suitable.” + +“I have not chosen badly then,” said the curé. “And what would you say +if I spoke about this matter to her father, and conducted it to its +desired end, and, moreover, lent you twenty francs for a certain period +that we could arrange?” + +“By my oath, monsieur le curé,” said the good man, “you offer me more +than I deserve. If you did this, you would render a great service to me +and mine.” + +“Truly,” answered the curé, “I have not said anything that I do not mean +to perform; so be of good cheer, for I hope to see this matter at an +end.” + +To shorten matters, the curé, hoping to have the woman when once she +was married, arranged the matter so well that, with the twenty francs he +lent, the marriage was settled, and the wedding day arrived. + +Now it is the custom that the bride and bridegroom confess on that day. +The bridegroom came first, and when he had finished, he withdrew to a +little distance saying his orisons and his paternosters. Then came the +bride, who knelt down before the curé and confessed. When she had said +all she had to say, he spoke to her in turn, and so loudly, that the +bridegroom, who was not far off, heard every word, and said, + +“My dear, I beg you to remember now the promise you formerly made me. +You promised me that when you were married that I should ride you; and +now you are married, thank God, by my means and endeavours, and through +the money that I have lent.” + +“Monsieur le curé,” she said, “have no fear but what I will keep the +promise I have made, if God so please.” + +“Thank you,” he replied, and then gave her absolution after this devout +confession, and suffered her to depart. + +The bridegroom, who had heard these words, was not best pleased, but +nevertheless thought it not the right moment to show his vexation. + +After all the ceremonies at the church were over, the couple returned +home, and bed-time drew near. The bridegroom whispered to a friend of +his whom he dearly loved, to fetch a big handful of birch rods, and hide +them secretly under the bed, and this the other did. + +When the time came, the bride went to bed, as is the custom, and kept +to the edge of the bed, and said not a word. The bridegroom came soon +after, and lay on the other edge of the bed without approaching her, or +saying a word and in the morning he rose without doing anything else, +and hid his rods again under the bed. + +When he had left the room, there came several worthy matrons who found +the bride in bed, and asked her how the night had passed, and what she +thought of her husband? + +“Faith!” she said, “there was his place over there”--pointing to the +edge of the bed--“and here was mine. He never came near me, and I never +went near him.” + +They were all much astonished, and did not know what to think, but +at last they agreed that if he had not touched her, it was from some +religious motive, and they thought no more of it for that once. + +The second night came, and the bride lay down in the place she had +occupied the previous night, and the bridegroom, still furnished with +his rods, did the same and nothing more; and this went on for two more +nights, at which the bride was much displeased, and did not fail to tell +the matrons the next day, who knew not what to think. + +“It is to be feared he is not a man, for he has continued four nights in +that manner. He must be told what he has to do; so if to-night he does +not begin,”--they said to the bride--“draw close to him and cuddle +and kiss him, and ask him if married people do not do something else +besides? And if he should ask you what you want him to do? tell him that +you want him to ride you, and you will hear what he will say.” + +“I will do so,” she said. + +She failed not, for that night she lay in her usual place, and her +husband took up his old quarters, and made no further advances than he +had on the previous nights. So she turned towards him, and throwing her +arms round him, said; + +“Come here husband! Is this the pleasant time I was to expect? This is +the fifth night I have slept with you, and you have not deigned to come +near me! On my word I should never have wished to be married if I had +not thought married people did something else.” + +“And what did they tell you married people did?” he asked. + +“They say,” she replied, “that the one rides the other. I want you to +ride me.” + +“Ride!” he said. “I would not like to do that.--I would not be so +unkind.” + +“Oh, I beg of you to do it--for that is what married people do.” + +“You want me to do it?” he asked. + +“I beg of you to do it,” she said, and so saying she kissed him +tenderly. + +“By my oath!” he said, “I will do it, since you ask me to though much +to my regret, for I am sure that you will not like it.” + +Without saying another word he took his stock of rods, and stripped his +wife, and thrashed her soundly, back and belly, legs and thighs, till +she was bathed in blood. She screamed, she cried, she struggled, and +it was piteous to see her, and she cursed the moment that she had ever +asked to be ridden. + +“I told you so,” said her husband, and then took her in his arms and +“rode” her so nicely that she forgot the pain of the beating. + +“What do you call that you have just done?” she asked. + +“It is called,” he said, “‘to blow up the backside’.” + +“Blow up the backside!” she said. “The expression is not so pretty as +‘to ride’, but the operation is much nicer, and, now that I have learned +the difference, I shall know what to ask for in future.” + +Now you must know that the curé was always on the look-out for when the +newly married bride should come to church, to remind her of her promise. +The first time she appeared, he sidled up to the font, and when she +passed him, he gave her holy water, and said in a low voice, + +“My dear! you promised me that I should ride you when you were married! +You are married now, thank God, and it is time to think when and how you +will keep your word.” + +“Ride?” she said. “By God, I would rather see you hanged or drowned! +Don’t talk to me about riding. But I will let you blow up my backside if +you like!” + +“And catch your quartain fever!” said the curé, “beastly dirty, +ill-mannered whore that you are! Am I to be rewarded after all I have +done for you, by being permitted to blow up your backside!” + +So the curé went off in a huff, and the bride took her seat that she +might hear the holy Mass, which the good curé was about to read. + +And thus, in the manner which you have just heard, did the curé lose his +chance of enjoying the girl, by his own fault and no other’s, because he +spoke too loudly to her the day when he confessed her, for her husband +prevented him, in the way described above, by making his wife believe +that the act of ‘riding’ was called ‘to blow up the backside’. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FORTY-FIFTH -- THE SCOTSMAN TURNED WASHERWOMAN + +By Monseigneur De La Roche. + +_Of a young Scotsman who was disguised as a woman for the space of +fourteen years, and by that means slept with many girls and married +women, but was punished in the end, as you will hear._ + + +None of the preceding stories have related any incidents which happened +in Italy, but only those which occurred in France, Germany, England, +Flanders, and Brabant,--therefore I will relate, as something new, an +incident which formerly happened in Rome, and was as follows. + +At Rome was a Scotsman of the age of about 22, who for the space of +fourteen years had disguised himself as a woman, without it being +publicly known all that time that he was a man. He called himself +Margaret, and there was hardly a good house in Rome where he was +not known, and he was specially welcomed by all the women, such as +waiting-women, and wenches of the lower orders, and also many of the +greatest ladies in Rome. + +This worthy Scotsman carried on the trade of laundress, and had learned +to bleach sheets, and called himself the washerwoman, and under that +pretence frequented, as has been said, all the best houses in Rome, for +there was no woman who could bleach sheets as he did. + +But you must know that he did much else beside, for when he found +himself with some pretty girl, he showed her that he was a man. Often, +in order to prepare the lye, he stopped one or two nights in the +aforesaid houses, and they made him sleep with the maid, or sometimes +with the daughter; and very often, if her husband were not there, the +mistress would have his company. And God knows that he had a good time, +and, thanks to the way he employed his body, was welcome everywhere, and +many wenches and waiting maids would fight as to who was to have him for +a bedfellow. + +The citizens of Rome heard such a good account of him from their wives, +that they willingly welcomed him to their houses, and if they went +abroad, were glad to have Margaret to keep house along with their wives, +and, what is more, made her sleep with them, so good and honest was she +esteemed, as has been already said. + +For the space of fourteen years did Margaret continue this way of +living, but the mischief was at last brought to light by a young girl, +who told her father that she had slept with Margaret and been assaulted +by her, and that in reality she was a man. The father informed the +officers of justice, and it was found that she had all the members and +implements that men carry, and, in fact, was a man and not a woman. + +So it was ordered that he should be put in a cart and led through all +the city of Rome, and at every street corner his genitals should be +exposed. + +This was done, and God knows how ashamed and vexed poor Margaret was. +But you must know that when the cart stopped at a certain corner, and +all the belongings of Margaret were being exhibited, a Roman said out +loud; + +“Look at that scoundrel! he has slept more than twenty nights with my +wife!” + +Many others said the same, and many who did not say it knew it well, +but, for their honours sake, held their tongue. Thus, in the manner you +have heard, was the poor Scotsman punished for having pretended to be +a woman, and after that punishment was banished from Rome; at which the +women were much displeased, for never was there such a good laundress, +and they were very sorry that they had so unfortunately lost her. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 46.jpg How the Nun paid for the Pears.] + + + + +STORY THE FORTY-SIXTH -- HOW THE NUN PAID FOR THE PEARS. [46] + +By Monseigneur De Thianges (*). + +_Of a Jacobin and a nun, who went secretly to an orchard to enjoy +pleasant pastime under a pear-tree; in which tree was hidden one who +knew of the assignation, and who spoiled their sport for that time, as +you will hear._ + + (*) The name of the author of this story is spelled in four + different ways in different editions of these tales--Viz, + Thieurges, Thienges, Thieuges and Thianges. + +It is no means unusual for monks to run after nuns. Thus it happened +formerly that a Jacobin so haunted, visited, and frequented a nunnery in +this kingdom, that his intention became known,--which was to sleep with +one of the ladies there. + +And God knows how anxious and diligent he was to see her whom he loved +better than all the rest of the world, and continued to visit there so +often, that the Abbess and many of the nuns perceived how matters stood, +at which they were much displeased. Nevertheless, to avoid scandal, they +said not a word to the monk, but gave a good scolding to the nun, who +made many excuses, but the abbess, who was clear-sighted, knew by her +replies and excuses that she was guilty. + +So, on account of that nun, the Abbess restrained the liberty of all, +and caused the doors of the cloisters and other places to be closed, +so that the poor Jacobin could by no means come to his mistress. That +greatly vexed him, and her also, I need not say, and you may guess that +they schemed day and night by what means they could meet; but could +devise no plan, such a strict watch did the Abbess keep on them. + +It happened one day, that one of the nieces of the Abbess was married, +and a great feast was made in the convent. There was a great assemblage +of people from the country round, and the Abbess was very busy receiving +the great people who had come to do honour to her niece. + +The worthy Jacobin thought that he might get a glimpse of his mistress, +and by chance be lucky enough to find an opportunity to speak to her. He +came therefore, and found what he sought; for, because of the number of +guests, the Abbess was prevented from keeping watch over the nun, and +he had an opportunity to tell his mistress his griefs, and how much he +regretted the good time that had passed; and she, who greatly loved him, +gladly listened to him, and would have willingly made him happy. Amongst +other speeches, he said; + +“Alas! my dear, you know that it is long since we have had a quiet talk +together such as we like; I beg of you therefore, if it is possible, +whilst everyone is otherwise engaged than in watching us, to tell me +where we can have a few words apart.” + +“So help me God, my friend,” she replied, “I desire it no less than you +do. But I do not know of any place where it can be done; for there are +so many people in the house, and I cannot enter my chamber, there are so +many strangers who have come to this wedding; but I will tell you what +you can do. You know the way to the great garden; do you not?” + +“By St. John! yes,” he said. + +“In the corner of the garden,” she said, “there is a nice paddock +enclosed with high and thick hedges, and in the middle is a large +pear-tree, which makes the place cool and shady. Go there and wait for +me, and as soon as I can get away, I will hurry to you.” + +The Jacobin greatly thanked her and went straight there. But you must +know there was a young gallant who had come to the feast, who was +standing not far from these lovers and had heard their conversation, +and, as he knew the paddock, he determined that he would go and hide +there, and see their love-making. + +He slipped out of the crowd, and as fast as his feet could carry him, +ran to this paddock, and arrived there before the Jacobin; and when +he came there, he climbed into the great pear-tree--which had large +branches, and was covered with leaves and pears,--and hid himself so +well that he could not be easily seen. + +He was hardly ensconced there when there came trotting along the worthy +Jacobin, looking behind him to see if his mistress was following; and +God knows that he was glad to find himself in that beautiful spot, and +never lifted his eyes to the pear-tree, for he never suspected that +there was anyone there, but kept his eyes on the road by which he had +come. + +He looked until he saw his mistress coming hastily, and she was soon +with him, and they rejoiced greatly, and the good Jacobin took off his +gown and his scapulary, and kissed and cuddled tightly the fair nun. + +They wanted to do that for which they came thither, and prepared +themselves accordingly, and in so doing the nun said; + +“Pardieu, Brother Aubrey, I would have you know that you are about +to enjoy one of the prettiest nuns in the Church. You can judge for +yourself. Look what breasts Î what a belly! what thighs! and all the +rest.” + +“By my oath,” said Brother Aubrey, “Sister Jehanne, my darling, you also +can say that you have for a lover one of the best-looking monks of our +Order, and as well furnished as any man in this kingdom,” and with these +words, taking in his hand the weapon with which he was about to fight, +he brandished it before his lady’s eyes, and cried, “What do you say? +What do you think of it? Is it not a handsome one? Is it not worthy of a +pretty girl?” + +“Certainly it is,” she said. + +“And you shall have it.” + +“And you shall have,” said he who was up in the pear-tree, “all the best +pears on the tree;” and with that he took and shook the branches with +both hands, and the pears rattled down on them and on the ground, at +which Brother Aubrey was so frightened that he hardly had the sense to +pick up his gown, but ran away as fast as he could without waiting, and +did not feel safe till he was well away from the spot. + +The nun was as much, or more, frightened, but before she could set off, +the gallant had come down out of the tree, and taking her by the hand, +prevented her leaving, and said; “My dear, you must not go away thus: +you must first pay the fruiterer.” + +She saw that a refusal would appear unseasonable, and was fain to let +the fruiterer complete the work which Brother Aubrey had left undone. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FORTY-SEVENTH -- TWO MULES DROWNED TOGETHER. [47] + +By Monseigneur De La Roche. + +_Of a President who knowing of the immoral conduct of his wife, caused +her to be drowned by her mule, which had been kept without drink for a +week, and given salt to eat--as is more clearly related hereafter._ + + +In Provence there lived formerly a President of great and high renown, +who was a most learned clerk and prudent man, valiant in arms, discreet +in counsel, and, in short, had all the advantages which man could enjoy. +(*) + + (*) Though not mentioned here by name, the principal + character in this story has been identified with Chaffrey + Carles, President of the Parliament of Grenoble. On the + front of a house in the Rue de Cleres, in Grenoble is carved + a coat of arms held by an angel who has her finger on her + lips. The arms are those of the Carles family and the figure + is supposed to refer to this story. At any rate the secret + was very badly kept, for the story seems to have been widely + known within a few years of its occurrence. + +One thing only was wanting to him, and that was the one that vexed him +most, and with good cause--and it was that he had a wife who was far +from good. The good lord saw and knew that his wife was unfaithful, and +inclined to play the whore, but the sense that God had given him, told +him that there was no remedy except to hold his tongue or die, for he +had often both seen and read that nothing would cure a woman of that +complaint. + +But, at any rate, you may imagine that a man of courage and virtue, +as he was, was far from happy, and that his misfortune rankled in his +sorrowing heart. Yet as he outwardly appeared to know or see nothing of +his wife’s misconduct, one of his servants came to him one day when he +was alone in his chamber, and said, + +“Monsieur, I want to inform you, as I ought, of something which +particularly touches your honour. I have watched your wife’s conduct, +and I can assure you that she does not keep the faith she promised, for +a certain person (whom he named) occupies your place very often.” + +The good President, who knew as well or better than the servant who made +the report, how his wife behaved, replied angrily; + +“Ha! scoundrel, I am sure that you lie in all you say! I know my wife +too well, and she is not what you say--no! Do you think I keep you to +utter lies about a wife who is good and faithful to me! I will have +no more of you; tell me what I owe you and then go, and never enter my +sight again if you value your life!” + +The poor servant, who thought he was doing his master a great service, +said how much was due to him, received his money and went, but the +President, seeing that the unfaithfulness became more and more evident, +was as vexed and troubled as he could be. He could not devise any plan +by which he could honestly get rid of her, but it happened that God +willed, or fortune permitted that his wife was going to a wedding +shortly, and he thought it might be made to turn out lucky for him. + +He went to the servant who had charge of the horses, and a fine mule +that he had, and said, + +“Take care that you give nothing to drink to my mule either night or +day, until I give you further orders, and whenever you give it its hay, +mix a good handful of salt with it--but do not say a word about it.” + +“I will say nothing,” said the servant, “and I will do whatever you +command me.” + +When the wedding day of the cousin of the President’s wife drew near, +she said to her husband, + +“Monsieur, if it be your pleasure, I would willingly attend the wedding +of my cousin, which will take place next Sunday, at such a place.” + +“Very well, my dear; I am satisfied: go, and God guide you.” + +“Thank you, monsieur,” she replied, “but I know not exactly how to go. +I do not wish to take my carriage; your nag is so skittish that I am +afraid to undertake the journey on it.” + +“Well, my dear, take my mule--it looks well, goes nicely and quietly, +and is more sure-footed than any animal I ever saw.” + +“Faith!” she said, “I thank you: you are a good husband.” + +The day of departure arrived, and all the servants of Madame were ready, +and also the women who were to serve her and accompany her, and two or +three cavaliers who were to escort Madame, and they asked if Madame were +also ready, and she informed them that she would come at once. + +When she was dressed, she came down, and they brought her the mule which +had not drank for eight days, and was mad with thirst, so much salt had +it eaten. When she was mounted, the cavaliers went first, making their +horses caracole, and thus did all the company pass through the town into +the country, and on till they came to a defile through which the great +river Rhone rushes with marvellous swiftness. And when the mule which +had drank nothing for eight days saw the river, it sought neither bridge +nor ford, but made one leap into the river with its load, which was the +precious body of Madame. + +All the attendants saw the accident, but they could give no help; so was +Madame drowned, which was a great misfortune. And the mule, when it had +drunk its fill, swam across the Rhone till it reached the shore, and was +saved. + +All were much troubled and sorrowful that Madame was lost, and they +returned to the town. One of the servants went to the President, who +was in his room expecting the news; and with much sorrow told him of the +death of his wife. + +The good President, who in his heart was more glad than sorry, showed +great contrition, and fell down, and displayed much sorrow and regret +for his good wife. He cursed the mule, and the wedding to which his wife +was going. + +“And by God!” he said, “it is a great reproach to all you people that +were there that you did not save my poor wife, who loved you all so +much; you are all cowardly wretches, and you have clearly shown it.” + +The servant excused himself, as did the others also, as well as they +could, and left the President, who praised God with uplifted hands that +he was rid of his wife. + +He gave his wife’s body a handsome funeral, but--as you may +imagine--although he was of a fit and proper age, he took care never to +marry again, lest he should once more incur the same misfortune. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FORTY-EIGHTH -- THE CHASTE MOUTH. + +By Monseigneur De La Roche. + +_Of a woman who would not suffer herself to be kissed, though she +willingly gave up all the rest of her body except the mouth, to her +lover--and the reason that she gave for this._ + + +A noble youth fell in love with a young damsel who was married, and +when he had made her acquaintance, told her, as plainly as he could, his +case, and declared that he was ill for love of her,--and, to tell truth, +he was much smitten. + +She listened to him graciously enough, and after their first interview, +he left well satisfied with the reply he had received. But if he +had been love sick before he made the avowal, he was still more +so afterwards. He could not sleep night or day for thinking of his +mistress, and by what means he could gain her favour. + +He returned to the charge when he saw his opportunity, and God knows, +if he spoke well the first time, he played his part still better on +the second occasion, and, by good luck, he found his mistress not +disinclined to grant his request,--at which he was in no small degree +pleased. And as he had not always the time or leisure to come and see +her, he told her on that occasion of the desire he had to do her a +service in any manner that he could, and she thanked him and was as kind +as could be. + +In short, he found in her so great courtesy, and kindness, and fair +words, that he could not reasonably expect more, and thereupon wished to +kiss, but she refused point-blank; nor could he even obtain a kiss when +he said farewell, at which he was much astonished. + +After he had left her, he doubted much whether he should ever gain her +love, seeing that he could not obtain a single kiss, but he comforted +himself by remembering the loving words she had said when they parted, +and the hope she had given him. + +He again laid siege to her; in short, came and went so often, that his +mistress at last gave him a secret assignation, where they could say +all that they had to say, in private. And when he took leave of her, he +embraced her gently and would have kissed her, but she defended herself +vigorously, and said to him, harshly; + +“Go away, go away! and leave me alone! I do not want to be kissed!” + +He excused his conduct as he best could, and left. + +“What is this?” he said to himself. “I have never seen a woman like +that! She gives me the best possible reception, and has already given +me all that I have dared to ask--yet I cannot obtain one poor, little +kiss.” + +At the appointed time, he went to the place his mistress had named, and +did at his leisure that for which he came, for he lay in her arms all +one happy night, and did whatsoever he wished, except kiss her, and that +he could never manage. + +“I do not understand these manners,” he said to himself; “this woman +lets me sleep with her, and do whatever I like to her; but I have no +more chance of getting a single kiss than I have of finding the true +Cross! Morbleu! I cannot make it out; there is some mystery about it, +and I must find out what it is.” + +One day when they were enjoying themselves, and were both gay, he said, + +“My dear, I beg of you to tell me the reason why you invariably refuse +to give me a kiss? You have graciously allowed me to enjoy all your fair +and sweet body--and yet you refuse me a little kiss!” + +“Faith! my friend,” she replied, “as you say, a kiss I have always +refused you,--so never expect it, for you will never get it. There is +a very good reason for that, as I will tell you. It is true that when +I married my husband, I promised him--with the mouth only--many fine +things. And since it is my mouth that swore and promised to be chaste, +I will keep it for him, and would rather die than let anyone else touch +it--it belongs to him and no other, and you must not expect to have +anything to do with it. But my backside has never promised or +sworn anything to him; do with that and the rest of me--my mouth +excepted--whatever you please; I give it all to you.” + +Her lover laughed loudly, and said; + +“I thank you, dearest! You say well, and I am greatly pleased that you +are honest enough to keep your promise.” + +“God forbid,” she answered, “that I should ever break it.” + +So, in the manner that you have heard, was this woman shared between +them; the husband, had the mouth only, and her lover all the rest, +and if, by chance, the husband ever used any other part of her, it was +rather by way of a loan, for they belonged to the lover by gift of the +said woman. But at all events the husband had this advantage, that his +wife was content to let him have the use of that which she had given to +her lover; but on no account would she permit the lover to enjoy that +which she had bestowed upon her husband. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 49.jpg The scarlet Backside.] + + + + +STORY THE FORTY-NINTH -- THE SCARLET BACKSIDE. + +By Pierre David. + +_Of one who saw his wife with a man to whom she gave the whole of her +body, except her backside, which she left for her husband and he made +her dress one day when his friends were present in a woollen gown on the +backside of which was a piece of fine scarlet, and so left her before +all their friends._ + +I am well aware that formerly there lived in the city of Arras, a worthy +merchant, who had the misfortune to have married a wife who was not the +best woman in the world, for, when she saw a chance, she would slip as +easily as an old cross-bow. + +The good merchant suspected his wife’s misdeeds, and was also informed +by several of his friends and neighbours. Thereupon he fell into a great +frenzy and profound melancholy; which did not mend matters. Then he +determined to try whether he could know for certain that which was +hardly likely to please him--that is to see one or more of those who +were his deputies come to his house to visit his wife. + +So one day he pretended to go out, and hid himself in a chamber of his +house of which he alone had the key. The said chamber looked upon the +street and the courtyard, and by several secret openings and chinks upon +several other chambers in the house. + +As soon as the good woman thought her husband had gone, she let one of +the lovers who used to come to her know of it, and he obeyed the summons +as he should, for he followed close on the heels of the wench who was +sent to fetch him. + +The husband, who as has been said, was in his secret chamber, saw the +man who was to take his place enter the house, but he said not a word, +for he wished to know more if possible. + +“When the lover was in the house, the lady led him by the hand into her +chamber, conversing all the while. Then she locked the door, and they +began to kiss and to cuddle, and enjoy themselves, and the good woman +pulled off her gown and appeared in a plain petticoat, and her companion +threw his arms round her, and did that for which he came. The poor +husband, meanwhile, saw all this through a little grating, and you may +imagine was not very comfortable; he was even so close to them that he +could hear plainly all they said. When the battle between the good woman +and her lover was over, they sat upon a couch that was in the chamber, +and talked of various matters. And as the lover looked upon his +mistress, who was marvellously fair, he began to kiss her again, and as +he kissed her he said; + +“Darling, to whom does this sweet mouth belong?” + +“It is yours, sweet friend,” she replied. + +“I thank you. And these beautiful eyes?” + +“Yours also,” she said. + +“And this fair rounded bosom-does that belong to me?” he asked. + +“Yes, by my oath, to you and none other,” she replied. + +Afterwards he put his hand upon her belly, and upon her “front” and each +time asked, “Whose is this, darling?” + +“There is no need to ask; you know well enough that it is all yours.” + +Then he put his hand upon her big backside, and asked smiling, + +“And whose is this?” + +“It is my husband’s,” she said. “That is his share; but all the rest is +yours.” + +“Truly,” he said, “I thank you greatly. I cannot complain, for you have +given me all the best parts. On the other hand, be assured that I am +yours entirely.” + +“I well know it,” she said, and with that the combat of love began again +between them, and more vigorously than ever, and that being finished, +the lover left the house. + +The poor husband, who had seen and heard everything, could stand no +more; he was in a terrible rage, nevertheless he suppressed his wrath, +and the next day appeared, as though he had just come back from a +journey. + +At dinner that day, he said that he wished to give a great feast on +the following Sunday to her father and mother, and such and such of +her relations and cousins, and that she was to lay in great store of +provisions that they might enjoy themselves that day. She promised to do +this and to invite the guests. + +Sunday came, the dinner was prepared, those who were bidden all +appeared, and each took the place the host designated, but the merchant +remained standing, and so did his wife, until the first course was +served. + +When the first course was placed on the table, the merchant who had +secretly caused to be made for his wife a robe of thick duffle grey with +a large patch of scarlet cloth on the backside, said to his wife, “Come +with me to the bedroom.” + +He walked first, and she followed him. When they were there, he made her +take off her gown, and showing her the aforesaid gown of duffle grey, +said, “Put on this dress!” + +She looked, and saw that it was made of coarse stuff, and was much +surprised, and could not imagine why her husband wished her to dress in +this manner. + +“For what purpose do you wish me to put this on?” she asked. “Never +mind,” he replied, “I wish you to wear it.” “Faith!” she replied, +“I don’t like it! I won’t put it on! Are you mad? Do you want all your +people and mine to laugh at us both?” + +“Mad or sane,” he said, “you will wear it.” “At least,” she answered, +“let me know why.” “You will know that in good time.” In short, she was +compelled to put on this gown, which had a very strange appearance, and +in this apparel she was led to the table, where most of her relations +and friends were seated. + +But you imagine they were very astonished to see her thus dressed, and, +as you may suppose, she was very much ashamed, and would not have come +to the table if she had not been compelled. + +Some of her relatives said they had the right to know the meaning of +this strange apparel, but her husband replied that they were to enjoy +their dinner, and afterwards they should know. + +The poor woman who was dressed in this strange garb could eat but +little; there was a mystery connected with the gown which oppressed her +spirits. She would have been even more troubled if she had known the +meaning of the scarlet patch, but she did not. + +The dinner was at length over, the table was removed, grace was said, +and everyone stood up. Then the husband came forward and began to speak, +and said; + +“All you who are here assembled, I will, if you wish, tell you briefly +why I have called you together, and why I have dressed my wife in this +apparel. It is true that I had been informed that your relative here +kept but ill the vows she had made to me before the priest, nevertheless +I would not lightly believe that which was told me, but wished to learn +the truth for myself, and six days ago I pretended to go abroad, and hid +myself in an upstairs chamber. I had scarcely come there before there +arrived a certain man, whom my wife led into her chamber, where they +did whatsoever best pleased them. And amongst other questions, the man +demanded of her to whom belonged her mouth, her eyes, her hands, her +belly, her ‘front’, and her thighs? And she replied, ‘_To you, dear_’. +And when he came to her backside, he asked, ‘_And whose is this, +darling?_’ ‘_My husband’s_’ she replied. Therefore I have dressed her +thus. She said that only her backside was mine, and I have caused it it +to be attired as becomes my condition. The rest of her have I clad in +the garb which is befitting an unfaithful and dishonoured woman, for +such she is, and as such I give her back to you.” + +The company was much astonished to hear this speech, and the poor +woman overcome with shame. She never again occupied a position in her +husband’s house, but lived, dishonoured and ashamed, amongst her own +people. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FIFTIETH -- TIT FOR TAT. [50] + +By Anthoine De La Sale. + +_Of a father who tried to kill his son because the young man wanted to +lie with his grandmother, and the reply made by the said son._ + + +Young men like to travel and to seek after adventures; and thus it was +with the son of a labourer, of Lannoys, who from the age of ten until +he was twenty-six, was away from home; and from his departure until +his return, his father and mother heard no news of him, so they often +thought that he was dead. + +He returned at last, and God knows what joy there was in the house, and +how he was feasted to the best of such poor means as God had given them. + +But the one who most rejoiced to see him was his grandmother, his +father’s mother. She was most joyful at his return, and kissed him more +than fifty times, and ceased not to praise God for having restored her +grandson in good health. + +After the feasting was over, bed-time came. There were in the cottage +but two beds--the one for the father and mother, and the other for +the grandmother. So it was arranged that the son should sleep with +his grandmother, at which she was very glad, but he grumbled, and only +complied to oblige his parents, and as a makeshift for one night. + +When he was in bed with his grandmother, it happened, I know not how, +that he began to get on the top of her. + +“What are you doing?” she cried. + +“Never you mind,” he replied, “and hold your tongue.” When she saw that +he really meant to ravish her, she began to cry out as loud as she could +for her son, who slept in the next room, and then jumped out of bed and +went and complained to him, weeping bitterly meanwhile. + +When the other heard his mother’s complaint, and the unfilial conduct +of his son, he sprang out of bed in great wrath, and swore that he would +kill the young man. + +The son heard this threat, so he rose quickly, slipped out of the house, +and made his escape. His father followed him, but not being so light of +foot, found the pursuit hopeless, so returned home, where his mother was +still grieving over the offence her grandson had committed. + +“Never mind, mother!” he said. “I will avenge you.” + +I know not how many days after that, the father saw his son playing +tennis in the town of Laon, and drawing his dagger, went towards him, +and would have stabbed him, but the young man slipped away and his +father was seized and disarmed. + +There were many there who knew that the two were father and son; so one +said to the son, + +“How does this come about? What have you done to your father that he +should seek to kill you?” + +“Faith! nothing,” he replied. “He is quite in the wrong. He wants to do +me all the harm in the world, because, just for once, I would ride his +mother--whereas he has mounted mine more than five hundred times, and I +never said a word about it.” + +All those who heard this reply began to haugh heartily, and swore that +he must be a good fellow. So they did their best to make peace for him +with his father, and at last they succeeded, and all was forgiven and +forgotten on both sides. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FIFTY-FIRST -- THE REAL FATHERS. + +By The Editor. + +_Of a woman who on her death-bed, in the absence of her husband, made +over her children to those to whom they belonged, and how one of the +youngest of the children informed his father._ + + +There formerly lived in Paris, a woman who was married to a good and +simple man--he was one of our friends and it would have been impossible +to have had a better. This woman was very beautiful and complaisant, +and, when she was young, she never refused her favours to those who +pleased her, so that she had as many children by her lovers as by her +husband--about twelve or thirteen in all. + +When at last she was very ill, and about to die, she thought she would +confess her sins and ease her conscience. She had all her children +brought to her, and it almost broke her heart to think of leaving them. +She thought it would not be right to leave her husband the charge of +so many children, of some of which he was not the father, though he +believed he was, and thought her as good a woman as any in Paris. + +By means of a woman who was nursing her, she sent for two men who in +past times had been favoured lovers. They came to her at once, whilst +her husband was gone away to fetch a doctor and an apothecary, as she +had begged him to do. + +When she saw these two men, she made all her children come to her, and +then said; + +“You, such an one, you know what passed between us two in former days. I +now repent of it bitterly, and if Our Lord does not show me the mercy +I ask of Him, it will cost me dear in the next world. I have committed +faults, I know, but to add another to them would be to make matters +worse. Here are such and such of my children;--they are yours, and my +husband believes that they are his. You cannot have the conscience to +make him keep them, so I beg that after my death, which will be very +soon, that you will take them, and bring them up as a father should, for +they are, in fact, your own.” + +She spoke in the same manner to the other man, showing him the other +children: + +“Such and such are, I assure you, yours. I leave them to your care, +requesting you to perform your duty towards them. If you will promise me +to care for them, I shall die in peace.” + +As she was thus distributing her children, her husband returned home, +and was met by one of his little sons, who was only about four years +old. The child ran downstairs to him in such haste that he nearly lost +his breath, and when he came to his father, he said, + +“Alas, father! come quickly, in God’s name!” + +“What has happened?” asked his father. “Is your mother dead?” + +“No, no,” said the child, “but make haste upstairs, or you will have no +children left. Two men have come to see mother, and she is giving them +most of my brothers and sisters. If you do not make haste, she will give +them all away.” + +The good man could not understand what his son meant, so he hastened +upstairs, and found his wife very ill, and with her the nurse, two of +his neighbours, and his children. + +He asked the meaning of the tale his son had told him about giving away +his children. + +“You will know later on,” she said; so he did not trouble himself +further, for he never doubted her in the least. + +The neighbours went away, commending the dying woman to God, and +promising to do all she had requested, for which she thanked them. + +When the hour of her death drew near, she begged her husband to pardon +her, and told him of the misdeeds she had committed during the years she +had lived with him, and how such and such of the children belonged to +a certain man, and such to another--that is to say those +before-mentioned--and that after her death they would take charge of +their own children. + +He was much astonished to hear this news, nevertheless he pardoned her +for all her misdeeds, and then she died, and he sent the children to the +persons she had mentioned, who kept them. + +And thus he was rid of his wife and his children, and felt much +less regret for the loss of his wife than he did for the loss of the +children. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 52.jpg The three Reminders.] + + + + +STORY THE FIFTY-SECOND -- THE THREE REMINDERS. [52] + +By Monseigneur De La Roche. + +_Of three counsels that a father when on his deathbed gave his son, but +to which the son paid no heed. And how he renounced a young girl he had +married, because he saw her lying with the family chaplain the first +night after their wedding._ + + +Once upon a time there was a nobleman who was wise, prudent, and +virtuous. When he was on his deathbed, he settled his affairs, eased +his conscience as best he could, and then called his only son to whom he +left his worldly wealth. + +After asking his son to be sure and pray for the repose of his soul and +that of his mother, to help them out of purgatory, he gave him three +farewell counsels, saying; “My dear son, I advise you first of all +never to stay in the house of a friend who gives you black bread to eat. +Secondly, never gallop your horse in a valley. Thirdly, never choose a +wife of a foreign nation. Always bear these three things in mind, and I +have no doubt you will be fortunate,--but, if you act to the contrary, +be sure you would have done better to follow your father’s advice.” + +The good son thanked his father for his wise counsels, and promised that +he would heed them, and never act contrary to them. + +His father died soon after, and was buried with all befitting pomp +and ceremony; for his son wished to do his duty to one to whom he owed +everything. + +Some time after this, the young nobleman, who was now an orphan and did +not understand household affairs, made the acquaintance of a neighbour, +whom he constantly visited, drinking and eating at his house. + +This friend, who was married and had a beautiful wife, became very +jealous, and suspected that our young nobleman came on purpose to see +his wife, and that he was in reality her lover. + +This made him very uncomfortable but he could think of no means of +getting rid of his guest, for it would have been useless to have told +him what he thought, so he determined that little by little he would +behave in such a way that, if the young man were not too stupid, he +would see that his frequent visits were far from welcome. + +To put this project into execution, he caused black bread to be served +at meals, instead of white. After a few of these repasts, the young +nobleman remembered his father’s advice. He knew that he done wrong, and +secretly hid a piece of the black bread in his sleeve, and took it home +with him, and to remind himself, he hung it by a piece of string from a +nail in the wall of his best chamber, and did not visit his neighbour’s +house as formerly. + +One day after that, he, being fond of amusement, was in the fields, and +his dogs put up a hare. He spurred his horse after them, and came +up with them in a valley, when his horse, which was galloping fast, +slipped, and broke its neck. + +He was very thankful to find that his life was safe, and that he had +escaped without injury. He had the hare for his reward, and as he held +it up, and then looked at the horse of which he had been so fond, he +remembered the second piece of advice his father had given him, and +which, if he had kept in mind, he would have been spared the loss of his +horse, and also the risk of losing his life. + +When he arrived home, he had the horse’s skin hung by a cord next to the +black bread; to remind him of the second counsel his father had given +him. + +Some time after this, he took it in his head to travel and see foreign +countries, and having arranged all his affairs, he set out on his +journey, and after seeing many strange lands, he at last took up his +abode in the house of a great lord, where he became such a favourite +that the lord was pleased to give him his daughter in marriage, on +account of his pleasant manners and virtues. + +In short, he was betrothed to the girl, and the wedding-day came. But +when he supposed that he was to pass the night with her, he was told +that it was not the custom of the country to sleep the first night with +one’s wife, and that he must have patience until the next night. + +“Since it is the custom of the country,” he said, “I do not wish it +broken for me.” + +After the dancing was over, his bride was conducted to one room, and +he to another. He saw that there was only a thin partition of plaster +between the two rooms. He made a hole with his sword in the partition, +and saw his bride jump into bed; he saw also the chaplain of the +household jump in after her, to keep her company in case she was afraid, +or else to try the merchandise, or take tithes as monks do. + +Our young nobleman, when he saw these goings on, reflected that he still +had some tow left on his distaff, and then there flashed across his mind +the recollection of the counsel his good father had given him, and which +he had so badly kept. + +He comforted himself with the thought that the affair had not gone so +far that he could not get out of it. + +The next day, the good chaplain, who had been his substitute for the +night, rose early in the morning, but unfortunately left his breeches +under the bride’s bed. The young nobleman, not pretending to know +anything, came to her bedside, and politely saluted her, as he well knew +how, and found means to surreptitiously take away the priest’s breeches +without anyone seeing him. + +There were great rejoicings all that day, and when evening came, the +bride’s bed was prepared and decorated in a most marvellous manner, and +she went to bed. The bridegroom was told that that night he could sleep +with his wife. He was ready with a reply, and said to the father and +mother, and other relations. + +“You know not who I am, and yet you have given me your daughter, and +bestowed on me the greatest honour ever done to a foreign gentleman, +and for which I cannot sufficiently thank you. Nevertheless, I have +determined never to lie with my wife until I have shown her, and you +too, who I am, what I possess, and how I am housed.” + +The girl’s father immediately replied, + +“We are well aware that you are a nobleman, and in a high position, and +that God has not given you so many good qualities without friends and +riches to accompany them. We are satisfied, therefore do not leave +your marriage unconsummated; we shall have time to see your state and +condition whenever you like.” + +To shorten the story, he vowed and swore that he would never sleep +with her if it were not in his own house, and he conducted thither the +bride’s father and mother, and many of her relations and friends. He +put his house in order to receive them, and to do so arrived there a day +before them. And as soon as he alighted, he took the priest’s breeches, +and hung them in the chamber, by the black bread and the horse’s skin. + +Most cordially received were the relations and friends of the fair +bride, and they were much astonished to see the house of the young +gentleman so well furnished with vessels, carpets, and all other kinds +of furniture, and they thought themselves lucky to have procured such a +husband for the girl. + +As they were looking round, they came to the great chamber, which was +all hung round with fair tapestry, and they perceived the brown bread, +the horse’s skin, and a pair of breeches hanging there; at which they +were much astonished, and asked their host the meaning. + +He replied that he would willingly, and for a very good reason, tell +them the meaning,--but after they had eaten. + +Dinner was prepared, and God knows that it was well served, They had no +sooner dined, than they demanded the interpretation of the mystery of +the black bread, the horse’s skin etc., and the worthy young gentleman +related the story at length, and told how his father,--being on his +death-bed as has been already narrated,--gave him three counsels. + +“The first was never to remain in a house where they gave me black +bread. I paid no heed to this advice, for, after his death, I frequented +the house of a neighbour, who became jealous of his wife, and in place +of the white bread with which I was always served, gave me black; so in +recollection and acknowledgment of the truth of that advice, I hung that +piece of black bread there. The second counsel that my father gave me, +was never to gallop my horse in a valley. I did not bear that in mind, +and suffered for it, for one day, when riding in a valley after a hare +pursued by my dogs, my horse fell and broke its neck, and it is a wonder +I was not badly hurt. To remind me of my escape from death, the skin of +the horse I then lost is hung there. The third counsel and advice that +my father--whose soul is with God--gave me, was never to marry a woman +of a strange nation. In this also I failed, and I will tell you what +happened to me. The first night after I was married to your daughter, +and you refused to let me sleep with her, I was lodged in a chamber +close to hers, and as the partition between her and me was but thin, I +pierced a hole with my sword, and I saw the chaplain of your household +come and lie with her; but he left his breeches under the bed when he +rose in the morning--which breeches I obtained possession of, and +have hung them there as evidence of the everlasting truth of the third +counsel that my late father gave me, and which I had not duly remembered +and borne in mind; but in order that I may not again fall into the same +errors, have placed here these three objects to render me prudent. And +because--thank God--I am not so much committed to your daughter that she +cannot now leave me, I would ask of you to take her back, and return to +your own country, for as long as I live I will never come near her. But, +because I have made you come a long way to show you that I am not the +sort of man to take a priest’s leavings, I am prepared to pay your +expenses.” + +The others did not know what to say, but seeing that their misdeeds were +discovered, and seeing also that being far from their own country, force +would not be on their side, were content to take the money for their +expenses, and return whence they came; for if they had staked more they +would have lost more. + +Such, as you have heard, were the three counsels which the good father +gave his son, and which should not be forgotten; let everyone remember +them, so far as they concern himself. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FIFTY-THIRD -- THE MUDDLED MARRIAGES. + +By The Archivist Of Brussels. + +_Of two men and two women who were waiting to be married at the first +Mass in the early morning; and because the priest could not see well, he +took the one for the other, and gave to each man the wrong wife, as you +will hear._ + +One morning there were assembled in the cathedral of Sainte Gudule at +Brussels, many men and women who wished to be married at the first Mass, +which is said between four and five o’clock; and amongst others who +wished to enter this sweet and happy condition, and promise before the +priest to live honestly and uprightly, were a young man and a young +woman who were not rich, who were standing near each other, waiting for +the priest to call them to marry them. + +Near them were an old man and an old woman, who had great possessions +and wealth, but who, out of covetousness and the desire to have more, +had also promised troth to one another, and were also waiting to be +married at this first Mass. + +The priest came and recited this much-desired Mass, and at the end +thereof, as is the custom, had ranged before him those who wished to +be married, of whom there were many, without counting the four I have +mentioned. + +Now you must know that the good priest who was standing ready before the +altar to accomplish the wedding rites, was blind of one eye, having lost +an eye by some mischance a little time before. Also there was hardly any +light in the chapel or on the altar, and, as it was winter, it was very +dark. So he could not see the couples properly, and when he came to +marry them, he took the rich old man and the poor, young girl, and +joined them together with the wedding ring. + +On the other hand, he also took the poor, young man and married him to +the rich, old woman,--without any of those in the church noticing it, +either men or women--which was very strange, especially on the part of +the men, for they dare to raise their heads and their eyes when they are +on their knees before the priest, whilst the women who are modest and +shy, always look down on the ground. + +It is the custom on leaving the church for the friends of the bride to +meet her, and conduct her to her husband’s house. So it was that the +poor, young girl was taken to the house of the rich man, and also the +rich, old woman was escorted to the cottage of the young man. + +When the young bride found herself in the court, and then in the great +hall of the house of the man she had married by mistake, she was much +astonished, and knew well that was not the house she had left that +morning. When she was in the dressing-room, which was hung round with +rich tapestries, she saw a large fire, a table well covered, on which a +good breakfast was all ready, and a handsome sideboard, well garnished +with vessels of all sorts, and was more astonished than ever, and +thought it strange she did not know a soul present to whom she could +speak. + +She was soon relieved of the cloak in which she was huddled-up, and when +the bridegroom and the others who were there saw her uncovered, you +may guess they were as much surprised as though horns had cropped up on +their heads. + +“What?” said the bridegroom. “Is that my wife? By Our Lady, I am very +lucky. She is much changed since yesterday; I think she must have been +to the fountain of youth.” + +“We do not know,” replied those who had brought her, “whence she comes, +or what she has done; but we are certain that is the woman you have +married, for we took her at the altar, and since then she has never left +our hands.” + +They were all much astonished, and remained long without saying a word, +but the most foolish-looking and surprised of all was the poor bride; +she was quite downcast and wept gently, for she would have much +preferred to be with her lover, whom she had expected to marry that day. + +The bridegroom, seeing her so miserable, had pity on her, and said, + +“My dear, do not be downcast; you are in a good house, please God, and +no one is going to do you any harm. But tell me, if you please, who you +are, and what information you can as to how you came here.” + +When she heard herself spoken to so courteously, she regained a little +courage, and gave the names of her father and mother, and said that +she was of Brussels, and was betrothed to a certain young man, whom she +named, and whom she had expected to have married. + +The bridegroom, and all those who were there, began to laugh, and said +that the priest had played them this trick. + +“Well, God be praised for the change!” said the bridegroom at last. “I +do not greatly regret that God sent you to me, and I promise you on my +word to make you a good husband.” + +“No, no,” she said, weeping. “You are not my husband. I wish to go back +to him to whom my father gave me.” + +“That shall not be,” said he. “I married you in the holy church, and you +cannot deny it. You are, and you will remain, my wife; and be content, +for you are very lucky. I have, thank God, riches enough, of which you +shall be the lady and mistress, and you will be very comfortable.” + +He, and the others who were there, talked her over till at last she +consented. So they had a light breakfast together, and then went to bed, +and the old man did the best he knew how. + +But let us return to the old woman, and the young man. + +When she found herself in the house, she was in a great rage, and said; + +“What am I doing here? Why do you not take me either to my own house, or +to the house of my husband?” + +The bridegroom, when he saw the old woman, and heard her speak, was much +surprised, and so were his father and mother, and all who were there +assembled. Then came out the father and mother, who knew the old woman, +and the father spoke to his son, and said, + +“My son, they have given you the wife of some one else, and it is to be +supposed he has your wife. It is all the fault of our curé, who sees +so badly, and--God help me--I was so far away from you when you were +married that I never perceived the change.” + +“What must I do?” asked the bridegroom. + +“Upon my word,” said his father, “I do not well know, but I greatly +doubt if you can have any other wife than this.” + +“St. John!” said the old woman, “I will not have him. I do not care for +such a sorry fellow! I should be very happy, should I not? with a young +fellow who did not care for me and would spend all my money, and if, I +ventured to say a word would give me a crack on the head. Go away! go +away! and fetch your wife, and let me go where I ought to be.” + +“By Our Lady!” said the bridegroom, “if I can get her back, I would +rather have her than you, however poor she may be; but if I cannot +obtain her, you will not go.” + +His father, and some of his relations, went to the house where the +old woman wished to be, and found the company breakfasting well, and +preparing the caudle for the bride and bridegroom. + +The father stated the case, but the others replied, + +“You come too late; each must keep what he has; the master of the house +is content with the wife that God has given him; he wedded her, and he +does not want any other. And do not complain, for you would never have +been so fortunate as to get your daughter married so well; now you will +all be rich.” + +The father returned home, and reported the answer he had, at which the +old woman was in a great rage. + +“Indeed!” she said, “am I to be deceived in this manner? By God, the +matter shall not rest here; justice shall be done me!” + +If the old woman was displeased, as much, or more, was the young man, +who was deprived of his ladylove. Still, he might have looked over that +if he could have had the old woman, and all her money, but it was no +good, she made herself so disagreeable that he was obliged to let her +return home. + +So he was advised to summon her before the Bishop of Cambrai; and she +also summoned the old man who had married the young woman, and a great +lawsuit began, judgment in which is not given yet, so I can tell you no +more about it. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 54.jpg The right Moment.] + + + + +STORY THE FIFTY FOURTH -- THE RIGHT MOMENT. + +By Mahiot D’auquesnes. + +_Of a damsel of Maubeuge who gave herself up to a waggoner, and refused +many noble lovers; and of the reply that she made to a noble knight +because he reproached her for this--as you will hear._ + +A noble knight of Flanders--young, lusty, and a good jouster, dancer, +and singer, was once living in the county of Hainault with another +noble knight of the same rank then living there, though he had a fine +residence in Flanders. Love--as often happens--was the cause that he +remained there, for he was much smitten by a damsel of Maubeuge, and God +knows what he did for her; often giving jousts, masquerades, banquets, +and whatever else was possible, and that he thought would please his +mistress. + +He was to some extent in her good graces for a time, but not so much +as he wished to be. His friend, the knight of Hainault, who knew of his +love affair, did all he could to assist him, and it was not his fault +that his friend did not succeed better. But why make a long story? The +good knight of Flanders, do all he would, and his friend also, could +never obtain from the lady the supreme favour, but found her still +harsh and unkind. + +At last he was compelled to return to Flanders; so he took leave of his +mistress, and left his friend there, and promised that if he did not +return shortly he would often write to her, and give news about himself; +and she promised the same on her side. + +Now it came to pass that a few days after the knight had returned to +Flanders, that the lady wished to go on a pilgrimage, and made her +arrangements accordingly. + +And when the carriage was in front of her house, and the waggoner, who +was a lusty fellow, strong and active, in it, preparing it for her, that +she threw a cushion on his head, which caused him to fall on his hands +and knees, at which she laughed loud and long. + +“By God, mademoiselle, you made me fall, but I will have my revenge, and +before night I will make you tumble.” + +“You would not be so unkind,” she replied, and so saying she took another +cushion, and when the waggoner was off his guard, she knocked him down +again, and then laughed more heartily than ever. + +“What is this, mademoiselle?” cried the waggoner. “Do you want to hurt +me? I swear that if I were near you I would take my revenge at once.” + +“What would you do?” said she. + +“If I were up there I would show you,” he replied. + +“You would do miracles--to hear you talk; but you would never dare to +come.” + +“No?” said he. “You shall see.” + +He jumped out of the vehicle, entered the house, and ran upstairs, where +he found the damsel in her petticoat, and as happy as she could be. +He at once began to assail her, and--to cut matters short--she was not +sorry to let him take what she could not in honour have given him. + +At the end of the appointed time she brought forth a fine little +waggoner. The matter was not so secret but what the knight of Hainault +heard of it, and was much surprised. + +He wrote in haste, and sent the letter by a messenger to his friend in +Flanders, to say that his mistress had had a child with the help of a +waggoner. + +You may guess that the other was much surprised at the news, and he +quickly came to Hainault to his friend, and begged of him to come and +see his mistress and upbraid her with her misdeeds. + +Although she was keeping herself concealed at the time, the two knights +found means to come to her. She was much ashamed and vexed to see them, +as she well knew she would hear nothing pleasant from them, but she +plucked up her courage, and put on the best countenance she could. + +They began by talking of various matters; and then the good knight of +Flanders began his tirade, and called her all the names he could think +of. + +“You are,” he said, “the most shameful and depraved woman in the world, +and you have shown the wickedness of your heart by abandoning yourself +to a low villain of a waggoner; although many noble persons offered you +their services and you refused them all. For my own part, you know what +I did to gain your love, and was I not more deserving of reward than a +rascally waggoner who never did anything for you?” + +“I beg of you, monsieur,” she replied, “to say no more about it--what +is done cannot be undone--but I tell you plainly that if you had come at +the moment when the waggoner did, that I would have done for you what I +did for him.” + +“Is that so?” he said. “By St. John! he came at a lucky moment! Devil +take it! why was I not so fortunate as to know the right time to come.” + +“Truly,” she said, “he came just at the moment when he ought to have +come.” + +“Oh, go to the devil!” he cried, “your moments, and you, and your +waggoner as well.” + +And with that he left, and his friend followed him, and they never had +anything more to do with her,--and for a very good reason. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 55.jpg A cure for the Plague.] + + + + +STORY THE FIFTY-FIFTH -- A CURE FOR THE PLAGUE. + +By Monseigneur De Villiers. + +_Of a girl who was ill of the plague and caused the death of three men +who lay with her, and how the fourth was saved, and she also._ + + +In the year of the pardons of Rome (*) just past, the plague was +so great and terrible in Dauphiné, that the greater part of the +better-class people left the country. + + (*) The great Jubilee of 1450. + +At that time a fair, young damsel felt herself stricken with the malady, +and at once repaired to a neighbour, a woman of good condition, and +rather old, and related her piteous condition. + +The neighbour, who was a wise and prudent woman, was not frightened +at what the told her, and had even sufficient courage and assurance +to comfort her with words, and what little she could do in the way of +medicine. “Alas!” said the young girl who was sick, “my good neighbour, +I greatly grieve that I must now leave the world and all the happinesses +and amusements I have long enjoyed! But, by my oath! and between +ourselves, my greatest sorrow is that I must die before I have known and +tasted the good things of this world; such and such young men have often +solicited me, and I bluntly refused them, for which I am now sorry; and +if I die I shall never have another chance to let a man show me how to +lose my maidenhead. They have told me that it is so pleasant and good, +that I sorrow for my fair and tender body, which must rot without +having had this much desired pleasure. And, to tell the truth, my good +neighbour, it seems to me that if I once tasted this delight before my +death, my end would be easier--I should die more easily, and with less +regret. And, what is more, my heart is so set upon this that it might be +medicine to me, and the cause of my cure.” + +“Would to God!” said the old woman, “that nothing else were needed; you +would be soon cured it seems to me, for--thank God--our town is not yet +so destitute of of men that we cannot find a good fellow to do this job +for you.” + +“My good neighbour,” said the young girl, “I would beg of you to go +to such an one”--whom she named, who was a fine gentleman, and who had +formerly been in love with her--“and tell him to come here and speak to +me.” + +The old woman set out, and found the gentleman, whom she sent to the +house. As soon as he came there, the young girl, who, on account of her +disease had a high colour, threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him +twenty times. The young man, more joyful than ever to find her whom he +had so much loved abandon herself to him, seized her without more ado, +and showed her that which she so much desired to know. + +She was not ashamed to beg and pray him to continue as he had commenced; +and, in short, she made him begin again so often that he could do no +more. When she saw that, as she had not yet had her fill, she was bold +enough to say; + +“My friend you have often beseeched for that which I ask you now. You +have done all that in you is, I know well. Nevertheless, I know that I +have not all I want, and I am sure that I cannot live unless some one +else comes and does to me what you have done, and therefore I beg of +you, if you value my life, to go to such an one and bring him hither.” + +“It is true, my dear, that I know well he will do what you want.” + +The gentleman was much astonished at the request; nevertheless, though +he had worked till he could do no more, he went off and found his +companion, and brought him to her, and he soon set to work as the other +had done. + +When he was played out as his friend had been, she was not ashamed to +ask him, as she had done the first, to bring to her another gentleman, +and he did so. + +This made three with whom she had fought a love battle and defeated them +all; but you must know that the first gentleman felt ill, and stricken +with the plague, as soon as he had sent his friend to take his place; so +he hastened to the priest, and confessed as best he could, and then died +in the priest’s arms. + +His friend also, the second comer, as soon as he had given up his place +to the third, felt very ill, and asked everywhere after the one who was +already dead. He met the priest, weeping and exhibiting great grief, who +told him of the death of his friend. + +“Ah, monsieur le curé, I am stricken as he was; hear my confession.” + +The curé, in a great fright, made haste to hear his confession, and, +when that was finished, the gentleman, though within two hours of his +end, went to her from whom he and his friend had taken the contagion, +and found with her the man he had fetched, and said to her; + +“Cursed woman! you have killed me and my friend also. You ought to be +burned to death! Nevertheless I pardon you, and may God pardon you! +You have the plague, and have given it to my friend, who died in the +priest’s arms, and I shall soon follow him.” With that he left, and died +an hour later in his own house. + +The third gentleman, who had run the same risks as his companions, who +were both dead, did not feel very safe. Nevertheless, he took courage, +and cast aside all fear, and bethought him that he had often been in +perils and dangerous battles before, and went to the father and mother +of the girl who had killed his two companions, and told them that their +daughter was ill, and that they must take care of her. That being done, +he so conducted himself that he escaped the danger of which his two +friends had died. + +Now you must know that when this slayer of men was brought back to her +father’s house, whilst they were making a bed ready in which she could +repose and sweat, she sent secretly for the son of a shoe-maker, a +neighbour, and had him brought to her father’s stable, where she made +him work as she had done the others, but he did not live four hours +after. + +She was put to bed, and they made her sweat greatly. And soon there +appeared upon her body four buboes, of which she was afterwards cured. +And I believe that you will find her now amongst the prostitutes at +Avignon, Vienne, Valence, or some other place in Dauphiné. + +And the doctors said that she had escaped death because she had tasted +the joys of this life; which is a notable and true example to many young +girls to never refuse a good thing when it comes in their way. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FIFTY-SIXTH -- THE WOMAN, THE PRIEST, THE SERVANT, AND THE +WOLF. + +By Monseigneur De Villiers. + +_Of a gentleman who caught, in a trap that he laid, his wife, the +priest, her maid, and a wolf; and burned them all alive, because his +wife committed adultery with the priest._ + + +In a town in this kingdom, in the duchy of Auvergne, there formerly +lived a gentleman, who, to his misfortune, had a very pretty young wife. + +This damsel was acquainted with a priest, a neighbour, who lived half a +league off, and they were so neighbourly together that the good priest +took the gentleman’s place whenever he was absent. + +And this damsel had a waiting-maid who was acquainted with all their +doings, and often carried messages to the priest, and advised him of the +place and hour when he could safely come to her mistress. + +The matter was not so well hid as the lovers would have liked, for a +gentleman, who was a near relative of him to whom this dishonour was +done, was informed of the affair, and told the person most concerned all +that he knew. + +You may fancy that the good gentleman, when he heard that in his absence +his wife was helped by the priest, was not overpleaaed, and if it had +not been for his cousin would have taken terrible vengeance as soon as +he heard the news; but consented to put it off until he had taken them +both in the act. + +He and his cousin arranged to go on a pilgrimage, four or six leagues +from home, and take his wife and the priest, in order to take note how +they behaved towards each other. + +As they were returning from this pilgrimage, during which the curé had +made love as he best could,--that is to say by glances and other little +devices--the husband caused himself to be sent for by a messenger he had +instructed, to come at once to a lord of that country. + +He pretended to be very vexed, and to leave with much regret, +--nevertheless, since the lord had sent for him he could not disobey. So +he went his way, and his cousin, the other gentleman, said that he would +keep him company, as that was his way to return home. + +The priest and the lady much rejoiced to hear this news; they consulted +together and decided that the priest should take leave and quit the +house, in order that none of the people there might suspect him, and +about midnight he would return to the lady, as he was accustomed. No +sooner was this determined on than the priest said farewell, and left +the house. + +Now you must know that the husband and his relative were hidden in a +gorge through which the priest would have to pass, and could neither go +or return any other way, without going out of the right road. + +They saw the priest pass, and judged that he would return that night--as +indeed was his intention. They let him pass without saying a word, and +then prepared a large pitfall, with the help of some peasants who aided +them in the task. The trap was quickly and well made, and it was not +long before a wolf, passing that way, fell into the pit. + +Soon after came the priest, clad in a short gown, and with a curtle axe +hung round his neck; and when he came to where the pitfall had been dug, +he fell into it on the wolf, at which he was much alarmed, and the wolf, +who was down there first, was as much afraid of the priest as the priest +was of it. + +When the two gentlemen saw the priest lodged along with the wolf, they +were much delighted, and he who was most concerned, declared that the +priest should never come out alive, for he would kill him there. The +other blamed him for this, and did not wish the priest killed, and was +of opinion they should rather cut off his genitals; but the husband +wanted him killed, and this discussion lasted for a long time, while +they were awaiting the dawn, when they could see clearly. + +Whilst they were thus waiting, the lady, who expected the priest, and +did not know why he tarried so long, sent her servant-maid in order to +make him hurry. + +The maid, whilst on her road to the cure’s house, fell into the trap +with the wolf and the curé. She was much astonished to find herself in +such company. + +“Alas!” said the priest, “I am lost. We have been found out, and someone +has laid this trap for us.” + +The husband and his cousin, who heard and saw all, were both as pleased +as they could be; and they felt as sure as though the Holy Spirit had +revealed it to them, that the mistress would fellow the maid, for they +had heard the maid say that her mistress had sent her to the priest to +know why he had failed to come at the hour agreed upon between them. + +The mistress, finding that neither the curé or the maid came, and that +dawn was approaching, suspected that there was something, and that she +should find them in a little wood there was on the road--which was where +the trap was laid--and determined to go there and try and find out if +there was any news. + +She walked along towards the priest’s house, and when she came to the +spot where the trap was laid, she tumbled in along with the others. + +When they found themselves all assembled, it need not be said that they +were much astonished, and each did his or her utmost to get out of the +pit, but it was no good, and they looked upon themselves as being as +good as dead, as well as dishonoured. + +Then the two prime movers in the affair--that is to say the husband of +the lady, and his cousin--came to the edge of the pit, and saluted the +company, and told them to be comfortable, and asked them if they were +ready for breakfast. + +The husband, who was anxious for his revenge, managed to send his cousin +to look after their horses, which were at a house near by, and when he +had got rid of him, he made all the haste he could, and threw a +quantity of brushwood into the pit, and set it on fire, and burned them +all--wife, priest, waiting-woman and wolf. + +After that he left that part of the country, and went to the King to ask +his pardon, which he easily obtained. + +And some say that the King remarked that it was a pity the poor wolf +should have been burned alive for the faults of the others. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 57.jpg The obliging Brother.] + + + + +STORY THE FIFTY-SEVENTH -- THE OBLIGING BROTHER. + +By Monsieur De Villiers. + +_Of a damsel who married a shepherd, and how the marriage was arranged, +and what a gentleman, the brother of the damsel, said._ + + +As you are all ready to listen to me, and no one comes forward at the +present moment to continue this glorious and edifying book of a Hundred +Stories, I will relate an instance which happened formerly in Dauphiné, +fit to be included in the number of the said novels. + +A gentleman who lived in Dauphiné, had in his house a sister, aged +about eighteen or twenty, who was a companion to his wife, who loved her +dearly, so that they agreed together like two sisters. + +It happened that this gentleman was bidden to the house of a neighbour, +who lived a couple of short leagues away, to visit him, and took with +him his wife and sister. They went, and God knows how cordially they +were received. + +The wife of the neighbour who invited them, took the wife and sister of +the said gentleman for a walk after supper, talking of various matters, +and they came to the hut of the shepherd, which was near a large and +fine park in which the sheep were kept, and found there the chief +shepherd looking after his flock. And--as women will--they enquired +about many and various things, and amongst others they asked if he was +not cold in his cottage? He replied he was not, and that he was more +comfortable in his hut than they were in their glazed, matted, and +well-floored chambers. + +They talked also of other matters, and some of their phrases had a +bawdy meaning; and the worthy shepherd, who was neither a fool nor a +blockhead, swore to them that he was prepared to undertake to do the job +eight or nine times in one night. + +The sister of our gentleman cast amorous glances at the shepherd when +she heard this, and did not fail to tell him, when she found a fitting +opportunity, that he had made an impression on her, and that he was +to come to see her at her brother’s house, and that she would make him +welcome. + +The shepherd, who saw she was a pretty girl, was not a little pleased at +this news, and promised to come and see her. And, in short, he did as he +had promised, and at the hour arranged between his lady-love and him was +in front of her window; and though it was a high and dangerous ascent, +nevertheless he accomplished it by means of a cord which she let down, +and a vine there was there, and was soon in her chamber, where, it need +not be said, he was heartily welcomed. + +He showed that it was no empty boast he had made, for before daylight, +the stag had eight horns, at which the lady was greatly pleased. And +you must know that before the shepherd could come to the lady, he had +to walk two leagues, and swim the broad river, Rhone, which was close to +the house where his mistress lived; and when day came he had to recross +the Rhone, and return to his sheepfold; and he continued to do this for +a long time without being discovered. + +During this time many gentlemen of that country demanded the hand of +this damsel turned shepherdess, in marriage, but not one of them was to +her taste; at which her brother was not best pleased, and said so many +times, but she was always well provided with answers and excuses. +She informed her lover, the shepherd, of all this, and one night she +promised him that, if he wished, she would never have any other husband +but him. He replied that he desired nothing better; + +“But it can never be,” he said; “on account of your brother and your +other friends.” + +“Do not trouble yourself about that,” she said, “let me manage as I like +and it will be all right.” + +So they plighted troth to one another. But soon after that there came a +gentleman to make a last request for the hand of the lady shepherdess, +and who said he would marry her if she were only dressed in the manner +becoming her station without any other portion. Her brother would have +willingly listened to this demand, and tried to persuade his sister to +give her consent, pointing out to her what her duty was in such a case; +but he could not succeed, at which he was much displeased. + +When she saw that he was angry with her, she took him on one side, and +said; + +“Brother, you have long lectured me, and pressed me to marry such and +such a man, and I would never consent. Now I beg of you not to be angry +with or bear any resentment towards me, and I will tell you what has +prevented my acceding to any of these requests, if you will promise not +to be still more enraged against me.” + +Her brother willingly promised. When she had obtained this assurance, +she told him that she was as good as married already, and that as long +as she lived she would never have for husband any other man than the one +she would show him that night if he wished. + +“I should much like to see him,” replied her brother, “but who is he?” + +“You will see in good time,” she said. + +At the accustomed hour the shepherd came, and climbed to the lady’s +chamber, God knows how wet from having crossed the river. The brother +looked at him, and saw it was his neighbour’s shepherd, and was in no +small degree astonished; and still more so was the shepherd, who would +have fled when he saw him. + +“Stay! Stay!” said the gentleman, “there is nothing to fear.” + +“Is this,” he added turning to his sister, “the man of whom you spoke to +me?” + +“Yes, truly, brother,” said she. + +“Then make a good fire for him to warm himself,” said the gentleman, +“for he much needs it. And do you regard him as your husband; and truly +you are not wrong to like him, for he has run great dangers for love of +you. And since the matter has gone so far, and you have the courage to +take him for a husband, never mind me, and cursed be he who does not +hurry on the marriage.” + +“Amen!” she said. “It shall be to-morrow, if you wish.” + +“I do wish,” he replied; then turning to the shepherd. + +“What do you say?” + +“Whatever you wish.” + +“There is nothing else for it then,” said the gentleman. “You are, and +shall be, my brother-in-law. Not so long ago our family was not noble; +so I may well have a shepherd for a brother-in-law.” + +To cut the story short, the gentleman consented to the marriage of his +sister to the shepherd; and it was performed, and they both continued +to live in his house, though it was much talked about throughout the +country. + +And when he was in some place where the affair was being talked +about, and surprise was expressed that he had not killed or beaten the +shepherd, the gentleman replied that he would never harm one whom his +sister loved; and that he would rather have for a brother-in-law, a +shepherd his sister liked, than some great man she did not like. + +All this was said as a joke, and sportingly; for he was, and has always +been, a courteous and pleasant gentleman, and liked not to hear +his sister’s name bandied about, even amongst his friends and boon +companions. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FIFTY-EIGHTH -- SCORN FOR SCORN. + +By Monseigneur. + +_Of two comrades who wished to make their mistresses better inclined +towards them, and so indulged in debauchery, and said, that as after +that their mistresses still scorned them, that they too must have played +at the same game--as you will hear._ + + +I knew, in the time of my green and virtuous youth, two gentlemen, good +comrades, accomplished, and provided with every quality to be praised +in a virtuous gentleman. They were friends, and were alike each other +in every respect, not only bodily, but as regarded their clothes, their +servants, and their horses. + +It happened that they fell in love with two fair young damsels of good +family and gracious, and they did for these fair ladies’ sake a hundred +thousand little courtesies. Their vows were listened to--but nothing +more. Perhaps the damsels had lovers already, or did not wish to have +a love affair on their hands, for in truth the youths were both good +fellows, such as many a noble lady would have liked for a lover. + +Be that as it may, they could not win their ladies’ love, which caused +them to pass many nights in God knows what sorrow, now cursing fortune, +now love, and most often their mistresses for being so unkind. Whilst +they were suffering this rage and grief, one of them said one day to his +friend, + +“We can see with half an eye that our mistresses do not care for us, +and yet we more madly desire them than ever, and the more scorn and +harshness they show us the more we desire to please, serve, and obey +them! Upon my word this seems to me the height of folly. Let us, I pray +you, think no more of them than they do of us, and you will see that +when they know that, it will be their turn to seek and importune us.” + +“Ah!” said the other, “very good advice, no doubt, but how can it be +carried out?” + +“I have found the means,” said the first. “I have always heard it said, +and Ovid puts it in his book, The Remedy of Love, that to do--you know +what--much and often, makes you forget or think little of the person +with whom you are in love. I will tell you what we will do. We will take +home with us a couple of nice young ‘cousins’ (*), and we will sleep +with them, and commit every folly with them that our strength will +permit, and then we will go and see our ladies, and the devil is in it +if they do not then care for us.” + + (*) Prostitutes. The word is doubtless derived from + _coussin_. + +The other agreed, and the proposal was carried out, and each took home a +nice wench. And after that they went to a great feast where their ladies +were, and they flaunted in front of the damsels, chattering carelessly +here and there, and seeming to say in a hundred thousand ways, “We do +not care for you”, believing that, as they had devised, their mistresses +would be displeased, and would try to make their lovers return to their +allegiance. + +But it happened quite otherwise, for if the youths appeared to think but +little of the ladies, they on the other hand, showed openly that they +cared nothing for the young men, which the latter perceived, and were +much amazed at. The one said to his friend; + +“Do you know what is the matter? Morbleu! our mistresses have done +exactly what we have done. Do you not see how scornful they are? They +carry themselves exactly as we do--and, believe me, for the very same +reason. They have each chosen a paramour and indulged in folly to the +utmost. Devil take the bitches! Let us leave them alone!” + +“By my oath!” replied the other, “I believe it is as you say. I never +expected to find them like this.” + +So the two friends thought that their mistresses had done the same as +they had done themselves, because the damsels took no more heed of them +than they did of the damsels--which may not have been true, but was not +difficult to believe. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE FIFTY-NINTH -- THE SICK LOVER. [59] + +By Poncelet. + +_Of a lord who pretended to be sick in order that he might lie with the +servant maid, with whom his wife found him._ + + +In the town of St. Omer there lived formerly a a good fellow, sergeant +to the king, who was married to a good and chaste woman, who had, by a +former marriage, a son grown up and married. + +This good fellow, notwithstanding that he had a virtuous and prudent +wife, made love day and night with whomsoever he had a chance, and as +often as possible. And as in winter it was often inconvenient to go far +to seek for his love affairs, he bethought himself and reflected that he +need not leave home for a mistress, for that his wife’s maid was a very +pretty, young, and well-mannered girl, and he might manage to become her +lover. + +In short, by gifts and promises, he obtained the girl’s permission to +do whatever he wished, but there were difficulties in the way, for his +wife, knowing her husband’s character, always kept an eye upon him. + +Nevertheless, Cupid, who always comes to the help of his true followers, +inspired his good and loyal worshipper with an idea by which he could +accomplish his ends; for he pretended to be very sick of a chill, and +said to his wife; + +“My dear helpmate, come here! I am as ill as I can be; I must go to bed, +and I beg of you to make all the servants go to bed too, in order that +there may be no noise or disturbance, and then come to our chamber.” + +The worthy woman, who was much vexed at her husband’s illness, did as +she was ordered, and took fair sheets and warmed them, and put them over +her husband after he was in bed. And when he had been well warmed for a +long time, he said. + +“My dear, that will suffice. I am well enough now, thanks be to God and +to you for the trouble you have taken; and I beg of you to come and lie +down by my side.” + +She only desired her husband’s health and repose, and did as she +was desired, and went to sleep as quickly as possible. As soon as he +perceived she was asleep, he slipped quietly out of bed, and went to the +servant’s bed, where he was well received, and broke so many lances that +he was tired and worn out, and dropped off to sleep in her fair arms. + +It often happens that when we go to bed vexed or melancholy we are +easily awakened,--indeed that may be the cause of our waking, and so it +happened to the wife. And as she took great care of her husband, she put +out her hand to touch him, and discovered that he was not in the bed; +and on feeling the pillow and the place where he had been lying, she +found that they were cold, and that he had been out of bed a long time. + +Then, in despair, she jumped out of bed and put on a chemise and a +petticoat, and said to herself; + +“Idle and worthless wretch that you are, you have much to reproach +yourself with, for by your neglect you have let your husband die. Alas! +why did I come to bed to-night and fall asleep; O Virgin Mary! I pray +that nothing has happened to him through my fault, or I shall deem +myself guilty of his death.” + +After these regrets and lamentations, she went off to seek a light, and +in order that the servant-maid might help her to find her lost husband, +she went to her room to arouse her, and there found the happy pair, +asleep locked in each other’s arms, and it seemed that they must have +worked well that night, for they were not awakened by her coming into +the room or by the light she carried. + +She was glad that her husband was not as ill as she had feared or +expected; and went to seek her children and all the servants of the +household, and brought them to see the couple, and asked them in a +low voice, who that was in the maid’s bed, sleeping with her? And the +children replied that it was their father, and the servants that it was +their master. Then she led them out, and made them go to bed again, for +it was too early to get up, and she also went back to bed, but did not +sleep again till it was time to rise. + +Soon after she had left the lovers, they woke up, and took leave of each +other amorously. The master returned to bed, to his wife’s side, without +saying a word, nor did she, but pretended to be asleep, at which he +was very glad, thinking that she knew nothing of his adventure, for he +greatly feared her, both for his peace and that of the girl. So he slept +soundly, and his wife, as soon as it was time to get up, rose, and to +please her husband, and give him something comforting after the laxative +medicine that he had taken that night, woke up her servants, and called +her maid, and told her to kill the two fattest capons in the fowl-house, +and prepare them nicely, and then go to the butcher and buy the best bit +of beef she could procure, and put it in water to make a good soup, as +she well knew how, for she was a capital cook. + +The girl, who heartily desired to please her mistress and her master, +the one for love and the other from fear, said that she would willingly +do all that was commanded. + +Then the wife went to Mass, and on her return passed by the house of +her son, of whom I have spoken, and asked him to come and dine with +her husband, and to bring with him three or four good fellows whom she +named, and whom she and her husband wished invited. + +Then she returned home to see after the dinner, and found that her +husband had gone to church. Meanwhile, her son had gone round to invite +the guests his mother had named, and who were the greatest jokers in St. +Omer. + +The good man came back from Mass, and embraced his wife, and she did the +same to him, and, in order that he should not suspect anything, she said +that she rejoiced at his recovery, for which he thanked her, and said; + +“Indeed I am in fairly good health, my dear, after last night, and I +think I have a very good appetite, so we will have dinner at once if you +like.” + +She replied, “I am very glad to hear, it but you must wait a little till +the dinner is ready; and until such and such people, whom I have invited +to dine with you, have arrived.” + +“Invited!” said he, “and for what reason? I do not care about them and +would rather they stayed where they are; for they jest at everything, +and if they know I have been ill, they will tease me about it. At least, +my dear, let me beg of you to say nothing about it. And there is another +thing--what will they eat?” + +She said he need not trouble about that; they would have enough to eat, +for she had dressed the two best capons, as well as a fine piece of +beef, and all in his honour, at which he was very glad, and said it was +well done. + +Soon after came those who had been invited, and the woman’s son. +And when all was ready, they sat at the table and made good cheer, +especially the host, and they drank often one to another. + +The host said to his stepson; + +“John, my friend, drink with your mother, and enjoy yourself.” + +And he replied that he would willingly do so; and when he drank to his +mother, the maid, who was waiting at table came into the room. + +Then the wife called her, and said, + +“Come here, my dear friend and companion! drink to me, and I will pledge +thee.” + +“Friend and companion!” said the host. “What is the meaning of all this +affection? What mischief is brewing now? This is something new!” + +“Indeed, she is truly my honest and trusted companion! Why do you wonder +at that?” + +“Oh, the devil, Joan! take care what you say! Any one would think there +was something between her and me.” + +“And why should they not?” she said. “Did I not find you last night +lying in her bed, and sleeping in her arms?” + +“In her bed?” he said. + +“Truly, yes,” she replied. + +“On my honour, gentlemen, it is not true, and she only says so to spite +me, and bring shame on the poor girl, for she never saw me there.” + +“The devil I did not!” she replied. “You shall hear the statement again +from those of your own household.” + +With that she called the children, and the servants who were standing +there, and asked them if they had not seen their father lying with the +maid, and they answered, yes. + +“You lie, you naughty boys,” replied their father. “Your mother told you +to say it.” + +“Begging your pardon, father, we saw you there; and so did the +servants.” + +“Is that so?” asked the lady of the servants. + +“That is quite true,” they replied. + +Then all who were present laughed loudly, and teased him terribly, for +his wife related all about his pretended illness, and what he had done, +and how she had prepared the dinner and invited his friends in order to +make the story known, at which he was so ashamed that he hardly dared +hold up his head, and did not know what to reply except to say, + +“Go on! you are all against me, so I will hold my tongue and let you +have your own way, for I can’t contend against the lot of you.” + +Afterwards he ordered the table to be removed, and when grace was said, +he called his stepson and whispered to him; + +“John, my friend, although the others accuse me, I know that you believe +me. See how much is owing to that poor girl, and pay her so liberally +that she will have no cause to complain, and send her away; for I know +well that your mother will never permit her to stay in the house.” + +The stepson went and did as he was ordered, then he returned to the +friends whom he had brought, whom he found talking to his mother, then +they thanked her for their entertainment, and took leave and went. + +The husband and wife remained at home, and it is to be supposed that he +did not hear the last of it for some time. For the poor husband did +not drain his cup of bitterness at the dinner-table, but found that the +proverb about dogs, hawks, war, and love, which says, “Every pleasure +has a thousand sorrows,” is true. But none should run the risk if +they are not prepared to pay the penalty. Thus did it happen that the +adventure of this worthy fellow ended in the manner related. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 60.jpg Three very minor Brothers.] + + + + +STORY THE SIXTIETH -- THREE VERY MINOR BROTHERS. [60] + +By Poncelet. + +_Of three women of Malines, who were acquainted with three cordeliers, +and had their heads shaved, and donned the gown that they might not be +recognised, and how it was made known._ + + +Formerly there were in the town of Malines three damsels, the wives of +three burghers of the town,--rich, powerful, and of good position, who +were in love with three Minor Friars; and to more secretly and covertly +manage their amours under the cloak of religion, they rose every day an +hour or two before dawn, and when it appeared a fit time to go and see +their lovers, they told their husbands they were going to matins to the +first Mass. + +Owing to the great pleasure that they took in these exercises and the +monks also, it often happened that it was broad daylight, and they +could not leave the convent without being perceived by the other monks. +Therefore, fearing the great perils and inconveniences which might +arise, they arranged between them that each should wear a monk’s gown, +and have a tonsure made on her head, as though they belonged to the +convent. So finally one day that they were in the convent, and whilst +their husbands suspected nothing of it, a barber,--that is to say a +monk belonging to the convent--was sent for secretly to the cells of the +three brothers, and he cut a tonsure on the head of each. + +And when the time came to leave, they put on the friars’ gowns with +which they were provided, and in that state returned to their respective +homes, and undressed, and left their disguise with certain discreet +matrons, and then returned to their husbands; and this continued for a +long while, without any person being aware of it. + +But since it would have been a great pity that such excessive devotion +should not be known, fortune so willed that as on a certain day one +of these ladies was on her road to the accustomed haunt, her trick was +discovered, and she was caught in her disguise by her husband, who had +followed her, and who said: + +“Good brother, I am glad to have met you! I would beg of you to return +to my house, for I have many things to say to you,” and with that he +took her back, at which she hardly felt joyful. + +When they were in the house, the husband said, in a joking manner; + +“My dear helpmate, can you swear on your honour that it is true piety, +which in the middle of winter, causes you to don the habit of St. +Francis, and have your head shaved like the good monks? Tell me the name +of your confessor, or by St. Francis you shall suffer for it,”--and he +pretended to draw his dagger. + +The poor woman threw herself on her knees, and cried; + +“Have mercy upon me, husband! for I have been led astray by bad +companions! I know that you could kill me if you liked, and that I have +not behaved as I should, but I am not the only one the monks have led +astray, and, if you promise that you will do nothing to me, I will tell +you all.” + +To this her husband agreed; and then she told him how she often went to +the monastery with two of her cronies who were in love with two of the +monks, and they often breakfasted together in the monks’ cells. “A third +monk was in love with me,” she continued, “and made such humble and +impassioned requests to me that I could not excuse myself, and by the +instigation and example of my companions, I did as they did, they all +saying that we should have a good time together, and no one would know +about it.” + +Then the husband demanded the names of her female friends, and she told +him. He was acquainted with their husbands, and they had often eaten and +drunk together. Finally, he asked who was the barber, and the names of +the three monks. + +The good husband, after considering all things, and moved by the piteous +groans and sad regrets of his wife, said; + +“Take care that you tell no one that you have spoken to me on this +matter, and I promise you that I will do you no harm.” + +She promised that she would do whatever he wished. With that he went +away at once, and invited to dinner the two husbands and their wives, +the three Cordeliers, and the barber, and they all promised to come. + +The next day they all came, and sat at table, and enjoyed themselves +without expecting any bad news. After the table was removed, they had +many joyous jests and devices to discover who should pay scot for all, +and as they could not agree, the host said; + +“Since we cannot agree as to who is to pay the reckoning, I will tell +you what we will do. The one who has the baldest crown to his head shall +pay--of course excluding these good monks, who pay nothing--at present.” + +To which they all agreed, and were content that it should be thus, and +that the barber should be the judge. And when all the men had shown +their heads, the host said that they ought to look at their wives’ +heads. + +It need not be asked if there were not some there present who felt their +hearts sink within them. Without an instant’s delay, the host uncovered +his wife’s head, and when he saw the tonsure he pretended to admire it +greatly, pretending that he knew nothing about it, and said, + +“We must see if the others are the same.” + +Then their husbands made them remove their head-dresses, and they were +found to be tonsured like the first one, at which the men were not best +pleased, notwithstanding that they laughed loudly, and declared that the +question had been settled, and that it was for their wives to pay the +reckoning. + +But they wished to know how these tonsures came there, and the host, +rejoicing to be able to divulge such a secret, related the whole affair, +on condition that they would pardon their wives this time, after they +had been witnesses of the penance the good monks were to undergo in +their presence,--and to this both husbands agreed. + +Then the host caused four or five sturdy varlets to come out of a +chamber near by, and they, knowing what they had to do, seized the +worthy monks and gave them as many blows as they could find room for +on their shoulders, and then turned them out of the house. The others +remained for a certain space, and it is to be supposed that a good deal +of conversation passed between them, but as it would take too long to +recount, I pass it over here, for the sake of brevity. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 61.jpg Cuckolded--and Duped.] + + + + +STORY THE SIXTY-FIRST -- CUCKOLDED--AND DUPED. [61] + +By Poncelet. + +_Of a merchant who locked up in a bin his wife’s lover, and she secretly +put an ass there which caused her husband to be covered with confusion._ + + +It happened once that in a large town of Hainault there lived a good +merchant married to a worthy woman. He travelled much, to buy and +sell his merchandise, and this caused his wife to have a lover in his +absence, and this continued for a long time. + +Nevertheless, the secret was at last discovered by a neighbour, who was +a relative of the husband, and lived opposite the merchant’s house, and +who often saw a gallant enter the merchant’s house at night and leave in +the morning. Which matter was brought to the knowledge of the person to +whose prejudice it was, by this neighbour. + +The merchant was much vexed, nevertheless he thanked his relative and +neighbour, and said that he would shortly see into the matter, and for +that purpose would shut himself up one night in his neighbour’s house, +that he might see if anyone visited his wife. + +Lastly, he pretended to start on a journey, and told his wife and his +servants that he did not know when he should return. He started in the +early morning, but returned the same evening, and having left his horse +at some house, came secretly to his cousin, and peeped through a little +lattice, expecting to see that which would hardly have pleased him. + +He waited till about nine o’clock, when the gallant, whom the damsel +had informed that her husband was away, passed once or twice before his +lady-love’s house, and looked at the door to see if he might enter, +but found it closed. He guessed that it was not yet time, and whilst he +strolled about waiting, the good merchant, who thought that this was the +man he wanted, came down, and went to his door, and said, + +“Friend, the lady heard you, and as she is afraid that the master may +come back, she sent me down to let you in, if you please.” + +The gallant, thinking it was the servant, followed him, the door was +opened gently, and he was conducted into a chamber in which there was +a large bin, which the merchant unlocked and made the young man enter, +that he should not be discovered if the husband returned. “My mistress +will come and talk to you and let you out,” added the merchant as he +turned the key in the lock. + +The gallant suffered all this for the sake of what was to follow, and +because he believed that the other spoke the truth. + +Then the merchant started off at once as quickly as he could, and went +to the cousin and his wife, and said to them: + +“The rat is caught; but now we must consider what to do.” + +The cousin, and more particularly his wife--for there was no love lost +between the two women--were very glad to hear this, and said that it +would be best for him to show the gallant to all his wife’s relations in +order that they might know how she conducted herself. + +This being determined on, the merchant went to the house of his wife’s +father and mother, and told them that if ever they wished to see their +daughter alive they must come at once to his house. + +They jumped up at once, and, whilst they were preparing, he also went +off to two of her brothers and her sisters, and told them the same +thing. Then he took them all to the cousin’s house, and related the +whole history, and how the rat had been caught. + +Now you must know what the gallant did in the bin all the time, until +he was luckily released. The damsel, who wondered greatly that her lover +did not come, went backwards and forwards to the door, to see if he +were coming. The young man, who heard her pass close to him without ever +speaking to him, began to thump with his fist on the side of the bin. +The damsel heard it, and was greatly frightened; nevertheless she asked +who was there, and the gallant replied; + +“Alas, my dearest love, I am dying here of heat and doubt, for I am much +surprised that I have been shut in here, and that no one has yet come to +me.” + +“Virgin Mary! who can have put you there, my dear?” + +“By my oath I know not,” he replied; “but your varlet came to me and +told me that you had asked him to bring me into the house, and that +I was to get into this bin, that the husband might not find me if by +chance he should come back to-night.” + +“Ah!” said she, “by my life that must have been my husband. I am a lost +woman; and our secret has been discovered.” + +“Do you know what is to be done?” he said. “In the first place you must +let me out, or I will break everything, for I can no longer endure being +shut up.” + +“By my oath!” said the damsel, “I have not the key; and if you break +through, I am undone, for my husband will say that I did it to save +you.” + +Finally, the damsel searched about, and found a lot of old keys, amongst +which was one that delivered the poor captive. As soon as he was out, +he tumbled the lady, to show her what a grudge he had against her, which +she bore patiently. After that her lover would have left her, but the +damsel hung round his neck, and told him that if he went away like that, +she would be as much dishonoured as though he had broken out of the bin. + +“What is to be done then?” said the gallant. + +“We must put something there for my husband to find, or he will think +that I have let you out.” + +“And what shall we put there?” asked the lover. “For it is time for me +to go.” + +“We have in the stable,” she said, “an ass, that we will put in if you +will help me.” + +“Certainly, I will,” he answered. + +The ass was driven into the bin, and it was locked again, and then her +lover took leave of her with a sweet kiss, and left by a back-door, +whilst the damsel quickly got into bed. + +Whilst these things were happening, her husband had assembled all his +wife’s relatives, and brought them to his cousin’s house, as has been +said, where he informed them of what he had done, and how he had caught +the gallant, and had him under lock and key. + +“And in order that you shall not say,” he added, “that I blame your +daughter without cause, you shall both see and touch the scoundrel who +has done us this dishonour, and I beg that he may be killed before he +can get away.” + +Every one present declared that it should be so. + +“And then,” said the merchant, “I will send you back your daughter for +such as she is.” + +With that they all accompanied him, though sorrowing much at the news, +and they took with them torches and flambeaux, so as to be better able +to search, and that nothing should escape them. + +They knocked so loudly that the damsel came before anyone else in the +house was awakened, and opened the door, and when they had come in, she +abused her husband, her father, her mother, and the others, and declared +that she wondered greatly what could have brought them all at that hour +of the night. At these words her husband stepped forward, and gave her a +good buffet, and said, + +“You shall know soon enough, false such and such that you are.” + +“Ah! take care what you say. Was it for that you brought my father and +mother here?” + +“Yes,” said the mother, “false wench that you are. We will drag forth +your paramour directly.” + +And her sisters said, + +“By God, sister you did not learn at home to behave like this.” + +“Sisters,” she replied, “by all the saints of Rome, I have done nothing +that a good woman should not do. I should like to see anyone prove the +contrary.” + +“You lie!” said her husband. “I can prove it at once, and the rascal +shall be killed in your presence. Up quickly! and open me this bin.” + +“I?” she replied. “In truth I think you must be dreaming, or out of your +senses, for you know well that I have never had the key, but that it +hangs at your belt along with the others, ever since the time that you +locked up your goods. If you want to open it, open it. But I pray to God +that, as truly as I have never kept company with whoever is in that box, +that He will deliver me, to my great joy, and that the evil spite that +you have against me may be clearly proved and demonstrated--and I have +full hope and confidence that it will be so.” + +“And I hope,” said her husband, addressing the crowd, “that you will see +her on her knees, weeping and groaning, and squalling like a drenched +cat. She would deceive anybody who was fool enough to believe her, but +I have suspected her for a long time past. Now I am going to unlock the +bin, and I beg you, gentlemen, to lay hands on the scoundrel, that he +escape us not, for he is strong and bold.” + +“Have no fear!” they cried in chorus. “We will give a good account of +him.” + +“With that they drew their swords, and brandished their hammers to knock +down the poor lover, and they shouted to him, + +“Confess your sins! for you will never have a priest nearer you.” + +The mother and sisters, not wishing to witness the murder, drew on one +side, and then the good man opened the bin, and as soon as the ass saw +the light, it began to bray so hideously that the boldest person there +was affrighted. + +And when they saw that it was an ass, and that they had been befooled, +they cursed the merchant, and showered more abuse on him than ever St. +Peter had praise, and even the women inveighed against him. In fact, if +he had not fled, his wife’s brothers would have killed him, in revenge +for the blame and dishonour he had wrongly tried to bring on the family. + +There was such ado between him and his wife’s family that peace had to +be made between them by the chief burghers of the town, and this was +not effected without much trouble, and many demands on the part of her +friends, and many strict promises on his part. But ever after that he +was all kindness and consideration, and never did a man conduct himself +better to his wife than he did all his life; and thus they passed their +days together. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 62.jpg The lost Ring.] + + + + +STORY THE SIXTY-SECOND -- THE LOST RING. + +By Monseigneur De Commesuram. + +_Of two friends, one of whom left a diamond in the bed of his hostess, +where the other found it, from which there arose a great discussion +between them, which the husband of the said hostess settled in an +effectual manner._ + + +About the month of July (*) a great meeting and assembly was held +between Calais and Gravelines, and near the castle of Oye, at which were +assembled many princes and great lords, both of France and of England, +to consider the question of the ransom of the Duke of Orléans, (**) then +prisoner to the king of England. Amongst the English representatives +was the Cardinal of Winchester, who had come to the said assembly in +great and noble state, with many knights, and squires and ecclesiastics. + + (*) 1440. + + (**) Charles, Duke of Orléans, was taken prisoner at the + battle of Agincourt in 1415, and, as his ransom was not + forthcoming was detained a captive for 25 years, when the + Duke and Duchess of Burgundy intervened to procure his + freedom. Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, accepted a + ransom of 200,000 gold crowns, payment of which was + guaranteed by the Dauphin of France, Duke Philip of + Burgundy, and other princes, with the consent of the King of + France. The agreement was signed 22 Nov. 1440. + +And amongst the other noblemen were two named John Stockton, squire, and +carver, and Thomas Brampton, cup-bearer to the said Cardinal--which said +John and Thomas loved each other like two brothers, for their clothes, +harness, and arms were always as nearly alike as possible, and they +usually shared the same room and the said bed, and never was there heard +any quarrel, dispute, or misunderstanding between them. + +When the said Cardinal arrived at the said town of Calais, there was +hired for him to lodge the said noblemen, the house of Richard Fery, +which is the largest house in the town of Calais, and it is the custom +of all great lords passing through the town to lodge there. + +The said Richard was married to a Dutchwoman; who was beautiful, +courteous, and well accustomed to receive guests. + +While the treaty was being discussed, which was for more than two +months, John Stockton and Thomas Brampton, who were both of the age +of 26 or 28 years, wore bright crimson clothes, (*) and were ready for +feats of arms by night or day--during this time, I say, notwithstanding +the intimacy and friendship which existed between these two +brothers-in-arms, the said John Stockton, unknown to the said Thomas, +found means to visit their hostess, and often conversed with her, and +paid her many of those attentions customary in love affairs, and finally +was emboldened to ask the said hostess if he might be her friend, and +she would be his lady-love. + + (*) Shakespeare several times in the course of the First + Part of Henry VI mentions “the tawny robes of Winchester.” + Which is right? + +To which, as though pretending to be astonished at such a request, she +replied coldly that she did not hate him, or anyone, nor wish to, but +that she loved all the world as far as in honour she could, but if she +rightly understood his request, she could not comply with it without +great danger of dishonour and scandal, and perhaps risk to her life, and +for nothing in the world would she consent thereto. + +John replied that she might very well grant his request, for that he +would rather perish, and be tormented in the other world, than that she +should be dishonoured by any fault of his, and that she was in no wise +to suspect that her honour would not be safe in his keeping, and he +again begged her to grant him this favour, and always deem him her +servant and loving friend. + +She pretended to tremble, and replied that truly he made all the blood +freeze in her veins, such fear and dread had she of doing that which he +asked. Then he approached her and requested a kiss, which the ladies and +damsels of the said country of England are ready enough to grant, (*) +and kissing her, begged her tenderly not to be afraid, for no person +living should ever be made acquainted with what passed between them. + + (*) Is this a libel on the English ladies of the 16th + century, or is it true--as Bibliophile Jacob asserts in the + foot-note to this passage--that “English prudery is a + daughter of the Reformation?” + +Then she said; + +“I see that there is no escape, and that I must do as you wish, and as +this must be so, in order to guard my honour, let me tell you that a +regulation has been made by all the lords now living in Calais that +every householder shall watch one night a week on the town walls. But as +my husband has done so much, either himself or by his friends, for the +lords and noblemen of the Cardinal, your master, who lodge here, he has +only to watch half the night, and he will do so on Thursday next, from +the time the bell rings in the evening until midnight; and whilst my +husband is away on his watch, if you have anything to say to me, you +will find me in my chamber, quite willing to listen to you, and along +with my maid;”--who was quite ready to perform whatever her mistress +wished. + +John Stockton was much pleased with this answer, and thanked his +hostess, and told her that it would not be his fault if he did not come +at the appointed hour. + +This conversation took place on the Monday, after dinner. But it should +here be stated that Thomas Brampton had, unknown to his friend John +Stockton, made similar requests to their hostess, but she would not +grant his desire, but now raised his hopes and then dashed them to the +ground, saying that he must have but a poor idea of her virtue, and +that, if she did what he wished, she was sure that her husband and his +relations and friends would take her life. + +To this Thomas replied; + +“My beloved mistress and hostess, I am a nobleman, and for no +consideration would I bring upon you blame or dishonour, or I should be +unworthy of the name of a gentleman. Believe me, that I would guard your +honour as I do my own, and would rather die than reveal your secret; and +that there is no friend or other person in the world, however dear to +me, to whom I would relate our love-affair.” + +She, therefore, noting the great affection and desire of the said +Thomas, told him, on the Wednesday following the day on which she had +given John the gracious reply recorded above--that, as he had a great +desire to do her any service, she would not be so ungrateful as not to +repay him. And then she told him how it was arranged that her husband +should watch the morrow night, like the other chief householders of the +town, in compliance with the regulation made by the lords then staying +in Calais. But as--thank God--her husband had powerful friends to speak +to the Cardinal for him, he had only to watch half the night, that is to +say from midnight till the morning, and that if Thomas wished to speak +to her during that time, she would gladly hear him, but, for God’s sake +let him come so secretly that no blame could attach to her. + +Thomas replied that he desired nothing better, and with that he took +leave of her. + +On the morrow, which was Thursday, at vespers, after the bell had rung +for the watch, John Stockton did not forget to appear at the hour his +hostess had appointed. He went to her chamber, and found her there quite +alone, and she received him and made him welcome, for the table was +laid. + +John requested that he might sup with her, that they might the better +talk together,--which she would not at first grant, saying that it might +cause scandal if he were found with her. But she finally gave way, and +the supper--which seemed to John to take a long time--being finished, he +embraced his hostess, and they enjoyed themselves together, both naked. + +Before he entered the chamber, he had put on one of his fingers, a gold +ring set with a large fine diamond, of the value of, perhaps, thirty +nobles. And in playing together, the ring slipped from his finger in the +bed without his knowing it. + +When it was about 11 o’clock, the damsel begged him kindly to dress and +leave, that he might not be found by her husband, whom she expected as +soon as midnight sounded, and that he would guard her honour as he had +promised. + +He, supposing that her husband would return soon, rose, dressed, +and left the chamber as soon as the clock struck twelve, and without +remembering the diamond he had left in the bed. + +Not far from the door of the chamber John Stockton met Thomas Brampton, +whom he mistook for his host, Richard. Thomas,--who had come at the hour +the lady appointed,--made a similar mistake, and took John Stockton for +Richard, and waited a few moments to see which way he would go. + +Having watched the other disappear, Thomas went to the chamber, found +the door ajar, and entered. The lady pretended to be much frightened and +alarmed, and asked Thomas, with doubt and fear, whether he had met her +husband who had just left to join the watch? He replied that he had met +a man, but did not know whether it was her husband or another, and had +waited a little in order to see which way he would go. + +When she heard this, she kissed him boldly, and told him he was welcome, +and Thomas, without more ado, laid her on the bed and tumbled her. When +she found what manner of man he was, she made haste to undress, and he +also, and they both got into bed, and sacrificed to the god of love, and +broke several lances. + +But in performing these feats, Thomas met with an adventure, for he +suddenly felt under his thigh, the diamond that John Stockton had left +there, and without saying anything, or evincing any surprise, he picked +it up, and put it on his finger. + +They remained together until the morning, when the watch bell was about +to ring, when, at the request of the damsel he rose, but before he +left they embraced with a long, loving kiss. He had scarcely gone when +Richard came off the watch, on which he had been all night, very cold +and sleepy, and found his wife just getting up. She made him a fire, and +then he went to bed, for he had worked all night,--and so had his wife +though not in the same fashion. + +It is the custom of the English, after they have heard Mass, to +breakfast at a tavern, with the best wine; and about two days after +these events, John and Thomas were in a company of other gentlemen and +merchants, who were breakfasting together, and Stockton and Brampton +were seated opposite each other. + +Whilst they were eating, John looked at Thomas, and saw on one of +his fingers the diamond. He gazed at it a long time, and came to the +conclusion that it was the ring he had lost, he did not know where or +when, and he begged Thomas to show him the diamond, who accordingly +handed it to him, and when he had it in his hand he saw that it was his +own, and told Thomas so, and asked him how he came by it. To this Thomas +replied that it belonged to _him_. Stockton maintained, on the contrary, +that he had lost it but a short time before, and that if Thomas had +found it in the chamber where they slept, it was not right of him to +keep it, considering the affection and fraternity which had always +existed between them. High words ensued, and both were angry and +indignant with each other. + +Thomas wished to get the diamond back, but could not obtain it. When +the other gentlemen and merchants heard the dispute, all tried to bring +about a reconciliation, but it was no good, for he who had lost the +diamond would not let it out of his hands, and he who had found it +wanted it back, as a memento of his love-encounter with his mistress, so +that it was difficult to settle the dispute. + +Finally, one of the merchants, seeing that all attempts to make up the +quarrel were useless, said that he had hit upon a plan with which both +John and Thomas ought to be satisfied, but he would not say what it was +unless both parties promised, under a penalty of ten nobles, to abide +by what he said. All the company declared that the merchant had spoken +well, and persuaded John and Thomas to abide by this decision, which +they at last consented to do. + +The merchant ordered the diamond to be placed in his hands, then that +all those who had tried to settle the difference should be silent, and +that they should leave the house where they were, and the first man they +met, whatever his rank or condition should be told the whole matter of +the dispute between the said John and Thomas, and, whatever he decided, +his verdict should be accepted without demur by both parties. + +Thereupon all the company left the house, and the first person they met +was Richard, the host of both disputants, to whom the merchant narrated +the whole of the dispute. + +Richard--after he had heard all, and had asked those, who were present +if the account was correct, and the two were unwilling to let +this dispute be settled by so many notable persons,--delivered his +verdict--namely that the diamond should remain his, and that neither of +the parties should have it. + +When Thomas saw himself deprived of the diamond he had found, he was +much vexed; and most probably so also was John Stockton, who had lost +it. + +Then Thomas requested all the company, except their host, to return to +the house where they had breakfasted, and he would give them a dinner in +order that they might hear how the diamond had come into his hands, +to which they all agreed. And whilst the dinner was being prepared, +he related the conversation he had had with his hostess, how she had +appointed him an hour for him to visit her, whilst her husband was out +with the watch, and how the diamond was found. + +When John Stockton heard this he was astonished, and declared that +exactly the same had occurred to him, and on the same night, and that +he was convinced that he must have dropped his diamond where Thomas had +found it, and that it was far worse for him to lose it than it was for +Thomas, for it had cost him dear, whereas Thomas had lost nothing. + +To which Thomas replied that he ought not to complain that their host +had adjudged it to be his, considering what their hostess had had to +suffer, and that he (John) had had first innings, whilst Thomas had had +to act as his page or squire, and come after him. + +So John Stockton was tolerably reconciled to the loss of his ring, since +he could not otherwise help it. And all those who were present laughed +loudly at the story of this adventure; and after they had all dined, +each returned whithersoever he wished. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SIXTY-THIRD -- MONTBLERU; OR THE THIEF. [63] + +By G. De Montbleru. + +_Of one named Montbleru, who at a fair at Antwerp stole from his +companions their shirts and handkerchiefs, which they had given to the +servant-maid of their hostess to be washed; and how afterwards they +pardoned the thief, and then the said Montbleru told them the whole of +the story._ + + +Montbleru found himself about two years ago at the fair of Antwerp, in +the company of Monseigneur d’Estampes, who paid all his expenses--which +was much to the liking of Montbleru. + +One day amongst others, by chance he met Masters Ymbert de Playne, +Roland Pipe, and Jehan Le Tourneur, who were having a merry time; and +as he is pleasant and obliging, as everyone knows, they desired his +company, and begged him to come and lodge with them, and then they would +have a merrier time than ever. + +Montbleru at first excused himself, on the ground that he ought not to +quit Monseigneur d’Estampes who had brought him there; + +“And there is a very good reason,” he said, “for he pays all my +expenses.” + +Nevertheless, he was willing to leave Monseigneur d’Estampes if the +others would pay his expenses, and they, who desired nothing better than +his company, willingly and heartily agreed to this. And now hear how he +paid them out. + +These three worthy lords, Masters Ymbert, Roland, and Jehan Le Tourneur, +stayed at Antwerp longer than they expected when they left Court, and +each had brought but one shirt, and these and their handkerchiefs etc. +became dirty, which was a great inconvenience to them, for the weather +was very hot, it being Pentecost. So they gave them to the servant-maid +at their lodgings to wash, one Saturday night when they went to bed, and +they were to have them clean the following morning when they rose. + +But Montbleru was on the watch. When the morning came, the maid, who +had washed the shirts and handkerchiefs, and dried them, and folded them +neatly and nicely, was called away by her mistress to go to the butcher +to seek provisions for the dinner. She did as her mistress ordered, and +left all these clothes in the kitchen, on a stool, expecting to find +them on her return, but in this she was disappointed, for Montbleru, +when he awoke and saw it was day, got out of bed, and putting on a +dressing gown over his shirt, went downstairs. + +He went into the kitchen, where there was not a living soul, but only +the shirts, handkerchiefs, and other articles, asking to be taken. +Montbleru saw his opportunity, and took them, but was much puzzled to +know where he could hide them. Once he thought of putting them amongst +the big copper pots and pans which were in the kitchen; then of hiding +them up his sleeve; but finally he concealed them in the hay in the +stable, with a big heap of straw on the top, and that being done, he +returned to bed and lay down by the side of Jehan Le Tourneur. + +When the servant maid came back from the butcher’s, she could not find +the shirts, at which she was much vexed, and she asked everybody she met +if they had seen them? They all told her they knew nothing about them, +and God knows what a time she had. Then came the servants of these +worthy lords, who expected the shirts and were afraid to go to their +masters without them, and grew angry because the shirts could not be +found, and so did the host, and the hostess, and the maid. + +When it was about nine o’clock, these good lords called their servants, +but none of them answered, for they were afraid to tell their masters +about the loss of their shirts; but at last, however, when it was +between 11 and 12 o’clock, the host came, and the servants, and told +the gentlemen how their shirts had been stolen, at which news two of +them--Masters Ymbert and Roland--lost patience, but Jehan Le Tourneur +took it easily, and did nothing but laugh, and called Montbleru, who +pretended to be asleep, but who heard and knew all, and said to him, + +“Montbleru, we are all in a nice mess. They have stolen our shirts.” + +“Holy Mary! what do you say?” replied Montbleru, pretending to be only +just awake. “That is bad news.” + +When they had discussed the robbery of their shirts for a long +time--Montbleru well knew who was the thief--these worthy lords said; + +“It is late, and we have not yet heard Mass, and it is Sunday, and we +cannot very well go without a shirt. What is to be done?” + +“By my oath!” said the host, “I know of nothing better than to lend you +each one of my shirts, such as they are. They are not as good as yours, +but they are clean, and there is nothing better to be done.” + +They were obliged to take their host’s shirts which were too short and +too small, and made of hard, rough linen, and God knows they were a +pretty sight in them. + +They were soon ready, thank God, but it was so late that they did not +know where they could hear Mass. Then said Montbleru, in his familiar +way, + +“As for hearing Mass, it is too late to-day; but I know a church in this +town where at least, we shall not fail to see God.” + +“That is better than nothing,” said the worthy lords. “Come, come! let +us get away, for it is very late, and to lose our shirts, and not to +hear Mass to-day would be a double misfortune; and it is time we went to +church if we want to hear Mass.” + +Montbleru took them to the principal church in Antwerp, where there is +a God on an ass (*). + + (*) A picture or bas-relief, representing Christ’s entry + into Jerusalem, is probably meant. + +When they had each said a paternoster, they said to Montbleru, “Where +shall we see God?” + +“I will show you,” he replied. Then he showed them God mounted on an +ass, and added, “You will never fail to find Him here at whatever hour +you come.” + +They began to laugh in spite of the discomfort their shirts caused them. +Then they went back to dinner, and were after that I know not how many +days at Antwerp, and left without their shirts, for Montbleru had hidden +them in a safe place, and afterwards sold them for five gold crowns. + +Now God so willed that in the first week of Lent, Montbleru was at +dinner with the three worthy gentlemen before named, and in the course +of his talk he reminded them of the shirts they had lost at Antwerp, and +said, + +“Alas, the poor thief who robbed you will be damned for that, unless God +and you pardon him. Do you bear him any ill-will?” + +“By God!” said Master Ymbert, “my dear sir, I have thought no more about +it,--I had forgotten it long since.” + +“At least,” said Montbleru, “you pardon him, do you not?” + +“By St. John!” he replied, “I would not have him damned for my sake.” + +“By my oath, that is well said,” answered Montbleru. “And you Master +Roland,--do you also pardon him?” + +After a good deal of trouble, he agreed to pardon the thief, but as the +theft rankled in his mind, he found the word hard to pronounce. + +“And will you also pardon him, Master Roland?” said Montbleru. “What +will you gain by having a poor thief damned for a wretched shirt and +handkerchief?” + +“Truly I pardon him,” said he. “He is quit as far as I am concerned, +since there is nothing else to be done.” + +“By my oath, you are a good man,” said Montbleru. + +Then came the turn of Jehan Le Tourneur. Montbleru said to him, + +“Now, Jehan, you will not be worse than the others. Everything will be +pardoned to this poor stealer of shirts unless you object.” + +“I don’t object,” he replied. “I have long since pardoned him, and I +will give him absolution into the bargain.” + +“You could not say more,” rejoined Montbleru, “and by my oath I am +greatly obliged to you for having pardoned the thief who stole your +shirts, as far as I personally am concerned, for I am the thief who +stole your shirts at Antwerp. So I profit by your free pardon, and thank +you for it, as I ought to do.” + +When Montbleru confessed this theft, and had been forgiven by all the +party as you have heard, it need not be asked if Masters Ymbert, Roland, +and Jehan Le Tourneur were astonished, for they had never suspected +that it was Montbleru who had played that trick upon them, and they +reproached him playfully with the theft. But he, knowing his company, +excused himself cleverly for having played such a joke upon them, +and told them that it was his custom to take whatever he found +unprotected,--especially with people like them. + +They only laughed, but asked him how he had managed to effect the theft, +and he told them the whole story, and said also that he had made five +crowns out of his booty, after which they asked him no more. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SIXTY-FOURTH -- THE OVER-CUNNING CURÉ. [64] + +By Michault De Changy. + +_Of a priest who would have played a joke upon a gelder named +Trenche-couille, but, by the connivance of his host, was himself +castrated._ + + +There formerly lived in this country, in a place that I have a good +reason for not mentioning (if any should recognise it, let him be silent +as I am) a curé who was over-fond of confessing his female parishioners. +In fact, there was not one who had not had to do with him, especially +the young ones--for the old he did not care. + +When he had long carried on this holy life and virtuous exercise, and +his fame had spread through all the country round, he was punished +in the way that you will hear, by one of his parishioners, to whom, +however, he had done nothing concerning his wife. + +He was one day at dinner, and enjoying himself, at the inn kept by his +parishioner, and as they were in the midst of their dinner, there came +a man named Trenchecouille, whose business it was to cut cattle, pull +teeth, and other matters, and who had come to the inn for one of these +purposes. + +The host received him well, and asked him to sit down, and, without +being much pressed, he sat down with the curé and the others, to eat. + +The curé, who was a great joker, began to talk to this gelder and asked +him a hundred thousand questions about his business, and the gelder +replied as he best could. + +At the end, the curé turned to the host, and whispered in his ear, + +“Shall we play a trick upon this gelder?” + +“Oh, yes, let us,” replied the host. “But how shall we do it?” + +“By my oath,” said the curé, “we will play him a pretty trick, if you +will help me.” + +“I am quite willing,” replied the host. + +“I will tell you what we will do,” said the curé. “I will pretend to +have a pain in the testicle, and bargain with him to cut it out; then I +will be bound and laid on the table all ready, and when he comes near to +cut me, I will jump up and show him my backside.” + +“That is well said,” replied my host, who at once saw what he had to +do. “We shall never hit on anything better. We will all help you with +the joke.” + +“Very well,” said the curé. + +After this the curé began again to rally the gelder, and at last told +him that he had want of a man like him, for that he had a testicle all +diseased and rotten, and would like to find a man who would extract it, +and he said it so quietly and calmly that the gelder believed him, and +replied; + +“Monsieur le curé, I would have you know that without either disparaging +myself or boasting, there is not a man in this country who can do the +job better than I can, and for the sake of the host here, I will do my +best to satisfy you.” + +“Truly, that is well said;” replied the curé. + +In short, all was agreed, and when the dinner had been removed, the +gelder began to make his preparations, and on the other hand the curé +prepared to play the practical joke, (which was to turn out no joke for +him) and told the host and the others what they were to do. + +Whilst these preparations were being made on both sides, the host went +to the gelder, and said, + +“Take care, and, whatever the priest may say, cut out both his +testicles, clean,--and fail not, if you value your carcass.” + +“By St. Martin, I will,” replied the gelder, “since you wish it. I have +ready a knife so sharp that I will present you with his testicles before +he has time to say a word.” + +“We shall see what you can do,” said the host, “but if you fail, I will +never again have anything to do with you.” + +All being ready, the table was brought, and the curé, in his doublet, +pretended to be in great pain, and promised a bottle of good wine to the +gelder. + +The host and his servants laid hold of the curé so that he could not get +away, and for better security they tied him tightly, and told him that +was to make the joke better, and that they would let him go when he +wished, and he like a fool believed them. Then came the brave gelder, +having a little rasor concealed in his hand, and began to feel the +cure’s testicles. + +“In the devil’s name,” said the curé, “do it well and with one cut. +Touch them first as you can, and afterwards I will tell you which one I +want taken out.” + +“Very well,” he replied, and lifting up the shirt, took hold of the +testicles, which were big and heavy and without enquiring which was the +bad one, cut them both out at a single stroke. + +The good curé began to yell, and make more ado than ever man made. + +“Hallo, hallo!” said the host; “have patience. What is done, is done. +Let us bandage you up.” + +The gelder did all that was necessary, and then went away, expecting a +handsome present from the host. + +It need not be said that the curé was much grieved at this deprivation, +and he reviled the host, who was the cause of the mischief, but God +knows he excused himself well, and said that if the gelder had not +disappeared so quickly, he would have served him so that he would never +have cut any one again. + +“As you imagine,” he said, “I am greatly grieved at your misfortune, and +still more that it should have happened in my inn.” + +The news soon spread through the town, and it need not be said that many +damsels were vexed to find themselves deprived of the cure’s instrument, +but on the other hand the long-suffering husbands were so happy that I +could neither speak nor write the tenth part of their joy. + +Thus, as you have heard, was the curé, who had deceived and duped so +many others, punished. Never after that did he dare to show himself +amongst men, but soon afterwards ended in grief and seclusion his +miserable life. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 65.jpg Indiscretion reproved, but not punished.] + + + + +STORY THE SIXTY-FIFTH -- INDISCRETION REPROVED, BUT NOT PUNISHED. + +By The Provost Of Wastennes. + +_Of a woman who heard her husband say that an innkeeper at Mont St. +Michel was excellent at copulating, so went there, hoping to try for +herself, but her husband took means to prevent it, at which she was much +displeased, as you will hear shortly._ + + +Often a man says things for which he is sorry afterwards, and so it +happened formerly that a good fellow who lived in a village near Mont +St. Michel, talked one night at a supper, at which were present his +wife, and several strangers and neighbours, of an inn-keeper of Mont +St. Michel, and declared, affirmed, and swore on his honour, that this +inn-keeper had the finest, biggest, and thickest member in all the +country round, and could use it so well that four, five, or six times +cost him no more trouble than taking off his hat. All those who were at +table listened to this favourable account of the prowess of mine host +of Mont St. Michel, and made what remarks they pleased about it, but the +person who took the most notice was the lady of the house, the wife of +the man who related the story, who had listened attentively, and to +whom it seemed that a woman would be most happy and fortunate who had a +husband so endowed. + +And she also thought in her heart that if she could devise some cunning +excuse she would some day go to Mont St. Michel, and put up at the inn +kept by the man with the big member, and it would not be her fault if +she did not try whether the report were true. + +To execute what she had so boldly devised, at the end of six or eight +days she took leave of her husband, to go on a pilgrimage to Mont St. +Michel; and she invented some clever excuse for her journey, as women +well know how to do. Her husband did not refuse her permission to go, +though he had his suspicions. + +At parting, her husband told her to make an offering to Saint Michael, +and that she was to lodge at the house of the said landlord, and he +recommended her to him a hundred thousand times. + +She promised to accomplish all he ordered, and upon that took leave and +went away, much desiring, God knows, to find herself at Mont St. Michel. +As soon as she had left, the husband mounted his horse, and went as fast +as he could, by another road to that which his wife had taken, to Mont +St. Michel, and arrived secretly, before his wife, at the inn kept by +the man already mentioned, who most gladly welcomed him. When he was in +his chamber, he said to his host, + +“My host, you and I have been friends for a long time. I will tell you +what has brought me to your town now. About five or six days ago, a lot +of good fellows were having supper at my house, and amongst other talk, +I related how it was said throughout the country that there was no man +better furnished than you”--and then he told him as nearly as possible +all that had been said. “And it happened,” he continued, “that my wife +listened attentively to what I said, and never rested till she obtained +permission to come to this town. And by my oath, I verily suspect that +her chief intention is to try if she can, if my words were true that +I said about your big member. She will soon be here I expect, for she +longs to come; so I pray you when she does come you will receive her +gladly, and welcome her, and do all that she asks. But at all events do +not deceive me; take care that you do not touch her. Appoint a time +to come to her when she is in bed, and I will go in your place, and +afterwards I will tell you some good news.” + +“Let me alone,” said the host. “I will take care and act my part well.” + +“At all events,” said the other, “be sure and serve me no trick, for I +know well enough that she will be ready to.” + +“By my oath,” said the host, “I assure you I will not come near her,” + and he did not. + +Soon after came our wench and her maid, both very tired, God knows; +and the good host came forth, and received his guests as he had been +enjoined, and as he had promised. He caused mademoiselle to be taken to +a fair chamber, and a good fire to be made, and brought the best wine +in the house, and sent for some fine fresh cherries, and came to banquet +with her whilst supper was getting ready. When he saw his opportunity, +he began to make his approaches to her, but in a roundabout way. To cut +matters short, an agreement was made between them that he should come +secretly at midnight to sleep with her. + +This being arranged, he went and told the husband of the dame, who, at +the hour named, went in mine host’s instead, and did the best he could, +and rose before daybreak and returned to his own bed. + +When it was day, the wench, quite vexed and melancholy, called her maid, +and they rose, and dressed as hastily as they could, and would have paid +the host, but he said he would take nothing from her. And with that +she left without hearing Mass, or seeing St. Michael, or breakfasting +either; and without saying a single word, returned home. But you must +know that her husband was there already, and asked her what good news +there was at Mont St. Michel. She, feeling as annoyed as she could be, +hardly deigned to reply. + +“And what sort of welcome,” asked her husband, “did mine host give you? +By God, he is a good fellow!” + +“A good fellow!” she said. “Nothing very wonderful! I will not give him +more praise than is his due.” + +“No, dame?” he replied. “By St. John, I should have thought that for +love of me he would have given you a hearty welcome.” + +“I care not about his welcome,” she said. “I do not go on a pilgrimage +for the sake of his, or any one else’s welcome. I only think of my +devotion.” + +“Devotion, wife!” he answered. “By Our Lady, you had none! I know very +well why you are so vexed and sorrowful. You did not find what you +expected--that is the exact truth. Ha, ha, madam! I know the cause of +your pilgrimage. You wanted to make trial of the physical gifts of our +host of St. Michel, but, by St. John, I was on my guard, and always will +be if I can help it. And that you may not think that I lied when I told +you that he had such a big affair, by God, I said nothing but what is +true. But you wanted something more than hearsay evidence, and, if I had +not stopped you, you would in your ‘devotion’ have tried its power for +yourself. You see I know all, and to remove any doubts you may have +on the subject, I may tell you that I came last night at the appointed +hour, and took his place--so be content with what I was able to do, and +remain satisfied with what you have. This time I pardon you, but take +care that it never occurs again.” + +The damsel, confused and astonished at being thus caught, as soon as she +could speak, begged his pardon, and promised never to do anything of the +sort again. And I believe that she never did. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SIXTY-SIXTH -- THE WOMAN AT THE BATH. + +By Philippe De Laon. + +_Of an inn-keeper at Saint Omer who put to his son a question for which +he was afterwards sorry when he heard the reply, at which his wife was +much ashamed, as you will hear, later._ + + +Some time ago I was at Saint Omer with a number of noble companions, +some from the neighbourhood and Boulogne, and some from elsewhere, and +after a game of tennis, we went to sup at the inn of a tavern-keeper, +who is a well-to-do man and a good fellow, and who has a very pretty and +buxom wife, by whom he has a fine boy, of the age of six or seven years. + +We were all seated at supper, the inn-keeper, his wife, and her son, +who stood near her, being with us, and some began to talk, others to +sing and make good cheer, and our host did his best to make himself +agreeable. + +His wife had been that day to the warm baths, and her little son with +her. So our host thought, to make the company laugh, to ask his son +about the people who were at the baths with his mother, (*) and said; + +“Come here, my son, and tell me truly which of all the women at the +baths had the finest and the biggest c----?” + + (*) The public baths were then much frequented, especially + by the lower classes. Men, women, and children all bathed + together. + +The child being questioned before his mother, whom he feared as children +usually do, looked at her, and did not speak. + +The father, not expecting to find him so quiet, said again; + +“Tell me, my son; who had the biggest c---- Speak boldly.” + +“I don’t know, father,” replied the child, still glancing at his mother. + +“By God, you lie,” said his father. “Tell me! I want to know.” + +“I dare not,” said the boy, “my mother would beat me.” + +“No, she will not,” said the father. “You need not mind. I will see she +does not hurt you.” + +Our hostess, the boy’s mother, not thinking that her son would tell (as +he did) said to him. + +“Answer boldly what your father asks you.” + +“You will beat me,” he said. + +“No, I will not,” she replied. + +The father, now that the boy had permission to speak, again asked; + +“Well, my son, on your word, did you look at the c----s of all the women +who were at the baths?” + +“By St. John, yes, father.” + +“Were there plenty of them? Speak, and don’t lie.” + +“I never saw so many. It seemed a real warren of c----s.” + +“Well then; tell us now who had the finest and the biggest?” + +“Truly,” replied the boy, “mother had the finest and biggest--but _he_ +had such a large nose.” + +“Such a large nose?” said the father. “Go along, go along! you are a +good boy.” + +We all began to laugh and to drink, and to talk about the boy who +chattered so well. But his mother did not know which way to look, she +was so ashamed, because her son had spoken about a nose, and I expect +that he was afterwards well beaten for having told tales out of school. +Our host was a good fellow, but he afterwards repented having put +a question the answer to which made him blush. That is all for the +present. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SIXTY-SEVENTH -- THE WOMAN WITH THREE HUSBANDS. + +By Philippe De Laon. + +_Of a “fur hat” of Paris, who wished to deceive a cobbler’s wife, but +over-reached, himself, for he married her to a barber, and thinking that +he was rid of her, would have wedded another, but she prevented him, as +you will hear more plainly hereafter._ + + +About three years ago a noteworthy adventure happened to one of the +fur hats of the Parliament of Paris. (*) And that it should not be +forgotten, I relate this story, not that I hold all the “fur caps” to +be good and upright men; but because there was not a little, but a large +measure of duplicity about this particular one, which is a strange and +peculiar thing as every one knows. + + (*) The councillors of Parliament wore a cap of fur, + bordered with ermine. + +To come to my story, this fur hat,--that is to say this councillor of +Parliament,--fell in love with the wife of a cobbler of Paris,--a good, +and pretty woman, and ready-witted. The fur hat managed, by means of +money and other ways, to get an interview with the cobbler’s fair wife +on the quiet and alone, and if he had been enamoured of her before he +enjoyed her, he was still more so afterwards, which she perceived and +was on her guard, and resolved to stand off till she obtained her price. + +His love for her was at such fever heat, that by commands, prayers, +promises, and gifts, he tried to make her come to him, but she would +not, in order to aggravate and increase his malady. He sent ambassadors +of all sorts to his mistress, but it was no good--she would rather die +than come. + +Finally--to shorten the story--in order to make her come to him as she +used formerly to do, he promised her in the presence of three or four +witnesses, that he would take her to wife if her husband died. + +As soon as she obtained this promise, she consented to visit him +at various times when she could get away, and he continued to be as +love-sick as ever. She, knowing her husband to be old, and having the +aforesaid promise, already looked upon herself as the Councillor’s wife. + +But a short time afterwards, the much-desired death of the cobbler was +known and published, and his fair widow at once went with a bound to +the abode of the fur cap, who received her gladly, and again promised to +make her his wife. + +These two good people--the fur cap, and his mistress, the cobbler’s +widow--were now together; But it often happens that what can be got +without trouble is not worth the trouble of getting, and so it was in +this case, for our fur cap soon began to weary of the cobbler’s widow, +and his love for her grew cold. She often pressed him to perform the +marriage he had promised, but he said; + +“By my word, my dear, I can never marry, for I am a churchman, and hold +such and such benefices, as you know. The promise I formerly made you is +null and void, and was caused by the great love I bear you, to win you +to me the more easily.” + +She, believing that he did belong to the Church, and seeing that she was +as much mistress of his house as though she had been his wedded wife, +went her accustomed way, and never troubled more about the marriage; but +at last was persuaded by the fine words of our fur cap to leave him, and +marry a barber, their neighbour, to whom the Councillor gave 300 +gold crowns, and God knows that the woman also was well provided with +clothes. + +Now you must know that our fur cap had a definite object in arranging +this marriage, which would never have come off if he had not told +his mistress that in future he intended to serve God, and live on his +benefices, and give up everything to the Church. But he did just the +contrary, as soon as he had got rid of her by marrying her to the +barber; for about a year later, he secretly treated for the hand of the +daughter of a rich and notable citizen of Paris. + +The marriage was agreed to and arranged, and a day fixed for the +wedding. He also disposed of his benefices, which were only held by +simple tonsure. + +These things were known throughout Paris, and came to the knowledge of +the cobbler’s widow, now the barber’s wife, and, as you may guess, she +was much surprised. + +“Oh, the traitor,” she said; “has he deceived me like this? He deserted +me under pretence of serving God, and made me over to another man. But, +by Our Lady of Clery, the matter shall not rest here.” + +Nor did it, for she cited our fur cap before the Bishop, and there her +advocate stated his case clearly and courteously, saying that the +fur cap had promised the cobbler’s wife, in the presence of several +witnesses, that if her husband died he would make her his wife. When +her husband died, the Councillor had kept her for about a year, and then +handed her over to a barber. + +To shorten the story, the witnesses having been heard, and the case +debated, the Bishop annulled the marriage of the cobbler’s widow to the +barber, and enjoined and commanded the fur cap to take her as his wife, +for so she was by right, since he had carnal connection with her after +the aforesaid promise. + +Thus was our fur cap brought to his senses. He missed marrying the +citizen’s fair daughter, and lost the 300 crowns, which the barber had +for keeping his wife for a year. And if the Councillor was ill-pleased +to have his old mistress again, the barber was glad enough to get rid of +her. + +In the manner that you have heard, was one of the fur caps of the +Parliament of Paris once served. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 68.jpg The Jade despoiled.] + + + + +STORY THE SIXTY-EIGHTH -- THE JADE DESPOILED. + +By Messire Chrestien De Dygoigne. + +_Of a married man who found his wife with another man, and devised +means to get from her her money, clothes, jewels, and all, down to +her chemise, and then sent her away in that condition, as shall be +afterwards recorded._ + + +It is no new and strange thing for wives to make their husbands +jealous,--or indeed, by God, cuckolds. And so it happened formerly, +in the city of Antwerp, that a married woman, who was not the chastest +person in the world, was desired by a good fellow to do--you know what. +And she, being kind and courteous, did not like to refuse the request, +but gladly consented, and they two continued this life for a long time. + +In the end, Fortune, tired of always giving them good luck, willed that +the husband should catch them in the act, much to his own surprise. +Perhaps though it would be hard to say which was the most surprised--the +lover, or his mistress, or the husband. Nevertheless, the lover, with +the aid of a good sword he had, made his escape without getting any +harm. There remained the husband and wife, and what they said to each +other may be guessed. After a few words on both sides, the husband, +thinking to himself that as she had commenced to sin it would be +difficult to break her of her bad habits, and that if she did sin +again it might come to the knowledge of other people, and he might be +dishonoured; and considering also that to beat or scold her would be +only lost labour, determined to see if he could not drive her out, and +never let her disgrace his house again. So he said to his wife; + +“Well, I see that you are not such as you ought to be; nevertheless, +hoping that you will never again behave as you have behaved, let no more +be said. But let us talk of another matter. I have some business on +hand which concerns me greatly, and you also. We must put in it all our +jewels; and if you have any little hoard of money stored away, bring it +forth, for it is required.” + +“By my oath,” said the wench, “I will do so willingly, if you will +pardon me the wrong I have done you.” + +“Don’t speak about it,” he replied, “and no more will I.” + +She, believing that she had absolution and remission of her sins, to +please her husband, and atone for the scandal she had caused, gave him +all the money she had, her gold rings, rich stuffs, certain well-stuffed +purses, a number of very fine kerchiefs, many whole furs of great +value--in short, all that she had, and that her husband could ask, she +gave to do him pleasure. + +“The devil!” quoth he; “still I have not enough.” + +When he had everything, down to the gown and petticoat she wore, he +said, “I must have that gown.” + +“Indeed!” said she. “I have nothing else to wear. Do you want me to go +naked?” + +“You must,” he said, “give it me, and the petticoat also, and be quick +about it, for either by good-will or force, I must have them.” + +She, knowing that force was not on her side, stripped off her gown and +petticoat, and stood in her chemise. + +“There!” she said; “Have I done what pleases you?” + +“Not always,” he replied. “If you obey me now, God knows you do so +willingly--but let us leave that and talk of another matter. When I +married you, you brought scarcely anything with you, and the little that +you had you have dissipated or forfeited. There is no need for me to +speak of your conduct--you know better than anyone what you are, and +being what you are, I hereby renounce you, and say farewell to you for +ever! There is the door! go your way; and if you are wise, you will +never come into my presence again.” + +The poor wench, more astounded than ever, did not dare to stay after +this terrible reproof, so she left, and went, I believe, to the house of +her lover, for the first night, and sent many ambassadors to try and get +back her apparel and belongings, but it was no avail. Her husband was +headstrong and obstinate, and would never hear her spoken about, and +still less take her back, although he was much pressed both by his own +friends and those of his wife. + +She was obliged to earn other clothes, and instead of her husband live +with a friend until her husband’s wrath is appeased, but, up to the +present, he is still displeased with her, and will on no account see +her. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SIXTY-NINTH -- THE VIRTUOUS LADY WITH TWO HUSBANDS. [69] + +By Monseigneur. + +_Of a noble knight of Flanders, who was married to a beautiful and noble +lady. He was for many years a prisoner in Turkey, during which time his +good and loving wife was, by the importunities of her friends, induced +to marry another knight. Soon after she had remarried, she heard that +her husband had returned from Turkey, whereupon she allowed herself to +die of grief, because she had contracted a fresh marriage._ + + +It is not only known to all those of the city of Ghent--where the +incident that I am about to relate happened not long ago--but to all +those of Flanders, and many others, that at the battle fought between +the King of Hungary and Duke Jehan (whom may God absolve) on one side, +and the Grand Turk and all his Turks on the other, (*) that many noble +knights and esquires--French, Flemish, German, and Picardians--were +taken prisoners, of whom some were put to death in the presence of the +said Great Turk, others were imprisoned for life, and others condemned +to slavery, amongst which last was a noble knight of the said country of +Flanders, named Clayz Utenhoven. + + (*) The battle of Nicopolis (28th September, 1396) when + Sigismond, King of Hungary, and Jean-sans-Peur, son of the + Duke of Burgundy, who had recruited a large army for the + purpose of raising the siege of Constantinople, were met and + overthrown by the Sultan, Bajazet I. + +For many years he endured this slavery, which was no light task but an +intolerable martyrdom to him, considering the luxuries upon which he had +been nourished, and the condition in which he had lived. + +Now you must know that he had formerly married at Ghent a beautiful and +virtuous lady, who loved him and held him dear with all her heart, and +who daily prayed to God that shortly she might see him again if he were +still alive; and that if he were dead, He would of His grace pardon his +sins, and include him in the number of those glorious martyrs, who to +repel the infidel, and that the holy Catholic faith might be exalted, +had given up their mortal lives. + +This good lady, who was rich, beautiful, virtuous, and possessed of many +noble friends, was continually pressed and assailed by her friends to +remarry; they declaring and affirming that her husband was dead, and +that if he were alive he would have returned like the others; or if he +were a prisoner, she would have received notice to prepare his ransom. +But whatever reasons were adduced, this virtuous lady could not be +persuaded to marry again, but excused herself as well as she was able. + +These excuses served her little or nothing, for her relatives and +friends so pressed her that she was obliged to obey. But God knows +that it was with no small regret, and after she had been for nine +years deprived of the presence of her good and loyal husband, whom she +believed to be long since dead, as did most or all who knew him; but +God, who guards and preserves his servants and champions, had otherwise +ordered it, for he still lived and performed his arduous labours as a +slave. + +To return to our story. This virtuous lady was married to another +knight, and lived with him for half a year, without hearing anything +further about her first husband. + +By the will of God, however, this good and true knight, Messire Clays, +who was still in Turkey, when his wife married again, and there working +as a slave, was, by means of some Christian gentlemen and merchants, +delivered, and returned in their galley. + +As he was on his return, he met and found in passing through various +places, many of his acquaintance, who were overjoyed at his delivery, +for in truth he was a most valiant man, of great renown and many +virtues; and so the most joyful rumour of his much wished-for +deliverance spread into France, Artois, and Picardy, where his virtues +were not less known than they were in Flanders, of which country he was +a native. And from these countries it soon reached Flanders, and came +to the ears of his beauteous and virtuous lady and spouse, who was +astounded thereat, and her feelings so overcame her as to deprive her of +her senses. + +“Ah,” she said, as soon as she could speak, “my heart was never willing +to do that which my relations and friends forced me to do. Alas! what +will my most loving lord and husband say? I have not kept faith with him +as I should, but--like a frail, frivolous, and weak-minded woman,--have +given to another part and portion of that of which he alone should +be lord and master! I cannot, and dare not await his coming. I am +not worthy that he should look at me, or that I should be seen in his +company,” and with these words her most chaste, virtuous, and loving +heart failed her, and she fell fainting. + +She was carried and laid upon a bed, and her senses returned to her, but +from that time it was not in the power of man or woman to make her eat +or sleep, and thus she continued three days, weeping continually, and +in the greatest grief of mind that ever woman was. During which time she +confessed and did all that a good Christian should, and implored pardon +of all, and most especially of her husband. + +Soon afterwards she died, which was a great misfortune; and it need not +be told what grief fell upon the said lord, her husband, when he heard +the news. His sorrow was such that he was in great danger of dying as +his most loving wife had done; but God, who had saved him from many +other great perils, preserved him also from this. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTIETH -- THE DEVIL’S HORN. + +By Monseigneur. + +_Of a noble knight of Germany, a great traveller in his time; who after +he had made a certain voyage, took a vow to never make the sign of +the Cross, owing to the firm faith and belief that he had in the holy +sacrament of baptism--in which faith he fought the devil, as you will +hear._ + + +A noble knight of Germany, a great traveller, distinguished in arms, +courteous, and largely endowed with all good virtues, had just returned +from a long journey, and was in his castle, when he was asked by one of +his vassals living in the same town, to be godfather to his child, which +had been born on the same day that the knight returned. + +To which request the knight willingly acceded, and although he had +during his life held many children at the font, he had never before +listened to the holy words pronounced by the priest at this holy and +excellent sacrament as he did this time, and they seemed to him--as +indeed they are-full of high and divine mystery. + +The baptism being finished, he being liberal and courteous and willing +to oblige his vassals, remained to dine in the town, instead of +returning to his castle, and with him dined the curé, his fellow +sponsor, and other persons of renown. + +The discourse turned on various matters, when the knight began to +greatly praise the excellent sacrament of baptism, and said in a loud +and clear voice that all might hear; + +“If I knew for a truth that at my baptism had been pronounced the great +and holy words which I heard to-day at the baptism of my latest god-son, +I would not believe that the devil could have any power or authority +over me, except to tempt me, and I would refrain from ever making the +sign of the Cross, not that--let it be well understood--I do not well +know that sign is sufficient to repel the devil, but because I believe +that the words pronounced at the baptism of every Christian (if they are +such as I have to-day heard) are capable of driving away all the devils +of hell, however many they might be.” + +“Truly then, monseigneur,” replied the curé, “I assure you _in verbo +sacerdotis_ that the same words which were said to-day at the baptism +of your god-son were pronounced at your baptism. I know it well, for +I myself baptised you, and I remember it as well as though it were +yesterday. God be merciful to monseigneur your father--he asked me the +day after your baptism, what I thought of his son; such and such were +your sponsors, and such and such were present,” and he related all +particulars about the baptism, and showed that it was certain that in +not a word did it differ from that of his god-son. + +“Since it is thus,” then said the noble knight, “I vow to God, my +creator, that I have such firm faith in the holy sacrament of baptism +that never again, for any danger, encounter, or assault that the devil +may make against me, will I make the sign of the Cross, but solely by +the memory of the sacrament of baptism I will drive him behind me; +such a firm belief have I in this divine mystery, that it does not seem +possible to me that the devil can hurt a man so shielded, for that rite +needs no other aid if accompanied by true faith.” + +The dinner passed, and I know not how many years after, the good knight +was in a large town in Germany, about some business which drew him +thither, and was lodged in an inn. As he was one night along with his +servants, after supper, talking and jesting with them, he wished to +retire, but as his servants were enjoying themselves he would not +disturb them, so he took a candle and went alone. As he entered the +closet he saw before him a most horrible and terrible monster, having +large and long horns, eyes brighter than the flames of a furnace, arms +thick and long, sharp and cutting claws,--in fact a most extraordinary +monster, and a devil, I should imagine. + +And for such the good knight took it, and was at first greatly startled +at such a meeting. Nevertheless, he boldly determined to defend himself +if he were attacked, and he remembered the vow he had made concerning +the holy and divine mystery of baptism. And in this faith he walked up +to the monster, whom I have called a devil, and asked him who he was and +what he wanted? + +The devil, without a word, attacked him, and the good knight defended +himself, though he had no other weapons than his hands (for he was in +his doublet, being about to go to bed) and the protection of his firm +faith in the holy mystery of baptism. + +The struggle lasted long, and the good knight was so weary that it was +strange he could longer endure such an assault. But he was so well-armed +by his faith that the blows of his enemy had but little effect. At last, +when the combat had lasted a full hour, the good knight took the devil +by the horns, and tore one of them out, and beat him therewith soundly. + +Then he went away victorious, leaving the devil writhing on the ground, +and went back to his servants, who were still enjoying themselves, as +they had been doing when he left. They were much frightened to see their +master sweating and out of breath, and with his face all scratched, and +his doublet, shirt, and hose disarranged and torn. + +“Ah, sir,” they cried; “whence come you, and who has thus mauled you?” + +“Who?” he replied. “Why it was the devil, with whom I have fought so +long that I am out of breath, and in the condition in which you see +me; and I swear to you that I truly believe he would have strangled and +devoured me, if I had not at that moment remembered my baptism, and the +great mystery of that holy sacrament, and the vow that I made I know not +how many years ago. And, believe me, I have kept that vow, and though I +was in danger, I never made the sign of the Cross, but remembering the +aforesaid holy sacrament, boldly defended myself, and have escaped scot +free; for which I praise and thank our Lord who with the shield of faith +hath preserved me safely. Let all the other devils in hell come; as long +as this protection endures, I fear them not. Praise be to our blessed +God who is able to endue his knights with such weapons.” + +The servants of the good knight, when they heard their master relate +this story, were very glad to find he had escaped so well, and much +astonished at the horn he showed them, and which he had torn out of the +devil’s head. And they could not discover, neither could any person who +afterwards saw it, of what it was formed; if it were bone or horn, as +other horns are, or, what it was. + +Then one of the knight’s servants said that he would go and see if this +devil were still where his master had left it, and if he found it he +would fight it, and tear out its other horn. His master told him not to +go, but he said he would. + +“Do not do it,” said his master; “the danger is too great.” + +“I care not,” replied the other; “I will go.” + +“If you take my advice,” said his master, “you will not go.” + +But he would disobey his master and go. He took in one hand a torch, and +in the other a great axe, and went to the place where his master had met +and fought the devil. What happened no one knows, but his master, who, +fearing for his servant, followed him as quickly as he could, found +neither man nor devil, nor ever heard what became of the man. + +Thus, in the manner that you have heard, did this good knight fight +against the devil, and overcome him by the virtue of the holy sacrament +of baptism. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 71.jpg The considerate Cuckold] + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-FIRST -- THE CONSIDERATE CUCKOLD + +By Monseigneur Le Duc. + +_Of a knight of Picardy, who lodged at an inn in the town of St. Omer, +and fell in love with the hostess, with whom he was amusing himself--you +know how--when her husband discovered them; and how he behaved--as you +will shortly hear._ + + +At Saint Omer, not long ago, there happened an amusing incident, which +is as true as the Gospel, and is known to many notable people worthy of +faith and belief. In short, the story is as follows. + +A noble knight of Picardy, who was lively and lusty, and a man of great +authority and high position, came to an inn where the quartermaster of +Duke Philip of Burgundy had appointed him to lodge. (*) + + (*) The _fourrier_--which, for want of a better word, I have + translated as “quartermaster,”--was an officer of the + household of a prince or great lord. One of his duties was + to provide lodgings for all the retinue whenever his master + was travelling. + +As soon as he had jumped off his horse, and put foot to the ground, +his hostess--as is the custom in that part of the country--came forward +smiling most affably, and received him most honourably, and, as he +was the most kind and courteous of men, he embraced her and kissed +her gently, for she was pretty and nice, healthy-looking and nattily +dressed--in fact very tempting to kiss and cuddle--and at first sight +each took a strong liking to the other. + +The knight wondered by what means he could manage to enjoy the person +of his hostess, and confided in one of his servants, who in a very short +time so managed the affair that the two were brought together. + +When the noble knight saw his hostess ready to listen to whatever he +had to say, you may fancy that he was joyful beyond measure; and in his +great haste and ardent desire to discuss the question he wanted to argue +with her, forgot to shut the door of the room, which his servant, when +he departed after bringing the woman in, had left half open. + +The knight, without troubling about preludes, began an oration in +dumb-show; and the hostess, who was not sorry to hear him, replied to +his arguments in such a manner that they soon agreed well together, and +never was music sweeter, or instruments in better tune, than it was for +those two, by God’s mercy. + +But it happened, by I know not what chance, that the host of the inn, +the husband of the woman, was seeking his wife to tell her something, +and passing by chance by the chamber where his wife and the knight were +playing the cymbals, heard the sound. He turned towards the spot where +this pleasant pastime was going on, and pushing open the door, saw the +knight and his wife harnessed together, at which he was by far the most +astonished of the three, and drew back quickly, fearing to prevent and +disturb the said work which they were performing. But all that he did +by way of menace or remonstrance was to call out from behind the door; +“Morbleu! you are not only wicked but thoughtless. Have you not the +sense, when you want to do anything of that sort, to shut the door +behind you? Just fancy what it would have been if anyone else had +found you! By God, you would have been ruined and dishonoured, and your +misdeeds discovered and known to all the town! In the devil’s name, be +more careful another time!” and without another word, he closed the +door and went away; and the honest couple re-tuned their bagpipes, and +finished the tune they had begun. + +And when this was finished, each went his or her own way as +unconcernedly as though nothing had happened; and the circumstance would +I believe have never been known--or at least not so publicly as to come +to your ears, and the ears of so many other people,--had it not been +that the husband vexed himself so little about the matter that he +thought less of being cuckolded than he did of finding the door +unbolted. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-SECOND -- NECESSITY IS THE MOTHER OF INVENTION. + +By Monseigneur De Commensuram. + +_Of a gentleman of Picardy who was enamoured of the wife of a knight his +neighbour; and how he obtained the lady’s favours and was nearly caught +with her, and with great difficulty made his escape, as you will hear +later._ + + +Apropos of the previous story, there lived formerly in Picardy--and I +believe he is living there now--a gentlemen who was so enamoured of the +wife of a knight, his neighbour, that he deemed no day or hour happy if +he were not with her, or at least had news of her;--and he was quite as +dear to her--which is no small matter. + +But the misfortune was that they could find no means of meeting secretly +to open their hearts to each other, and in no case would they do so in +the presence of a third person, however good a friend he or she might +be. At last, after many sad nights and days, Love, who aids and succours +his loyal servants when he pleases, procured for them the much-desired +day, when the poor husband,--the most jealous man living--was obliged to +leave his house on account of some pressing business by which he would +gain a large sum if he were present, and would lose his money if he were +absent. By gaining which sum he reaped an even better reward--that of +being called a cuckold as well as a jealous man--for he had no sooner +left his house than the gentleman, who was watching for no other quarry, +popped into the house, and without staying long, at once performed that +for which he came, and received from his lady all that a lover can and +dare demand; as pleasantly and as leisurely as they could both wish. + +And they did not suppose that the husband would surprise them, but +looked forward to a time of unalloyed pleasure, hoping that the night +would complete that which the most joyful day--by far too short--had +begun, and really believing that the poor devil of a husband could not +return before dinner-time the following day at the earliest. + +But it happened otherwise, for the devil brought him home. I know not, +and care not to know how it was that he could get through his business +so quickly, suffice it to say that he came back that night, at which the +company--that is to say the two lovers--was much alarmed, and so taken +by surprise, (for they did not expect this inopportune return) that the +poor gentleman could think of nothing else to do than to hide in the +privy which was close to the chamber, hoping to escape by some means +that his mistress would find before the knight came into the chamber. + +It chanced that our knight, who that day had ridden sixteen or eighteen +long leagues, was so tired and stiff that he would sup in his chamber, +where he had his boots taken off, and would not go to the dining-hall. + +You may guess that the poor gentleman paid dear for the pleasure he had +had that day, for he was half dead with hunger, cold, and fear; and, to +aggravate his misfortune, he was taken with such a horrible cough +that it was wonderful that it was not heard in the chamber, where were +assembled, the knight, the lady, and the other knights of the household. + +The lady, whose eyes and ears were open for any sign of her lover, heard +him by chance, and her heart sank within her, for she feared that her +husband would hear also. Soon after supper she found an opportunity to +go to the privy, and told her lover to take care, for God’s sake, and +not cough like that. + +“Alas, my dear,” he said, “I cannot help it. God knows how I am +punished. And for God’s sake think of some way of getting me out of +this.” + +“I will,” she said, and with that she went away, and the good squire +began his song over again, so loud indeed that he was much afraid he +would be heard in the chamber; and might have been had not the lady +talked very loudly in order to drown the noise. + +When the squire had this fresh attack of coughing, he knew of nothing +better to do to prevent being heard than to stuff his head down the +hole of the privy, where he was well “incensed”, God knows, by the stuff +therein, but he preferred that to being heard. In short, he was there a +long time, with his head down the hole, spitting, sniffing, and coughing +so much that it seemed as though he would never do anything else. + +After this fit finished, the cough left him, and then he tried to draw +out his head, but it was not in his power, so far had he pushed his +shoulders through, and you may fancy that he was not very comfortable. +In short he could not find means to get out, try as he would. He scraped +his neck, and nearly pulled his ears off, and in the end, by God’s will, +he pulled so hard that he tore away the seat of the privy, which +hung round his neck. It was beyond his power to get out of it, but +troublesome as it was, he preferred that to his previous position: + +His mistress came and found him in that state, and was much astonished. +She could not help him, and all the consolation she could give him +was to tell him that she could find no means of getting him out of the +house. + + +[Illustration: 72.jpg Necessity is the Mother of Invention.] + + +“Is that so?” he said. “Morbleu! I am well armed to fight any one, but I +must have a sword in my hand.” + +He was soon provided with a good one, and the lady, seeing his +extraordinary appearance, although her heart was lull of doubt and +uncertainty, could not refrain from laughing, and the squire also. + +“Now I commend myself to God,” he said. “I am going to try if I can get +out of the house; but first black my face well.” + +She did so, and recommended him to God, and the poor fellow, with the +seat of the privy round his neck, a drawn sword in his hand, and his +face blacker than charcoal, sallied out into the room, and by luck the +first person he met was the husband, who was in such mortal fear at the +sight of him--believing it was the Devil himself--that he tumbled full +length on the floor and nearly broke his neck, and was for a long time +in a swoon. + +His wife, seeing him in this condition, came forward, and pretending to +show much more fear than she really felt, supported him in her arms, and +asked him what was the matter. As soon as he came to himself, he said in +broken accents, and with a piteous air; “Did you see that devil I met.” + +“Yes, I did,” she replied, “and I nearly died of fright at the sight.” + +“Why does it come to our house?” he asked, “And who could have sent +it? I shall not recover myself for a year or two, I have been so +frightened.” + +“Nor shall I, by God,” said the pious lady. “I believe it must mean +something. May God keep us, and protect us from all evil fortune. My +heart forebodes some mischief from this vision.” + +Every one in the castle gave his or her version of the devil with a +drawn sword, and they all believed it was a real devil. The good lady, +who held the key of the mystery, was very glad to see them of that +opinion. Ever after that the said devil continued to do the work that +everyone does so willingly, though the husband, and everybody except a +discreet waiting woman, were ignorant of the fact. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 73.jpg The Bird in the Cage.] + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-THIRD -- THE BIRD IN THE CAGE. + +By Jehan Lambin. + +_Of a curé who was in love with the wife of one of his parishioners, +with whom the said curé was found by the husband of the woman, the +neighbours having given him warning--and how the curé escaped, as you +will hear._ + + +In the district of Saint Pol, in a village near that town, there +formerly resided a worthy man, a labourer, married to a fair and buxom +woman with whom the curé of the village was in love. He was burning with +love for her, but he foresaw that his intentions might be suspected, +and thought that the best way to win her would be to first gain the +friendship of her husband. + +He confided this opinion to the woman, and asked her advice, and she +replied that it was a very good plan to enable them to carry out their +amorous intentions. + +The curé, by flattery and subtle means, made the acquaintance of the +good man, and managed him so well that he was always talking of “his +curé”, and would not eat or do anything else without him. Every day he +would have him to dinner and supper, in short there was nothing done at +the good man’s house without the curé being present. By this means he +could come to the house as often as he pleased, and whatever time he +liked. + +But the neighbours of this foolish labourer, seeing what he could not +see, his eyes being bandaged by weakness and confidence,--told him that +it was not right and proper to have the curé at his house every day, +and that, if it continued, his wife’s reputation would suffer, these +frequent visits having been noticed and spoken about by his neighbours +and friends. + +When the good man found himself thus sharply reproved by his neighbours +for the frequent visits of the curé to his house, he was obliged to +tell the curé that he must cease his constant calls, and forbade him +by strict orders and menaces ever to come again until he was invited; +affirming by a great oath that if ever he found the curé in his house +there would be an account to settle between them, and it would not be +pleasant for the visitor. + +This prohibition displeased the curé more than I can tell you, but +though vexed, he would not break off his love affair, for it was so +deeply rooted in the hearts of both parties that it could not be easily +eradicated. But hear how the curé managed after this prohibition. By an +agreement with his mistress, he used to be informed of the times when +her husband was absent, and then visit her. But he managed clumsily, for +he could not pay his visits without the knowledge of the neighbours, who +had been the cause of the interdict, and who were as much displeased at +the cure’s acts as though they had been personally concerned. + +The good man was again informed that the curé used to come and put out +the fire at his house every night, (*) as he did before he was +forbidden. The foolish husband, hearing that, was much astonished and +also angry, and to remedy this state of affairs, thought of the means +which I will relate. + + (*) That is to say came at curfew time. + +He told his wife that he was going, on a certain day which he named, to +take to St. Orner a waggon-load of corn, and that the work might be well +done, was going himself. When the day named for his departure arrived, +he did, as is usual in Picardy, especially round St. Omer, that is +loaded his waggon of corn at midnight, and at that hour took leave of +his wife and departed with his waggon. + +As soon as he was gone, his wife closed all the doors of the house. Now +you must know that the St. Omer to which our merchant was going was the +house of one of his friends who lived at the other end of the +village. He arrived there, put his waggon in the courtyard of the said +friend--who knew all the business--and sent him to keep watch and listen +round the house to see if any thief might come. + +When he arrived, he concealed himself at the corner of a thick hedge, +from which spot he could see all the doors of the house of the merchant, +of whom he was the friend and servant. + +Hardly had he taken his place than there arrived the curé, who had come +to light his candle--or rather to put it out--and softly and secretly +knocked at the door, which was soon opened by one who was not inclined +to sleep at that time, who came down in her chemise, and let in her +confessor, and then closed the door and led him to the place where her +husband ought to have been. + +The watcher, when he perceived what was done, left his post, and went +and informed the husband. Upon which news, the following plan was +quickly arranged between them. The corn-merchant pretended to have +returned from his journey on account of certain adventures which had, or +might have, happened to him. + +He knocked at the door, and shouted to his wife, who was much alarmed +when she heard his voice, and made haste to conceal her lover, the curé, +in a _casier_ that was in the chamber; and you must know that a _casier_ +is a kind of pantry-cupboard, long and narrow and fairly deep, and very +much like a trough. + +As soon as the curé was concealed amongst the eggs, butter cheese, and +other such victuals, the brave housewife, pretending to be half awake +half asleep, let in her husband, and said. + +“Oh, my dear husband, what can have happened that you have returned +so quickly? There must be some reason why you did not go on your +journey--for God’s sake tell it me quickly!” + +The good man, who was as angry as he could be, although he did not show +it, insisted on going to their bedroom and there telling her the cause +of his sudden return. When he was where he expected to find the curé, +that is to say in the bedroom, he began to relate his reasons for +breaking his journey. Firstly, he said he had such suspicion of her +virtue that he feared much to be numbered amongst the blue vestments, +(*) or “our friends” as they are commonly called, and that it was +because of this suspicion that he had returned so quickly. Also that +when he was out of the house it had occurred to his mind that the curé +was his deputy whilst he was away. So to put his suspicions to the test, +he had come back, and now wanted the candle to see whether his wife had +been sleeping alone during his absence. + + (*) In the present day, yellow is the emblematic colour for + jealous or cuckolded husbands, but it would appear from this + passage that in the 15th century it was blue-possibly, + Bibliophile Jacob thinks, from its being the colour of the + _maquereau_. + +When he had finished relating the causes of his return, the good woman +cried, + +“Oh, my dear husband, whence comes this baseless jealousy? Have you ever +seen in my conduct anything that should not be seen in that of a good, +faithful, and virtuous wife? Cursed be the hour I first knew you, since +you suspect me of that which my heart could never imagine. You know +me badly if you do not know how clean and pure my heart is, and will +remain.” + +The good man paid little heed to these words, but said that he wished to +allay his suspicions, and to at once inspect every corner of the chamber +as well as possible,--but he did not find what he sought. + +Then he caught sight of the _casier_, and he guessed that the man he +wanted was inside, but he made no sign, and calling his wife said; + +“My dear, I was wrong to presume that you were untrue to me, and such +as my false suspicions imagined. Nevertheless, I am so obstinate in my +opinions, that it would be impossible for me to live comfortably with +you henceforth. And therefore I hope you will agree that a separation +should be made between us, and that we divide our goods equally in a +friendly manner.” + +The wench, who was pleased with this arrangement, in order that she +might more easily see her curé, agreed with scarcely any difficulty to +her husband’s request, but she made it a condition that in the division +of the furniture she should have first choice. + +“And why,” said the husband, “should you have first choice? It is +against all right and justice.” + +They were a long time squabbling about first choice, but in the end +the husband won, and took the _casier_ in which there was nothing but +custards, tarts, cheeses, and other light provisions, amongst which was +the good curé buried, and he heard all the discussion that went on. + +When the husband chose the _casier_, his wife chose the copper; then the +husband chose another article then she chose; and so on until all the +articles were apportioned out. + +After the division was made, the husband said; + +“I will allow you to live in my house until you have found another +lodging, but I am going now to take my share of the furniture, and put +it in the house of one of my neighbours.” + +“Do so,” she said, “when you like.” + +He took a good cord and tightly tied up the _casier_; then sent for his +waggoner and told him to put the _casier_ on a horse’s back and take it +to the house of a certain neighbour. + +The good woman heard these orders, but did not dare to interfere, for +she feared that if she did it would not advance matters, but perhaps +cause the _casier_ to be opened, so she trusted to luck. + +The _casier_ was placed on the horse, and taken through the streets to +the house the good man had mentioned. But they had not gone far before +the curé, who was choked and blinded with eggs and butter, cried, + +“For God’s sake! mercy!” + +The waggoner hearing this piteous appeal come out of the _casier_, +jumped off the horse much frightened, and called the servants and his +master, and they opened the _casier_, and found the poor prisoner all +smeared and be-yellowed with eggs, cheese, milk, and more than a hundred +other things, indeed it would have been hard to say which there was most +of,--in such a pitiable condition was the poor lover. + +When the husband saw him in that state, he could not help laughing, +although he felt angry; He let him go, and then went back to his wife to +tell her that he had not been wrong in suspecting her of unchastity. She +seeing herself fairly caught, begged for mercy, and was pardoned on this +condition, that if ever the case occurred again, she should be better +advised than to put her lover in the _casier_, for the curé had stood a +good chance of being killed. + +After that they lived together for a long time, and the husband brought +back his _casier_, but I do not think that the curé was ever found in +it again, but ever after that adventure he was known, and still is, as +“Sire Vadin Casier”. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-FOURTH -- THE OBSEQUIOUS PRIEST. + +By Philippe De Laon. + +_Of a priest of Boulogne who twice raised the body of Our Lord whilst +chanting a Mass, because he believed that the Seneschal of Boulogne +had come late to the Mass, and how he refused to take the Pax until the +Seneschal had done so, as you will hear hereafter._ + + +Once when the Seneschal of the County of Boulogne was travelling through +the district visiting each town, he passed through a hamlet where the +bell was ringing for Mass, and as he expected that he should not reach +the town to which he was going in time to hear Mass, for the hour was +then nearly noon, he thought that he would dismount at this hamlet to +see God in passing. + +He left his horse at the door of the church, and took a seat near the +altar, where high Mass was being celebrated, and placed himself so +near the priest, that the latter could see his profile whilst he was +celebrating the Mass. + +When he raised the cup, and other things that he should, he thought to +himself that he had noticed the Seneschal behind him, and not knowing +whether he had come early enough to see the elevation, but believing +that he had come too late, the priest called his clerk, and made him +light the candles, and, performing all the ceremonies that he should, +he again raised the Host, saying that that was for Monseigneur le +Seneschal. + +And after that he proceeded until he came to the _Agnus Dei_ which, +when he had said three times, and his clerk gave him the Pax to kiss, he +refused, approaching his clerk and saying that he should first present +it to the Seneschal, who refused it two or three times. + +When the priest saw that the Seneschal would not take the Pax before +him, he put down the Host which he had in his hands, and took the Pax, +which he carried to my lord the Seneschal, and told him that if my lord +did not take it first, he would not take it himself. + +“For it is not right,” said the priest, “that I should take the Pax +before you.” + +Then the Seneschal, seeing that wisdom was not to be found in that +place, gave in to the curé and took the Pax first, and the curé followed +him; and that being done he returned to perform the rest of the Mass. + +And this is all that was related to me. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-FIFTH -- THE BAGPIPE. [75] + +By Monseigneur De Thalemas. + +_Of a hare-brained half-mad fellow who ran a great risk of being put +to death by being hanged on a gibbet in order to injure and annoy the +Bailly, justices, and other notables of the city of Troyes in Champagne +by whom he was mortally hated, as will appear more plainly hereafter._ + + +In the time of the war between the Burgundians; and the Armagnacs, (*) +there happened at Troyes in Champagne, a rather curious incident which +is well worth being recorded, and which was as follows. The people of +Troyes, though they had been Burgundians, had joined the Armagnacs, and +amongst them there had formerly lived a fellow who was half mad, for he +had not entirely lost his senses, though his words and actions showed +more folly than good sense--nevertheless he would sometimes say and do +things which a wiser than he could not have bettered. + + (*) The reign of Charles VI, after the assassination of the + Duc d’Orléans by Jean-sans-Peur, was marked by along civil + war between the factions here named, and who each in turn + called in the aid of the English. + +To begin the story, however; this fellow who was in garrison with the +Burgundians at Sainte Menehould, one day told his companions that if +they would listen to him, he would teach them how to catch a batch of +the yokels of Troyes, whom, in truth, he hated mortally, and they hardly +loved him, for they had always threatened to hang him if they caught +him. This is what he said: + +“I will go to Troyes and will approach the fortifications, and will +pretend to be spying round the town, and will measure the moat with my +lance, and will get so near the town that I shall be taken prisoner. +I am sure that as soon as the good _bailli_ gets hold of me, he will +condemn me to be hanged, and there is no one in the town who will take +my part for they all hate me. So, early the next morning, I shall be +taken out to the gibbet, (*) and you will all be hidden in the thicket +which is near the gibbet. And as soon as you see me arrive with the +procession, you will spring out upon them, and take whom you like, and +deliver me out of their hands.” All his companions in garrison with +him agreed to this willingly, and told him that if he would dare this +adventure, they would assist him to the best of their power. + + (*) The gibbet was usually outside the town, often at some + considerable distance from the walls. + +To shorten the story, the simpleton went to Troyes as he had said, and, +as he desired, he was taken prisoner. The report soon spread through the +town, and there was no one who did not say he ought to be hanged; even +the Bailli, as soon as he saw him, swore by all his gods that he should +be hanged by the neck. + +“Alas! monseigneur,” said the poor fool, “I pray for mercy. I have done +nothing wrong.” + +“You lie, scoundrel,” said the Bailly. “You have guided the Burgundians +into this district, and you have accused the citizens and merchants +of this city. You shall have your reward, for you shall be hanged on a +gibbet.” + +“For God’s sake then, monseigneur,” said the poor fellow; “since I must +die, at least let it please you that it be in the early morning; so +that, as I have many acquaintances in the town, I may not be held up to +public opprobrium.” + +“Very well,” said the Bailly, “I will think about it.” + +The next morning at day-break, the hangman with his cart came to the +prison, and hardly had he arrived than there came the Bailly with his +sergeants, and a great crowd of people to accompany them, and the poor +fellow was laid, bound, on the cart, and still holding the bagpipe he +was accustomed to play. Thus he was led to the gibbet, accompanied by +a larger crowd than most have at their hanging, so much was he hated in +the town. + +Now you must know that his comrades of the garrison of Sainte Menehould +had not forgotten their ambuscade, and ever since midnight had been +collected near the gibbet, to save their friend, although he was not +overwise, and also to capture prisoners and whatever else they could. +When they arrived they took up their position, and put a sentinel in a +tree to watch when the Troyes folk should be gathered round the gibbet. +The sentinel was placed in his position, and promised that he would keep +a good watch. + +Then all the crowd came to the gibbet, and the Bailli gave order to +despatch the poor fool, who for his part wondered where his comrades +were, and why they did not rush out on these rascally Armagnacs. + +He did not feel at all comfortable, and he looked all round, but chiefly +towards the wood, but he heard nothing. He made his confession last as +long as he could, but at last the priest went away, and the poor fellow +had to mount the ladder, and from this elevated position, God knows +that he looked often towards the wood; but it was of no avail, for the +sentinel, who was to give the signal when the men were to rush out, had +gone to sleep in the tree. + +The poor fellow did not know what to say or do, and verily believed that +his last hour had come. The hangman began to make preparations to put +the noose round the victim’s neck, who, when he saw that, bethought him +of a trick, which turned out well for him, and said; + +“Monseigneur le Bailli, I beg you for God’s sake, that before the +hangman lays hands on me, I may be allowed to play a tune on my bagpipe. +That is all I ask; after that I shall be ready to die, and I pardon you +and all the others for having caused my death.” + +His request was granted, and the bagpipe was handed up to him. As soon +as he had it, he began, as leisurely as he could, to play an air which +all his comrades knew very well, and which was called. “You stay too +long, Robin; you stay too long.” + +At the sound of the bagpipe the sentinel woke, and was so startled that +he tumbled out of the tree to the ground, and cried, + +“They are hanging our comrade! Forward! Forward! make haste!” + +His comrades were ready, and at the sound of the trumpet they sallied +out of the wood, and rushed upon the Bailly and all the others who were +round the gibbet. + +The hangman was too frightened to put the rope round the man’s neck and +push him off the ladder, but begged for his own life, which the other +would willingly have granted but it was not in his power. The victim, +however, did something better, for from his place on the ladder he +called out to his comrades, “Capture that man, he is rich; and that one, +he is dangerous.” + +In short, the Burgundians killed a great number of those who had come +out of Troyes, and captured many others, and saved their man, as you +have heard, but he said that never in all his life had he had such a +narrow escape as on that occasion. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 76.jpg Caught in the Act.] + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-SIXTH -- CAUGHT IN THE ACT. [76] + +By Philippe De Laon. + +_Of the chaplain to a knight of Burgundy who was enamoured of the wench +of the said knight, and of the adventure which happened on account of +his amour, as you will hear below._ + + +I have often heard related, by people worthy of credit, a curious +history, which will furnish me a tale without my adding or suppressing +one word that is not needed. + +Amongst the knights of Burgundy was formerly one, who, contrary to the +custom of the country, kept in his castle--which I will not name--a fair +wench to serve as his mistress. + +His chaplain, who was young and frisky, seeing this nice wench, was not +so virtuous but that he felt tempted, and fell in love with her, and +when he saw his opportunity, told her of his love. The damsel, who was +as sharp as mustard, for she had knocked about so much that no one in +the world knew more than she did, thought to herself that if she granted +the priest’s request her master would hear of it, however much she tried +to conceal it, and thus she would lose the greater for the less. + +So she determined to relate the affair to her master, who when he heard +of it did nothing but laugh, for he had partly suspected it, having +noticed the looks, conversation and little love-tricks that passed +between the two. Nevertheless, he ordered the wench to lead the priest +on, without, however, granting him her favours; and she did it so well +that the priest fell into the trap. The knight used often to say him; + +“By God, sir, you are too friendly with my chamber-wench. I do not know +what there is between you two, but if it is anything to my prejudice, by +Our Lady, I will punish the two of you.” + +“In truth, monseigneur,” replied the Dominie. “I do not pretend to +expect anything from her. I talk to her to pass the time, as everyone +else in the house does, but never in my life would I seek her love, or +anything of the kind.” + +“Very well,” said the lord, “if it were otherwise I should not be best +pleased.” + +If the Dominie had importuned her before, he now pursued her more than +ever, and wherever he met the wench he pressed her so closely that she +was obliged, whether she would or not, to listen to his requests, +and, being cunning and deceitful, she so played with the priest and +encouraged his love, that for her sake he would have fought Ogier the +Dane himself. + +As soon as she had left him, the whole conversation that had passed +between them was related to her master. + +To make the farce more amusing, and to deceive his chaplain, he ordered +the girl to appoint a night for him to be in the _ruelle_ of the bed +where they slept. She was to say to him. “As soon as monseigneur is +asleep, I will do what you want; come quietly into the _ruelle_ of the +bed.” + +“And you must,” he said, “let him do what he likes, and so will I; and +I am sure that when he believes I am asleep, that he will soon have his +arms round you, and I will have ready, near your ----, a noose in which +he will be nicely caught.” + +The wench was very joyful and satisfied with this arrangement, and +gave the message to the Dominie, who never in his life had been more +delighted, and, without thinking of or imagining peril or danger, +entered his master’s chamber, where the wench and his master slept. He +cast all sense and decency to the winds, and only thought of satisfying +his foolish lust,--albeit it was quite natural. + +To cut the story short, Master Priest came at the hour appointed, and +crept quietly enough, God knows, into the _ruelle_ of the bed, and his +mistress whispered to him; + +“Don’t say a word: when monsieur is fast asleep I will touch you, and +then come to me.” + +“Very good,” he replied. + +The good knight, who was not asleep, had a great inclination to laugh, +but checked himself, in order not to spoil the joke. As he had proposed +and arranged, he spread his noose where he wished, that is to say round +the spot where the priest wanted to get. + +All being ready, the Dominie was called, and as gently as he could, +slipped into the bed, and without more ado, mounted on the heap in order +to see the further. (*) + + (*) A proverbial expression founded perhaps on some old + story which may be alluded to also in the 12th and 82nd + stories. + +As soon as he was lodged there, the good knight drew the cord tightly, +and said aloud, + +“Ha! scoundrelly priest, is that the sort of man you are?” The priest +tried to run away, but he could not go far, for the instrument he had +tried to tune to the girl’s fiddle was caught in the noose, at which +he was much frightened, and did not know what had happened to him. His +master pulled the cord more tightly, which would have given him great +pain if his fear and alarm had not conquered all other sentiments. + +In a few moments he came to himself, and felt the pain and cried +piteously for mercy to his master, who had such a strong desire to laugh +that he could scarcely speak. He pulled the priest into the room and +said; + +“Get out, and never come here again! I pardon you in this occasion, but +the second time I shall be inexorable.” + +“Oh, monsieur,” he replied, “I will never do it again. It is all her +fault,” and with that he ran away and the knight went to bed again, and +finished what the other had begun. + +But you must know that never again was the priest found trespassing on +his master’s preserves. Perhaps, as a recompense for his misfortunes the +girl afterwards took pity on him, and to ease her conscience lent him +her fiddle, and he tuned it so well that the master suffered both in +goods and honour. But now I will say no more, and end my story. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-SEVENTH -- THE SLEEVELESS ROBE. + +By Alardin. + +_Of a gentleman of Flanders, who went to reside in France, but whilst he +was there his mother was very ill in Flanders; and how he often went +to visit her believing that she would die, and what he said and how he +behaved, as you will hear later._ + + +A gentleman of Flanders had a mother who was very old and much weakened +by disease, and more sick and infirm than any woman of her age. Hoping +that she would get better, and be cured, he often came to see her, +although he resided in France, and each time that he came he found her +suffering so much that he thought her soul was about to leave her body. + +On one occasion that he came to see her, she said to him at his +departure. + +“Adieu, my son; I am sure that you will never see me again for I am +about to die.” + +“Devil take it, mother, you have said that so often that I am sick of +it. For three years past you have been repeating that, but you have done +nothing of the kind. Choose a day, I beg, and keep to it.” + +The good woman, when she heard her son’s reply, smiled, though she was +so sick and old, and said farewell. + +One year, then two years, passed, and still she lingered on. She was +again visited by her son, and one night when he was in bed in her house, +and she was so ill that all believed she was about to go to Mortaigne, +(*) those who watched her called her son, and told him to come to his +mother quickly, for that certainly she was about to die. + + (*) Mild puns on the names of places were very common in the + Middle Ages. + +“Do you say that she is about to die?” he replied. “By my soul, I will +not believe it; she always says that, but she never does it.” + +“No, no,” said the nurses; “this time it is certain. Come quickly for it +is sure that she is dying.” + +“Very well, you go first and I will follow you; and tell my mother that +if she must go, not to go by Douai, for the road is so bad that I and my +horses were nearly swallowed up yesterday.” + +Nevertheless he rose, and put on his dressing-gown, and went off to see +his mother give her last grin. When he came he found her very ill, for +she had been in a swoon which all thought would carry her off, but, +thank God, she was now a little better. + +“Did I not tell you so?” said this good son. “Every body in this house +declares, and she does herself, that she is dying--but nothing comes of +it. For God’s sake choose a day--as I have often told you--and see that +you keep to it! I am going to return whence I came, and I recommend you +not to call me again. If she does die she must die alone, for I will not +keep her company.” + +Now I must tell you the end of this history. The lady, ill as she was, +recovered from this extreme sickness, and lived and languished as before +for the space of three years, during which time her good son visited her +once, and that was just as she was about to give up the ghost. But when +they came to seek him to come to her deathbed, he was trying on a new +habit and would not come. Message after message was sent to him, for his +good mother, who was nearing her end, wished to recommend her soul to +her son’s care,--but to all the messages he replied; + +“I am sure there is no hurry: she will wait till my habit is finished.” + +At last so many remonstrances were made to him that he went to his +mother, wearing a doublet with no sleeves to it, which, when she saw, +she asked him where were the sleeves. + +“They are within there,--waiting to be finished as soon as you clear out +of the place.” + +“Then they will be soon finished,” she replied; “for I go to God, to +whom I humbly recommend my soul; and to you also, my son.” + +Without another word she rendered her soul to God, with the Cross +between her arms; on seeing which her good son began to weep so loudly +that no one had ever heard the like; he could not be comforted, and at +the end of a fortnight he died of grief. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 78.jpg The Husband turned Confessor.] + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-EIGHTH -- THE HUSBAND TURNED CONFESSOR. [78] + +By Jehan Martin. + +_Of a married gentleman who made many long voyages, during which time +his good and virtuous wife made the acquaintance of three good fellows, +as you will hear; and how she confessed her amours to her husband when +he returned from his travels, thinking she was confessing to the curé, +and how she excused herself, as will appear._ + + +The province of Brabant is a fair and pleasant land, well provided with +pretty girls, who are generally clever and good; but as for the men, it +is said of them, with a good deal of truth, that the longer they live +the greater fools they become. + +There was formerly a gentleman of this land who--being thereunto born +and destined--travelled much beyond seas to various places, as Cyprus, +Rhodes, and the adjacent parts, and at last came to Jerusalem, where he +received the order of knighthood. + +During the time that he was away, his good wife was not idle, but took +her _quoniam_ with three lovers, who like courtiers, each had audience +in turn and for a certain time. + +First came a gentle squire, fresh and frisky, and in good health, who +spent so much upon her, physically and pecuniarily (for in truth +she plucked him well) that at last he was sick of it, and left her +altogether. + +The one who came after him was a knight, and a man of a great +reputation, who was very glad to have acquired the succession, and +worked her as well as he could, paying his _quibus_ (*), which no one +knew better than this lusty wench how to get out of a man. In short, if +the squire, who had previously held the position, had been plucked, the +knight was not less so, until at last he turned tail, took leave of her, +and left the place open to the next comer. + + (*) Property or wealth; the expression is still used in + familiar conversation. + +As a tit-bit to finish with, the damsel made the acquaintance of a rich +priest, and although he was cunning enough, and not over liberal with +money, he was despoiled of rich gowns, vessels, and other valuables. + +Now it happened, thank God, that the husband of the wench let her know +that he was coming home; and how he had been made a knight at Jerusalem. +His good wife had the house cleaned and prepared as well as possible. +Everything was ready for his return, except the lady, and she was +somewhat disturbed on account of the vast quantity of booty--tapestry, +furniture, vessels, and other valuables--which she had gained upon her +back. + +When her husband arrived, God knows what a joyful reception he had, +especially from the one who cared least about him, that is to say his +worthy wife. + +I pass over all the welcomings, but her husband, although he was a fool, +could not help quickly noticing the heap of furniture, which was not +there at his departure. He went to the coffers, the buffets, and a +number of other places, and everywhere he found his store increased, and +the sight of all this booty filled his mind with evil thoughts, and in a +hot temper he called for his wife, and demanded to know whence had come +all these goods I have already-named. + +“By St. John,” said the lady, “that is a nice question. You have good +reason to go on like this and get so warm. To look at you one would +think you were cross.” + +“I am not in the best of tempers,” he replied; “for I did not leave +you so much money that you could have saved enough to buy all these +utensils, hangings, and the other things that I find here. I suspect, +with good reason, that our household has been increased by some friend +of yours during my absence.” + +“By God!” replied the lady, “you are wrong to suspect me of such +misconduct. I would have you to know that I am not a woman of that kind, +but a better wife in every respect than you deserve; and it is not +right that after all the trouble I have taken to save and economise to +embellish and adorn your house and mine, that I should be reproved +and scolded. That is not at all the sort of reward that a good husband +should give to a chaste wife such as you have, you wicked wretch. It is +a great pity I have not been unfaithful to you, and I would be if I did +not value my honour and my soul.” + +This quarrel, though it lasted a long while, ceased for a time, for the +husband thought of a plan how to find out the truth about his wife. He +arranged with the curé, who was a great friend of his, that he should +hear her confession, and this he did with the help of the curé, who +managed the whole affair, for one morning in Easter week, the curé made +the husband put on the priest’s robe, and then sent word to the lady to +come and confess. + +It need not be asked if the husband was glad when he found himself thus +disguised. He went to the chapel, and entered the confessional without +saying a word; his wife approached and knelt at his feet, really +believing she was confessing to the curé, and said _Benedicite_. To this +her husband replied _Dominus_, as the curé had taught him, and whatever +else was necessary, as well as he could manage it. + +After the good woman had made a general confession, she descended to +particulars, and told how, during the time that her husband had been +away, a squire had been his deputy, and from him she had acquired much +property, in gold, in silver, and in furniture. + +God knows that the husband, when he heard this confession did not feel +very comfortable; he would willingly have killed her on the spot if he +had dared, nevertheless he was patient in order that he might hear the +rest. + +When she had said all there was to say about the squire, she accused +herself of misconduct with the knight, who, like his predecessor, had +paid her well. The good husband, nearly bursting with grief, had a good +mind to discover himself and give her absolution without more ado, but +he did nothing of the kind, and waited to hear what more she would say. + +After the knight came the turn of the priest, and at this the good +husband lost patience and would hear no more; he threw aside hood and +gown, and, showing himself said; + +“False and perfidious woman! now I see and know your treason! And would +not a squire and a knight suffice you, but you must give yourself up +to a priest? This vexes me more than all the other sins you have +committed.” + +For a moment this brave dame was taken aback, but soon recovered her +confidence, and with a face as calm as though she had been the most just +and virtuous woman in the world, saying her prayers to God, she replied +as calmly as though the Holy Spirit had inspired her, + +“Poor fool! why do you thus worry yourself, you know not wherefore? +Listen to me, if you please; and be assured that I knew perfectly well +that I was confessing to you. I served you as you deserved, and without +one word of falsehood confessed to you the real circumstances. These are +the facts: you are the squire who slept with me, for when I married you, +you were a squire, and did with me as you wished; you are the knight +of whom I spoke, for on your return you made me a lady; and you are the +priest also, for no one who is not a priest can hear a confession.” + +“By my oath, my dear,” he replied, “you have convinced me, and proved to +me that you are a virtuous woman and that I was wrong to accuse you. I +repent, and ask your pardon, and promise never to suspect you again.” + +“I willingly pardon you,” said his wife, “since you confess your fault.” + +Thus, as you have heard, was the good knight deceived by the ready wit +of his wife. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTY-NINTH -- THE LOST ASS FOUND. [79] + +By Michault De Changy. + +_Of a good man of Bourbonnais who went to seek the advice of a wise man +of that place about an ass that he had lost, and how he believed that he +miraculously recovered the said ass, as you will hear hereafter._ + + +In the fair land of Bourbonnais, where many good professions are carried +on, there lived, not long ago, a doctor of God knows what sort, for +never Hippocrates or Galen practised the science as he did. For instead +of syrups, decoctions, electuaries, and the hundred thousand other +things that physicians order to preserve the health of man, or restore +it if it is lost, this good doctor of whom I am speaking had only one +method of procedure, and that was to order clysters. Whatever matter was +brought to him, (*) he always exhibited clysters, and generally so well +did this remedy turn out that everyone was satisfied with him, and he +cured them all, so that his fame spread abroad and increased in such +a manner that he was called “Master” Jehan (**) by all, both in the +houses of princes and lords, and in the great abbeys, and in the towns, +and never was Aristotle or Galen so honoured, especially by the common +people, as was our said Master. And his fame so increased that his +advice was asked on every subject, and he was so incessantly in demand +that he did not know what to do. If a woman had a bad, or whimsical, or +capricious husband, she went to this good master for a remedy. In short, +if any could give good advice it was thought that our physician was at +the top of the tree in that respect, and people came to him from all +parts to enquire about lost property. + + (*) It was usual to bring the urine of an invalid to the + physician. + + (**) “Master” was then a title of honour. + +It happened one day that a poor foolish countryman had lost his ass, and +after seeking for it a long time, he determined to go to the wise man, +who when he arrived was so surrounded by people that the countryman +could not make himself heard. At last he broke through the crowd, and, +in the presence of many persons, related his case, that is to say that +he had lost his ass, and asked the doctor to get it back for him. + +The master, who was listening to others more than to him, just heard the +sound of the words, and thinking he had some infirmity, turned towards +him, and in order to get rid of him, said to his servants, + +“Give him a clyster!” + +The poor man who had lost his ass, did not know what the master had +said, but he was seized by the physician’s servants, who led him away +and gave him a clyster--at which he was much astonished, for he did not +know what it was. + +When he had this clyster in his belly, he went away, without saying +anything more about his ass, which he fully believed he should recover. + +He had not gone far when his belly was so tossed about that he was +forced to turn aside into a deserted hut, because of the clyster which +demanded to be let out. And when he began, he made such a terrible +noise, that his ass, which chanced to be straying near, began to bray, +and the good man rose up and cried, _Te Deum laudamus_, and went to his +ass, which he believed he had found by means of the clyster which he had +had from the Master, who after that had incomparably more renown than +ever; for he was looked-upon as the sure finder of all lost goods, +and the perfect master of all science, and all this fame sprang from a +single clyster. + +Thus have you heard how the ass was found by means of a clyster; it is a +manifest fact, and one that often happens. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 80.jpg Good Measure!] + + + + +STORY THE EIGHTIETH -- GOOD MEASURE! [80] + +By Michault De Changy. + +_Of a young German girl, aged fifteen or sixteen or thereabouts who was +married to a gentle gallant, and who complained that her husband had too +small an organ for her liking, because she had seen a young ass of only +six months old which had a bigger instrument than her husband, who was +24 or 26 years old._ + + +I have heard it related as true by two noble lords worthy of faith and +belief, that in the borders of Germany there lived a young girl, who at +the age of about 15 or 16 years was married to a worthy gentleman, who +did his best to satisfy the demands which, without saying a word, all +girls of that age and condition earnestly ask for. But though the +poor man did his duty well, and indeed more often than he should, the +performance was never agreeable to his wife, who was always sulky, +and often wept as sadly as though all her friends were dead. Her good +husband, seeing her thus lament, could not imagine what she could want, +and asked her tenderly; + +“What is the matter, my dear? Are you not as well clothed, lodged, and +served, as people in our position of life can reasonably expect to be?” + +“It is not that which vexes me,” she replied. + +“Then what can it be?” he asked. “Tell me, and if I can remedy it, I +will, at whatever cost to my purse or person.” + +Generally, she did not reply, but still sulked, and looked miserable, at +which her husband lost his patience, finding she would not tell him the +cause of her grief. But he enquired so often that at last he learned +partly what was the matter, for she told him that she was vexed because +he was so poorly furnished with you-know-what--that is to say the stick +with which you plant men, as Boccaccio calls it. + +“Indeed!” said he, “and is that why you grieve? By St. Martin you have +good cause! At any rate it cannot be other than it is, and you must put +up with it, since you cannot change it.” + +This condition of affairs lasted a long time, till the husband, tired of +her obstinacy, one day invited to dinner a great number of her friends, +and stated the facts which have been already related, and said that +it seemed to him that she had no particular cause to grieve, for he +believed he was as well furnished with a natural instrument as any of +his neighbours. + +“And that I may be the better believed,” he said, “and that you may see +how wrong she is, I will show it you all.” + +With that he laid his furniture on the table before all the men and +women there assembled, and said; “There it is!” and his wife wept louder +than ever. + +“By St. John!” said her mother, her sister, her aunt, her cousin, and +her neighbour, “you are wrong, my dear! What do you ask? Do you expect +more? Who would not be satisfied with a husband so furnished? So help me +God I should deem myself very happy to have as much, or indeed less. Be +comforted and enjoy yourself in future! By God, you are better off than +any of us I believe.” + +The young bride, hearing all the women thus speak, replied, still +weeping loudly. + +“There is a little ass in the house, hardly half a year old, and who has +an instrument as big, as thick, and as long as your arm,”--and so saying +she held her arm by the elbow and shook it up and down--“and my husband, +who is quite 24 years old has but that little bit he has shown you. Do +you think I ought to be satisfied?” Everyone began to laugh, and she to +weep the more, so that for a long time not a word was said by any of +the company. Then her mother took the girl aside, and said one thing and +another to her, and left her satisfied after a great deal of trouble. + +That is the way with the girls in Germany--if God pleases it will soon +be the same also in France. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-FIRST -- BETWEEN TWO STOOLS. [81] + +By Monseigneur De Waurin. + +_Of a noble knight who was in love with a beautiful young married lady, +and thought himself in her good graces, and also in those of another +lady, her neighbour; but lost both as is afterwards recorded._ + + +As all the stories of asses are now finished, I will relate shortly a +true story of a knight whom many of you noble lords have long known. It +is true that this knight was greatly in love--as is often the way with +young men--with a beautiful and noble young lady, who, in that part of +the country where she lived was renowned for her beauty. Nevertheless, +try what means he could to obtain her favours, and become her accepted +lover, he could not succeed--at which he was much displeased, seeing +that never was woman loved more ardently, loyally, and wholly than she +was. Nor should I omit to say that he did as much for her as ever +lover did for his lady, such as jousts, expensive habiliments, +etc.--nevertheless, as has been said, he found her always brusque and +averse, and showing him less love than she reasonably should, for she +knew for a fact that she was loyally and dearly loved by him. And, +to say truth, she was too harsh to him, which, it is to be believed, +proceeded from pride, of which she had too much--it might even be said, +with which she was filled. + +Matters were in this condition, when another lady, a friend and +neighbour of the first-named damsel, seeing how enamoured the knight +was, fell in love with him herself, and by various honest ways and means +which would take too long to describe, so subtly managed that in a short +time the knight perceived her love, at which he was much vexed, his +heart being wholly given to his harsh and cruel mistress. + +Being not only kind, but possessed of much common sense he managed +adroitly not to compromise himself, so that if his second love affair +had come to the knowledge of his first mistress, she would have no cause +to blame his conduct. + +Now listen to the end of his amours. Owing to the distance at which +he lived, he could not so often see his lady-love as his trusting and +loving heart desired. So he determined one day to ask certain knights +and squires, good friends of his, but who knew nothing about his love +affairs, to fly their hawks, and hunt the hare in the district in which +the lady resided, knowing for a fact by his spies, that her husband was +away, having gone to Court, as he often did. + +As had been arranged, the love-sick knight and his companions started +the next day, early in the morning, from the town where the Court was, +and passed the time until the late afternoon in hunting the hare, and +without eating or drinking. They snatched a hasty repast in a little +village, and after the dinner, which was short and simple, remounted +their horses and continued to hunt the hare. + +The good knight, who had only one object in view, led his companions +from the city, to which they always wished to return and said to him, +“The hour of vespers is near and it is time to return to the town. If we +do not take care we shall be locked out, and have to stay the night in +some miserable village and all die of hunger.” + +“Don’t be alarmed,” said the lover; “there is plenty of time, and at +the worst I know a place near here where we shall be very welcome, and I +suppose you will have no objection to meeting ladies.” + +Being all courtiers, thy were not at all disinclined to meet ladies, and +were satisfied to leave the matter in his hands, and continued to hunt +the hare and the partridge as long as daylight lasted. + +When it was time to think of finding lodgings, the knight said to his +companions, + +“Come along, come along! I will lead you to the place.” About an hour or +two after nightfall, the knight and his comrades arrived at the place +where lived the lady with whom the guide of this little band was so +enamoured that he could not sleep o’nights. They knocked at the door of +the castle, and the varlets quickly came and asked them what they +wanted. And he who was the most deeply concerned, answered and said; +“Gentlemen, are my lord and my lady at home?” “Truly,” replied one of +the attendants for all the others, “my lord is not here, but my lady +is.” + +“Tell her if you please, that such and such knights and squires of the +Court, and I, so-and-so, have been hunting the hare in this part of the +country, and have lost our way, and now it is too late to return to the +town. We beg her therefore to receive us as her guests for this night.” + +“Willingly will I tell her,” said the other. + +He went and delivered this message to his mistress, who, instead +of coming to the gentlemen, sent a message, which the servant thus +delivered. + +“Monseigneur,” said the varlet, “my lady wishes me to inform you that +her husband is not here; at which she is much vexed, for if he had been +he would have given you a hearty welcome; but in his absence she does +not dare to receive visitors, and begs you therefore to pardon her.” + +The knight, who had led the expedition, was, you may imagine, much +vexed and ashamed to hear this reply, for he expected to have seen his +mistress, and had a pleasant time with her, and emptied his heart to +her, and he was annoyed that he had brought his companions to a place +where he had boasted they would be well received. + +Like a wise and noble knight, he did not show what he felt in his heart, +but with a calm countenance said to his comrades, + +“Gentlemen, pardon me that I have lured you with false hopes. I did not +believe that the ladies of this part of the country were so wanting in +courtesy as to refuse a lodging to wandering knights. But have a little +patience. I promise you on my word, to take you somewhere--not far from +here--where we shall have quite a different welcome.” + +“Forward then!” said all the others. “May God give us good luck.” + +They set off, under the direction of their guide, to take them to the +house of the lady by whom he was esteemed, though he did not return her +affection as he ought to have done; but now he determined to devote to +her the love which had been so roughly refused by his first mistress, +and he determined to love, serve, and obey her who loved him so, and +with whom, please God, he would soon be. + +To shorten the story, after riding for a good hour and a half with the +drenching rain on their backs, they came to the house of the lady who +has previously being mentioned, and gaily knocked at the door, for it +was very late,--between nine and ten o’clock at night, and they much +feared that all the household would be in bed. Varlets and servant maids +at once came forth, and asked, “Who is there?” and they were told. + +They went at once to their mistress, who was then in her petticoat, and +had put on her nightcap, and said, + +“Madame, my lord so-and-so is at the gate and would fain enter; and with +him certain knights and squires of the Court to the number of three.” + +“They are very welcome,” she said. “Up quickly, all of you! Kill some +capons and fowls, and let us have a good supper, and quickly.” + +In short, she gave her orders like the great lady that she was--and +still is,--and all obeyed her commands. She quickly put on her +night-dress, and thus attired, came forward, as courteously as possible, +to meet the gentlemen, with two torches carried before her, and only +accompanied by one waiting woman, and her beautiful daughter--all the +other women being employed in preparing the chambers. + +She met her guests upon the drawbridge of the castle, and the noble +knight who was the guide and spokesman of the others, came forward and +expressed his gratitude for her kindness, and kissed her, and all the +others did the same after him. + +Then like a courteous woman of the world, she said to the lords, + +“Gentlemen, you are very welcome. Monseigneur So-and-so (that is to say +their guide) I have known a long time. He is very welcome here, and I +should be glad to make the acquaintance of you other gentlemen.” + +These introductions were made, the supper was soon ready, and each of +the gentlemen lodged in a fair and fine chamber, well appointed and +furnished with hangings and everything necessary. + +It should be mentioned also, that whilst supper was preparing, the lady +and the good knight had a long talk together, and arranged that they +would only require one bed between them that night; her husband by good +luck not being in the house, but forty leagues away. + +We will leave them enjoying their supper after the adventures of the +day, and return to the lady who refused to receive the little band, even +the man whom she knew loved her better than anyone else in the world, +and had shown herself so discourteous. + +She asked her servants, when they returned from delivering her message, +what the knight had said? + +One of them replied: “Madame he said very little; only that he would +take his friends to a place where they would have a hearty welcome and +good cheer.” + +She quickly guessed where they had gone, and said to herself, “Ah, he +has gone to the house of such an one, who, I know, will not be sorry to +see him, and no doubt they are now plotting against me.” + +Whilst she was thinking thus, the harshness and un-kindness which she +had felt towards her faithful lover, melted away or was transformed into +hearty affection and good-will, and she longed to bestow upon her +lover whatever he might ask or require. So she at once set to work and +suspecting that the lady to whom they had gone was now enjoying the +society of the man she had treated so rudely, she penned a letter to +her lover, most of the lines of which were written in her most precious +blood, to the effect that as soon as he saw this letter, he should set +all other matters aside, and follow the bearer of the missive, and he +would be so kindly received that no lover in the world could expect more +from his mistress. And as a token of her truth, she placed inside the +letter a diamond ring he well knew. + +The bearer of this missive, who was a trustworthy man, went to the +castle where the knight was sitting at supper next to the hostess, and +with all the guests seated round the table. As soon as grace had been +said, the messenger drew the knight aside and handed him the letter. + +Having perused it, the good knight was much amazed, and still more +joyous, for though he had determined in his own mind no longer to seek +the love or acquaintance of the writer of the letter, he still felt +tempted when the letter promised him that which he most desired in the +world. + +He took his hostess aside, and told her that his master had sent an +urgent message, and that he must leave at once--at which he pretended +to feel much vexed,--and she, who had before been so joyful in the +expectation of that she so much desired, became sad and sorrowful. + +He quietly mounted his horse, and leaving all his comrades behind, +arrived with the messenger, soon after midnight, at the castle of the +lady, but her husband had just arrived from Court and was then preparing +to go to bed, and she, who had sent specially to fetch her lover, was +disappointed enough, God knows. + +The good knight, who had been all day in the saddle, either hunting the +hare or seeking for lodgings, heard at the door that the lady’s husband +had arrived, and you may guess how joyful he was at the news. + +He asked his guide what was to be done? They consulted together, and it +was decided that he should pretend to have lost his companions, and, by +good chance, met this messenger, who had brought him to the castle. This +being arranged, he was brought before my lord and my lady, and acted his +part as he well knew how. After having quaffed a cup of wine--which did +him very little good--he was led to his bed-chamber, where he scarcely +slept all night, and, early the next morning, returned with his host to +Court, without having tasted any of the delights which were promised him +in the letter. + +And I may add that he was never able to return there again, for soon +afterwards the Court left that part of the country, and he went with it, +and soon forgot all about the lady--as often happens. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-SECOND -- BEYOND THE MARK. [82] + +By Monseigneur De Lannoy. + +_Of a shepherd who made an agreement with a shepherdess that he should +mount upon her “in order that he might see farther,” but was not to +penetrate beyond a mark which she herself made with her hand upon the +instrument of the said shepherd--as will more plainly appear hereafter._ + + +Listen, if you please, to what happened, near Lille, to a shepherd and +young shepherdess who tended their flocks together, or near each other. + +Nature had already stirred in them, and they were of an age to know “the +way of the world”, so one day an agreement was made between them +that the shepherd should mount on the shepherdess “in order to see +farther”,--provided, however, that he should not penetrate beyond a +mark which she made with her hand upon the natural instrument of the +shepherd, and which was about two fingers’ breadth below the head; and +the mark was made with a blackberry taken from the hedge. + +That being done, they began God’s work, and the shepherd pushed in as +though it had cost him no trouble, and without thinking about any mark +or sign, or the promise he had made to the shepherdess, for all that he +had he buried up to the hilt, and if he had had more he would have found +a place to put it. + +The pretty shepherdess, who had never had such a wedding, enjoyed +herself so much that she would willingly have done nothing else all her +life. The battle being ended, both went to look after their sheep, which +had meanwhile strayed some distance. They being brought together again, +the shepherd, who was called Hacquin, to pass the time, sat in a swing +set up between two hedges, and there he swung, as happy as a king. + +The shepherdess sat by the side of a ditch, and made a wreath of +flowers. She sang a little song, hoping that it would attract the +shepherd, and he would begin the game over again--but that was very far +from his thoughts. When she found he did not come, she began to call, +“Hacquin! Hacquin!” + +And he replied, “What do you want?” + +“Come here! come here! will you?” she said. + +But Hacquin had had a surfeit of pleasure and he replied; + +“In God’s name leave me alone. I am doing nothing; and enjoying myself.” + +Then the shepherdess cried; + +“Come here, Hacquin; I will let you go in further, without making any +mark.” + +“By St. John,” said Hacquin, “I went far beyond the mark, and I do not +want any more.” + +He would not go to the shepherdess, who was much vexed to have to remain +idle. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 83.jpg The gluttonous Monk.] + + + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-THIRD -- THE GLUTTONOUS MONK. + +By Monseigneur De Vaurin. + +_Of a Carmelite monk who came to preach at a village and after his +sermon, he went to dine with a lady, and how he stuffed out his gown, as +you will hear._ + + +It is the custom of all countries for religious mendicants--Jacobins, +Cordeliers, Carmelites, and Augustinians--to go through all the towns +and villages, preaching against vice, and exalting and praising virtue. + +It happened once that a Carmelite, from the convent of Arras, arrived +one Sunday morning, at Libers, a pretty, little town of Artois, to +preach--which he could do piously and eloquently, for he was a learned +man and a good orator. + +Whilst the curé was chanting high Mass, our Carmelite wandered about, +hoping to find some one who wanted a Mass said, whereby the monk could +earn a few pence, but no one came forward. + +Seeing this, an old widow lady took compassion on him, allowed him to +say a Mass, and then sent her servant to give him two _patars_, and to +beg him to come to dinner with her that day. + +Master monk snapped up the money, and accepted the invitation, and as +soon as he had preached his sermon, and high Mass was finished, he came. + +The lady for whom he had said Mass, and who had invited him, left the +church with her maid, and went home to make all ready for the preacher, +who was conducted to the house by one of her servants, and most +courteously received. After he had washed his hands, the lady assigned +him a place by her side, and the varlet and the maid-servant prepared to +serve the repast, and first they brought in leek soup, with a good piece +of bacon, a dish of pig’s chitterlings, and an ox tongue, roasted. + +God knows that as soon as the monk saw the viands he drew forth from +his girdle a fine, long, large, and very sharp knife, and, as he said +_Benedicite_, he set to work in the leek soup. + +Very soon he had finished that and the bacon as well, and drew towards +him the fine, fat chitterlings, and rioted amongst them like a wolf +amongst a flock of sheep; and before his hostess had half finished her +soup there was not the ghost of a chitterling left in the dish. Then he +took the ox tongue, and with his sharp knife cut off so many slices that +not a morsel remained. + +The lady, who watched all this without saying a word, often glanced at +the varlet and the servant-maid, and they smiled quietly and glanced at +her. Then they brought a piece of good salt beef, and a capital piece +of mutton, and put them on the table. And the good monk, who had an +appetite like a hungry dog, attacked the beef, and if he had had little +pity for the chitterlings and the ox tongue, still less had he for this +fine piece of larded beef. + +His hostess who took great pleasure in seeing him eat--which was more +than the varlet and the maid, did for they cursed him beneath their +breath--always filled his cup as soon as it was empty; and you may guess +that if he did not spare the meat neither did he spare the drink. + +He was in such a hurry to line his gown that he would hardly say a word. +When the beef was all finished, and great part of the mutton--of which +his hostess had scarcely eaten a mouthful--she, seeing that her guest +was not yet satisfied, made a sign to the servant-maid to bring a huge +ham which had been cooked the day before for the household. + +The maid--cursing the priest for gorging so--obeyed the order of her +mistress, and put the ham on the table. The good monk, without staying +to ask “who goes there”, fell upon it tooth and nail, and at the very +first attack he carried off the knuckle, then the thick end, and so +dismembered it that soon there was nothing left but the bone. + +The serving man and woman did not laugh much at this, for he had +entirely cleared the larder, and they were half afraid that he would eat +them as well. + +To shorten the story--after all these before mentioned dishes, the lady +caused to be placed on the table a fine fat cheese, and a dish well +furnished with tarts, apples, and cheeses, with a good piece of fresh +butter--of all which there was not a scrap left to take away. + +The dinner which has been described being thus finished, our preacher, +who was now as round as a tick, pronounced grace, and then said to his +hostess; + +“Damsel, I thank you for your good gifts; you have given me a hearty +welcome, for which I am much obliged to you. I will pray to Him who +fed five thousand men with a few loaves of barley bread and two small +fishes, and after they were all filled there remained over twelve +basketfuls--I will pray to Him to reward you.” + +“By St. John!” said the maid-servant coming forward, “you may well talk +about that. I believe that if you had been one of that multitude there +would not have been anything left over; for you would have eaten up +everything, and me into the bargain, if I had happened to have been +there.” + +“No, truly, my dear,” replied the monk, who was a jovial fellow with a +ready wit, “I should not have eaten you, but I should have spitted you, +and put you down to roast--that is what I should have done to you.” + +The lady began to laugh, and so did the varlet and the maid-servant, in +spite of themselves. And our monk, who had his belly well stuffed, +again thanked his hostess for having so well filled him, and went off to +another village to earn his supper--but whether that was as good as his +dinner I cannot say. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 84.jpg The Devil’s Share.] + + + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-FOURTH -- THE DEVIL’S SHARE. [84] + +By The Marquis De Rothelin. + +_Of one of his marshals who married the sweetest and most lovable woman +there was in all Germany. Whether what I tell you is true--for I do +not swear to it that I may not be considered a liar--you will see more +plainly below._ + + +Whilst we are waiting tor some one to come forward and tell us a good +story, I will relate a little one which will not detain you long, but is +quite true, and happened lately. + +I had a marshal, who had served me long and faithfully, and who +determined to get a wife, and was married to the most ill-tempered woman +in all the country; and when he found that neither by good means or bad +could he cure her of her evil temper, he left her, and would not live +with her, but avoided her as he would a tempest, for if he knew she was +in any place he would go in the contrary direction. When she saw that +he avoided her, and that he gave her no opportunity of displaying her +temper, she went in search of him, and followed him, crying God knows +what, whilst he held his tongue and pursued his road, and this only +made her worse and she bestowed more curses and maledictions on her poor +husband than a devil would on a damned soul. + +One day she, finding that her husband did not reply a word to anything +she said, followed him through the street, crying as loud as she could +before all the people; + +“Come here, traitor! speak to me. I belong to you. I belong to you!” + +And my marshal replied each time; “I give my share to the devil! I give +my share to the devil.” + +Thus they went all through the town of Lille, she crying all the while +“I belong to you,” and the other replying “I give my share to the +devil.” + +Soon afterwards, so God willed, this good woman died, and my marshal was +asked if he were much grieved at the loss of his wife, and he replied +that never had such a piece of luck occurred to him, and if God had +promised him anything he might wish, he would have wished for his wife’s +death; “for she,” he said, “was so wicked and malicious that if I knew +she were in paradise I would not go there, for there could be no peace +in any place where she was. But I am sure that she is in hell, for never +did any created thing more resemble a devil than she did.” Then they +said to him; + +“Really you ought to marry again. You should look out for some good, +quiet, honest woman.” + +“Marry?” said he. “I would rather go and hang myself on a gibbet than +again run the danger of finding such a hell as I have--thank God--now +escaped from.” + +Thus he lived, and still lives--but I know not what he will be. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-FIFTH -- NAILED! [85] + +By Monseigneur De Santilly. + +_Of a goldsmith, married to a fair, kind, and gracious lady, and very +amorous withal of a curé, her neighbour, with whom her husband found her +in bed, they being betrayed by one of the goldsmith’s servants, who was +jealous, as you will hear._ + + +A hundred years ago, or thereabouts, there happened in a town on the +borders of France a curious incident, which I will relate, to increase +my number of stories, and also because it deserves to rank with the +others. + +In this town there was a man whose wife was fair, kind, and gracious, +and much enamoured of a churchman, her own curé and near neighbour, who +loved her as much as she did him, but to find an opportunity to come +together amorously was difficult, but it was at last found by the +ingenuity of the lady, in the manner I will describe. + +Her husband was a goldsmith, and so greedy of gain that he would never +sleep an hour in which he could work. + +Every day he would rise an hour or two before dawn, and let his wife +take a long rest till eight or nine o’clock, or as long as she pleased. + +This amorous dame seeing how diligent her husband was, and that he rose +early every day to hammer and work, determined to employ with the curé +the time during which she was neglected by her husband, and arranged +that at such and such an hour her lover could visit her without her +husband’s knowledge, for the cure’s house stood next to hers. + +This happy expedient was proposed to the curé, who gladly accepted +it, for it seemed to him that his amour could be carried on easily and +secretly. So as soon as the proposal was made it was executed, and thus +they continued to live for a long time; but fortune--envious perhaps of +their happiness and sweet enjoyment--willed that their amours should be +unfortunately discovered in the manner you will hear. + +This goldsmith had an assistant, who was in love with his master’s wife, +and very jealous of her, and he perceived the curé often talking to the +lady, and he guessed what was the matter. But he could not imagine how +and when they met, unless it was that the curé came in the morning when +he and his master were in the workshop. These suspicions so ran in his +head that he watched and listened in order that he might find out the +truth, and he watched so well that he learned the facts of the case, for +one morning he saw the curé come, soon after the goldsmith had left the +chamber, and enter and close the door after him. + +When he was quite sure that his suspicions were confirmed, he informed +his master of his discovery in these terms. + +“Master, I serve you, not only that I may earn your money, eat your +bread, and do your work well and honestly, but also to protect your +honour and preserve it from harm. If I acted otherwise I should not be +worthy to be your servant. I have long had a suspicion that our curé was +doing you a grievous wrong, but I said nothing to you until I was sure +of the facts. That you may not suppose I am trumping up an idle story, I +would beg of you to let us go now to your chamber, for I am sure that we +shall find him there.” + +When the good man heard this news, he was much inclined to laugh, but he +agreed to go to his chamber along with his assistant--who first made +him promise that he would not kill the curé, or otherwise he would not +accompany him, but consented that the curé should be well punished. + +They went up to the chamber, and the door was soon opened. The husband +entered first, and saw his wife in the arms of the curé who was forging +as hard as he could. + +The goldsmith cried; + +“Die, die, scoundrel! What brings you here?” + +The curé was surprised and alarmed, and begged for mercy. + +“Silence, rascally priest, or I will kill you on the spot!” + +“Oh, neighbour have mercy, for God’s sake,” said the curé; “do with me +whatever you like.” + +“By my father’s soul! before I let you go I will make you so that you +will never want to hammer on any feminine anvil again. Get up, and let +yourself be bound, unless you wish to die!” + +The poor wretch allowed himself to be fastened by his two enemies to a +bench, face upwards, and with his legs hanging down on each side of the +bench. When he was well fastened, so that he could move nothing but +his head, he was carried thus trussed (*) into a little shed behind the +house, which the goldsmith used as a melting-room. + + (*) The word in the original is _marescaucié_, which + presumably means,--treated as the soldiers of the + _maréchaussée_ treated their prisoners. Bibliophile Jacob + avoided philological pitfalls of this sort by omitting the + phrase altogether. + +When the curé was safely placed in this shed, the goldsmith sent for two +long nails with large heads, and with these he fastened to the bench +the two hammers which had in his absence forged on his wife’s anvil, +and after that undid all the ropes which fastened the poor wretch. Then +taking a handful of straw, he set fire to the shed, and leaving the curé +to his fate, rushed into the street, crying “Fire!” + +The priest, finding himself surrounded by flames, saw that he must +either lose his genitals or be burned alive, so he jumped up and ran +away, leaving his purse nailed there. + +An alarm was soon raised in the street, and the neighbours ran to put +out the fire. But the curé sent them back, saying that he had just come +from the spot, and all the harm that could occur had already been done, +so that they could give no assistance--but he did not say that it was he +who had suffered all the harm. + +Thus was the poor curé rewarded for his love, through the false and +treacherous jealousy of the goldsmith’s assistant, as you have heard. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 86.jpg Foolish Fear.] + + + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-SIXTH -- FOOLISH FEAR. + +By Monseigneur Philippe Vignier. + +_Of a young man of Rouen, married to a fair, young girl of the age of +fifteen or thereabouts; and how the mother of the girl wished to have +the marriage annulled by the Judge of Rouen, and of the sentence which +the said Judge pronounced when he had heard the parties--as you will +hear more plainly in the course of the said story._ + + +In the good town of Rouen, not long ago, a young man was married to a +fair and tender virgin, aged fifteen, or thereabouts. On the day of the +great feast--that is to say, the wedding--the mother of the young girl, +as is customary in such cases, instructed the bride in all the mysteries +of wedlock, and taught her how to behave to her husband on the first +night. + +The young girl, who was looking forward to the time when she could put +these doctrines into practice, took great pains and trouble to remember +the lesson given her by her good mother, and it seemed to her that when +the time came for her to put these counsels into execution, that she +would perform her duties so well that her husband would praise her, and +be well pleased with her. + +The wedding was performed with all honour and due solemnity, and the +desired night came; and soon after the feast was ended, and the young +people had withdrawn after having taken leave of the newly married +couple,--the mother, cousins, neighbours, and other lady friends led +the bride to the chamber where she was to spend the night with her +husband, where they joyfully divested her of her raiment, and put her to +bed, as was right and proper. Then they wished her good-night, and one +said; + +“My dear, may God give you joy and pleasure in your husband, and may you +so live with him as to be for the salvation of both your souls.” + +Another said: “My dear, God give you such peace and happiness with your +husband, that the heavens may be filled with your works.” + +After they all had expressed similar wishes, they left. The bride’s +mother, who remained the last, questioned her daughter to see whether +she remembered the lesson she had been taught. And the girl, who, as the +proverb goes, did not carry her tongue in her pocket, replied that +she well remembered all that had been told her, and--thank God--had +forgotten nothing. + +“Well done,” said the mother. “Now I will leave you, and recommend +you to God, and pray that He may give you good luck. Farewell, my dear +child.” + +“Farewell, my good and wise mother.” + +As soon as the schoolmistress had finished, the husband who was outside +the door expecting something better, came in. The mother closed the +door, and told him that she hoped he would be gentle with her daughter. +He promised that he would, and as soon as he had bolted the door, +he--who had on nothing on but his doublet,--threw it off, jumped on +the bed, drew as close as he could to his bride, and, lance in hand, +prepared to give battle. + +But when he approached the barrier where the skirmish was to take place, +the girl laid hold of his lance, which was as straight and stiff as a +cowkeeper’s horn, and when she felt how hard and big it was, she was +very frightened, and began to cry aloud, and said that her shield was +not strong enough to receive and bear the blows of such a huge weapon. + +Do all he would, the husband could not persuade her to joust with +him, and this bickering lasted all night, without his being able to do +anything, which much displeased our bridegroom. Nevertheless, he was +patient, hoping to make up for lost time the next night, but it was +the same as the first night, and so was the third, and so on up to the +fifteenth, matters remaining just as I have told you. + +When fifteen days had passed since the young couple had been married, +and they had still not come together, the mother came to visit her +pupil, and after a thousand questions, spoke to the girl of her husband, +and asked what sort of man he was, and whether he did his duty well? And +the girl said that he was a nice, young man, quiet and peaceable. + +“But,” said the mother; “does he do what he ought to do?” + +“Yes,” said the girl, “but-----” + +“But _what?_” said the mother. “You are keeping something back I am +sure. Tell me at once, and conceal nothing; for I must know now. Is he a +man capable of performing his marital duties in the way I taught you?” + +The poor girl, being thus pressed, was obliged to own that he had not +yet done the business, but she did not say that she was the cause of the +delay, and that she had always refused the combat. + +When her mother heard this sad news, God knows what a disturbance she +made, swearing by all her gods that she would soon find a remedy for +that, for she was well acquainted with the judge of Rouen, who was her +friend, and would favour her cause. + +“The marriage must be annulled,” she said, “and I have no doubt that I +shall be able to find out the way, and you may be sure, my child, that +before two days are over you will be divorced and married to another man +who will not let you rest in peace all that time. You leave the matter +to me.” + +The good woman, half beside herself, went and related her wrong to her +husband, the father of the girl, and told him that they had lost their +daughter, and adducing many reasons why the marriage should be annulled. + +She pleaded her cause so well that her husband took her side, and was +content that the bridegroom, (who knew no reason why a complaint should +be lodged against him) should be cited before the Judge. But, at any +rate, he was personally summoned to appear before the Judge, at his +wife’s demand, to show cause why he should not leave her, and permit her +to marry again, or explain the reasons why, in so many days that he had +lived with her, he had not demonstrated that he was a man, and performed +the duties that a husband should. + +When the day came, the parties presented themselves at the proper time +and place, and they were called upon to state their case. The mother of +the bride began to plead her daughter’s cause, and God knows the laws +concerning marriage which she quoted, none of which, she maintained, +had her son-in-law fulfilled; therefore she demanded that he should be +divorced from her daughter at once without any more ado. + +The young man was much astonished to find himself thus attacked, but +lost no time in replying to the allegations of his adversary, and +quietly stated his case, and related how his wife had always refused to +allow him to perform his marital duties. + +The mother, when she heard this reply, was more angry than ever, and +would hardly believe it, and asked her daughter if that was true which +her husband had said? + +“Yes, truly, mother,” she replied. + +“Oh, wretched girl,” said her mother, “why did you refuse? Did I not +teach you your lesson many times?” + +The poor girl could not reply, so ashamed was she. + +“At any rate,” said her mother, “I must know the reason why you have +refused. Tell it me at once, or I shall be horrible angry.” + +The girl was obliged to confess that she had found the lance of the +champion so big that she had not dared to present her shield, fearing +that he would kill her; and so she still felt, and was not re-assured +upon that point, although her mother had told her not be afraid. After +this the mother addressed the Judge, and said: + +“Monseigneur, you have heard the confession of my daughter, and the +defence of my son-in-law. I beg of you to give judgment at once.” + +The judge ordered a bed to be prepared in his house, and the couple to +lie on it together, and commanded the bride to boldly lay hold of the +stick or instrument, and put it where it was ordered to go. When this +judgment was given, the mother said; + +“Thank you, my lord; you have well judged. Come along, my child, do what +you should, and take care not to disobey the judge, and put the lance +where it ought to be put.” + +“I am satisfied,” said the daughter, “to put it where it ought to go, +but it may rot there before I will take it out again.” + +So they left the Court, and went and carried out the sentence +themselves, without the aid of any sergeants. By this means the young +man enjoyed his joust, and was sooner sick of it than she who would not +begin. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-SEVENTH -- WHAT THE EYE DOES NOT SEE. + +By Monsieur Le Voyer. + +_Of a gentle knight who was enamoured of a young and beautiful girl, +and how he caught a malady in one of his eyes, and therefore sent for a +doctor, who likewise fell in love with the same girl, as you will +hear; and of the words which passed between the knight and the doctor +concerning the plaster which the doctor had put on the knight’s good +eye._ + + +In the pleasant and fertile land of Holland, not a hundred years ago, a +noble knight lodged in a fair and good inn, where there was a young and +very pretty chamber-maid, with whom he was greatly enamoured, and for +love of her had arranged with the Duke of Burgundy’s quartermaster that +he should be lodged in this inn, in order that he might better carry out +his intentions with regard to this girl. + +After he had been at this inn five or six days, there happened to him a +misfortune, for he had a disease in one of his eyes so that he could not +keep it open, so sharp was the pain. And as he much feared to lose it, +and it was an organ that required much care and attention, he sent for +the Duke’s surgeon, who was at that time in the the town. And you must +know that the said surgeon was a good fellow, and much esteemed and +spoken about throughout all the country. + +As soon as the surgeon saw this eye, he declared that it could not be +saved, which is what they customarily say, so that if they do cure the +disease they may gain more praise and profit. + +The good knight was greatly vexed at this news, and asked if there were +no means of cure, and the other replied that it would be very difficult, +nevertheless he might, with God’s aid, cure it, if the knight would obey +all his instructions. + +“If you can cure me and save my eye,” said the knight, “I will pay you +well.” + +The bargain was made, and the surgeon undertook with God’s aid to cure +the bad eye, and arranged at what hour he would come every day to apply +the dressings. + +You must know that every time the surgeon came to see his patient, the +pretty chambermaid accompanied him, to hold his box or basin, or help to +move the poor patient, who forgot half his pain in the presence of his +lady-love. + +If the good knight had been struck by the beauty of the chambermaid, +so also was the surgeon; who, each time that he paid a visit, could not +help casting sheep’s eyes at the fair face of the chambermaid, and at +last passionately declared his love, which was well received, for she +immediately granted his requests, but it was not easy to find means to +carry out their ardent desires. + +At last, after some trouble, a plan was hit on by the prudent and +cunning surgeon, and it was this: + +“I will tell my patient,” he said, “that his eye cannot be cured unless +his other eye is bandaged, for by throwing all the work on the sound +eye he prevents the other from getting well. If he will allow it to be +bandaged up, we shall have a capital means of taking our pleasure, even +in his chamber, without his having any suspicion of it.” + +The girl, whose desires were quite as warm as those of the surgeon, was +quite agreeable, provided the plan could be carried out. + +“We will try,” said the surgeon. + +He came at the usual hour to see the bad eye, and when he had uncovered +it, pretended to be much surprised. + +“What!” he cried. “I never saw such a disease; the eye is worse than it +was fifteen days ago. You must have patience, monsieur.” + +“In what way?” said the knight. + +“Your good eye must be bandaged and concealed, so that no light can +reach it, for an hour or so after I have applied this plaster and +ordered another--for, no doubt, it prevents the other from healing. +Ask,” he said, “this pretty girl, who sees it every day, how it is +getting on.” + +The girl said that it looked worse than before. + +“Well,” said the knight, “I leave myself in your hands; do with me +whatever you please. I am content to be blindfolded as much as you like, +provided I am cured in the long run.” + +The two lovers were very joyful when they saw that the knight allowed +his eyes to be bandaged. When all the arrangements had been made, and +the knight had his eyes bandaged, master surgeon pretended to leave as +usual, promising to come back soon to take off the bandage. + +He did not go very far, for he threw the girl on a couch not far from +the patient, and with quite a different instrument to that which he had +employed on the knight, visited the secret cloisters of the chambermaid. + +Three, four, five, six times did he perform on the pretty girl without +the knight noticing it, for though he heard the storm he did not know +what it was; but as it still continued, his suspicions were aroused, +and this time, when he heard the noise of the combat, he tore off +the bandages and plasters and threw them away, and saw the two lovers +struggling together, and seeming as though they would eat each other, so +closely united were their mouths. + +“What is this, master surgeon?” cried he. “Have you blindfolded me in +order to do me this wrong. Is my eye to be cured by this means? Tell +me--did you prepare this trick for me? By St. John, I suspect I was more +often visited for love of my chambermaid than for my eyes. Well! well! +I am in your hands now, sir, and cannot yet revenge myself, but the day +will come when I will make you remember me.” + +The surgeon, who was a thoroughly good fellow, began to laugh, and made +his peace with the knight, and I believe that, after the eye was cured, +they agreed to divide the work between them. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 88.jpg A Husband in hiding.] + + + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-EIGHTH -- A HUSBAND IN HIDING. [88] + +By Alardin. + +_Of a poor, simple peasant married to a nice, pleasant woman, who did +much as she liked, and who in order that she might be alone with her +lover, shut up her husband in the pigeon-house in the manner you will +hear._ + + +In a pretty, little town near here, but which I will not name, there +recently occurred an incident which will furnish a short story. There +lived there a good, simple, unlettered peasant, married to a nice, +pleasant woman, and as long as he had plenty to eat and drink he cared +for little else. He was accustomed to often go into the country to +a house he had there, and stay, three, or four days--sometimes more, +sometimes less, as suited his pleasure, and left his wife to enjoy +herself in the town, which she did, for, in order that she might not be +frightened, she had always a man to take her husband’s place, and look +after the workshop and see that the tools did not rust. Her method was +to wait until her husband was out of sight, and not until she was quite +sure that he would not return did she send for his deputy, in order that +she might not be surprised. + +But she could not always manage so well as not to be surprised, for once +when her husband had remained away two or three days, and on the fourth +day she had waited as long as possible until the gates of the town were +closed; thinking he would not come that day, she closed the doors and +the windows as on the other days, brought her lover into the house, and +they began to drink and enjoy themselves. + +They were scarcely seated at the table, when her husband came and +thundered at the door, which he was much surprised to find closed. + +When the good woman heard it, she hid her lover under the bed; then went +to the door and demanded who knocked? + +“Open the door,” replied her husband. + +“Ah, husband, is that you?” she said. “I was going to send a message to +you to-morrow morning to tell you not to come back.” + +“Why; what is the matter?” asked her husband. + +“What is the matter? God in heaven!” she replied. “The sergeants were +here two hours and a half, waiting to take you to prison.” + +“To prison!” said he; “Why to prison? Have I done anything wrong? To +whom do I owe any money? Who brings any charge against me?” + +“I know nothing about it,” said the cunning wench, “but they evidently +wanted to do you harm.” + +“But did they not tell you,” asked her husband, “why they wanted me?” + +“No,” she replied; “nothing, except that if they laid hands on you, you +would not get out of prison for a long time.” + +“Thank God they haven’t caught me yet. Good bye, I am going back.” + +“Where are you going?” she asked--though she was glad to get rid of him. + +“Whence I came,” he replied. + +“I will come with you,” she said. + +“No, don’t. Stay and take care of the house, and do not tell anyone that +I have been here.” + +“Since you will return to the country,” she said, “make haste and get +away before they close the gates: it is already late.” + +“If they should be shut, the gate-keeper will do anything for me and he +will open them again.” + +With these words he left, and when he came to the gate, he found it +closed, and, beg and pray as he might, the gate-keeper would not open it +for him. + +He was very annoyed that he should have to return to his house, for he +feared the sergeants; nevertheless, he was obliged to go back, or sleep +in the streets. + +He went back, and knocked at the door, and the woman who had again sat +down with her lover, was much surprised, but she jumped up, and ran to +the door, and called out, + +“My husband has not come back; you are wasting your time.” + +“Open the door, my dear,” said the good man. “I am here.” + +“Alas! alas! the gate was closed: I feared as much,” she said. “You will +certainly be arrested; I see no hope for escape, for the sergeants told +me, I now remember, that they would return to-night.” + +“Oh, well,” he said, “there is no need of a long sermon. Let us consider +what is to be done.” + +“You must hide somewhere in the house,” she said, “and I do not know of +any place where you would be safe.” + +“Should I be safe,” he asked, “in our pigeon house? Who would look for +me there?” + +She was, of course, highly delighted at the suggestion, but pretended +not to be, and said; “It is not a very nice place; it stinks too much.” + +“I don’t mind that,” he said. “I would rather be there an hour or two, +and be safe, than be in a better place and be caught.” + +“Oh, well, if you are brave enough to go there, I am of your opinion +that it would be a good hiding-place.” + +The poor man ascended into the pigeon-house, which fastened outside, +and was locked in, and told his wife that if the sergeants did not come +soon, that she was to let him out. + +She left him to coo with the pigeons all night, which he did not much +like, and he was afraid to speak or call, for fear of the sergeants. + +At daybreak, which was the time when her lover left the house, the good +woman came and called her husband and opened the door; and he asked her +why she had left him so long along with the pigeons. And she, having +prepared her reply, said that the sergeants had watched round their +house all night, and spoken to her several times, and had only just +gone, but they said that they would come back at a time when they were +likely to find him. + +The poor fellow, much wondering what the sergeants could want with him, +left at once, and returned to the country, vowing that he would not +come back for a long time. God knows how pleased the wench was at +this, though she pretended to be grieved. And by this means she enjoyed +herself more than ever, for she had no longer any dread of her husband’s +return. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE EIGHTY-NINTH -- THE FAULT OF THE ALMANAC. + +By Poncelet. + +_Of a curé who forgot, either by negligence or ignorance, to inform his +parishioners that Lent had come until Palm Sunday arrived, as you +will hear--and of the manner in which he excused himself to his +parishioners._ + + +In a certain little hamlet or village in this country, far from any good +town, there happened an incident, which is worth hearing, my good sirs. + +This village or hamlet was inhabited by a handful of rough and simple +peasants, who knew nothing except how to gain their livelihood. Rough +and ignorant as they were, their curé was not less so, for he did not +know things of common knowledge, as I will show you by relating an +incident that happened to him. + +You must know that this curé was so simple and ignorant that he could +not announce the feasts of the saints, which come every year on a fixed +day, as every one knows; and when his parishioners asked when such and +such a feast would fall, he could not, right off, answer them correctly. + +Amongst other such mistakes, which often occurred, he made one which +was by no means slight, for he allowed the five weeks of Lent to slip by +without informing his parishioners. + +But hear how he discovered his error. On the Saturday which was the eve +before Palm Sunday, he had need to go to the nearest town for something +that he required. When he had entered the town, and was riding along +the streets, he saw that the priests were purchasing palms and other +greenstuff, which were being sold at the market for the procession the +next day. + +If anyone was astonished it was our good curé, though he pretended not +to be. He went to the woman who sold the palms and boughs, and bought +some--pretending that he had come to town specially for that purpose. +Then he hastily mounted his horse, which was loaded with his purchases, +galloped to the village, and arrived there as quickly as possible. + +As soon as he had dismounted, he met several of his parishioners, whom +he commanded to go and ring the bells for every one to come to church +at once, for he had certain things necessary for the salvation of their +souls to tell them. + +A meeting was soon called, and all were assembled in the church, where +the curé, booted and spurred, came, much flustered, God knows. He +mounted into the pupil, and said the following words, + +“Good sirs, I have to signify and inform you that to-day was the eve of +the solemn feast of Palm Sunday, and this day next week will be the eve +of Easter Sunday, the day of Our Lord’s Resurrection.” + +When these good people heard this news they began to murmur, and were so +astonished they did not know what to do. + +“Silence!” said the curé, “I will soon satisfy you, and will tell +you the true reasons why you have only eight days of Lent in which to +perform your penitences this year, and marvel not at what I am about +to tell you, as to why Lent came so late. I suppose there is not one +amongst you who does not know and remember that the frosts were very +long and sharp this year--much worse than ever they were--and that for +many weeks it was dangerous to ride, on account of the frost and the +snow, which lasted a long time.” + +“Every one here knows that is as true as the Gospel, therefore be not +astonished that Lent has been so long coming, but rather wonder that it +was able to come at all, seeing how long the road is from here to his +house. I would ask, and even beg of you, to excuse him, for I dined with +him to day” (and he named the place--that is to say the town to which he +had been). + +“However,” he added, “manage to come and confess this week, and appear +to morrow in the procession, as is customary. And have patience this +time; the coming year will be milder, please God, and then Lent will +come quicker, as it usually does.” + +Thus did the curé find means to excuse his simple ignorance. Then he +pronounced the benediction saying, + +“Pray to God for me, and I will pray to God for you.” + +After that he came down out of the pulpit, and went to his house to +prepare the boughs and palms which were to be used in the procession the +next day. + +And that is all. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 90.jpg A good Remedy.] + + + + +STORY THE NINETIETH -- A GOOD REMEDY. [90] + +By Monseigneur De Beaumont. + +_Of a good merchant of Brabant whose wife was very ill, and he supposing +that she was about to die, after many remonstrances and exhortations for +the salvation of her soul, asked her pardon, and she pardoned him all +his misdeeds, excepting that he had not worked her as much as he ought +to have done--as will appear more plainly in the said story._ + + +To increase the number of stories that I promised to tell, I will relate +a circumstance that occurred lately. + +In the fair land of Brabant--the place in the world where adventures +most often happen--there lived a good and honest merchant, whose +wife was very ill, and had to keep her bed continually because of her +disease. + +The good man, seeing his wife so ill and weak, led a sad life; he was so +vexed and distressed and he much feared she would die. In this state +of grief, and believing that he was about to lose her, he came to her +bedside, and gave her hopes of being cured, and comforted her as best +he could. And after that he had talked with her a little time, and ended +his admonitions and exhortations, he begged her pardon, and requested +that if he had ever wronged her in any way that she would pardon him. + +Amongst other instances of things which he knew had annoyed her, he +mentioned that he had not polished up her armour (that part which is +called the _cuirass_) as often as she would have liked, and therefore he +humbly begged her pardon. + +The poor invalid, as soon as she could speak, pardoned him all his minor +offences, but this last she would not willingly pardon without knowing +the reasons which had induced her husband to neglect polishing up her +armour when he knew well what a pleasure it was to her, and that she +asked for nothing better. + +“What?” he said; “Will you die without pardoning those who have done you +wrong?” + +“I do not mind pardoning you,” she said, “but I want to know your +reasons--otherwise I will not pardon you.” + +The good husband thought he had hit on a good excuse, and one that would +obtain his pardon, and replied; + +“My dear, you know that very often you were ill and weak--although not +so ill as I see you now--and I did not dare to challenge you to combat +whilst you were in that condition, fearing that it might make you worse. +But be sure that if I refrained from embracing you, it was only out of +love and affection to you.” + +“Hold your tongue, liar that you are! I was never so ill and weak that +I should have refused the battle. You must seek some other reason if +you would obtain your pardon, for that one will not help you; and since +there is now nothing to be done, I will tell you, wicked and cowardly +man that you are, that there is no medicine in the world which will so +quickly drive away the maladies of us women as the pleasant and amorous +society of men. Do you see me now weakened and dried up with disease? +Well! all that I want is your company.” + +“Ho, ho!” said the other; “then I will quickly cure you.” + +He jumped on the bed and performed as well as he could, and, as soon as +he had broken two lances, she rose and stood on her feet. + +Half an hour later she was out in the street, and her neighbours, who +all looked upon her as almost dead, were much astonished, until she told +them by what means she had been cured, when they at once replied that +that was the only remedy. + +Thus did the good merchant learn how to cure his wife; but it turned out +to his disadvantage in the long run, for she often pretended to be sick +in order to get her physic. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE NINETY-FIRST -- THE OBEDIENT WIFE. [91] + +By The Editor. + +_ Of a man who was married to a woman so lascivious and lickerish, that +I believe she must have been born in a stove or half a league from the +summer sun, for no man, however well he might work, could satisfy her; +and how her husband thought to punish her, and the answer she gave him._ + + +When I was lately in Flanders, in one of the largest towns in the +province, a jovial fellow told me a good story of a man married to a +woman so given to venery and concupiscence that she would have let a +man lie with her in the public streets. Her husband knew well how she +misbehaved herself, but he was not clever enough to prevent it, so +cunning and depraved was she. He threatened to beat, to leave her, or to +kill her, but it was all a waste of words; he might as well have tried +to tame a mad dog or some other animal. She was always seeking fresh +lovers with whom to fornicate, and there were few men in all the country +round who had not tried to satisfy her lust; anyone who winked at her, +even if he were humpbacked, old, deformed, or disfigured in any way, +could have her favours for nothing. + +Her unfortunate husband, seeing that she still continued this life in +spite of all his menaces, tried to hit upon a method to frighten her. +When he was alone with her in the house, he said; + +“Well, Jehanne (or Beatrix, for so he called her) I see that you are +determined to continue this life of vice, and, however much I may +threaten to punish you, you take no more heed of me than though I held +my tongue.” + +“Alas, husband,” she replied, “I am much to be pitied, but there is no +help for it, for I was born under a planet which compels me to go with +men.” + +“Oh, indeed,” said the husband, “is that your destiny? I swear I will +soon find a remedy for that.” + +“You will kill me then,” she said, “for nothing else will cure me.” + +“Never mind,” he said. “I know the best way.” + +“What is it?” she asked. “Tell me.” + +“Morbleu!” he said, “I will give you such a doing some day, that I will +put a quartette of babies in your belly, and then I will leave you to +get your own living.” + +“You will?” she cried. “Indeed! Well, you have but to begin. Such +threats frighten me very little, I do not care a farthing for them. May +I have my head shaved if I attempt to run away. (*) If you think you are +capable of making four babies at once, come on, and begin at once--the +mould is ready.” + + (*) Long hair was considered honourable, and to have the + head shaved or cropped was a mark of disgrace. + +“The devil take the woman,” said the husband; “there is no way of +punishing her.” + +He was obliged to let her fulfil her destiny, for nothing short of +splitting her head open would have kept her backside quiet; so he let +her run about like a bitch on heat amongst a couple of dozen dogs, and +accomplish all her inordinate desires. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 92.jpg Women’s Quarrels.] + + + + +STORY THE NINETY-SECOND -- WOMEN’S QUARRELS. + +By The Editor. + +_Of a married woman who was in love with a Canon, and, to avoid +suspicion, took with her one of her neighbours when she went to visit +the Canon; and of the quarrel that arose between the two women, as you +will hear._ + + +In the noble city of Metz in Lorraine, there lived, some time ago a +woman who was married, but also belonged to the confraternity of the +_houlette_ (*); nothing pleased her more than that nice amusement we all +know: she was always ready to employ her arms, and prove that she was +right valiant, and cared little for blows. + + (*) “The frail sisterhood”. + +Now hear what happened to her whilst she was exercising her profession. +She was enamoured of a fat canon, who had more money than an old dog has +fleas. But as he lived in a place where people came at all hours, she +did not know how she was to come to her canon un-perceived. + +She pondered over the matter, and at last determined to take into her +confidence a neighbour of hers, a sister-in-arms also of the _houlette_, +for it seemed to her that she might go and see her canon, if accompanied +by her neighbour, without causing any suspicion. + +As it was devised, so was it done, and she went to see the canon, as +though on an affair of great importance, and honourably escorted, as has +been said. + +To shorten the story, as soon as our _bourgeoises_ arrived, after all +due salutations, the principal personage shut herself up with her lover, +the canon, and he gave her a mount, as he well knew how. + +The neighbour, seeing the other have a private audience with the master +of the house, had no small envy, and was much displeased that she could +not do the same. + +When the first-named woman came out of the room, after receiving what +she came for, she said to her neighbour; + +“Shall We go?” + +“Oh, indeed,” said the other, “am I to go away like that? If I do not +receive the same courtesy that you did, by God I will reveal everything. +I did not come to warm the wax for other people.” + +When they saw what she wanted, they offered her the canon’s clerk, who +was a stout and strong gallant well suited for the work, but she refused +him point blank, saying that she deserved his master and would have none +other. + +The canon was obliged, to save his honour, to grant her request, and +when that was accomplished, she wished to say farewell and leave. + +But then the other would not, for she said angrily that it was she +who had brought her neighbour, and for whom the meeting was primarily +intended, and she ought to have a bigger share than the other, and that +she would not leave unless she had another “truss of oats.” + +The Canon was much alarmed when he heard this, and, although he begged +the woman who wanted the extra turn not to insist, she would not be +satisfied. + +“Well,” he said, “I am content, since it needs must be; but never come +back under similar conditions--I shall be out of town.” + +When the battle was over, the damsel who had had an additional turn, +when she took leave, asked the canon to give her something as a +keepsake. + +Without waiting to be too much importuned, and also to get rid of +them, the good canon handed them the remainder of a piece of stuff for +kerchiefs, which he gave them, and the “principal” received the gift, +and they said farewell. + +“It is,” he said, “all that I can give you just now; so take it in good +part.” + +They had not gone very far, and were in the street, when the neighbour, +who had had nothing more than one turn, told her companion that she +wanted her share of the gift. + +“Very well,” said the other, “I have no objection. How much do you +want?” + +“Need you ask that,” said she. “I am going to have half, and you the +same.” + +“How dare you ask,” said the other, “more than you have earned? Have you +no shame? You know well that you only went once with the canon, and I +went twice, and, pardieu, it is not right that you should have as much +as I.” + +“Pardieu! I will have as much as you,” said the second. + +“Did I not do my duty as well as you?” + +“What do you mean by that?” + +“Is not once as good as ten times? And now that you know my will, +instead of standing here squabbling over a trifle, I recommend you to +give me my half, or you will soon see a fight. Do you think you can do +as you like with me?” + +“Oh, indeed!” said the other, “will you try force? By God’s power you +shall only have what is right,--that is to say one third part--and I +will have the rest. Did I not have twice as much trouble as you?” + +With that the other doubled up her fist and landed it in the face of +her companion, the one for whom the meeting had been first arranged, +who quickly returned the blow. In short they fought as though they would +have killed each other, and called one another foul names. When the +people in the street saw the fight between the two companions, who a +short while previously had been so friendly, they were much astonished, +and came and separated the combatants. Then the husbands were called, +and each asked his wife the cause of the quarrel. Each tried to make +the other in the wrong, without telling the real cause, and set their +husbands against each other so that they fought, and the sergeants came +and sent them to cool their heels in prison. + +Justice intervened, and the two women were compelled to own that the +fight was about a piece of stuff for a kerchief. The Council, seeing +that the case did not concern them, sent it to the “King of the +Bordels”, because the women were his subjects. And during the affair the +poor husbands remained in gaol awaiting sentence, which, owing to the +infinite number of cases, is likely to remain unsettled for a long time. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE NINETY-THIRD -- HOW A GOOD WIFE WENT ON A PILGRIMAGE. [93] + +By Messire Timoleon Vignier. + +_Of a good wife who pretended to her husband that she was going on +a pilgrimage, in order to find opportunity to be with her lover the +parish-clerk--with whom her husband found her; and of what he said and +did when he saw them doing you know what._ + + +Whilst I have a good audience, let me relate a funny incident which +happened in the district of Hainault. + +In a village there, lived a married woman, who loved the parish clerk +much more than she did her own husband, and in order to find means to be +with the clerk, she feigned to her husband that she owed a pilgrimage to +a certain saint, whose shrine was not far from there; which pilgrimage +she had vowed to make when she was in travail with her last child, +begging the saint that he would be content that she should go on a +certain day she named. The good, simple husband, who suspected nothing, +allowed her to go on this pilgrimage; and as he would have to remain +alone he told her to prepare both his dinner and supper before she left, +or else he would go and eat at the tavern. + +She did as he ordered, and prepared a nice chicken and a piece of +mutton, and when all these preparations were complete, she told her +husband that everything was now ready, and that she was going to get +some holy water, and then leave. + +She went to church, and the first man she met was the one she sought, +that is to say the clerk, to whom she told the news, that is to say how +she had been permitted to go on a pilgrimage for the whole day. + +“And this is what will occur,” she said. “I am sure that as soon as I +am out of the house that he will go to the tavern, and not return until +late in the evening, for I know him of old; and so I should prefer to +remain in the house, whilst he is away, rather than go somewhere else. +Therefore you had better come to our house in half an hour, and I will +let you in by the back door, if my husband is not at home, and if he +should be, we will set out on our pilgrimage.” + +She went home, and there she found her husband, at which she was not +best pleased. + +“What! are you still here?” he asked. + +“I am going to put on my shoes,” she said, “and then I shall not be long +before I start.” + +She went to the shoemaker, and whilst she was having her shoes put on, +her husband passed in front of the cobbler’s house, with another man, a +neighbour, with whom he often went to the tavern. + +She supposed that because he was accompanied by this neighbour that they +were going to the tavern; whereas he had no intention of the kind, but +was going to the market to find a comrade or two and bring them back to +dine with him, since he had a good dinner to offer them--that is to say +the chicken and the mutton. + +Let us leave the husband to find his comrades, and return to the woman +who was having her shoes put on. As soon as that was completed, she +returned home as quickly as she could, where she found the scholar +wandering round the house, and said to him; + +“My dear, we are the happiest people in the world, for I have seen +my husband go to the tavern, I am sure, for one of his neighbours was +leading him by the arm, and I know is not likely to let my man come +back, and therefore let us be joyful. We have the whole day, till night, +to ourselves. I have prepared a chicken, and a good piece of mutton, +and we will enjoy ourselves;” and without another word they entered +the house, but left the door ajar in order that the neighbours should +suspect nothing. + +Let us now return to the husband, who had found a couple of boon +companions besides the one I have mentioned, and now brought them to his +house to devour the chicken, and drink some good Beaune wine--or better, +if they could get it. + +When he came to the house, he entered first, and immediately saw our two +lovers, who were taking a sample of the good work they had to do. And +when he saw his wife with her legs in the air, he told her that she need +not have troubled to bother the cobbler about her shoes, since she was +going to make the pilgrimage in that way. + +He called his companions, and said; + +“Good sirs, just see how my wife looks after my interests. For fear +that she should wear out her new shoes, she is making the journey on her +back:--no other woman would have done that.” + +He picked up the remainder of the fowl, and told her that she might +finish her pilgrimage; then closed the door and left her with her clerk, +without saying another word, and went off to the tavern. He was not +scolded when he came back, nor on the other occasions either that +he went there, because he had said little or nothing concerning the +pilgrimage which his wife had made at home with her lover, the parish +clerk. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE NINETY-FOURTH -- DIFFICULT TO PLEASE. + + (*) There is no author’s name to this story in any of the + editions. + +_Of a curé who wore a short gown, like a gallant about to be married, +for which cause he was summoned before the Ordinary, and of the sentence +which was passed, and the defence he made, and the other tricks he +played afterwards--as you will plainly hear._ + + +In Picardy, in the diocese of Therouenne, there lived about a year and +a half ago, in one of the large towns, a curé who aped the fashionable +youth of the time. He wore a short gown, and high boots, as was the +fashion at Court, and, in short, was as great a gallant as you would +see,--which gave no small offence to all good Churchmen. + +The Ordinary of Therouenne--who is generally known as the “big devil” + --was informed of the behaviour of this curé, and cited him to appear to +be punished, and ordered to change his method of dressing. + +He appeared in his short gown, as though he cared little for the +Ordinary, or thinking, perhaps, that he was going to be let off for his +good looks, but this did not happen, for when he was before the judge, +the “promoter” related the case at full length, and demanded that these +clothes and other vanities should be forbidden him, and that he should +be condemned to pay certain fines. + +The judge, seeing at a glance what sort of man our curé was, forbade +him, by all the penalties of canon law, to disguise himself in the way +he had done, and ordered that he was to wear long gowns and long hair, +and moreover, to pay a good sum of money. + +The curé promised that he would do so, and never again be summoned for a +similar offence. He left the Court and returned to his cure, and as soon +as he came there, he called the draper and the tailor, and he had a gown +made which trailed three quarters of an ell on the ground; for he +told the tailor how he had been reproved for wearing a short gown, and +ordered to wear a long one. + +He put on this long robe, and allowed his beard and hair to grow, and in +this habit performed his parochial duties, sang Mass, and did everything +that a priest has to do. + +The promoter was soon informed that the curé behaved in a way not +compatible with good morals, whereupon a fresh summons was issued, and +the priest appeared in his long gown. + +“What is this?” asked the judge when the curé appeared before him. “It +seems that you make fun of the statutes and ordinances of the Church! +Why do you not dress like the other priests? If it were not for some of +your friends I should send you to prison.” + +“What, monseigneur!” said the curé. “Did you not order me to wear a long +gown, and long hair? Have I not done as I was commanded? Is not my gown +long enough? Is not my hair long? What do you wish me to do?” + +“I wish,” said the judge, “and I command that your gown and hair should +be half long, neither too much nor too little, and for this great fault +that you have committed, I condemn you to pay a fine of ten pounds to +the Prosecutor, twenty pounds to the Chapter, and as much to the Bishop +of Therouenne for his charities.” + +Our curé was much astonished, but there was nothing for it but +to comply. He took leave of the judge, and returned to his house, +considering how he should attire himself in order to obey the judge’s +sentence. He sent for the tailor, whom he ordered to make a gown as long +on one side as that we have mentioned, and, as short as the first one +on the other side, then he had himself shaved on one side only--that on +which the gown was short--and in this guise went about the streets, and +performed his sacred duties; and although he was told this was not right +of him, he paid no attention. + +The Prosecutor was again informed, and cited him to appear a third +time. When he appeared, God knows how angry the judge was--he was almost +beside himself, and, could scarcely sit on the Bench when he saw the +curé dressed like a mummer. If the priest had been mulcted before he was +still more so this time, and was condemned to pay very heavy fines. + +Then the curé, finding himself thus amerced in fines and amends, said to +the judge. + +“With all due respect, it seems to me that I have obeyed your orders. +Hear what I have to say, and I will prove it.” + +Then he covered his long beard with his hand, and said; + +“If you like, I have no beard.” Then, covering the shaved side of his +face, he said, “If you like, I have a long beard. Is not that what you +ordered?” + +The judge, seeing that he had to do with a joker, who was making fun of +him, sent for a barber and a tailor, and before all the public, had +the cure’s hair and beard dressed, and his gown cut to a proper and +reasonable length; then he sent him back to his cure where he conducted +himself properly--having learned the right manner at the expense of his +purse. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 95.jpg The sore Finger cured.] + + + + +STORY THE NINETY-FIFTH -- THE SORE FINGER CURED. [95] + +By Philippe De Laon. + +_Of a monk who feigned to be very ill and in danger of death, that he +might obtain the favours of a certain young woman in the manner which is +described hereafter._ + + +It is usually the case, thank God, that in many religious communities +there are certain good fellows who can play “base instruments”. + +Apropos of this, there was formerly in a convent at Paris, a good +brother, a preacher, who was accustomed to visit his female neighbours. +One day his choice lighted on a very pretty woman, a near neighbour, +young, buxom, and spirited, and but recently married to a good fellow. + +Master monk fell in love with her, and was always thinking and devising +ways and means by which he could compass his desires--which were, in +short, to do you know what. Now he decided, “That is what I’ll do.” Then +he changed his mind. So many plans came into his head that he could not +decide on any; but of one thing he was sure, and that was that words +alone would never seduce her from the paths of virtue. “For she is too +virtuous, and too prudent. I shall be obliged, if I want to gain my +ends, to gain them by cunning and deception.” + +Now listen to the plan the rascal devised, and how he dishonestly +trapped the poor, little beast, and accomplished his immoral desires, as +he proposed. + +He pretended one day to have a bad finger--that which is nearest to the +thumb, and is the first of the four on the right hand--and he wrapped it +in linen bandages, and anointed it with strong-smelling ointments. + +He went about with it thus for a day or two, hanging about the church +porch, when he thought the aforesaid woman was coming, and God knows +what pain he pretended to suffer. + +The silly wench looked on him with pity, and seeing by his face that he +appeared to be in great pain, she asked him what was the matter; and the +cunning fox pitched up a piteous tale. + +The day passed, and on the morrow, about the hour of vespers, when the +good woman was at home alone, the patient came and sat by her, and acted +the sick man, that anyone who had seen him would have believed that he +was in great danger. Sometimes he would walk to the window, then back +again to the woman, and put on so many strange tricks that you would +have been astonished and deceived if you had seen him. And the poor +foolish girl, who pitied him so that the tears almost started from her +eyes, comforted him as best she could, + +“Alas, Brother Aubrey, have you spoken to such and such physicians?” + +“Yes, certainly, my dear,” he replied. “There is not a doctor or surgeon +in Paris who has not studied my case.” + +“And what do they say? Will you have to suffer this pain for a long +time?” + +“Alas! yes; until I die, unless God helps me; for there is but one +remedy for ray complaint, and I would rather die than reveal what +that is,--for it is very far from decent, and quite foreign to my holy +profession.” + +“What?” cried the poor girl. “Then there is a remedy! Then is it not +very wrong and sinful of you to allow yourself to suffer thus? Truly it +seems so to me, for you are in danger of losing sense and understanding, +so sharp and terrible is the pain.” + +“By God, very sharp and terrible it is,” said Brother Aubrey, “but +there!--God sent it; praised be His name. I willingly suffer and +bear all, and patiently await death, for that is the only remedy +indeed--excepting one I mentioned to you--which can cure me.” + +“But what is that?” + +“I told you that I should not dare to say what it is,--and even if I +were obliged to reveal what it is, I should never have the will or power +to put it in execution.” + +“By St. Martin!” said the good woman, “it appears to me that you are +very wrong to talk like that. Pardieu! tell me what will cure you, and +I assure you that I will do my utmost to help you. Do not wilfully throw +away your life when help and succour can be brought. Tell me what it is, +and you will see that I will help you--I will, pardieu, though it should +cost me more than you imagine.” The monk, finding his neighbour was +willing to oblige him, after a great number of refusals and excuses, +which, for the sake of brevity, I omit, said in a low voice. + +“Since you desire that I should tell you, I will obey. The doctors all +agreed that there was but one remedy for my complaint, and that was to +put my finger into the secret place of a clean and honest woman, and +keep it there for a certain length of time, and afterwards apply a +certain ointment of which they gave me the receipt. You hear what the +remedy is, and as I am by disposition naturally modest, I would rather +endure and suffer all my ills than breathe a word to a living soul. You +alone know of my sad lot, and that in spite of me.” + +“Well!” said the good woman, “what I said I would do I will do. I will +willingly help to cure you, and am well pleased to be able to relieve +you of the terrible pain which torments you, and find you a place in +which you can put your sore finger.” + +“May God repay you, damsel,” said the monk. “I should never have dared +to make the request, but since you are kind enough to help me, I shall +not be the cause of my own death. Let us go then, if it please you, to +some secret place where no one can see us.” + +“It pleases me well,” she replied. + +So she led him to a fair chamber, and closed the door, and laid upon the +bed, and the monk lifted up her clothes, and instead of the finger +of his hand, put something hard and stiff in the place. When he had +entered, she feeling that it was very big, said, + +“How is it that your finger is so swollen? I never heard of anything +like it.” + +“Truly,” he replied, “it is the disease which made it like that.” + +“It is wonderful,” she said. + +Whilst this talk was going on, master monk accomplished that for which +he had played the invalid so long. She when she felt--et cetera--asked +what that was, and he replied, + +“It is the boil on my finger which has burst. I am cured I think--thank +God and you.” + +“On my word I am pleased to hear it,” said the woman as she rose +from the bed. “If you are not quite cured, come back as often as you +like;--for to remove your pain there is nothing I would not do. And +another time do not be so modest when it is a question of recovering +your health.” + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE NINETY-SIXTH -- A GOOD DOG. [96] + +_Of a foolish and rich village curé who buried his dog in the +church-yard; for which cause he was summoned before his Bishop, and +how he gave 60 gold crowns to the Bishop, and what the Bishop said to +him--which you will find related here._ + + +Listen if you please to what happened the other day to a simple village +curé. This good curé had a dog which he had brought up, and which +surpassed every other dog in the country in fetching a stick out of the +water, or bringing a hat that his master had forgotten, and many other +tricks. In short, this wise and good dog excelled in everything, and his +master so loved him that he never tired of singing his praises. + +At last, I know not how, whether he ate something that disagreed with +him, or whether he was too hot or too cold, the poor dog became very +ill, and died, and went straightway to wherever all good dogs do go. + +What did the honest curé do? You must know that his vicarage adjoined +the church-yard, and when he saw his poor dog quit this world, he +thought so wise a beast ought not to be without a grave, so he dug +a hole near the door of his house, and in the church-yard, and there +buried his dog. I do not know if he gave the dog a monument and an +epitaph, I only know that the news of the good dog’s death spread over +the village, and at last reached the ears of the Bishop, together with +the report that his master had given him holy burial. + +The curé was summoned to appear before the Bishop, who sent a sergeant +to fetch him. + +“Alas!” said the curé, “what have I done, and why have I to appear +before the Bishop? I am much surprised at receiving this summons.” + +“As for me,” said the sergeant, “I do not know what it is for, unless it +is because you buried your dog in the holy ground which is reserved for +the bodies of Christians.” + +“Ah,” thought the curé to himself, “that must be it,” and it occurred +to him that he had done wrong, but he knew that he could easily escape +being put into prison, by paying a fine, for the Lord Bishop--God be +praised--was the most avaricious prelate in the Kingdom, and only kept +those about him who knew how to bring grist to the mill. + +“At any rate I shall have to pay, and it may as well be soon as late.” + +On the appointed day, he appeared before the Bishop, who immediately +delivered a long sermon about the sin of burying a dog in consecrated +ground, and enlarged on the offence so wonderfully that he made it +appear that the curé had done something worse than deny God; and at the +end he ordered the curé to be put in prison. + +When the curé found that he was to be shut up in the stone box, he +demanded permission to be heard, and the Bishop gave him leave to speak. + +You must know that there were a number of notable persons at this +convocation--the judge, the prosecutor, the secretaries, and notaries, +advocates, and procureurs, who were all much amused at this unusual case +of the poor curé who had buried his dog in consecrated ground. + +The curé spoke briefly in his defence, to this effect. + +“Truly, my Lord Bishop, if you had known my poor dog as well as I did, +you would not be surprised that I gave him Christian burial, for his +like was never seen;” and then he began to recount his doings. + +“And as he was so good and wise when he was living, he was still more so +at his death; for he made a beautiful will, and, as he knew your poverty +and need, he left you fifty golden crowns, which I now bring you.” + +So saying, he drew the money from his bosom and gave it to the Bishop, +who willingly received it, and greatly praised the good dog, and +approved of his will, and was glad to know that he had received +honourable sepulture. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 97.jpg Bids and Biddings.] + + + + +STORY THE NINETY-SEVENTH -- BIDS AND BIDDINGS. + +By Monseigneur De Launoy. + +_Of a number of boon companions making good cheer and drinking at +a tavern, and how one of them had a quarrel with his wife when he +returned home, as you will hear._ + + +A number of good fellows had once assembled to make good cheer at the +tavern and drink as much as they could. And when they had eaten and +drunk to God’s praise and _usque ad Hebreos_ (*), and had paid their +reckoning, some of them began to say, “How shall we be received by our +wives when we return home?” “God knows if we shall be excommunicated.” + “They will pluck us by the beard.” “By Our Lady!” said one, “I am afraid +to go home.” “God help me! so am I,” said another. “I shall be sure +to hear a sermon for Passion Sunday.” “Would to God that my wife were +dumb--I should drink more boldly than I do now.” + + (*) A pun on the word _ebreos_ (drunken). + +So spoke all of them with one exception, and that was a good fellow who +said, + +“How now, good sirs? You all seem every miserable, and each has a wife +who forbids him to go to the tavern, and is displeased if you drink. +Thank God my wife is not one of that sort, for if I drink ten--or even +a hundred-times a day that is not enough for her,--in short I never knew +an instance in which she did not wish I had drunk as much again. For, +when I come back from the tavern she always wishes that I had the rest +of the barrel in my belly, and the barrel along with it. Is not that a +sign that I do not drink enough to please her?” + +When his companions heard this argument they began to laugh, and all +praised his wife, and then each one went his own way. + +The good fellow we have mentioned, went home, where he found his wife +not over friendly, and ready to scold him; and as soon as she saw him +she began the usual lecture, and, as usual, she wished the rest of the +barrel in his belly. + +“Thank you, my dear, you are always much kinder than all the other women +in the town for they all get wild if their husbands drink too much, but +you--may God repay you--always wish that I may have a good draught that +would last me all my days.” + +“I don’t know that I wish that,” she said, “but I pray to God that you +may drink such a lot some day that you may burst.” + +Whilst they were conversing thus affectionately, the soup-kettle on the +fire began to boil over, because the fire was too hot, and the good man, +who noticed that his wife did not take it off the fire, said; + +“Don’t you see, wife, that the pot is boiling over?” + +She was still angry and indignant, and replied; + +“Yes, master, I see it.” + +“Well then, take it off, confound you! Do as I bid you.” + +“I will,” she replied, “I will bid twelve pence.” (*) + + (*) There is a pun in the French on the two meanings of the + verb _hausser_,--“to raise” and to “augment” or “run up.” + +“Oh, indeed, dame,” said he, “is that your reply? Take off that pot, in +God’s name!” + +“Well!” she said. “I will put it at seven _sous_. Is that high enough?” + +“Ha, ha!” he said. “By St. John that shall not pass without three blows +with a good stick.” + +He picked up a thick stick, and laid it with all his might across her +back, saying as he did so, + +“The lot is knocked down to you.” + +She began to cry, and the neighbours all assembled and asked what was +the matter? The good man told them and they all laughed--except the +woman who had had the lot knocked down to her. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE NINETY-EIGHTH -- THE UNFORTUNATE LOVERS. + +By The Editor. + +_Of a knight of this kingdom and his wife, who had a fair daughter aged +fifteen or sixteen. Her father would have married her to a rich old +knight, his neighbour, but she ran away with another knight, a young +man who loved her honourably; and, by strange mishap, they both died sad +deaths without having ever co-habited,--as you will hear shortly._ + + +In the frontiers of France, there lived, amongst other nobles, a knight +who was rich and noble, not only by illustrious descent, but by his own +virtuous and honourable deeds, who had, by the wife he had married, an +only daughter, a very beautiful virgin, well-educated as her condition +required, and aged fifteen or sixteen years, or thereabouts. + +This good and noble knight, seeing that his daughter was of a fit and +proper age for the holy sacrament of wedlock, much wished to give her +in marriage to a knight, his neighbour, who was powerful, not so much by +noble birth as by great possessions and riches, and was also from 60 to +80 years old, or thereabouts. + +This wish so filled the head of the father of whom I spoke, that he +would not rest until formal promises were made between him and his +wife, the mother of the girl, and the aforesaid old knight, touching his +marriage to the girl, who, for her part, knew and suspected nothing of +all these arrangements, promises, and treaties. + +Not far from the castle of the knight, the father of this damsel, there +lived another knight, a young man, valiant and brave, and moderately +rich, but not so rich as the old man of whom I spoke, and this youth was +greatly in love with the fair damsel. She also was much attached to him, +on account of his fame and great renown, and they often spoke to each +other, though with much trouble and difficulty, for her father, who +suspected their love, tried by all ways and means to prevent their +seeing each other. Nevertheless, he could not destroy the great and pure +love which united their hearts, and when fortune favoured them with an +opportunity, they discussed nothing but the means whereby they might +accomplish their whole and sole desire and marry each other. + +The time approached when the damsel was to be given to the old knight, +and her father told her of the contract he had made, and named the day +on which she was to be married; at which she was greatly angered, but +thought to herself that she might find a way out of the difficulty. + +She sent a message to her lover, the young knight, to tell him to come +to her secretly as soon as he could; and when he came she told him how +she was betrothed to the old knight, and asked her lover’s advice as to +how this marriage was to be broken off, for that she would never have +any other man but him. + +The knight replied, + +“My dearest lady, since of your kindness you offer me that which I +should never have dared to ask without great shame, I thank you humbly, +and if it be your will, I will tell you what we will do. We will appoint +a day for me to come to this town accompanied by many of my friends, +and at a given hour you will repair to a certain place, both of which we +will arrange now that I am alone with you. You will mount on my horse, +and I will conduct you to my castle. And then, if we can manage to +pacify your father and mother, we will fulfil our promises of plighted +troth.” + +She replied that the plan was a good one, and she would carry it out +properly. She told him that on such a day, at such an hour, he would +find her at a certain place, and that she would do all that he had +arranged. + +The appointed day arrived, and the young knight appeared at the place +mentioned, and there he found the lady, who mounted on his horse, and +they rode fast until they were far from there. + +The good knight, fearing that he should fatigue his dearly beloved +mistress, slackened his speed, and spread his retainers on every road to +see that they were not followed, and he rode across the fields, without +keeping to any path or road, and as gently as he could, and charged his +servants that they should meet at a large village which he named, and +where he intended to stop and eat. This village was remote, and away +from the high road. + +They rode until they came to this village, where the local _fête_ was +being held, which had brought together all sorts of people. They entered +the best tavern in the place, and at once demanded food and drink, for +it was late after dinner, and the damsel was much fatigued. A good fire +was made, and food prepared for the servants of the knight who had not +yet arrived. + +Hardly had the knight and the lady entered the tavern than there came +four big swashbucklers--waggoners or drovers, or perhaps worse--who +noisily entered the tavern, and demanded where was the _bona roba_ that +some ruffian had brought there, riding behind him on his horse, for they +would drink with her, and amuse themselves with her. + +The host who knew the knight well, and was aware that the rascals +spake not the truth, told them gently that the girl was not what they +imagined. + +“Morbleu!” they replied; “if you do not bring her at once, we will +batter down the door, and bring her by force in spite of the two of +you.” + +When the host heard this, and found that his explanation was no use, +he named the knight, who was renowned through all that district, but +unknown to many of the common people, because he had long been out of +the country, acquiring honour and renown in wars in distant countries. +The host told them also that the damsel was a young virgin, a relative +of the knight, and of noble parentage. + +“You can, messieurs,” he said, “without danger to yourself or others, +quench your lust with many of the women who have come to the village on +the occasion of the _fête_ expressly for you and the like of you, and +for God’s sake leave in peace this noble damsel, and think of the great +danger that you run, the evil that you wish to commit and the small hope +that you have of success.” + +“Drop your sermons,” shouted the rascals, inflamed with carnal lust, +“and bring her to us quietly; or if not we will cause a scandal, for we +will bring her down openly, and each of us four will do as he likes with +her.” + +These speeches being finished, the good host went up to the chamber +where the knight and the damsel were, and called the knight apart, and +told him this news, which when he had heard, without being troubled +in the least, he went down wearing his sword, to talk to the four +swashbucklers, and asked them politely what they wanted? + +And they, being foul-mouthed and abusive blackguards, replied that they +wanted the _bona roba_ that he kept shut up in his chamber, and that, if +he did not give her up quietly, they would take her from him by force. + +“Fair sirs,” said the knight, “if you knew me well you would be aware +that I should not take about women of that sort. I have never done such +a folly, thank God. And even if I ever did--which God forbid--I +should never do it in this district, where I and all my people are well +known--my nobility and reputation would not suffer me to do it. This +damsel is a young virgin, a near relative, related also to a noble +house, and we are travelling for our pleasure, accompanied by my +servants, who although they are not here at present, will come directly, +and I am waiting for them. Moreover, do not flatter yourselves that I +should be such a coward as to let her be insulted, or suffer injury +of any kind; but I would protect and defend her as long as my strength +endured, and until I died.” + +Before the knight had finished speaking, the villains interrupted him, +and in the first place denied that he was the person he said, because +he was alone, and that knight never travelled without a great number of +servants. Therefore they recommended him, if he were wise, to bring the +girl down, otherwise they would take her by force, whatever consequences +might ensue. + +When this brave and valiant knight found that fair words were of no use, +and that force was the only remedy, he summoned up all his courage, and +resolved that the villains should not have the damsel, and that he was +ready to die in her defence. + +At last one of the four advanced to knock with his bludgeon at the door +of the chamber, and the others followed him, and were bravely beaten +back by the knight. Then began a fight which lasted long, and although +the two parties were so unequally matched, the good knight vanquished +and repulsed the four villains, and as he pursued them to drive them +away, one of them, who had a sword, turned suddenly and plunged it in +the body of the knight, and pierced him through, so that he fell dead +at once, at which they were very glad. Then they compelled the host to +quietly bury the body in the garden of the inn. + +When the good knight was dead, the villains came and knocked at the door +of the chamber where the damsel was impatiently awaiting the return of +her lover, and they pushed open the door. + +As soon as she saw the brigands enter, she guessed that the knight was +dead, and said; + +“Alas, where is my protector? Where is my sole refuge? What has become +of him? Why does he thus wound my heart and leave me here alone?” + +The scoundrels, seeing that she was much troubled, thought to falsely +deceive her by fair words, and told her the knight had gone to another +house, and had commanded them to go to her and protect her; but she +would not believe them, for her heart told her that they had killed him. +She began to lament, and to cry more bitterly than ever. + +“What is this?” they said. “Why all these tricks and manners? Do you +think we don’t know you? If you imagine your bully is still alive, you +are mistaken--we have rid the country of him. Therefore make your mind +up that we are all four going to enjoy you.” At these words one of them +advanced, and seized her roughly, saying that he would have her company. + +When the poor damsel saw herself thus forced, and that she could not +soften their hearts, she said; + +“Alas! sirs, since you will force me, and my humble prayers cannot +soften you, at least have this decency; that if I abandon myself to +you it shall be privately, that is to say each separately without the +presence of the others.” + +They agreed to this, though with a bad grace, and then they made her +choose which of the four should first have her company. She chose the +one that she fancied was the mildest and best-tempered, but he was +the worst of all. The door was closed, and then the poor damsel threw +herself at the scoundrel’s feet, and with many piteous appeals, begged +that he would have pity on her. But he was obstinate, and declared that +he would have his will of her. + +When she saw that he was so cruel, and that her prayers could not melt +him, she said. + +“Well then, since so it must be, I am content; but I beg of you to close +the windows that we may be more secret.” + +He willingly consented, and whilst he was closing them, she drew a +little knife that she wore at her girdle, and uttering one long, piteous +cry, she cut her throat, and gave up the ghost. + +When the scoundrel saw her lying on the ground, he fled along with his +companions, and it is to be supposed that they were afterwards punished +according to their deserts. + +Thus did these two sweet lovers end their days, one directly after the +other, without ever having tasted of the joys and pleasures in which +they hoped to have lived together all their days. + + +***** + + + + +STORY THE NINETY-NINTH -- THE METAMORPHOSIS. [99] + +By The Editor. + +_Relates how a Spanish Bishop, not being able to procure fish, ate +two partridges on a Friday, and how he told his servants that he had +converted them by his prayers into fish--as will more plainly be related +below._ + + +If you wish, you shall hear now, before it is too late, a little story +about a brave Spanish Bishop who went to Rome to transact some business +for his master the King of Castille. + +This brave prelate, whom I intend to make furnish this last story, +arrived one day at a little village in Lombardy, it being then early on +a Friday evening, and ordered his steward to have supper early, and to +go into the town and buy what he could, for he (the Bishop) was very +hungry, not having broken his fast all that day. + +His servant obeyed him, and went to the market, and to all the +fishmongers in the town, to procure some fish, but, to make the story +short, not a single fish, in spite of all the efforts made by the +steward, could be found. + +But, on returning to the inn, he met a countryman, who had two fine +partridges which he would sell very cheaply. The steward thought he +would secure them, and they would serve to make the Bishop a feast on +Sunday. + +He bought them, a great bargain, and came to his master with the two +partridges in his hand, all alive, and fat, and plump, and told him of +his failure to get any fish, at which my Lord was not best pleased. + +“And what can we have for supper?” + +“My Lord,” replied the steward, “I will get them to prepare you eggs in +a hundred thousand different ways, and you can have apples and pears. +Our host has also some rich cheese. We will do our best; have patience, +a supper is soon over, and you shall fare better to-morrow, God willing. +We shall be in a town which is much better provided with fish than this, +and on Sunday you cannot fail to dine well, for here are two partridges +which are plump and succulent.” + +The Bishop looked at the two partridges, and found them as the steward +said, plump, and in good condition, so he thought they would take the +place of the fish which he had lost. So he caused them to be killed and +prepared for the spit. + +When the steward saw that his master wished to have them roasted, he was +astounded, and said to his master; + +“My lord, it is well to kill them, but to roast them now for Sunday +seems a pity.” + +But the steward lost his time, for, in spite of his remonstrances, they +were put on the spit and roasted. + +The good prelate watched them cooking, and the poor steward was +scandalized, and did not know what to make of his master’s ill-ordered +appetite. + +When the partridges were roasted, the table laid, the wine brought in, +eggs cooked in various ways, and served to a turn, the prelate seated +himself, said grace, and asked for the partridges, with mustard. + +His steward wished to know what his master would do with these birds, +and brought them to him fresh from the fire, and emitting an odour +enough to make a friar’s mouth water. + +The good Bishop attacked the partridges, and began to cut and eat with +such haste, that he did not give his squire, who came to carve for him, +sufficient time to lay his bread, and sharpen his knife. + +When the steward saw his master eating the birds, he was so amazed that +he could no longer keep silent, and said to him; + +“Oh, my lord, what are you doing? Are you a Jew or a Saracen, that you +do not keep Friday? By my faith, I am astonished at such doings.” + +“Hold your tongue! Hold your tongue!” said the good prelate, who had +his hands and his beard covered with fat and gravy. “You are a fool, +and know not what you are saying. I am doing no harm. You know well and +believe, that by the words spoken by me and other priests, we make of +the host, which is nothing but flour and water, the precious body of +Jesus Christ. Can I not by the same means?--I who have seen so many +things at the court of Rome and many other places--know by what words +I may transform these partridges, which are flesh, into fish, although +they still retain the form of partridges? So indeed I have done. I have +long known how to do this. They were no sooner put to the fire than by +certain words I know, I so charmed them that I converted them into the +substance of fish, and you might--all of you who are here--eat, as I do, +without sin. But as you would still believe them to be flesh, they would +do you harm, so I alone will commit the sin.” + +The steward and the other attendants began to laugh, and pretended to +believe the highly-coloured story that their master had told them, and +ever after that were up to the trick, and related it joyously in many +places. + + +***** + + +[Illustration: 100.jpg The chaste Lover.] + + + + +STORY THE HUNDREDTH AND LAST -- THE CHASTE LOVER. + +By Philippe De Laon. + +_Of a rich merchant of the city of Genoa, who married a fair damsel, +who owing to the absence of her husband, sent for a wise clerk--a young, +fit, and proper man--to help her to that of which she had need; and +of the fast that he caused her to make--as you will find more plainly +below._ + + +In the powerful and well-populated city of Genoa, there, lived some +time ago, a merchant who was very rich, and whose business consisted +in sending much merchandise by sea to foreign lands, and especially to +Alexandria. So occupied was he with the management of his ships, and in +heaping up riches, that during all his days, from his tender youth till +the time that he was fifty years of age, he never cared or wanted to do +anything else. + +When he had arrived at this last mentioned age, he began to think about +his condition, and to see that he had spent and employed all his days +and years in heaping up riches without ever having for a single minute +or moment been inclined to think of marrying and having children, to +whom the great wealth, that he had by great diligence and labour amassed +and acquired, would succeed. This thought caused him much mental sorrow, +and he was greatly vexed that he had thus spent his youth. + +This grief and regret lasted many days, during which time it happened +that in the above-named city, the young children, after they had +solemnized some festival, did as they were accustomed each year, and +variously apparelled and disguised, some this way and some that, came in +great numbers to the place where the public rejoicings of the city are +usually held, to play in the presence of their fathers and mothers, and +to have their costumes praised and admired. + +At this assembly was our merchant, still moody and vexed, and the +sight of so many fathers and mothers taking pleasure in watching their +children dance and sport, increased the grief that was preying on his +mind, and, unable to watch them any longer, he returned to his house, +sad and vexed, and retired to his lonely chamber, where he remained some +time, uttering complaints of this kind; + +“Ah, poor, miserable, old man that I am and always have been, and for +whom fate and destiny are hard, bitter, and unpleasant. Oh, wretched +man! worn out and weary by watching and work, suffered and borne by +land and sea. Your great riches and heaped-up treasures, which with +many perilous adventures, hard work, and sweat you have amassed, and for +which you have expended all your time, are but vain, for you have never +thought who will possess them, and to whom by human law you should leave +your memory and your name when you are dead and gone. Oh, wicked man, +how could you have been careless of that of which you should have taken +most heed? Marriage never pleased you, and you always feared and refused +it, and even disliked and scorned the good and just counsels of those +who would have found you a wife, in order that you might have offspring +who would perpetuate your name, your praise, and your renown. Oh, how +happy are those parents who leave good and wise children to succeed +them! How many fathers have I seen to-day playing with their children, +who would call themselves most happy, and think they had well employed +their time, if, after their decease, they could leave their children but +one small part of the great wealth that I possess! But what pleasure and +solace can I ever have? What name or fame shall I leave after my death? +Where is the son who will cherish my memory when I am dead? Blessed be +that holy condition of marriage by which the memory and recollection of +fathers is preserved, and by which fiefs, possessions, and heritages are +permanently secured to their happy children!” + +When the good merchant had thus argued to himself for a long time, he +suddenly thought of a remedy for his misfortunes, saying; + +“Well, I am in future determined, notwithstanding the number of my +years, not to trouble or torment myself with grief, or remorse. At the +worst I have but been like the birds, which prepare their nests before +they begin to lay their eggs. I have, thank God, riches sufficient for +myself, wife, and many children, if it should happen that I have any, +nor am I so old, or so devoid of natural vigour, as to lose hope of even +having any offspring. What I have to do is to watch and work, and use +every endeavour to discover where I shall find a wife fit and proper for +me.” + +Having finished his soliloquy, he left his chamber, and sent for two of +his comrades--merchant-mariners like himself,--and to them he plainly +stated his case, and requested them to help to find him a wife, for that +was the thing he most desired in the world. + +The two merchants, having heard what their comrade had to say, much +applauded his determination, and undertook to make all possible +endeavours to find him a wife. + +Whilst they were making enquiries, our merchant,--as hot to get married +as he could be--played the gallant, and sought throughout the city all +the youngest and prettiest girls--to the others he paid small heed. + +He searched so well that he found one such as he required,--born +of honest parents, marvellously beautiful, aged only fifteen or +thereabouts, gentle, good-tempered, and well brought up in every +respect. + +As soon as he knew her virtues and good qualities, he felt such +affection and desire that she should be his lawful wife, that he +asked her hand of her parents and friends; which, after some slight +difficulties that were quickly removed, was given, and the same hour +they were betrothed, and security given by him for the dower he was to +bestow upon her. + +If the good merchant had taken pride and pleasure in his merchandise +during the time that he was amassing a fortune, he felt still more when +he saw himself certain of being married, and that to a wife by whom he +could have fine children. + +The wedding was honourably celebrated, with all due pomp, and that feast +being over and finished, he forgot all about his former life,--that is +to say on the sea--but lived happily and in great pleasure with his fair +and fond wife. + +But this way of life did not last long, for he soon became tired and +bored, and before the first year had expired took a dislike to living at +home in idleness and a humdrum domestic existence, and pined for his +old business of merchant-mariner, which seemed to him easier and more +pleasant than that which he had so willingly undertaken to manage night +and day. + +He did nothing but devise how he could get to Alexandria, as he used in +the old days, and it seemed to him that it was not only difficult but +impossible for him to abstain from going to sea. Yet though he firmly +resolved to return to his old profession, he concealed his intention +from his wife, fearing that she might be displeased. + +There were also fears and doubts which disturbed him, and prevented him +from executing his designs, for he knew the youth and character of his +wife, and he felt sure that if he were absent she would not be able to +control herself; and he considered also the mutability and variability +of the feminine character, and that the young gallants were accustomed +to pass in front of his house to see his wife, even when he was at +home,--whence he imagined that in his absence they might come closer, +and peradventure even take his place. + +For a long time he was tormented by these difficulties and suspicions +without saying a word but as he knew that he had lived the best part of +his life, he now cared little for wife, marriage, and all that concerned +domestic life, and to the arguments and theories which filled his head, +provided a speedy solution by saying;-- + +“It is better to live than to die, and, if I do not quit my household +very shortly, it is very certain that I shall not live. But then, shall +I leave my fair and affectionate wife? Yes, I will leave her;--she +shall henceforth manage for herself as she pleases; it will no longer +be incumbent on me. Alas, what shall I do? What a dishonour, what +an annoyance it would be for me if she did not continue to guard her +chastity. Ah, yes, it is better to live than to die, that I may be able +to look after her! But God cannot wish that I should take such care +and pains about a woman’s belly without any pay or reward, and receive +nothing in return but torture of soul and body. I will not bear all the +trouble and anguish of mind that many suffer in living with their wives. +It angers me and saddens me to think that God only permits me to live +to enjoy the trifling incidents of married life. I want full liberty and +freedom to do what I please.” + +When the good merchant had finished these sage reflections, he went and +found some of his old comrades, and told them that he wished to visit +Alexandria with a cargo of merchandise, as he had often previously done +in their company,--but he did not tell them of the trouble and anxiety +which his married life caused him. + +He soon made all arrangements with them, and they told him to be ready +to start when the first fair wind came. The sailors and cargo were soon +ready, and awaited in a safe place, a fair wind to start. + +The good merchant, still firm in his determination, as on the previous +days, found his wife alone in her chamber, and that she should not be +sad at his departure, addressed her in these words. + +“My dearest wife, whom I love better than my life, I beg of you to be +of good heart, and show yourself joyful, and be not sad or cast down at +what I am about to say to you. I propose--if it be God’s pleasure--to +once more visit Alexandria, as I have long been in the habit of doing; +and it seems to me that you should not be vexed thereat, seeing that +you are aware that that is my business and profession, by which I have +acquired riches, houses, name, and fame, and many good friends. The +handsome and rich ornaments, rings, garments, and other things with +which you are apparelled and ornamented as is no other woman in the +city, as you well know, I have acquired by the profit I have made on my +merchandise. This journey of mine therefore should not trouble you, +for I shall shortly return. And I promise you that if this time,--as I +hope,--Fortune should smile upon me, never will I return there again, +but this time will take leave of it for ever. You must therefore be +of good courage, and I will leave in your hands the disposition, +administration, and management of all the goods which I possess; but +before I leave I have some requests to make of you. + +“The first is, I beg of you to be happy whilst I am on my voyage, and +live comfortably; for if I know that such is the case I shall have +greater pleasure in my voyage. For the second, you know that nothing +should be hidden or concealed between us two, and all honour, profit, +and renown should be--as I know they are--common to both of us, and +the praise and honour of the one cannot exist without the glory of the +other, and similarly the dishonour of the one would be the shame of us +both. I wish you to understand that I am not so devoid of sense that I +am not aware that I leave you young, beautiful, kind, fresh, and tender, +and without the consolation of a husband; and that many men will desire +you. And although I firmly believe that you are now fully resolved, +nevertheless, when I think of your age and inclinations and the warmth +of your desires, it does not seem possible to me that you should not, +out of pure necessity and compulsion, enjoy the company of a man during +my absence. It is my will and pleasure therefore to permit you to grant +those favours which nature compels you to grant. I would beg of you +though to respect our marriage vow unbroken as long as you possibly can. +I neither intend nor wish to leave you in the charge of any person, but +leave you to be your own guardian. Truly, there is no duenna, however +watchful, who can prevent a woman from doing what she wishes. When +therefore your desires shall prick and spur you on, I would beg you, my +dear wife, to act with such circumspection in their execution that they +may not be publicly known,--for if you do otherwise, you, and I, and all +our friends will be infamous and dishonoured. + +“If then you cannot remain chaste, at least take pains to retain your +reputation. I will teach you how that is to be done, if the need should +arise. You know that in our good city there are plenty of handsome +men. From amongst these choose one only, and be content to do with him +whatever nature may incline you to do. At all events, I wish that in +making your choice you should take particular care that he is not a +vagabond, or dishonest, or disreputable person, for great dangers might +arise from your acquaintance with such a person, inasmuch as he would, +without doubt publish your secret. + +“You will select one therefore who is, you are sure, both wise and +prudent, and who will take as much pains to conceal your amour as you do +yourself. This I beg of you, and that you will promise me honestly and +loyally to remember this lesson. I do not advise you to reply in the way +that other women are accustomed to when similar proposals are made +to them. I know what they would say, which would be somewhat to this +effect. ‘Oh, husband! what do you mean by speaking like that? How could +you have such a cruel, unjust opinion of me? How can you imagine that I +should commit such an abominable crime? No! no! God forbid that I should +make you such a promise. I will rather wish that the earth may open and +swallow me up alive the day and hour--I will not say commit--but even +think of committing such a sin. + +“My dear wife, I have shown you this way of replying in order that you +may not use the same to me. I firmly and truly believe that at the +present moment you are fully determined to remain chaste, and I desire +you to remain of that opinion as long as nature will permit you. And +understand that I do not wish you to break your vows unless you are +unable to battle against the appetites of your frail and weak youth.” + +When the good merchant had finished his speech, his fair, kind, and +gentle wife, her face all suffused with blushes, trembled, and could not +for some moments reply to what her husband had said. Soon her blushes +vanished, her confidence returned, and calling up all her courage, she +replied in these words; + +“My kind, and greatly beloved husband, I assure you that never have I +been so disturbed and troubled by any speech I have ever heard, as I +am now by your words, by which I learn something that I never heard or +guessed. You know my simplicity, youth, and innocence, and you say that +it is not possible at my age to avoid committing such a fault, and that +you are sure and know positively that when you are away I shall not be +able to preserve our marriage vow in its integrity. That speech greatly +vexed my heart, and made me tremble, and I do not know how I can reply +to your arguments. You have deprived me of the reply I should have made, +but I can tell you from the bottom of my heart that with joined hands I +beg most humbly of God that he may cause an abyss to open in which I may +be thrown, that my limbs may be torn off, and that I may suffer a most +cruel death, if ever the day comes when I shall not only be disloyal to +our marriage vow, but even think for a brief moment of being disloyal. +How, and in what manner I could be brought to commit such a crime, I am +unable to comprehend. And as you have forbidden me to reply as I should, +telling me that women are accustomed to make elusive and false excuses, +I will to give you pleasure, and allay your suspicions, and that you +may see that I am ready to obey and keep your commands, promise you this +moment with firm and immutable faith and constancy, to await the day +of your return in true, pure, and entire chastity of body, and may God +forbid that the contrary should happen. Be fully assured that I will +obey your orders in every respect. If there is anything else you wish +or command, I beg of you to inform me, and I will perform your will (I +desire nothing else) and not my own.” + +Our merchant, when he heard his wife’s reply, was so overjoyed that he +could not refrain from weeping, and said: + +“My dearest spouse, since you have of your great kindness given me the +promise that I required, I beg of you to keep it.” + +The following morning, the good merchant was sent for by his comrades to +put to sea. So he took leave of his wife, and commended her to the care +of God. Then he put to sea to sail to Alexandria where they arrived in +a few days, the wind being favourable, at which place they stayed a long +time both to deliver their merchandise and take in fresh cargoes. + +During this time the gracious damsel of whom I have spoken remained in +the house with, as her only companion, a little girl who served her. As +I have said, this fair damsel was but fifteen years of age, therefore +any fault that she committed must be imputed, not to a vicious +character, but to youth and inexperience. + +When the merchant had been absent many days, little by little she +began to forget him. As soon as the young men of the city knew of his +departure, they came to visit her. At first she would neither leave the +house nor show herself, but as they continued to come daily, she, on +account of the great pleasure she took in sweet and melodious songs and +harmonies of all instruments, which they played outside her door, peeped +through the crevices of the windows and the trellis so that she could +see the musicians, and they for their part were quite willing to be +seen. + +In hearing these songs and dances she took so much pleasure, that her +mind was filled with love, and the natural warmth of her affections +often tempted her to incontinence. So often was she visited in this +manner, that in the end her concupiscence and carnal desires conquered, +and she was fairly hit by the dart of love. She often thought how easy +it was for her to find time and place for any lover, for no one guarded +her, and no one could prevent her putting her designs in execution, and +she came to the conclusion that her husband was very wise when he said +he was positive that she could not preserve continence and chastity, +although she wished to keep the promise she had made to him. + +“It is right then,” she said to herself, “for me to follow my husband’s +advice; by doing which I shall incur no dishonour, since he himself +gave me permission, and I shall not violate the promise I made him. +I remember rightly that he charged me that if ever I broke my vow of +chastity, that I should choose a man who was wise, of good fame, and +great virtues, and no other. That is what I will really do, as I may +without disobeying my husband’s instructions, and by following his good +advice which was ample for my purpose. I suppose that he did not intend +that the man should be old, and it seems to me that he should be young, +but having as good a reputation for learning and science as any old man. +Such was my husband’s advice, I remember.” + +At the same time that the damsel was making these reflections, and was +searching for a wise and prudent, young man to cool her bowels, there +fortunately arrived in the city a very wise young clerk, who had newly +arrived from the university of Bologna, where he had been several years +without once returning to his native city. Such attention had he given +to his studies that there was not in all the country a clerk who enjoyed +such a reputation amongst the learned men of the city, whom he assisted +continually. + +He was accustomed to go every day to the Town Hall on the market-place, +and was obliged to pass before the house of the said damsel, who was +much struck by his appearance and pleasant manners. And although he had +never filled any clerical office, she came to the conclusion that he +was a very learned clerk, and fell deeply in love with him, saying to +herself that he would be the man to guard her husband’s secret; but +how she was to inform him of her great and ardent love, and reveal the +secret desires of her mind she knew not,--at which she was much vexed. + +She bethought herself that as every day he passed before her house on +his way to the market place, that she would be upon her balcony, dressed +as handsomely as possible, in order that when he passed he might notice +her beauty, and so be led to desire those favours which would not be +refused him. + +Many times did the damsel so show herself, although that had not +previously been her custom, and though she was pleasant to gaze upon, +and her youthful mind was filled with thoughts of love, the wise clerk +never perceived her, for in walking he glanced neither to the right nor +left. + +This plan of the damsel’s was not as successful as she imagined it would +be. She was very sorrowful, and the more she thought of the clerk, the +more ardent did her desires become. At last, after a number of plans had +suggested themselves to her, and which for the sake of brevity I pass +over, she determined to send her little servant-maid to him. So she +called her, and ordered her to go and ask for such-an-one,--that is to +say, the learned clerk--and when she had found him, to tell him to come +in haste to the house of such a damsel, the wife of so-and-so; and if he +should ask what the damsel wanted, she was to reply that she knew not, +but only knew that he was urgently required to come at once. + +The little girl learned her message, and went forth to seek him; and she +was soon shown a house where he was at dinner with a great company of +his friends, and other people of high degree. + +The girl entered the house, and saluting all the company, asked for the +clerk, and delivered her message properly. The good clerk, who had been +acquainted since his youth with the merchant of whom the girl spoke, and +knew his house as he did his own, but was not aware that he was married +or who was his wife, imagined that during the husband’s absence, the +wife had need of advice on some weighty matter, for he knew that the +husband was away, and had no suspicion of the cause of his invitation. +He said to the girl; + +“My dear, go and tell your mistress that as soon as dinner is over I +will come to her.” + +The messenger duly delivered these words, and God knows how she was +received by her mistress. When she heard that the clerk, her lover, +would come, she was more joyful than ever woman was, and owing to the +great joy she felt at having the clerk in the house, she trembled and +did not know what to do. She caused the house to be well swept, and fair +herbage to be spread in her chamber, covered the bed and the couch with +rich tapestry and embroidery, and dressed and adorned herself with her +most precious belongings. + +Then she waited a little time, which seemed to her marvellous long on +account of the great desire she had, and so impatient was she for his +arrival, and that she might perceive him coming afar off, she went up to +her chamber and then came down again, and went now hither, now thither, +and was so excited that it seemed as though she were out of her senses. + +At last she went up to her chamber, and there laid out all the riches +and delicacies that she had prepared to feast her lover. She made the +little servant-maid stay below to let the clerk in, and conduct him to +her mistress. + +When he arrived, the servant-maid received him, and let him in and +closed the door, leaving his servants outside, whom she told that they +were to await their master’s return. + +The damsel, hearing that her lover had arrived, could not refrain from +running down stairs to meet him, and she saluted him politely. Then she +took his hand and led him to the chamber which she had prepared. He +was much astonished when he arrived there, not only by the diversity of +splendours that he saw, but also by the great beauty of the fair girl +who conducted him. + +As soon as they were in the chamber, she sat down on a stool by the +couch, and made him sit on another by her side, and there they both sat +for a certain time, without saying a word, for each waited for the other +to speak, though in very different ways, for the clerk imagined that the +damsel would consult him on some great and difficult matter, and wished +her to begin; whilst she, on the other hand, knowing how wise and +prudent he was, believed that he would know why he had been sent for +without her telling him. + +When she saw that he made no attempt to speak, she began, and said; + +“My very dear and true friend, and learned man, I will tell you at once +why I have sent for you. I believe that you are well-acquainted and +familiar with my husband. He has left me, in the condition you now see +me, whilst he goes to Alexandria to bring back merchandise, as he has +long been used. Before his departure, he told me that when he was away, +he was sure that my weak and fragile nature would cause me to lose my +chastity, and that necessity would compel me to have intercourse with +a man to quench the natural longings I should be sure to feel after +his departure. And truly I deem him a very wise man, for that which I +thought impossible I find has happened, for my youth, beauty, and nature +rebel against wasting away in vain. That you may understand me plainly +I will tell you that my wise and thoughtful husband when he left, knew +that as all young and tender plants dry and wither when they cannot +fulfil the needs of their nature, so it was likely to be with me. +And seeing clearly that my nature and constitution were likely to be +controlled by my natural desires, which I could not long resist, he made +me swear and promise that, if nature should force me to become unchaste, +I would choose a wise man of good position, who would carefully guard +our secret. I do not think there is in all the city a man more worthy +than yourself, for you are young and very wise. I do not suppose then +that you will refuse me or repel me. You see me as I am, and you may, +during the absence of my husband, supply his place if you wish, and +without the knowledge of any one; place, time, and opportunity all +favour us.” + +The gentleman was much surprised and moved at what the lady said, but +he concealed his emotion. He took her right hand and with a smiling face +addressed her in these words: + +“I ought to render infinite thanks to Dame Fortune, who has to-day given +me so much pleasure, and the attainment of the greatest happiness +I could have in this world; never in my life will I call myself +unfortunate, since Fortune has granted me this great favour. I may +certainly say that I am to-day the happiest of men, for when I consider, +my beautiful and kind mistress, how we may joyously pass our days +together, without any person’s knowledge or interference, I almost faint +with joy. Where is the man more favoured by Fortune than I am? If it +were not for one thing which forms a slight obstacle to our love affair, +I should be the luckiest man on earth, and I am greatly vexed and +annoyed that I cannot overcome that difficulty.” + +When the damsel, who had never imagined that any difficulty could arise, +heard that there was an obstacle which would prevent her indulging her +passions, she was very sad and sorrowful, and begged him to say what it +was, in order that she might find a remedy if possible. + +“The obstacle,” he said, “is not so great that it cannot be removed in a +little time, and, since you are kind enough to wish to know what it is, +I will tell you. When I was studying at the University of Bologna, +the people of the city rose in insurrection against their ruler. I was +accused, along with some others, my companions, of having stirred up +this insurrection, and I was closely imprisoned. When I found myself in +prison, and in danger of losing my life, though I knew I was innocent, I +made a vow to God, promising that if He would deliver me from prison and +restore me to my friends and relations in this city, I would, for love +of Him, fast for a whole year on bread and water, and during that fast +would not allow my body to sin. Now I have, by His aid, accomplished +the greater part of the year and but little remains. I would beg of you +therefore, since it is your pleasure to choose me as your lover, not to +change again for any man in the world, and not to fret over the little +delay that is necessary for me to accomplish my fast, and which is now +but a very short time, and would have been long since over if I had +dared to confide in some one else who could help me, for any days that +others will fast for me are counted as though I fasted myself. And as I +perceive the great love and confidence you have for me, I will, if you +wish, place a trust in you that I have never put in my brothers, nor +my friends, nor relations. I will ask you to help me with the remaining +part of the fast to accomplish the year, that I may the sooner aid you +in the matter you have desired of me. My kind friend, I have but sixty +days to fast, which--if it is your will and pleasure--I will divide in +two parts, of which you shall have one and I will have the other, on +condition that you promise to perform your part honestly and without +fraud, and when all is completed, we will pass our days pleasantly. If +therefore, you are willing to help me in the manner I have said, tell me +at once.” + +It is to be supposed that this long delay was hardly pleasing to the +young woman, but as her lover had asked her so kindly, and also because +she wished the fast to be finished, that she might accomplish her +desires with her lover, and thinking also that thirty days would not +much interfere with her intentions, she promised to perform her share +without fraud, deception, or imposition. + +The good gentleman, seeing that he had won his case and that his affairs +were prospering, took leave of the damsel, (who suspected no harm) and +told her that as it was on his road from his home to the market-place to +pass by her house, he would, without fail, often come and visit her, and +so he departed. + +The fair damsel began the next day her fast, making a rule for herself +that during all the time of the fast she would eat nothing but bread and +water until the sun had set. + +When she had fasted three days, the wise clerk, as he was going to the +market-place at the accustomed time, called upon the lady, with whom he +talked long, and then, as he was saying farewell, asked her if she had +commenced the fast? She replied she had. + +“Can you continue,” he said, “and keep your promise until all is +finished?” + +“I can entirely,” she replied; “do not fear.” + +He took leave and departed, and she went on from day to day with her +fast, and kept her vow as she had promised, such being her good-nature. +Before she had fasted eight days, her natural heat began to decrease so +much that she was forced to change her clothes and put on furs and thick +garments, which are usually only worn in winter, instead of the light +robes which she wore before she began the fast. + +On the fifteenth day, she received a visit from her lover, who found +her so weak that she could hardly move about the house, but the poor +simpleton was firmly resolved not to practise any trickery, so deeply +in love was she, and so firmly resolved to persevere with this fast, +for the sake of the joys and pleasant delights which awaited her at the +termination. + +The clerk, when he entered the house, and saw her so feeble, said; + +“What kind of face is that, and how is your health? Now I see that you +are sorry you undertook this long fast! Ah, my sweetest love! have a +firm and constant mind. We have to-day achieved the half of our task: if +your nature is weak, conquer it by firmness and constancy of heart, and +do not break your faithful promise.” + +He admonished her so kindly, that she took courage, so that it seemed to +her that the remaining fifteen days would hardly be noticed. + +The twentieth came, and the poor simpleton had lost all colour and +seemed half dead, and felt no more desires of concupiscence than if she +had been really dead. She was obliged to take to her bed and continually +remain there, and then, it occurred to her mind that the clerk had +caused her to fast to punish her carnal appetites, and she came to the +conclusion that his methods were ingenious and effective, and would not +have been thought of by a less clever and good man. + +Nevertheless, she was not less resolved to go on to the ead, and +thoroughly fulfil her promise. + +On the last day but one of the fast, she sent for the clerk, who, when +he saw her in bed asked her if she had lost courage now that there was +only one day more to run? + +But she, interrupting him, replied; + +“Ah, my good friend, you loved me with a true and perfect love, and not +dishonourably, as I dared to love you. Therefore I shall esteem you, as +long as God gives life to me and to you, as my dearest and best friend, +who protected, and taught me to protect, my chastity, and the honour and +good name, of me, my husband, my relatives, and my friends. Blessed also +be my dear husband, whose advice and counsels I have kept, to the great +solace of my heart. But for you, my friend, I render you such thanks as +I may, for your honourable conduct and your great kindness to me, for +which I can never sufficiently requite you, nor can my friends.” + +The good and wise clerk, seeing that he had achieved his object, took +leave of the fair damsel, and gently admonished her and advised her that +she should in future correct her body by abstinence and fasting whenever +she felt any prickings of lust. By which means she lived chastely until +the return of her husband, who knew nothing of the matter, for she +concealed it from him--and so also did the clerk. + +THE END. + + +[Illustration: footnotes.jpg Footnotes] + + +NOTES. + + +[Footnote 1: This story is taken from an old _fabliau_ entitled _Les +Deux Changeurs_, and has been copied by Malespini, Straparolla, and +other Italian writers. Brantôme, in _Les Dames Galantes_, records that, +“Louis, Duc d’Orléans was a great seducer of Court ladies, and always +the greatest. A beautiful and noble lady was sleeping with him when +her husband came into the chamber to wish the Duke good-day. The Duke +covered the lady’s head with the sheet, and uncovered the rest of her +body, and allowed the husband to look and touch as much as he liked, but +forbade him, as he valued his life, to uncover her head--And the best of +it was, that the next night, the husband being in bed with his wife told +her that the Duke had shown him the most beautiful naked woman that ever +he saw, but as to her face he could not report, being forbidden to +see it. I leave you to imagine what his wife thought!” The lady +was,--scandal averred--Mariette d’Enghien, the mother of the brave and +handsome Comte de Dunois, known in French history as “the bastard of +Orléans.” In the M. S. discovered by Mr. Thomas Wright in the Hunterian +Library at Glasgow, this story is ascribed to “Monseigneur le Duc,” as +is also the following one.] + + + +[Footnote 3: Taken from the _Facetiae_ of Poggio. It has been imitated +by Straparolo, Malespini--whom it will be unnecessary to mention each +time as he has copied the whole of the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_ with +hardly one exception--Estienne (_Apologie pour Hérodote_) La Fontaine +(_Contes_, lib II, conte II) and others. + +Monseigneur de la Roche, the author of the story, was Chamberlain to the +Duke of Burgundy, at a salary of 36 _sols_ per month. He was one of the +wisest councillors of Philippe le Bel and Charles le Téméraire, and +after the death of the latter was created Grand Seneschal of Burgundy. +He died about 1498. He was one of the most prolific of all the +contributors to the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_, and related Nos 3, 8, +10, 12, 15, 18, 36, 37, 41, 44, 45, 47, 48, and 52.] + + + +[Footnote 4: This and the three following stories are all original.] + + + +[Footnote 5: An interesting anecdote of the “warlike and martial +Talbot.” Philippe de Laon was “squire of the stables” to the Duke of +Burgundy in 1461. He contributed also Nos. 20, 21, 66, 67, 74, and 76.] + + + +[Footnote 6: Jean de Lanoy (Launoy, in Vérard’s 1st ed.) created a +knight of the Golden Fleece in 1451; an officer of the household of +the D. of Burgundy. Louis XI, on his accession, created him Governor +of Lille, and Bailli of Amiens, and sent him on a secret mission to the +King of England. Charles le Téméraire, indignant with Lanoy for having +gone over to his enemy, confiscated all his possessions in Brabant. +After the death of Charles, Lanoy went back to Burgundy, and took an +important share in the political events of the time. In some editions +stories Nos 82, and 92 are ascribed to him; in others, the one is by +Jehan Marten, and the other by “the Editor.”] + + + +[Footnote 8: Taken from Poggio (_Repensa merces_). Has been imitated by +La Fontaine (_Contes_ lib III, conte V.)] + + + +[Footnote 9: An old story which forms the subject of a “fable” + by Enguerrand d’Oisi (_Le Meunier d’Aleu_) also used by Boccaccio +(Decameron 8th Day, 4th Story) and Poggio. Has since been imitated by +Margaret of Navarre (story VIII) Boucher, Chapuys, and La Fortaine (_les +Quiproquos_).] + + + +[Footnote 10: So far as I am aware, this story first appeared in _Les +Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_. It was subsequently imitated by the Author of +_Les Joyeuses Adventures_, and La Fontaine (_Contes_ lib I. _conte_ XII.)] + + + +[Footnote 11: Taken from Poggio; afterwards used by Rabelais as “Hans +Carvel’s Ring”, _Pantagruel_, lib 3, chap 28.] + + + +[Footnote 12: The story is found in Poggio and the _Cente Nouvelle +Antiche_. There have been many modern imitations, culminating in La +Fontaine (_Contes_, lib 2. conte XII).] + + + +[Footnote 13: By Jean d’Enghien, Sieur de Kessergat, an official at +the Court of Burgundy, and also “Amant” or keeper of the Archives at +Brussels. See also No. 53.] + + + +[Footnote 14: Can be traced back to Josephus (_History of the Jews_ lib +XVIII. chap XIII.) Also found in Boccaccio, La Fontaine, and Marmontel +(_La Mari sylphe_). + +Jean de Crequy was a knight of the Golden Fleece, and one of the twelve +nobles who carried the Duke’s body at the funeral of Philippe le Bel. +This is the only story he contributed.] + + + +[Footnote 16: A very old story, probably of Eastern origin. It has been +used by many story-tellers and is found in Boccaccio (_Dec_. day VII, +story VI) the _Gesta Romanorum_, and in several of the collections of +fabliaux. As for the versions of later date than the _Cent Nouvelles +Nouvelles_, they are still more numerous. At least four of the followers +of Boccaccio, also Marguerite of Navarre (_Heptameron_), Estienne +(_Apologie pour Hérodote_) and several others have used it, to my +knowledge.] + + + +[Footnote 18: Found in Boccaccio, Poggio, and several of the _fabliaux_. +Copied several times during the 17th and 18th centuries, French writers +apparently thinking that “the gentleman of Burgundy” acted up to his +title, and was not a mean and contemptible scoundrel as most Englishmen +would deem him.] + + + +[Footnote 19: An amusing story, borrowed from the troubadours, and since +copied by Sansovino, Chapuys, Grécourt, and the author of _Joueuses +Adventures_. + +Philippe Vignier was _valet de chambre_ to the Duke of Burgundy in 1451. +No. 86 is also ascribed to him in Mr. Wright’s edition.] + + + +[Footnote 21: From Poggio (_Priapus vis_) and also forms the subject of +one of La Fontaine’s _Contes_.] + + + +[Footnote 22: Caron was “clerk of the chapel” to the Duke of Burgundy.] + + + +[Footnote 23: From an old _fabliau_; since copied by several writers, +French and Italian. + +The author’s name is given as Commesuram by Verard and as de Qucevrain +in Mr. Wright’s edition. He is possibly identical with Louis de +Luxembourg, Count of St. Pol, whose name appears at the head of story +39. He also contributed Nos. 62 and 72.] + + + +[Footnote 24: Taken from an old English ballad included in Percy’s +Reliques. It is curious that the author--de Fiennes--bears the same name +as an English nobleman--Lord Saye and Sele. + +Thebaut de Luxembourg (Monseigneur de Fiennes) after the death of his +wife, Phillipine de Melun, turned monk, and lived to be Abbot of Igny +and Orcamp, and finally Bishop of Mans. He died in 1477. He also wrote +No. 43.] + + + +[Footnote 25: Monseigneur de Saint Yon Was cup-bearer to Philippe le +Bel, with a salary of 100 francs a year.] + + + +[Footnote 26: Nothing is known of M. de Foquessoles the writer of this +story.] + + + +[Footnote 27: The name of de Beauvoir attached to this story proves +that the tales were not edited till after 1461. For Jean de Montespedan +followed Louis when he returned to take the throne, and was created by +him seigneur of Beauvoir. He was a faithful follower of Louis, and in +1460 carried a letter from the Dauphin to Charles VII--no pleasant, or +even safe, task. He also wrote No. 30.] + + + +[Footnote 28: Michault de Changy was a Privy Councillor, Chamberlain, +Chief Carver, and afterwards Steward, to Dukes Philip and Charles. He +was the trusty confidant and adviser of the latter, who loaded him with +favours. After the death of Charles le Téméraire, Louis XI confirmed de +Changy in all the offices which he held in Burgundy. See also Nos. 40, +64, 79, and 80.] + + + +[Footnote 31: An almost identical story is told of Henri de Guise in the +_Historiettes_ of Tallemant des Réaux.] + +Jean d’Estuer, Seigneur de la Barde was a trusty servant of Louis XI and +successively Seneschal of Limousin, Ambassador (or rather secret agent) +to England, Seneschal of Lyon, and Governor of Perpignan.] + + + +[Footnote 32: Taken from Poggio, and used afterwards by La Fontaine. +De Villiers became one of the most trusted servants of Louis XI, and +conducted many difficult and delicate negotiations for him.] + + + +[Footnote 34: The original of this story is an old _fabliau_. It has +been often imitated in more recent times.] + + + +[Footnote 38: From Boccaccio (_Dec_., day VII, nov VIII) but is of +Eastern origin, and is found in Bidpai. It was probably brought to +France by the Crusaders, for it is met with in the _fabliaux_. + +Antoine de Chateauneuf, Baron de Lau, was a favourite of Louis XI, who +bestowed on him some important offices, and large sums of money. He +afterwards fell into disgrace, and was imprisoned in the castle of +Usson, in Auvergne, but managed to escape in 1468, retired to Burgundy, +and seems to have made his peace with Louis and been restored to favour, +for he was Governor of Perpignan in 1472. He died before 1485.] + + + +[Footnote 39: The Comte de Saint Pol has been thought to be identical +with M. de Commesuram, the author of several of the _Cent Nouvelles +Nouvelles_. Saint Pol occupied an important part in history, and was +Constable of France, but he tried to play a double game, and betrayed +in turn both Louis and Charles the Bold. At last he was arrested, +condemned, and executed, December, 1475.] + + + +[Footnote 42: Hervé Meriadech, a Breton squire and gallant soldier, who +performed several gallant feats of arms. Louis XI named him Governor of +Tournay in 1461.] + + + +[Footnote 46: Much resembles No. XII. The author is believed to be +Chrestien de Dygoigne, whose name appears at the head of story No. 68.] + + + +[Footnote 47: This is believed to be a true story. The person who got +rid of his wife in this cunning way was Caffrey Carles, President of the +Parliament of Grenoble. He was skilled in Latin and “the humanities”--in +the plural only it would appear--and was chosen by Anne of Brittany, the +wife of Louis XII, to teach her daughter, Renée, afterwards Duchess of +Perrara. + +The story is so dramatic that it has been often imitated.] + + + +[Footnote 50: By Antoine de la Sale, a short appreciation of whose +literary merits appears in the Introduction. He has appended his own +name to this story; in other cases he appears as “L’Acteur” that is to +say the “Editor.” (See No. 51). The story is taken from Sacchetti +or Poggio. The idea has suggested itself to many writers, including +Lawrence Sterne, in Tristram Shandy.] + + + +[Footnote 52: Taken from Sacchetti.] + + + +[Footnote 59: by Poncelet, or Pourcelet, one of the Council of the Duke +of Burgundy.] + + + +[Footnote 60: by Poncelet, or Pourcelet, one of the Council of the Duke +of Burgundy. No. 60 is from an old fabliau, (_Frère Denise, cordelier_) +and is to be found in the _Heptameron_, the _Apologie pour Hérodote_ +etc.] + + + +[Footnote 61: by Poncelet, or Pourcelet, one of the Council of the Duke +of Burgundy. No. 61 is also from an old _fabliau_, (_Les Cheveux +coupe’s_). Mr. Wright also credits him with No. 89.] + + + +[Footnote 63: is related by Montbleru himself, according to Mr. Wright’s +edition, but in Vérard there is no author’s name.] + + + +[Footnote 64: From an old _fabliau_, and often imitated.] + + + +[Footnote 69: M. Leroux de Lincy believes that Le Sage took the story of +Dona Mencia,--intercalated in _Gil Blas_--from this tale.] + + + +[Footnote 75: Gui, Seigneur de Thalemas died, without issue, in 1463.] + + + +[Footnote 76: Taken from the _Facetiae_ of Poggio.] + + + +[Footnote 78: This story is originally found in Boccaccio (_Dec_. day +VII, nov V) and in an old _fabliau_. (_Le Chevalier qui fist sa femme +confesser_). La Fontaine has imitated it. See note on No. 82.] + + + +[Footnote 79: Taken from the _Facetiae_ of Poggio.] + + + +[Footnote 80: Taken from the _Facetiae_ of Poggio.] + + + +[Footnote 81: By M. de Waulvrin (Vaurin), Chamberlain to the Duke of +Burgundy. He wrote a history of England and France from the earliest +times to 1471. Also contributed No. 83.] + + + +[Footnote 82: In the Table of Contents of Vérard’s edition, this story +is ascribed to Monseigneur de Lannoy, but at the head of the story +itself the name of the author is given as Jean Martin, who also wrote +No. 78. Jean Martin was chief _sommelier du corps_ to Philippe le Bel. +After the death of that Duke he did not remain in the service of Charles +le Téméraire, but retired to Dijon, where he died, 28th Nov. 1475.] + + + +[Footnote 84: In the Table of Contents this story is ascribed to the +Marquis de Rothelin. He was Marquis de Hocheberg, Comte de Neufchâtel +(Switzerland) Seigneur de Rothelin etc. Marshal of Burgundy, and Grand +Seneschal of Provence. In 1491, he was appointed Grand Chamberlain of +France. He died in 1503.] + + + +[Footnote 85: The story is taken from an old _fabliau (Le Forgeron de +Creil)_ and has been used also by Sachetti, Des Periers and others. No +author’s name is given in Vêrard, but in the M.S. from which Mr. Wright +worked, the name of M. de Santilly is found at the head of this tale.] + + + +[Footnote 88: Found also in Boccaccio (_Dec_. day VIII, nov. VII). +Poggio (_Fraus mulieris_) and in several of the collections of _fabliaux +(La Bourgeoise d’Orléans)_. + +Mr. Wright gives Alardin (who also contributed No. 77) as the author. An +Alardin Bournel returned to France with Louis XI in 1461.] + + + +[Footnote 90: Taken from the _Facetiae_ of Poggio.] + + + +[Footnote 91: Taken from the _Facetiae_ of Poggio.] + + + +[Footnote 93: Taken from the _Facetiae_ of Poggio. According to Mr. +Wright, by Timoléon Vignier, possibly a brother of Philippe Vignier.] + + + +[Footnote 95: Taken from the _Facetiae_ of Poggio.] + + + +[Footnote 96: An exceedingly old story, found in a _fabliau_ by +Rutebeuf, Poggio’s _Facetiae (Canis testamentum)_ etc. It also occurs in +a collection of Russian folk-lore tales.] + + + +[Footnote 99: Also from Poggio’s _Facetiae (Sacerdotis virtus)_. +Several of the saints have performed the same miracle in order to +avoid the terrible sin of eating meat on a Friday. It was amongst the +meritorious acts of one--St. Johannes Crucis--who was canonized as +recently as 1840.] + + +[Illustration: endplate.jpg Endplate] + +[Illustration: gilded-top.jpg ] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of One Hundred Merrie And Delightsome +Stories, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CENT NOUVELLES NOUVELLES *** + +***** This file should be named 18575-0.txt or 18575-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/5/7/18575/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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