Chapter XI: Part 11

“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.

*****

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.

*****

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.

*****

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.”