STORY THE SEVENTY-SEVENTH — THE SLEEVELESS ROBE.
By Alardin.
Of a gentleman of Flanders, who went to reside in France, but whilst he was there his mother was very ill in Flanders; and how he often went to visit her believing that she would die, and what he said and how he behaved, as you will hear later.
A gentleman of Flanders had a mother who was very old and much weakened by disease, and more sick and infirm than any woman of her age. Hoping that she would get better, and be cured, he often came to see her, although he resided in France, and each time that he came he found her suffering so much that he thought her soul was about to leave her body.
On one occasion that he came to see her, she said to him at his departure.
“Adieu, my son; I am sure that you will never see me again for I am about to die.”
“Devil take it, mother, you have said that so often that I am sick of it. For three years past you have been repeating that, but you have done nothing of the kind. Choose a day, I beg, and keep to it.”
The good woman, when she heard her son’s reply, smiled, though she was so sick and old, and said farewell.
One year, then two years, passed, and still she lingered on. She was again visited by her son, and one night when he was in bed in her house, and she was so ill that all believed she was about to go to Mortaigne, (*) those who watched her called her son, and told him to come to his mother quickly, for that certainly she was about to die.
(*) Mild puns on the names of places were very common in the
Middle Ages.
“Do you say that she is about to die?” he replied. “By my soul, I will not believe it; she always says that, but she never does it.”
“No, no,” said the nurses; “this time it is certain. Come quickly for it is sure that she is dying.”
“Very well, you go first and I will follow you; and tell my mother that if she must go, not to go by Douai, for the road is so bad that I and my horses were nearly swallowed up yesterday.”
Nevertheless he rose, and put on his dressing-gown, and went off to see his mother give her last grin. When he came he found her very ill, for she had been in a swoon which all thought would carry her off, but, thank God, she was now a little better.
“Did I not tell you so?” said this good son. “Every body in this house declares, and she does herself, that she is dying—but nothing comes of it. For God’s sake choose a day—as I have often told you—and see that you keep to it! I am going to return whence I came, and I recommend you not to call me again. If she does die she must die alone, for I will not keep her company.”
Now I must tell you the end of this history. The lady, ill as she was, recovered from this extreme sickness, and lived and languished as before for the space of three years, during which time her good son visited her once, and that was just as she was about to give up the ghost. But when they came to seek him to come to her deathbed, he was trying on a new habit and would not come. Message after message was sent to him, for his good mother, who was nearing her end, wished to recommend her soul to her son’s care,—but to all the messages he replied;
“I am sure there is no hurry: she will wait till my habit is finished.”
At last so many remonstrances were made to him that he went to his mother, wearing a doublet with no sleeves to it, which, when she saw, she asked him where were the sleeves.
“They are within there,—waiting to be finished as soon as you clear out of the place.”
“Then they will be soon finished,” she replied; “for I go to God, to whom I humbly recommend my soul; and to you also, my son.”
Without another word she rendered her soul to God, with the Cross between her arms; on seeing which her good son began to weep so loudly that no one had ever heard the like; he could not be comforted, and at the end of a fortnight he died of grief.
STORY THE SEVENTY-EIGHTH — THE HUSBAND TURNED CONFESSOR. [78]
By Jehan Martin.
Of a married gentleman who made many long voyages, during which time his good and virtuous wife made the acquaintance of three good fellows, as you will hear; and how she confessed her amours to her husband when he returned from his travels, thinking she was confessing to the curé, and how she excused herself, as will appear.
The province of Brabant is a fair and pleasant land, well provided with pretty girls, who are generally clever and good; but as for the men, it is said of them, with a good deal of truth, that the longer they live the greater fools they become.
There was formerly a gentleman of this land who—being thereunto born and destined—travelled much beyond seas to various places, as Cyprus, Rhodes, and the adjacent parts, and at last came to Jerusalem, where he received the order of knighthood.
During the time that he was away, his good wife was not idle, but took her quoniam with three lovers, who like courtiers, each had audience in turn and for a certain time.
First came a gentle squire, fresh and frisky, and in good health, who spent so much upon her, physically and pecuniarily (for in truth she plucked him well) that at last he was sick of it, and left her altogether.
The one who came after him was a knight, and a man of a great reputation, who was very glad to have acquired the succession, and worked her as well as he could, paying his quibus (*), which no one knew better than this lusty wench how to get out of a man. In short, if the squire, who had previously held the position, had been plucked, the knight was not less so, until at last he turned tail, took leave of her, and left the place open to the next comer.
(*) Property or wealth; the expression is still used in
familiar conversation.
As a tit-bit to finish with, the damsel made the acquaintance of a rich priest, and although he was cunning enough, and not over liberal with money, he was despoiled of rich gowns, vessels, and other valuables.
Now it happened, thank God, that the husband of the wench let her know that he was coming home; and how he had been made a knight at Jerusalem. His good wife had the house cleaned and prepared as well as possible. Everything was ready for his return, except the lady, and she was somewhat disturbed on account of the vast quantity of booty—tapestry, furniture, vessels, and other valuables—which she had gained upon her back.
When her husband arrived, God knows what a joyful reception he had, especially from the one who cared least about him, that is to say his worthy wife.
I pass over all the welcomings, but her husband, although he was a fool, could not help quickly noticing the heap of furniture, which was not there at his departure. He went to the coffers, the buffets, and a number of other places, and everywhere he found his store increased, and the sight of all this booty filled his mind with evil thoughts, and in a hot temper he called for his wife, and demanded to know whence had come all these goods I have already-named.
“By St. John,” said the lady, “that is a nice question. You have good reason to go on like this and get so warm. To look at you one would think you were cross.”
“I am not in the best of tempers,” he replied; “for I did not leave you so much money that you could have saved enough to buy all these utensils, hangings, and the other things that I find here. I suspect, with good reason, that our household has been increased by some friend of yours during my absence.”
“By God!” replied the lady, “you are wrong to suspect me of such misconduct. I would have you to know that I am not a woman of that kind, but a better wife in every respect than you deserve; and it is not right that after all the trouble I have taken to save and economise to embellish and adorn your house and mine, that I should be reproved and scolded. That is not at all the sort of reward that a good husband should give to a chaste wife such as you have, you wicked wretch. It is a great pity I have not been unfaithful to you, and I would be if I did not value my honour and my soul.”
This quarrel, though it lasted a long while, ceased for a time, for the husband thought of a plan how to find out the truth about his wife. He arranged with the curé, who was a great friend of his, that he should hear her confession, and this he did with the help of the curé, who managed the whole affair, for one morning in Easter week, the curé made the husband put on the priest’s robe, and then sent word to the lady to come and confess.
It need not be asked if the husband was glad when he found himself thus disguised. He went to the chapel, and entered the confessional without saying a word; his wife approached and knelt at his feet, really believing she was confessing to the curé, and said Benedicite. To this her husband replied Dominus, as the curé had taught him, and whatever else was necessary, as well as he could manage it.
After the good woman had made a general confession, she descended to particulars, and told how, during the time that her husband had been away, a squire had been his deputy, and from him she had acquired much property, in gold, in silver, and in furniture.
God knows that the husband, when he heard this confession did not feel very comfortable; he would willingly have killed her on the spot if he had dared, nevertheless he was patient in order that he might hear the rest.
When she had said all there was to say about the squire, she accused herself of misconduct with the knight, who, like his predecessor, had paid her well. The good husband, nearly bursting with grief, had a good mind to discover himself and give her absolution without more ado, but he did nothing of the kind, and waited to hear what more she would say.
After the knight came the turn of the priest, and at this the good husband lost patience and would hear no more; he threw aside hood and gown, and, showing himself said;
“False and perfidious woman! now I see and know your treason! And would not a squire and a knight suffice you, but you must give yourself up to a priest? This vexes me more than all the other sins you have committed.”
For a moment this brave dame was taken aback, but soon recovered her confidence, and with a face as calm as though she had been the most just and virtuous woman in the world, saying her prayers to God, she replied as calmly as though the Holy Spirit had inspired her,
“Poor fool! why do you thus worry yourself, you know not wherefore? Listen to me, if you please; and be assured that I knew perfectly well that I was confessing to you. I served you as you deserved, and without one word of falsehood confessed to you the real circumstances. These are the facts: you are the squire who slept with me, for when I married you, you were a squire, and did with me as you wished; you are the knight of whom I spoke, for on your return you made me a lady; and you are the priest also, for no one who is not a priest can hear a confession.”
“By my oath, my dear,” he replied, “you have convinced me, and proved to me that you are a virtuous woman and that I was wrong to accuse you. I repent, and ask your pardon, and promise never to suspect you again.”
“I willingly pardon you,” said his wife, “since you confess your fault.”
Thus, as you have heard, was the good knight deceived by the ready wit of his wife.
STORY THE SEVENTY-NINTH — THE LOST ASS FOUND. [79]
By Michault De Changy.
Of a good man of Bourbonnais who went to seek the advice of a wise man of that place about an ass that he had lost, and how he believed that he miraculously recovered the said ass, as you will hear hereafter.
In the fair land of Bourbonnais, where many good professions are carried on, there lived, not long ago, a doctor of God knows what sort, for never Hippocrates or Galen practised the science as he did. For instead of syrups, decoctions, electuaries, and the hundred thousand other things that physicians order to preserve the health of man, or restore it if it is lost, this good doctor of whom I am speaking had only one method of procedure, and that was to order clysters. Whatever matter was brought to him, (*) he always exhibited clysters, and generally so well did this remedy turn out that everyone was satisfied with him, and he cured them all, so that his fame spread abroad and increased in such a manner that he was called “Master” Jehan (**) by all, both in the houses of princes and lords, and in the great abbeys, and in the towns, and never was Aristotle or Galen so honoured, especially by the common people, as was our said Master. And his fame so increased that his advice was asked on every subject, and he was so incessantly in demand that he did not know what to do. If a woman had a bad, or whimsical, or capricious husband, she went to this good master for a remedy. In short, if any could give good advice it was thought that our physician was at the top of the tree in that respect, and people came to him from all parts to enquire about lost property.
(*) It was usual to bring the urine of an invalid to the
physician.
(**) “Master” was then a title of honour.
It happened one day that a poor foolish countryman had lost his ass, and after seeking for it a long time, he determined to go to the wise man, who when he arrived was so surrounded by people that the countryman could not make himself heard. At last he broke through the crowd, and, in the presence of many persons, related his case, that is to say that he had lost his ass, and asked the doctor to get it back for him.
The master, who was listening to others more than to him, just heard the sound of the words, and thinking he had some infirmity, turned towards him, and in order to get rid of him, said to his servants,
“Give him a clyster!”
The poor man who had lost his ass, did not know what the master had said, but he was seized by the physician’s servants, who led him away and gave him a clyster—at which he was much astonished, for he did not know what it was.
When he had this clyster in his belly, he went away, without saying anything more about his ass, which he fully believed he should recover.
He had not gone far when his belly was so tossed about that he was forced to turn aside into a deserted hut, because of the clyster which demanded to be let out. And when he began, he made such a terrible noise, that his ass, which chanced to be straying near, began to bray, and the good man rose up and cried, Te Deum laudamus, and went to his ass, which he believed he had found by means of the clyster which he had had from the Master, who after that had incomparably more renown than ever; for he was looked-upon as the sure finder of all lost goods, and the perfect master of all science, and all this fame sprang from a single clyster.
Thus have you heard how the ass was found by means of a clyster; it is a manifest fact, and one that often happens.
STORY THE EIGHTIETH — GOOD MEASURE! [80]
By Michault De Changy.
Of a young German girl, aged fifteen or sixteen or thereabouts who was married to a gentle gallant, and who complained that her husband had too small an organ for her liking, because she had seen a young ass of only six months old which had a bigger instrument than her husband, who was 24 or 26 years old.
I have heard it related as true by two noble lords worthy of faith and belief, that in the borders of Germany there lived a young girl, who at the age of about 15 or 16 years was married to a worthy gentleman, who did his best to satisfy the demands which, without saying a word, all girls of that age and condition earnestly ask for. But though the poor man did his duty well, and indeed more often than he should, the performance was never agreeable to his wife, who was always sulky, and often wept as sadly as though all her friends were dead. Her good husband, seeing her thus lament, could not imagine what she could want, and asked her tenderly;
“What is the matter, my dear? Are you not as well clothed, lodged, and served, as people in our position of life can reasonably expect to be?”
“It is not that which vexes me,” she replied.
“Then what can it be?” he asked. “Tell me, and if I can remedy it, I will, at whatever cost to my purse or person.”
Generally, she did not reply, but still sulked, and looked miserable, at which her husband lost his patience, finding she would not tell him the cause of her grief. But he enquired so often that at last he learned partly what was the matter, for she told him that she was vexed because he was so poorly furnished with you-know-what—that is to say the stick with which you plant men, as Boccaccio calls it.
“Indeed!” said he, “and is that why you grieve? By St. Martin you have good cause! At any rate it cannot be other than it is, and you must put up with it, since you cannot change it.”
This condition of affairs lasted a long time, till the husband, tired of her obstinacy, one day invited to dinner a great number of her friends, and stated the facts which have been already related, and said that it seemed to him that she had no particular cause to grieve, for he believed he was as well furnished with a natural instrument as any of his neighbours.
“And that I may be the better believed,” he said, “and that you may see how wrong she is, I will show it you all.”
With that he laid his furniture on the table before all the men and women there assembled, and said; “There it is!” and his wife wept louder than ever.
“By St. John!” said her mother, her sister, her aunt, her cousin, and her neighbour, “you are wrong, my dear! What do you ask? Do you expect more? Who would not be satisfied with a husband so furnished? So help me God I should deem myself very happy to have as much, or indeed less. Be comforted and enjoy yourself in future! By God, you are better off than any of us I believe.”
The young bride, hearing all the women thus speak, replied, still weeping loudly.
“There is a little ass in the house, hardly half a year old, and who has an instrument as big, as thick, and as long as your arm,”—and so saying she held her arm by the elbow and shook it up and down—“and my husband, who is quite 24 years old has but that little bit he has shown you. Do you think I ought to be satisfied?” Everyone began to laugh, and she to weep the more, so that for a long time not a word was said by any of the company. Then her mother took the girl aside, and said one thing and another to her, and left her satisfied after a great deal of trouble.
That is the way with the girls in Germany—if God pleases it will soon be the same also in France.
STORY THE EIGHTY-FIRST — BETWEEN TWO STOOLS. [81]
By Monseigneur De Waurin.
Of a noble knight who was in love with a beautiful young married lady, and thought himself in her good graces, and also in those of another lady, her neighbour; but lost both as is afterwards recorded.
As all the stories of asses are now finished, I will relate shortly a true story of a knight whom many of you noble lords have long known. It is true that this knight was greatly in love—as is often the way with young men—with a beautiful and noble young lady, who, in that part of the country where she lived was renowned for her beauty. Nevertheless, try what means he could to obtain her favours, and become her accepted lover, he could not succeed—at which he was much displeased, seeing that never was woman loved more ardently, loyally, and wholly than she was. Nor should I omit to say that he did as much for her as ever lover did for his lady, such as jousts, expensive habiliments, etc.—nevertheless, as has been said, he found her always brusque and averse, and showing him less love than she reasonably should, for she knew for a fact that she was loyally and dearly loved by him. And, to say truth, she was too harsh to him, which, it is to be believed, proceeded from pride, of which she had too much—it might even be said, with which she was filled.
Matters were in this condition, when another lady, a friend and neighbour of the first-named damsel, seeing how enamoured the knight was, fell in love with him herself, and by various honest ways and means which would take too long to describe, so subtly managed that in a short time the knight perceived her love, at which he was much vexed, his heart being wholly given to his harsh and cruel mistress.
Being not only kind, but possessed of much common sense he managed adroitly not to compromise himself, so that if his second love affair had come to the knowledge of his first mistress, she would have no cause to blame his conduct.
Now listen to the end of his amours. Owing to the distance at which he lived, he could not so often see his lady-love as his trusting and loving heart desired. So he determined one day to ask certain knights and squires, good friends of his, but who knew nothing about his love affairs, to fly their hawks, and hunt the hare in the district in which the lady resided, knowing for a fact by his spies, that her husband was away, having gone to Court, as he often did.
As had been arranged, the love-sick knight and his companions started the next day, early in the morning, from the town where the Court was, and passed the time until the late afternoon in hunting the hare, and without eating or drinking. They snatched a hasty repast in a little village, and after the dinner, which was short and simple, remounted their horses and continued to hunt the hare.
The good knight, who had only one object in view, led his companions from the city, to which they always wished to return and said to him, “The hour of vespers is near and it is time to return to the town. If we do not take care we shall be locked out, and have to stay the night in some miserable village and all die of hunger.”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said the lover; “there is plenty of time, and at the worst I know a place near here where we shall be very welcome, and I suppose you will have no objection to meeting ladies.”
Being all courtiers, thy were not at all disinclined to meet ladies, and were satisfied to leave the matter in his hands, and continued to hunt the hare and the partridge as long as daylight lasted.
When it was time to think of finding lodgings, the knight said to his companions,
“Come along, come along! I will lead you to the place.” About an hour or two after nightfall, the knight and his comrades arrived at the place where lived the lady with whom the guide of this little band was so enamoured that he could not sleep o’nights. They knocked at the door of the castle, and the varlets quickly came and asked them what they wanted. And he who was the most deeply concerned, answered and said; “Gentlemen, are my lord and my lady at home?” “Truly,” replied one of the attendants for all the others, “my lord is not here, but my lady is.”
“Tell her if you please, that such and such knights and squires of the Court, and I, so-and-so, have been hunting the hare in this part of the country, and have lost our way, and now it is too late to return to the town. We beg her therefore to receive us as her guests for this night.”
“Willingly will I tell her,” said the other.
He went and delivered this message to his mistress, who, instead of coming to the gentlemen, sent a message, which the servant thus delivered.
“Monseigneur,” said the varlet, “my lady wishes me to inform you that her husband is not here; at which she is much vexed, for if he had been he would have given you a hearty welcome; but in his absence she does not dare to receive visitors, and begs you therefore to pardon her.”
The knight, who had led the expedition, was, you may imagine, much vexed and ashamed to hear this reply, for he expected to have seen his mistress, and had a pleasant time with her, and emptied his heart to her, and he was annoyed that he had brought his companions to a place where he had boasted they would be well received.
Like a wise and noble knight, he did not show what he felt in his heart, but with a calm countenance said to his comrades,
“Gentlemen, pardon me that I have lured you with false hopes. I did not believe that the ladies of this part of the country were so wanting in courtesy as to refuse a lodging to wandering knights. But have a little patience. I promise you on my word, to take you somewhere—not far from here—where we shall have quite a different welcome.”
“Forward then!” said all the others. “May God give us good luck.”
They set off, under the direction of their guide, to take them to the house of the lady by whom he was esteemed, though he did not return her affection as he ought to have done; but now he determined to devote to her the love which had been so roughly refused by his first mistress, and he determined to love, serve, and obey her who loved him so, and with whom, please God, he would soon be.
To shorten the story, after riding for a good hour and a half with the drenching rain on their backs, they came to the house of the lady who has previously being mentioned, and gaily knocked at the door, for it was very late,—between nine and ten o’clock at night, and they much feared that all the household would be in bed. Varlets and servant maids at once came forth, and asked, “Who is there?” and they were told.
They went at once to their mistress, who was then in her petticoat, and had put on her nightcap, and said,
“Madame, my lord so-and-so is at the gate and would fain enter; and with him certain knights and squires of the Court to the number of three.”
“They are very welcome,” she said. “Up quickly, all of you! Kill some capons and fowls, and let us have a good supper, and quickly.”
In short, she gave her orders like the great lady that she was—and still is,—and all obeyed her commands. She quickly put on her night-dress, and thus attired, came forward, as courteously as possible, to meet the gentlemen, with two torches carried before her, and only accompanied by one waiting woman, and her beautiful daughter—all the other women being employed in preparing the chambers.
She met her guests upon the drawbridge of the castle, and the noble knight who was the guide and spokesman of the others, came forward and expressed his gratitude for her kindness, and kissed her, and all the others did the same after him.
Then like a courteous woman of the world, she said to the lords,
“Gentlemen, you are very welcome. Monseigneur So-and-so (that is to say their guide) I have known a long time. He is very welcome here, and I should be glad to make the acquaintance of you other gentlemen.”
These introductions were made, the supper was soon ready, and each of the gentlemen lodged in a fair and fine chamber, well appointed and furnished with hangings and everything necessary.
It should be mentioned also, that whilst supper was preparing, the lady and the good knight had a long talk together, and arranged that they would only require one bed between them that night; her husband by good luck not being in the house, but forty leagues away.
We will leave them enjoying their supper after the adventures of the day, and return to the lady who refused to receive the little band, even the man whom she knew loved her better than anyone else in the world, and had shown herself so discourteous.
She asked her servants, when they returned from delivering her message, what the knight had said?
One of them replied: “Madame he said very little; only that he would take his friends to a place where they would have a hearty welcome and good cheer.”
She quickly guessed where they had gone, and said to herself, “Ah, he has gone to the house of such an one, who, I know, will not be sorry to see him, and no doubt they are now plotting against me.”
Whilst she was thinking thus, the harshness and un-kindness which she had felt towards her faithful lover, melted away or was transformed into hearty affection and good-will, and she longed to bestow upon her lover whatever he might ask or require. So she at once set to work and suspecting that the lady to whom they had gone was now enjoying the society of the man she had treated so rudely, she penned a letter to her lover, most of the lines of which were written in her most precious blood, to the effect that as soon as he saw this letter, he should set all other matters aside, and follow the bearer of the missive, and he would be so kindly received that no lover in the world could expect more from his mistress. And as a token of her truth, she placed inside the letter a diamond ring he well knew.
The bearer of this missive, who was a trustworthy man, went to the castle where the knight was sitting at supper next to the hostess, and with all the guests seated round the table. As soon as grace had been said, the messenger drew the knight aside and handed him the letter.
Having perused it, the good knight was much amazed, and still more joyous, for though he had determined in his own mind no longer to seek the love or acquaintance of the writer of the letter, he still felt tempted when the letter promised him that which he most desired in the world.
He took his hostess aside, and told her that his master had sent an urgent message, and that he must leave at once—at which he pretended to feel much vexed,—and she, who had before been so joyful in the expectation of that she so much desired, became sad and sorrowful.
He quietly mounted his horse, and leaving all his comrades behind, arrived with the messenger, soon after midnight, at the castle of the lady, but her husband had just arrived from Court and was then preparing to go to bed, and she, who had sent specially to fetch her lover, was disappointed enough, God knows.
The good knight, who had been all day in the saddle, either hunting the hare or seeking for lodgings, heard at the door that the lady’s husband had arrived, and you may guess how joyful he was at the news.
He asked his guide what was to be done? They consulted together, and it was decided that he should pretend to have lost his companions, and, by good chance, met this messenger, who had brought him to the castle. This being arranged, he was brought before my lord and my lady, and acted his part as he well knew how. After having quaffed a cup of wine—which did him very little good—he was led to his bed-chamber, where he scarcely slept all night, and, early the next morning, returned with his host to Court, without having tasted any of the delights which were promised him in the letter.
And I may add that he was never able to return there again, for soon afterwards the Court left that part of the country, and he went with it, and soon forgot all about the lady—as often happens.
STORY THE EIGHTY-SECOND — BEYOND THE MARK. [82]
By Monseigneur De Lannoy.
Of a shepherd who made an agreement with a shepherdess that he should mount upon her “in order that he might see farther,” but was not to penetrate beyond a mark which she herself made with her hand upon the instrument of the said shepherd—as will more plainly appear hereafter.
Listen, if you please, to what happened, near Lille, to a shepherd and young shepherdess who tended their flocks together, or near each other.
Nature had already stirred in them, and they were of an age to know “the way of the world”, so one day an agreement was made between them that the shepherd should mount on the shepherdess “in order to see farther”,—provided, however, that he should not penetrate beyond a mark which she made with her hand upon the natural instrument of the shepherd, and which was about two fingers’ breadth below the head; and the mark was made with a blackberry taken from the hedge.
That being done, they began God’s work, and the shepherd pushed in as though it had cost him no trouble, and without thinking about any mark or sign, or the promise he had made to the shepherdess, for all that he had he buried up to the hilt, and if he had had more he would have found a place to put it.
The pretty shepherdess, who had never had such a wedding, enjoyed herself so much that she would willingly have done nothing else all her life. The battle being ended, both went to look after their sheep, which had meanwhile strayed some distance. They being brought together again, the shepherd, who was called Hacquin, to pass the time, sat in a swing set up between two hedges, and there he swung, as happy as a king.
The shepherdess sat by the side of a ditch, and made a wreath of flowers. She sang a little song, hoping that it would attract the shepherd, and he would begin the game over again—but that was very far from his thoughts. When she found he did not come, she began to call, “Hacquin! Hacquin!”
And he replied, “What do you want?”
“Come here! come here! will you?” she said.
But Hacquin had had a surfeit of pleasure and he replied;
“In God’s name leave me alone. I am doing nothing; and enjoying myself.”
Then the shepherdess cried;
“Come here, Hacquin; I will let you go in further, without making any mark.”
“By St. John,” said Hacquin, “I went far beyond the mark, and I do not want any more.”
He would not go to the shepherdess, who was much vexed to have to remain idle.
