"Well," he said, "I am content, since it needs must be; but never come back under similar conditions—I shall be out of town."

When the battle was over, the damsel who had had an additional turn, when she took leave, asked the canon to give her something as a keepsake.

Without waiting to be too much importuned, and also to get rid of them, the good canon handed them the remainder of a piece of stuff for kerchiefs, which he gave them, and the "principal" received the gift, and they said farewell.

"It is," he said, "all that I can give you just now; so take it in good part."

They had not gone very far, and were in the street, when the neighbour, who had had nothing more than one turn, told her companion that she wanted her share of the gift.

"Very well," said the other, "I have no objection. How much do you want?"

"Need you ask that," said she. "I am going to have half, and you the same."

"How dare you ask," said the other, "more than you have earned? Have you no shame? You know well that you only went once with the canon, and I went twice, and, pardieu, it is not right that you should have as much as I."

"Pardieu! I will have as much as you," said the second.

"Did I not do my duty as well as you?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Is not once as good as ten times? And now that you know my will, instead of standing here squabbling over a trifle, I recommend you to give me my half, or you will soon see a fight. Do you think you can do as you like with me?"

"Oh, indeed!" said the other, "will you try force? By God's power you shall only have what is right,—that is to say one third part—and I will have the rest. Did I not have twice as much trouble as you?"

With that the other doubled up her fist and landed it in the face of her companion, the one for whom the meeting had been first arranged, who quickly returned the blow. In short they fought as though they would have killed each other, and called one another foul names. When the people in the street saw the fight between the two companions, who a short while previously had been so friendly, they were much astonished, and came and separated the combatants. Then the husbands were called, and each asked his wife the cause of the quarrel. Each tried to make the other in the wrong, without telling the real cause, and set their husbands against each other so that they fought, and the sergeants came and sent them to cool their heels in prison.

Justice intervened, and the two women were compelled to own that the fight was about a piece of stuff for a kerchief. The Council, seeing that the case did not concern them, sent it to the "King of the Bordels", because the women were his subjects. And during the affair the poor husbands remained in gaol awaiting sentence, which, owing to the infinite number of cases, is likely to remain unsettled for a long time.

*****



STORY THE NINETY-THIRD — HOW A GOOD WIFE WENT ON A PILGRIMAGE. [93]

By Messire Timoleon Vignier.

Of a good wife who pretended to her husband that she was going on a pilgrimage, in order to find opportunity to be with her lover the parish-clerk—with whom her husband found her; and of what he said and did when he saw them doing you know what.

Whilst I have a good audience, let me relate a funny incident which happened in the district of Hainault.

In a village there, lived a married woman, who loved the parish clerk much more than she did her own husband, and in order to find means to be with the clerk, she feigned to her husband that she owed a pilgrimage to a certain saint, whose shrine was not far from there; which pilgrimage she had vowed to make when she was in travail with her last child, begging the saint that he would be content that she should go on a certain day she named. The good, simple husband, who suspected nothing, allowed her to go on this pilgrimage; and as he would have to remain alone he told her to prepare both his dinner and supper before she left, or else he would go and eat at the tavern.

She did as he ordered, and prepared a nice chicken and a piece of mutton, and when all these preparations were complete, she told her husband that everything was now ready, and that she was going to get some holy water, and then leave.

She went to church, and the first man she met was the one she sought, that is to say the clerk, to whom she told the news, that is to say how she had been permitted to go on a pilgrimage for the whole day.

"And this is what will occur," she said. "I am sure that as soon as I am out of the house that he will go to the tavern, and not return until late in the evening, for I know him of old; and so I should prefer to remain in the house, whilst he is away, rather than go somewhere else. Therefore you had better come to our house in half an hour, and I will let you in by the back door, if my husband is not at home, and if he should be, we will set out on our pilgrimage."

She went home, and there she found her husband, at which she was not best pleased.

"What! are you still here?" he asked.

"I am going to put on my shoes," she said, "and then I shall not be long before I start."

She went to the shoemaker, and whilst she was having her shoes put on, her husband passed in front of the cobbler's house, with another man, a neighbour, with whom he often went to the tavern.

She supposed that because he was accompanied by this neighbour that they were going to the tavern; whereas he had no intention of the kind, but was going to the market to find a comrade or two and bring them back to dine with him, since he had a good dinner to offer them—that is to say the chicken and the mutton.

Let us leave the husband to find his comrades, and return to the woman who was having her shoes put on. As soon as that was completed, she returned home as quickly as she could, where she found the scholar wandering round the house, and said to him;

"My dear, we are the happiest people in the world, for I have seen my husband go to the tavern, I am sure, for one of his neighbours was leading him by the arm, and I know is not likely to let my man come back, and therefore let us be joyful. We have the whole day, till night, to ourselves. I have prepared a chicken, and a good piece of mutton, and we will enjoy ourselves;" and without another word they entered the house, but left the door ajar in order that the neighbours should suspect nothing.

Let us now return to the husband, who had found a couple of boon companions besides the one I have mentioned, and now brought them to his house to devour the chicken, and drink some good Beaune wine—or better, if they could get it.

When he came to the house, he entered first, and immediately saw our two lovers, who were taking a sample of the good work they had to do. And when he saw his wife with her legs in the air, he told her that she need not have troubled to bother the cobbler about her shoes, since she was going to make the pilgrimage in that way.

He called his companions, and said;

"Good sirs, just see how my wife looks after my interests. For fear that she should wear out her new shoes, she is making the journey on her back:—no other woman would have done that."

He picked up the remainder of the fowl, and told her that she might finish her pilgrimage; then closed the door and left her with her clerk, without saying another word, and went off to the tavern. He was not scolded when he came back, nor on the other occasions either that he went there, because he had said little or nothing concerning the pilgrimage which his wife had made at home with her lover, the parish clerk.

*****



STORY THE NINETY-FOURTH — DIFFICULT TO PLEASE.

(*) There is no author's name to this story in any of the editions.

Of a cure who wore a short gown, like a gallant about to be married, for which cause he was summoned before the Ordinary, and of the sentence which was passed, and the defence he made, and the other tricks he played afterwards—as you will plainly hear.

In Picardy, in the diocese of Therouenne, there lived about a year and a half ago, in one of the large towns, a cure who aped the fashionable youth of the time. He wore a short gown, and high boots, as was the fashion at Court, and, in short, was as great a gallant as you would see,—which gave no small offence to all good Churchmen.

The Ordinary of Therouenne—who is generally known as the "big devil" —was informed of the behaviour of this cure, and cited him to appear to be punished, and ordered to change his method of dressing.

He appeared in his short gown, as though he cared little for the Ordinary, or thinking, perhaps, that he was going to be let off for his good looks, but this did not happen, for when he was before the judge, the "promoter" related the case at full length, and demanded that these clothes and other vanities should be forbidden him, and that he should be condemned to pay certain fines.

The judge, seeing at a glance what sort of man our cure was, forbade him, by all the penalties of canon law, to disguise himself in the way he had done, and ordered that he was to wear long gowns and long hair, and moreover, to pay a good sum of money.

The cure promised that he would do so, and never again be summoned for a similar offence. He left the Court and returned to his cure, and as soon as he came there, he called the draper and the tailor, and he had a gown made which trailed three quarters of an ell on the ground; for he told the tailor how he had been reproved for wearing a short gown, and ordered to wear a long one.

He put on this long robe, and allowed his beard and hair to grow, and in this habit performed his parochial duties, sang Mass, and did everything that a priest has to do.

The promoter was soon informed that the cure behaved in a way not compatible with good morals, whereupon a fresh summons was issued, and the priest appeared in his long gown.

"What is this?" asked the judge when the cure appeared before him. "It seems that you make fun of the statutes and ordinances of the Church! Why do you not dress like the other priests? If it were not for some of your friends I should send you to prison."

"What, monseigneur!" said the cure. "Did you not order me to wear a long gown, and long hair? Have I not done as I was commanded? Is not my gown long enough? Is not my hair long? What do you wish me to do?"

"I wish," said the judge, "and I command that your gown and hair should be half long, neither too much nor too little, and for this great fault that you have committed, I condemn you to pay a fine of ten pounds to the Prosecutor, twenty pounds to the Chapter, and as much to the Bishop of Therouenne for his charities."

Our cure was much astonished, but there was nothing for it but to comply. He took leave of the judge, and returned to his house, considering how he should attire himself in order to obey the judge's sentence. He sent for the tailor, whom he ordered to make a gown as long on one side as that we have mentioned, and, as short as the first one on the other side, then he had himself shaved on one side only—that on which the gown was short—and in this guise went about the streets, and performed his sacred duties; and although he was told this was not right of him, he paid no attention.

The Prosecutor was again informed, and cited him to appear a third time. When he appeared, God knows how angry the judge was—he was almost beside himself, and, could scarcely sit on the Bench when he saw the cure dressed like a mummer. If the priest had been mulcted before he was still more so this time, and was condemned to pay very heavy fines.

Then the cure, finding himself thus amerced in fines and amends, said to the judge.

"With all due respect, it seems to me that I have obeyed your orders. Hear what I have to say, and I will prove it."

Then he covered his long beard with his hand, and said;

"If you like, I have no beard." Then, covering the shaved side of his face, he said, "If you like, I have a long beard. Is not that what you ordered?"

The judge, seeing that he had to do with a joker, who was making fun of him, sent for a barber and a tailor, and before all the public, had the cure's hair and beard dressed, and his gown cut to a proper and reasonable length; then he sent him back to his cure where he conducted himself properly—having learned the right manner at the expense of his purse.

*****



STORY THE NINETY-FIFTH — THE SORE FINGER CURED. [95]

By Philippe De Laon.

Of a monk who feigned to be very ill and in danger of death, that he might obtain the favours of a certain young woman in the manner which is described hereafter.

It is usually the case, thank God, that in many religious communities there are certain good fellows who can play "base instruments".

Apropos of this, there was formerly in a convent at Paris, a good brother, a preacher, who was accustomed to visit his female neighbours. One day his choice lighted on a very pretty woman, a near neighbour, young, buxom, and spirited, and but recently married to a good fellow.

Master monk fell in love with her, and was always thinking and devising ways and means by which he could compass his desires—which were, in short, to do you know what. Now he decided, "That is what I'll do." Then he changed his mind. So many plans came into his head that he could not decide on any; but of one thing he was sure, and that was that words alone would never seduce her from the paths of virtue. "For she is too virtuous, and too prudent. I shall be obliged, if I want to gain my ends, to gain them by cunning and deception."

Now listen to the plan the rascal devised, and how he dishonestly trapped the poor, little beast, and accomplished his immoral desires, as he proposed.

He pretended one day to have a bad finger—that which is nearest to the thumb, and is the first of the four on the right hand—and he wrapped it in linen bandages, and anointed it with strong-smelling ointments.

He went about with it thus for a day or two, hanging about the church porch, when he thought the aforesaid woman was coming, and God knows what pain he pretended to suffer.

The silly wench looked on him with pity, and seeing by his face that he appeared to be in great pain, she asked him what was the matter; and the cunning fox pitched up a piteous tale.

The day passed, and on the morrow, about the hour of vespers, when the good woman was at home alone, the patient came and sat by her, and acted the sick man, that anyone who had seen him would have believed that he was in great danger. Sometimes he would walk to the window, then back again to the woman, and put on so many strange tricks that you would have been astonished and deceived if you had seen him. And the poor foolish girl, who pitied him so that the tears almost started from her eyes, comforted him as best she could,

"Alas, Brother Aubrey, have you spoken to such and such physicians?"

"Yes, certainly, my dear," he replied. "There is not a doctor or surgeon in Paris who has not studied my case."

"And what do they say? Will you have to suffer this pain for a long time?"

"Alas! yes; until I die, unless God helps me; for there is but one remedy for ray complaint, and I would rather die than reveal what that is,—for it is very far from decent, and quite foreign to my holy profession."

"What?" cried the poor girl. "Then there is a remedy! Then is it not very wrong and sinful of you to allow yourself to suffer thus? Truly it seems so to me, for you are in danger of losing sense and understanding, so sharp and terrible is the pain."

"By God, very sharp and terrible it is," said Brother Aubrey, "but there!—God sent it; praised be His name. I willingly suffer and bear all, and patiently await death, for that is the only remedy indeed—excepting one I mentioned to you—which can cure me."

"But what is that?"

"I told you that I should not dare to say what it is,—and even if I were obliged to reveal what it is, I should never have the will or power to put it in execution."

"By St. Martin!" said the good woman, "it appears to me that you are very wrong to talk like that. Pardieu! tell me what will cure you, and I assure you that I will do my utmost to help you. Do not wilfully throw away your life when help and succour can be brought. Tell me what it is, and you will see that I will help you—I will, pardieu, though it should cost me more than you imagine." The monk, finding his neighbour was willing to oblige him, after a great number of refusals and excuses, which, for the sake of brevity, I omit, said in a low voice.

"Since you desire that I should tell you, I will obey. The doctors all agreed that there was but one remedy for my complaint, and that was to put my finger into the secret place of a clean and honest woman, and keep it there for a certain length of time, and afterwards apply a certain ointment of which they gave me the receipt. You hear what the remedy is, and as I am by disposition naturally modest, I would rather endure and suffer all my ills than breathe a word to a living soul. You alone know of my sad lot, and that in spite of me."

"Well!" said the good woman, "what I said I would do I will do. I will willingly help to cure you, and am well pleased to be able to relieve you of the terrible pain which torments you, and find you a place in which you can put your sore finger."

"May God repay you, damsel," said the monk. "I should never have dared to make the request, but since you are kind enough to help me, I shall not be the cause of my own death. Let us go then, if it please you, to some secret place where no one can see us."

"It pleases me well," she replied.

So she led him to a fair chamber, and closed the door, and laid upon the bed, and the monk lifted up her clothes, and instead of the finger of his hand, put something hard and stiff in the place. When he had entered, she feeling that it was very big, said,

"How is it that your finger is so swollen? I never heard of anything like it."

"Truly," he replied, "it is the disease which made it like that."

"It is wonderful," she said.

Whilst this talk was going on, master monk accomplished that for which he had played the invalid so long. She when she felt—et cetera—asked what that was, and he replied,

"It is the boil on my finger which has burst. I am cured I think—thank God and you."

"On my word I am pleased to hear it," said the woman as she rose from the bed. "If you are not quite cured, come back as often as you like;—for to remove your pain there is nothing I would not do. And another time do not be so modest when it is a question of recovering your health."

*****



STORY THE NINETY-SIXTH — A GOOD DOG. [96]

Of a foolish and rich village cure who buried his dog in the church-yard; for which cause he was summoned before his Bishop, and how he gave 60 gold crowns to the Bishop, and what the Bishop said to him—which you will find related here.

Listen if you please to what happened the other day to a simple village cure. This good cure had a dog which he had brought up, and which surpassed every other dog in the country in fetching a stick out of the water, or bringing a hat that his master had forgotten, and many other tricks. In short, this wise and good dog excelled in everything, and his master so loved him that he never tired of singing his praises.

At last, I know not how, whether he ate something that disagreed with him, or whether he was too hot or too cold, the poor dog became very ill, and died, and went straightway to wherever all good dogs do go.

What did the honest cure do? You must know that his vicarage adjoined the church-yard, and when he saw his poor dog quit this world, he thought so wise a beast ought not to be without a grave, so he dug a hole near the door of his house, and in the church-yard, and there buried his dog. I do not know if he gave the dog a monument and an epitaph, I only know that the news of the good dog's death spread over the village, and at last reached the ears of the Bishop, together with the report that his master had given him holy burial.

The cure was summoned to appear before the Bishop, who sent a sergeant to fetch him.

"Alas!" said the cure, "what have I done, and why have I to appear before the Bishop? I am much surprised at receiving this summons."

"As for me," said the sergeant, "I do not know what it is for, unless it is because you buried your dog in the holy ground which is reserved for the bodies of Christians."

"Ah," thought the cure to himself, "that must be it," and it occurred to him that he had done wrong, but he knew that he could easily escape being put into prison, by paying a fine, for the Lord Bishop—God be praised—was the most avaricious prelate in the Kingdom, and only kept those about him who knew how to bring grist to the mill.

"At any rate I shall have to pay, and it may as well be soon as late."

On the appointed day, he appeared before the Bishop, who immediately delivered a long sermon about the sin of burying a dog in consecrated ground, and enlarged on the offence so wonderfully that he made it appear that the cure had done something worse than deny God; and at the end he ordered the cure to be put in prison.

When the cure found that he was to be shut up in the stone box, he demanded permission to be heard, and the Bishop gave him leave to speak.

You must know that there were a number of notable persons at this convocation—the judge, the prosecutor, the secretaries, and notaries, advocates, and procureurs, who were all much amused at this unusual case of the poor cure who had buried his dog in consecrated ground.

The cure spoke briefly in his defence, to this effect.

"Truly, my Lord Bishop, if you had known my poor dog as well as I did, you would not be surprised that I gave him Christian burial, for his like was never seen;" and then he began to recount his doings.

"And as he was so good and wise when he was living, he was still more so at his death; for he made a beautiful will, and, as he knew your poverty and need, he left you fifty golden crowns, which I now bring you."

So saying, he drew the money from his bosom and gave it to the Bishop, who willingly received it, and greatly praised the good dog, and approved of his will, and was glad to know that he had received honourable sepulture.

*****



STORY THE NINETY-SEVENTH — BIDS AND BIDDINGS.

By Monseigneur De Launoy.

Of a number of boon companions making good cheer and drinking at a tavern, and how one of them had a quarrel with his wife when he returned home, as you will hear.

A number of good fellows had once assembled to make good cheer at the tavern and drink as much as they could. And when they had eaten and drunk to God's praise and usque ad Hebreos (*), and had paid their reckoning, some of them began to say, "How shall we be received by our wives when we return home?" "God knows if we shall be excommunicated." "They will pluck us by the beard." "By Our Lady!" said one, "I am afraid to go home." "God help me! so am I," said another. "I shall be sure to hear a sermon for Passion Sunday." "Would to God that my wife were dumb—I should drink more boldly than I do now."

(*) A pun on the word ebreos (drunken).

So spoke all of them with one exception, and that was a good fellow who said,

"How now, good sirs? You all seem every miserable, and each has a wife who forbids him to go to the tavern, and is displeased if you drink. Thank God my wife is not one of that sort, for if I drink ten—or even a hundred-times a day that is not enough for her,—in short I never knew an instance in which she did not wish I had drunk as much again. For, when I come back from the tavern she always wishes that I had the rest of the barrel in my belly, and the barrel along with it. Is not that a sign that I do not drink enough to please her?"

When his companions heard this argument they began to laugh, and all praised his wife, and then each one went his own way.

The good fellow we have mentioned, went home, where he found his wife not over friendly, and ready to scold him; and as soon as she saw him she began the usual lecture, and, as usual, she wished the rest of the barrel in his belly.

"Thank you, my dear, you are always much kinder than all the other women in the town for they all get wild if their husbands drink too much, but you—may God repay you—always wish that I may have a good draught that would last me all my days."

"I don't know that I wish that," she said, "but I pray to God that you may drink such a lot some day that you may burst."

Whilst they were conversing thus affectionately, the soup-kettle on the fire began to boil over, because the fire was too hot, and the good man, who noticed that his wife did not take it off the fire, said;

"Don't you see, wife, that the pot is boiling over?"

She was still angry and indignant, and replied;

"Yes, master, I see it."

"Well then, take it off, confound you! Do as I bid you."

"I will," she replied, "I will bid twelve pence." (*)

(*) There is a pun in the French on the two meanings of the verb hausser,—"to raise" and to "augment" or "run up."

"Oh, indeed, dame," said he, "is that your reply? Take off that pot, in God's name!"

"Well!" she said. "I will put it at seven sous. Is that high enough?"

"Ha, ha!" he said. "By St. John that shall not pass without three blows with a good stick."

He picked up a thick stick, and laid it with all his might across her back, saying as he did so,

"The lot is knocked down to you."

She began to cry, and the neighbours all assembled and asked what was the matter? The good man told them and they all laughed—except the woman who had had the lot knocked down to her.

*****



STORY THE NINETY-EIGHTH — THE UNFORTUNATE LOVERS.

By The Editor.

Of a knight of this kingdom and his wife, who had a fair daughter aged fifteen or sixteen. Her father would have married her to a rich old knight, his neighbour, but she ran away with another knight, a young man who loved her honourably; and, by strange mishap, they both died sad deaths without having ever co-habited,—as you will hear shortly.

In the frontiers of France, there lived, amongst other nobles, a knight who was rich and noble, not only by illustrious descent, but by his own virtuous and honourable deeds, who had, by the wife he had married, an only daughter, a very beautiful virgin, well-educated as her condition required, and aged fifteen or sixteen years, or thereabouts.

This good and noble knight, seeing that his daughter was of a fit and proper age for the holy sacrament of wedlock, much wished to give her in marriage to a knight, his neighbour, who was powerful, not so much by noble birth as by great possessions and riches, and was also from 60 to 80 years old, or thereabouts.

This wish so filled the head of the father of whom I spoke, that he would not rest until formal promises were made between him and his wife, the mother of the girl, and the aforesaid old knight, touching his marriage to the girl, who, for her part, knew and suspected nothing of all these arrangements, promises, and treaties.

Not far from the castle of the knight, the father of this damsel, there lived another knight, a young man, valiant and brave, and moderately rich, but not so rich as the old man of whom I spoke, and this youth was greatly in love with the fair damsel. She also was much attached to him, on account of his fame and great renown, and they often spoke to each other, though with much trouble and difficulty, for her father, who suspected their love, tried by all ways and means to prevent their seeing each other. Nevertheless, he could not destroy the great and pure love which united their hearts, and when fortune favoured them with an opportunity, they discussed nothing but the means whereby they might accomplish their whole and sole desire and marry each other.

The time approached when the damsel was to be given to the old knight, and her father told her of the contract he had made, and named the day on which she was to be married; at which she was greatly angered, but thought to herself that she might find a way out of the difficulty.

She sent a message to her lover, the young knight, to tell him to come to her secretly as soon as he could; and when he came she told him how she was betrothed to the old knight, and asked her lover's advice as to how this marriage was to be broken off, for that she would never have any other man but him.

The knight replied,

"My dearest lady, since of your kindness you offer me that which I should never have dared to ask without great shame, I thank you humbly, and if it be your will, I will tell you what we will do. We will appoint a day for me to come to this town accompanied by many of my friends, and at a given hour you will repair to a certain place, both of which we will arrange now that I am alone with you. You will mount on my horse, and I will conduct you to my castle. And then, if we can manage to pacify your father and mother, we will fulfil our promises of plighted troth."

She replied that the plan was a good one, and she would carry it out properly. She told him that on such a day, at such an hour, he would find her at a certain place, and that she would do all that he had arranged.

The appointed day arrived, and the young knight appeared at the place mentioned, and there he found the lady, who mounted on his horse, and they rode fast until they were far from there.

The good knight, fearing that he should fatigue his dearly beloved mistress, slackened his speed, and spread his retainers on every road to see that they were not followed, and he rode across the fields, without keeping to any path or road, and as gently as he could, and charged his servants that they should meet at a large village which he named, and where he intended to stop and eat. This village was remote, and away from the high road.

They rode until they came to this village, where the local fete was being held, which had brought together all sorts of people. They entered the best tavern in the place, and at once demanded food and drink, for it was late after dinner, and the damsel was much fatigued. A good fire was made, and food prepared for the servants of the knight who had not yet arrived.

Hardly had the knight and the lady entered the tavern than there came four big swashbucklers—waggoners or drovers, or perhaps worse—who noisily entered the tavern, and demanded where was the bona roba that some ruffian had brought there, riding behind him on his horse, for they would drink with her, and amuse themselves with her.

The host who knew the knight well, and was aware that the rascals spake not the truth, told them gently that the girl was not what they imagined.

"Morbleu!" they replied; "if you do not bring her at once, we will batter down the door, and bring her by force in spite of the two of you."

When the host heard this, and found that his explanation was no use, he named the knight, who was renowned through all that district, but unknown to many of the common people, because he had long been out of the country, acquiring honour and renown in wars in distant countries. The host told them also that the damsel was a young virgin, a relative of the knight, and of noble parentage.

"You can, messieurs," he said, "without danger to yourself or others, quench your lust with many of the women who have come to the village on the occasion of the fete expressly for you and the like of you, and for God's sake leave in peace this noble damsel, and think of the great danger that you run, the evil that you wish to commit and the small hope that you have of success."

"Drop your sermons," shouted the rascals, inflamed with carnal lust, "and bring her to us quietly; or if not we will cause a scandal, for we will bring her down openly, and each of us four will do as he likes with her."

These speeches being finished, the good host went up to the chamber where the knight and the damsel were, and called the knight apart, and told him this news, which when he had heard, without being troubled in the least, he went down wearing his sword, to talk to the four swashbucklers, and asked them politely what they wanted?

And they, being foul-mouthed and abusive blackguards, replied that they wanted the bona roba that he kept shut up in his chamber, and that, if he did not give her up quietly, they would take her from him by force.

"Fair sirs," said the knight, "if you knew me well you would be aware that I should not take about women of that sort. I have never done such a folly, thank God. And even if I ever did—which God forbid—I should never do it in this district, where I and all my people are well known—my nobility and reputation would not suffer me to do it. This damsel is a young virgin, a near relative, related also to a noble house, and we are travelling for our pleasure, accompanied by my servants, who although they are not here at present, will come directly, and I am waiting for them. Moreover, do not flatter yourselves that I should be such a coward as to let her be insulted, or suffer injury of any kind; but I would protect and defend her as long as my strength endured, and until I died."

Before the knight had finished speaking, the villains interrupted him, and in the first place denied that he was the person he said, because he was alone, and that knight never travelled without a great number of servants. Therefore they recommended him, if he were wise, to bring the girl down, otherwise they would take her by force, whatever consequences might ensue.

When this brave and valiant knight found that fair words were of no use, and that force was the only remedy, he summoned up all his courage, and resolved that the villains should not have the damsel, and that he was ready to die in her defence.

At last one of the four advanced to knock with his bludgeon at the door of the chamber, and the others followed him, and were bravely beaten back by the knight. Then began a fight which lasted long, and although the two parties were so unequally matched, the good knight vanquished and repulsed the four villains, and as he pursued them to drive them away, one of them, who had a sword, turned suddenly and plunged it in the body of the knight, and pierced him through, so that he fell dead at once, at which they were very glad. Then they compelled the host to quietly bury the body in the garden of the inn.

When the good knight was dead, the villains came and knocked at the door of the chamber where the damsel was impatiently awaiting the return of her lover, and they pushed open the door.

As soon as she saw the brigands enter, she guessed that the knight was dead, and said;

"Alas, where is my protector? Where is my sole refuge? What has become of him? Why does he thus wound my heart and leave me here alone?"

The scoundrels, seeing that she was much troubled, thought to falsely deceive her by fair words, and told her the knight had gone to another house, and had commanded them to go to her and protect her; but she would not believe them, for her heart told her that they had killed him. She began to lament, and to cry more bitterly than ever.

"What is this?" they said. "Why all these tricks and manners? Do you think we don't know you? If you imagine your bully is still alive, you are mistaken—we have rid the country of him. Therefore make your mind up that we are all four going to enjoy you." At these words one of them advanced, and seized her roughly, saying that he would have her company.

When the poor damsel saw herself thus forced, and that she could not soften their hearts, she said;

"Alas! sirs, since you will force me, and my humble prayers cannot soften you, at least have this decency; that if I abandon myself to you it shall be privately, that is to say each separately without the presence of the others."

They agreed to this, though with a bad grace, and then they made her choose which of the four should first have her company. She chose the one that she fancied was the mildest and best-tempered, but he was the worst of all. The door was closed, and then the poor damsel threw herself at the scoundrel's feet, and with many piteous appeals, begged that he would have pity on her. But he was obstinate, and declared that he would have his will of her.

When she saw that he was so cruel, and that her prayers could not melt him, she said.

"Well then, since so it must be, I am content; but I beg of you to close the windows that we may be more secret."

He willingly consented, and whilst he was closing them, she drew a little knife that she wore at her girdle, and uttering one long, piteous cry, she cut her throat, and gave up the ghost.

When the scoundrel saw her lying on the ground, he fled along with his companions, and it is to be supposed that they were afterwards punished according to their deserts.

Thus did these two sweet lovers end their days, one directly after the other, without ever having tasted of the joys and pleasures in which they hoped to have lived together all their days.

*****



STORY THE NINETY-NINTH — THE METAMORPHOSIS. [99]

By The Editor.

Relates how a Spanish Bishop, not being able to procure fish, ate two partridges on a Friday, and how he told his servants that he had converted them by his prayers into fish—as will more plainly be related below.

If you wish, you shall hear now, before it is too late, a little story about a brave Spanish Bishop who went to Rome to transact some business for his master the King of Castille.

This brave prelate, whom I intend to make furnish this last story, arrived one day at a little village in Lombardy, it being then early on a Friday evening, and ordered his steward to have supper early, and to go into the town and buy what he could, for he (the Bishop) was very hungry, not having broken his fast all that day.

His servant obeyed him, and went to the market, and to all the fishmongers in the town, to procure some fish, but, to make the story short, not a single fish, in spite of all the efforts made by the steward, could be found.

But, on returning to the inn, he met a countryman, who had two fine partridges which he would sell very cheaply. The steward thought he would secure them, and they would serve to make the Bishop a feast on Sunday.

He bought them, a great bargain, and came to his master with the two partridges in his hand, all alive, and fat, and plump, and told him of his failure to get any fish, at which my Lord was not best pleased.

"And what can we have for supper?"

"My Lord," replied the steward, "I will get them to prepare you eggs in a hundred thousand different ways, and you can have apples and pears. Our host has also some rich cheese. We will do our best; have patience, a supper is soon over, and you shall fare better to-morrow, God willing. We shall be in a town which is much better provided with fish than this, and on Sunday you cannot fail to dine well, for here are two partridges which are plump and succulent."

The Bishop looked at the two partridges, and found them as the steward said, plump, and in good condition, so he thought they would take the place of the fish which he had lost. So he caused them to be killed and prepared for the spit.

When the steward saw that his master wished to have them roasted, he was astounded, and said to his master;

"My lord, it is well to kill them, but to roast them now for Sunday seems a pity."

But the steward lost his time, for, in spite of his remonstrances, they were put on the spit and roasted.

The good prelate watched them cooking, and the poor steward was scandalized, and did not know what to make of his master's ill-ordered appetite.

When the partridges were roasted, the table laid, the wine brought in, eggs cooked in various ways, and served to a turn, the prelate seated himself, said grace, and asked for the partridges, with mustard.

His steward wished to know what his master would do with these birds, and brought them to him fresh from the fire, and emitting an odour enough to make a friar's mouth water.

The good Bishop attacked the partridges, and began to cut and eat with such haste, that he did not give his squire, who came to carve for him, sufficient time to lay his bread, and sharpen his knife.

When the steward saw his master eating the birds, he was so amazed that he could no longer keep silent, and said to him;

"Oh, my lord, what are you doing? Are you a Jew or a Saracen, that you do not keep Friday? By my faith, I am astonished at such doings."

"Hold your tongue! Hold your tongue!" said the good prelate, who had his hands and his beard covered with fat and gravy. "You are a fool, and know not what you are saying. I am doing no harm. You know well and believe, that by the words spoken by me and other priests, we make of the host, which is nothing but flour and water, the precious body of Jesus Christ. Can I not by the same means?—I who have seen so many things at the court of Rome and many other places—know by what words I may transform these partridges, which are flesh, into fish, although they still retain the form of partridges? So indeed I have done. I have long known how to do this. They were no sooner put to the fire than by certain words I know, I so charmed them that I converted them into the substance of fish, and you might—all of you who are here—eat, as I do, without sin. But as you would still believe them to be flesh, they would do you harm, so I alone will commit the sin."

The steward and the other attendants began to laugh, and pretended to believe the highly-coloured story that their master had told them, and ever after that were up to the trick, and related it joyously in many places.

*****



STORY THE HUNDREDTH AND LAST — THE CHASTE LOVER.

By Philippe De Laon.

Of a rich merchant of the city of Genoa, who married a fair damsel, who owing to the absence of her husband, sent for a wise clerk—a young, fit, and proper man—to help her to that of which she had need; and of the fast that he caused her to make—as you will find more plainly below.

In the powerful and well-populated city of Genoa, there, lived some time ago, a merchant who was very rich, and whose business consisted in sending much merchandise by sea to foreign lands, and especially to Alexandria. So occupied was he with the management of his ships, and in heaping up riches, that during all his days, from his tender youth till the time that he was fifty years of age, he never cared or wanted to do anything else.

When he had arrived at this last mentioned age, he began to think about his condition, and to see that he had spent and employed all his days and years in heaping up riches without ever having for a single minute or moment been inclined to think of marrying and having children, to whom the great wealth, that he had by great diligence and labour amassed and acquired, would succeed. This thought caused him much mental sorrow, and he was greatly vexed that he had thus spent his youth.

This grief and regret lasted many days, during which time it happened that in the above-named city, the young children, after they had solemnized some festival, did as they were accustomed each year, and variously apparelled and disguised, some this way and some that, came in great numbers to the place where the public rejoicings of the city are usually held, to play in the presence of their fathers and mothers, and to have their costumes praised and admired.

At this assembly was our merchant, still moody and vexed, and the sight of so many fathers and mothers taking pleasure in watching their children dance and sport, increased the grief that was preying on his mind, and, unable to watch them any longer, he returned to his house, sad and vexed, and retired to his lonely chamber, where he remained some time, uttering complaints of this kind;

"Ah, poor, miserable, old man that I am and always have been, and for whom fate and destiny are hard, bitter, and unpleasant. Oh, wretched man! worn out and weary by watching and work, suffered and borne by land and sea. Your great riches and heaped-up treasures, which with many perilous adventures, hard work, and sweat you have amassed, and for which you have expended all your time, are but vain, for you have never thought who will possess them, and to whom by human law you should leave your memory and your name when you are dead and gone. Oh, wicked man, how could you have been careless of that of which you should have taken most heed? Marriage never pleased you, and you always feared and refused it, and even disliked and scorned the good and just counsels of those who would have found you a wife, in order that you might have offspring who would perpetuate your name, your praise, and your renown. Oh, how happy are those parents who leave good and wise children to succeed them! How many fathers have I seen to-day playing with their children, who would call themselves most happy, and think they had well employed their time, if, after their decease, they could leave their children but one small part of the great wealth that I possess! But what pleasure and solace can I ever have? What name or fame shall I leave after my death? Where is the son who will cherish my memory when I am dead? Blessed be that holy condition of marriage by which the memory and recollection of fathers is preserved, and by which fiefs, possessions, and heritages are permanently secured to their happy children!"

When the good merchant had thus argued to himself for a long time, he suddenly thought of a remedy for his misfortunes, saying;

"Well, I am in future determined, notwithstanding the number of my years, not to trouble or torment myself with grief, or remorse. At the worst I have but been like the birds, which prepare their nests before they begin to lay their eggs. I have, thank God, riches sufficient for myself, wife, and many children, if it should happen that I have any, nor am I so old, or so devoid of natural vigour, as to lose hope of even having any offspring. What I have to do is to watch and work, and use every endeavour to discover where I shall find a wife fit and proper for me."

Having finished his soliloquy, he left his chamber, and sent for two of his comrades—merchant-mariners like himself,—and to them he plainly stated his case, and requested them to help to find him a wife, for that was the thing he most desired in the world.

The two merchants, having heard what their comrade had to say, much applauded his determination, and undertook to make all possible endeavours to find him a wife.

Whilst they were making enquiries, our merchant,—as hot to get married as he could be—played the gallant, and sought throughout the city all the youngest and prettiest girls—to the others he paid small heed.

He searched so well that he found one such as he required,—born of honest parents, marvellously beautiful, aged only fifteen or thereabouts, gentle, good-tempered, and well brought up in every respect.

As soon as he knew her virtues and good qualities, he felt such affection and desire that she should be his lawful wife, that he asked her hand of her parents and friends; which, after some slight difficulties that were quickly removed, was given, and the same hour they were betrothed, and security given by him for the dower he was to bestow upon her.

If the good merchant had taken pride and pleasure in his merchandise during the time that he was amassing a fortune, he felt still more when he saw himself certain of being married, and that to a wife by whom he could have fine children.

The wedding was honourably celebrated, with all due pomp, and that feast being over and finished, he forgot all about his former life,—that is to say on the sea—but lived happily and in great pleasure with his fair and fond wife.

But this way of life did not last long, for he soon became tired and bored, and before the first year had expired took a dislike to living at home in idleness and a humdrum domestic existence, and pined for his old business of merchant-mariner, which seemed to him easier and more pleasant than that which he had so willingly undertaken to manage night and day.

He did nothing but devise how he could get to Alexandria, as he used in the old days, and it seemed to him that it was not only difficult but impossible for him to abstain from going to sea. Yet though he firmly resolved to return to his old profession, he concealed his intention from his wife, fearing that she might be displeased.

There were also fears and doubts which disturbed him, and prevented him from executing his designs, for he knew the youth and character of his wife, and he felt sure that if he were absent she would not be able to control herself; and he considered also the mutability and variability of the feminine character, and that the young gallants were accustomed to pass in front of his house to see his wife, even when he was at home,—whence he imagined that in his absence they might come closer, and peradventure even take his place.

For a long time he was tormented by these difficulties and suspicions without saying a word but as he knew that he had lived the best part of his life, he now cared little for wife, marriage, and all that concerned domestic life, and to the arguments and theories which filled his head, provided a speedy solution by saying;—

"It is better to live than to die, and, if I do not quit my household very shortly, it is very certain that I shall not live. But then, shall I leave my fair and affectionate wife? Yes, I will leave her;—she shall henceforth manage for herself as she pleases; it will no longer be incumbent on me. Alas, what shall I do? What a dishonour, what an annoyance it would be for me if she did not continue to guard her chastity. Ah, yes, it is better to live than to die, that I may be able to look after her! But God cannot wish that I should take such care and pains about a woman's belly without any pay or reward, and receive nothing in return but torture of soul and body. I will not bear all the trouble and anguish of mind that many suffer in living with their wives. It angers me and saddens me to think that God only permits me to live to enjoy the trifling incidents of married life. I want full liberty and freedom to do what I please."

When the good merchant had finished these sage reflections, he went and found some of his old comrades, and told them that he wished to visit Alexandria with a cargo of merchandise, as he had often previously done in their company,—but he did not tell them of the trouble and anxiety which his married life caused him.

He soon made all arrangements with them, and they told him to be ready to start when the first fair wind came. The sailors and cargo were soon ready, and awaited in a safe place, a fair wind to start.

The good merchant, still firm in his determination, as on the previous days, found his wife alone in her chamber, and that she should not be sad at his departure, addressed her in these words.

"My dearest wife, whom I love better than my life, I beg of you to be of good heart, and show yourself joyful, and be not sad or cast down at what I am about to say to you. I propose—if it be God's pleasure—to once more visit Alexandria, as I have long been in the habit of doing; and it seems to me that you should not be vexed thereat, seeing that you are aware that that is my business and profession, by which I have acquired riches, houses, name, and fame, and many good friends. The handsome and rich ornaments, rings, garments, and other things with which you are apparelled and ornamented as is no other woman in the city, as you well know, I have acquired by the profit I have made on my merchandise. This journey of mine therefore should not trouble you, for I shall shortly return. And I promise you that if this time,—as I hope,—Fortune should smile upon me, never will I return there again, but this time will take leave of it for ever. You must therefore be of good courage, and I will leave in your hands the disposition, administration, and management of all the goods which I possess; but before I leave I have some requests to make of you.

"The first is, I beg of you to be happy whilst I am on my voyage, and live comfortably; for if I know that such is the case I shall have greater pleasure in my voyage. For the second, you know that nothing should be hidden or concealed between us two, and all honour, profit, and renown should be—as I know they are—common to both of us, and the praise and honour of the one cannot exist without the glory of the other, and similarly the dishonour of the one would be the shame of us both. I wish you to understand that I am not so devoid of sense that I am not aware that I leave you young, beautiful, kind, fresh, and tender, and without the consolation of a husband; and that many men will desire you. And although I firmly believe that you are now fully resolved, nevertheless, when I think of your age and inclinations and the warmth of your desires, it does not seem possible to me that you should not, out of pure necessity and compulsion, enjoy the company of a man during my absence. It is my will and pleasure therefore to permit you to grant those favours which nature compels you to grant. I would beg of you though to respect our marriage vow unbroken as long as you possibly can. I neither intend nor wish to leave you in the charge of any person, but leave you to be your own guardian. Truly, there is no duenna, however watchful, who can prevent a woman from doing what she wishes. When therefore your desires shall prick and spur you on, I would beg you, my dear wife, to act with such circumspection in their execution that they may not be publicly known,—for if you do otherwise, you, and I, and all our friends will be infamous and dishonoured.

"If then you cannot remain chaste, at least take pains to retain your reputation. I will teach you how that is to be done, if the need should arise. You know that in our good city there are plenty of handsome men. From amongst these choose one only, and be content to do with him whatever nature may incline you to do. At all events, I wish that in making your choice you should take particular care that he is not a vagabond, or dishonest, or disreputable person, for great dangers might arise from your acquaintance with such a person, inasmuch as he would, without doubt publish your secret.

"You will select one therefore who is, you are sure, both wise and prudent, and who will take as much pains to conceal your amour as you do yourself. This I beg of you, and that you will promise me honestly and loyally to remember this lesson. I do not advise you to reply in the way that other women are accustomed to when similar proposals are made to them. I know what they would say, which would be somewhat to this effect. 'Oh, husband! what do you mean by speaking like that? How could you have such a cruel, unjust opinion of me? How can you imagine that I should commit such an abominable crime? No! no! God forbid that I should make you such a promise. I will rather wish that the earth may open and swallow me up alive the day and hour—I will not say commit—but even think of committing such a sin.

"My dear wife, I have shown you this way of replying in order that you may not use the same to me. I firmly and truly believe that at the present moment you are fully determined to remain chaste, and I desire you to remain of that opinion as long as nature will permit you. And understand that I do not wish you to break your vows unless you are unable to battle against the appetites of your frail and weak youth."

When the good merchant had finished his speech, his fair, kind, and gentle wife, her face all suffused with blushes, trembled, and could not for some moments reply to what her husband had said. Soon her blushes vanished, her confidence returned, and calling up all her courage, she replied in these words;

"My kind, and greatly beloved husband, I assure you that never have I been so disturbed and troubled by any speech I have ever heard, as I am now by your words, by which I learn something that I never heard or guessed. You know my simplicity, youth, and innocence, and you say that it is not possible at my age to avoid committing such a fault, and that you are sure and know positively that when you are away I shall not be able to preserve our marriage vow in its integrity. That speech greatly vexed my heart, and made me tremble, and I do not know how I can reply to your arguments. You have deprived me of the reply I should have made, but I can tell you from the bottom of my heart that with joined hands I beg most humbly of God that he may cause an abyss to open in which I may be thrown, that my limbs may be torn off, and that I may suffer a most cruel death, if ever the day comes when I shall not only be disloyal to our marriage vow, but even think for a brief moment of being disloyal. How, and in what manner I could be brought to commit such a crime, I am unable to comprehend. And as you have forbidden me to reply as I should, telling me that women are accustomed to make elusive and false excuses, I will to give you pleasure, and allay your suspicions, and that you may see that I am ready to obey and keep your commands, promise you this moment with firm and immutable faith and constancy, to await the day of your return in true, pure, and entire chastity of body, and may God forbid that the contrary should happen. Be fully assured that I will obey your orders in every respect. If there is anything else you wish or command, I beg of you to inform me, and I will perform your will (I desire nothing else) and not my own."

Our merchant, when he heard his wife's reply, was so overjoyed that he could not refrain from weeping, and said:

"My dearest spouse, since you have of your great kindness given me the promise that I required, I beg of you to keep it."

The following morning, the good merchant was sent for by his comrades to put to sea. So he took leave of his wife, and commended her to the care of God. Then he put to sea to sail to Alexandria where they arrived in a few days, the wind being favourable, at which place they stayed a long time both to deliver their merchandise and take in fresh cargoes.

During this time the gracious damsel of whom I have spoken remained in the house with, as her only companion, a little girl who served her. As I have said, this fair damsel was but fifteen years of age, therefore any fault that she committed must be imputed, not to a vicious character, but to youth and inexperience.

When the merchant had been absent many days, little by little she began to forget him. As soon as the young men of the city knew of his departure, they came to visit her. At first she would neither leave the house nor show herself, but as they continued to come daily, she, on account of the great pleasure she took in sweet and melodious songs and harmonies of all instruments, which they played outside her door, peeped through the crevices of the windows and the trellis so that she could see the musicians, and they for their part were quite willing to be seen.

In hearing these songs and dances she took so much pleasure, that her mind was filled with love, and the natural warmth of her affections often tempted her to incontinence. So often was she visited in this manner, that in the end her concupiscence and carnal desires conquered, and she was fairly hit by the dart of love. She often thought how easy it was for her to find time and place for any lover, for no one guarded her, and no one could prevent her putting her designs in execution, and she came to the conclusion that her husband was very wise when he said he was positive that she could not preserve continence and chastity, although she wished to keep the promise she had made to him.

"It is right then," she said to herself, "for me to follow my husband's advice; by doing which I shall incur no dishonour, since he himself gave me permission, and I shall not violate the promise I made him. I remember rightly that he charged me that if ever I broke my vow of chastity, that I should choose a man who was wise, of good fame, and great virtues, and no other. That is what I will really do, as I may without disobeying my husband's instructions, and by following his good advice which was ample for my purpose. I suppose that he did not intend that the man should be old, and it seems to me that he should be young, but having as good a reputation for learning and science as any old man. Such was my husband's advice, I remember."

At the same time that the damsel was making these reflections, and was searching for a wise and prudent, young man to cool her bowels, there fortunately arrived in the city a very wise young clerk, who had newly arrived from the university of Bologna, where he had been several years without once returning to his native city. Such attention had he given to his studies that there was not in all the country a clerk who enjoyed such a reputation amongst the learned men of the city, whom he assisted continually.

He was accustomed to go every day to the Town Hall on the market-place, and was obliged to pass before the house of the said damsel, who was much struck by his appearance and pleasant manners. And although he had never filled any clerical office, she came to the conclusion that he was a very learned clerk, and fell deeply in love with him, saying to herself that he would be the man to guard her husband's secret; but how she was to inform him of her great and ardent love, and reveal the secret desires of her mind she knew not,—at which she was much vexed.

She bethought herself that as every day he passed before her house on his way to the market place, that she would be upon her balcony, dressed as handsomely as possible, in order that when he passed he might notice her beauty, and so be led to desire those favours which would not be refused him.

Many times did the damsel so show herself, although that had not previously been her custom, and though she was pleasant to gaze upon, and her youthful mind was filled with thoughts of love, the wise clerk never perceived her, for in walking he glanced neither to the right nor left.

This plan of the damsel's was not as successful as she imagined it would be. She was very sorrowful, and the more she thought of the clerk, the more ardent did her desires become. At last, after a number of plans had suggested themselves to her, and which for the sake of brevity I pass over, she determined to send her little servant-maid to him. So she called her, and ordered her to go and ask for such-an-one,—that is to say, the learned clerk—and when she had found him, to tell him to come in haste to the house of such a damsel, the wife of so-and-so; and if he should ask what the damsel wanted, she was to reply that she knew not, but only knew that he was urgently required to come at once.

The little girl learned her message, and went forth to seek him; and she was soon shown a house where he was at dinner with a great company of his friends, and other people of high degree.

The girl entered the house, and saluting all the company, asked for the clerk, and delivered her message properly. The good clerk, who had been acquainted since his youth with the merchant of whom the girl spoke, and knew his house as he did his own, but was not aware that he was married or who was his wife, imagined that during the husband's absence, the wife had need of advice on some weighty matter, for he knew that the husband was away, and had no suspicion of the cause of his invitation. He said to the girl;

"My dear, go and tell your mistress that as soon as dinner is over I will come to her."

The messenger duly delivered these words, and God knows how she was received by her mistress. When she heard that the clerk, her lover, would come, she was more joyful than ever woman was, and owing to the great joy she felt at having the clerk in the house, she trembled and did not know what to do. She caused the house to be well swept, and fair herbage to be spread in her chamber, covered the bed and the couch with rich tapestry and embroidery, and dressed and adorned herself with her most precious belongings.

Then she waited a little time, which seemed to her marvellous long on account of the great desire she had, and so impatient was she for his arrival, and that she might perceive him coming afar off, she went up to her chamber and then came down again, and went now hither, now thither, and was so excited that it seemed as though she were out of her senses.

At last she went up to her chamber, and there laid out all the riches and delicacies that she had prepared to feast her lover. She made the little servant-maid stay below to let the clerk in, and conduct him to her mistress.

When he arrived, the servant-maid received him, and let him in and closed the door, leaving his servants outside, whom she told that they were to await their master's return.

The damsel, hearing that her lover had arrived, could not refrain from running down stairs to meet him, and she saluted him politely. Then she took his hand and led him to the chamber which she had prepared. He was much astonished when he arrived there, not only by the diversity of splendours that he saw, but also by the great beauty of the fair girl who conducted him.

As soon as they were in the chamber, she sat down on a stool by the couch, and made him sit on another by her side, and there they both sat for a certain time, without saying a word, for each waited for the other to speak, though in very different ways, for the clerk imagined that the damsel would consult him on some great and difficult matter, and wished her to begin; whilst she, on the other hand, knowing how wise and prudent he was, believed that he would know why he had been sent for without her telling him.

When she saw that he made no attempt to speak, she began, and said;

"My very dear and true friend, and learned man, I will tell you at once why I have sent for you. I believe that you are well-acquainted and familiar with my husband. He has left me, in the condition you now see me, whilst he goes to Alexandria to bring back merchandise, as he has long been used. Before his departure, he told me that when he was away, he was sure that my weak and fragile nature would cause me to lose my chastity, and that necessity would compel me to have intercourse with a man to quench the natural longings I should be sure to feel after his departure. And truly I deem him a very wise man, for that which I thought impossible I find has happened, for my youth, beauty, and nature rebel against wasting away in vain. That you may understand me plainly I will tell you that my wise and thoughtful husband when he left, knew that as all young and tender plants dry and wither when they cannot fulfil the needs of their nature, so it was likely to be with me. And seeing clearly that my nature and constitution were likely to be controlled by my natural desires, which I could not long resist, he made me swear and promise that, if nature should force me to become unchaste, I would choose a wise man of good position, who would carefully guard our secret. I do not think there is in all the city a man more worthy than yourself, for you are young and very wise. I do not suppose then that you will refuse me or repel me. You see me as I am, and you may, during the absence of my husband, supply his place if you wish, and without the knowledge of any one; place, time, and opportunity all favour us."

The gentleman was much surprised and moved at what the lady said, but he concealed his emotion. He took her right hand and with a smiling face addressed her in these words:

"I ought to render infinite thanks to Dame Fortune, who has to-day given me so much pleasure, and the attainment of the greatest happiness I could have in this world; never in my life will I call myself unfortunate, since Fortune has granted me this great favour. I may certainly say that I am to-day the happiest of men, for when I consider, my beautiful and kind mistress, how we may joyously pass our days together, without any person's knowledge or interference, I almost faint with joy. Where is the man more favoured by Fortune than I am? If it were not for one thing which forms a slight obstacle to our love affair, I should be the luckiest man on earth, and I am greatly vexed and annoyed that I cannot overcome that difficulty."

When the damsel, who had never imagined that any difficulty could arise, heard that there was an obstacle which would prevent her indulging her passions, she was very sad and sorrowful, and begged him to say what it was, in order that she might find a remedy if possible.

"The obstacle," he said, "is not so great that it cannot be removed in a little time, and, since you are kind enough to wish to know what it is, I will tell you. When I was studying at the University of Bologna, the people of the city rose in insurrection against their ruler. I was accused, along with some others, my companions, of having stirred up this insurrection, and I was closely imprisoned. When I found myself in prison, and in danger of losing my life, though I knew I was innocent, I made a vow to God, promising that if He would deliver me from prison and restore me to my friends and relations in this city, I would, for love of Him, fast for a whole year on bread and water, and during that fast would not allow my body to sin. Now I have, by His aid, accomplished the greater part of the year and but little remains. I would beg of you therefore, since it is your pleasure to choose me as your lover, not to change again for any man in the world, and not to fret over the little delay that is necessary for me to accomplish my fast, and which is now but a very short time, and would have been long since over if I had dared to confide in some one else who could help me, for any days that others will fast for me are counted as though I fasted myself. And as I perceive the great love and confidence you have for me, I will, if you wish, place a trust in you that I have never put in my brothers, nor my friends, nor relations. I will ask you to help me with the remaining part of the fast to accomplish the year, that I may the sooner aid you in the matter you have desired of me. My kind friend, I have but sixty days to fast, which—if it is your will and pleasure—I will divide in two parts, of which you shall have one and I will have the other, on condition that you promise to perform your part honestly and without fraud, and when all is completed, we will pass our days pleasantly. If therefore, you are willing to help me in the manner I have said, tell me at once."

It is to be supposed that this long delay was hardly pleasing to the young woman, but as her lover had asked her so kindly, and also because she wished the fast to be finished, that she might accomplish her desires with her lover, and thinking also that thirty days would not much interfere with her intentions, she promised to perform her share without fraud, deception, or imposition.

The good gentleman, seeing that he had won his case and that his affairs were prospering, took leave of the damsel, (who suspected no harm) and told her that as it was on his road from his home to the market-place to pass by her house, he would, without fail, often come and visit her, and so he departed.

The fair damsel began the next day her fast, making a rule for herself that during all the time of the fast she would eat nothing but bread and water until the sun had set.

When she had fasted three days, the wise clerk, as he was going to the market-place at the accustomed time, called upon the lady, with whom he talked long, and then, as he was saying farewell, asked her if she had commenced the fast? She replied she had.

"Can you continue," he said, "and keep your promise until all is finished?"

"I can entirely," she replied; "do not fear."

He took leave and departed, and she went on from day to day with her fast, and kept her vow as she had promised, such being her good-nature. Before she had fasted eight days, her natural heat began to decrease so much that she was forced to change her clothes and put on furs and thick garments, which are usually only worn in winter, instead of the light robes which she wore before she began the fast.

On the fifteenth day, she received a visit from her lover, who found her so weak that she could hardly move about the house, but the poor simpleton was firmly resolved not to practise any trickery, so deeply in love was she, and so firmly resolved to persevere with this fast, for the sake of the joys and pleasant delights which awaited her at the termination.

The clerk, when he entered the house, and saw her so feeble, said;

"What kind of face is that, and how is your health? Now I see that you are sorry you undertook this long fast! Ah, my sweetest love! have a firm and constant mind. We have to-day achieved the half of our task: if your nature is weak, conquer it by firmness and constancy of heart, and do not break your faithful promise."

He admonished her so kindly, that she took courage, so that it seemed to her that the remaining fifteen days would hardly be noticed.

The twentieth came, and the poor simpleton had lost all colour and seemed half dead, and felt no more desires of concupiscence than if she had been really dead. She was obliged to take to her bed and continually remain there, and then, it occurred to her mind that the clerk had caused her to fast to punish her carnal appetites, and she came to the conclusion that his methods were ingenious and effective, and would not have been thought of by a less clever and good man.

Nevertheless, she was not less resolved to go on to the ead, and thoroughly fulfil her promise.

On the last day but one of the fast, she sent for the clerk, who, when he saw her in bed asked her if she had lost courage now that there was only one day more to run?

But she, interrupting him, replied;

"Ah, my good friend, you loved me with a true and perfect love, and not dishonourably, as I dared to love you. Therefore I shall esteem you, as long as God gives life to me and to you, as my dearest and best friend, who protected, and taught me to protect, my chastity, and the honour and good name, of me, my husband, my relatives, and my friends. Blessed also be my dear husband, whose advice and counsels I have kept, to the great solace of my heart. But for you, my friend, I render you such thanks as I may, for your honourable conduct and your great kindness to me, for which I can never sufficiently requite you, nor can my friends."

The good and wise clerk, seeing that he had achieved his object, took leave of the fair damsel, and gently admonished her and advised her that she should in future correct her body by abstinence and fasting whenever she felt any prickings of lust. By which means she lived chastely until the return of her husband, who knew nothing of the matter, for she concealed it from him—and so also did the clerk.

THE END.



NOTES.

[Footnote 1: This story is taken from an old fabliau entitled Les Deux Changeurs, and has been copied by Malespini, Straparolla, and other Italian writers. Brantome, in Les Dames Galantes, records that, "Louis, Duc d'Orleans was a great seducer of Court ladies, and always the greatest. A beautiful and noble lady was sleeping with him when her husband came into the chamber to wish the Duke good-day. The Duke covered the lady's head with the sheet, and uncovered the rest of her body, and allowed the husband to look and touch as much as he liked, but forbade him, as he valued his life, to uncover her head—And the best of it was, that the next night, the husband being in bed with his wife told her that the Duke had shown him the most beautiful naked woman that ever he saw, but as to her face he could not report, being forbidden to see it. I leave you to imagine what his wife thought!" The lady was,—scandal averred—Mariette d'Enghien, the mother of the brave and handsome Comte de Dunois, known in French history as "the bastard of Orleans." In the M. S. discovered by Mr. Thomas Wright in the Hunterian Library at Glasgow, this story is ascribed to "Monseigneur le Duc," as is also the following one.]



[Footnote 3: Taken from the Facetiae of Poggio. It has been imitated by Straparolo, Malespini—whom it will be unnecessary to mention each time as he has copied the whole of the Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles with hardly one exception—Estienne (Apologie pour Herodote) La Fontaine (Contes, lib II, conte II) and others.

Monseigneur de la Roche, the author of the story, was Chamberlain to the Duke of Burgundy, at a salary of 36 sols per month. He was one of the wisest councillors of Philippe le Bel and Charles le Temeraire, and after the death of the latter was created Grand Seneschal of Burgundy. He died about 1498. He was one of the most prolific of all the contributors to the Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles, and related Nos 3, 8, 10, 12, 15, 18, 36, 37, 41, 44, 45, 47, 48, and 52.]



[Footnote 4: This and the three following stories are all original.]



[Footnote 5: An interesting anecdote of the "warlike and martial Talbot." Philippe de Laon was "squire of the stables" to the Duke of Burgundy in 1461. He contributed also Nos. 20, 21, 66, 67, 74, and 76.]



[Footnote 6: Jean de Lanoy (Launoy, in Verard's 1st ed.) created a knight of the Golden Fleece in 1451; an officer of the household of the D. of Burgundy. Louis XI, on his accession, created him Governor of Lille, and Bailli of Amiens, and sent him on a secret mission to the King of England. Charles le Temeraire, indignant with Lanoy for having gone over to his enemy, confiscated all his possessions in Brabant. After the death of Charles, Lanoy went back to Burgundy, and took an important share in the political events of the time. In some editions stories Nos 82, and 92 are ascribed to him; in others, the one is by Jehan Marten, and the other by "the Editor."]



[Footnote 8: Taken from Poggio (Repensa merces). Has been imitated by La Fontaine (Contes lib III, conte V.)]



[Footnote 9: An old story which forms the subject of a "fable" by Enguerrand d'Oisi (Le Meunier d'Aleu) also used by Boccaccio (Decameron 8th Day, 4th Story) and Poggio. Has since been imitated by Margaret of Navarre (story VIII) Boucher, Chapuys, and La Fortaine (les Quiproquos).]



[Footnote 10: So far as I am aware, this story first appeared in Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles. It was subsequently imitated by the Author of Les Joyeuses Adventures, and La Fontaine (Contes lib I. conte XII.)]



[Footnote 11: Taken from Poggio; afterwards used by Rabelais as "Hans Carvel's Ring", Pantagruel, lib 3, chap 28.]



[Footnote 12: The story is found in Poggio and the Cente Nouvelle Antiche. There have been many modern imitations, culminating in La Fontaine (Contes, lib 2. conte XII).]



[Footnote 13: By Jean d'Enghien, Sieur de Kessergat, an official at the Court of Burgundy, and also "Amant" or keeper of the Archives at Brussels. See also No. 53.]



[Footnote 14: Can be traced back to Josephus (History of the Jews lib XVIII. chap XIII.) Also found in Boccaccio, La Fontaine, and Marmontel (La Mari sylphe).

Jean de Crequy was a knight of the Golden Fleece, and one of the twelve nobles who carried the Duke's body at the funeral of Philippe le Bel. This is the only story he contributed.]



[Footnote 16: A very old story, probably of Eastern origin. It has been used by many story-tellers and is found in Boccaccio (Dec. day VII, story VI) the Gesta Romanorum, and in several of the collections of fabliaux. As for the versions of later date than the Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles, they are still more numerous. At least four of the followers of Boccaccio, also Marguerite of Navarre (Heptameron), Estienne (Apologie pour Herodote) and several others have used it, to my knowledge.]



[Footnote 18: Found in Boccaccio, Poggio, and several of the fabliaux. Copied several times during the 17th and 18th centuries, French writers apparently thinking that "the gentleman of Burgundy" acted up to his title, and was not a mean and contemptible scoundrel as most Englishmen would deem him.]



[Footnote 19: An amusing story, borrowed from the troubadours, and since copied by Sansovino, Chapuys, Grecourt, and the author of Joueuses Adventures.

Philippe Vignier was valet de chambre to the Duke of Burgundy in 1451. No. 86 is also ascribed to him in Mr. Wright's edition.]



[Footnote 21: From Poggio (Priapus vis) and also forms the subject of one of La Fontaine's Contes.]



[Footnote 22: Caron was "clerk of the chapel" to the Duke of Burgundy.]



[Footnote 23: From an old fabliau; since copied by several writers, French and Italian.

The author's name is given as Commesuram by Verard and as de Qucevrain in Mr. Wright's edition. He is possibly identical with Louis de Luxembourg, Count of St. Pol, whose name appears at the head of story 39. He also contributed Nos. 62 and 72.]



[Footnote 24: Taken from an old English ballad included in Percy's Reliques. It is curious that the author—de Fiennes—bears the same name as an English nobleman—Lord Saye and Sele.

Thebaut de Luxembourg (Monseigneur de Fiennes) after the death of his wife, Phillipine de Melun, turned monk, and lived to be Abbot of Igny and Orcamp, and finally Bishop of Mans. He died in 1477. He also wrote No. 43.]



[Footnote 25: Monseigneur de Saint Yon Was cup-bearer to Philippe le Bel, with a salary of 100 francs a year.]



[Footnote 26: Nothing is known of M. de Foquessoles the writer of this story.]



[Footnote 27: The name of de Beauvoir attached to this story proves that the tales were not edited till after 1461. For Jean de Montespedan followed Louis when he returned to take the throne, and was created by him seigneur of Beauvoir. He was a faithful follower of Louis, and in 1460 carried a letter from the Dauphin to Charles VII—no pleasant, or even safe, task. He also wrote No. 30.]



[Footnote 28: Michault de Changy was a Privy Councillor, Chamberlain, Chief Carver, and afterwards Steward, to Dukes Philip and Charles. He was the trusty confidant and adviser of the latter, who loaded him with favours. After the death of Charles le Temeraire, Louis XI confirmed de Changy in all the offices which he held in Burgundy. See also Nos. 40, 64, 79, and 80.]



[Footnote 31: An almost identical story is told of Henri de Guise in the Historiettes of Tallemant des Reaux.]

Jean d'Estuer, Seigneur de la Barde was a trusty servant of Louis XI and successively Seneschal of Limousin, Ambassador (or rather secret agent) to England, Seneschal of Lyon, and Governor of Perpignan.]



[Footnote 32: Taken from Poggio, and used afterwards by La Fontaine. De Villiers became one of the most trusted servants of Louis XI, and conducted many difficult and delicate negotiations for him.]



[Footnote 34: The original of this story is an old fabliau. It has been often imitated in more recent times.]



[Footnote 38: From Boccaccio (Dec., day VII, nov VIII) but is of Eastern origin, and is found in Bidpai. It was probably brought to France by the Crusaders, for it is met with in the fabliaux.

Antoine de Chateauneuf, Baron de Lau, was a favourite of Louis XI, who bestowed on him some important offices, and large sums of money. He afterwards fell into disgrace, and was imprisoned in the castle of Usson, in Auvergne, but managed to escape in 1468, retired to Burgundy, and seems to have made his peace with Louis and been restored to favour, for he was Governor of Perpignan in 1472. He died before 1485.]



[Footnote 39: The Comte de Saint Pol has been thought to be identical with M. de Commesuram, the author of several of the Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles. Saint Pol occupied an important part in history, and was Constable of France, but he tried to play a double game, and betrayed in turn both Louis and Charles the Bold. At last he was arrested, condemned, and executed, December, 1475.]



[Footnote 42: Herve Meriadech, a Breton squire and gallant soldier, who performed several gallant feats of arms. Louis XI named him Governor of Tournay in 1461.]



[Footnote 46: Much resembles No. XII. The author is believed to be Chrestien de Dygoigne, whose name appears at the head of story No. 68.]



[Footnote 47: This is believed to be a true story. The person who got rid of his wife in this cunning way was Caffrey Carles, President of the Parliament of Grenoble. He was skilled in Latin and "the humanities"—in the plural only it would appear—and was chosen by Anne of Brittany, the wife of Louis XII, to teach her daughter, Renee, afterwards Duchess of Perrara.

The story is so dramatic that it has been often imitated.]



[Footnote 50: By Antoine de la Sale, a short appreciation of whose literary merits appears in the Introduction. He has appended his own name to this story; in other cases he appears as "L'Acteur" that is to say the "Editor." (See No. 51). The story is taken from Sacchetti or Poggio. The idea has suggested itself to many writers, including Lawrence Sterne, in Tristram Shandy.]



[Footnote 52: Taken from Sacchetti.]



[Footnote 59: by Poncelet, or Pourcelet, one of the Council of the Duke of Burgundy.]



[Footnote 60: by Poncelet, or Pourcelet, one of the Council of the Duke of Burgundy. No. 60 is from an old fabliau, (Frere Denise, cordelier) and is to be found in the Heptameron, the Apologie pour Herodote etc.]



[Footnote 61: by Poncelet, or Pourcelet, one of the Council of the Duke of Burgundy. No. 61 is also from an old fabliau, (Les Cheveux coupe's). Mr. Wright also credits him with No. 89.]



[Footnote 63: is related by Montbleru himself, according to Mr. Wright's edition, but in Verard there is no author's name.]



[Footnote 64: From an old fabliau, and often imitated.]



[Footnote 69: M. Leroux de Lincy believes that Le Sage took the story of Dona Mencia,—intercalated in Gil Blas—from this tale.]



[Footnote 75: Gui, Seigneur de Thalemas died, without issue, in 1463.]



[Footnote 76: Taken from the Facetiae of Poggio.]



[Footnote 78: This story is originally found in Boccaccio (Dec. day VII, nov V) and in an old fabliau. (Le Chevalier qui fist sa femme confesser). La Fontaine has imitated it. See note on No. 82.]



[Footnote 79: Taken from the Facetiae of Poggio.]



[Footnote 80: Taken from the Facetiae of Poggio.]



[Footnote 81: By M. de Waulvrin (Vaurin), Chamberlain to the Duke of Burgundy. He wrote a history of England and France from the earliest times to 1471. Also contributed No. 83.]



[Footnote 82: In the Table of Contents of Verard's edition, this story is ascribed to Monseigneur de Lannoy, but at the head of the story itself the name of the author is given as Jean Martin, who also wrote No. 78. Jean Martin was chief sommelier du corps to Philippe le Bel. After the death of that Duke he did not remain in the service of Charles le Temeraire, but retired to Dijon, where he died, 28th Nov. 1475.]



[Footnote 84: In the Table of Contents this story is ascribed to the Marquis de Rothelin. He was Marquis de Hocheberg, Comte de Neufchatel (Switzerland) Seigneur de Rothelin etc. Marshal of Burgundy, and Grand Seneschal of Provence. In 1491, he was appointed Grand Chamberlain of France. He died in 1503.]



[Footnote 85: The story is taken from an old fabliau (Le Forgeron de Creil) and has been used also by Sachetti, Des Periers and others. No author's name is given in Verard, but in the M.S. from which Mr. Wright worked, the name of M. de Santilly is found at the head of this tale.]



[Footnote 88: Found also in Boccaccio (Dec. day VIII, nov. VII). Poggio (Fraus mulieris) and in several of the collections of fabliaux (La Bourgeoise d'Orleans).

Mr. Wright gives Alardin (who also contributed No. 77) as the author. An Alardin Bournel returned to France with Louis XI in 1461.]



[Footnote 90: Taken from the Facetiae of Poggio.]



[Footnote 91: Taken from the Facetiae of Poggio.]



[Footnote 93: Taken from the Facetiae of Poggio. According to Mr. Wright, by Timoleon Vignier, possibly a brother of Philippe Vignier.]



[Footnote 95: Taken from the Facetiae of Poggio.]



[Footnote 96: An exceedingly old story, found in a fabliau by Rutebeuf, Poggio's Facetiae (Canis testamentum) etc. It also occurs in a collection of Russian folk-lore tales.]



[Footnote 99: Also from Poggio's Facetiae (Sacerdotis virtus). Several of the saints have performed the same miracle in order to avoid the terrible sin of eating meat on a Friday. It was amongst the meritorious acts of one—St. Johannes Crucis—who was canonized as recently as 1840.]

THE END