STORY THE THIRTY-THIRD — THE LADY WHO LOST HER HAIR.
By Monseigneur.
Of a noble lord who was in love with a damsel who cared for another great lord, but tried to keep it secret; and of the agreement made between the two lovers concerning her, as you shall hereafter hear.
A noble knight who lived in the marches of Burgundy, who was wise, valiant, much esteemed, and worthy of the great reputation he had, was so much in the graces of a fair damsel, that he was esteemed as her lover, and obtained from her, at sundry times, all the favours that she could honourably give him. She was also smitten with a great and noble lord, a prudent man, whose name and qualities I pass over, though if I were to recount them there is not one of you who would not recognise the person intended, which I do not wish.
This gentle lord, I say, soon perceived the love affair of the valiant gentleman just named, and asked him if he were not in the good graces of such and such a damsel,—that is to say the lady before mentioned.
He replied that he was not, but the other, who knew the contrary to be case, said that he was sure he was,
“For whatever he might say or do, he should not try to conceal such a circumstance, for if the like or anything more important had occurred to him (the speaker) he would not have concealed it.”
And having nothing else to do, and to pass the time, he found means to make her fall in love with him. In which he succeeded, for in a very short time he was high in her graces and could boast of having obtained her favours without any trouble to win them.
The other did not expect to have a companion, but you must not think that the fair wench did not treat him as well or better than before, which encouraged him in his foolish love. And you must know that the brave wench was not idle, for she entertained the two at once, and would with much regret have lost either, and more especially the last-comer, for he was of better estate and furnished with a bigger lance than her first lover; and she always assigned them different times to come, one after the other, as for instance one to-day and the other to-morrow.
The last-comer knew very well what she was doing, but he pretended not to, and in fact he cared very little, except that he was rather disgusted at the folly of the first-comer, who esteemed too highly a thing of little value.
So he made up his mind that he would warn his rival, which he did. He knew that the days on which the wench had forbidden him to come to her (which displeased him much) were reserved for his friend the first-comer. He kept watch several nights, and saw his rival enter by the same door and at the same hour as he did himself on the other days.
One day he said to him, “You well concealed your amours with such an one. I am rather astonished that you had so little confidence in me, considering what I know to be really the case between you and her. And in order that you may understand that I know all, let me tell you that I saw you enter her house at such and such an hour, and indeed no longer ago than yesterday I had an eye upon you, and from a place where I was, I saw you arrive—you know whether I speak the truth.”
When the first-comer heard this accusation, he did not know what to say, and he was forced to confess what he would have willingly concealed, and which he thought no one knew but himself; and he told the last-comer that he would not conceal the fact that he was in love, but begged him not to make it known.
“And what would you say,” asked the other, “if you found you had a companion?”
“Companion?” said he; “What companion? In a love affair? I never thought of it.”
“By St. John!” said the last-comer, “I ought not to keep you longer in suspense—it is I. And since I see that you are in love with a woman who is not worth it, and if I had not more pity on you than you have on yourself I should leave you in your folly, but I cannot suffer such a wench to deceive you and me so long.”
If any one was astonished at this news it was the first-comer who believed himself firmly established in the good graces of the wench, and that she loved no one but him. He did not know what to say or think, and for a long time could not speak a word. When at last he spoke, he said,
“By Our Lady! they have given me the onion (*) and I never suspected it. I was easily enough deceived. May the devil carry away the wench, just as she is!”
(*) i.e. “they have made a fool of me.”
“She has fooled the two of us,” said the last-comer;
“at least she has begun well,—but we must even fool her.”
“Do so I beg,” said the first. “St. Anthony’s fire burn me if ever I see the jade again.”
“You know,” said the second, “that we go to her each in turn. Well, the next time that you go, you must tell her that you well know that I am in love with her, and that you have seen me enter her house at such an hour, and dressed in such a manner, and that, by heaven, if ever you find me there again you will kill me stone dead, whatever may happen to you. I will say the same thing about you, and we shall then see what she will say and do, and then we shall know how to act.”
“Well said, and just what I would wish,” said the first.
As it was arranged, so was it done, for some days later it was the last-comer’s turn to go and visit her; he set out and came to the place appointed.
When he was alone with the wench, who received him very kindly and lovingly it appeared, he put on—as he well knew how—a troubled, bothered air, and pretended to be very angry. She, who had been accustomed to see him quite otherwise, did not know what to think, and she asked what was the matter, for his manner showed that his heart was not at ease.
“Truly, mademoiselle,” said he, “you are right; and I have good cause to be displeased and angry. Moreover, it is owing to you that I am in this condition.”
“To me?” said she. “Alas, I have done nothing that I am aware of, for you are the only man in the world to whom I would give pleasure, and whose grief and displeasure touch my heart.”
“The man who refuses to believe that will not be damned,” said he. “Do you think that I have not perceived that you are on good terms with so-and-so (that is to say the first-comer). It is so, by my oath, and I have but too often seen him speak to you apart, and, what is more, I have watched and seen him enter here. But by heaven, if ever I find him here his last day has come, whatever may happen to me in consequence. I could not allow him to be aware that he has done me this injury—I would rather die a thousand times if it were possible. And you are as false as he is for you know of a truth that after God I love no one but you, and yet you encourage him, and so do me great wrong!”
“Ah, monseigneur!” she replied, “who has told you this story? By my soul! I wish that God and you should know that it is quite otherwise, and I call Him to witness that never in my life have I given an assignation to him of whom you speak, nor to any other whoever he may be—so you have little enough cause to be displeased with me. I will not deny that I have spoken to him, and speak to him every day, and also to many others, but I have never had aught to do with him, nor do I believe that he thinks of me even for a moment, or if so, by God he is mistaken. May God not suffer me to live if any but you has part or parcel in what is yours entirely.”
“Mademoiselle,” said he, “you talk very well, but I am not such a fool as to believe you.”
Angry and displeased as he was, he nevertheless did that for which he came, and on leaving, said,
“I have told you, and given you fair warning that if ever I find any other person comes here, I will put him, or cause him to be put, in such a condition that he will never again worry me or any one else.”
“Ah, Monseigneur,” she replied, “by God you are wrong to imagine such things about him, and I am sure also that he does not think of me.”
With that, the last-comer left, and, on the morrow, his friend, the first-comer did not fail to come early in the morning to hear the news, and the other related to him in full all that had passed, how he had pretended to be angry and threatened to kill his rival, and the replies the jade made.
“By my oath,” said the first, “she acted the comedy well! Now let me have my turn, and I shall be very much surprised if I do not play my part equally well.”
A certain time afterwards his turn came, and he went to the wench, who received him as lovingly as she always did, and as she had previously received her other lover. If his friend the last-comer had been cross and quarrelsome both in manner and words, he was still more so, and spoke to her in this manner;
“I curse the hour and the day on which I made your acquaintance, for it is not possible to load the heart of a poor lover with more sorrows, regrets, and bitter cares than oppress and weigh down my heart to-day. Alas! I chose you amongst all others as the perfection of beauty, gentleness, and kindness, and hoped that I should find in you truth and fidelity, and therefore I gave you all my heart, believing in truth that it was safe in your keeping, and I had such faith in you that I would have met death, or worse, had it been possible, to save your honour. Yet, when I thought myself most sure of your faith, I learned, not only by the report of others but by my own eyes, that another had snatched your love from me, and deprived me of the hope of being the one person in the world who was dearest to you.”
“My friend,” said the wench, “I do not know what your trouble is, but from your manner and your words I judge that there is something the matter, but I cannot tell what it is if you do not speak more plainly—unless it be a little jealousy which torments you, and if so, I think, if you are wise, that you will soon banish it from your mind. For I have never given you any cause for that, as you know me well enough to be aware, and you should be sorry for having used such expressions to me.”
“I am not the sort of man,” said he, “to be satisfied with mere words. Your excuses are worth nothing. You cannot deny that so-and-so (that is to say the last-comer) does not keep you. I know well he does, for I have noticed you, and moreover, have watched, and saw him yesterday come to you at such an hour, dressed in such and such a manner. But I swear to God he has had his last pleasure with you, for I bear him a grudge, and were he ten times as great a man as he is, when I meet him I will deprive him of his life, or he shall deprive me of mine; one of us two must die for I cannot live and see another enjoy you. You are false and disloyal to have deceived me, and it is not without cause that I curse the hour I made your acquaintance, for I know for a certainty that you will cause my death if my rival knows my determination, as I hope he will. I know that I am now as good as dead, and even if he should spare me, he does but sharpen the knife which is to shorten his own days, and then the world would not be big enough to save me, and die I must.”
The wench could not readily find a sufficient excuse to satisfy him in his present state of mind. Nevertheless, she did her best to dissipate his melancholy, and drive away his suspicions, and said to him;
“My friend, I have heard your long tirade, which, to tell the truth, makes me reflect that I have not been so prudent as I ought, and have too readily believed your deceitful speeches, and obeyed you in all things, which is the reason you now think so little of me. Another reason why you speak to me thus, is that you know that I am so much in love with you that I cannot bear to live out of your presence. And for this cause, and many others that I need not mention, you deem me your subject and slave, with no right to speak or look at any but you. Since that pleases you, I am satisfied, but you have no right to suspect me with regard to any living person, nor have I any need to excuse myself. Truth, which conquers all things, will right me in the end!”
“By God, my dear,” said the young man, “the truth is what I have already told you—as both and he will find to your cost if you do not take care.”
After these speeches, and others too long to recount here, he left, and did not forget on the following morning to recount everything to his friend the last-comer; and God knows what laughter and jests they had between them.
The wench, who still had wool on her distaff (*), saw and knew very well that each of her lovers suspected the other, nevertheless she continued to receive them each in his turn, without sending either away. She warned each earnestly that he must come to her in the most secret manner, in order that he should not be perceived.
(*) i.e. plenty of tricks or resources.
You must know that when the first-comer had his turn that he did not forget to complain as before, and threatened to kill his rival should he meet him. Also at his last meeting, he pretended to be more angry than he really was, and made very light of his rival, who, according to him, was as good as dead if he were caught with her. But the cunning and double-dealing jade had so many deceitful speeches ready that her excuses sounded as true as the Gospel. For she believed that, whatever doubts and suspicions they had, the affair would never really be found out, and that she was capable of satisfying them both.
It was otherwise in the end, for the last-comer, whom she was greatly afraid to lose, one day read her a sharp lesson. In fact he told her that he would never see her again, and did not for a long time afterwards, at which she was much displeased and dissatisfied.
And in order to embarrass and annoy her still more, he sent to her a gentleman, a confidential friend, to point out how disgusted he was to find he had a rival, and to tell her, in short, that if she did not send away this rival, that he would never see her again as long as he lived.
As you have already heard, she would not willingly give up his acquaintance, and there was no male or female saint by whom she did not perjure herself in explaining away her love passages with her other lover, and at last, quite beside herself, she said to the squire;
“I will show your master that I love him; give me your knife.”
Then, when she had the knife, she took off her headdress, and with the knife cut off all her hair—not very evenly.
The squire, who knew the facts of the case, took this present, and said he would do his duty and give it to his master, which he soon did. The last-comer received the parcel, which he undid, and found the hair of his mistress, which was very long and beautiful. He did not feel much at ease until he had sent for his friend and revealed to him the message he had sent, and the valuable present she had given him in return, and then he showed the beautiful long tresses.
“I fancy,” said he, “I must be very high in her good graces. You can scarcely expect that she would do as much for you.”
“By St. John!” said the other, “this is strange news. I see plainly that I am left out in the cold. It is finished! You are the favoured one. But let us” he added, “think what is to be done. We must show her plainly that we know what she is.”
“That’s what I wish,” said the other.
They thought the matter over, and arranged their plan as follows.
The next day, or soon afterwards, the two friends were in a chamber where there were assembled their fair lady and many others. Each took his place where he liked; the first-comer sat near the damsel, and after some talk, he showed her the hair which she had sent to his friend.
Whatever she may have thought, she was not startled, but said she did not know whose hair it was, but it did not belong to her.
“What?” he said. “Has it so quickly changed that it cannot be recognised?”
“That I cannot say,” she replied, “but it does not belong to me.”
When he heard that, he thought it was time to play his best card, and, as though by accident, gave her chaperon (*) such a twitch that it fell to the ground, at which she was both angry and ashamed. And all those who were present saw that her hair was short, and had been badly hacked.
(*) The chaperon, in the time of Charles VII, was fastened
to the shoulder by a long band which sometimes passed two or
three times round the neck, and sometimes hung down the
back.
She rose in haste, and snatched up her head-dress, and ran into another chamber to attire herself, and he followed her. He found her angry and ashamed, and weeping bitterly with vexation at being thus caught. He asked her what she had to weep about, and at what game she had lost her hair?
She did not know what to reply, she was so vexed and astonished; and he, who was determined to carry out the arrangement he had concluded with his friend, said to her;
“False and disloyal as you are, you have not cared that I and my friend were deceived and dishonoured. You wished,—as you have plainly shown—to add two more victims to your list, but, thank God, we were on our guard. And, in order that you may see that we both know you, here is your hair which you sent him, and which he has presented to me; and do not believe that we are such fools as you have hitherto thought us.”
Then he called his friend, who came, and the first said,
“I have given back this fair damsel her hair, an have begun to tell her how she has accepted the love of both of us, and how by her manner of acting she has shown us that she did not care whether she disgraced us both—may God save us!”
“Truly—by St. John!” said the other, and thereupon he made a long speech to the wench, and God knows he talked to her well, remonstrating with her on her cowardice and disloyal heart. Never was woman so well lectured as she was at that time, first by one then by the other.
She was so taken by surprise that she did not know what to reply, except by tears, which she shed abundantly.
She had never had enough pleasure out of both her lovers to compensate for the vexation she suffered at that moment.
Nevertheless, in the end they did not desert her, but lived as they did before, each taking his turn, and if by chance they both came to her together, the one gave place to the other, and they were both good friends as before, without ever talking of killing or fighting.
For a long time the two friends continued this pleasant manner of loving, and the poor wench never dared to refuse either of them. And whenever the one wished to have intercourse with her, he told the other, and whenever the second went to see her, the first stayed at home. They made each other many compliments, and sent one another rondels and songs which are now celebrated, about the circumstances I have already related, and of which I now conclude the account.
STORY THE THIRTY-FOURTH — THE MAN ABOVE AND THE MAN BELOW. [34]
By Monsigneur De La Roche.
Of a married woman who gave rendezvous to two lovers, who came and visited her, and her husband came soon after, and of the words which passed between them, as you shall presently hear.
I knew in my time a brave and worthy woman, deserving to be remembered and respected, for her virtues should not be hidden and kept dark, but publicly blazoned to the world. You will shortly hear, if you will, in this story something which will increase and magnify her fame.
This gallant wench was married to a countryman of ours, and had many lovers seeking and desiring her favours,—which were not over difficult to obtain, for she was so kind and compassionate that she both would and could bestow herself freely whenever she liked.
It happened one day that two men came to see her, as both were accustomed, to ask for a rendezvous. She would not have retreated before two or even three, and appointed a day and hour for each to come to her—the one at eight o’clock the morrow morning, and the other at nine, and charged each one expressly that he should not fail to keep his appointed hour.
They promised on their faith and honour that if they were alive they would keep their assignation.
When the morrow came, at about 6 o’clock in the morning, the husband of this brave wench rose, dressed himself, and called his wife, but she bluntly refused to get up when ordered.
“Faith!” she said, “I have such a headache that I cannot stand on my feet, or if I did get up I should die, I am so weak and worn-out; and, as you know, I did not sleep all the night. I beg of you to leave me here, and I hope that when I am alone I shall get a little rest.”
Her husband, though he suspected something, did not dare to contradict her or reply, but went about his business in the town, whilst his wife was not idle at home, for eight o’clock had no sooner struck than the honest fellow, to whom on the previous day an assignation had been given, came and knocked at the door, and she let him in. He soon took off his long gown and his other clothes, and joined madame in bed, in order to cheer her up.
Whilst these two were locked in each other’s arms, and otherwise engaged, the time passed quickly without her noticing it, when she heard some one knock loudly at the door.
“Ah!” she said, “as I live, there is my husband; make haste and take your clothes.”
“Your husband?” he said, “Why, do you know his knock?”
“Yes,” she replied, “I know it very well. Make haste lest he find you here.”
“If it be your husband, he must find me here, for I know not where I can hide.”
“No, please God, he must not find you here, for you would be killed and so should I, he is so terrible. Get up into this little attic, and keep quite quiet and do not move, that he may not find you here.”
The other climbed into the garret as he was told, and found the planks stripped away in many places, and the laths broken.
As soon as he was safe, mademoiselle made one bound to the door, knowing very well that it was not her husband who was there, and let in the man who had promised to come to her at nine o’clock. They came into the chamber, where they were not long on their feet, but laid down and cuddled and kissed in the same manner as he in the garret had done, whilst he, through a chink, kept his eye on the couple, and was not best pleased. He could not make up his mind whether he should speak or hold his tongue. At last he determined to keep silence, and not say a word till the opportunity came,—and you may guess that he had plenty of patience.
Whilst he was waiting and looking at the lady engaged with the last comer, the worthy husband came home to enquire after the health of his good wife, as it was very proper of him to do.
She soon heard him, and as quickly as may be, made her lover get out of bed, and as she did not know where to hide him, since she could not put him in the garret, she made him lie down between the bed and the wall, and covered him with his clothes, and said to him.
“I have no better place to put you—have a little patience.”
She had hardly finished speaking when her husband came into the room, and though he had heard nothing, he found the bed all rumpled and tossed about, the quilt dirty and soiled, and looking more like the bed of a bride than the couch of an invalid.
The doubts he had formerly entertained, combined with the appearance of the bed, made him call his wife by her name, and say.
“Wicked whore that you are! I did not believe you when you shammed illness this morning! Where is the whoremonger? I swear to God, if I find him, he will have a bad end, and you too.” Then, putting his hand on the quilt, he went on. “This looks nice, doesn’t it? It looks as though the pigs had slept on it!”
“What is the matter with you, you nasty drunkard?” she replied. “Why make me suffer when you get too much wine in your belly? That’s a nice salutation, to call me a whore! I would have you to know that I am nothing of the kind, but much too virtuous and too honest for a rascal like you, and my only regret is that I have been so good to you, for you are not worth it. I do not know why I do not get up and scratch your face in such a manner that you would remember it all your life, for having abused me without cause.”
If you ask how she dared reply to her husband in this manner, I should answer there were two reasons,—that is she had both right and might on her side. For, as you may guess, if it had come to blows, both the lover in the garret, and the one by the bed, would have come to her assistance.
The poor husband did not know what to say when he heard his wife abuse him thus, and as he saw that big words were of no use, he left the matter to God, who does justice to all, and replied;
“You make many excuses for your palpable faults, but I care little what you say. I am not going to quarrel and make a noise; there is One above who will repay all!”
By “One above”, he meant God,—as though he had said,
“God, who gives everyone his due, will repay you according to your deserts.” But the gallant who was in the garret, and heard these words, really believed they were meant for him, and that he was expected to pay for the misdeeds of another besides himself, and he replied aloud;
“What? Surely it will suffice if I pay half! The man who is down by the side of the bed can pay the other half—he is as much concerned as I am!”
You may guess that the husband was much astonished, for he thought that God was speaking to him; and the man by the bed did not know what to think, for he knew nothing about the existence of the other man. He quickly jumped up, and the other man came down, and they recognised each other.
They went off together, and left the couple looking vexed and angry, but they did not trouble much about that and for good reason.
