3 This tale is accounted by most critics and commentatorsto be the best in theHeptameron. Dunlop thinks it mayhave been borrowed from afabliaucomposed by someTrouvèrewho had travelled in the East, and points outthat it corresponds with the story of theShopkeeper sWifein Nakshebi’s Persian Tales (Tooti Nameh). Had itbeen brought to France, however, in the manner suggested itwould, like other tales, have found its way into the worksof many sixteenth-century story-writers besides QueenMargaret. Such, however, is not the case, and curiouslyenough, so far as we can find, the tale, as given in theHeptameron, was never imitated until La Fontaine wrote hisServante Justifiée (Contes, livreii. No. vi.), in theopening lines of which he expressly acknowledges hisindebtedness to the Queen of Navarre.—Ed.
“Unbelieving indeed, ladies, must be the man who, after hearing this true story, should hold you to be as crafty as men are; though, if we are not to wrong either, and to give both man and wife the praise they truly deserve, we must needs admit that the better of the two was worth naught.”
“The man,” said Parlamente, “was marvellously wicked, for he deceived his servant on the one side and his wife on the other.”
“Then you cannot have understood the story,” said Hircan. “We are told that he contented them both in the same morning, and I consider it a highly virtuous thing, both for body and mind, to be able to say and do that which may make two opposites content.”
“It was doubly wicked,” said Parlamente, “to satisfy the simplicity of one by falsehood and the wickedness of the other by vice. But I am aware that sins, when brought before such judges as you, will always be forgiven.”
“Yet I promise you,” said Hircan, “that for my own part I shall never essay so great and difficult a task, for if I but renderyoucontent my day will not have been ill spent.”
“If mutual love,” said Parlamente, “cannot content the heart, nothing else can.”
“In sooth,” said Simontault, “I think there is no greater grief in the world than to love and not be loved.”
“To be loved,” said Parlamente, “it were needful to turn to such as love. Very often, however, those women who will not love are loved the most, while those men who love most strongly are loved the least.”
“You remind me,” said Oisille, “of a story which I had not intended to bring forward among such good ones.”
“Still I pray you tell it us,” said Simontault. “That will I do right willingly,” replied Oisille.
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A Grey Friar named De Vale, being bidden to dinner at thehouse of the Judge of the Exempts in Angoulême, perceivedthat the Judge’s wife (with whom he was in love) went upinto the garret alone; thinking to surprise her, he followedher thither; but she dealt him such a kick in the stomachthat he fell from the top of the stairs to the bottom, andfled out of the town to the house of a lady that had suchgreat liking for those of his Order (foolishly believingthem possessed of greater virtues than belong to them), thatshe entrusted him with the correction of her daughter, whomhe lay with by force instead of chastising her for the sinof sloth-fulness, as he had promised her mother he woulddo. (1)1 Boaistuau and Gruget omit this tale, and the latterreplaces it by that numbered XLVI. (B). Count Charles ofAngoulême having died on January i, 1496, the incidentsrelated above must have occurred at an earlier date.—L.
In the town of Angoulême, where Count Charles, father of King Francis, often abode, there dwelt a Grey Friar named De Vale, the same being held a learned man and a great preacher. One Advent this Friar preached in the town in presence of the Count, whereby he won such renown that those who knew him eagerly invited him to dine at their houses. Among others that did this was the Judge of the Exempts (2) of the county, who had wedded a beautiful and virtuous woman. The Friar was dying for love of her, yet lacked the hardihood to tell her so; nevertheless she perceived the truth, and held him in derision.
2 TheExemptwas a police officer, and the functions oftheJuge des Exemptswere akin to those of a policemagistrate.—Ed.
After he had given several tokens of his wanton purpose, he one day espied her going up into the garret alone. Thinking to surprise her, he followed, but hearing his footsteps she turned and asked whither he was going. “I am going after you,” he replied, “to tell you a secret.”
“Nay, good father,” said the Judge’s wife. “I will have no secret converse with such as you. If you come up any higher, you will be sorry for it.”
Seeing that she was alone, he gave no heed to her words, but hastened up after her. She, however, was a woman of spirit, and when she saw the Friar at the top of the staircase, she gave him a kick in the stomach, and with the words, “Down! down! sir,” (3) cast him from the top to the bottom. The poor father was so greatly ashamed at this, that, forgetting the hurt he had received in falling, he fled out of the town as fast as he was able. He felt sure that the lady would not conceal the matter from her husband; and indeed she did not, nor yet from the Count and Countess, so that the Friar never again durst come into their presence.
3 The French words here are “Dévaliez, dévaliez,monsieur,” whilst MS. No. 1520 gives, “Monsieur de Vale,dévalés.” In either case there is evidently a play upon thefriar’s name, which was possibly pronounced Vallès orVallès. Adrien de Valois, it maybe pointed out, rendered hisname in Latin asValesius; the county of Valois and thatof Valais are one and the same; we continue calling the oldFrench kings Valois, as their name was written, instead ofValais as it was pronounced, as witness, for instance, thenickname given to Henry III. by the lampooners of theLeague, “Henri dévalé.” See alsopost, Tale XLVI. (B),note 2.—M. and Ed.
To complete his wickedness, he repaired to the house of a lady who preferred the Grey Friars to all other folk, and, after preaching a sermon or two before her, he cast his eyes upon her daughter, who was very beautiful. And as the maiden did not rise in the morning to hear his sermon, he often scolded her in presence of her mother, whereupon the latter would say to him—“Would to God, father, that she had some taste of the discipline which you monks receive from one another.”
The good father vowed that if she continued to be so slothful, he would indeed give her some of it, and her mother earnestly begged him to do so.
A day or two afterwards, he entered the lady’s apartment, and, not seeing her daughter there, asked her where she was.
“She fears you so little,” replied the lady, “that she is still in bed.”
“There can be no doubt,” said the Grey Friar, “that it is a very evil habit in young girls to be slothful. Few people think much of the sin of sloth, but for my part, I deem it one of the most dangerous there is, for the body as for the soul. You should therefore chastise her for it, and if you will give me the matter in charge, I will take good care that she does not lie abed at an hour when she ought to be praying to God.”
The poor lady, believing him to be a virtuous man, begged him to be kind enough to correct her daughter, which he at once agreed to do, and, going up a narrow wooden staircase, he found the girl all alone in bed. She was sleeping very soundly, and while she slept he lay with her by force. The poor girl, waking up, knew not whether he were man or devil, but began to cry out as loudly as she could, and to call for help to her mother. But the latter, standing at the foot of the staircase, cried out to the Friar—“Have no pity on her, sir. Give it to her again, and chastise the naughty jade.”
When the Friar had worked his wicked will, he came down to the lady and said to her with a face all afire—“I think, madam, that your daughter will remember my discipline.”
The mother thanked him warmly and then went upstairs, where she found her daughter making such lamentation as is to be expected from a virtuous woman who has suffered from so foul a crime. On learning the truth, the mother had search made everywhere for the Friar, but he was already far away, nor was he ever afterwards seen in the kingdom of France.
“You see, ladies, with how much security such commissions may be given to those that are unfit for them. The correction of men pertains to men and that of women to women; for women in the correction of men would be as pitiful as men in the correction of women would be cruel.”
“Jesus! madam,” said Parlamente, “what a base and wicked Friar!”
“Say rather,” said Hircan, “what a foolish and witless mother to be led by hypocrisy into allowing so much familiarity to those who ought never to be seen except in church.”
“In truth,” said Parlamente, “I acknowledge that she was the most foolish mother imaginable; had she been as wise as the Judge’s wife, she would rather have made him come down the staircase than go up. But what can you expect? The devil that is half-angel is the most dangerous of all, for he is so well able to transform himself into an angel of light, that people shrink from suspecting him to be what he really is; and it seems to me that persons who are not suspicious are worthy of praise.”
“At the same time,” said Oisille, “people ought to suspect the evil that is to be avoided, especially those who hold a trust; for it is better to suspect an evil that does not exist than by foolish trustfulness to fall into one that does. I have never known a woman deceived through being slow to believe men’s words, but many are there that have been deceived through being over prompt in giving credence to falsehood. Therefore I say that possible evil cannot be held in too strong suspicion by those that have charge of men, women, cities or states; for, however good the watch that is kept, wickedness and treachery are prevalent enough, and the shepherd who is not vigilant will always be deceived by the wiles of the wolf.”
“Still,” said Dagoucin, “a suspicious person cannot have a perfect friend, and many friends have been divided by suspicion.”
“If you know any such instance,” said Oisille, “I give you my vote that you may relate it.”
“I know one,” said Dagoucin, “which is so strictly true that you will needs hear it with pleasure. I will tell you, ladies, when it is that a close friendship is most easily severed; ‘tis when the security of friendship begins to give place to suspicion. For just as trust in a friend is the greatest honour that can be shown him, so is doubt of him a still greater dishonour. It proves that he is deemed other than we would have him to be, and so causes many close friendships to be broken off, and friends to be turned into foes. This you will see from the story that I am minded to relate.”
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Concerning a Grey Friar who made it a great crime on thepart of husbands to beat their wives. (1)
In the town of Angoulême, where Count Charles, father of King Francis, often abode, there dwelt a Grey Friar named De Vallès, (2) the same being a learned man and a very great preacher. At Advent time this Friar preached in the town in presence of the Count, whereby his reputation was still further increased.
1 This is the tale inserted in Gruget’s edition in lieu ofthe previous one.—Ed.2 We had thought that Friar Vallès might possibly be Robertde Valle, who at the close of the fifteenth century wrote awork entitledExplanatio in Plinium, but find that thisdivine was a Bishop of Rouen, and never belonged to the GreyFriars. In Gessner’sBiographia Universalis, continued byFrisius, mention is made of three learned ecclesiastics ofthe name of Valle living in or about Queen Margaret’s time:Baptiste de Valle, who wrote on war and duelling; William deValle, who penned a volume entitledDe Anima Sorbono; andAmant de Valle, a Franciscan minorité born at Toulouse, whowas the author of numerous philosophical works, the mostimportant beingElucidationes Scoti.—B. J.
It happened also that during Advent a hare-brained young fellow, who had married a passably handsome young woman, continued none the less to run at the least as dissolute a course as did those that were still bachelors. The young wife, being advised of this, could not keep silence upon it, so that she very often received payment after a different and a prompter fashion than she could have wished. For all that, she ceased not to persist in lamentation, and sometimes in railing as well; which so provoked the young man that he beat her even to bruises and blood. Thereupon she cried out yet more loudly than before; and in a like fashion all the women of the neighbourhood, knowing the reason of this, could not keep silence, but cried out publicly in the streets, saying—
“Shame, shame on such husbands! To the devil with them!”
By good fortune the Grey Friar De Vallès was passing that way and heard the noise and the reason of it. He resolved to touch upon it the following day in his sermon, and did so. Turning his discourse to the subject of marriage and the affection which ought to subsist in it, he greatly extolled that condition, at the same time censuring those that offended against it, and comparing wedded to parental love. Among other things, he said that a husband who beat his wife was in more danger, and would have a heavier punishment, than if he had beaten his father or his mother.
“For,” said he, “if you beat your father or your mother you will be sent for penance to Rome; but if you beat your wife, she and all the women of the neighbourhood will send you to the devil, that is, to hell. Now look you what a difference there is between these two penances. From Rome a man commonly returns again, but from hell, oh! from that place, there is no return:nulla est redemptio” (3)
After preaching this sermon, he was informed that the women were making a triumph of it, (4) and that their husbands could no longer control them. He therefore resolved to set the husbands right just as he had previously assisted their wives.
3 This was the Pope’s expression apropos of Messer Biagio,whom Michael Angelo had introduced into his “LastJudgment.”—M.4 The French expression isfaisaient leur Achilles, thenearest equivalent to which in English would probably be“Hectoring” It is curious that the French should have takenthe name of Achilles and we that of Hector to express thesame idea of arrogance and bluster.—Ed.
With this intent, in one of his sermons he compared women and devil together, saying that these were the greatest enemies that man had, that they tempted him without ceasing, and that he could not rid himself of them, especially of women.
“For,” said he, “as far as devils are concerned, if you show them the cross they flee away, whereas women, on the contrary, are tamed by it, and are made to run hither and thither and cause their husbands countless torments. But, good people, know you what you must do? When you find your wives afflicting you thus continually, as is their wont, take off the handle of the cross and with it drive them away. You will not have made this experiment briskly three or four times before you will find yourselves the better for it, and see that, even as the devil is driven off by the virtue of the cross, so can you drive away and silence your wives by virtue of the handle, provided only that it be not attached to the cross aforesaid.”
“You have here some of the sermons by this reverend De Vallès, of whose life I will with good reason relate nothing more. However, I will tell you that, whatever face he put upon the matter—and I knew him—he was much more inclined to the side of the women than to that of the men.”
“Yet, madam,” said Parlamente, “he did not show this in his last sermon, in which he instructed the men to ill-treat them.”
“Nay, you do not comprehend his artifice,” said Hircan. “You are not experienced in war and in the use of the stratagems that it requires; among these, one of the most important is to kindle strife in the camp of the enemy, whereby he becomes far easier to conquer. This master monk well knew that hatred and wrath between husband and wife most often cause a loose rein to be given to the wife’s honour. And when that honour frees itself from the guardianship of virtue, it finds itself in the power of the wolf before it knows even that it is astray.”
“However that may be,” said Parlamente, “I could not love a man who had sown such division between my husband and myself as would lead even to blows; for beating banishes love. Yet, by what I have heard, they [the friars] can be so mincing when they seek some advantage over a woman, and so attractive in their discourse, that I feel sure there would be more danger in hearkening to them in secret than in publicly receiving blows from a husband in other respects a good one.”
“Truly,” said Dagoucin, “they have so revealed their plottings in all directions, that it is not without reason that they are to be feared; (5) although in my opinion persons who are not suspicious are worthy of praise.”
5 From this point the dialogue is almost word for word thesame as that following Tale XLVI. (A).—Ed.
“At the same time,” said Oisille, “people ought to suspect the evil that is to be avoided, for it is better to suspect an evil that does not exist than by foolish trustfulness to fall into one that does. For my part, I have never known a woman deceived by being slow to believe men’s words, but many are through being too prompt in giving credence to falsehood. Therefore I say that possible evil cannot be too strongly suspected by those that have charge of men, women, cities or states; for, however good may be the watch that is kept, wickedness and treachery are prevalent enough, and for this reason the shepherd who is not vigilant will always be deceived by the wiles of the wolf.”
“Still,” said Dagoucin, “a suspicious person cannot have a perfect friend, and many friends have been parted by bare suspicion.”
“If you should know any such instance,” thereupon said Oisille, “I will give you my vote that you may relate it.”
“I know one,” said Dagoucin, “which is so strictly true that you will hear it with pleasure. I will tell you, ladies, when it is that close friendship is most readily broken off; it is when the security of friendship begins to give place to suspicion. For just as to trust a friend is the greatest honour one can do him, so is doubt of him the greatest dishonour, inasmuch as it proves that he is deemed other than one would have him to be, and in this wise many close friendships are broken off and friends turned into foes. This you will see from the story that I am now about to relate.”
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Two gentlemen lined in such perfect friendship that for agreat while they had everything excepting a wife in common,until one was married, when without cause he began tosuspect his companion, who, in vexation at being wrongfullysuspected, withdrew his friendship, and did not rest till hehad made the other a cuckold.
Not far from the province of Le Perche (1) there dwelt two gentlemen who from the days of their childhood had lived in such perfect friendship that they had but one heart, one house, one bed, one table, and one purse. They continued living in this perfect friendship for a long time, without there ever being between them any wish or word such as might betray that they were different persons; so truly did they live not merely like two brothers but like one individual man.
1 Between Normandy and Maine. Its chief town was Mortagne.
Of the two one married, yet did not on that account abate his friendship for his fellow or cease to live with him as had been his wont. And whenever they chanced to lodge where room was scanty, he failed not to make him sleep with himself and his wife; (2) though he did, in truth, himself lie in the middle. Their goods were all in common, so that neither the marriage nor aught else that might betide could impair their perfect friendship.
2 To do honour to a guest it was then a common practice toinvite him to share the same bed as one’s self and one’swife. In this wise, long after Queen Margaret s time, wefind Louis XIII. sharing the bed of the Duke and Duchess ofLuynes. Tale vii. of theCent Nouvelles Nouvelles(imitated in Malespini’sDucento Novelleand theJoyeusesAdventures et nouvelles récréations) relates what befell aParis goldsmith who took a carter to bed with him and hisspouse, and neglected to follow the usual custom of sleepingin the middle. In Queen Margaret’s time, it may be added,the so-called “beds of honour” in the abodes of noblemen andgentlemen were large enough to accommodate four or fivepersons.—B. J. and Ed.
But after some time, worldly happiness, which is ever changeful in its nature, could no longer abide in this too happy household. The husband, without cause, lost the confidence that he had in his friend and in his wife, and, being unable to conceal the truth from the latter, spoke to her with angry words. At this she was greatly amazed, for he had charged her in all things save one to treat his friend as she did himself, and now he forbade her to speak with him except it were before others. She made the matter known to her husband’s friend, who did not believe her, knowing as he well did that he had never purposed doing aught to grieve his comrade. And as he was wont to hide nothing from him, he told him what he had heard, begging him not to conceal the truth, for neither in this nor in any other matter had he any desire to occasion the severance of the friendship which had so long subsisted between them.
The married gentleman assured him that he had never thought of such a thing, and that those who had spread such a rumour had foully lied.
Thereupon his comrade replied—
“I well know that jealousy is a passion as insupportable as love, and were you inclined to jealousy even with regard to myself, I should not blame you, for you could not help it. But there is a thing that is in your power of which I should have reason to complain, and that is the concealment of your distemper from me, seeing that never before was thought, feeling or opinion concealed between us. If I were in love with your wife, you should not impute it to me as a crime, for love is not a fire that I can hold in my hand to do with it what I will; but if it were so and I concealed it from you, and sought by demonstration to make it known to your wife, I should be the wickedest comrade that ever lived.
“As far as I myself am concerned, I can truly assure you that, although she is an honourable and virtuous woman, she is the last of all the women I have ever seen upon whom, even though she were not yours, my fancy would light. But even though there be no occasion to do so, I ask you, if you have the smallest possible feeling of suspicion, to tell me of it, that I may so act as to prevent a friendship that has lasted so long from being severed for the sake of a woman. For, even if I loved her more dearly than aught in the world beside, I would never speak to her of it, seeing that I set your honour before aught else.”
His comrade swore to him the strongest oaths he could muster, that he had never thought of such a thing, and begged him to act in his house as he had been used to do.
“That will I,” the other replied, “but if after this should you harbour an evil opinion of me and conceal it or bear me ill-will, I will continue no more in fellowship with you.”
Some time afterwards, whilst they were living together as had been their wont, the married gentleman again fell into stronger suspicion than ever, and commanded his wife to no longer show the same countenance to his friend as before. This she at once made known to her husband’s comrade, and begged that he would of his own motion abstain from holding speech with her, since she had been charged to do the like towards him.
The gentleman perceived from her words and from divers tokens on the part of his comrade that the latter had not kept his promise, and so said to him in great wrath—
“If, comrade, you are jealous, ‘tis a natural thing, but, after the oaths you swore to me, I must needs be angered that you have used such concealment towards me. I had always thought that neither obstacle nor mean intervened between your heart and mine, but to my exceeding sorrow, and with no fault on my part, I see that the reverse is true. Not only are you most jealous of your wife and of me, but you seek to hide your distemper from me, until at last it must wholly turn to hate, and the dearest love that our time has known become the deadliest enmity.
“I have done all I could to avoid this mishap, but since you suspect me of being so wicked and the opposite of what I have always proved towards you, I give you my oath and word that I will indeed be such a one as you deem me, and that I will never rest until I have had from your wife that which you believe I seek from her. So I bid you beware of me henceforward, for, since suspicion has destroyed your friendship for me, resentment will destroy mine for you.”
Although his comrade tried to persuade him of the contrary, he would no longer believe him, but removed his portion of the furniture and goods that had been in common between them. And so their hearts were as widely sundered as they had before been closely united, and the unmarried gentleman never rested until, as he had promised, he had made his comrade a cuckold. (3)
3 The idea developed in this tale, that of bringing to passby one’s own actions the thing one fears and seeks to avoidor prevent, has much analogy with that embodied in the“novel of the Curious Impertinent” which Cervantesintroduces intoDon Quixote(Part I. chaps, xxviii.,xxix). In this tale it will be remembered Anselmo andLothario are represented as being two such close friends asthe gentlemen who figured in Queen Margaret’s tale. Anselmomarries, however, and seized with an insane desire to testthe virtue of his wife, Camilla, by exposing her totemptation, urges Lothario to pay court to her. Lothario atfirst resists these solicitations, pointing out the folly ofsuch an enterprise, but his friend entreats him sopressingly that he finally consents, and in the sequel thepassion which he at first simulates for Camilla becomes areal one and leads to his seducing her and carrying heraway, with the result that both the wretched Anselmo and hiswife soon die of grief, whilst Lothario betakes himself tothe wars and perishes in battle.—M. & Ed.
“Thus, ladies, may it fare with those who wrongfully suspect their wives of evil. Many men make of them what they suspect them to be, for a virtuous woman is more readily overcome by despair than by all the pleasures on earth. And if any one says that suspicion is love, I give him nay, for although it results from love as do ashes from fire, it kills it nevertheless in the same way.”
“I do not think,” said Hircan, “that anything can be more grievous to either man or woman than to be suspected of that which is contrary to fact. For my own part, nothing could more readily prompt me to sever fellowship with my friends than such suspicion.”
“Nevertheless,” said Oisille, “woman is without rational excuse who revenges herself for her husband’s suspicion by her own shame. It is as though a man should thrust his sword through his own body, because unable to slay his foe, or should bite his own fingers because he cannot scratch him. She would have done better had she spoken to the gentleman no more, and so shown her husband how wrongly he had suspected her; for time would have softened them both.”
“Still ‘twas done like a woman of spirit,” said Ennasuite. “If many women acted in the same way, their husbands would not be so outrageous as they are.”
“For all that,” said Longarine, “patience gives a woman the victory in the end, and chastity brings her praise, and more we should not desire.”
“Nevertheless,” said Ennasuite, “a woman may be unchaste and yet commit no sin.”
“How may that be?” said Oisille.
“When she mistakes another man for her husband.”
“And who,” said Parlamente, “is so foolish that she cannot clearly tell the difference between her husband and another man, whatever disguise the latter may wear?”
“There have been and still will be,” said Ennasuite, “a few deceived in this fashion, and therefore still innocent and free from sin.”
“If you know of such a one,” said Dagoucin, “I give you my vote that you may tell us about her, for I think it very strange that innocence and sin can go together.”
“Listen, then,” said Ennasuite. “If, ladies, the foregoing tales have not sufficiently warned you of the danger of lodging in our houses those who call us worldly and consider themselves as something holy and far worthier than we, I will give you yet a further instance of it, that you may see by the errors into which those fall who trust them too much that not only are they human like others, but that there is something devilish in their nature, passing the ordinary wickedness of men. This you will learn from the following story.”
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The older and wickeder of two Grey Friars, who were lodgedin an inn where the marriage of the host’s daughter wasbeing celebrated, perceived the bride being led away,whereupon he went and took the place of the bridegroomwhilst the latter was still dancing with the company. (1)1 We have already had an instance of a friar stealing intoa wife’s bed at night-time, in the husband’s absence (seeante, vol. iii., tale xxili.). For a similar incident seetheCent Nouvelles Nouvelles, No. xxx.—Ed.
At an inn, in a village of the land of Perigort, there was celebrated the marriage of a maiden of the house, at which all the kinsfolk and friends strove to make as good cheer as might be. On the day of the wedding there arrived at the inn two Grey Friars, to whom supper was given in their own room, since it was not meet for those of their condition to be present at a wedding. However, the chief of the two, who had the greater authority and craft, resolved that, since he was shut out from the board, he would share the bed, and in this way play them one of the tricks of his trade.
When evening was come, and the dances were begun, the Grey Friar continued to observe the bride for a long time, and found her very handsome and to his taste. Then, inquiring carefully of the serving-woman concerning the room in which she was to lie, he found that it was close to his own, at which he was well pleased; and so good a watch did he keep in order to work his end, that he perceived the bride being led from the hall by the old women, as is the custom. As it was yet very early, the bridegroom would not leave the dance, in which he was so greatly absorbed that he seemed to have altogether forgotten his wife.
Not so the Friar, for, as soon as his ears told him that the bride was in bed, he put off his grey robe and went and took the husband’s place. Being fearful of discovery, however, he stayed but a very short time, and then went to the end of a passage where his comrade, who was keeping watch for him, signed to him that the husband was dancing-still.
The Friar, who had not yet satisfied his wicked lust, thereupon went back to bed with the bride, until his comrade gave him a signal that it was time to leave.
The bridegroom afterwards came to bed, and his wife, who had been so tormented by the Friar that she desired naught but rest, could not help saying to him—
“Have you resolved never to sleep or do anything but torment me?”
The unhappy husband, who had but just come in, was greatly astonished at this, and asked what torment he had given her, seeing that he had not left the dance.
“A pretty dance!” said the poor girl. “This is the third time that you have come to bed. I think you would do better to sleep.”
The husband was greatly astonished on hearing these words, and set aside thought of everything else in order that he might learn the truth of what had passed.
When his wife had told him the story, he at once suspected the Grey Friars who were lodged in the house, and forthwith rising, he went into their room, which was close beside his own.
Not finding them there, he began to call out for help in so loud a voice that he speedily drew together all his friends, who, when they had heard the tale, assisted him with candles, lanterns, and all the dogs of the village to hunt for the Grey Friars.
Not finding them in the house, they made all diligence, and so caught them among the vines, where they treated them as they deserved; for, after soundly beating them, they cut off their arms and legs, and left them among the vines to the care of Bacchus and Venus, of whom they had been better disciples than of St. Francis.
“Be not amazed, ladies, if such folk, being cut off from our usual mode of life, do things of which adventurers (2) even would be ashamed. Wonder rather that they do no worse when God withdraws his hand from them, for so little does the habit make the monk, that it often unmakes him through the pride it lends him. For my own part, I go not beyond the religion that is taught by St. James, who has told us to ‘keep the heart pure and unspotted toward God, and to show all charity to our neighbours.’”(3)
2 This is an allusion to the dismissed French Swiss, andGerman lansquenets who roamed about France in little bands,kidnapping, plundering, and at times hiring themselves outas spadassins. These men, the pests of the country, werecommonly known by the name of adventurers.—B. J.3 “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father isthis, To visit the fatherless and widows in their afflictionand to keep himself unspotted from the world.”—Jamesi.27.—Ed.
“Heavens!” said Oisille, “shall we never have done with tales about these tiresome Grey Friars?”
Then said Ennasuite—
“If, ladies, princes and gentlemen are not spared, the Grey Friars, it seems to me, are highly honoured by being noticed. They are so useless that, were it not that they often do evil things worthy of remembrance, they would never even be mentioned; and, as the saying goes, it is better to do evil than to do nothing at all. Besides, the more varied the flowers the handsomer will our posy be.”
“If you will promise not to be angry with me,” said Hircan, “I will tell you the story of a great lady whose wantonness was so extreme that you will forgive the poor friar for having taken what he needed, where he was able to find it, seeing that she, who had enough to eat, nevertheless sought for dainties in too monstrous a fashion.”
“Since we have sworn to speak the truth,” said Oisille, “we have also sworn to hear it. You may therefore speak with freedom, for the evil things that we tell of men and women are not uttered to shame those that are spoken of in the story, but to take away all trust in created beings, by revealing the trouble to which these are liable, and this to the end that we may fix and rest our hope on Him alone who is perfect, and without whom every man is only imperfection.”
“Well then,” said Hircan, “I will relate my story without fear.”
218.jpg Tailpiece
219a.jpg the Countess Facing Her Lovers
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Same French gentlemen, perceiving that the King theirmaster was exceedingly well treated by a foreign Countesswhom he loved, ventured to speak to her, and sought her withsuch success, that one after another they had from her whatthey desired, each, however, believing that he alonepossessed the happiness in which all the others shared. Andthis being discovered by one of their number, they allplotted together to be revenged on her; but, as she showed afair countenance and treated them no worse than before, theybrought away in their own bosoms the shame which they hadthought to bring upon her. (1)
At the Court of King Charles—which Charles I shall not mention, for the sake of the lady of whom I wish to speak, and whom I shall not call by her own name—there was a Countess of excellent lineage, (2) but a foreigner. And as novelties ever please, this lady, both for the strangeness of her attire and for its exceeding richness, was observed by all. Though she was not to be ranked among the most beautiful, she possessed gracefulness, together with a noble assurance that could not be surpassed; and, moreover, her manner of speech and her seriousness were to match, so that there was none but feared to accost her excepting the King, who loved her exceedingly. That he might have still more intimate converse with her, he gave some mission to the Count, her husband, which kept him away for a long time, and meanwhile the King made right good cheer with his wife.