STORY THE SEVENTY-THIRD — THE BIRD IN THE CAGE.
By Jehan Lambin.
Of a curé who was in love with the wife of one of his parishioners, with whom the said curé was found by the husband of the woman, the neighbours having given him warning—and how the curé escaped, as you will hear.
In the district of Saint Pol, in a village near that town, there formerly resided a worthy man, a labourer, married to a fair and buxom woman with whom the curé of the village was in love. He was burning with love for her, but he foresaw that his intentions might be suspected, and thought that the best way to win her would be to first gain the friendship of her husband.
He confided this opinion to the woman, and asked her advice, and she replied that it was a very good plan to enable them to carry out their amorous intentions.
The curé, by flattery and subtle means, made the acquaintance of the good man, and managed him so well that he was always talking of “his curé”, and would not eat or do anything else without him. Every day he would have him to dinner and supper, in short there was nothing done at the good man’s house without the curé being present. By this means he could come to the house as often as he pleased, and whatever time he liked.
But the neighbours of this foolish labourer, seeing what he could not see, his eyes being bandaged by weakness and confidence,—told him that it was not right and proper to have the curé at his house every day, and that, if it continued, his wife’s reputation would suffer, these frequent visits having been noticed and spoken about by his neighbours and friends.
When the good man found himself thus sharply reproved by his neighbours for the frequent visits of the curé to his house, he was obliged to tell the curé that he must cease his constant calls, and forbade him by strict orders and menaces ever to come again until he was invited; affirming by a great oath that if ever he found the curé in his house there would be an account to settle between them, and it would not be pleasant for the visitor.
This prohibition displeased the curé more than I can tell you, but though vexed, he would not break off his love affair, for it was so deeply rooted in the hearts of both parties that it could not be easily eradicated. But hear how the curé managed after this prohibition. By an agreement with his mistress, he used to be informed of the times when her husband was absent, and then visit her. But he managed clumsily, for he could not pay his visits without the knowledge of the neighbours, who had been the cause of the interdict, and who were as much displeased at the cure’s acts as though they had been personally concerned.
The good man was again informed that the curé used to come and put out the fire at his house every night, (*) as he did before he was forbidden. The foolish husband, hearing that, was much astonished and also angry, and to remedy this state of affairs, thought of the means which I will relate.
(*) That is to say came at curfew time.
He told his wife that he was going, on a certain day which he named, to take to St. Orner a waggon-load of corn, and that the work might be well done, was going himself. When the day named for his departure arrived, he did, as is usual in Picardy, especially round St. Omer, that is loaded his waggon of corn at midnight, and at that hour took leave of his wife and departed with his waggon.
As soon as he was gone, his wife closed all the doors of the house. Now you must know that the St. Omer to which our merchant was going was the house of one of his friends who lived at the other end of the village. He arrived there, put his waggon in the courtyard of the said friend—who knew all the business—and sent him to keep watch and listen round the house to see if any thief might come.
When he arrived, he concealed himself at the corner of a thick hedge, from which spot he could see all the doors of the house of the merchant, of whom he was the friend and servant.
Hardly had he taken his place than there arrived the curé, who had come to light his candle—or rather to put it out—and softly and secretly knocked at the door, which was soon opened by one who was not inclined to sleep at that time, who came down in her chemise, and let in her confessor, and then closed the door and led him to the place where her husband ought to have been.
The watcher, when he perceived what was done, left his post, and went and informed the husband. Upon which news, the following plan was quickly arranged between them. The corn-merchant pretended to have returned from his journey on account of certain adventures which had, or might have, happened to him.
He knocked at the door, and shouted to his wife, who was much alarmed when she heard his voice, and made haste to conceal her lover, the curé, in a casier that was in the chamber; and you must know that a casier is a kind of pantry-cupboard, long and narrow and fairly deep, and very much like a trough.
As soon as the curé was concealed amongst the eggs, butter cheese, and other such victuals, the brave housewife, pretending to be half awake half asleep, let in her husband, and said.
“Oh, my dear husband, what can have happened that you have returned so quickly? There must be some reason why you did not go on your journey—for God’s sake tell it me quickly!”
The good man, who was as angry as he could be, although he did not show it, insisted on going to their bedroom and there telling her the cause of his sudden return. When he was where he expected to find the curé, that is to say in the bedroom, he began to relate his reasons for breaking his journey. Firstly, he said he had such suspicion of her virtue that he feared much to be numbered amongst the blue vestments, (*) or “our friends” as they are commonly called, and that it was because of this suspicion that he had returned so quickly. Also that when he was out of the house it had occurred to his mind that the curé was his deputy whilst he was away. So to put his suspicions to the test, he had come back, and now wanted the candle to see whether his wife had been sleeping alone during his absence.
(*) In the present day, yellow is the emblematic colour for
jealous or cuckolded husbands, but it would appear from this
passage that in the 15th century it was blue-possibly,
Bibliophile Jacob thinks, from its being the colour of the
maquereau.
When he had finished relating the causes of his return, the good woman cried,
“Oh, my dear husband, whence comes this baseless jealousy? Have you ever seen in my conduct anything that should not be seen in that of a good, faithful, and virtuous wife? Cursed be the hour I first knew you, since you suspect me of that which my heart could never imagine. You know me badly if you do not know how clean and pure my heart is, and will remain.”
The good man paid little heed to these words, but said that he wished to allay his suspicions, and to at once inspect every corner of the chamber as well as possible,—but he did not find what he sought.
Then he caught sight of the casier, and he guessed that the man he wanted was inside, but he made no sign, and calling his wife said;
“My dear, I was wrong to presume that you were untrue to me, and such as my false suspicions imagined. Nevertheless, I am so obstinate in my opinions, that it would be impossible for me to live comfortably with you henceforth. And therefore I hope you will agree that a separation should be made between us, and that we divide our goods equally in a friendly manner.”
The wench, who was pleased with this arrangement, in order that she might more easily see her curé, agreed with scarcely any difficulty to her husband’s request, but she made it a condition that in the division of the furniture she should have first choice.
“And why,” said the husband, “should you have first choice? It is against all right and justice.”
They were a long time squabbling about first choice, but in the end the husband won, and took the casier in which there was nothing but custards, tarts, cheeses, and other light provisions, amongst which was the good curé buried, and he heard all the discussion that went on.
When the husband chose the casier, his wife chose the copper; then the husband chose another article then she chose; and so on until all the articles were apportioned out.
After the division was made, the husband said;
“I will allow you to live in my house until you have found another lodging, but I am going now to take my share of the furniture, and put it in the house of one of my neighbours.”
“Do so,” she said, “when you like.”
He took a good cord and tightly tied up the casier; then sent for his waggoner and told him to put the casier on a horse’s back and take it to the house of a certain neighbour.
The good woman heard these orders, but did not dare to interfere, for she feared that if she did it would not advance matters, but perhaps cause the casier to be opened, so she trusted to luck.
The casier was placed on the horse, and taken through the streets to the house the good man had mentioned. But they had not gone far before the curé, who was choked and blinded with eggs and butter, cried,
“For God’s sake! mercy!”
The waggoner hearing this piteous appeal come out of the casier, jumped off the horse much frightened, and called the servants and his master, and they opened the casier, and found the poor prisoner all smeared and be-yellowed with eggs, cheese, milk, and more than a hundred other things, indeed it would have been hard to say which there was most of,—in such a pitiable condition was the poor lover.
When the husband saw him in that state, he could not help laughing, although he felt angry; He let him go, and then went back to his wife to tell her that he had not been wrong in suspecting her of unchastity. She seeing herself fairly caught, begged for mercy, and was pardoned on this condition, that if ever the case occurred again, she should be better advised than to put her lover in the casier, for the curé had stood a good chance of being killed.
After that they lived together for a long time, and the husband brought back his casier, but I do not think that the curé was ever found in it again, but ever after that adventure he was known, and still is, as “Sire Vadin Casier”.
