STORY THE FIFTY-EIGHTH — SCORN FOR SCORN.
By Monseigneur.
Of two comrades who wished to make their mistresses better inclined towards them, and so indulged in debauchery, and said, that as after that their mistresses still scorned them, that they too must have played at the same game—as you will hear.
I knew, in the time of my green and virtuous youth, two gentlemen, good comrades, accomplished, and provided with every quality to be praised in a virtuous gentleman. They were friends, and were alike each other in every respect, not only bodily, but as regarded their clothes, their servants, and their horses.
It happened that they fell in love with two fair young damsels of good family and gracious, and they did for these fair ladies’ sake a hundred thousand little courtesies. Their vows were listened to—but nothing more. Perhaps the damsels had lovers already, or did not wish to have a love affair on their hands, for in truth the youths were both good fellows, such as many a noble lady would have liked for a lover.
Be that as it may, they could not win their ladies’ love, which caused them to pass many nights in God knows what sorrow, now cursing fortune, now love, and most often their mistresses for being so unkind. Whilst they were suffering this rage and grief, one of them said one day to his friend,
“We can see with half an eye that our mistresses do not care for us, and yet we more madly desire them than ever, and the more scorn and harshness they show us the more we desire to please, serve, and obey them! Upon my word this seems to me the height of folly. Let us, I pray you, think no more of them than they do of us, and you will see that when they know that, it will be their turn to seek and importune us.”
“Ah!” said the other, “very good advice, no doubt, but how can it be carried out?”
“I have found the means,” said the first. “I have always heard it said, and Ovid puts it in his book, The Remedy of Love, that to do—you know what—much and often, makes you forget or think little of the person with whom you are in love. I will tell you what we will do. We will take home with us a couple of nice young ‘cousins’ (*), and we will sleep with them, and commit every folly with them that our strength will permit, and then we will go and see our ladies, and the devil is in it if they do not then care for us.”
(*) Prostitutes. The word is doubtless derived from
coussin.
The other agreed, and the proposal was carried out, and each took home a nice wench. And after that they went to a great feast where their ladies were, and they flaunted in front of the damsels, chattering carelessly here and there, and seeming to say in a hundred thousand ways, “We do not care for you”, believing that, as they had devised, their mistresses would be displeased, and would try to make their lovers return to their allegiance.
But it happened quite otherwise, for if the youths appeared to think but little of the ladies, they on the other hand, showed openly that they cared nothing for the young men, which the latter perceived, and were much amazed at. The one said to his friend;
“Do you know what is the matter? Morbleu! our mistresses have done exactly what we have done. Do you not see how scornful they are? They carry themselves exactly as we do—and, believe me, for the very same reason. They have each chosen a paramour and indulged in folly to the utmost. Devil take the bitches! Let us leave them alone!”
“By my oath!” replied the other, “I believe it is as you say. I never expected to find them like this.”
So the two friends thought that their mistresses had done the same as they had done themselves, because the damsels took no more heed of them than they did of the damsels—which may not have been true, but was not difficult to believe.
STORY THE FIFTY-NINTH — THE SICK LOVER. [59]
By Poncelet.
Of a lord who pretended to be sick in order that he might lie with the servant maid, with whom his wife found him.
In the town of St. Omer there lived formerly a a good fellow, sergeant to the king, who was married to a good and chaste woman, who had, by a former marriage, a son grown up and married.
This good fellow, notwithstanding that he had a virtuous and prudent wife, made love day and night with whomsoever he had a chance, and as often as possible. And as in winter it was often inconvenient to go far to seek for his love affairs, he bethought himself and reflected that he need not leave home for a mistress, for that his wife’s maid was a very pretty, young, and well-mannered girl, and he might manage to become her lover.
In short, by gifts and promises, he obtained the girl’s permission to do whatever he wished, but there were difficulties in the way, for his wife, knowing her husband’s character, always kept an eye upon him.
Nevertheless, Cupid, who always comes to the help of his true followers, inspired his good and loyal worshipper with an idea by which he could accomplish his ends; for he pretended to be very sick of a chill, and said to his wife;
“My dear helpmate, come here! I am as ill as I can be; I must go to bed, and I beg of you to make all the servants go to bed too, in order that there may be no noise or disturbance, and then come to our chamber.”
The worthy woman, who was much vexed at her husband’s illness, did as she was ordered, and took fair sheets and warmed them, and put them over her husband after he was in bed. And when he had been well warmed for a long time, he said.
“My dear, that will suffice. I am well enough now, thanks be to God and to you for the trouble you have taken; and I beg of you to come and lie down by my side.”
She only desired her husband’s health and repose, and did as she was desired, and went to sleep as quickly as possible. As soon as he perceived she was asleep, he slipped quietly out of bed, and went to the servant’s bed, where he was well received, and broke so many lances that he was tired and worn out, and dropped off to sleep in her fair arms.
It often happens that when we go to bed vexed or melancholy we are easily awakened,—indeed that may be the cause of our waking, and so it happened to the wife. And as she took great care of her husband, she put out her hand to touch him, and discovered that he was not in the bed; and on feeling the pillow and the place where he had been lying, she found that they were cold, and that he had been out of bed a long time.
Then, in despair, she jumped out of bed and put on a chemise and a petticoat, and said to herself;
“Idle and worthless wretch that you are, you have much to reproach yourself with, for by your neglect you have let your husband die. Alas! why did I come to bed to-night and fall asleep; O Virgin Mary! I pray that nothing has happened to him through my fault, or I shall deem myself guilty of his death.”
After these regrets and lamentations, she went off to seek a light, and in order that the servant-maid might help her to find her lost husband, she went to her room to arouse her, and there found the happy pair, asleep locked in each other’s arms, and it seemed that they must have worked well that night, for they were not awakened by her coming into the room or by the light she carried.
She was glad that her husband was not as ill as she had feared or expected; and went to seek her children and all the servants of the household, and brought them to see the couple, and asked them in a low voice, who that was in the maid’s bed, sleeping with her? And the children replied that it was their father, and the servants that it was their master. Then she led them out, and made them go to bed again, for it was too early to get up, and she also went back to bed, but did not sleep again till it was time to rise.
Soon after she had left the lovers, they woke up, and took leave of each other amorously. The master returned to bed, to his wife’s side, without saying a word, nor did she, but pretended to be asleep, at which he was very glad, thinking that she knew nothing of his adventure, for he greatly feared her, both for his peace and that of the girl. So he slept soundly, and his wife, as soon as it was time to get up, rose, and to please her husband, and give him something comforting after the laxative medicine that he had taken that night, woke up her servants, and called her maid, and told her to kill the two fattest capons in the fowl-house, and prepare them nicely, and then go to the butcher and buy the best bit of beef she could procure, and put it in water to make a good soup, as she well knew how, for she was a capital cook.
The girl, who heartily desired to please her mistress and her master, the one for love and the other from fear, said that she would willingly do all that was commanded.
Then the wife went to Mass, and on her return passed by the house of her son, of whom I have spoken, and asked him to come and dine with her husband, and to bring with him three or four good fellows whom she named, and whom she and her husband wished invited.
Then she returned home to see after the dinner, and found that her husband had gone to church. Meanwhile, her son had gone round to invite the guests his mother had named, and who were the greatest jokers in St. Omer.
The good man came back from Mass, and embraced his wife, and she did the same to him, and, in order that he should not suspect anything, she said that she rejoiced at his recovery, for which he thanked her, and said;
“Indeed I am in fairly good health, my dear, after last night, and I think I have a very good appetite, so we will have dinner at once if you like.”
She replied, “I am very glad to hear, it but you must wait a little till the dinner is ready; and until such and such people, whom I have invited to dine with you, have arrived.”
“Invited!” said he, “and for what reason? I do not care about them and would rather they stayed where they are; for they jest at everything, and if they know I have been ill, they will tease me about it. At least, my dear, let me beg of you to say nothing about it. And there is another thing—what will they eat?”
She said he need not trouble about that; they would have enough to eat, for she had dressed the two best capons, as well as a fine piece of beef, and all in his honour, at which he was very glad, and said it was well done.
Soon after came those who had been invited, and the woman’s son. And when all was ready, they sat at the table and made good cheer, especially the host, and they drank often one to another.
The host said to his stepson;
“John, my friend, drink with your mother, and enjoy yourself.”
And he replied that he would willingly do so; and when he drank to his mother, the maid, who was waiting at table came into the room.
Then the wife called her, and said,
“Come here, my dear friend and companion! drink to me, and I will pledge thee.”
“Friend and companion!” said the host. “What is the meaning of all this affection? What mischief is brewing now? This is something new!”
“Indeed, she is truly my honest and trusted companion! Why do you wonder at that?”
“Oh, the devil, Joan! take care what you say! Any one would think there was something between her and me.”
“And why should they not?” she said. “Did I not find you last night lying in her bed, and sleeping in her arms?”
“In her bed?” he said.
“Truly, yes,” she replied.
“On my honour, gentlemen, it is not true, and she only says so to spite me, and bring shame on the poor girl, for she never saw me there.”
“The devil I did not!” she replied. “You shall hear the statement again from those of your own household.”
With that she called the children, and the servants who were standing there, and asked them if they had not seen their father lying with the maid, and they answered, yes.
“You lie, you naughty boys,” replied their father. “Your mother told you to say it.”
“Begging your pardon, father, we saw you there; and so did the servants.”
“Is that so?” asked the lady of the servants.
“That is quite true,” they replied.
Then all who were present laughed loudly, and teased him terribly, for his wife related all about his pretended illness, and what he had done, and how she had prepared the dinner and invited his friends in order to make the story known, at which he was so ashamed that he hardly dared hold up his head, and did not know what to reply except to say,
“Go on! you are all against me, so I will hold my tongue and let you have your own way, for I can’t contend against the lot of you.”
Afterwards he ordered the table to be removed, and when grace was said, he called his stepson and whispered to him;
“John, my friend, although the others accuse me, I know that you believe me. See how much is owing to that poor girl, and pay her so liberally that she will have no cause to complain, and send her away; for I know well that your mother will never permit her to stay in the house.”
The stepson went and did as he was ordered, then he returned to the friends whom he had brought, whom he found talking to his mother, then they thanked her for their entertainment, and took leave and went.
The husband and wife remained at home, and it is to be supposed that he did not hear the last of it for some time. For the poor husband did not drain his cup of bitterness at the dinner-table, but found that the proverb about dogs, hawks, war, and love, which says, “Every pleasure has a thousand sorrows,” is true. But none should run the risk if they are not prepared to pay the penalty. Thus did it happen that the adventure of this worthy fellow ended in the manner related.
STORY THE SIXTIETH — THREE VERY MINOR BROTHERS. [60]
By Poncelet.
Of three women of Malines, who were acquainted with three cordeliers, and had their heads shaved, and donned the gown that they might not be recognised, and how it was made known.
Formerly there were in the town of Malines three damsels, the wives of three burghers of the town,—rich, powerful, and of good position, who were in love with three Minor Friars; and to more secretly and covertly manage their amours under the cloak of religion, they rose every day an hour or two before dawn, and when it appeared a fit time to go and see their lovers, they told their husbands they were going to matins to the first Mass.
Owing to the great pleasure that they took in these exercises and the monks also, it often happened that it was broad daylight, and they could not leave the convent without being perceived by the other monks. Therefore, fearing the great perils and inconveniences which might arise, they arranged between them that each should wear a monk’s gown, and have a tonsure made on her head, as though they belonged to the convent. So finally one day that they were in the convent, and whilst their husbands suspected nothing of it, a barber,—that is to say a monk belonging to the convent—was sent for secretly to the cells of the three brothers, and he cut a tonsure on the head of each.
And when the time came to leave, they put on the friars’ gowns with which they were provided, and in that state returned to their respective homes, and undressed, and left their disguise with certain discreet matrons, and then returned to their husbands; and this continued for a long while, without any person being aware of it.
But since it would have been a great pity that such excessive devotion should not be known, fortune so willed that as on a certain day one of these ladies was on her road to the accustomed haunt, her trick was discovered, and she was caught in her disguise by her husband, who had followed her, and who said:
“Good brother, I am glad to have met you! I would beg of you to return to my house, for I have many things to say to you,” and with that he took her back, at which she hardly felt joyful.
When they were in the house, the husband said, in a joking manner;
“My dear helpmate, can you swear on your honour that it is true piety, which in the middle of winter, causes you to don the habit of St. Francis, and have your head shaved like the good monks? Tell me the name of your confessor, or by St. Francis you shall suffer for it,”—and he pretended to draw his dagger.
The poor woman threw herself on her knees, and cried;
“Have mercy upon me, husband! for I have been led astray by bad companions! I know that you could kill me if you liked, and that I have not behaved as I should, but I am not the only one the monks have led astray, and, if you promise that you will do nothing to me, I will tell you all.”
To this her husband agreed; and then she told him how she often went to the monastery with two of her cronies who were in love with two of the monks, and they often breakfasted together in the monks’ cells. “A third monk was in love with me,” she continued, “and made such humble and impassioned requests to me that I could not excuse myself, and by the instigation and example of my companions, I did as they did, they all saying that we should have a good time together, and no one would know about it.”
Then the husband demanded the names of her female friends, and she told him. He was acquainted with their husbands, and they had often eaten and drunk together. Finally, he asked who was the barber, and the names of the three monks.
The good husband, after considering all things, and moved by the piteous groans and sad regrets of his wife, said;
“Take care that you tell no one that you have spoken to me on this matter, and I promise you that I will do you no harm.”
She promised that she would do whatever he wished. With that he went away at once, and invited to dinner the two husbands and their wives, the three Cordeliers, and the barber, and they all promised to come.
The next day they all came, and sat at table, and enjoyed themselves without expecting any bad news. After the table was removed, they had many joyous jests and devices to discover who should pay scot for all, and as they could not agree, the host said;
“Since we cannot agree as to who is to pay the reckoning, I will tell you what we will do. The one who has the baldest crown to his head shall pay—of course excluding these good monks, who pay nothing—at present.”
To which they all agreed, and were content that it should be thus, and that the barber should be the judge. And when all the men had shown their heads, the host said that they ought to look at their wives’ heads.
It need not be asked if there were not some there present who felt their hearts sink within them. Without an instant’s delay, the host uncovered his wife’s head, and when he saw the tonsure he pretended to admire it greatly, pretending that he knew nothing about it, and said,
“We must see if the others are the same.”
Then their husbands made them remove their head-dresses, and they were found to be tonsured like the first one, at which the men were not best pleased, notwithstanding that they laughed loudly, and declared that the question had been settled, and that it was for their wives to pay the reckoning.
But they wished to know how these tonsures came there, and the host, rejoicing to be able to divulge such a secret, related the whole affair, on condition that they would pardon their wives this time, after they had been witnesses of the penance the good monks were to undergo in their presence,—and to this both husbands agreed.
Then the host caused four or five sturdy varlets to come out of a chamber near by, and they, knowing what they had to do, seized the worthy monks and gave them as many blows as they could find room for on their shoulders, and then turned them out of the house. The others remained for a certain space, and it is to be supposed that a good deal of conversation passed between them, but as it would take too long to recount, I pass it over here, for the sake of brevity.
STORY THE SIXTY-FIRST — CUCKOLDED—AND DUPED. [61]
By Poncelet.
Of a merchant who locked up in a bin his wife’s lover, and she secretly put an ass there which caused her husband to be covered with confusion.
It happened once that in a large town of Hainault there lived a good merchant married to a worthy woman. He travelled much, to buy and sell his merchandise, and this caused his wife to have a lover in his absence, and this continued for a long time.
Nevertheless, the secret was at last discovered by a neighbour, who was a relative of the husband, and lived opposite the merchant’s house, and who often saw a gallant enter the merchant’s house at night and leave in the morning. Which matter was brought to the knowledge of the person to whose prejudice it was, by this neighbour.
The merchant was much vexed, nevertheless he thanked his relative and neighbour, and said that he would shortly see into the matter, and for that purpose would shut himself up one night in his neighbour’s house, that he might see if anyone visited his wife.
Lastly, he pretended to start on a journey, and told his wife and his servants that he did not know when he should return. He started in the early morning, but returned the same evening, and having left his horse at some house, came secretly to his cousin, and peeped through a little lattice, expecting to see that which would hardly have pleased him.
He waited till about nine o’clock, when the gallant, whom the damsel had informed that her husband was away, passed once or twice before his lady-love’s house, and looked at the door to see if he might enter, but found it closed. He guessed that it was not yet time, and whilst he strolled about waiting, the good merchant, who thought that this was the man he wanted, came down, and went to his door, and said,
“Friend, the lady heard you, and as she is afraid that the master may come back, she sent me down to let you in, if you please.”
The gallant, thinking it was the servant, followed him, the door was opened gently, and he was conducted into a chamber in which there was a large bin, which the merchant unlocked and made the young man enter, that he should not be discovered if the husband returned. “My mistress will come and talk to you and let you out,” added the merchant as he turned the key in the lock.
The gallant suffered all this for the sake of what was to follow, and because he believed that the other spoke the truth.
Then the merchant started off at once as quickly as he could, and went to the cousin and his wife, and said to them:
“The rat is caught; but now we must consider what to do.”
The cousin, and more particularly his wife—for there was no love lost between the two women—were very glad to hear this, and said that it would be best for him to show the gallant to all his wife’s relations in order that they might know how she conducted herself.
This being determined on, the merchant went to the house of his wife’s father and mother, and told them that if ever they wished to see their daughter alive they must come at once to his house.
They jumped up at once, and, whilst they were preparing, he also went off to two of her brothers and her sisters, and told them the same thing. Then he took them all to the cousin’s house, and related the whole history, and how the rat had been caught.
Now you must know what the gallant did in the bin all the time, until he was luckily released. The damsel, who wondered greatly that her lover did not come, went backwards and forwards to the door, to see if he were coming. The young man, who heard her pass close to him without ever speaking to him, began to thump with his fist on the side of the bin. The damsel heard it, and was greatly frightened; nevertheless she asked who was there, and the gallant replied;
“Alas, my dearest love, I am dying here of heat and doubt, for I am much surprised that I have been shut in here, and that no one has yet come to me.”
“Virgin Mary! who can have put you there, my dear?”
“By my oath I know not,” he replied; “but your varlet came to me and told me that you had asked him to bring me into the house, and that I was to get into this bin, that the husband might not find me if by chance he should come back to-night.”
“Ah!” said she, “by my life that must have been my husband. I am a lost woman; and our secret has been discovered.”
“Do you know what is to be done?” he said. “In the first place you must let me out, or I will break everything, for I can no longer endure being shut up.”
“By my oath!” said the damsel, “I have not the key; and if you break through, I am undone, for my husband will say that I did it to save you.”
Finally, the damsel searched about, and found a lot of old keys, amongst which was one that delivered the poor captive. As soon as he was out, he tumbled the lady, to show her what a grudge he had against her, which she bore patiently. After that her lover would have left her, but the damsel hung round his neck, and told him that if he went away like that, she would be as much dishonoured as though he had broken out of the bin.
“What is to be done then?” said the gallant.
“We must put something there for my husband to find, or he will think that I have let you out.”
“And what shall we put there?” asked the lover. “For it is time for me to go.”
“We have in the stable,” she said, “an ass, that we will put in if you will help me.”
“Certainly, I will,” he answered.
The ass was driven into the bin, and it was locked again, and then her lover took leave of her with a sweet kiss, and left by a back-door, whilst the damsel quickly got into bed.
Whilst these things were happening, her husband had assembled all his wife’s relatives, and brought them to his cousin’s house, as has been said, where he informed them of what he had done, and how he had caught the gallant, and had him under lock and key.
“And in order that you shall not say,” he added, “that I blame your daughter without cause, you shall both see and touch the scoundrel who has done us this dishonour, and I beg that he may be killed before he can get away.”
Every one present declared that it should be so.
“And then,” said the merchant, “I will send you back your daughter for such as she is.”
With that they all accompanied him, though sorrowing much at the news, and they took with them torches and flambeaux, so as to be better able to search, and that nothing should escape them.
They knocked so loudly that the damsel came before anyone else in the house was awakened, and opened the door, and when they had come in, she abused her husband, her father, her mother, and the others, and declared that she wondered greatly what could have brought them all at that hour of the night. At these words her husband stepped forward, and gave her a good buffet, and said,
“You shall know soon enough, false such and such that you are.”
“Ah! take care what you say. Was it for that you brought my father and mother here?”
“Yes,” said the mother, “false wench that you are. We will drag forth your paramour directly.”
And her sisters said,
“By God, sister you did not learn at home to behave like this.”
“Sisters,” she replied, “by all the saints of Rome, I have done nothing that a good woman should not do. I should like to see anyone prove the contrary.”
“You lie!” said her husband. “I can prove it at once, and the rascal shall be killed in your presence. Up quickly! and open me this bin.”
“I?” she replied. “In truth I think you must be dreaming, or out of your senses, for you know well that I have never had the key, but that it hangs at your belt along with the others, ever since the time that you locked up your goods. If you want to open it, open it. But I pray to God that, as truly as I have never kept company with whoever is in that box, that He will deliver me, to my great joy, and that the evil spite that you have against me may be clearly proved and demonstrated—and I have full hope and confidence that it will be so.”
“And I hope,” said her husband, addressing the crowd, “that you will see her on her knees, weeping and groaning, and squalling like a drenched cat. She would deceive anybody who was fool enough to believe her, but I have suspected her for a long time past. Now I am going to unlock the bin, and I beg you, gentlemen, to lay hands on the scoundrel, that he escape us not, for he is strong and bold.”
“Have no fear!” they cried in chorus. “We will give a good account of him.”
“With that they drew their swords, and brandished their hammers to knock down the poor lover, and they shouted to him,
“Confess your sins! for you will never have a priest nearer you.”
The mother and sisters, not wishing to witness the murder, drew on one side, and then the good man opened the bin, and as soon as the ass saw the light, it began to bray so hideously that the boldest person there was affrighted.
And when they saw that it was an ass, and that they had been befooled, they cursed the merchant, and showered more abuse on him than ever St. Peter had praise, and even the women inveighed against him. In fact, if he had not fled, his wife’s brothers would have killed him, in revenge for the blame and dishonour he had wrongly tried to bring on the family.
There was such ado between him and his wife’s family that peace had to be made between them by the chief burghers of the town, and this was not effected without much trouble, and many demands on the part of her friends, and many strict promises on his part. But ever after that he was all kindness and consideration, and never did a man conduct himself better to his wife than he did all his life; and thus they passed their days together.
