Chapter 30

The young man was much astonished to find himself thus attacked, but lost no time in replying to the allegations of his adversary, and quietly stated his case, and related how his wife had always refused to allow him to perform his marital duties.

The mother, when she heard this reply, was more angry than ever, and would hardly believe it, and asked her daughter if that was true which her husband had said?

“Yes, truly, mother,” she replied.

“Oh, wretched girl,” said her mother, “why did you refuse? Did I not teach you your lesson many times?”

The poor girl could not reply, so ashamed was she.

“At any rate,” said her mother, “I must know the reason why you have refused. Tell it me at once, or I shall be horrible angry.”

The girl was obliged to confess that she had found the lance of the champion so big that she had not dared to present her shield, fearing that he would kill her; and so she still felt, and was not re-assured upon that point, although her mother had told her not be afraid. After this the mother addressed the Judge, and said:

“Monseigneur, you have heard the confession of my daughter, and the defence of my son-in-law. I beg of you to give judgment at once.”

The judge ordered a bed to be prepared in his house, and the couple to lie on it together, and commanded the bride to boldly lay hold of the stick or instrument, and put it where it was ordered to go. When this judgment was given, the mother said;

“Thank you, my lord; you have well judged. Come along, my child, do what you should, and take care not to disobey the judge, and put the lance where it ought to be put.”

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

So they left 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 sick of it than she who would not begin.

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STORY THE EIGHTY-SEVENTH -- WHAT THE EYE DOES NOT SEE.

By Monsieur Le Voyer.

_Of a gentle knight who was enamoured of a young and beautiful girl, and how he caught a malady in one of his eyes, and therefore sent for a doctor, who likewise fell in love with the same girl, as you will hear; and of the words which passed between the knight and the doctor concerning the plaster which the doctor had put on the knight’s good eye._

In the pleasant and fertile land of Holland, not a hundred years ago, a noble knight lodged in a fair and good inn, where there was a young and very pretty chamber-maid, with whom he was greatly enamoured, and for love of her had arranged with the Duke of Burgundy’s quartermaster that he should be lodged in this inn, in order that he might better carry out his intentions with regard to this girl.

After he had been at this inn five or six days, there happened to him a misfortune, for he had a disease in one of his eyes so that he could not keep it open, so sharp was the pain. And as he much feared to lose it, and it was an organ that required much care and attention, he sent for the Duke’s surgeon, who was at that time in the the town. And you must know that the said surgeon was a good fellow, and much esteemed and spoken about throughout all the country.

As soon as the surgeon saw this eye, he declared that it could not be saved, which is what they customarily say, so that if they do cure the disease they may gain more praise and profit.

The good knight was greatly vexed at this news, and asked if there were no means of cure, and the other replied that it would be very difficult, nevertheless he might, with God’s aid, cure it, if the knight would obey all his instructions.

“If you can cure me and save my eye,” said the knight, “I will pay you well.”

The bargain was made, and the surgeon undertook with God’s aid to cure the bad eye, and arranged at what hour he would come every day to apply the dressings.

You must know that every time the surgeon came to see his patient, the pretty chambermaid accompanied him, to hold his box or basin, or help to move the poor patient, who forgot half his pain in the presence of his lady-love.

If the good knight had been struck by the beauty of the chambermaid, so also was the surgeon; who, each time that he paid a visit, could not help casting sheep’s eyes at the fair face of the chambermaid, and at last passionately declared his love, which was well received, for she immediately granted his requests, but it was not easy to find means to carry out their ardent desires.

At last, after some trouble, a plan was hit on by the prudent and cunning surgeon, and it was this:

“I will tell my patient,” he said, “that his eye cannot be cured unless his other eye is bandaged, for by throwing all the work on the sound eye he prevents the other from getting well. If he will allow it to be bandaged up, we shall have a capital means of taking our pleasure, even in his chamber, without his having any suspicion of it.”

The girl, whose desires were quite as warm as those of the surgeon, was quite agreeable, provided the plan could be carried out.

“We will try,” said the surgeon.

He came at the usual hour to see the bad eye, and when he had uncovered it, pretended to be much surprised.

“What!” he cried. “I never saw such a disease; the eye is worse than it was fifteen days ago. You must have patience, monsieur.”

“In what way?” said the knight.

“Your good eye must be bandaged and concealed, so that no light can reach it, for an hour or so after I have applied this plaster and ordered another--for, no doubt, it prevents the other from healing. Ask,” he said, “this pretty girl, who sees it every day, how it is getting on.”

The girl said that it looked worse than before.

“Well,” said the knight, “I leave myself in your hands; do with me whatever you please. I am content to be blindfolded as much as you like, provided I am cured in the long run.”

The two lovers were very joyful when they saw that the knight allowed his eyes to be bandaged. When all the arrangements had been made, and the knight had his eyes bandaged, master surgeon pretended to leave as usual, promising to come back soon to take off the bandage.

He did not go very far, for he threw the girl on a couch not far from the patient, and with quite a different instrument to that which he had employed on the knight, visited the secret cloisters of the chambermaid.

Three, four, five, six times did he perform on the pretty girl without the knight noticing it, for though he heard the storm he did not know what it was; but as it still continued, his suspicions were aroused, and this time, when he heard the noise of the combat, he tore off the bandages and plasters and threw them away, and saw the two lovers struggling together, and seeming as though they would eat each other, so closely united were their mouths.

“What is this, master surgeon?” cried he. “Have you blindfolded me in order to do me this wrong. Is my eye to be cured by this means? Tell me--did you prepare this trick for me? By St. John, I suspect I was more often visited for love of my chambermaid than for my eyes. Well! well! I am in your hands now, sir, and cannot yet revenge myself, but the day will come when I will make you remember me.”

The surgeon, who was a thoroughly good fellow, began to laugh, and made his peace with the knight, and I believe that, after the eye was cured, they agreed to divide the work between them.

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STORY THE EIGHTY-EIGHTH -- A HUSBAND IN HIDING. [88]

By Alardin.

_Of a poor, simple peasant married to a nice, pleasant woman, who did much as she liked, and who in order that she might be alone with her lover, shut up her husband in the pigeon-house in the manner you will hear._

In a pretty, little town near here, but which I will not name, there recently occurred an incident which will furnish a short story. There lived there a good, simple, unlettered peasant, married to a nice, pleasant woman, and as long as he had plenty to eat and drink he cared for little else. He was accustomed to often go into the country to a house he had there, and stay, three, or four days--sometimes more, sometimes less, as suited his pleasure, and left his wife to enjoy herself in the town, which she did, for, in order that she might not be frightened, she had always a man to take her husband’s place, and look after the workshop and see that the tools did not rust. Her method was to wait until her husband was out of sight, and not until she was quite sure that he would not return did she send for his deputy, in order that she might not be surprised.

But she could not always manage so well as not to be surprised, for once when her husband had remained away two or three days, and on the fourth day she had waited as long as possible until the gates of the town were closed; thinking he would not come that day, she closed the doors and the windows as on the other days, brought her lover into the house, and they began to drink and enjoy themselves.

They were scarcely seated at the table, when her husband came and thundered at the door, which he was much surprised to find closed.

When the good woman heard it, she hid her lover under the bed; then went to the door and demanded who knocked?

“Open the door,” replied her husband.

“Ah, husband, is that you?” she said. “I was going to send a message to you to-morrow morning to tell you not to come back.”

“Why; what is the matter?” asked her husband.

“What is the matter? God in heaven!” she replied. “The sergeants were here two hours and a half, waiting to take you to prison.”

“To prison!” said he; “Why to prison? Have I done anything wrong? To whom do I owe any money? Who brings any charge against me?”

“I know nothing about it,” said the cunning wench, “but they evidently wanted to do you harm.”

“But did they not tell you,” asked her husband, “why they wanted me?”

“No,” she replied; “nothing, except that if they laid hands on you, you would not get out of prison for a long time.”

“Thank God they haven’t caught me yet. Good bye, I am going back.”

“Where are you going?” she asked--though she was glad to get rid of him.

“Whence I came,” he replied.

“I will come with you,” she said.

“No, don’t. Stay and take care of the house, and do not tell anyone that I have been here.”

“Since you will return to the country,” she said, “make haste and get away before they close the gates: it is already late.”

“If they should be shut, the gate-keeper will do anything for me and he will open them again.”

With these words he left, and when he came to the gate, he found it closed, and, beg and pray as he might, the gate-keeper would not open it for him.

He was very annoyed that he should have to return to his house, for he feared the sergeants; nevertheless, he was obliged to go back, or sleep in the streets.

He went back, and knocked at the door, and the woman who had again sat down with her lover, was much surprised, but she jumped up, and ran to the door, and called out,

“My husband has not come back; you are wasting your time.”

“Open the door, my dear,” said the good man. “I am here.”

“Alas! alas! the gate was closed: I feared as much,” she said. “You will certainly be arrested; I see no hope for escape, for the sergeants told me, I now remember, that they would return to-night.”

“Oh, well,” he said, “there is no need of a long sermon. Let us consider what is to be done.”

“You must hide somewhere in the house,” she said, “and I do not know of any place where you would be safe.”

“Should I be safe,” he asked, “in our pigeon house? Who would look for me there?”

She was, of course, highly delighted at the suggestion, but pretended not to be, and said; “It is not a very nice place; it stinks too much.”

“I don’t mind that,” he said. “I would rather be there an hour or two, and be safe, than be in a better place and be caught.”

“Oh, well, if you are brave enough to go there, I am of your opinion that it would be a good hiding-place.”

The poor man ascended into the pigeon-house, which fastened outside, and was locked in, and told his wife that if the sergeants did not come soon, that she was to let him out.

She left him to coo with the pigeons all night, which he did not much like, and he was afraid to speak or call, for fear of the sergeants.

At daybreak, which was the time when her lover left the house, the good woman came and called her husband and opened the door; and he asked her why she had left him so long along with the pigeons. And she, having prepared her reply, said that the sergeants had watched round their house all night, and spoken to her several times, and had only just gone, but they said that they would come back at a time when they were likely to find him.

The poor fellow, much wondering what the sergeants could want with him, left at once, and returned to the country, vowing that he would not come back for a long time. God knows how pleased the wench was at this, though she pretended to be grieved. And by this means she enjoyed herself more than ever, for she had no longer any dread of her husband’s return.

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STORY THE EIGHTY-NINTH -- THE FAULT OF THE ALMANAC.

By Poncelet.

_Of a curé who forgot, either by negligence or ignorance, to inform his parishioners that Lent had come until Palm Sunday arrived, as you will hear--and of the manner in which he excused himself to his parishioners._

In a certain little hamlet or village in this country, far from any good town, there happened an incident, which is worth hearing, my good sirs.

This village or hamlet was inhabited by a handful of rough and simple peasants, who knew nothing except how to gain their livelihood. Rough and ignorant as they were, their curé was not less so, for he did not know things of common knowledge, as I will show you by relating an incident that happened to him.

You must know that this curé was so simple and ignorant that he could not announce the feasts of the saints, which come every year on a fixed day, as every one knows; and when his parishioners asked when such and such a feast would fall, he could not, right off, answer them correctly.

Amongst other such mistakes, which often occurred, he made one which was by no means slight, for he allowed the five weeks of Lent to slip by without informing his parishioners.

But hear how he discovered his error. On the Saturday which was the eve before Palm Sunday, he had need to go to the nearest town for something that he required. When he had entered the town, and was riding along the streets, he saw that the priests were purchasing palms and other greenstuff, which were being sold at the market for the procession the next day.

If anyone was astonished it was our good curé, though he pretended not to be. He went to the woman who sold the palms and boughs, and bought some--pretending that he had come to town specially for that purpose. Then he hastily mounted his horse, which was loaded with his purchases, galloped to the village, and arrived there as quickly as possible.

As soon as he had dismounted, he met several of his parishioners, whom he commanded to go and ring the bells for every one to come to church at once, for he had certain things necessary for the salvation of their souls to tell them.

A meeting was soon called, and all were assembled in the church, where the curé, booted and spurred, came, much flustered, God knows. He mounted into the pupil, and said the following words,

“Good sirs, I have to signify and inform you that to-day was the eve of the solemn feast of Palm Sunday, and this day next week will be the eve of Easter Sunday, the day of Our Lord’s Resurrection.”

When these good people heard this news they began to murmur, and were so astonished they did not know what to do.

“Silence!” said the curé, “I will soon satisfy you, and will tell you the true reasons why you have only eight days of Lent in which to perform your penitences this year, and marvel not at what I am about to tell you, as to why Lent came so late. I suppose there is not one amongst you who does not know and remember that the frosts were very long and sharp this year--much worse than ever they were--and that for many weeks it was dangerous to ride, on account of the frost and the snow, which lasted a long time.”

“Every one here knows that is as true as the Gospel, therefore be not astonished that Lent has been so long coming, but rather wonder that it was able to come at all, seeing how long the road is from here to his house. I would ask, and even beg of you, to excuse him, for I dined with him to day” (and he named the place--that is to say the town to which he had been).

“However,” he added, “manage to come and confess this week, and appear to morrow in the procession, as is customary. And have patience this time; the coming year will be milder, please God, and then Lent will come quicker, as it usually does.”

Thus did the curé find means to excuse his simple ignorance. Then he pronounced the benediction saying,

“Pray to God for me, and I will pray to God for you.”

After that he came down out of the pulpit, and went to his house to prepare the boughs and palms which were to be used in the procession the next day.

And that is all.

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STORY THE NINETIETH -- A GOOD REMEDY. [90]

By Monseigneur De Beaumont.

_Of a good merchant of Brabant whose wife was very ill, and he supposing that she was about to die, after many remonstrances and exhortations for the salvation of her soul, asked her pardon, and she pardoned him all his misdeeds, excepting that he had not worked her as much as he ought to have done--as will appear more plainly in the said story._

To increase the number of stories that I promised to tell, I will relate a circumstance that occurred lately.

In the fair land of Brabant--the place in the world where adventures most often happen--there lived a good and honest merchant, whose wife was very ill, and had to keep her bed continually because of her disease.

The good man, seeing his wife so ill and weak, led a sad life; he was so vexed and distressed and he much feared she would die. In this state of grief, and believing that he was about to lose her, he came to her bedside, and gave her hopes of being cured, and comforted her as best he could. And after that he had talked with her a little time, and ended his admonitions and exhortations, he begged her pardon, and requested that if he had ever wronged her in any way that she would pardon him.

Amongst other instances of things which he knew had annoyed her, he mentioned that he had not polished up her armour (that part which is called the _cuirass_) as often as she would have liked, and therefore he humbly begged her pardon.

The poor invalid, as soon as she could speak, pardoned him all his minor offences, but this last she would not willingly pardon without knowing the reasons which had induced her husband to neglect polishing up her armour when he knew well what a pleasure it was to her, and that she asked for nothing better.

“What?” he said; “Will you die without pardoning those who have done you wrong?”

“I do not mind pardoning you,” she said, “but I want to know your reasons--otherwise I will not pardon you.”

The good husband thought he had hit on a good excuse, and one that would obtain his pardon, and replied;

“My dear, you know that very often you were ill and weak--although not so ill as I see you now--and I did not dare to challenge you to combat whilst you were in that condition, fearing that it might make you worse. But be sure that if I refrained from embracing you, it was only out of love and affection to you.”

“Hold your tongue, liar that you are! I was never so ill and weak that I should have refused the battle. You must seek some other reason if you would obtain your pardon, for that one will not help you; and since there is now nothing to be done, I will tell you, wicked and cowardly man that you are, that there is no medicine in the world which will so quickly drive away the maladies of us women as the pleasant and amorous society of men. Do you see me now weakened and dried up with disease? Well! all that I want is your company.”

“Ho, ho!” said the other; “then I will quickly cure you.”

He jumped on the bed and performed as well as he could, and, as soon as he had broken two lances, she rose and stood on her feet.

Half an hour later she was out in the street, and her neighbours, who all looked upon her as almost dead, were much astonished, until she told them by what means she had been cured, when they at once replied that that was the only remedy.

Thus did the good merchant learn how to cure his wife; but it turned out to his disadvantage in the long run, for she often pretended to be sick in order to get her physic.

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STORY THE NINETY-FIRST -- THE OBEDIENT WIFE. [91]

By The Editor.

_ Of a man who was married to a woman so lascivious and lickerish, that I believe she must have been born in a stove or half a league from the summer sun, for no man, however well he might work, could satisfy her; and how her husband thought to punish her, and the answer she gave him._

When I was lately in Flanders, in one of the largest towns in the province, a jovial fellow told me a good story of a man married to a woman so given to venery and concupiscence that she would have let a man lie with her in the public streets. Her husband knew well how she misbehaved herself, but he was not clever enough to prevent it, so cunning and depraved was she. He threatened to beat, to leave her, or to kill her, but it was all a waste of words; he might as well have tried to tame a mad dog or some other animal. She was always seeking fresh lovers with whom to fornicate, and there were few men in all the country round who had not tried to satisfy her lust; anyone who winked at her, even if he were humpbacked, old, deformed, or disfigured in any way, could have her favours for nothing.

Her unfortunate husband, seeing that she still continued this life in spite of all his menaces, tried to hit upon a method to frighten her. When he was alone with her in the house, he said;

“Well, Jehanne (or Beatrix, for so he called her) I see that you are determined to continue this life of vice, and, however much I may threaten to punish you, you take no more heed of me than though I held my tongue.”

“Alas, husband,” she replied, “I am much to be pitied, but there is no help for it, for I was born under a planet which compels me to go with men.”

“Oh, indeed,” said the husband, “is that your destiny? I swear I will soon find a remedy for that.”

“You will kill me then,” she said, “for nothing else will cure me.”

“Never mind,” he said. “I know the best way.”

“What is it?” she asked. “Tell me.”

“Morbleu!” he said, “I will give you such a doing some day, that I will put a quartette of babies in your belly, and then I will leave you to get your own living.”

“You will?” she cried. “Indeed! Well, you have but to begin. Such threats frighten me very little, I do not care a farthing for them. May I have my head shaved if I attempt to run away. (*) If you think you are capable of making four babies at once, come on, and begin at once--the mould is ready.”

(*) Long hair was considered honourable, and to have the head shaved or cropped was a mark of disgrace.

“The devil take the woman,” said the husband; “there is no way of punishing her.”

He was obliged to let her fulfil her destiny, for nothing short of splitting her head open would have kept her backside quiet; so he let her run about like a bitch on heat amongst a couple of dozen dogs, and accomplish all her inordinate desires.

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STORY THE NINETY-SECOND -- WOMEN’S QUARRELS.

By The Editor.