Chapter VIII: Part 8

“The man who refuses to believe that will not be damned,” said he. “Do you think that I have not perceived that you are on good terms with so-and-so (that is to say the first-comer). It is so, by my oath, and I have but too often seen him speak to you apart, and, what is more, I have watched and seen him enter here. But by heaven, if ever I find him here his last day has come, whatever may happen to me in consequence. I could not allow him to be aware that he has done me this injury--I would rather die a thousand times if it were possible. And you are as false as he is for you know of a truth that after God I love no one but you, and yet you encourage him, and so do me great wrong!”

“Ah, monseigneur!” she replied, “who has told you this story? By my soul! I wish that God and you should know that it is quite otherwise, and I call Him to witness that never in my life have I given an assignation to him of whom you speak, nor to any other whoever he may be--so you have little enough cause to be displeased with me. I will not deny that I have spoken to him, and speak to him every day, and also to many others, but I have never had aught to do with him, nor do I believe that he thinks of me even for a moment, or if so, by God he is mistaken. May God not suffer me to live if any but you has part or parcel in what is yours entirely.”

“Mademoiselle,” said he, “you talk very well, but I am not such a fool as to believe you.”

Angry and displeased as he was, he nevertheless did that for which he came, and on leaving, said,

“I have told you, and given you fair warning that if ever I find any other person comes here, I will put him, or cause him to be put, in such a condition that he will never again worry me or any one else.”

“Ah, Monseigneur,” she replied, “by God you are wrong to imagine such things about him, and I am sure also that he does not think of me.”

With that, the last-comer left, and, on the morrow, his friend, the first-comer did not fail to come early in the morning to hear the news, and the other related to him in full all that had passed, how he had pretended to be angry and threatened to kill his rival, and the replies the jade made.

“By my oath,” said the first, “she acted the comedy well! Now let me have my turn, and I shall be very much surprised if I do not play my part equally well.”

A certain time afterwards his turn came, and he went to the wench, who received him as lovingly as she always did, and as she had previously received her other lover. If his friend the last-comer had been cross and quarrelsome both in manner and words, he was still more so, and spoke to her in this manner;

“I curse the hour and the day on which I made your acquaintance, for it is not possible to load the heart of a poor lover with more sorrows, regrets, and bitter cares than oppress and weigh down my heart to-day. Alas! I chose you amongst all others as the perfection of beauty, gentleness, and kindness, and hoped that I should find in you truth and fidelity, and therefore I gave you all my heart, believing in truth that it was safe in your keeping, and I had such faith in you that I would have met death, or worse, had it been possible, to save your honour. Yet, when I thought myself most sure of your faith, I learned, not only by the report of others but by my own eyes, that another had snatched your love from me, and deprived me of the hope of being the one person in the world who was dearest to you.”

“My friend,” said the wench, “I do not know what your trouble is, but from your manner and your words I judge that there is something the matter, but I cannot tell what it is if you do not speak more plainly--unless it be a little jealousy which torments you, and if so, I think, if you are wise, that you will soon banish it from your mind. For I have never given you any cause for that, as you know me well enough to be aware, and you should be sorry for having used such expressions to me.”

“I am not the sort of man,” said he, “to be satisfied with mere words. Your excuses are worth nothing. You cannot deny that so-and-so (that is to say the last-comer) does not keep you. I know well he does, for I have noticed you, and moreover, have watched, and saw him yesterday come to you at such an hour, dressed in such and such a manner. But I swear to God he has had his last pleasure with you, for I bear him a grudge, and were he ten times as great a man as he is, when I meet him I will deprive him of his life, or he shall deprive me of mine; one of us two must die for I cannot live and see another enjoy you. You are false and disloyal to have deceived me, and it is not without cause that I curse the hour I made your acquaintance, for I know for a certainty that you will cause my death if my rival knows my determination, as I hope he will. I know that I am now as good as dead, and even if he should spare me, he does but sharpen the knife which is to shorten his own days, and then the world would not be big enough to save me, and die I must.”

The wench could not readily find a sufficient excuse to satisfy him in his present state of mind. Nevertheless, she did her best to dissipate his melancholy, and drive away his suspicions, and said to him;

“My friend, I have heard your long tirade, which, to tell the truth, makes me reflect that I have not been so prudent as I ought, and have too readily believed your deceitful speeches, and obeyed you in all things, which is the reason you now think so little of me. Another reason why you speak to me thus, is that you know that I am so much in love with you that I cannot bear to live out of your presence. And for this cause, and many others that I need not mention, you deem me your subject and slave, with no right to speak or look at any but you. Since that pleases you, I am satisfied, but you have no right to suspect me with regard to any living person, nor have I any need to excuse myself. Truth, which conquers all things, will right me in the end!”

“By God, my dear,” said the young man, “the truth is what I have already told you--as both and he will find to your cost if you do not take care.”

After these speeches, and others too long to recount here, he left, and did not forget on the following morning to recount everything to his friend the last-comer; and God knows what laughter and jests they had between them.

The wench, who still had wool on her distaff (*), saw and knew very well that each of her lovers suspected the other, nevertheless she continued to receive them each in his turn, without sending either away. She warned each earnestly that he must come to her in the most secret manner, in order that he should not be perceived.

(*) i.e. plenty of tricks or resources.

You must know that when the first-comer had his turn that he did not forget to complain as before, and threatened to kill his rival should he meet him. Also at his last meeting, he pretended to be more angry than he really was, and made very light of his rival, who, according to him, was as good as dead if he were caught with her. But the cunning and double-dealing jade had so many deceitful speeches ready that her excuses sounded as true as the Gospel. For she believed that, whatever doubts and suspicions they had, the affair would never really be found out, and that she was capable of satisfying them both.

It was otherwise in the end, for the last-comer, whom she was greatly afraid to lose, one day read her a sharp lesson. In fact he told her that he would never see her again, and did not for a long time afterwards, at which she was much displeased and dissatisfied.

And in order to embarrass and annoy her still more, he sent to her a gentleman, a confidential friend, to point out how disgusted he was to find he had a rival, and to tell her, in short, that if she did not send away this rival, that he would never see her again as long as he lived.

As you have already heard, she would not willingly give up his acquaintance, and there was no male or female saint by whom she did not perjure herself in explaining away her love passages with her other lover, and at last, quite beside herself, she said to the squire;

“I will show your master that I love him; give me your knife.”

Then, when she had the knife, she took off her headdress, and with the knife cut off all her hair--not very evenly.

The squire, who knew the facts of the case, took this present, and said he would do his duty and give it to his master, which he soon did. The last-comer received the parcel, which he undid, and found the hair of his mistress, which was very long and beautiful. He did not feel much at ease until he had sent for his friend and revealed to him the message he had sent, and the valuable present she had given him in return, and then he showed the beautiful long tresses.

“I fancy,” said he, “I must be very high in her good graces. You can scarcely expect that she would do as much for you.”

“By St. John!” said the other, “this is strange news. I see plainly that I am left out in the cold. It is finished! You are the favoured one. But let us” he added, “think what is to be done. We must show her plainly that we know what she is.”

“That’s what I wish,” said the other.

They thought the matter over, and arranged their plan as follows.

The next day, or soon afterwards, the two friends were in a chamber where there were assembled their fair lady and many others. Each took his place where he liked; the first-comer sat near the damsel, and after some talk, he showed her the hair which she had sent to his friend.

Whatever she may have thought, she was not startled, but said she did not know whose hair it was, but it did not belong to her.

“What?” he said. “Has it so quickly changed that it cannot be recognised?”

“That I cannot say,” she replied, “but it does not belong to me.”

When he heard that, he thought it was time to play his best card, and, as though by accident, gave her _chaperon_ (*) such a twitch that it fell to the ground, at which she was both angry and ashamed. And all those who were present saw that her hair was short, and had been badly hacked.

(*) The chaperon, in the time of Charles VII, was fastened
to the shoulder by a long band which sometimes passed two or
three times round the neck, and sometimes hung down the
back.

She rose in haste, and snatched up her head-dress, and ran into another chamber to attire herself, and he followed her. He found her angry and ashamed, and weeping bitterly with vexation at being thus caught. He asked her what she had to weep about, and at what game she had lost her hair?

She did not know what to reply, she was so vexed and astonished; and he, who was determined to carry out the arrangement he had concluded with his friend, said to her;

“False and disloyal as you are, you have not cared that I and my friend were deceived and dishonoured. You wished,--as you have plainly shown--to add two more victims to your list, but, thank God, we were on our guard. And, in order that you may see that we both know you, here is your hair which you sent him, and which he has presented to me; and do not believe that we are such fools as you have hitherto thought us.”

Then he called his friend, who came, and the first said,

“I have given back this fair damsel her hair, an have begun to tell her how she has accepted the love of both of us, and how by her manner of acting she has shown us that she did not care whether she disgraced us both--may God save us!”

“Truly--by St. John!” said the other, and thereupon he made a long speech to the wench, and God knows he talked to her well, remonstrating with her on her cowardice and disloyal heart. Never was woman so well lectured as she was at that time, first by one then by the other.

She was so taken by surprise that she did not know what to reply, except by tears, which she shed abundantly.

She had never had enough pleasure out of both her lovers to compensate for the vexation she suffered at that moment.

Nevertheless, in the end they did not desert her, but lived as they did before, each taking his turn, and if by chance they both came to her together, the one gave place to the other, and they were both good friends as before, without ever talking of killing or fighting.

For a long time the two friends continued this pleasant manner of loving, and the poor wench never dared to refuse either of them. And whenever the one wished to have intercourse with her, he told the other, and whenever the second went to see her, the first stayed at home. They made each other many compliments, and sent one another rondels and songs which are now celebrated, about the circumstances I have already related, and of which I now conclude the account.

*****

STORY THE THIRTY-FOURTH -- THE MAN ABOVE AND THE MAN BELOW. [34]

By Monsigneur De La Roche.

_Of a married woman who gave rendezvous to two lovers, who came and visited her, and her husband came soon after, and of the words which passed between them, as you shall presently hear._

I knew in my time a brave and worthy woman, deserving to be remembered and respected, for her virtues should not be hidden and kept dark, but publicly blazoned to the world. You will shortly hear, if you will, in this story something which will increase and magnify her fame.

This gallant wench was married to a countryman of ours, and had many lovers seeking and desiring her favours,--which were not over difficult to obtain, for she was so kind and compassionate that she both would and could bestow herself freely whenever she liked.

It happened one day that two men came to see her, as both were accustomed, to ask for a rendezvous. She would not have retreated before two or even three, and appointed a day and hour for each to come to her--the one at eight o’clock the morrow morning, and the other at nine, and charged each one expressly that he should not fail to keep his appointed hour.

They promised on their faith and honour that if they were alive they would keep their assignation.

When the morrow came, at about 6 o’clock in the morning, the husband of this brave wench rose, dressed himself, and called his wife, but she bluntly refused to get up when ordered.

“Faith!” she said, “I have such a headache that I cannot stand on my feet, or if I did get up I should die, I am so weak and worn-out; and, as you know, I did not sleep all the night. I beg of you to leave me here, and I hope that when I am alone I shall get a little rest.”

Her husband, though he suspected something, did not dare to contradict her or reply, but went about his business in the town, whilst his wife was not idle at home, for eight o’clock had no sooner struck than the honest fellow, to whom on the previous day an assignation had been given, came and knocked at the door, and she let him in. He soon took off his long gown and his other clothes, and joined madame in bed, in order to cheer her up.

Whilst these two were locked in each other’s arms, and otherwise engaged, the time passed quickly without her noticing it, when she heard some one knock loudly at the door.

“Ah!” she said, “as I live, there is my husband; make haste and take your clothes.”

“Your husband?” he said, “Why, do you know his knock?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I know it very well. Make haste lest he find you here.”

“If it be your husband, he must find me here, for I know not where I can hide.”

“No, please God, he must not find you here, for you would be killed and so should I, he is so terrible. Get up into this little attic, and keep quite quiet and do not move, that he may not find you here.”

The other climbed into the garret as he was told, and found the planks stripped away in many places, and the laths broken.

As soon as he was safe, mademoiselle made one bound to the door, knowing very well that it was not her husband who was there, and let in the man who had promised to come to her at nine o’clock. They came into the chamber, where they were not long on their feet, but laid down and cuddled and kissed in the same manner as he in the garret had done, whilst he, through a chink, kept his eye on the couple, and was not best pleased. He could not make up his mind whether he should speak or hold his tongue. At last he determined to keep silence, and not say a word till the opportunity came,--and you may guess that he had plenty of patience.

Whilst he was waiting and looking at the lady engaged with the last comer, the worthy husband came home to enquire after the health of his good wife, as it was very proper of him to do.

She soon heard him, and as quickly as may be, made her lover get out of bed, and as she did not know where to hide him, since she could not put him in the garret, she made him lie down between the bed and the wall, and covered him with his clothes, and said to him.

“I have no better place to put you--have a little patience.”

She had hardly finished speaking when her husband came into the room, and though he had heard nothing, he found the bed all rumpled and tossed about, the quilt dirty and soiled, and looking more like the bed of a bride than the couch of an invalid.

The doubts he had formerly entertained, combined with the appearance of the bed, made him call his wife by her name, and say.

“Wicked whore that you are! I did not believe you when you shammed illness this morning! Where is the whoremonger? I swear to God, if I find him, he will have a bad end, and you too.” Then, putting his hand on the quilt, he went on. “This looks nice, doesn’t it? It looks as though the pigs had slept on it!”

“What is the matter with you, you nasty drunkard?” she replied. “Why make me suffer when you get too much wine in your belly? That’s a nice salutation, to call me a whore! I would have you to know that I am nothing of the kind, but much too virtuous and too honest for a rascal like you, and my only regret is that I have been so good to you, for you are not worth it. I do not know why I do not get up and scratch your face in such a manner that you would remember it all your life, for having abused me without cause.”

If you ask how she dared reply to her husband in this manner, I should answer there were two reasons,--that is she had both right and might on her side. For, as you may guess, if it had come to blows, both the lover in the garret, and the one by the bed, would have come to her assistance.

The poor husband did not know what to say when he heard his wife abuse him thus, and as he saw that big words were of no use, he left the matter to God, who does justice to all, and replied;

“You make many excuses for your palpable faults, but I care little what you say. I am not going to quarrel and make a noise; there is One above who will repay all!”

By “One above”, he meant God,--as though he had said,

“God, who gives everyone his due, will repay you according to your deserts.” But the gallant who was in the garret, and heard these words, really believed they were meant for him, and that he was expected to pay for the misdeeds of another besides himself, and he replied aloud;

“What? Surely it will suffice if I pay half! The man who is down by the side of the bed can pay the other half--he is as much concerned as I am!”

You may guess that the husband was much astonished, for he thought that God was speaking to him; and the man by the bed did not know what to think, for he knew nothing about the existence of the other man. He quickly jumped up, and the other man came down, and they recognised each other.

They went off together, and left the couple looking vexed and angry, but they did not trouble much about that and for good reason.

*****

STORY THE THIRTY-FIFTH -- THE EXCHANGE.

By Monseigneur De Villiers.

_Of a knight whose mistress married whilst he was on his travels, and on his return, by chance he came to her house, and she, in order that she might sleep with him, caused a young damsel, her chamber-maid, to go to bed with her husband; and of the words that passed between the husband and the knight his guest, as are more fully recorded hereafter._

A gentleman, a knight of this kingdom, a most virtuous man, and of great renown, a great traveller and a celebrated warrior, fell in love with a very beautiful damsel, and so advanced in her good graces that nothing that he demanded was refused him. It happened, I know not how long after that, this good knight, to acquire honour and merit, left his castle, in good health and well accompanied, by the permission of his master, to bear arms elsewhere, and he went to Spain and various places, where he did such feats that he was received in great triumph at his return.

During this time the lady married an old knight who was courteous and wise, and who in his time had been a courtier, and--to say truth--was known as the very mirror of honour. It was a matter for regret that he did not marry better, but at any rate he had not then discovered his wife’s misconduct, as he did afterwards, as you shall hear.

The first-named knight, returning from the war, as he was travelling through the country, arrived by chance one night at the castle where his mistress lived, and God knows what good cheer she and her husband made for him, for there had been a great friendship between them.

But you must know that whilst the master of the house was doing all he could to honour his guest, the guest was conversing with his former lady-love, and was willing to renew with her the intimacy that had existed before she married. She asked for nothing better, but excused herself on account of want of opportunity.

“It is not possible to find a chance.”

“Ah, madam,” he said, “by my oath, if you want to, you will make a chance. When your husband is in bed and asleep, you can come to my chamber, or, if you prefer it, I will come to you.”

“It cannot be managed so,” she replied; “the danger is too great; for monseigneur is a very light sleeper, and he never wakes but what he feels for me, and if he did not find me, you may guess what it would be.”

“And when he does find you,” he said, “what does he do to you?”

“Nothing else,” she replied; “he turns over on the other side.”

“Faith!” said he, “he is a very bad bed-fellow; it is very lucky for you that I came to your aid to perform for you what he cannot.”

“So help me God,” she said, “when he lies with me once a month it is the best he can do. I may be difficult to please, but I could take a good deal more than that.

“That is not to be wondered at,” he said; “but let us consider what we shall do.”

“There is no way that I see,” she replied, “that it can be managed.”

“What?” he said; “have you no woman in the house to whom you can explain the difficulty?”

“Yes, by God! I have one,” she said, “in whom I have such confidence that I would tell her anything in the world I wanted kept secret? without fearing that she would ever repeat it.”

“What more do we want then?” he said. “The rest concerns you and her.”

The lady who was anxious to be with her lover, called the damsel, and said,

“My dear, you must help me to-night to do something which is very dear to my heart.”

“Madam,” said the damsel, “I am ready and glad, as I ought to be, to serve you and obey you in any way possible; command me, and I will perform your orders.”

“I thank you, my dear,” said madam, “and be sure that you will lose nothing by it. This is what is the matter. The knight here is the man whom I love best in all the world, and I would not that he left here without my having a few words with him. Now he cannot tell me what is in his heart unless we be alone together, and you are the only person to take my place by the side of monseigneur. He is accustomed, as you know, to turn in the night and touch me, and then he leaves me and goes to sleep again.”

“I will do your pleasure, madam; there is nothing that you can command that I will not do.”

“Well, my dear,” she said, “you will go to bed as I do, keeping a good way off from monseigneur, and take care that if he should speak to you not to reply, and suffer him to do whatever he may like.”

“I will do your pleasure, madam.”

Supper-time came. There is no need to describe the meal, suffice it to say there was good cheer and plenty of it, and after supper, sports, and the visitor took madam’s arm, and the other gentlemen escorted the other damsels. The host came last, and enquired about the knight’s travels from an old gentleman who had accompanied him.

Madame did not forget to tell her lover that one of her women would take her place that night, and that she would come to him; at which he was very joyful, and thanked her much, and wished that the hour had come.

They returned to the reception hall, where monseigneur said good night to his guest, and his wife did the same. The visitor went to his chamber, which was large and well-furnished, and there was a fine sideboard laden with spices and preserves, and good wine of many sorts.

He soon undressed, and drank a cup, and made his attendants drink also, and then sent them to bed, and remained alone, waiting for the lady, who was with her husband. Both she and her husband undressed and got into bed.

The damsel was in the _ruelle_, and as soon as my lord was in bed, she took the place of her mistress, who--as her heart desired--made but one bound to the chamber of the lover, who was anxiously awaiting her.

Thus were they all lodged--monseigneur with the chambermaid, and his guest with madame--and you may guess that these two did not pass all the night in sleeping.

Monseigneur, as was his wont, awoke an hour before day-break, and turned to the chamber-maid, believing it to be his wife, and to feel her he put out his hand, which by chance encountered one of her breasts, which were large and firm, and he knew at once that it was not his wife, for she was not well furnished in that respect.

“Ha, ha!” he said to himself, “I understand what it is! They are playing me a trick, and I will play them another.”

He turned towards the girl, and with some trouble managed to break a lance, but she let him do it without uttering a word or half a word.

When he had finished, he began to call as loudly as he could to the man who was sleeping with his wife.

“Hallo! my lord of such a place! Where are you? Speak to me!”

The other, when he heard himself called, was much astonished, and the lady quite overwhelmed with shame.

“Alas!” she said, “our deeds are discovered: I am a lost woman!”

Her husband called out,

“Hallo, monseigneur! hallo, my guest! Speak to me.”

The other ventured to speak, and said,

“What is it, so please you, monsiegneur?”

“I will make this exchange with you whenever you like.”

“What exchange?” he asked.

“An old, worn-out false, treacherous woman, for a good, pretty, and fresh young girl. That is what I have gained by the exchange and I thank you for it.”

None of the others knew what to reply, even the poor chamber-maid wished she were dead, both on account of the dishonour to her mistress and the unfortunate loss of her own virginity.

The visitor left the lady and the castle as soon as could, without thanking his host, or saying farewell. And never again did he go there, so he never knew how she settled the matter with her husband afterwards, so I can tell you no more.

*****

STORY THE THIRTY-SIXTH -- AT WORK.

By Monseigneur De La Roche.

_Of a squire who saw his mistress, whom he greatly loved, between two other gentlemern, and did not notice that she had hold of both of them till another knight informed him of the matter as you will hear._

A kind and noble gentleman, who wished to spend his time in the service of the Court of Love, devoted himself, heart, body, and goods, to a fair and honest damsel who well deserved it, and who was specially suited to do what she liked with men; and his amour with her lasted long. And he thought that he stood high in her good graces, though to say the truth, he was no more a favourite than the others, of whom there were many.

It happened one day that this worthy gentleman found his lady, by chance, in the embrasure of a window, between a knight and a squire, to whom she was talking. Sometimes she would speak to one apart and not let the other hear, another time she did the same to the other, to please both of them, but the poor lover was greatly vexed and jealous, and did not dare to approach the group.

The only thing to do was to walk away from her, although he desired her presence more than anything else in the world. His heart told him that this conversation would not tend to his advantage, in which he was not far wrong. For, if his eyes had not been blinded by affection, he could easily have seen what another, who was not concerned, quickly perceived, and showed him, in this wise.

When he saw and knew for certain that the lady had neither leisure nor inclination to talk to him, he retired to a couch and lay down, but he could not sleep.

Whilst he was thus sulking, there came a gentleman, who saluted all the company, and seeing that the damsel was engaged, withdrew to the recess where the squire was lying sleepless upon the couch; and amongst other conversation the squire said,

“By my faith, monseigneur, look towards the window; there are some people who are making themselves comfortable. Do you not see how pleasantly they are talking.”

“By St. John, I see them,” said the knight, “and see that they are doing something more than talking.”

“What else?” said the other.

“What else? Do you not see that she has got hold of both of them?”

“Got hold of them!”

“Truly yes, poor fellow! Where are your eyes? But there is a great difference between the two, for the one she holds in her left hand is neither so big nor so long as that which she holds in her right hand.”

“Ha!” said the squire, “you say right. May St. Anthony burn the wanton;” and you may guess that he was not well pleased.

“Take no heed,” said the knight, “and bear your wrong as patiently as you can. It is not here that you have to show your courage: make a virtue of necessity.”

Having thus spoken, the worthy knight approached the window where the three were standing, and noticed by chance that the knight on the left, hand, was standing on tip-toe, attending to what the fair damsel and the squire were saying and doing.

Giving him a slight tap on his hat, the knight said,

“Mind your own business in the devil’s name, and don’t trouble about other people.”

The other withdrew, and began to laugh, but the damsel, who was not the sort of woman to care about trifles, scarcely showed any concern, but quietly let go her hold without brushing or changing colour, though she was sorry in her heart to let out of her hand what she could have well used in another place.

As you may guess, both before and after that time, either of those two would most willingly have done her a service, and the poor, sick lover was obliged to be a witness of the greatest misfortune which could happen to him, and his poor heart would have driven him to despair, if reason had not come to his help, and caused him to abandon his love affairs, out of which he had never derived any benefit.

*****

STORY THE THIRTY-SEVENTH -- THE USE OF DIRTY WATER.

By Monseigneur De La Roche.

_Of a jealous man who recorded all the tricks which he could hear or learn by which wives had deceived their husbands in old times; but at last he was deceived by means of dirty water which the lover of the said lady threw out of window upon her as she was going to Mass, as you shall hear hereafter._

Whilst others are thinking and ransacking their memories for adventures and deeds fit to be narrated and added to the present history, I will relate to you, briefly, how the most jealous man in this kingdom, in his time, was deceived. I do not suppose that he was the only one who ever suffered this misfortune, but at any rate I will not omit to describe the clever trick that was played upon him.

This jealous old hunks was a great historian, and had often read and re-read all sorts of stories; but the principal end and aim of all his study was to learn and know all the ways and manners in which wives had deceived their husbands. For--thank God--old histories like Matheolus (*), Juvenal, the Fifteen Joys of Marriage (**), and more others than I can count, abound in descriptions of deceits, tricks, and deceptions of that sort.

(*) _Le Lime_, de Matheolus, a poem of the early part of the
15th Century, written by Jean le Febvre, Bishop of
Therouenne. It is a violent satire against women.

(**) A curious old work the authorship of which is still
doubtful. It is often ascribed to Antoine de la Sale, who is
believed to have partly written and edited the _Cent
Nouvelles Nouvelles_. The allusion is interesting as showing
that the Quinze Joyes de mariage was written before the
present work.

Our jealous husband had always one or other of these books in his hand, and was as fond of them as a fool is of his bauble,--reading or studying them; and indeed he had made from these books a compendium for his own use, in which all the tricks and deceits practised by wives on their husbands were noted and described.

This he had done in order to be forewarned and on his guard, should his wife perchance use any of the plans or subterfuges chronicled or registered in his book. For he watched his wife as carefully as the most jealous Italian would, and still was not content, so ruled was he by this cursed passion of jealousy.

In this delectable state did the poor man live three or four years with his wife, and the only amusement she had in that time was to escape out of his hateful presence by going to Mass, and then she was always accompanied by an old servant, who was charged to watch over her.

A gentle knight, who had heard how the fair lady was watched, one day met the damsel, who was both beautiful and witty, and told her how willing he was to do her a service, that he sighed for her love, and condoled with her evil fortune in being allied to the most jealous wretch there was on the face of the earth, and saying, moreover, that she was the sole person on earth for whom he cared.

“And since I cannot tell you here how much I love you, and many other things which I hope you will be glad to hear, I will, if you wish, put it all in writing and give it you to-morrow, begging also that any small service that I most willingly do for you, be not refused.”

She gladly listened, but owing to the presence of Dangier, (*) who was near, hardly replied; nevertheless she said she would be glad to have his letter when it came.

(*) See note page 159.

Her lover was very joyful when he took leave of her, and with good cause, and the damsel said farewell to him in a kind and gracious manner, but the old woman, who watched her, did not fail to ask her what conversation had taken place between her and the man who had just left.

“He brought me news of my mother,” she replied; “at which I am very joyful, for she is in good health.”

The old woman asked no more, and they returned home.

On the morrow, the lover, provided with a letter written God knows in what terms, met the lady, and gave her this letter so quickly and cunningly that the old servant, who was watching, saw nothing.

The letter was opened by her most joyfully when she was alone. The gist of the contents was that he had fallen in love with her, and that he knew not a day’s happiness when he was absent from her, and finally hoped that she would of her kindness appoint a suitable place where she could give him a reply to this letter.

She wrote a reply in which she said she could love no one but her husband, to whom she owed all faith and loyalty; nevertheless, she was pleased to know the writer was so much in love with her, but, though she could promise him no reward, would be glad to hear what he had to say, but certainly that could not be, because her husband never left her except when she went to church, and then she was guarded, and more than guarded, by the dirtiest old hag that ever interfered with anybody.

The lover, dressed quite differently to what he had been the preceding day, met the lady, who knew him at once, and as he passed close to her, received from her hand the letter already mentioned. That he was anxious to know the contents was no marvel. He went round a corner, and there, at his leisure, learned the condition of affairs, which seemed to be progressing favourably.

It needed but time and place to carry out his enterprise, and he thought night and day how this was to be accomplished. At last he thought of a first-rate trick, for he remembered that a lady friend of his lived between the church where his lady went to Mass and her house, and he told her the history of his love affair, concealing nothing from her, and begging her to help him.

“Whatever I can do for you, I will do with all my heart,” she said.

“I thank you,” said he. “Would you mind if I met her here?”

“Faith!” she said, “to please you, I do not mind!”

“Well!” he replied, “if ever it is in my power to do you a service, you may be sure that I will remember this kindness.”

He was not satisfied till he had written again to his lady-love and given her the letter, in which he said that he had made an arrangement with a certain woman, “who is a great friend of mine, a respectable woman, who can loyally keep a secret, and who knows you well and loves you, and who will lend us her house where we may meet. And this is the plan I have devised. I will be to-morrow in an upper chamber which looks on the street, and I will have by me a large pitcher of water mingled with ashes, which I will upset on you suddenly as you pass. And I shall be so disguised that neither your old woman, nor anyone else in the world, will recognise me. When you have been drenched with this water, you will pretend to be very angry and surprised, and take refuge in the house, and send your Dangier to seek another gown; and while she is on the road we will talk together.”

To shorten the story, the letter was given, and the lady, who was very well pleased, sent a reply.

The next day came, and the lady was drenched by her lover with a pitcher of water and cinders, in such fashion that her kerchief, gown, and other habiliments were all spoiled and ruined. God knows that she was very astonished and displeased, and rushed into the house, as though she were beside herself, and ignorant of where she was.

When she saw the lady of the house, she complained bitterly of the mischief which had been done, and I cannot tell you how much she grieved over this misadventure. Now she grieved for her kerchief, now for her gown, and another time for her other clothes,--in short, if anyone had heard her, they would have thought the world was coming to an end.

The old woman, who was also in a great rage, had a knife in her hand, with which she scraped the gown as well as she could.

“No, no, my friend! you only waste your time. It cannot be cleaned as easily as that: you cannot do any good. I must have another gown and another kerchief-there is nothing else to be done. Go home and fetch them, and make haste and come back, or we shall lose the Mass in addition to our other troubles.”

The old woman seeing that there was imperative need of the clothes, did not dare to refuse her mistress, and took the gown and kerchief under her mantle, and went home.

She had scarcely turned on her heels, before her mistress was conducted to the chamber where her lover was, who was pleased to see her in a simple petticoat and with her hair down.

Whilst they are talking together, let us return to the old woman, who went back to the house, where she found her master, who did not wait for her to speak, but asked her at once,

“What have you done with my wife? where is she?”

“I have left her,” she replied, “at such a person’s house, in such a place.”

“And for what purpose?” said he.

Then she showed him the gown and the kerchief, and told him about the pitcher of water and ashes, and said that she had been sent to seek other clothes, for her mistress could not leave the place where she was in that state.

“Is that so?” said he. “By Our Lady! that trick is not in my book! Go! Go! I know well what has happened.”

He would have added that he was cuckolded, and I believe he was at that time, and he never again kept a record of the various tricks that had been played on husbands. Moreover, it is believed that he never forgot the trick which had been played on him. There was no need for him to write it down--he preserved a lively memory of it the few good days that he had to live.

*****

STORY THE THIRTY-EIGHTH -- A ROD FOR ANOTHER’S BACK. [38]

By The Seneschal Of Guyenne.

_Of a citizen of Tours who bought a lamprey which he sent to his wife to cook in order that he might give a feast to the priest, and the said wife sent it to a Cordelier, who was her lover, and how she made a woman who was her neighbour sleep with her husband, and how the woman was beaten, and what the wife made her husband believe, as you will hear hereafter._

There was formerly a merchant of Tours, who, to give a feast to his curé and other worthy people, bought a large lamprey, and sent it to his house, and charged his wife to cook it, as she well knew how to do.

“And see,” said he, “that the dinner is ready at twelve o’clock, for I shall bring our curé, and some other people” (whom he named).

“All shall be ready,” she replied, “bring whom you will.”

She prepared a lot of nice fish, and when she saw the lamprey she wished that her paramour, a Cordelier, could have it, and said to herself,

“Ah, Brother Bernard, why are you not here? By my oath, you should not leave till you had tasted this lamprey, or, if you liked, you should take it to your own room, and I would not fail to keep you company.”

It was with great regret that the good woman began to prepare the lamprey for her husband, for she was thinking how the Cordelier could have it. She thought so much about it that she finally determined to send the lamprey by an old woman, who knew her secret. She did so, and told the Cordelier that she would come at night, and sup and sleep with him.

When the Cordelier heard that she was coming, you may guess that he was joyful and contented, and he told the old woman that he would get some good wine to do honour to the lamprey. The old woman returned, and delivered his message.

About twelve o’clock came our merchant, the curé, and the other guests, to eat this lamprey, which had now gone far out of their reach. When they were all in the merchant’s house, he took them all into the kitchen to show them the big lamprey that he was going to give them, and called his wife, and said,

“Show us our lamprey, I want to tell our guests how cheap I bought it.”

“What lamprey?” she asked.

“The lamprey that I gave you for our dinner, along with the other fish.”

“I have seen no lamprey,” she said; “I think you must be dreaming. Here are a carp, two pike, and I know not what fish beside, but I have seen no lamprey to day.”

“What?” said he. “Do you think I am drunk?”

“Yes,” replied the curé and the other guests, “we think no less. You are too niggardly to buy such a lamprey.”

“By God,” said his wife, “he is either making fun of you or he is dreaming--for certainly I have never seen this lamprey.”

Her husband grew angry, and cried,

“You lie, you whore! Either you have eaten it, or you have hidden it somewhere. I promise you it will be the dearest lamprey you ever had.”

With that he turned to the curé and the others, and swore by God’s death and a hundred other oaths, that he had given his wife a lamprey which had cost him a franc; but they, to tease him and torment him still more, pretended not to believe him, and that they were very disappointed, and said;

“We were invited to dinner at such houses, but we refused in order to come here, thinking we were going to eat this lamprey; but, as far as we can see, there is no chance of that.”

Their host, who was in a terrible rage, picked up a stick, and advanced towards his wife to thrash her, but the others held him back, and dragged him by force out of the house, and with much trouble appeased him as well as they could. Then, since they could not have the lamprey, the curé had the table laid, and they made as good cheer as they could.

The good dame meanwhile sent for one of her neighbours, who was a widow, but still good-looking and lively, and invited her to dinner; and when she saw her opportunity, she said;

“My dear neighbour, it would be very kind of you to do me a great service and pleasure, and if you will do this for me, I will repay you in a manner that will please you.”

“And what do you want me to do?” asked the other.

“I will tell you,” said she. “My husband is so violent in his night-work that it is astounding, and, in fact, last night he so tumbled me, that by my oath I am afraid of him to-night. Therefore I would beg of you to take my place, and if ever I can do anything for you in return, you may command me--body and goods.”

The good neighbour, to oblige her, promised to take her place--for which she was greatly thanked.

Now you must know that our merchant when he returned from dinner, laid in a good stock of birch rods, which he carried secretly into his house, and hid near his bed, saying to himself that if his wife worried him she should be well paid.

But he did not do this so secretly but what his wife was on her guard and prepared, for she knew by long experience her husband’s brutality.

He did not sup at home, but stopped out late, and came home when he expected she would be in bed and naked. But his design failed, for late that evening she made her neighbour undress and go to bed in her place, and charged her expressly not to speak to her husband when he came, but pretend to be dumb and ill. And she did more, for she put out the fire both in the chamber and in the kitchen. That being done, she told her neighbour that as soon as ever her husband rose in the morning, she was to leave and return to her own house, and she promised that she would.

The neighbour being thus put to bed, the brave woman went off to the Cordelier to eat the lamprey and gain her pardons, as was her custom.

While she was feasting there, the merchant came home after supper, full of spite and anger about the lamprey, and to execute the plan he had conceived, took his rods in his hand and then searched for a light for the candle, but found no fire even in the chimney.