chapter 3, verse 16.[70

[70] “Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire _shall be to thy husband_, and he shall rule over thee.”

“In Greek antiquity, ... in love between men and women the latter were nearly always regarded as taking the more active part. In all Greek love-stories of early date the woman falls in love with the man, and never the reverse. Æschylus makes even a father assume that his daughters will misbehave if left to themselves. Euripides emphasised the importance of women. ‘The Euripidean woman who falls in love thinks first of all: “How can I seduce the man I love?”’ (E.F.M. Benecke: _Antimachus of Colophon and the Position of Women in Greek Poetry_, 1896).

“The most famous passage in Latin literature as to the question of whether men or women obtain greater pleasure from sexual intercourse is that in which Ovid relates the legend of Tiresias (_Metamorphoses_, 3, 317-333). Tiresias, having been both a man and a woman, decided in favour of women.... In a passage quoted from a lost work of Galen by the Arabian biographer, Abu-l-Faraj, that great physician says of the Christians ‘that they practice celibacy, that even many of their women do so.’ So that in Galen’s opinion it was more difficult for a woman than for a man to be continent. The same view is widely prevalent among Arabic authors, and there is an Arabic saying that ‘The longing of the woman for the penis is greater than that of the man for the vulva.’[71]

[71] _The Perfumed Garden of the Cheikh Nefzaoui_: Cosmopoli, 1886.

“The early Christian Fathers clearly show that they regard women as more inclined to sexual enjoyment than men. That was ... the opinion of Tertullian (_De Virginibus Velandis_), and it is clearly implied in some of St. Jerome’s epistles.

“Notwithstanding the influence of Christianity, among the vigorous barbarian races of mediæval Europe the existence of sexual appetite in women was not considered to be, as it later became, a matter to be concealed or denied. Thus in 1068 the ecclesiastical historian, Ordericus Vitalis (himself half Norman and half English), narrates that the wives of the Norman knights who had accompanied William the Conqueror to England two years earlier sent over to their husbands to say that they were consumed by the fierce flames of desire, and that if their husbands failed to return very shortly they proposed to take other husbands. It is added that this threat brought a few husbands back to their wanton ladies.

“During the mediæval period in Europe, largely in consequence, no doubt, of the predominance of ascetic ideals set up by men who naturally regarded women as the symbol of sex, the doctrine of the incontinence of woman became firmly fixed.... Humanism and the spread of the Renaissance movement brought in a spirit more sympathetic to women.... We begin to find attempts at analysing the sexual emotions. In the seventeenth century a book of this kind was written by Venette. In matters of love, Venette declared, ‘men are but children compared to women. In these matters women have a more lively imagination, and they usually have more leisure to think of love. Women are much more lascivious and amorous than men.’ In a subsequent chapter, dealing with the question whether men or women receive more pleasure from the sexual embrace, Venette concludes, after admitting the great difficulty of the question, that man’s pleasure is greater, but that woman’s lasts longer. (N. Venette, _De la Génération de l’Homme ou Tableau de l’Amour Conjugal_, 1688).”

These and similar quotations, all acknowledging or laying stress on the erotic appetite of women, might be continued indefinitely. Among the other supporters of the opinion quoted by Havelock Ellis are Montaigne (_Essais_), Schurig (_Parthenologia_), Plazzonus (_De Partibus Generationi Inservientibus_), Ferrand (_De la Maladie d’Amour_), Zacchia (_Quæstiones Medico-Legales_), Sinibaldus (_Geneanthropeia_), Senancour (_De l’Amour_), Busch, Guttceit,[72] Mantegazza (_Fisiologia del Piacere_), Forel (_The Sexual Question_), who believed that women are more erotic than men, and Bloch (_The Sexual Life of Our Time_), who says, “The sexual sensibility of women is certainly different from that of men, but in strength it is at least as great.”

[72] “In Russia at all events, a girl, as very many have acknowledged to me, cannot resist the ever-stronger impulses of sex beyond the twenty-second or twenty-third year. And if she cannot do so in natural ways she adopts artificial ways. The belief that the feminine sex feels the stimulus of sex less than the male is quite false.”--Guttceit, _Dreissig Jahre Praxis_, 1873.

For our part, we find it hard to ignore that overwhelming consensus of opinion among early writers as to the erotic nature of the average woman. Was not this feminine amativeness the theme upon which were built the undying _contes_ and _fabliaux_ of Boccaccio, Bandello, Masuccio, Straparola, La Fontaine, Poggio, Ser Giovanni, Chaucer, Brantôme and a host of others? Are we to label Casanova’s _Memoirs_ as worthless because his women seem, in our modern eyes, erotic beyond all belief? Turning to the literature of the East, where woman’s ‘thirst for coïtion is written between her eyes,’[73] are we to hold the feminine attributes therein described as peculiar to those peoples and times? Must we believe that all these writers fashioned women out of their own lascivious fancy, or that the sexual impulse in the women of those races has totally changed?

[73] _The Perfumed Garden._ As illustrating our subject, the Cheikh Nefzaoui tells a quaint story of a man who, owing to physical disability, was unable to satisfy the sexual needs of his wife. A wise man gives him a remedy whereby his member grows “long and thick.” The Cheikh continues: “When his wife saw it in that state she was surprised, but it came still better when he made her feel in the matter of enjoyment quite another thing than she had been accustomed to experience; he began in fact to work her with his tool in quite a remarkable manner, to such a point that she rattled and sighed and sobbed during the operation. As soon as the wife found in her husband such eminently good qualities, she gave him her fortune, and placed her person and all she had at his disposal.”

Without a doubt, time and custom are responsible for much that seems obscure and irreconcilable. Many of our authorities are writing of an age in which men and women spoke and acted in a manner which to-day seems coarse and inexcusably free. Because in the past woman more readily gave outward expression to her inward feeling, it does not follow now that, by reason of her greater reserve, she lacks these emotions.

History has shown us psychologists and investigators in plenty, but they were not the psychologists of to-day, recording the results of their investigations with meticulous care and detail. The sexually frigid woman, we can confidently assume, was by no means unknown to the ancients. She was, however, unusual, abnormal; and if a sexually frigid woman be accounted abnormal, it is not hard to see why a normal is deemed erotic.

In these times, when it is the fashion to dissect everyone and everything, we are prone to argue from the ordinary to the extraordinary, from the peculiar to the general; sexual frigidity in woman, at first an anomaly, ends in being a trait; the exception becomes, does not prove, the rule.

Needless to say, a great psychologist like Havelock Ellis has a wealth of information to offer on the subject, and we commend our readers to his masterly handling of it. He has something to say on every aspect of the question, from the case of the woman who is cold almost to the point of sexlessness to that of the erotic wife who ‘becomes frenzied with excitement during intercourse and insensible to everything but the pleasure of it.’ In conclusion, he adjusts the scales with exquisite and scientific precision, holding that ‘the distribution of the sexual impulse between the two sexes is fairly balanced.’

Earlier on, however, he makes a point which we shall do well to bear in mind. ‘ ... Sexual impulse is by no means so weak in women as many would lead us to think. It would appear that, whereas in earlier ages there was generally a tendency to credit women with an unduly large share of the sexual impulse, there is now a tendency unduly to minimise the sexual impulse in women.’

We shall have frequent occasion in subsequent volumes of _Anthologica Rarissima_ to return to this subject, for, as the student of folk-lore, psychology and human life will readily agree, sexual impulse is perhaps the most powerful basic motive of our many daily acts and tasks.[74]

[74] Queen Budur’s remark that “Women pray pardon with their legs on high,” (p. 88 _ante_), finds an echo in Aristophanes’ _Lysistrata_ and _The Ecclesiazusæ_. In the former play, Athenian women promise Lysistrata that, if forced to intercourse by their husbands, _they will not lift their legs in the air_; in the latter, we have a woman saying: “How are we going to lift up our arms in the Assembly (_i.e._, vote), we, who only know how to lift our legs in the act of love?”

Two of the authorities quoted by Havelock Ellis on p. 97 of the foregoing _Excursus_ merit further brief mention. Martin Schurig, author of _Parthenologia_ and numerous other medical works, flourished as a physician in Dresden between 1688 and 1733. Although many of his theories have long since been exploded, his great erudition is much to be admired. His books deal with the most amazing questions; among the many curious passages in _Parthenologia_ will be found the following: “Chastity put to the proof by a hot iron and boiling water.”; “Conception without insertion of the _penis_.”; “Andramytes, King of the Lydori, was the inventor of castration of women, and Semiramis of that of men.” Dr. Sinibaldus’ _Geneanthropeia_, published in 1642, is a very remarkable work on physical love and its aberrations, treating, for example, of “The shape of the Phallu.”; “Eunuchis.”; “Aphrodisiac.”; “Influence of the Stars on Copulatio.”; “Effects and manner of Copulatio.”; “Pleasure of Copulation as enjoyed by man and woman.” Little is known of Sinibaldus’ life beyond that he was a doctor at Rome. His _Geneanthropeia_, according to Pisanus Fraxi, (_Index Librorum Prohibitorum_: London, 1877), has been rendered, in a very emasculated form, into English, under the title of _Rare Verities. The Cabinet of Venus Unlocked_: London, 1658. The volume is rare, but a copy is to be found in the British Museum.

THE FOOL.[75]

[75] _Kruptadia_: Heilbronn, Henninger Frères, 1883: vol. 1, _Secret Stories from the Russian_, No. 12.

A peasant and his wife had a half-witted son, who pictured himself married and sleeping with his wife. He spoke of this matter to his father.

“Marry me, little father,” he said.

Said the little father:

“Wait, my son. You are still too young to marry. Thy yard hath not yet reached to thy backside. When it doth reach there, I will marry thee.”

The son seized his yard with his two hands, stretched it with all his strength, and inspected it.

“‘Tis true,” quoth he. “It hath not yet reached to my backside. ‘Tis still too soon for me to marry. My yard is yet small. It reacheth not to my backside. I must wait a year or two.”

Time passed. The youth had naught to do but lengthen his yard; and he did it so often and so well that not only did his yard reach to his backside, but even passed beyond it.

“I shall have no shame in sleeping with my wife,” said he. “I will satisfy her myself. She will have no need to resort to strangers.”

“Vain to expect sense on the part of a fool,” argued the father to himself; and he spake his son, saying:

“Since thy yard is become so great that it passeth beyond thy backside, there is no need for thee to marry. Live single, rest at home, and futter thyself.”

Thus the matter ended.[76]

[76] Stories of sexual ignorance, amounting in the case of men to veritable imbecility, are numerous in _Kruptadia_. In Vol. X., _Stories of Picardy_, we have the tale of a young girl who had been seduced, but had married a half-witted youth, whom she was forced to instruct in the art of love. When they were in bed together, “she showed him how children are made--a business entirely unknown to him. After the explanations had been given in theory, the husband mounted upon his wife, desiring to show that he had learned his lesson well; but the young wife cried out in surprise: ‘’Tis too high! ‘Tis too high!’ An instant later she was forced to say: ‘’Tis too low! ‘Tis too low!’ Several other of his efforts having failed, she told her husband that he did but knock at the side of the door. Whereat the latter, aweary of ‘Too high’ and ‘Too low,’ exclaimed: ‘Since thou knowest the spot so well, put it there thyself!’”

“OH MOTHER, ROGER WITH HIS KISSES.”[77]

[77] J. S. Farmer: _Merry Songs and Ballads_: _Privately Printed_, 1897: Words and Music in _Pills to Purge Melancholy_, (1707), 1, 214.

Oh Mother, _Roger_ with his Kisses Almost stops my Breath, I vow; Why does he gripe my Hand to pieces, And yet he says he loves me too? Tell me, Mother, pray now do! Pray now do, pray now do, Tell me, Mother, pray now do, Pray now, pray now, pray now do, What Roger means when he does so? For never stir I long to know.

Nay more, the naughty Man beside it, Something in my Mouth he put; I call’d him Beast, and try’d to Bite it, But for my Life I cannot do’t; Tell me, Mother, pray now do! Pray now do, pray now do, Tell me, Mother, pray now do, Pray now, pray now, pray now do, What Roger means when he does so? For never stir I long to know.

He sets me in his Lap whole Hours, Where I feel I know not what; Something I never felt in yours, Pray tell me Mother what is that? Tell me Mother what is that? For never stir I long to know.

FOOLISH FEAR.[78]

[78] _Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_: R. B. Douglas’ translation: Paris, Charles Carrington. _C.f._ note _ante_.

_Of a young man of Rouen, married to a fair young girl of the age of fifteen or thereabouts; and how the mother of the girl wished to have the marriage annulled by the Judge of Rouen, and of the sentence which the said Judge pronounced when he had heard the parties--as you will hear more plainly in the course of the said story._

In the good town of Rouen, not long ago, a young man was married to a fair and tender virgin, aged fifteen, or thereabouts. On the day of the great feast--that is to say, the wedding--the mother of the young girl, as is customary in such places, instructed the bride in all the mysteries of wedlock, and taught her how to behave to her husband on the first night.

The young girl, who was looking forward to the time when she could put these doctrines into practice, took great pains and trouble to remember the lesson given her by her good mother, and it seemed to her that when the time came for her to put these counsels into execution, that she would perform her duties so well that her husband would praise her, and be well pleased with her.

The wedding was performed with all honour and due solemnity, and the desired night came; and soon after the feast was ended, and the young people had withdrawn after having taken leave of the newly married couple, the mother, cousins, neighbours, and other lady friends led the bride to the chamber where she was to spend the night with her husband, where they joyfully divested her of her raiment, and put her to bed, as was right and proper. Then they wished her good-night, and one said:

“My dear, may God give thee joy and pleasure in thy husband, and mayst thou so live with him as to be for the salvation of both your souls.”

Another said:

“My dear, God give thee such peace and happiness with thy husband, that the heavens may be filled with your works.”

And all, having expressed similar wishes, left. The bride’s mother, who remained the last, questioned her daughter if perchance she had remembered the lesson she had been taught. And the girl, who, as the proverb goes, did not carry her tongue in her pocket, replied that she well remembered all that had been told her, and--thank God--had forgotten nothing.

“Well done,” said the mother. “Now I will leave thee, recommending thee to God and praying that He may give thee good luck. Farewell, my dear child.”

“Farewell, my good and wise mother.”

As soon as the schoolmistress[79] had finished, the husband, who was outside the door expecting something better, came in. The mother closed the door, and told him that she hoped he would be gentle with her daughter. He promised that he would, and as soon as he had bolted the door, he--who had nothing on but his doublet--threw it off, jumped on the bed, drew as close as he might to his bride, and, lance in hand, prepared to give battle.

[79] Obviously a play on words, with reference to the lessons in marital duty given by the mother to the daughter.

But when he approached the barrier where the skirmish was to take place, the girl laid hold of his lance, which was as straight and stiff as a cow-keeper’s horn, and when she felt how hard and big it was, she was sore affrighted, and fell to crying aloud, saying that her shield was not of a strength to receive and bear the blows of so huge a weapon.

All his efforts notwithstanding, the husband could not persuade her to joust with him, and this bickering endured throughout the night, without his being able to do aught, which much displeased our bridegroom. Nevertheless, he abode patient, hoping to make up for the time lost on the following night; but ‘twas the same as on the first night, even so on the third, and even so up to the fifteenth, matters remaining just as I have related.

And when fifteen days had passed since the young couple were wed, they still not having come together, the mother came to visit her pupil, and after a thousand questions, spoke to the girl of her husband, demanding what sort of a man he was and whether he did his duty well. And the girl answered that he was very well as a man, and was a quiet and a peaceable.

“But,” said the mother, “doth he do what he ought to do?”

“Yea,” quoth the girl, “but....”

“But _what_?” said the mother. “Thou art keeping something back, I am assured. Tell me forthwith and conceal naught; for I must know now. Is he a man capable of performing his marital duties in the way I taught thee?”

The poor girl, being thus pressed, was obliged to own that he had not yet done the business, but she did not say that she was the cause of the delay, and that she had always refused the combat.

When her mother heard this sad news, God knows what a disturbance she made, swearing by all her gods that she would soon find a remedy for that, for she was well acquainted with the Judge of Rouen, who was her friend, and would favour her cause.

“The marriage must be annulled,” said she, “and I have no doubt but that I shall find a way, and thou mayst be sure, my child, that before two days are past thou wilt be divorced and married to another man, who will not let thee rest in peace all that time. Dost leave the business to me.”

The good woman, half beside herself, went and related her wrong to her husband, the father of the girl, and told him that they had lost their daughter, and adducing many reasons why the marriage should be annulled.

She pleaded her cause so well that her husband took her side, and was content that the bridegroom (who knew no reason why a complaint should be lodged against him) should be cited before the Judge. But, at any rate, he was personally summoned to appear before the Judge, at his wife’s demand, to show cause why he should not leave her, and permit her to marry again, or explain the reason why, in so many days that he had lived with her, he had not demonstrated that he was a man, and performed the duties that a husband should.

When the day came, the parties presented themselves at the proper time and place, and they were called upon to state their case. The mother of the bride began to plead her daughter’s cause, and God knoweth the laws concerning marriage which she quoted, none of which, she maintained, had her son-in-law fulfilled; therefore she demanded that he should be divorced from her daughter forthwith without more ado.

The young man was much astonished to find himself thus attacked, but lost no time in replying to the allegations of his adversary, quietly stating his case, and relating in what wise his wife had always refused him leave to perform his marital duties.

The mother, when she heard this reply, was more wroth than ever, and could scarce bring herself to believe it; and she asked her daughter if that was true which her husband had said.

“Yea, truly, mother,” replied the girl.

“Oh, wretched child,” said her mother. “Wherefore didst thou refuse? Did I not teach thee thy lesson many times?”

The poor girl might not answer, so shamed was she.

“At any rate,” said the mother, “I must know the reason why thou hast refused. Tell it me forthwith, lest I grow exceeding wroth.”

The girl was forced to confess that she had found the lance of the champion so vast, that she had not dared to present her shield lest he killed her; and so she still felt, nor was she reassured on that point, albeit her mother had bade her be without fear. Whereat the mother addressed the Judge, saying:

“Monseigneur, thou hast heard the confession of my daughter, and the defence of my son-in-law. I beg of thee give judgement forthwith.”

The Judge gave orders for a bed to be prepared in his house, the couple to lie on it together; and he commanded the bride boldly to lay hold of the tilting staff,[80] and put it where it was ordered to go. When this judgement was delivered, the mother said:

[80] Mr. Douglas translates simply: ... “stick or instrument.” The word in the text, _bourdon_, signifies literally “a pilgrim’s staff.” It is followed by the word _joustouer_, “to tilt or joust,” or “a tilter, a jouster,” which Mr. Douglas ignores. The combination, however, seems to keep more faithfully to the spirit of the story. On the other hand, _bourdon_ is a recognised erotic term for _penis_. Farmer, (_Slang and its Analogues_: vol. 5, p. 290), quotes Rabelais as employing the word in this sense. Landes, (_Glossaire érotique de la langue française_: Brussels, 1861), includes it in a list which comprises 212 slang terms for the male organ of generation. _Le petit Citateur: Notes érotiques et pornographiques_: Paris, 1881: only 300 printed, a curious and valuable little work dealing with the lesser known expressions and metaphors of venery, and intended to serve as a complement to the ordinary erotic dictionary, describes _bourdon_ as “the virile member, the grand chord which gives the note in the amorous duet.” The _Memoirs of Miss Fanny_ are quoted: “ ... enraptured, split open by the enormous size of my ravisher’s _bourdon_, my thighs all bloodstained, I remained for some time overwhelmed by fatigue and pleasure....” The French text referred to in the foregoing note is that of Garnier Frères, Paris, n.d.

“I thank thee, my lord; thou hast judged well. Come, my child, do what thou shouldst, and take heed to obey the Judge, and put the lance where it should be put.”

“I am satisfied,” answered the daughter, “to put it where it ought to go, but it may rot there ere I take it out again.”

So they quitted the court, and went and carried out the sentence themselves, without the aid of any sergeants. By this means the young man enjoyed his joust, and was sooner weary of it than she who would not begin.[81]

[81] This story, the 86th of _Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_, is singularly lacking in climax when compared with the majority of old _fabliaux_. The opening is very promising; but once the husband has stated his case, the fabric seems to fall to pieces, and the wife’s final speech is as silly as it is unjustified. The author has tried to round off the story by dragging in the ages-old tag about the woman who, from hating the pleasures of love, becomes a veritable glutton for them. Compared with “Beyond the Mark,” which is artistic and dramatic from the first to the last line, “Foolish Fear” is a poor thing. Nevertheless, we have thought fit to include it in this anthology because its opening is as characteristic as its finish is _un_characteristic of this type of _fabliaux_.

THE PRINCESS WHO PISSETH OVER THE HAYCOCKS.[82]

[82] _Kruptadia_: Henninger Frères, Heilbronn, 1883: _Stories of Picardy._

A peasant died and left three sons. On their return home from the interment of their father, the three young men took counsel together. The dead man had not been wealthy, and he bequeathed to his sons only his house and a small piece of land.

After much discussion, it was decided that the eldest should leave the house and land to his brethren, and go forth into the world to seek his fortune. If he succeeded, he would return forthwith to his brethren that they might share his good fortune, but if he did not return within a year and a day, the second brother should set out in search of him. This agreed, the eldest embraced his brethren and set forth.

Sallying from the village, he discovered two roads. In perplexity, he tossed a coin in the air, and as it fell, so he made his choice. He journeyed long without encountering aught but inns and farms, where he spent the night, renewing his quest on the morrow. At length, after travelling fifteen days, he came to a magnificent castle.

“‘Tis here perchance I shall find fortune,” quoth he. “I will enter the castle and seek service within.”

But all the offices were filled. Going forth, he encountered the owner of the castle, who was king of the countryside, and at his request the youth related his purpose in coming to this domain.

Quoth the king:

“Employment I have none to offer thee in my palace; but I have a better proposal to make. I have a daughter of the like not seen elsewhere on earth. She pisseth over the most lofty houses. All the physicians I have summoned cannot cure her, and it is a sad pity, for she is of surpassing beauty. If thou canst prevent her from pissing over the haycocks which thou shalt erect, thy fortune is made. I will give her to thee in marriage. If thou failest, thou shalt go join in their prison those imbeciles of physicians and charlatans who have already sought to succeed in this my proposal. Thou dost understand? See then if thou believest thyself capable of this achievement.”

The youth, having taken counsel with himself for several moments, accepted the king’s proposal. This latter, leading him within the palace, set him to dine with his wife and daughter. The Princess was a marvel of beauty, and the peasant could not satiate his eyes of her perfections. He was apportioned a chamber in the castle, what time he awaited the day of his trial.

On the morrow the young adventurer chose a vast field, and thither caused to be borne five or six hundred loads of hay. Next he took a hundred peasants and set them to erect an enormous haycock.

“If the Princess doth succeed in pissing o’er this heap of hay,” he thought, “I am mad.” And he went to tell the king the haycock was ready.

On the morrow came the Princess; and she fell to laughing when she saw the haycock. She raised her robe and pissed high o’er the heap of hay. The youth was thunderstruck. On the order of the king, they seized the youth and cast him into a dungeon with the physicians who had essayed the venture before him.

A year and a day after the departure of his eldest brother, the second peasant set forth in his turn, taking the road followed by his brother one year before. Journeying fifteen days, he, too, came upon the castle, and, entering therein, demanded the work of a servant. Him also the king saw, putting the proposal he had made to his elder brother. Which proposal the youth accepted.

Well received by the family of the Princess, he pictured himself already the son-in-law of the king, and built project upon project for the future. He chose a vast plain, and thither caused to be borne six thousand loads of hay. Next he took one thousand labourers and set them to erect the haycock.

On the morrow the Princess approached the haycock, gave vent to a great shriek of laughter, raised her robe, and--pissed high o’er the haycock.

And the second brother went to join his elder in the dungeon of the king’s palace.

The youngest peasant was sore pained in that his brethren returned not.

“Assuredly they have suffered some mischance in their travels,” quoth he to himself. “‘Twere ill of me did I not set forth in search of them, and render them aid in their misfortune.”

He, in his turn, quitted the village. Chance took him by the same road as that taken by his brethren, and he came to the palace of the king who held them prisoner. He entered the palace, saw the king, and accepted the proposal made to him. At table he found the Princess adorable, and the Princess found him charming. This he perceived, and resolved never to quit her side. All night he dreamed of the Princess, nor did he wake till the sun was up. Then he fell to leisurely reflection.

“All the same,” said he to himself, “if I succeed in taking the maidenhead of the Princess before the trial, perchance she will not piss so high. I am convinced that all dependeth on her virginity. I will attempt this method.”

When day came, he arose and went to walk in the castle park. The Princess had not slept the whole night long, ever seeing the countenance of the young man. At daybreak she arose and went to walk in the park, where she encountered the young peasant.

And this last did not let slip the occasion; he approached the young girl and avowed that he died of love for her. The Princess was easy of persuasion, and one hour afterward she had lost her maidenhead. Then she re-entered the palace, the youth walking till the hour of the morning meal, when he, too, entered the palace as if naught had happened.

At noontide he caused to be borne into a corner of the park a single load of hay; then told the king that he was ready for the trial.

And when the king, accompanied by his daughter, approached the tiny haycock which had been erected by the young man, he cried out that the trial was not serious, and he counselled the peasant to construct a much loftier haycock. But the peasant affirmed that the heap of hay was sufficient, whereat the king ordered his daughter to piss.

Who was the most astonished? Truly the king and the Princess, when the latter only succeeded in watering her stockings, for the charming channel, wherein the young man had laboured with the girl, from being narrow, had grown great.

Judge then if the peasant was satisfied. The Princess, though she did not let the youth perceive it, was likewise satisfied. And the king gave his daughter to the young man, their nuptials were celebrated, the young peasants became princes, and all lived happily ever afterward.

THE COMB.[83]

[83] _Kruptadia_: Heilbronn, Henninger Frères, 1883, vol. 1: _Secret Stories from the Russian_.

An old man bought a sheep’s cloak for his wife, and he futtered her the whole night long at the foot of the fence. In the morning the weather was damp, and the old woman, with back bent, went weeping; but the old man followed and mounted her. Said the woman to her husband:

“Tear me not in this fashion, Gabriel!”

But the man was hard of hearing, knew not what she said, thrust his yard into her, and futtered her dog-fashion.... The eye is ne’er too weary to see, nor the backside to fizzle, nor the nose to take snuff, nor the coynte to lose the chance of a goodly futter.... But this by way of a prelude ... a foreword.

* * * * *

Once there lived a pope,[84] who possessed a daughter, a virgin and an artless. And when summer came the pope was wont to hire workmen to mow the hay; and he hired them in this wise:

[84] A priest of the Greek Church.

If his daughter pissed o’er the haycock which the workman had mown, the man went wageless. Workmen a-plenty hired themselves to the pope, but, one and all, they laboured wageless; the daughter, whatsoe’er the height of the haycock, pissed o’er it.

Yet another workman and a bold did accept the conditions; if the pope’s daughter pissed o’er the haycock which he had mown, no claim for his work would he make. Then mowed the workman his hay; when he had mown it and set it in a heap, he lay down beside the haycock, drew forth his yard from his drawers, and fell to toying with it. The pope’s daughter drew nigh to the workman to scrutinise the haycock, cast a glance at him, and said:

“What dost thou, little peasant?”

“I rub my comb.”

“What dost comb with this comb of thine?”

“Come--I will comb thee. Lie down on the hay.”

The pope’s daughter lay down on the hay, the workman fell to combing her, and he winnowed her as was proper. Anon the young girl rose up and said:

“What a delicious comb!”

Afterwards she sought to piss o’er the haycock; of no avail; she did piss upon herself, as it might run from a sieve. Seeking out her father, she spake him, saying:

“The haycock is too high; I may not piss o’er it.”

“Ah! my daughter! here in sooth is a goodly workman. I will hire him for a year.”

And when the workman came to receive his wage, the pope said:

“Friend, hire thyself to me for a year.”

“I am willing,” quoth the workman; and he hired himself to the pope. Most contented, too, was the pope’s daughter, and when night came she sought the workman, saying:

“Comb me.”

“Nay, I will not comb thee for nought. Give me one hundred roubles. Buy the comb.”

The pope’s daughter gave him one hundred roubles, and nightly he combed her.

Came a time when the workman fell out with the pope, saying:

“Render me my wage, little father.”

His wage rendered, the workman went his way. Now the pope’s daughter was not present when these things were done, but when she returned to the house she inquired:

“Where is the workman?”

“He demanded his wage and is gone forthwith to the village,” quoth the pope.

“Ah! little father! what hast thou done? He hath carried off my comb!” cried the pope’s daughter.

She hastened in pursuit, and came upon him by a little stream; the workman had tucked up his drawers and was fording the stream.

“Give me my comb!” cried the pope’s daughter.

The workman took a stone and cast it into the water.

“Pick it up,” said he; and, passing to the other side of the stream, went his way.

The pope’s daughter tucked up her petticoat, entered the water, and sought the comb. She rummaged at the bottom of the stream. No comb.

Chanced to pass a lord, who cried to her:

“What seekest, little dove?”

“My comb! I have purchased it from a workman for one hundred roubles; departing, he carried it off with him. Him I pursued, and he cast the comb in the water.”

The lord descended from his carriage, removed his breeches, and entered the water in search of the comb. They searched; together they searched. On a sudden the pope’s daughter perceived that a yard hung ‘twixt the lord’s legs. She seized it with both hands, gripped it fast, and cried:

“Shame on thee, lord! ‘Tis my comb! Give it me!”

“What dost thou, shameless one? Leave hold of me!” said the lord.

“Nay, ‘tis thou who art shameless! Thou wouldst take what pertains to another. Give me my comb!”

And she dragged him by his yard to her father.

The pope gazed through the window. Behold, his daughter dragged a lord by his yard and never ceased from crying: “Give me my comb, wretched fellow!” what time the lord made plaintive sound, saying: “Little father, deliver me from a death not deserved! All my life I will not forget thee!”

From his drawers the pope drew forth his yard, displayed it to his daughter through the window, and cried:

“My daughter! my daughter! Here is thy comb!”

“Truly ‘tis mine!” cried the daughter. “Behold its red end! And I thought the lord had taken it!”

And she released this unfortunate and sped into the house. The lord drew on his hose and took to his heels.

The girl came running into the house.

“Where is my comb, little father?”

“Ah! what a daughter!” grumbled the pope. “See, little mother. I believe she hath lost her maidenhead.”

“Examine her thyself, little father,” said the popess. “That will be better.”

The pope lowered his drawers and gave the comb to his daughter. When they were in action, the pope gasped and cried:

“No, no--the girl hath not lost her honour....”

Quoth the popess:

“Little father, push her honour yet further back.”

“Fear not, little mother. She will not let it fall. I have pushed it far.”

Thus went the pope’s daughter to the comb. Henceforward the pope combed them both, regaling them with his little ‘doll,’[85] passing his life in futtering both daughter and mother.

[85] French _Poupée_, which, in the slang phraseology of that language, properly denotes a harlot. On the other hand, we have the term _dolly_ as a synonym for _penis_. (_C.f._ Farmer: _Slang and its Analogues_.) This use of _poupée_, which, of course, is literally translated by _doll_, is peculiar; our French lexicographers do not include it in their lists of synonyms for the _membrum virile_.

_EXCURSUS_ to _THE PRINCESS WHO PISSETH OVER THE HAYCOCKS_ and _THE COMB_.

The main theme of these two stories----the ability of a virgin girl to urinate to a great height----is founded on physiological fact, although, of course, grossly distorted and exaggerated. “In children,” says Havelock Ellis, (_Studies in the Psychology of Sex_, vol. 5: _Erotic Symbolism_), “the vulva appears to look directly forward and the clitoris and urinary meatus easily appear, while in adult women, and especially after attempts at coïtus have been made, the vulva appears directed more below and behind, and the clitoris and meatus more covered by the labia majora; so that the child urinates forward, while the adult woman is usually able to urinate almost directly downwards in the erect position, though in some cases (as may occasionally be observed in the street) she can only do so when bending slightly forwards.

“This difference in the direction of the stream formerly furnished one of the methods of diagnosing virginity, an uncertain one, since the difference is largely due to age and individual variation. The main factor in the position and aspect of the vulva is pelvic inclination....”

Havelock Ellis, later on in the same volume of his _Studies_, again refers to the subject:

“A sign to which the old authors often attached much importance was furnished by the urinary stream. In the _De Secretis Mulierum_, wrongly attributed to Albertus Magnus,[86] it is laid down that ‘the virgin urinates higher than the woman.’ Riolan, in his _Anthropographia_, discussing the ability of virgins to ejaculate urine to a height, states that Scaliger had observed women who were virgins emit urine in a high jet against a wall, but that married women could seldom do this. Bonaciolus also stated that the urine of virgins is emitted in a small stream to a distance with an acute hissing sound. (_Parthenologia_, p. 281.)[87] ... There is no doubt a tendency for the various stresses of sexual life to produce an influence in this direction, though they act far too slowly and uncertainly to be a reliable index to the presence or the absence of virginity.

[86] “Already in the thirteenth century, Albert Bollstœdt, Bishop of Ratisbonne, better known as Albertus Magnus, had, in spite of his clerical profession, furnished much scabrous matter concerning the opposite sex in his work _De Secretis Mulierum_.”--_Centuria Librorum Absconditorum_: Pisanus Fraxi (Ashbee): London: Privately Printed, 1879. The compiler of this monumental work and the two companion volumes, _Index Librorum Prohibitorum_ and _Catena Librorum Tacendorum_, would seem to be at variance with Havelock Ellis. A further reference to Albertus Magnus by Fraxi is worth giving: “Shall a bishop, raised to the See of Ratisbonne, (exclaims the erudite James Atkinson) and (still more monstrous) shall a canonised man, an ‘in cœlum sublevatus,’ undertake a natural history of the most natural secret, inter secretalia fœminea? Is the natural and divine law at once to be expounded, inter Scyllam et Charybdim, of defailance and human orgasm?”----Medical Bibliography, p. 72.

[87] We have already referred to Schurig’s work.

“Another common ancient test of virginity by urination rests on a psychic basis, and appears in a variety of forms which are really all reducible to the same principle. Thus we are told in _De Secretis Mulierum_ that to ascertain if a girl has been seduced she should be given to eat of powdered crocus flowers, and if she has been seduced she immediately urinates. We are here concerned with auto-suggestion, and it may well be believed that with nervous and credulous girls this test often revealed the truth....

“ ... The ancient custom, known in classic times, of measuring the neck the day after marriage was frequently practised to ascertain if a girl was or was not a virgin. There were various ways of doing this. One was to measure with a thread the circumference of the bride’s neck before she went to bed on the bridal night. If in the morning the same thread would not go around her neck it was a sure sign that she had lost her virginity during the night; if it would, she was still a virgin or had been deflowered at an earlier period. Catullus alluded to this custom,[88] which still exists, or existed until lately,[89] in the south of France. It is perfectly sound, for it rests on the intimate response by congestion of the thyroid gland to sexual excitement. (_Parthenologia_, p. 283.)”

[88] “Nor shall the nurse at orient light returning, with yester-e’en’s thread succeed in circling her neck.”--_The Carmina of Catullus_: Englished into verse and prose by Sir R. F. Burton and L. C. Smithers: London, 1894. Burton and Smithers, apparently, were unaware of the medical significance of the test, for they add in a note: “The ancients, says Pezay, had faith in another equally absurd test of virginity. They measured the circumference of the neck with a thread. Then the girl under trial took the two ends of the magic thread in her teeth, and if it was found to be so long that its bight could be passed over her head, it was clear she was not a maid. By this rule all the thin girls might pass for vestals, and all the plump ones for the reverse.”

[89] Havelock Ellis is writing in 1914.

THE SKIRMISH.[90]

[90] _The Dialogues of Luisa Sigea_: Translated from the Latin of Nicolas Chorier: Paris: Isidore Liseux, 1890. Our extract is from the opening lines of the first dialogue; the phraseology, at times, is our own.

_Tullia._

Sweet it is to me, dearest cousin, that thy marriage with Caviceo is finally concluded: for, the night which will make thee a wife in his embraces will, I assure thee, afford thee by far the greatest of all pleasures; provided Venus befriend thee, as this thy heavenly shape deserveth.

_Ottavia._

My mother told me this morning that I am to be wedded to-morrow to Caviceo. And I see that the requisites for the pomp of this event are being prepared at home with great care: the bed, bed-room, and so forth. But, of course, these things cause less joy than fear in my soul; for, whatever in fine may be that pleasure of which thou, my dearest cousin, speakest, I neither know nor even imagine.

_Tullia._

It should seem nowise strange that thou at this age and so soft (for thou hast barely attained thy fifteenth year), dost not know what I, though older when I married, wholly ignored; that delight which Pomponia used to promise and so loudly extol, having been tasting it herself since three years.

_Ottavia._

But what greatly surpriseth me is that thou shouldst wholly ignore it. Allow me to speak more openly now that I am on the eve of complete freedom. For if the practice were lacking, which thou certainly hadst not, yet thy great learning must have disclosed these secrets to thee. I often hear thee extolled to the clouds in the most flattering terms, because thou art so skilled in Latin and Greek literature as in nearly all the liberal arts that there seemeth to be naught which thou dost not know.

_Tullia._

My father had so much to do in this, that, with the same zeal as most other girls are seeking after the reputation of being handsome and elegant, I was entirely bent on acquiring the honour of being a learned maid. And they that prefer to flatter than speak the truth, say: she hath not quite lost her time.

_Ottavia._

They who will not flatter say also: scarcely have esteem of virtue, good morals remained with those of our sex who were considered learned, even when they obtained this honour.

_Tullia._

Would they deny I am chaste, while owning I am learned?

_Ottavia._

Ay, they would; but thou hast won the admiration of all while taking care that thy learning did not interfere with thy good and chaste morals; it hath produced an extraordinary prodigy. But how could it be possible that the Muses, who are styled virgins, should be deemed hostile to the honour of virgins? Why are they said to corrupt our minds, they who are as the ardour of our souls, stimulating us all, men and women alike, to grand and praiseworthy actions? Undoubtedly because men, from a certain haughty and silly malignity, envy us these resources of which they themselves are proud, by making us the victims of their jealousy. Men shun every poison and venom just as we do, whom they call the weaker sex, because the same pest which may take our lives away, may take theirs away too. If learning be a venom and a pest for us, as they assert, how is it that so dangerous a thing, in order to be useful to men, (for they do not deny but that it is useful to them), should change its nature all on a sudden? If learning is, of its very essence, a certain source of every evil and crime for us, how shall they drink out of the same source the nectarean waters of immortal glory: whilst we unhappy and wretched women shall drink a sort of sulphureous Stygian water which will excite us to those debaucheries, to which they drive us by their sway or lead us by their example? For, I remember that thou spokest thus on this subject a few days ago in thy conversation with Caviceo. It is exceedingly nice of thee to have conserved until now that pure reputation of an honest woman, with that beauty which inflameth even the coldest, with that learning which doth captivate those insensible of beauty.

_Tullia._

Thou who speakest thus, thou who knowest that love inflameth men’s hearts, art not so simple as I thought.

_Ottavia._

Am I totally ignorant of what Caviceo’s eyes, brow, in a word, his whole countenance so often told me, even though he were silent? I was indeed truly surprised at the unwonted fire of his kisses, when he made free with me eight days ago; I know but too well what that ardour and fire meant.

_Tullia._

Thy mother was absent? thou wast alone? thou wast not at all afraid of him?

_Ottavia._

My mother was gone out; but what was to be feared from him? Of course I feared naught.

_Tullia._

All he asked was kisses?

_Ottavia._

On the contrary, the fool took them against my will, brandishing his glowing tongue between my lips.

_Tullia._

What sensation came over thee, then?

_Ottavia._

I shall acknowledge it: some heat or other hitherto unfelt passed through my veins: my whole frame was inflamed. He thought that a maiden blush bepainted my cheek; for a little while he forebore his folly and busy hand.... I shall ever hate those roguish hands, from the very fact that they with their fire impregnated me, tortured and wearied!

_Tullia._

A nice affair!

_Ottavia._

Why? having stuck his hand in my breast, he seized one of my paps, then the other; and while he was handling each of them rather hard, lo! he tossed me over on my back in spite of me.

_Tullia._

Thou art blushing; the deed was accomplished.

_Ottavia._

His left hand was laid on my bosom (I am stating how the thing was done), he easily overcame all my efforts; he next slipped his right hand under my petticoat. I blush, I blush to tell it.

_Tullia._

Lay aside that ridiculous modesty; fancy thou art relating to thyself what thou art telling me.

_Ottavia._

Having speedily lifted my petticoat above my knees, he handled my thighs. Oh! hadst thou beheld his sparkling eyes!

_Tullia._

So thou wast happy then!

_Ottavia._

Having carried his hand higher, he invaded that place which, they say, distinguisheth us from the other sex; ay, it is now a year ago, and ever since a lot of blood doth run from me every month during several days.

_Tullia._

Bravo, Caviceo! ah! ah! ah!

_Ottavia._

Oh, the rascal! “This part,” he saith, “will soon rejoice me exceedingly. Do consent, my Ottavia.” A little more and I had fainted at these words.

_Tullia._

What did he then do?

_Ottavia._

That part of me, thou wouldst scarcely believe, hath a very small slit....

_Tullia._

But inflamed, but glowing.

_Ottavia._

He thrust his finger into it, and, as the place could barely contain it, I felt a sharp pain throughout all my senses. But he: “I have a virgin,” said he, and no sooner said than forcibly opening my thighs which I kept as tight as ever I could, he threw himself upon me.

_Tullia._

Thou art silent? he put naught but his finger in?

_Ottavia._

I felt ... but what effrontery is mine to speak so much about it!

_Tullia._

And I too, whom thou makest so much of, have undergone it, as thou. Naught is more daring than a bridegroom, whom every delay doth exasperate exceedingly, until he gathereth that flower of his bride.

_Ottavia._

I soon felt some hard and warm mass between my thighs. He forced me to open; with a robust effort he directed that thing against my body and that slit. But I, having mustered up strength, threw myself to the other side, and slipping my left hand between us both, I laid it on that place where the fray was so furiously raging.

_Tullia._

Thou couldst with one hand ward off so powerful a catapult?

_Ottavia._

Yea. “O naughty man,” would I say, “why dost thou annoy me thus? Let me go, if thou lovest me: by what crime have I deserved this torture?” And tears flowed from my eyes: but such was the state of my mind, that I did not even dare open my mouth or utter a cry to call for help.

_Tullia._

Withal Caviceo did not even pierce thee with his lance[91]? it did not enter into thy trench[91]?

[91] Erotic terms in English, French and Latin slang, respectively, for the _penis_ and female _pudendum_. (_C.f._ Farmer, _op. cit._).

_Ottavia._

I seized it and held it aside, but unlucky event! I felt myself completely drenched with a regular shower like fire, and, naked as I was, wet up to the navel. I put my hand to it again; but when falling on that sort of slimy fluid with which the mad fellow had flooded me, my hand recoiled from fright and horror.

_Tullia._

Therefore neither was he vanquished nor thou victorious, since he was very near carrying off a real victory.

_Ottavia._

Caviceo was far more agreeable to me since that day. Nor do I know the powerful desire that doth agitate my soul. I ignore what I long for, and cannot mention it. All I know is that Caviceo pleaseth me far more than all mortals; I expect from him alone the supreme pleasure which I do not understand, as I ignore what it may be like. I desire naught and yet desire....

_Here we end our extract from Luisa’s Dialogues. We shall have occasion to quote from them again in subsequent volumes of Anthologica Rarissima._

_EXCURSUS_ to _THE SKIRMISH_.

Nicolas Chorier, the author of the _Dialogues of Luisa Sigea_ (the book is commonly called the _Aloisia_ or the _Meursius_, after the name of the supposed author or translator) was born at Vienne, Dauphiny, in 1612; he received a law-doctor’s degree in 1639, and practised the profession of lawyer at the Court of Aids in his native town.[92] A man of cultivated mind, a passionate lover of letters, a first-rate Latinist, he devoted only a very limited part of his time to causes of the bar.

[92] We are quoting from the English translator’s “Notice of Nicolas Chorier” in the Liseux edition already mentioned.

While passing out of the Jesuit Academy, and during the course of his law studies, he tried his hand at a variety of works both in French and Latin.... The composition of the _Aloisia_, or at least the first draft, for he must often have retouched this chief work, may be traced back to that time. “I wrote then,” he tells us in his _Memoirs_, “_Epistles_, _Speeches_, a _Political Dissertation_ on the French alliance with the Ottoman Empire, and two _Satires_, the one Menippean, the other Sotadical.”[93] ...

[93] The Sotadical Satire is so-called after Sotades, who lived three centuries before Christ, and whose erotic poems are unfortunately lost.--English Translator’s note. According to a note in _Priapeia_ (Cosmopoli, 1890, _Privately Printed_), Sotades, the Mantinean poet, was the first to treat of Greek love, or dishonest and unnatural love. He wrote in the Ionian dialect, and according to Suidas he was the author of a poem entitled _Cinædica_ (Martial, 2. 86). The title would leave us in no doubt as to the trend of the work. (Cinædus = he who indulges in unnatural lust; Cinædicus = pertaining to one who is unchaste.--_Smith’s Latin English Dictionary._) _C.f._ also Sir Richard Burton’s “Sotadic Zone” in the _Terminal Essay_ to _The Thousand Nights and a Night_ (_op. cit. sup._).

It was about the year 1660 that he had, according to all probability, the first edition of the _Aloisia_ secretly printed in Lyons. The work was supposed to have been written in Spanish, in the 16th century, by an erudite young girl, Luisa Sigea, whose father, Jacques Sigée, a native of France, had quitted his country to settle down at Toledo. (Luisa Sigea, who was born at Toledo about the year 1530 and died in 1560, says the English translator in a note, knew Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Syriac and Arabic. She was styled the Minerva of her time.) The Spanish work was lost; but there remained a Latin manuscript translation of it, which Chorier, in order to secure himself, attributed to the learned Dutchman Joannes Meursius, dead twenty years before.... Chorier died in 1692; he left several manuscript works behind him, some of which have since been printed.

THE NIGHTINGALE.[94]

[94] _The Decameron_ of Giovanni Boccaccio: Englished by John Payne: Villon Society, 1886. This is the fourth story of the fifth day, the actual title being: “_Ricciardo Manardi, being found by Messer Lizio da Valbona with his daughter, espouseth her and abideth with her father in peace._”

There lived in Romagna a gentleman of great worth and good breeding, called Messer Lizio da Valbona, to whom, well-nigh in his old age, it chanced there was born of his wife, Madame Giacomina by name, a daughter, who grew up fair and agreeable beyond any other of the country; and for that she was the only child that remained to her father and mother, they loved and tended her exceeding dear and guarded her with marvellous diligence, looking to make some great alliance by her.

Now there was a young man of the Manardi of Brettinoro, comely and lusty of his person, by name Ricciardo, who much frequented Messer Lizio’s house and conversed amain with him and of whom the latter and his lady took no more account than they would have taken of a son of theirs. Now, this Ricciardo, looking once and again upon the young lady and seeing her very fair and sprightly and commendable of manners and fashions, fell desperately in love with her, but was very careful to keep his love secret.

The damsel presently became aware thereof and without anywise seeking to shun the stroke, began on like wise to love him; whereat Ricciardo was mightily rejoiced. He had many a time a mind to speak to her, but kept silence for misdoubtance; however, one day taking courage and opportunity, he said to her:

“I prithee, Caterina, cause me not to die of love.”

To which she straightway made answer: “Would God thou wouldst not cause _me_ die!”

This answer added much courage and pleasure to Ricciardo and he said to her:

“Never shall aught that may be agreeable to thee miscarry for me; but it resteth with thee to find a means of saving thy life and mine.”

“Ricciardo,” answered she, “thou seest how straitly I am guarded; wherefore, for my part, I cannot see how thou mayst avail to come at me; but, if thou canst see aught that I may do without shame to myself, tell it me and I will do it.”

Ricciardo, having bethought himself of sundry things, answered promptly:

“My sweet Caterina, I can see no way, except that thou lie or make shift to come upon the gallery that adjoineth thy father’s garden, where an I knew that thou wouldst be anights, I would without fail contrive to come to thee, how high soever it may be.”

“If thou have the heart to come thither,” rejoined Caterina, “methinketh I can well enough win to be there.”

Ricciardo assented and they kissed each other once only in haste and went their ways.

Next day, it being then near the end of May, the girl began to complain before her mother that she had not been able to sleep that night for the excessive heat Quoth the lady:

“Of what heat dost thou speak, daughter? Nay, it was nowise hot.”

“Mother mine,” answered Caterina, “you should say ‘to my seeming’ and belike you would say sooth; but you should consider how much hotter are young girls than ladies in years.”

“Daughter mine,” rejoined the lady, “that is true; but I cannot make it cold and hot at my pleasure, as belike thou wouldst have me do. We must put up with the weather, such as the seasons make it; maybe this next night will be cooler and thou wilt sleep better.”

“God grant it may be so!” cried Caterina. “But it is not usual for the nights to go cooling, as it groweth towards summer.”

“Then what wouldst thou have done?” asked the mother; and she answered:

“An it please my father and you, I would fain have a little bed made in the gallery, that is beside his chamber and over his garden, and there sleep. There I should hear the nightingale sing and having a cooler place to lie in, I should fare much better than in your chamber.”

Quoth the mother: “Daughter, comfort thyself; I will tell thy father, and as he will, so will we do.”

Messer Lizio, hearing all this from his wife, said; for that he was an old man and maybe therefore somewhat cross-grained:

“What nightingale is this to whose song she would sleep? I will yet make her sleep to the chirp of the crickets.”

Caterina, coming to know this, more of despite than for the heat, not only slept not that night, but suffered not her mother to sleep, still complaining of the great heat. Accordingly, next morning, the latter repaired to her husband and said to him:

“Sir, you have little tenderness for yonder girl; what mattereth it to you if she lie in the gallery? She could get no rest all night for the heat. Besides, can you wonder at her having a mind to hear the nightingale sing, seeing she is but a child? Young folk are curious of things like themselves.”

Messer Lizio, hearing this, said:

“Go to, make her a bed there, such as you think fit, and bind it about with some curtain or other, and there let her lie and hear the nightingale sing to her heart’s content.”

The girl, learning this, straightway let make a bed in the gallery and meaning to lie there that same night, watched till she saw Ricciardo and made him a signal appointed between them, by which he understood what was to be done.

Messer Lizio, hearing the girl gone to bed, locked a door that led from his chamber into the gallery, and betook himself likewise to sleep.

As for Ricciardo, as soon as he heard quiet on every hand, he mounted a wall, with the aid of a ladder, and thence, laying hold of certain toothings of another wall, he made his way, with great toil and danger, if he had fallen, up to the gallery, where he was quietly received by the girl with the utmost joy. Then, after many kisses, they went to bed together and took delight and pleasure one of another well nigh all that night, making the nightingale sing many a time.

The nights being short and the delight great and it being now, though they thought it not, near day, they fell asleep without any covering, so overheated were they what with the weather and what with their sport, Caterina having her right arm entwined about Ricciardo’s neck and holding him with the left hand by that thing which you ladies think most shame to name among men.

As they slept on this wise, without awaking, the day came on and Messer Lizio arose and remembering him that his daughter lay in the gallery, opened the door softly, saying in himself:

“Let us see how the nightingale hath made Caterina sleep this night.”

Then, going in, he softly lifted up the serge wherewith the bed was curtained about, and saw his daughter and Ricciardo lying asleep, naked and uncovered, embraced as it hath before been set out; whereupon, having recognised Ricciardo, he went out again and repairing to his wife’s chamber, called to her, saying:

“Quick, wife, get thee up and come see, for that thy daughter hath been so curious of the nightingale that she hath e’en taken it and hath it in hand.”

“How can that be?” quoth she; and he answered:

“Thou shalt see it, an thou come quickly.”

Accordingly, she made haste to dress herself and quietly followed her husband to the bed where, the curtain being drawn, Madam Giacomina might plainly see how her daughter had taken and held the nightingale, which she had so longed to hear sing; whereat the lady, holding herself sore deceived of Ricciardo, would have cried out and railed at him; but Messer Lizio said to her:

“Wife, as thou holdest my love dear, look thou say not a word, for, verily, since she hath gotten it, it shall be hers. Ricciardo is young and rich and gently born; he cannot make us other than a good son-in-law. An he would part from thee on good terms, needs must he first marry her, so it will be found that he hath put the nightingale in his own cage and not in that of another.”

The lady was comforted to see that her husband was not angered at the matter and considering that her daughter had passed a good night and rested well and had caught the nightingale, to boot, she held her tongue. Nor had they abidden long after these words when Ricciardo awoke and seeing that it was broad day, gave himself over for lost and called Caterina, saying:

“Alack, my soul, how shall we do, for the day is come and hath caught me here?”

Whereupon Messer Lizio came forward and lifting the curtain, answered:

“We shall do well.”

When Ricciardo saw him, himseemed the heart was torn out of his body and sitting up in bed, he said:

“My lord, I crave your pardon for God’s sake. I acknowledge to have deserved death, as a disloyal and wicked man; wherefore do you with me as best pleaseth you; but, I prithee, an it may be, have mercy on my life and let me not die.”

“Ricciardo,” answered Messer Lizio, “the love that I bore thee and the faith I had in thee merited not this return; yet, since thus it is and youth hath carried thee away into such a fault, do thou, to save thyself from death and me from shame, take Caterina to thy lawful wife, so that, like as this night she hath been thine, she may e’en be thine so long as she shall live. On this wise thou mayst gain my pardon and thine own safety; but, an thou choose not to do this, commend thy soul to God.”

Whilst these words were saying, Caterina let go the nightingale and covering herself, fell to weeping sore and beseeching her father to pardon Ricciardo, whilst on the other hand she entreated her lover to do as Messer Lizio wished, so they might long pass such nights in security.

But there needed not overmany prayers, for that, on the one hand, shame of the fault committed and desire to make amends for it, and on the other, the fear of death and the wish to escape,--to say nothing of his ardent love and longing to possess the thing beloved,--made Ricciardo freely and without hesitation avouch himself ready to do that which pleased Messer Lizio; whereupon the latter borrowed of Giacomina one of her rings and there, without budging, Ricciardo in their presence took Caterina to his wife. This done, Messer Lizio and his lady departed, saying:

“Now rest yourselves, for belike you have more need thereof than of rising.”

They being gone, the young folk clipped each other anew and not having run more than half a dozen courses overnight, they ran other twain ere they arose and so made an end of the first day’s tilting.

Then they arose and Ricciardo having had more orderly conference with Lizio a few days after, as it beseemed, he married the damsel over again, in the presence of their friends and kinsfolk, and brought her with great pomp to his own house. There he held goodly and honourable nuptials and after went long nightingale-fowling with her to his heart’s content, in peace and solace, both by night and by day.

THE PIKE’S HEAD.[95]

[95] _Kruptadia_: Heilbronn: Henninger Frères, 1883: vol. 1: _Secret Stories from the Russian_.

Once there lived a peasant and his wife who had a daughter, a young virgin. The girl went forth to harrow the garden; she harrowed and she harrowed; anon they called her to the house to eat pancakes. She ran and left the horse with the harrow, saying unto the beast:

“Wait there until I return.”

There was in the house of a neighbour a son, a foolish lad. For long he had desired to futter the maid; but by what means he could not conceive. Observing the horse with the harrow, he slipped through the hedge, unharnessed the horse, and led it into his garden. Leaving the harrow in its place, he passed the beam through the hedge, and harnessed the horse afresh from his side.

The young girl returned and stood astonished. What meant this? The harrow on one side of the hedge, the horse on the other? She fell to beating the horse with her whip, saying:

“Devil! How camest thou there? Thou didst know how to get there. Thou wilt know how to return. Come! Come! Out of it!”

The lad stood near; he looked and laughed.

“I will aid thee an thou wilt,” said he, “but only if thou dost permit me....”

The maid was cunning.

“Willingly,” said she.

And she armed herself with the head of an old pike, which lay about the garden, its jaws open. Picking it up, she thrust it in her sleeve and said to the lad:

“I do not wish to come to thy side of the hedge, nor do I wish thee to come to mine, lest any see thee. Do it through the hedge. Pass me thy yard and I will put it in.”

The youth drew out his yard and passed it through the hedge. The girl took the pike’s head, opened it, and put it ‘twixt her thighs. When the youth rubbed, he scratched his yard so that it bled. Taking it in his hands, he ran to the house, sat down in a corner, and was very silent.

“Ah! woe is me!” thought he to himself. “How her coynte biteth! If only my yard will heal, for the rest of my life I will never address another girl!”

Came the time for the youth to settle down; he was affianced to the daughter of the neighbour, and they were wedded. They dwelt together for a day, then two, then three; they dwelt together for a week, then a second, then a third; but the youth feared to touch his wife.

Constrained one day to go to the house of the young man’s mother-in-law, they set out on their way. On the road the wife said to her husband:

“Listen, now, my dear little Danilka. Why hast thou married since thou dost naught with me? If thou canst do naught, why spoilest the life of another in this useless fashion?”

And Danilka replied:

“Nay, thou wilt not trap me again. It biteth, thy coynte. My yard hath long been ill. ‘Tis scarce cured yet.”

“Thou ravest!” answered she. “At that time I did but play with thee. Have no fear now. Make trial of this dear little thing[96] of mine. Thou wilt be enchanted with it.”

[96] The text says: _ce cher petit_, which may be interpreted as referring to the wife’s _pudendum_. _C.f._ _Le petit je ne sais quoi_ (”My~little~what’s~its~name.”), a common erotic term for the parts concerned. (Farmer: _Slang and its Analogues_; Landes: _Glossaire Érotique_; and _Le petit Citateur: Notes Érotiques et Pornographiques_.) The last authority considers that the word _trou_ (hole) would be understood in the text. _Trou_, of course, is a common French erotic term for the feminine _pudendum_. On the other hand, the word _jeu_ (game) may be understood, which would be equally applicable. _C.f._ Farmer (_Slang_, etc., vol. 3, p. 110): “The first game ever played,” _i.e._, copulation. Also Landes (_Gloss. Érot._): “Game: employed in an obscene sense to denote the sexual act.”

And desire took the youth, and he tucked up his robe, saying:

“Wait--I am about to bind thy legs, and if thy coynte biteth, I shall be able to leap to earth and save myself.”

He let go of the reins and bound the two naked thighs of his young wife. His instrument was now of sufficient magnitude. When he rammed the girl, she cried with a loud voice; the horse, which was young, took fright and began to run away; the sleigh was thrown from side to side; the peasant fell out; and his young wife, her thighs naked, was dragged into the courtyard of the mother-in-law.

The mother-in-law gazed through the window; she perceived the horse of her son-in-law, and was assured that he brought her some viands for the feast; she went to meet him and found--her daughter!

“Ah! little mother!” cried the latter. “Unbind me swiftly ere any see me.”

The old woman unbound her and asked what it signified.

“And thy husband, where is he?” she demanded.

“The horse threw him into the road.”

These two entered the house and gazed through the window. Danilka arrived, approached some small boys who were playing at knuckle-bones, stopped, and looked about him. The mother-in-law dispatched her eldest daughter to him. She drew near, saying:

“Good day, Danilka Ivanitch.”

“Good-day.”

“Come into the house. The feast lacketh but thee.”

“Is my wife within?”

“Yea.”

“And hath the blood ceased to flow?”

But the young girl spat and ran away from him.

Then the mother-in-law dispatched her daughter-in-law, who would appease him.

“Come, come, little Danilka. The blood hath ceased to flow this long time.”

She led him within the house, and the mother-in-law came to meet him, saying:

“Welcome, my dear little son-in-law.”

“Varvara--is she within?”

“Yea.”

“And hath the blood ceased to flow?”

“It hath ceased this long time.”

Then he drew forth his yard and showed it to his mother-in-law, saying:

“See, little mother, this awl[97] was entirely inside her body.”

[97] _Alène_ is the word in the text. Not an erotic term for _penis_ in French and English slang, though we have the verb “to bore.” _C.f._ Farmer: _Slang and its Analogues_, for his amazing list of synonyms denoting the sexual act under the heading “Ride.” Blondeau, in his _Dictionnaire Érotique_ (Isidore Liseux: Paris, 1885), gives no word in his collection of Latin terms for _penis_ which approximates exactly to the sense of awl. Landes, Delvau (_Dictionnaire Érotique_), and _Le petit Citateur_ (_op. cit. supra_) make no mention of the word. In our story Danilka, in his very primitive fashion, has used an expression which explains in the simplest way his actions in the sleigh.

“Come, come,” said the mother-in-law. “Sit thyself down. ‘Tis time to eat.”

They sat down, drank, and ate.

THE LOVELY NUN AND HER YOUNG BOARDER.[98]

[98] _Memoirs of Jacques Casanova_: Privately Printed, 1894. Also _Mémoires de J. Casanova de Seingalt_: Garnier Frères: Paris, n.d. Our text is a blend of the two versions.

_Casanova again meets the beautiful nun M--M--, with whom he was on intimate terms some years previously at Venice. The nun is now in a convent at Chamberi, where Casanova visits her and her young boarder, a lovely girl aged twelve or thirteen, who readily succumbs to the adventurer’s amorous advances. The text continues_:--

I went to the convent, and M--M--came down alone to the grating. She thanked me for coming to see her, adding that I had come to disturb her peace of mind.

“I am all ready, my heart, to climb the garden wall,” I answered, “and I shall do it more dextrously than thy wretched humpback.”

“Alas! ‘tis not possible, for, believe me, thou art already spied upon.... Let us forget all, my dear friend, that we may be spared the torment of vain desires.”

“Give me thy hand.”

“Nay. All is over. I love thee still; probably I shall love thee always; but I long for thee to go, and by so doing, thou wilt give me proof of thy love.”

“This is dreadful; thou amazest me. Thou dost seem in perfect health; thou art grown even more beautiful; art made for the worship of the sweetest of gods; ‘tis beyond my powers of comprehension how, with a temperament like thine, thou canst live in continual abstinence.”

“Alas! lacking the reality we console ourselves with make-belief.[99] I will not conceal from thee that I love my young boarder. ‘Tis an innocent passion, and keepeth my mind calm. Her caresses quench the flame which would otherwise kill me.”[100]

[99] _Badinage_ in the French text; _i.e._, _playfulness_, _frolic_, _sport_, etc., which is hardly in keeping with the context.

[100] Literally, according to French text: “Her caresses quench a fire which would kill me did I not weaken its force by this make-belief.”

“And doth not thy conscience suffer?”

“I feel no distress in the matter.”

“But thou dost know ‘tis a sin?”

“I confess it.”

“And what sayeth the confessor?”

“Naught. He absolveth me, and I am happy.”

“And doth thy pretty boarder confess also?”

“Assuredly; but she telleth not the father of a matter which she doth not believe a sin.”

“I wonder that the confessor hath not taught her, for that species of instruction is a great pleasure.”

“Our confessor is a wise old man.”

“I shall leave thee, then, without a single kiss?”

“Not one.”

“May I return on the morrow? I go hence on the following day.”

“Come; but I shall not descend alone,[101] for others might have suspicions. I will bring my little one with me, to save appearances. Come after dining, but to the other parlour.”

[101] _i.e._, to the grating.

Had I not known M--M--at Aix, her religious ideas would have astonished me; but such was her character. She loved God, and did not believe that the kind Father who made us with passions would be too severe because we had not the strength to subdue them. I returned to the inn, annoyed that the lovely nun would have no more to do with me....

_After the interval of a night, Casanova returns to the convent, and, announcing his presence, enters the parlour which M--M--has indicated. The text continues_:--

... She soon descended with her pretty young boarder, who ... had not yet completed her twelfth year, but was very tall, strong and well-developed for her age. Gentleness, liveliness, candour, and wit were united in her features, and gave her an expression of exquisite charm. She wore a well-made corset which disclosed a white throat, to which fancy easily added the two spheres which would soon appear there. Her shapely head, whence hung two superb raven tresses, and her ivory throat indicated what might be concealed, and my vagrant imagination formed her into a budding Venus.

I began by telling her that she was very pretty, and that she would make happy the husband for whom God had destined her. This compliment, I felt assured, would cause her to blush. ‘Tis cruel, but thus it is that the language of seduction ever beginneth. A girl of her years who doth not blush at the mention of marriage is either a fool or already expert in profligacy. Despite this, however, the blush which mounteth to a young girl’s cheek at the onset of a startling idea is indeed a problem. Whence doth it come? Perchance from pure simplicity; perchance from shame; often from a mixture of both feelings. Cometh, then, the combat ‘twixt vice and virtue, and usually ‘tis virtue which hath to succumb. The desires--true servants of vice--easily attain their ends. As I knew the young boarder from M--M--’s description, I could not be unaware of the source of those blushes which did but enhance her youthful charms.

Pretending not to notice aught, I conversed for a while with M--M--, then returned to the assault. She had regained her calm.

“What is thine age, pretty one?” said I.

“I am thirteen.”

“Thou art wrong, my heart,” said her friend. “Thou hast not yet completed thy twelfth year.”

“The time will come,” quoth I, “when thou wilt diminish the tale of thy years instead of increasing it.”

“I shall never tell a lie, sir; of that I am sure.”

“So thou wouldst become a nun, my fair friend?”

“I have not yet that vocation; but naught shall force me to lie, even though I should live in the world.”

“Thou art wrong, for thou wilt begin to lie from the moment thou hast a lover.”

“Will my lover also tell lies?”

“Assuredly he will.”

“Were the matter truly so, I should entertain a bad opinion of love; but I do not believe it, for I love my dear friend here, and I never conceal the truth from her.”

“But thou dost not love a man as thou lovest a woman.”

“Indeed one doth.”

“Not so, for thou dost not go to bed with a woman, but thou wilt with thy husband.”

“No matter--my love would be the same.”

“What? Thou wouldst not rather sleep with me than with M--M--?”

“Nay, in sooth, for thou art a man and would see me.”

“Thou dost not desire a man to see thee, then?”

“Nay.”

“Thou knowest that thou art ugly, then?”

At this she turned to her friend with a highly vexed air.

“Am I truly ugly?” she asked.

“Nay, my heart,” said M--M--, bursting with laughter; “‘tis quite the other way. Thou art very pretty.” With these words, she took her on her knee and embraced her tenderly.

“Thy corset is too tight, mademoiselle; ‘tis not possible to have so small a waist as thine.”

“Monsieur is mistaken. Thou canst put thy hand there and see for thyself.”

“I do not believe it.”

M--M--then held her close to the grille and bade me assure myself on the point. At the same moment she turned up her dress.

“Thou wast right,” said I, “and I owe thee an apology.” But in my heart I cursed the chemise and the grille.

“‘Tis my opinion,” quoth I to M--M--, “that here we have a little lad.”

Without awaiting a reply, I laboured so well that I satisfied myself, by touch, as to her sex, and I could see that the little one and her governess were pleased that my mind was at rest on the subject.

When I had withdrawn my hand, the little one gave a kiss to M--M--, whose smiling air reassured her, and begged leave to absent herself for a moment. It seems I had reduced her to a state in which a brief space of solitude was necessary, and I myself was in a highly excited condition.

When she had gone, I said to M--M--:--

“Dost realise that what thou hast shown me hath made me unhappy?”

“And why?”

“Because thy boarder is charming and I am dying to possess her.”

“I grieve for that, since thou canst not go further; moreover, I know thee, my friend, and e’en though thou couldst satisfy thy passion without danger to her, I would not yield her to thee; thou wouldst spoil her.”

“How?”

“Dost think that after enjoying thee she would care to enjoy me? I should lose too heavily by comparison.”

“Give me thy hand.”

“Nay.”

“Stay--one moment.”

“I do not wish to see aught.”

“Not even a little?”

“Naught at all.”

“Art angered with me, then?”

“Far from it. If thou hast been pleased, I am glad; and if thou hast filled her with desires, she will love me all the more.”

“What happiness, my angel, could we, all three, be alone together and at liberty!”

“I feel it, but ‘tis impossible.”

“Art sure that we are sheltered from all curious eyes?”

“I am certain.”

“The height of that wretched grille hath deprived me of the sight of many charms.”

“Why didst not go to the other parlour? ‘Tis much lower there.”

“Let us go there.”

“Not to-day. I could give no reason for the change.”

“I will return to-morrow, and in the evening I start for Lyons.”

The little boarder came back, and I stood up facing her. I had a number of beautiful seals and trinkets hanging from my watch-chain, and I had not had time to put myself in a state of perfect decency again. This she noticed, and my seals serving as a pretext for her curiosity, she asked if she might look at them.

“As long as you like, my jewel; look at them and touch them as well.”

M--M--, foreseeing what would happen, left the room, saying that she would return anon. I hastened to deprive the curious-minded young boarder of all interest in my seals by placing in her hands a curiosity of another kind. She did not conceal her transports nor the pleasure she felt in satisfying her inquisitiveness about an object which was quite new to her, and which she was able to examine minutely for the first time in her life. But soon an effusion of the natural moisture changed her curiosity into surprise, and I did not interrupt her in her delighted contemplation of it.

Perceiving M--M--returning slowly, I lowered my shirt and sat down. My watch and chains were still on the ledge of the grating, and M--M--asked her young friend if the trinkets had pleased her.

“Yea,” replied the little one, in a dreamy and melancholy voice. She had travelled so far in less than two hours that she had plenty to think on.

I passed the rest of the day in relating to M--M--the adventures I had encountered since I quitted her; but as I had not time to finish my tale, I promised to return on the following day at the same hour.

The young girl, who had been listening to me all the while, although I seemed to be addressing only her friend, said she was dying to know the end of my adventure with the mistress of the Duke of Matelone.[102] ...

[102] Referring to a salacious incident shortly before related. Further details would be out of place in this volume.

... On the following day, after dining, I returned to the convent, and having sent up my name to M--M--, I entered the room where the grating was more convenient. Before long M--M--arrived alone, but divining my desires, she added that her pretty young friend would soon join us.

“Thou hast fired her imagination,” she said. “She hath told me all about it, playing a thousand wanton tricks and calling me her dear husband. Thou hast seduced her, and I am very glad thou art going, for I believe she might lose her reason. Thou wilt see how she hath attired herself.”

“Art sure of her discretion?”

“Perfectly, but I beg of thee to do naught in my presence. When I see the moment approaching, I will leave the room.”

“Thou art an angel, beloved, but thou mightest be something better an thou wouldst----”

“I want naught for myself, because that may not be.”

“Thou couldst----”

“Nay--I will have naught to do with a pastime which would re-kindle fires hardly yet quenched. I have spoken. I suffer; but let us say no more on the matter.”

At this moment the young adept entered smiling, her eyes full of fire. She was attired in a short pelisse, open in front, and an embroidered muslin skirt which did not go beyond her knees. She looked like a sylph.

We were scarcely seated ere she reminded me of the place where my tale had stopped. I continued my recital, and when I was relating how Donna Lucrezia showed me Leonilda naked, M--M--went out, and the sly little puss asked me how I assured myself that my daughter was a virgin.

Taking hold of her through the wretched grating, against which she placed her pretty body, I showed her how I assured myself of the fact, and the little one found such pleasure in the game that, so far from feeling any suffering, she twice swooned away in ecstacy, all the while pressing my hand to the spot. Then she gave me her hand that she might afford me the pleasure I had given her, and when M--M--appeared during this enjoyable occupation, she said hastily:--

“It doth not matter. I have told her everything. My friend is kind, and she will not be vexed.”

M--M--, in sooth, affected to see naught of all this, and the precocious young girl wiped her hand in a kind of voluptuous delight, which showed how well she was pleased.

I proceeded with my history, but when I came to the episode of the poor girl who was _tied_,[103] describing all the trouble I had vainly taken with her, the little boarder grew so curious that she placed herself in the most seducing attitude so that I might be able to show her what I did. Seeing this, M--M--made her escape.

[103] Somewhat obscure. This rendering, that of the English translation, is not in accord with the French text, nor does it seem to us to represent what happened as described in the English translation.

“Kneel down on the ledge,” said the little wanton, “and let me do it.”

The reader can guess her intention, and she would have succeeded in her purpose had not the fire which consumed me distilled itself away at the orifice.

The charming novice felt herself besprinkled, but after ascertaining that naught more could be done, she withdrew in some vexation. My fingers, however, consoled her for the disappointment, and I had the pleasure of seeing her look happy once more.

I quitted these charming creatures in the evening, promising to visit them again in a year, but as I walked home I could not but reflect how often these asylums, supposed to be devoted to chastity and prayer, do contain in themselves the hidden germs of corruption. How many a timorous and trustful mother is persuaded that the child of her affection will escape the dangers of the world by taking refuge in the cloister. But behind these bolts and bars desires grow to a frenzied extreme; they crave in vain to be satisfied....

_JOHN and JOAN._[104]

[104] J. S. Farmer: _Merry Songs and Ballads_: _Privately Printed_, 1897: vol. 3: from _Pills to Purge Melancholy_ (1719). A similar ballad, _John and Jone_, from _Merry Drollerie_ (1661) is given by Farmer in the second volume of his work.

There was a Maid the other Day, Which in her Master’s Chamber lay; As Maidens they must not refuse, In Yeomens Houses thus they use In a Truckle-bed to lye, Or another standing by: Her Master and her Dame, Said she shou’d do the same.

This Maid cou’d neither rest nor Sleep, When that she heard the Bed to crack; Her Master Captive busie was, Her Dame cry’d out, you hurt my Back: Oh Husband you do me wrong, You’ve lain so hard my Breast upon; You are such another Man, You’d have me do more than I can: Tush Master, then says _Joan_, Pray let my Dame alone; What a devilish Squalling you keep, That I can neither rest nor Sleep.

This was enough to make a Maiden sick And full of Pain; She begins to Fling and Kick, And swore she’d rent her Smock in twain: But you shall hear anon, There was a Man his name was _John_, To whom this Maid she went alone, And in this manner made her moan; I prithee _John_ tell me no Lie, What ails my Dame to Squeak and Cry? I prithee _John_ tell me the same, What is’t my Master gives my Dame?

It is a Steel, quoth _John_, My Master gives my Dame at Night: Altho’ some fault she find, I’m sure it is her Heart’s Delight: And you _Joan_ for your part, You love one withal your Heart: Yes, marry then quoth _John_, Therefore to you I make my moan; If that I may be so bold, Where are these things to be sold? At _London_ then said _John_, Next Market day I’ll bring thee one.

What will a good one cost, If I shou’d chance to stand in need? Twenty Shillings, says _John_, And for Twenty Shillings you may speed: Then _Joan_ she ran unto her Chest, And fetch’d him Twenty Shillings just; _John_, said she, here is your Coin, And I pray you have me in your Mind: And out of my Love therefore, There is for you two Shillings more; And I pray thee honest _John Long_, Buy me one that’s Stiff and Strong.

To Market then he went, When he had the Money in his Purse; He domineer’d and vapour’d, He was as stout as any Horse: Some he spent in Ale and Beer, And some he spent upon good Cheer; The rest he brought home again, To serve his turn another time: Welcome home honest _John_, God a mercy gentle _Joan_; Prithee _John_ let me feel, Hast thou brought me home a Steel?

Yes, marry then quoth _John_, And then he took her by the Hand; He led her into a Room, Where they cou’d see neither Sun nor Moon: Together _John_ the Door did clap, He laid the Steel into her Lap: With that _Joan_ began to feel, Cuts Foot, quoth she, ‘tis a dainty Steel: I prithee tell me, and do not lye, What are the two Things hang thereby? They be the two odd Shillings, quoth _John_, That you put last into my Hand: If I had known so much before, I wou’d have giv’n thee two Shillings more.[105]

[105] _John and Joan_, strictly speaking, is a _variant_ of three stories quoted earlier on in this volume, (The Instrument, The Timorous Fiancée and The Enchanted Ring), inasmuch as all contain the same idea--the possibility of purchasing a _membrum virile_. At the same time, our ballad has a totally different setting, the maid in this case obtaining her first knowledge from the actions of others.

THE HUSBAND AS DOCTOR.[106]

[106] _Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_: Translated for the first time into English by Robert B. Douglas (_One Hundred Merrie and Delightsome Stories_), Paris: Charles Carrington. Also French Text, Paris: Gamier Frères, n.d.

_Of a young squire of Champagne who, when he married, had never mounted a Christian creature--much to his wife’s regret. And of the method her mother found to instruct him, and how the said squire suddenly wept at a great feast that was made shortly after he had learned how to perform the carnal act--as you will hear more plainly hereafter._

‘Tis well known that in the province of Champagne one is sure to encounter heavy and dull-witted persons--which hath seemed strange to many, seeing that the district is so near to the country of Mischief.[107] Many stories could be told of the stupidity of the Champenois, but this present will suffice.

[107] Probably Picardy or Lorraine.--Note by R. B. Douglas.

There dwelt in this province a young man, an orphan, who at the death of his father and mother had become rich and powerful. He was stupid, ignorant, and disagreeable, but hard-working, and knew well how to take care of himself and his affairs, and for this reason many persons--even people of condition--were willing to give him their daughter in marriage.

One of these damsels, above all others, pleased the friends and relations of our Champenois because of her beauty, goodness, riches and so forth. They told him ‘twas time he married.

“Thou art now three-and-twenty years of age,” said they, “and there could not be a better time. An thou wilt listen to us, we have sought out for thee a fair and good damsel who seemeth to us well fitted to thee. It is such an one--thou knowest her full well.” And they told him her name.

The young man, who cared little whether he was married or not, so as he did not lose money by it, answered that he would do whatsoe’er they wished.

“Since ye think ‘twill be to my advantage,” said he, “manage the business to the best of your ability, for I would follow your advice and instructions.”

“Thou sayest well,” said these good folk. “We will look and consider as carefully as though the matter concerned us or one of our children.”

To cut matters short, a little while afterwards our Champenois was married; but on the first night, when he was sleeping with his wife, he, never having mounted on any Christian beast, soon turned his back to her, and a few poor kisses was aught she had of him, but naught on her back. At which one may guess his wife was not well pleased, albeit she concealed her discontent.

This unsatisfactory State of affairs endured some ten days, and would have endured yet longer had not the girl’s mother put a stop to it.

It should be known that the young man was unversed in the mysteries of wedlock, for during the lifetime of his parents a tight rein had been kept upon him, and, above all things, he had been forbidden to play at the beast with two backs,[108] lest he should take too much delight therein, and waste all his patrimony. Which was prudent on the part of his parents, for he was not a young man likely to be loved for his appearance.

[108] _Faire la bête à deux dos._ A recognised slang term for the venereal act, used by Rabelais and Shakespeare. _C.f._ Farmer: _Slang and its Analogues_ (_op. cit. supra_), and Landes: _Glossaire érotique de la langue française_: Brussels, 1861.

And since he would do naught to anger his father and mother, and was not, moreover, of an amorous disposition, he had ever preserved his chastity, albeit his wife had deprived him of it right gladly had she known but how.

On a certain day the mother of the bride came to her daughter, and questioned her as to her husband’s state and condition and the countless other things which women like to know. To all of which questions the bride replied that her husband was a good man, and that she did not doubt but that she would be happy with him.

Which answer made the old woman joyous, but, since she knew by her own experience that there are more things in wedlock than eating and drinking, she said to her daughter:

“Come hither, and tell me, on thy word of honour, how he doth acquit himself at night?”

When the girl heard this question she was so vexed and shamed that she might not answer, and her eyes were filled with tears. But her mother, understanding what meant these tears, said:

“Weep not, my child. Speak me boldly. I am thy mother, and it behoveth thee to conceal naught from me. Hath he done naught to thee as yet?”

The poor girl, having partly recovered, and being reassured by her mother’s words, ceased her tears, but could not yet make reply. Whereupon her mother asked again:

“Speak me boldly and put aside thy grief. Hath he done naught to thee yet?”

In a low voice, mingled with tears, the girl replied:

“On my word, mother, he hath never touched me yet, but, save for that, there is no man more kind or affectionate.”

“Tell me,” quoth the mother, “knowest thou if he be properly furnished with all his members? Speak boldly if thou dost know.”

“By St. John! He is sound in that respect,” replied the bride. “I have often, by chance, felt his luggage[109] as I turned to and fro on our bed when I could not sleep.”

[109] _Denrée d’aventure._ A recognised erotic term for the male genital parts. _C.f._ Farmer and Landes (_op. cit. supra_). _Denrée_, properly, means a “commodity,” which is not far removed from the English slang term “concern.” (Farmer.)

“‘Tis enough,” said the mother. “Leave the rest to me. This is what thou must do. In the morning thou must feign grave illness--e’en as though thy soul were about to depart thy body. Thy husband will, I expect full well, seek me out and bid me come to thee, and I will play my part so that thy business will soon be settled, for I shall carry thy water to a certain doctor, who will give such counsel as I order.”

All was accomplished as arranged, for on the morrow, as soon as it was dawn, the girl, who was sleeping with her husband, fell to complaining and feigning sickness as though a strong fever racked her body.

Her foolish husband was much vexed and astonished, and knew not what to say or do. He sent forthwith for his mother-in-law, who was not long in coming. As soon as he saw her he said:

“Alas! mother! thy daughter is dying!”

“My daughter?” quoth she. “What doth she want?” And while she spoke, she walked to the patient’s chamber.

As soon as the mother perceived her daughter, she inquired of her as to her trouble, and the girl, being well instructed in what she must do, answered not at first, but, after a while, said:

“Mother, I am dying.”

“Please God, thou shalt not die! Take courage! But how cometh it that thou art fallen ill so suddenly?”

“I know not! I know not!” answered the girl. “Thou dost madden me by these questions.”

The mother took the daughter’s hand, and felt her pulse, her body and her head; then she said to her son-in-law:

“In sooth, she is sorely ill. She is on fire. We must find some remedy. Hast aught of her water?”

“That which she made last night is there,” said one of the attendants.

“Give it me,” said the mother.

She took the urine, and put it in a proper vessel, and told her son-in-law that she would show it to a physician, that he might know what he might do to her daughter to cure her.

“For God’s sake! spare naught!” she said. “I have still some money, but I love my daughter better than money.”

“Spare!” said he. “If money can help, I will not fail her.”

“When thou goest,[110] and while she is resting,” said the mother, “I will go home; but I will return an I am needed.”

[110] The text here is somewhat obscure. Mr. Douglas translates “No need to go so fast.”

Now it should be known that the old woman on the previous day, when she quitted her daughter, had instructed the physician, who was well aware of what he must say. So the young man carried his wife’s water to the physician, and, having saluted him, related how sick and suffering was his wife.

“And I have brought some of her water that thou mayest judge how sick she is, and the more easily cure her,” said the young man.

The physician took the vessel of urine, and, turning it about and examining it, said:

“Thy wife is sore afflicted with illness and in peril of death unless succour be forthcoming. Her water showeth it.”

“Ah! master, for the love of God, tell me what to do, and I will pay thee well canst thou restore her to health and prevent her from dying!”

“She need not die an thou obeyest my commands,” quoth the physician. “But if thou dost not make haste, all the money in the world will not save her from death.”

“Tell me, for Gods sake, what to do,” said the other, “and I will do it.”

“She must have connection with a man or she will die,” answered the physician.

“Connection with a man?” said the other. “What is that?”

“It meaneth,” continued the doctor, “that thou must mount on top of her, and speedily ram her three or four times, or more if thou canst; otherwise, the great heat which doth consume and kill her, will not be extinguished.”

“That will be good for her?”

“She is a dead woman,” answered the physician, “an thou do it not and do it quickly.”

“By St. John!” said the other, “I will try what I can do.”

With that he went home and found his wife, who was groaning and lamenting loudly.

“How art thou, beloved?” asked he.

“I die, beloved,” answered she.

“Please God, thou shalt not die,” said he. “I have conversed with the physician, who hath told me what medicine will cure thee.”

And, as he spoke, he fell to undressing, and lay down beside his wife, and began to execute in clumsy fashion the orders he had received from the physician.

“What dost thou?” asked his wife. “Wouldst kill me?”

“Nay, I am about to cure thee,” said he. “The physician hath assured me.”

And Nature instructing and the patient assisting, he performed upon her twice or thrice. When resting from his labours, much astonished at what had befallen, he asked his wife how she was.

“I am a little better than I was hitherto,” she replied.

“God be praised,” quoth he. “I hope thou wilt get well and that the physician hath spoken truly.”

And with that he fell to again.

To cut matters short, he performed so well that his wife was cured in a few days, whereat he was very joyful, as was the mother when she knew of it.

Ever afterwards our Champenois became a better fellow than heretofore, and his wife being now restored to health, he one day invited all his friends and relatives to dine with him, and also the father and mother of his wife, and he served good cheer after his own fashion. They drank to him, and he drank to them, and he was right good company.

But hear what befell him. In the midst of the feast he fell to weeping, which much astonished all his friends who were at table with him; and they demanded what was the matter, but he could not answer for weeping scalding tears. At length he spake, saying:

“I have good cause to weep.”

“By my oath thou hast not!” replied his mother-in-law. “What aileth thee? Thou art rich and powerful and well-housed, and hast good friends, nor must thou forget thy fair and good wife, whom God brought back to health when she was on the verge of the grave. In my thinking thou shouldst be light-hearted and joyous.”

“Alas!” said he. “Woe is me! My father and mother, who both loved me, and who amassed and bequeathed me so much wealth, are dead, and by my fault, for they died of a fever, and had I well touzled[111] them both when they were ill, as I did my wife, they would still be on their feet.”

[111] _Touzle_ or _Tousle_, in its original sense, meant “to rumple”--“to pull or mess about,” but came in time to signify, in erotic slang, the act of “mastering a woman by romping.” (_Vide_ Farmer: _Slang and its Analogues_.) It belongs to that class of word connoting the sexual act which may be described as _energetic_, as implying a sense of lively action and movement. Farmer, under his key-word _Ride_, gives a number of similar terms, among them:--to _belly-bump_; to _bounce_; to _cuddle_; to _ferret_; to _frisk_; to _fumble_; to _hug_; to _hustle_; to _jiggle_; to _jumble_; to _muddle_; to _niggle_; to _plough_; to _rummage_; to _shake_; and to _tumble_. _Touzle_ is Fielding’s term for the venereal act.

There was none at table who, on hearing this, would not fain have laughed; nevertheless, all restrained themselves as best they might. The tables were removed and each went his way, and the young man continued to live with his wife, and, in order that she might remain in good health, he failed not to tail her pretty often.

THE PRIEST AND THE LABOURER.[112]

[112] _Kruptadia_: Heilbronn: Henninger Frères, 1883: _Secret Stories from the Russian_.

Once on a time there dwelt a priest and his wife; they had two daughters. The priest hired a labourer, and in the spring he made a pilgrimage; but before setting out he gave his orders to the labourer.

“See, friend,” said the priest, “on my return I would find all the garden dug up and the beds set out.”

“I hear, little father,” answered the labourer.

The labourer dug so ill that the garden went to wrack and ruin, and all the while he enjoyed himself. When the priest returned, he went to the garden and saw that naught had been done.

“Ah, friend,” asked the priest of the labourer, “is it possible that thou knowest not how to dig a garden?”

“Assuredly I know not,” answered the labourer. “Had I known I would have done it.”

“Go, then, into the house, and beg of my daughters to give thee an iron shovel, and I will show thee how to dig.”

The labourer sped to the house and sought the daughters.

“Little mistresses,” quoth he, “the little father orders ye to give me ... both of ye....”

“Give thee what?”

“Ye know well he meaneth ye yourselves ... to futter!”

The priest’s daughters fell to abusing the labourer.

“What availeth it to abuse me?” asked the labourer. “The little father hath ordered ye to yield me this at once, for the borders of the garden must be dug. An ye believe not me, ask of him yourselves.”

One of the daughters straightway ran to the steps leading to the house, and cried:

“Little father! Hast ordered us to give this thing to the labourer?”

“Give it him swiftly! Why keepest him waiting?” answered the priest.

“Come, my sister,” said the young girl when she returned. “There is no help for it. We must give it him. So the little father hath ordered.”

Both then went to bed, and the labourer put the matter through most expeditiously. Afterwards, he took a shovel from the shed, and ran to the little father in the garden. The priest showed him how to dig the borders of the garden, and he himself returned to the house to his wife. But what saw he? His daughters in tears.

“Why weep ye?”

“How should we not weep, little father,” answered they, “when thou thyself hast ordered the labourer to make mock of us?”

“To make mock of ye?”

“Didst not order us to yield it to him?”

“And why not? I ordered ye to give him a shovel.”

“A shovel? He hath dishonoured us! He hath taken our virginity!”

When the priest heard this, he fell into a mighty rage, seized a stake, and ran headlong to the kitchen garden. The labourer perceived the priest approaching with a stake. Wretched mischance! He hurled the shovel from him and took to his heels. The priest sped after him, but the labourer was the more agile, and vanished from the sight of the priest.

Then went the priest in search of his labourer, and in his search he encountered a peasant.

“Good day, friend,” said the priest.

“Good day, little father,” answered the peasant.

“Hast encountered my labourer?”

“I know not. A lad passed me, running swiftly.”

“Tis he! Come with me, little peasant, and aid me in the search. I will pay thee well.”

They set out together; not far off they came upon a strolling player.

“Good day, strolling player,” said the priest.

“Good day, little father,” answered the strolling player.

“Hast met a lad just now?”

“Yea, little father. There was one who went running past me.”

“‘Tis he! Aid us in the search. I will pay thee well.”

“Willingly, little father.”

And the three set forth together.

Now the labourer had run to the village, and having clad himself in other garments, went himself to meet the priest. And the priest failed to recognise him, but questioned him, saying:

“Tell me, friend--hast seen a labourer on the road?”

“I have seen one, and he ran to the village.”

“Come, friend, aid us in the search.”

“Willingly, little father.”

All four then went in search of the priest’s labourer; they entered the village; they walked; they walked unto eventide; naught befell. Darkness descended. Where might they pass the night?

Anon they came to a house where dwelt a widow, and they begged leave of her to pass the night therein.

“Good people,” replied the widow, “there will be a deluge this night in my house. I warn ye of it beforehand. Ye will be drowned.”

Howbeit, she did not refuse them--indeed, she might not--and she let them enter for the night.

(Now the widow’s lover had promised to visit her that night.)

All four then entered the house and betook themselves to bed. The priest, thinking perchance there might be a deluge, laid hold of a great trough, set it upon a shelf, and put himself to sleep in the trough.

“If there be a deluge,” thought he to himself, “I shall float upon the top of it in the trough.”

The strolling player laid himself down by the hearth, his head in the ashes; the peasant reclined on the bench behind the table; and the priest’s labourer stretched himself on the stool by the window. Hardly had they lain down ere they fell into deep slumber, excepting the labourer, who alone slept not. He it was who heard the lover of the mistress of the house come beneath the window and knock, saying:

“Open, my beloved.”

The labourer arose, opened the window, and spake in low tones, saying:

“Beloved, thou comest at an ill moment. Strangers are within my house, passing the night therein. Come thou the next night.”

“I go, beloved,” answered the lover. “But lean thou from the window that we may embrace.”

The labourer turned his posterior to the window and thrust out his backside. The lover embraced it with rapture.

“I go ... adieu, my beloved. Fare thee well. I will return to-morrow night.”

“Go, loved one. I will await thee, but, as a parting gift, give me thy yard, which I will hold for several moments in my hand. ‘Twill console me somewhat.”

The lover drew forth his yard from his drawers and thrust it towards the window.

“Take it, beloved,” quoth he. “Amuse thyself.”

The labourer took the yard in his hand, caressed it once or twice, drew his knife from his pocket, and, with one blow, cut off the member and testicles of the lover. The latter uttered a great cry, and sped amain to his home. The labourer shut the window, sat down on the bench, and made a noise with his mouth, as though eating. The peasant heard the noise and awoke, saying:

“What eatest thou, comrade?”

“I have found a morsel of sausage on the table, but I cannot eat it all, for ‘tis uncooked.”

“No matter if it be uncooked, comrade. Give me a portion to sample.”

“There is not much, friend, but take what is left and eat.” And he gave him the cut-off yard.

The peasant fell to chewing the ‘sausage’ with fine appetite. He chewed and chewed, but could not swallow the morsel.

“What is wrong with it, comrade?” he asked. “‘Tis impossible to eat it. ‘Tis so tough.”

“Put it in the frying-pan, roast it, and then thou wilt be able to eat it.”

The peasant arose, went towards the frying-pan, and crammed the ‘sausage’ right ‘twixt the teeth of the strolling player. He held it there; he held it there for a long while, making experiment with it.

“Nay,” said he, at length. “The ‘sausage’ hath not grown tender. The fire hath done naught.”

“Cease to wrestle with the thing,” said the labourer. “The mistress of the house will hear and will scold us. Thou hast scattered the fire over the frying-pan. Look! sprinkle it with water that the woman may perceive naught.”

“But where may I get the water?”

“Piss o’er it. Better extinguish the fire than have to go forth into the courtyard.”

The peasant had great desire to piss, and he pissed forthwith upon the face of the strolling player. And when the strolling player felt the water, coming whence he knew not, fall right in his mouth, he said:

“The deluge hath arrived!”

And he fell to crying with all the strength of his lungs:

“Little father! The deluge! The deluge!”

The priest heard the voice of the strolling player, and, half asleep, sought to cast himself, together with the trough, straight into the water, but instead he fell heavily on the ground, bruising himself all over.

“Ah! my God!” he cried. “When a child falleth, the good Lord placeth a cushion under it, but when an old man tumbleth, the devil putteth a harrow beneath him. Behold me all sore and bruised. Of a certainty I shall ne’er find that brigand of a labourer.”

Quoth the labourer to the priest:

“Seek him no more, I counsel thee. Go home, and may the Lord go with thee. It were better for thy health.”

_EXCURSUS_ to _THE PRIEST AND THE LABOURER_.

The foregoing story reminds one of the device employed by “The Youth who would Futter his Father’s Wives,” (_The Thousand Nights and a Night: Supplemental Nights_, vol. 6: Translated by Sir Richard F. Burton.) In the latter case the father sets out on a journey, but, having forgotten his shoes, instructs his son, who is accompanying him for a short way, to return and fetch them. The youth goes back, informs his father’s wives that they are to sleep with him in his parent’s absence, and, when they are incredulous, shouts to his father in the distance:

“O my papa, one of them or the two of them?”

The father, referring, of course, to his shoes, shouts back:

“The two! The two!”

The wives are convinced by this remark, as were the virgin daughters of the priest in our story from _Kruptadia_. We shall reserve further extracts from this Oriental narrative for a subsequent volume of _Anthologica Rarissima_, the plot and details being inappropriate to our present theme.

THE TWO LOVERS AND THE TWO SISTERS.[113]

[113] Masuccio: _The Novellino_: Translated into English by W. G. Waters: Lawrence and Bullen: London, 1894: vol. 2, Forty-first Novel.

I will tell you, therefore, that in those days when Duke Ranier of Anjou, envious of the peace and quiet, as well as of the power and the wisdom of that divine prince, King Don Alfonso, was driven from Naples and from the Kingdom, it pleased him to tarry for a certain season in Florence. There were, amongst the other Frenchmen who were involved in the ruin and shipwreck of his fortunes, two valiant and accomplished cavaliers, the one named Filippo de Lincurto and the other Ciarlo d’Amboia.

Now these two, although they were very prudent and endowed with many virtues, were inclined nevertheless, being young and given over to love, to leave the burden of disaster, and the cares thereof as well, to him who was especially concerned with the same, that is, to the duke.

It happened that in their daily rides through Florence Filippo fell deeply in love with a graceful and very lovely young lady of noble parentage, and wife to a citizen of repute; and while he strove incessantly to win her, it chanced that Ciarlo, as he ranged another part of the city, became enamoured of a sister of Filippo’s lady-love, who abode unmarried in her father’s house. He, unwitting of this kinship, made up his mind, albeit he deemed her passing fair, to keep his passion within sober limits, forasmuch as he was well versed in the strife of love and aware that young damsels are wont to love lightly and without constancy. Filippo, finding that his fair lady was discreet and of good understanding, and being also fully prepared to become her servant, resolved to give her his love entirely; on which account the lady, realizing his humour and considering his many and praiseworthy parts, likewise determined to recompense him with all the love of her heart, and began to favour him with her kindness in such wise that he saw she was the only woman in the world who knew how to love.

She, certes, would have let him taste at once the supreme fruit of love had she not been restrained therefrom by the continual presence of her husband; so, having given Filippo assurance, both by letter and by messages, that she was firmly set in this purpose, the two lovers longed beyond aught else for the time when the husband would take his departure to Flanders in the galley which was now expected at any hour to touch at Pisa.

While they thus abode in pleasureable expectation, Duke Ranier was obliged to return to France, whereat both the cavaliers felt mightily aggrieved, and especially that one of the two who loved and likewise was loved in return; nevertheless, being bound by necessity, they took their departure, snared as they were in amorous toils.

Filippo swore to his lady that no obstacle, however great, should debar him from returning, and that, come what might, he as a loyal lover would never forsake her. Having consoled her with other speeches yet more affectionate, he and his companion set forth; and after his return it came to pass in the course of time, either through some fresh fancy or through the cares of business, that Filippo, albeit he still remembered the lady left behind, let the ardent flames of his passion grow colder every day. He not only forgot his promise to return, but beyond this neglected to answer any of the many letters writ to him by the lady.

On this account she, perceiving how she was well-nigh forsaken by this lover once so ardent, was stricken with such cruel grief thereanent that she almost lost her wits; but, calling to mind the stainless virtue of the cavalier, she could not persuade herself that so noble a heart could harbour such inhumanity. However, when she remembered his latest words, both written and sent to her by the mouth of their trusted messenger, she deliberated how she might by a new and suggestive plan stimulate the virtue of her lover and thereby make a final trial on behalf of her passion.

Thus she caused to be made by a skilled master a ring of gold, wrought very finely, and in this she had set a counterfeit diamond, most manifestly false, letting engrave round the ring itself the words, ‘La ma za batani?’[114] This, after she had wrapped it in fine cambric, she sent to her Filippo by a certain young man of Florence, who knew how things stood with her, and who was going to France after his own affairs, charging him that he should himself deliver it to Filippo with no farther words than these: “She who loves you and you only sends you this, and implores you to let her have a fitting answer thereto.”

[114] St. Matthew, 27, 46: “Why hast thou forsaken me?”

In due time the envoy with his offering and his message arrived at Filippo’s house and was joyfully received; but after the cavalier had marked with amazement what was the quality of the ring, and what the motto graven thereupon, he went about for several days pondering over the purport of the same, and finding himself unable to draw from it the true meaning, he determined to show it to Ciarlo and to divers other gentlemen of the court; but these, taken singularly and altogether, what though they used all their wits, were unable to hit the mark.

Finally its meaning was fathomed by Duke John, who was a gentleman of great discretion, albeit more fortunate in advising others than in reaping victory in the many enterprises he undertook. What it said was this:

“False diamond, why hast thou forsaken me?”

When Filippo heard this sentence he saw at once how the lady had most justly and prudently reproved him for his lover’s unfaith, and began to consider how he might by a device of the same sort answer so graceful a proposition and repay so heavy a debt of love. So, being minded to conclude the matter, he went to his dear friend Ciarlo, beseeching him by the friendship there was between them, that he would go with him to Florence for the reason aforesaid.

And albeit Ciarlo found this somewhat hard at first, he ended by consenting to oblige so dear a friend, deeming besides that he might peradventure thereby compass some pleasure for himself and for the damsel he loved. Thereupon they set forth, and having duly come to Florence, they began at the first chance to walk past the houses of their ladies in order to signify their presence; and Filippo soon sent word by his wonted messenger to his lady how he had sufficiently understood the message which the ring sent by her had borne, and how he knew no other method of disproving her false opinion of him save by bearing witness for himself, wherefore it behoved her to grant him an interview meet for the occasion.

The gracious lady, who with her sister had rejoiced amain over the return of their lovers, and had deliberated what course should be taken, as soon as she heard this kindly message, so manifestly springing from love, was filled with such joy that she felt almost jealous of herself, and so as to lose no more time over the matter she sent back a brief answer to Filippo, bidding him wait with his companion before the door of her house next evening.

Wherefore Filippo, as soon as the hour had come, betook himself merrily with his friend Ciarlo to the spot which had been named, and there they caught sight of the lady, who gave them most gladsome reception. After she had made a trusty maidservant of hers open to them the door and bring them in, she likewise gave them to understand, by the mouth of this same woman, that the only way in which the thing she so much desired could be brought about would be that, while she should be taking her pleasure with Filippo, Messer Ciarlo should go and strip naked and lie down in the bed beside her husband, in order that, if by chance the husband should wake and feel Ciarlo in bed, he might believe that his wife was still there.

Unless he should consent to do this, they would all run great peril of their honour and of their lives as well; wherefore she besought them to put in practice the timely stratagem which she had provided, or else withdraw from the place forthwith.

As soon as Ciarlo heard this request, what though he would have gone down to hell to serve his comrade, he was conscious that, even if the business should come to a fortunate issue, it would be to him a great loss of good fame were he to be found there stark naked; wherefore he refused altogether to go on such service in such fashion, declaring, however, that if he might go clad and carrying his sword in his hand he would willingly do what they wanted.

Now Filippo had travelled all the way from France to foregather with his lady-love, and, in considering the difficult parts to which they had come, he perceived that his friend was speaking and that the lady was acting with good show of reason; so, after many and divers arguments, for the reason that the lady remained firmly fixed in her purpose and that he himself was more than ever fired with amorous desire, he besought Ciarlo almost with tears that, by the bonds of friendship, he would consent to oblige them, what though the thing itself might be unseemly.

Therefore Ciarlo, seeing how great was the passion which possessed his friend, and to what a pass the affair had come, determined that he would if need be meet death itself rather than be wanting in service to Filippo.

Thereupon the waiting-woman taking Ciarlo by the hand led him in the dark to the lady, and she, having given him kindly welcome, took him into her own chamber, and there bade him take off all his clothes and get into the bed, keeping his sword at hand. Then she softly bade him be of good heart and have patience, for she would soon return and release him. This done, she went full of joy to her Filippo, and having led him into another room they reaped the full and delightful fruit of their desire.

Now when Ciarlo had waited, not two, but four hours, he began to think that it was full time for the lady, or at least for his trusty comrade, to come and set him free; so, hearing no one coming, and perceiving that it was near daybreak, he said to himself:

“If these others, all afire with love, feel no concern at having left me here to play a fool’s part, it is now full time for me to take thought of myself and of my honour.”

Having softly got out of bed, himseeming that the lady’s husband was asleep, he went with the sheet over his shoulders to try to escape, but was hugely annoyed at finding the chamber door securely locked outside; and, not knowing where the windows were, nor on what place they looked, he went back to the bed in a fury.

He heard sounds which told him that the other occupant of the bed was awake and moving, and, though he was pricked both by fear and curiosity, he kept aloof and spake not a word. While he was thus troubled in mind he marked through the fissures of the windows that it was now broad day, and, fearing amain lest he should be espied by his bed-partner, he turned his back, and, gathering himself together and keeping his sword ready for his needs, he resolved to leave whatever might befall him to Fortune, and kept still, mightily troubled in mind.

Before long he heard sounds of the fires being kindled throughout the house, and the hasty steps of the servants as they ran to fetch water; wherefore he determined at the last rather to die as beseemed a good cavalier than to be found there stark naked and making shift for a woman; so, having leapt out of bed with his drawn sword, he went to the door, and, as he was using all his force to open the same, he became aware how someone was unfastening it from without.

He drew back somewhat, and then saw enter Filippo, laughing heartily and holding the lady by the hand. The two straightway began to embrace him in merry wise, albeit they saw he was bursting with rage. But when the lady perceived that he was all bemused, and unwitting where he was, she took him by the hand and said to him:

“My good sir, by the sincere love I bear towards you, and also by that which you have towards certain others, I will assure myself that I may speak to you concerning a matter which intimacy such as ours will allow us to discuss. I know not whether Nature may have failed to bestow upon you French gentlemen that which she always gives to the lower animals. I mean to say that I know of no male beast, whether wild or tame, which, when under the sway of love, will not recognise the female by her odour. And you, forsooth, a wise and discreet gentleman, who have come hither all the way from France on account of love, can it be that your frozen nature is so sluggish that, when Fortune lets you spend the whole of a long night by the side of her for whom you have shown such great tokens of love, you failed to scent out who she was?”

Then, having led him up to the bedside, she let him see and know clearly that it was her sister and no one else who had lain beside him during the night which was just passed.

When he perceived this thing the cavalier was not a little ashamed of himself, but finally all four laughed and joked so merrily that they could scarce stand upright on their feet; and because of the pass to which things had come, it seemed meet to all that, for the setting right of the fault aforesaid, they should once more divide in pairs.

Whereupon Ciarlo, having got back into bed, plucked the fresh flower and the earliest fruit of the goodly garden which fell to his lot, and the two friends remained there, each taking delight with his own lady, until the husband came back from western parts.

THE BURNING YARD.[115]

[115] _Kruptadia_: Heilbronn: Henninger Frères, 1883: vol. 1: _Secret Stories from the Russian_.

A peasant had a daughter who said unto him: “Little father, Vannka would fain futter me.” “Ah! thou fool!” quoth the peasant. “Why give thyself to a stranger? We will futter thee right well ourselves.”

He took an iron stud, warmed it in the stove, and planted it right in her coynte, in such fashion that she could not piss for three months.

Vannka encountered the young girl and again made his proposal.

“Permit me to futter thee,” said he.

Quoth she:

“Thou ravest, Vannka, who art sprung from the devil. My little father hath futtered me, and he hath so scorched my coynte that for three months I have not been able to piss.”

“Fear not, simpleton. My yard is cold.”

“Thou liest, Vannka, devil’s offspring. Let me touch it.”

“Take it, then.”

She took his yard in her hand and cried:

“Ah! wretched devil! thou seest well ‘tis warm! Dip it in the water!”

Vannka dipped his yard in the water and whistled with pain.

“See!” quoth the girl. “It hisseth! I told thee ‘twas burning, and thou didst deceive me, thief!”

And she would not let herself be futtered by Vannka.

TAKE TIME BY THE FORELOCK.[116]

[116] _Les Faceties de Pogge_ (Poggio) _Florentin_: Translated by Pierre des Brandes: Paris: Gamier Frères, n.d. The English rendering is, of course, our own.

_Of a young wife who was made a fool of by her old husband._

A native of Florence, already old, espoused a young maid, whom the matrons had instructed to resist the first assault of her husband on the wedding night, and to yield herself as reluctantly as possible. She refused, therefore, point-blank, to accede to his desires.

The husband, ‘decks cleared for action and with all sail furled,’ was astonished by this refusal, and asked why she would not give way to his wishes. The virgin replied that she had a pain in her head; whereupon the husband ‘disarmed,’ lay down on his side, and slept till morn.

The young wife, when she perceived that her husband left her alone, felt remorse in that she had followed the counsels of the gossips; she aroused her husband, and told him that she no longer had a pain in the head.

“Ah!” quoth the husband. “I, now, have a pain ... in another part.”[117] And he left his wife virgin as before.

[117] “The text has a play upon words,” says the translator, “which could be translated if the French words had the same meaning as the Latin:--_Dixit (puella) se non amplius dolere caput. Tum ille: ‘At ego nunc doleo caudam.’_ (The girl said that she no longer had a pain in the head. Said the husband: ‘But I have a pain in my tail.’)” This note, we must confess, is a source of some mystification to us, since the relationship between the French and Latin words is both simple and direct. _Cauda_, of course, is the Latin word for _tail_: in the erotic sense it designates the _penis_. (_C.f._ Blondeau: _Dictionnaire érotique latin-française_: Liseux: Paris, 1885.) The Italians use the word _coda_ in a similar sense. _Tail_, in French, is _queue_; in erotic literature it is also a highly common term for the _membrum virile_. (_C.f._ Landes: _Glossaire érotique de la langue française_, and Farmer: _Slang and its Analogues_.) Again, in English, _tail_ is a slang synonym either for the _penis_ or the female _pudendum_. _C.f._ Farmer: _Slang and its Analogues_, who gives numerous examples of the use of the word in this sense. We append a few of his quotations:--(1) Chaucer, _Cant. Tales_, 6047-8: “For al so siker as cold engendreth hayl, A likerous mouth must han a likerous TAYL.” (2) Rochester, _Poems_: “Then pulling out the rector of the females, Nine times he bath’d him in their piping tails.” (3) Motteux, _Rabelais_, V., xxi.: “They were pulling and hauling the man like mad, telling him that it is the most grievous ... thing in nature for the TAIL to be on fire....”

‘Tis a good plan, therefore, to accept what may be profitable and pleasant when ‘tis offered.

_EXCURSUS_ to _TAKE TIME BY THE FORELOCK_.

Quoting from Mérard de Saint-Just, (_Espiègleries Joyeusetés_), Poggio’s translator gives a variant in verse of the foregoing story. We reproduce it in less ambitious English prose:--

“Pierre the Red, wrapped in his bed-clothes, felt himself stimulated by the burning flame of the god of love, and he invited his wife to come straightway to his arms. It chanced that she was praying, and she made reply: ‘Wait a while.’ And whilst her _Paters_ and her _Agnus’_ and her _Aves_ were accomplished, Pierre’s ardour had had time to grow cold. She entered the bed, but the chilled husband maintained his pretence. She drew near him; he did not budge. ‘Beloved, what dost wish? I have said my prayers.’--’Good,’ quoth Pierre the Red. ‘But I have grown soft.’”

FIRST MEETING BETWEEN A YOUTH AND HIS FIANCÉE.[118]

[118] _Kruptadia_: Heilbronn: Henninger Frères, 1883: vol. 1: _Secret Stories from the Russian_.

An old man had a son, a fine lad. Another old man had a daughter, a marriageable girl. They pictured these two young ones married.

“Ivanouchka,” said the father, “I desire thee to marry the daughter of our neighbour; approach her and discourse gently and courteously with her.”

“Machoutka,” said the other old man, “I would give thee in marriage to the son of our neighbour; seek to meet him and have pleasant converse with him.”

These two young persons met in the street and greeted each other.

“Ivanouchka,” quoth the young girl, “my father hath bade me have pleasant discourse with thee.”

“My father hath instructed me likewise,” answered the youth.

“What shall we do? Where sleepest thou, Ivanouchka?”

“In the hay.”

“As for me,” quoth the girl, “I sleep in the coach-house. Come this night to me, and we will hold pleasant converse together.”

Thus it was. During the night Ivanouchka went and lay down with Machoutka.

“Camest thou by the threshing-floor?” asked she.

“Yea. Hast thou seen the heap of dung?”

“I have seen it.”

“What shall we do now?”[119]

[119] The young people are obviously nervous, and are making conversation.

“I must see if thou hast a good instrument.”

“Come, look,” said he, and undid his drawers. “Behold my riches!”

“‘Tis too big for me! See how small is mine!”

“Let me see if mine will go in.”

And the youth set himself to make the trial; his yard rose up erect like a stake, and when he thrust it in, the young girl cried with all her might:

“Ah! that hurteth me! How it biteth!”

“Have no fear. My yard hath not sufficient room; for that reason it is so angry.”

“I told thee that there was not sufficient space for it.”

“Wait--it will stretch.”

Anon, when he made her to feel much pleasure, she said to him:

“Ah! my little heart! Thy riches are indeed worth much money.”

They performed and fell asleep.

But the girl awoke during the night, and kissed the backside of the young man, which she took for his face. He let her do this to satiety, and the girl said to him:

“Knowest thou, Vania, that thou smellest most scurvily!”

THE BREAKER OF EGGS.[120]

[120] Béroalde de Verville: _Le Moyen de Parvenir_: Paris, Gamier Frères; also _Fantastic Tales or The Way to Attain_: translated by Arthur Machen: Carbonnek, 1890. Our extract is a blend of both versions, though we have adhered more closely than Machen to the original text. _Vide_ also _Excursus_ to this story.

Once on a time there lived alone in a lodging near St. Ives a young man. ‘Twas at the time when the debate was running high ‘twixt the monks and the ministers whether ‘twere better to say: “Blessed are they that have dined well,” or, “Blessed are they that laugh.” The young man took but scant interest in these theological discussions, and devoted his attention to the maid, who was a fine enough young thing, though somewhat green. He would talk with her coolly and discreetly, and one day said:

“Thou art from the country, little friend?”

“Truly, sir.”

“I was assured of it and shall love thee none the less: thou art a good girl and a good housekeeper.”

“I thank thee kindly, sir.”

“Well, little friend, since I love thee so much, and that thou mayst serve us well, I must e’en tell thee, for thine own good profit, of a certain ill that befalleth country maids when they come to dwell in the town; ‘tis that small eggs do grow in their bellies and harden there, so that these poor maids have to show their posteriors to the doctor. I would grieve shouldst thou come to that, and it shall not be so an thou wilt hear me. I will do something for thee, and I see that ‘tis full time to begin, for, by thy colour, I can tell that the eggs are already there.”

“Indeed, sir, I am greatly beholden, for truly I am not what I was.”

“To-morrow morning I will give thee something for this malady.”

When morning came, she went to his chamber and he gave her a spoonful of white hypocras,[121] telling her to go about her house-work and, anon, to break her fast on a little dry bread. This treatment was continued for two or three days, but one morning, when her mistress was out of the way, he took hold of the maid and, laughing gently, pushed her against the bed as if to look into her mouth.

[121] An infusion of cinnamon bark, soft almonds, and a little musk and amber, in wine sweetened with sugar. The word is probably derived from Hippocrates, the famous Greek doctor.

“Alas! sir! what wouldst do?” she cried.

“I shall do thee no ill; I would break an egg which is fast hardening.”

She let him do it, and he did it so well that he put live flesh in live flesh.[122] So he finished as soon as he had begun, and she found the business so much to her liking, although he had cooked her somewhat, that she came back again and again to have the eggs broken; in sooth, she had wished for a belly in which one might break eggs for an hundred years without doing aught else.

[122] We omit the two interjections to be found here in the original text, not because they are highly flavoured, but simply because they have no bearing on the narrative. Nor do they merit translation in a note.

One day she loitered over long at this pleasant pursuit, and her mistress fell to scolding her when she descended, saying:

“Thou sly wench! Thou hast been in mischief with that man above! Idiot! Little hussy! What hast been about up there?”

“Naught, madam. Be not wroth; ‘tis as I shall tell thee.”

“Thou hast been after no good with that man above.”

“Nay, madam, thou dost him wrong; he is the most honest man in the world. I had eggs in my belly, and he broke them for me.”

“Eggs, thou slut! what eggs?”

“Behold, madam, if ‘tis not so; I will lift my smock; thou canst see my front part, which is yet all damp with the white of the eggs, which came out when he broke them.”

_EXCURSUS_ to _THE BREAKER OF EGGS_.

_Le Moyen de Parvenir_ of Béroalde de Verville, Canon of St. Gatien at Tours, once a Hugenot, then a Catholic, finally “neither one nor the other,”[123] is a work little known to the English reader, be he student or bibliophile. The cause is not far to seek; no _complete_ and _unexpurgated_ English translation of this much censured book exists. Machen’s rendering, while claiming to be the first in our language, is in no sense full and literal, although free and full-flavoured; the translator, as he admits in his humourous preface, “has been forced, much to his sorrow, to weed out some strongly-scented flowers from this Canonical Garden.” His text, indeed, shows many notable omissions, in particular the more licentious asides and interjections which have no actual bearing on the stories; further, there are sundry additions not found in the old French text--“odd scraps from his own workshop,” as Machen terms them.

[123] _Dissertation_ de Bernard de la Monnoye sur _Le Moyen de Parvenir_.

For the student, then, there are: Machen’s delightful (but _partial_) translation, limited to 500 numbered copies and now a rare book,[124] and numerous editions in _old_ French, some expurgated, and all difficult of understanding where the average English reader is concerned. As we note in the preface to Garnier’s latest issue, the work, for the greater part, “is an enigma to modern readers and contains a crowd of obscurities ... it would need volume after volume to explain and comment upon everything that calls for explanation and comment.”

[124] An experienced auctioneer of books recently told us that until December last he had never met with a copy. Strangely enough, two copies were sold in a week of that month, one, in every respect as clean and perfect as when printed over thirty years ago, realising £4.15s. We believe that a few extra copies on large paper still exist, but the booksellers ask a prohibitive price for them.

_The Way to Attain_ or _The Right Way with Women_ (the title of de Verville’s book has suffered various translations) would seem to have a dual personality; one: a clear-cut collection of stories, witty, realistic, free, Rabelaisian, or obscene as you choose to term them; another: the same stories, enmeshed in a mass of innuendo, obscure sayings, licentious and scatalogical asides, and--sometimes--almost meaningless phraseology. The trouble is to separate the grain from the chaff, the stories from the irrelevant verbiage--not that the latter is not often highly entertaining. Bernard de la Monnoye, in his _Dissertation_ (_cit. sup._), bears out our criticism when explaining the plan of the book. “The author supposes a sort of general banquet,” he writes, “where, without regard for rank or degree, he introduces persons of every kind and age, scallawags for the most part, who, with no object but their own amusement, talk with the utmost freedom, and passing almost imperceptibly from subject to subject, cause the stories to be lost to sight. In fact, they are so jumbled up in the book that one is hard put to find them....”

Both extracts from _The Way to Attain_ given in this volume (Coypeau and His Thread and The Breaker of Eggs) are told without interruption in the original French text, but each is introduced in the most haphazard fashion, preceded and followed by a veritable welter of inconsequent remarks; if Machen found it necessary to weed out the most strongly scented flowers from the Canonical garden, the student will find it equally necessary to dig before he finds the best.

There are other good things, however, besides the stories in _The Way to Attain_. While many of the asides and interjections are gross, vulgar, and, seemingly, pointless, others show a pretty and pungent wit. The canon is for ever having a thrust at his cloth, the monks, and the nuns, and some of his criticisms are worth repeating:--

“Where there are no monks there can be no shamelessness.”

“None sit more at their ease than monks, ministers, and consecrated folk, who, in the place of keeping the holy orders that have been given them, make them into ordure, and leaving the orders of God take the orders of the devil, who giveth them grace to be more lewd and whorish than other men.”

“The women that frequent the abodes of churchmen are not their wives, ... they are first maids, then mates, then mistresses.”

“It is better to have in one’s house a wench with whom one can disport theologically than to go about wandering from pillar to post like a high-toby, and run the risk of getting a nip, like Cornu, who sighed as he lay a-dying of the pox: ‘Now I begin to appreciate the beauties of domesticity.’”

“Once on a time he was prebendary of Chartres, but he left his stall to marry a pretty lass, and the morning after the wedding, as they lay in bed, he said to her: ‘Now, sweetheart, thou dost see how well I love thee, for I left my fair prebend that I might have thee.’ She replied: ‘Then thou wast a fool; thou shouldst have kept thy prebend, and had me also.’ ... It would appear that she knew that some canons are given to waggery.”

“Such cloisterlings, who love not women, are always ready to fish up some ancient, stinking heresy under the pretence of discoursing against the Reformation, talking of vices they impute to others, the which are more tolerable than their own.... It is better to keep a wench than to trouble the peace of Christendom, and to do the work is true godliness, which is the reason why bishops are called fathers-in-God, ... fathers-in-God sounds better than fathers-in-law. And they are certainly godly, that is happy; for happy, thrice happy is the father who hath not the trouble of feeding his children.”

“He was as liberal as our bishop, who had rather give a crown to a wench than a groat to a poor man.”

“Assuredly she is a strumpet. I saw her talking to the curate of St. Paul’s, who had promised his rector to be discreet, and run no more after the wenches, or at least that he would abstain during Easter week. But Lord! he hadn’t the patience, and on Easter Monday he spoke to his woman, and the parson saw him. When they met he told him of it, saying: ‘I saw thee speaking to a wench. Where is thy shame? Canst not refrain, at least during the holy season?’ ‘Pardon,’ he replied, ‘I did but make an appointment for next week.’”[125]

[125] Our excerpts are drawn chiefly from Machen’s translation.

We have quoted sufficiently to show that amid this welter of words there is fruit worth the plucking. The general tone of the work, however, is coarse; if the canon desired to refer to what is not usually mentioned in the most Catholic of assemblies, he did so in the crudest language. To our age the grossness of his obscenity seems unnecessary; out of place; unpardonable. Is it so? The conversational atmosphere of a present-day smoking-room would have made de Verville blush. The old canon wrote as men in those times spoke; we of to-day write not as we speak, but as we think we ought to speak. It is this pitiful hypocrisy which blinds us to the fact that in _Le Moyen de Parvenir_ we have some of the brightest tales and sayings ever penned by human hand.

HERE ENDS THE FIRST VOLUME OF ANTHOLOGICA RARISSIMA: THE WAY OF A VIRGIN: PRINTED IN LONDON FOR MEMBERS OF THE BROVAN SOCIETY IN MCMXXII.

* * * * *

Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

Italics are represented thus _italic_.