Part 8

In the County of Artois there lived formerly a noble knight, rich and powerful, and married to a beautiful dame of high family. These two lived together for long, and passed their days in peace and happiness. And because the most powerful Duke of Burgundy, Count of Artois, and their lord, was then at peace with all the great princes of Christendom, the knight, who was most devout, reflected that he ought to offer to God the body which had been given him, and which was fair and strong, and as well-formed as that of any man in that country, save that he had lost an eye in a battle. To perform the vow he had made,--after he had taken leave of his wife and relatives, he betook himself to the noble knights of Prussia,--the true defenders of the holy-Christian church (*); and in Prussia he fought valiantly and had many adventures--which I pass over here--and at the end was safe and sound, though he had shown great prowess, and the reports of his valour had been widely spread about by those who had seen them and returned to their own country, or by the letters they had written to many who had heard of his deeds with much pleasure.

(*) Doubtless there was a confusion In the writer’s mind between Prussia and Hungary, and he alludes to the Crusade against the Turks which ended disastrously for the Crusaders in 1396, and in which Jean sans Peur and many Burgundian knights took part.

Now you must know that his lady, who stayed at home, had bestowed her affection on a squire who sought her love, and was glad to have a substitute for her liege lord, who was away fighting the Saracens.

Whilst my lord was fasting and doing penance, my lady made good cheer with the squire; often did my lord dine and sup on bread and water, whilst my lady was enjoying all the good things which God had given her in plenty; my lord,--if he could do no better,--lay upon straw, and my lady rested in a fine bed with the squire.

To cut matters short, whilst my lord was fighting the Saracens, my lady was indulging in another sort of combat with the squire, and did so well thereat, that if my lord had never returned he would not have been much missed or regretted.

The knight finding that--thanks be to God--the Saracens were no longer on the offensive; and that it was a long time since he had seen his home, and his good wife, who much desired and regretted him, as she had many times told him in her letters, prepared to return, and started with the few retainers he had. And he fared so well, owing to the great desire he had to return to his home, and the arms of his wife, that in a few days he was near there.

Being more anxious than any of his followers, he was always the first to rise, and the foremost on the journey. In fact, he made such speed that he often rode alone, a quarter of a league or more ahead of his retainers.

One day, it chanced the knight had lodged about six leagues from his home. He rose early in the morning and mounted his horse, intending to arrive at his house before his wife, who knew nothing of his coming, was awake.

He set out as he intended, and, when on the road, he said to his followers, “Come at your leisure; there is no need for you to follow me. I will ride on fast that I may surprise my wife in bed.”

His retainers being weary, and their horses also, did not oppose his wishes, but travelled along at their ease, though they had some fears for the knight, who rode thus fast in the dark and alone.

He made such speed that soon he was in the courtyard of his castle, where he found a serving-man, to whom he gave his horse; then, in his boots and spurs, he went straight, and without meeting any one, for it was yet early in the morning, towards the chamber where my lady slept, and where the squire was doing that which the knight longed to do.

You may guess that the squire and the lady were both astonished when the knight thundered on the door--which was locked--with his staff.

“Who is there?” asked the lady.

“It is I,” replied the knight. “Open the door!”

The lady, who knew her husband’s voice, did not feel comfortable; nevertheless she caused the squire to dress himself which he did as quickly as he could, wondering how he should escape from his dangerous position. She meanwhile pretended to be asleep, and not recognise her husband’s voice, and when he knocked at the door a second time, she asked again, “Who is there?” “It is your husband, wife! Open the door quickly!”

“My husband?” said she. “Alas, he is far from here! May God soon bring him back in safety.”

“By my soul, wife, I am your husband! Did you not know my voice? I knew yours as soon as I heard you speak.”

“When he does come, I shall know of it long beforehand, that I may receive him as I ought, and that I may call together his relations and friends to wish him a hearty welcome. Go away! Go away! and let me sleep!”

“By St. John I will take care you do not! Open the door! Do you not know your own husband?” and with that he called her by her name.

She saw that her lover was by that time quite ready, and made him stand behind the door. Then she said to the knight.

“Is it really you? For God’s sake pardon me! And are you in good health?”

“Yes; thank God,” said the knight.

“God be praised!” said the lady. “I will come directly and let you in; but I am not dressed, and must get a candle.”

“Take your time!” said the knight.

“Truly,” said the lady, “just as you knocked, my lord, I was much disturbed by a dream I had about you.”

“And what was that, my dear?”

“Faith, my lord! I dreamed that you came back, and talked with me, and that you saw as well with one eye as with the other.

“Would to God it were so,” said my lord.

“By our Lady,” said his wife, “I believe it is as I say.”

“By my word”, replied the knight, “you are very foolish. How could it be so?”

“I maintain,” said she, “that it is so.”

“There is nothing of the kind,” said the knight. “You must be mad to think so.”

“Ah, my lord,” she replied, “you will never make me believe it is not as I say, and, to set my mind at rest, I ask of you to give me a proof.”

Thereupon she opened the door, holding a lighted candle in her hand, and he, not displeased at her words, permitted her to make trial, and thus the poor man allowed her to cover up his eye with her one hand, whilst with the other she held the candle before his blind eye. Then she said;

“My lord! on your oath, can you not see well?”

“I swear I cannot,” said my lord.

Whilst this trick was being played, my lord’s substitute stole out of the chamber without being perceived by him.

“Wait a moment, my lord,” said she. “_Now_ cannot you see well? Tell me the truth!”

“No, by God, my dear,” replied the knight. “How should I see? You have stopped up my right eye, and the other I lost more than ten years ago.”

“Then,” said she, “I see it was but an idle, foolish dream; but, be that as it may, God be praised and thanked that you are here.”

“Amen,” said the knight, and with that he kissed and embraced her many times, and they rejoiced greatly.

And my lord did not forget to tell her how he had left his retainers behind, and what speed he had made that he might find her in bed.

“Truly,” said my lady, “you are a good husband.”

And with that there came women and other servants, who took off the knight’s armour, and undressed him. That being done, he got into bed with the lady, and enjoyed what the squire had left--who, for his part, meanwhile went his way, happy and joyful to have escaped.

Thus was the knight deceived, as you have heard; nor was he ever informed of it that I am aware, though it was known to many people.

*****

STORY THE SEVENTEENTH -- THE LAWYER AND THE BOLTING-MILL.

By Monseigneur Le Duc.

_Of a President of Parliament, who fell in love with his chamber-maid, and would have forced her whilst she was sifting flour, but by fair speaking she dissuaded him, and made him shake the sieve whilst she went unto her mistress, who came and found her husband thus, as you will afterwards hear._

There lived formerly at Paris a President of the Court of Accounts, who was a learned clerk, a knight, and a man of ripe age, but right joyous and pleasant to both men and women.

This worthy lord had married a woman who was both elderly and sickly, and by her had divers children. And amongst the other damsels, waiting women, and servant maids in his house, was a serving-wench whom nature had made most fair, and who did the household work; made the beds, baked the bread, and did other low offices. The gentleman, who made love whenever he found a chance, did not conceal from the fair wench his intentions towards her, and made attempts upon her virtue, promising her many rich gifts, and explaining to her that it was her duty to let him have his way, and trying first this way and then that to seduce her. But he was grieved to find that he could not induce her to return his love. The girl was wise and chaste, and not so foolish as to grant her master any favour, but spoke him so fairly that he did not lose heart, though he would have preferred a different kind of answer.

When he found that kindness was of no use, he tried harshness and rough words, but the wench was not frightened, and told him that, “He might do as he pleased, but whilst she had life she would never let him near her.”

The gentleman, seeing that her mind was fully made-up, spake no more to her for some days, but spared not loving looks and signs; which much annoyed her, and if she had not feared to make discord between husband and wife, she would have told the latter how unfaithful her spouse was, but, in the end, she resolved to conceal this as long as she could.

The infatuation of the old man increased every day, and begging and praying no longer sufficed. He went to her and renewed his entreaties and vows, which he confirmed by a hundred thousand oaths. But--to cut matters short--it was all no good; he could not obtain a single word, or the least shadow of hope, that he would ever attain his purpose.

Thereupon he left her, but he did not forget to say that if ever he found a favourable opportunity she would have to comply with his wishes, or it would be the worse for her.

The wench was not much frightened, thought no more of it, and went about her duties as usual.

Some time afterwards, one Monday morning, the pretty servant, having some pies to make, was sifting meal. Now you must know that the room where she was thus engaged, was not far from her master’s bedroom, and he heard the noise of the sieve, and knew very well that it was made by the servant-girl at her work.

He thought that perhaps she was not alone, but, if she should be, he would never find a better chance.

He said to himself, “Though she has often refused me by word of mouth, I shall succeed at last if I only keep to my purpose.”

It was early dawn, and his wife was not awake, at which he was glad. He stole quietly out of bed; put on his dressing-gown and his slippers, and crept to the damsel’s room so quietly that she never knew he was there until she saw him.

The poor girl was much astonished, and trembled; suspecting that her master had come to take that which she would never give him.

Seeing she was frightened, he said nothing but attacked her with such violence that he would soon have taken the place by storm if she had not sued for peace. She said to him;

“Alas, sir, I beg for mercy! My life and honour are in your hands;--have pity on me!”

“I care nothing about honour,” said her master, who was very hot and excited. “You are in my hands and cannot escape me,” and with that he attacked her more violently than before.

The girl, finding resistance was useless, bethought herself of a stratagem, and said,

“Sir, I prefer to surrender of free-will than by force. Leave me alone, and I will do all that you may require.”

“Very well,” said her master, “but be sure that I will not let you go free.”

“There is but one thing I would beg of you, sir” replied the girl. “I greatly fear that my mistress may hear you; and if, by chance, she should come and find you here, I should be lost and ruined, for she would either beat me or kill me.”

“She is not likely to come,” said he, “she is sleeping soundly.”

“Alas, sir, I am in great fear of her and, as I would be assured, I beg and request of you, for my peace of mind and our greater security in what we are about to do, that you let me go and see whether she is sleeping, or what she is doing.”

“By our Lady! you would never return,” said the gentleman.

“I swear that I will,” she replied, “and that speedily.”

“Very good then,” said he. “Make haste!”

“Ah, sir,” said she. “It would be well that you should take this sieve and work as I was doing; so that if my lady should by chance awake, she will hear the noise and know that I am at work.”

“Give it to me, and I will work well;--but do not stay long.”

“Oh, no, sir. Hold this sieve, and you will look like a woman.”

“As to that, God knows I care not,” said he, and with that laid hold of the sieve and began to work it as best he could.

Meanwhile the virtuous wench mounted to her lady’s room and woke her, and told her how her husband had attempted her virtue, and attacked her whilst she was sifting meal, “And if it please you to come and see how I escaped him,” she said, “come down with me and behold him.”

The lady rose at once, put on her dress, and was soon before the door of the room where her lord was diligently sifting. And when she saw him thus employed, and struggling with the sieve, she said to him;

“Ah, master, what is this? Where are now all your learning, your honour, your knowledge and prudence?”

He saw that he had been deceived, and replied quickly.

“Wife, they are all collected at the end of my c--k.”, and with that, being much annoyed and angry, he threw down the sieve and went back to his room.

His wife followed him, and began to lecture him again, but he paid little heed. When he was ready, he ordered his mule, and went to the palace, where he related his adventure to divers gentlemen, who laughed loudly thereat. And, although he was at first angry with the wench, he afterwards helped her, by his influence and rich gifts, to find a husband.

*****

STORY THE EIGHTEENTH -- FROM BELLY TO BACK. [18]

By Monseigneur De La Roche.

_Of a gentleman of Burgundy who paid a chambermaid ten crowns to sleep with her, but before he left her room, had his ten crowns back, and made her carry him on her shoulders through the host’s chamber. And in passing by the said chamber he let wind so loudly that all was known, as you will hear in the story which follows._

A gentleman of Burgundy went on some business to Paris, and lodged at a good inn, for it was his custom always to seek out the best lodgings. He knew a thing or two, and he noticed that the chambermaid did not look a sort of woman who was afraid of a man. So, without much ado, or making two bites at a cherry, he asked if he could sleep with her?

But she set her back up at once. “How dare you make such a proposal to me,” she said. “I would have you to know that I am not one of those girls who bring scandal upon the houses in which they live.” And in short, for all he could say she refused to have anything to do with him “for any money.”

The gentleman who knew well what all these protestations were worth, said to her;

“My dear, if fitting time and place were given me, I would tell you something you would be glad to learn; but as, perhaps, it might hurt your reputation if you were seen conversing with me, talk to my valet, and he will arrange matters on my behalf.”

“I have nothing to say either to him or to you,” she replied, and with that she walked away, and the gentleman called his valet, who was a clever rogue, and ordered him to follow her and win her over at any cost.

The valet, who was well trained, promised that he would perform his task, and, as soon as he found her, set to work to employ honied phrases, and if she had not been of Paris, and not the least cunning of the women of that city, his soft speeches and the promises he made on behalf of his master, would soon have gained her heart.

But as it was, after much talk between them, she cut matters short by saying;

“I know well what your master wants, but he shall not touch me unless I have ten crowns.”

The servant reported this to his master, who was not so generous, or at least not in such a case, as to give ten crowns to enjoy a kitchen wench.

“Be that as it may,” replied the valet, “she will not budge from that; and even then you must use precautions in going to her chamber, for you must pass through that of the host. What do you intend to do?”

“By my oath!” said his master, “I regret sorely having to pay ten crowns, but I am so smitten with the wench that I cannot give her up. To the devil with avarice! she shall have the money.”

“Shall I tell her then you will give her the money?”

“Yes, in the devil’s name! Yes!”

The valet found the girl, and told her she should have the money, and perhaps something more.

“Very good,” she replied.

To cut matters short, a time was arranged for the gentleman to come to her, but, before she would show him the way to her room, she insisted on the ten crowns being paid down.

The Burgundian was not over-pleased, and as he was on the way to her chamber, it struck him that he was paying dearly for his amusement, and he resolved that he would play her a trick.

He stole into her room so quietly that neither the host nor his wife awaked. There he undressed, and said to himself that he would at least have his money’s worth. He did marvels, and got as good as he sent.

What with jesting and other matters, the hours passed quickly, and dawn was near. He was then more willing to sleep than to do anything else, but the fair chambermaid said to him;

“Sir, I have heard and seen so much of your nobleness, honour, and courtesy that I have consented to allow you to take that which I hold dearest in all the world. I now beg and request of you that you will at once dress and hasten away, for it is now day, and if by chance my master or mistress should come here, as is often their custom in the morning, and should find you here, I should be dishonoured, nor would it do you any good.”

“I care not,” quoth he, “what good or evil may happen, but here I will remain, and sleep at my ease and leisure before I leave. I am entitled to that for my money. Do you think you have so easily earned my ten crowns? You took them quickly enough. By St. George! I have no fear; but I will stay here and you shall bear me company, if you please.”

“Oh, sir,” she replied, “by my soul I cannot do this. You must leave. It will be full day directly, and if you are found here what will become of me? I would rather die than that should happen; and if you do not make haste I much fear some one will come.”

“Let them come,” said the gentleman. “I care not, but, I tell you plainly, that until you give me back my ten crowns, I will not leave here, happen what may.”

“Your ten crowns?” she answered. “Are you a man of that sort, and so devoid of any courtesy or grace as to take back from me in that fashion, that which you have given? By my faith that is not the way to prove yourself a gentleman.”

“Whatever I am,” said he, “I will not leave here, or shall you either, until you have given me back my ten crowns; you gained them too easily.”

“May God help me,” she replied, “though you speak thus I do not believe you would be so ungrateful, after the pleasure I have given you, or so discorteous, as not to aid me to preserve my honour, and therefore I beg of you to grant my request, and leave here.”

The gentleman said that he would do nothing of the sort, and in the end the poor girl was forced--though God knows with what regret--to hand-over the ten crowns in order to make him go. When the money had returned to the hand that gave it, the girl was very angry, but the man was in great glee.

“Now,” said the girl, angrily, “that you have thus tricked and deceived me, at least make haste. Let it suffice that you have made a fool of me, and do not by delay bring dishonour upon me by being seen here.”

“I have nothing to do with your honour,” said he. “Keep it as much as like, but you brought me here and you must take me back to the place from whence I came, for I do not intend to have the double trouble of coming and returning.”

The chambermaid, seeing that she only made him more obstinate, and that day was breaking fast, took the gentleman on her back, and though sick at heart with fear and anger, began to carry him. And as she was picking her way carefully and noiselessly, this courteous gentleman, who after having ridden on her belly was now riding on her back, broke wind so loudly that the host awoke, and called out in his fright;

“Who is there?”

“It is your chambermaid,” said the gentleman, “who is taking me back to the place from whence she brought me.”

At these words the poor girl’s heart and strength failed her. She could no longer bear her unpleasant burden, and she fell on the floor and rolled one way, whilst the squire went rolling the other.

The host, who knew what was the matter, spoke sharply to the girl, who soon afterwards left his house; and the gentleman returned to Burgundy, where he often gleefully related to his gallant companions the above written adventure.

*****

STORY THE NINETEENTH -- THE CHILD OF THE SNOW. [19]

By Philippe Vignier.

_Of an English merchant whose wife had a child in his absence, and told him that it was his; and how he cleverly got rid of the child--for his wife having asserted that it was born of the snow, he declared it had been melted by the sun._

Moved by a strong desire to see and know foreign countries, and to meet with adventures, a worthy and rich merchant of London left his fair and good wife, his children, relations, friends, estates, and the greater part of his possessions, and quitted the kingdom, well furnished with money and great abundance of merchandise, such as England can supply to foreign countries, and with many other things which, for the sake of brevity, I do not mention here.

On this first voyage, the good merchant wandered about for a space of five years, during which time his good wife looked after his property, disposed of much merchandise profitably, and managed so well that her husband, when he returned at the end of five years, greatly praised her, and loved her more than ever.

The merchant, not content with the many strange and wonderful things he had seen, or with the large fortune he had made, four or five months after his return, again set forth in quest of adventures in foreign lands, both Christian and pagan, and stayed there so long that ten years passed before his wife again saw him, but he often wrote to her, that she might know that he was still alive.

She was young and lusty, and wanted not any of the goods that God could give, except the presence of her husband. His long absence constrained her to provide herself with a lover, by whom shortly she had a fine boy.

This son was nourished and brought up with the others, his half-brothers, and, when the merchant returned, was about seven years old.

Great were the rejoicings between husband and wife when he came back, and whilst they were conversing pleasantly, the good woman, at the demand of her husband, caused to be brought all their children, not omitting the one who had been born during the absence of him whose name she bore.

The worthy merchant seeing all these children, and remembering perfectly how many there should be, found one over and above; at which he was much astonished and surprised, and he inquired of his wife who was this fair son, the youngest of their children?

“Who is he?” said she; “On my word, husband, he is our son! Who else should he be?”