Soon afterwards, so God willed, this good woman died, and my marshal was asked if he were much grieved at the loss of his wife, and he replied that never had such a piece of luck occurred to him, and if God had promised him anything he might wish, he would have wished for his wife’s death; “for she,” he said, “was so wicked and malicious that if I knew she were in paradise I would not go there, for there could be no peace in any place where she was. But I am sure that she is in hell, for never did any created thing more resemble a devil than she did.” Then they said to him;
“Really you ought to marry again. You should look out for some good, quiet, honest woman.”
“Marry?” said he. “I would rather go and hang myself on a gibbet than again run the danger of finding such a hell as I have—thank God—now escaped from.”
Thus he lived, and still lives—but I know not what he will be.
