Chapter IV: Part 4

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.

*****

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.

*****

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.

*****

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.

*****

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.