CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Droll stories collected from the abbeys 
 
 3 1924 027 702 657 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/cletails/cu31924027702657 
 
DROLL STORIES 
 
DROLL STORIES. 
 
BALZAC'S CONTES DROLATIQUES 
 
 DROLL STORIES 
 
 COLLECTED FROM 
 
 THE ABBEYS OF TOURAINE 
 
 TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH, COMPLETE AND UNABRIDGED 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH DESIGNS 
 By GU stave DORfi 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PUBLISHED FOR THE TRADE 
 
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 WHEN, in March, 1832, the first volume of the now 
 famous Contes Drolatiques was published by 
 Gosselin of Paris, Balzac, in a short preface, written in 
 the publisher's name, replied to those attacks which he 
 anticipated certain critics would make upon his hardy 
 experiment. He claimed for his book the protection of all 
 those to whom literature was dear, because it was a work 
 of art — and a work of art, in the highest sense of the 
 word, it undoubtedly is. Like Boccaccio, Rabelais, the 
 Queen of Navarre, Ariosto, and Verville, the great author 
 of The Human Comedy has painted an epoch. In the 
 fresh and wonderful language of the Merry Vicar of 
 Meudon, he has given us a marvellous picture of French 
 life and manners in the sixteenth century. The gallant 
 knights and merry dames of that eventful period of 
 French history stand out in bold relief upon his canvas. 
 The background in these life-like figures is, as it were, 
 "sketched upon the spot." After reading the Contes Dro- 
 latiques, one could almost find one's way about the towns 
 and villages of Touraine, unassisted by map or guide. 
 Not only is this book a work of art from its historical in- 
 formation and topographical accuracy ; its claims to that 
 distinction rest upon a broader foundation. Written in 
 the nineteenth century in imitation of the style of the six- 
 Hi 
 
iv TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 teenth, it is a triumph of literary archseology. It is a 
 model of that which it professes to imitate ; the production 
 of a writer who, accomplish it, must have been at once 
 historian, linguist, philosopher, archaeologist, and anato- 
 mist, and each in no ordinary degree. In France his work 
 has long been regarded as a classic— as a faithful picture 
 of the last days of the moyen age, when kings and prin- 
 cesses, brave gentlemen and haughty ladies, laughed open- 
 ly at stories and jokes which are considered disgraceful 
 by their more fastidious descendants. In England the 
 difficulties of the language employed, and the quaintness 
 and peculiarity of its style, have placed it beyond the 
 reach of all but those thoroughly acquainted with the 
 French of the sixteenth century. Taking into consider- 
 ation the vast amount of historical information enshrined 
 in its pages, the archaeological value which it must always 
 possess for the student, and the dramatic interest of its 
 stories, the translator has thought that an English edition 
 of Balzac's chef-d'oeuvre would be acceptable to many. 
 It has, of course, been impossible to reproduce in all its 
 vigour and freshness the language of the original. Many 
 of the quips and cranks and puns have been lost in the 
 process of Anglicizing. These unavoidable blemishes 
 apart, the writer ventures to hope that he has treated this 
 great masterpiece in a reverent spirit, touched it with no 
 sacrilegious hand, but, on the contrary, given as close a 
 translation as the dissimilarities of the two languages 
 permit. With this idea, no attempt has been made to 
 polish or round many of the awkwardly constructed seri- 
 tences which are characteristic of this volume. Rough, 
 and occasionally obscure, they are far more in keeping 
 with the spirit of the original than the polished periods of 
 
TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. V 
 
 modern romance. Taking into consideration the many 
 difficulties which he has had to overcome, and which those 
 best acquainted with the French edition will best appre- 
 ciate, the translator claims the indulgence of the critical 
 reader for any shortcomings he may discover. The best 
 plea that can be offered for such indulgence is the fact 
 that, although Les Contes Drolatiques were completed 
 and published in 1837, the present is the first English ver« 
 sion ever brought before the public. 
 London, January, 1874. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Translator's Preface iii 
 
 THE FIRST TEN TALES. 
 
 Prologue i 
 
 The Fair Imperia 5 
 
 The Venial Sin 25 
 
 How the goodman Bruyh took a wife 25 
 
 How the Seneschal struggled with his wife's modesty. ... 40 
 
 That which is only a venial sin 50 
 
 Hov/ and by whom the said child was procured 59 
 
 How the said love-sin was repented of and led to great 
 
 mourning 67 
 
 The King's Sweetheart 75 
 
 The Devil's Heir 92 
 
 The Merrie Jests of King Louis the Eleventh 115 
 
 The High Constable's Wife 136 
 
 The Maid of Tiiilouse 157 
 
 The Brother-in-Arms 165 
 
 The Vicar of Azay-le-Rideau 18-1 
 
 The Reproach 196 
 
 Epilogue 209 
 
 THE SECOND TEN TALES. 
 
 Prologue 212 
 
 The Three Clerks of St. Nicholas 218 
 
 The Continence of King Francis the First 235 
 
 vii 
 
VIU TAiJLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAG 
 
 The Merry Tattle of the Nuns of Poissy 24 
 
 How THE Chateau d'Azay Came to be Built 26 
 
 The False Courtesan 2S 
 
 The Danger of Being too Innocent 29, 
 
 The Dear Night of Love 30; 
 
^ THE. FIRST TEN TALES. 
 
 Prologue; 
 
 The Fair Imperia. 
 
 The Venial Sin. 
 
 The King's Sweetheart. * 
 
 The Devil's Heir. 
 
 The Merrie Jests of King Louis the Eleventh 
 
 The High Constable's Wife. _ 
 
 The Maid of Thilouse. --'-^f :.. ., 
 
 The Brothers-<n-Arms. 
 
 The Vicar of Azay-le-Rideau. 
 
 The Reproach. 
 
 Epilogue. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 THIS is a book of the highest flavour, full of right 
 hearty merriment, spiced to the palate of the illus- 
 trious and very precious tosspots and drinkers, to whom 
 our worthy compatriot, Francois Rabelais, the eternal 
 honour of Touraine, addressed himself. Be it neverthe- 
 less understood, the author has no other desire than to be 
 a good Tourainian, and joyfully to chronicle the merry 
 doings of the famous people of this sweet and productive 
 land, more fertile in cuckolds, dandies, and witty wags 
 than any other, and which has furnished a good share of 
 men of renown to France, as witness the departed Cou- 
 rier of piquant memory : Verville, author of the Moyen de 
 parvenir, and others equally well known, among whom 
 we will specially mention the Sieur Descartes, because he 
 was a melancholy genius, and devoted himself more to 
 brown studies than to drinks and dainties, a man of whom 
 all the cooks and confectioners of Tours have a wise hor- 
 ror, whom they despise, and will not hear spoken of, and 
 say, "Where does he live ?" if his name is mentioned. Now 
 this work is the production of the joyous leisure of the 
 good old monks, of whom there are many vestiges scat- 
 tered about the country, at Grenadiere-les-Saint-Cyr, in 
 the village of Sacche-Ies-Azay-le-Rideau, at Marmou- 
 
 I 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 tiers, Veretz, Roche-Corbon, and in certain storehouses of 
 good stories, which storehouses are the upper stories of 
 old canons and wise dames, who remember the good old 
 days when you could enjoy a hearty laugh without look- 
 ing to see if your hilarity disturbed the sit of your rufifle, 
 ss do the young women of the present day, who wish to 
 take their pleasure gravely — a custom which suits our 
 gay France as much as a water-jug would the head of a 
 queen. Since laughter is a privilege granted to man 
 alone, and he has sufficient causes for tears within his 
 reach, without adding to them by books, I have consid- 
 ered it a thing most patriotic to publish a drachm of mer- 
 riment for these times, when weariness falls like a fine 
 rain, wetting us, soaking into us, and dissolving thohc 
 ancient customs which make the people to reap public 
 amusement from the Republic. But of those old panta- 
 gruelists who allowed God and the king to conduct their 
 own affairs without putting of their fingei in the pie 
 oftener than they could help, being content to look on 
 and laugh, there are very few left. They are dying out 
 day by day in such manner that I fear greatly to see these 
 illustrious fragments of the ancient breviary spat upon, 
 staled upon, set at naught, dishonoured, and blamed, the 
 which I should be loth to see, since I have and bear great 
 respect for the refuse of our Gallic antiquities. 
 
 Bear in mind also, ye wild critics, ye scrapers-up of 
 words, harpies who mangle the intentions and inventions 
 of every one, that as children only do we laugh, and as we 
 travel onward laughter sinks down and dies out, like the 
 light of the oil-lit lamp. This signifies, that to laugh vou 
 must be innocent, and pure of heart, lacking which quali- 
 ties you pursue your lips, drop your jaws, and knit your 
 
PROLOGUE. 2 
 
 brow, after the manner of men hiding vices and impuri- 
 ties. Take, then, this work as you would a group or 
 statue, certain features of which an artist cannot omit, and 
 he would be the biggest of all big fools if he put leaves 
 upon them, seeing that these said works are not, any more 
 than is this book, intended for nunneries. Nevertheless, 
 I have taken care, much to my vexation, to weed from 
 the manuscripts the old words, which, in spite of their 
 age, were still strong, and which would have shocked the 
 ears, astonished the eyes, reddened the cheeks, and sul- 
 lied the lips of trousered maidens, and Madame Virtue 
 j^ith three lovers ; for certain things must be done to suit 
 the vices of the age, and a periphrase is much more agree- 
 able than the word. Indeed, we are old, and find long 
 trifles better than the short follies of our youth, because 
 at that time our taste was better. Then spare me your 
 slanders, and read this rather at night than in the day- 
 time, and give it not to young maidens, if there be any, 
 because this book is inflammable. I will now rid you of 
 myself. But I fear nothing for this book, since it is ex- 
 tracted from a high and splendid source, from which all 
 that has issued has had a great success, as is amply proved 
 by the royal orders of the Golden Fleece, of the Holy 
 Ghost, of the Garter, of the Bath, and by many notable 
 things which have been taken therefrom, under shelter 
 of which I place myself. 
 
 Now make ye merry, my hearties, and gaily read with 
 ease of body and rest of reins, and may a cancer carry you 
 off if you disown me after having read me. These words 
 are those of our good Master Rabelais, before whom we 
 must all stand, hat in hand^ in token of reverence and 
 honour to him, prince of all wisdom, and king of comedy. 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA. 
 
 THE Archbishop of Bordeaux had added to his suite 
 when going to the Council at Constance quite a 
 good-looking little priest of Touraine whose ways and 
 manner of speech were so charming that he passed for 
 a son of LiEi Soldee and the Governor. The Archbishop 
 of Tours had willingly given him to his confrere for his 
 journey to that town, because it was usual for arch- 
 bishops to make each other presents, they well knowing 
 how sharp are the itchings of theological palms. Thus 
 this young priest cam6 to the Council and was lodged 
 in the establishment of his prelate, a man of good morals 
 and great science. 
 
 Philippe de Mala, as he was called, resolved to behave 
 well and worthily to serve his protector, but he saw in 
 this mysterious Council many men leading a dissolute 
 life and yet not making less, nky — gaining more indul- 
 gences, gold crowns and benefices than all the other 
 virtuous and well-behaved ones. Now during one night 
 — dangerous to his virtue — the devil whispered into his 
 ear that he should live more luxuriously, since every one 
 sucked the breasts of our Holy Mother Church and yet 
 they were not drained, a miracle which proved beyond 
 doubt the existence of God. And the little priest of 
 
 5 
 
l4i!.!'!!'K!!ji!i 
 
 THE BEAUTY OF CMNSTANCE 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA. 7 
 
 Touraine did not disappoint the devil. He promised 
 to feast himself, to eat his bellyful of roast meats and 
 other German delicacies, when he could do so without 
 paying for them, as he was poor. As he remained quite 
 continent (in which he followed the example of the poor 
 old archbishop, who sinned no longer because he was 
 unable to, and passed for a saint), he had to suffer from 
 intolerable desires followed by fits of melancholy, since 
 there were so many sweet courtezans, well developed, 
 but cold to the poor people, who inhabited Constance, to 
 enlighten the understanding of the Fathers of the Coun- 
 cil. He was savage that he did not know how to make 
 up to these gallant sirens.who snubbed cardinals, abbots, 
 councilors, legates, bishops, princes, and margraves, just 
 as if they had been penniless clerks. And in the even- 
 ing, after prayers, he would practice speaking to them, 
 teaching himself the breviary of love. He taught him- 
 self to answer all possible questions, but on the morrow 
 if by chance he met one of the aforesaid princesses 
 dressed out, seated in a litter and escorted by her proud 
 and well-armed pages, he remained open-mouthed, like 
 a dog in the act of catching flies, at the sight of the 
 sweet countenance that so much inflamed him. The 
 secretary of Monseigneur, a gentleman of Perigord, 
 having clearly explained to him that the Fathers, pro- 
 cureurs, and auditors of the Rota bought by certain 
 presents, not relics or indulgences, but jewels and gold, 
 the favour of being familiar with the best of these pam- 
 pered cats who lived under the protection of the lords 
 of the Council; the poor Tourainian, all simpleton and 
 innocent as he was, treasured up under his mattress the 
 money given him by the good archbishop for writings and 
 
8 THE FAIR IMPERIA. 
 
 copying — hoping one day to have enough just to see a 
 cardinal's lady-love, and trusting in God for the rest. He 
 was hairless from top to toe and resembled a man about 
 as much as a goat with a night-dress on resembles a young 
 lady, but prompted by his desires he wandered in the 
 evenings through the streets of Constance, careless of his 
 life, and, at the risk of having his body halberded by the 
 soldiers, he peeped at the cardinals entering the houses of 
 their sweethearts. Then he saw the wax-candles lighted 
 in the houses and suddenly the doors and the windows 
 closed. Then he heard the blessed abbots or others jump- 
 ing about, drinking, enjoying themselves, love-making, 
 singing Alleluia and applauding the music with which 
 they were being regaled. The kitchen performed mir- 
 acles, the Offices said were fine rich pots-full, the Matins 
 sweet little hams, the Vespers luscious mouthfuls, and 
 the Laudes delicate sweetmeats, and after their little ca- 
 rouses, these brave priests were silent, their pages diced 
 upon the stairs, their mules stamped restively in the 
 streets ; everything went well — ^but faith and religion were 
 there. That is how it came to pass the good man Huss 
 was burned. And the reason? He put his finger in the 
 pie without being asked. Then why was he a huguenot 
 before the others? 
 
 To return, however, to our sweet little Philippe, not 
 unfrequently did he receive many a thump and hard blow, 
 but the devil sustained him, inciting him to believe that 
 sooner or later it would come to his turn to play the car- 
 dinal to some lovely dame. This ardent desire gave him 
 the boldness of a stag in autumn, so much so that one 
 evening he quietly tripped up the steps and into one of the 
 first houses in Constance where often he had seen officers. 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA. 9 
 
 seneschals, valets, and pages waiting with torches for 
 their masters, dukes, kings, cardinals, and archbishops. 
 
 "Ah !" said he, "she must be very beautiful and amiable, 
 this one." 
 
 A soldier well armed allowed him to pass, believing 
 him to belong to the suite of the Elector of Bavaria, who 
 had just left, and that he was going to deliver a message 
 on behalf of the above-mentioned nobleman. Philippe de 
 Mala mounted the stairs as lightly as a greyhound in love) 
 and was guided by a delectable odour of perfume to a 
 certain chamber where, surrounded by her handmaidens, 
 the lady of the house was divesting herself of her attire. 
 He stood quite dumbfounded like a thief surprised by 
 sergeants. The lady was without petticoat or head-dress. 
 The chamber-maids and the servants, busy taking off her 
 stockings and undressing her, so quickly and dexterously 
 had her stripped, that the priest, overcome, gave vent to a 
 long Ah! which had a flavour of love about it. 
 
 "What want you, little one ?" said the lady to him. 
 
 "To yield my soul to you," said he, flashing his eyes 
 upon her. 
 
 "You can come again to-morrow," said she, in order 
 to be rid of him. 
 
 To which Philippe replied, blushing, "I will not fail." 
 
 Then she burst out laughing. Philippe, struck mo- 
 tionless, stood quite at his ease, letting wander over her 
 his eyes that glowed and sparkled with the flame of love. 
 What lovely thick hair hung over her ivory white back, 
 showing sweet white places, fair and shining between the 
 many tresses ! She had upon her snow-white brow a ruby 
 circlet, less fertile in rays of fire than her black eyes, still 
 moist with tears from her hearty laugh. She even threw 
 
lO THE FAIR IMPERIA. 
 
 her slipper at a statue gilded like a shrine, twisting herself 
 about from very ribaldry, and allowed her bare foot, 
 smaller than a swan's bill, to be seen. This evening she 
 was in a good humour, otherwise she would have had the 
 little shaven-crown put out by the window without more 
 ado than her first bishop. 
 
 "He has fine 6yes, Madame," sai4 one of the hand- 
 maids. 
 
 "Where does he come from ?" asked another. 
 
 "Poor child!" cried Madame, "his mother must be 
 looking for him. Show him his way home." 
 
 The Tourainian, still sensible, gave a movement of 
 delight at the sight of the brocaded bed where the sweet 
 form was about to repose. This glance, full of amorous 
 intelligence, awoke the lady's fantasy, who, half laughing 
 and half smitten, repeated "To-rriorrow," and dismissed 
 him with a gesture which the pope Jehan himself would 
 have obeyed, especially as he was like a snail without a 
 shell, since the Council had just deprived him of the holy 
 keys. 
 
 "Ah ! Madame, there is another vow of chastity changed 
 into an amorous desire," said one of her women ; and the 
 chuckles commenced again thick as hail. 
 
 Philippe went his way, bumping his head against the 
 wall like a hooded rook as he was. So giddy had he be- 
 come at the sight of this creature, even more enticing than 
 a siren rising from the water. He noticed the animals 
 carved over the door and returned to the house of the 
 archbishop with his head full of diabolical longings and 
 his entrails sophisticated. Once in his little room he 
 counted his coins all night long, but could make no more 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA. II 
 
 than four of them ; and as that was all his treasure, he 
 counted upon satisfying the fair one by giving her all he 
 had in the world. 
 
 "What is it ails you ?'' said the good archbishop, uneasy 
 at the groans and "oh ! oh's !" of his clerk. 
 
 "Ah ! my lord," answered the poor priest, "I am won- 
 dering how it is that so light and sweet a woman can 
 weigh so heavily upon my heart." 
 
 "Which one?" said the archbishop, putting down his 
 breviary which he was reading for others — the good man. 
 
 "Oh ! Mother of God ! you will scold me, I know, my 
 good master, my protector, because I have seen the lady 
 of a cardinal at the least, and I am weeping because I 
 lack more than one little crown to enable me to convert 
 her." 
 
 The archbishop, knitting the circumflex accent that 
 he had about his nose, said not a word. Then the very 
 humble priest trembled in his skin to have confessed so 
 much to his superior. But the holy man directly said to 
 him, "She must be very dear then " 
 
 "Ah !" said he, "she has swallowed many a mitre and 
 stolen many a cross." 
 
 "Well, Philippe, if thou wilt renounce her, I will pre- 
 sent thee with thirty angels from the poor-box." 
 
 "Ah! my lord, I should be losing too much," replied 
 the Jad, emboldened by the treat he promised himself. 
 
 "Ah ! Philippe," said the good prelate, "thou wilt then 
 go to the devil and displease God, like all our cardinals," 
 and the master, with sorrow, began to pray St. Gatien, 
 the patron saint of Innocents, to save his servant. He 
 made him kneel down beside him, telling him to recom- 
 
12 THE FAIR IMPERIA. 
 
 mend himself also to St. Philippe, but the wretched priest 
 implored the saint beneath his breath to prevent him from 
 failing if on the morrow the lady should receive him 
 kindly and mercifully ; and the good archbishop, observ- 
 ing the fervour of his servant, cried out to him, "Courage, 
 little one, and Heaven will exorcise thee." 
 
 On the morrow, while Monsieur was declaiming at the 
 Council against the shameless behaviour of the apostles of 
 Christianity, Philippe de Mala spent his angels — acquired 
 with so much labour— in perfumes, baths, fomentations, 
 and other fooleries. He played the fop so well, one would 
 have thought him the fancy cavalier of a gay lady. He 
 wandered about the town in order to find the residence of 
 his heart's queen; and when he asked the passers-by to 
 whom belonged the aforesaid house, they laughed in his 
 face, saying — 
 
 "Whence comes this precious fellow that has not heard 
 of La Belle Imperia?" 
 
 He was very much afraid that he and his angels were 
 gone to the devil when he heard the name, and knew into 
 what a nice mess he had voluntarily fallen. 
 
 Imperia was the most precious, the most fantastic girl 
 in the world, although she passed for the most dazzingly 
 beautiful, and the one who best understood the art of 
 bamboozling cardinals and softening the hardest soldiers 
 and oppressors of the people. She h^d brave captains, 
 archers, and nobles, ready to serve her at every turn. She 
 had only to breathe a word, and the business of any one 
 who had offended her was settled. A free fight only 
 brought a smile to her lips, and often the Sire de Baudri- 
 court — one of the King's Captains — would ask her if 
 there was any one he could kill for her that day — a little 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA. I3 
 
 joke at the expense of the abbots. With the exception of 
 the potentates among the high clergy with whom Madame 
 Imperia managed to accommodate her little tempers, she 
 ruled every one with a high hand in virtue of her pretty 
 babble and enchanting ways, which enthralled the most 
 virtuous and the most unimpressionable. Thus she lived 
 beloved and respected, quite as much as the real ladies 
 and princesses, and was called Madame, concerning which 
 the good Emperor Sigismund replied to a lady who com- 
 plained of it to him, "That they, the good ladies, might 
 keep to their own proper way and holy virtues, and Ma- 
 dame Ipiperia to the sweet naughtiness of the goddess 
 Venus" — Christian words which shocked the good ladies, 
 to their credit be it said. 
 
 Philippe, then thinking over in his mind that which on 
 the preceding evening he had seen with his eyes, doubted 
 if more did not remain behind. Then was he sad, and 
 without taking bite or sup, strolled about the town waiting 
 the appointed hour, although he was well-favoured and 
 gallant enough to find others less difficult to overcome 
 than was Madame Imperia. 
 
 The night came ; the little Tourainian, exalted with 
 pride, caparisoned with desire, and spurred by his 
 "alacks" and "alases" which nearly choked him, glided 
 like an eel into the domicile of the veritable Queen of the 
 Council — for before her bowed humbly all the authoiity, 
 science, and wisdom of Christianity. The major domo 
 did not know him, and was going to bundle him out again, 
 when one of the chamber-women called out from the top 
 of the stairs — "Eh, M. Imbert, it is Madame's young fel- 
 low," and poor Philippe, blushing like a wedding night, 
 ran up the stairs, shaking with happiness and delight. 
 
14 THE FAIR IMPERIA. 
 
 The servant took him bj' the hand and led him into the 
 chamber where sat Madame, lightly attired, like a brave 
 woman who awaits her conqueror. 
 
 The dazzling Imperia was seated near a table covered 
 with a shaggy cloth ornamented with gold, and with all 
 the requisites for a dainty carouse. Flagons of wine, 
 various drinking glasses, bottles of hippocras, flasks full 
 of the good wine of Cyprus, pretty boxes full of spices, 
 roast peacocks, green sauces, little salt hams — all that 
 would gladden the eyes of the gallant if he had not so 
 madly loved Madame Imperia. She saw well that the 
 eyes of the young priest were all for her. Although ac- 
 customed to the curl-paper devotion of the churchmen, 
 she was well satisfied that she had made a conquest of -the 
 young priest who all day long had been in her head. 
 
 The windows had been closed ; Madame was decked 
 out and in a manner fit to do the honours to a prince of 
 the Empire. Then the rogue, beatified by the holy beauty 
 of Imperia, knew that emperor, burgraf, nay, even a car- 
 dinal about to be elected pope, would willingly for that 
 night have changed places with him, a little priest who, 
 beneath his gown, had only the devil and love. 
 
 He put on a lordly air, and saluted her with a courtesy 
 by no means ungraceful ; and then the sweet lady said to 
 him, regaling him with a piercing glance — 
 
 "Come and sit close to me, that I inay see if you have 
 altered since yesterday." 
 
 "Oh yes," said he. 
 
 "And how?" said she. 
 
 "Yesterday," replied the artful fellow, "I loved you: 
 to-day, we love each other, and from a poor sinner I have 
 become richer than a king." 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA. I5 
 
 "Oh, little one, little one !" cried she, merrily ; "yes, you 
 are indeed changed, for from a young priest I see well 
 you have turned into an old 'devil." And side by side they 
 sat down before a large fire, which helped to spread their 
 ecstasy around. They remained always ready to begin 
 eating, seeing that they only thought of gazing into each 
 other's eyes, and never touched a dish. Just as they were 
 beginning to feel comfortable and at their ease, there came 
 a great noise at Madame's door, as if people were beating 
 against it, and crying out. 
 
 "Madame," cried the little servant, hastily, "here's an- 
 other of them." 
 
 "Who is it?" cried she in a haughty manner, like a 
 tyrant, savage at being interrupted. 
 
 "The Bishop of Coire wishes to speak with you." 
 
 "May the devil take him !" said she, looking at Philippe 
 gently. 
 
 "Madame, he has seen the lights through the chinks, 
 and is making a great noise." 
 
 "Tell him I have the fever, and you will be telling him 
 no lie, for I am ill of this little priest who is torturing my 
 brain." 
 
 But just as she had finished speaking, and was pressing 
 with devotion the hand of Philippe who trembled in his 
 skin, appeared the fat Blishop of Coire, indignant and 
 angry. The officers followed him, bearing a trout canon- 
 ically dressed, fresh drawn from the Rhine, and shining 
 in a golden platter, and spices contained in little orna- 
 mental boxes, and a thousand dainties, such as liqueurs 
 and jams, made by the holy nuns at his Abbey. 
 
l6 THE FAIR IMPERIA. 
 
 "Ah, ah," said he, with his deep voice, "I haven't time 
 to go to the devil, but you must give me a touch of him 
 in advance, eh ! my little one." 
 
 "Your belly will one day make a nice sheath for a 
 sword," replies she, knitting her brows above her eyes, 
 which form being soft and gentle had become mischiev- 
 ous enough to make one tremble. 
 
 "And this little chorus singer is here to offer that?" 
 said the bishop, insolently turning his great rubicund face 
 towards Philippe. 
 
 "Monseigneur, I am here to confess Madame." 
 
 "Oh, oh, do you not know the canons ? To confess the 
 ladies at this time of night is a right reserved to bishops, 
 so take yourself off ; go and herd with simple monks, and 
 never come back here again vmder pain of excommuni- 
 cation." 
 
 "Do not move," cried the blushing Imperia, more lovely 
 with passion than she was with love, because now she was 
 possessed both with passion and love. "Stop, my friend. 
 Here you are in your own house." Then he knew that he 
 was really loved by her. 
 
 "Is it not in the breviary, and an evangelical regulation, 
 that you shall be equal before God in the valley of Jehos- 
 haphat ?" asked she of the bishop, 
 
 " 'Tis an invention of the devil, who has adulterated the 
 holy book," replied the great numbskull of a bishop, in a 
 hurry to fall to. 
 
 "Well then be equal now before me, who am here below 
 your goddess," replied Imperia, "otherwise one of these 
 days I will have you delicately strangled between the head 
 and shoulders ; I swear it by the power of my tonsure 
 which is as good as the pope's." And wishing that tht 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA. IJ 
 
 trout should be added to the feast as well as the sweets 
 and other dainties, she added, cunningly, "Sit you down 
 and drink with us." But the artful minx, being up to a 
 trick or two, gave the little one a wink which told him 
 plainly not to mind the German, whom she would soon 
 find a means to be rid of. 
 
 The servant-maid seated the bishop at the table and 
 tucked him up, while Philippe, wild with a rage that 
 closed his mouth, because he saw his plans ending in 
 smoke, gave the archbishop to more devils than there 
 ever were monks alive. Thus they got half way through 
 the repast, which the young priest had not yet touched, 
 hungering only for Imperia, near whom he was already 
 seated, but speaking that sweet language which the ladies 
 so well understand, that has neither stops, commas, ac- 
 cents, letters, figures, characters, notes, nor images. The 
 fat bishop, sensual and careful enough of the sleek eccle- 
 siastical garment of skin for which he was indebted to his 
 late mother, allowed himself to be plentifully served with 
 hippocras by the delicate hand of Madame, and it was 
 just at his first hiccough that the sound of an approaching 
 cavalcade was heard in the street. The number of horses, 
 the "Ho, ho!" of the pages, showed plainly thcit some 
 great prince hot with love was about to arrive. In fact, 
 a moment afterwards the Cardinal of Ragusa, against 
 whom the servants of Imperia had not dared to bar the 
 door, entered the room. At this terrible sight the poor 
 courtezan and her young lover became ashamed and em- 
 barrassed, like fresh cured lepers ; for it would be tempt- 
 ing the devil to try and oust the cardinal, the more so as 
 at that time it was not known who would be pope, three 
 aspirants having resigned their hoods for the benefit of 
 
l8 THE FAIR IMPERIA. 
 
 Christianity. The cardinal, who was a cunning Italian, 
 long bearded, a great sophist, and the life and soul of th( 
 Council, guessed, by the feeblest exercise of the faculties 
 of his understanding, the alpha and omega of the adven- 
 ture. He only had to weigh in his mind one little thoughi 
 before he knew how to proceed in order to be able tc 
 hypothecate his manly vigour. He arrived with the appe- 
 tite of a hungry monk, and to obtain its satisfaction h( 
 was just the man to stab two monks and sell his bit of the 
 true cross, which was wrong. 
 
 "Holloa! friend," said he to Philippe, calling hin 
 towards him. 
 
 The poor Tourainian, more dead than alive, and expect- 
 ing the devil was about to interfere seriously with his 
 arrangements, rose and said, "What is it ?" to the redoubt 
 able cardinal. 
 
 He taking him by the arm led him to the staircase 
 looked him in the white of the eye and said, without anj 
 nonsense — 
 
 "Ventredieu! you are a nice little fellow, and I shouU 
 not like to have to let your master know the weight o 
 your carcase. My revenge might cause me certaih piou 
 expenses in my old age, so choose to espouse an abbey fo 
 the remainder of your days, or to marry Madame to-nigh 
 and die to-morrow." 
 
 The poor little Tourainian in despair murmured, "Ma; 
 I come back when your passion is over ?" 
 
 The cardinal could scarcely keep his countenance, bu 
 he said sternly, "Chpose the gallows or a mitre." 
 
 "Ah !" said the priest, maliciously ; "a good fat abbey. 
 
 Thereupon the cardinal went back into the room, opene 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA. I9 
 
 an escritoire, and scribbled upon a piece of parchment an 
 order to the envoy of France. 
 
 "Monseigneur," said the Tourainian to him while he 
 was spelHng out the order, "you will not get rid of the 
 Bishop of Coire so easily as you have got rid of me, for 
 he has as many abbeys as the soldiers have drinking shops 
 in the town ; besides, he is in the favour of his lord. Now 
 I fancy to show you my gratitude for this so fine abbey 
 I owe you a good piece of advice. You know how fatal 
 has been and how rapidly spread this terrible pestilence 
 which has cruelly harassed Paris. Tell him that you have 
 just left the bedside of your old friend the Archbishop of 
 Bordeaux ; thus you will make him scutter away like straw 
 before a whirlwind." 
 
 "Oh, oh," cried the cardinal, "thou meritest more than 
 an abbey. Ah, Ventredieu ! my young friend, here are loo 
 golden crowns for thy journey to the abbey of Turpenay, 
 which I won yesterday at cards, and of which I make you 
 a free gift." 
 
 Hearing these words, and seeing Philippe de Mala dis- 
 appear without giving her the amorous glances she ex- 
 pected, the beautiful Imperia, puffing like a dolphin, de- 
 nounced all the cowardice of the priest. She was not then 
 a sufficiently good Catholic to pardon her lover deceiving 
 her, by not knowing how to die for her pleasure. Thus 
 the death of Philippe was foreshadowed in the viper's 
 glance she cast at him to insult him, which glance pleased 
 the cardinal much, for the wily Italian saw he would soon 
 get his abbey back again. The Tourainian, heeding not 
 the brewing storm, avoided it by walking out silently and 
 with his ears down, like a wet dog being kicked out of 
 church. Madame drew a sigh from her heart. She must 
 
20 THE FAIR IMPERIA. 
 
 have had her own ideas of humanity for the little value 
 she held it in. The fire which possessed her had mounted 
 to her head, and scintillated in rays about her, and there 
 was good reason for it, for this was the first time that 
 she had been humbugged by a priest. Then the cardinal 
 smiled, believing it was all to his advantage : was not he a 
 cunning fellow ? Yes, he was the possessor of a red hat. 
 "Ah ! ah ! my friend," said he to the bishop, "I congrat- 
 ulate myself on being in your company, and I am glad 
 to have been able to get rid of that little wretch unworthy 
 of Madame, the more so as if you had gone near him, my 
 lovely and amiable creature, you would have perished 
 miserably through the deed of a simple priest." 
 "Ah! How?" 
 
 "He is the secretary of the Archbishop of Bordeaux. 
 The good man was seized this morning with the pesti- 
 lence." 
 
 The bishop opened his mouth wide enough to swallow a 
 dutch cheese. 
 
 "How do you know that ?" asked he. 
 "Ah!" said the cardinal, taking the good German's 
 hand, "I have just administered to him, and consoled him ; 
 at this moment the holy man has a fair wind to waft him 
 to paradise." 
 
 The Bishop of Coire demonstrated immediately how 
 light fat men are ; for when men are big-bellied, a merci- 
 ful providence, in the consideration of their works, often 
 makes their internal tubes as elastic as balloons. The 
 aforesaid bishop sprang backwards with one bound, burst 
 into a perspiration, and coughed like a cow who finds 
 feathers mixed with her hay. Then becoming suddenly 
 pale, he rushed down the stairs without even bidding 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA. 21 
 
 Madame adieu. When the door had closed upon the 
 bishop, and he was fairly in the street, the Cardinal of 
 Ragusa began laughing fit to split his sides. 
 
 "Ah. my fair one, am I not worthy to be pope, and bet- 
 ter than that, thy lover this evening ?" 
 
 But seeing Imperia thoughtful, he approached her to 
 take her in his arms, and pet her after the usual fashion of 
 cardinals, men who embrace better than all others, even 
 the soldiers, because they are lazy, and do not spare their 
 essential properties. 
 
 "Ha!" said she, drawing back, "you wish to cause my 
 death, you ecclesiastical idiot. The principal thing for 
 you is to enjoy yourself ; my sweet carcase, a thing acces- 
 sory. Your pleasure will be my death, and then you'll 
 canonize me perhaps ? Ah, you have the plague, and you 
 would give it to me. Go somewhere else, you brainless 
 priest. Ah! touch me not," said she, seeing him about 
 to advance, "or I will stab you with this dagger." 
 
 And the clever hussy drew from her armoire a little 
 dagger, which she knew how to use with great skill when 
 necessary. 
 
 "But, my little paradise, my sweet one," said the other, 
 laughing, "don't you see the trick? Wasn't it necessary 
 to get rid of that old bullock of Coire ?" 
 
 "Well, then, if you love me, show it," replied she. "I 
 desire that you leave me instantly. If you are touched 
 with the disease, my death will not worry you. I know 
 you well enough to know at what price you will put a 
 moment of pleasure at your last hour. You would drown 
 the earth. Ah! ah! you have boasted of it when drunk. 
 I love only myself, my treasures, and my health. Go, and 
 if to-morrow your veins are not frozen by the disease, you 
 
22 THE FAIR IMPERIA. 
 
 can come again. To-day, I hate you, my good cardinal," 
 said she, smiling. 
 
 "Imperia 1" cried the cardinal, on his knees, "my blessed 
 Imperia, do not play with me thus." 
 
 "No," said she, "I never play with blessed and sacred 
 things." 
 
 "Ah! ribald woman, I will excommunicate thee to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "And now you are out of your cardinal sense." 
 
 "Imperia, cursed daughter of Satan! Oh, my little 
 beauty — my love — " 
 
 "Respect yourself more. Don't kneel to me, fie for 
 shame !" 
 
 "Wilt thou have a dispensation in articulo mortis f 
 Wilt thou have my fortune — or better still, a bit of the 
 veritable true cross ? — Wilt thou ?" 
 
 "This evening, all the wealth of heaven above and 
 earth beneath would not buy my heart," said she, laughing. 
 "I should be the blackest of sinners, unworthy to receive 
 the Blessed Sacrament if I had not my little caprices." 
 
 "I'll burn the house down. Sorceress, you have be- 
 witched me. You shall perish at the stake. Listen to me, 
 my love — my gentle dove — I promise you the best place 
 in heaven. Eh? No. Death to you then — death to the 
 sorceress." 
 
 "Oh ! oh ! I will kill you, Monseigneur." 
 
 And the cardinal foamed with rage. 
 
 "You are making a fool of yourself," said she. "Go 
 away, you'll tire yourself." 
 
 "I shall be pope, and you shall pay for this 1" 
 
 "Then you are no longer disposed to obey me ?'* 
 
 "What can I do this evening to please you ?" 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA. 23 
 
 "Get out." 
 
 And she sprang lightly like a wagtail into her room, 
 and locked herself in, leaving the cardinal to storm that 
 he was obliged to go. When the fair Imperia found her 
 self alone, seated before the fire, and without her little 
 priest, she exclaimed, snapping angrily the gold links of 
 her chain, "By the double triple horn of the devil, if the 
 little one has made me have this row with the cardinal, 
 and exposed me to the danger of being poisoned to-mor- 
 row, unless I pay him over to my heart's content, I will 
 not die till I have seen him burnt alive before my eyes. 
 Ah!" said she, weeping, this time real tears, "I lead a 
 most unhappy life, and the little pleasure I have costs me 
 the life of a dog, let alone my salvation." 
 
 As she finished this jeremaid, wailing like a calf that is 
 being slaughtered, she beheld the blushing face of the 
 young priest, who had hidden himself, peeping at her from 
 behind her large Venetian mirror. 
 
 "Ah!" said she, "thou art the most perfect monk that 
 ever dwelt in this blessed and amorous town of Con- 
 stance. Ah ! ah ! come my gentle cavalier, my dear boy, 
 my little charm, my paradise of delectation, let me drink 
 thine eyes, eat thee, kill thee with love. Oh! my ever- 
 flourishing, ever-green sempiternal god ; from a little 
 monk I would make thee a king, emperor, pope, and bap- 
 /pier than either. There, thou canst put anything to fire 
 and sword, I am thine, and thou shalt see it well ; for thou 
 shalt be all a cardinal, even when to redden thy hood I 
 shed all my heart's bloood." And with her trembling 
 hands all joyously she filled with Greek wine the golden 
 cup, brought by the Bishop of Coire, and presented it to 
 her sweetheart, whom she served upon her knee, she 
 
24 THE FAIR IMPERIA. 
 
 whose slipper princes found more to their taste than that 
 of the pope. 
 
 But he gazed at her in silence, with his eye so lustrous 
 with love, that she said to him, trembling with joy, "Ah, 
 be quiet, little one. Let us have supper," 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 
 HOW THE GOODMAN BRUYN TOOK A WIFE. 
 
 MESSIRE BRUYN, he who completed the Castle 
 of Roche-Corbon-les-Vouvray, on the banks of 
 the Loire, was a boisterous fellow in his youth. When 
 quite little, he squeezed the young ladies, turned the house 
 out of windows, and played the devil with everything, 
 when he was called upon to put his sire the Baron of 
 Roche-Corbon some few feet under the turf. Then he 
 was his own master, free to lead a life of wild dissipation, 
 and indeed he worked very hard to get a surfeit of enjoy- 
 ment. Now by making his crowns sweat and his goods 
 scarce, draining his land, and bleeding his hogsheads, and 
 regaling frail beauties, he found himself excommunicated 
 from decent society, and had for his friends only the 
 plunderers of towns and the Lombardians. But the usur- 
 ers turned rough and bitter as chestnut husks, when he 
 had no other security to give them than his said estate 
 of Roche-Corbon, since the Rupes Carbonis was held from 
 our lord the king. Then Bruyn found himself just in the 
 humour to give a blow here and there, to break a collar- 
 bone or two, and quarrel with every one about trifles. 
 Seeing which the Abbot of Marmoustiers, his neighbour, 
 
 25 
 
26 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 and a man liberal with his advice, told him that it was an 
 evident sign of lordly perfection, that he was walking in 
 the right road, but if he would go and slaughter, to the 
 great glory of God, the Mahommedans who defiled the 
 Holy Land, it would be better still, and that he would 
 undoubtedly return full of wealth and indulgences into 
 Touraine, or into Paradise, whence all barons formerly 
 came. 
 
 The said Bruyn, admiring the great sense of the prelate, 
 left the country equipped by the monastery, and blessed 
 by the abbot, to the great delight of his friends and neigh- 
 bours. Then he put to the sack many towns of Asia and 
 Africa, and fell upon the infidels without giving them 
 warning, burning the Saracens, the Greeks, the English 
 and others, caring little whether they were friends or ene- 
 mies, or where they came from, since among his merits 
 he had that of being in no way curious, and he never ques- 
 tioned them until after he had killed them. At this busi- 
 ness, agreeable to God, to the King, and to himself, Bruyn 
 gained renown as a good Christian and loyal knight, and 
 enjoyed himself thoroughly in these lands beyond the 
 seas, since he more willingly gave a crown to the girls 
 than to the poor, although he met more poor people than 
 perfect maids ; but like a good Tourainian he made soup 
 of anything. At length, when he was satiated with Turks, 
 relics, and other blessings of the Holy Land, Bruyn, to the 
 great astonishment of the people of Vouvrillons, returned 
 from the Crusades laden with crowns and precious stones ; 
 rather differently from some who, rich when they set out, 
 came back heavy with leprosy, but light with gold. On 
 his return from Tunis, our Lord, King Philippe, made 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. VJ 
 
 him a Count, and appointed him his seneschal in our coun- 
 try and in that of Poitou. There he was greatly beloved 
 and properly thought well of, since over and above his 
 good qualities he founded the Church of the Carmes- 
 Deschaulx, in the parish of EgrignoUes, as a peace-offer- 
 ing to Heaven for the follies of his youth. Thus was he 
 cardinally consigned to the good graces of the Church 
 and of God. From a wicked youth and reckless man, he 
 became a good, wise man, and discreet in his dissipations 
 and pleasures ; rarely was in anger, unless some one blas- 
 phemed God before him, the which he would not tolerate 
 because he had blasphemed enough for every one in his 
 wild youth. In short, he never quarreled, because, being 
 seneschal, people gave up to him instantly. It is true that 
 he at that time beheld all his desires accomplished, the 
 which would render even an imp of Satan calm and tran- 
 quil from his horns to his heels. And besides this he pos- 
 sessed a castle all jagged at the corners, and shaped and 
 pointed like a Spanish doublet, situated upon a bank from 
 which it was reflected in the Loire. In the rooms were 
 royal tapestries, furniture, Saracen pomps, vanities, and 
 inventions which were much admired by ' the people of 
 Tours, and even by the archbishop and clerks of St. Mar- 
 tin, to whom he sent as a free gift a banner fringed with 
 fine gold. In the neighbourhood of the said castle abound- 
 ed fair domains, wind-mills, and forests, yielding a harvest 
 of rents of all kinds, so that he was one of the strongest 
 knights-banneret of the province, and could easily have 
 led to battle for our lord the king a thousand men. In 
 his old days, if by chance his bailiff, a diligent man at 
 hanging, brought before him a poor peasant suspected of 
 some ofifence, he would say, smiling — 
 
28 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 "Let this one go, Breddiflf, he will count against those 
 I inconsiderately slaughtered across the seas;" often- 
 times, however, he would let them bravely hang on a 
 chestnut tree, or swing on his gallows, but this was solely 
 that justice might be done, and that the custom should 
 not lapse in his domain. Thus the people on his lands 
 were good and orderly, like fresh veiled nuns, and peace- 
 ful since he protected them from robbers and vagabonds 
 whom he never spared, knowing by experience how much 
 mischief is caused by these cursed beasts of prey. For 
 the rest, most devout, finishing everything quickly, his 
 prayers as well as good wine, he managed the processes 
 after the Turkish fashion having a thousand little jokes 
 ready for the losers, and dining with them to console 
 them. He had all the people who had been hanged buried 
 in consecrated ground like godly ones, some people think- 
 ing they had been sufficiently punished by having their 
 breath stopped. He only persecuted the Jews now and 
 then, and when they were glutted with usury and wealth. 
 He let them gather their spoils as the bees do honey, say- 
 ing that they were the best of tax-gatherers. And never 
 did he despoil them save for the profit and use of the 
 churchmen, the king, the province, or himself. 
 
 This jovial way gained for him the affection and esteem 
 of every one, great and small. If he came back smiling 
 from his judicial throne, the Abbot of Marmoustiers, an 
 old man like himself, would say, "Ha ! ha ! messire, there 
 is some hanging on since you laugh thus!" And when 
 coming from Roche-Corbon to Tours he passed on horse- 
 back along the Faubourg St. Symphorien, the little girls 
 would say, "Ah, this is the justice day, here is the good 
 man Bruyn/' and without being afraid they would look 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 29 
 
 at him astride on a big white hack, that he had brought 
 back with him from the Levant. On the bridge the little 
 boys would stop playing with the ball, and would call out, 
 "Good day, Mr. Seneschal," and he would reply, jokingly, 
 "Enjoy yourselves, my children, until you get whipped." 
 "Yes, Mr. Seneschal." 
 
 Also he made the country so contented and so free from 
 robbers that during the year of the great overflowing of 
 the Loire there were only twenty-two malefactors hanged 
 that winter, not counting a Jew burned in the Commune 
 of Chateau-Neuf for having stolen a consecrated wafer, 
 or bought it, some said, for he was very rich. 
 
 One day in the following year about harvest time, or 
 mowing time, as we say in Touraine, there came Egyp- 
 tians, Bohemians, and other wandering troupes who stole 
 the holy things from the Church of St. Martin, and in the 
 place and exact situation of Madame the Virgin, left by 
 way of insult and mockery to our Holy Faith, an aban- 
 doned pretty little girl, about the age of an old dog, stark 
 naked, an acrobat, and of Moorish descent like themselves. 
 For this almost nameless crime it was equally decided by 
 the king, people, and the churchmen that the Mooress, to 
 pay for all, should be burned and cooked alive in the 
 square near the fountain where the herb market is. Then 
 the good man Bruyn clearly and dexterously demon- 
 strated to the others that it would be a thing most profit- 
 able and pleasant to God to gain over this African soul to 
 the true religion, and if the devil were lodged in this femi- 
 nine body the faggots would be useless to burn him, as said 
 the said order. The which the archbishop sagely thought 
 most canonical and conformable to Christian charity and 
 the gospel. The ladies of the town and other persons of 
 
30 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 authority said loudly that they were cheated of a fine 
 ceremony, since the Mooress was crying her eyes out in 
 the gaol and would certainly be converted to God in order 
 to live as long as a crow, if she were allowed to do so, to 
 which the seneschal replied that if the foreigner would 
 wholly commit herself to the Christian religion there 
 would be a gallant ceremony of another kind, and that he 
 would undertake that it should be royally magnificent, 
 because he would be her sponsor at the baptismal font, 
 and that a virgin should be his partner in the affair in 
 order the better to please the Almighty, while himself was 
 reputed never to have lost the bloom of innocence, in fact 
 to be a coquebin. In our country of Touraine thus are 
 called the young virgin men, unmarried or so esteemed, to 
 distinguish them from the husbands and the widowers, but 
 the girls always pick them out without the name, because 
 they are more lighthearted and merry than those seasoned 
 in marriage. 
 
 The young Mooress did not hesitate between the flam- 
 ing faggots and the baptismal water She much preferred 
 to be a Christian and live than be an Egyptian and be 
 burnt ; thus to escape a moment's baking, her heart would 
 burn unquenched through all her life, since for the greater 
 surety of her religion she was placed in the convent of 
 nuns near Chardonneret, where she took the vow of sanc- 
 tity. The said ceremony was concluded at the residence 
 of the archbishop, where on this occasion, in honour of , 
 the Saviour of men, the lords and ladies of Touraine 
 hopped, skipped, and danced, for in this country the peo- 
 ple dance, skip, eat, flirt, have more feasts and make mer- 
 rier than any in the whole world. The good old seneschal 
 had taken for his associate the daughter of the lord 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 3I 
 
 of Azay-Ie-Riclel, which afterwards became Azay-le- 
 Brusle, the which lord being a Crusader was left before 
 Acre, a far distant town, in the hands of a Saracen who 
 demanded a royal ransom for him because the said lord 
 was of high position. 
 
 The lady of Azay having given his estate as security to 
 the Lombards and extortioners in order to raise the sum, 
 remained, without a penny in the world, awaiting her lord 
 in a poor lodging in the town, without a carpet to sit upon, 
 but proud as the Queen of Sheba and brave as a mastiff 
 who defends the property of his master. Seeing this great 
 distress the seneschal went delicately to request this lady's 
 daughter to be the godmother of the said Egyptian, in 
 order that he might have the right of assisting the Lady 
 of Azay. And, in fact, he kept a heavy chain of gold 
 which he had preserved since the commencement of the 
 taking of Cyprus, and the which he determined to clasp 
 about the neck of his pretty associate, but he hung there 
 at the same time his domain, and his white hairs, his 
 money and his horses ; in short, he placed there everything 
 he possessed, directly he had seen Blanche of Azay danc- 
 ing a pavan among the ladies of Tours. Although the 
 Moorish girl, making the most of her last day, had aston- 
 ished the assembly by her twists, jumps, steps, springs, 
 elevations, and artistic efforts, Blanche had the advantage 
 of her, as every one agreed, so virginally and delicately 
 did she dance. 
 
 Now Bruyn, admiring this gentle maiden whose toes 
 seemed to fear the boards, and who amused herself so in- 
 nocently for her seventeen years — like a grasshopper try- 
 ing her first note — was seized with an old man's desire ; a 
 desire apoplectic and vigorous from weakness, which heat- 
 
32 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 ed him from the sole of his foot to the nape of his neck^ 
 for his head had too much snow on the top of it to let love 
 lodge there. Then the good man perceived that he needed 
 a wife in his manor, and it appeared more lonely to him 
 than it was. And what then was a castle without a chate- 
 laine ? As well have a clapper without its bell. In short, 
 a wife was the only thing that he had to desire, so he 
 wished to have one promptly, seeing that if the Lady of 
 Azay made him wait, he had just time to pass out of this 
 world into the other. But during the baptismal entertain- 
 ment, he thought little of his severe wounds, and still less 
 of the eighty years that had stripped his head ; he found 
 his eyes clear enough to see distinctly his young compan^ 
 ion, who, following the injunctions of the Lady of Azay, 
 regaled him well with glance and gesture, believing there 
 could be no danger near so old a fellow, in such wise that 
 Blanche — naive and nice as she was in contradistinction 
 to the girls of Touraine, who are as wide-awake as a 
 spring morning — permitted the good man first to kiss her 
 hand, and afterwards her neck, rather low down ; at least 
 so said the archbishop who married them the week after ; 
 and that was a beautiful bridal, and a still more beautiful 
 bride. 
 
 The said Blanche was slender and graceful as no other 
 girl, and still better than that, more maidenly than ever 
 maiden was; a maiden all ignorant of love, who knew 
 not why or what it was; a maiden who wondered why 
 certain people lingered in their beds ; a maiden who be- 
 lieved that children were found iil parsley beds. Her 
 mother had thus reared her in innocence, without even 
 allowing her to consider, trifle as it was, how she sucked 
 in her soup between her teeth. Thus was she a sweet 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 33 
 
 flower, and intact, joyous, and innocent; an angel, who 
 needed but the wings to fly away to Paradise. When she 
 left the poor lodging of her weeping mother to consum- 
 mate her betrothal at the cathedral of St. Gatien and St. 
 Maurice, the country people came to feast their eyes upon 
 the bride, and on the carpets which were laid down all 
 along the Rue de la Scellerie, and all said that never had 
 tinier feet pressed the ground of Touraine, prettier eyes 
 gazed up to heaven, or a more splendid festival adorned 
 the streets with carpets and with flowers. The young 
 girls of St. Martin and of the borough of Chateau-Neuf, 
 all envied the long broyn tresses with which doubtless 
 Blanche had fished for a count, but much more did they 
 desire the gold embroidered dress, the foreign stones, the 
 white diamonds, and the chains with which the little dar- 
 ling played, and which bound her for ever to the said sen- 
 eschal. The old soldier was so merry by her side, that his 
 happiness showed itself in his wrinkles, his looks, and his 
 movements. Although he was hardly as straight as a bill- 
 hook, he held himself so by the side of Blanche, that one 
 would have taken him for a soldier on parade receiving 
 his officer, and he placed his hand on his diaphragm like 
 a man whose pleasure stifles and troubles him. Delighted 
 with the sound of the swinging bells, the procession, the 
 pomps and vanities of this said marriage, which was talked 
 of long after the episcopal rejoicings, the women desired 
 a harvest of Moorish girls, a deluge of old seneschals, and 
 baskets full of Egyptian baptisms. But this was the only 
 one that ever happened in Touraine, seeing that the coun- 
 try is far from Egypt and from Bohemia. The Lady of 
 Azay received a large sum of money after the ceremony, 
 which enabled her to start immediately for Acre to go to 
 
34 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 her spouse, accompanied by the lieutenant and soldiers of 
 the Count of Roche-Corbon, who furnished them with 
 everything necessary. She set out on the day of the 
 wedding, after having placed her daughter in the hands 
 of the seneschal, enjoining him to treat her well ; and later 
 on she returned with the Sire d'Azay, who was leprous, 
 and she cured him, tending him herself, running the risk 
 of being contaminated, the which was greatly admired. 
 
 'I'he marriage ceremony finished and at an end — for it 
 lasted three days, to the great contentment of the people — ; 
 Messire Bruyn with great pomp led the little one to his 
 castle, and, according to the custom of husbands, had her 
 put solemnly to bed in his couch, which was blessed by 
 the Abbot of Marmoustiers ; then came and placed him- 
 self beside her in the great feudal chamber of Roche- 
 Corbon, which had been hung with green brocade and 
 ribbon of golden wire. When old Bruyn, perfumed all 
 over, found himself side by side with his pretty wife, he 
 kissed her first upon the forehead and then upon the little 
 round, white breast, on the same spot where she had al- 
 lowed him to clasp the fastenings of the chain, but that 
 was all. The old fellow had too great confidence in him- 
 self in fancying himself able to accomplish more ; so then 
 he abstained from love in spite of the merry nuptial songs, 
 the epithalamiums and jokes which were going on in the 
 rooms beneath where the dancing was still kept up. He 
 refreshed himself with a drink of the marriage beverage, 
 which, according to custom, had been blessed and placed 
 near them in a golden cup. The spices warmed his stom- 
 ach well enough, but not the heart of his dead ardour. 
 Blanche was not at all astonished at the demeanour of her 
 spouse, because she was a virgin in mind, an4 in marriage 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 35 
 
 she only saw that which is visible to the eyes of young 
 girls — namely, dresses, banquets, horses, to be a lady and 
 mistress, to have a country seat, to amuse oneself and give 
 orders ; so, like the child that she was, she played with the 
 gold tassels of the bed, and marvelled at the richness of 
 the shrine in which her innocence should be interred. 
 Feeling, a little later in the day, his culpability, and relying 
 on the future, which, however, would spoil a little every 
 day that with which he pretended to regale his wife, the 
 seneschal tried to substitute the word for the deed. So he 
 entertained his wife in various ways, promised her the 
 keys of his sideboards, his granaries and chests, the per- 
 fect government of his houses and domains without any 
 control, hanging round her neck "the other half of the 
 loaf," which is the popular saying in Touraine. She being 
 like a young charger full of hay, found her good man the 
 most gallant fellow in the world, and raising herself upon 
 her pillow began to smile, and beheld with greater joy this 
 beautiful green brocaded bed, where henceforward she 
 would be permitted, without any sin, to sleep 
 every night. Seeing she was getting playful, the 
 cunning lord, who had not been used to maid- 
 ens, but knew from experience the little tricks 
 that women will practise, seeing that he had much 
 associated with ladies of the town, feared those handy 
 tricks, little kisses, and minor amusements of love which 
 formerly he did not object to, but which at the present 
 time would have found him cold as- the obit of a pope. 
 Then he drew back towards the edge of the bed, afraid 
 of his happiness, and said to his too delectable spouse, 
 "Well, darling, you are a seneschal's wife now, and very 
 well seneschaled as well." 
 
36 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 "ph, no!" said she. 
 
 "How no !" replied he, in great fear ; "are you not a 
 wife?" 
 
 "No," said she. "Nor shall I be till I have a child." 
 
 "Did you while coming here see the meadows?" began 
 again the old fellow. 
 
 "Yes," said she. 
 
 "Well, they are yours." 
 
 "Oh ! oh !" replied she laughing, "I shall amuse myself 
 much there catching butterflies." 
 
 "That's a good girl," said her lord. "And the woods?" 
 
 "Ah ! I should not like to be there alone, you will take 
 me there. But," said she, "give me a little of that liquor 
 which La Ponneuse has taken such pains to prepare for 
 us." 
 
 "And why, my darling? It would put fire into your 
 body." 
 
 "Oh ! that's what I should like," said she, biting her lips 
 with vexation, "because I desire to give you a child as 
 soon as possible ; and I am sure that liquor is good for the 
 purpose." 
 
 "Ah, my little one," said the seneschal, knowing by this 
 that Blanche was a virgin from head to foot, "the good- 
 will of God is necessary for this business, and women 
 must be in a state of harvest." 
 
 "And when shall I be in a state of harvest?" asked she, 
 smiling. 
 
 "When nature so'wills it," said he, trying to laugh. 
 
 "What is it necessary to do for this ?" replied she. 
 
 "Bah ! a cabalistical and alchemical operation which is 
 very dangerous." 
 
 "Ah !" said she, with a dreamy look, "that's the reason 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 37 
 
 why my mother cried when thinking of the said meta- 
 morphosis ; but Bertha de Breuilly, who is so thankful for 
 being made a wife, told me it was the easiest thing in the 
 world." 
 
 "That's according to the age," replied the old lord. 
 "But did you see at the stable the beautiful white mare so 
 much spoken of in Touraine?" 
 
 "Yes, she is very gentle and nice." 
 
 "Well, I give her to you, and you can ride her as often 
 as the fancy takes you." 
 
 "Oh, you are very kind, and they did not lie when they 
 told me so." 
 
 "Here," continued he, "sweetheart : the butler, the chap- 
 lain, the treasurer, the equerry, the farrier, the bailiff, 
 even the Sire de Montsoreau, the young varlet whose 
 name is Gauttier and bears my banner, with his men at 
 arms, captains, followers, and beasts — all are yours, and 
 will instantly obey your orders under pain of being incom- 
 moded with a hempen collar ?" 
 
 "But," replied she, "this mysterious operation — cannot 
 it be performed immediately?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" replied the seneschal. "Because it is neces- 
 sary above all things that both the one and the other of us 
 should be in a state of grace before God; otherwise we 
 should have a bad child, full of sins ; which is forbidden by 
 the canons of the Church. This is the reason there are 
 so many incorrigible scapegraces in the world. Their 
 parents have not wisely waited to have their souls pure, 
 and have given wicked souls to their children. The beau- 
 tiful and the virtuous come of immaculate fathers; that 
 is why we cause our beds to be blessed, as the Abbot of 
 
38 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 Marmoustiers has done this one. Have you not trans- 
 gressed the ordinances of the Church?" 
 
 "Oh, no," said she, quickly, "I received before Mass 
 absolution for all my faults and have remained since with- 
 out committing the slightest sin." 
 
 "You are very perfect," cried the cunning lord; "and 
 I am delighted to have you for a wife ; but I have sworn 
 like an infidel." 
 
 "Oh! and why?" 
 
 "Because the dancing did not finish, and I could not 
 have you to myself to bring you here and kiss you." 
 
 Thereupon he gallantly took her hands and covered 
 them with kisses, whispering to her little endearments and 
 superficial words of affection which made her quite pleased 
 and contented. 
 
 Then, fatigued with the dance and all the ceremonies, 
 she settled down to her slumbers, saying to the 
 seneschal — 
 
 "I will take care to-morrow that you shall not sin," and 
 she left the old man quite smitten with her white beauty, 
 amorous of her delicate nature, and as embarrassed to 
 know how he should be able to keep her in her innocence 
 as to explain why oxen chew their food twice over. Al- 
 though he did not augur to himself any good therefrom, 
 it inflamed him so much to see the exquisite perfections 
 of Blanche during her innocent and gentle sleep, that he 
 resolved to preserve and defend this pretty jewel of love, 
 her beautiful eyelids, and her ripe red mouth, and he did 
 With tears in his eyes he kissed her sweet golden tresses, 
 it softly for fear of waking her. That was all his fruition, 
 the dumb delight which still inflamed his heart without in 
 the least affecting Blanche. Then he deplored the snows 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 39 
 
 of his leafless old age, the poor old man, and he saw clearly 
 that God had amused himself by giving him nuts when his 
 teeth were gone. 
 
40 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 HOW THE SENESCHAL STRUGGLED WITH 
 HIS WIFE'S MODESTY. 
 
 During the first days of his marriage the seneschal in- 
 vented many fibs to tell his wife, whose so estimable inno- 
 cence he abused. Firstly, he found in his judicial func- 
 tions good excuses for leaving her at times alone ; then he 
 occupied himself with the peasants of the neighbourhood, 
 and took them to dress the vines on his lands at Vouvray, 
 and at length pampered her up with a thousand absurd 
 tales. 
 
 At one time he would say that lords did not behave like 
 common people, that the children were only planted at 
 certain celestial conjunctions ascertained by learned 
 astrologers ; at another that one should abstain from be- 
 getting children on feast days because it was a great 
 undertaking ; and he observed the feasts like a man who 
 wished to enter into Paradise without contest. Some- 
 times he would pretend that if by chance the parents were 
 not in a state of grace, the children commenced on the 
 day of St. Claire were blind, of St. Gatien had the gout, of 
 St. Agnes were scaldheaded, of St. Roch had the plague, 
 sometimes that those begotten in February were chilly ; in 
 March, too turbulent ; in April, were worth nothing at all ; 
 and that handsome boys were conceived in May. In 
 short, he wished his to be perfect, to have his hair of two 
 
THE VENIAL SIN, 4I 
 
 colours ; and for this it was necessary that all the required 
 conditions should be observed. At other times he would 
 say to Blanche that the right of a man was to bestow a 
 child upon his wife according to his sole and unique will, 
 and that if she pretended to be a virtuous woman she 
 should conform to the wishes of her husband ; in fact, it 
 was necessary to await the return of the Lady of Azay 
 in order that she should assist at the confinement; from 
 all of which Blanche concluded that the seneschal was an- 
 noyed by her requests, and was perhaps right, since he 
 was old and full of experience ; so she submitted herself 
 and thought no more, except to herself, of this so much- 
 desired child, that is to say, she was always thinking of it, 
 like a woman who has a desire in her head, without sus- 
 pecting, that she was behaving like a gay lady or a town- 
 walker running after her enjoyment. One evening by 
 accident Bruyn spoke of children, a discourse that he 
 avoided as cats avoid water, but he was complaining of a 
 boy condemned by him that morning for great misdeeds, 
 saying for certain he was the offspring of people laden 
 with mortal sins. 
 
 "Alas," said Blanche, "if you will give me one, although 
 you have not got absolution, I will correct him so well that 
 you will be pleased with him." 
 
 Then the count saw that his wife was bitten by a warm 
 desire, and that it was time to dissipate her innocence in 
 order to make himself master of it, to conquer it, to beat 
 it, or to appease and extinguish it. 
 
 "What, my dear, you wish to be a mother?" said he; 
 "you do not yet know the business of a wife, you are not 
 accustomed to being mistress of the house." 
 
 "Oh ! oh '."said she, "to be a perfect countess, and have 
 
42 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 in my loins a little count, must I play the great lady? I 
 will do it, and thoroughly." 
 
 Then Blanche, in order to obtain issue, began to hunt 
 the fawns and the stags, leaping the ditches, galloping 
 upon her mare over valley and mountain, through the 
 woods and the fields, taking great delight in watching. the 
 falcons fly, in unhooding them and while hunting always 
 carried them gracefully upon her little wrist, which was 
 what the seneschal had desired. But in this pursuit, 
 Blanche gained an appetite of nun and prelate, that is to 
 say, wished to procreate, had her desires whetted, and 
 could scarcely restrain her hunger, when on her return 
 she gave play to her teeth. Now by reason of reading the 
 legends written by the way, and of separating by death the 
 embraces of birds and wild beasts, she discovered a mys- 
 tery of natural alchemy, while colouring her complexion, 
 and superagitating her feeble imagination, which did little 
 to pacify her warlike nature, and strongly tickled her de- 
 sire which laughed, played, and frisked unrnistakably. 
 The seneschal thought to disarm the rebellious virtue of 
 his wife by making her scour the country ; but his fraud 
 turned out badly, for the unknown lust that circulated in 
 the veins of Blanche emerged from these assaults more 
 hardy than before, inviting jousts and tourneys as a herald 
 the armed knight. 
 
 The good lord saw then that he had grossly erred and 
 that he was now upon the horns of a dilemna ; also he no 
 longer knew what course to adopt ; the longer he left it 
 the more it would resist. From this combat, there must 
 result one conquered and one contused — a diabolical con- 
 tusion which he wished to keep distant from his physiog- 
 nomy by Gods help until after his death. The poor sene- 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 43 
 
 schal had already great trouble to follow his lady to the 
 chase, without being dismounted ; he sweated under the 
 weight of his trappings, and almost expired in that pur- 
 suit wherein his frisky wife cheered her life and took great 
 pleasure. Many times in the evening she wished to dance. 
 Now the good man, swathed in his heavy clothing, found 
 himself quite worn out with these exercises, in which he 
 was constrained to participate either in giving her his 
 hand, when she performed the vaults of the Moorish girl, 
 or in holding the lighted faggot for her, when she had a 
 fancy to do the torchlight dance ; and in spite of his scia- 
 ticas, accretions, and rheumatisms, he was obliged to smile 
 and say to her some gentle words and gallantries after 
 all. the evolutions, mummeries, and comic pantomimes 
 which she indulged in to divert herself ; for he loved her 
 so madly that if she had asked him for an impossibility 
 he would have sought one for her immediately. 
 
 Nevertheless one fine day he recognized the fact that 
 his frame was in a state of too great debility to struggle 
 with the vigorous nature of his wife, and humiliating him- 
 self before his wife's virtue, he resolved to let things take 
 their course, relying a little upon the modesty, religion 
 and bashfulness of Blanche, but he always slept with one 
 eye open, for he suspected that God had made virginities 
 to be taken like partridges, to be spitted and roasted. One 
 wet morning, when the weather was that in which the 
 snails make their tracks, a melancholy time, and suitable 
 to reverie, Blanche was in the house sitting in her chair 
 in deep thought, because nothing produces more lively 
 coctions of the substantive essences, and no receipt, speci- 
 fic or philtre is more penetrating, transpiercing, or doubly 
 transpiercing and titillating than the subtle warmth which 
 
44 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 simmers between the nap of a chair and a maiden sitting 
 during certain weather. 
 
 Now without knowing it, the countess was incom- 
 moded by her innocence, which gave more trouble than 
 it was worth to her brain, and gnawed her all over. Then 
 the good man, seriously grieved to see her languishing, 
 wished to drive away the thoughts which were ultra-con- 
 jugal principles of love. 
 
 "Whence comes your sadness, sweetheart?" said he. 
 
 '"From shame." 
 
 "What then affronts you ?" 
 
 "The not being a good woman ; because I am without 
 a child, and you without lineage ! Is one a lady without 
 progeny? Nay! look! ... all my neighbours have it, 
 and I was married to have it, as you to give it me ; the 
 nobles of Touraine are all amply furnished with children, 
 and their wives give them lapfuls, you alone have none, 
 they laugh at you there. What will become of your name 
 and your fiefs and your siegniories. A child is our na- 
 tuf-al company ; it is a delight to us to make a fright of it, 
 to fondle it, to swaddle it, to dress and undress it, to 
 cuddle it, to sing it lullabies, to cradle it, to get it up, to 
 put it to bed, and to nourish it, and I feel that if I had 
 only the half of one, I would kiss it, swaddle it and un- 
 harness it, and I would make it jump and crow all day 
 long, as the other ladies do." 
 
 "Were it not that in giving them birth women die, and 
 that for this you are still too delicate and too close in the 
 bud, you would be already a mother," replied the sene- 
 schal, made giddy with the flow of words. "But will you 
 buy one ready made — that will cost you neither pain nor 
 labour."' 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 45 
 
 "But," said she, "I want the pain and labour, without 
 which it will not be ours. I know very well it should be 
 the fruit of my body, because at church they say that 
 Jesus was the fruit of the Virgin's womb." 
 
 "Very well, then pray God that it may be so," cried the 
 seneschal, "and intercede with the Virgin of EgrignoUes. 
 Many a lady has conceived after the neuvaine ; you must 
 not fail to do one." 
 
 Then the same day Blanche set out towards Notre- 
 Dame de I'Egrignolles, decked out like a queen, riding 
 her beautiful mare, having on her a robe of green velvet, 
 laced down with fine gold lace, open at the breast, having 
 sleeves of scarlet, little shoe?, and a high hat ornamented 
 with precious stones, and a gold waistband that showed 
 off her little waist, as slim as a pole. She wished to give 
 her dress to Madame the Virgin, and in fact promised it 
 her, for the day of her churching. The Sire de Mont- 
 soreau galloped before her, his eye bright as that of a 
 hawk, keeping the people back and guarding with his 
 knights the security of the journey. Near Marmoustiers 
 the seneschal, rendered sleepy by the heat, seeing it was 
 the month of August, waggled about in his saddle, like a 
 diadem upon the head of a cow, and seeing so frolicsome 
 and so pretty a lady by the side of so old a fellow, a peas- 
 ant girl, who was squatting near the trunk of a tree and 
 drinking water out of her stone jug, inquired of a tooth- 
 less old hag, who picked up a trifle by gleaning, if this 
 princess was going to bury her dead. 
 
 "Nay," said the old woman, "it is our lady of Roche- 
 Corbon, wife of the seneschal of Poictou and Touraine, 
 in quest of a child." 
 
 "Ah ! ah !" said the young girl, laughing like a fly just 
 
46 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 satisfied ; then pointing to the handsome knight who was 
 at the head of the procession — "he who marches at the 
 head would manage that ; she would save the wax-candles 
 and the vow." 
 
 "Ha ! my little one," replied the hag, "I am rather sur- 
 prised that she should go to Notre-Dame de rEgrignoUes, ' 
 seeing that there are no handsome priests there. She 
 might very well stop for a short time beneath the shadow 
 of the belfry of Marmoustiers ; she would soon be fertile, 
 these good fathers are so lively." 
 
 "By a nun's oath!" said a tramp walking up, "look; 
 the Sire de Montsoreau is lively and delicate enough to 
 open the ladies' heart, the more so as he is well formed 
 to do so." 
 
 And all commenced to laugh. The Sire de Montsoreau 
 wished to go to them and hang them to a lime-tree by the 
 road as a punishment for their bad words, but Blanche 
 cried out quickly — 
 
 "Oh, sir, do not hang them yet. They have not said 
 all they mean ; and we shall see them on our return." 
 
 She blushed, and the Sire de Montsoreau looked at her 
 eagerly, as though to shoot into her the mystic. compre- 
 hensions of love, but the clearing out of her intelligence 
 had already been commenced by the sayings of the peas-- 
 ants, which were fructifying in her understanding — her 
 innocence was like touchwood, there was only need for a 
 word to inflame it. 
 
 Thus Blanche perceived now the notable and physical 
 differences between the qualities of her old husband and 
 the perfections of the said Gauttier, a gentleman who was 
 not over affected with his twenty-three years, but held 
 himself upright as a ninepin in the saddle, and as wide- 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 47 
 
 awake as the matin chimes, while in contrast to him, slept 
 the seneschal ; he had courage and dexterity there where 
 his itiaster failed. He was one of those smart fellows 
 whom the jades would sooner wear at night than a leath- 
 ern garment, because they then no longer fear the fleas ; 
 there are some who vituperate them, but no one should 
 be blamed, because every one should sleep as he likes. 
 
 So much did the seneschal's lady think, and so imperial- 
 ly well, that by the time she arrived at the bridge of Tours, 
 she loved Gauttier secretly, as a maiden loves, without 
 suspecting that it is love. From that she became a prop- 
 er woman, that is to say, she desired the good of others, 
 the best that men have, she fell into a fit of love-sickness, 
 going at the first jump to the depth of her misery, seeing 
 that all is flame between the first coveting and the last de- 
 sire, and she knew not how she then learnt that by the 
 eyes can flow in a subtle essence, causing such powerful 
 corrosions in all the veins of the body, recesses of the 
 heart, nerves of the members, roots of the hair, perspira- 
 tion of the substance, limbo of the brain, orifices of the 
 epidermis, windings of the pluck, tubes of the hypochon- 
 driac and other channels, which in her were suddenly di- 
 lated, heated, tickled, envenomed, clawed, harrowed and 
 disturbed, as if she had a basketful of needles in her 
 inside. This was a maiden's desire, a well-conditioned 
 desire, which troubled her sight to such a degree that 
 she no longer saw her old spouse, but clearly the young 
 Gauttier, whose nature was as ample as the glorious chin 
 of an abbot. When the good man entered Tours, the 
 Ah! Ah! of the crowd woke him up, and he came with 
 great pomp with his suite to the church of Notre-Dame 
 de I'Egrignolles, formerly called la greigneur, as if you 
 
48 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 said that which has the most merit. Blanche went into 
 the chapel where children are asked of God and of the 
 Virgin and went there alone, as was the custom, always 
 however in presence of the seneschal, of his varlets and 
 the loiterers who remained outside the grill. When the 
 countess saw the priest come who had charge of the 
 masses said for children, and who received the said vows, 
 she asked him if there were many barren women. To 
 which the good priest replied, that he must not com- 
 plain, and that the children were good revenue to the 
 Church. 
 
 "And do you often see," said Blanche, "young women 
 with such old husbands as my lord?" 
 
 "Rarely," said he. 
 
 "But have those obtained offspring?" 
 
 "Always," replied the priest, smiling. 
 
 "And the others whose companions are not so old?" 
 
 "Sometimes." 
 
 "Oh ! oh !" said she, "there is more certainty than with 
 one like the seneschal ?" 
 
 "To be sure," said the priest. 
 
 "Why?" said she. 
 
 "Madame," gravely replied the priest, "before that age 
 God alone interferes with the affair, after, it is the men." 
 At this time it was a true thing that all the wisdom had 
 gone to the clergy. Blanche made her vow, which was 
 a very profitable one, seeing that her decorations were 
 worth quite two thousand gold crowns. 
 
 "You are very joyful !" said the old seneschal to her 
 when on the home journey she made her mare prance, 
 jump and frisk. 
 
 "Yes, yes!" said she. "There is no longer any doubt 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 49 
 
 about my having a child, because any one can help me, 
 the priest said; I shall take Gauttier." 
 
 The seneschal wished to go and slay the monk, but he 
 thought that was a crime which would cost him too much, 
 and he resolved cunningly to arrange his vengeance with 
 the help of the archbishop ; and before the housetops of 
 Roche-Corbon came in sight he had ordered the Sire de 
 Montsoreau to seek" a little retirement in his own country, 
 which the young Gauttier did, knowing the ways of his 
 lord. The seneschal put in the place of the said Gauttier 
 the son of the Sire de Jallanges, whose fief was held from 
 Roche-Corbon. He was a young boy named Rene, ap- 
 proaching fourteen years, and he made him a page, await- 
 ing the time when he should be old enough to be equerry, 
 and gave the command of his men to an old cripple, with 
 whom he had knocked about a great deal in Palestine and 
 other places. Thus the good man believed he would avoid 
 the horned trappings of cuckoldum, and would still be 
 able to girth, bridle and curb the factious innocence of 
 his wife, which struggled like a mule held by a rope. 
 
OQ THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 THAT WHICH IS ONLY A VENIAL SIN. 
 
 The Sunday following the arrival of Rene at the manor 
 of Roche-Corbon, Blanche went out hunting without her 
 goodman, and when she was in the forest near Les Car- 
 neaux, saw a monk who appeared to be pushing a girl 
 about more than was necessary, and spurred on her horse, 
 saying to her people, "Ho there! don't let him kill her." 
 But when the seneschal's lady arrived close to them, she 
 turne(^ her horse's head quickly and the sight she beheld 
 prevented her from hunting. She came back pensive, 
 and then the lantern of her intelligence opened, and re- 
 ceived a bright light, which made a thousand things clear, 
 such as church and other pictures, fables, and lays of the 
 troubadours, or the domestic arrangements of birds ; sud- 
 denly she discovered the sweet mystery of love writter 
 in all languages, even in that of the Carps'. Is it no1 
 silly thus to seal this science from maidens? Soon weni 
 Blanche to bed, and soon said she to the seneschal — 
 
 "Bruyn, you have deceived me, you ought to behav( 
 as the monk of the Carneaux behaved with the girl." 
 
 Old Bruyn suspected the adventure, and saw well tha 
 his evil hour was at hand. He regarded Blanche with td 
 much fire in his eyes for the same ardour to be lowe 
 down, and answered her softly — 
 
 "Alas! sweetheart, in taking you for my wife I ha 
 more love than strength, and I have taken advantage c 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 5 1 
 
 your clemency and virtue. The great sorrow of ijiy life 
 is to feel all my capabilities in my heart only. This sor- 
 row hastens my death little by little, so that you will soon 
 be free. Wait for my departure from this world. That 
 is the sole request that he makes of you, he who is your 
 master, and who could command you, but who wishes 
 only to be your prime minister and slave. Do not betray 
 the honour of my white hairs ! Under these circumstances 
 there have been lords who have slain their wives." 
 
 "Alas ! you will not kill me ?" said she. 
 
 "No," replied the old man, "I love thee too much, little 
 one; why, thou art the flower of my old age, the joy of 
 my soul. Thou art my well-beloved daughter; the sight 
 of thee does good to mine eyes, and from thee I could en- 
 dure anything, be it a sorrow or a joy ; I give thee full 
 license in everything, provided that thou dost not curse 
 too much the poor Bruyn who has made thee a great lady, 
 rich and honoured. Wilt thou not be a lovely widow? 
 And thy happiness will soften the pangs of death." 
 
 And he found in his dried-up eyes still one tear which 
 trickled quite warm down his fir-cone coloured face, and 
 fell upon the hand of Blanche who, grieved to behold 
 this great love of her old spouse who would put himself 
 under the ground to please her, said laughing — 
 
 "There ! there ! don't cry, I will wait.'' 
 
 Thereupon the seneschal kissed her hands and regaled 
 her with little endearments, saying with a voice quiver- 
 ing with emotion — 
 
 "If you knew, Blanche my darling, how I devour thee 
 in thy sleep with caresses, now here, now there !" And 
 the old ape patted her with his two hands, which were 
 nothing but bones. And he continued, "I dared not awak- 
 
52 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 en the cat that would have strangled my happiness, since 
 at this occupation of love I only embraced with my 
 heart." 
 
 "Ah 1" replied she, "you can fondle me thus even when 
 my eyes are open ; that has not the least effect upon me." 
 
 At these words the poor seneschal, taking the little 
 dagger which was on the table by the bed, gave it to her, 
 saying with passion — 
 
 "My darling, kill me, or let me believe that you love 
 me a little !" 
 
 "Yes, yes," said she, quite frightened, "I will try to 
 love you much." 
 
 Behold how this young maidenhood made itself master 
 of this old man and subdued him, for in the name of the 
 sweet face of Venus, Blanche, endowed with the natural 
 artfulness of women, made her old Bruyn come and go 
 like a miller's mule. 
 
 "My good Bruyn, I want this! Bruyn, I want that — 
 go on Bruyn!" Bruyn! Bruyn! and always Bruyn in 
 such a way that Bruyn was morn worn out by the clem- 
 ency of his wife than he would have been by her unkind- 
 ness. She turned his brain, wishing that everything 
 should be in scarlet, making him turn everything topsy- 
 turvy at the least movement of her eyebrow, and when 
 she was sad the seneschal, distracted, would say to every- 
 thing from his judicial seat, "Hang him!" Another 
 would have died like a fly at this conflict with the maid's 
 innocence, but Bruyn was of such an iron nature that it 
 was difficult to finish him off. One evening that Blanche 
 had turned the house upside-down, upset the men and the 
 beasts, and would by her aggravating humour have made 
 the eternal father desperate — ^he who has such an infinite 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. S3 
 
 treasure of patience since he endures us — she said to the 
 seneschal while getting into bed, "My good Bruyn, I have 
 low down fancies, that bite and prick me; thence they 
 rise into my heart, inflame my brain, incite me therein to 
 evil deeds, and in the night I dream of the monk of the 
 Carneaux." 
 
 "My dear," replied the seneschal, these are deviltries 
 and temptations against which the monks and nuns know 
 how to defend themselves. If you vyiH gain salvation, go 
 and confess to the worthy Abbot of Marmoustiers, our 
 neighbour; he will advise you well and will holily direct 
 you in the good way." 
 
 "To-morrow I will go," said she. 
 
 And indeed directly it was day, she trotted off to the 
 monastery of the good brethren, who marvelled to see 
 among them so pretty a lady ; committed more than one 
 sin through her in the evening, and for the present led 
 her with great ceremony to their reverend abbot. 
 
 Blanche found the said good man in a private garden 
 near the high rock under a flowery arcade, and remained 
 stricken with respect at the countenance of the holy man, 
 although she was accustomed not to think much of grey 
 hairs. 
 
 "God preserve you, Madame ; what come you to seek 
 of one so near death, you so young?" 
 
 "Your precious advice," said she, saluting him with a 
 courtesy : "and if it will please you to guide so undutiful 
 a sheep, I shall be well content to have so wise a con- 
 fessor." 
 
 "My datighter," answered the monk, with whom old 
 Bruyn had arranged this hypocrisy and the part to play, 
 "if I had not the chills of a hundred winters upon this 
 
54 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 unthatched head, I should not dare to listen to your sins, 
 but say on ; if you enter paradise, it will be through me." 
 
 Then the seneschal's wife set forth the small fry of her 
 stock in hand, and when she was purged of her little in- 
 iquities, she came to the postscript of her confession. 
 
 "Ah, my father !" said she, "I must confess to you that 
 I am daily exercised by the desire to have a child. Is it 
 wrong?" 
 
 "No," said the abbot. 
 
 But she went on, "It is by nature commanded to my 
 husband not to draw from his wealth to bring about his 
 poverty, as the old women say by the way." 
 
 "Then," replied the priest, "you must live virtuously 
 and abstain from all thoughts of this kind." 
 
 "But I have/heard it professed by the Lady of Jallanges, 
 that it was not a sin when from it one derived neither 
 profit nor pleasure." 
 
 "There always is pleasure," said the abbot, "but don't 
 count upon the child as a profit. Now fix this in your 
 understanding, that it will always be a mortal sin before 
 God and a crime before men to bring forth a child through 
 the embraces of a man to whom one is not ecclesiastically 
 married. Thus those women who offend against the holy 
 laws of marriage, suffer great penalties in the other 
 world, are in the power of horrible monsters with sharp 
 and tearing claws, who thrust them into flaming furnaces 
 In remembrance of the fact that here below they have 
 warmed their hearts a little more than was lawful." 
 
 Thereupon Blanche scratched her ear, and having 
 thought to herself for a little while, she said to the priest, 
 "How then did the Virgin Mary?" 
 
 "Ah!" replied the abbot, "that is a mystery." 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 55 
 
 "And what is a mystery?" 
 
 "A thing that cannot be explained, and which one 
 ought to believe without inquiring into it." 
 
 "Well then," said she, "cannot I perform a mystery?" 
 
 "This one," said the abbot, "only happened once, be- 
 cause it was the Son of God." 
 
 "Alas ! my father, is it then the will of God that I 
 should die, or that from wise and sound comprehension 
 my brain should be turned ? Of this there is great dan- 
 ger. Now in me something moves and excites me, and I 
 am no longer in my senses. I care for nothing, and to 
 find a man I would leap the walls, dash over the fields 
 without shame and tear my things into tatters, only to see 
 that which so much excited the monk of the Carneaux; 
 and during these passions which work and prick my mind 
 and body, there is neither God, devil, nor husband. I 
 spring, I run, I smash up the wash-tubs, the pots, the 
 farm implements, the fowl-house, the household things, 
 and everything, in a way that I cannot describe. But I 
 dare not confess to you all my misdeeds, because speak- 
 ing of them makes my mouth water, and the thing with 
 which God curses me makes me itch dreadfully. If this 
 folly bites and pricks me, and slays my virtue, will God 
 who has placed this great love in my body, condemn me 
 to perdition?" 
 
 At this question it was the priest who scratched his 
 ear quite dumbfounded by the lamentations, profound 
 wisdom, controversies and intelligence that this virginity 
 secreted. 
 
 "My daughter," said he, "God has distinguished us 
 from the beasts and made us a paradise to gain, and for 
 this given us reason, which is a rudder to steer us against 
 
5^ THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 tempests and our ambitious desires, and there is a means 
 of easing the imaginations in one's brain by fasting, ex- 
 cessive labours and other virtues ; and instead of frisking 
 , and fretting like a child let loose from school, you should 
 pray to the Virgin, sleep on a hard board, attend to your 
 household duties, and never be idle." 
 
 "Ah ! my father, when I am at church in my seat, I see 
 neither the priest nor the altar, only the infant Jesus, who 
 brings the thing into my head. But to finish, if my head 
 is turned and my mind wanders, I am in the lime-twigs 
 of love." 
 
 "If thus you were," said the abbot, imprudently, "you 
 would be in the position of Saint Lidoire, who in a deep 
 sleep one day, one leg here and one leg there, through 
 the great heat and scantily attired, was approached by a 
 young man full of mischief, who dexterously seduced 
 her, and as of this trick the saint was thoroughly ignor- 
 ant, and much surprised at being brought to bed, think- 
 ing that her unusual size was a serious malady, she did 
 penance for it as a venial sin, as she had no pleasure in 
 this wicked business, according to the statement of the 
 wicked man, who said upon the scaffold where he was 
 executed, that the saint had in nowise stirred." 
 
 •'Oh, my father," said she, "be sure that I should not 
 stir more than she did !" 
 
 With this statement she went away prettily and grace- 
 fully, smiling and thinking how she could commit a ven- 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 57 
 
 iai sin. On her return from the great monastery, she 
 saw in the courtyard of her castle the little Jallanges, who 
 under the superintendence of an old groom was turning 
 and wheeling about on a fine horse, bending with the 
 movements of the animal, dismounting, and mounting 
 again by vaults and leaps most gracefully, and with lis- 
 some thighs, so pretty, so dexterous, so upright as to be 
 indescribable, so much so, that he would have made the 
 Queen Lucrece long for him, she who killed herself from 
 being contaminated against her will. 
 
 "Ah !" said Blanche, "if only this page were fifteen, I 
 would go to sleep comfortably very near to him." 
 
 Then, in spite of the too great youth of this charming 
 servitor, during the collation and supper, she eyed fre- 
 quently the black hair, the white skin, the grace of Rene, 
 above all his eyes, where was an abundance of limpid 
 warmth and a great fire of life, which he was afraid to 
 shoot out — child that he was. 
 
 Now in the evening, as the seneschal's wife sat thought- 
 fully in her chair in the corner of the fireplace, old Bruyn 
 interrogated her as to her trouble. 
 
 "1 am thinking," said she, "that you must have fought 
 the battles of love very early, to be thus completely broken 
 up." 
 
 "Oh!" replied he, smiling like all old men questioned 
 tipon their amorous remembrances, "at the age of thirteen 
 and a half I had overcome the scruples of my mother's 
 waiting woman." 
 
 Blanche wished to hear nothing more, but believed the 
 page Rene should be equally advanced, and she was quite 
 joyous, and practised little allurements on the good man, 
 
58 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 and wallowed silently in her desire, like a cake which is 
 being floured. 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 59 
 
 HOW AND BY WHOM THE SAID CHILD WAS 
 PROCURED. 
 
 The seneschal's wife did not think long over the best 
 way quickly to awaken the love of the page, and had 
 soon discovered the natural ambuscade in the which the 
 most wary are taken. This is how : at the warmest hour 
 of the day the good man took his siesta after the Sara- 
 cen fashion, a habit in which he had never failed since 
 his return from the Holy Land. During this time Blanche 
 was alone in the grounds, where the women work at their 
 minor occupations, such as broidering and stitching, 
 and often remained in the rooms looking after the wash- 
 ing, putting the clothes tidy, or running about at will. 
 Then she appointed this quiet hour to^pomplete the edu- 
 cation of the page, making him read books and say his 
 prayers. Now on the morrow, when at the midday hour 
 the seneschal slept, Succumbing to the sun which warms 
 with its most luminous rays the slopes of Roche-Corbon, 
 so much so that one is obliged to sleep, unless annoyed, 
 upset, and continually roused by a devil of a young 
 woman. Blanche then gracefully perched herself in the 
 great seignorial chair of her good man, which she did 
 not find any too high, since she counted upon the chances 
 of perspective. The cunning jade settled herself dex- 
 terously therein, like a swallow in its nest, and leant her 
 head maliciously upon her arm like a child that sleeps ; 
 
bo THE VENtAL SIN. 
 
 but in making her preparations, she opened fond eyes, 
 that smiled and winked in advance of the little secret 
 thrills, sneezes, squints, and trances of the page who was 
 about to lie at her feet, separated from her by the jump 
 of an old flea ; and in fact she advanced so much and so 
 near the square of velvet where the poor child should 
 kneel, whose life and soul she trifled with, that had he 
 been a saint of stone, his glance would have been con- 
 strained to follow the flexuosities of the dress in order to 
 admire and readmire the perfections and beauties of the 
 shapely leg, which moulded the white stocking, of the 
 seneschal's lady. Thus it was certain that a weak varlet 
 would be taken in a snare, wherein the most vigorous 
 knight would willingly have succumbed. When she had 
 turned, returned, placed, and displaced her body, and 
 found the situation in which the page would be most com- 
 fortable, she cried, gently, "Rene!" Rene, whom she 
 well knew was in the guard-room, did not fail to run in 
 and quickly thrust his brown head between the tapestries 
 of the door. 
 
 "What do you please to wish?" said the page. And 
 he held with great respect in his hand his shaggy scarlet 
 cap, less red than his fresh dimpled cheeks. 
 
 "Come hither," rfeplied she, under her breath, for the 
 child attracted her so strongly that she was quite over- 
 come. 
 
 And forsooth there were no jewels so sparkling as 
 the eyes of Rene, no vellum whiter than his skin, no 
 woman more exquisite in shape — and so near to her 
 desire, she found him still more sweetly formed — and 
 was certain that the merry frolics of love would radiate 
 
'BehoKI, madamu," sLiid he, " a [.acture w hich vv ill enlighten you 
 concerning the Unti' •^ of a wife towards her husband."' 
 

 The King s Svveelheart 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 6l 
 
 well from all this youth, the warm sun, the silence, et 
 cetera. 
 
 "Read me the litanies of Madame the Virgin," said 
 she to him, pushing an open bpok to him on her prie- 
 dieu. "Let me see if you are well taught by your master." 
 
 "Do you not think the Virgin beautiful?" asked she 
 of him, smiling when he held the illuminated prayer-book 
 in which glowed the silver and the gold. 
 
 "It is a painting," replied he, timidly, and casting a 
 little glance upon his so gracious mistress. 
 
 "Read ! read !" 
 
 Then Rene began to recite the so sweet and so mystic 
 litanies ; but you may imagine that the "Ora pro noVis" 
 of Blanche became still fainter and fainter, like the sound 
 of the horn in the woodlands, and when the page went 
 on, "Oh, Rose of mystery," the lady, who certainly heard 
 distinctly, replied by a gentle sigh. Thereupon Rene 
 suspected that his mistress slept. Then he commenced 
 to cover her with his regard, admiring her at his leisure, 
 and had then no wish to utter any anthem save the anthem 
 of love. His happiness made his heart leap and bound 
 into his throat ; thus, as was but natural, these two inno- 
 cences burned one against the other, but if they could have 
 foreseen never would have intermingled. Rene feasted 
 his eyes, planning in his mind a thousand fruitions of love 
 that brought the water into his mouth. In his ecstasy 
 he let his book fall, which made him feel as sheepish as a 
 monk surprised at a child's tricks ; but also from that he 
 knew that Blanche was sound asleep, for she did not stir, 
 and the wily jade would not have opened her eyes even 
 at the greatest dangers, and reckoned on something else 
 falling as well as the book of prayer. 
 
62 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 There is no worse longing than the longing of woman 
 in a certain condition. Now, the page noticed his lady's 
 foot, which was delicately slippered in a little laced shoe 
 of a delicate blue colour. She had angularly placed it 
 on a footstool, since she was too high in the seneschal's 
 chair. This foot was of narrow proportions, delicately 
 curved, as broad as two fingers, and as long ais a sparrow, 
 tail included, small at the top — a true foot of delight, a 
 virginal foot that merited a kiss as a robber does the gal- 
 lows ; a roguish foot ; a foot wanton enough to damn an 
 archangel ; an ominous foot ; a devilishly enticing foot, 
 which gave one a desire to make two new ones just like it 
 to perpetuate in this lower world the glorious works of 
 God. The page was tempted to take the shoe from this 
 persuasive foot. To accomplish this his eyes, glowing 
 with the fire of his age, went swiftly, like the clapper of 
 a bell, from this said foot of delectation to the sleeping 
 countenance of his lady and mistress, listening to her 
 slumber, drinking in her respiration again and again, and 
 did not know where it would be sweetest to olant a kiss — 
 whether on the ripe red lips of the seneschal's wife or on 
 this ' speaking foot. At length, from respect or fear, or 
 perhaps from great love, he chose the foot, and kissed it 
 hastily, like a maiden who dares' not. Then immediately 
 he took up his book, feeling his red cheeks redder still, and 
 exercised with his pleasure, he cried like a blind man — 
 "Janua eoeli, gate of Heaven." But Blanche did not 
 move, making sure that the page would go from foot to 
 knee, and thence to "Janua cceli, the gate of Heaven." 
 She was greately disappointed when the litanies finished 
 without any other mischief, and Rene, believing he had 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 63 
 
 had enough happiness for one day, ran out of the room 
 quite lively, richer from this hardy kiss than a robber who 
 has robbed the poor-box. 
 
 When the seneschal's lady was alone, she thought to 
 herself that the page would be rather a long time at his 
 task if he amused himself with singing of the Magnificat 
 at matins. Thus she determined on the morrow to raise 
 her foot a little, and then to bring to light those hidden 
 beauties that are called perfect in Touraine, because they 
 take no hurt in the open air, and are always fresh. You 
 can imagine that the page, burned by his desire and his 
 imagination, heated by the day before, awaited impat- 
 iently the hour to read in this breviary of gallantry, and 
 was called ; and the conspiracy of the litanies commenced 
 again, and Blanche did not fail to fall asleep. This time 
 the said Rene fondled with his hand the pretty limb, and 
 even ventured so far as to verify if the polished knee and 
 its surroundings were satin. At this sight the poor child, 
 armed against his desire, so great was his fear, dared 
 only make brief devotion and curt caresses, and although 
 he kissed softly this fair surface, he remained bashful, 
 the which, feeling by the senses of her soul and the intel- 
 ligence of her body, the seneschal's lady who took great 
 care not to move, called out to him — "Ah, Rene, I am 
 asleep." 
 
 Hearing what he believed to be a stern reproach, the 
 page frightened ran away, leaving the books, the task, 
 and all. Thereupon, the seneschal's better half added this 
 prayer to the litany — "Holy Virgin, how difficult children 
 are to make." 
 
 At dinner her page perspired all down his back while 
 waiting on his lady and her lord ; but he was very much 
 
64 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 surprised when he received from Blanche the most 
 shameless of all glances that ever woman cast, and very 
 pleasant and powerful it was, seeing that it changed this 
 child into a man of courage, Now, the same evening 
 Bruyn staying a little longer than was his custom in his 
 own apartment, the page went in search of Blanche, and 
 found her asleep, and made her dream a beautiful dream. 
 
 He knocked off the chains that weighed so heavily 
 upon her, and so plentifully bestowed upon her the sweets 
 of love, that the surplus would have sufficed to render 
 two others blessed with the joys of maternity. So then 
 the minx, seizing the page by the head and squeezing him 
 to her, cried out — "Oh, Rene ! thou hast awakened me !" 
 
 And in fact, there was no sleep could stand against it, 
 and it is certain that saints must sleep very soundly. From 
 this business, without other mystery, and by a benign fac- 
 ulty which is the assisting principle of spouses, the sweet 
 and graceful plumage, suitable to cuckolds, was placed 
 upon the head of the good husband without his experienc- 
 ing the slightest shock. 
 
 After this sweet repast, the seneschal's lady took kindly 
 to her siesta after the French fashion, while Bruyn took 
 -his according to the Saracen. But by the said siesta she 
 learned how the good youth of the page had a better 
 taste than that of the old seneschal, and at night she 
 buried herself in the sheets far away from her husband, 
 whom she found strong and stale. Atid from sleeping 
 and waking up in the day, from taking siestas and saying 
 litanies, the seneschal's wife felt growing within her that 
 treasure for which she had so often and so ardently 
 sighed ; but now she liked more the commencement than 
 the fructifying of it. 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 65 
 
 You may be sure that Rene knew how to read, not only 
 in books, but in the eyes of his sweet lady, for whom he 
 would have leapt into a flaming pile, had it been her wish 
 he should do so. When well and amply, more than a 
 hundred times, the train had been laid by them, the little 
 lady became anxious about her soul and the future of her 
 friend the page. Now one rainy day, as they were play- 
 ing at touch-tag, like two children, innocent from head 
 to foot, Blanche, who was always caught, said to him — 
 
 "Come here, Rene ; do you know that while I have com- 
 mitted only venial sins because I was asleep, you have 
 committed mortal ones ?"' 
 
 "Ah! Madame!" said he, "where then will God stow 
 away all the damned if that is to sin !" 
 
 Blanche burst out laughing, and kissed his forehead. 
 
 "Be quiet, you naughty boy; it is a question of para- 
 dise, and we must live there together if you wish always 
 to be with me." 
 
 "Oh, my paradise is here." 
 
 "Leave off," said she. "You are a little wretch — a 
 scapegrace who does not think of that which I love — 
 yourself! You do not know that I am with child, and 
 that in a little while I shall be no more able to conceal it 
 than my nose. Now, what will the abbot say ? What will 
 my lord say ? He >vill kill you if he puts himself in a pas- 
 sion. My advice is, little one, that you go to the Abbot 
 of Marmoustiers, confess your sins to him, asking him 
 to see what had better be done concerning my seneschal." 
 
 "Alas," said the artful page, "if I tell the secret of our 
 joys, he will put his interdict upon our love." 
 
 "Very likely," said she ; "but thy happiness in the other 
 world is a thing so precious to me." 
 
66 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 "Do you wish it, my darling?" 
 
 "Yes," replied she, rather faintly. 
 
 "Well, I will go, but sleep again that I may bid thee 
 adieu." 
 
 And the couple recited the litany of Farewells as if they 
 had both foreseen that their love must finish in its April. 
 And on the morrow, more to save his dear lady than to 
 save himself, and also to obey her, Rene de Jallanges 
 set out towards the great monastery. 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 67 
 
 HOW THE SAID LOVE-SIN WAS REPENTED OF 
 AND LED TO GREAT MOURNING. 
 
 "Good God!" cried the abbot, when the page had 
 chanted the Kyrie eleison of his sweet sins, "thou art the 
 accomplice of a great felony, and thou hast betrayed thy 
 lord. Dost thou know, page of darkness, that for this 
 thou wilt burn through all eternity ? and dost thou know 
 what it is to lose for ever the heaven above for a perish- 
 able and changeful moment here below? Unhappy 
 wretch! I see thee precipitated for ever in the gulfs of 
 hell unless thou payest to God in this world that which 
 thou owest him for such offence." 
 
 Thereupon, the good old abbot, who was of that flesh 
 of which saints are made» and who had great authority 
 in the country of Touraine, terrified the young man by a 
 heap of representations. Christian discourses, remem- 
 brances of the commandments of the Church, and a thou- 
 sand eloquent things — as many as a devil could say in 
 six weeks to seduce a maiden — but so many that Rene, 
 who was in the loyal fervor of innocence, made his sub- 
 mission to the good abbot. The said abbot, wishing to 
 make for ever a good and virtuous man of this child, now 
 in a fair way to be a wicked one, commanded him first 
 to go and prostrate himself before his lord, to confess 
 his conduct to him, and then if he escaped from this con- 
 fession, to depart instantly for the Crusades, and go 
 
68 tHE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 straight to the Holy Land, where he should remain fif- 
 teen years of the time appointed to give battle to the In- 
 fidels. 
 
 "Alas, my reverend father," said he, quite unmoved, 
 "will fifteen years be enough to acquit me of so much 
 pleasure? Ah! if you but knew, I have had joy enough 
 for a thousand years." 
 
 "God will be generous. Go," replied the old abbot, 
 "and sin no more. On this account ego te dbsolvo." 
 
 Poor Rene returned thereupon with great contrition 
 10 the castle of Roche-Corbon, and the first person he 
 met was the seneschal, who was polishing up his arms, 
 helmets, gauntlets, and other things. He was sitting on 
 a great marble bench in the open air, and was amusing 
 himself by making shine again the splendid trappings 
 which brought back to him the merry pranks in the Holy 
 Land, the good jokes, and the wenches, et cetera. When 
 Rene fell upon his knees before him the good lord was 
 much astonished. 
 
 "What is it?" said he. 
 
 "My lord," replied Rene, "order these people to retire." 
 
 Which the servants having done, the page confessed 
 his fault, recounting how he had assailed his lady in her 
 sleep, and that for certain he had made her a mother in 
 imitation of the man and the saint, and came by order of 
 the confessor to put himself at the disposition of the of- 
 fended person. Having said which, Rene de Jallanges 
 cast down his lovely eyes, which had produced all the 
 mischief, and remained abashed, prostrate without fear, 
 his arms hanging down, his head bare, awaiting his pun- 
 ishment, and humbling himself to God. The seneschal 
 was not so white that he could not become whiter, and 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 6q 
 
 now he blanched like linen newly dried, remaining dumb 
 with passion. And this old man, who had not in his veins 
 the vital force to procreate a child, found in this moment 
 of fury more vigour than was necessary to undo a man. 
 He seized with his hairy right hand his heavy club, lifted 
 it, brandished it, and adjusted it so easily that you could 
 have thought it a bowl at a game of skittles, to bring it 
 down upon the pale forehead of the said Rene, who, 
 knowing that he was greatly in fault toward his lord, re- 
 mained placid, and stretching his neck, thought that he 
 was about to expiate his sin for his sweetheart in this 
 world and in the other. 
 
 But his fair youth, and all the natural seductions of 
 this sweet crime, found grace before the tribunal of the 
 heart of this old man, although Bruyn was still severe, 
 and throwing his club away on to a dog who was catch- 
 ing beetles, he cried out, "May a thousand million claws, 
 tear during all eternity, all the entrails of him, who made 
 him, who planted the cak, that made the chair, on which 
 ■ thou hast antlered me — and the same to those who en- 
 gendered thee, cursed page of misfortune! Get thee to 
 the devil, whence thou camest — go out from before me, 
 from the castle, from the country, and stay not here one 
 moment more than is necessary, otherwise I will surely 
 prepare for thee a death by slow fire that shall make thee 
 curse twenty times an hour thy villanous and ribald part- 
 
 ner 
 
 f 
 
 Hearing the commencement of these little speeches of 
 the seneschal, whose youth came back in his oaths, the 
 page ran away, escaping the rest: and be did well. 
 Bruyn, burning with a fierce rage, gained the gardens 
 speedily, reviling everything by the way, striking and 
 
70 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 swearing ; he even knocked over three large pans held by 
 one of his servants, who was carrying the mess to the 
 dogs, and he was so beside himself that he would have 
 killed a labourer for a "thank you." He soon perceived 
 his unmaidenly maiden, who was looking towards the 
 road to the monastery, waiting for the page, and unaware 
 that she would never see him again. 
 
 ■'Ah, my lady ! by the devil's red three-pronged fork, 
 am I a swallower of tarrididdles and a child, to believe 
 that you are so fashioned that a page can behave in this 
 manner and you not know it? Bv the death! By the 
 head ! By the blood !" 
 
 ■'Hold I" she replied, seeing that the mine was sprung, 
 "I knew it well enough, but as you had not instructed me 
 in these matters I thought that I was dreaming !" 
 
 The great ire of the seneschal melted like snow in the 
 sun, for the direst anger of God himself would have van- 
 ished at a smile from Blanche. 
 
 "May a thousand millions of devils carry off this alien 
 child ! I swear that " 
 
 "There ! there ! do not swear," said she. "If it is not 
 yours, it is mine ; and the other night did you not tell me 
 you loved everything that came from me ?" 
 
 Thereupon she ran on with such a lot of arguments, 
 hard words, complaints, quarrels, tears, and other pater- 
 nosters of women ; such as— firstly, the estates would not 
 have to be returned to the king ; that never had a child 
 been brought more innocently into the world, that this, 
 that that, a thousand things; until the good cuckold 
 relented, and Blanche, seizing a propitious interruption, 
 said 
 
 "And where is the page?" 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 7I 
 
 "Gone to the devil!" 
 
 "What, have you killed him?" said she. She turned 
 pale and tottered. 
 
 Bruyn did not know what would become of him when 
 he saw thus fall all the happiness of his old age, and he 
 would to save her have shewn her this page. He ordered 
 him to be sought, but Rene had run off at full speed, fear- 
 ing he should be killed; and departed for the lands be- 
 yond the seas, in order to accomplish his vow of religion. 
 When Blanche had learned from the above-mentioned 
 abbot the penitence imposed upon her well beloved, she 
 fell into a state of great melancholy, saying at times, 
 "Where is he, the poor unfortunate, who is in the middle 
 of great dangers for love of me ?" 
 
 And always kept on asking, like a child who gives its 
 mother no rest until its request be granted it. At these 
 lamentations the poor seneschal, feeling himself to blame, 
 endeavoured to do a thousand things, putting one out of 
 the question, in order to' make Blanche happy ; but noth- 
 ing was equal to the sweet caresses of the page. How- 
 ever, she had one day the child so much desired. You 
 may be sure that was a fine festival for the good cuckold, 
 for the resemblance to the father was distinctly engraved 
 upon the face of this sweet fruit of love. Blanche con- 
 soled herself greatly, and picked up again a little of her 
 old gaiety and flower of innocence, which rejoiced the 
 aged hours of the seneschal. From constantly seeing 
 the little one run about, watching its laughs answer those 
 of the countess, he finished by loving it, and would have 
 been in a great rage with any one who had not beliieved 
 him its father. 
 
 Now as the adventure of Blanche and her page had 
 
72 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 not been carried beyond the castle, it was related through- 
 out Touraine that Messire Bruyn had still found himself 
 sufficiently in funds to afford a child. Intact remained 
 the virtue of Blanche, and by the quintessence of instruc- 
 tion drawn by her from the natural reservoir of women, 
 she recognized how necessary it was to be silent concern- 
 ing the venial sin with which her child was covered. So 
 she became modest and good, and was cited as a virtuous 
 person. And. then to make use of him she experimented 
 on the goodness pf her good man, and without giving him 
 leave to go farther than, her chin, since she looked upon 
 herself as belonging to Rene, Blanche, in return for the 
 flowers of age which Bruyn offered her, coddled him, 
 smiled upon him, kept him merry, and fondled him with 
 pretty ways and tricks, which good wives bestow upon 
 the husbands they deceive ; and all so well, that the sene- 
 schal did not wish to die, squatted comfortably in his 
 chair, and the more he lived the more he became partial 
 to life. But to be brief, one night he died without know- 
 ing where he was going, for he said to Blanche, "Ho ! ho I 
 my dear, I see thee no longer ! Is it night ?" 
 
 It was the death of the just, and he had well merited it 
 as a reward for his labours in the Holy Land. 
 
 Blanche held for this death a great and true mourn- 
 ing, weeping for him as one weeps for one's father. She 
 remained melancholy, without wishing to lend her ear to 
 music of a second wedding, for which she was praised 
 by all good people, who knew not that she had a husband 
 in her heart, a life in hope,; but she ivas the greater part 
 of her time widow in fact and widow in heart, because 
 hearing no news of her lover at the Crusades, the poor 
 countess reputed him dead, and during certain nights 
 
THE VENIAL SIN. 73 
 
 seeing him wounded and lying at full length, she would 
 wake up in tears. She lived thus for fourteen years in 
 the remembrance of one day of happiness. Finally, one 
 day when she had with her certain ladies of Touraine, 
 and they were talking together after dinner, behold her 
 little boy, who was at that time about thirteen and a half, 
 and resembled Rene more than it is allowable for a child 
 to resemble his father, and had nothing of the Sire Bruyn 
 about him but his name — ^behold the little one, a madcap 
 and pretty like his mother, who came in from the garden, 
 running, perspiring, panting, jumping, scattering all 
 things in his way, after the uses and customs of infancy, 
 and who ran straight to his well-beloved mother, jumped 
 into her lap, and interrupting the conversation, cried 
 out — 
 
 "Oh, mother, I want to speak to you, I have seen in 
 the courtyard a pilgrim, who squeezed me very tight." 
 
 "Ah!" cried the chatelaine, hurrying towards one of 
 the servants who had charge of the young count and 
 watched over his precious days, "I have forbidden you 
 ever to leave my son in the hands of strangers, not even 
 in those of the holiest man in the world. You quit my 
 service." 
 
 "Alas! my lady," replied the old equerry, quite over- 
 come, "this one wished him no harm for he wept while 
 kissing him passionately." 
 
 "He wept?" said she; "ah! it's the father." 
 
 Having said which, she leaned her head upon the chair 
 in which she was sitting, and which you may be sure was 
 the chair in which she had sinned. 
 
 Hearing these strange words^ the ladies were so sur- 
 prised that at first they did not perceive that the sene- 
 
74 THE VENIAL SIN. 
 
 schal's widow was dead, without its ever being known if 
 her sudden death was caused by her sorrow at the de- 
 parture of her lover, who, faithful to his vow, did not 
 wish to see her, or from great joy at his return and the 
 hope of getting the interdict removed which the Abbot 
 of Marmoustiers had placed upon their loves. And there 
 was great mourning for her, for the Sire de Jallanges 
 lost his spirits when he saw his lady laid in the ground, 
 and became a monk of Marmoustiers, which at that time 
 was called by some Maimoustier, as much as to say Maius 
 Monasterium, the largest monastery, and it was indeed 
 the finest in all France. 
 
THE KING'S SWEETHEART. 
 
 THERE lived at this time at the forges of the Pont- 
 au-Change, a goldsmith whose daughter was 
 talked about in Paris on account of her great beauty, and 
 renowned above all things for her exceeding gracefulness. 
 There were those who sought her favours by the usual 
 tricks of love, but others offered lai-ge sums of money to 
 the father to give them his daughter in lawful wedlock, 
 the which pleased him not a little. 
 
 One of his neighbours, a parliamentary advocate, who 
 *by selling his cunning devices to the public had acquired 
 as many lands as a dog has fleas, took it into his head to 
 offer the said father a domain in consideration of his 
 consent to this marriage, which he ardently desired to 
 undertake. To this arrangement our goldsmith was noth- 
 ing loth. He bargained away his daughter, without 
 taking into consideration the fact that her patched-up old 
 suitor had the features of an ape and had scarcely a tooth 
 in his jaws. The smell which emanated from his mouth 
 did not however disturb his own nostrils,' although he 
 was filthy and high flavoured, as are all those who pass 
 their lives amid the smoke of chimneys, yellow parchment, 
 and other black proceedings. Immedately the sweet girl 
 saw him she exclaimed, "Great Heaven! I would rather 
 not have him." 
 
 "That concerns me not," said the father, who had taken 
 
 75 
 
76 THE FAIR IMPERIA. 
 
 a violent fancy to the proffered domain. "I give him to 
 you for a husband. You must get on as well as you can 
 together. That is his business now, and his duty is to 
 make himself agreeable to you." 
 
 "Is it so?" said she. "Well then, before I obey your 
 orders I'll let him know what he may expect." 
 
 And the same evening, after supper, when the lovesick 
 man of law was pleading his cause, telling her he was 
 mad for her, and promising her a life of ease and luxury, 
 she taking him up, quickly remarked — 
 
 "My father has sold me to you, but if you take me, you 
 willmake a bad bargain, seeing that I would rather offer 
 myself to the passers-by than to you. I promise you a 
 disloyalty that shall only finish with death — yours or 
 mine." • 
 
 Then she began to weep, like all young maidens will 
 before they become experienced, for afterwards they 
 never cry with their eyes. The good advocate took this 
 strange behaviour for one of those artifices by which the 
 women seek to fan the flames of love and turn the devo- 
 tion of their admirers into the more tender caress and more 
 daring osculation that speak a husband's right. So that 
 the knave took little notice of it, but laughing at the com- 
 plaints of the charming creature, asked her to fix the day. 
 
 "To-morrow," replied she, "for the sooner this odious 
 marriage takes place, the sooner I shall be free to have 
 gallants and to lead the gay life of those who love where 
 it pleases them." 
 
 Thereupon this foolish fellow — as firmly fixed as a fly 
 in a glue pot — went away, made his preparations, spoke 
 at the Palace, ran to the High Court, bought dispensa- 
 
THE KINGS SWEETHEART. "JJ 
 
 tions, and conducted his purchase more quickly than he 
 had ever done one before, thinking only of the lovely girl. 
 Meanwhile the king, who had just returned from a jour- 
 ney, heard nothing spoken of at court but the marvellous 
 beauty of the jeweller's daughter who had refused a 
 thousand crowns from this one, snubbed that one ; in fact, 
 would yield to no one, but turned up her nose at the fin- 
 est young men of the city, gentlemen who would have 
 forfeited their seat in paradise only to possess one day, 
 this little dragon of virtue. 
 
 The good king, who was a judge of such game, strolled 
 into the town, passed the forges, and entered the gold- 
 smith's shop, for the purpose of buying jewels for the 
 lady of his heart, but at the same time to bargain for the 
 most precious jewel in the shop. The king not taking 
 a fancy to the jewels, or they not being to his taste, the 
 good man looked in a secret drawer for a big white dia- 
 mond. ' 
 
 "Sweetheart," said he, to the daughter, while her 
 father's nose was buried in the drawer, "sweetheart, you 
 were not made to sell precious stones, but to receive them, 
 and if you were to give me all the little rings in the place 
 to choose from, I know one that many here are mad for ; 
 that pleases me ; to which I should ever be subject and 
 servant ; and whose price the whole kingdom of France 
 could never pay." 
 
 "Ah, sire!" replied the maid, "I shall be married to- 
 morrow, but if you will lend me the dagger that is in your 
 belt, I will defend my honour, and you shall take it, that 
 the gospel may be observed wherein it says, 'Render unto 
 Casar the things which be Caesar's.' " 
 
78 THE king's sweetheart. 
 
 Immediately the king gave her the little dagger, and 
 her brave reply rendered him so amorous that he lost his 
 appetite. He had an apartment prepared, intending to 
 lodge his new lady-love in the Rue a I'Hirundelle, in one 
 of his palaces. 
 
 And now behold my advocate, in a great hurry to get 
 married, to the disgust of his rivals, leading his bride to 
 the altar to the clang of bells and the sound of music, so 
 timed as to provoke the qualms of diarrhoea. In the even- 
 ing, after the ball, comes he into the nuptial chamber, 
 where should be reposing his lovely bride. No longer is 
 she a lovely bride — ^but a fury — a wild she-devil, who, 
 seated in an arm-chair, refuses her share of her lord's 
 couch, and sits defiantly before the fire warming at the 
 same time her ire and her calves. The good husband, 
 quite astonished, kneels down gently before her, inviting 
 her to the first passage of arms in that charming battle 
 which heralds a first night of love ; but she utters not a 
 word, and when he tries to raise her garment, only just 
 to glance at the charms that have cost him so dear, she 
 gives him a slap that makes his bones rattle, and refuses 
 to utter a syllable. 
 
 This amusement, however, by no means displeased our 
 friend the advocate, who saw at the end of his troubles 
 that which you can as well imagine as did he ; so played 
 he his share of the game manfully, taking cheerfully the 
 punishment bestowed upon him. By so much hustling 
 about, scuffling, and struggling he managed at last to tear 
 away a sleeve, to slit a petticoat, until he was able to place 
 his hand upon his own property. This bold endeavour 
 brought Madame to her feet, and drawing the king's dag- 
 ger, "What would you with me ?" she cried. 
 
THE KINGS SWEETHEART. 79 
 
 "Everything," answered he. 
 
 "Ha! I should be a great fool to give myself against 
 my inclination ! If you fancied you would find my virtue 
 unarmed you made a great error. Behold the poniard of 
 the king, with which I will kill you if you make the sem- 
 blance of a step toward me." 
 
 So saying, she took a cinder, and having still her eye 
 upon her lord she drew a circle on the floor, adding, 
 "These are the confines of the king's domain. Beware 
 how you pass them." 
 
 The advocate, with whose ideas of love-making the 
 dagger sadly interfered, stood quite discomfited, but at the 
 same time he heard the cruel speech of his tormentor he 
 caught sight through the slits and tears in her robe of a 
 sweet sample of a plump white thigh, and such voluptuous 
 specimens of hidden mysteries, et cetera, that death 
 seemed sweet to him if he could only taste of them a little. 
 So that he rushed within the domain of the king, saying, 
 "I mind not death." In fact he came with such force that 
 his charmer fell backwards on to the bed, but keeping her 
 presence of mind she defended herself so gallantly that 
 the advocate enjoyed no further advantage than a knock 
 at the door that would not admit him, ^nd he gained as 
 well a little stab from the poinard which did not wound 
 him deeply, so that it did not cost him very dearly, his 
 attack upon the realm of his sovereign. But maddened 
 with this slight advantage, he cried, "I cannot live with- 
 out the possession of that lovely body, and those marvels 
 of love. Kill me then !" 
 
 And again he attacked the royal preserves. The young 
 beauty, whose head was full of the king, was not even 
 touched by this great love, said gravely, "If you menace 
 
8o THE king's sweetheart. 
 
 me further, it is not you but myself I will kill." She 
 g^Iared at him so savagely that the poor man was quite 
 terrified, and commenced to deplore the evil hour in which 
 he had taken her to wife, and thus the night which should 
 have been so joyous, was passed in tears, lamentations, 
 prayers and ejaculations. In vain he tempted her with 
 promises; she should eat out of gold, she should be a 
 great lady, he would buy houses and lands for her. Oh ! 
 if she would only let him break one lance with her in the 
 sweet conflict of love, he would leave her for ever and 
 pass the remainder of his life, according to her fantasy. 
 But she, still unyielding, said she would permit him to 
 die, and that was the only thing he could do to please her. 
 
 "I have not deceived you," said she. "Agreeable to my 
 promise, I shall give myself to the king, making you a 
 present of the pedlars, chance passers, and street loimg- 
 ers with whom I threatened you." 
 
 When the day broke she put on her wedding garments 
 and waited patiently till the poor husband had to depart 
 to his offices on clients' business, and then, ran out into 
 the town to seek the king. But she had not gone a bow- 
 shot from the house before one of the king's servants who 
 had watched the house from dawn, stopped her with the 
 question — 
 
 "Do you not seek the king?" 
 
 "Yes," said she. 
 
 "Good ; then allow me to be your good friend," said the 
 subtle courtier. "I ask your aid and protection, as now 
 I give you mine." 
 
 With that he told her what sort of man the king was, 
 which was his weak side, that he was passionate one day 
 and silent the next, that she would be luxuriously lodged 
 
THE king's sweetheart. 8I 
 
 and well kept, but that she must keep the king well in 
 hand; in short, he chatted so pleasantly that the time 
 passed quickly until she found herself in the Hotel de 
 I'Hirundelle where afterwards lived Madame d'Estampes. 
 The poor husband shed scalding tears, when he found his 
 little bird had flown, and became melancholy and pensive. 
 His friends and neighbours edified his ears with as many 
 taunts and jeers as Saint Jacques had the honour of re- 
 ceiving in Compostella, but the poor fellow took it so to 
 heart, that at last they tried rather to assuage his grief. 
 These artful compeers by a species of legal chicanery, de- 
 creed that the good man was not a cuckold, seeing that 
 his wife had refused a consummation, and if the planter 
 of horns had been any one but the king, the said marriage 
 might have been dissolved ; but the amorous spouse was 
 wretched unto death at my lady's trick. However, he left 
 her to the king, determining one day to have her to him- 
 self, and thinking that a life-long shame would not be too 
 dear a payment for a night with her. One must love well 
 to love like that, eh? and there are many worldly ones, 
 who mock at such affection. But he, still thinking of her, 
 neglected his cases and his clients, his robberies and 
 everything. ■ He went to the palace like a miser searching 
 for a lost sixpence, bowed down, melancholy, and absent- 
 minded, so much so, that one day he relieved himself 
 against the I'obe of a counsellor, believing all the while 
 he stood against a wall. Meanwhile, the beautiful girl 
 was loved night and day by the king, who could not tear 
 himself from her embraces, because in amorous play she 
 was so excellent, knowing as well how to fan the flame 
 of love as to extinguish it — to-day snubbing him, to-mor- 
 
82 THE king's sweetheart. «. 
 
 row petting him, never the same, and with a thousand 
 little tricks to charm an ardent lover. 
 
 A lord of Bridore killed himself through her, because 
 she would not receive his embraces, although he offered 
 her his land, Bridore in Touraine. Of these gallants of 
 Touraine, who gave an estate for one tilt with love's lance, 
 there are none left. This death made the fair one sad, and 
 since her confessor laid the blame of it upon her, she de- 
 termined for the future to accept all domains and secretly 
 ease their< owners' amorous pains for the better saving of 
 their souls from perdition. 'Twas thus she commenced 
 to build up that great fortune which made her a person 
 of consideration in the town. By this means she pre- 
 vented many gallant gentlemen from perishing, playing 
 her game so well, and inventing such fine stories, that his 
 Majesty little guessed how much she aided him in secur- 
 ing the happiness of his subjects. The fact is, she had 
 such a hold over him that she could have made him be- 
 lieve the floor was the ceiling, which was perhaps easier 
 for him to think than any one else seeing that at the 
 Rue d'Hirundelle my lord king passed the greater /por- 
 tion of his time embracing her always as though he would 
 see if such a lovely article would wear away : but he wore 
 himself out first, poor man, seeing that he eventually died 
 from excess of love. Although she took care to grant her 
 favours only to the best and noblest in the court, and that 
 such occasions were rare as miracles, there were not 
 wanting those among her enemies and rivals who de- 
 clared that for 10,000 crowns a simple gentleman might 
 taste the pleasures of his sovereign, which was false above 
 all falseness, for when her lord taxed her with it, did she 
 not reply, "Abominable wretches! curse the devils who 
 
THE king's sweetheart. 83 
 
 put this idea in your head ! I never yet did have man who 
 spent less than 30,000 crowns upon me." 
 
 The king, although vexed, could not repress a smile, 
 and kept her on a month to silence scandal. At last, la • 
 demoiselle de Pisseleu, anxious to obtain her place, 
 brought about her ruin. Many would have liked to be 
 ruined in the same way, seeing she was taken by a young 
 lord who was happy with her, the fires of love in her be- 
 ing still unquenched. But to take up my thread again. 
 One day that the king's sweetheart was passing through 
 the town in her litter to buy laces, furs, velvets, broider- 
 ies, and other ammunition, and so charmingly attired, and 
 looking so lovely, that any one, especially the clerks, 
 would have believed the heavens were open above them, 
 behold, her good man, who comes upon her near the old 
 cross. She, at that time lazily swinging her charming 
 little foot over the side of the litter, drew in her head as 
 though she had seen an adder. She was a good wife, for 
 I know some who would have proudly passed their hus- 
 bands, to their shame and to the great disrespect of con- 
 jugal rights. 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked one M. de Lannoy, who 
 humbly accompanied her. 
 
 "Nothing," she whispered ; "but that person is my hus- 
 band. Poor man, how changed he looks. Formerly he 
 was the picture of a monkey ; to-day he is the very image 
 of Job." 
 
 The poor advocate stood open-mouthed. His heart 
 beat rapidly at the sight of that little foot — of that wife 
 so wildly loved 
 
 Observing which, the Sire de Lannoy said to him, with 
 courtly insolence — ; 
 
84 THE king's sweetheart. 
 
 "If you are her husband, is that any reason you should 
 stop her passage?" 
 
 At this she burst out laughing, and the good husband, 
 • instead of killing her bravely, shed scalding tears at that 
 laugh which pierced his heart, his soul, his everything, 
 so much that he nearly tumbled over an old citizen whom 
 the sight of the king's sweetheart had driven against the 
 wall. The aspect of this sweet flower, which had been 
 his in the bud, but far from him had. spread its lovely 
 leaves; of the fairy figure, the voluptuous bust — all this 
 made the poor advocate more wretched and more mad 
 for her than it is possible to express in words. You must 
 have been madly in love with a woman who refused your 
 advances thoroughly to understand the agony of this un- 
 happy man. Rare indeed is it to be so infatuated as was 
 he. He swore that life, fortune, honour — all might go, 
 but that for once at least he would be flesh to flesh with 
 her, and make so grand a repast off her dainty body as 
 would suffice him all his life. Pie passed the night say- 
 ing, "Oh yes ; ah ! I'll have her !" and "Curses, am I not 
 her husband?" and "Devil take me," striking himself on 
 the forehead and tossing about. There are chances and 
 occasions which occur so opportunely in this world that 
 little-minded men refuse them credence, saymg they are 
 supernatural, but men of high intellect know them to be 
 true because they could not be invented. One of the 
 chances came to the poor advocate, even the day after that 
 terrible one which had been so sore a trial to him. One 
 of his clients, a man of good renown, who had his audi- 
 ences with the king, came one morning to the advocate, 
 saying that he required immediately a large sum of money 
 about 12,000 crowns. To which the artful fellow replied, 
 
THE king's sweetheart. 85 
 
 12,000 crowns were not so often met at the corner of a 
 street as that which often is seen at the corner of a street ; 
 that besides the sureties and guarantees of interest, it was 
 necessary to find a man who had about him 12,000 
 crowns, and that those gentlemen were not numerous in 
 Paris, big city as it was, and various other things of a Hke 
 character the man of cunning remarked. 
 
 "Is it true, my lord, that you have a hungry and re- 
 lentless creditor?" said he. 
 
 "Yes, yes,'' replied the other, "it concerns the mistress 
 of the king. Don't breathe a syllable ; but this evening, 
 in consideration of 20,000 crowns, and my domain of 
 Brie, I shall take her measure." 
 
 Upon this the advocate blanched, and the courtier per- 
 ceived he touched a tender point. As he had only lately 
 returned from the wars, he did not know that the lovely 
 woman adored by the king had a husband. 
 
 "You appear ill," he said. 
 
 "I have a fever," replied the knave. 
 
 "But is it to her that you give the contract and the 
 money ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Who then manages the bargain? Is it she also?" 
 
 "No," said the noble ; "her little arrangements are con- 
 cluded through a servant of hers, the cleverest little 
 ladies' maid that ever was. She's sharper than mustard, 
 and these nights stolen from the king have lined her 
 pocket well." 
 
 "I know a Lombard who could accommodate you. But 
 nothing can be done; of the 12,000 crowns you shall not 
 have a brass farthing if this same ladies'-maid does not 
 
86 THE king's sweetheart. 
 
 come here to take the price of the article that is so great 
 an alchemist, that turns blood into gold, by Heaven !" 
 
 "It will be a good trick to make her sign the receipt," 
 replied the lord, laughing. 
 
 The servant came faithfully to the rendezvous with the 
 advocate, who had begged the lord to bring her. The 
 ducats looked bright and beautiful. There they lay, all in 
 a row, like nuns going to vespers. Spread out upon the 
 table they would have made a donkey smile, even if he 
 were being gutted alive ; so lovely, so splendid, were those 
 brave noble young piles. The good advocate, however, 
 had prepared this view for no ass, for the little hand- 
 maiden looked longing at the golden heap, and muttered 
 a prayer at the sight of them. Seeing which, the hus- 
 band whispered in her ear these golden words, "These 
 are for you." 
 
 "Ah !" said she ; "I have never been so well paid." 
 
 "My dear," replied the deaf man, "you shall have them 
 without being troubled with me" ; and, turning her 
 round, "Your client has not told you who I am, eh? No? 
 Learn then, I am the husband of the lady whom the king 
 has debauched, and whom you serve. Carry her these 
 crowns, and some back here. I will hand over yours to 
 you on a condition which will be to your taste." 
 
 The servant did as she was bidden, and being very curi- 
 ous to know how she could get 12,000 crowns without 
 sleeping with the advocate, was very soon back again. 
 
 "Now, my little one,'' said he, "here are 12,000 crowns. 
 With that sum I could buy lands, men, women, and the* 
 conscience of three priests at least; so that I believe if 
 I give it you 1 can have you, body, soul, and toe nails. 
 And I shall have faith in you like an advocate. I expect 
 
THE king's sweetheart. 87 
 
 that you will go to the lord who expects to pass the night 
 with my wife, and you will deceive him, by telling him 
 that the king is coming to supper with her, and that to- 
 night he must seek his little amusements elsewhtre. By 
 so doing I shall be able to take his place and the king's. 
 
 "But how?" said she. 
 
 "Oh !" replied he ; "I have bought you, you and your 
 tricks. You won't have to look at these crowns twice 
 withotit finding me a way to have my \Vife. In bringing 
 this conjunction about you commit no sin. It is a work 
 of piety to bring together two people whose hands only 
 have been put one into the other, and that by the priest." 
 
 "By my faith, come," said she ; "after supper the lights 
 will be put out, and you can enjoy Madame if you remain 
 silent. Luckily, on these joyful occasions she cries more 
 than she speaks, and asks questions with her hands alone, 
 for she is very modest, and does not like loose jokes, like 
 the ladies of the Court." 
 
 "Oh," cried the advocate, "look, take the 12,000 crowns, 
 and I promise you twice as much more if I get by fraud 
 that which belongs to me by right." 
 
 Then he arranged the hour, the door, the signal, and 
 all ; and the servant went away, bearing with her on the 
 back of the mules the golden treasure wrung by fraud and 
 trickery from the widow and the orphan, and they were 
 all going to that place where everything goes — save oUr 
 lives, which come from it. Now behold my advocate, 
 who shaves himself, scents himself, goes without onions 
 for dinner that his breath may be sweet, and does every- 
 thing to make himself as presentable as a gallant signor. 
 He gives himself the airs of a young dandy, tries to be 
 lithe alnd frisky and to disguise his ugly face ; he might 
 
00 THE KING S SWEETHEART. 
 
 try all he knew, he always smelt of the musty lawyer. He 
 was not so clever as the pretty washerwoman of Portil- 
 lon who one day wishing to appear at her best before 
 one of her lovers, got rid of a disagreeable odour in a 
 manner well known to young women of an inventive turn 
 of mind. But our crafty fellow fancied himself the nicest 
 man in the world, although in spite of his drugs and 
 perfumes he was really the nastiest. He dressed himself 
 in his thinnest clothes although the cold pinched him like 
 a rope collar, and sallied forth, quickly gaining the Rue 
 d'Hirundelle. There he had to wait some time. But just 
 as he was beginning to think he had been made a fool 
 of, and just as it was quite dark, the maid came down- and 
 opened the door to him and the good husband slipped 
 gleefully into the king's apartment. The girl locked him 
 carefully in a cupboard that was close to his wife's bed, 
 and through a crack he feasted his eyes upon her beauty, 
 for she undressed herself before the fire, and put on a thin 
 nightgown, through which her charms were plainly vis- 
 ible. Believing herself alone with her maid she made 
 those little jokes that women will when undressing. "Am 
 
 1 not worth 20,000 crowns to-night? Is that overpaid 
 with a castle in Erie?" 
 
 And saying this she gently raised two white supports, 
 firm as rocks, which had well sustained many assaults, 
 seeing they had been furiously attacked and had not 
 softened. "My shoulders alone are worth a kingdom; 
 no king could make their equal. But I am tired of this 
 life. That which is hard work is no pleasure." The little 
 maid smiled, and her lovely mistress said to her, "I should 
 like to see you in my place." 
 
 Then the maid laughed outright, saying — 
 
THE king's sweetheart. 9^ 
 
 "Be quiet, Madame, he is there." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Your husband," 
 
 "Which?" 
 
 "The real one." 
 
 "Chut!" said Madame. 
 
 And her maid told her the whole story, wishing to keep 
 her favour and the 12,000 crowns as well. 
 
 "Oh well, he shall have his money's worth. I'll give 
 his desires time to cool. If he tastes me may I lose my 
 beauty and become as ugly as a monkey's baby! You 
 get into bed in my place and thus gain the 12,000 crowns. 
 Go and tell him that he must take himself off early in the 
 morning in order that I rnay not find out your trick upon 
 me, and just before dawn I will get in by his side." 
 
 The poor husband was freezing and his teeth were 
 chattering, and the chambermaid coming to the cupboard 
 on pretence of getting some linen, said to him, "Your 
 hour of bliss approaches. Madame to-night has made 
 grand preparations and you will be well served. But 
 work without whistling, otherwise I shall be lost." 
 
 At last, when the good husband was on the point of 
 perishing with cold, the lights were put out. The maid 
 cried softly in the curtains to the king's sweetheart, that 
 his lordship was there, and jumped into the bed, while 
 her mistress went out as if she had been the chamber- 
 maid. The advocate, released from his cold hiding-place, 
 rolled rapturously into the warm sheets, thinking to him- 
 self, "Oh, this is good !" To tell the truth, the maid gave 
 him his money's worth — and the good man thought of 
 the difference between the profusion of royal houses and 
 the niggardly ways of the citizens' wives. The servant 
 
90 THE KING S SWEETHEART. 
 
 laughing, played her part marvellously well, regaling the 
 knave with gentle cries, shiverings, convulsions and toss- 
 ings about, like a new-caught fish on the grass, giving 
 little Ah ! ah's I in default of other words ; and as often 
 as the request was made by her, so often was it complied 
 with by the advocate, who dropped oflf to sleep at last, like 
 an empty pocket. But before finishing, the lover, who 
 wished to preserve a souvenir of this sweet night of love, 
 by a dexterous turn, plucked out one of his wife's hairs, 
 where from I know not, seeing I was not there, and kept 
 in his hand this precious gage of the warm virtue of that 
 lovely creature. Towards the morning, when the cock 
 crew, the wife slipped in beside her husband, and pre- 
 tended to sleep. Then the maid tapped gently on the 
 happy man's forehead, whispering in' his ear, "It is time, 
 get into your clothes and off you go— it's daylight." The 
 good man grieved to lose his treasure, and wished to see 
 the source of his vanished happiness.. 
 
 "Oh! oh I" said he, proceeding to compare certain 
 things, "I've got light hair, and this is dark." 
 
 "What have you done?" said the servant; "Madame 
 will see she has been duped." 
 
 "But, look." 
 
 "Ah!" said she, with an air of disdain, "do you not 
 know, you who know everything, that that which is 
 plucked dies and discolours ?" and thereupon roaring witli 
 laughter at the good joke, she pushed him out of doors. 
 This became known. The poor advocate, named Feron, 
 died of shame, seeing that he was the only one who had 
 not his own wife; while she, who from this was called 
 La belle Feroni^re, married, after having the king, a 
 young lord, Count of Buzancois. And in her old days 
 
THE KINGS SWEETHEART. 9I 
 
 she would relate the story, laughingly adding, that she 
 had never scented the knave's flavour. 
 
 This teaches us not to attach ourselves more than we 
 can help to wives who refuse to support our yoke. 
 
THE DEVIL'S HEIR. 
 
 THERE once was a good old Canon of Notre Dame 
 de Paris, who lived in a fine house of his own, 
 near St. Pierre-aux-Boefs, in the Parvis. This canon 
 had come a simple priest to Paris, naked as a dagger with- 
 out its sheath. But since he was foimd to be a handsome 
 man, well furnished with everything, and so well con- 
 stituted, that if necessary he was able to do the work of 
 many without doing himself much harm, he gave him- 
 self up earriestly to the confessing of ladies, giving to the 
 melancholy a gentle absolution, to the sick a drachm of 
 his balm, to all some little dainty. He was so well known 
 for his discretion, his benevolence, and other ecclesias- 
 tical qualities, that he had customers at Court. Then in 
 order not to awaken the jealousy of the officials, that of 
 the husbands and others, in short, to endow with sanctity 
 these good and profitable practices, the Lady Desquerdes 
 gave him a bone of St. Victor, by virtue of which all the 
 miracles were performed. And to the curious it was said, 
 "He has a bone which will cure ever>i;hing"; and to this; 
 no one found anj-thing to reply, because it was not seemly 
 to suspect relics. Beneath the shade of his cassock, the 
 good priest had the best of reputations, that of a man 
 valiant under arms. So he lived like a king. He made 
 money with holy water; sprinkled and transmitted the 
 holy water into good wine. More than that, his name lay 
 
 92 
 
THE DEVILS HEIR. 93 
 
 snugly in all the ct ceteras of the notarie, in wills or in 
 caudicils, which certain people have falsely written 
 CODICIL, seeing that the word is derived from cauda, as if 
 to say the tail of the legacy. In fact, the good old Long 
 Skirts would have been made an archbishop if he had 
 only said in joke, "I should like to put on a mitre for a 
 head-kerchief in order to have my head warmer." Of all 
 the benefices offered to him, he chose only a simple can- 
 on's stall, to keep the good profits of the confessional. 
 But one day the courageous canon found himself weak 
 in the back, seeing that he was all sixty-eight years old, 
 and had held many confessionals. Then thinking over all 
 his good works, he thought it about time to cease his 
 apostolic labours, the more so, as he possessed about one 
 hundred thousand crowns earned by the sweat of his 
 body. From that day he only confessed ladies of high 
 lineage, and did it very well. So that it was said at Court 
 that in spite of the efforts of the best young clerks there 
 was still no one but the canon of St. Pierre-aux-Boeufs 
 to properly bleach the soul of a lady of condition. Then 
 at length the canon became by force of nature a fine nona- 
 genarian, snowy about the head, with trembling hands, 
 but square as a tower, having spat so much without 
 coughing, that he coughed now without being able to 
 spit ; no longer rising from his chair, he who had so often 
 risen for humanity ; but drinking dry, eating heartily, say- 
 ing nothing but having all the appearance of a living 
 Canon of Notre Dame. Seeing the immobility of the 
 aforesaid canon ; seeing the stories of his evil life which 
 for some time had circulated among the common people, 
 always ignorant ; seeing his dumb seclusion, his flourish- 
 ing health, his young old age, and other things too num- 
 
g4 THE DEVIL S HEIR. 
 
 erous to mention — there were certain people who to do 
 the marvellous and injure our holy religion, went about 
 saying that the true canon was long since dead, and that 
 for more than fifty years the devil had taken possession 
 of the old priest's body. In fact, it seemed to his former 
 customers that the devil only could by his great heat have 
 furnished those hermetic distillations, that they remem- 
 bered to have obtained on demand from this good con- 
 fessor, who always had le diable au corps. But as this 
 devil had been undoubtedly cooked and ruined by them, 
 and that for a queen of twenty years he would not have 
 moved, well-disposed people and those not wanting in 
 sense, or the citizens who argued about everything, peo- 
 ple who found lice in bald heads, demanded why the devil 
 rested under the form of a canon, went to the church of 
 Notre Dame at the hours when the canons usually go, and 
 ventured so far as to sniflf the perfume of the incense, 
 taste the holy water, and a thousand other things. To 
 these heretical propositions some said that doubtless the 
 devil wished to convert himself, and others that he re- 
 mained in the shape of the canon to mock at the three 
 nephews and heirs of this said brave confessor and make 
 them wait until the day of their own death for the ample 
 succession of this uncle, to whom they paid great attention 
 every day, going to look if the good man had his eyes 
 open, and in fact found him always with his eye clear, 
 bright, and piercing as the eye of a basilisk, which pleased 
 them greatly, since they loved their uncle very much — in 
 words. On this subject an old woman related that for 
 certain the canon was the devil, because his two nephews, 
 the procureur and the captain, conducting their uncle at 
 
THE DEVIL'S HEIR. 95 
 
 night, without lamp or lantern, returning from a supper 
 at the penitentiary's, had caused him by accident to 
 tumble over a heap of stones gathered together to raise 
 the statute of St. Christopher. At first the old man had 
 struck fire in falling, but was, amid the cries of his dear 
 nephews and by the light of the torches they came to seek 
 at her house, found standing up as straight as a skittle 
 and as gay as a weaving whirl, exclaiming that the good 
 wine of the penitentiary had given him the courage to 
 sustain this shock and that his bones were exceedingly 
 hard and had sustained rude assaults. The good nephews 
 believing him dead, were much astonished, and perceived 
 that the day that was to despatch their uncle was a long 
 way off, seeing that at the business stones were of no use. 
 So that they did not falsely call him their good uncle, see- 
 ing that he was of good quality. Certain scandalmongers 
 said that the canon found so many stones in his path that 
 he stayed at home not to be ill with the stone, and the 
 fear of worse was the cause of his seclusion. 
 
 Of all these sayings and rumours, it remains that the 
 old canon, devil or not, kept his house, refused to die, 
 and had three heirs with whom he lived as with his scia- 
 ticas, lumbagos, and other appendage of human life. Of 
 the said three heirs, one was the wickedest soldier ever 
 born of woman, and he must have considerably hurt her 
 in breaking his egg, since he was born with teeth and 
 bristles. So that he ate twofold, for the present and the 
 future, keeping wenches whose cost he paid; inheriting 
 from his uncle the continuance, strength, and good use 
 of that which is often of service. In great battles, he en- 
 deavoured always to give blows without receiving them, 
 
96 THE devil's heir. 
 
 which is, and always will be, the only problem to solve in 
 war, but he never spared himself there, and, in fact, as he 
 had no other virtue except his bravery, he was captain of 
 a company of lancers, and much esteemed by the Duke of 
 Bourgoytie, who never troubled what his soldiers did 
 elsewhere. This nephew of the devil was named Captain 
 Cochegrue; and his creditors, the blockheads, citizens, 
 and others, whose pockets he slit, called him the Mau- 
 cinge, since he was as mischievous as strong ; but he had 
 moreover his back spoilt by the natural infirmity of a 
 hump, and it would have been unwise to attempt to mount 
 thereon to get a good view, for he would incontestably 
 have run you through. 
 
 The second had studied the laws, and through the 
 favour of his uncle had become a procureur, and prac- 
 tised at the palace, where he did the business of the ladies, 
 whom formerly the canon had the best confessed. This 
 one was called Pille-grue, to banter him upon his real 
 name, which was Cochegrue, like that of his brother the 
 captain. Pille-grue had a lean body, seemed to throw off 
 very cold water, was pale of face, and possessed a phys- 
 iognomy like a polecat. 
 
 This notwithstanding, he was worth many a penny 
 more than the captain, and had for his uncle a little affec- 
 tion, but since about two years his heart had cracked a 
 little, and drop by drop his gratitude had run out, in such 
 a way that, from time to time, when the air was damp, 
 he liked to put his feet into his uncle's hose, and press in 
 advance the juice of this good inheritance. He and his 
 brother, the soldier, found their share very small, since 
 loyally, in law, in fact, in justice, in nature, and in reality, 
 poor cousin, son of another sister of the canon, the which 
 
THE DEVIL S HEIR. 97 
 
 it was necessary to give the third part of everything to a 
 heir, but little loved by the good man, remained in the 
 country, where he was a shepherd, near Nanterre. 
 
 The guardian of beasts, an ordinary peasant, came to 
 town by the advice of his two cousins, who placed him 
 in their uncle's house, in the hope that, as much by his 
 silly tricks as his clumsiness, his want of brain, and his 
 ignorance, he would be displeasing to the canon, who 
 would kick him out of his will. Now this poor Chiquon, 
 as the shepherd was named, had lived about a month alone 
 with his old uncle, and finding more profit or more 
 amusement in minding an abbot than looking after sheep, 
 made himself the canon's dog, his servant, the staff of 
 his old age, saying, "God keep you,'' when he passed 
 wind, "God save you," when he sneezed, and "God guard 
 you," when he belched ; going to see if it rained, where 
 the cat was, remaining silent, listening, speaking, receiv- 
 ing the coughs of the old man in his face, admiring him 
 as the finest canon there ever was in the world, all heart- 
 ily and in good faith, knowing that h?, was licking him 
 after the m.anner of animals who clean their young ones ; 
 and the uncle, who stood in no need of learning which 
 side the bread was buttered, repulsed poor Chiquon, mak- 
 ing him turn about like a die, always calling Chiquon, 
 and always saying to his other nephews that this Chiquon 
 was helping to kill him, such a numskull was he. There- 
 upon, hearing this, Chiquon determined to do well by his 
 imcle, and puzzled his understanding to appear better; 
 but as he had a behind shaped like a pair of pumpkins, 
 was broad shouldered, large limbed, and far from sharp, 
 he more resembled old Silenus than a gentle Zephyr. In 
 fact, the poor shepherd, a simple man, could not reform 
 
98 THE DEVIL'S HEIR. 
 
 himself, so he remained big and fat, awaiting his inherit- 
 ance to make himself thin. 
 
 One evening the canon began discoursing concerning 
 the devil and the grave agonies, penances, tortures, etc., 
 which God will get warm for the accursed, and the good 
 Chiquon hearing it, began to open his eyes as wide as 
 the door of an oven, at this statement, without believing 
 a word of it. 
 
 "What," said the canon, "are you not a Christian ?" 
 
 "In that, yes," answered Chiquon. 
 
 "Well, there is a paradise for the good ; is it not neces- 
 sary to have a hell for the wicked ?" 
 
 "YeS; Mr. Canon ; but the devil's of no use. If you had 
 here a wicked man who turned everything upside down, 
 would you not kick him out of doors ?" 
 
 "Yes, Chiquon." 
 
 "Oh, well, mine uncle; God would be very stupid to 
 leave in this world, which he has so curiously constructed, 
 an abominable devil whose special business it is to spoil 
 everything for him. Pish ! I recognise no devil if there 
 be a good God; you may depend upon that. I should 
 very much like to see the devil. Ha ! ha 1 I am not afraid 
 of his claws 1" 
 
 "And if I were of your opinion I should have no care 
 of my very youthful years in which I held confessions 
 at least ten times a day." 
 
 "Confess again, Mr. Canon. I assure you that will be 
 a precious merit on high." 
 
 "There, there ! do you mean it ?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Canon." 
 
 "Thou dost not tremble, Chiquon, to deny the devil?" 
 
 "I trouble no more about it than a sheaf of corn." 
 
THE devil's heir. 99 
 
 "The doctrine will bring misfortune upon you." 
 
 "By no means. God will defend me from the devil 
 because I believe him more learned and less stupid than 
 the savans make him out." 
 
 Thereupon the other two nephews entered, and per- 
 ceiving from the voice of the canon that he did not dis- 
 like Chiquon very much, and that the jeremaids which 
 he made concerning him were simply tricks to disguise 
 the affection which he bore him, looked at each other in 
 great astonishment. 
 
 Then, seeing their uncle laughing, they said to him — 
 
 "If you make a will, to whom will you leave the house?" 
 
 ■'To Chiquon." 
 
 "And the quit rent of the Rue St. Denys?" 
 
 "To Chiquon." 
 
 "And the fief of Ville Parisis?" 
 
 "To Chiquon." 
 
 "But," said the captain, with his big voice, "everything 
 then will be Chiquon's." 
 
 "No," replied the canon, smiling, "because I shall have 
 made my will in proper form, the inheritance will be to 
 the sharpest of you three ; I am so near to the future, 
 that I can therein see clearly your destinies. 
 
 And the wily canon cast upon Chiquon a glance full of 
 malice, like a decoy bird would have thrown upon a little 
 one to draw him into her net. The fire of this flaming 
 eye enlightened the shepherd, who from that moment 
 had his understanding and his ears all unfogged, and his 
 brain open, like that of a maiden the day after her mar- 
 riage. The procureur and the captain, taking these say- 
 ings for gospel prophecies, made their bow and went out 
 
lOO THE DEVIL S HEIR. 
 
 from the house, quite perplexed at the absurd designs of 
 the canon. 
 
 "What do you think of Chiquon?" said Pille-grue to 
 Mau-cinge. 
 
 "I think, I think," said the soldier, growling, "that I 
 think of hiding myself in the Rue d'Hierusalem, to put 
 his head below his feet; he can pick it up again if he 
 likes." 
 
 "Oh! oh!" said the procureur, "you have a way of 
 wounding that is easily recognised, and people would 
 say, 'It's Cochegrue.' As for me, I thought to invite him 
 to dinner, after which, we would play at putting our- 
 selves in a sack, in order to see, as they do at Court, who 
 could walk best thus attired. Then, having sewn him up, 
 we could throw him into the Seine, at the same time beg- 
 ging him to swim." 
 
 "This must be well matured," replied the soldier. 
 
 "Oh ! it's quite ripe," said the advocate. "The cousin 
 gone to the devil, the heritage would then be between us 
 two." 
 
 "I'm quite agreeable," said the fighter, "but we must 
 stick as close together as the two legs of the same body, 
 for if you are fine as silk, I am strong as steel, and dag- 
 gers are always as good as traps — ^you hear that, my good 
 brother.'' 
 
 "Yes," said the advocate, "the cause is heard — ^now 
 shall it be the thread or the iron ?" 
 
 "Eh? ventre de Dieu! is it then a king that we are 
 going to settle? For a simple numskull of a shepherd 
 are so many words necessary ? Come ! 20,000 francs out 
 of the heritage to the one of us who shall first cut him 
 off : I'll say to him in good faith, 'Pick up your head.' " 
 
THE DEVIL^S HEIR. lOI 
 
 "And I, 'Swim, my friend,' " cried the advocate, laugh- 
 ing like the gap of a pourpoint. 
 
 And then they went to supper, the captain to his wench, 
 and the advocate to the house of a jeweller's wife, of whom 
 he was the lover. 
 
 Who was astonished? Chiquon! The poor shepherd 
 heard the planning of his death, although his two cousins 
 had walked in the parvis, and talked to each other as 
 every one speaks at church when praying to God. So 
 that Chiquon was much troubled to know if the words 
 had come up or if his ears had gone down. 
 
 "Do you hear, Mister Canon?" 
 
 "Yes," said he, "I hear the wood crackling in the fire." 
 
 "Ho ! ho !" replied Chiquon, "if I don't believe in the 
 devil, I believe in St. Michael, my guardian angel; I go 
 there where he calls me." 
 
 "Go, my child," said the canon, "and take care not to 
 wet yourself not to get your head knocked off, for I think 
 I hear more rain, and the beggars in the street are not al- 
 ways the most dangerous beggars." 
 
 At these words Chiquon was much astonished, and 
 stared at the canon ; found his manner gay, his eye sharp, 
 and his feet crooked; but as he had to arrange matters 
 concerning the death which menaced him, he thought to 
 himself that he would always have leisure to admire the 
 canon, or to cut his nails, and he trotted of? quickly 
 through the town, as a little woman trots towards her 
 pleasure. 
 
 His two cousins, having no presumption of the divina- 
 tory science, of which shepherds have had many passing 
 attacks, had often talked before him of their secret go- 
 ings on, counting his as nothing. 
 
102 THE DEVIL S HEIR. 
 
 Now one evening to amuse the canon, Pille-gtue had 
 recounted to him how had fallen in love with him the 
 wife of a jeweller on whose head he had adjusted certain 
 carved, burnished, sculptured, historical horns, fit for the 
 brow of a prince. The good lady was to hear him, a right 
 merry wench, quick at opportunities, giving an embrace 
 while her husband was mounting the stairs, devouring the 
 commodity as if she were swallowing a strawberry, only 
 thinking of love-making, always trifling and frisky, gay 
 as an honest woman who lacks nothing, contenting her 
 husband, who cherished her as much as he loved his own 
 gullet ; subtle as a perfume, so much so, that for five years 
 she managed so well his household affairs, and her own 
 love affairs, that she had the reputation of a prudent 
 woman, the confidence of her husband, the keys of the 
 house, the purse, and all. 
 
 "And when do you play upon this gentle flute?" said 
 the canon. 
 
 "Every evening, and sometimes I stay all the night." 
 
 "But how ?" said the canon, astonished. 
 
 "This is how. There is in a room close to, a chest into 
 which I get. When the good husband returns from his 
 friend the draper's, where he goes to supper every even- 
 ing, because often he helps the draper's wife in her work, 
 my mistress pleads a slight illness, lets him go to bed 
 alone, and comes to doctor her malady in the room where 
 the chest is. On the morrow, when my jeweller is at his 
 forge, I depart, and as the house has one exit on to the 
 bridge, and another into the street, I always come to the 
 door where the husband is not, on the pretext of speaking 
 to him of his suits, which commence joyfully and heartily, 
 and I never let them come to an end. It is an income 
 
THE DEVIL S HEIR. IO3 
 
 from cuckoldom, seeing that in the minor expenses and 
 loyal costs of the proceedings, he spends as much as on 
 the horses in his stable. He loves me well, as all good 
 cuckolds should love the man who aids them, to plant, cul- 
 tivate, water, and dig the natural garden of Venus, and 
 he does nothing without me." 
 
 Now these practices came back again to the memory 
 of the shepherd, who was illuminated by the light issuing 
 from his danger, and counselled by the intelligence of 
 those measures of self-preservation, of which every animal 
 possesses a sufficient dose to go to the end of his ball of 
 life. So Chiquon gained with hasty feet the Rue de la 
 Calandre, where the jeweller should then be supping with 
 his companion, and after having knocked at the door, re- 
 plied to the question put to him through the little grill, 
 that he was a messenger on state secrets, and was admitted 
 to the draper's house. Now coming straight to the fact, 
 he made the happy jeweller get up from the table, led 
 him into a corner, and said to him, "If one of your neigh- 
 bours had planted a horn on your forehead, and he were 
 delivered to you, bound hand and foot, would you throw 
 him into the river?" 
 
 "Rather," said the jeweller, "but if you are mocking 
 me I'll give you a good drubbing." 
 
 "There, there!" replied Chiquon, "I am one of your 
 friends, and come to warn you that as many times as you 
 have conversed with the draper's wife here, as often has 
 your good wife been served the same way by the advo- 
 cate Pille-grue, and if you will come back to your forge, 
 you'll find a good fire there. On your arrival, he who 
 looks after your you-know-what, to keep it in good order, 
 gets into the big clothes chest. Now make a pretence 
 
I04 THE DEVIL'S HEIR. 
 
 that I have bought the said chest of you, and I will be 
 upon the bridge with a cart, waiting your orders." 
 
 The said jeweller took his cloak and his hat, and parted 
 company with his crony without saying a word, and ran 
 to hJs hole like a poisoned rat. He arrives and knocks, 
 the door is opened, he runs hastily up the stairs, finds two 
 covers laid, sees his wife coming out of the chamber of 
 love, and then says to her, "My dear, here are two covers 
 laid." 
 
 "Well, my darling, are we not two ?" 
 
 "No," said he, "we are three." 
 
 "Is your friend coming?" said she, looking towards 
 the stairs with perfect innocence. 
 
 "No, I speak of the friend who is in the chest." 
 
 "What chest?" said she. "Are you in your sound 
 senses ? where do you see a chest ? is it usual to put friends 
 in chests? am I a woman to keep chests full of friends? 
 How long have friends been kept in chests? are you 
 come home mad to mix up your friends with your chests ? 
 I know no other friend than Master Cornille the draper, 
 and no other chest than the one with our clothes in." 
 
 "Oh !" said the jeweller, "my good woman, there is a 
 bad young man, who has come to warn me that you allow 
 yourself to be embraced by our advocate, and that he is 
 in the chest." 
 
 "I!" said she, "I would not put up with his knavery, 
 he does everything the wrong way." 
 
 "There, there my dear," replied the jeweller, "I know 
 you to be a good woman, and won't have a squabble with 
 you about this paltry chest. The giver of the warning is 
 a box-maker, to whom I am about to sell this cursed chest 
 that I wish never again to see in my house, and for this 
 
THE DEVILS HEIR. IO5 
 
 one he will sell me two pretty little ones, in which there 
 will not be space enough even for a child ; thus the scan- 
 dal and the babble of those envious of thy virtues, will be 
 extinguished for want of nourishment." 
 
 "You give me great pleasure," said she ; "I don't attach 
 any value to my chest, and by chance there is nothing in 
 it. Our linen is at the wash. It will be easy to have the 
 mischievous chest taken away to-morrow morning. Will 
 you sup?" 
 
 "Not at all," said he, "I shall siip with a better appetite 
 without this chest." 
 
 "I see," said she, "that you won't easily get the chest 
 out of )'our head." 
 
 "Halloa there !" said the jeweller to his smiths and ap- 
 prentices ; "come down I" 
 
 In the twinkling of an eye his people were before him. 
 Then he, their master, having briefly ordered the handling 
 of the said chest, this piece of furniture dedicated to love 
 was suddenly tumbled across the room, but in passing, 
 the advocate, finding his feet in the air to the which he 
 was not accustomed^ tumbled over a little. 
 
 "Go on," said the wife, "go on, it's the lid shaking." 
 
 "No, my dear, it's the bolt." 
 
 And without any other opposition the chest slid gently 
 down the stairs. 
 
 ^'Ho there, carrier!" said the jeweller, and Chiquon 
 came whistling his mules, and the good apprentices lifted 
 the litigious chest into the cart. 
 
 "Hi ! hi !" said the advocate. 
 
 "Master, the chest is speaking," said an apprentice. 
 
 "In what language?" said the jeweller, giving him a 
 good kick between two features that luckily were not 
 
I06 THE devil's heir. 
 
 made of glass. The apprentice tumbled over on to a stair 
 in a way that induced him to discontinue his studies in 
 the language of chests. The shepherd, accompanied by 
 the good jeweller, carried all the baggage to the water- 
 side without listening to the high eloquence of the speak- 
 ing wood, and having tied several stones to it, the jewel- 
 ler threw it into the Seine. 
 
 "Swim, my friend" cried the shepherd, in a voice suf- 
 ficiently jeering at the moment when the chest turned 
 over, giving a pretty little plunge like a duck. 
 
 Then Chiquon continued to proceed along the quay, as 
 far as the Rue-du-port, St. Laudry, near the cloisters of 
 Notre Dame. There he noticed a house, recognized the 
 door, and knocked loudly. 
 
 "Open," said he, "open by order of the king." 
 
 Hearing this, an old man who was no other than the 
 famous Lombard, Versoris, ran to the door. 
 
 "What is it?" said he. 
 
 "I am sent by the provost to warn you to keep good 
 watch to-night," replied Chiquon, "as for his own part he 
 will keep his archers ready. The hunchback who has 
 robbed you has come back again. Keep under arms, for 
 he is quite capable of easing you of the re§t." 
 
 Having said this, the good shepherd took to his heels 
 and ran to the Rue des Marmouzets, to the house where 
 Captain Cochegrue was feasting with La Pasquerette, the 
 prettiest of town-girjs, and the most charming in per- 
 versity that ever was ; according to all the gay ladies, her 
 glance was sharp and piercing as the stab of a dagger. 
 Her appearance was so tickling to the sight, that it would 
 have put all paradise to rout. Besides which she was as 
 bold as a woman who has no other virtue than her inso- 
 
THE devil's heir. IO7 
 
 lence. Poor Chiquon was greatly embarrassed while 
 going to the quarter of the Marmouzets. He was greatly 
 afraid that he would be unable to find the house of La 
 Pasquerette, or find the two pigeons gone to roost, but a 
 good angel arranged things speedily to his satisfaction. 
 This is how. On entering the Rue des Marmouzets, he 
 saw several lights at the windows, and night-capped heads 
 thrust out, and good wenches, gay girls, housewives, hus- 
 bands, and young ladies, all of them just out of bed, look- 
 ing at each other as if a robber were being led to execu- 
 tion by torchlight. 
 
 "What's the matter ?" said the shepherd to a citizen who 
 in great haste had rushed to the door with a chamber 
 utensil in his hand. 
 
 "Oh! it's nothing," replied the good man. "We 
 thought it was the Armagnacs descending upon the town, 
 but it's only Mau-cinge beating La Pasquerette." 
 
 "Where ?" asked the shepherd. 
 
 "Below there, at that fine house where the pillars have 
 the mouths of flying frogs delicately engraved upon them. 
 Do 5'ou hear the varlets and the serving maids ?" 
 ' And in fact there were nothing but cries of "Murder ! 
 Help! Come some one!" and in the house blows were 
 raining down and the Mau-cinge said with his gruff voice, 
 "Death to the wench! Ah, you sing out now, do you? 
 Ah, you want money now, do you? Take that — " 
 
 And La Pasquerette was groaning, "Oh! oh! I die! 
 Help ! help ! Oh ! oh !" Then came the blow of a sword, 
 and the heavy fall of the light body of the fair girl 
 sounded, and was. followed by a great silence, after which 
 the lights were put out, servants, waiting women, roys- 
 terers, and others went in again, and the shepherd who 
 
I08 THE devil's heir. 
 
 had come opportunely mounted the stairs in company 
 with them, but on beholding in the room above broken 
 glasses, slit carpets, and the cloth on the floor with the 
 dishes, every one remained at a distance. 
 
 The shepherd, bold as a man with but one end in 
 view, opened the door of the handsome chamber where 
 slept La Pasquerette, and found her quite exhausted, her 
 hair dishevelled, and her neck twisted, lying upon a bloody 
 carpet, and Mau-cinge frightened, with his tone consid- 
 erably lower, and not knowing upon what note to sing 
 the remainder of his anthem. 
 
 "Come, my little Pasquerette, don't pretend to be dead. 
 Come, let me put you tidy. Ah! little minx, dead or 
 alive, you look so pretty in your blood I'm going to kiss 
 you." Having said which the cunning soldier took her 
 and threw her upon the bed, but she fell there all of a 
 heap, and stiff as the body of a man that had been hanged. 
 Seeing which her companion found it was time for his 
 hump to retire from the game ; however, the artful fellow 
 before slinking away said, "Poor Pasquerette, how could 
 I murder so good a girl, and one I loved so much ? But, 
 yes, I have killed her, the thing is clear, for in her life 
 never did her sweet breast hang down like that. Good 
 God, one would say it was a crown at the bottom of a 
 wallet." Thereupon La Pasquerette opened her eyes and 
 bent her head slightly to look at her flesh, which was 
 white and firm, and she brought herself to life again by 
 a box on the ears, administered to the captain. 
 
 "That will teach you to beware of the dead," said she, 
 smiling. 
 
 "And why did he kill you, my cousin?" asked the 
 shepherd. 
 
THE DEVIL S HEIR. IO9 
 
 "Why? to-morrow the bailiffs seize everything that's 
 here, and he who has no more money than virtue, re- 
 proached me because I wished to be agreeable to a hand- 
 some gentleman, who would save me from the hands of 
 justice." 
 
 "Pasquerette, I'll break every bone in your skin." 
 
 "There! there!" said Chiquon, whom the Mau-cinge 
 had just recognized, "is that all? Oh well, my good 
 friend, I bring you a large sum." 
 
 "Where from?" asked the captain, astonished. 
 
 "Come here, and let me whisper in your ear — if 30,000 
 crowns were walking about at night under the shadow 
 of a pear-tree, would you not stoop down to pluck them, 
 to prevent them spoiling?" 
 
 "Chiquon, I'll kill you like a dog if you are making 
 game of me, or I will kiss you there where you like it, 
 if you will put me opposite 30,000 crowns, even when it 
 shall be necessary to kill three citizens at the corner of the 
 Quay." 
 
 "You will not even kill one. This is how the matter 
 stands. I have for a sweetheart in all loyalty, the ser- 
 vant of the Lombard who is in the city near the house 
 of our good uncle. Now I have just learned on sound 
 information that this dear man has departed this morn- 
 ing into the country, after having hidden under a pear- 
 tree in his garden a good bushel of gold, believing him- 
 self to be seen only by the angels. But the girl who had 
 by chance a bad toothache, and was taking the air at her 
 garret window, spied the old crookshanks, without wish- 
 ing to do so, and chattered of it to me in fondness. If 
 you will swear to give me a good share I will lend you 
 my shoulders in order that you may climb on to the top 
 
no THE DEVILS HEIR. 
 
 of the wall, and from there throw yourself into the pear- 
 tree, which is against the wall. There, now do you say 
 that I am a blockhead, an animal?" 
 
 "No, you are a right loyal cousin, an honest man, and 
 if you have ever to put an enemy out of the way, I am 
 there, ready to kill even one of my own friends for you. 
 I am no longer your cousin, but your brother. Ho there, 
 sweetheart," cried Mau-cinge to La Pasquerette, "put the 
 tables straight, wipe up your blood, it belongs to me, and 
 I'll pay you for it, by giving you a hundred times as much 
 of mine as I have taken of thine. Make the best of it, 
 shake the black dog off your back, adjust your petticoats, 
 laugh, I wish it, look to the stew, and let us recommence 
 our evening prayer where we left it off. To-morrow I 
 will make thee braver than a queen. This is my cousin 
 whom I wish to entertain, even when to do so it were 
 necessary to turn the house out of windows. We shall get 
 back everything to-morrow in the cellars. Come, fall to." 
 
 Thus, and in less time than it takes a priest to say his 
 Domimis vobiscum, the whole rookery passed from tears 
 to laughter as it had previously passed from laughter to 
 tears. It is only in these houses of ill-fame that love is 
 made with the blow of a dagger, and where tempests of 
 joy rage between four walls. But these are things ladies 
 of the high-necked dresses do not understand. 
 
 The said Captain Cochegrue was gay as a hundred 
 school-boys at the breaking up of class, and made his 
 good cousin drink deeply, who swilled everything coun- 
 try fashion, and pretended to be drunk, spluttering out 
 a hundred stupidities, as, that "to-morrow he would buy 
 Paris, would lend a hundred thousand crowns to the 
 king, that he would be able to roll in gold" ; in fact, talked 
 
THE DEVILS HEIR. Ill 
 
 SO miich nonsense that the captain, fearing some com- 
 promising avowal and thinking his brain quite muddled 
 enough, led him outside with the good intention, instead 
 of sharing with him, of ripping Chiquon open to see if 
 he had not a sponge in his stomach, because he had 
 just soaked in a big quart of the good wine of 
 Suresne. They went along, disputing about a thousand 
 theological subjects, which got very mi^ch mixed up, and 
 finished by rolling quietly up against the garden where 
 were the crowns of the Lombard. Then Cochegrue, mak- 
 ing a ladder of Chiquon's broad shoulders, jumped on to 
 the pear-tree like a man expert in attacks upon towns, 
 but Versoris, who was watching him, made a blow at his 
 neck, and repeated it so vigorously that with three blows 
 fell the upper portion of the said Cochegrue, but not until 
 he had heard the clear voice of the shepherd, who cried 
 to him, "Pick up your head, my friend." . Thereupon the 
 generous Chiquon, in whom virtue received its recom- 
 pense, thought it would be wise to return to the house of 
 the good canon, whose heritage was by the grace of God 
 considerably simplified. Thus he gained the Rue St. 
 Pierre-aux-Boeufs with all speed, and soon slept like a 
 new-born baby, no longer knowing the meaning of the 
 word "cousin-german." Now on the morrow he rose ac- 
 cording to the habit of shepherds, with the sun, and 
 came into his uncle's room to inquire if he spat white, if 
 he coughed, if he had slept well ; but the old servant told 
 him that the canon, hearing the bells of St. Maurice, the 
 first patron of Notre Dame, ring for matins, he had gone 
 out of reverence to the cathedral, where all the Chapter 
 were to breakfast with the Bishop of Paris ; upon which 
 Chiauon reolied. "Is his reverence the canon out of his 
 
112 THE devil's heir. 
 
 senses thus to disport himself, to catch a cold, to get rheu- 
 matism ? does he wish to die ? I'll light a big fire to warm 
 him when he returns"; and the good shepherd ran into 
 the room where the canon generally sat, and to his great 
 astonishment beheld him seated in his chair. 
 
 "Ah ! ah ! What did she mean, that fool of a Buyrette? 
 I knew you were too well advised to be shivering at this 
 hour in your stall." 
 
 The canon said not a word. The shepherd, who was 
 like all thinkers, a man of hidden sense, was quite aware 
 that sometimes old men have strange crotchets, converse 
 with the essence of occult things, and mumble to them- 
 selves discourses concerning matters not under consid- 
 eration : so that, from reverence and great respect for the 
 secret meditations of the canon, he went and sat down at 
 a distance, and waited the termination of these dreams; 
 noticing silently the length of the good man's nails, which 
 looked like cobblers' awls, and looking attentively at the 
 feet of his uncle, he was astonished to see the flesh of his 
 legs so crimson, that it reddened his breeches and seemed 
 all on fire through his hose. 
 
 He is dead, thought Chiquon. At this moment the 
 door of the room opened, and he still saw the canon, who, 
 his nose frozen, came back from church. 
 
 "Ho ! ho I" said Chiquon, "my dear uncle, are you out 
 of your senses ? Kindly take notice that you ought not 
 to be at the door, because you are already seated in your 
 
THE devil's heir. II3 
 
 chair in the chimney corner, and that it is impossible for 
 there to be two canons like you in the world." 
 
 "Ah! Chiquon, there was a time when I could have 
 wished to be in two places at once, but such is not the fate 
 of man, he would be too happy. Are you getting dim- 
 sighted? I am alone here." 
 
 Then Chiquon turned his head towards the chair, and 
 found it empty; and much astonished, as you will easily 
 believe, he approached it, and found on the seat a little 
 pat of cinders, from which ascended a strong odour of 
 sulphur. 
 
 "Ah!" said he merrily, "I perceive that the devil has 
 behaved well towards me — I will pray God for him." 
 
 And thereupon he related naively to the canon how the 
 devil had amused himself by playing at providence, and 
 had loyally aided him to get rid of his wicked cousins, the 
 which the canon admired much, and thought very good, 
 seeing that he had plenty of good sense left, and often 
 had observed things which were to the devil's advantage. 
 So the good old priest remarked that as much good was 
 always met with in evil as evil in good, and that there- 
 fore one should not trouble too much after the other 
 world, the which was a grave heresy, which many coun- 
 cils have put right. 
 
 And this was how the Chiquons became rich, and were 
 able in these times, by the fortunes of their ancestors, to 
 help to build the bridge of St. Michael, where the devil 
 
114 THE DEVIL'S HEIR. 
 
 cuts a very good figure under the angel, in memory of 
 this adventure now consigned to these veracious histories. 
 
THE MERRY JESTS OF 
 KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH. 
 
 KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH was a merry fel- 
 low, loving a good joke, and— the interests of his 
 position as king, and those of the church on one side — 
 he lived jovially, giving chase to soiled doves as often as 
 to hares, and other royal game. Therefore the sorry 
 scribblers who have made him out a hypocrite, show plain- 
 ly that they knew him not, since he was a good friend, 
 good at repartee, and a jollier fellow than any of them. 
 It was he who said when he was in a merry mood, that 
 four things are excellent and opportune in life — to keep 
 warm, to drink cool, to stand up hard, and to swallow 
 soft. Certain persons have accused him of taking up 
 with dirty trollops ; this is a notorious falsehood, since all 
 his mistresses, of whom one was legitimatized, came of 
 good houses and had notable establishments. He did not 
 go in for waste and extravagance, always put his hand 
 upon the solid, and because certain devourers of the peo- 
 ple found no crumbs at his table, they have all maligned 
 him. But the real collectors of facts know that the said 
 king was a capital fellow in private life, and even very 
 agreeable ; and before cutting off the heads of his friends, 
 or punishing them — for he did not spare them — it was 
 necessary that they should have greatly offended him, and 
 
 "5 
 
Il6 THE MERRIE JESTS OF 
 
 his vengeance was always justice ; I have only seen in 
 our friend Verville that this worthy sovereign ever made 
 a mistake ; but once does not make a habit, and even for 
 this his boon companion Tristan was more to blame than 
 he, the king. This is the circumstance related by the said 
 Verville, and I suspect he was cracking a joke. I repro- 
 duce it because certain people are not familiar with the 
 exquisite work of my perfect compatriot. I abridge it 
 and only give the substance, the details being more ample, 
 of which fact the savans are not ignorant. 
 
 Louis XL had given the Abbey of Turpenay (men- 
 tioned in Imperia) to a gentleman who, enjoying the reve- 
 nue, had called himself Monsieur de Turpenay. It hap- 
 pened that the king being at Plessis-les-Tours, the real 
 abbot, who was a monk, came and presented himsdf be- 
 fore the king, and presented also a petition, remonstrating 
 with him that, canonically and monastically, he was en- 
 titled to the abbey, and that the usurping gentleman 
 wronged him of his right, and therefore he called upon 
 his majesty to have justice done to him. Nodding his 
 peruke, the king promised to render him contented. This 
 monk, importunate as are all hooded animals, came often 
 at the end of the king's meals, who, bored with the holy 
 water of the convent, called friend Tristan and said to 
 him, "Old fellow, there is here a Turpenay who angers 
 me, rid the world of him for me." Tristan, taking a frock 
 for a monk, or a monk for a frock, came to this gentle- 
 man, whom all the Court called Monsieur de Turpenay, 
 and having accosted him managed to lead him on one side, 
 and taking him by the button-hole gave him to under- 
 stand that the king desired he should die. He tried to 
 resist, supplicating and supplicating to escape, but in no 
 
KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH. llj 
 
 way could he obtain a hearing. He was delicately strang- 
 led between the head and the shoulders, so that he ex- 
 pii-ed ; and, three hours afterward, Tristan told the king 
 that he was discharged. It happened five days afterwards, 
 which is the space in which souls come back again, that 
 the monk came into the room where the king was, and 
 when he saw him he was much astonished. Tristan was 
 present ; the king called him, and whispered into his ear — 
 
 "You have not done that which I told you to." 
 
 "Saving your Grace, I have done it. Turpenay is dead." 
 
 "Eh? I meant this monk." 
 
 "I understood the gentleman!" 
 
 "What, it is done then?" 
 
 'Yes, sire." 
 
 "Very well then" — turning towards the monk — "come 
 here, monk." The monk approached. The kitig said to 
 him, "Kneel down." The poor monk began to shiver 
 in his shoes. But the king said to him, "Thank God that 
 he has not willed that you should be killed as I had or- 
 dered. He who took your estates has been instead. God 
 has done you justice. Go and pray for me, and don't stir 
 oiit of your convent." 
 
 This proves the good-heartedness of Louis XI. He 
 might very well have hanged the monk, the cause of the 
 error. As for the said gentleman, he died in the king's 
 service. 
 
 In the early days of his sojourn at Plessis-les-Tours 
 King Louis, not wis-hing to hold his drinking-bouts and 
 give vent to his rakish propensities in his chateau, out 
 of respect to her Majesty (a kingly delicacy which his 
 successors have not possessed) became enamoured of a 
 lady named Nicole Beaupertuys, who was, to tell the 
 
ri8 THE MERRIE JESTS OF 
 
 truth, wife of a citizen of the town. The husband he sent 
 into Ponent, and put the said Nicole in a house near Char- 
 donneret, in that .part where is the Rue Quincangrogne, 
 because it was a lonely place, far from other habitations. 
 The husband and the wife were thus both in his service, 
 and he had by La Beaupertuys, a daughter, who died a 
 nun. This Nicole had a tongue as sharp as a popinjay's, 
 was of stately proportions, furnished with large beautiful 
 cushions of nature, firm to the touch, white as the wings 
 of an angel, and known for the rest to be fertile in peri- 
 patetic ways, which brought it to pass that never with 
 her was the same thing encountered twice in love, so 
 deeply had she studied the sweet solutions of the science, 
 the manners of accommodating the olives of Poissy, the 
 expansions of the nerves, and hidden doctrines of the 
 breviary, the which much delighted the king. She was 
 as gay as a lark, always laughing and singing, and never 
 made any one miserable, which is the charasteristic of 
 women of this open and free nature, who have always an 
 occupation — an equivocal one if you like. The king often 
 went with the hail-fellows his friends to the lady's house, 
 and in order not to be seen always went at night-time and 
 without his suite. But being always distrustful, and fear- 
 ing some snare, he gave to Nicole all the most savage 
 dogs he had in his kennels, beggars tha|: would eat a man 
 without saying "By your leave," the which royal dogs 
 knew only Nicole and the king. When the Sire came 
 Nicole let them loose in the garden, arid the door of the 
 house being sufficiently barred and closely shut, the king 
 put the keys in his pocket and in perfect security gave 
 himself up, with his satellites, to every kind of pleasure, 
 fearing no betrayal, jumping about at will, playing tricks, 
 
KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH. II9 
 
 and getting up good games. Upon these occasions friend 
 Tristan watched the neighborhood, and any one who had 
 take;n a walk on the Mall of Chardonneret would have 
 been rather quickly placed in a position in which it would 
 have been easy to give the passers-by a benediction with 
 his feet, unless he had the king's pass, since often would 
 Louis send out in search of lasses for his friends, or peo- 
 ple to entertain him with the amusements suggested by 
 Nicole or the guests. People of Tours were there for 
 these little amusements, to whom he gently recommended 
 silence, so that no one knew of these pastimes until after 
 his death. The farce of "Baisez mon cul" was, it is said, 
 invented by the said Sire. I will relate it, although it is 
 not the subject of this tale, because it shows the natural 
 comicality and humour of this merry monarch. There 
 were at Tours three well-known misers: the first was 
 Master Cornelius, who is sufficiently well known ; the sec- 
 ond was called Peccard, and sold the gilt-work, coloured 
 papers, and jewels used in churches ; the third was hight 
 Marchandeau, and was a very wealthy vine-grower. 
 These two men of Tourainie were the founders of good 
 families, notwithstanding their sordidness. One evening 
 that the king was with Beaupertuys, in a good humour, 
 having drunk heartily, joked heartily, and offered early 
 in the evening his prayer in Madame's oratory, he said to 
 Le Daim, his crony, to the Cardinal, La Balue, and to old 
 Dunois, who were still soaking, "Let us have a good 
 laugh ! I think it will be a good joke to see misers before 
 a bag of gold without their being able to touch it. Hi, 
 there !" 
 Hearing which, appeared one of his varlets. 
 "Go," said he, "seek my treasurer, and let him bring 
 
I20 THE MERRIE JESTS OF 
 
 hither six thousand gold crowns — and at once! And you 
 will go and seize the bodies of my friend Cornelius, of 
 the jeweller of the Rue de Cygnes, and of old Marchan- 
 deau, and bring them here, by order of the king." 
 
 Then he began to drink again, and to judiciously 
 wrangle as to which was the better, a woman with a gamy 
 odour or a woman who soaped herself well all over ; a thin 
 one or a stout one ; and as the company comprised the 
 flower of wisdom it was decided that the best was the 
 one a man had all to himself like a plate of warm mussels, 
 at that precise moment when God sent him a good idea 
 to communicate to her. The cardinal asked which was 
 the most precious thing to a lady ; the first or the last kiss ? 
 To which La Beaupertuys replied, "that it was the last, 
 seeing that she knew then what she was losing, while at 
 the first shie did not know what she would gain." During 
 these sayings, and others which have most unfortunately 
 been lost, came the six thousand gold crowns, which were 
 worth all three hundred thousand francs of to-day, so 
 much do we go on decreasing in value every day. The 
 king ordered the crowns to be arranged upon a table, and 
 well lighted up, so that they shone like the eyes of the 
 company which lit up involuntarily, and made them laugh 
 in spite of themselves. They did not wait long for the 
 three misers, whom the varlet led in, pale and panting, 
 except Cornelius, who knew the king's strange freaks. 
 
 "Now then, my friends," said Louis to them, "have a 
 good look at the crowns on the table." 
 
 And the three townsmen nibbled at them with their 
 eyes. You may reckon that the diamond of La Beauper- 
 tuys sparkled less than their little minnow eyes. 
 
 "These are; yours," added the king. 
 
KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH. 121 
 
 Thereupon they ceased to admire the crowns to look 
 at each other ; and the guests knew well that old knaves 
 are more expert in grimaces than any others, because 
 their physiognomies become tolerjfbly curious, like those 
 of cats lapping up milk, or girls titillated with marriage. 
 
 "There," said the king, "all that shall be his who shall 
 say three times to the two others, 'Baisez nion cul,' thrust- 
 ing his hand into the gold ; but if he be not as serious as 
 a fly who has violated his lady-love, if he smile while re- 
 peating the jest, he will pay ten crowns to Madame. 
 Nevertheless he can essay three times. 
 
 "That will be soon earned," said Cornelius, who, being 
 a Dutchman, had his lips as often compressed and serious 
 as Madame's mouth was often open and laughing. Then 
 he bravely put his hand upon the crowns to see if they 
 were ^ood, and clutched them gravely, but as he looked 
 at the others to say civilly to them, "Baisez mon cul," the 
 two misers, distrustful of his Dutch gravity, replied, "Cer- 
 tainly, sir," as if he had sneezed. The which caused all 
 the company to laugh, and even Cornelius himself. When 
 the vine-grower went to take the crowns he felt such 
 a commotion in his cheeks that his old scummer face let 
 little laughs exude from all its pores like smoke pouring 
 out of a chimney, and he could say nothing. Then it was 
 the turn of the jeweller, who was a little bit of a banter- 
 ing fellow, and whose lips were as tightly squeezed as the 
 neck of a hanged man. He seized a handful of the crowns, 
 looked at the others, even the king, and said, with a jeer- 
 ing air, "Baisez mon cul." 
 
 "Is it dirty?" asked the vine-dresser. 
 
 "Look and see," replied the jeweller, .gravely. 
 
 Thereupon the king began to tremble for his crowns. 
 
122 THE MERRIE JESTS OF 
 
 since the said Peccard began again, without laughing, and 
 for the third time was about to utter the sacramental 
 word, when La Beaupertuys made a sign of consent to 
 his modest request, which caused him to lose his coun- 
 tenance, and his mouth broke up into dimples. 
 
 "How did you do?" asked Dunois, "to keep a grave 
 face before six thousand crowns ?" 
 
 "Oh, my lord, I thought first of one of my t:ases which 
 is tried to-morrow, and, secondly, of my wife who is a 
 sorry plague." 
 
 The desire to gain this good round sum made them try 
 again, and the king amused himself for about an hour 
 at the expression of these faces, the preparations, jokes, 
 grimaces, and other monkeys' paternosters that they per- 
 formed ; but they were baling their boats with a sieve, 
 and for men who preferred closing their fists to opening 
 them it was a bitter sorrow to have to count out, each one, 
 a hundred crowns to Madame. 
 
 When they were gone, Nicole said boldly to the king, 
 "Sire, will you let me try ?" 
 
 "Holy Virgin !" replied Louis ; "no ! I can kiss you for 
 less money." 
 
 That was said like a thrifty man, which indeed he al- 
 ways was. 
 
 One evening the fat Cardinal La Balue carried on gal- 
 lantly with words and actions, a little farther than the 
 canons of the Church permitted him, with this Beauper- 
 tuys, who luckily for herself, was a clever hussy, not to 
 be asked with impunity how many holes there were in 
 her mother's chemise. 
 
 "Look you here, Sir Cardinal!" said she; "the. thing 
 which the king likes is not to receive the holy oils." 
 
KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH. I23 
 
 Then came Olivier le Daim, whom she would not listen 
 to either, and to whose nonsense she replied, that she 
 would ask the king if he wished her to be shaved. 
 
 Now as the said shaver did not supplicate her to keep 
 his proposals secret, she' suspected that these little plots 
 were ruses practised by the king, whose suspicions had 
 perhaps been aroused by her friends. Now,' not being 
 able to revenge herself upon Louis, she at least deterr 
 mined to pay out the said lords, to make fools of them, 
 and amuse the king with the tricks she would play upon 
 them. One evening that they had come to supper, she 
 had a lady of the city with her, who wished to speak with 
 the king. This lady was a lady of position, who wished 
 to ask of the king pardon for her husband, the which, 
 in consequence of this adventure, she obtained. Nicole 
 Beaupertuys having led the king aside for a moment into 
 an antechamber, told him to make their guests drink hard 
 and eat to repletion ; that he was to make merry, and joke 
 with them; but when the cloth was removed, he was to 
 pick quarrels with them about trifles, dispute their words, 
 and be sharp with them ; and that then she would divert 
 him by turning them inside out before him. But above 
 all things, he was to be friendly to the said lady, and it 
 was to appear genuine, as if she enjoyed the perfume of 
 his flavour, because she had gallantly lent herself to this 
 good joke. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," said the king, re-entering the room, 
 "let us fall-to ; we have had a good day's sport." 
 
 And the surgeon, the cardinal, a fat bishop, the captain 
 of the Scotch guard, a parliamentary envoy, and a judge 
 loved of the king, followed the two ladies into the room 
 where one rubs the rust off one's jawbones. And there 
 
124 THE MERRIE JESTS OF 
 
 they lined the mould of their doublets. What is that? 
 It is to pave the stomach, to practise the chemistry of 
 nature, to register the various dishes, to regale your tripes, 
 to dig your grave with your teeth, play with the sword 
 of Cain, to inter sauces, to support a cuckold. But more 
 philosophically it is to make ordure with one's teeth. Now 
 do you understand ? How many words does it require to 
 burst open the lid of your understanding? 
 
 The king did not fail to distil into his guests this splen- 
 did and first-class supper. He stuffed them with green 
 peas, returning to the hotch-potch, praising the plums, 
 commending the fish, saying to one, "Why do you not 
 eat?" to another, "Drink to Madame;" to all of them, 
 "Gentlemen, taste these lobsters ; put this bottle to death ! 
 You do not know the flavour of this forcemeat. And 
 these lampreys — ah ! what do you say to them ? And, by 
 the Lord! the finest barbel ever drawn from the Loire! 
 Just stick your teeth into this pasty. This game is my 
 own hunting; he who takes it not offends me." And 
 again, "Drink, the king's eyes are the other way. Just 
 give me your opinion of these preserves, they are Ma- 
 dame's own. Have some of these grapes, they are my 
 own growing. Have some medlars." And while induc- 
 ing them to swell out their abdominal protuberances, the 
 good monarch laughed with them, and they joked, and 
 disputed, and spat, and blew their noses, and kicked up 
 just as though the king had not been with them. Then 
 so much victuals had been taken on board, so many flagons 
 drained and stews spoilt, that the faces of the guests were 
 the colour of cardinals' gowns, and their doublets ap- 
 peared ready to burst, since they were crammed with 
 meat like Troyes sausages from the top to the bottom of 
 
KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH. I25 
 
 their paunches. Going into the saloon again, they broke 
 into a profuse sweat, began to blow, and to curse their 
 gluttony. The king sat quietly apart ; each of them was 
 the more willing to be silent because all their forces were 
 required for the intestinal digestion of the huge platefuls 
 confined in their stomachs, which began to wabble and 
 rumble violently. One said to himself, "I was stupid to 
 eat of that sauce." Another scolded himself for having 
 indulged in a plate of eels cooked with capers. Another 
 thought to himself, "Oh ! oh ! the forcemeat is serving 
 me out." The cardinal, who was the biggest bellied man 
 of the lot, snorted through his nostrils like a frightened 
 horse. It was he who was first compelled to give vent to 
 a loud sounding belch, and then he soon wished himself 
 in Germany, where this is a form of salutation, for the 
 king hearing this gastric language looked at the cardinal 
 with knitted brows. 
 
 "What does this mean ?" said he, "am I a simple clerk ?" 
 This was heard with terror, because usually the king 
 made much of a good belch well off the stomach. The 
 other guests determined to get rid in another way of the 
 vapours which were dodging about in their pancreatic 
 retorts ; and at first they endeavoured to hold them for 
 a little while in the pleats of their mesenteries. It was 
 then that some of them puffed and swelled like tax-gath- 
 erers. Beaupertuys took the good king aside and said to 
 him— 
 
 "Know now that I have had made by the Church jew- 
 eller, Peccard, two large dolls, exattly resembling this 
 lady and myself. Now when hard pressed by the drugs 
 which I have put in their goblets, they desire to mount 
 the throne to which we are now about to pretend to go, 
 
126 THE MERRIE JESTS OF 
 
 they will always find the place taken ; by this means you 
 will enjoy their writhings." 
 
 Thus having said, La Beaupertuys disappeared with 
 the lady to go and turn the wheel, after the custom of 
 women, and, of which I will tell you the origin in another 
 place. And after an honest lapse of water, Beaupertuys 
 came back alone, leaving it to be believed that she had 
 left the lady at the little laboratory of natural alchemy. 
 Thereupon the king, singling out the cardinal, made him 
 get up, and talked with him seriously of his affairs, hold- 
 ing him by the tassel of his amice. To all that the king 
 said. La Balue replied, "Yes, sir," to be delivered from 
 this favour, and to slip out of the room, since the water 
 was in his cellars, and he was about to lose the key of his 
 back-door. All the guests were in a state lof not knowing 
 how to arrest the progress of the faecal matter to which 
 nature has given, even more than to water, the property 
 of finding a certain level. Their substances modified 
 themselves and glided working downward, like thos6 in- 
 sects who demand to be let out of their cocoons, raging, 
 tormenting, and ungrateful to the higher powers; for 
 nothing is so ignorant, so insolent as those cursed objects, 
 and they are importunate like all things detained to whom 
 one owes liberty. So they slipped at every turn like eels 
 out of a net, and each one had need of great efforts and 
 science not to disgrace himself before the king. Louis 
 took great pleasure in interrogating his guests, and was 
 much amused with the vicissitudes of their physiogno- 
 mies, on which were reflected the dirty grimaces of their 
 writhings. The counsellor of justice said to Olivier, "I 
 would give my office to be behind a hedge for half a 
 dozen sec/ind.s." 
 
KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH. I27 
 
 "Oh, there is no enjoyment to equal a good stool ; and 
 now I am no longer astonished at the sempiternal drop- 
 pings of a fly," replied the surgeon. 
 
 The cardinal believing that the lady had obtained her 
 receipt from the bank of deposit, left the tassels of his 
 girdle in the king's hand, making a start as if he had for- 
 gotten to say his prayers, and made his way towards the 
 door. 
 
 "What is the matter with you, Monsieur le Cardinal ?" 
 said the king. 
 
 "By my halidame, what is the matter with me? It 
 appears that all your affairs are very extensive, sire !" 
 
 The cardinal slipped out, leaving the others astonished 
 at his cunning. He proceeded gloriously towards the 
 lower room, losing a little the strings of his purse;. but 
 when he opened the blessed little door he found the lady 
 at her functions upon the throne, like a pope about to be 
 consecrated. Then restraining his impatience, he de- 
 scended the stairs to go into the garden. However, on 
 the last steps the barking of the dogs put him in great 
 fear of being bitten in one of his precious hemispheres ; 
 and not knowing where to deliver himself of his chemi- 
 cal produce he came back into the room, shivering like a 
 man who has been in the open air! The others, seeing 
 the cardinal return, imagined that he had emptied his nat- 
 ural reservoirs, unburdened his ecclesiastical bowels, and 
 believed him happy. Then the surgeon rose quickly, as if 
 to take note of the tapestries and count the rafters, but 
 gained the door before any one else, and relaxing his 
 rphincter in advance, he hummed a tune on his way to 
 the retreat : arrived there he was compelled, like La Balue, 
 to murmur words of excuse to this student of perpetual 
 
128 THE MERRIE JESTS OF 
 
 motion, shutting the door with as much promptitude as 
 he had opened it; and he came back burdened with an 
 accumulation which seriously impeded his private chan- 
 nels. And in the same way went the guests one after the 
 other, without being able to unburden themselves of their 
 sauces, and soon again found themselves all in the pres- 
 ence of Louis the Eleventh, as much distressed as before, 
 looking at each other slyly, understanding each other bet- 
 ter with their tails than they ever understood with their 
 mouths, for there is never any equivoque in the transac- 
 tions of the parts of nature, and everything therein is ra- 
 tional and of easy comprehension, seeing that it is a sci- 
 ence which we learn at our birth. 
 
 "I believe," said the cardinal to the surgeon, "that lady 
 will go on until to-morrow. What was La Beaupertuys 
 about, to ask such a case of diarrhoea here ?" 
 
 "She's been an hour working at what I would get done 
 in a minute. May the fever seize her!" cried Olivier le 
 Daim. 
 
 All the courtiers seized with colic were walking up and 
 down to make their importunate matters patient, when 
 the said lady reappeared in the room. You can believe 
 they found her beautiful and graceful, and would will- 
 ingly have kissed her, there where they so longed to go ; 
 and never did they salute the day with more favour than 
 this lady, the liberator of their poor unfortunate bodies. 
 La Balue rose; the others, from honour, esteem, and 
 reverence of the church, gave way to the clergy, and, bid- 
 ing their time, they continued to make grimaces, at which 
 the king laughed to himself with Nicole, who aided him 
 to stop the respiration of these loose-bowel led gentlemen. 
 The good Scotch captain, who had more than all the oth- 
 
KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH I29 
 
 ers eaten of a dish in which the cook had put an aperient 
 powder, became the victim of misplaced confidence. He 
 went ashamed into a corner, hoping that before the king, 
 his mishap might escape detection. At this moment the 
 cardinal returned horribly upset, because he had found La 
 Beaupertuys on the episcopal seat. Now, in his torments, 
 not knowing if she were in the room, he came back and 
 gave vent to a diabolical "Oh!" on beholding her near his 
 master. 
 
 "What do you mean?" exclaimed the king, looking at 
 the priest in a way to give him the fever. 
 
 "Sire," said Le Balue, insolently, "the affairs of purga- 
 tory are in my ministry, and I am bound to inform you 
 that there is sorcery going on in this house." 
 
 "Ah ! little priest, you wish to make game of me !" said 
 the king. 
 
 At these words the company were in a terrible state. 
 
 "So, you treat me with disrespect ?" said the king, which 
 made them turn pale. "Ho, there ! Tristan, my friend !" 
 cried Louis XL from the window, which he threw up sud- 
 denly, "come up here !" 
 
 The grand provost of the hotel was not long before he 
 appeared: and as these gentlemen were all nobodies, 
 raised to their present position by the favour of the king, 
 Louis, in a moment of anger, could crush them at will ; 
 so that with the exception of the cardinal, who relied upon 
 his casspck, Tristan found them all rigid and aghast. 
 
 "Conduct these gentlemen to the Pretorium, on the 
 Mall, my friend, they have disgraced themselves through 
 over-eating." 
 
 "Am I not good at jokes ?" said Nicole to him. 
 
T30 THE MERRIE JESTS OF 
 
 "The farce is good, but it is fetid," replied he, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 This royal answer showed the courtiers that this time 
 the king did not intend to play with their heads, for which 
 they thanked heaven. This monarch was partial to these 
 dirty tricks. He was not at all a bad fellow, as the guests 
 remarked while relieving themselves against the side of 
 the Mall with Tristan, who, like a good Frenchman, kept 
 them company, and escorted them to their homes. This 
 is why since that time the citizens of Tours have never 
 failed to defile the Mall of Chardonneret, because the gen- 
 tlemen of the court had been there. 
 
 I will not leave this great king without committing to 
 writing the good joke which he played upon La Gode- 
 grand, who was an old maid, much disgusted that she had 
 not, during the forty years she had lived, been able to find 
 a lid to her saucepan, enraged, in her yellow skin, that she 
 was still as virgin as a mule. This old maid had her apart- 
 ments on the other side of the house which belonged to 
 La Beaupertuys, at the corner of Rue de Hierusalem, in 
 such a position that, standing on the balcony joining the 
 wall, it was easy to see what she was doing, and hear what 
 she was saying in the lower room where she lived; and 
 often the king derived much amusement from the antics 
 of the old girl; who did not know that she was so much 
 yirithin the range of his niajesty's culverin. Now one mar- 
 ket day it happened that the king had caused to be hanged 
 a young citizen of Tours, who had violated a noble lady 
 of a certain age, believing that she was a young maiden. 
 There would have been no harm in this, and it would have 
 been a thing greatly to the credit of the said lady to have 
 been taken for a virgin ; but on finding out his mistake, 
 
KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH. I3I 
 
 he had abominably insulted her, and suspecting her of 
 trickery, had taken it into his head to rob her of a splendid 
 silver goblet, in payment of the present he had just made 
 her. This young man had long hair, and was so handsome 
 that the whole town wished to see him hanged, both from 
 regret and out of curiosity. You may be sure that at this 
 hanging there were more caps than hats. Indeed, the said 
 young man swung very well ; and, after the fashion and 
 custom of persons hanged, he died gallantly with his lance 
 couched, which fact made a great noige in the town. Many 
 ladies said on this subject that it was a murder not to have 
 preserved so fine a fellow from the scaffold. 
 
 "Suppose we were to put this handsome corpse in the 
 bed of r.a Godegrand," said La Beaupertuys to the king. 
 
 "We should terrify her," replied Louis. 
 
 "Not at all, sire. Be sure that she will welcome even 
 a dead man, so madly does she long for a living one. Yes- 
 terday I saw her making love to a young man's cap placed 
 on the top of a chair, and you would have laughed heartily 
 at her words and gestures. 
 
 Now while this forty-year-old virgin was at vespers, the 
 king sent to have the young townstnan, who had just fin- 
 ished the last scene of his tragic farce, taken down, and 
 having dressed him in a white shirt, two officers got over 
 the walls of La Godegrand's garden, and put the corpse 
 into her bed, on the side nearest the street. Having done 
 this they went away, and the king remained in the room 
 with the balcony to it, playing with Beaupertuys, and 
 awaiting the hour at which the old maid should go to bed. 
 La Godegrand soon came back with a hop, skip, and jump, 
 as the Tourainians say, from the church of St. Martin, 
 
122 THE MERRIE JESTS OF 
 
 from which she was not far, since the Rue d'Hierusalem 
 touches the walls of the cloister. She entered her house, 
 laid down her prayer-book, chaplet, and rosary, and other 
 ammunition which these old girls carry, then poked the 
 fire, blew it, warmed herself at it, settled herself in her 
 chair, and played with her cat for want of something bet- 
 ter ; then she went to the larder, supping and sighing, and 
 sighing and supping, eating alone, with her eyes cast 
 down upon the carpet ; and after having drunk, behaved 
 in a manner forbidden in court society. 
 
 "Ah 1 if the corpse said to her, 'God bless you 1' " 
 At this joke of La Beaupertuys, both laughed heartily 
 in the sleeves. And with great attention this very Chris- 
 tian king watched the undressing of the old maid, who ad- 
 mired herself while removing her things — pulling out a 
 hair, or scratching a pimple which had maliciously come 
 Upon her nose ; picking her teeth, and doing a 'thousand 
 little things which, alas! all ladies, virgins or not, are 
 obliged to do, much to their annoyance ; but without these 
 little faults of nature, they would be too proud, and one 
 would not be able to enjoy their society. Having achieved 
 her aquatic and musical discourse, the old maid got* in be- 
 tween the sheets, and yelled forth a fine, great, ample, and 
 curious cry, when she saw, when she smelt the fresh 
 vigour of this hanged man and the sweet perfume of his 
 manly youth : then sprang away from him out of coquetry. 
 But as she did not know he was really dead, she came back 
 again believing he was mocking her, and counterfeiting 
 death. 
 
 "Go away, you bad young man !" said she. 
 But you can imagine that she preferred this request in 
 a most humble and gracious tone of voice. Then seeing' 
 
KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH. 133 
 
 that he did not move, she examined him more closely, and 
 was much astonished at this so fine human nature when 
 she recognized the young fellow, upon whom the fancy 
 took her to perform some purely scientific experiments in 
 the interests of hanged persons. 
 
 "What is she doing?" said La Beaupertuys to the king. 
 
 "She is trying to reanimate him. It is a work of Chris- 
 tian humanity." 
 
 And the old girl rubbed and warmed this fine young 
 man, supplicating holy Mary the Egyptian to aid her to 
 renew the life of this husband who had for her fallen so 
 amorously from heaven, when, suddenly looking at the 
 dead body she was so charitably rubbing, she thought she 
 saw a slight movement in the eyes ; then she put her hand 
 upon the man's heart, and felt it beat feebly. At length, 
 from the, warmth of the bed and of affection, and by the 
 temperature of old maids, which is by far more burning 
 than the warm blasts of African deserts, she had the de- 
 light of" bringing to life that fine handsome young fellow 
 who by a lucky chance had been very badly hanged. 
 
 "See how my executioners serve me !" said Louis, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "Ah!" said La Beaupertuys, "you will not have him 
 hanged again? he is too handsome." 
 
 "The decree does not say that he shall be hanged twice, 
 but he shall marry the old woman." 
 
 Indeed, the good lady went in a great hurry to seek a 
 master leech, a good bleeder, who lived in the Abbey, and 
 brought him back directly. He immediately took his lan- 
 cet, and bled the young man. And as no blood came out: 
 
134 THE MERRIE JESTS OF 
 
 "Ah !" said he, "it is too late, the trans-shipment of blood 
 in the lungs has taken place." 
 
 But suddenly this good young blood oozed out a little, 
 and then came in abundance, and the hempen apoplexy, 
 which had only just begun, was arrested in its course. 
 The young man moved and came more to life ; then he 
 fell, from natural causes, into a state of great weakness 
 and profound sadness, prostration of flesh and general 
 flabbiness. Now the old maid, who was all eyes, and 
 followed the great and notable changes which were tak- 
 ing place in the person of this badly hanged man, pulled 
 the surgeon by the sleeve, and pointing out to him, by a 
 curious glance of the eye, the piteous case, said to him — 
 "Will he for the future be always like that?" 
 "Often," replied the veracious surgeon. 
 "Oh ! he was much nicer hanged !" 
 At this speech the king burst out laughing. Seeing 
 him at the window, the woman and the surgeon were 
 much frightened, for this laugh seemed to them a second 
 sentence of death for their poor victim. But the king kept 
 his word, and married them. And in order to do justice 
 he gave the husband the name of the Sieur de Mortsauf 
 in the place of the one he had lost upon the scaifold. As 
 La Godegrand had a very big basket full of crowns, they 
 founded a good family in Touraine, which still exists 
 and is much respected, since M. de Mortsauf faithfully 
 served Louis the Eleventh on different occasions. Only 
 he never liked to come across gibbets or old women, and 
 never again made amorous assignations in the night. 
 
 This teaches us to thoroughly verify and recognize 
 women, and not to deceive ourselves in the local differ- 
 
KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH. 135 
 
 ence which exists between the old and the young, for if 
 we are not hanged for our errors of love, there are always 
 great risks to run. 
 
THE HIGH CONSTABLE'S WIFE. 
 
 THE high constable of Armagnac espoused from the 
 desire of a great fortune, the Countess Bonne, who 
 was already considerably enamoured of little Savoisy, 
 son of the chamberlain to his majesty King Charles the 
 Sixth. 
 
 The constable was a rough warrior, miserable in ap- 
 pearance, tough in skin, thickly bearded, always uttering 
 angry words, always busy hanging people, always in the 
 sweat of battles, or thinking of other stratagems than 
 those of love. Thus this good soldier, caring little to 
 favour the marriage stew, used his charming wife after 
 the fashion of a man with more lofty ideas ; of the which 
 the ladies have a great horror, since they like not the 
 joists of the bed to be the sole judges of their fondling 
 and vigorous conduct. 
 
 Now the lovely countess, as soon as she was grafted 
 on the constable, only nibbled more eagerly at the love 
 with which her heart was laden for the aforesaid Savoisy, 
 which that gentleman clearly perceived. 
 
 Wishing both to study the same music, they would soon 
 harmonize their fancies, and decipher the hieroglyphic; 
 and this was a thing clearly demonstrated to the Queen 
 Isabella, that Savoisy's horses were oftener stabled at the 
 house of her cousin of Armagnac than in the Hotel St 
 
 136 
 
THE HIGH CONSTABLES WIFE. 1 37 
 
 Pol, where the chamberlain lived, since the destruction of 
 his residence, ordered by the university, as every one 
 knows. 
 
 This discreet and wise princess, fearing in advance 
 some unfortunate adventure for Bonne — the more so as 
 the constable was as ready to brandish his broadsword as 
 a priest to bestow benedictions — the said queen, as sharp 
 as a dirk, said one day, while coming out from vespers, 
 to her cousin, who was taking the holy water with Sa- 
 voisy — 
 
 '■'My dear, don't you see some blood in that water?" 
 
 "Bah!" said Savoisy to the queen. "Love likes blood, 
 Madame." 
 
 This the queen considered a good reply, and put it into 
 writing, and, later on, into action, when her lord the king 
 wounded one of her lovers, whose business you will see 
 settled in this narrative. 
 
 You know by constant experience, that in the early 
 time of love each of two lovers is always in great fear 
 of exposing the mystery of the heart, and as much from 
 the flower of prudence as from the amusement yielded 
 by the sweet tricks of gallantry they play at who can best 
 conceal their thoughts. But one day of forgetfulness 
 suffices to inter the whole virtuous past. The poor 
 woman is taken in her joy as in a lasso ; her sweetheart 
 proclaims his presence, or sometimes his departure, by 
 some article of clothing — a scarf, a spur, left by some 
 fatal chance, and there comes a stroke of the dagger that 
 severs the web so gallantly woven by their golden delights. 
 But when one is full of days, he should not make a wry 
 face at death, and the sword of a husband is a pleasant 
 death for a gallant, if there be pleasant deaths. So may 
 
138 THE HIGH constable's WIFE. 
 
 be will finish the merry amours of the constable's wife. 
 
 One morning Monsieur d'Armagnac having lots of 
 leisure time in consequence of the flight of the Duke of 
 Burgundy, who was quitting Lagny, thought he would 
 go and wish his lady good day, and attempted to wake 
 her up in a pleasant enough fashion, so that she should 
 not be angry ; but she, sunk in the heavy slumbers of the 
 morning, replied to the action — 
 
 "Leave me alone, Charles !" 
 
 "Oh, oh," said the constable, hearing the name of a 
 saint who was not one of his patrons, "I have a Charles 
 on my head !" 
 
 Then, without touching his wife, he jumped out of the 
 bed, and ran upstairs with his face flaming and his sword 
 drawn, to the place where slept the countess's maid-ser- 
 vant, convinced that the said servant had a finger in the 
 pie. 
 
 "Ah, ah, wench of hell!" cried he, to commence the 
 discharge of his passion, "say thy prayers, for I intend 
 to kill thfee instantly, because of the secret practices of 
 Charles who comes here." 
 
 "Ah, Monseigneur," replied the woman, "who told you 
 that?" 
 
 "Stand steady, that I may rip thee at one blow, if you 
 do not confess to me every assignation given, and in what 
 manner they have been arranged. If thy tongue gets en- 
 tangled, if thou faltercst, I will pierce thee with my dag- 
 ger!" 
 
 "Pierce me through !" replied the girl ; "you will learn 
 nothing." 
 
 The constable, having taken this excellent reply amiss, 
 ran her through on the spot, so mad was he with rage; 
 
THE HIGH constable's WIFE. 1 39 
 
 and came back into his wife's chamber and said to his 
 groom, whom, awakened by the shrieks of the girl, he met 
 upon the stairs, "Go upstairs ; I've corrected Billette rather 
 severely." 
 
 Before he reappeared in the presence of Bonne he went 
 to fetch his son, who was sleeping like a child, and led him 
 roughly into her room. The mother opened her eyes 
 pretty widely, you may imagine — at the cries of her little 
 one ; and was greatly terrified at seeing him in the hands 
 of her husband, who had his right hand all bloody, and 
 cast a fierce glance on the mother and son. 
 
 "What is the matter ?" said she. 
 
 "Madame," asked the man of quick execution, "this, 
 child, is he the fruit of my loins, or tho^e of Savoisy, your 
 lover?" 
 
 At this question Bonne turned pale, and sprang upon 
 her son like a frightened frog leaping into the water. 
 
 "Ah, he is really ours," said she. 
 
 "If you do not wish to see his head roll at your feet 
 confess yourself to me, and no prevarication. You have 
 given me a lieutenant," 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 "It is not Savoisy, and I will never say the name of a 
 man that I don't know." 
 
 Thereupon the constable rose, took his wife by the arm 
 to cut her speech with a blow of the sword, but she, cast- 
 ing upon him an imperial glance, cried — 
 
 "Kill me if you will, but touch me not." 
 
 "You shall live," replied the husband, "because I re- 
 serve for you a chastisement more ample than death." 
 
 And doubting the inventions, snares, arguments, and 
 
140 THE HIGH CONSTABLES WIFE. 
 
 artifices familiar to women in these desperate situations, 
 of which they study night and day the variations, by 
 themselves, or between themselves, he departed with this 
 rude and bitter speech. He went instantly to interrogate 
 his servants, presenting to them a face divinely terrible; 
 so all of them replied to him as they would to God the 
 Father on the Judgment Day, when each of us will be 
 called to his account. 
 
 None of them knew the serious mischief which was at 
 the bottom of these summary interrogations and crafty 
 interlocutions ; but from all that they said, the constable 
 came to the conclusion that no male in his house was in 
 the business, except one of his dogs, whom he found 
 dumb, and to whom he had given the post of watching 
 the gardens ; so taking him in his hands, he strangled him 
 with rage. This fact incited him by induction to suppose 
 that the other constable came into "hife house by the gar- 
 den, of which the only entrance was a postern opening on 
 to the water side. 
 
 It is necessary here to explain to those who are ignor- 
 ant of it, the locality of the Hotel d'Armagnac, which had 
 a notable situation near to the royal houses of St. Pol. 
 On this site has since been built the Hotel of Longueville. 
 Then, as at the present time, the residence of d'Armagnac 
 had a porch of fine stone in the Rue St. Antoine, was 
 fortified at all points, and the high walls by the river side, 
 in face of the He du Vaches, in the part where now stands 
 the port of La Greve, were furnished with little towers. 
 The design of this has for a long time been shown at the 
 house of Cardinal Duprat, the king's chancellor. The 
 constable ransacked his 'brains, and at the bottom, from 
 his finest stratagems, drew the best, and fitted it so well 
 
THE HIGH CONSTABLES WIFE. I4I' 
 
 to the present case, that the gallant would be certain to be 
 taken like a hare in the trap. " 'Sdeath," said he, "my- 
 planter of horns is taken, and I have the time now to think" 
 how I shall finish him off." 
 
 Now this is the order of battle which this grand hairy 
 captain who waged such glorious war against Duke Jean- 
 sans-Peur commanded for the assault of his secret enemy. 
 He took a goodly number of his most loyal and adroit 
 archers, and placed them in the quay tower, ordering 
 them under the heaviest penalties to draw without dis- 
 tinction of persons, except his wife, on those of his house- 
 hold who should attempt to leave the gardens, and to ad- 
 mit therein, either by night or by day, the favoured gentle- 
 man. The same was done on the porch side, in the Rue 
 St. Antoine. 
 
 The retainers, even the chaplain, were ordered not to 
 leave the house under pain of death. Then the guard of 
 the two sides of the hotel having been committed to the 
 soldiers of a company of ordnance, who were ordered to 
 keep a sharp look out in the side streets, it was certain 
 that the unknown lover, to whom the constable was in- 
 debted for his pair of horns,, would be taken warm, when, 
 knowing nothing, he should come at the accustomed hour 
 of love to insolently plant his standard in the heart of the 
 legitimate appurtenances of the said lord count. 
 
 It was a trap into which the most expert man would 
 fall unless he were seriously protected by the fates, as 
 was the good St. Peter by the Saviour when he prevented 
 him going to the bottom of the sea the day when they 
 had a fancy to try if the sea were as solid as terra firma. 
 
 The constable had business with the inhabitants of 
 Poissy, and was obliged to be in the saddle after dinner, 
 
142 THE HIGH CONSTABLE S. WIFE. 
 
 SO that, knowing his intention, the poor Countess Bonne 
 .determined at night to invite her young gallant to that 
 charming duel in which she was always the stronger. 
 
 While the constable was making round his hotel a 
 girdle of spies and of death, and hiding his people near 
 the postern to seize the gallant as he came out, not know- 
 ing where he would spring from, his wife was not amus- 
 ing herself by threading peas or seeing black cows in the 
 embers. First, the maid-servant who had been stuck, un- 
 stupk herself and dragged herself to her mistress ; she 
 told her that her outraged lord knew nothing, and that 
 before giving up the ghost she would comfort her dear 
 mistress by assuring her that she could have perfect con- 
 fidence in her sister, who was laundress in the hotel, and 
 was willing to let herself be chopped up as small as sau- 
 sage-meat to please Madame. This she was the most 
 adroit and roguish woman in the neighborhood, and re- 
 nowned from the council chamber to the Trahoir cross 
 among the common people, as fertile in invention for the 
 desperate cases of love. 
 
 Then, while weeping for the decease of her good cham- 
 ber-woman, the countess sent for the laundress, made her 
 leave her tubs and join her in rummaging the bag of good 
 tricks, wishing to save Savoisy, even at the price of her 
 future salvation. 
 
 First of all the two women determined to let him know 
 their lord and master's suspicions, and beg him to be 
 careful. 
 
 Now behold the good washerwoman who, carrying her 
 tub like a mule, attempts to leave the hotel. But at the 
 porch she found a man-at-arms who turned a deaf ear 
 to all the blandishments of the wash-tub. Then she re- 
 
THE HIGH constable's WIFE. I43 
 
 solved, from her great devotion, to take the soldier on his 
 weak side, and she tickled him so with her fondling that 
 he romped very well with her, although he was armour- 
 plated ready for battle ; but when the game was over he 
 still refused to let her go into the street, and although 
 she tried to get herself a passport sealed by some of the 
 handsomest, believing them more gallant: neither the 
 archers, men-at-arms, nor others, dared open for her the 
 smallest entrance of the house. "You are wicked and un- 
 grateful wretches," said she, "not to render me a like 
 service." 
 
 Luckily at this employment she learned everything, 
 and came back in great haste to her mistress, to whom 
 she recounted the strangle machinations of the count. The 
 two women held a fresh council and had not considered 
 the time it takes to sing Alleluia, twice, these warlike ap- 
 pearances, watches, defences, and equivocal, specious, 
 and diabolical orders and dispositions before they recog- 
 nized by the sixth sense with which all females are fur- 
 nished, the special danger which threatened the poor 
 lover. 
 
 Madame having learnt that she alone had leave to quit 
 the house, ventured quickly to profit by her right, but she 
 did not go the length of a bow-shot, since the constable 
 had ordered four of his pages to be always on-duty ready 
 to accompany the countess, and two of the ensigns of his 
 company not to leave her. Then the poor lady returned 
 to her charnber, weeping as much as all the Magdalens 
 one sees in the church pictures, could weep together. 
 
 "Alas !" said she, "my lover must then be killed, and I 
 shall never see him again ! ... he whose words were so 
 sweet, whose manners were so graceful, that lovely head 
 
144 THE HIGH CONSTABLES WIFE. 
 
 that has so often rested on my knees, will now be bruised. 
 . . . What ! can I not throw to my husband an empty and 
 valueless head in place of the one full of charms and 
 worth ... a rank head for a sweet-smelling one ; a hated 
 head for a head of love." 
 
 "Ah, Madame!" cried the washerwoman, "suppose we 
 dress up in the garments of a nobleman, the steward's 
 son who is mad for me, and wearies me much, and having 
 thus accoutred him, we push him out through the post- 
 ern. 
 
 Thereupon the two women looked at each other with 
 assassinating eyes. 
 
 "This marplot," said she, "once slain, all those soldiers 
 will fly away like geese." 
 
 "Yes, but will not the count recognize the wretch?" 
 
 And the countess, striking her breast, exclaimed, shak- 
 ing her head, "No, no, my dear, here it is noble blood 
 that must be spilt without stint." 
 
 Then she thought a little, and jumping with joy, sud- 
 denly kissed the laundress, saying, "Because I have saved 
 my lover's life by your counsel, I will pay you for his life 
 until death." 
 
 Thereupon the countess dried her tears, put on the face 
 of a bride, took her little bag and her prayer-book, and 
 went towards the church of St. Pol, whose bells she heard 
 ringing, seeing that the last Mass was about to be said. 
 In this sweet devotion the countess never failed, being a 
 showy woman, like all the ladies of the court. Now this 
 was called the full-dress Mass, because none but fops, 
 fashionables, young gentlemen and ladies puflfed out and 
 highly scented, were to be met there. In fact no dresses 
 
THE HIGH CONSTABLES WIFE. I4S 
 
 were seen there without amorial bearings, and no spurs 
 that were not gilt. 
 
 So the Countess Bonne departed, leaving at the hotel 
 the laundress much astonished, and charged to keep her 
 eyes about her, and came with great pomp to the church, 
 accompanied by her pages, the two ensigns and men-at- 
 arms. It is here necessary to say that among the band of 
 gallants who frisked round the ladies in church, the 
 countess had more than one whose joy she was, and who 
 had given his heart to her, after the fashion of youths 
 who put down enough and to spare upon their tablets, 
 only in order to make a conquest of at least one out of a 
 gteat number. 
 
 Among these birds of fine prey who with open beaks 
 looked oftener between the benches and the paternosters 
 than towards the altar an,d the priests, there was one upon 
 whom the countess sometimes bestowed the charity of a 
 glance, because he was less trifling and more deeply smit- 
 ten than all the others. 
 
 This one remained bashful, always stuck against the 
 same pillar, never moving from it, but readily ravished 
 with the sight alone of this lady whom he had chosen as 
 his. His pale face .was softly melancholy. His physiog- 
 nomy gave proof of a fine heart, one of those which 
 nourish ardent passions and plunge delightedly into the 
 despairs of a love without hope. Of these people there 
 are few, because ordinarily one likes more a certain thing 
 than the unknown felicities lying and flourishing at the 
 bottommost depths of the soul. 
 
 This said gentleman, although his garments were well 
 made, and clean and neat, having even a certain amount 
 
146 THE HIGH constable's WIFE. 
 
 of taste shown in the arrangement, seemed to the con- 
 stable's wife to be a poor knight seeking fortune, and 
 come from afar, with his nobility for his portion. Now 
 partly from a suspicion of his secret poverty, partly be- 
 cause she was well beloved by him and a little because he 
 had a good countenance, fine black hair, and a good figure, 
 and remained humble and submissive in all, the constable's 
 wife desired for him the favour of women and of fortune, 
 not to let his gallantry stand idle, and from a good house- 
 wifely idea, she fired his imagination according to her 
 fantasies, by certain small favours and little looks which 
 serpented towards him like biting adders, trifling with the 
 happiness of this young life, like a princess accustomed 
 to play with objects more precious than a simple knight. 
 In fact, her husband risked the whole kingdom as you 
 would a penny at piquet. Finally it was only three days 
 since, at the conclusion of vespers, that the constable's 
 wife, pointing out to the queen this follower of love, said 
 laughing — 
 
 "There's a man of quality." 
 
 This sentence remained in the fashionable language. 
 Later it became a custom so to designate the people of the 
 court. It was to the wife of the constable d'Armagnac, 
 and to no other source, that the French language is in- 
 debted for this charming expression. 
 
 By a lucky chance the countess had surmised correctly 
 concerning this gentleman. He was a bannerless knight, 
 named Julien de Boys-Bourredon, who not having in- 
 herited on his estate enough to make a toothpick, and 
 knowing no other wealth than the rich nature with which 
 his dead mother had opportunely furnished him, con- 
 
THE HIGH constable's WIFE. I47 
 
 ceived the idea of deriving therefrom both rent and profit 
 at Court, knowing how fond ladies are of these good 
 revenues, and value them high and dear, when they can 
 stand being looked at between two suns. There are many 
 like him who have thus taken the narrow road of women 
 to make their way; but he, far from arranging his love 
 in measured quantities, spent funds and all, as soon as, 
 come to the full-dress Mass, he saw the triumphant beauty 
 of the Countess Bonne. Then he fell really in love, which 
 was a grand thing for his crowns, because he lost both 
 thirst and appetite. This love is of the worst kind, be- 
 cause it incites you to the love of diet, during the diet of 
 love; a double malady, of which one is sufficient to ex- 
 tinguish a man. 
 
 Such was the young gentleman of whom the good lady 
 had thought, and towards whom she came quickly to in- 
 vite him to his death. 
 
 On entering, she saw the poor chevalier, who faithful 
 to his pleasure, awaited her, his back against a pillar, as 
 a sick man longs for the sun, the spring-time, and the 
 dawn. Then she turned away her eyes, and wished to 
 go to the queen and request her assistance in this desper- 
 ate case, for she took pity on her lover, but one of the 
 captains said to her, with great appearance of respect, 
 "Madame, we have orders not to allow you to speak with 
 man or woman, even though it should be the queen or 
 your confessor. And remember that the lives of all of us 
 are at stake." 
 
 "Is it not your business to die ?" said she. 
 
 "And also to obey." replied the soldier. 
 
 Then the countess knelt down in her accustomed place, 
 
148 THE HIGH constable's WIFE. 
 
 and again regarding her faithful slave, found his face 
 thinner and more deeply lined than ever it had been. 
 
 "Bah!" said she, "I shall have less remorse for his 
 death ; he is half dead as it is." 
 
 With this paraphrase of her idea, she cast upon the 
 said gentleman one of those warm little ogles that are 
 only allowable in princesses and harlots, and the false love 
 which her lovely eyes bore witness to, gave a pleasant 
 pang to the gallant of the pillar. Who does not love the 
 warm attack of life when it flows thus round the heart 
 and engulfs everything? 
 
 Madame recognized with a pleasure, always fresh in 
 the minds of women, the omnipotence of her magnificent 
 regard by the answer which, without saying a word, the 
 chevalier made to it. And in fact, the blushes which em- 
 purpled his cheeks spoke better than the best speeches of 
 the Greek and Latin orators, and was also well under- 
 stood. At this sweet sight, the countess, to make sure that 
 it was not a freak of nature, took pleasure in experiment- 
 alizing how far the virtue of her eyes would go, and after 
 having heated her slave more than thircy times, she was 
 confirmed in her belief that he would bravely die for her. 
 This idea so touched her, that from three repetitions be- 
 tween her orisons she was tickled with the desire to put 
 into a lump all the joys of man, and to dissolve them for 
 him in one single glance of love, in order that she should 
 not one day be reproached with having not only dissipated 
 the life, but also the happiness of this gentleman. When 
 the officiating priest turned round to sing the Off you go 
 to this fine gilded flock, the constable's wife went out by 
 the side of the pillar where her courtier was, passed in 
 
' THE HIGH constable's WIFE. 140 
 
 front of him and endeavoured to insinuate into his un- 
 derstanding by a speaking glance that he was to follow 
 her, and to make positive the intelligence and significant 
 interpretation of this gentle appeal, the artful jade turned 
 round again a little after passing him to again request his 
 company. She saw that he had moved a little from his 
 place, and dared not advance, so modest was he, but upon 
 this last sign, the gentleman, sure of not being over 
 credulous, mixed with the crowd with little and noiseless 
 steps, like an innocent who is afraid of venturing in one 
 of those good places people call bad ones. And whether 
 he walked behind or in front, to the right or to the left, 
 my lady bestowed upon him a glistening glance to allure 
 him the more and the better to draw him to her, like a 
 fisher who gently jerks the line in order to hook the gud- 
 geon. To be brief : the countess practised so well the pro- 
 fession of the daughters of pleasure when they work to 
 bring grist into their mills, that one would have said noth- 
 ing resembled a harlot so much as a woman of high birth. 
 And indeed, on arriving at the porch of her hotel the 
 countess hesitated to enter therein, and again turned her 
 face towards the poor chevalier to invite him to accom- 
 pany her, discharging at him so diabolical a glance, that 
 he ran to the queen of his heart, believing himself to be 
 called by her. Thereupon she offered him her hand, and 
 both boiling and trembling from contrary causes found 
 themselves inside the house. At this wretched hour, 
 Madame d'Armagnac was ashamed of having done all 
 these harlotries to the profit of death, and of betraying 
 Savoisy the better to save him ; but this slight remorse 
 was lame as the greater, and came tardily. Seeing every- 
 
150 THE HIGH constable's WIFE. 
 
 thing ready, the countess leant heavily upon her vassal's 
 arm, and said to him — 
 
 "Come quickly to my room ; it is necessary that I should 
 speak with you." 
 
 And he, now knowing that his life was in peril, found 
 no voice wherewith to reply, so much did the hope of ap- 
 proaching happiness choke him. 
 
 When the laundress saw this handsome gentleman so 
 quickly hooked, "Ah !" said she, "these ladips of the court 
 are the best at such work." Then she honoured this 
 courtier with a profound salutation, in which was de- 
 picted the ironical respect due to those who have the great 
 courage to die for so little. 
 
 "Picard," said the constable's lady, drawing the laun- 
 dress to her by the skirt, "I have not the courage to con- 
 fess to him the reward with which I am about to pay his 
 silent love and his charming belief in the loyalty of 
 women." 
 
 "Bah! Madame: why tell him? Send him away well 
 contented by the postern. So many men die in war for 
 nothing, cannot this one die for something? I'll produce 
 another like him if that will console you." 
 
 "Come along," cried the countess, "I will confess all to 
 him. That shall be the punishment for my sin." 
 
 Thinking that his lady was arranging with her servant 
 certain trifling provisions and secret things in order not to 
 be disturbed in the interview she had promised him, the 
 unknown lover kept at a discreet distance, looking at the 
 flies . Nevertheless, he thought that the countess was very 
 bold, but also, as even a hunchback would have done, he 
 found a thousand reasons to justify her, and thought him- 
 
THE HIGH constable's WIFE. I5I 
 
 self quite worthy to inspire such recklessness. He was 
 lost in these good thoughts when the constable's wife 
 opened the door of her chamber, and invited the chevalier 
 to follow her in. There his noble lady cast aside all the 
 apparel of her lofty fortune, and falling at the feet of this 
 gentleman, became a simple woman. 
 
 '■'Alas, sweet sir !" said she, "I have acted vilely towards 
 you. Listen. On your departure from this house, you 
 will meet yonr d^h. The love which I feel for another 
 has bewildered me, and without being able to hold his 
 place here, you will have to take it before his murderers. 
 This is the joy to which! have bidden you." 
 
 "Ah !" replied Boys-Bourredon, interring in the depths 
 of his heart a dark despair, "I am grateful to you for hav- 
 ing made use of me as of something which belonged to 
 you. . . . Yes, I love you so much that every day I 
 have dreamed of offering you in imitation of the ladies, a 
 thing that can be given but once. Take, then, my life 1" 
 
 And the poor chevalier, in saying this, gave her one 
 glance to suffice for all the time he would have been able 
 to look at her through the long days. Hearing these brave 
 and loving words, Bonne rose suddenly. 
 
 "Ah ! were it not for Savbisy, how I would love thee !" 
 said she. 
 
 "Alas! my fate is then accomplished," replied Boys- 
 Bourredon. "My horoscope predicted that I should die 
 by the love of a great lady. Ah, God !" said he, clutching 
 his good sword, "I will sell my life dearly, but I shall die 
 content in thinking that my decease assures the happiness 
 of her I love. I shall live better in her memory than in 
 reality." At the sight of the gesture and the beaming face 
 
152 THE HIGH CONSTABLE'S WIFE. 
 
 of this courageous man, the constable's wife was pierced to 
 the heart. But soon she was wounded to the quick be- 
 cause he seemed to wish to leave her without even asking 
 of her the smallest favour. 
 
 "Come, that I may arm you," said she to him, making 
 an attempt to kiss him. 
 
 "Ha! my lady-love," replied he, moistening with a 
 gentle tear the fire of her eyes, "would you render my 
 death impossible by attaching too great a value to my 
 life?" 
 
 "Come," cried she, overcome by this intense love, "I 
 do not know what the end of all this will be, but come — 
 afterwards we will go and perish together at the postern." 
 The same flame leaped in their hearts, the same har- 
 mony had struck for both, they embraced each other with 
 rapture in the delicious access of that mad fever which 
 you know well I hope ; they fell into a profound forget- 
 fulness of the dangers of Savoisy, of themselves, of the 
 constable, of death, of life, of everything. 
 
 Meanwhile the watchmen at the porch had gone to in- 
 form the constable of the arrival of the gallant, and to tell 
 him how the infatuated gentleman had taken no notice of 
 the winks which, during Mass and on the road, the coun- 
 tess had given him in order to prevent his destruction. 
 They met their master arriving in great haste at the post- 
 ern, because on their side the archers of the quay had 
 whistled to him afar off, saying to him — 
 "The Sire de Savoisy has passed in." 
 And indeed Savoisy had come at the appointed hour, 
 and like all the lovers, thinking only of his lady, he had 
 not seen the count's spies and had slipped in at the post- 
 
THE HIGH constable's WIFE. 1 53 
 
 ern. This collision of lovers was the cause of the con- 
 stable's cutting short the words of those who came from 
 the Rue St. Antoine, saying to them with a gesture of 
 authority, that they did not think wise to disregard — 
 
 "I know that the animal is taken." 
 
 Thereupon all rushed with a great noise through the 
 said postern, crying, "Death to him ! death to him !" and 
 men-at-arms, archers, the constable, and the captains, all 
 rushed full tilt upon Charles Savoisy, the king's nephew, 
 whom they attacked just under the countess's window, 
 where by a strange chance, the groans of the poor young 
 man were dolorously exhaled,. mingled with the yells of the 
 soldiers, at the same time as passionate sighs ind cries 
 were given forth by the two lovers, who hastened up in 
 great fear. 
 
 "Ah!" said the countess, turning pale from terror, 
 "Savoisy is dying for me !" 
 
 "But I will live for you," replied Boys-Bourredon, 
 "and shall esteem it a joy to pay the same price for my 
 happiness as he has done." 
 
 "Hide yourself in the clothes chest," cried the countess ; 
 "I hear the constable's footsteps." 
 
 And indeed '^. d'Armagnac appeared very soon with 
 a head in his hand, and putting it all bloody on the man- 
 tel-shelf, "Behold, Madame," said he, "a picture which 
 will enlighten you concerning the duties of a wife towards 
 her husband." 
 
 "You have killed an innocent man," replied the coun- 
 tess, without changing colour. "Savoisy waS not my 
 lover." 
 
 And with this speech she looked proudly at the con- 
 
154 THE HIGH CONSTABLE'S WIFE. 
 
 stable with a face marked by so much dissimulation and 
 feminine audacity, that the husband stood looking as 
 foolish as a girl who has allowed a note to escape her 
 below, before a numerous company, and he was afraid 
 of having made a mistake. 
 
 "Of whom were you thinking this morning?" asked he. 
 "I was dreaming of the king," said she. 
 "Then, my dear, why not have told me so ?" 
 "Would you have believed me in the bestial passion 
 you were in ?" 
 
 The constable scratched his ear and replied — 
 
 "But how came Savoisy with the key of the postern ?" 
 
 "I don't know," said she, curtly, "if you will have the 
 goodness to believe what I have said to you." 
 
 And his wife turned lightly on her heel like a weather- 
 cock turned by the wind, pretending to go and look after 
 the household affairs. You can imagine that D'Armagnac 
 Wcis greatly embarrassed with the head of poor Savoisy, 
 and that for his part Boys-Bourredon had no desire to 
 cough while listening to the count, who was growling to 
 himself all sorts of words. At length the. constable struck 
 two heavy blows over the table and said, "I'll go and 
 attack the inhabitants of Poissy." Then he departed, and 
 when the night was come Boys-Bourredon escaped from 
 the house in some disguise or other. 
 
 Poor Savoisy was sorely lamented by his lady, who 
 had done all that a woman could do to save her lover, and 
 later he was more than wept, he was regretted; for the 
 countess having related this adventure to Queen Isabella, 
 
THE HIGH constable's WIFE. 1 55 
 
 her majesty seduced Boys-Bourredon from the service of 
 her cousin and put him to her own, so much was she 
 touched with the qualities and firm courage of this gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 Boys-Bourredon was a man whpm danger had well 
 recommended to the ladies. In fact he comported him- 
 self so proudly in everything in the lofty fortune, which 
 the queen had made for him, that having badly treated 
 King Charles one day when the poor man was in his 
 proper senses, the courtiers, jealous of favour, informed 
 the king of his cuckoldum. Then Boys-Bourredon was 
 in a moment sewn in a sack and thrown into the Seine, 
 near the ferry at Charenton, as every one knows. I have 
 no need to add, that since the day when the constable took 
 it into his head to play thoughtlessly with knives, his good 
 wife utilized so well the two deaths he had caused and 
 threw them so often in his face, that she made him as 
 soft as a cat's paw and put him in the straight road of 
 marriage ; and he proclaimed her a modest and virtuous 
 constable's lady, as indeed she v/as. As this book should, 
 according to the maxims of great ancient authors, join 
 certain useful things to the good laughs which you will 
 find therein and contains precepts of high taste, I beg to 
 inform you that the quintessence of this story is this: 
 That women need never lose their heads in serious cases, 
 because the God of Love neve*- abandons them, especially 
 when they are beautiful, young, and of good family: and 
 that gallants when going to keep an amorous assignation 
 should never go there like giddy young men, but carefully, 
 and keep a sharp look-out near the burrow, to avoid fall- 
 
156 THE HIGH constable's WIFE. 
 
 ing into certain traps and to preserve themselves; for 
 after a good woman the most precious thing is, certes, a 
 pretty gentleman. 
 
THE MAID OF THILOUSE. 
 
 THE lord of Valennes, a pleasant place, of which the 
 castle is not far from the town of Thilouse, had 
 taken a mean wife, who by reason of taste or antipathj', 
 pleasure or displeasure, health or sickness, allowed her 
 good husband to abstain from those pleasures stipulated 
 for in all contracts of marriage. In order to be just, it 
 should be stated that the above-mentioned lord was a 
 dirty and ill-favoured person, always hunting wild ani- 
 mals and not more entertaining than is a room full of 
 smoke. And what is more, the said sportsman was all 
 sixty years of age, on which subject, however, he was as 
 silent as an hempen widow on the subject of rope. But 
 nature, which the crooked, the bandy-legged, the blind, 
 and the ugly abuse so unmercifully here below, and have 
 no more esteem for her than the well-favoured, — since, 
 like workers of tapestry, they know not what they do, — 
 gives the same appetite to all, and to all the same mouth 
 for pudding. So every beast finds a mate, and from the 
 same fact comes the proverb, "There is no pot, however 
 ugly, that does not one day find a cover." Now the lord 
 of Valennes searched everywhere for nice little pots to 
 cover, and often in addition to wild, he hunted tame ani- 
 mals ; but this kind of game was scarce in the land, and it 
 
 157 
 
IS8 THE MAID OF THILOUSE. 
 
 was an expensive affair to discover a maid. At length, 
 however, by reason of much ferreting about and much 
 inquiry, it happened that the lord of Valennes was in- 
 formed that in Thilouse was the widow of a weaver who 
 had' a real treasure in the person of a little damsel of six- 
 teen years, whom she had never allowed to leave her 
 apronstrings, and whom, with great maternal fore- 
 thought, she always accompanied when the calls of nature 
 demanded her obedience; she had her to sleep with her 
 in her own bed, watched over her, got her up in the morn- 
 ing, and put her to such work that between the twain 
 they gained about eight pennies a day. On fete days she 
 took her to the church, scarcely giving her a spare mo- 
 ment to exchange a merry word with the young people; 
 above all was she strict in keeping hands off the maiden. 
 But the times were just then so hard that the widow 
 and her daughter had only bread enough to save them 
 from dying of hunger, and as they lodged with one of 
 their poor relations, they often wanted wood in winter 
 and clothes in summer, owing enough rent to frighten 
 sergeants of justice, men who are not easily frightened 
 at the debts of others ; in short, while the daughter was in- 
 creasing in beauty, the mother was increasing in poverty 
 and ran into debt on account of her daughter's virginity, 
 as an alchemist will for the crucible in which his all is 
 cast. As soon as his plans were arranged and perfect, 
 one rainy day the said lord of Valennes by a mere chjnce 
 came into the hovel of the two spinners, and in order 
 to dry himself sent for some fagqts to Plessis, close by. 
 While waiting for them, he sat on a stool between the 
 two poor women. By means of the grey shadows and 
 
THE MAID OF THILOUSE. 159 
 
 half light of the cabin, he saw the sweet countenance of 
 the Maid of Thilouse ; her arms were red and firm, her 
 breasts hard as bastions, which kept the cold from her 
 heart, her waist round as a young oak, and all fresh and 
 clean and pretty, like a first frost ; green and tender as an 
 April bud ; in fact, she resembled all that is prettiest in 
 the world. She had eyes of a modest and virtuous blue, 
 with a look more coy than that of the Virgin, for she was 
 less forward, never having had a child. 
 
 Had any one said to her, "Come, let us make love," she 
 would have said, "Love! what is that?" she was so inno- 
 cent and so little open to the comprehension of the thing. 
 
 The good old lord twisted about upon his stool, eye- 
 ing the maid and stretching his neck like a monkey try- 
 ing to catch nuts, which the mother noticed, but said not 
 a word, being in fear of the lord to whom the whole of 
 the country belonged. When the fagot was put into the 
 grate and flared up, the good hunter said to the old 
 woman, "Ah ! ah ! that warms one almost as much as your 
 daughter's eyes." 
 
 "But alas, my lord," said she, "we have nothing to cook 
 on that fire." 
 
 "Oh yes," replied he. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Ah, my gtjod woman, lend your daughter to my wife 
 who has need of a good handmaiden : we will give you 
 two fagots every day." 
 
 "Oh, my lord, what could I cook at such a good fire ?" 
 
 "Why," replied the old rascal, "good broth, for I wiU 
 give you a measure of corn in season." 
 
 "Then," replied the old hag, "where shall I put it?" 
 
l6o THE MAID OF THILOUSE. 
 
 "In your dish," answered the purchaser of innocence. 
 
 "But I have neither dish nor flour-bins, nor anything." 
 
 "Well, I will give you dishes and flour-bins, saucepans, 
 flagons, a good bed with curtains, and everything." 
 
 "Yes," replied the good widow, "but the rain would 
 spoil them, I have no house." 
 
 "You can see from here," replied the lord, "the house 
 of La Tourbelliere, where lived my poor hunstman Pille- 
 grain, who was ripped up by a boar?" 
 
 "Yes," said the old woman. 
 
 "Well, you can make yourself at home there for the 
 rest of your days." 
 
 "By my faith !" cried the mother, letting fall her dis- 
 taff, "do you mean what you say ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, then, what will you give my daughter?" 
 
 "All that she is willing to gain in my service." 
 
 "Oh! my lord, you are joking." 
 
 "No," said he. 
 
 "Yes," said she. 
 
 "By St. Gatien, St. Eleuther, and by the thousand mil- 
 lion saints who move in heaven, I swear that " 
 
 "Ah! well; if you are not jesting I should like those 
 fagots to pass through the hands of the notary." 
 
 "By the blood of Christ and the charms of your 
 daughter am I not a gentleman? is not my word good 
 enough ?" 
 
 "Ahl well, I don't say that it is not; but as true as I 
 am a poor spinner I love my child too much to leave her; 
 she is too young and weak at present, she would break 
 down in service. Yesterday, in his sermon, the vicar said 
 
THE MAID OF THILOUSE. l6l 
 
 that we should have to answer to God for our children." 
 
 "There ! there !" said the lord, "go and find the notary." 
 
 An.old wood cutter ran to the scrivener, who came and 
 drew up a contract, to which the lord of Valennes put 
 his cross, not knowing how to write, and when all was 
 signed and sealed — 
 
 "Well, old lady," said he, "now you are no longer 
 answerable to God for the virtue of your child." 
 
 "Ah ! my lord, the vicar said until the age of reason, 
 and my child is quite reasonable." Then turning towards 
 her, she added, "Marie Fiquet, that which is dearest to 
 you is your honour, and there where you are going every 
 one, without counting my lord, will try to rob you of it, 
 but you see well what it is worth ; for that reason do not 
 lose it save willingly and in a proper manner. Now in 
 order not to contaminate your virtue before God and be- 
 fore man, except for a legitimate motive, take heed that 
 your chance of marriage be not damaged beforehand, 
 otherwise ypu will go to the bad." 
 
 "Yes, dear mother," replied the maid. 
 
 And thereupon she left the poor abode of her relation, 
 and came to the chateau of Valennes, there to serve my 
 lady, who found her both pretty and to her taste. 
 
 When the people of Valennes, Sache, Villaines, and 
 other places, learned the high price given for the maid of 
 Thilouse, the good housewives recognized the fact that 
 nothing is more profitable than virtue, endeavoured to 
 nourish and bring up their daughters virtuous; but the 
 business was as risky as that of rearing silkworms, which 
 are liable to perish, since innocence is like a medlar, and 
 ripens quickly on the straw. There were, however, some 
 
l62 THE MAID OF THILOUSE. 
 
 girls noted for it in Touraine, who passed for virgins 
 in tHe convents of the religious, but I cannot vouch for 
 these, not having proceeded to verify them in the man- 
 ner laid down by Verville, in order to make sure of the 
 perfect virtue of women. However, Marie Fiquet fol- 
 lowed the wise counsel of her mother, and would take no 
 notice of the soft requests, honied words, or apish tricks 
 of her master, unless they were flavoured with a promise 
 of marriage. 
 
 When the old lord tried to kiss her, she would put her 
 back up like a cat at the approach of a dog, crying out, 
 "I will tell Madame !" In short, at the end of six mouths 
 he had not even recovered the price of a single fagot. 
 From her labour La Fiquet became harder and firmer. 
 Sometimes she would reply to the gentle request of her 
 master, "When you have taken it from me will you give 
 it me back again?" Another time she would say, "If I 
 were as full of holes as a sieve not one should be for you, 
 So ugly do I think you." 
 
 The good old man took these village sayings for flowers 
 of innocence, and ceased not to make little signs to her, 
 long harangues and a hundred vows and sermons, for 
 by reason of seeing the fine breasts of the maid, her plump 
 hips, which at certain movements came into prominent 
 relief, and by reason of admiring other things capable of 
 inflaming the mind of a sa;int, this dear man became en- 
 amoured of her with an old man's passion, which aug- 
 ments in geometrical proportions as opposed to the pas- 
 sions of young men, because the old men love with their 
 weakness which grows greater, and the young with their 
 strength which grows less. In order to leave this head- 
 
THE MAID OF THILOUSE. 163 
 
 strong girl no loophole for refusal, the old lord took into 
 his confidence the steward, whose age was seventy odd 
 years, and made him understand that he ought to marry 
 in order to keep his body warm, and that Marie Fiquet 
 was the very girl to suit him. The old steward, who had 
 gained three hundred pounds by different services about 
 the house, desired to live quietly without opening the front 
 door again ; but his good master begged him to marry 
 to please him, assuring him that he need not trouble about 
 his wife. So the good steward wandered out of sheer 
 good nature into this marriage. The day of the wedding, 
 bereft of all her reasons, and not able to find objections 
 to her pursuer, she made him give her a fat settlement 
 and dowry as the price of her conquest, and then gave 
 the old knave leave to wink at her as often as he could, 
 promising him as many embraces as he had given grains 
 of wheat to her mother. But at his age a bushel was 
 sufficient. 
 
 The festivities over, the lord did not fail, as soon as 
 his wife had retired, to wend his way towards the well- 
 glazed, well-carpeted, and pretty room where he had 
 lodged his lass, his money, his fagots, his house, his wheat, 
 and his steward. To be brief, know that he found the 
 maid of Thilouse the sweetest girl in the world, as pretty 
 as anything, by the soft light of the fire which was gleam- 
 ing in the chimney, snug between the sheets, with a sweet 
 odour about her, as a young maiden should have, and in 
 fact he had no regret for the great price of this jewel. 
 Not being able to restrain himself from hurrying over the 
 first mouthfuls of this royal morsel, the lord treated her 
 more as a past master than a young beginner. So the 
 
164 THE MAID OF THILOUSE. 
 
 happy man by too much gluttony, managed badly, and in 
 fact knew nothing of the sweet business of love. Find- 
 ing which, the good wench said, after a minute or two, 
 to her old cavalier, "My lord, if you are there, as I think 
 you are, give a little more swing to your bells." 
 
 From this saying, which became spread about, I know 
 not how, Marie Fiquet became famous, and it is still said 
 in our country, "She is a maid of Thilouse," in mockery 
 of a bride, and to signify a "fricquenelle." 
 
 "Fricquenelle" is said of a girl I do not wish you to 
 find in your arms on your wedding night, unless you have 
 been brought up in the philosophy of Zeno, which puts 
 up with anything, and there are many people obliged to 
 be Stoics in this funny situation, which is often met with, 
 for Nature turns, but changes not, and there are always 
 good maids of Thilouse to be found in Toyraine, and else- 
 where. Now if you ask me in what consists, or where 
 comes in, the moral of this tale ? I am at liberty to reply to 
 the ladies ; that the Cent Contes Drolatiques are made 
 more to teach the moral of pleasure than to procure the 
 pleasure of pointing a moral. But if it were a used up old 
 rascal who asked me, I should say to him, with all the re- 
 spect due to his yellow or grey locks ; that God wished to 
 punish the lord of Valennes, for trying to purchase a jewel 
 made to be given. 
 
THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 
 
 AT the commehcement of the reign of King Henry, 
 second of the name, who loved so well the fair 
 Diana, there existed still a ceremony of which the usage 
 has since become much weakened, and which has alto- 
 gether disappeared, like an infinity of the good things of 
 the olden times. This fine and noble custom was the 
 choice which all knights made of a brother-in-arms. 
 After having recognized each other as two loyal and brave 
 men, each one of this pretty couple was married for life 
 to the other ; both became brothers, the one had to defend 
 the other in battling against the enemies who threatened 
 him, and at Court against the friends who slandered him. 
 In the absence of his companion the other was expected 
 to say to one who should have accused his good brother 
 of any disloyalty, wickedness or dark felony, "You have 
 lied by your throat," and so go into the field instantly, so 
 sure was the one of the honour of the other. There is 
 no need to add, that the one was always the second of 
 the other in all affairs, good or evil, and that they shared 
 all good or evil fortune. They were better than the 
 brothers wbo are only united by the hazard of nature, 
 since they were fraternized by the bonds of an especial 
 sentiment, involuntary and mutual, and thus the frater- 
 nity of arms has produced splendid characters, as brave 
 
 165 
 
l66 THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 
 
 as those of the ancient Greeks, Romans, or others. . . . 
 But this is not my subject; the history of these things 
 has been written by the historians of our country, and 
 every one knows them. 
 
 Now at this time two young gentlemen of Touraine, of 
 whom one was the Cadet of Maille, and the other the 
 Sieur de Lavalliere, became brothers-in-arms on the day 
 they gained their spurs. They were leaving the house of 
 Monsieur de Montmorency, where they had been nour- 
 ished with the good doctrines of this great Captain, and 
 had shown how contagious is valour in such good com- 
 pany, for at the battle of Ravenna they merited the praises 
 of the oldest knights. It was in the thick of this fierce 
 fight that Maille, saved by the said Lavalliere, with whom 
 he had had a quarrel or two, perceived that this gen- 
 tleman had a noble heart. As they had each received 
 slashes in their doublets, they baptized their fraternity 
 with their blood, and were ministered to together in one 
 and the same bed under the tent of Monsieur de Mont- 
 morency their master. It is necessary to inform you that, 
 contrary to the custom of his family, which was always 
 to have a pretty face, the Cadet of Maille was not of a 
 pleasing physiognomy, and had scarcely any beauty but 
 that of the devil. For the rest, he was lithe as a grey- 
 hound, broad-shouldered and strongly built as King Pep- 
 in,^ who was a terrible antagonist. On the other hand, 
 the Sieur de Chateau-Lavalliere was a dainty fellow, for 
 whom seemed to have been invented rich laces, silken 
 hose, and cancellated shoes. His long dark locks were 
 pretty as a lady's ringlets, and he was, to be brief, a child 
 with whom all the women would be glad to play. One 
 
THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS 167 
 
 day the Dauphine, niece of the Pope, said laughingly to 
 the Queen of Navarre, who did not dislike these little 
 jokes, "that this page was a plaster to cure every ache," 
 which caused the pretty little Tourainian to blush, be- 
 cause, being only sixteen, he took this gallantry as a re- 
 proach. 
 
 Now on his return from Italy the Cadet of Maille 
 found the slipper of marriage ready for his foot, the 
 which his mother had obtained for him in the person of 
 Mademoiselle d'Annebaut, who was a graceful maiden 
 of good appearance, and well furnished with everything, 
 having a splendid hotel in the Rue Barbette, with hand- 
 some, furniture and Italian paintings and many consider- 
 able lands to inherit. Some days after the death of King 
 Francis — a circumstance which planted terror in the 
 hearts of every one, because his said Majesty had died in 
 consequence of an attack of the Neapolitan sickness, and 
 that for the future there would be no security even with 
 princesses of the highest birth — the above-named Maille 
 was compelled to quit the Court in order to go and ar- 
 range certain affairs of great importance in Piedmont. 
 You may be sure that he was very loth to leave his good 
 wife, so young, so delicate, so sprightly, in the midst of 
 the dangers, temptations, snares and pitfalls of this gal- 
 lant assemblage, which comprised so many handsome fel- 
 lows, bold as eagles, proud of mien, and as fond of women 
 as the people are partial to Paschal hams. In this state of 
 intense jealousy everything made him ill at ease ; but by 
 dint of much thinking, it occurred to him to make sure 
 of his wife in the manner about to be related. He invited 
 his good brother-in-arms to cohie at daybreak on the morn- 
 
l68 THt BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 
 
 ing of his departure. Now directly he heard Lavalliere's 
 horse in the courtyard, he leaped out of the bed, leaving 
 his sweet and fair better-half sleeping that gentle, dreamy, 
 dozing sleep so beloved by dainty ladies and lazy people. 
 Lavalliere came to him, and the two companions, hidden 
 in the embrasure of the window, greeted each other with 
 a loyal clasp of the hand, and immediately Lavalliere 
 said to Maille — 
 
 "I should have been here last night in answer to thy 
 .summons, but I had a love suit on with my lady, who 
 had given me an assignation; I could in no way fail to 
 keep it, but I quitted her at dawn. Shall I accompany 
 thee ? I have told her of thy departure, she has promised 
 me to remain without any amour ; we have made a com- 
 pact. If she deceives me — well, a friend is worth more 
 than a mistress !" 
 
 "Oh! my good brother," replied Maille, quite overcome 
 with these words, "I wish to demand of thee a still higher 
 proof of thy brave heart. Wilt thou^ take charge of my 
 wife, defend her against al), be her guide, keep her in 
 check and answer to me for the integrity of v(\y head? 
 Thou canst stay here during my absence, in the green- 
 room, and be my wife's cavalier." 
 
 Lavalliere knitted his brow and said — 
 
 "It is neither thee nor thy wife that I fear, but evil- 
 minded people, who will take advantage of this to entangle 
 us like skeins of silk." 
 
 "Do not be afraid of me," replied Maille, clasping La- 
 valliere to his breast. "If it be the divine will of the Al- 
 mighty that I shall have the misfortune to be a cuckold, I 
 should be less grieved if it were to your advantage. But 
 
THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 169 
 
 by my faith, I should die of grief, for my Hfe is bound 
 up in my good, young, virtuous wife." 
 
 Saying which, he turned away his head, in order that 
 Lavalliere should not perceive the tears in his eyes ; but 
 the fine courtier saw this flow of water, and taking the 
 hand of Maille — 
 
 "Brother," said he to him, "I swear to thee on my 
 honour as a man, that before any one lays a finger on thy 
 wife, he shall have felt my dagger in the depths of his 
 vein^! And, unless I should die, thou shalt find her on 
 thy return, intact in body if not in heart, because thought 
 is beyond the control of gentlemen." 
 
 "It is then decreed above!" exclaimed Maille, "that I 
 shall always be thy servant and thy debtor I" 
 
 Thereupon the comrade departed, in order not to be in- 
 undated with the tears, exclamations, and other expres- 
 sions of grief which ladies make use of when saying 
 "Farewell." Lavalliere having conducted him to the gate 
 of the town, came back to the hotel, waited until Marie 
 d'Annebaut was out of bed, informed her of the de- 
 parture of her good husband, and offered to place him- 
 self at her orders, in such a graceful manner, that the 
 most virtuous woman would have been tickled with a de- 
 sire to keep such a knight to herself. But there was no 
 need of this fine paternoster to indoctrinate the lady, see- 
 ing that she had listened to the discourse of the two 
 friends, and was greatly offended at her husband's doubt. 
 Alas ! God alone is' perfect ! In all the ideas of men there 
 is always a bad side, and it is therefore a great science in 
 life, but an impossible science, to take hold of everything, 
 even a stick by the right end. The cause of the great 
 
170 THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 
 
 difficulty there is in pleasing the ladies is, that there is in 
 them a thing which is more woman than they are, and 
 but for the respect which is due to them, I would use 
 another word. Now we should never awaken the phan- 
 tasy of this malevolent thing. The perfect government 
 of women is a task to rend a man's heart, and we are 
 compelled to remain in perfect submission to them ; that 
 is, I imagine, the best manner in which to solve the most 
 agonizing enigma of marriage. 
 
 Now Marie d'Annebaut was delighted with the bear- 
 ing and offers of the gallant ; but there was something in 
 her smile which indicated a malicious idea, and, to speak 
 plainly, the intention of putting her young guardian be- 
 tween honour and pleasure ; to regale him so with love, 
 to surround hjm with so many little attentions, to pursue 
 him with such warm glances, that he would be faithless 
 to friendship, to the advantage of gallantry. 
 
 Everything was in perfect trim for the carrying out of 
 her design, because of the companionship which the Sire 
 de Lavallieire would be obliged to have with her during 
 his stay in the hotel, and as there is nothing in the world 
 can turn a woman from her whim, at every turn the art- 
 ful jade was ready to catch him in a trap. 
 
 At times she would make him remain seated near her 
 by the fire, until twelve o'clock at night, singing soft re- 
 frains, and at every opportunity showing her fair should- 
 ers, and the white temptations of which her corset was 
 full, and casting upon him a thousand piercing glances, 
 all without showing in her face the thoughts that surged 
 in her brain. 
 
 At times she would walk with him in the morning, in 
 
THE BRCTHER-IN-ARMS. I7I 
 
 the gardens of the hotel, leaning heavily upon his arm, 
 pressing it, sighing, and making him tie the laces of her 
 little shoes, which were always coming undone in that 
 particular place. Then it would be those soft words and 
 things which the ladies understand so well, little atten- 
 tions paid to a guest, such as coming in to see if he were 
 comfortable, if his bed were well made, the room clean, 
 if the ventilation were good, if he felt any draughts in the 
 night, if the sun came in during the day, and asking him 
 to forego none of his usual fancies and habits, saying — 
 
 "Are you accustomed to take anything in the morning 
 in bed, such as honey, milk, or spice? Do the meal times 
 suit you ? I will conform mine to yours : tell me. You 
 are afraid to ask me. Come " 
 
 She accompanied these coddling little attentions with 
 a hundred affected speeches ; for instance, on coming into 
 the room she would ^ay- — 
 
 "I am intruding, send me away. You want to be left 
 alone — I will go." And always was she graciously in- 
 vited to remain. 
 
 And the cunning Madame always came lightly attired, 
 showing samples of her beauty, which would have made 
 a patriarch neigh, even were he as much battered by time 
 as must have been Mr. Methuselah, with his nine hun- 
 dred and sixty years. 
 
 The good knight being as sharp as a needle, let the lady 
 go on with her tricks, much pleased to see her occupy 
 herself with him, since it was so much gained ; but iike a 
 loyal brother, he always called her absent husband to the 
 lady's mind. 
 
 Now one evening — the day had been very warm — ^La- 
 
172 THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 
 
 valliere suspecting the lady's games, told her that Maille 
 loved her dearly, that she had in him a man of honour, a 
 gentleman who doted on her, and was ticklish on the 
 score of his crown. 
 
 "Why then, if he is so ticklish in this matter, has he 
 placed you here ?" 
 
 "Was it not a most prudent thing ?" replied he. "Was 
 it not necessary to coniide you to some defender of your 
 virtue? not that it needs one save to protect you from 
 wicked men." 
 
 "Then you are my guardian?" said she. 
 
 "1 am proud of it !" exclaimed Lavalliere. 
 
 "Ah !" said she, "he has made a very bad choice." 
 
 This remark was accompanied by a little look, so lewd- 
 ly lascivious that the good brother-in-arms put on, by way 
 of reproach, a severe countenance, and left the fair lady 
 alone, much piqued at this refusal to commence love's 
 conflict. 
 
 She remained in deep meditation, and began to search 
 for the real obstacle that she had encountered, for it was 
 impossible that it should enter the mind of any lady, that 
 a gentleman could despise that bagatelle which is of such 
 great price, and so high value. Now these thoughts knit- 
 ted and joined together so well, one fitting into the other, 
 that out of little pieces she constructed a perfect whole, 
 and found herself desperately in love ; which should teach 
 ladies never to play with a man's weapons, seeing that 
 like glue, they always stick to the fingers. 
 
 By this means Marie d'Annebaut came to a conclusion 
 which she should have known at the commencement— 
 viz., that to keep clear of her snares, the good knight must 
 
THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 173 
 
 be smitten with some other lady, and looking around her, 
 to see where her young guest could have found a needle- 
 case to his taste, she thought of the fair Limeuil, one of 
 Queen Catherine's maids, of Mesdames de Nevers, d'Es- 
 trees, and de Giac, all of whom were declared friends of 
 Lavalliere's, and of the lot he must love one to distrac- 
 tion. 
 
 From this belief, she added the motive of jealousy to 
 the others which tempted her to seduce her Argus, whom 
 she did not wish to wound, but to perfume, kiss his head, 
 and treat kindly. 
 
 She was certainly more beautiful, young, and more ap- 
 petizing and gentle than her rivals ; at least, that was the 
 melodious decree of her imagination. So, urged on by 
 the chords and springs of conscience, and physical causes 
 which affect women, she returned to the charge, to com- 
 mence a fresh assault upon the heart of the chevalier, for 
 the ladies like to take that which is well fortified. 
 
 Then she played the pussy-cat, and nestled up close 
 to him, became so sweetly sociable, and wheedled him so 
 gently, that one evening when she was in a desponding 
 state, although merry enougjj in her inmost soul, her 
 guardian-brother asked her — 
 
 "What is the matter with you ?" 
 
 To which she replied to him dreamily, being listened 
 to by him as the sweetest music — 
 
 That she had married Maille against her heart's will, 
 and that she was very unhappy; that she knew not the 
 sweets of love ; that her husband did not understand her, 
 and that her life was full ot tears. In fact, that she was 
 a maiden in heart and all, since she confessed that in mar- 
 
174 THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 
 
 riage she had experienced nothing but the reverse of 
 pleasure. And she added, that surely this holy state 
 should be full of the sweetmeats and dainties of love, be- 
 cause all the ladies hurried into itj and hated and were 
 jealous of those who out-bid them, for it cost certain peo- 
 ple pretty dear ; that she was so curious about it that for 
 one good day or night of love, she would give her life, 
 and always be obedient to her lover without a murmur; 
 but that he with whom she would sooner than all others 
 try the experiment would not listen to her ; that, never- 
 theless, the secret of their loves might be kept eternally, 
 so great was her husband's confidence in him, and that 
 finally if he still refused, it would kill her. 
 
 And all these paraphrases of the common canticle 
 known to the ladies at their birth were ejaculated between 
 a thousand pauses, interrupted with sighs torn from the 
 heart, ornamented with quiverings, appeals to heaven, up- 
 turned eyes, sudden blushings and clutchings at her hair. 
 In fact, no ingredient of temptation was lacking in the 
 dish, and at the bottom of all these words there was a 
 nipping desire which embellished even its blemislies. The 
 good knight fell at the lady's feet, and weeping took them 
 and kissed them, and you may be sure the good woman 
 was quite delighted to let him kiss them, and even with- 
 out looking too carefully to see what she was going to do, 
 she abandoned her dress to him, knowing well that to keep 
 it from sweeping the ground it must be taken at the bot- 
 tom to raise it ; but it was written that for that evening she 
 should be good, for the handsome Lavalliere said to her 
 with despair — 
 
 "Ah, madame, I am an unfortunate man, and a wretch." 
 
THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 175 
 
 "Not at all," said she. 
 
 "Alas, the joy of loving you is denied to me," 
 
 "How?" said she. 
 
 "I dare not confess my situation to you ! 
 
 "Is it then very bad ?" 
 
 "Ah, you will be ashamed of me !" 
 
 "Speak, I will hide my face in my hands," and the cun- 
 ning madam hid her face in such a way that she could 
 look at her well-beloved between her fingers. 
 
 "Alas !" said he, "the other evening when you addressed 
 me in such gracious words, I was so treacherously in- 
 flamed, that not knowing my happiness to be so near, and 
 not daring to confess my flame to you, I ran to a Bordel 
 where all the gentlemen go, and there for love of you, 
 and to save the honour of my brother whose' head I should 
 blush to dishonour, I was so badly infected that I am in 
 great danger of dying of the Italian sickness." 
 
 The lady, seized with terror, gave vent to the cry of 
 a woman in labour, and with great emotion, repulsed him 
 with a gentle little gesture. Poor Lavalliere, finding 
 himself in so pitiable a state, went out of the room, but, 
 he had not even reached the tapestries of the door, when 
 Marie d'Annebaut again contemplated him, saying to her- 
 self, "Ah! what a pity!" Then she fell into a state of 
 great melancholy, pitying in herself the gentleman, and 
 became the more in love with him because he was fruit 
 three times forbidden. 
 
 "But for Maille," said she to him, one evening that she 
 thought him handsomer than usual, "I would willingly 
 take your disease. Together we should then have the 
 same terrors." 
 
176 THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 
 
 "I love you too well," said the brother, "not to be 
 good." 
 
 And he left her to go to his beautiful Limeuil. You 
 can imagine that being unable to refuse to receive the 
 burning glances of the lady, during meal times, and the 
 evenings, there was a fire nourished that warmed them 
 both, but she was compelled to live without touching her 
 cavalier, otherwise than with her eyes. Thus occupied, 
 Marie d'Annebaut was fortified at every point against the 
 gallants of the Court, for there are no bounds so impass- 
 able as those of love, and no better guardian ; it is like the 
 devil, he whom it has in its clutches it surrounds with 
 flames. One evening, Lavalliere having escorted his 
 friend's wife to a dance given by Queen Catherine, he 
 danced with the fair Limeuil, with whom he was madly 
 m love. At that time the knights carried on their amours 
 bravely two by two, and even in troops. Now all the 
 ladies were jealous of La Limeuil, who at that time was 
 thinking of yielding to the handsome Lavalliere. Before 
 taking their places in the quadrille, she had given him the 
 sweetest of assignations for the morrow, during the hunt. 
 Our great Queen Catherine, who from political motives 
 fomented these loves and stirred them up, like pastry- 
 cooks make their oven fires burn by poking, glanced at 
 all the pretty couples interwoyen in the quadrille, and said 
 to her husband — 
 
 "When they combat here, can they conspire against 
 you, eh?" 
 
 "Ah ! but the Protestants ?" 
 
 "Bah! have them here as well," said she, laughing. 
 "Why, look at Lavalliere, who is suspected to be a Hugue- 
 
THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. I77 
 
 not ; he is converted by my dear little Limeuel, who does 
 not play her cards badly for a young lady of sixteen. He 
 will soon have her name down in his list." 
 
 "Ah, Madame ! do not believe it," said Marie d'Anne- 
 baut, "he is ruined through that same sickness of Naples 
 which made you queen." 
 
 At this artless confession, Catherine, the fair Diana, 
 and the king, who were sitting together, burst out laugh- 
 ing, and the thing ran round the roOm. This brought 
 endless shame and mockery upon Lavalliere. The poor 
 gentleman, pointed at by every one, soon wished some- 
 body else in his shoes, for La Limeuil, whom his rivals 
 had not been slow laughingly to warn of her danger, ap- 
 peared to shrink from her lover, so rapid was the spread, 
 and so violent the apprehensions of this nasty disease. 
 Thus Lavalliere found himself abandoned by every one 
 like a leper. The king made an offensive remark, and the 
 good knight quitted the ball-room, followed by poor 
 Marie in despair at the speech. She had in every way 
 ruined the man she loved ; she had destroyed his honour, 
 and marred his life, since the physicians and master sur- 
 geons advanced as a fact, incapable of contradiction, that 
 persons Italianized by this love sickness, lost through it 
 theii' greatest attractions, as well as their generative 
 powers, and their bones went black. 
 
 Thus no woman would bind herself in legitimate mar- 
 riage with the finest gentleman in the kingdom if he were 
 only suspected of being one of thise whom Master Fran- 
 cis Rabelais named "his very precious scabby ones. . . ." 
 
 As the handsome knight was very silent and melan- 
 
178 THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 
 
 choly, his companion said to him on the road home from 
 Hercules House, where the fete had been held — 
 
 "My dear lord, I have done you a great mischief. 
 
 "Ah, madame!" replied Lavallierfe, "my hurt is curable; 
 but into what a predicament have you fallen ? You should 
 not have been aware of the danger of my love." 
 
 "Ah!" said she, "I am sure now always to have you 
 to myself; in exchange for this great obloquy and dis- 
 honour, I will be forever your friend, your hostess, and 
 your lady-love — more than that, your servant. My de- 
 termination is to devote myself to you and efface the traces 
 of this shame ; to cure you by watch and ward ; and if 
 the learned in these matters declare that the disease has 
 such a hold of you that it will kill you like our defunct 
 Sovereign, I must still have your company in order to 
 die gloriously in dying of your complaint. Even then," 
 said she, weeping, "that will not be penance enough to 
 atone for the wrong I have done you." 
 
 These words were accompanied with big tears; her 
 virtuous heart waxed faint, she fell to the ground ex- 
 hausted. Lavalliere, terrified, caught her and placed his 
 hand upon her heart, below a breast of matchless beauty. 
 The lady revived at the warmth of this beloved hand, ex- 
 perienced such exquisite delights as nearly to make her 
 again unconscious. 
 
 "Alas!" said she, "this sly and superficial caress will 
 be for the future the only pleasure of our love. It will 
 still be a hundred times better than the joys which poor 
 Maille fancies he is bestowing on me. . . . Leave your 
 hand there," said she; "verily it is upon my soul, and 
 touches it." 
 
THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. I79 
 
 At these words the knight was in a pitiful plight, and 
 innocently confessed to the lady that he experienced so 
 much pleasure at this touch that the pains of his malady 
 increased, and that death were preferable to this martyr- 
 dom. 
 
 "Let us die then," said she. 
 
 But the litter was in the courtyard of the hotel, and 
 as the means of death were not handy, each one slept far 
 from the other, heavily weighed down with love, Laval- 
 Here having lost his fair Limeuil, and Marie d'Annebaut 
 having gained pleasures without parallel. 
 
 From this affair, which was quite unforeseen, Laval- 
 liere found himself under the ban of love and marriage 
 and dared no longer appear in public, and he found how 
 much it costs to guard the virtue of a woman; but the 
 more honour and virtue he displayed the more pleasure 
 did he experience in these great sacrifices offered at the 
 shrine of brotherhood. Nevertheless his duty was very 
 bitter, very ticklish, and intolerable to perform, towards 
 the last days of his guard. And in this way. 
 
 The confession of her love, which she believed was re- 
 turned, the wrong done by her to her cavalier, and the 
 experience of an unknown pleasure, emboldened the fair 
 Marie, who fell into a platonic love, gently tempered with 
 those little indulgences in which there is no danger. From 
 this cause sprang the diabolical pleasures of the game 
 invented by the ladies, who since the death of Francis the 
 First feared the contagion, but wished to gratify their 
 lovers. To these cruel delights, in order to properly play 
 his part, Lavalliere could not refuse his sanction. Thus 
 every evening the mournful Marie would attach her guest 
 
l8o THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 
 
 to her petticoats, holding his hands, kissing him with 
 burning glances, her cheek placed gently against his, and 
 during this virtuous embrace, in which the knight was 
 held like the devil by a holy water brush, she told him of 
 her great love, which was boundless since it stretched 
 through the infinite spaces of unsatisfied desire. All the 
 fire with which ladies endow their substantial amours, 
 when the night has no other lights than their eyes, she 
 transferred into the mystic motions of her head, the exul- 
 tations of her soul, and the ecstasies of her heart. Then, 
 naturally, and with the delicious joy of two angels united 
 by thought alone, they intoned together those sweet lit- 
 anies repeated by the lovers of the period in honour of 
 love — anthems which the Abbot of Theleme has para- 
 graphically saved from oblivion by engraving them on 
 the walls of his abbey, situated, according to master Al- 
 cofribas, in our land of Chinon, where I have seen them 
 in Latin, and have translated them for the benefit of 
 Christians. 
 
 "Alas !" said Marie d'Annebaut, "thou art my strength 
 and my life, my joy land my treasure." 
 
 "And you," replied he, "you are a pearl, an angel." 
 
 "Thou art my seraphim." 
 
 "You my ^oul." 
 
 "Thou my God." 
 
 "You my evening star and morning star, my honour, 
 my beauty, my universe.'' 
 
 "Thou my great, my divine master." 
 
 "You my glory, my faith, my religion." 
 
 "Thou my gentle one, my handsome one, my courag- 
 
THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. l8l 
 
 eous one, my dear one, my cavalier, my defender, my 
 king, my love." 
 
 "You my fairy, the flower of my days, the dream of my 
 nights." 
 
 "Thou my thought at every moment." 
 
 "You the delight of my eyes." 
 
 "Thou the voice of my soul." 
 
 "You my light by day." 
 
 "Thou my glimmer in the night. 
 
 "You the best beloved among women." 
 
 "Thou the most adored of men." 
 
 "You my blood, a myself better than myself." 
 
 "Thou my heart, my lustre." 
 
 "You my saint, my only joy." 
 
 "I yield thee the palm of love, and how great soe'er 
 mine be, I believe thou lovest me still more, for thou art 
 the lord." 
 
 "No ; the palm is yours, my goddess, my Virgin Marie." 
 
 "No; I am thy servant, thine handmaiden, a nothing 
 thou canst crush to atoms." 
 
 "No, no ; it is I who am your slave, your faithful page, 
 whom you can use as a breath of air, upon whom you can 
 walk as on a carpet. My heart is your throne." 
 
 "No, dearest, for thy v6ice transfigures me." 
 
 "Your regard burns me." 
 
 "I see but thee." 
 
 "I love but you." 
 
 "Oh, put thine hand upon my heart — only thine hand 
 — and thou wilt see me pale, when my blood shall have 
 taken the heat of thine." 
 
 Then during these struggles their eyes, already ardent> 
 
l82 THE BROTHER-IN-ARMS. 
 
 flamed still more brightly, and the good knight was a 
 little the accomplice of the pleasure which Marie d'Anne- 
 baut took in feeling his hand upon her heart. Now, as in 
 this light embrace all their strength was put forth, all 
 their desires strained, all their ideas of the thing concen- 
 trated, it happened that the knight's transport reached a 
 climax. Their eyes wept warm tears, tKey seized each 
 other hard and fast as fire seizes houses ; but that was all. 
 Lavalliere had promised to return safe and sound to his 
 friend the body only, not the heart. 
 
 When Maille announced hrs return, it was quite time, 
 since no virtue could avoid melting upon this gridiron; 
 and the less licence the lovers had, the more pleasure they 
 had in their fantasies. 
 
 Leaving Marie d'Annebaut, the good companion in 
 arms went as far as Bondy to meet his friend, to help him 
 to pass through the forest without accident, and the two 
 brothers slept together, according to the ancient custom, 
 in the village of Bondy. 
 
 There, in their bed, they recounted to each other, one 
 the adventures of his journey, the other the gossip of the 
 camp, stories of gallantry, and the rest. But Maille's 
 first question was touching Marie d'Annebaut, whom 
 Lavalliere swore to be intact in that precious place where 
 the honour of husbands is lodged ; at which the amorous 
 Maille was highly delighted. 
 
 On the morrow they were all three re-united, to the 
 great disgust of Marie, who, with the high jurisprudence 
 of women, made a great fuss with her good husband, 
 but with her finger she indicated her heart in an artless 
 manner to Lavalliere, as one who said, "This is thine!" 
 
THE MAID OF THILOUSE. 183 
 
 At supper Lavalliere announced his departure for the 
 wars. Maille was much grieved at this resolution, and 
 wished to accompany his brother ; but Lavalliere refused 
 him point blank. 
 
 "Madame," said he to Marie d'Annebaut, "I love you 
 more than life, but not more than honour." 
 
 He turned pale, saying this, and Madame de Maille 
 blanched hearing him, because never in their amorous dal- 
 liance had there been so much true love as in this speech. 
 Maille insisted upon keeping his friend company as far 
 as Meaux. When he came back, he was talking over with 
 his wife the unknown reasons and secret causes of this 
 departure, when Marie, who suspected the grief of poor 
 Lavalliere, said, "I know : he is ashamed to stop here be- 
 cause he has the Neapolitan sickness." 
 
 "He!" said Maille, quite astonished. "I saw him when 
 we were in bed together at Bondy the other evening, and 
 yesterday at Meaux. There's nothing the matter with 
 him ; he is as sound as a bell." 
 
 The lady burst into tears, admiring this great loyalty, 
 the sublime resignation to his oath, and the extreme suf- 
 ferings of this internal passion. But as she still kept her 
 love in the recesses of her heart, she died when Lavalliere 
 fell before Metz, as has been elsewhere related by Mes- 
 sire Bourdeilles de Brantome in his tittle-tattle. 
 
THE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU. 
 
 IN those days the priests no longer took any woman in 
 legitimate marriage, but kept good mistresses as 
 pretty as they could get ; which custom has since been in- 
 terdicted by the council, as every one knows, because, in- 
 deed, it was not pleasant that the private confessions of 
 people should be retold to a wench who would laugh at 
 them, besides the other secret doctrines, ecclesiastical ar- 
 rangements, and speculations which are part and parcel 
 of the politics of the Church of Rome. The last priest 
 in our country who theologically kept a woman in his 
 parsonage, regaling her with his scholastic love, was a 
 certain Vicar of Azay-le-Ridel, a place later on most 
 aptly named Azay-le-Brule, and now Azay-le-Rideau, 
 whose castle is one of the marvels of Touraine. Now this 
 said period, when the women were not averse to the odour 
 of the priesthood, is not so far distant as some may think, 
 for Monsieur D'Orgemont, son of the preceding bishop, 
 still held the see of Paris, and the great quarrels of the 
 Armagnacs had not finished. To tell the truth, this vicar 
 did well to have his vicarage in that age, since he was 
 well shapen, of a high colour, stout, big, strong, eating 
 and drinking like a convalescent, and, indeed, was always 
 rising from a little malady that attacked him at certain 
 times ; and, later on, he would have been his own execu- 
 
 184 
 
THE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU. 185 
 
 tioner, had he determined to observe the canonical con- 
 tinence. Add to this that he was a Tourainian, id est, 
 dark, and had in his eyes flame to light, and water to 
 quench all the domestic furnaces that required lighting or 
 quenching; and never since at Azay has been such vicar 
 seen! A handsome vicar was he, square-shouldered, 
 fresh-coloured, always blessing and chuckling, preferring 
 weddings and christenings to funerals, a good joker, 
 pious in church, and a man in everything. There have 
 been many vicars who have drunk well and eaten well ; 
 others who have blessed abundantly and chuckled con- 
 sumedly ; but all of them together would hardly make up 
 the sterling worth of this aforesaid vicar; and he alone 
 has worthily filled his post with benedictions, has held it 
 with joy, and in it has consoled the afflicted, all so well, 
 that no one saw him come out of his house without wish- 
 ing to be in his heart, so much was he beloved. It was he 
 who first said in a sermon that the devil was not so black 
 as he was painted, and who for Madame de Cande trans- 
 formed partridges into fish, saying that the perch of the 
 Indre were partridges of the river, and, on the other hand, 
 partridges perch in the air. He never played artful tricks 
 under the cloak of morality, and often said, jokingly, he 
 would rather be in a good bed than in anybody's will, that 
 he had plenty of everything, and wanted nothing. As for 
 the p6or and suffering, never did those who came to ask 
 for wool at the vicarage go away shorn, for his hand was 
 always in his pocket, and he melted (he who in all else 
 was so firm) at the sight of all this misery and infirmity, 
 and he endeavoured to heal all their wounds. There have 
 been many good stories told concerning this king of 
 
1 86 THE VICAK OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU. 
 
 vicars. It was he who caused such hearty laughter at the 
 wedding of the lord of Valennes, near Sacche. The 
 mother of the said lord had a good deal to do with the 
 victuals, roast meats and other delicacies, of which there 
 was sufficient quantity to feed a small town at least, and 
 it is true, at the same time, that people came to the wed- 
 ding from Montbazon, from Tours, from Chinon, from 
 Langeais, and from everywhere, and stopped eight days. 
 
 Now the good vicar, as he was going into the room 
 where the company were enjoying themselves, met a little 
 kitchen boy, who wished to inform Madame that all the 
 elementjtry substances and fat rudiments, syrups, and 
 sauces, were in readiness for a pudding of great delicacy, 
 the secret compilation, mixing, and manipulation of 
 which she wished herself to superintend, intending it as a 
 special treat for her daughter-in-law's relations. Our 
 vicar gave the boy a tap on the cheek, telling him that 
 he was too greasy and dirty to show himself to people 
 of high rank, and that he himself would deliver the said 
 message. The merry fellow pushes open the door, shapes 
 the fingers of his left hand into the form of a sheath, and 
 moves gently therein the middle finger of his right, 
 at the same time looking at the lady of Valennes, and 
 saying to her, "Come, all is ready." Those who did not 
 understand the aflfair burst out laughing, to see Madame 
 get up and go to the vicar, because she knew he referred 
 to the pudding, and not to that which the others imagined. 
 
 But a true story is that concerning the manner in which 
 this worthy pastor lost his mistress, to whom the eccles- 
 iastical authorities allowed no successor ; but, as for that, 
 the vicar did not want for domestic utensils. In the parish 
 
THE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU. 187 
 
 every one thought it an honour to lend him theirs, the 
 more readily because he was not the man to spoil any- 
 thing, and was careful to clean them out thoroughly, the 
 dear man. But here are the facts. 'One evening the good 
 man came home to supper with a melancholy face, be- 
 cause he had just put into the ground a good farmer, 
 whose death came about in a strange manner, and is still 
 frequently talked about in Azay. Seeing that he only ate 
 with the end of his teeth, and turned up his nose at a dish 
 of tripe, which had been cooked in his own especial man- 
 ner, his good woman said to him — 
 
 "Have you passed before the Lombard (see Master 
 Cornelius passim), met two black crows, or seen the 
 dead man turn in his grave, that you are so upset?" 
 
 "Oh ! oh !" 
 
 "Has any one deceived you?" 
 
 "Ha! ha!" 
 
 "Come, tell me!" 
 
 "My dear, I am still quite overcome at the death of 
 poor Cochegrue, and there is not at the present moment 
 a good housewife's totigue or a virtuous cuckold's lip:; 
 that are not talking about it." 
 
 "And what was it?" 
 
 "Listen! This poor Cochegrue was returning from 
 market, having sold his corn and two fat pigs. He was 
 riding his pretty mare, who, near Azay, commenced to 
 caper about without the slightest cause, and poor Coche- 
 grue trotted and ambled along counting his profits. At 
 the corner of the old road of the Landes de Charlemagne 
 they came upon a stallion kept by the Sieur de la Carte, 
 in a field, in order to have a good breed of horses, because 
 
l88 THE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU. 
 
 the said animal was fleet of foot, as handsome as an ab- 
 bot, and so high and mighty that the admiral who came 
 to see it, said it was a beast of the first quality. This 
 cursed horse scented the pretty mare ; like a cunning beast, 
 neither neighed nor gave vent to any equine ejaculation, 
 but when she was close to the road, leaped over forty rows 
 of vines and galloped after her, pawing the ground with 
 his iron shoes, discharging the artillery of a lover who 
 longs for an embrace, giving forth sounds to set the 
 strongest teeth on edge, and so loudly, that the people of 
 Champy heard it and were much terrified thereat. Coche- 
 grue, suspecting the afifair, makes for the moors, spurs 
 his amorous mare, relying upon her rapid pace, and in- 
 deed the good mare understands, obeys, and flies — flies 
 like a bird, but a bowshot off follows the blessed horse, 
 thtmdering along the road like a blacksmith beating iron, 
 and at full speed, his mane flying in the wind, replying 
 to the sound of the mare's swift gallop with his terrible 
 pat-a-pan! pat-a-pan! Then the good farmer, feeling 
 death following him in the love of the beast, spurs anew 
 his mare, and harder still she gallops, until at last, pale 
 and half dead with fear, he reaches the outer yard of his 
 farmhouse, but finding the door of the stable shut he cries 
 'Help here! wife!' Then he turned round on his mare, 
 thinking to avoid the cursed beast whose love was burn- 
 ing, who was wild with passion, and growing more amor- 
 ous every moment, to the great danger of the mare. His 
 family, horrified at the danger, did not go to open the 
 stable door, fearing the strange embrace and the kicks 
 of the iron-shod lover. At last Cochegrue's wife went, 
 but just as the good mare was half way through the door, 
 
THE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU. 189 
 
 the cursed stallion seized her, squeezed her, gave a wild 
 greeting, with his two legs gripped her, pinched her and 
 held her tight, and at the same time so kneaded and 
 knocked about poor Cochegrue, that there was only found 
 of him a shapeless mass, crushed like a nut after the oil 
 has been distilled from it. It was shocking to see him 
 squashed alive and mingling his cries with the loud love- 
 sighs of the horse." 
 
 "Oh ! the mare !" exclaimed the vicar's good wench. 
 
 "What!" said the priest, astonished. 
 
 "Certainly. You men wouldn't have cracked a plum- 
 stone for us." 
 
 "There," answered the vicar, "you wrong me." The 
 good man threw her angrily upon the bed, attacked and 
 treated her so violently that she split into pieces, and died 
 immediately without either surgeons or physicians being 
 able to determine the manner in which the solution of 
 continuity was arrived at, so violently disjointed were the 
 hinges and mesial partitions. You can imagine that he 
 was a proud man, and a splendid vicar as has been pre- 
 viously stated. 
 
 The good people of the country, even the .women, 
 agreed that he was not to blame, but that his conduct was 
 warranted by the circumstances. 
 
 From this perhaps came the proverb so much in use 
 at that time. Que I'aze le saille! The which proverb is 
 really so much coarser in its actual wording, that out of 
 respect for the ladies I will not mention it. But this was 
 not the only clever thing this great and noble vicar 
 achieved, for before this misfortune he did such a stroke 
 of business that no robbers dare ask him how many angels 
 
igO THE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU. 
 
 he had in his pocket, even had they been twenty strong 
 and over to attack him. One evening, when his good 
 woman was still with him, after supper, during which he 
 had enjoyed his goose, his wench, his wine and every- 
 thing, and was reclining in his chair thinking where he 
 could build a new barn for the tithes, a message came for 
 him from the lord of Sacche, who was giving up the ghost 
 and wished to reconcile himself with God, receive the 
 Sacrament, and go through the usual ceremonies. "He 
 is a good man and loyal lord. I will go," said he. There- 
 upon he passed into the church, took the silver box where 
 the blessed bread is, rang the little bell himself in order 
 not to wake his clerk, and went lightly and willingly along 
 the road. Near the Gue-droit, which is a valley leading 
 to the Indre across the moors, our good vicar perceived 
 a high toby. And what is a high toby ? It is a clerk of 
 Si. Nicholas. Well, what is that? That means a person 
 who sees clearly on a dark night, instructs himself by 
 examining and turning over purses, and takes his degrees 
 on the high road. Do you understand now? Well then, 
 this high toby waited for the silver box, which he knew 
 to be of great value. 
 
 "Oh, oh !" said the priest, putting down the sacred vase 
 on a stone at the corner of the bridge, "stop thou there 
 without moving.'' 
 
 Then he walked up to the robber, tipped him up, seized 
 his loaded stick, and when the rascal got up to struggle 
 with him, he gutted him with a blow well planted in the 
 middle of his stomach. Then he picked up the viaticum 
 again, saying bravely to it, "Ah, if I had relied upon thy 
 providence, we should have been lost." Now to utter 
 
THE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU. 191 
 
 these impious words upon the high road to Sacche was 
 mere waste of breath, seeing that he addresed them not 
 to God, but to the Archbishop of Tours, who had once 
 severely rebuked him, threatened him with suspension, 
 and admonished him before the Chapter for having pub- 
 licly told certain lazy people that a good harvest was not 
 due to the grace of God, but to skilled labour and hard 
 work — a doctrine which smelt of the fagot. And indeed 
 he was wrong, because the fruits of the earth have need 
 both of one and the other ; but he died in this heresy, for 
 he could never understand how crops could come without 
 digging, if God so willed it — a doctrine that learned men 
 have since proved to be true, by showing that formerly 
 wheat grew very well without the aid of man. I cannot 
 leave this splendid model of a pastor without giving here 
 one of the acts of his life, which proves with what fervour 
 he imitated the saints in the division of their goods and 
 mantles, which they gave formerly to the poor and the 
 passers-by. One day, returning from Tours, where he 
 had been paying his respects to the official, mounted on 
 his mule, he was nearing Azay. On the way, just outside 
 Ballan, he met a pretty girl on foot, and was grieved to 
 see a woman travelling like a dog; the more so as she 
 was visibly fatigued, and could scarcely raise one foot 
 before the other. He whistled to her softly, and the pretty 
 wench turned round and stopped. The good priest, who 
 was too good a sportsman to frighten the birds, especially 
 the hooded ones, begged her so gently to ride behind him 
 on his mule, and in so polite a fashion, that the lass got 
 up; not without making those little excuses and grim- 
 aces that they all make when one invites them to eat, or to 
 
192 THE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU. 
 
 take what they like. The sheep paired off with the shep- 
 herd, the mule jogged along after the fashion of mules, 
 while the girl slipped now this way now that, riding so 
 uncomfortably that the priest pointed out to her, after 
 leaving Ballan, that she had better hold on to him ; and 
 immediately my lady put her plump arms around the 
 waist of her cavalier, in a modest and timorous manner. 
 "There, you don't slip about now. Are you comfort- 
 able?" said the vicar. 
 
 "Yes, I am comfortable. Are you ?" 
 "I?" said the priest; "I am better than that." 
 And, in fact, he was quite at his ease, and was soon 
 gently warmed in the back by two projections/which 
 rubbed against it, and at last seemed as though they 
 wished to imprint themselves between his shoulder blades, 
 which would have been a pity, as that was not the place 
 for this white merchandize. By degrees the movement of 
 the mule brought into conjunction the internal warmth of 
 these two riders, and their blood coursed more quickly 
 through their veins, seeing that it felt the motion of the 
 mule as well as their own ; and thus the good wench and 
 the vicar finished by knowing each other's thoughts, but 
 not those of the mule. When they were both acclimatized, 
 he with her and she with him, they felt an internal dis- 
 turbance which resolved itself into secret desires. 
 
 "Ah!" said the vicar, turning round to his companion, 
 "here is a fine cluster of trees which has grown very 
 thick." 
 
 "It is too near the road," replied the girl. "Bad boys 
 have cut the branches, and the cows have eaten the young 
 leaves." 
 
THE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU. I93 
 
 "Are yon not married?" asked the vicar, trotting his 
 animal again. 
 
 "No," said she. 
 
 "Not at all?" 
 
 "r faith! No!" 
 
 "What a shame, at your age!" 
 
 "You are right, sir ; but you see, a poor girl who has 
 had a child is a bad bargain." 
 
 Then the good vicar taking pity on such ignorance, and 
 knowing that the canons say among other things that 
 pastors should indoctrinate their flock and show them the 
 duties and responsibilities of this life, he thought he would 
 only be discharging the functions of his office by showing 
 her the burden she would one day have to bear. Then he 
 begged her gently not to be afraid, for if she would have 
 faith in his loyalty no one should ever know of the mar- 
 ital experiment which he proposed then and there to per- 
 form with her ; and as, since passing Ballan the girl had 
 thought of nothing else ; as her desire had been carefully 
 sustained and augmented by the warm movements of the 
 animal, she replied harshly to the vicar, "If you talk thus 
 I will get down." Then the good vicar continued his 
 gentle requests so well that on reaching the wood of Azay 
 the girl wished to get down, and the priest got down there 
 too, for it was not across a horse that this discussion could 
 be finished. Then the virtuous maiden ran into the thick- 
 est part of the wood to get away from the vicar, calling 
 out, "Oh, you wicked man, you shan't know where I am." 
 The mule arrived m a glade where the grass was good, 
 the girl tumbled down over a root and blushed. The good 
 
194 THE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU. 
 
 vicar came to her, and there as he had rung the bell for 
 mass he went through the service for her, and both freely 
 discounted the joys of paradise. The good priest had it 
 in his heart to thoroughly instruct her, and found his 
 pupil very docile, as gentle in mind as soft in the flesh, a 
 perfect jewel. Therefore was he much grieved at having 
 so much abridged the lesson by giving it at Azay, seeing 
 that he would have been quite willing to recommence it, 
 like all preceptors who say the same thing over and over 
 again to their pupils. 
 
 "Ah, little one," cried the good man, "why did you 
 make so much fuss that we only came to an understand- 
 ing close to Azay?" 
 
 "Ah !" said she, "I belong to Ballan." 
 
 To be brief, I must tell you that when this good man 
 died in his vicarage there was a great number of people, 
 children and others, who came, sorrowful, afflicted, weep- 
 ing, and grieved, and all exclaimed, "Ah! we have lost 
 our father." And the girls, the widows, the wives and 
 the little girls looked at each other, regretting him more 
 than a friend, and said, "He was more than a priest, he 
 was a man !" Of these vicars the seed is cast to the winds, 
 and they will never be reproduced in spite of the semin- 
 aries. 
 
 Why even the poor, to whom his savings were left, 
 found themselves still the losers, and an old cripple whom 
 
THE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU. 195 
 
 he had succoured hobbled into the churchyard, crying, 
 "I don't die! I don't!" meaning to say, "Why did not 
 death take me in his place?" This made some of the 
 people laugh, at which the shade of the good vicar would 
 (pertainly not have been displeased. 
 
THE REPROACH. 
 
 THE fair laundress of Portillon-les-Tours, of whom 
 a droll saying has already been given in this book, 
 was a girl blessed with as much cunning as if she had 
 stolen that of six priests and three women at least. She 
 did not want for sweethearts, and had so many that one 
 would have compared them, seeing them around her, to 
 bees swarming of an evening towards their hive. An old 
 silk dyer, who lived in the Rue Montfumier, and there 
 possessed a house of scandalous magnificence, coming 
 from his place at La Grenadiere, situated on the fair bor- 
 ders of St. Cyr,> passed on horseback through Portillon 
 in order to gain the Bridge of Tours. By reason of the 
 warmth of the evening, he was seized with a wild desire 
 on seeing the pretty washerwoman sitting upon her door- 
 step. Now as for a very long time he had dreamed of this 
 merry maid, his resolution was taken to make her his 
 wife, and in a short time she was transformed from a 
 washerwoman into a dyer's wife, a good townswoman 
 with laces, fine linen, and furniture to spare, and was 
 happy in spite of the dyer, seeing that she knew very well 
 how to manage him. The good dyer had for a crony a 
 silk machinery manufacturer, who was small in stature, 
 deformed for life, and full of wickedness. So on the 
 wedding-day he said to the dyer, "You have done' well 
 
 196 
 
THE REPROACH. I97 
 
 to marry, my friend, we shall have a pretty wife ;'' and a 
 thousand sly jokes, such as it is usual to address to a 
 bridegroom." 
 
 In fact, this said hunchback courted the dyer's wife, 
 who from her nature caring little for badly built people, 
 laughed to scorn the request of the mechanician, and 
 joked him about the springs, engines, and spools di which 
 his shop was full. However, this great love of the hunch- 
 back was rebufifed by nothing, and became so irksome to 
 the dyer's wife that she resolved. to cure it by a thousand 
 practical jokes. One evening, after the sempiternal pur- 
 suit, she told her lover to come to the back-door and to- 
 wards midnight she would open everything to him. Now 
 note, this was on a winter's night ; the Rue Montfumier 
 is close by the Loire, and in this corner there continually 
 blow in winter, winds sharp as a hundred needle-points. 
 The good hunchback, well muffled up in his mantle, failed 
 not to come, and trotted up and down to keep himself 
 warm while waiting the appointed hour. Towards mid- 
 night he was half frozen, as fidgety as thirty-two devils 
 caught in a stole, an?l was about to give up his happiness, 
 when a feeble light passed by the cracks of the window 
 and came down towards the little door. 
 
 "Ah ! it is she !" said he. 
 
 And this hope warmed him once more. Then he got 
 close to the door, and heard a little voice — 
 
 "Are you there?" said the dyer's wife to him. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Cough, that I may see." 
 
 The hunchback began to cough, 
 
 "It is not you." 
 
ig8 THE REPROACH. 
 
 Then the hunchback said aloud — 
 
 "How do you mean, it is not I? Do you not recog- 
 nise my voice? Open the door!" 
 
 "Who's there?" said the dyer, opening the window. 
 
 "There, you have awaked my husband, who returned 
 from Amboise unexpectedly this evening." 
 
 Thereupon the dyer, seeing by the light of the moon a 
 man at his door, threw a good big pot of cold water over 
 him, and cried out, "Thieves ! thieves !" in such a man- 
 ner that the hunchback was forced to run away; but in 
 his fear he failed to clear the chain stretched across the 
 bottom of the road, and fell into the common sewer, which 
 the sheriff had not then replaced by a sluice to discharge 
 the mud into the Loire. In this bath the mechanician ex- 
 pected every moment to breathe his last, and cursed the 
 fair Tascherette, for her husband's name being Tasche- 
 reau, so was she called by way of a little joke by the peo- 
 ple of Tours. 
 
 Carandas — for so was named the manufacturer of ma- 
 chines to weave, to spin, to spool, and wind the silk — was 
 not sufficiently smitten to believe in^he innocence of the 
 dyer's wife, and swore a devilish hate against her. But 
 some days afterwards, when he had recovered from his 
 wetting in the dyer's drain, he came to sup with his old 
 comrade. Then the dyer's wife reasoned with him so 
 well, flavoured her words with so much honey, and 
 wheedled him with so many fair promises, that he dis- 
 missed his suspicions. 
 
 He asked for a fresh assignation, and the fair Tasch- 
 erette, with the face of a woman whose mind is dwelling 
 on the subject, said to him, "Come to-morrow evening; 
 
THE REPROACH. 199 
 
 my husband will be staying some days at Chenonceaux. 
 The queen wishes to have some of her old dresses dyed 
 and would settle the colours with him. It will take some 
 time." 
 
 Carandas put on his best clothes, failed not to keep the 
 appointment, appeared at the time fixed, and found a good 
 supper prepared, lampreys, wine of Vouvray, fine white 
 napkins — for it was not necessary to remonstrate with 
 the dyer's wife on the colour of her linen — and every- 
 thing so well prepared that it was quite pleasant to him 
 to see the dishes of fresh eels, to smell the good odour 
 of the meats, and to admire a thousand nameless little 
 things about the room, and La Tascherette fresh and ap- 
 petizing as an apple on a hot day. Now the mechanician, 
 excited to excess by these warm preparations, was on 
 th point of attacking the charms of the dyer's wife, when 
 Master Taschereau gave a loud knock at the street door. 
 
 "Ha!" said madame, "what has happened? Put your- 
 self in the clothes-chest, for I have been much abused 
 respecting you ; and if my husband finds you, he may 
 undo you ; he is so violent in his temper." 
 
 And immediately she thrust the hunchback into the 
 chest, and went quickly to her good husband, who she 
 knev/ well wovild be back from Chenonceaux to supper. 
 Then the dyer was kissed warmly on both his eyes and 
 on both his ears, and he caught his good wife to him and 
 bestowed upon her two hearty smacks with his lips that 
 sounded all over the room. Then the pair sat do\*n to 
 supper, talked together, and finished by going to bed ; and 
 the mechanician heard all, though obliged to remain 
 crumpled up, and not to cough or to make a single move- 
 
200 THE REPROACH. 
 
 tncnt. He was in with the linen, crushed up as dose as 
 a sardine in a box, and had about as much air as he 
 would have had at the bottom of a river ; but he had, to 
 divert him, the music of love, the sighs of the dyer, and 
 the little jokes of La Tascherette. At last, when he fan- 
 cied his old comrade was asleep, he made an attempt to 
 get out of the chest. 
 
 "Who is there?" said the dyer. 
 
 "What is the matter, my little one ?" said his wife, lift- 
 ing her nose above the counterpane. 
 
 "I heard a scratching," said the good man. 
 
 "We shall have rain to-morrow ; it's the cat," replied 
 his wife. 
 
 The good husband put his head back upon the pillow 
 after having been gently embraced by his spouse. "There, 
 my dear, you are a light sleeper. It's no good trying 
 to make a proper husband of you. There, be good. Oh ! 
 oh ! my little papa, your nightcap is on one side. There, 
 put it on the other way, for you must look pretty even 
 when you are asleep. There! are you all right?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Are you asleep ?" said she, giving him a kiss. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 In the morning the dyer's wife came softly and let out 
 the mechanician, who was whiter than a ghost. 
 
 "Give me air, give, me air!" said he. 
 
 And away he ran, cured of his love, but with as much 
 hate'in his heart as a pocket could hold of black wheat. 
 The said hunchback left Tours and went to live in the 
 town of Bruges, where certain merchants had sent for 
 him to arrange the machinery for making hauberks. 
 
THE REPROACH. 20I 
 
 During his long absence, Carandas, who had Moorish 
 blood in his veins, since he was descended from an ancient 
 Saracen left half dead after the great battle which took 
 place between the Moors and the French in the commune 
 of Ballan (which is mentioned in the preceding tale), in 
 which place are the Landes of Charlemagne, where noth- 
 ing grows because of the cursed wretches and infidels 
 there interred, and where the grass disagrees even with 
 the cows — this Carandas never rose up or lay down in the 
 foreign land without thinking of how he could give 
 strength to his desires of vengeance; and he was dream- 
 ing always of it, and wished nothing less than the death 
 of tlie fair washerwoman of Portillon, and often would 
 cry out. "I will eat her flesh ! I will cook one of her breasts, 
 and swallow it without sauce !" It was a tremendous hate 
 of good constitution — a cardinal hate — a hate of a wasp 
 or old maid. It was all known hates moulded into one 
 single hate, which boiled itself, concocted itself, and re- 
 solved itself into an elixir of wicked and diabolical senti- 
 ments, warmed at the fire of the most flaming furnaces of 
 hell — it was, in fact, a master hate. 
 
 Now one fine day, the said Carandas came back into 
 Touraine with much wealth, that he brought from the 
 country of Flanders, where he had sold his mechanical 
 secrets. He bought a splendid house in the Rue Mont- 
 fumier, which is still to be seen, and is the astonishment 
 of the passers-by, because it has certain very queer round 
 humps fashioned upon the stones of the wall. Carandas, 
 the hater, found many notable changes at the house of his 
 friend the dyer, for the good man had two sweet children, 
 who, by a curious chance, presented no resemblance either 
 
202 THE REPROACH. 
 
 to the mother or to the father. But as it is necessary that 
 children bear a resemblance to some one, there are certain 
 people who look for the features of their ancestors, when 
 they are good looking— the flatterers. So it was found 
 by the good husband that his two boys were like one of 
 his uncles, formerly a priest at Notre Dame de I'Egrinol- 
 les, but, according to certain jokers, these two children 
 were the living portraits of a good-looking shaven crown 
 officiating in the church of Notre Dame la Riche, a cele- 
 brated parish situated between Tours and Plessis. Now 
 believe one thing, and inculcate it in your minds, and 
 when in this book you shall only have gleaned, gathered, 
 extracted and learned this one principle of truth, look 
 upon yourself as a lucky man — namely, that a man can 
 never dispense with his nose, id est, that a man will always 
 be snotty — that is to say, he will remain a man, and thus 
 will continue throughout all future centuries to laugh 
 and drink, to find himself in his shirt without feeling 
 either better or worse there, and will have the same occu- 
 pations. But these preparatory ideas are to better fix in 
 the understanding that this two-footed soul will always 
 accept as true those things which flatter his passions, 
 caress his hates, or serve his amours; from this comes 
 logic. So it was that, the first day the above-mentioned 
 Carandas saw his old comrade's children, saw the hand- 
 some priest, saw the beautiful wife oi the dyer, saw Le 
 Taschereau, all seated at the table, and saw to his detri- 
 ment the best piece of lamprey given with a certain air by 
 La Tascherette to her friend the priest, the mechanician 
 said to himself, "My old friend is a cuckold, his wife in- 
 trigues with the little confessor, and the children have 
 
THE REPROACH. 203 
 
 been begotten with his holy water. I'll show them that 
 the hunchbacks have something more than other men." 
 And this was true — true as it is that Tours has always 
 had its feet in the Loire, like a pretty girl who bathes her- 
 self arid plays with the water, making a flick-flack, by 
 beating the waves with her fair white hands ; for this town 
 is more smiling, merry, loving, fresh, flowery, and fra- 
 grant than all the other towns of the world, which are not 
 worthy to comb her locks, or to buckle her waistband. 
 And be sure if you go there you will find, in the centre 
 of it, a sweet place, in which is a delicious street where 
 every one promenades, where there is always a breeze, 
 shade, sun, rain, and love. Ha ! ha ! laugh away, but go 
 there. It is a street always new, always royal, always im- 
 perial — a patriotic street, a street with two paths, a street 
 open at both ends, a wide street, a street so large that no 
 one has ever cried, "Out of the way!" there. A street 
 which does not wear out, a street which leads to the abbey 
 of Grand-Mont, and to a trench, which works very well 
 with the bridge, and at the end of which is a fine fair 
 ground. A street well paved, well built, well washed, as 
 clean as a glass, populous, silent at certain times, a co- 
 quette with a sweet nightcap on in its pretty blue tiles — 
 to be short, it is the street where I was born; it is the 
 queen of streets, always between the earth and the sky ; 
 a street with a fountain ; a street which lacks nothing to 
 be celebrated among streets ; and, in fact, it is the real 
 street, the only street of Tours. If there are others, they 
 are dark, muddy, "narrow, and damp, and all come re- 
 spectfully to salute this noble street, which commands 
 them. Where am I ? For once in this street no one cares 
 
204 THE REPROACH. 
 
 to come out of it, so pleasant it is. But I owed this filial 
 homage, this descriptive hymn sung from the heart, to 
 my natal street, at the corners of which there are wanting 
 only the brave figures of my good master, Rabelais, and of 
 Monsieur Descartes, both unknown to the people of the 
 country. To resume: the said Carandas was, on his re- 
 lurn from Flanders, entertained by his comrade, and by 
 all those by whom he was liked for his jokes, his drollery, 
 and quaint remarks. The good hunchback appeared 
 cured of his old love, embraced the children, and when 
 he was alone with the dyer's wife recalled the night in 
 the clothes-chest, and the night in the sewer, to her mem- 
 ory, saying to her, "Ha ! ha ! what games you used to have 
 with me." 
 
 "It wis your own fault," said she, laughing. "If you 
 had allowed yourself , by reason of your great love to be 
 ridiculed, rhade a fool of, and bantered a few more times, 
 you might have made an impression on me, like the 
 others." Thereupon Carandas commenced to laugh, 
 though inwardly raging all the time. Seeing the chest 
 where he had nearly been suffocated, his anger increased 
 the more violently because the sweet creature had become 
 still more beautiful, like all those who are permanently 
 youthful from bathing in the waters of youth, which 
 waters are naught less than the sources of love. The 
 mechanician studied the proceedings in the way of cuck- 
 oldom at his neighbour's house, in order to revenge him- 
 self, for as many houses as there are so many varieties of 
 manner are there in this business? and although all 
 amours resemble each other in the same manner that all 
 men resemble each other, it is proved to the abstractors 
 
THE REPROACH. 20$ 
 
 of true things, that for the happiness of women, each 
 love has its especial physiognomy, and if there is nothing 
 that resembles a man so much as a man, there is also noth- 
 ing differs from a man so fnuch as a man. That it is, 
 which confuses all things, or explains the thousand fan- 
 tasies of women, who seek the best men with a thousand 
 pains and a thousand pleasures, perhaps niore than one 
 than the other. But how can I blame them for their 
 essays, changes, and contradictory aims? Why, Nature 
 frisks and wriggles, twists and turns about, and you ex- 
 pect a woman to remain still! Do you know if ice is 
 really cold? No. Well then, neither do you know that 
 cuckoldom is not a lucky chance, the produce of brains 
 well furnished and better made than all others. Seek 
 something better than ventosity beneath the sky. This 
 will help to spread the philosophic reputation of this ec- 
 centric book. Oh yes ; go on. He who cries "vermin 
 powder," is more advanced than those who occupy them- 
 selves with Nature, seeing that she is a proud jade and a 
 capricious one, and only allows herself to be seen at cer- 
 tain times. Do you understand ? So in all languages, does 
 she belong to the feminine gender, being a thing essen- 
 tially changeable and fruitful and fertile in tricks. 
 
 Now Carandas soon recognized the fact that among 
 cuckoldoms the best understood and the most discreet 
 is ecclesiastical cuckoldom. This is how the good dyer's 
 wife had laid her plans. She went always towards her 
 cottage at Grenadiere-les-St.-Cyr on the eve of the Sab- 
 bath, leaving her good husband to finish his work, to 
 count up and check his books, and to pay his workmen ; 
 then Taschereau would join her there on the morrow, and 
 
206 THE REPROACH. 
 
 always found a good breakfast ready and his good wife 
 gay, and always brought the priest with him. The fact 
 is, this damnable priest crossed the Loire the night be- 
 fore in a small boat, in order to keep the dyer's wife warm, 
 and to calm her fancies, in order that she might sleep well 
 during the night, a duty which young men understand 
 very well. Then this fine curber of phantasies got back to 
 his house in the morning by the time Taschereau came to 
 invite him to spend the day at La Grenadiere, and the 
 cuckold always found the priest asleep in his bed. The 
 boatman being well paid, no one knew anything of these 
 goings on, for the lover journeyed the night before after 
 nightfall, and on the Sunday in the early morning. As 
 soon as Carandas had verified the arrangement and con- 
 stant practice of these gallant diversions, he determined 
 to wait for a day when the lovers would meet, hungry one 
 for the other, after some accidental abstinence. This 
 meeting took place very soon, and the curious hunchback 
 saw the boatman waiting below the square, at the Canal 
 St. Antoine, for the young priest, who was handsome, 
 blond, slender, and well-shaped, like the gallant and cow- 
 ardly hero of love, so celebrated by Monsieur Ariosto. 
 Then the mechanician went to find the old dyer, who al- 
 ways loved his wife and always believed himself the only 
 man who had a finger in her pie. 
 
 "Ah ! good evening, old friend," said Carandas to Tas- 
 chereau ; and Taschereau made him a bow. 
 
 Then the mechanician relates to him all the secret fes- 
 tivals of love, vomits words of peculiar import, and pricks 
 the dyer on all sides. 
 
 At length, seeing he was ready to kill both his wife and 
 
THE REPROACH. 207 
 
 the priest, Carandas said to him, "My good neighbour, 
 I have brought back from Flanders a poisoned sword, 
 which will instantly kill any one, if it only make a scratch 
 upon him. Now, directly you shall have merely touched 
 your wench and her paramour, they will die." 
 
 "Let us go and fetch it," said the dyer. 
 
 Then the two merchants went in great haste to the 
 house of the hunchback, to get the sword and rush off to 
 the country. 
 
 "But shall we find them in flagrante delictof" asked 
 Taschereau. 
 
 "You will see," said the hunchback, jeering his friend. 
 In fact, the cuckold had not long to wait to behold the joy 
 of the two lovers. 
 
 The sweet wench and her well-beloved were busy try- 
 ing to catch, in a certain lake that you probably know, 
 that little bird that sometimes makes his nest there, and 
 they were laughing and trying, and still laughing. 
 
 "Ah, my darling!" said she, clasping him, as though 
 she wished to take an outline of him on her chest, "I love 
 thee so much I should like to eat thee ! Nay, more than 
 that, to have you in my skin, so that you might never quit 
 me." 
 
 "I should like it too," replied the priest, "but as you 
 can't have me altogether, you must try a little bit at a 
 time." 
 
 It was at this moment that the husband entered, his 
 sword unsheathed and flourished above him. The beauti- 
 ful Tascherette, who knew her lord's face well, saw what 
 would be the fate of her well-beloved, the priest. But 
 suddenly she sprang towards the good man, half naked, 
 
208 THE REPROACH. 
 
 her hair streaming over her, beautiful with shame but 
 more beautiful with love, and cried to him, "Stay, un- 
 happy man! Wouldst thou kill the father of thy chil- 
 dren ?" Thereupon the good dyer staggered by the pater- 
 nal majesty of cuckoldom, and perhaps also by the fire of 
 his wife's eyes, let the sword fall upon the foot of the 
 hunchback, who had followed him, and thus killed him. 
 This teaches us not to be spiteful. 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 HERE endeth the first series of these Tales, roguish 
 sample of the works of that merry Muse, born 
 ages ago, in our fair land of Tourairie, the which Muse 
 is a good wench, and knows by heart that fine saying of 
 her friend Verville, written in le moyen de parvenir; 
 // is only necessary to be bold to obtain favours. Alas 1 
 mad little one, get thee to bed again, sleep ; thou art pant- 
 ing from thy journey ; perhaps thou hast been farther 
 than the present time. Now dry thy fair naked feet, stop 
 thine ears, and return to love. If thou dreamest other 
 poesy interwoven with laughter to conclude these merry 
 inventions, heed not the foolish clamour and insults of 
 those who, hearing the carol of a joyous lark of other 
 days, exclaim : Ah, the horrid bird 1 
 
 END OF THE FIRST TEN TALES. 
 
 209 
 
THE SECOND TEN. 
 
 2IO 
 
THE SECOND TEN. 
 
 Prologue. 
 
 The Three Clerks of St. Nicholas. 
 
 The Continence of King Francis the First. 
 
 The Merry Tattle of the Nuns of Poissy. 
 
 How the Chateau d'Azay came to be built. 
 
 The False Courtesan. 
 
 The Danger of being too Innocent. 
 
 The Dear Night of Love. 
 
 The Sermon of the Merry Vicar of Meudon. 
 
 The Succubus. 
 
 Despair in Love. 
 
 Epilogue. 
 
 2H 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 CERTAIN persons have reproached the Author for 
 knowing no more about the language of the olden 
 times than hares do of telling stories. Formerly these 
 people would have been villified, called cannibals, churls, 
 and sycophants, and Gomorrah would have been hinted 
 at- as their natal place. But the Author consents to spare 
 them these flowery epithets of ancient criticism ; he con- 
 tents himself with wishing not to be in their skin, for he 
 would be disgusted with himself, and esteem himself the 
 vilest of scribblers thus to calumniate a poor little book 
 which is not in the style of any spoil-paper of these times. 
 Ah! ill-natured wretches! you should save your breath 
 to cool your own porridge ! The Author consoles himself 
 for his want of success in not pleasing every one by 
 remembering that an old Tourainian, of eternal memory, 
 had to put up with such contumely, that, losing all 
 patience, he declared in one of his prologues, that he 
 would never more put pen to paper. Another age, but 
 the same manners. Nothing changes, neither God above 
 nor men below. Therefore the Author continues his task 
 with a light heart, relying upon the future to reward his 
 heavy labours. 
 
 And certes, it is a hard task to invent a hundred droll 
 
 212 
 
PRonoGUE. 213 
 
 TALES, since not only have ruffians and envious men 
 opened fire upon him, but his friends have imitated their 
 example, and come to him, saying, "Are you mad? Do 
 you think it possible ? No man ever had in the depths of 
 his imagination a hundred such tales. Change the hyper- 
 bolic title of your budget. You will never finish it," These 
 people are neither misanthropes nor cannibals; whether 
 they are ruffians I know not ; but for certain they are kind, 
 good-natured friends ; friends who have the courage to 
 tell you disagreeable things all your life long, who are 
 rough and sharp as currycombs, under the pretence that 
 they are yours to command, in all the mishaps of life, and 
 in the hour of extreme unction, all their worth will be 
 known. If such people would only keep to these sad 
 kindnesses : but they will not. When their terrors are 
 proved to have been idle, they exclaim triumphantly, 
 "Ha! ha! I knew it. I always said so." 
 
 In order not to discourage fine sentiments, intolerable 
 though they be, the Author leaves to his friends his old 
 shoes, and in order to make their minds easy, assures 
 them that he has, legally protected and exempt from seiz- 
 ure, seventy droll stories, in that reservoir of nature, his 
 brain. By the gods ! they are precious yarns, well rigged 
 out with phrases, carefully furnished with catastrophes, 
 amply clothed with original humour, rich in diurnal and 
 nocturnal effects, nor lacking that plot which the human 
 race has woven each minute, each hour, each week, month, 
 and year of the great ecclesiastical computation, com- 
 menced at a time when the sun could scarcely see, and the 
 moon waited to be shown her way. These seventy sub- 
 jects, which he gives you leave to call bad subjects, full of 
 
214 PROLOGUE. 
 
 tricks and impudence, lust, lies, jokes, jests, and ribaldry, 
 joined to the two portions here given, are, by the prophet! 
 a small instalment of the aforesaid hundred. 
 
 Were it not now a bad time for bibliopolists, biblio- 
 maniacs, bibliographers, and bibliotheques which hinder 
 bibliolatry, he would have given them in a bumper, and 
 not drop by drop as if he were afflicted with dysury of the 
 brain. He cannot possibly be suspected of this infirmity, 
 since he often gives good^ weight, putting several stories 
 into one, as is clearly demonstrated by several in this 
 volume. You may rely on it, that he has chosen for the 
 finish, the best and most ribald of the lot, in order that 
 he may not be accused of a senile discourse. Put then 
 more likes with your dislikes, and dislikes with your likes. 
 Forgetting the niggardly behaviour of nature to story- 
 tellers, of whom there are not more than seven perfect 
 in the great ocean of human writers, other, although 
 friendly, have been of opinion that, at a time when every 
 one went about dressed in black, as if in mourning for 
 something, it was necessary to concoct works either weari- 
 somely serious, or seriously wearisome ; that a writer 
 could only live henceforward by enshrining his ideas in 
 some vast edifice, and that those who were unable to re- 
 construct cathedrals and castles of which neither stone 
 nor cement could be moved, would die unknown, like the 
 Pope's slippers. These friends were requested to declare 
 which they liked best, a pint of good wine, or a tun of 
 cheap rubbish; a diamond of twenty-two carats, or a 
 flint-stone weighing a hundred pounds ; the ring of Hans 
 Carvel, as told by Rabelais, or a modern narrative piti- 
 fully expectorated by a schoolboy. Seeing them dumb- 
 
PROLOGUE. 215 
 
 foundered and abashed, it was calmly said to them, "Do 
 you thoroughly understand, good people? Then go your 
 ways, and mind your own businesses." 
 
 The following, however, must be added, for the bene- 
 fit of all whom it may concern : — The good man to whom 
 we owe fables and stories of sempiternal authority has 
 only used his tool on them, having taken his material 
 from others ; but the workmanship expended on these 
 little figures has given them a high value ; and although 
 he was, like M. Louis Ariosto, vituperated for thinking 
 of idle pranks and trifles, there is a certain insect en- 
 graved by him which has since become a monument of 
 perennity more assured than that of the most solidly built 
 works. In the especial jurisprudence of wit and wisdom 
 the custom is to esteem more dearly a leaf wrested from 
 the book of Nature and Truth, than all the indifferent 
 volumes from which, however fine they be, it is impos- 
 sifcle to extract either a laugh or a tear. The author has 
 license to say this without any impropriety, since it is not 
 his intention to stand upon tiptoe in order to obtain an un- 
 natural height, but because it is a question of the majesty 
 of his art, and not of himself — a poor clerk of the court, 
 whose business it is to have ink in his pen, to listen to 
 the gentlemen on the bench, and take down the sayings 
 of each witness in this case. He is responsible for the 
 workmanship, Nature for the rest, since from the Venus 
 of Phidias the Athenian, down to the little old fellow 
 Godenot, commonly called the Sieur Breloque, a charac- 
 ter carefully elaborated by one of the most celebrated 
 authors of the present day, everything is studied from the 
 eternal model of human imitations which belongs to all. 
 
2l6 PROLOGUE. 
 
 At this honest business, happy are the robbers that are 
 not hanged, but esteemed and beloved. But he is a triple 
 fool, a fool with ten horns on his head, who struts, boasts, 
 and is puffed up at an advantage due to the hazard of dis- 
 positions, because glory lies only in the cultivation of the 
 faculties, in patience and courage. 
 
 As for the soft-voiced and pretty-mouthed ones, who 
 have whispered delicately in the author's ear, complain- 
 ing to him that they have disarranged their tresses and 
 spoiled their petticoats in certain places, he would say 
 to them, "Why did you go there?" To these remarks he 
 is compelled, through the notable slanders of certain peo- 
 ple, to add a notice to the well-disposed, in order that they 
 may use it, and end the calumnies of the aforesaid scrib- 
 blers concerning him. 
 
 These droll tales are written — according to all authori- 
 ties — at that period when Queen Catherine, of the house 
 of Medicis, was hard at work ; for during a g^eat portion 
 of the reign, she was always interfering with public af- 
 fairs to the advantage of our holy religion. The which 
 time has seized many people by the throat, from our de- 
 funct master, Francis, first of the name, to the Assembly 
 at Blois, where fell M. de Guise. Now, even schoolboys 
 who play at chuck-farthing, know that at this period of 
 insurrections, pacifications, and disturbances, the lan- 
 guage of France was a little disturbed also, on account of 
 the inventions of the poets, who at that time, as at this, 
 used each to make a language for himself, besides the 
 strange Greek, Latin, Italian, German, and Swiss words, 
 foreign phrases, and Spanish jargon, introduced by for- 
 eigners, so that a poor writer has plenty of elbow room 
 
PROLOGUE. 217 
 
 in this Babelish language, which has since been taken in 
 hand by Messieurs de Balzac, Blaise Pascal, Furetiere, 
 Menage, St. Evremond, de Malherbe, and others, who 
 first cleaned out the French language, sent foreign words 
 to the rightabout, and gave the right of citizenship to 
 legitimate words used and known by every one, but of 
 which the Sieur Ronsard was ashamed. 
 
 Having finished, the author returns to his lady-love,* 
 wishing every happiness to those by whom he is beloved ; 
 to the others, misfortune according to their deserts. When 
 the swallows fly homeward, he will come again, not with- 
 out the third and fourth volume, which he here promises 
 to the Pantagruelists, merry knaves, and honest wags of 
 all degrees, who have a wholesome horror of the sadness, 
 sombre meditation and melancholy of literary croakers. 
 
THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 THE Inn of the Three Barbels was formerly at Tours, 
 the best place in the town for sumptuous fare ; and 
 the landlord, reputed the prince of cooks, went to prepare 
 wedding breakfasts as far as Chatelherault, Loches, Ven- 
 dome, and Blois. This said man, an old fox, perfect in his 
 business, never lighted lamps in the daytime, knew how 
 to skin a flint, charged for wool, leather, and feathers, 
 had. an eye to everything, did not easily let any one pay 
 with chaff instead of coin, and for a penny less than his 
 account would have affronted even a prince. For the 
 rest, he was a good banterer, drinking and laughing with 
 his regular customers, hat in hand always before the per- 
 sons furnished with plenary indulgences entitled Sit 
 nomen Domini henedictum, running them into expense, 
 and proving to them, if need were, by sound argument, 
 that wines were dear, and that whatever they might think, 
 nothing was given away in Touraine, everything had to 
 be bought, and, at the same time, paid for. In short, if 
 he could without disgrace have done so, he would have 
 reckoned so much for the good air, and so much for the 
 view of the country. Thus he built up a tidy fortune 
 with other people's money, became as round as a butt, 
 larded with fat, and was called Monsieur. At the time of 
 the last fair three young fellows, who were apprentices in 
 
 218 
 
TEIE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 219 
 
 knavery, in whom there was more of the material that 
 makes thieves than saints, and who knew just how far it 
 was possible to go without catching their necks in the 
 branches of trees, made up their minds to amuse them- 
 selves, and live well, condemning certain hawkers or 
 others in all the expenses. Now these limbs of Satan 
 gave the slip to their masters, under whom they had been 
 studying the art of parchment scrawling, and came to 
 stay at the hotel of the Three Barbels, where they de- 
 manded the best rooms, turned the place inside out, turned 
 up their noses at everything, bespoke all the lampreys in 
 the market, and announced themselves as first-class mer- 
 chants, who never carried their goods with them, and 
 travelled only with their persons. The host bustled about, 
 turned the spits, got out the best of everything, and pre- 
 pared a glorious repast for these three dodgers, who had 
 already made noise enough for a hundred crowns, and 
 who most certainly would not even have given up the 
 copper coins which one of them was jingling in his pocket. 
 But if they were hard up for money they did not want for 
 ingenuity, and all three arranged to play their parts like 
 thieves at a fair. Theirs was a farce in which there was 
 plenty of eating and drinking, since for five days they so 
 heartily attacked every kind of provision, that a party of 
 German soldiers would have spoilt less than they ob- 
 tained by fraud. These three cunning fellows made 
 their way to the fair after breakfast, well primed, 
 gorged, and big in the belly, and did as they liked 
 with the greenhorns and others, robbing, filching, play- 
 ing, and losing, taking down the writings and signs and 
 changing them, putting that of the toyman over the jew- 
 
220 THE THREE CLEKKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 eller's, and that of the jeweller's outside the shoemaker's, 
 turning the shops inside out, making the dogs fight, cut- 
 ting the ropes of tethered horses, throwing cats among 
 the crowd, crying "Stop thief !" and saying to every one 
 they met, "Are you not Monsieur D'Entrefesse, of An- 
 giers?" Then they hustled every one, making holes in 
 the sacks of flour, looking for their handkerchiefs in 
 ladies' pockets, raising their skirts, crying, looking for a 
 lost jewel, and saying to them — 
 
 "Ladies, it has fallen into a hole !" 
 
 They directed the little children wrongly, slapped the 
 stomachs of those who were gaping in the air, and 
 prowled about, fleecing and annoying every one. In short, 
 the devil would have been a gentleman in comparison- 
 with these blackguard students, who would have been 
 hanged rather than do an honest action ; as well have ex- 
 pected charity from two angry litigants. They left the 
 fair, not fatigued, but tired of ill-doing, and spent the re- 
 mainder of their time over their dinner until the evening, 
 when they recommenced their pranks by torchlight. After 
 the pedlars they commenced operations on the ladies of 
 the town, to whom, by a thousand dodges, they gave only 
 that which they received, according to the axiom of Jus- 
 tinian: Cuicum jus tribuere. "To every one his own 
 juice ;" and afterwards jokingly said to the poor 
 wenches — ' 
 
 "We are in the right and you in the wrong." 
 
 At last, at supper-time, having nothing else to do, they 
 began to knock each other about, and, to keep the game 
 alive, complained of the flies to the landlord, remonstrat- 
 ing with him that elsewhere the innkeepers had them 
 
THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 221 
 
 caught in order that gentlemen of position might not be 
 annoyed by them. However, towards the fifth day, which 
 is the critical day of fevers, the host not having been seen, 
 although he kept his eyes wide open, the royal surface of 
 a crown, and knowing that if all that glittered were gold 
 it would be cheaper, began to knit his brows and go more 
 slowly about that which his high class merchants required 
 of him. Fearing that he had made a bad bargain with 
 them, he tried to sound the depth of their pockets ; per- 
 ceiving which the three clerks ordered him, with the assur- 
 ance of a provost hanging his man, to serve them quickly 
 with a good supper, as they had to depart immediately. 
 Their merry countenances dismissed the host's suspicions. 
 Thinking that rogues without money would certainly look 
 grave, he prepared a supper worthy a canon, wishing even 
 to see them drunk, in order the more easily to clap them 
 into gaol in the event of an accident. Not knowing how to 
 make their escape from the room, in which they were 
 about as much at their ease as are fish upon straw, the 
 three companions ate and drank immoderately, looking 
 at the situation of the windows, waiting the moment to 
 decamp, but not getting the opportunity. Cursing their 
 luck, one of them wished to go and undo his waistcoat, 
 on account of a colic, the other to fetch a doctor to the 
 third, who did his best to faint. The cursed landlord kept 
 dodging about from the kitchen into the room, and from 
 the room into the kitchen, watching the nameless ones, 
 going a step forward to save his crowns, and going a step 
 back to save his crown, in case they should be real gen- 
 tlemen ; and he acted like a brave and prudent host who 
 likes halfpence and objects to kicks ; but under pretence 
 
222 THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 of properly attending to them, he always had an ear in the 
 room and a foot in the court ; fancied he was always being 
 called by them, came every time they laughed, showing 
 them a face with an unsettled look upon it, and always 
 said, "Gentlemen, what is your pleasure?" This was an 
 interrogatory in reply to which they would willingly have 
 given him ten inches of his own spit in his stomach, be- 
 cause he appeared as if he knew very well what would 
 please them at this juncture, seeing that to have twenty 
 crowns, full weight, they would each of them have sold 
 a third of his eternity. You can imagine they sat on their 
 seats as if they were gridirons, that their feet itched and 
 their posteriors were rather warm. Already the host had 
 put the pears, the cheeese, and the preserves near their 
 noses, but they, sipping their liquor and picking at the 
 dishes, looked at each other to see if either of them had 
 found a good piece of roguery in his sack, and they all 
 began to enjoy themselves rather wofuUy. The most 
 cunning of the three clerks, who was a Burgundian, 
 smiled and said, seeing the hour of payment arrived, 
 "This must stand over for a week," as if they had been at 
 the Palais de Justice. The two others, in spite of the dan- 
 ger, began to laugh. 
 
 "What do we owe?" asked he who had in his belt the 
 heretofore mentioned twelve sols, and he turned them 
 about as though he would make them breed little ones by 
 this excited movement. He was a native of Picardy, and 
 very passionate ; a man to take offence at anything in 
 order that he might throw the landlord out of the window 
 in all security of conscience. Now he said these word? 
 with the air of a man of immense wealth. 
 
THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 223 
 
 "Six crowns, gentlemen," replied the host, holding out 
 his hand. 
 
 "I cannot permit myself to be entertained by you alone. 
 Viscount," said the third student, who was from Anjou, 
 and as artful as a woman in love. 
 
 "Neither can I," said the Burgundian. 
 
 "Gentlemen! gentlemen!" replied the Picardian, "you 
 are jesting. I am yours to command." 
 
 "Sambreguoy !" cried he of Anjou. "You will not let 
 us pay three times ; our host would not suffer it." 
 
 "Well then," said the Burgundian, "whichever of us 
 shall tell the worst tale shall justify the landlord." 
 
 "Who will be the judge?" asked the Picardian, drop- 
 ping his twelve sols to the bottom of his pocket. 
 
 "Pardieu ! our host. He should be capable, seeing that 
 he is a man of taste," said he of Anjou. "Come along, 
 great chef, sit you down, drink, and lend us both your 
 ears. The audience is open." 
 
 Thereupon the host sat down, but not until he had 
 poured out a gobletful of wine. 
 
 "My turn first," said the Anjou man. "I commence." 
 
 "In our duchy of Anjou, the country people are very 
 faithful servants to our holy Catholic religion, and none 
 of them would lose his portion of paradise for lack of 
 doing penance or killing a heretic. If a professor of 
 heresy passed that way, he quickly found himself under 
 the grass, without knowing whence his death had pro- 
 ceeded. A good man of Larze, returning one night from 
 his evening prayer to the wine flasks of the Pomme-de- 
 Pin, where he had left his understanding and memory, 
 fell into a ditch full of water near his house, and found 
 
224 THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 he was up to his neck. One of the neighbours finding 
 him shortly afterwards nearly frozen, for it was winter 
 time, said, jokingly to him — 
 
 " 'Holloa! what are you waiting for there?' 
 
 " 'A thaw,' said the tipsy fellow, finding himself held 
 by the ice. 
 
 "Then Godenot, like a good Christian, released him 
 from his dilemma, and opened the door of the house to 
 him, out of respect to the wine, which is lord of this 
 country. The good man then went and got into the bed 
 of the maid-servant, who was a young and pretty wench. 
 The old bungler, bemuddled with wine, went ploughing 
 in the wrong land, fancying all the time it was his wife 
 by his side, and thanking her for the youth and fresh- 
 ness she still retained. On hearing her husband, the wife 
 began to cry out, and by her terrible shrieks the man was 
 awakened to the fact that he was not in the road to salva- 
 tion, which made the poor labourer sorrowful beyond ex- 
 pression. 
 
 " 'Ah r said he ; 'God has punished me for not going to 
 vespers at church.' 
 
 "And he began to excuse himself as best he could, say- 
 ing, that the wine had muddled his understanding, and 
 getting into his own bed he kept repeating to his good 
 wife, that for his best cow he would not have had this sin 
 upon his conscience. 
 
 " 'My dear,' said she, 'go and confess the first thing to- 
 morrow morning, and let us say no more about it.' 
 
 "The good man trotted to confessional, and related his 
 case with all humility to the rector of the parish, who was 
 
THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 225 
 
 a good old priest, capable of being up above, the slipper 
 of the holy foot. 
 
 " 'An error is not a sin,' said he to the penitent. 'You 
 will fast to-morrow, and be absolved.' 
 
 " 'Fast — with pleasure,' said the good man. 'That 
 does, not mean go without drink.' 
 
 " 'Oh !' replied the rector, "you must drink water, and 
 eat nothing but a quarter of a loaf and an apple.' 
 
 "Then the good man, who had no confidence in his 
 memory, went home, repeating to himself the penance 
 ordered. But having loyally commenced with a quarter 
 of a loaf and an apple, he arrived at home, saying, a quar- 
 ter of apples, and a loaf. 
 
 "Then, to purify his soul, he set about accomplishing 
 his fast, and his good woman having given him a loaf 
 from the safe, and unhooked a string of apples from the 
 beam, he set sorrowfully to work. As he heaved a sigh 
 on taking the last mouthful of bread, hardly knowing 
 where to put it, for he was full to the chin, his wife re- 
 monstrated with him, that God did not desire the death 
 of a sinner, and that for lack of putting a crust of bread 
 in his belly, he would not be reproached for having put 
 things in their wrong places. 
 
 " 'Hold your tongue, wife !' said he. 'If it chokes me, 
 I must fast.'" 
 
 "I've paid my share, it's your turn. Viscount," added 
 he of Anjou, giving the Picardian a knowing wink. 
 
 "The goblets are empty. Hi, there ! More wine." 
 
 "Let us drink," cried the Picardian. "Moist stories slip 
 out easier." 
 
 At the same time he tossed off a glassful without leav- 
 
226 THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 ing a drop at the bottom, and after a preliminary Jittle 
 cough, he related the following : — 
 
 "You must know that the maids of Picardy, before 
 setting up housekeeping, are accustomed honestly to gain 
 their linen, vessels, and chests ; in short, all the needed 
 household utensils. To accomplish this, they go into ser- 
 vice in Peronne, Abbeville, Amiens, and other towns, 
 where they are tire-women, wash up glasses, clean plates, 
 fold linen, and carry up the dinner, or anything that there 
 is to be carried. They arc all married as soon as they pos- 
 sess something else besides that which they naturally 
 bring to their husbands. These women are the best 
 housewives, because they understand the business, and 
 everything else thoroughly. One belonging to Azonville, 
 which is the land of which I am lord by inheritance, hav- 
 ing heard speak of Paris, where the people did not put 
 themselves out of the way for any one, and where one 
 could subsist for a whole day by passing the cooks' shops 
 and smelling the steam, so fattening was it, took it into 
 her head to go there. She trudged bravely along the 
 road, and arrived with a pocket full of emptiness. There 
 she fell in, at the Porte St. Denis, with a company of sol- 
 diers, placed there for a time as a vidette, for the Protest- 
 ants had assumed a dangerous attitude. The sergeant 
 seeing this hooded linnet coming, stuck his headpiece on 
 one side, straightened his feather, twisted his moustache, 
 cleared his throat, rolled his eye, put his hands on his 
 hips, and stopped the Picardian to see if her ears were 
 properly pierced, since it was forbidden to girls to enter 
 otherwise into Paris. Then he asked her, by way of a 
 joke, but with a serious face, what brought her there, he 
 
THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 22/ 
 
 pretending to believe she had come to take the keys of 
 Parfs by assault. To which the poor innocent replied, that 
 she was in search of a good situation, and had no evil in- 
 tentions, only desiring to gain something. 
 
 " 'Very well ; I will employ you,' said the wag. 'I am 
 from Picardy, and will get you taken in here, where you 
 will be treated as a queen would often like to be, and you 
 will be able to make a good thing of it.' 
 
 "Then he led her to the guard-house, where he told her 
 to sweep the floor, polish the saucepans, stir the fire, and 
 keep a watch on everything, adding that she should 
 have thirty sols a head for the men if their service pleased 
 her. Now seeing that the squad was there for a month, 
 she would be able to gain, ten crowns, and at their de- 
 parture would find fresh arrivals who would make good 
 arrangements with her, and by this means she would be 
 able to take back money and presents to her people. The 
 girl cleaned the room and prepared the meals so well, 
 singing and humming, that this day the soldiers found in 
 their den the look of a monk's refectory. Then all being 
 well content, each of them gave a sol to their handmaiden. 
 Well satisfied, they put her into the bed of their com- 
 mandant, who was in the town with his lady, and they 
 petted and caressed her after the manner of philosophical 
 soldiers, that is, soldiers partial to that which is good. 
 She was soon comfortably ensconced between the sheets. 
 But to avoid quarrels and strife, my noble warriors drew 
 lots for their turn, arranged themselves in single file, play- 
 ing well at Pique bardie, saying not a word, but each one 
 taking at least twenty-six sols' worth of the girl's society. 
 Although not accustomed to work for so many, the poor 
 
228 THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 girl did her best, and by this means never closed her eyes 
 the whole night. In the morning, seeing the soldiers 
 were fast asleep, she rose happy at bearing no marks of 
 the sharp skirmish, and although slightly fatigued, man- 
 aged to get across the fields into the open country with 
 her thirty sols. On the route to Picardy, she met one of 
 her friends, who, like herself, wished to try service in 
 Paris, and was hurrying thither, and seeing her, asked 
 what sort of places they were. 
 
 " 'Ah ! Perrine ; do not go. You want to be made of 
 iron, and even if you were it would soon be worn away, 
 was-the answer. 
 
 "Now, big-belly of Burgundy," said he, giving his 
 neighbour a hearty sl^p, "spit out your story or pay!" 
 
 "By the queen of Antlers!" replied the Burgnndian, 
 "by my faith, by the saints, by God ! and by the devil, I 
 know only stories of the Court of Burgundy, which are 
 only current coin in our own land." 
 
 "Eh, ventre Dieu! are we not in the land of Bauffre- 
 mont?" cried the other, pointing to the empty goblets. 
 
 "I will tell you, then, an adventure well known at 
 Dijon, which happened at the time I was in command 
 there, and was worth being written down. There was 
 a sergeant of justice named Franc-Taupin, who was an 
 old lump of mischief, always grumbling, always fighting ; 
 stiff and starchy, and never comforting those he was 
 leading to the hulks, with little jokes by the way ; and in 
 short, he was just the man to find lice in bald heads, ana 
 bad behaviour in the Almighty. This said Taupin, 
 spurned by every one, took unto himself a wife, and by 
 chance he was blessed with one as mild as the peel of an 
 
THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 229 
 
 onion, who, noticing the peculiar humour of her husband, 
 took more pains to bring joy to his house than would 
 another to bestow horns upon him. But although she 
 was careful to obey him in all things, and to live at peace 
 would have tried to excrete gold for him, had God 
 permitted it, this man was always surly and crabbed, and 
 no more spared his wife blows, than does a debtor 
 promises to the bailiff's man. This unpleasant treat- 
 ment continuing in spite of the carefulness and angelic 
 behaviour of the poor woman, she being unable to ac- 
 custom herself to it, was compelled to inform her rela- 
 tions, who thereupon came to the house. When they 
 arrived, the husband declared to them that his wife was 
 an idiot, that she displeased him in every possible way, 
 and made his life almost unbearable ; that she would wake 
 him- out of his first sleep, never came to the door when 
 he knocked, but would leave him out in the rain and the 
 cold, and that the house was always untidy. His gar- 
 ments were buttonless, his laces wanted tags. The linen 
 was spoiling, the wine turning sour, the wood damp, and 
 the bed was always creaking at unseasonable moments. 
 In short, everything was going wrong. To this tissue 
 of falsehoods, the wife replied by pointing to the clothes 
 and things, all in a state of thorough repair. Then the 
 sergeant said that he was very badly treated, that his 
 dinner was never ready for him, or if it was, the broth 
 was thin or the soup cold, either the wine or the glasses 
 were forgotten, the meat was without gravy or parsley, 
 the mtistard had turned, he either found hairs in the 
 dish or the cloth was dirty and took away his appetite, 
 indeed nothing did she ever get for him that was to his 
 
230 THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 liking. The wife, astonished, contented herself with 
 stoutly denying the faults imputed to her. 'Ah,' said 
 he, "you dirty hussy ! You deny it, do you ! Very well 
 then, my friends, you come and dine here to-day, you 
 shall be witnesses of her misconduct. And if she can 
 for once serve me properly, I will confess myself wrong 
 in all I have stated, and will never lift my hand against 
 her again, "but will resign to her my halberd and my 
 breeches, and give her full authority here." 
 
 " ' Oh, well,' said she joyfully, 'I shall then henceforth 
 be both wife and mistress!' 
 
 " Then the husband, confident of the nature and im- 
 perfections of his wife, desired that the dinner should be 
 served under the vine arbour, thinking he would be able 
 to shout at her if she did not hurry quickly enough from 
 the table to the pantry. The good housewife set to work 
 with a will. The plates were clean enough to see one's 
 face in, the 'mustard was fresh and well made, the dinner 
 beautifully cooked, as appetizing as stolen fruit; the 
 glasses were clear, the wine was cool, and everything so 
 nice, so clean arid white, that the repast would have 
 done honour to a bishop's chatterbox. Just as she was 
 standing before the table, casting the last glance which 
 all good housewives like to give to everything, her hus- 
 band knocked at the door. At that very moment a 
 cursed hen, who had taken it into her head to get on top 
 of the arbour to gorge herself with grapes, let fall a large 
 lump of dirt right in the middle of the cloth. The poor 
 woman was half dead with fright; so great was her de- 
 spair, she could think of no other way of remedying the 
 thoughtlessness of the fowl than by covering the unseemly 
 
THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 23I 
 
 patch with a plate in which she put the fine fruits taken 
 at random from her pocket, losing sight altogether of the 
 symmetry of the table. Then, in order that no one 
 should notice it, she instantly fetched the soup, seated 
 every one in his place, and begged them to enjoy them- 
 selves. 
 
 "Now, all of them seeing everything so well ar- 
 ranged, uttered exclamations of pleasure, except the 
 diabolical husband, who remained moody and sullen, 
 knitting his brows and looking for a straw on which to 
 hang a quarrel with his wife. Thinking it safe to give 
 him one for himself, her relations being present, she 
 said to him, 'Here's your dinner, nice and hot, well served, 
 the cloth is clean, the salt-cellars full, the plates clean, the 
 wine fresh, the bread well baked. What is there lack- 
 ing? What do you require? What do you desire? 
 What else do you want? 
 
 " 'Oh, filth !' said he, in a great rage. 
 
 "The good woman instantly lifted the plate, and re- 
 plied — 
 
 " 'There you are, my dear !' 
 
 "Seeing which, the sergeant was dumbfoundered, 
 thinking that the devil was in league with his wife. He 
 was immediately gravely reproached by the relations, who 
 declared him to be in the wrong, abused him, and made 
 more jokes at Ws expense than a recorder writes words 
 in a month. From that time forward the sergeant lived 
 comfortably and peaceably with his wife, who at the least 
 appearance of temper on his part, would say to him — 
 
 " 'Do you want some filth ? 
 
232 THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 "Who has told the worst now?" cried the Anjou man, 
 giving the host a tap on the shoulder. 
 
 "He has! he has!" said the two others. Then they 
 began to dispute among themselves, like the holy fathers 
 in council ; seeking, by creating a confusion, throwing the 
 glasses at each other, and jumping about, a lucky chance, 
 to make a run of it. 
 
 "I'll settle the question," cried the host, seeing that 
 whereas they had all three been ready with their own ac- 
 counts, not one of them was thinking of his. 
 
 They stopped terrified. 
 
 "I will tell you a better one than all, then you will have 
 to give me ten sols a head." 
 
 "Silence for the landlord," said the one from Anjou. 
 
 "In our faubourg of Notre-Dame la Riche, in which 
 this inn is situated, there lived a beautiful girl, who be- 
 sides her natural advantages, had a good round sum in 
 her keeping. Therefore, as soon as she was old enough, 
 and strong enough to bear the matrimonial yoke, she had 
 as many lovers as there are sols in St. Gatien's money-box 
 on the Paschal-day. This girl chose one who, saving 
 your presence, was as good a worker, night and day, as 
 any two monks together. They were soon betrothed, and 
 the marriage was arranged ; but the joy of the first night 
 did not draw near without occasioning some slight appre- 
 hensions to the lady, as she was liable, through an infirm- 
 ity, to expel vapours, which came out like bombshells. 
 Now, fearing that when thinking of something else, dur- 
 ing the first night, she might give the reins to her eccen- 
 tricities, she stated the case to her mother, whose assist- 
 ance she invoked. That good lady informed her that this 
 
THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 233 
 
 faculty of engendering wind was inherent in the family ; 
 that in her time she had been greatly embarrassed by it, 
 but only in the earlier period of her life. God had been 
 kind to her, and since the age of seven, she had evaporated 
 nothing except on the last occasion, when she had be- 
 stowed upon -her dead husband a farewell blow. 'But,' 
 said she to her daughter, 'I have a sure specific, left to 
 me by my mother, which brings these surplus explosions 
 to nothing, and exhales them noiselessly. By this means 
 these sighs become odourless, and scandal is avoided.' 
 
 "The girl, much pleased, learned how to sail close to 
 the wind, thanked her mother, and danced away merrily, 
 storing up her flatulence like an organ-blower waiting the 
 first note of mass. Entering the nuptial chamber, she 
 determined to expel it when getting into bed, but the fan- 
 tastic element was beyond control. The husband came ; I 
 leave you to imagine how love's conflict sped. In the mid- 
 dle of the night, the bride arose under a false pretext, and 
 quickly returned again ; but when climbing into her place, 
 the pent up force went off with such a loud discharge, 
 that you would have thought with me that the curtains 
 were split. 
 
 " 'Ha ! I've missed my aim !' said she. 
 
 ' ' 'Sdeath, my dear,' I replied, 'then spare your pow- 
 der. You would earn a good living in the army with that 
 artillery.' 
 
 "It was my wife." 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha !" went the clerks. 
 
 And they roared with laughter, holding their sides and 
 complimenting their host. 
 
 "Did you ever hear a better story. Viscount?" 
 
234 THE THREE CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 "Ah, what a story 1" 
 
 "That is a story !" 
 
 "A master story !" 
 
 "The king of stories !" 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! It beats all the other stories hollow. After 
 that I say there are no stories like the stories of our host." 
 
 "By the faith of a Christian, I never heard a better 
 story in my life." 
 
 "Why, I can hear the report." 
 
 "I should like to kiss the orchestra." 
 
 "Ah, gentlemen," said the Burgundian, gravely, "we 
 cannot leave without seeing the hostess, and if we do not 
 ask to kiss this famous wind-instrument, it is out of re- 
 spect for so good a story-teller." 
 
 Thereupon they all exalted the host, his story, and his 
 wife's trumpet so well that the old fellow, believing in 
 these knaves' laughter and pompous eulogies, called to 
 his wife. But she not coming, the clerks said, not without 
 frustrative intention, "Let us go to her." 
 
 Thereupon they all went out of the room. The host 
 took the candle and went upstairs first, to light them and 
 show them the way ; but seeing the street door ajar, the 
 rascals took to their heels, and were oflf like shadows, 
 leaving the host to take in settlement of his account an- 
 other of his wife's offerings. 
 
THE CONTINENCE OF 
 KING FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 EVERY one knows through what adventure King 
 Francis, the first of that name, was taken Uke a 
 silly bird and led into the town of Madrid, in Spain. 
 There the Emperor Charles V. kept him carefully locked 
 up, like an article of great value, in one of his castles, in 
 the which our defunct sire, of immortal memory, soon 
 became listless and weary, seeing that he loved the open 
 air, and his little comforts, and no more understood being 
 shut up in a cage than a cat would folding up lace. He 
 fell into moods of such strange melancholy that his let- 
 ters having been read in full council, Madame d'Angou- 
 leme, his mother ; Madame Catherine, the Dauphine, Mon- 
 sieur de Montmorency, and those who were at the head 
 of affairs in France knowing the great lechery of the king, 
 determined after mature deliberation, to send Queen Mar- 
 guerite to him, from whom he would doubtless receive 
 alleviation of his sufferings, that good lady being much 
 loved by him, and merry, and learned in all necessary 
 wisdom. But she, alleging that it would be dangerous 
 for her soul, because it was impossible for her, without 
 great danger, to be alone with the king in his cell, a sharp 
 
 235 
 
236 THE CONTINENCE OF 
 
 secretary, the Sieur de Fizes, was sent to the Court of 
 Rome, with orders to beg of the Pontiff a papal brief of 
 special indulgences, containing proper absolutions for the 
 petty sins which, looking at their consanguinity, the said 
 queen might commit with a view to cure the king's mel- 
 ancholy. 
 
 At this time, Adrian VI., the Dutchman, still wore the 
 tiara, who, a good fellow, for the rest did not forget, in 
 spite of the scholastic ties which united him to the em- 
 peror, that the eldest son of the Catholic Church was con- 
 cerned in the affair, and was good enough to send to Spain 
 an express legate, furnished with full powers, to atttempt 
 the salvation of the queen's soul, and the king's body, 
 without prejudice to God. This most urgent affair made 
 the gentlemen very uneasy, and caused an itching in the 
 feet of the ladies, who, from great devotion to the crown, 
 would all have offered to go to Madrid, but for the dark 
 distrust of Charles the Fifth, who would not grant the 
 king permission to see any of his subjects, nor even the 
 members of his family. It was therefore necessary to 
 negotiate the departure of the Queen of Navarre. Then, 
 nothing else was spoken about but this deplorable absti- 
 nence, and the lack of amorous exercise so vexatious to a 
 prince who was much accustomed to it. In short, from 
 one thing to another, the women finished by thinking more 
 of the king's condition, than of the king himself. The 
 queen was the first to say that she wished she had wings. 
 To this Monseigneur Odet de Chatillon replied, that she 
 had no need of them to be an angel. One, that was Ma- 
 dame I'Amirale, blamed God that it was not possible to 
 send by a messenger that which the poor king so much 
 
KING FRANCIS THE FIRST. 237 
 
 required ; and every one of the ladies would have lent it 
 in her turn. 
 
 "God has done very well to fix it," said the Dauphine, 
 quietly; "for our husbands would leave us rather badly 
 off during their absence." 
 
 So much was said and so much thought upon the sub- 
 ject, that at her departure the Queen of all Marguerites 
 was charged, by these good Christians, to kiss the captive 
 heartily for all the ladies of the realm ; and if it had been 
 permissible to prepare pleasure like mustard, the queen 
 would have been laden with enough to sell to the two 
 Castiles. 
 
 While Madame Marguerite was, in spite of the snow, 
 crossing the mountains, by relays of mules, hurrying on 
 to these consolations as to a fire, the king found himself 
 harder pressed by unsatisfied desire than he ever had 
 been before, or would be again. In this reverberation of 
 nature, he opened his heart to the Emperor Charles, in 
 order that he might be provided with a merciful specific, 
 urging upon him that it would be an everlasting disgrace 
 to one king to let another die for Iqck of gallantry. The 
 Castilian showed himself to be a generous man. Think- 
 ing that he would be able to recuperate himself for the 
 favour granted, out of his guest's ransom, he hinted 
 quietly to the people commissioned to guard the prisoner, 
 that they might gratify him in this respect. Thereupon, 
 a certain Don Hiios de Lara y Lopez Barra di Ponto, a 
 poor captain, whose pockets were empty in spite of his 
 genealogy, and who had been for some time thinking of 
 seeking his fortune at the court of France, fancied that 
 by procuring his majesty a soft cataplasm of warm flesh. 
 
238 THE CONTINENCE OF 
 
 he would open for himself an honestly fertile door ; and, 
 indeed, those who know the character of the good king 
 and his court, can decide if he deceived himself. 
 
 When the above mentioned captain came in his turn 
 into the chamber of the French king, he asked him re- 
 spectfully if it was his good pleasure to permit him an 
 interrogation on a subject concerning which he was as 
 curious as about papal indulgences ? To which the prince, 
 casting aside his hypochondriacal demeanour, and twist- 
 ing round on the chair in which he was seated, gave a sign 
 of consent. The captain begged him not to be offended 
 at the license of his language, and confessed to him, that 
 he the king was said to be one of the most amorous men 
 in France, and he would be glad to learn from him if the 
 ladies of his court were expert in the science of love. The 
 poor king, calling to mind his many adventures, gave vent 
 to a deep-drawn sigh, and exclaimed, that no women of 
 any country, including those of the moon, knew better 
 than the ladies of France the secrets of this alchemy ; and 
 at the remembrance of the savoury, gracious, and vigorous 
 fondling of one alone, he felt himself the man, were she 
 then within his reach, to clasp her to his heart, even on a 
 rotten plank a hundred feet above a precipice. 
 
 Saying which, this good king, a ribald fellow, if ever 
 there was one, shot forth so fiercely life and light from 
 his eyes, that the captain, although a brave man, felt a 
 quaking in his inside so fiercely flamed the sacred majesty 
 of royal love. But recovering his courage he began to 
 defend the Spanish ladies, declaring that in Castile alone 
 was love properly understood, because it was the most 
 religious place in Christendom, and the more fear the 
 
KING FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 239 
 
 women had of damning themselves by yielding to a lover, 
 the more their souls were in the affair, because they knew 
 they must take their pleasure then against eternity. He 
 further added, that if the Lord King would wager one 
 of the best and most profitable manors in the kingdom of 
 France, he would give him a Spanish night of love, in 
 which a casual queen should, unless he took care, draw 
 his soul from his body. 
 
 "Done," said the king, jumping up from his chair. "I 
 will give thee, by God, the manor of Ville-aux-Dames in 
 my province of Touraine, with full privilege of chase, of 
 high and low jurisdiction." 
 
 Then the captain, who was acquainted with the Donna 
 of the Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo, requested her to 
 smother the King of France with kindness, and demon- 
 strate to him the great advantage of the Castilian imagi- 
 nation over the simple movement of the French. To 
 which the Marchesa of Amaesguy consented for the 
 honour of Spain, and also for the pleasure of knowing of 
 what paste God made kings, a matter in which she was 
 ignorant, having experience only of the princes of the 
 church. Thus she came passionate as a lion that has 
 broken out of his cage, and made the bones of the king 
 crack, in a manner that would have killed any other man. 
 But the above-named lord was so well furnished, so 
 greedy, and so well bitten, that he no longer felt a bite ; 
 and from this terrible duel the Marchesa emerged 
 abashed, believing that she had had the devil to confess. 
 
 The captain, confident in his agent, came to salute his 
 lord, thinking to do homage for his fief. Thereupon the 
 king said to him, in a jocular manner, that the Spanish 
 
240 THE CONTINENCE OF 
 
 ladies were of a passable temperature, and their system a 
 fair one, but that when gentleness was required they sub- 
 stituted frenzy ; that he kept fancying each thrill was a 
 sneeze, or a case of violence ; in short, that the embrace 
 of a Frenchwoman brought back the drinker more thirsty 
 than ever, tiring him never ; and that with the ladies of 
 his court, love was a gentle pleasure without parallel, and 
 not the labour of a master baker in his kneading trough. 
 
 The poor captain was strangely piqued at this language. 
 In spite of the nice sense of honour which the king pre- 
 tended to possess, he fancied that his majesty wished to 
 bilk him like a student, stealing a slice of love at a brothel 
 in Paris. Nevertheless, not knowing for the matter of 
 that, if the Marchesa had not overspanished the king, he 
 demanded his revenge from the captive, pledging him his 
 word, that he should have for certain a veritable fay, and 
 that he would yet gain the fief. The king was too cour- 
 teous and gallant a knight to refuse this request, and even 
 made a pretty and right royal speech, intimating his desire 
 to lose the wager. Then, after vespers, the guard passed 
 fresh and warm into the kings chamber, a lady most daz- 
 zingly white — most delicately wanton, with long tresses 
 and velvet hands, filling out her dress at the least move- 
 ment, for she was gracefully plump, with a laughing- 
 mouth, and eyes moist in advance, a woman to beautify 
 hell, and whose first word had such cordial power that 
 the king's garment was cracked by it. On the morrow, 
 after the fair one had slipped out after the king's break- 
 fast, the good captain came radiant and triumphant into 
 the chamber. 
 
 At sight of him the prisoner exclaimed — 
 
KING FRANCIS THE FIRST. 24I 
 
 "Baron de la Ville-aux-Dames ! God grant you joys 
 like to mine ! I like my gaol ! By'r lady, I will not judge 
 between the love of our lands, but pay the wager." 
 
 "I was sure of it," said the captain. 
 
 "How so ?" said the king. 
 
 "Sire, it was my wife." 
 
 This was the origin of Larray de la Ville-aux-Dames 
 in our country, since from corruption of the names, that 
 of Lara-y Lopez, finished by becoming Larray. It was a 
 good family, delighting in serving the kings of France, 
 and it multiplied exceeedingly. Soon after, the Queeen of 
 Navarre came in due course to the king, who, weary of 
 Spanish customs, wished to disport himself after the 
 fashion of France; but the remainder is not the subject 
 of this narrative. I reserve to myself the right to relate 
 elsewhere how the legate managed to sponge the sin of 
 the thing off the great slate, and the delicate remark of 
 our Queen of Marguerites, who merits a saint's niche in 
 this collection ; she who first concocted such good stories. 
 The morality of this one is easy to understand. 
 
 In the first place, kings should never let themselves be 
 taken in battle any more than their archetype in the game 
 of the Grecian chief Palamedes. But from this, it appears 
 the captivity of its king is a most calamitous and horrible 
 evil to fall upon the populace. If it had been a queen, 
 of even a princess, what worse fate? But I believe the 
 thing could not happen again, except with cannibals. Can 
 there ever be a reason for imprisoning the flower of a 
 realm ? I think too well of Ashtaroth, Lucifer, and others, 
 to imagine that did they reign, they would hide the joy of 
 all the beneficent light, at which poor sufferers warm 
 
242 THE CONTINENCE OF KING FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 themselves. And it was necessary that the worst of devils, 
 id est, a wicked old heretic woman, should find herself 
 upon a throne, to keep a prisoner sweet Mary of Scotland, 
 to the shame of all the knights of Christendom, who 
 should have come without previous assignation to the foot 
 of Fotheringay, and have left thereof no single stone. 
 
THE MERRY TATTLE OF THE 
 NUNS OF POISSY. 
 
 THE Abbey of Poissy has been rendered famous by 
 old authors as a place of pleasure, where the mis- 
 conduct of the nuns first began, and whence proceeded so 
 many good stories calculated to make laymen laugh at 
 the expense of our holy religion . The said abbey by this 
 means became fertile in proverbs, which none of the clever 
 folks of our day understand, although they sift and chew 
 them in order to digest them. 
 
 If you ask one of them what the olives of Poissy are, 
 they will answer you gravely that it is a periphrase relat- 
 ing to truffles, and that the way to serve them, of which 
 one formerly spoke, when joking with these virtuous 
 maidens, meant a peculiar kind of sauce. That's the way 
 these scribblers hit on truth once in a hundred times. To 
 return to these good recluses, it was said — by way of a 
 joke, of course — that they preferred finding a harlot in 
 their chemises to a good woman. Certain other jokers 
 reproached them with imitating the lives of the saints, in 
 their own fashion, and said that all they admired in Mary 
 of Egypt was her fashion of paying the boatmen. From 
 whence the raillery. To honour the saints after the fashion 
 
 243 
 
244 THE MERRY TATTLE OF 
 
 of Poissy. There is still the crucifix of,Poissy, which 
 kept the stomach warm ; and the matins of Poissy, which 
 concluded with a little chorister. Finally, of a hearty jade 
 well acquainted with the ways of love, it was said — She is 
 a nun of Poissy. That property of a man which he can 
 only lend, was The key of the Abbey of Poissy. What the 
 gate of the said abbey was can easily be guessed. This 
 gate, door, wicket, opening, or road was always half open, 
 was easier to open than to shut, and cost much in repairs. 
 In short, at that period, there was no fresh device in love 
 invented, that had not its origin in the good convent of 
 Poissy. You may be sure there is a good deal of untruth 
 and hyperbolical emphasis, in these proverbs, jests, jokes, 
 and idle tales. The nuns of the said Poissy were good 
 young ladies, who now this way, now that, cheated God to 
 the profit of the devil, as many others did, which was but 
 natural, because our nature is weak ; and although they 
 were nuns, they had their little imperfections. They found 
 themselves barren in a certain particular, hence the evil. 
 But the truth of the matter is, all these wickednesses were 
 the deeds of an abbess who had fourteen children, all bom 
 alive, since they had been perfected at leisure. The fan- 
 tastic amours and the wild conduct of this woman, who 
 was ©f royal blood, caused the convent of Poissy to be- 
 come fashionable; and thereafter no pleasant adventure 
 happened in the abbeys of France which was not credited 
 to these poor girls, who would have been well satisfied 
 with a tenth of them. Then the abbey was refonped, and 
 these holy sisters were deprived of the little happiness and 
 liberty which they had enjoyed. In an old cartulary of 
 the abbey of Turpenay, near Chinon, which in these later 
 
THE NUNS OF POISSY. 245 
 
 troublous times had found a resting place in the library 
 of Azay, where the custodian was only too glad to receive 
 it, I met with a fragment under the head of The Hours of 
 Poissy, which had evidently been put together bv a merry 
 abbot of Tupernay for the diversion of his neighbours of 
 Usse, Azay, Mongaugar, Sacchez, and other places of this 
 province. I give them under the authority of the clerical 
 garb, but altered to my own style, because I have been 
 compelled to turn them from Latin into French. I com- 
 mence : — At Poissy the nuns were accustomed, when 
 Mademoiselle, the king's daughter, their abbess, had gone 
 to bed. ... It was she who first called it faire la petite 
 oie, to stick to the preliminaries of love, the pro- 
 logues, prefaces, protocols, warnings, notices, introduc- 
 tions, summaries, prospectuses, arguments, notes, epi- 
 graphs, titles, false-titles, current titles, scholia, 
 marginal remarks, frontispieces, observations, gilt edges, 
 bookmarks, reglets, vignettes, tail pieces and en- 
 gravings, without once opening the merry book to read, 
 re-read, and study to apprehend and comprehend the 
 contents. And she gathered together in a body, all these 
 extra-judicial little pleasures of that sweet language, 
 which comes indeed from the lips, yet makes no noise, 
 and practised them so well, that she died a virgin and per- 
 fect in shape. This gay science was afterwards deeply 
 studied by the ladies of the court, who took lovers for la 
 petite oie, others for honour, and at times also certain ones 
 who had over them the right of high and low jurisdiction, 
 and were masters of everything — a state of things much 
 preferred. But to continue : When this virtuous princess 
 was naked and shameless between the sheets, the said girls 
 
246 THE MERRY TATTLE OF 
 
 (those whose cheeks were un wrinkled and their hearts 
 ga.y) would steal noiselessly out of their cells, and hide 
 themselves in that of one of their sisters who was much 
 liked by all of them. There they would have cosy little 
 chats, ailivened with sweetmeats, pastries, liqueurs, and 
 girlish quarrels, worry their elders, imitating them gro- 
 tesquely, innocently mocking them, telling stories that 
 made them laugh till the tears came, and playing a thou- 
 sand pranks. At times they would measure their feet, to 
 see whose were the smallest, compare the white plump- 
 ness of their arms, see whose nose had the infirmity of 
 blushing after supper, count their freckles, tell each 
 other where their skin marks were situated, dispute 
 whose complexion was the clearest, whose hair the pret- 
 tiest colour, and whose figure the best. You can imagine 
 that among these figures sanctified to God there were fine 
 ones, stout ones, lank ones, thin ones, plump ones, supple 
 ones, shrunken ones, and figures of all kinds. Then they 
 would quarrel amongst themselves as to who took the 
 least stuff to make a girdle, and she who spanned the least 
 was pleased without knowing why. At times they would 
 relate their dreams, and what they had seen in them. 
 Often one or two, at times all of them, had dreamed they 
 had tight hold of the keys of the abbey. Then thev would 
 consult each other about their little ailments. One had 
 scratched her finger, another had a whitlow ; this one had 
 risen in the morning with the white of her eye bloodshot-; 
 that one had put her finger out, telling her beads. All had 
 some little thing the matter with them. 
 
 "Ah! you have lied to our mother; your nails are 
 marked with white," said one to her neighbour. 
 
THE NUNS OF POISSY. 247 
 
 "You Stopped a long' time at confession this morning, 
 sister,'" said another. "You must have a good many Httle 
 sins to confess." 
 
 As there is nothing resembles a pussy-cat so much as a 
 tom-cat, they would swear eternal friendship, quarrel, 
 sulk, dispute, and make it up again ; would be jealous, 
 laugh and pinch, pinch and laugh, and play tricks upon 
 the novices. 
 
 At times they would say, "Suppose a gendarme came 
 here one rainy day, where should we put him ?" 
 
 "With Sister Ovide ; her cell is so big he could get into 
 it with his helmet on." 
 
 "What do you mean ?" cried Sister Ovide, "are not all 
 our cells alike ?" 
 
 Thereupon my girls burst out laughing like ripe figs. 
 One evening they increased their council by a little novice, 
 about seventeen years of age, who appeared innocent as 
 a new-born babe, and would have had the host without 
 confesion. This maiden's mouth had long watered for 
 these secret confabulations, little feasts and rejoicings by 
 which the young nuns softened the holy captivity of their 
 bodies, and had wept at not being admitted to them. 
 
 "Well," said Sister Ovide to her, "have you liad a good 
 night's rest, little one?" 
 
 "Oh, no !" said she, "I have been bitten by fleas." 
 
 "Ha! you have fleas in your cell? But you must get 
 rid of them at once. Do you know how the rules of our 
 order enjoin them to be driven out, so that never again 
 during her conventual life shall a sister see so much as 
 the tail of one ?" 
 
 "No," replied the novice. 
 
248 THE MERRY TATTLE OF 
 
 "Well then, I will teach you. Do you see any fleas 
 here? do you notice any trace of fleas? do you smell an 
 odour of fleas? Is there any appearance of fleas in my 
 cell? Look!" 
 
 "I can't find any," said the little novice, who was Made- 
 moiselle de Fiennes, "and smell no other odour than our 
 own." 
 
 "Do as I am about to tell you, and be no more bitten. 
 Directly you feel yourself pricked, you must strip your- 
 self, lift your chemise, and be careful not to sin while 
 looking all over your body ; think only of the cursed flea, 
 looking for it, in good faith, without paying any attention 
 to other things ; trying only to catch the flea, which is a 
 difficult job, as you may easily be deceived by the little 
 black spots on your skin, which you were born with. 
 Have you any, little one ?" 
 
 "Yes," cried she. "I have two dark freckles, one on 
 my shoulder and one on my back, rather low down, but 
 it is hidden in a fold of the flesh." 
 
 "How did you see it ?" asked Sister Perpetue. 
 
 "I did not know it. It was Monsieur de Montresor who 
 found it out." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" said the sister, "is that all he saw?" 
 "He saw everything," said she, "I was quite little ; he 
 was about nine years old, and we were playing to- 
 gether. , . ," 
 
 The nuns hardly being able to restrain their laughter, 
 Sister Ovide went on — 
 
 "The above-mentioned flea will junip from your legs 
 to your eyes, will try and hide himself in apertures and 
 crevices, will leap from valley to mountain, endeavouring 
 
THE NUNS OF POISSY. 249 
 
 to escape you ; but the rules of the house order you cour- 
 ageously to pursue, repeating aves. Ordinarily at the 
 third ave the beast is taken." 
 
 "The flea?" ask^ the novice. 
 
 "Certainly, the flea," replied Sister Ovide ; "but in order 
 to avoid the dangers of this chase, you must be careful in 
 whatever spot you put your finger on the beast, to touch 
 nothing else . . . Then without regarding its cries, 
 plaints, groans, efforts and writhings, and the rebellion 
 which frequently it attempts, you will press it under your 
 thumb or other finger of the hand engaged in holding it, 
 and with the other hand you will search for a veil to bind 
 this flea's eyes and prevent it from leaping, as the beast 
 seeing no longer clearly will not know where to go. Nev- 
 ertheless, as it will still be able to bite you, and will be 
 getting terribly enraged, you must gently open its mouth 
 and delicately insert therein a twig of the blessed brush 
 that hangs over your pillow. Thus the beast will be com- 
 pelled to behave properly. But, remember, that the dis- 
 cipline of our order allows you to retain no property, and 
 the beast cannot belong to you. You must take into con- 
 sideration that it is one of God's creatures, and strive to 
 render it more agreeable. Therefore, before all things, it 
 is necessary to verify three serious things — viz., if the flea 
 be a male, if it be female, or if it be a virgin ; supposing it 
 to be a virgin, which is extremely rare, since these beasts 
 have no morals, are all wild hussies, and yield to the first 
 seducer who comes, you will seize her hinder feet, and 
 drawing them under her little caparison you must bind 
 them with one of your hairs, and carry it to the superior, 
 who will decide upon its fate after having consulted the 
 chapter. If it be a male " 
 
2SO 
 
 THE MERRY TATTLE OF 
 
 "How can one tell that a flea is a virgin?"* asked the 
 curious novice. 
 
 "First of all," replied Sister Ovide, "she is sad and 
 melancholy, does not laugh like the others, does not bite 
 so sharp, has her mouth less wide open, and blushes when 
 touched — you know where." 
 
 "In that case," replied the novice, "I have been bitten 
 by a male." 
 
 At this the sisters burst out laughing so heartily that 
 
 one of them sounded a base note, and voided a little 
 
 water ; and Sister Ovide, pointing to it on the floor, said— 
 
 "You see there's never wind without rain." 
 
 The novice laughed herself, thinking that these chuddes 
 
 were caused by the sister's exclamation. 
 
 "Now," went on Sister Ovide, "if it be a male flea you 
 take your scissors, or your lover's dagger, if by chance he 
 has given you one as a souvenir, previous to your entry 
 into the convent. In short, furnished with a cutting in- 
 strument, you carefully slit open the flanks of the flea. 
 Expect to hear him howl, cough, spit, beg your pardon ; to 
 see him twist about, sweat, make sheep's eyes, and any- 
 thing that may come into his head to put off this opera- 
 tion. But be not astonished ; pluck up your courage, by 
 thinking that you are acting thus, to bring a perverted 
 creature in to the way of salvation. Then you will dex- 
 terously take the reins, the liver, the heart, the gizzard, 
 and noble parts, and dip them all several times into the 
 holy water, washing and purifying them there, at the 
 same time imploring the Holy Ghost to sanctify the in- 
 
 * "A quoy peut-on veoir qu'une est pucelle?" demanda la 
 curieuse novice. 
 
THE NUNS OF POISSY. 
 
 251 
 
 terior of the beast. Afterwards you will replace all these 
 intestinal things in the body of the flea, who will be anx- 
 ious to get them back again. Being by this means bap- 
 tized, the soul of the creature has become Catholic. Im- 
 mediately you will get a needle and thread, and sew up 
 the belly of the flea with great care, with such regard and 
 attention as is due to a fellow Christian; you will even 
 pray for it — a kindness to which you will see it is sensi- 
 ble by its genuflexions and the attentive glances which 
 it will bestow upon you. In short, it will cry no more, and 
 have no further desire to kill you; and fleas are often 
 encountered who die from pleasure at being thus con- 
 verted to our holy religion. You will do the same to all 
 you can catch ; and the others perceiving it, after staring 
 at the convert, will go away, so perverse are they, and so 
 terrified at the idea of becoming Christians." 
 
 "And they are therefore wicked," said the novice. "Is 
 there any greater happiness than to be in the bosom of 
 the Church?" 
 
 "Certainly," answered Sister Ursula, "here we are shel- 
 tered from the dangers of the world and of love, in 
 which there are so many." 
 
 "Is there any other danger than that of having a child 
 at an unseasonable time ?" asked a young sister. 
 
 "During the present reign," replied Ursula, raising her 
 head, "love has inherited leprosy, St. Anthony's fire, the 
 Ardennes' sickness and the red rash, and has heaped up 
 all the fevers, agonies, drugs, and sufferings of the lot in 
 his pretty mortar, to draw out therefrom a terrible com- 
 plaint, of which the devil has given the receipt, luckily 
 for convents, because there are a great number of fright- 
 
252 ■ THE MERRY TATTLE OF 
 
 ened ladies, who become virtuous for fear of this love." 
 
 Thereupon they all huddled up close together, alarmed 
 zt these words, but wishing to know more. 
 
 "And is it enough to love, to suffer ?" asked a sister. 
 
 "Oh yes !" cried Sister Ovide. 
 
 "You love just for one little once a pfetty gentleman," 
 replied Ursula, "and you have the chance of seeing your 
 teeth go one by one, your hair fall off, your cheeks grow 
 pallid, and your eyebrows drop, and the. disappearance of 
 your prized charms will cost you many a sigh. There are 
 poor women who have scabs come upon their noses, and 
 others who have a horrid animal with a hundred claws, 
 which gnaws their tenderest parts. The Pope has at last 
 been compelled to excommunicate this kind of love." 
 
 "Ah ! how lucky I am to have had nothing of that sort," 
 cried the novice. 
 
 Hearing this souvenir of love, the sisters suspected that 
 the little one had gone astray through the heat of a cruci- 
 fix of Poissy, and had been joking with the Sister Ovide, 
 and drawing her out. All congratulated themselves on 
 having so merry a jade in their company, and asked her 
 to what adventure they were indebted for that pleasure. 
 
 "Ah!" said she, "I let myself be bitten by a big flea, 
 who had already been baptized." 
 
 At this speech, the sister of the base note could not re- 
 strain a second sigh. 
 
 "Ah I" said Sister Ovide, "you are bound to give us the 
 third. If you spoke that language in the choir, the abbess 
 would diet you like Sister Petronille ; so put a sordine in 
 your trumpet." 
 
 "Is it true that you knew in her lifetime that Sister 
 
THE NUNS OF POISSY. 253 
 
 Petronille, on whom God bestowed the gift of only going 
 twice a year to the bank of deposit?" asked Sister Ursula. 
 "Yes," replied Ovide. "And one evening it happened 
 she had to remain enthroned until matins, saying 'I am 
 here by the will of God.' But at the first verse, she was 
 delivered, in order that she should not miss the office. 
 Nevertheless, the late abbess would not allow that this was 
 an especial favour, granted from on high, and said that 
 God did not look so low. Here are the facts of the case. 
 Our defunct sister, whose canonization the order are 
 now endeavoring to obtain at the court of the Pope, and 
 would have had it if they could have paid the proper costs 
 of the papal brief ; this Petronille, then, had an ambition 
 to have her name included in the Calendar of Saints, 
 V hich was in no way prejudicial to our order. She lived 
 ir prayer alone, would remain in ecstasy before the altar 
 of the Virgin, which is on the side of fields, and pretend 
 so distinctly to hear the angels flying in Paradise, that she 
 was able to hum the tunes they were singing. You all 
 know that she took from them the chant Adoremus, of 
 wh.'ch no man could have invented a note. She remained 
 for days with her eye fixed like a star, fasting, and put- 
 ting no more nourishment into her body than I could into 
 nay eye. She had made a vow never to taste meat, either 
 cooked or raw, and ate only a crust of bread a day ; but 
 on great, feast da)'s she would add thereto a morsel of salt 
 fish, without any sauce. On this diet she became dread- 
 fully thin, yellow as saffron, and dry as an old bone in a 
 cemetery ; for she was of an ardent disposition, and any 
 one who had had the happiness of knocking up against 
 her, would have drawn fire as from a flint. However, 
 
254 THE MERRY TATTLE OF 
 
 little as she ate, she could not escape an infirmity to which, 
 luckily or unluckily, we are all more or less subject. If it 
 were otherwise, we should be very much embarrassed. 
 The affair in question, is the obligation of expelling after 
 eating, like all the animals, matter more or less agreeable, 
 according to constitution. Now Sister Petronille differed 
 fr im all others, because she expelled matter such as is 
 left by a deer, and these are the hardest substances that 
 any gizzard produces, as you must know, if you have ever 
 put your foot upon them in the forest glad^, and from 
 Iheir hardness they are called bullets in the language of 
 forestry. This peculiarity of Sister Petronille's was not 
 unnatural, since long fasts kept her temperament at a per- 
 manent heat. According to the old sisters, her nature was 
 so burning, that when water touched her, she went fristi 
 like a hot coal. There are sisters who have accused her of 
 secretly cooking eggs, in the night, between her toes, in 
 order to support her austerities. But these were scandals, 
 invented to tarnish this great sanctity of which all the 
 other nunneries were jealous. Our sister was piloted in, 
 the way of salvation and divine perfection by the Abbot 
 of St. Germain-des-Pres de Paris — a holy man, who al- 
 ways finished his injunctions with a last one, which was 
 to offer to God all our troubles, and submit ourselves to 
 His will, since nothing happened without His express 
 commandment. This doctrine, which appears wise at first 
 sight, has furnished matter for great controversies, and 
 has been finally condemned on the statement of the Car- 
 dinal of Chatillori, who declared that then there would be 
 no such thing as sin, which would considerably diminish 
 the revenues of the Church . But Sister Petronille lived 
 
THE NUNS OF POISSY. 255 
 
 imbued with this feeling, without knowing the danger of 
 5t. After Lent, and the fasts of the great jubilee, for the 
 first time for eight months she had need to go to the little 
 room, and to it she went. There bravely lifting her dress, 
 she put herself into position to do that which we poor 
 sinners do rather oftener. But Sister Petronille could 
 only manage to expectorate the commencement of the 
 thing, which kept her puffing without the remainder mak- 
 ing up its mind to follow. In spite of every effort, purs- 
 ing of lips and squeezings of body, her guest preferred to 
 lemain in her blessed body, merely putting his head out 
 of window, like a frog taking the air, and felt no inclina- 
 tion to fall into the vale of misery among the others, alleg- 
 ing that he would not there be in the odour of sanctity. 
 And his idea was a good one for a sample lump of dirt like 
 himself. The good saint having used all methods of coer- 
 cion, having over-stretched her muscles, and tried the 
 nerves of her thin face till they bulged out, recognized the 
 fact that no suffering in the world was so great, and her 
 anguish attaining the apogee of sphincterial terrors, she 
 exclaimed, 'Oh! my God, to Thee I offer it!' At this 
 orison, the stony matter broke off short, and fell like a flint 
 against the walls of the privy, making a croc, croc, croooc, 
 paf ! You can easily understand, my sisters, that she had 
 no need of a torch-cul, and drew back the remainder." 
 
 "Then did she see angels ?" asked one. 
 
 "Have they a behind ?" asked another. 
 
 "Certainly not," said Ursula. "Do you not know that 
 one general meeting day, God having ordered them to be 
 seated, they answered Him that they had not the where- 
 withal." 
 
256 THE MERRY TATTLE OF 
 
 Thereupon they went oflf to bed, some alone, others 
 nearly alone. They were good girls, who harmed only 
 themselves. 
 
 I cannot leave them without relating an adventure which 
 took place in their house, when Reform was passing a 
 sponge over it, and making them all saints, as before 
 stated. At that time, there was in the episcopal chair of 
 Paris a veritable saint, who did not brag about what he 
 did, and cared for naught but the poor and suffering, 
 whom the dear old bishop lodged in his heart, neglecting 
 his own interests for theirs, and seeking out misery in 
 order that he might heal it with words, with help, with 
 attentions, and with money, according to the case: as 
 ready to solace the rich in their misfortunes as the poor, 
 patching up their souls and bringing them back to God ; 
 and tearing about hither and thirther, watching 
 his troop, the dear shepherd! Now the good man 
 went about careless of the state of his cassocks, 
 mantles, and breeches, so that the naked members of 
 his church were covered. He was so charitable 
 that he would have pawned himself, to save an infidel 
 from distress. His servants were obliged to look after 
 him carefully. Ofttimes he would scold them when they 
 changed unasked his tattered vestments for new ; and he 
 used to have them darned and patched, as long as they 
 would hold together. Now this good archbishop knew 
 that the late Sieur de Poissy had left a daughter, without 
 a sou or a rag, after having eaten, drunk, and gambled 
 away her inheritance. This poor young lady lived in a 
 hovel, without fire in winter or cherries in spring ; and did 
 needlework, not wishing either to marry beneath her or 
 
THE NUNS OF POISSY. 257 
 
 sell her virtue. Awaiting the time when he should be able 
 to find a young husband for her, the prelate took it into 
 his head to send her the outside case of one to mend, in the 
 person of his old breeches, a task which the young lady, 
 in her present position, would be glad to undertake. One 
 day that the archbishop was thinking to himself that he 
 must go to the convent of Poissy, to see after the reformed 
 inmates, he gave to one of his servants, the oldest of his 
 nether garments, which was sorely in need of stitches, 
 saying, Take this, Saintot, to the young ladfes of Poissy," 
 meaning to say, "The young lady of Poissy. Thinking of 
 affairs connected with the cloister, he did not inform his 
 varlet of the situation of the lady's house ; her desperate 
 condition having been by him discreetly kept a secret. 
 Saintot took the breeches and went his way towards 
 Poissy, gay as a grasshopper, stopping to chat with friends 
 he met on the way, slaking his thirst at the wayside inns, 
 and showing many things to the breeches during 
 their journey that might hereafter be useful to 
 them. At last he arrived at the convent, and in- 
 formed the abbess that his master had sent him to give 
 her these articles. Then the varlet departed, leaving with 
 the reverend mother, the garment accustomed to model in 
 relief the archiepiscopal proportions of the continent na- 
 ture of the good man, according to the fashion of the 
 period, beside the image of those things of which the 
 Eternal Father has deprived His angels, and which in the 
 good prelate did not want for amplitude. Madame the 
 abbess having informed the sisters of the precious mes- 
 sage of the good archbishop they came in haste, curious 
 and hustling, as ants into whose republic a chestnut husk 
 
258 THE MERRY TATTLE OF 
 
 has fallen. When they undid the breeches, which gaped 
 horribly, they shrieked out, covering their eyes with one 
 hand, in great fear of seeing the devil come out, the 
 abbess exclaiming, "Hide yourselves my daughters ! This 
 is the abode of mortal sin !" 
 
 The mother of the novices, giving a little look between 
 her fingers, revived the courage of the holy troop, swear- 
 ing by an Ave that no living head was domiciled in the 
 breeches. Then they all blushed at their ease, while exam- 
 ining this Habitavit, thinking that perhaps the desire of 
 the prelate was that they should discover therein some 
 sage admonition or evangelical parable. Although this 
 sight caused certain ravages in the hearts of these 
 most virtuous maidens, they paid little attention to the 
 fluttering of their reins, but sprinkling a little holy water 
 in the bottom of the abyss, one touched it, another passed 
 her finger through a hole, and grew bolder looking at it. 
 It has even been pretended that, their first stir over, the 
 abbess found a voice sufficiently firm to say, "What is 
 there at the bottom of this? With what idea has our 
 father sent us that which consummates the ruin of 
 women ?" 
 
 "It's fifteen years, dear tpother, since I have been per- 
 mitted to gaze upon the demon's den.'' 
 
 "Silence, my daughter. You prevent me thinking what 
 is best to be done." 
 
 Then so much were these archiepiscopal breeches 
 turned and twisted about, admired and re-admired, pulled 
 here, pulled there, and turned inside out — so much were 
 they talked about, fought about, thought about, dreamed 
 about, night and day, that on the morrow a little sister 
 
THE NUNS OF POISSY. 259 
 
 said, after having sung the matins, to which the convent 
 had a verse and two responses.— "Sisters, I have found 
 out the parable of the archbishop. He has sent us as a 
 mortification his garment to mend, aS a holy warning to 
 avoid idleness, the mother abbess of all the vices." 
 
 Thereupon there was a scramble to get hold of the 
 breeches ; but the abbess, using her high authority, re- 
 served to herself the meditation over this patchwork. She 
 was occupied during ten days, praying, and sewing the 
 said breeches, lining them with silk, and making double 
 hems, well sewn, and in all humility. Then the chapter 
 being assembled, it was arranged that the convent should 
 testify by a pretty souvenir to the said archbishop their 
 delight that he thought of his daughters in God. Then all 
 of them, to the very youngest, had to do some work on 
 these blessed breeches, in order to do honour to the virtue 
 of the good man. 
 
 Meanwhile, the prelate had had so much to attend to, 
 that he had forgotten all about his garment. This is how 
 it came about. He made the acquaintance of a noble of 
 the court, who, having lost his wife — a she-fiend and 
 sterile — said to the good priest, that he had a great ambi- 
 tion to meet with a virtuous woman, confiding in God, 
 with whom he was not likely to quarrel, and was likely to 
 have pretty children. Such a one he desired to hold by 
 the hand, and have confidence in. Then the holy man 
 drew such a picture of Mademoiselle de Poissy, that this 
 fair one soon became Madame de Genoilhac. The wed- 
 ding was celebrated at the archiepiscopal palace, where 
 was a feast of the first quality, and a table bordered with 
 ladies of the highest lineage, and the fashionable world 
 
26o THE MERRY TATTLE OF THE NUNS OF POISSY. 
 
 of the court, among whom the bride appeared the 
 most beautiful, since it was certain that she was a virgin, 
 the archbishop guaranteeing her virtue. 
 
 When the fruits, conserves, and pastry were, with many 
 ornaments, arranged on the cloth, Saintot said to the arch- 
 bishop, "Monsigneur, your well-beloved daughters of 
 Poissy send you a fine dish for the centre." 
 
 "Put it there," said the good man, gazing with admira- 
 tion at an edifice of velvet and satin, embroidered with 
 wire ribbon, in the shape of an ancient vase, the lid of 
 which exhaled a thousand superfine odours. 
 
 Immediately the bride, uncovering it, found therein 
 sweetmeats, cakes, and those delicious confections to 
 which the ladies are so partial. But one of them — some 
 curious devotee — seeing a little piece of silk, pulled it to- 
 wards her, and exposed to view the habitation of the 
 human compass, to the great confusion of the prelate, for 
 laughter rang round the table like a discharge of artillery. 
 
 "Well have they made the centre dish," said the bride- 
 groom. "These young ladies are of good understanding. 
 Therein are all the sweets of matrimony." 
 
 Can there be any better moral than that deduced by 
 Monsieur de Genoilhac ? Then no other is needed. 
 
HOW THE CHATEAU D'AZAY CAME TO BE 
 BUILT. 
 
 J EH AN, son of Simon Fourniez, called Simonnin, a citi- 
 zen of Tours — originally of the village of Moulinot, 
 near to Beaune, whence, in imitation of certain persons, he 
 took the name when he became steward to Louis the 
 Eleventh — had to fly one day into Languedoc with his 
 wife, having fallen into great disgrace, and left his son 
 Jacques penniless in Touraine. This youth, who possessed 
 nothing in the world except his good looks, his sword, and 
 spurs, but whom worn-out old men would have considered 
 very well off, had in his head a firm intention to save his 
 father, and make his fortune at the court, then holden in 
 Touraine. At early dawn this good Tourainian left his 
 lodging, and, enveloped in his mantle, all except his nose, 
 which he left open to the air, and his stomach empty, 
 walked about the town without any trouble of digestion. 
 He entered the churches, thought them beautiful, looked 
 into the chapels, flicked the flies from the pictures, and 
 counted the columns all after the manner of a man who 
 knew not what to do with his time or his money. At other 
 times he feigned to recite his paternosters, but really made 
 mute prayers to the ladies, offered them holy water when 
 leaving, followed them afar off, and endeavored by these 
 little services to encounter some adventure, in which at the 
 peril of his life he would find for himself a protector or a 
 
 261 
 
262 THE CHATEAU d'aZAY. 
 
 gracious mistress. He had in his girdle two doubloons 
 which he spared far more than his skin, because that would 
 be replaced, but the doubloons never. Each day he took 
 from his little hoard the price of a roll and a few apples, 
 with which he sustained life, and drank at his will and dis- 
 cretion of the water of the I^oire. This wholesome and pru- 
 dent diet, besides being good for his doubloons, kept him 
 frisky and light as a greyhound, gave him a clear under^ 
 standing and a warm heart, for the water of the Loire is 
 of all syrups the most strengthening, because having fts 
 course afar off it is invigorated by its long run, through 
 many strands, before it reaches Tours. So you may be 
 sure that the poor fellow imagined a thousand and one 
 good fortunes and lucky adventures, and what is more, 
 almost believed them true. Oh! the good times! One 
 evening Jacques de Beaune (he kept the name although 
 he was not lord of Beaune) , was walking along the em- 
 bankment, occupied in cursing his star and everything, for 
 his last doubloon was with scant respect upon the point of 
 quitting him ; when at the corner of a little street, he near- 
 ly ran against a veiled lady, whose sweet odour gratified 
 his amorous senses. This fair pedestrian was bravely 
 mounted on pretty pattens, wore a beautiful dress of Ital- 
 ian velvet, with wide slashed satin sleeves ; while as a sign 
 of her great fortune, through her veil a white diamond of 
 reasonable size shone upon her forehead like the rays 
 of the setting sun among her tresses, which were so deli- 
 cately rolled, built up, and so neat, that they must have 
 taken her maids quite three hours to arrange. She walked 
 like a lady who was only accustomed to a litter. One of 
 her pages followed her, well armed.. She was evidently 
 
THE CHATEAU D'aZAY. 263 
 
 some light o' love belonging to a noble of high rank, or a 
 lady of the court, since she held her dress high off the 
 ground, and bent her back like a woman of quality. Lady 
 or courtesan she pleased Jacques de Beaune, who, far from 
 turning up his nose at her, conceived the wild idea of at- 
 taching himself to her for life. With this in view he deter- 
 mined to follow her in order to ascertain whither she 
 would lead him — to Paradise or to the limbo of hell — to a 
 gibbet or to an abode of love. Anything was a gleam of 
 hope to him in the depth of his misery. The lady strolled 
 along the bank of the Loire toward Plessis, inhaling like 
 a fish the fine freshness of the water, toying, sauntering 
 like a little mouse who wishes to see and taste everything. 
 When the page perceived that Jacques de Beaune per- 
 sistently followed his mistress in all her movements, 
 stopped when she stopped, and watched her trifling, in a 
 barefaced fashion, as if he had a right so to do, he turned 
 brusquely round with a savage and threatening face, like 
 that of a dog who says, "Stand back, sir !" But the good 
 Tourainian had his wits about him. Believing that if a 
 cat may look at a king, he, a baptized Christian, might 
 certainly look at a pretty woman, he stepped forward, 
 and feigning to grin at the page, he strutted now behind 
 and now before the lady. She said nothing, but looked 
 at the sky, which was putting on its night-cap, the stars, 
 and everything which could give her pleasure. So things 
 went on. At last, arrived opposite Portillon, she stood 
 still, and in order to see better, cast her veil back over her 
 shoulder, and in so doing cast upon the youth the glance 
 of a clever woman who looks around to see if there is 
 any danger of being robbed. I may tell you that Jacques 
 
264 THE CHATEAU d'aZAY. 
 
 de Beaune was a thorough ladies' man, could walk by the 
 side of a princess without disgracing her, had a brave and 
 resolute air which pleased the sex, and if he was a little 
 browned by the sun from being so much in the open air, 
 his skin would look white enough under the canopy of 
 a bed. The glance, keen as a needle, which the lady threw 
 him, appeared to him more animated than that with which 
 she would have honoured her prayer-book. Upon it he 
 built the hope of a windfall of love, and resolved to push 
 the adventure to the very edge of the petticoat, risking 
 to go still further, not only his lips, which he held of little 
 account, but his two ears and something elsp besides. He 
 followed into the town the lady, who returned by the Rue 
 des Trois-Pucelles, and led the gallant through a laby- 
 rinth of little streets, to the square in which is at the pres- 
 ent time situated the Hotel de la Crouzille. There she 
 stopped at the door of a splendid mansion, at which the 
 page knocked. A servant opened it, and the lady went in 
 and closed the door, leaving the Sieur de Beaune open- 
 mouthed, stupified, and as foolish as Monseigneur St. 
 Denis when he was trying to pick up his head. He raised 
 his nose in the air to see if some token of favour would 
 be thrown to him, and saw nothing except a light which 
 went up the stairs, through the rooms, and rested before 
 a fine window, where probably the lady was also. You 
 can believe that the poor lover remained melancholy and 
 dreaming, and knowing not what to do. The window 
 gave a sudden creak and broke his reverie. Fancying 
 that his lady was about to call him, he looked up again, 
 and but for the friendly shelter of the balcony, which was 
 a helmet to him, he would have received a stream of water 
 
THE CHATEAU D^AZAY. 265 
 
 and the utensil which contained it, since the handle only 
 remained in the grasp of the person who delivered the 
 deluge. Jacques de Beaune, delighted at this, did not 
 lose the opportunity, but flung himself against the wall, 
 crying, "I am killed," with a feeble voice. Then stretch- 
 ing himself upon the fragments of broken china, he lay 
 as if dead, awaiting the issue. The servants rushed out 
 in a state of alarm, fearing their mistress, to whom they 
 had confessed their fault, and picked up the wounded 
 man, who could hardly restrain his laughter at being then 
 carried up the stairs. 
 
 "He is cold," said the page. 
 
 "He is covered with blood," said the butler, who while 
 feeling his pulse had wetted his hand. 
 
 "If he revives," said the guilty one, "I will pay for a 
 mass to Saint Gatien." 
 
 "Madame takes after her late father, and if she does 
 not have thee hanged, the least mitigation of thy penalty 
 will be that thou wilt be kicked out of her house and ser- 
 vice," said another. "Certes, he's dead enough, he is so 
 heavy." 
 
 "Ah !. I am in the house of a very great lady," thought 
 Jacques. 
 
 "Alas ! is he really dead ?" demanded the author of the 
 calamity. While with great labour the Tourainian was 
 being carried up the stairs, his doublet caught on a pro- 
 jection, and the dead man cried, "Ah, my doublet!" 
 "He groans," said the culprit, with a sign of relief. 
 The Regent's servants (for this was the house of the 
 Regent, the daughter of King Louis XL of virtuous mem- 
 ory) brought Jacques de Beaune into a room, and laid 
 
266 THE CHATEAU d'AZAY. 
 
 him stiff and stark upon a table, not thinking for a mo- 
 ment that he could be saved. 
 
 "Run and fetch a surgeon," cried Madame de Beaujeu. 
 "Run here, run there !" 
 
 The servants were down the stairs in a trice. The good 
 lady Regent despatched her attendants for ointment, for 
 linen to bind the wounds, for goulard-water, for so many 
 things, that she remained alone. Gazing upon this splen- 
 did and senseless man, she cried aloud, admiring his pres- 
 ence and his features, handsome even in death, "Ah, God 
 wishes to punish me. Just for one poor little time in' my 
 life has there been born in me, and taken possession of 
 me, a naughty idea, and my patron saint is angry, and de- 
 prives me of the sweetest gentleman I have ever seen. 
 By the rood, and by the soul of my father, I will hang 
 every man who had a hand in this !" 
 
 "Madame," cried Jacques de Beaune, springing from 
 the table, and falling at the feet of the Regent, "I will 
 live to serve you, and am so little bruised that I promise 
 you this night as many joys as there are months in the 
 year, in imitation of the Sieur Hercules, a pagan barori. 
 For the last twenty days," he went on (thinking that mat- 
 ters would be smoothed by a little lying) , "I have met you 
 again and again. I fell madly in love with you, yet dared 
 not, by reason of my great respect for your person, make 
 an advance. You can imagine how intoxicated I must 
 have been with your royal beauties, to have invented the 
 trick to which I owe the happiness of being at your feet." 
 
 Thereupon he kissed her amorously, and gave her a 
 look that would have overcome any scruples. The Re- 
 gent, by means of time, which respects not queens, was, 
 
THE CHATEAU d'aZAY. ^67 
 
 as every one knows, in her middle age. In this critical 
 and autumnal season, women formerly virtuous and lover- 
 less desire now here, now there, to enjoy, unknown to the 
 world, certain hours of love, in order that they may not 
 arrive in the other world with hands and heart alike 
 empty, through having left the fruit of the tree of knowl- 
 edge untasted. The lady of Beaujeu, without appearing 
 to be astonished while listening to the promises of this 
 young man, since royal personages ought to be accus- 
 tomed to having them by dozens, kept this ambitious 
 speech in the depths of her memory, or of her registry of 
 love, which caught fire at his words. Then she raised the 
 Tourainian, who still found in his misery the courage to 
 smile at his mistress, who had the majesty of a full-blown 
 rose, ears like shoes, and the complexion of a sick cat, 
 but was so well dressed, so fine in figure, so royal of foot, 
 and so queenly in carriage, that he might still find in this 
 affair means to gain his original object. 
 
 "Who are you ?" said the Regent, putting on the stern 
 look of her father. 
 
 "I am ypur very faithful subject, Jacques de Beaune, 
 son of your steward, who has fallen into disgrace in spite 
 of his faithful services." 
 
 "Ah, well," replied the lady, "lay yourself on the table 
 again. I hear some one coming; and it is not fit that my 
 people should think me your accomplice in this farce and 
 mummery." 
 
 The good fellow perceived, by the soft sound of her 
 voice, that he was pardoned the enormity of his love. He 
 lay down upon the table again, and remembered how cer- 
 
268 THE CHATEAU d'aZAY. 
 
 tain lords had ridden to court in an old stirrup — a thought 
 which perfectly reconciled him to his present position. 
 
 "Good," said the Regent to her maid-servants ; "noth- 
 ing is needed. This gentleman is better ; thanks to heaven 
 and the Holy Virgin, there will have been no murder in 
 my house." 
 
 Thus saying, she passed her hand through the locks of 
 the lover who had fallen to her from the skies, and tak- 
 ing a little reviving water she bathed his temples, undid 
 his doublet, and, under pretence of aiding his recovery, 
 verified better than an expert how soft and young was 
 the skin of this young fellow and bold promiser of bliss, 
 and all the bystanders, men and women, were amazed to 
 see the Regent act thus. But humanity never misbecomes 
 those of royal blood. Jacques stood up, and appeared to 
 come to his senses, thanked the Regent most humbly, and 
 dismissed the physicians, master surgeons, and other imps 
 in black, saying that he had thoroughly recovered. Then 
 he gave his name, and saluting Madame de Beaujeu, 
 wished to depart, as though afraid of her on account of 
 his father's disgrace, but no doubt horrified at his terrible 
 vow. 
 
 "I cannot permit it," said she. "Persons who come to 
 my house should not meet with such treatment as you 
 have encountered. The Sieur de Beaune will sup here," 
 she added to her major domo. "He who has so unduly 
 insulted him will be at his mercy if he makes himself 
 known immediately ; otherwise, I will have him found out 
 and hanged by the provost." 
 
 Hearing this, the page who had attended the lady dur- 
 ing her promenade stepped forward. 
 
THE CHATEAU d'AZAY. 269 
 
 "Madame," said Jacques, "at my request pray both 
 pardon and reward him, since to him I owe the felicity of 
 seeing you, the favour of supping in your company, and 
 perhaps that of getting my father re-established in the 
 office to which it pleased your glorious father to appoint 
 him." 
 
 "Well said," replied the Regent. "D'Estouteville," 
 said she, turning towards the page, "I give thee command 
 of a company of archers. But for the future do not throw 
 things out of the window." 
 
 Then she, delighted with De Beaune, offered him her 
 hand, and led him most gallantly into her room, where 
 they conversed freely together while supper was being 
 prepared. There the Sieur Jacques did not fail to exhibit 
 his talents, justify his father, and raise himself in the 
 estimation of the lady, who, as is well known, was like 
 her father in disposition, and did everything at random. 
 Jacques de Beaune thought to himself that it would be 
 rather difficult for him to remain all night with the Re- 
 gent. Such matters are not so easily arranged as the 
 amours of cats, who have always a convenient refuge 
 upon the housetops for their moments of dalliance. So 
 he rejoiced that he was known to the Regent without be- 
 ing compelled to fulfil his rash promise, since for this to 
 be carried out it was necessary that the servants and 
 others should be out of the way, and her reputation safe. 
 Nevertheless, suspecting the powers of intrigue of the 
 good lady, at times he would ask himself if he were equal 
 to the task. But beneath the surface of conversation, the 
 same thing was -in the mind of the Regent, who had al- 
 ready managed affairs quite as difficult, and she began 
 
270 THE CHATEAU D'AZAY. 
 
 most cleverly to arrange the means. She sent for one of 
 her secretaries, an adept in all arts necessary for the per- 
 fect government of a kingdom, and ordered him to give 
 her secretly a false message during the supper. Then 
 came the repast, which the lady did not touch, since her 
 heart had swollen like a sponge, and so diminished her 
 stomach, for shfe kept thinking of this handsome and de- 
 sirable man, having no appetite save for him. Jacques 
 did not fail to make a good meal for many reasons. The 
 messenger came, madame began to storm, to knit her 
 orows after the manner of the late king, and to say, "Is 
 there never to be peace in this land ? Pasques Dieu ! can 
 we not have one quiet evening?" Then she arose, and 
 strode about the room. "Ho there 1 my horse! Where is 
 Monsieur de Vieilleville, my squire? Ah, he is in Pic- 
 ardy. D'Estouteville, you will rejoin me with my house- 
 hold at the Chateau d'Amboise. . . ." And looking at 
 Jacques, she said, "You shall be my squire, Sieur de 
 Beaune. You wish to serve the State. The occasion is 
 a good one. Pasques Dieu ! come. There are rebels to 
 subdue, and faithful knights are needed." 
 
 In less time than an old beggar would have taken to say 
 thank you, the horses were bridled, saddled, and ready. 
 Madame was on her mare, and the Tourainian at her side, 
 galloping at full speed to her castle of Amboise, followed 
 by the men-at-arms. To be brief and come to the facts 
 without further commentary, De Beaune was lodged not 
 twenty vards from Madame, far from prying eyes. The 
 courtiers and the household, much astonished, ran aboul 
 inquiring from what quarter the danger might be ex- 
 pected ; but our hero, taken at his word, knew well enough 
 
THE CHATEAU d'azAY. 27 1 
 
 where to find it. The virtue of the Regent, well known 
 in the kingdom, saved her from suspicion, since she 
 was supposed to be as impregnable as the Chateau de 
 Peronne. At curfew, when everything was shut, both 
 ears and eyes, and the castle silent, Madame de Beaujeu 
 sent away her handmaid, and called for her squire. The 
 squire came. Then the lady and the adventurer sat side 
 by side upon a velvet couch, in the shadow of a lofty fire- 
 place, and the curious Regent, with a tender voice, asked 
 of Jacques, "Are you not bruised? It was very wrong 
 of me to make a knight, wounded by one of my servants, 
 ride twelve miles. I was so anxious about it that I would 
 not go to bed without having seen you. Do you suffer?" 
 
 "I suffer with impatience," said he of the dozen, think- 
 ing it would not do to appear reluctant. "I see well," 
 continued he, "my noble and beautiful mistress, that your 
 servant has found favour in your sight." 
 
 "There, there," replied she; "did you not tell a story 
 when you said — " 
 
 "What?" said he. 
 
 "Why, that you had followed me dozens of times to 
 churches, and other places to which I went." 
 
 "Certainly," said he. 
 
 "I am astonished," replied the Regent, "never to have 
 seen until to-day a noble youth whose courage is so ap- 
 parent in his countenance. I am not ashamed of i that 
 which you heard me say when I believed you dead. You 
 are agreeable to me, you please me, and you wish to do 
 well." 
 
 Then the hour of the dreaded sacrifice having struck, 
 Jacques fell at the knees of the Regent, kissed her feet. 
 
272 THE CHATEAU D'AZAY. 
 
 her hands, and everything, it is said ; and while kissing 
 her, previous to retirement, proved by many arguments 
 to the aged virtue of his sovereign, that a lady bearing 
 the burden of the state had a perfect right to enjoy her- 
 self — a theory which was not directly admitted by the 
 regent, who determined to be forced, in order to throw 
 the burden of the sin upon her lover. This notwithstand- 
 ing, you may be sure she had highly perfumed and ele- 
 gantly attired herself for the night, and shone with de- 
 sire of embraces, for desire lent her a high colour which 
 greatly improved her complexion ; and in spite of her 
 feeble resistance she was, like a young girl, carried by 
 assault in her royal couch, where the good lady and her 
 young dozener conscientiously embraced each other. 
 Then from play to quarrel, from quarrel to riot, from 
 riot to ribaldry, from thread to needle, the Regent de- 
 clared that she believed more in the virginity of the Holy 
 Mary than in the promised dozen. Now, by chance, 
 Jacques de Beaune did not find this great lady so very 
 old between the sheets, since everything is metamorphosed 
 by the light of the lamps of the night. Many women of 
 fifty by day are twenty at midnight, as others are twenty 
 at mid-day and a hundred after vespers. Jacques, hap- 
 pier at this sight that at that of the king on a hanging 
 day, renewed his undertaking. Madame, herself aston- 
 ished, promised every assistance on her part. The manor 
 of Azay-le-Brule, with good title thereto, she undertook 
 to confer upon her cavalier, as well as the pardon of his 
 father, if from this encounter she came forth vanquished. 
 Then the clever fellow said to himself, "This is to save 
 my father from punishment! this for the fief! this for 
 
THE CHATEAU D'AZAY. 273 
 
 the letting and selling ! this for the forest of Azay ! item 
 for the right of fishing ! another for the isles of the In- 
 dre ! this for the meadows ! I may as well release from 
 confiscation our land of La Carte, so dearly bought by my 
 father! Once more for a place at court !" Arriving with- 
 out hindrance at this point, he believed his dignity in- 
 volved, and fancied that having France under him, it was 
 a question of the honour of the crown. In short, at the 
 cost of a vow which he made to his patron, Monsieur 
 St. Jacques, to build him a chapel at Azay, he presented 
 his liege homage to the Regent in eleven clear, clean, lim- 
 pid, and genuine periphrases. Concerning the epilogue 
 of this slow conversation, the Tourainian had the great 
 self-confidence to wish excellently to regale the Regent, 
 keeping for her on her waking the salute of an honest 
 man, as it was necessary for the lord of Azay to thank 
 his sovereign, which was wisely thought. But when 
 nature is oppressed, she acts like a spirited horse, lies 
 down, and will die under the whip sooner than move until 
 it pleases her to rise reinvigorated. Thus, when in the 
 morning the seignior of the castle of Azay desired to 
 salute the daughter of King Louis XL, he was con- 
 strained, in spite of his courtesy, to make the salute as 
 royal salutes should be made — with blank cartridge only. 
 Therefore the Regent, after getting up, and Avhile she was 
 breakfasting with Jacques,- who called himself the legiti- 
 mate Lord of Azay, seized the occasion of this insuffi- 
 ciency to contradict her esquire, and pretended, that as 
 he had not gamed his wager, he had not earned the manor. 
 "Ventre-Saint-Paterne ! I have been near enough," 
 said Jacques. "But my dear lady and noble sovereign, it 
 
274 THE CHATEAU D AZAY. 
 
 is not proper for either you or me to judge in this cause. 
 The case being an allodial case, must be brought before 
 your council, since the fief of Azay is held from the 
 crown." 
 
 "Pasques Dieu!" replied the Regent with a forced 
 laugh. "I give you the place of the Sieur de Vieilleville 
 in my house. Don't trouble about your father. I will 
 give you Azay, and will place you in a royal office, if you 
 can, without injury to my honour, state the case in full 
 council ; but if one word falls to the damage of my reputa- 
 tion as a virtuous woman, I — " 
 
 "May I be hanged," said Jacques, turning the thing into 
 a joke, because there was a shade of anger in the face of 
 Madame de Beaujeu. 
 
 In fact, the daughter of King Louis thought more of 
 her royalty than of the roguish dozen, which she consid- 
 ered as nothing, since fancying she had had her night's 
 amusement without loosening her purse-strings, she pre- 
 ferred the difficult recital of his claim to another dozen 
 offered her by the Tourainian. 
 
 "Then, my lady," replied her good compairion, "I shall 
 certainly be your squire. 
 
 The captains, secretaries, and other persons holding 
 office under the regency, astonished at the sudden depart- 
 ure of Madame de Beaujeu, learnt the cause of her 
 anxiety, and came in haste to the castle of Amboise to dis- 
 cover whence proceeded the rebellion, and were in readi- 
 ness to hold a council when her majesty had arisen. She 
 called them together, not to be suspected of having de- 
 ceived them, and gave them certain falsehoods to consider, 
 which they considered most wisely. At the close of the 
 
THE CHATEAU D'AZAY, 275 
 
 sitting, came the new squire to accompany his mistress. 
 Seeing the councillors rising, the bold Tourainian begged 
 them to decide a point of law which concerned both him- 
 self and the property of the crown. 
 
 "Listen to him," said the Regent. "He speaks truly." 
 
 Then Jacques de Beaune, without being nervous at the 
 sight of this august court, spoke as follows, or there- 
 abouts : — "Noble lords, I beg you, although I am about 
 to speak to you of walnut shells, to give your attention to 
 this case, and pardon me the trifling nature of my lan- 
 guage. One lord was walking with another in a fruit gar- 
 den, and noticed a fine walnut tree, well planted, well 
 grown, worth looking at, worth keeping, although a little 
 empty; a nut tree always fresh, sweet-smelling^ a tree 
 which you would not leave if you once saw it, a tree of 
 love which seemed the tree of good and evil, forbidden by 
 the Lord, through which were banished our mother Eve 
 and the gentleman her husband. Now, my lords, this said 
 walnut tree was the subject, of a slight dispute between 
 the two, and of one of those many wagers which are occa- 
 sionally made between friends. The younger boasted that 
 he could throw twelve times through it a stick which he 
 had in his hand at the time — as many people have who 
 walk in a garden — and with each flight of the stick he 
 would send a nut to the ground " 
 
 "That is, I believe, the knotty point of the case," said 
 Jacques turning towards the Regent. 
 
 "Yes, gentlemen," replied she, surprised at the craft of 
 her squire. 
 
 "The other wagered to the contrary," went on the 
 pleader. "Now the first named throws his stick with such 
 
276 THE CHATEAU D'aZAY. 
 
 precision of aim, so gently, and so well that both derived 
 pleasure therefrom, and by the joyous protection of the 
 saints, who no doubt were amused spectators, with each 
 throw there fell a nut ; in fact, there fell twelve. But by 
 chance the last of the fallen nuts was empty, and had no 
 nourishing pulp from which could have come another nut 
 tree, had the gardener planted it. Has the man viith the 
 stick gained his wager? Judge." 
 
 "The thing is clear enough," said Messire Adam Fumee, 
 a Tourainian, who at that time was the keeper of the seals. 
 "There is only one thing for the other to do." 
 "What is that?" said the Regent. 
 "To pay the wager, madame." 
 
 "He is rather too clever," said she, tapping her squire 
 on the cheek. "He will be hanged one of these days." 
 
 She meant this as a joke. But these words were the 
 real horoscope of the steward, who mounted the gallows 
 by the ladder of royal favour, through the vengeance of 
 another old woman, and the notorious treason of a man 
 of Ballan, his secretary, whose fortune he had made, and 
 whose name was Prevost, and not Rene Gentil, as certain 
 persons have wrongly called him. This Ganelon and bad 
 servant gave, it is said, to Madame d'Angouleme the re- 
 ceipt for the money which'had been given him by Jacques 
 de Beaune, then become baron of Samblangay, lord of La 
 Carte and Azay, and one of the foremost men in the 
 State. Of his two sons, one was Archbishop of Tours, 
 the other Minister of Finance and Governor of Touraine. 
 But this is not the subject of the present history. 
 
 Now that which concerns the present narrative is that 
 Madame de Beaujeu, to whom the pleasure of love had 
 
THE CHATEAU D AZAY. 
 
 277 
 
 come rather late in the day, well pleased with the great 
 wisdom and knowledge of public affairs which her chance 
 lover possessed, made him Lord of the Privy Purse, in 
 which office he behaved so well, and added so much to the 
 contents of it, that his great renown procured for him one 
 day the handling of the revenues which he superintended 
 and controlled most admirably, and with great profit to 
 himself, which was but fair. The good Regent paid the 
 bet, and handed over to her squire the manor of Azay-le- 
 Brulee, of which the castle had long before been demol- 
 ished by the first bombarders who came into Touraine, as 
 every one knows. For this powdery miracle, but for the 
 intervention of the king, the said engineers would have 
 been condemned as heretics and abettors of Satan, by the 
 ecclesiastical tribune of the chapter. 
 
 At this time there was being built with great care by 
 Messire Bohier, Minister of Finance, the Castle of Che- 
 nonceaux, which, as a curiosity and novel design, was 
 placed right across the river Cher. 
 
 Now the Baron de Samblangay, wishing to oppose the 
 said Bohier, determined to lay this foundation of his at 
 the bottom of the Indre, where it still stands, the gem of 
 thij fair green valley, so solidly was it placed upon the 
 piles. It cost Jacques de Beaune thirty thousand crowns, 
 not counting the work done by his vassals. You may take 
 it for granted this castle is one of the finest, prettiest, most 
 exquisite, and most elaborate castles of our sweet Tou- 
 raine, and laves itself in the Indre like a princely creature, 
 gaily decked with pavilions and lace-curtained windows, 
 with fine weather-beaten soldiers on her vanes, turning 
 which ever way the wind blows, as all soldiers do. But 
 
278 THE CHATEAU e/aZAY. 
 
 Samblangay was hanged before it was finished, and since 
 that time no one has been found with sufficient money to 
 complete it. Nevertheless, his master. King Francis the 
 First, was once his guest, and the royal chamber is sti.ll 
 shown there. When the king was going to bed, Samblan- 
 9ay, whom the king called "old fellow," in honour of his 
 white hairs, hearing his royal master, to whom he was de- 
 votedly attached, remark, "Your clock has just struck 
 twelve, old fellow !" replied, "Ah, sire, to twelve strokes 
 of a hammer, an old one now, but years ago a good one, at 
 this hour of the clock do I owe my lands, the money spent 
 on this place, and the honour of being in your service." 
 
 The king wished to know what his minister meant by 
 these strange words ; and when his majesty was getting 
 into bed, Jacques de Beaune narrated to him the history 
 with which you are acquainted. Now Francis the First, 
 who was partial to these spicy stories, thought the adven- 
 ture a very droll one, and was the more amused thereat 
 because at that time his mother, the Duchess d'Angouleme, 
 in the decline of life, was pursuing the constable of Bour- 
 bon, in order to obtain of him one of these dozens. Wicked 
 love of a wicked woman, for therefrom proceeded the peril 
 of the kingdom, the capture of the king, and the death — as 
 has been before mentioned — of poor Samblangay. 
 
 I have here endeavored to relate how the Chateau 
 d'Azay came to be built, because it is certain that thus was 
 commenced the great fortune of that Samblangay who did 
 so much for his natal town, which he adorned ; and also 
 spent such immense sums upon the completion of the 
 towers of the cathedral. This lucky adventure has been 
 handed down from father to son, from lord to lord, in the 
 
THE CHATEAU D'AZAY. 279 
 
 said place of Azay-le-Ridel, where the story frisks still 
 under the curtains of the king, which have been curiously 
 respected down to the present day. It is therefore the 
 falsest of falsities which attributes the dozen of the Tou- 
 rainian to a German knight, who by this deed would have 
 secured the domains of Austria to the House of Haps- 
 burgh. The author of our days, who brought this history 
 to light, although a learned man, has allowed himself to 
 be deceived by certain chroniclers, since the archives of 
 the Roman Empire make no mention of an acquisition of 
 this kind. I am angry with him for having believed that a 
 "braguette," nourished with beer, could have been equal 
 to the alchemical operations of the Chinonian "bragu- 
 ettes," * so much esteemed by Rabelais. And I have for 
 the advantage of the country, the glory of Azay, the con- 
 science of the castle, and the renown of the House of 
 Beaun^i from which sprang the Sauves and the Noirmou- 
 tiers, re-established the facts in all their veritable, histori- 
 cal, and admirable beauty. Should any ladies pay a visit 
 to the castle, there are still dozens to be found in the 
 neighbourhood, but they can only be procured retaiL 
 
 " Braguettes, haut-de-chausses, culottes, «t plus particuli^re- 
 ment la partie de devant de ce vetement, le pont. — Translator. 
 
THE FALSE COURTESAN. 
 
 THAT which certain people do not know, is the truth 
 concerning the decease of the Duke of Orleans, 
 brother of King Charles VI., a death which proceeded 
 from a great number of causes, one of which will be the 
 subject of this narrative. This prince was for certain the 
 most lecherous of all the royal race of Monsigneur St. 
 Louis (who was in his lifetime King of France), without 
 even putting on one side some of the most debauched 
 of this fine family, which was so concordant with the vices 
 and especial qualities of our brave and pleasure-seeking 
 nation, that you could more easily imagine Hell without 
 .Satan than France without her valorous, glorious, and 
 jovial kings. So you can laugh as loudly at those muck- 
 worms of philosophy who go about saying, "Our fathers 
 were better," as at the good, philanthropical old bunglers 
 who pretend that mankind is on the right road to perfec- 
 tion. These are old blind bats, who observe neither the 
 plumage of oysters nor the shells of birds, which change 
 no more than do our ways. Hip, hip, huzzah then ! make 
 merry while you're young. Keep your throats wet and 
 your eyes dry, since an hundred weight of melancholy is 
 worth less than an ounce of jollity. The wrong doings 
 of this lord, lover, of Queen Isabella, whom he doted upon, 
 brought about pleasant adventures, since he was a great 
 wit, of an Alcibiadescal nature, and a chip of the old block. 
 
 280 
 
THE FALSE COURTESAN. 281 
 
 It was he who first conceived the idea of a relay of sweet- 
 hearts, so that when he went from Paris to Bordeaux, 
 every time he unsaddled his nag he found ready for him 
 a good meal, and a bed with as much lace inside as out. 
 Happy prince ! who died on horseback, for he was always 
 across something in-doors and out. Of his comical jokes 
 cur most excellent King Louis the Eleventh has given a 
 splendid sample in the book of the "Cent Nouvelles Nou- 
 velles," written under his superintendence during his exile, 
 at the court of Burgundy, where, during the long even- 
 ings, in order to amuse themselves, he and his cousin 
 Charolois would relate to each other the good tricks and 
 jokes of the period ; and when they were hard up for true 
 stories each of the courtiers tried who could invent the 
 best one. But out of respect for the blood royal, the Dau- 
 phin has credited a townsman with that which happened 
 to the Lady of Cany. It is given under the title of La 
 Medaille a revers, in the collection of which it is one of 
 the brightest jewels, and commences the hundred. But 
 now for mine. 
 
 The Due d'Orleans had in his suite a lord of the prov- 
 ince of Picardy, named Raoul d'Hocquetonville, who had 
 taken for a wife, to the future trouble of the prince, a 
 young lady related to the house of Burgundy, and rich in 
 domains. But, an exception to the general run of heir- 
 esses, she was of so dazzling a beauty, that all the ladies 
 of the court, even the queen and Madame Valentine, were 
 thrown into the shade ; nevertheless, this was as nothing 
 in the lady of Hocquetonville, compared with her Burgun- 
 dian consanguinity, her inheritances, her prettiness, and 
 gentle nature, because these rare advantages received a 
 
282 THE FALSE COURTESAN. 
 
 religious lustre from her supreme innocence, sweet mod- 
 esty, and chaste education. The duke had not long gazed 
 upon this heaven-sent flower before he was seized with the 
 fever of love. He fell into a state of melancholy, fre- 
 quented no bad places, and only with regret now and then 
 did he take a bite at his royal and dainty German morsel 
 Isabella. He became passionate, and swore either by sor- 
 cery, by force, by trickery, or with her consent, to enjoy 
 the favours of this gentle lady, who, by the sight of her 
 sweet body, forced him to the last extremity, during his 
 now long and weary nights. At first, he pursued her with 
 honied words, but he soon knew by her untroubled air that 
 she was determined to remain virtuous, for without ap- 
 pearing astonished at his proceedings, or getting angry 
 like certain other ladies, she replied to him, "My lord, I 
 must inform you that, I do not desire to trouble myself 
 with the love of other persons, not that I despise the joys 
 which are therein to be experienced (and supreme they 
 must be, since so many ladies cast into the abyss of love 
 their homes, their honour, their future, and everything), 
 but from the love I bear my children. Never would I be 
 the caus? of a blush upon their cheeks, for in this idea will 
 I bring up my daughters — that in virtue alone is true hap- 
 piness to be found. For, my lord, if the days of our old 
 age are more numerous than those of our youth, of them 
 must we think. From those who brought me up I learned 
 to properly estimate this life, and I know that everything 
 therein is transitory, except the security of the natural 
 affection. Thus I wish for the esteem of every one, and 
 above all that of my husband, who is all the world to me. 
 Therefore do I desire to appear honest in his sight. I 
 
THE FALSE COURTESAN. 283 
 
 have finished, and I entreat you to allow me unmolested 
 to attend to my household affairs, Otherwise I will un- 
 hesitatingly refer the matter to my lord and master, who 
 will quit your service." 
 
 This brave reply rendered the king's brother more 
 amorous than ever, and he endeavoured to ensnare this 
 noble woman in order to possess her, dead or alive, and 
 he never doubted a bit that he would have her in his 
 clutches, relying upon his dexterity at this kind of sport, 
 the most joyous of all, in which it is necessary to employ 
 the weapons of all other kinds of sport, seeing that this 
 sweet game is taken running, by taking aim, by torchlight, 
 by night, by day, in the town, in the country, in the woods, 
 by the waterside, in nets, with falcons, with the lance, with 
 the horn, with the gun, with the decoy bird, m snares, in 
 the toils, with a bird call, by the scent, on the wing, with 
 the cornet, in slime, with a bait, with the lime-twig — in- 
 deed, by means of all the snares invented since the banish- 
 ment of Adam. And gets killed in various different ways, 
 but generally is overridden. 
 
 The artful fellow ceased to mention his desires, but had 
 a post of honour given to the Lady of Hocquetonville in 
 the queen's household. Now, one day that the said Isa- 
 bella went to Vincennes, to visit the sick king, and left 
 him master of the Hotel St. Paul, he commanded the chef 
 to have a delicate and royal supper prepared, and to serve 
 it in the queen's apartments. Then he sent for his ob- 
 stinate lady by express command, and by one of the pages 
 of the household. The Countess d'Hocquetonville, believ- 
 ing that she was desired by Madame Isabella for sonie 
 service appertaining to her post, or invited to some sudden 
 
284 THE FALSE COURTESAN. 
 
 amusement, hastened to the room. In consequence of the 
 precautions taken by the disloyal lover, no one had been 
 able to inform the noble dame of the princess's departure, 
 so she hastened to the splendid chamber, which, in the 
 Hotel St. Paul, led into the queen's bed-chamber; there 
 she found the Due d'Orleans alone. Suspecting some 
 treacherous plot, she went quickly into the other room, 
 found no queen, but heard the prince give vent to a hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 "I am undone!" said she. Then she endeavoured to 
 run away. 
 
 But the good lady-killer had posted about devoted 
 attendants, who, without knowing what was going on, 
 closed the hotel, barricaded the doors, and in this mansion, 
 so large that it equalled a fourth of Paris, the Lady 
 d'Hocquetonville was as in a desert, with no other aid than 
 that of her patron saint and God. Then, suspecting the 
 truth, the poor lady trembled from head to foot, and fell 
 into a chair ; and then the working of this snare, so clev- 
 erly conceived, was. with many a hearty laugh, revealed to 
 her by her lover. Directly the duke made a movement to 
 approach her this woman rose and exclaimed, arming her- 
 self first with her tongue, and flashing a thousand male- 
 dictions from her eyes — 
 
 "You will possess me — but dead! Ha! my lord, do not 
 force me to a struggle which must become known to cer- 
 tain people. I may yet retire, and the Sire d'Hocqueton- 
 ville shall be ignorant of the sorrow with which you have 
 for ever tinged my life. Duke, you look too often in the 
 ladies' faces to find time to study men's, and you do not 
 therefore know your man. The Sire d'Hocquetonville 
 
THE FALSE COURTESAN. 285 
 
 would let himself be hacked to pieces in your service, so 
 devoted is he to you, in memory of your kindness to him, 
 and also because he is partial to you. But as he loves so 
 does he hate ; and I believe him to be the man to bring his 
 mace down upon your head, to take his revenge, if you 
 but compel me to utter one cry. Do you desire both my 
 death and your own ? But be assured that, as an honest 
 woman, whatsover happens to me, good or evil, I shall 
 keep no secret. Now, will you let me go ?" 
 
 The bad fellow began to whistle. Hearing his whis- 
 tling, the good woman went suddenly into the queen's 
 chamber, and took from a place known to her therein, a 
 sharp stiletto. Then, when the duke followed her to ascer- 
 tain what this flight meant, "When you pass that line," 
 cried she, pointing to a board, "I will kill myself." 
 
 My lord, without being in the least terrified, took a 
 chair, placed it at the very edge of the plank in question, 
 and commenced a glowing description of certain things, 
 hoping to influence the mind of this brave woman, and 
 work her to that point that her brain, her heart, and 
 everything should be at his mercy. Then he commenced 
 to say to her, in that delicate manner to which princes are 
 accustomed, that, in the first place, virtuous women pay 
 dearly for their virtue, since in order to gain the uncer- 
 tain blessings of the future, they lose all the sweetest joys 
 of the present, because husbands were compelled, from 
 motives of conjugal policy, nbt to show them all the jew- 
 els in the shrine of love, since the said jewels would so 
 affect their hearts, were so rapturously delicious, so titillat- 
 jngly voluptuous, that a woman would no longer consent 
 to dwell in the cold regions of domestic life ; and he de- 
 
286 THE FALSE COURTESAN. 
 
 clared this marital abomination to be a great felony, be- 
 cause the least thing a man could do in recognition of the 
 virtuous life of a good woman and her great merits, was 
 to overwork himself, to exert, to exterminate himself, to 
 please her in every way, with fondlings and kissings and 
 wrestling, and all the delicacies and sweet confectionery 
 of love ; and that, if she would taste a little of the seraphic 
 joys of these little ways to her unknown, she would be- 
 lieve all the other things of life as not worth a straw ; and 
 that, if such were her wish> he would for ever be as silent 
 as the grave, and thus no scandal would besmear her 
 virtue. And the lewd fellow, perceiving that the lady did 
 not stop her ears, commenced to describe to her, after the 
 fashion of arabesque pictures, which at that time were 
 much esteemed, the wanton inventions of debauchery. 
 Then did his eyes shoot flame, his words bum, and his 
 voice ring, and he himself took great pleasure in calling to 
 mind the various ways of his ladies, naming them to 
 Madame d'Hocquetonville, and even revealing to her the 
 tricks, caresses, and amorous ways of Queen Isabella, and 
 he made use of an expression so gracious and so ardently 
 inciting, that, fancying it caused the lady to relax her hold 
 upon the stiletto a little, he made as if to approach her. But 
 she, ashamed to be found buried in thought, gazed proudly 
 at the diabolical leviathan who tempted her, and said to 
 him, "Fine sir, I thank you. You have caused me to love 
 my husband all the more, for from your discourse I learn 
 how much he esteems me by holding me in such respect 
 that he does not dishonour his couch with the tricks of 
 street-walkers and bad women. I should think myself 
 for ever disgraced, and should be contaminated to all eter- 
 
THE FALSE COURTESAN. 287 
 
 nity, if I put my foot in those sloughs where go these 
 shameless hussies. A man's wife is one thing, and his mis- 
 tress another." 
 
 "I will wager," said the duke, smiling, "that, neverthe- 
 less^, for the future you spur the Sire d'Hocquentonville 
 to a little sharper pace." 
 
 At this the good wife trembled, and cried, "You are a 
 
 wicked man. Now I both despise and abominate you! 
 
 What! unable to rob me of my honour, you attempt to 
 
 poison my mind ! Ah, my lord, this night's work will cost 
 
 you dear : — 
 
 If I forgive it, yet, 
 God will not forget. 
 
 "Are not those verses yours ?" 
 
 "Madame," said the duke, turning pale with anger, "I 
 can have you bound — " 
 
 "Oh no ! I can free myself," replied she, brandishing 
 the stiletto. 
 
 The rapscallion began to laugh. 
 
 "Never mind," said he. "I have a means of plunging 
 you into the sloughs of these brazen hussies, as you call 
 them." 
 
 "Never, while I live." 
 
 "Heads and heels you shall go in — with your two feet, 
 two hands, two ivory breasts, and two other things, white 
 as snow — your teeth, your hair, and everything. You will 
 go of your own accord ; you shall enter into it lasciviously 
 and in a way to crush your cavalier, as a wild horse does 
 its rider — stamping, leaping, and snorting. I swear it by 
 Saint Castud !" 
 
 Instantly he whistled for one of his pages. And when 
 
288 THE FALSE COURTESAN. 
 
 the page came, he secretly ordered him to go and seek the 
 Sire d'Hocquetonville, Savoisy, Tanneguy, Cypierre, and 
 other members of his band, asking them to these rooms 
 to supper, not without at the same time inviting to meet 
 his guests a pretty petticoat or two. 
 
 Then he came and sat down in his chair again, ten paces 
 from the lady, off whom he had not taken his eye while 
 giving his commands to the page in a whisper. 
 
 "Raoul is jealous," said he. "Now let me give you a 
 word of advice. In this place," he added, pointing to a 
 secret door, "are the oils and superfine perfumes of the 
 queen; in this other little closet she performs her ablu- 
 tions and little feminine offices. I know by much experi- 
 ence that each one of you gentle creatures has her own 
 special perfume, by which she is smelt and recognized. So 
 if, as you say, Raoul is overwhelmingly jealous with the 
 worst of all jealousies, you will use these fast hussies' 
 scents, because your danger approaches fast."^ 
 
 "Ah, my lord, what do you intend to do ?" 
 
 "You will know when it is necessary that you should 
 know. I wish you no harm, and pledge you my honour, 
 as a loyal knight, that I will most thoroughly respect you, 
 and be for ever silent concerning my discomfiture. In 
 short, you will know that the Due d'Orleans has a good 
 heart, and revenges himself nobly on ladies who treat him 
 with disdain, by placing in their hands the key of Para- 
 dise. Only keep your ears open to the joyous words that 
 
 1 Vous userez de ces senteurs de bourbeteuse, purisque bourbier y 
 ha. Bourbeteuse is a dirty woman; and bourbier, danger or 
 scrape. The exact play upon the word cannot be preserved in 
 the translation. 
 
THE FALSE COURTESAN. 289 
 
 will be handed from mouth, to mouth in the next room, 
 and cough not if you love your children." 
 
 Since there was no egress from the royal chamber, and 
 the bars crossing hardly left room to put one's head 
 through, the good prince closed the door of the room, 
 certain of keeping the lady a safe prisoner there, and again 
 impressed upon her the necessity of silence. Then came 
 the merry blades in great haste, and found a good sub- 
 stantial supper smiling at them from the silver plates upon 
 the table, and the table well arranged and well lighted, 
 loaded with fine silver cups, and cups full of royal wine. 
 Then said their master to them — 
 
 "Come ! come ! to your places my good friends. I was 
 becoming very weary. Thinking of you, I wished to ar- 
 range with you a merry feast after the ancient method, 
 when the Greeks and Romans said their Pater noster to 
 Master Priapus, and the learned god called in all coun- 
 tries Bacchus. The feast will be a proper and right 
 hearty one, since at our libation there will be present some 
 pretty crows with three beaks, of which I know from great 
 experience the best one to kiss." 
 
 Then all of them recognizing their master in all 
 things, took pleasure in this gay discourse, except Raoul 
 d'Hocquetonville, who advanced and said to the prince — ■ 
 
 "My lord, I will aid you willingly in any battle but that 
 of the petticoats, in that of spear and axe, but not of the 
 wine flasks. My good companions here present have not 
 wives at home, it is otherwise with me. I have a sweet 
 wife, to whom I owe my company, and an account of all 
 my deeds and actions." 
 
290 THE FALSE COURTESAN. 
 
 "Then, since I am a married man I am to blame ?" said 
 the duke. 
 
 "Ah ! my dear master, you are a prince, and can do as 
 ybu please." 
 
 These brave speeches made, as you can imagine, the 
 heart of the lady prisoner hot and cold. 
 
 "Ah ! my Raoul," thought she, "thou art a noble man !" 
 
 "You are," said the duke, "a man whom I love, and con- 
 sider more faithful and praiseworthy than any of rhy 
 people. The others," said he, looking at the three lords, 
 "are wicked men. But, Raoul," he continued, "sit thee 
 down. When the linnets come — ^they are linnets of high 
 degree — you can make your way home. S'death! I had 
 treated thee as a virtuous man, ignorant of the extra-con- 
 jugal joys of love, and had carefully put for thee in that 
 room the queen of raptures — a fair demon, in whom is 
 concentrated all feminine inventions. I wished that once 
 in thy life thou, who hast never tasted the essence of love, 
 and dreamed but of war, should know the secret marvels 
 of the gallant amusement, since it is shameful that one of 
 my followers should serve a fair lady badly." 
 
 Thereupon the Sire d'Hocquetonville sat down to the 
 table in order to please his prince as far as he could law- 
 fully do s6. Then they all commenced to laugh, joke, and 
 talk about the ladies ; and, according to their custom, tliey 
 related to each other their good fortunes and their love 
 adventures, sparing no woman except the queen of the 
 house, and betraying the little habits of each one, to which 
 followed horrible little confidences, which increased in 
 treachery and lechery as the contents of the goblets grew 
 less. The duke, gay as an universal legatee, drew the 
 
THE FALSE COURTESAN. 29I 
 
 guests out, telling lies himself to learn the truth from 
 them ; and his companions ate at a trot, drank at full gal- 
 lop, and their tongues rattled away faster than either. 
 
 Now, listening to them, and heating his brain with wine, 
 the Sire d'Hocquetonville unharnessed himself little by 
 little from his reluctance. In spite of his virtues, he in- 
 dulged certain desires, and became soaked in these im- 
 purities like a saint who defiles himself while saying his 
 prayers. Perceiving which, the prince, on the alert to 
 satisfy his ire and his bile, began to say to him, joking 
 him — 
 
 "By St. Castud, Raoul, we are all tarred with the same 
 brush, all discreet away from here. Go ; we will say noth- 
 ing to Madame. By heaven ! man, I wish thee to taste the 
 joys of paradise. There," said he, tapping the door of the 
 room in which was Madame d'Hocquetonville, "in there 
 is a lady of the court and a friend of the queen, but the 
 greatest priestess of Venus that ever was, and her equal 
 is not to be found in any courtesan, harlot, dancer, doxy, 
 or hussy. She was engendered at a moment when para- 
 dise was radiant with joy, when nature was procreating, 
 when the planets were whispering vows of love, when the 
 beasts were frisking and capering, and everything was 
 aglow with desire, Although the woman to make an altar 
 her bed, she is nevertheless too great a lady to allow her- 
 self to be seen, and too well known to utter any words 
 but sounds of love. No light will you need, for her eyes 
 flash fire, and attempt no conversation, since she speaks 
 only with movements and twistings more rapid than those 
 of a deer surprised in the forest. Only, my dear Raoul, 
 with so merry a nag look to your stirrups, sit lightly in 
 
292 THE FALSE COURTESAN. 
 
 the saddle, since with one plunge she would hurl thee to 
 the ceiling, if you are not careful. She burns always, and 
 is always longing, for male society. Our poor dead 
 friend, the young Sire de Giac, met his death through her ; 
 she drained his marrow in one springtime. God's truth! 
 to know such bliss as that of which she rings the bells and 
 lights the fires, what man would not forfeit a third of his 
 future happiness ? and he who has known her once would 
 for a second night forfeit without regret eternity." 
 
 "But," said Raoul, "in things which should be so 'much 
 alike, how is it there is so great a difference ?" 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 Thereupon the company burst out laughing, and ani- 
 mated by the wine and a wink from their master, they all 
 commenced relating droll and quaint conceits, laughing, 
 shouting, and making a great noise. Now, knowing not 
 that an innocent scholar was there, these jokers, who had 
 drowned their sense of shame in the wine-cups, said things 
 to make the figures on the mantel shake, the walls and the 
 ceilings blush ; and the duke surpassed them all, saying, 
 that the lady who was in bed in the next room awaiting a 
 gallant should be the empress of these warm imaginations, 
 because she practised them every night. Upon this, the 
 flagons being empty, the duke pushed Raoul, who let him- 
 self be pushed willingly, into the room, and by this means 
 the prince compelled the lady to deliberate by which dag- 
 ger she would either live or die. At midnight the Sire 
 d'Hocquetonville came out gleefully, not without remorse 
 at having been false to his good wife. Then the Due 
 d'Orleans led Madame d'Hocquetonville out by a garden 
 door, so that she gained her residence before her husband 
 
THE FALSE COURTESAN. 293 
 
 arrived there. "This," said she, in the prince's ear, as she 
 passed the postern, "will cost us all dear." 
 
 One year afterwards, in the old Rue du Temple, Raoul 
 d'Hocquetonville, who had quitted the service of the duke 
 for that of Jehan of Burgnndy, gave the king's brother a 
 blow on the head with a club, and killed him, as every one 
 knows. In the same year died the Lady d'Hocquetonville, 
 having faded like a flower deprived of air and eaten by a 
 worm. Her good husband had engraved upon her marble 
 tomb, which is in one of the cloisters of Peronne, the fol- 
 lowing inscription : — 
 
 HERE LIES 
 
 BERTHA DE BOURGONGNE, 
 
 THE NOBLE AND COMELY WIFE 
 OF 
 
 RAOUL, SIRE DE HOCQUETONVILLE. 
 
 alas! pray NOT FOR HER SOUL. 
 
 SHE 
 
 BLOSSOMED AGAIN IN PARADISE, 
 
 THE ELEVENTH DAY OF JANUARY, 
 
 IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD MCCCCVIIL, 
 
 IN THE TWENTY-THIRD YEAR OF HER AGE, 
 
 LEAVING TWO SONS AND HER LORD SPOUSE 
 
 INCONSOLABLE. 
 
 This epitaph was written in elegant Latin, but for the 
 convenience of all it was necessary to translate it, although 
 the word comely is feeble beside that of formosa, which 
 signifies beautiful in shape. The Duke of Burgundy, 
 called the. Fearless, to whom previous to his death the Sire 
 d'Hocquetonville confided the troubles cemented with lime 
 
294 THE FALSE COURTESAN. 
 
 and sand in his heart, used to say, in spite of his hard- 
 heartedness in these matters, that this epitaph plunged him 
 into a state of melancholy for a month, and that among all 
 the abominations of his cousin of Orleans, there was one 
 for which he would kill him over again if the deed had 
 not already been done, because this wicked man had vil- 
 lanously defaced with vice the most divine virtue in the 
 world and had prostituted two noble hearts, the one by 
 the other. When saying this he would think of the lady 
 of Hocquetonville and of his own, whose portrait had been 
 unwarrantably placed in the cabinet where his cousin 
 placed the likenesses of his wenches. 
 
 This adventure was so extremely shocking, that when 
 it was related by the Count de Charolois to the Dauphin, 
 afterwards Louis XL, the latter would not allow his sec- 
 retaries to publish it in his collection, out of respect for 
 his great-uncle the Duke of Orleans, and for Dunois his 
 old comrade, the son of the same. But the person of the 
 lady of Hocquetonville is so sublimely virtuous, so exquis- 
 itely melancholy, that in her favour the present publication 
 of this narrative will be forgiven, in spite of the diabolical 
 invention and vengeance of Monseigneur d'Orleans. The 
 just death of this rascal nevertheless caused many serious 
 rebellions, which finally Louis XL, losing all patience, 
 put down with fire and sword. 
 
 This shows us that there is a woman at the bottom of 
 everything, in France as elsewhere, and that sooner or 
 later we must pay for our follies. 
 
THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT. 
 
 THE lord of Moncontour was a brave soldier of Tours, 
 who, in honour of the battle gained by the Duke of 
 Anjou, afterwards our right glorious king, caused to be 
 built at Vouvray the castle thus named, for he had borne 
 himself most bravely in that affair, where he overcame the 
 greatest of heretics, and from that was authorized to take 
 the name. Now this said captain had two sons, good 
 Catholics, of whom the eldest was in favour at court. 
 After the peace, which was concluded before the strata- 
 gem arranged for St. Bartholomew's day, the good man 
 returned to his manor, which was not ornamented as it is 
 at the present day. There he received the sad announce- 
 ment of the death of his son^ slain in a duel by the lord of 
 Villequier. The poor father was the more cut up at this, 
 as he had arranged a capital marriage for this said son 
 with a young lady of the male branch of Amboise. Nbw, 
 by this death most piteously inopportune, vanished all the 
 future and advantages of his family, of which he wished 
 to make a great and noble house. With this idea, he had 
 put his other son in a monastery, under the guidance and 
 government of a man renowned for his holiness, who 
 brought him up in a Christian manner, according to the 
 desire of his father, who wished from high ambition to 
 make of him a t:ardinal of renown. For this the good 
 abbot kept the young man in a private house, had him to 
 
 295 
 
296 THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT. 
 
 sleep by his side in his cell, allowed no evil weeds to gtovr 
 in his mind, brought him up in purity of soul and true 
 contrition, as all priests should be. This said clerk, when 
 turned nineteen years, knew no other love than the love 
 of God, no other nature than that of the angels who have 
 not our carnal properties, in order that they may live in 
 purity, seeing that otherwise they would make good use 
 of them. The which the King on High, who wished to 
 have His pages always proper, was afraid of. He has 
 done well, because his good little people cannot drink in 
 dram shops or riot in brothels as ours do. He is divinely 
 served ; but then, remember. He is Lord of all. Now in 
 this plight the lord of Moncontour determined to with- 
 draw his second son from the cloister, and invest him with 
 the purple of the soldier and the courtier, in the place of 
 the ecclesiastical purple; and determined to give him in 
 marriage to the maiden, affianced to the dead man, which 
 was wisely determined because wrapped round with con- 
 tinence and sobriety in all ways as was the little monk, 
 the bride would be as well used and happier than she 
 would have been with the elder, already well hauled over, 
 upset, and spoilt by the ladies of the court. The befrocked 
 unfrocked, and very sheepish in his ways, followed the 
 sacred wishes of his father, and consented to the said mar- 
 riage without knowing what a wife, and — what is more 
 curious — what a girl was. By chance, his journey having 
 been hindered by the troubles and marches of conflicting 
 parties, this innocent — more innnocent than it is lawful 
 for a man to be innocent — only came to the castle of Mon- 
 contour the evening before the wedding, which was per- * 
 formed with dispensations bought in the archbishopric of 
 
THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT. 297 
 
 Tours. It is necessary here to describe the bride. Her 
 mother, long time a widow, lived in the house of M. de 
 Braguelongne, civil lieutenant of the Chatelet de Paris, 
 whose wife lived with the lord of Lignieres, to the great 
 scandal of the period. But every one then had so many 
 joists in his own eye that he had no right to notice the 
 rafters in the eyes of others. Now, in all families people 
 go to perdition, without noticing their neighbours, some 
 at an amble, others at a gentle trot, many at a gallop, and 
 a small number walking, seeing that the road is all down 
 hill. Thus in these times the devil had many a good orgie 
 in all things, since that misconduct was fashionable. The 
 poor old lady Virtue had retired trembling, no one knew 
 whither, but now here, now there, lived miserably in com- 
 pany with honest women. 
 
 In the most noble house of Amboise there still lived the 
 dowager of Chaumont, an old woman of well proved vir- 
 tue, in whom had retired all the religion and good conduct 
 of this fine family. The said lady had taken to her bosom, 
 from the age of ten years, the little maiden who is con- 
 cerned in this adventure, and who never caused Madame 
 Amboise the least anxiety, but left her free in her move- 
 ments, and she came to see her daughter once a year, when 
 the court passed that way. In spite of this high maternal 
 reserve, Madame Amboise was invited to her daughter's 
 wedding, and also the lord of Braguelongne, by the good 
 old soldier, who knew his people. But the dear dowager 
 came not to Moncontour, because she could not obtain 
 leave from her sciatica, her cold, nor the state of her legs, 
 which gambolled no longer. Over this the good woman 
 cried copiously. It hurt her much to let go into the dan- 
 
298 THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT. 
 
 gers of the court and of life this gentle maiden, as pretty 
 as it was possible for a pretty girl to be, but she was 
 obliged to giye her her wings. But it was not without 
 promising her many masses and orisons every evening 
 for her happiness. And comforted a little, the good old 
 lady began to think that the staff of her old age was pass- 
 ing into the hands of a quasi-saint, brought up to do good 
 by the above-mentioned abbot, with whom she was ac- 
 quainted, the which had aided considerably in the prompt 
 exchange of spouses. At length, embracing her with 
 tears, the virtuous dowager made those last recommen- 
 dations to her that ladies make to young brides, as that she 
 ought to be respectful to his mother, and obey her husband 
 in everything. 
 
 Then the maid arrived with a great noise, conducted by 
 servants, chamberlains, grooms, gentlemen, and people of 
 the house of Chaumont, so that you would have imagined 
 her suite to be that of a cardinal legate. So arrived the 
 two spouses the evening before their marriage. Then, the 
 feasting over, they were married with great pomp on the 
 Lord's Day, a mass being said at the castle by the Bishop 
 of Blois, who was a great friend of the lord of Moncon- 
 tour ; in short, the feasting, the dancing, and the festivities 
 of all sorts lasted till the morning. But on the stroke of 
 midnight the bridesmaids went to put the bride to bed, 
 according to the custom of Touraine ; and during this time 
 they kept quarrelling with the innocent husband, to pre- 
 vent him going to this innocent wife, who sided with them 
 from ignorance. However, the good lord of Moncontour 
 interrupted the jokers and the wits, because it was neces- 
 sary that his son should occupy himself in well-doing 
 
THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT. 299 
 
 Then went the innocent into the chamber of his wife, 
 whom he thought more beautiful than the Virgin Marys 
 painted in ItaHa'n, Flemish, and other pictures, at Whose 
 feet he had said his prayers. But you may be sure he felt 
 very much embarrassed at having so soon become a hus- 
 band, because he knew nothing of his business, and saw 
 that certain forms had to be gone through concerning 
 which, from great and modest reserve, he had not time 
 to question even his father, who had said sharply to him — 
 
 "You know what you have to do ; be valiant therein." 
 
 Then he saw the gentle girl who was given him, com- 
 fortably tucked up in the bedclothes, terribly curious, her 
 head buried under, but hazarding a glance as at the point 
 of a halberd, and saying to herself — 
 
 "I must obey him." 
 
 And knowing , nothing, she awaited the will of this 
 slightly ecclesiastical gentleman, to whom, in fact, she 
 belonged. Seeing which, the Chevalier de Moncontour 
 came close to the bed, scratched his ear, and knelt down, 
 a thing in which he was expert. 
 
 "Have you said your prayers ?" said he. 
 
 "No," said she ; "I have forgotten them. Do you wish 
 me to say them ?" 
 
 Then the young couple commenced the business of 
 housekeeping by imploring God, which was not at all out 
 of place. But unfortunately the devil heard, and at once 
 replied to their requests, God being much occupied at that 
 time with the new and abominable reformed religion. 
 
 "What did they tell you to do ?" said the husband. 
 
 "To love you," said she, in perfect innocence. 
 
300 THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT. 
 
 "That has not been told to me ; but I love you, I am 
 ashamed to say, better than I love God." 
 
 This speech did not at all alarm the bride. 
 
 "I should like," said the husband, "to repose myself in 
 your bed, if it will not disturb you." 
 
 "I will make room for you willingly, because I am to 
 submit myself to you." 
 
 "Well," said he, "don't look at me then. I'm going to 
 take my clothes off, and come." 
 
 At this virtuous speech, the young damsel turned her- 
 self towards the wall in great expectation, seeing that it 
 was for the very first time that she was about to find her- 
 self separated from a man by the confines of a shirt only. 
 Then came the innocent, gliding into the bed, and thus 
 they found themselves, so to speak, united, but far from 
 you can imagine what. Did you ever see a monkey 
 brought from across the seas, who for the first time is 
 given a nut to crack? This ape, knowing by high apish 
 imagination how delicious is the food hidden under the 
 shell, sniffs and twists himself about in a thousand apish 
 ways, saying, I know not what, between his chattering 
 jaws. Ah! with what affection he studies it, with what 
 study he examines it, in what examination he holds it, 
 then throws it, rolls and tosses it about with passion, and 
 often, when it is an ape of low extraction and intelligence, 
 leaves the nut. As much did the poor innocent who, 
 towards the dawn, was obliged to confess to his dear wife 
 that, not knowing how to perform his office, or what that 
 office was, or where to obtain the said office, it would be- 
 necessary for him to inquire concerning it, to have help 
 and aid. 
 
THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT. 3OI 
 
 "Yes," said she; "since, unhappily, I cannot instruct 
 you." 
 
 In fact, in spite of their efforts, essays of all kinds — in 
 spite of a thousand things which the innocenfs invent, and 
 which the wise in matters of love know nothing about — 
 the pair dropped off to sleep, wretched at having been 
 unable to discover the secret of marriage. But they wisely 
 agreed to say that they had done so. When the wife got 
 up, still a maiden, seeing that she had not been crowned, 
 she boasted of her night, and said she had the king of hus- 
 bands, and went on with her chattering and repartees as 
 briskly as those who know nothing of these things. Then 
 every one found the maiden a little too sharp, since for a 
 two-edged joke a lady of Roche-Corbon having incited a 
 young maiden, de la Bourdaisiere, who knew nothing of 
 such things, to ask the bride — 
 
 "How many loaves did your husband put in the oven ?" 
 
 "Twenty-four, ' she replied. 
 
 Now, as the bridegroom was roaming sadly about, 
 thereby distressing his wife, who followed him with her 
 eyes, hoping to see his state of innocence come to an end, 
 the ladies believed that the joy of that night had cost him 
 dear, and that the said bride was already regretting hav- 
 ing so quickly ruined him. And at breakfast came the 
 bad jokes, which at that time were relished as excellent. 
 One said that the bride had an open expression ; another, 
 that there had been some good strokes of business done 
 that night in the castle ; this one, that the oven had been 
 burned ; that one that the two families had lost something 
 that night that they would never find again. And a thou- 
 sand other jokes, stupidities and double meanings that. 
 
302 THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT. 
 
 unfortunately, the husband did not understand. But on 
 account of the great affluence of the relations, neighbours, 
 and others, no one had been to bed ; all had danced, rol- 
 licked, and frolicked, as is the custom at noble weddings. 
 
 At this was quite contented my said Sieur de Brague- 
 longne, upon whom my lady of Amboise, excited by the 
 thought of the good things which were happening to her 
 daughter, cast the glances of a falcon in matters of gal- 
 lant assignation. The poor lieutenant civil, learned in 
 bailiffs' men and Serjeants, and who nabbed all the pick- 
 pockets and scamps of Paris, pretended not to see his good 
 fortune, although his good lady required him to. You 
 may be sure this great lady's love weighed heavily upon 
 him, so he only kept to her from a spirit of justice, be- 
 cause it was not seeming in a lieutenant criminal to change 
 his mistresses as often as a man at court, because he had 
 vmder his charge morals, the police, and religion. This 
 notwithstanding his rebellion must come to an end. On 
 the day after the wedding a great number of the guests 
 departed; then Madame d' Amboise and Monsieur de 
 Braguelongne could go to bed, their guests having de- 
 camped. Sitting down to supper, the lieutenant received 
 a half-verbal summons to which it was not becoming, as 
 in legal matters, to oppose any reasons for delay. 
 
 During supper the said lady d'Amboise made more than 
 a hundred little signs in order to draw the good Brague- 
 longne from the room where he was with the bride, but 
 out came instead of the lieutenant the husband, to walk 
 about in company with the mother of his sweet wife. 
 Now, in the mind of this innocent there had sprung up 
 like a mushroom an expedient — namely, to interrogate 
 
THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT. 3O3 
 
 this good lady, whom he considered discreet, for remem- 
 bering the religious precepts of his abbot, who had told 
 him to inquire concerning all things of old people expert 
 in the wa3's of life, he thought of confiding his case to my 
 said lady d'Amboise. But he made first awkwardly and 
 shyly certain twists and turns, finding no terms in which 
 to unfold his case. And the lady was also perfectly silent, 
 since she was outrageously struck with the blindness, deaf- 
 ness, and voluntary paralysis of the lord of Braguelongne ; 
 and said to herself, walking by the side of this delicate 
 morsel, a young innocent of whom she did not think, little 
 imagining that this cat so well provided with young bacon 
 could think of old — 
 
 "This Ho, Ho, with a beard of flies' legs, a flimsy, old, 
 grey, ruined, shaggy beard — a beard without comprehen- 
 sion, beard without shame, without any feminine respect 
 — beard which pretends neither to feel nor to hear nor to 
 see, a pared away beard, a beaten down, disordered, gutted 
 beard. May the Italian sickness deliver me from this vile 
 joker with a squashed nose, fiery nose, frozen nose, nose 
 without religion, nose dry as a lute table, pale nose, nose 
 without a soul, nose which is nothing but a shadow; nose 
 which sees not, nose wrinkled like the leaf of the vine ; 
 nose that I hate, old nos6, nose full of mud — dead nose. 
 Where have my eyes been to attach myself to this truffle 
 nose, to this old hulk that no longer knows his way? I 
 give my share to the devil of this old juiceless beard, of 
 this old grey beard, of this monkey face, of these old tat- 
 ters, of this old rag of a man, of this — I know not what ; 
 and I'll take a young husband who'll marry me properly, 
 and . . and often — every day — and well " 
 
304 THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT. 
 
 In this wise train of thought was she when the innocent 
 began his anthem to this woman, so warmly excited, who 
 at the first paraphrase took fire in her understanding, like 
 a piece of old touchwood from the carbine of a soldier; 
 and finding it wise to try her son-in-law, said to herself — 
 
 "Ah 1 yoimg beard, sweet scented ! ah ! pretty new nose 
 — fresh beard — innocent nose — ^virgin beard — nose full of 
 joy — beard of springtime, small key of love !" 
 
 She kept on talking the round of the garden, which was 
 long, and then arranged with the Innocent that, night 
 come, he should sally forth from his room and get into 
 hers, where she engaged to render him more learned than 
 ever was his father. And the husband was well content, 
 and thanked Madame d'Amboise, begging her to say 
 nothing of this arrangement. 
 
 During this time the good old Braguelongne had been 
 growling and saying to himself, "Old ha, ha ! old ho, ho ! 
 may the plague take thee ! may a cancer eat thee ! — worth- 
 less old currycomb ! old slipper, too big for the foot ! old 
 arquebus ! ten years old codfish ! old spider that spins no 
 more! old death with open eyes! old devil's cradle! vile 
 lantern of an old town-crier ! old wretch whose look kills ! 
 old moustache of an old theriacler! old wretch to make 
 dead men weep ! old organ-pedal ! old sheath with a hun- 
 dred knives ! old church porch, worn out by the knees ! 
 old poor-box in which every one has dropped. I'll give 
 all my future to be quit of thee !" As he finished these 
 gentle thoughts the pretty bride, who was thinking of her 
 young husband's great sorrow at not knowing the particu- 
 lars of that essential item of marriage, and not having the 
 slightest idea what it was, thought to save him much tribu- 
 
THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT. 305 
 
 lation, shame, and labour by instructing herself. And she 
 counted upon much astonishing and rejoicing him the 
 next night when she should say to him, teaching him his 
 duty, "That's the thing, my love !" Brought up in great 
 respect of old people by her dear dowager, she thought of 
 inquiring of this good man in her sweetest manner to dis- 
 til for her the sweet mysteries of the commerce. Now, the 
 lord of Braguelongne, ashamed of being lost in sad con- 
 templation of his evening's work, and of saying nothing to 
 his gay companion, put this summary interrogation to the 
 fair bride — "If she was not happy with so good a young 
 husband " 
 
 "He is very good," said she. 
 
 "Too good, perhaps," said the lieutenant, smiling. 
 
 To be brief, matters were so well arranged between 
 them that the lord of Braguelongne engaged to spare no 
 pains to enlighten the understanding of Madame d'Am- 
 boise's daughter-in-law, who promised to come and study 
 her lesson in his room. The said lady d'Amboise pre- 
 tended after supper to play terrible music in a high key 
 to Monsieur de Braguelongne, saying that he had no grat- 
 itude, for the blessings she had brought him — her position, 
 her wealth, her fidelity, etc. In fact, she talked for half 
 an hour without having exhausted a quarter of her ire. 
 From this a hundred knives were drawn between them, 
 but they kept the sheaths. Meanwhile the spouses in bed 
 were arranging to themselves how to get away, in order 
 to please each other. Then the innocent began to say he 
 felt quite giddy, he knew not from what, and wanted to go 
 into the open air. And his maiden wife told him to take 
 a stroll in the moonlight. And then the good fellow began 
 
3o6 THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT. 
 
 to pity his wife in being- left alone a moment. At her de- 
 sire, both of them at different times left their conjugal 
 couch and came to their preceptors, both very impatient, 
 as you can well believe ; and good instruction was given 
 to them. How ? I cannot say, because every one has his 
 own method and practice, and of all sciences this is the 
 most variable in principle. You may be sure that never 
 did scholars receive more gaily the precepts of any lan- 
 guage, grammar, or lessons whatsoever. And the two 
 spouses returned to their nest, delighted at being able to 
 communicate to each other the discoveries of their scien- 
 tific peregrinations. 
 
 "Ah, my dear," said the bride, "you already know more 
 than my master." 
 
 From these curious tests came their domestic joy and 
 perfect fidelity : because immediately after their entry into 
 the married state they found out how much better each 
 of them was adapted for love than any one else, their mas- 
 ters included. Thus for the remainder of their days they 
 kept to the legitimate substance of their own persons ; and 
 the lord of Moncontour said in his old age to his friends — 
 
 "Do like me, be cuckolds in the blade, and not in the 
 sheaf." 
 
 Which is the true morality of the conjugal condition. 
 
THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 IN that winter when commenced that first taking up of 
 arms by those of the religion, which was called the 
 Riot of Amboise, an advocate, named Avenelles, lent his 
 house, situated in the Rue des Marmousets for the inter- 
 views and conventions of the Huguenots, being one of 
 them, without knowing, however, that the Prince of 
 Conde, La Regnaudie, and others, intended to carry off 
 the king. 
 
 This said Avenelles wore a nasty red beard, as shiny as 
 a stick' of liquorice, and was devilishly pale, as are all the 
 rogues who take refuge in the darknesses of the law ; in 
 short, the most evil-minded advocate that has ever lived, 
 laughing at the gallows, sellling everybody, and a true 
 Judas. According to certain authors of great experience 
 in subtle rogues he was in this affair half knave, half fool, 
 as is abundantly proved by this narrative. This procureur 
 had married a very lovely lady of Paris, of whom he was 
 jealous enough to kill her for a pleat in the sheets, for 
 which she could not account, which would have been 
 wrong, becau'se honest creases are often met with. But 
 she folded her clothes very well, so there's an end of the 
 matter. Be sure that, knowing the murderous and evil 
 nature of this man, his wife was faithful enough to him, 
 always ready, like a candlestick, arranged for her diity like 
 a chest which never moves, and opens to order. Neverthe- 
 
 307 
 
308 THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 less, the advocate had placed her under the guardianship 
 and pursuing eye of an old servant, a duenna as ugly as a 
 pot without a handle, who had brought up the Sieur 
 Avenelles, and was very fond of him. His poor wife, for 
 all pleasure in her cold domestic life, used to go to the 
 church of St. Jehan, on the Place de Greve, where, as 
 every one knows, the fashionable world-was accustomed to 
 meet ; and while saying her paternosters to God she feast- 
 ed Jier eyes upon all these gallants, curled, adorned, and 
 starched, young, comely, and flitting about like true but- 
 terflies, and finished by picking out from among the lot a 
 good gentleman, lover of the queen-mother, and a hand- 
 some Italian, with whom she was smitten because he was 
 in the May of his age, nobly dressed, a graceful mover, 
 brave in mien, and was all that a lover should be to bestow 
 a heart full of love upon an honest woman too tightly 
 squeezed by the bonds of matrimony, which torment her, 
 and always excite her to unharness herself from the con- 
 jugal yoke. And you can imagine that the young gentle- 
 man grew to admire Madame, whose silent love spoke se- 
 cretly to hinli without either, the devil or themselves know- 
 ing how. Both one and the other had their correspond- 
 ence of love. At first the advocate's wife adorned herself 
 only to come to church, and always came in some new 
 sumptuosity;^and instead of thinking of God, she made 
 God angry by thinking of her handsome gentleman, and 
 leaving her prayers, she gave herself up to the fire which 
 consumed her heart, and moistened her eyes, her lips, and 
 everything, seeing that this fire always dissolves itself in 
 water ; and often said she to herself : "Ha ! I would give 
 my life for a single embrace with this pretty lover who 
 
THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 3O9 
 
 loves me." Often, too, in place of saying her litanies to 
 Madame the Virgin, she thought in her heart: "To feel 
 the glorious youth of this gentle lover, to have the full 
 joys of love, to taste all in one moment, little should I 
 mind the flames into which the heretics are thrown." Then 
 the gentleman gazing at the charms of this good wife, and 
 her burning blushes when he glanced at her, came always 
 close to her stool, and addressed to her those requests 
 which the ladies understand so well. Then he said aside 
 to himself : "By the double horn of my father I swear to 
 have that woman, though it cost me my life." 
 
 And when the duenna turned her head, the two lovers 
 squeezed, pressed, breathed, ate, devoured, and kissed each 
 other by a look which would have set light to the match 
 of a musketeer, if the musketeer had been there. It was 
 certain that a love so far advanced in the heart should have 
 an end. The gentleman, dreSsed as a scholar of Montaign, 
 began to regale the clerks of the said Avenelles, and to 
 joke in their company, in order to learn the habits of the 
 husband, his hours of absence, his journeys, and every- 
 thing, watching for an opportunity to stick his horns on. 
 And this was how, to his injury, the opportunity occurred. 
 The advocate, obliged to follow the course of this con- 
 spiracy, and, in case of failure, intending to revenge him- 
 self upon the Guises, determined to go to Blois, where the 
 court then was in great danger of being carried off. 
 Knowing this, the gentleman came first to the town of 
 Blois, and there arranged a master-trap, into which the 
 Sieur Avenelles should fall, in spite of his cunning, and 
 not come out until steeped in a crimson cuckoldom. This 
 said Italian, intoxicated with love, called together all 
 
3IO THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 his pages and vassals, and posted them in such a manner 
 that on the arrival of the advocate, his wife, and her 
 duehna, it was stated to them at all the hostelries at which 
 they wished to put up that the hostelry being full, in con- 
 sequence of the sojourn of the court, they must go else- 
 where. Then the gentleman made such an arrangement 
 with the landlord of the Soliel Royal, that he had the 
 whole of the house) and occupied it, without any of the 
 usual servants of the place remaining there. For greater 
 security, my lord sent the said master and his people into 
 the country, and put his own in their places, so that the 
 advocate should know nothing of this arrangement. Be- 
 hold my good gentleman who lodges his friends to come to 
 the court in the hostelry, and for himself keeps a room sit- 
 uated above those in which he intends to put his lovely 
 mistress, her advocate, and the duenna, not without first 
 having cut a trap in the boards. And his steward being 
 charged to play the part of the innkeeper, his pages 
 dressed like guests, and his female servants like ser- 
 vants of the inn, he waited for spies to convey to him the 
 dramatis personae of this farce — ^viz., wife, husband, and 
 duenna, none of whom failed to come. Seeing the im- 
 mense wealth of the great lords, merchants, warriors, 
 members of the service, -and others, brought by the sojourn 
 of the young king, of two queens, the Guises, and all the 
 court, no one had a right to be astonished or to talk of 
 the roguish trap, or of the confusion come to the Soliel 
 Royal. Behold now the SieurAvenelles, on his arrival, 
 bundled about, he, his wife and the duenna from inn to 
 inn, and thinking themselves very fortunate in being re- 
 ceived at the Soliel Royal, where the gallant was getting 
 
THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 3II 
 
 warm, and love was burning. The advocate being lodged, 
 the lover walked about in the courtyard, watching and 
 waiting for a glance from his lady ; and he did not have 
 to wait very long, since the fair Avenelles, looking soon 
 into the court, after the custom of the ladies, there recog- 
 nized, not without great throbbing of the heart, her gal- 
 lant and well-beloved gentleman. At that she was very 
 happy ; and if by a lucky chance both had been alone to- 
 gether for an ounce of time, the good gentleman would 
 not have had to wait for his good fortune, so burning 
 was she from head to foot. 
 
 "How warm it is in the rays of this lord," said she, 
 meaning to say sun, since it was then shining fiercely. 
 
 Hearing this, the advocate sprang to the window, and 
 beheld my gentleman. 
 
 "Ha! you want lords, my dear, do you?" said the ad- 
 vocate, dragging her by the arm, and throwing her like 
 one of his bags on to the bed. "Remember that if I have 
 a pencase at my side instead of a sword, I have a penknife 
 in this pencase, and the penknife will go into your heart 
 on the least suspicion of conjugal impropriety. I believe 
 I have seen that gentleman somewhere." 
 
 The advocate was so terribly spiteful that the lady rose, 
 and said to him — 
 
 "Well, kill me. I am afraid of deceiving you. Never 
 touch me again, after having thus menaced me. And 
 from to-day I shall never think of sleeping save with a 
 lover more gentle than are you." 
 
 "There, there, my little one!" said the advocate, sur- 
 prised. "We have gone a little too far. Kiss me, chick- 
 a-biddy, and forgive me." 
 
312 THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 "I will neither kiss nor pardon you," said she. "You 
 are a wretch !" 
 
 Avenelles, enraged, wished to take by force that which 
 his wife denied him, and from this resulted a combat, from 
 which the husband emerged clawed all over. But the 
 worst of it was, that the advocate, covered with scratches, 
 being expected by the conspirators, who were holding a 
 council, was obliged to quit his good wife, leaving her to 
 the care of the old woman. 
 
 The knave having departed, the gentleman putting one 
 of his servants to keep watch at the corner of the street, 
 mounts to his blessed trap, lifts it noiselessly, and calls 
 the lady a gentle psit! psit! which was understood by the 
 heart, which generally understands everything. The lady 
 lifts her head, and sees her pretty lover four flea jumps 
 above her. Upon a sign, she takes hold of two cords of 
 black silk, to which were attached loops, through which 
 she passes her arms, and in the twinkling of an eye is 
 translated by two pulleys from her bed through the ceiling 
 into the room above, and the trap closing as it had opened, 
 left the old duenna in a state of great flabbergastation, 
 when, turning her head, she neither saw robe nor woman, 
 and perceived that the woman had been robbed. How? 
 by whom ? in what way ? where ? — Presto ! Foro ! Magico ! 
 As much knew the alchemists at their furnaces reading 
 Herr Trippa. Only the old woman knew well the crucible, 
 and the great work — ^the one was cuckoldom, and the 
 other the private property of Madame Advocate. She re- 
 mained dumbfoundered, watching for the Sieur Avenelles 
 — as well say death, for in his rage he would attack every- 
 thing, and the poor duenna could not run away, because 
 
THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 3I3 
 
 with great prudence the jealous man had taken the keys 
 with him. At first sight, Madame Avenelles found a 
 dainty supper, a good fire in the grate, but a better in the 
 heart of her lover, who seized her, and kissed her, with 
 tears of joy, on the eyes first of all, to thank them for their 
 sweet glances during devotion at the church of St. Jehan 
 en Grevc. Nor did the glowing better half of the lawyer 
 refuse her little mouth to his love, but allowed herself to 
 be properly pressed, adored, caressed, delighting to be 
 properly pressed, admirably adored, and calorously 
 caressed after the manner of eager lovers. And both 
 agreed to be all in all to each other the whole night long, 
 no matter what the result might be, she counting the fu- 
 ture as a fig in comparison with the joys of this night, 
 he relying upon his cunning and his sword to obtain 
 many another. In short, both of them caring little for 
 life, because at one stroke they consummated a thousand 
 lives, enjoyed with each other a thousand delights, 
 giving to each other the double of their own — ^be- 
 lieving, he and she, that they were falling into an abyss, 
 and wishing to roll there closely clasped, hurling all the 
 love of their souls with rage in one throw. Therein they 
 loved each other well. Thus they know not love, the poor 
 citizens, who live mechanically with their good wives, 
 since they know not the fierce beating of the heart, the 
 hot gush of life, and the vigorous clasp as do two young 
 lovers, closely united and glowing with passion, who em- 
 brace in face of the danger of death. Now the youthful 
 lady and the gentleman ate little supper, but retired early 
 to rest. Let us leave them there, since no words, except 
 those of paradise unknown to us, would describe their 
 
314 THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 delightful agonies, and agonizing delights. Meanwhile, 
 the husband, so well cuckolded that all memory of mar- 
 riage had been swept away by love, — the said Avenelles 
 found himself in a great fix. To the council of the Hugue- 
 nots came the Prince of Conde, accompanied by all the 
 chiefs and bigwigs, and there it was resolved to carry off 
 the queen-mother, the Guises, the young king, the young 
 queen, and to change the government. This becoming 
 serious, the advocate seeing his head at stake, did not feel 
 the ornaments being planted there, and ran to divulge the 
 conspiracy to the cardinal of Lorraine, who took the rogue 
 to the duke his brother, and all three held a consultation 
 making fine promises to the Sieur Avenelles, whom with 
 the greatest difficulty they allowfed, towards midnight, to 
 depart, at which hour he issued secretly from the castle. 
 At this moment the pages of the gentleman and all his 
 people were having a right jovial supper in honour of the 
 fortuitous wedding of their master. Now, arriving at 
 the height of the festivities, in the middle of the intoxica- 
 tion and joyous huzzahs, he was assailed with jeers, jokes, 
 and laughter that turned him sick when he came into his 
 room. The poor servant wished to speak, but the advo- 
 cate promptly planted a blow in her stomach, and by a 
 gesture commanded her to be silent. Then he felt in his 
 valise, and took therefrom a good poniard. While he 
 was opening and sharpening it, a frank, naive, joyous, 
 amorous, jM-etty, celestial roar of laughter, followed by 
 certain words of easy comprehension, came down through 
 the trap. The cunning advocate, blowing out his candle, 
 saw through the cracks in the boards caused by the shrink- 
 ing of the door a light, which vaguely explained the mys- 
 
THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 315 
 
 tery to him, for he recognised the voice of his wife and 
 that of the combatant. The husband took the duenna by 
 the arm, and went softly up the stairs searching for the 
 door of the chamber in which were the lovers, and did 
 not fail to find it. Fancy ! that like a horrid, rude advo- 
 cate, he burst open the door, and with one spring was on 
 the bed, in which he surprised his wife, half dressed, in the 
 arms of the gentleman. 
 
 "Ah !" said she. 
 
 The lover having avoided the blow, tried to snatch the 
 poniard from the hands of the knave, who held it firmly. 
 Now, in this struggle of life and death, the husband find- 
 ing himself hindered by his lieutenant, who clutched him 
 tightly with his fingers of iron, and bitten by his wife, who 
 tore away at him \yith a will, gnawing him as a dog gnaws 
 a bone, he thought instantly of a better way to gratify his 
 rage. Then this devil, newly horned, maliciously ordered, 
 in his patois, the servant to tie the lovers with the silken 
 cords of the trap, and throwing the poniard away, he 
 helped the duenna to make them fast. And the thing thus 
 done in a moment, he rammed some linen into their 
 mouths to stop their cries, and ran to his good poniard 
 without saying a word. At this moment there entered 
 several officers of the Duke of Guise, whom during the 
 struggle no one had heard turning the house upside down, 
 looking for the Sieur Avenelles. These soldiers, suddenly 
 warned by the cries of the pages of the lord, bound, 
 gagged and half killed, threw themselves between the 
 man with the poniard and the lovers, disarmed him, and 
 accomplished their mission by arresting him, and march- 
 ing him off to the castle prison, he, his wife, and the 
 
3l6 THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 duenna. At the same time the people of the Guises, rec- 
 ognizing one of their master's friends, with whom at this 
 moment the queen was most anxious to consult, and 
 whom they were enjoined to summon to the council, in- 
 vited him to come with them. Then the gentleman soon 
 untied, dressing himself, said aside to the chief of the 
 escort, that on his account, for the love of him, he should 
 be careful to keep the husband away from his wife, prom- 
 ising him his favour, good advancement, and even a few 
 deniefs, if he were careful to obey him on this point. And 
 for greater surety he explained to him the why and the 
 wherefore of the aflfair, adding that if the husband found 
 himself within reach of this fair lady he would give her 
 for certain a blow in the belly from which she would 
 never recover. Finally he ordered him to place the lady 
 in the gaol of the castle, in a pleasant place level with the 
 gardens, and the advocate in a safe dungeon, not without 
 chaining him hand and foot. The which the said officer 
 promised, and arranged matters according to the wish 
 of the gentleman, who accompanied the lady as far as the 
 courtyard of the castle, assuring her that this business 
 would make her a widow, and that he would perhaps es- 
 pouse her in legitimate marriage. In fact, the Sieur 
 Avenelles was thrown into a damp dungeon without air, 
 and his pretty wife placed in a room above him, out of 
 consideration for her lover, who was the Sieur Scipion 
 Sardini, a noble of Lucca, exceedingly rich, and, as has 
 before been stated, a friend of Queen Catherine de Medi- 
 cis, who at that time did everything in concert with the 
 Guises. Then he went up quickly to the queen's apart- 
 ments, where a great secret council was then being held, 
 
Wall tlic ladits of his Couri, love was a genlle i)lL,Qi,LiM: 
 without t>aralltK 
 
And his heart leaped almost into his mouth. 
 
 '*You have a fine cow," said htr. 
 
 •' Would you like a little milk ? " replied she. 
 
THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 317 
 
 and there the Italian learned what was going on, and the 
 danger of the court. Monseigneur Sardini found the 
 privy councillors much embarrassed and surprised at this 
 dilemma, but he made them all agree, telling them to turn 
 it to their own advantage ; and to his advice was due the 
 clever idea of lodging the king in the castle of Amboise, 
 in order to catch the heretics there like foxes in a bag, and 
 there to slay them all. Indeed, every one knows how the 
 queen-mother and the Guises dissimulated, and how the 
 riot of Amboise terminated. This is not, however, the 
 subject of the present narrative. When in the morning 
 every one had quitted the chamber of the queen-mother, 
 where everything had been arranged, Monseigneur Sar- 
 dini, in no way oblivious of his love for the fair Avenelles, 
 although he was at the time deeply smitten with the lovely 
 Limeuil, a girl belonging to the queen-mother, and her 
 relation by the house of La Tour de Turenne, asked why 
 the good Judas had been caged. Then the Cardinal of Lor- 
 raine told him that his intention was not in any way to 
 harm the rogue, but that fearing his repentance, and for 
 greater security of his silence until the end of the affair, 
 he had put him out of the way, and would liberate him at 
 the proper time. 
 
 "Liberate him!" said the Luccanese. "Never! Put 
 him in a sack, and throw the old black gown into the 
 Loire. In the first place I know him ; he is not the man 
 to forgive you his imprisonment, and will return to the 
 Protestant Church. Thus this will be a work pleasant to 
 God, to rid him of a heretic. Then no one will know your 
 secrets, and not one of his adherents will think of asking 
 you what has become of him, because he is a traitor. Let 
 
3l8 THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 me procure the escape of his wife and arrange the rest ; I 
 will take it off your hands." 
 
 "Ha ! Ha !" said the cardinal ; "you give good counsel. 
 Now I will, before distilling your advice, have them both 
 more securely guarded. Hi, there !" 
 
 Came an officer of police, who was ordered to let no 
 person, whoever he might be, communicate with the two 
 prisoners. Then the cardinal begged Sardini to say at 
 his hotel that the said advocate had departed from Blois 
 to return to his causes in Paris. The men charged with 
 the arrest of the advocate, had received verbal orders to 
 treat him as a man of importance, so they neither stripped 
 nor robbed him. Now the advocate had kept thirty gold 
 crowns in his purse, and resolved to lose them all to assure 
 his vengeance, and proved by good arguments to the gaol- 
 ers that it was allowable for him to see his wife, on whom 
 he doted, and whose legitimate embrace' he desired. Mon- 
 seigneur Sardini, fearing for his mistress the danger of 
 the proximity of this red learned rogue, and for her hav- 
 ing great fear of certain evils, determined to carry her 
 off in the riight, and put her in a place of safety. Then 
 he hired some boatmen and also their boat, placing them 
 near the bridge, and ordered three of his most active ser- 
 vants to file the bars of the cell, seize the lady, and conduct 
 her to the wall of the gardens, where he would await her. 
 
 These preparations being made, and good files bought, 
 he obtained an interview in the morning with the queen- 
 mother, whose apartments were situated above the strong- 
 hold in which lay the said advocate and his wife, believ- 
 ing that the queen would willingly lend herself to this 
 flight Presently he was received by her, and begged her 
 
THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 3I9 
 
 not to think it wrong that, at the instigation of the cardi- 
 nal and of the Duke of Guise, he should deliver this lady ; 
 and besides this, urged her very strongly to tell the car- 
 dinal to throw the man into the water. To which the 
 queen said, "Amen." Then the lover sent quickly to his 
 lady a letter in a plate of cucumbers, to advise her of her 
 approaching widowhood, and the hour of flight, with all 
 of which was the fair citizen well content. Then at dusk 
 the soldiers of the watch being got out of the way by the 
 queen, who sent them to look at a ray of the moon, which 
 frightened her, behold the servants raised the grating, 
 and called the lady, who came quickly enough, and was 
 led to the house to Monseigneur Sardini. 
 
 But the postern closed, and the Italian outside with the 
 lady, behold the lady throw aside her mantle, see the lady 
 change into an advocate, and see my said advocate seize 
 his cuckolder by the collar, and half strangle him, drag- 
 ging him towards the water to throw him to the bottom of 
 the Loire ; and Sardini begin to defend himself, to shout, 
 and to struggle, without being able, in spite of his dagger, 
 to shake off this devil in long robes. Then he was quiet, 
 falling into a slough under the feet of the advocate, whom 
 he recognized through the mists of this diabolical combat, 
 and by the light of the moon, his face plashed with the 
 blood of his wife. The enraged advocate quitted the Ital- 
 ian, believing him to be dead, and also because servants, 
 armed with torches, came running up. But he had time 
 to jump into the boat and push off in great haste. 
 
 Thus poor Madame Avenelles died alone, since Mon- 
 seigneur Sardini badly strangled, was found, and revived 
 from this murder ; and later, as every one knows, married 
 
320 THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 the fair Limeuil after this sweet girl had been brought 
 to bed in the queen's cabinet — a great scandal, which from 
 friendship the queen-mother wished to conceal, and which 
 from great love Sardini, to whom Catherine gave the 
 splendid estate of Chaumont-sur-Loire, and also the cas- 
 tle, covered with marriage. 
 
 But he had been so brutally used by the husband, that 
 he did not make old bones, and the fair Limeuil was left 
 a widow in her spring time. In spite of his misdeeds the 
 advocate was not searched after. He was cunning enough 
 eventually to get included in the number of those con- 
 spirators who were not prosecuted, and returned to the 
 Huguenots, for whom he worked hard in Germany. 
 
 Poor Madame Avenelles, pray for her soul! for she 
 was hurled no one knew where, and had neither the pray- 
 ers of the Church nor Christian burial. Alas ! shed a tear 
 for her, ye ladies lucky in your loves. 
 
DROLL STORIES 
 
 VOLUME TWO 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Sermon of the Merry Vicar of Meudon i 
 
 Prologue , 20 
 
 I. What the Succubus was 1 23 
 
 II. The proceedings taken relative to this female 
 
 vampire 46 
 
 III. What the Succubus did to suck out the soul of the 
 
 old Judge, and what came of the diabolical de- 
 lectation 65 
 
 IV. How the Moorish woman of the Rue Chaude 
 
 twisted about so briskly, that with great difficulty 
 was she burned and cooked alive, to the great 
 
 loss of the infernal regions 76 
 
 Despair in Love 89 
 
 Epilogue 98 
 
 THE THIRD TEN TALES. 
 
 Prologue 102 
 
 Perseverance in Love 129 
 
 Concerning a Provost who did not Recognise Things 134 
 
 About the Monk Amador^ who was a glorious Abbot of 
 
 TuRPENAY 148 
 
 Bertha the Penitent 173 
 
 I. How Bertha remained a Maiden in the Married 
 
 State 173 
 
 II. How Bertha behaved, knowing the Business of 
 
 Love 184 
 
 III. Horrible chastisement of Bertha and expiation of 
 
 the same, who died pardoned. 215 
 
 vii 
 
VUl TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 How THE Pretty Maid of Portillon convinced her Judge, . 202 
 In which it is demonstrated that Fortune is always 
 
 Feminine 224 
 
 Concerning a poor Man who was called Le Vieux par- 
 
 Chemins 24s 
 
 Odd Sayings of Three Pilgrims 256 
 
 Innocence 264 
 
 The Fair Imferia Married 267 
 
 I. How Madame Imperia was caught in the very net 
 
 she was accustomed to spread for her love-birds, 267 
 
 II. How this Marriage ended 280 
 
 Epilogue 292 
 
THE SERMON OF THE 
 MERRY VICAR OF MEUDON. 
 
 WHEN, for the last time, came Master Francis 
 Rabelais to the court of King Henry the Sec- 
 ond of the name, it was in that winter when the will of 
 nature compelled him to quit for ever his fleshly garb, 
 and live for ever in his writings resplendent with that 
 good philosophy to which we shall always be obliged to 
 return. The good man had, at that time, counted as nearly 
 as possible seventy flights of the swallow. His Homeric 
 head was but scantily ornamented with hair, but his 
 beard was still perfect in its flowing majesty; there was 
 still an air of spring-time in his quiet smile, and wisdom 
 on his ample brow. He was a fine old man according to 
 the statement of those who had the happiness to gaze 
 upon his face, to which Socrates and Aristophanes, for- 
 merly enemies, but there become friends, contributed their 
 features. Hearing his last hour tinkling in his ears, he 
 determined to go and pay his respects to the King of 
 France, because he having just at that time arrived in his 
 castle of Tournelles, the good man's house being situated 
 in the gardens of St. Paul, was not a stone's throw distant 
 from the court. He soon found himself ill the presence of 
 Queen Catherine, Madame Diana, whom she received 
 from motives of policy, the king, the constable, the cardi- 
 
 I 
 
2 THE SERMON OF THE 
 
 nals of Lorraine and Bellay, Messieurs de Guise, the 
 Sieur de Birague, and other Italians, who at that time 
 stood well at court in consequence of the king's protec- 
 tion ; the admiral, Montgomery, the oiificers of the house- 
 hold, and certain poets, such as Melin de St. Gelays, 
 Philibert de I'Orme, and the Sieur Brantome. 
 
 Perceiving the good man, the king, who knew his wit, 
 said to him, with a smile, after a short conversation — 
 
 "Hast thou ever delivered a sermon to thy parishion- 
 ers of Meudon ?" 
 
 Master Rabelais, thinking that the king was joking, 
 since he had never troubled himself further about his 
 post than to collect the revenues accruing from it, re- 
 plied — 
 
 "Sire, my listeners are in every place, and my sermons 
 heard throughout Christendom." 
 
 Then glancing at all the courtiers, who, with the ex- 
 ception of Messieurs du Bellay and Chatillon, considered 
 him to be nothing but a learned merry-andrew, while he 
 was really the king of all wits, and a far better king than 
 he whose crown only the courtiers venerate, there came 
 into the good man's the malicious idea to philosophically 
 pump over their heads, just as it pleased Gargantua to 
 give the Parisians a bath from the turrets of Notre Dame, 
 so he added — 
 
 "If you are in a good humour, sire, I can regale you 
 with a capital little sermon, always appropriate, and which 
 I have kept under the tympanum of my left ear in order 
 to deliver it in a fit place, by way of an aulic parable." 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the king, "Master Francis Rabelais 
 has the ear of the court, and our salvation is concerned 
 
MERRY VICAR OF MEUDON. 3 
 
 in his speech. Be silent, I pray you, and give heed ; he is 
 fruitful in evangelical drolleries." 
 
 "Sire," said the good vicar, "I commence." 
 All the courtiers became silent, and arranged them- 
 selves into a circle, pliant as osiers before the father of 
 Pantagruel, who unfolded to them the folloviring tale, in 
 words the illustrious eloquence of which it is impossible 
 to equal. But since this tale has only been verbally 
 handed down to us, the author will be pardoned if he 
 write it after his own fashion. 
 
 "In his old age Gargantua took to strange habits, which 
 greatly astonished his household, but the which he was 
 forgiven since he was seven hundred and four years old, 
 in spite of the statement of St. Clement of Alexandria in 
 his Stromates, which makes out that at this time he was 
 a quarter of a day less, which matters little to us. Now 
 this paternal master, seeing that everything was going 
 wrong in his house, and that every one was fleecing him, 
 conceived a great fear that he would in his last moments 
 be stripped of everything, and resolved to invent a more 
 perfect system of management in his domains, and he 
 did well. In a cellar of Gargantuan abode he hid away a 
 fine heap of red wheat, besides twenty jars of mustard 
 and several delicacies, such as plums and Toufainian 
 rolls, articles of dessert, Olivet cheese, goat cheese, and 
 others, well known between Langeais and Loches, pots 
 of butter, hare pasties, preserved ducks, pigs' trotters in 
 bran, boatloads and pots full of crushed peas, pretty little 
 pots of Orleans quince preserve, hogsheads of lampreys, 
 measures of green sauce, river game, such as francolins, 
 teal, sheldrake, heron, and flamingo, all preserved in sea- 
 
4 THE SERMON OF THE 
 
 salt, dried raisins, tongues smoked in the manner invented 
 by Happe-Mousche, his celebrated ancestor, and sweet- 
 stuff for Gargamelle on feast days ; and a thousand other 
 things which are detailed in the records of the Ripuary 
 laws and in certain folios of the Capitularies, Pragmatics, 
 royal establishments, ordinances and institutions of the 
 period. To be brief, the good man, putting his spectacles 
 on his nose or his nose in his spectacles, looked about for 
 a fine flying dragon or unicorn to whom the guard of this 
 precious treasure could be committed. With this thought 
 in his head he strolled about the gardens. He did not 
 desire a Coquecigrue,* because the Egyptians were afraid 
 of them, as it appeared in the Hieroglyphics. He dis- 
 missed the idea of engaging the legions of Caucque- 
 marres,t because emperors disliked them and also the 
 Romans according to that sulky fellow Tacitus. He re- 
 jected the Pechrocholiers in council assembled, the Magi, 
 the Druids, the legion of Papimania, and the Massorets, 
 who grew like quelch-grass and overran all the land, as 
 he had been told by his son, Pantagruel, on his return 
 from his journey. The good man calling to mind old 
 stories, had no confidence in any race, and if it had been 
 permissible would have implored the Creator for a new 
 one, but not daring to trouble Him about such trifles, did 
 not know whom to choose, and was thinking that his 
 wealth would be a great trouble to him, when he met in 
 
 * Coquecigrue — an imaginary animal. The word is probably 
 compounded of coq, cygne, and grue. There is a French saying 
 still in vogue, "A la venue des coquecigrues"— that is to say, 
 never. 
 
 t Caucquemarre— also an imaginary animal. The name was 
 also given occasionally to sorcerers. 
 
MERRY VICAR OF MEUDON. S 
 
 his path a pretty little shrew-mouse of the noble race of 
 shrew-mice, who bear all gules on an azure ground. By 
 the gods ! be sure that it was a splendid animal, with the 
 finest tail of the whole family, and was strutting about in 
 the suri like a brave shrew-mouse. It was proud of hav- 
 ing been in this world since the Deluge, according to let- 
 ters-patent of indisputable nobility, registered by the par- 
 liament of the universe, since it appears from the Ecu- 
 menical Inquiry a shrew-mouse was in Noah's ark." 
 Here Master Alcofribas raised his cap slightly, and said, 
 reverently, "It was Noah, my lords, who planted the vine, 
 and first had the honour of getting drunk upon the juice 
 of its fruit." 
 
 "For it is certain," he continued, "that a shrew-mouse 
 was in the vessel from which we all came ; but the men 
 have made bad marriages ; not so the mice, because they 
 are more jealous of their coat of arms than any other 
 animals, and would not receive a field-mouse among 
 them, even though he had the especial gift of being able 
 to convert grains of sand to fine fresh hazel nuts. This 
 fine gentlemanly character so pleased the good Gargan- 
 tua, that he decided to give the post of watching his gran- 
 aries to the shrew-mouse, with the most ample powers — 
 of justice, comittimus, missi dominici, clergy, men-at- 
 arms, and all. The shrew-mouse promised faithfully to 
 accomplish his task, and to do his duty as a loyal beast, 
 on condition that he lived on a heap of grain, which Gar- 
 gantua thought perfectly fair. The shrew-mouse began 
 to caper about in his domain as happy as a prince who is 
 happy, reconnoitering his immense empire of mustard, 
 countries of sugar, provinces of ham, duchias of raisins. 
 
5 « THE SERMON OF THE 
 
 countries of chitterlings, and baronies of all sorts, scram- 
 bling on to the heap of grain, and frisking his tail against 
 everything. To be brief, everywhere was the shrew- 
 mouse received with honour by the pots, which kept a 
 respectful silence, except two golden tankards, which 
 knocked against each other like the bells of a church 
 ringing a tocsin, at which he was much pleased, and 
 thanked them, right and left, by a nod of the head, while 
 promenading in the rays of the sun, which were illuminat- 
 ing his domain. Therein so splendidly did the brown 
 colour of his hair shine forth, that one would have thought 
 him a northern king in his sable furs. After his twists, 
 turns, jumps, and capers, he munched two grains of corn, 
 sat upon the heap like a king in full court, and fancied 
 himself the most illustrious of shrew-mice. At this mo- 
 ment there came from their accustomed holes the gentle- 
 men of the night-prowling court, who scamper with their 
 little feet across the floors ; these gentlemen being the rats, 
 mice, and other gnawing, thieving, and crafty animals, 
 of whom the citizens and housewives complain. When 
 they saw the shrew-mouse they took fright, and all re- 
 mained shily at threshold of their dens. Among these 
 common people, in spite of the danger, one old infidel of 
 the trottting, nibbling race of mice, advanced a little, and 
 putting his nose in the air, had the courage to stare my 
 lord shrew-mouse full in the face, although the latter was 
 proudly squatted upon his rump, with his tail in the air ; 
 and he came to the conclusion that he was a devil, from 
 whom nothing but scratches were to be gained. And 
 from from these facts, Gargantua, in order that the high 
 authority of his lieutenant might be universally known 
 
MERRY VICAR OF MEUDON. 7 
 
 by all the shrew-mice, cats, weasels, martins, field-mice, 
 mice, rats, and other bad characters of the same kidney, 
 had lightly dipped his muzzle, pointed as a larding pin, 
 in oil of musk, which all shrew-mice have since inherited, 
 because this one, in spite of the sage advice of Gargantua, 
 rubbed himself against others of his breed. From this 
 sprung the troubles in Muzaraignia, of which I will give 
 you a good account in an historical book when I get an 
 opportunity. 
 
 "Then an old mouse, or rat — the rabbis of the Talmud 
 have not yet agreed concerning the species — perceiving 
 by this perftime that this shrew-mouse was appointed to 
 guard the grain of Gargantua, and had been sprinkled 
 with- virtues, invested with full powers, and armed at all 
 points, was alarmed lest he should no longer be able to 
 live, according to the custom of mice, upon the meats, 
 morsels, crusts, crumbs, leavings, bits, atoms, and frag- 
 ments of this Canaan of rats. In this dilemma the good 
 mouse, artful as an old courtier who had lived under two 
 regencies and three kings, resolved to try the mettle of 
 the shrew-mouse, and devote himself to the salvation of 
 the jaws of his race. This would have been a laudable 
 thing in a man, but it was far more so in a mouse, belong- 
 ing to a tribe who live for themselves alone, barefacedly 
 and shamelessly, and in order to gratify themselves would 
 defile a consecrated wafer, gnaw a priest's stole without 
 shame, and would drink out of a Communion cup, caring 
 nothing for God. The mouse advanced with many a bow 
 and scrape, and the shrew-mouse let him advance rather 
 near — for, to tell the truth, these animals are naturally 
 short-sighted. Then this Curtius of nibblers made his 
 
8 THE SERMON OF THE 
 
 little speech, not in the jargon of common mice, but in the 
 polite language of shrew-mice: — 'My lord, I have heard 
 with much concern of your glorious family, of which I 
 am one of the most devoted slaves. I know the legend of 
 your ancestors, who were thought much of by the ancient 
 Egyptians, who held them in great veneration, and adored 
 them like other sacred birds. Nevertheless, your fur 
 robe is so royally perfumed, and its colour is so splendifer- 
 ously tanned, that I am doubtful if I recognize you as 
 belonging to this race, since I have never seen any of 
 them so gorgeously attired. However, you have swal- 
 lowed the grain after the antique fashion. Your probos- 
 cis is a proboscis of sapience ; you have kicked like a 
 learned shrew-mouse ; but if you are a true shrew-mouse, 
 you should have in I know not what part of your ear — I 
 know not what special auditorial channel, which I know 
 not, what wonderful door, closes I know not how, and I 
 know not with what movements, by your secret com- 
 mands to give you, I know not why, licence not to listen 
 to I know not what things, which would be displeasing 
 to you, on account of the special and peculiar perfection 
 of your faculty of hearing everything, which would often 
 pain you.' " 
 
 " 'True/ said the shrew-mouse, 'the door has just fallen 
 I hear nothing !' 
 
 " 'Ah, I see,' said the old rogue. 
 
 "And he made for the pile of corn, from which he 
 commenced to take his store for the winter. 
 
 " 'Do you hear anything ?' asked he. 
 
 " 'I hear the pit-a-pat of my heart' 
 
The Merry V;cai of Mcudon. 
 
The modest and virtuous Lad>' D'Hocquetonville. 
 
MERRY VICAR OF MEUDON. 9 
 
 " 'Kouick !' cried all the mice ; 'we shall be able to 
 hoodwink him.' 
 
 "The shrew-mouse, fancying that he had met with a 
 faithful vassal, opened the trap of his musical orifice, and 
 heard the noise of the grain going towards the hole. 
 Then, without having recourse to forfeiture, the justice 
 of commissaries, he sprang upon the old mouse and 
 squeezed him to death. Glorious death! for this hero 
 died in the thick of the grain, and was canonized as a 
 martyr. The shrew-mouse took him by the ears and 
 placed him on the door of the granary, after the fashion 
 of the Ottoman Porte, where my good Panurge was 
 within an ace of being spitted. At the cries of the dying 
 wretch the rats, mice, and others made for their holes in 
 great haste. When the night had fallen they came to the 
 cellar, convoked for the purpose of holding a council to 
 consider public affairs ; to which meeting, in virtue of the 
 Papirian and other laws, their lawful wives were ad- 
 mitted. The rats wished to pass before the mice, and 
 serious quarrels about precedence nearly spoilt every- 
 thing; but a big rat gave his arm to a mouse, and the 
 gaffer rats and grammer mice being paired off in the same 
 way, all were soon seated on their rumps, tails in air, 
 muzzles stretched, whiskers stiff, and their eyes brilliant 
 as those of a falcon. Then commenced a deliberation, 
 which finished up with insults and a confusion worthy of 
 an ecumenical council of holy fathers. One said this, and 
 another said that, and a cat passing by took fright and 
 ran away, hearing those strange noises : 'Bou, bou, frou, 
 ou, ou, houic, houic, briff, briffnac, nac, nac, fouix, fouix, 
 trr, trr, trr, trr, za, za, zaaa, brr, brrr, raaa, ra, ra, ra, ra, 
 
lO THE SERMON OF THE 
 
 fouix !' so well blended together in a Babel of sound that 
 a council at the Hotel de Ville could not have made a 
 greater hubbub. During this tempest a little mouse, who 
 was not old enough to enter parliament, thrust through a 
 chink her inquiring snout, the hair on which was as 
 downy as that of all mice, too downy to be caught. As 
 the tumult increased, by degrees her body followed her 
 nose, until she came to the hoop of a cask, against which 
 she so dexterously squatted that she might have been 
 mistaken for a work of art carved in antique bas-relief. 
 Lifting his eyes to heaven to implore a remedy for the 
 misfortunes of the State, an old rat perceived this pretty 
 mouse, so gentk and shapely, and declared that the State 
 might be saved by her. All the muzzles turned to this 
 Lady of Good Help, became silent, and agreed to let her 
 loose upon the shrew-mouse, and in spite of the anger of 
 certain envious mice, she was triumphantly marched 
 round the cellar, where, seeing her walk mincingly, me- 
 chanically move her tail, shake her cunning little head, 
 twitch her diaphanous ears, and lick with her little red 
 tongue the hairs just sprouting on her cheeks, the old rats 
 fell in love with her and wagged their wrinkled, white- 
 whiskered jaws with delight at the sight of her, as did 
 formerly the old men of Troy, admiring the lovely Helen 
 returning from her bath. Then the maiden was conducted 
 to the granary, with instructions to make a conquest of 
 the shrew-mouse's heart, and. save the fine red grain, as 
 did formerly the fair Hebrew, Esther, for the chosen 
 people, with the Emperor Ahasuerus, as it is written in 
 the master-book, for Bible comes from the Greek word 
 Biblos, as if to say the only book. The mouse promised 
 
MERRY VICAR OF MEUDON. II 
 
 to deliver the granaries, for by a lucky chance she was 
 the queen of mice, a fair, plump, pretty little mouse, the 
 most delicate little lady that ever scampered merrily 
 across the floors, scratched between the walls, and gave 
 utterance to little cries of joy at finding nuts, meal, and 
 crumbs of bread in her path ; a true fay, pretty and play- 
 ful, with an eye clear as crystal, a little head, sleek skin, 
 amorous body, rosy feet, and velvet tail — a high born 
 mouse and polished speaker, with a natural love of bed 
 and idleness — a merry mouse, more cunning than an old 
 doctor of Sorbonne fed on parchment, lively, white bel- 
 lied, streaked on the back, with sweetly moulded breasts, 
 pearl-white teeth, and of a frank, open nature — in fact, a 
 true king's morsel." 
 
 This portraiture was so bold — the mouse appearing to 
 have been the living image of Madame Diana, then pres- 
 ent — that the courtiers stood aghast. Queen Catherine 
 smiled, but the king was in no laughing humor. But 
 Rabelais went on without paying any attention to the 
 winks of the Cardinal Bellay and de Ch^tillon, who were 
 terrified for the good man. 
 
 "The pretty mouse," said he, continuing, "did not^eat 
 long about the bush, and from the first moment that she 
 trotted before the shrew-mouse, she had enslaved him for 
 ever by her coquetries, affectations, friskings, provoca- 
 tions, little refusals, piercing glances, and wiles of a 
 maiden who desires yet dares not, amorous oglings, little 
 caresses, preparatory tricks, pride of a mouse who knows 
 her value, laughings and squeakings, triflings and other 
 endearments, feminine, treacherous, and captivating ways, 
 all traps which are abundantly used by the females of all 
 
12 THE SERMON OF THE 
 
 nations. When, after many wrigglings, smacks in the 
 face, nose lickings, gallantries of amorous shrew-mice, 
 frowns, sighs, serenades, titbits, suppers and dinners on 
 the pile of corn, and other attentions, the superintendent 
 overcame the scruples of his beautiful mistress, he became 
 the slave of this incestuous and illicit love, and the mouse, 
 leading her lord by the snout, became queen of every- 
 thing, nibbled his cheese, ate the sweets, and foraged 
 everywhere. This the shrew-mouse permitted to the em- 
 press of his heart, although he was ill at ease, having 
 broken his oath made to Gargantua, and betrayed the 
 confidence placeid in him. Pursuing her advantage with 
 the pertinacity of a woman, one night that they were 
 joking together, the mouse remembered the dear old fel- 
 low her father, and desiring that he should make his 
 meals off the grain, she threatened to leave her lover cold 
 and lonely in his domain if he did not allow her to indulge 
 her nlial piety. In the twinkling of a mouse's eye he had 
 granted letters patent, sealed with a green seal, with tags 
 of crimson silk, to his wench's father, so that the Gar- 
 gantuan palace was open to him at all hours, and he was 
 at l^Jjerty to see his good virtuous daughter, kiss her on 
 the forehead, and eat his fill, but always in a comer. 
 Then there arrived a venerable old rat, weighing about 
 twenty-five ounces, with a white tail, marching like the 
 president of a court of justice, wagging his head, and fol- 
 lowed by fifteen or twenty nephews, all with teeth sharp 
 as saws, who demonstrated to the shrew-mouse by little 
 speeches and questions of all kinds that they, his rela- 
 tions, would soon be loyally attached to him, and would 
 help him to count the things committed to his charge. 
 
MERRY VICAR OF MEUDON. 13 
 
 arrange and ticket them, in order that when Gargantua 
 came to visit them he would find everything in perfect 
 order There was an air of truth about these promises. The 
 poor shrew-mouse was, however, in spite of this speech, 
 troubled by ideas from on high, and serious pricking of 
 his shrew-mousian conscience. Seeing that he turned 
 up his nose at everything, went about slowly and with a 
 careworn face, one morning the mouse, who was preg- 
 nant by him, conceived, the idea of calming his doubts and 
 easing his mind by a Sorbonnical consultation, and sent 
 for the doctors of the tribe. During the day she intro- 
 duced to him one, the Sieur Evegault, who had just 
 stepped out of a cheese where he lived in perfect absti- 
 nence, an old confessor of high degree, a merry fellow of 
 good appearance, with a fine black skin, firm as a rock, 
 and slightly tonsured on the head by the pat of a cat's 
 claw. He was a grave rat, with a monastical paunch, 
 having much studied scientific authorities by nibbling at 
 their works in parchments, papers, books, and volumes 
 of which certain fragments had remained upon his grey 
 beard. In honor of and great reverence for his great 
 virtue and wisdom, and his modest life, he was accom- 
 panied by a black troop of black rats, all bringing with 
 them pretty little mice, their sweethearts, for not having 
 adopted the canons of the council of Chesil, it was lawful 
 for them to have respectable women for concubines. 
 These beneficed rats being arranged ih two lines, you 
 might have fancied them a procession of the university 
 authorities going to Lendit. And they all began to sniff 
 the victuals. 
 
 "When the ceremony of placing them all was com- 
 
14 THE SERMON OF THE 
 
 plete, the old cardinal of the rats lifted up his voice, and 
 in a good rat-latin oration pointed out to the guardian of 
 the grain that no one but God was superior to him ; and 
 that to God alone he owed obedience, and he entertained 
 him with many fine phrases, stuffed with evangelical quo- 
 tations, to disturb the principal and fog his flock ; in fact, 
 fine arguments interlarded with much sound sense. The 
 discourse finished with a peroration full of high sounding 
 words in honour of shrew-mice, among whom his hearer 
 was the most illustrious and best beneath the sun; and 
 this oration considerably bewildered the keeper of the 
 granaries. 
 
 "This good gentleman's head was thoroughly turned, 
 and he installed this fine speaking rat and his tribe in his 
 manor, where night and day his praises and little songs 
 in his honour were sung, not forgetting his lady, whose 
 little paw was kissed and little tail was sniffed at by them 
 all. Finally the mistress, knowing that certain young rats 
 were still fasting, determined to finish her work. Then 
 she kissed her lord tenderly, loading him with love, and 
 performing those little endearing antics of which one 
 alone was sufficient to send a beast to perdition ; and said 
 to the shrew-mouse that he wasted the precious time due 
 to their love by travelling about, that he was always going 
 here or there, and that she never had her proper share 
 of him ; that when she wanted his society he was on the 
 leads chasing the cats, and that she wished him always to 
 be ready to her hand like a lance, and kind as a bird. Then 
 in her great grief she tore out a grey hair, declaring her- 
 self, weepingly, to be the most wretched little mouse in 
 the world. The shrew-mouse pointed out to her that she 
 
MERRY VICAR OF MEUDON. 1 5 
 
 was mistress of everything, and wished to resist, but after 
 the lady had shed a torrent of tears he implored a truce 
 and considered her request. Then instantly drying her 
 tears, and giving him her paw to kiss, she advised him to 
 arm some soldiers, trusty and tried rats, old warriors, 
 who would go the rounds and keep watch. Everything 
 was thus wisely arranged. The shrew-mouse had the 
 rest of the day to dance, play, and amuse himself, listen 
 to the roundelays and ballads which the poets composed 
 in his honour, play the lute and the mandore, make acros- 
 tics, eat, drink, and be merry. One day his mistress hav- 
 ing just risen from her confinement, after having given 
 birth to the sweetest little mouse-sorex or sorex-mouse, I 
 know not what name was given to this mongrel fruit of 
 love, whom you may be sure the gentlemen of the long 
 robe would manage to legitimatize" (the constable of 
 Montmorency, who had married his son to a legitimatized 
 bastard of the king's, here put his hand to his sword and 
 clutched the handle fiercely), "a grand feast was given 
 in the granaries, to which no court festival or gala can be 
 compared, not even that of the Field of the Cloth of Gold. 
 In every corner mice were making merry. Everywhere 
 there were dances, concerts, banquets, sarabands, music, 
 joyous songs, and epithalamia. The rats had broken 
 open the pots, uncovered the jars, lapped the gallipots, 
 ahd unpacked the stores. The mustard was strewn over 
 the place, the hams were mangled and the corn scattered. 
 Everything was rolling, tumbling, and falling about- the 
 floor, and the little rats dabbled in puddles of green sauce, 
 the mice navigated oceans of sweetmeats, and the old 
 folks carried off the pasties. There were mice astride on 
 
l6 THE SERMON OF THE 
 
 salt tongues. Field-mice were swimming in the pots, and 
 the most cunning of them were carrying the corn into 
 their private holes, profiting by the confusion to make 
 ample provision for themselves. No one passed the 
 quince confection of Orleans without saluting it with one 
 nibble, and oftener with two. It was like a Roman carni- 
 val. In short, any one with a sharp ear might have heard 
 the frizzling frying-pans, the cries and clamours of the 
 kitchens, the crackling of the furnaces, the noise of turn- 
 spits, the creaking of baskets, the haste of the confec- 
 tioners, the click of the meat-jacks, and the noise of the 
 little feet scampering thick as hail over the floor. It was 
 a bustling wedding- feast, where people come and go, foot- 
 men, stablemen, cooks, musicians, buffoons, where every- 
 one pays compliments and makes a noise. In short, so 
 great was the delight that they all kept up a general wag- 
 ging of the head to celebrate this eventful night. But 
 suddenly there was heard the horrible foot-fall of Gar- 
 gantua, who was ascending the stairs of his house to visit 
 the granaries, and made the planks, the beams, and every- 
 thing else tremble. Certain old rats asked each other 
 what might mean this seignorial footstep, with which 
 they were unacquainted, and some of them decamped, arid 
 they did well, for -the lord and master entered suddenly. 
 Perceiving the confusion these gentlemen had made, see- 
 ing his preserves eaten, his mustard unpacked, and ever}'- 
 thing dirtied and scratched about, he put his feet upon 
 these lively vermin without giving them time to squeak, 
 and thus spoiled their best clothes, satins, pearls, velvets, 
 and rubbish, and upset the feast." 
 
MERRY VICAR OF MEUDON. I7 
 
 "And what became of the shrew-mouse?" said the 
 king, waking from his reverie. 
 
 "Ah, sire!" repHed Rabelais, "herein we see the injus- 
 tice of the Gargantuan tribe. He was put to death, but 
 being a gentleman he was beheaded. That was ill done, 
 for he had been betrayed." 
 "You go rather far, my good man," said the king. 
 "No, sire," replied Rabelais, "but rather high. Have 
 you not sunk the crown beneath the pulpit? You asked 
 me for a sermon ; I have given you one which is gospel." 
 "My fine vicar," said Madame Diana, in his ear, "sup- 
 pose I were spiteful ?" 
 
 "Madame," said Rabelais, "was it not well then of me 
 to warn the king, your master, against the queen's Ital- 
 ians, who are as plentiful here as cockchafers ?" 
 
 "Poor preacher," said Cardinal Odet, in his ear, "go 
 to another country." 
 
 "Ah, monsieur," replied the old fellow, "ere long I 
 shall be in another land." 
 
 "God's truth ! Mr. Scribbler," said the constable (whose 
 son, as .every one knows, had treacherously deserted 
 Mademoiselle de Piennes, to whom he was betrothed, to 
 espouse Diana of France, daughter of the mistress of cer- 
 tain high personages and of the king), "who made thee 
 so bold as to slander persons of quality? Ah, wretched 
 poet, you like to raise yourself high ; well, then I promise 
 to put you in a good high place." 
 
 "We shall all go there, my lord constable," replied the 
 old man ; "but if you are friendly to the State and to the 
 king you will thank me for having warned him against 
 
l8 THE SEKMON OF THE 
 
 the hordes of Lorraine, who are evils that will devour 
 everything." 
 
 "My good man," whispered Cardinal Charles of Lor- 
 raine, " if you need a few gold crowns to publish your 
 fifth book of Pantagruel you can come to me for them, 
 because you have put the case clearly to this enemy, who 
 has bewitched the king, and also to her pack." 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," said the king, "what do you think 
 of the sermon ?" 
 
 "Sire," said Mellin de Saint-Gelais, seeing that all were 
 well pleased, "I have never heard a better pantagruelian 
 prognostication. Much do we owe to him who made 
 these leonine verses in the abbey of Theleme : — 
 
 'Cy vous enirez, qui le saint Evangilc 
 
 En sens agile annoncez, quoy qu'on gronde, 
 
 Ceans aure3 une refuge et bastile 
 
 Centre I'hostile erreur qui tant postille 
 
 Par son faux style empoisonner le monde.* " 
 
 All the courtiers having applauded their companion, 
 each one complimented Rabelais, who took^his departure 
 accompanied with great honour by the king's pages, who, 
 by express command, held torches before him. 
 
 Some persons have charged Francis Rabelais, the im- 
 perial honour of our. land, with spiteful tricks and apish 
 pranks, unworthy of his Homeric philosophy, of this 
 prince of wisdom, of this fatherly centre, from which 
 have issued since the risiiig of his subterranean Ijght a 
 good number of marvellous works. Out upon those whd 
 would defile this divine head! All their life long may 
 they find grit between their teeth, those who have ignored 
 his good and moderate nourishment. 
 
MERRY VICAR OF MEUDON. I9 
 
 Dear drinker of pure water, faithful servant of mona- 
 chal abstinence, wisest of wise men, how would thy sides 
 ache with laughter, how wouldst thou chuckle, if thou 
 couldst come again for a little while to Chinon, and read 
 the idiotic mouthings, and the maniacal babble of the 
 fools who have interpreted, commentated, torn, disgraced, 
 misunderstood, betrayed, defiled, adulterated, and med- 
 dled with thy peerless book. As many dogs as Panurge 
 found busy with his lady's robe at church, so many two- 
 legged academic puppies have busied themselves with be- 
 fouling the high marble pyramid in which is cemented 
 for ever the seed of all fantastic and comic inventions, 
 besides magnificent instruction in all things. Although 
 rare are the pilgrims who have the breath to follow thy 
 bark in its sublime peregrinations through the ocean of 
 ideas, methods, varieties, religions, wisdom, and human 
 trickeries, at least their worship is unalloyed, pure, and 
 unadulterated, and thine omnipotence, omniscence, and 
 orani-language are by them bravely recognised. There- 
 fore has a poor son of our merry Touraine here been 
 anxious, however unworthily, to do thee homage by mag- 
 nifying thine image, and glorifying thy works of eternal 
 memory, so cherished by those ^ho love the concentra- 
 tive works whefein the universal moral is contained, 
 wherein are found, pressed like fresh sardines in their 
 boxes, philosophical ideas on every subject, science, art, 
 and eloquence, as well as theatrical mummeries. 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 
 THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 A NUMBER of persons of the noble country of Tou- 
 raine, considerably edified by the warm search 
 which the author is making into the antiquities, adven- 
 tures, good jokes, and pretty tales of that blessed land, 
 and believing for certain that he should know everything, 
 have asked him (after drinking with him of course un- 
 derstood), if he had discovered the etymological reason, 
 concerning which all the ladies of the town are so curious, 
 and from which a certain street in Tours is called the Rue 
 Chaude. By him was it replied, that he was much aston- 
 ished to see that the ancient inhabitants had forgotten the 
 great number of convents situated in this street, where 
 the severe continence of the monks and the nuns might 
 have caused the walls to be made so hot that no woman 
 of position should increase in size from walking too slowly 
 along them to vespers. A troublesome fellow, wishing 
 to appear learned, declared that formerly all the scandal- 
 mongers of the neighbourhood were wont to meet in this 
 place. Another entangled himself in the minute suffrages 
 of science, and poured forth golden words without being 
 understood, qualifying words, harmonizing the melodies 
 of the ancient and the modern, congregating customs, 
 distilling verbs, alchemizing all languages since the Del- 
 uge, of the Hebrews, Chaldeans, Egyptians, Greeks, Lat- 
 ins, and of Turnus, the ancient founder of Tours ; and 
 
 20 
 
PROLOGUE. 21 
 
 the good man finished by declaring that Chaude or 
 Chaulde, with the exception of the H and the L, came 
 from Cauda, and that there was a tail in the affair, but the 
 ladies only understood the end of it. An old man ob- 
 served that in this same place was formerly a source of 
 thermal water, of which his great great grandfather had 
 drunk. In short, in less time than it takes a fly to em- 
 brace its sweetheart, there had been a pocketful of ety- 
 mologies, in which the truth of the matter had been less 
 easily found than a louse in the filthy beard of a Capuchin 
 friar. But a man learned and well informed, through 
 having left his footprint in many monasteries, consumed 
 much midnight oil, and manured his brain with many a 
 volume — himself more cumbered with pieces, dyptic 
 fragments, boxes, charters, and registers concerning the 
 history of Touraine than is a gleaner with stalks of straw 
 in the month of August — this man, old, infirm, and gouty, 
 who had been drinking in his corner without saying a 
 word, smiled the smile of a wise man and knitted his 
 brows, the said smile finally resolving itself into a pish! 
 well articulated, which the Author heard and understood 
 it to be big with an adventure historically good, the de- 
 lights of which he would be able to unfold in this sweet 
 collection. 
 
 To be brief, on the morrow this gouty old fellow said 
 to him, "By your poem, which is called 'The Venial Sin,' 
 you have for ever gained my esteem, because everything 
 therein is true from head to foot, — which I believe to be a 
 precious superabundance in like matters. But doubtless 
 you do not know what became of the Moor placed in 
 religion by the said knight, Bruyn de la Roche-Corbon. 
 
22 PROLOGUE. 
 
 I know very well. Now if this etymology of the street 
 harass yoti, and also the Egyptian nun, I will lend you a 
 curious and antique parchment, found by me in the Olim 
 of the episcopal palace, of which the libraries were a little 
 knocked about at a period when none of us knew if he 
 would have the pleasure of his head's society on the mor- 
 row. Now will not this yield you a perfect content- 
 ment?" 
 
 "Good !" said the author. 
 
 Then this worthy collector of truths gave certain rare 
 and dusty parchments to the author, the which he has, not 
 without great labour, translated into French, and which 
 were fragments of a most ancient ecclesiastical process. 
 He has believed that nothing would be more amusing 
 than the actual resurrection of this antique affair, wherein 
 shines forth the illiterate simplicity of the good old times. 
 Now, then, give ear. This is the order in which were 
 the manuscripts, of which the author has made use in his 
 own fashion, because the language was devilishly difficult. 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 
 I. 
 
 WHAT THE SUCCUBUS WAS. 
 
 * In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spixitus Sancti. Amen. 
 
 IN the year of our Lord one thousand two hundred and 
 seventy-one, before me, Hierome Cornille, grand 
 inquisitor and ecclesiastical judge (thereto commissioned 
 by the members of the chapter of Saint Maurice, the ca- 
 thedral of Tours, having of this deliberated in the pres- 
 ence of our lord Jehan de Monsoreau, archbishop — 
 namely, the grievances and complaints of the inhabitants 
 of the said town, whose request is here subjoined), have 
 appeared certain noblemen, citizens, and inhabitants of 
 the diocese, who have stated the following facts concern- 
 ing a demon suspected of having taken the features of a 
 woman, who has much afflicted the minds of the diocese, 
 and is at present a prisoner in the gaol of the chapter; 
 and in order to arrive at the truth of the said charge we 
 have opened the present court, this Monday, the eleventh 
 day of December, after mass, to communicate the evidence 
 of each witness to the said demon, to interrogate her upon 
 the said crimes to her imputed, and to judge her accord- 
 ing to the laws enforced contra daemonios. 
 
 23 
 
24 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 In this inquiry has assisted me to write the evidence 
 therein given, Guillaume Tournebouche, rubrican of the 
 chapter, a learned man. 
 
 Firstly has come before us one Jehan, surnamed Torte- 
 bras, a citizen of Tours, keeping by licence the hostelry 
 of La Cigoygne, situate on the Place du Pont, and who 
 has sworn by the salvation of his soul, his hand upon the 
 holy Evangelists, to state no other thing than that which 
 by himself hath been seen and heard. He hath stated as 
 here followeth : — 
 
 "I declare that about two years before the feast of St. 
 Jehan, upon which are the grand illuminations, a gentle- 
 man, at first unknown to me, but belonging without doubt 
 to our lord the King, and at. that time returned into our 
 country from the Holy Land, came to me with the pro- 
 position that I should let to him at a rental a certain 
 country-house by me built, in the quit rent of the chapter 
 over against the place called of St. Etienne, and the which 
 I let to him for nine years, for the consideration of three 
 besans of fine gold. In the said house was placed by the 
 said knight a fair wench having the appearance of a 
 woman, dressed in the strange fashion of the Saracens 
 and Mahommedans, whom he would allow by none to be 
 seen or to be approached within a bowshot, but whom I 
 Ijave seen with mine own eyes, weird feathers upon her 
 head, and eyes so flaming that I cannot adequately de- 
 scribe them, and from which gleamed forth a fire of hell. 
 The defunct knight having threatened with death who- 
 ever should appear to spy about the said house, I have by 
 reason of great fear left the said house, and I have until 
 this day secretly kept in my mind certain presumptions 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 25 
 
 and doubts concerning the bad appearance of the said 
 foreigner, who was more strange than any woman, her 
 equal not having as yet by me been seen. 
 
 "Many persons of all conditions having at the time 
 believed the said knight to be dead, but kept upon his 
 feet by virtue of certain charms, philtres, spells, and dia- 
 bolical sorceries of this seeming woman, who wished to 
 settle in our country, I declare that I have always seen 
 the said knight so ghastly pale that I can only compare 
 his face to the wax of a Paschal candle, and to the knowl- 
 edge of all the people of the hostelry of La Cigoygne, 
 this knight was interred nine days after his first coming. 
 According to the statement of his groom, the defunct 
 had been chalorously Coupled with the said Moorish worn- 
 art during seven whole days shut up in my house, with- 
 out coming out from her, the which I heard him horribly 
 avow upon his deathbed. Certain persons at the present 
 time have accused this she-devil of holding the said gen- 
 tleman in her clutches by her long hair, the which was 
 furnished with certain warm properties by means of 
 which are communicated to Christians the flames of hell 
 in the form of love, which work in them until their souls 
 are by this means drawn from their bodies and possessed 
 by Satan. But I declare that I have seen nothing of this 
 excepting the said dead knight, bowelless, emaciated, 
 wishing, in spite of his confessor, still to go to this wench ; 
 and then he has been recognised as the lord de Bueil, who 
 was a Crusader, and who was, alcording to certain per- 
 sons of the town, under the spell of a demon whom he 
 had met in the Asiatic country of Damascus or elsewhere. 
 
 "Afterward I have left my house to the said unknown 
 
26 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 lady, according to the clauses of the deed of lease. The 
 said lord of Bueil, being defunct, I have nevertheless been 
 into my house in order to learn from the said foreign 
 woman if she wished to remain in my dwelling, and after 
 great trouble was led before her by a strange, half-naked 
 black man, whose eyes were white. 
 
 "Then I have seen the said Moorish woman in a little 
 room, shining with gold and jewels, lighted with strange 
 lights, upon an Asiatic carpet, where she was seated, 
 lightly attired, with another gentleman, who was there 
 imperilling his soul ; and I had not the heart bold enough 
 to look upon her, seeing that her eyes would have incited 
 me immediately tp yield myself up to her, for already her 
 voice thrilled into my very belly, filled my brain, and de- 
 bauched my mind. Finding this, from the fear of God, 
 and also of hell, I have departed with swift feet, leaving 
 my house to her as long as she liked to retain it, so dan- 
 gerous was it to behold that Moorish complexion from 
 which radiated diabolical heats, besides a foot smaller 
 than it was lawful in a real woman to possess ; and to hear 
 her voice, which pierced into one's heart ! And from that 
 day I have lacked the courage to enter my house from 
 great fear of falling into hell. I have said my say." 
 
 To the said Tortebras we have then shown an Abys- 
 sinian, Nubian or Ethiopion, who, black from head to 
 foot, had been found wanting in certain virile properties 
 with which all good Christians are usually furnished, 
 who, having persever^ in his silence, after having been 
 tormented and tortured many times, not without much 
 moaning, has persisted in being unable to speak the lan- 
 guage of our country. And the said Tortebras has recog- 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 27 
 
 nized the said Abyssinian heretic as having been in his 
 house in company with the said demoniacal spirit, and is 
 suspected of having lent his aid to her sorcery. 
 
 And the said Tortebras has confessed his great faith in 
 the Catholic religion, and declared no other things to be 
 within his knowledge save certain rumours which were 
 known to every one, of which he had been in no way a 
 witness except in the hearing of them. 
 
 In obedience to the citation served upon him, has ap- 
 peared, then, Matthew, surnamed Cognefestu, a day- 
 labourer of St. Etienne, whom, after having sworn by the 
 holy Evangelists to speak the truth, has confessed to us 
 always to have seen a bright light in the dwelling of the 
 said foreign woman, and heard much wild and diabolical 
 laughter on the days and nights of feasts and fasts, not- 
 ably during the days of the holy and Christmas weeks, as 
 if a great number of people wei^e in the house. And he 
 has sworn to have seen by the windows of the said dwell- 
 ings, green buds of all kinds in the winter, growing as if 
 by magic, especially roses in a time of frost, and other 
 things for which there was need of great heat ; but of this 
 he was in no way astonished, seeing that the said for- 
 eigner threw out so much heat that when she walked in 
 the evening by the side of his wall he found on the mor- 
 row his salad grown ; and on certain occasions she had, 
 by the touching of her petticoats, caused the trees to put 
 forth leaves and hastened the buds. Finally, the said 
 Cognefestu has declared to us to know no more, because 
 he worked from early morning, and went to bed at the 
 same hour as the fowls. 
 
 Afterwards the wife of the aforesaid Cognefestu has 
 
28 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 by us been required to state also upon oath the things 
 come to her cognizance in this process, and has avowed 
 naught save praises of the said foreigner, because since 
 her coming her man had treated her better in consequence 
 of the neighbourhood of this good lady, who filled the 
 air with love as tlie sun did light, and other incongruous 
 nonsense, which we have not committed to writing. 
 
 To the said Cognefestu and to his wife we have shown 
 the said unknown African, who has been seen by them in 
 the gardens of the house, and is stated by them for cer- 
 tain to belong to the said demon. In the third place, has 
 advanced Harduin V., lord of Maille, who being by us 
 reverentially begged to enlighten the religion of the 
 church, has expressed his willingness so to do, and has, 
 moreover, engaged his word, as a gallant knight, to say 
 no other thing than that which he has seen. Then he 
 has testified to have known in the army of the Crusades 
 the demon in question, and in the town of Damascus to 
 have seen the knight of Bueil, since defunct, fight at close 
 quarters to be her sole possessor. The above-mentioned 
 wench, or demon, belonged at that time to the knight 
 GeoflFroy IV., lord of Roche-Pozay, by whom she was 
 said to have been brought from Touraine, although she 
 was a Saracen ; concerning which the knights of France 
 marvelled much, as well as at her heauty, which made a 
 great noise and a thousand scandalous ravages in the 
 camp. During the voyage this wench was the cause of 
 many deaths, seeing that Roche-Pozay had already dis- 
 comfited certain Crusaders, who wished to keep her to 
 themselves, because she shed, according to certain knights 
 petted by her in secret, joys around her comparable to 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 29 
 
 none others. But in the end the knight of Bueil, having 
 killed Geoffroy de la Roche- Pozay, became lord and mas- 
 ter of this young murderess, and placed her in a convent, 
 or harem, according to the Saracen custom. About this 
 time one used to see her and hear her chattering at her 
 entertainments many foreign dialects, such as the Greek 
 of the Latin empire, Moorish, and, above all, French bet- 
 ter than any of those who knew the languages of France 
 best in the Christian host, from which sprang the belief 
 that she was demoniacal. 
 
 The said knight Harduin has confessed to us not to 
 have tilted for her in the Holy Land, not from fear, cold- 
 ness, or other cause, so much as that he believed the time 
 had arrived for him to bear away a portion of the true 
 cross, and also he had belonging to him a noble lady of 
 the Greek country, who saved him from this .danger in 
 denuding him of love, morning and night, seeing that she 
 took all of it substantially from him, leaving him none in 
 his heart or elsewhere for others. 
 
 And the said knight has assured us that the woman 
 living in the country house of Tortebras, was really the 
 said Saracen woman, come into the country from Syria, 
 because he had been invited to a midnight feast at her 
 house by the young lord of Croixmare, who expired the 
 seventh day afterwards, according to the statement of the 
 Dame de Croixmare, his mother, ruined at all points by 
 the said wench, whose commerce with him had consumed 
 his vital spirit, and whose strange phantasies had squan- 
 dered his fortune. 
 
 Afterwards questioned in his quality of a man full of 
 prudence, wisdom, and authority in this country, upon 
 
30 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 the ideas as entertained concerning the said woman, and 
 summoned by us to open his conscience, seeing that it was 
 a question of a most abominable case of Christian faith 
 and divine justice, answer has been made by the said 
 knight : — 
 
 That by certain of the host of Crusaders it has been 
 stated to him that always this she-devil was a maid to 
 him who embraced her, and that Mammon was for cer- 
 tain occupied in her, making for her a new virtue for each 
 of her lovers, and a thousand other foolish sayings of 
 drunken men, which were not of a nature to form a fifth 
 Gospel. But for a fact, he, an old knight on that turn of 
 life, and knowing nothing more of the aforesaid, felt him- 
 self again a young man in that last supper with which 
 he had been regaled by the lord of Croixmare; 
 then the voice of this demon went straight to his heart 
 before flowing into his ears, and had awakened so great a 
 love in his body that his life was ebbing from the place 
 whence it should flow, and that eventually, but for the 
 assistance of Cyprus wine, which he had drunk to blind 
 his sight, and his getting under the table in order no 
 longer to gaze upon the fury eyes of his diabolical hostess, 
 and not to rend his heart for her, without doubt he wovrid 
 have fought the young Croixmare, in order to enjoy for 
 a single moment this supernatural woman. Since that he 
 had had absolution from his confessor for the wicked 
 thought. Then, by advice from on high, he had carried 
 back to his spouse his portion of the true cross, and had 
 remained in his own manor, where, in spite of his Chris- 
 tian precautions, the said voice still at certain times tickled 
 his brain, and in the morning often had he in remem- 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 31 
 
 brance this demon, warm as brimstone ; and because the 
 look of this wench was so warm that it made him burn 
 like a young man, he half dead, and because it cost him 
 then many transhipments of the vital spirit, the said 
 knight has requested us not to confront him with this 
 empress of love to whom, if it were not the devil, God the 
 Father had granted strange liberties with the minds of 
 men. Afterwards, he retired, after reading over his 
 statement, not without having first recognised the above- 
 mentioned African to be the servant and page of the 
 lady. 
 
 In the fourth place, upon the faith pledged by us in 
 the name of the Chapter and of our Lord Archbishop, 
 that he should not be tormented, tortured, nor harassed in 
 any manner, nor further cited after his statement, in con- 
 sequence of his commercial journeys, and upon the assur- 
 ance that he should retire in perfect freedom, has come 
 before us a Jew, name Salomon al Rastchild, who, in spite 
 of the infamy of his person and his Judaism, has been 
 heard by us to this one end, to know everything concern- 
 ing the conduct of the aforesaid demon. Thus he has not 
 been required to take any oath this Salomon, seeing that 
 he is beyond the pale of the Church, separated from us by 
 the blood of our Saviour {trucidatus Salvator inter nos). 
 Interrogated by us as to why he appeared without the 
 green cap upon his head, and the yellow wheel in the 
 apparent locality of the heart in his garment, according 
 to the ecclesiastical and royal ordinances, the said de 
 Rastchild has exhibited to us letters patent of dispensation 
 granted by our lord the king, and recognised by the senes- 
 chal of Touraine and Poitou. Then the said Jew has 
 
32 THE SUCCUBOS. 
 
 declared to us to have done a large business for the lady 
 dwelling in the house of the innkeeper Tortebras, to have 
 sold to her golden chandeliers with many branches, min- 
 utely engraved, plates of red silver, cups enriched with 
 stones, emeralds and rubies ; to have brought for her from 
 the Levant a number of rare stuffs, Persian carpets, silks, 
 and fine linen ; in fact, things so magnificent that no queen 
 in Christendom could say she was so well furnished with 
 jewels and household goods ; and that he had for his part 
 received from her three hundred thousand pounds for the 
 rarity of the purchases in which he had been employed, 
 such as Indian flowers, popinjays, birds' feathers, spices, 
 Greek wines, and diamonds. Requested by us the judge 
 to say if he had furnished certain ingredients of magical 
 conjuration, the blood of new-born children, conjuring 
 books, and things generally and whatsoever made use of 
 by sorcerers, giving him licence to state his case without 
 that thereupon he should be subject to any further in- 
 quest or inquiry, the said Al Rastchild has sworn by his 
 Hebrew faith never to have had any such commerce ; and 
 has stated that he was involved in too high interests to 
 give himself to such miseries, seeing that he was the 
 agent of certain most powerful lords, such as the Marquis 
 de Montferrat, the King of England, the King of Cyprus 
 and Jerusalem, the Count of Provence, the lords of Ven- 
 ice, and many German gentlemen ; to have belonging to 
 him merchant galleys of all kinds, going into Egypt with 
 the permission of the Sultan, and he trafficking in pre- 
 cious articles of silver and of gold, which took him often 
 into the exchange of Tours. Moreover, he has declared 
 that he considered the said lady, the subject of inquiry, to 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 33 
 
 be a right loyal and natural woman, with the sweetest 
 limbs, and the smallest he has ever seen. That in conse- 
 quence of her renown for a diabolical spirit, pushed by a 
 wild imagination, and also because that he was smitten 
 with her, he had once that she was husbandless, proposed 
 to her to be her gallant, to which proposition she willingly 
 acceded. Now although from that night, he long felt his 
 bones disjointed and his bowels crushed, he had not ex- 
 perienced, as certain persons say, that who once yielded 
 was free no more ; he went to his fate as lead into the 
 crucible of the alchemist. Then the said Salomon, to 
 whom we have granted his liberty according to the safe 
 conduct, in spite of this statement, which proves abund- 
 antly his commerce with the devil, because he has been 
 safely there where all Christians have succumbed, has 
 submitted to us an agreement concerning the said demon. 
 To make known that he made an offer to the chapter of 
 the cathedral to give for the said semblance of a woman 
 such a ransom, if she were condemned to be burned alive, 
 that the highest of the towers of the church of Saint Mau- 
 rice, at present in course of construction, could therewith 
 be finished. 
 
 The which we have noted to be deliberated upon at an 
 opportune time by the assembled chapter. And the said 
 Salomon has taken his departure without being willing to 
 indicate his residence, and has told us that he can be in- 
 formed of the deliberation of the chapter by a Jew of the 
 synagogue of Tours, named Tobias Nathaneus. The said 
 Jew has before his departure been shown the African, 
 and has recognised him as the page of the demon, and has 
 stated the Saracens to have the custom of mutilating their 
 
34 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 slaves thus, to commit to them the task of guarding their 
 women by an ancient usage, as it appears in the profane 
 histories of Narsez, general of Constantinople, and others. 
 On the morrow after mass has appeared before us the 
 most noble and illustrious lady of Croixmare. The same 
 ,has sworn her faith in the holy Evangelists, and has re- 
 lated to us with tears how she had placed her eldest son 
 beneath the earth, dead by reason of his extravagant 
 amours with this female demon. The which noble gen- 
 tleman was three-and-twenty years of age ; of good com- 
 plexion, very manly and well bearded, like his defunct 
 sire. Notwithstanding his great vigour, in ninety days 
 he hail little by little withered, ruined by his commerce 
 with the Succubus of the Rue Chaude, according to the 
 statement of the common people; and her maternal au- 
 thority over this son had been powerless. Finally, in his 
 latter days he appeared like a poor dried up worm, such 
 as housekeepers meet with in a corner when they clean 
 out the dwelling-rooms. And always, so long as he had 
 the strength to go, he went to shorten his life with this 
 cursed woman ; where, also, he emptied his cash-box. 
 When he was in his bed, and knew his last hour to be 
 come he swore at, cursed, and threatened and heaped 
 upon, all — ^his sister, his.brother, and upon her his mother 
 — a thousand insults, rebelled in the face of his chaplain ; 
 denied God, and wished to die in damnation ; at which 
 were much aflflicted the retainers of the family, who, to 
 save his soul and pluck it from hell, have founded two 
 annual masses in the cathedral. And, in order to have 
 him buried in consecrated ground, the house of Croix- 
 mare has undertaken to give to the chapter, during one 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 35 
 
 hundred years, the wax candles for the chapels and the 
 church, upon the day of the Paschal feast. And, in con- 
 clusion» saving the wicked words heard by that reverend 
 person, Dom Loys Pot, a nun of Marmoustiers, who 
 came to assist in his last hours the said Baron de Croix- 
 mare affirms never to have heard any words offered by 
 the defunct touching the demon who had undone him. 
 
 And therewith has retired the noble and illustrious lady 
 in deep mourning. 
 
 In the sixth place has appeared before us, after ad- 
 journment, Jacquette, called Vieux-Oing, a kitchen scul- 
 lion, going to houses to wash dishes, residing at present 
 in the Fishmarket, who, after having pledged her word 
 to say nothing she did not hold to be true^has declared as 
 here follows : — Namely, that one .day she, being come into 
 the kitchen of the said demon, of whom she had no fear, 
 because she was wont to regale herself only upon males, 
 she had the opportunity of seeing in the garden this 
 female demon, superbly attired, walking in company 
 with, a knight, with whom she was laughing, like a natural 
 woman. Then she had recognised in this demon the true 
 likeness of the Moorish woman placed as a nun in the 
 convent of Notre-Dame de rEgrignolles by the defunct 
 seneschal of Touraine and Poitou, Messire Bruyn, Count 
 of Roche-Corbon, the which Moorish woman had been 
 left in the situation and place of the image of our Lady 
 the Virgin, the mother of our blessed Saviour, stolen by 
 the Egyptians about eighteen years since. Of this time, 
 in consequence of the troubles come about in Touraine, 
 no record has been kept. This girl, aged about twelve 
 years, was saved from the stake at which she should have 
 
36 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 been burned by being baptized ; and the said defunct and 
 his wife had then been godfather and godmother to this 
 child of hell. Being at that time laundress at the con- 
 vent, she who bears witness has remembrance of the flight 
 which the said Egyptian took twenty months after her 
 entry into the convent, so subtilely that it has never been 
 known how or by what means she escaped. At that time, 
 it was thought by all, that with the devil's aid she had 
 flown away in the air, seeing that notwithstanding much 
 search, no trace of her flight was found in the convent, 
 where everything remained in its accustomed order. 
 
 The African having been shown to the said scullion, 
 she has declared not to have seen him before, although 
 she was curious so to do, as he was commissioned to 
 guard the place in which the Moorish woman combated 
 with those whom she drained through the spigot. 
 
 In the seventh' place has' been brought before us Hugues 
 du Fou, son of the Sieur de Bridore, who, aged twenty 
 years, has been placed in the hands of his father, under 
 caution of his estates, and by him is represented in this 
 process, whom it concerns if he should be duly attainted 
 and convicted of having, assisted by several unknown and 
 bad young men, laid siege to the gaol of the archbishop 
 and of the chapter, and of having lent himself to disturb 
 the force of ecclesiastical justice, by causing the escape of 
 the demon now under consideration. In spite of his evil 
 disposition we have commanded the said Hugues du Fou 
 to testify truly, touching the things he should know con- 
 cerning the said demon, with whom he is vehemently re- 
 puted to have had commerce, pointing out to him that it 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 37 
 
 was a question of his salvation and of the life of the said 
 demon. He, after having taken oath, has said : — 
 
 "I swear by my eternal salvation and by the holy Evan- 
 gelists here present under my hand, to hold the woman 
 suspected of being a demon to be an angel, a perfect 
 woman, and even more so in mind than in body, living in 
 all honesty, full of the migniard charms and delights of 
 love, in no way wicked, but most generous, assisting 
 greatly the poor and suffering. I declare that I have seen 
 her weeping veritable tears for the death of my friend, 
 the knight of Croixmare. And because on that day she 
 had made a vow to our Lady the Virgin no more to re- 
 ceive the love of young noblemen too weak in her ser- 
 vice; she has to me constantly and with great courage 
 denied the enjoyment of her body, and has only granted 
 to me love, and the possession of her heart, of which she 
 ha's made me sovereign. Since this gracious gift, in spite 
 of my increasing flame I have remained alone in her 
 dwelling, where I have spent the greater part of my days, 
 happy in seeing and in hearing her. Oh ! I would eat near 
 her, partaking of the air which entered into her lungs, oi 
 the lights which shone in her sweet eyes, and found in this 
 occupation more joy than have the lords of paradise. 
 Elected by me to be for ever my lady, chosen to be one 
 day my dove, my wife, and only sweetheart, I, poor fool, 
 have received from her no advances on the joys of the 
 future, but, on the contrary, a thousand virtuous admoni- 
 tions; such as that I should acquire renown as a good 
 knight, become a strong man and a fine one, fear nothing 
 except God; honour the ladies, serve but one and love 
 them in memory of that one; that when I should be 
 
38 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 strengthened by the work of war, if her heart still pleased 
 mine, at that time only would she be mine, because she 
 would be able to wait for me, loving me so much." 
 
 So saying the young Sire Hugues wept, and weeping 
 added : — 
 
 "That thinking of this graceful and feeble woman, 
 whose arm seemed scarcely large enough to sustain the 
 light weight of her golden chains, he did not know how 
 to contain himself while fancying the irons which would 
 wound her, and the miseries with which she would trait- 
 orously be loaded, and from this cause came his rebellion. 
 And that he had licence to express his sorrow before jus- 
 tice, because his life was so bound up with that of his de- 
 licious mistress and sweetheart that on the day when evil 
 came to her he would surely die." 
 
 And the said young man has vociferated a thousand 
 other praises of the said demon, which bear witness to the 
 vehement sorcery practised upon him, and prove, more- 
 over, the abominable, unalterable, and incurable life and 
 the fraudulent witcheries to which he is at present sub- 
 ject, concerning which our lord the archbishop will judge, 
 in order to save by exorcisms and penitences this young 
 soul from the snares of hell, if the devil have not gained 
 too strong a hold of it. 
 
 Then we have handed back the said young nobleman 
 into the custody of the noble lord his father, after that 
 by the said Hugues, the African has been recognised as 
 the servant of the accused. 
 
 In the eighth place, before us, have the footguards of 
 our lord the archbishop led in great state the most high 
 
 AND REVEREND LADY JACQUELINE DE ChAMPCHEVRIER. 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 39 
 
 ABBESS OF THE CoNVENT OF Notre-Dame, Under the invo- 
 cation of Mount Carmel, to whose control had been sub- 
 nlitted by the late seneschal of Touraine, father of Mon- 
 seigneur the Count of Roche-Corbon, present advocate of 
 the said convent, the Egyptian, named at the baptismal 
 font Blanche Bruyn. 
 
 To the said abbess we have shortly stated the present 
 cause, in which is involved the holy church, the glory of 
 God, and the eternal future of the people of the diocese 
 afflicted with the demon, and also the life of a creature 
 who it was possible might be quite innocent. Then the 
 cause elaborated, we have requested the said noble abbess 
 to testify that which was within her knowledge concern- 
 ing the magical disapppearance of her daughter in God, 
 Blanche Bruyn, espoused by our Saviour under the name 
 of Sister Claire. 
 
 Then has stated the very high, very noble, and very 
 illustrious lady abbess as follows: — 
 
 "The Sister Claire, of origin to her unknown, but sus- 
 pected to be of an heretic father and mother, people inimi- 
 cal to God, had truly been placed in religion in the con- 
 vent of which the government had canoniqally come to 
 her in spite of her unworthiness ; that the said sister had 
 properly concluded her novitiate, and made her vows ac- 
 cording to the holy rule of the order. That the vows 
 taken, she had fallen into great sadness and had much 
 drooped. Interrogated by her, the abbess, concerning her 
 melancholy malady, the said sister had replied with tears 
 that she herself did riot know the cause. That one thou- 
 sand and one tears engendered themselves in her at feel- 
 ing no more her splendid hair upon her head; that be- 
 
40 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 sides this she thirsted for air, and could not resist her 
 desire to jump up into the trees, to climb and to tumble 
 about according to her wont during her open air life; 
 that she passed her nights in tears, dreaming of the forests 
 under the leaves of which in other days she slept ; and in 
 remembrance of this she abhorred the quality of the air 
 of the cloisters, which troubled her respiration; that In 
 her inside she was filled with evil vapours ; that at times 
 she was inwardly diverted in church by thoughts which 
 made her lose her countenance. Then I have repeated 
 over and over again to the poor creature the holy direc- 
 tions of the church, have reminded her of the eternal hap- 
 piness which women without sin enjoy in paradise, and 
 how transitory was life here below, and certain the good- 
 ness of God, who for certain bitter pleasures lost, kept for 
 us a love without end. In spite of this wise maternal 
 advice the evil spirit has persisted in the said sister ; and 
 always would she gaze upon the leaves of the trees and 
 grass of the meadows through the windows of the church 
 during the offices and times of prayer ; and persisted in 
 becoming as white linen in order that she might stay in 
 her bed, and at certain times would run about the clois- 
 ters like a goat broken loose from its fastening. Finally, 
 she had grown thin, lost much of her great beauty, and 
 shrunk away to nothing. While in this condition by us, 
 the abbess her mother, was she placed in the sick-room, 
 we daily expecting her to die. One winter's morning the 
 said sister has fled, without leaving any trace of her steps, 
 without breaking of door, forcing of locks, or opening of 
 windows, nor any sign whatever of the manner of her 
 passage; a frightful adventure which was believed to 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 4I 
 
 have taken place by the aid of the demon who had an- 
 noyed and tormented her. For the rest it was settled by 
 the authorities of the metropolitan church that the mis- 
 sion of this daughter of hell was to divert the nuns from 
 their holy ways, and blinded by their perfect lives, she had 
 returned through the air on the wings of the sorcerer, 
 who had left her for mockery of our holy religion, in the 
 place of our Virgin Mary." 
 
 The which having said, the lady abbess was, with great 
 honour, and according to the command of our lord the 
 archbishop, accompanied as far as the convent of Mount 
 Carmel. 
 
 In the ninth place, before us has come, agreeably to the 
 citation served upon him, Joseph, called Leschalopier, a 
 money-changer, living on the bridge at the sign of the 
 Besant d'Or, who, after having pledged his Catholic faith 
 to say no other thing than the truth, and that known to 
 him, touching the process before the ecclesiastical tri- 
 bunal, has testified as follows : — "I am a poor father, 
 much afflicted by the sacred will of God. Before the com- 
 ing of the Succubus of the Rue Chaude, I had, for all 
 good, a son as handsome as a noble, learned as a clerk, 
 and having made more than a dozen voyages into foreign 
 lands ; for the rest a good Catholic ; keeping himself on 
 guard against the needles of love, because he avoided 
 marriage, knowing himself to be the support of my old 
 days, the love of my eyes, and the constant delight of my 
 heart. He was a son of whom the king of France might 
 have been proud — a good and courageous man, the light 
 of my commence, the joy of my roof, and, above all, an 
 inestimable blessing, seeing that I am alone in the world. 
 
42 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 having had the misfortune to lose my wife, and being too 
 old to take another. Now, monseigneur, this treasure 
 without equal has been taken from me, and cast into hell 
 by the demon. Yes, my lord judge, directly he beheld 
 this mischievous jade, this she-devil, in whom is a whole 
 workshop of perdition, a conjunction of pleasure and de- 
 lectation, and whom nothing can satiate, my poor child 
 stuck himself fast in the glue-pot of love, and afterward 
 lived only between the columns of Venus, and there did 
 not live long, because in that place lies so great a heat 
 that nothing can satisfy the thirst of this gulf, not even 
 should you plunge therein the germs of the entire world. 
 Alas! then, my poor boy — his fortune, his generative 
 hopes, his eternal future, his entire self, more than him- 
 self, have been engulfed in this sewer, like a grain of 
 corn in the jaws of a bull. By this means become an old 
 orphan. I, who speak, shall have no greater joy than to 
 see burning, this demon, nourished with blood" and gold. 
 This Arachne, who has drawn out and sucked more mar- 
 riages, more families in the seed, more hearts, more 
 Christians than there are lepers in all the lazar houses of 
 Christendom. Burn, torment this fiend — this vampire 
 who feeds on souls, this tigrish nature that drinks blood, 
 this amorous lamp in which burns the venom of all the 
 vipers. Close this abyss, the bottom of which no man 
 can find. ... I offer my deniers to the chapter for the 
 stake, and my arm to light the fire. Watch, well, my lord 
 judge, to surely guard this devil, seeing that she has a fire 
 more flaming than all other terrestrial fires ; she has all 
 the fire of hell in her, the strength of Samson in her hair, 
 and the sound of celestial music in her voice. She charms 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 43 
 
 to kill the body and the soul at one stroke ; she smiles to 
 bite, she kisses to devour ; in short, she would wheedle an 
 angel, and make him deny his God. My son! my son! 
 where is he at this hour ? The flower of my life — a flower 
 cut by this feminine needlecase as with scissors. Ha^ lord ! 
 why have I been called ? Who will give me back my son, 
 whose soul has been absorbed by a womb which gives 
 death to all, and life to none? The devil alone copulates, 
 and engenders not. This is my evidence, which I pray 
 Master Tournebouche to write without omitting one iota, 
 and to grant me a schedule, that I may tell it to God 
 every evening in my prayer, to this end to make the blood 
 of the innocent cry aloud into His ears, and to obtain 
 from His infinite mercy the pardon of my son." 
 
 Here followed twenty and seven other statements, of 
 which the transcription in their true objectivity, in all their 
 quality of space, would be over-fastidious, would draw to a 
 great length, and divert the thread of this curious process 
 — a narrative which, according to ancient precepts, should 
 go straight to the fact, like a bull to his principal office. 
 Therefore, here is, in a few words, the substance of these 
 testimonies. 
 
 A great number of good Christians, townsmen and 
 townswomen, inhabitants of the npble town of Tours, 
 testified the demon to have held every day wedding feasts 
 and royal festivities, never to have been seen in any 
 church, to have cursed God, to have mocked the priests, 
 never to have crossed herself in any place ; to have spoken 
 all the languages of the earth — a gift which has only been 
 granted by God to the blessed Apostles; to have been 
 many times met in the fields, mounted upon an unknown 
 
44 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 animal who went before the clouds ; not to grow old, and 
 to have always a youthful face; to have received the 
 father and the son on the same day, saying that her door 
 sinned not ; to have visible malign influences which flowed 
 from her, for that a pastrycook, seated on a bench at his 
 door, having perceived her one evening, received such 
 a gust of warm love that, going in and getting to bed, he 
 had with great passion embraced his wife, and was found 
 dead on the morrow, that the old men of the town went 
 to spend the remainder of their days and of their money 
 with her, to taste the joys of the sins of their youth, and 
 that they died like fleas on their bellies, and that certain 
 of them, while dying, became black as Moors ; that this 
 demon never allowed herself to be seen neither at din- 
 ner, nor at breakfast, nor at supper, but ate alone, because 
 she lived upon human brains ; that several had seen her 
 during the night go to the cemeteries, and there embrace 
 the young dead men, because she was not able to assuage 
 otherwise the devil who worked in her entrails, and there 
 raged like a tempest, and from that came the astringent 
 biting, nitrous shooting, precipitant, and diabolical move- 
 ments, squeezings, and writhings of love and voluptuous- 
 ness, from which several men had emerged bruised, torn, 
 bitten, pinched and crushed; and that since the coming 
 of our Saviour, who had imprisoned the master devil in 
 the bellies of the swine, no malignant beast had ever been 
 seen in any portion of the earth so mischievous, so venom- 
 ous, and so clutching ; so much so that if one threw the 
 town of Tours into this field of Venus, she would there 
 transmute it into the grain of cities, and this demon 
 would swallow it like a strawberry. 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 45 
 
 And a thousand other statements, sayings, and depo- 
 sitions, from which was evident in perfect clearness the 
 infernal generation of this woman, daughter, sister, niece, 
 spouse, or brother of the devil, besides abundant proofs of 
 her evil doing, and of the calamity spread by her in all 
 families. And if it were possible to put them here con- 
 formably with the catalogue preserved by the good man 
 to whom is due the discovery, it would seem like a sample 
 of the horrible cries which the Egyptians gave forth on 
 the day of the seventh plague. Also this examination 
 has covered with great honour Messire Guillaume 
 Tournebouche, by whom are quoted all the memoranda. 
 In the tenth vacation was thus closed this inquest, arrived 
 at a maturity of proof, furnished with authentic testi- 
 mony and sufficiently engrossed with the particulars, 
 plaints, interdicts, contradictions, charges, assignments, 
 withdrawals, confessions public and private, oaths, ad- 
 journments, appearances, and controversies, to which the 
 said demon must reply. And the townspeople say every- 
 where that were she really a she-devil, and furnished with 
 internal horns planted in her nature, with which she drank 
 the men, and broke them, this woman might swim a long 
 time in this sea of writing before being landed safe and 
 sound in hell. 
 
46 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE PROCEEDINGS TAKEN RELATIVE TO THIS FEMALE 
 VAMPIRE. 
 
 t In nomine Patris, et Filii, et SpiritusSancti. Amen. 
 
 In the year of our Lord one thousand two hundred 
 and seventy-one, before us, Hierome Cornille, grand 
 penitentiary and ecclesiastical judge to this, canonically 
 appointed, have appeared — 
 
 The Sire Philippe d'Idre, bailifif of the town and city 
 of Tours and province of Touraine, living in his hotel 
 in the Rue de la Rotisserie, in Chateauneuf ; Master Je- 
 han Ribou, provost of the brotherhood and company of 
 drapers, residing on the Quay de Bretaingne, at the 
 image of St. Pierre-es-liens ; Messire Antoine Jehan, 
 alderman and chief of the brotherhood of Changers, re- 
 siding in the Place du Pont, at the image of St. Mark — 
 counting-tournoise-pounds ; Master Martin Beaupertuys, 
 captain of the archers of the town residing at the castle; 
 Jehan Rabelais, a ships' painter and boat maker residing 
 at ihe port at the isle of St. Jacques, treasurer of the broth- 
 erhood of the mariners of the Loire; Mark Hierome, 
 called Maschefer, hosier, at the sign of Saint-Sebastien, 
 president of the trades council; and Jacques, called de 
 Villedomer, master tavern-keeper and vine-dresser, re- 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 47 
 
 siding in the High Street, at the Pomme de Pin; to 
 the said Sire d'Idre, and to the said citizens, we 
 have read the following petition by them, written, signed, 
 and deliberated upon, to be brought under the notice of 
 the ecclesiastical tribunal : — 
 
 PETITION. 
 
 We, the undersigned, all citizens of Tours, are come 
 into the hotel of his worship the Sire d'Idre, bailiff of 
 Touraine, in the absence of our mayor, and have request- 
 ed him to hear our plaints and statements concerning the 
 following facts, which we intend to bring before the tri- 
 bunal of the archbishop, the judge of ecclesiastical 
 crimes, to whom should be deferred the, conduct of the 
 cause which we here expose : — 
 
 A long time ago there came into this town a wicked 
 demon in the form of a woman, who lives in the parish 
 of Saint-Etienne, in the house of the innkeeper Torte- 
 bras, situated in the quit-rent of the chapter, and under 
 the temporal jurisdiction of the archiepiscopal domain. 
 The which foreigner carries on the business of a gay 
 woman in a prodigal and abusive manner, and with such 
 increase of infamy that she threatens to ruin the Catholic 
 faith in this town, because those who go to her come back 
 again their souls lost in every way, and refuse the assist- 
 ance of the Church with a thousand scandalous dis- 
 courses. 
 
 Now considering that a great number of those who 
 yielded to her are dead, and that arrived in our town 
 with no other wealth than her beauty, she has, accord- 
 ing to public clamour, infinite riches and right royal 
 
48 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 treasure, the acquisition of which is vehemently attributed 
 to sorcery, or at least to robberies committed by the aid 
 of magical attractions and her supernaturally amorous 
 person ; 
 
 Considering that it is a question of the honour and se- 
 curity of our families, and that never before has been 
 seen in this country a woman wild of body or a daughter 
 of pleasure, carrying on with such mischief her vocation 
 of light o' love, and menacing so openly and bitterly the 
 life, the savings, the morals, chastity, religion, and the 
 everything of the inhabitants of this town ; 
 
 Considering that there is need of an inquiry into her 
 person, her wealth, and her deportment, in order to verify 
 if these effects of love are legitimate, and do not pro- 
 ceed, as would seem indicated by her manners, from a 
 bewitchment of Satan, who often visits Christianity un- 
 der the form of a female, as appears in the holy books, 
 m which it is stated that our blessed Saviour was carried 
 away into a mountain, from which Lucifer or Astaroth 
 showed him the fertile domains of Judaea, and that in 
 many places have been seen succubi or demons having 
 the faces of women, who, not wishing to return to hell, 
 and having within them an insatiable fire, attempt to re- 
 fresh and sustain themselves by sucking in souls ; 
 
 Considering that in the case of the said woman a thou- 
 sand proofs of diablerie are met with, of which certain 
 inhabitants speak openly, and that it is necessary for the 
 repose of the said woman that the matter be sifted, in 
 order that she shall not be attacked by certain people, 
 ruined by the result of her wickedness ; 
 
 For these causes we pray that it will please you to sub- 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 49 
 
 mit to our spiritual lord, father of this diocese, the most 
 noble and blessed Archbishop Jehan de Monsoreau, the 
 troubles of his afflicted flock, to the end that he may ad- 
 vise upon them. 
 
 By so doing you will fulfil the duties of your office, as 
 we do those of preservers of the security of this town, 
 each one according to the things of which he has charge in 
 his locality. 
 
 And we have signed the present, in the year of our 
 Lord one thousand two hundred and seventy-one of All 
 Saints' Day, after mass. 
 
 Master Tournebouche having finished the reading of 
 this petition, by us, Hierome Cornille, has it been said to 
 the petitioners — 
 
 "Gentlemen, do you, at the present time, persist in these 
 statements ? have you proofs other than those come with- 
 in your own knowledge, and do you undertake to maintain 
 the truth of this before God, before man, and before the 
 accused ?" 
 
 All, with the exception of Master Jehan Rabelais, have 
 persisted in their belief, and the aforesaid Rabelais has 
 withdrawn from the process, saying that he considered 
 the said Moorish woman to be a natural woman and a 
 good wench who had no other fault than that of keeping 
 up a very high temperature of love. 
 
 Then we, the judge appointed, have, after mature de- 
 liberation, found matter upon which to proceed in the 
 petition of the aforesaid citizens, and have commanded 
 that the woman at present in the gaol of the chapter shall 
 be proceeded against by all legal methods, as written in 
 the canons and ordinances, contra daemonios. The said 
 
so THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 ordonnance, embodied in a writ, shall be published by the 
 town crier in all parts, and with the sound of a trumpet, 
 in order to make it known to all, and that each witness 
 may, according to his knowledge, be confronted with the 
 said demon, and finally the said accused to be provided 
 with a defender, according to custom, and the interroga- 
 tions, and the process to be congruously conducted. 
 
 (Signed) Hierome Cornille 
 
 jAnd, lower down, 
 
 TOURNEBOUCHE. 
 
 t In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen. 
 
 In the year of our Lord one thousand two hundred and 
 seventy-one, the loth day of February, after mass, by 
 command of us, Hierome Cornille, ecclesiastical judge, 
 has been brought from the gaol of the chapter and led 
 before us the woman taken in the house of the innkeeper 
 Tortebras, situated in the domain of the chapter and the 
 cathedral of St. Maurice, and thus subject to the tem- 
 poral and seigneurial justice of the Archbishop of Tours ; 
 besides which, in consequence of the nature of the crimes 
 imputed to her, she is liable to the tribunal and council 
 of ecclesiastical justice, the which we have made known 
 to her, to the end that she should not ignore it. 
 
 And after a serious reading, entirely and well under- 
 stood by her, in the first place of the petition of the town, 
 then of the statements, plaints, accusations, and proceed- 
 ings which were written in twenty-four quires by Master 
 Tournebouche, and are above related, we have, with the 
 invocation and assistance of God and the Church, re- 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 5I 
 
 solved to ascertain the truth, first by interrogatories 
 made to the said accused. 
 
 In fhe first interrogation we have requested the afore- 
 said to inform us in what land or town she had been 
 born. By her who speaks was it answered: "In Mauri- 
 tania." 
 
 We have then inquired : "If shie had a father or mother, 
 or any relations?" By her who speaks has it been re- 
 plied: "That she had never known them." By us re- 
 quested to declare her name. By her who speaks has 
 been replied : "Zulma," in Arabian tongue. 
 
 By us has it been demanded: "Why she spoke our 
 lauguage?" By her who speaks has it been said: "Be- 
 cause she had come into this country." By us it has been 
 asked: "At what time?" By her who spekks has it been 
 replied : "About twelve years." 
 
 By us has it been asked: "What age she then was?" 
 By her who speaks has it been answered : "Fifteen years, 
 or thereabout." 
 
 By us has it been said : "Then you acknowledge your- 
 self to be twenty-seven years of age?" By her who 
 speaks has it been replied : "Yes." 
 
 By us has it been said to her : "That she was then the 
 Moorish child found in the niche of Madame the Virgin, 
 baptized by the archbishop, held at the font by the late 
 Lord of Roche-Corbon and the Lady of Azy, his wife, 
 afterwards by them, placed in religion at the convent of 
 Mount Carmel, where by her had been made vows of 
 chastity, poverty, silence, and the love of God, under the 
 divine assistance of St. Qaire?" By her who speaks has 
 it been said : "That is true " 
 
52 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 By us has it been asked her : "If, then, she allowed to 
 be true the; declarations of the very noble and illustrious 
 lady the abbess of Mount Carmel, also the statement of 
 Jacquette, called Vieux-Oing, being kitchen scullion?" 
 By the accused has, it been answered : "These words are 
 true in a great measure." 
 
 Then by us has it been said to her: "Then you are a 
 Christian ?" And by her who speaks has been answered : 
 "Yes, my father." 
 
 Then by us has she been requested to make the sign of 
 the cross, and to take holy water from a brush placed 
 by Master Tournebouche in her hand ; the which hav- 
 ing done, and by us having been witnessed, it has been 
 admitted as an indisputable fact, that Zulma, the Moor- 
 ish woman, called in our country Blanche Bruyn, a nun 
 of the convent under the invocation of Mount Carmel, 
 there named Sister Claire, and suspected to be the false 
 appearance of a woman under which is concealed a de- 
 mon, has in our presence made act of religion and thus 
 recognized the justice of the ecclesiastical tribunal. 
 
 Then by us have these words been said to her : "My 
 daughter, you are vehemently suspected to have 'had re- 
 course to the devil from the manner in which you left 
 the convent, which was supernatural in every way." By 
 her who speaks has it been stated, that she at that time 
 gained naturally the fields by the street door after ves- 
 pers, enveloped in the robes of Jehan de Marsilis, visitor 
 of the convent, who had hidden her, the person speaking, 
 in a little hovel belonging to him, situated in the Cupid- 
 on Lane, near a tower in the town. That there this said 
 priest had to her then speaking, at great length, and most 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 53 
 
 thoroughly taught the delights of love, of which she then 
 speaking was before in all points ignorant, for which de- 
 lights she had a great taste, finding them of good use. 
 That the Sire d'Amboise having perceived her then speak- 
 ing at the window of this retreat, had been smitten with 
 a great love for her. Then she loving him more heartily 
 than the monk, has fled from the hovel where she was de- 
 tained for profit of his pleasure by Don Marsilis. And 
 then she has gone in great haste to Amboise, the castle 
 of the said lord, where she had had a thousand pastimes, 
 hunting, and dancing, and beautiful dresses fit for a 
 queen. One day the Sire de la Roche- Pozay having been 
 invited by the Sire d'Amboise to come and feast and en- 
 joy himself, the Baron d'Amboise had allowed him to see 
 her then speaking, as she came out naked from her bath. 
 That at this sight the said Sire de la Roche-Pozay hav- 
 ing fallen violently in love with her, had on the morrow 
 discomfited in single combat the Sire d'Amboise, and 
 by great violence had, in spite of her tears, taken her to 
 the Holy Land, where she who was speaking had led the 
 life of a woman well beloved, and been held in great re- 
 spect on account of her great beauty. That after numer- 
 ous adventures, she who was speaking returned into this 
 country in spite of her apprehensions of misfortune, be- 
 cause such was the will of her lord and master, the Baron 
 de Bueil, who was dying of grief in Asiatic lands, and 
 desired to return to his patrimonial manor. Now he had 
 promised her who was speaking to preserve her from all 
 peril. Now she who was speaking had faith and belief 
 in him, the more so as she loved him very much ; but on 
 his arrival in this country the Sire de Bueil was seized 
 
54 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 with an illness, and died deplorably, without taking any 
 remedies, in spite of the fervent requests ^hich she who 
 was speaking had addressed to him, but without success, 
 because he hated physicians, master surgeons, and apothe- 
 caries ; and that this was the whole truth. 
 
 Then by us has it been said to the accused that she 
 then held to be true the statements of the good Sire Har- 
 duin and of the innkeeper Tortebras. By her who speaks 
 has it been replied, that she recognized as evidence the 
 greater part, and also as malicious, calumnious, and im- 
 becile certain portions. 
 
 Then by us has the accused been required to declare 
 if she had had pleasure and carnal commerce with all 
 the men, nobles, citizens, and others as set forth in the 
 plaints and declarations of the inhabitants. To which by 
 her who speaks has it been answered with great effront- 
 ery : "Pleasure, yes ! Commerce, I do not know." 
 
 By us has it been said to her, that all had died by her 
 acts. By her who speaks has it been said that their deaths 
 could not be the result of her acts, because she had al- 
 ways refused herself to them, and the more she fled from 
 them the more they came and embraced her with infinite 
 passion, and that when she who was speaking was taken 
 by them she gave herself up to them with all her strength, 
 by the grace of God, because she had in that more joy 
 than in any other thing; and has stated, she who speaks, 
 that she avows her secret sentiments solely because she 
 has been requested by us to state the whole truth, and 
 that she the speaker stood in great fear of the torments 
 of the torturers. 
 
 Then by us has she been requested to answer, under 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 55 
 
 pain of torture, in what state of mind she was when a 
 young nobleman died in consequence of his commerce 
 with her. Then by her speaking has it been replied, that 
 she remained quite melancholy and wished to destroy 
 herself; and prayed God, the Virgin, and the saints to 
 receive her in Paradise, because never had she met with 
 any but lovely and good hearts in which was no guile, 
 and beholding them die she fell into great sadness, fancy- 
 ing herself to be an evil creature or subject to an evil 
 fate, which she communicated like the plague. 
 
 Then by us has she been requested to state where she 
 paid her orisons. 
 
 By her speaking has it been said that she prayed in 
 her Oratory on her knees before God, who according to 
 the evangelist, sees and h6ars all things and resides in al! 
 places. 
 
 Then by us has it been demanded why she never fre- 
 quented the churches, the offices, nor the feasts. To this 
 by her speaking has it been answered, that those who 
 came to love her had elected the feast days for that pur- 
 pose, and that she speaking did all things to their liking. 
 
 By us has* it been demonstrated that, by so doing, she 
 was submissive to man rather than to the commandments 
 of God. 
 
 Then by her speaking has it been stated, that for those 
 who loved her well she speaking would have thrown her- 
 self into a flaming pile, never having followed in her love 
 any course but that of nature, and that for the weight of 
 the world in gold she would not have lent her body or 
 her love to a king, who did not love her with his heart, 
 feet, head, hair, forehead, and all over. In short and 
 
56 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 moreover the speaker had never made an act of harlotry 
 in selling one single grain of love to a man whom she 
 had not chosen to be hers, and that he who had held her 
 in his arms one hour or kissed her on the mouth a little, 
 possessed her for the rest of her days. 
 
 Then by us has she been requested to state whence pro- 
 ceeded the jewels, gold plate, silver, precious stones, regal 
 furniture, carpets, et cetera, worth 200,000 doubloons, ac- 
 cording" to the inventory found in her residence and placed 
 in the custody of the treasurer of the chapter. By the 
 speaker answer has been made, that in us she placed all 
 her hopes, even as much as in God, but that she dare not 
 reply to this, because it involved the sweetest things of 
 love upon which she had always lived. And interpel- 
 lated anew, the speaker has said that if we the judge knew 
 with what fervour she held him she loved, with what 
 obedience she followed him in good or evil ways, with 
 what study she submitted to him, with what happiness 
 she listened to his desires, and inhaled the sacred words 
 with which his mouth gratified her, in what adoration she 
 held his person, even we, an old judge, would believe with 
 her well-beloved, that no sum could pay for this great 
 affection which all the men ran after. And the speaker 
 has declared never from any man loved by her, to have 
 solicited any present or gift, and that she rested perfectly 
 contented to live in their hearts, that she would there curl 
 herself up with indestructible and ineffable pleasure, find- 
 ing herself richer with this heart than with anything, and 
 thinking of no other thing than to give them more pleas- 
 ure and happiness than she received from them. But in 
 spite of the iterated refusals of the speaker her lovers 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 57 
 
 persisted in graciously rewarding her. At times one came 
 to her with a neclilace of pearls, saying, "This is to show 
 my darling that the satin of her skin did not falsely ap- 
 pear to me whiter than pearls ;" and would put it on the 
 speaker's neck, kissing her lovingly. The speaker would 
 be angry at these follies, but could not refuse to keep a 
 jewel that gave them pleasure to see it there where they 
 placed it. Each one had a different fancy. At times 
 another liked to tear the precious garments which the 
 speaker wore to gratify him ; and another to deck out the 
 speaker with sapphires on her arms, on her legs, on her 
 neck, and in her hair ; another to seat her on the carpet, 
 robed in silk or black velvet, and to remain for days to- 
 gether in ecstasy at the perfections of the speaker to 
 whom the things desired by her lovers gave infinite 
 pleasure, because these things rendered them quite happy. 
 And the speaker has said, that as we love nothing so much ■ 
 as our pleasure, and wish that everything should shine 
 in beauty and harmonize, outside as well as inside the 
 heart, so they all wished to see the place inhabited by the 
 speaker adorned with the handsomest objects, and from 
 this idea all her lovers were pleased as much as she was 
 in spreading thereabout gold, silks, and flowers. Now 
 seeing that these lovely things spoil nothing, the speaker 
 had no force or commandment by which to prevent a 
 knight, or even a rich citizen beloved by her, having his 
 will, and thus found herself constrained to receive rare 
 perfumes and other satisfactions with which the speaker 
 was loaded, and that such was the source of the gold, 
 plate, carpets, and jewels seized at her house by the offi- 
 cers of justice. This terminates the first interrogation 
 
S8 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 made to the said Sister Claire, suspected to be a demon, 
 because we the judge and Guillailme Tournebouche are 
 greatly fatigued with having the voice of the aforesaid 
 in our ears, and find our understanding in every way 
 muddled. 
 
 By us the judge has the second interrogatory been ap- 
 pointed, three days from to-day, in order that the proofs 
 of the possession and presence of the demon in the body 
 of the aforesaid may be sought, and the accused, accord- 
 ing to the order of the judge, has been taken back to the 
 gaol under the conduct of Master Guillaume Tourne- 
 bouche. 
 f In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. . Amen. 
 
 On the thirteenth day following of the said month of 
 February before us, Hierome Cornille, et cetera, has been 
 produced the Sister Claire above-mentioned, in order to 
 be interrogated upon the facts and deeds to her imputed, 
 and of them to be convicted. 
 
 By us, the judge, has it been said to the accused that, 
 looking at the divers responses by her given to the pre- 
 ceding interrogatories, it was certain that it never had 
 been in the power of a simple woman, even if she were 
 authorized, if such licence were- allowed to lead the life 
 of a loose woman, to give pleasure to all, to cause so 
 many deaths, and to accomplish sorceries so perfect, with- 
 out the assistance of a special demon lodged in her body, 
 and to whom her soul had been sold by an especial com- 
 pact. That it had been clearly demonstrated that under 
 her outward appearance lies and moves a demon, the au- 
 thor of these evils, and that she was now called upon to 
 declare at what age she had received the demon, to avow 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 59 
 
 the agreement existing between herself and him, and to 
 tell the truth concerning their common evil doings. By 
 the speaker was it replied that she would answer us, man, 
 as to God, who should be judge of all of us. Then has 
 the speaker pretended never to have seen the demon, 
 neither to have spoken with him, nor in any way to desire 
 to see him ; never to have led the life of a courtesan, be- 
 cause she, the speaker, had never practised the various 
 delights that love invents, other than those furnished by 
 the pleasure which the Sovereign Creator has put in the 
 thing, and to have always been incited more from the de- 
 sire of being sweet and good to the dear lord loved by her, 
 than by an incessantly raging desire. But if such had been 
 her inclination, the speaker begged us to bear in mind 
 that she was a poor African girl, in whom God had placed 
 very hot blood, and in her brain so easy an understanding 
 of the delights of love, that if a man only looked at her 
 she felt greatly moved in her heart. That if from desire 
 of acquaintance an amorous gentleman touched the 
 speaker on any portion of the body, there passing his hand, 
 she was, in spite of everything, under his power, because 
 her heart failed her instantly. By this touch, the appre- 
 hension and remembrance of all the sweet joys of love 
 woke again in her breast, and there caused an intense 
 heat, which mounted up, flamed in her veins, and made her 
 love and joy from head to foot. And since the day when 
 Don Marsilis had first awakened the understanding of the 
 speaker concerning these things, she had never had any 
 other thought, and thenceforth recognised love to be a 
 thing so perfectly concordant with her nature, that it had 
 since been proved to the speaker that in default of love 
 
6o THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 and natural relief she would have died, withered at the 
 said convent. As evidence of which, the speaker affirms 
 as a certainty, that after her flight from the said convent 
 she had not passed a single day or one particle of time in 
 melancholy and sadness, but always was she joyous, and 
 thus followed the sacred will of God, which she believed 
 to have been diverted during the time lost by her in the 
 convent. 
 
 To this was it objected by us, Hierome Cornille, to the 
 said demon, that in this response she had openly blas- 
 phemed against God, because we had all been made to his 
 greater glory, and placed in the world to honour and to 
 serve Him, to have before our eyes His blessed command- 
 ments, and to live in sanctity, in order to gain eternal life, 
 and not to be always in bed, doing that which even the 
 beasts only do at a certain time. Then by the said sister 
 has answer been made, that she honoured God greatly, 
 that in all countries she had taken care of the poor and 
 suffering, giving them both money and raiment, and that 
 at the last judgment-day she hoped to have around her a 
 goodly company of holy works pleasant to God, which 
 would intercede for her. That but for her humility, a 
 fear of being reproached and of displeasing the gentle- 
 men of the chapter, she would with joy have spent her 
 wealth in finishing the cathedral of St. Maurice, and there 
 have established foundations for the welfare of her soul — 
 would have spared therein neither her pleasure nor her 
 person, and that with this idea she would have taken 
 double pleasure in her nights, because each one of her 
 amours would have added a stone to the building of this 
 basilic. Also the more for this purpose, -and for the eter- 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 6i 
 
 nal welfare of the speaker, would they have right heartily 
 given their wealth. 
 
 Then by us has it been said to this demon that she could 
 not justify the fact of her sterility, because in spite of so 
 much commerce no child had been born of her, the which 
 proved the presence of a demon in her. Moreover, Asta- 
 roth alone, or an apostle, could speak all languages, and 
 she spoke after the manner of all countries, the which 
 proved the presence of the devil in her. Thereupon the 
 speaker has asked : "In what consisted the said diversity 
 of language?" — that of Greek she knew nothing save 
 Kyrie eleison, of which she made great use ; of Latin, 
 nothing, save Amen, which she said to God, wishing there- 
 with to obtain her liberty. That for the rest the speaker 
 had felt great sorrow, being without children, and if the 
 good wives had them, she believed it was because they 
 took so little pleasure in the business, and she, the speaker, 
 a little too much. But that such was doubtless the will of 
 God, who thought that from too great happiness, the 
 world would be in danger of perishing. Taking this into 
 consideration, and a thousand other reasons, which suffi- 
 ciently establish the presence of a -devil in the body of 
 the sister, because the peculiar property of Lucifer is to 
 always find heretical arguments having the semblance of 
 truth, we have ordered that in our presence the torture be 
 applied to the said accused, and that she be well tormented, 
 in order to reduce the said demon by suffering to submit 
 to the authority of the Church, and have requested to ren- 
 der us assistance one Frangois de Hangest,. master sur- 
 geon and doctor to the chapter, charging him by a codicil 
 hereunder written to investigate the qualities of the femi- 
 
62 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 nine nature (virtutes vulvae) of the above-mentioned 
 woman, to enlighten our religion upon the methods em- 
 ployed by this demon to lay hold of souls in that way, and 
 to see if any artifice was there apparent. 
 
 Then the said Moorish woman has wept bitterly, tor- 
 tured in advance, and, in spite of her iron? , has knelt down 
 imploring with cries and clamour the revocation of this 
 order, objecting that her limbs were in such a feeble state, 
 and her bones so tender, that they would break like a 
 glass; and finally, has offered to purchase her freedom 
 from this by the gift of all her goods to the chapter, and 
 to quit incontinently the country. 
 
 Upon this, by us has she been required to voluntarily 
 declare herself to be, and to have always been, a demon of 
 the nature of a Succubus, which is a female devil whose 
 business it is to corrupt Christians by the blandishments 
 and flagitious delights of love. To this the speaker has re- 
 plied that the affirmation would be an abominable false- 
 hood, seeing that she had always felt herself to be a most 
 natural woman. 
 
 Then her irons being struck off by the torturer, the 
 aforesaid has removed her dress, and has maliciously and 
 with evil design bewildered and attacked our understand- 
 ings with the sight of her body, the which, for a fact, 
 exercises upon a man supernatural coercion. 
 
 Master Guillaume Toumebouche has, by reason of na- 
 ture, quitted the pen at this period, and retired, objecting 
 that he was unable, without incredible temptations, which 
 worked in his brain, to be a witness of this torture, because 
 he felt the devil violently gaining his person. 
 
 This finishes the second interrogatory ; and as the ap- 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 63 
 
 paritor and janitor of the chapter have stated Master 
 Frangois de Hangest to be in the country, the torture and 
 interrogations are appointed for to-morrow at the hour of 
 noon after mass. 
 
 This has been written verbally by me, Hierome, in the 
 absence of Master Guillaume Tournebouche, on whose 
 behalf it is signed. 
 
 Hierome Cornille, 
 
 Grand Penitentiary. 
 
 PETITION. 
 
 To-day, the fourteenth day of the month of February, 
 in the presence of me, Hierome Cornille, have appeared 
 the said Masters Jehan Ribou, Antoine Jahan, Martin 
 Beaupertuys, Hierome Maschefer, Jacques de Ville 
 d'Onier, and the Sire d'Idre, in place of the Mayor of 
 the city of Tours, for the time absent. All plaintiffs des- 
 ignated in the act of process made at the Town Hall, to 
 whom we have, at the request of Blanche Bruyn (now 
 confessing herself a nun of the convent of Mount Car- 
 mel, under the name of Sister Claire) , declared the appeal 
 made to the judgment of God by the said person accused 
 of dfemoniacal possession, and her offer to pass through 
 the ordeal of water and of fire, in presence of the Chapter 
 iand of the town of Tours, in order to prove her reality as 
 a woman and her innocence. 
 
 To this request have agreed for their parts, the said ac- 
 cusers, who, on condition that the town is security for it, 
 have engaged to prepare a suitable place and a pile, to be 
 approved by the godparents of the accused. 
 
 Then by us, the judge, has the first day of the new 
 
64 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 year been appointed for the day of ordeal — which will be 
 next Paschal day — and we have indicated the hour of 
 noon, after mass, eaCh of the parties having acknowledged 
 this delay to be sufficient. 
 
 And the present proclamation shall be cried, at the suit 
 of each of them, in all the towns, boroughs, and castles 
 ot Touraine and the land of France, at their request and 
 at their cost and suit 
 
 HiEROME CORNILLE. 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 65 
 
 III. 
 
 WHAT THE SUCCUBUS DID TO SUCK OUT THE SOUL OF THE 
 OLD JUDGEj AND WHAT CAME OF THE DIABOLICAL 
 DELECTATION. 
 
 This is the act of extreme confession made the first day 
 of the month of March, in the year one thousand two hun- 
 dred and seventy-one, after the coming of our blessed 
 Saviour, by Hierome Cornille, priest, canon of the chapter 
 of the cathedral of St. Maurice, grand penitentiary, of all 
 acknowledging himself unworthy, who, finding his last 
 hour to be come, and contrite of his sins, evil doings, for- 
 feits, bad deeds, and wickednesses, has desired his avowal 
 to be published to serve the preconisation of the truth, the 
 glory of God, the justice of the tribunal, and to be an alle- 
 viation to him of his punishment, in the other world. The 
 said Hierome Cornille being on his deathbed, there have 
 been convoked to hear his declaration, Jehan de la Haye 
 (de Hago), vicar of the church of St. Maurice; Pietro 
 Guyafd, treasurer of the Chapter, appointed by our lord 
 Jehan de Monsoreau, Archbishop, to write his words; and 
 Don Louis Pot, a monk of mains monasterium {Mar- 
 moustier), chosen by him for a spiritual father and con- 
 fessor; all ihree assisted by the great and illustrious Doc- 
 tor Guillaume de Censoris, Roman Archdeacon, at present 
 sent into our diocese (legatus) by our Holy Father the 
 Pope; and, finally, in presence of a great number of Chris- 
 
66 THE SUCCUBU& 
 
 tians come to be witnesses of the death of the said Hier- 
 ome Cornille, upon his known wish to make act of public 
 repentance, seeing that he was fast sinking, and that his 
 words might open the eyes of Christians about to fall into 
 Hell. 
 
 And before him, Hierome, who, by reason of his great 
 weakness could not speak, has Don Louis Pot read the 
 following confession, to the great agitation of the said 
 company:— "My brethren, until the seventy-first year of 
 my age, which is the one in which I now am, with the ex- 
 ception of the little sins through which, all holy though 
 he be, a Christian renders himself culpable before God, 
 but which it is allowed to us to repurchase by penitence, 
 I believe I led a Christian life, and merited the praise and 
 renown bestowed upon me in this diocese, where I was 
 raised to the high office of grand penitentiary, of which I 
 am unworthy. Now, struck with the knowledge of the in- 
 finite glory of God, horrified at the agonies which await 
 the wicked and prevaricators in hell, I have thought to 
 lessen the enormity of my sins by the greatest penitence I 
 can show in the extreme hour at which I am. Thus I 
 have prayed of the Church, whom I have deceived and be- 
 trayed, whose rights and judicial renown I have sold, to 
 grant me the opportunity of accusing myself publicly in 
 the manner of the ancient Christians. I hoped, in order 
 to show my great repentance, to have still enough life in 
 me to be reviled at the door of the cathedral by all my 
 brethren, to remain ther^an entire day on my knees, hold- 
 ing a candle, a cord round my neck, and my feet naked, 
 seeing that I had followed the ways of hell with regard to 
 the sacred instincts of the Church. But in this great 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 67 
 
 shipwreck of my fragile virtue, which will be to you a 
 warning to fly from vice and the snares of the demon, and 
 to take refuge in the Church, where all help is, I have 
 been so bewitched by Lucifer that our Saviour Jesus 
 Christ will take, by the intercession of all you whose help 
 and prayers I request, pity on me, a poor abused Chris- 
 tian, whose eyes now stream with tears. So would I 
 have another life to spend in works of penitence. Now 
 then listen and tremble with great fear! Elected by the 
 assembled Chapter to caf ry out, instruct, and complete the 
 process commenced against a demon, who had appeared in 
 a feminine shape, in the person of a relapsed nun — an 
 abominable person, denying God, and bearing the name 
 of Zulma in the infidel country whence she comes ; the 
 which devil is known in the diocese under that of Claire, 
 of the convent of Mount Carmel, and has much afflicted 
 the town by putting herself under an infinite number of 
 men to gain their souls to Mammon, Astaroh, and Satan — 
 princes of hell, by making them leave this world in a state 
 of mortal sin, and causing their death vjrhere life has its 
 source, I have, I the judge, fallen in my latter days into 
 this snare, and have lost my senses, while acquitting myself 
 traitorously of the functions committed with great confi- 
 dence by the Chapter to my cold senility. Hear how subtle 
 the demon is, and stand firm against her artifices. While 
 listening to the first response of the aforesaid Succubus, 
 I saw with horror that the irons placed upon her feet and 
 hands left no mark there, and was astonished at her hid- 
 den strength and at her, apparent weakness. Then my 
 mind was troubled suddenly at the sight of the natural 
 perfections with which the devil was endowed. I listened 
 
68 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 to the rnusic of hef voice, which warmed me from head 
 to foot, and made me desire to be young, to give myself 
 up to this demon, thinking that for an hour passed in her 
 company my eternal salvation was but poor payment fpr 
 the pleasure of love tasted in those slender arms. Then 1 
 lost that firmness with which all judges should be fur- 
 nished. This demon by me questioned, reasoned with me 
 in such a manner that at the second interrogatory I was 
 firmly persuaded I should be committing a crime in fining 
 and torturing a poor little creature who cried like an inno- 
 cent child. Then warned by a voice from on high to do 
 my duty, and that these golden words, this music of celes- 
 tial appearance, were diabolical mummeries, that this body, 
 so pretty, so infatuating, would transmute itself into a 
 bristly beast with sharp claws, those eyes so soft into 
 flames of hell, her behind into a scaly tail, her pretty rose- 
 bud mouth and gentle lips into the jaws of a crocodile, I 
 came back to my intention of having the said Succubus 
 tortured until she avowed her mission, as this practice 
 had already been followed in Christianity. Now when 
 this demon showed herself stripped to me, to be put to the 
 torture, I was suddenly placed in her power by magical 
 conjurations. I felt my old bones crack, my brain re- 
 ceived a warm light, my heart transhipped young and 
 boiling blood. I was light in myself, and by virtue of the 
 the magic philter thrown into my eyes the snows of my 
 forehead melted away. I lost all conscience of my Chris- 
 tian life and found myself a schoolboy, running about the 
 country, escaped from class and stealing apples, I had 
 not the power to make the sign of the cross, neither did I 
 remember the Church, God the Father, nor the sweet 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 69 
 
 Saviour of men A prey to this design, I went about the 
 streets thinking over the dehghts of that voice, the abom- 
 inable, pretty body of this demon, and saying a thousand 
 wicked things to myself. Then pierced and drawn by a 
 blow of the devil's fork, who had planted himself already 
 in my head as a serpent in an oak, I was conducted by this 
 sharp prong towards the gaol, in spite of my guardian 
 angel, who from time to time pulled me by the arm and 
 defended me against these temptations, but in spite of his 
 holy advice and his assistance I was dragged by a million 
 claws stuck into my heart, and soon found myself in the 
 gaol. As soon as the door was opened to me I saw no 
 longer any apppearance of a prison, because the Succubus 
 had there, with the assistance of dvil genii or fays, con- 
 structed a pavilion of purple and silk, full of perfumes 
 and flowers, where she was seated, superbly attired with 
 neither irons on her neck nor chains on her feet. I al- 
 lowed myself to be stripped of my ecclesiastical vestments, 
 and was put into a scent-bath. Then the demon covered 
 me with a Saracen robe, entertained me with a repast of 
 rare viands, contained in precious vases, gold cups, Asia- 
 tic wines, songs, and marvellous music, and a thousand 
 sweet sounds that tickled my soul by means of my ears. 
 At my side kept always the said Succubus, and her sweet, 
 detestable embrace distilled new ardour into my members. 
 My guardian angel quitted me. Then I lived only by the 
 terrible light of the Moorish woman's eyes, coveted the 
 warm embraces of the delicate body, wished always to feel 
 her red lips, that I believed natural, and had no fear of 
 the bite of those teeth which drew one to the bottom of 
 hell. I deligKted to feel the unequalled softness of her 
 
70 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 hands without thinking that they were unnatural claws. 
 In short, I acted like a husband desiring to go to his affi- 
 anced without thinking that that spouse was everlasting 
 death. I had no thought for the things of this world nor 
 the interests of God, dreaming only of love, of the sweet 
 breasts of this woman, who made me burn, and of the gate 
 of hell in which I wished to cast myself. Alas ! my breth- 
 ren, during three days and three nights was I thus con- 
 strained to toil without being able to stop the stream 
 which flowed from my veins, in which were plunged, like 
 two pikes, the hands of the Succubus, which communicated 
 to my poor old age and to my dried up bones, I know not 
 what sweat of love. At first this demon, to draw me to her, 
 caused to flow in my inside the softness of milk, then came 
 poignant joys which pricked like a hundred needles my 
 bones, my marrow, my brain, and my nerves. Th^ all 
 this gone, all things became inflamed, my head, my blood, 
 my nerves, my flesh, my bones, and then I burned with 
 the real fire of hell, which caused me torments in my 
 joints, and an incredible, intolerable, tearing voluptuous- 
 ness which loosened the bonds of my life. The tresses 
 of this demon, which enveloped my poor body, poured 
 upon me a stream of flame, and I felt each lock like a bar 
 of red iron. During this mortal delectation I saw the 
 ardent face of the said Succubus, who laughed and ad- 
 dressed to me a thousand exciting words ; such as that I 
 was her knight, her lord, her lance, her day, her joy, her 
 hero, her life, her good, her rider, and that she would like 
 to clasp me even closer, wishing to be in my skin or have 
 me in hers. Hearing which, under the prick of this 
 tongue which sucked out my soul, I plunged and precipi- 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. "Jl 
 
 tated myself finally in to hell without finding the bottom. 
 And then when I had no more a drop of blood in my veins, 
 when my heart no longer beat in my body, and I was 
 ruined at all points, the demon still fresh, white, rubicund, 
 glowing, and laughing, said to me — 
 
 " 'Poor fool, to thing me a demon ! Had I asked thee 
 to sell me thy soul for a kiss, wouldst thou not give it me 
 with all thy heart ?' 
 
 " 'Yes,' said I. 
 
 " 'And if always to act thus it were necessary for thee 
 to nourish thyself with the blood of new-born children in 
 order always to have new life to spend in my arms, would 
 you not imbibe it willingly?' 
 
 " 'Yes,' said I. 
 
 " 'And to be always my gallant horseman, gay as a man 
 in his prime, feeling life, drinking pleasure, plunging to 
 the depths of joy as a swimmer into the Loire, wouldst 
 thou not deny God, wouldst thou not spit in the face of 
 Jesus ?' 
 
 " 'Yes,' said I. 
 
 " 'If twenty years of monastic life could yet be given 
 thee, wouldst thou not forfeit them for two years of this 
 love which burns thee, and to be at this sweet occupa- 
 tion?' 
 
 " 'Yes,' said I. 
 
 "Then I felt a hundred sharp claws which tore my 
 diaphragm as if the beaks of a thousand birds there took 
 their bellyfuls, shrieking. Then I was lifted suddenly 
 above the earth upon the said Succubus, who had spread 
 her wings, and cried to me — 
 
 " 'Ride, ride, my gallant rider ! Hold yourself firmly 
 
72 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 on the back of thy mule, by her mane, by her neck ; and 
 ride, ride, my gallant rider — everything rides !' And then 
 I saw, as a thick fog. the cities of the earth, where by a 
 special gift I perceived each one coupled with a female 
 demon, and tossing about, engendering in great con- 
 cupisence, all shrieking a thousand words of love and ex- 
 clamations of all kinds, and all toiling away with ecstacy. 
 Then my horse with the Moorish head pointed out to me, 
 still flying and galloping beyond the clouds, the earth 
 coupled with the sun in a conjunction, from which pro- 
 ceeded a germ of stars, and there each female world was 
 embracing a male world ; but in place of the words used 
 by creatures, the worlds were giving forth the howl of 
 tempests, throwing out lightnings and crying thunders. 
 Then still rising, I saw overhead the female nature of all 
 things in love with the Prince of Movement. Now, by 
 way of mockery, the Succubus placed me in the centre of 
 this horrible and perpetual conflict, where I was lost as 
 a grain of sand in the sea. Then still cried my white 
 mare to me, 'Ride, ride, my gallant rider — all things ride !' 
 Now, thinking how little was a priest in this torrent of 
 the seed of worlds, nature always clasped together, and 
 metals, stones, waters, airs, thunders, fish, plants, animals, 
 men, spirits, worlds and planets, all embracing with rage, 
 I denied the Catholic faith. Then the Succubus, pointing 
 out to me the great patch of stars seen in the heavens, 
 said to me, 'That way is a drop of celestial seed escaped 
 from the great flow of the worlds in conjunction.' There- 
 upon I instantly clasped the Succubus with passion by the 
 light of a thousand million of stars, and I wished in clasp- 
 ing her to feel the nature of those thousand million of 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 73 
 
 creatures. Then by this great effort of love I fell im- 
 potent in every way, and heard a great infernal laugh. 
 Then I found myself in my bed, surrounded by my ser- 
 vitors, who had had the courage to struggle with the 
 demon, throwing into the bed where I was stretched a 
 basin full of holy water, and saying fervent prayers to 
 God. Then had I to sustain, in spite of this assistance, a 
 horrible combat with the said Succubus, whose claws still 
 clutched my heart, causing me infinite pains ; still, while 
 reanimated by the voice of my servitors, relations, and 
 friends, I tried to make the sacred sign of the cross ; the 
 Succubus perched on my bed, on the bolster, at the foot, 
 everywhere occupying herself in distracting my nerves, 
 laughing, grimacing, putting before my eyes a thousand 
 obscene images, and causing me a thousand wicked de- 
 sires. Nevertheless, taking pity on me, my lord the Arch- 
 bishop caused the relics of St. Gatien to be brought, and 
 the moment the shrine had touched my bed the said Suc- 
 cubus was obliged to depart, leaving an odour of sulphur 
 and of hell, which made the throats of my servants, 
 friends, and others sore for a whole day. Then the celes- 
 tial light of God having enlightened my soul, I knew that 
 I was, through my sins and my combat with the evil 
 spirit, in great danger of dying. Then did I implore the 
 especial mercy, to live just a little time to render glory to 
 God and to his Church, objecting the infinite merits of 
 Jesus dead upon the cross for the salvation of Christians. 
 By this prayer I obtained the favour of recovering suffi- 
 cient strength to accuse myself of my sins, and to beg of 
 the members of the church of St. Maurice their aid and 
 assistance to deliver me from purgatory, where I am about 
 
74 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 to atone for my faults by infinite agonies. Finally, I de- 
 clare that my proclamation, wherein the said demon ap- 
 peals to the judgment of God by the ordeals of holy water 
 and of fire, is a subterfuge due to an evil design suggested 
 by the said demon, who would thus have had the power 
 to escape the justice of the tribunal of the Archbishop and 
 of the Chapter, seeing that she secretly confessed to me, to 
 be able to make another demon accustomed to the ordeal 
 appear in her place. And, in conclusion, I give and be- 
 queath to the Chapter of the church of St. Maurice my 
 property of all kinds, to found a Chapter in the said 
 church, to build it and adorn it and put it under the invo- 
 cation of St. Hierome and St. Gatien, of whom the one 
 is my patron and the other the saviour of my soul." 
 
 This, heard by all the company, has been brought to 
 the notice of the ecclesiastical tribunal by Jehan de la 
 Haye (Johannes de Haga). 
 
 We, Jehan de la Haye (Johannes de Haga), elected 
 grand penitentiary of St. Maurice by the general assembly 
 of the Chapter, according to the usage and custom of that 
 church, and appointed to pursue afresh the trial of the 
 demon Succubus, at present in the gaol of the Chapter, 
 have ordered a new inquest, at the which will be heard all 
 those of this diocese having cognisance of the facts rela- 
 tive thereto. We declare void the other proceedings, in 
 terrogations, and decrees, and annul them in the name of 
 the members of the Church in general, and sovereign 
 Chapter assembled, and declare that the appeal to God, 
 traitorously made by the demon, shall not take place, in 
 consequence of the notorious treachery of the devil in this 
 affair. And the said judgment shall be cried by sound 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 75 
 
 of trumpet in all parts of the diocese in which have been 
 published the false edicts of the preceding month, all no- 
 toriously due to the instigations of the demon, according 
 to the confessions of the late Hierome Cornille. 
 
 Let all good Christians be of assistance to our Holy 
 Church, and to her commandments. 
 
 Jean de la Hayf™ 
 
76 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 HOW THE MOORISH WOMAN OF THE RUE CHAUDE TWISTED 
 
 ABOUT SO BRISKLY, THAT WITH GREAT DIFFICULTY WAS 
 
 SHE BURNED AND COOKED ALIVE, TO THE GREAT LOSS OF 
 
 THE INFERNAL REGIONS. 
 
 This was written in the month of May, of the year 1360, 
 after the manner of a testament. 
 
 "My very dear and well-beloved son, when it shall be 
 lawful for thee to read this I shall be, I, thy father, repos- 
 ing in the tomb, imploring thy prayers, and supplicating 
 thee to conduct thyself in life as it will be commanded {hee 
 in this rescript, bequeathed for the good government of 
 thy family, thy future, and safety ; for I have done this 
 at a period when I had my senses and understanding, still 
 recently affected by the sovereign injustice of men. In 
 my virile age I had a great ambition to raise myself in the 
 Church, and therein to attain the highest dignities, because 
 no life appeared to me more splendid. Now with this 
 earnest idea, I learned to read and to write, and with 
 great trouble became in a fit condition to enter the clergy. 
 But because I had no protection, or good advice to super- 
 intend my training, I had an idea of becoming the writer, 
 tabellion, and rubrican of the Chapter of St. Maurice, in 
 which were the highest and richest personages of Chris- 
 tendom, since the king of France is only therein a simple 
 canon. Now there I should be able better than elsewhere 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. "jy 
 
 to find services to render to certain lords, and thus to find 
 a master or gain patronage, and by this assistance enter 
 into religion, and be mitred and ensconced in an archi- 
 episcopal chair, somewhere or other. But this first vision 
 was over credulous, and a little too ambitions, the which 
 God caused me clearly to perceive by the sequel. In fact, 
 Messire Jehan de Villedomer, who afterwards became car- 
 dinal, was given this appointment, and I was rejected, dis- 
 comfited. Now in this unhappy hour I received an allevia- 
 tion of my troubles, by the advice of the good old Hierome 
 Cornille, of whom I have often spoken to you. This dear 
 man induced me, by his kindness, to become penman to 
 the Chapter of St. Maurice and the archbishop of Tours, 
 the which offer I accepted with joy, since I was reputed a 
 good scrivener. At the time I was about to enter into 
 the presbytery commenced the famous process against the 
 devil of the Rue Chaude, of which the old folks still talk, 
 and which, in its time, has been recounted in every home 
 in France. Now, believing that it would be of great ad- 
 vantage to my ambition, and that for this assistance the 
 Chapter would raise me to some dignity, my good master 
 had me appointed for the purpose of writing all that 
 should be in this grave cause, subject to writing. At the 
 very outset Monseigneur Hierome Cornille, a man ap- 
 proaching eighty years, of great sense, justice, and sound 
 understanding, suspected some spitefulness in this cause, 
 although he was not partial to immodest girls, and had 
 never been involved with a woman in his life, and was holy 
 and venerable, with a sanctity which had caused him to 
 be selected as judge, all this*notwithstanding. As soon 
 as the depositions were completed, and the poor wench 
 
78 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 heard, it remained clear that although this merry doxy 
 had broken her religious vows, she was innocent of all 
 deviltry, and that her great wealth was coveted by her 
 enemies, and other persons, whom I must not name to thee 
 for reasons of prudence. At this time every one believed 
 her to be so well furnished with silver and gold that she 
 could have bought the whole county of Touraine, if so it 
 had pleased her. A thousand falsehoods and calumnious 
 words concerning this girl, envied by all the honest 
 women, were circulated and believed in as gospel. At this 
 period Master Hierome Cornille, having ascertained, that 
 no demon other than that of love was in this girl, made 
 her consent to remain in a convent for the remainder of 
 her days. And having ascertained from certain noble 
 knights brave in war and rich in domains, that they would 
 do everything to save her, he invited her secretly to de- 
 mand of her accusers the judgment of God, at the same 
 time giving her goods to the Chapter, in order to silence 
 mischievous tongues. By this means would be saved 
 from the stake the most delicate flower that ever heaven 
 has allowed to fall upon our earth; the which flower 
 yielded only from excessive tenderness and amiability to 
 the malady of love, cast by her eyes into the hearts of all 
 her pursuers. But the real devil, under the form of a 
 monk, mixed himself up in this affair ; in this wise : a great 
 enemy of the virtue, wisdom, and sanctity of Monseig- 
 neur Hierome Cornille, named Jehan de la Haye, having 
 learned that in the gaol, the poor girl was treated like a 
 queen, wickedly accused the grand penitentiary of con- 
 nivance with her and of being her servitor, because, said 
 this wicked priest, she makes him young, amorous, and 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 79 
 
 happy, from which the poor old man died of grief in one 
 day, knowing by this, that Jehan de la Haye had sworn 
 his ruin and coveted his dignities. In fact, our lord the 
 archbishop visited the gaol, and found the Moorish wo- 
 man in a pleasant place, reposing comfortably, and with- 
 out irons, because, having placed a diamond in a place 
 where none would have believed she could have held it, 
 she had purchased the clemency of her gaoler. At the 
 time certain persons said that this gaoler was smitten with 
 her, and that from love, or perhaps in great fear of the 
 young barons, lovers of this woman, he had planned her 
 escape. The good man Cornille, being at the point of 
 death, through the treachery of Jehan de la Haye, the 
 Chapter thinking it necessary to make null and void the 
 proceedings taken by the penitentiary, and also his de- 
 crees, the said Jehan de la Haye, at that time a simple 
 vicar of the cathedral, pointed out that to do this it would 
 be sufficient to obtain a public confession from the good 
 man on his death-bed. Then was the moribund tortured 
 and tormented by the gentlemen of the Chapter, those of 
 Saint Martin, those of Marmoustiers, by the archbishop 
 and also by the Pope's legate, in order that he might re- 
 cant to the advant^e of the Church, to which the good 
 man would not consent. But after a thousand ills, his 
 public confession was prepared, at which the most note- 
 worthy people of the town assisted, and the which spread 
 more horror and consternation than I can describe. The 
 churches of the diocese held public prayers for this calam- 
 ity, and every one expected to see the devil tumble into 
 his house by the chimney. But the truth of it is that the 
 good Master Hierome had the fever, and saw cows in 
 
8o THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 his room, and then was this recantation obtained of him. 
 The access passed, the poor saint wept copiously on learn- 
 ing this trick from me. In fact, he died in my arms, as- 
 sisted by his physician, heart-broken at this mummery, 
 telling us that he was going to the feet of God to pray 
 him to prevent the consummation of this deplorable in- 
 iquity. This poor Moorish woman had touched him much 
 by her tears and repentance, seeing that before making 
 her demand for the judgment of God he had minutely 
 confessed her, and by that means had disentangled the 
 soul divine which was in her body, and of which he spoke 
 as of a diamond worthy of adoring the holy crown of 
 God, when she should have departed this life, after re- 
 penting her sins. Then, my dear son, knowing by the 
 statements made in the town, and by the naive responses 
 of this unhappy wretch, all the trickery of this affair, I 
 determined, by the advice of Master Francois de Han- 
 gest, physician of the Chapter, to feign an illness and quit 
 the service of the church of St. Maurice and of the arch- 
 bishopric, in order not to dip my hands in the innocent 
 blood, which still cries and will continue to cry aloud 
 unto God, until the day of the last judgment. Then was 
 the gaoler dismissed, and in his place was put the second 
 son of' the torturer, who threw the Moorish woman into 
 a dungeon, and inhumanly put upon her hands and feet 
 irons weighing fifty pounds, besides a wooden waistband ; 
 and the gaol was watched by the crossbowmen of the 
 town and the people of the archbishop. The wench was 
 tormented and tortured, and her bones were broken ; con- 
 quered by sorrow, she made an avowal according to the 
 wishes of Jehan de la Haye, and was instantly condemned 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 8l 
 
 to be burned in the enclosure of St. Etienne, having been 
 previously placed in the portals of the church, attired in 
 a chemise of sulphur, and her goods given over to the 
 Chapter, et caetera. This order was the cause of great 
 disturbances and fighting in the town, because three young 
 knights of Touraine swore to die in the service of the 
 poor girl, and to deliver her in all possible ways. Then 
 they came into the town, accompanied by thousands of 
 sufferers, labouring people, old soldiers, warriors, court- 
 esans, and others, whom the said girl had succoured, saved 
 from misfortune, from hunger and misery, and searched 
 all the poor dwellings of the town where lay those to 
 whom she had done good. Thus all were stirred up and 
 called together to the plain of Mont-Louis under the pro- 
 tection of the soldiers of the said lords ; they had for com- 
 panions all the scape-graces of twenty leagues round, and 
 came one morning to lay siege to the prison of the arch- 
 bishop, demanding that the Moorish woman should be 
 given up to them as though they would put her to death, 
 but in fact to set her free, and to place her secretly upon 
 a swift horse, that she might gain the open country, see- 
 ing that she rode like a groom. Then in this frightful 
 tempest of men have we seen between the battlements of 
 the archiepiscopal palace and the bridges, more than ten 
 thousand men swarming, besides those who were perched 
 upon the roofs of the houses and climbing on all the bal- 
 conies to see the sedition ; in short, it was easy to hear the 
 horrible cries of the Christians, who were terribly in earn- 
 est, and of those who surrounded the gaol with the in- 
 tention of setting the poor girl free, across the Loire, to 
 the other side of Saint Symphorien. The suffocation and 
 
82 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 squeezing of bodies was so great in this immense crowd, 
 blood-thirsty for the poor creature at whose knees they 
 would have fallen had they had the opportunity of seeing 
 her, that seven children, eleven women, and eight citizens 
 were crushed and smashed beyond all recognition, since 
 they were like splodges of mud; in short, so wide open 
 was the great mouth of this popular Leviathan, this hor- 
 rible monster, that the clamour was heard at Montils-les- 
 Tours. All cried, 'Death to the Succubus! Throw out 
 the demon ! Ha ! I'd like a quarter ! I'll have her skin ! 
 The foot for me, the mane for thee! The head for me! 
 The something for me ! Is it red ? Shall we see ? Will 
 it be grilled ? Death to her ! death 1' Each one had his 
 say. But the cry, 'Largesse to God ! Death to the Suc- 
 cubus!' was yelled at the same time by the crowd so 
 hoarsely and so cruelly that one's ears and heart bled 
 therefrom ; and the other cries were scarcely heard in the 
 houses. The archbishop decided, in order to calm this 
 storm which threatened to overthrow everything, to come 
 out with great pomp from the church, bearing the host, 
 which would deliver the Chapter from ruin, since the 
 wicked young men and the lords had sworn to destroy 
 and burn the cloisters and all the canons. Now by this 
 stratagem the crowd was obliged to break up, and from 
 lack of provisions return to their houses. Then the monks 
 of Touraine, the lords, and the citizens, in great appre- 
 hension of pillage on the morrow, held a nocturnal coun- 
 cil, and accepted the advice of the Chapter. By their ef- 
 forts the men-at-arms, archers, knights, and citizens, in 
 a large number, kept watch, and killed a party of shep- 
 herds, road menders, and vagrants, who, knowing the dis- 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 83 
 
 turbed state of Tours, came to swell the ranks of the mal- 
 contents. Messire Harduin de Maille, an old nobleman, 
 reasoned with the young knights, who were the cham- 
 pions of the Moorish woman, and argued sagely with 
 them,asking them if for so small a woman they wished 
 to put Touraine to fire and sword ; that even if they were 
 victorious they would be masters of the bad characters 
 brought together by them; that these said freebooters, 
 after having sacked the castles of their enemies, would 
 turn to those of their chiefs. That the rebellion com- 
 menced had had no success in the first attack, because up 
 to that time the place was untouched, could they have any 
 over the Church, which would invoke the aid of the king ? 
 and a thousand other arguments. To these reasons the 
 young knights replied, that it was easy for the Chapter 
 to aid the girl's escape in the night, and that thus the cause 
 of the sedition would be removed. To this humane and 
 wise request replied Monseigneur de Censoris, the Pope's 
 legate, that it was necessary that strength should remain 
 with the religion of the Church. And thereupon the poor 
 wench paid for all, since it was agreed that no inquiry 
 should be made concerning this sedition. 
 
 "Then the Chapter had full license to proceed to the 
 penance of the girl, to which act and ecclesiastical cere- 
 mony the people came from twelve leagues round. So 
 that on the day when, after divine satisfaction, the Suc- 
 cubus was to be delivered up to secular justice, in order 
 to be publicly burned at a stake, not for a gold potftid 
 would a lord or even an abbot have found a lodging in 
 the town of Tours. The night before many camped out- 
 side the town in tents, or slept upon straw. Provisions 
 
84 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 were lacking, and many who came with their bellies full, 
 returned with their bellies empty, having seen nothing 
 but the reflection of the fire in the distance. And the 
 bad characters did good .strokes of business by the way. 
 "The poor courtesan was half dead ; her hair had whit- 
 ened. She was, to tell the truth, nothing but a skeleton, 
 scarcely covered with flesh, and her chains weighed more 
 than she did. If she had had joy in her life, she paid 
 dearly for it at this moment. Those who saw her pass 
 say that she wept and shrieked in a way that should have 
 earned the pity of her hardest pursuers ; and in the church 
 they were compelled to put a piece of wood in her mouth, 
 which she bit as a lizard bites a stick. Then the execu- 
 tioner tied her to a stake to sustain her, since she let her- 
 self roll at times and fell for want of strength. Then she 
 suddenly recovered a vigorous handful, because, this not- 
 withstanding, she was able, it is said, to break her cords 
 and escape into the church, where, in remembrance of her 
 old vocation, she climbed quickly into the galleries above, 
 flying like a bird along the little columns and small 
 friezes. She was about to escape on to the roof when a 
 soldier perceived her, and thrust his spear in the sole of 
 her foot. In spite of her foot half cut through, the poor 
 girl still ran along the church without noticing it, going 
 along with her bones broken and her blood gushing out, 
 so great fear had she of the flames of the stake. At last 
 she was taken and bound, thrown into a tumbrel and led 
 to the stake, without being afterwards heard to utter a 
 cry. The account of her flight in the church assisted in 
 making the common people believe that she was the devil, 
 and some of them said that she had flown in the air. As 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 85 
 
 / 
 
 soon as the executioner of the town threw her into the 
 flames, she made two or three horrible leaps and fell down 
 into the bottom of the pile, which burned day and night. 
 On the following evening I went to see if anything re- 
 mained of this gentle girl, so sweet, so loving, but I fou,nd 
 nothing but a fragment of the 'os stomachal,' in which, in 
 spite of this, there still remained some moisture, and 
 which some say still trembled like a woman does in the 
 same place. It is impossible to tell, my dear son, the sad- 
 nesses, without number and without equal, which for 
 about ten years weighed upon me ; always was I thinking 
 of this angel burned by wicked men, and always I beb-^ld 
 her with her eyes full of love. In short the supernatural 
 gifts of this artless child were shining day and night 
 before me, and I prayed for her in the church where she 
 had been martyred. At length I had neither the strength 
 nor the courage to look without trembling upon the grand 
 penitentiary Jehan de la Haye, who died eaten up by lice. 
 Leprosy was his punishment. Fire burned his house and 
 his wife; and all those who had a hand in the burning 
 had their own hand singed. 
 
 "This, my well-beloved son, was the cause of a thousand 
 ideas, which I have here put into writing to be for ever 
 the rule of conduct in our family. 
 
 "I quitted the service of the Church, and espoused your 
 mother, from whom I received infinite blessings, and with 
 whom I shared my life, my goods, my soul, arid all. And 
 she agreed with me in the following precepts — Firstly, 
 that to live happily, it is necessary to keep far away from 
 Church people, to honour them much without giving them 
 leave to enter your house, any more than to those who 
 
86 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 by right, just or unjust, are supposed to be superior to us. 
 Secondly, to take a modest condition, and to keep oneself 
 in it without wishing to appear in any way rich. To have 
 a care to excite no envy, nor strike any onesoever in any 
 manner, because it is needful to be as strong as an oak, 
 which kills the plants at its feet, to crush envious heads, 
 and even then would one succumb, since human oaks are 
 especially rare, and that no Tournebouche should flatter 
 himself that he is one, granting that he be a Tournebouche. 
 Thirdly, never to spend more than one quarter of one's 
 income, conceal one's wealth, hide one's goods and chat- 
 tels, to undertake no ofiSce, to go to church like other 
 people, and always keep one's thoughts to oneself, seeing 
 that they belong to you and not to others, who twist them 
 about, turn them after their own fashion, and make cal- 
 umnies therefrom. Fourthly, always to remain in "the 
 condition of the Tournebduches, who are now and for 
 ever drapers. To marry your daughters to good drapers, 
 to send your sons to be drapers in other towns of France 
 furnished with these wise precepts, and to bring them up 
 to the honour of drapery, and without leaving any dream 
 of ambition in their minds. A draper like a Tournebouche 
 should be their glory, their arms, their name, their motto, 
 their life. Thus by being always drapers, they will be al- 
 ways Tournebouches, and rub on like the good little in- 
 sects, who, once lodged in a beam, make their dens, and 
 go on with security to the end of their ball of thread. 
 Fifthly, never to speak any other language than that of 
 drapery, and never to dispute concerning religion or gov- 
 ernment. And even though the government of the state, 
 the province, religion, and God turn about, or have a fancy 
 
THE SUCCUBUS. 87 
 
 to go to the right or to the left, always in your quality of 
 Tournebouche, stick to your cloth. Thus unnoticed by 
 the others of the town, the Tournebouches will live in 
 peace with their little Tournebouches — paying the tithes 
 and taxes, and all that they are required by force to give, 
 be it to God or to the king, to the town or to the parish, 
 with all of whom it is unwise to struggle. Also it is nec- 
 essary to keep the patrimonial treasure, to have peace and 
 to buy peace, never to owe anything, to have corn in the 
 house, and enjoy yourselves with the doors and windows 
 shut. 
 
 "By this means none will take from the Tournebouches, 
 neither the State, nor the Church, nor the Lords, to whom, 
 should the case be that force is employed, you will lend a 
 few crowns without cherishing the idea of ever seeing 
 them again — I mean the crowns. 
 
 "Thus, in all seasons people will love the Tourne- 
 bouches, will mock the Tournebouches as poor people — 
 as the slow Tournebouches, as Tournebouches of no un- 
 derstanding. Let the know-nothings say on. The 
 Tournebouches will neither be burned nor hanged, to the 
 advantage of King or Church, or other people; and the 
 wise Tournebouches will have secretly money in their 
 pockets, and joy in their houses, hidden from all. 
 
 "Now, my dear son, follow this the counsel of a modest 
 and middle-class life. Maintain this in thy family as a 
 county charter; and when you die, let your successor 
 maintain it as the sacred Gospel of the Tournebouches, 
 until God wills it that there be no longer Tournebouches 
 in this world." 
 
 This letter has been found at the time of the inventory 
 
88 THE SUCCUBUS. 
 
 made in the house of Francois Tournebouche, lord of 
 Veretz, chancellor to Monseigneur the Dauphin, and con- 
 demned at the time of the rebellion of the said lord against 
 the King to lose his head, and have all his goods confis- 
 cated by order of the Parliament of Paris. The said let- 
 ter has been handed to the Governor of Touraine as an 
 historical curiosity, and joined to the pieces of the process 
 in the archbishopric of Tours, by me, Pierre Gaultier, 
 Sheriff, President of the Trades Council. 
 
 The author having finished the transcription and de- 
 ciphering of these parchments, translating them from 
 their strange language into French, the donor of them 
 declared that the Rue Chaude at Tours was so called, ac- 
 cording to certain people, because the sun remained there 
 longer than in all other parts. But in spite of this version, 
 people of lofty understanding will find, in the warm way 
 of the said Succubus, the real origin of the said name. 
 In which acquiesces the author. This teaches us not to 
 abuse our body, but to use it wisely in view of our sal- 
 vation. 
 
DESPAIR IN LOVE. 
 
 AT the time when King Charles the Eighth took it 
 into his head to decorate the castle of Amboise, 
 there came with him certain workmen, master sculptors, 
 good painters, and masons, or architects, who orna- 
 mented the galleries with splendid works, which, through 
 neglect, have since been much spoiled. 
 
 At that time the court was staying in this beautiful 
 locality, and, as every one knows, the king took great 
 pleasure in watching his people work out their ideas. 
 Among these foreign gentlemen was an Italian, named 
 Angelo Cappara, a most worthy young man, and, in spite 
 of his age, a better sculptor and engraver than any of 
 them ; and it astonished many to see one in the April of 
 his life so clever. Indeed, there had scarcely sprouted 
 upon his visage the hair which imprints upon a man virile 
 majesty. To this Angelo the ladies took a great fancy 
 because he was charming as a dream, and as melancholy 
 as a dove left solitary in its nest by the death of its mate. 
 And this was the reason thereof: this sculptor knew the 
 curse of poverty, which mars and troubles all the actions 
 of life ; he lived miserably, eating little, ashamed of his 
 pennilessness, and made use of his talents only through 
 great despair, wishing by any means to win that idle life 
 which is the best of all for those whose minds are occu- 
 pied. The Florentine, out of bravado, came to the court , 
 
 89 
 
90 
 
 DESPAIR IN LOVE. 
 
 gallantly attired, and from the timidity of youth and mis- 
 fortune dared not ask his money from the king, who, see- 
 ing him thus dressed, believed him well furnished with 
 everything. The courtiers and the ladies used all to ad- 
 mire his beautiful works, and also their author ; but of 
 money he got none. All, and the ladies above all, finding 
 him rich by nature, esteemed him well off with his youth, 
 his long black hair, and bright eyes, and did not give a 
 thought to lucre, while thinking of these things and the 
 rest. Indeed, they were quite right, since these advan- 
 tages gave to many a rascal of the court lands, money, 
 and all. In spite of his youthful appearance, Master 
 Angelo was twenty years of age, and no fool, had a large 
 heart, a head full of poetry ; and more than that was a 
 man of lofty imaginings. But although he had little con- 
 fidence in himself, like all poor and unfortunate people, 
 he was astonished at the success of the ignorant. He fan- 
 cied that he was ill-fashioned, either in body or mind, and 
 kept his thoughts to himself. I am wrong, for he told 
 them in the clear starlight nights to the shadows, to God, 
 to the devil, and everything about him. At such times he 
 would lament his fate in having a heart so warm, that 
 doubtless the ladies avoided him as they would a red hot 
 iron ; then he would say to himself how he would worship 
 a beautiful mistress, how all his life long he would honour 
 her, with what fidelity he would attach himself to her, 
 with what affection serve her, how studiously obey her 
 commands, with what sports he would dispel the light 
 ^-.clouds of her melancholy sadness on the days when the 
 '' sky should be overcast. Fashioning himself one out of his 
 imagination, he would throw himself at her feet, kiss. 
 
DESPAIR IN LOVE. 9I 
 
 fondle, caress, bite, and clasp her with as much reality 
 as a prisoner scampers over the grass when he sees the 
 green fields through the bars of his cell. Thus he would 
 appeal to her mercy; overcome with his feelings, would 
 stop her breath with his embraces^ would become daring 
 in spite of his respect, arid passionately bite the clothes of 
 his bed, seeking this celestial lady, full of courage when 
 by himself, but abashed on the morrow if he passed one 
 by. Nevertheless, inflamed by these amorous fancies, he 
 would hammer away anew at his marble figures, would 
 carve beautiful breasts, to bring the water into one's 
 mouth at the sight of these sweet fruits of love, without 
 counting the other things that he raised, carved, and 
 caressed with his chisels, smoothed down with his file, and 
 fashioned in a manner that would make their use intelli- 
 gible to the mind of a greenhorn, and stain his verdure in 
 a single day. The ladies would criticise these beauties, 
 and all of them were smitten with the youthful Cappara. 
 And the youthful Cappara would eye them up and down, 
 swearing that the day one of them gave him her little fin- 
 ger to kiss, he would have his desire. 
 
 Among these high-born ladies there came one day, one 
 by herself to the young Florentine, asking him why he 
 was so shy, and if none of the court ladies could make him 
 sociable. Then she graciously invited him to come to her 
 house that evening. 
 
 Master Angelo perfumes himself, purchases a velvet 
 mantle with a double fringe of satin, borrows from a 
 friend a cloak with wide sleeves, a slashed doublet, and 
 silken hose, arrives at the house, and ascends the stairs 
 with hasty feet, hope beaming from his eyes, knowing 
 
92 DESPAIR IN LOVE. 
 
 not what to do with his heart, which leapt and bounded 
 like a goat ; and, to sum up, so much over head and ears 
 in love, that the perspiration trickled down his back. 
 
 You may be sure the lady was beautiful, and Master 
 Cappara was the more aware of it, since in his profession 
 he had studied the moulding of the arms, the lines of the 
 body, the secret surroundings of the sex, and other mys- 
 teries. Now this lady satisfied the especial rules of art ; 
 and besides being fair and slender, she had a voice to dis- 
 turb life in its source, to stir the fire of heart, brain and 
 everything; in short, she put into one's imagination deli- 
 cious images of love without thinking of it, which is the 
 characteristic of these cursed women. 
 
 The sculptor found her seated by the fire in a high 
 chair, and the lady immediately commenced to converse 
 at her ease, although Angelo could find no other reply 
 than "Yes" and "No," could get no other words from his 
 throat nor idea in his brain, and would have beaten his 
 head against the fireplace but for the happiness of gaz- 
 ing at and listening to his lovely mistress, who was play- 
 ing there like a young fly in the sunshine. Because, with 
 this mute admiration, both remained until the middle of 
 the night, wandering slowly down the flowery path of 
 love, the good sculptor went away radiant with happiness. 
 On the road, he concluded in his own mind, that if a noble 
 lady kept him rather close to her skirts during four hours 
 of the night, it would not matter a straw if she kept him 
 there the remainder. Drawing from these premises cer- 
 tain sweet corollaries, he resolved to ask her favours as a 
 simple woman. Then he determined to kill everybody — 
 the husband, the wife, or himself — rather than lose the 
 
DESPAIR IN LOVE. 93 
 
 distaff whereon to spin one hour of joy. Indeed, he was 
 so mad with love, that he believed life to be but a small 
 stake in the game of love, since one single day of it was 
 worth a thousand lives. 
 
 The Florentine chiselled away at his statutes, thinking 
 of his evening, and thus spoiled many a nose thinking of 
 something else. Noticing this, he left his work, perfumed 
 himself, and went to listen to the sweet words of his lady, 
 with the hope of turning them into deeds ; but when he 
 was in the presence of his sovereign, her feminine ma- 
 jesty made itself felt, and poor Cappara, such a lion' in 
 the street, looked sheepish when gazing at his victim. 
 This notwithstanding, towards the hour when desire be- 
 came heated, he was almost in the lady's lap and held her 
 tightly clasped. He had obtained a kiss, had taken it, 
 much to his delight ; for, when they give it, the ladies re- 
 tain the right of refusal, but when they let it be taken, 
 the lover may take a thousand. This is the reason why 
 all of them are accustomed to let it be taken. The Flor- 
 entine had stolen a good number, and things were going 
 on admirably, when the lady, who had been thrifty with 
 her favours, cried, "My husband !" 
 
 And, in fact, my lord had just returned from playing 
 tennis, and the sculptor had to leave the place, but not 
 without receiving a warm glance from the lady inter- 
 rupted in her pleasure. This was all his substance, pit- 
 tance, and enjoyment during a whole month, since on the 
 brink of his joy always came the said husband, and he 
 always arrived wisely between a point-blank refusal and 
 those little caresses with which women always season 
 their refusals — little things which reanimate love and 
 
94 DESPAIR IN LOVE. 
 
 render it all the stronger. And when the sculptor, out of 
 patience, commenced, immediately upon his arrival, the 
 skirmish of the skirt, in order that victory might arrive 
 before the husband, to whom, no doubt, these disturb- 
 ances were not without profit, his fine lady, seeing desire 
 written in the eyes of her sculptor, commenced endless 
 quarrels and altercations: at first she pretended to be 
 jealous, in order to rail against love; then appeased the 
 anger of the little one with the moisture of a kiss, then 
 kept the conversation to herself, and kept on saying that 
 her lover should be good, obedient to her will, otherwise 
 she would not yield to him her life and soul ; that a de- 
 sire was a small thing to offer a mistress ; that she was 
 more courageovts, because loving more she sacrificed 
 more, and to his propositions she would exclaim, "Silence, 
 sir !" with the air of a queen, and at times she would put 
 on an angry look, to reply to the reproaches of Cappara : 
 "If you are not as I wish you to be, I will no longer love 
 you." 
 
 The poor Italian saw, when it was too late, that this 
 was n'ot a noble love, one of those which does not mete 
 out joy as a miser his crowns ; and that this lady took de- 
 light in letting him jump about outside the hedge and be 
 master of everything, provided he touched not the garden 
 of love. At this business Cappara became savage enough 
 to kill any one, and took with him trusty companions, his 
 friends, to whom he gave the t^sk of attacking the hus- 
 band while walking home to bed after his game of tennis 
 with the king. He came to his lady at the accustomed 
 hour when the sweet sports of love were in full swing, 
 which sports were long, lasting kisses, hair twisted and 
 
DESPAIR IN LOVE. 95 
 
 untwisted, hands bitten with passion, ears as well ; indeed, 
 the whole business, with the exception of that especial 
 thing which good authors rightly find abominable. The 
 Florentine exclaims between two hearty kisses — 
 
 "Sweet one, do you love me more than anything?" 
 
 "Yes," said she, because words never cost anything. 
 
 "Well, then," replied the lover, "be mine in deed as in 
 word." 
 
 "But," said she, "my husband will be here directly." 
 
 "Is that the only reason ?" said he. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I have friends who will cross him, and will not let him 
 go unless I show a torch at this window. If he complain 
 to the king, my friends will say they thought they were 
 playing a joke on one of their own set." 
 
 "Ah, my dear," said she, "let me see if every one in the 
 house is gone to bed." 
 
 She rose, and held the light to the window. Seeing 
 which Cappara blew out the candle, seized his sword, and 
 placing himself in front of this woman, whose scorn and 
 evil mind he recognized, 
 
 "I will not kill you, madam," said he, "but I will mark 
 yoti'r face in such a manner that you will never again 
 coquette with young lovers whose lives you waste. You 
 have deceived me shamefully, and are not a respectable 
 woman. You must know that a kiss will never sustain 
 life in a true lover, and that a kissed mouth needs the rest. 
 You have made my life for ever dull and wretched ; now 
 I will make you remember for ever my death, which you 
 have caused. You shall never again behold yourself in 
 the glass without seeing there my face also." Then he 
 
DESPAIR IN LOVE. 
 
 raised his arm, and held the sword ready to cut off a good 
 slice of the fresh fair cheek, where still all the traces of 
 his kiss remained. And the lady exclaimed, "You 
 wretch !" 
 
 "Hold your tongue," said he, "you told me that you 
 loved me better than everything. Now you say other- 
 wise ; each evening have you raised me a little nearer to 
 , heaven; with one blow you cast me into hell, and you 
 think that your petticoat can save you from a lover's 
 wrath— No !" 
 
 "Ah, my Angelo ! I am thine," said she, marvelling at 
 this man glaring with rage. 
 
 But he, stepping three paces back, replied, "Ah, woman 
 of the court and wicked heart, thou lovest, then, thy face 
 better than thy lover." 
 
 She turned pale, and humbly held up her face, for she 
 understood that at this moment her past perfidy wronged 
 her present love. With a single blow Angelo slashed her 
 face, then left her house, and quitted the country. The 
 husband not having been stopped by reason of that light 
 which was seen by the Florentines, found his wife minus 
 her left cheek. But she spoke not a word in spite of her 
 agony; she loved her Cappara more than life itself. 
 Nevertheless, the husband wished to know whence pro- 
 ceeded this wound. No one having been there except the 
 Florentine, he complained to the king, who had his work- 
 man hastily pursued, and ordered him to be hanged at 
 Blois. On the day of execution a noble lady was seized 
 with a desire to save this courageous man, whom she be- 
 lieved to be a lover of the right sort. She begged the king 
 to give him to her, which he did willingly. But Cappara 
 
DESPAIR IN LOVE. 97 
 
 declaring that he belonged entirely to his lady, the mem- 
 ory of whom he could not banish entirely, entered the 
 Church, became a cardinal and a great savant, and used 
 to say in his old age that he had existed upon the remem- 
 brance of the joys tasted in those poor hours of anguish ; 
 in which he was, at the same time, both very well and very 
 badly treated by his lady. There are authors who say 
 that afterwards he succeeded better with his old sweet- 
 heart, whose cheek healed ; but I cannot believe this, be- 
 cause he was a man of heart, who had a high opinion of 
 the holy joys of love. 
 
 This teaches us nothing worth knowing, unless it be 
 that there are unlucky meetings in life, since this tale is in 
 every way true. If in other places the author has over- 
 shot the truth, this one will gain for him the indulgence 
 of the conclave of lovers. 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 THIS second series comes in the merry month of June, 
 when all is g^een and gay, because the poor muse, 
 whose slave the author is, has been more capricious than 
 the love of a queen, and has mysteriously wished to bring 
 forth her fruit in the time of flowers. No one can boast 
 himself master of this fay. At times, when grave thoughts 
 occupy the mind and grieve the brain, comes the jade 
 whispering her merry tales in the author's ear, tickling 
 her lips with her feathers, dancing sarabands, and mak- 
 ing the house echo with her laughter. If by chance the 
 writer, abandoning science for pleasure, says to her, 
 "Wait a moment, little one, till I come," and runs in great 
 haste to play with the madcap, she has disappeared. She 
 has gone back into her hole, hides herself there, rolls 
 herself up, and retires. Take the poker, take a staff, a 
 cudgel, a cane, raise them, strike the wench, and rave at 
 her, she moans ; strap her, she moans ; caress her, fondle 
 her, she moans ; kiss her, say to her, "Here, little one," 
 she moans. Now she's cold, now she is going to die; 
 adieu to love, adieu to laughter, adieu to merriment, 
 adieu to good stories. Wear mourning for her, 
 weep and fancy her dead, groan. Then she raises 
 her head, her merry laugh rings out again; she 
 spreads her white wings, flies one knows not whither, 
 turns in the air, capers, shows her impish tail, her wo- 
 
 98 
 
EPILOGUE 99 
 
 man's breasts, her strong loins, and her angelic face, 
 shakes her perfumed tresses, gambols in the rays of the 
 sun, shines forth in all her beauty, changes her colours 
 like the breast of a dove, laughs until she cries, casts the, 
 tears of her eyes into the sea, where the fishermen find 
 them transmuted into pretty pearls, which are gathered 
 to adorn the foreheads of queens. She twists about like 
 a colt broken loose, exposing her virgin charms, and a 
 thousand things so fair that a pope would peril his sal- 
 vation for her at the mere sight of them. During these 
 wild pranks of the ungovernable beast you meet fools and 
 friends, who say to the poor poet, "Where are your tales ? 
 Where are your new volumes ? You're a pagan prognos- 
 ticator. Oh yes, you are known. You go to fetes and 
 feasts, and do nothing between your meals.' Where's 
 your work ?" 
 
 Although I am by nature partial to kindness, I should 
 like to see one of these people impaled in the Turkish 
 fashion, and thus equipped sent on the Love Chase. Here 
 enfleth the second series ; may the devil give it a lift with 
 his horns, and it will be well received by a smiling Chris- 
 tendom. 
 
THE THIRD TEN. 
 
 100 
 
THE THIRD TEN. 
 
 Prologue. 
 
 Perseverance in Love. 
 
 Concerning a Provost who did not recognise Things. 
 
 About the Monk Amador, who was a Glorious Abbot of Tur- 
 
 penay. 
 Bertha the Penitent. 
 
 How the Maid of Portillon convinced her Judge. 
 In which it is Demonstrated that Fortune is always Feminine. 
 Concerning a Poor Man who was called Le Vieux par- 
 
 Chemins. 
 Odd Sayings of Three Pilgrims. 
 Innocence. 
 
 The Fair Imperia Married. 
 Epilogue. 
 
 lOI 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 CERTAIN persons have interrogated the author as 
 to why there was such a demand for these tales 
 that no year passes without his giving an instalment of 
 them, and why he has lately taken to write commas mixed 
 up with bad syllables, at which the ladies publicly knit 
 their brows, and have put to him other questions of a like 
 character. The author declares that these treacherous 
 words, cast like pebbles in his path, have touched him in 
 the very depths of his heart, and he is sufficiently cogni- 
 zant of his duty not to fail to give to his special audience 
 in this prologue certain reasons other than preceding 
 ones, because it is always necessary to reason with chil- 
 dren imtil they are grown up, understand things, and 
 hold their tongues ; and because he perceives many mis- 
 chievous fellows among this crowd of noisy people, who 
 ignore at pleasure the real object of these volumes. In 
 the first place know, that if certain virtuous ladies — I say 
 virtuous because common and low class women do not 
 read these stories, preferring those that are never pub- 
 lished; on the contrary, other citizens' wives and ladies, 
 of high respectability and godliness, although doubtless 
 disgusted with the subject matter, read them piously to 
 satisfy an evil spirit, and thus keep themselves virtuous. 
 Do you understand, my good reapers of horns ? It is bet- 
 ter to be deceived by the tale of a book than cuckolded 
 
 I02 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 103 
 
 through the story of a gentleman. You are saved the 
 damage by this, poor fools! besides which, often your 
 lady becoming enamoured, is seized with fecund agita- 
 tions to your advantage, raised in her by the present book 
 Therefore do these volumes assist to populate the land 
 and maintain it in mirth, honour, and health. I say 
 mirth, because much is to be derived from these tales. 
 I say honour, because you save your nest from the 
 claws of that youthful demon named cuckoldom in 
 the language of the Celts. I say health, because 
 this book incites that which was prescribed by the 
 Church of Salerno, for the avoidance of cerebral plethora. 
 Can you derive a like proof in any other typographically 
 blackened folies ? Ha ! ha ! where are the books that make 
 children ? Think ! Nowhere. Bt^t you will find a glut of 
 children making books which beget nothing but weari- 
 ness. But to continue. Now be it known that when 
 ladies, of a virtuous nature and talkative turn of mind, 
 converse publicly on the subject of these volumes, a great 
 number of them, far from reprimanding the author, con- 
 fess that they like him very much, esteeming him a val- 
 iant man, worthy to be a monk in the Abbey of Theleme. 
 For as many reasons as there are stars in the heavens, he 
 does not drop the style which he has adopted in these said 
 tales, but lets himself be vituperated, and keeps steadily 
 on his way, because noble France is a woman who refuses 
 to yield, crying, twisting about; and saying, "No, no ; 
 never! Oh, sir, what are you going to do? I won't let. 
 you; you'd rumple me." And^when the volume is done 
 and finished, all smiles, she exclaims, "Oh, my master, are 
 there any more to come ?" You may take it for granted 
 
104 PROLOGUE 
 
 that the author is a merry fellow, who troubles himself 
 little about the cries, tears, and tricks of the lady you call 
 glory, fashion, or public favour, for he knows her to be a 
 wanton who would put up with any violence. He knows 
 that in France her war-cry is. Mount Joy! A fine cry, 
 indeed, but one which certain writers have disfigured, and 
 which signifies, "Joy is not of the earth, it is there ; seize 
 it, otherwise good-bye." The author has this interpreta- 
 tion from Rabelais, who told it to him. If you search 
 history, has France ever breathed a word when she was 
 joyously mounted, bravely mounted, passionately 
 mounted, mounted and out of breath? She goes furious- 
 ly at everything, and likes this exercise better than drink- 
 ing. Now, do you not see that these volumes are French, 
 joyfully French, wildly French, French before, French 
 behind, French to the backbone. Back then, curs ! strike 
 up the music; silence, bigots! advance my merry wags, 
 my little pages, put your soft hands into the ladies' hands 
 and tickle them in the middle — of the hand of course. Ha ! 
 ha! these are high sounding and peripatetic reasons, or 
 the author knows nothing of sound and the philosophy of 
 Aristotle. He has on his side the crown of France and 
 the oriflamipe of the king and Monsieur St. Denis, who, 
 having lost his head, said, "Mount-my-Joy !" Do you 
 mean to say, you quadrupeds, that the word is wrong? 
 No! It was certainly heard by a great many people at 
 the time ; but in these days of deep wretchedness you be- 
 lieve nothing concerning the good old saints. 
 
 The author has not finished yet. Know all ye who 
 read these tales with eye and hand, feel them in the head 
 alone, and love them for the joy they bring you, and 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 los 
 
 which goes to your heart, know that the author having in 
 an evil hour let his ideas, id est, his inheritance, go astray, 
 and being unable to get them together again, found him- 
 self in a state of mental nudity. Then he cried like the 
 woodcutter in the prologue of the bpok of his dear master, 
 Rabelais, in order to make himself heard by the gentl«- 
 man on high, Lord Paramount of all things, and obtain 
 from Him fresh ideas. This said Most High, still busy 
 with the congress of the time, threw to him through Mer- 
 cury an inkstand with two cups, on which was engraved, 
 after the manner of a motto, these three letters, Ave. Then 
 the poor fellow, perceiving no other help, took great care 
 to turn over this said inkstand to find out the hidden 
 meaning of it, thinking over the mysterious words and 
 trying to find a key to them. First, he saw that God was 
 polite, like a great Lord as He is, because the world is 
 His, and He holds the title of it from no one. But since, 
 in thinking over the days of his youth, he remembered 
 no great service rendered to God, the author was in doubt 
 concerning this hollow civility, and pondered long with- 
 out finding out the real substance of this celestial uten- 
 sil. By reason of turning and twisting it about, study- 
 ing it, looking at it, feeling it, emptying it, knocking it 
 in an interrogatory manner, smacking it down, standing 
 it up straight, standing it on one side, and turning it up- 
 side down, he read backwards Eva. Who is Eva, if not 
 all women in one? Therefore by the Voice Divine was 
 it said to the author : 
 
 Think of woman; woman will heal thy wound, stop 
 the waste-hole in thy bag of tricks. Woman is thy 
 wealth ; have but one woman, dress, undress, and fondle 
 
I06 PROLOGUE 
 
 that woman, make use of that woman — woman is 
 everything — ^woman has an inkstand of her own; 
 dip thy pen in that bottomless inkpot. Woman 
 lives love; make love to her with the pen only, 
 tickle her fantasies, and sketch merrily for her a 
 thousand pictures of love in a thousand pretty ways. 
 Woman is generous, and all for one, or one for all, must 
 pay the painter, and furnish the hairs of/ the brush. Now, 
 muse upon that which is written there. Ave-hs.il, Eva 
 woman; or Eva-woman, Ave-hail. Yes, she makes and 
 unmakes. Heigh, then, for the inkstand! What does 
 woman like best? What does she desire? All the special 
 things of love ; and woman is right. To have children, 
 to produce an imitation of nature, which is always in 
 labour. Come to me, then, woman! — come to me, Eva! 
 With this the author began to dip into that fertile ink- 
 pot, where there was a brain-fluid, concocted by virtues 
 from on high in a talismanic fashion. From one cup 
 there came serious things, which wrote themselves in 
 brown ink ; and from the other trifling things, which mere- 
 ly gave a roseate hue to the pages of the manuscript. The 
 poor author has often, from carelessness, mixed the inks 
 now here, now there ; but as soon as the heavy sentences, 
 difficult to smooth, polish, and brighten up, of some work 
 suitable to the taste of the day are finished, the author, 
 eager to amuse himself, in spite of the small amount of 
 merry ink remaining in the left cup, steals and bears 
 eagerly therefrom a few penfuls with great delight. These 
 said penfuls are, indeed, these same Droll Tales, the au- 
 thority of which is above suspicion, because it flows from 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 107 
 
 a divine source, as is shown in this the author's naive 
 confession. 
 
 Certain evil-disposed people will still cry out at this; 
 but can you find a man perfectly contented on this lump 
 of mud ? Is it not a shame ? In this the author has wisely 
 comported himself in imitation of a higher power; and 
 he proves it by atqui. Listen. Is it not most clearly dem- 
 onstrated to the learned that the sovereign Lord of worlds 
 has made an infinite number of heavy, weighty, and seri- 
 ous machines with great wheels, large chains, terrible 
 notches, and frightfully complicated screws and weights 
 like the roasting-jack; but also has amused Himself with 
 little trifles and grotesque things light as zephyrs, and has 
 also made naive and pleasant creations, at which you 
 laugh directly you see them. Is it not so? Then in all 
 eccentric works, such as the verj' spacious edifice under- 
 taken by the author, in order to model himself upon the 
 laws of the above-named Lord, it is necessary to fashion 
 certain delicate flowers, pleasant insects, fine dragons well 
 twisted, imbricated, and coloured — nay, even gilt, al- 
 though he is often short of gold — and throw them at the 
 feet of his snow-clad mountains, piles of rocks, and other 
 cloud-capped philosophies, long and terrible works, mar- 
 ble columns, real thoughts carved in porphyry. Ah ! un- 
 clean beasts, who despise and repudiate the figures, phan- 
 tasies, harmonies, and roulades of the fair muse of drol- 
 lery, will you not pare your claws, so that you may never 
 again scratch her white skin, all azure with veins, her 
 amorous reins, her flanks of surpassing elegance, her feet 
 that stay modestly in bed, her satin face, her lustrous feat- 
 ures, her heart devoid of bitterness ? Ah ! wooden-heads. 
 
I08 PROLOGUE 
 
 what will you say when you find that this merry lass 
 springs from the heart of France, agrees with all that is 
 womanly in nature, has been saluted with a polite Ave! by 
 the angels in the person of their spokesman, Mercury, and 
 finally, is the clearest quintessence of Art. In this work 
 are to be met with necessity, virtue, whim, the desire of a 
 woman, the votive offering of a stout Pantagruelist, all are 
 here. Hold your peace, then, drink to the author, and let 
 his inkstand with the double cup endow the Gay Science 
 with a hundred glorious Droll Tales. 
 
 Stand back then, curs ; strike up the music ! Silence, 
 bigots ; out of the way, dunces ! Step forward my merry 
 wags ! — my little pages ! give your soft hand to the ladies, 
 and tickle theirs in the centre in a pretty manner, saying 
 to them, "Read to laugh." Afterwards you can tell them 
 some merry jest to make them roar, since when they are 
 laughing their lips are apart, and they make but a faint 
 resistance to love. 
 
PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE. 
 
 DURING the first years of the thirteenth century 
 after the coming of our Divine Saviour there hap- 
 pened in the city of Paris an amorous adventure, through 
 the deed of a man of Tours, of which the town and even 
 the king's court was never tired of speaking. As to the 
 clergy, you will see by that which is related below the part 
 they played in this history, the testimony of which was by 
 them preserved. This said man, called the Tourainian by 
 the common people, because he had been born in our merry 
 Touraine, had for his true name that of Anseau. In his 
 latter days the good man returned into his own country 
 and was mayor of St. Martin, according to the chronicles 
 of the abbey of that town ; but at Paris he was a great sil- 
 versmith. But now in his prime, by his great honesty, his 
 labours, and so forth, he became a citizen of Paris and 
 subject of the king, whose protection he bought, according 
 to the custom of the period. He had a house built for him 
 free of all quit-rent, close to the church of St. Leu, in the 
 Rue St. Denis, where his forge was well known by those 
 in want of fine jewels. Although he was a Tourainian, 
 and had plenty of spirit and animation, he kept himself 
 virtuous as a true saint, in spite of the blandishments of 
 the city, and had passed the days of his green season with- 
 out once dragging his good name through the mire. Many 
 will say this passes the bounds of that faculty of belief 
 • 109 
 
no PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 
 
 which God has placed in us to aid that faith due to the 
 mysteries of our holy religion ; so it is needful to demon- 
 strate abundantly the secret cause of this silversmith's 
 chastity. And, first, remember that he came into the town 
 on foot, poor as Job, according to the old saying ; and, like 
 all the inhabitants of our part of the country, who have 
 but one passion, he had a character of iron, and persevered 
 in the path he had chosen as steadily as a monk in venge- 
 ance. As a workman, he laboured from morn to night; 
 become a master, he laboured still, always learning new 
 secrets, seeking new receipts, and in seeking, meeting with 
 inventions of all kinds. Late idlers, watchmen, and va- 
 grants saw always a modest lamp shining through the sil- 
 versmith's window, and the good man tapping, sculping, 
 rounding, chiselling, modelling, and finishing, with his 
 apprentices, his door closed and his ears open. Poverty 
 engendered hard work, hard work engendered his 
 wonderful virtue, and his virtue engendered his great 
 wealth. Take this to heart, ye children of Cain who eat 
 doubloons and micturate water. If the good silversmith 
 felt himself possessed with wild desires, which now in one 
 way, now in another, seize upon an unhappy bachelor 
 when the devil tries to get hold of him, making the sign 
 of the cross, the Tourainian hammered away at his metal, 
 drove out the rebellious spirits from his brain by bending 
 down over the exquisite works of art, little engravings, 
 figures of gold and silver forms, with which he appeased 
 the anger of his Venus. Add to this that this Tourainian 
 was an artless man, of simple understanding, fearing God 
 above all things, then robbers, next to that the nobles, and 
 more than all, a disturbance. Although he had two hands. 
 
PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE III 
 
 he never did more than one thing at a time. His voice was 
 as gentle as that of a bridegroom before marriage. Al- 
 though the clergy, the military, and others gave him no 
 reputation for knowledge, he knew well his mother's 
 Latin, and spoke it correctly without waiting to be asked. 
 Latterly the Parisians had taught him to walk uprightly, 
 not to beat the bush for others, to measure his passions 
 by the rule of his revenues, not to let them take his leather 
 to make others' shoes, to trust no one farther than he 
 could see them, never to say what he did, and always to do 
 what he said ; never to spill anything but water ; to have a 
 better memory than flies usually have ; to keep his hands 
 to himself, to do the same with his purse; to avoid a 
 crowd at the comer of a street, and sell his jewels for 
 more than they cost him ; all things, the sage observance 
 of which gave him as much wisdom as he had need of to 
 do business comfortably and pleasantly. And so he did, 
 without troubling any one else. And watching this good 
 little man unobserved, many said, "By my faith, I should 
 like to be this jeweller, even were I obliged to splash my- 
 self up to the eyes with the mud of Paris during a hundred 
 years of it." 
 
 They might just as well have wished to be king of 
 France, seeing that the silversmith had great powerful 
 nervous arms, so wonderfully strong that when, he closed 
 his fist the cleverest trick of the roughest fellow could not 
 open it; from which you may be sure that whatever he 
 got hold of he stuck to. More than this, he had teeth fit 
 to masticate iron, a stomach to dissolve it, a duodenum to 
 digest it, a sphincter to let it out again without tearing, and 
 shoulders that would bear a universe upon them, like that 
 
tl2 PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 
 
 pagan gentleman to whom the job w^as confided, and to 
 whom the timely coming of Jesus Christ discharged from 
 the duty. He was, in fact, a man made with one stroke, 
 and they are the best, for those who have to be touched 
 are worth nothing, being patched up and finished at odd 
 times. In short, Master Anseau was a thorough man, 
 with a lion's face, and under his eyebrows a glance that 
 would melt his gold if the fire of his forge had gone out, 
 but a limpid water placed in his eyes by the great Moder- 
 ator of all things tempered this great ardour, without 
 which he would have burnt up everything. Was he not a 
 splendid specimen of a man ? With such a sample of his 
 cardinal virtues, some persist in asking why the good sil- 
 versmith remained as unmarried as an oyster, seeing that 
 these properties of nature are of good use in all places. 
 But these opinionated critics, do they know what it is to 
 love ? Ho ! Ho ! Easy ! The vocation of a lover is to go, 
 to come, to listen, to watch, to hold his tongue, to talk, 
 to stick in a corner, to make himself big, to make himself 
 little, to agree, to play music, to drudge, to go to the devil 
 wherever he be, to count the grey peas in the dovecot, to 
 find flowers under the snow, to say paternosters to the 
 moon, to pat the cat and pat the dog, to salute the friends, 
 to flatter the gout or the cold of the aunt, to say to her at 
 opportune moments, "You have good looks, and will yet 
 write the epitaph of the human race." To please all the 
 relations, to tread on no one's corns, to break no glasses, 
 to waste no breath, to talk nonsense, to hold ice in his 
 hand, to say, "This is good !" or, "Really, madam, you are 
 very beautiful so." And to vary that in a hundred differ- 
 ent ways. To keep himself cool, to bear himself like a 
 
PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 
 
 "3 
 
 nobleman, to have a free tongue and a modest one, to en- 
 dure with a smile all the evils the devil may invent on his 
 behalf, to smother his anger, to hold nature in control, to 
 have the finger of God and the tail of the devil, to reward 
 the mother, the cousin, the servant ; in fact, to put a good 
 face on everything. In default of which the female es- 
 capes and leaves you in a fix, without giving a single 
 Christian reason. In fact, the lover of the most gentle 
 maid that God ever created in a good-tempered moment, 
 had he talked like a book, jumped like a flea, turned about 
 like dice, played like King David, and built for the afore- 
 said woman the Corinthian order of the columns of the 
 devil, if he failed in the essential hidden thing which 
 pleases his lady above all others, which often she does not 
 know herself and which he has need to know, the lass 
 leaves him like a red leper. She is quite right. No one 
 can blame her for so doing. When this happens some men 
 become ill-tempered, cross, and more wretched than you 
 can possibly imagine. Have not many of them killed 
 themselves through this petticoat tyranny ? In this matter 
 the man distinguishes himself from the beast, seeing that 
 no animal ever yet lost his senses through blighted love, 
 which proves abundantly that animals have no souls. The 
 employment of a lover is that of a mountebank, of a sol- 
 dier, of a quack, of a buffoon, of a prince^ of a ninny, of a 
 king, of an idler, of a monk, of a dupe, of a blackguard, of 
 a liar, of a braggart, of a sycophant, of a numskull, of a 
 frivolous fool, of a blockhead, of a know-nothing, of a 
 knave. An employment from which Jesus abstained, in 
 imitation of whom folks of great understanding likewise 
 disdain it ; it is a vocation in which a man of worth is re- 
 
114 PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 
 
 quired to spend above all things, his time, his life, his 
 blood, his best words, besides his heart, his soul, and his 
 brain; things to which the women are cruelly partial, 
 because directly their tongues begin to go, they say among 
 themselves that if they have not the whole of a man they 
 have none of him. Be sure, also, that there are cats who, 
 knitting their eyebrows, complain that a man does but a 
 hundred things for them, for the purpose of finding out 
 if there be a hundred, and first seeing that in everything 
 they desire the most thorough spirit of conquest and tyr- 
 anny. And this high jurisprudence has always flourished 
 among the customs of Paris, where the women receive 
 more wit at their baptism than in any other place in the 
 world, and thus are mischievous by birth. 
 
 But our silversmith, always busy at his work, burnish- 
 ing gold and melting silver, had no time to warm his love 
 or to burnish and make shine his fantasies, nor to show off, 
 gad about, waste his time in mischief, or to run after she- 
 males. Now seeing that in Paris virgins do not fall into 
 the beds of young men any more than roast pheasants into 
 the streets, not even when the young men are royal silver- 
 smiths, the Tourainian had the advantage of having, as I 
 have before observed, a continent member in his shirt. 
 However, the good man could not close his eyes to the 
 advantages of nature with which were so amply furnished 
 the ladies with whom he dilated upon the value of his 
 jewels. So it was that, after listening to the gentle dis- 
 course of the ladies, who tried to wheedle and to fondle 
 him to obtain a favour from him, the good Tourainian 
 would return to his home, dreamy as a poet, wretched as 
 a restless cuckoo, and would siy to himself, "I must take 
 
PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE HE 
 
 to myself a wife. She would keep the house tidy, keep 
 the plates hot for me, fold the clothes for me, sew my but- 
 tons on, sing merrily about the house, tease me to do 
 everything according to her taste, would say to me as 
 they all say to their husbands when they want a jewel, 
 'Oh, my own pet, look at this, is it not pretty ?' And every 
 one in the quarter will think of my wife and then of me, 
 and say, 'There's a happy man.' Then the getting mar- 
 ried, the bridal festivities, to fondle Madame Silversmith, 
 to dress her superbly, give her a fine gold chain, to wor- 
 ship her from crown to toe, to give her the whole manage- 
 ment of the house, except the cash, to give her a nice little 
 room upstairs, with good windows, pretty, and hung 
 round with tapestry, with a wonderful chest in it and a fine 
 large bed, with twisted columns and curtains of yellow 
 silk. He would buy her beautiful mirrors, and there 
 would always be a dozen or so of children, his and hers, 
 when he came home to greet him." Then wife and chil- 
 dren would vanish into the clouds. He transferred his 
 melancholy imaginings to fantastic designs, fashioned his 
 amorous thoughts into grotesque jewels that pleased their 
 buyers well, they knowing not how many wives and chil- 
 dren were lost in the productions of the good man, who, 
 the more talent he threw into his art, the more disordered 
 he became. Now if God had not had pity upon him, he 
 would have quitted this world without knowing what love 
 was, but would have known it in the other without that 
 metamorphosis of the flesh which spares it, according to 
 Monsieur Plato, a man of some authority, but who, not 
 being a Christian, was wrong. But, there ! these prepara- 
 tory digressions are the idle digressions and fastidious 
 
Il6 PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 
 
 commentaries which certain unbelievers compel a man to 
 wind about a tale, like swaddling clothes about an infant 
 when it should run about stark naked. May the great 
 devil give them a clyster with his red-hot, three-pronged 
 fork. I am going on with my story now without further 
 circumlocution. This is what happened to the silversmith 
 in the one-and-fortieth year of his age. One Sabbath-day, 
 while walking on the left bank of the Seine, led by an idle 
 fancy, he ventured as far as that meadow which has since 
 been called the Pre-aux-Clercs, and which at that time 
 was in the domain of the abbey of Saint Germain, and not 
 in that of the University. There, still strolling on, the 
 Tourainian found himself in the open fields, and there 
 met a poor young girl \vho, seeing that he was well 
 dressed, curtsied to him, saying, "Heaven preserve you, 
 monseigneur." In saying this her voice had such sympa- 
 thetic sweetness that the silversmith felt his soul ravished 
 by this feminine melody, and conceived an affection for 
 the girl, the more so as, tormented with ideas of marriage 
 as he was, everything was favourable thereto. Neverthe- 
 less, as he had passed the wench by he dared not go back, 
 because he was as timid as a young maid who would die 
 in her petticoats rather than raise them for her pleasure. 
 Rut when he was a bow-shot off he bethought him that he 
 was a man who for ten years had been a master silver- 
 smith, had become a citizen, and was a man of mark, and 
 could look a woman in the face if his fancy so led him, the 
 more so as his imagination had great power over him. So 
 he turned suddenly back, as if he had changed the direc- 
 tion of his stroll, and came upon the girl, who held by an 
 old cord her poor cow, who was munching the grass that 
 
PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE II7 
 
 had grown on the border of a ditch at the side of the 
 road. 
 
 "Ah, my pretty one," said he, "you are not overburdened 
 with the goods of this world that you thus work with your 
 hands upon the Lord's Day. Are you not afraid of being 
 :ast into prison?" 
 
 "Monseigneur," replied the maid, casting down her 
 eyes, "I have nothing to fear, because I belong to the 
 abbey. The Lord Abbot has given me leave to exercise 
 the cow after vespers." 
 
 "You love your cow, then, more than the salvation of 
 your soul ?" 
 
 "Ah, monseigneur, our beast is almost the half of our 
 poor lives." 
 
 "I am astonished, my girl, to see you poor and in rags, 
 clothed like a fagot, running barefoot about the fields 
 on the Sabbath, when you carry about you more treasures 
 than you could dig up in the grounds of the abbey. Do 
 not the townspeople pursue you, and torment you with 
 love?" 
 
 "Oh, never, monseigneur. I belong to the abbey," re- 
 plied she, showing the -jeweler a collar on her left arm 
 like those that the beasts of the field have, but without the 
 little bell, and at the same time casting such a deplorable 
 glance at our townsman that he was stricken quite sad, 
 for by the eyes are communicated contagions of the heart 
 when they are strong. 
 
 "And what does this mean?" he -said, wishing to hear 
 all about it. 
 
 And he touched the collar, upon which was engraved 
 
Il8 PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 
 
 the arms of the abbey very distinctly, but which he did 
 not wish to see. 
 
 "Monseigneur, I am the daughter of an homme de 
 corps; thus, whoever unites himself to me by marriage 
 will become a bondsman, even if he were a citizen of 
 Paris, and would belong body and goods to the abbey. If 
 he loved me otherwise, his children would still belong to 
 the domain. For this reason I am neglected by every one, 
 abandoned like a poor beast of the field. But what makes 
 me most unhappy is, that according to the pleasure of 
 monseigneur the abbot, I shall be coupled at some time 
 with a bondsman. And if I were less ugly than I am, at 
 the sight of my collar the most amorous would flee from 
 me as from the black plague." 
 
 So saying, she pulled her cow by the cord to make it 
 follow her. 
 
 "And how old are you ?•" asked the silversmith. 
 
 "I do not know, monseigneur ; but our master, the abbot, 
 has kept account." 
 
 This great misery touched the heart of the good man, 
 who Tiad in his day eaten the bread of sorrow. He regu- 
 lated his pace to the girl's, and they went together towards 
 the water in painful silence. The good man gazed at the 
 fine forehead, the round red arms, the queen's waist, the 
 feet dusty, but made like those of a Virgin Mary ; and 
 the sweet physiognomy of this girl, who was the living 
 image of St. Genevieve, the patroness of Paris, and the 
 maidens who live in the fields. And mr-ke sure that this 
 Joseph suspected the pretty white of the sweet girl's 
 breasts, which were by a modest grace carefully covered 
 with an old rag, and looked at them as a schoolboy looks 
 
PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE II9 
 
 at a rosy apple on a hot day. Also, may you depend upon 
 it that these little hillocks of nature denoted a wench fash- 
 ioned with delicious perfection, like everything the monks 
 possess. Now, the more it was forbidden our silversmith 
 to touch them, the more his mouth watered for these 
 fruits of love. And his heart leaped almost into his mouth. 
 
 "You have a fine cow," said he. 
 
 "Would you like a little milk?" replied she. "It is so 
 warm these early days of May. You are far from the 
 town." 
 
 In truth, the sky was a cloudless blue, and glared like 
 a forge. Everything was rsldiant with youth, the leaves, 
 the air, the girls, the lads ; everything was burning, was 
 green, and smelt like talm. This naive offer, made with- 
 out the hope of recompense, though a byzant would not 
 have paid for the special grace of the speech ; and the 
 modesty of the gesture with which the poor girl turned to 
 him gained the heart of the jeweller, who would have 
 liked to be able to put this bondswoman into the skin of a 
 queen, and Paris at her feet. 
 
 "Nay, my child, I thirst not for milk, but for you, whom 
 I would have leave to liberate." 
 
 "That cannot be, and I shall die the property of the 
 abbey. For years we have lived so, from father to son, 
 from mother to daughter. Like my poor ancestors, I shall 
 pass my days on this land, as will also my children, because 
 the abbot cannot legally let us go." 
 
 "What!" said the Tourainian; "has no gallant been 
 tempted by your bright eyes to buy your liberty, as I 
 bought mine from the king ?" 
 
I20 PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 
 
 "It would cost too dear ; thus it is those whom at first 
 sight I please, go as they came." 
 
 "And you have never thought of gaining another coun- 
 try in company with a lover on horseback on a fleet 
 courser ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. But, monseigneur, if I were caught I should 
 be hanged at least ; and my gallant, even were he a lord, 
 would lose more than one domain over it, beside other 
 things. I am not worth so much ; besides, the abbey has 
 arms longer than my feet are swift. So I live on in per- 
 fect obedience to God, who has placed me in this plight." 
 
 "Vi^hat is your father?" . 
 
 "He tends the vines in the gardens of the abbey." 
 
 "And your mother?" 
 
 "She is a washerwoman." 
 
 "And what is your name ?" 
 
 "I have no name, dear sir. My father was baptized 
 Etienne, my mother is Etienne, and I am Tiennette, at 
 your service." 
 
 "Sweetheart," said the jeweller, "never has woman 
 pleased me as you please me; and I believe that your 
 heart contains a wealth of goodness. Now, since you 
 offered yourself to my eyes at the moment when I was 
 firmly deliberating upon taking a companion, I believe 
 that I see in you a sign from heaven ! and if I am not dis- 
 pleasing to you, I beg you to accept me as your friend." 
 
 Immediately the maid lowered her eyes. These words 
 were uttered in such a way, in so grave a tone, so pene- 
 trating a manner, that the said Tiennette burst into tears. 
 
 "No, monseigneur, I should be the cause of a thousand 
 
PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 121 
 
 unpleasantnesses, and of your misfortune. For a poor 
 bondsmaid, the conversation has gone far enough." 
 
 "Ho 1" cried Anseau ; "you do not know, my child, the 
 man you are dealing with." 
 
 The Tourainian crossed himself, joined his hands, and 
 said — 
 
 "I make a vow to Monsieur the Saint Eloi, under whose 
 invocation are the silversmiths, to fashion two images of 
 pure silver, with the best workmanship I am able to per- 
 form. One shall be a statute of Madame the Virgin, to 
 this end, to thank her for the liberty of my dear wife ; and 
 the other for my said patron, if I am successful in my 
 undertaking to liberate the bondswoman Tiennette here 
 present, and for which I rely upon his assistance. More- 
 over, I swear by my eternal salvation, to persevere with 
 courage in this affair, to spend therein all I possess, and 
 only to quit it with my life. God has heard me," said he. 
 "And you, little one," he added, turning towards the maid. 
 
 "Ha! monseigneur, look! My cow is running about 
 the fields," cried she, sobbing at the good man's knees. "I 
 will love you all my life ; but withdraw your vow." 
 
 "Let us look after the cow," said the silversmith, rais- 
 ing her, without daring yet to kiss her, although the maid 
 was well disposed to it. 
 
 "Yes," said she, "for I shall be beaten." 
 
 And behold now the silversmith, scanlpering after the 
 cursed cow, who gave no heed to their amours ; she was 
 taken by the horns, and held in the grip of the Tourainian, 
 who for a trifle could have thrown her in the air, like a 
 straw. 
 
 "Adieu, my sweet one ! If you go into the town, come 
 
122 PERSEVERANCE iN LOVE 
 
 to my house, over against Saint Leu's Church. I am 
 called Master Anseau, artd am silversmith to the King of 
 France, at the sign of St. Elpi. Make me a promise to be 
 in this field the next Lord's Day ; fail not to come, even 
 should it rain halberds." 
 
 "Yes, dear sir. For this would I leap the walls, and, 
 in gratitude, would I be yours without mischief, and 
 cause you no sorrow, at the price of my everlasting future. 
 Awaiting the happy moment, I will pray God for you with 
 all my heart." 
 
 And then she' remained standing like a stone saint, mov- 
 ing not, until she could see the good citizen no longer, and 
 he went away with lagging steps, turning from time to 
 time towards her to gaze upon her. And when he was 
 afar off, and out of her sight, she stayed on, until nightfall, 
 lost in meditation, knowing not if she had dreamed that 
 which had happened to her. Then went she back to the 
 house, where she was beaten for staying out, but felt not 
 the blows. The good silversmith could neither eat nor 
 drink, but closed his workshop, possessed of this girl, 
 thinking of nothing but this girl, seeing everywhere this 
 girl ; everything to him being to possess this girl. Now 
 when the morrow was come, went he with great appre- 
 hension towards the abbey to speak to the lord abbot. On 
 the road, however, he suddenly thought of putting himself 
 under the protection of one of the king's people, and with 
 this idea returned to the Court, which was then held in 
 the town. Being esteemed by all for his prudence, and 
 loved for his little works and kindnesses, the king's cham- 
 berlain — for whom he had once made, for a present to a 
 lady of the Court, a golden casket set with precious stones, 
 
PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 123 
 
 and unique of its kind — promised him assistance, had a 
 horse saddled for himself, and a hack for the silversmith, 
 with whom he set out for the abbey, and asked to see the 
 abbot, who was Monseigneur Hugon de Sennecterre, aged 
 ninety-three. Being come into the room with the silver- 
 smith, waiting nervously to receive his sentence, the cham- 
 berlain begged the abbot to sell him in advance a thing 
 which was easy for him to sell, and which would be pleas- 
 ant to him. 
 
 To which the abbot replied, looking at the chamber- 
 lain — 
 
 "That the canons inhibited and forbade him thus to 
 engage his word." 
 
 "Behold, my dear father," said the chamberlain, "the 
 jeweller of the Court, who has conceived a great love for 
 a bondswoman belonging to your abbey, and I request 
 you, in consideration of my obliging you in any such desire 
 as you may wish to see accomplished, to emancipate this 
 maid." 
 
 "Which is she?" asked the abbot of the citizen. 
 
 "Her name is Tiennette," answered the silversmith, 
 timidly. 
 
 "Ho! ho!" said the good old Hugon, smiling. "The 
 angler has caught us a good fish! This is a grave busi-, 
 ness, and I know not how to decide by myself." 
 
 "I know, my father, what those words mean," said the 
 chamberlain, knitting his brow. 
 
 "Fine sir," said the abbot, "know you what this maid 
 is worth?" 
 
 The abbot- ordered Tiennette to be fetched, telling his 
 
124 PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 
 
 clerk to dress her in her finest clothes, and to make her 
 look as nice as possible. 
 
 "Your love is in danger," said the chamberlain to the 
 silversmith, pulling him on one side. "Dismiss this phan- 
 tasy. You can meet anywhere, even at Court, with women 
 of wealth, young and pretty, who would willingly marry 
 you. For this, if need there be, the king would assist you 
 by giving you some title, which in course of time would 
 enable you to found a good family. Are you sufficiently 
 well furnished with crowns to become the founder of a 
 noble line ?" 
 
 "I know not, monseigneur," replied Anseau. "I have 
 put money by." 
 
 "Then see if you cannot buy the manumission of this 
 maid. I know the monks. With them money does every- 
 thing." 
 
 "Monseigneur," said the silversmith to the abbot, com- 
 ing towards him, "you have the charge and office of repre- 
 senting hel^e below the goodness of God, who is often 
 clement towards us, and has infinite treasures of mercy 
 for our sorrows. Now, I will remember you each evening 
 and each morning in my prayers, and never forget that I 
 received my happiness at your hands, if you will aid me 
 to gain this maid in lawful wedlock, without keeping in 
 servitude the children born of this union. And for this I 
 will make you a receptacle for the Holy Eucharist, so 
 elaborate, so rich with gold, precious stones, and winged 
 angels, that no other shall be like it in all Christendom. 
 It shall remain unique, it shall dazzle your eyesight, and 
 shall be so far the glory of your altar, that the people of 
 
PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE I25 
 
 the town and foreign nobles shall rush to see it, so mag- 
 nificent shall it be." 
 
 "My son," replied the abbot, "have you lost your senses? 
 If you are resolved to have this wench for a legal wife, 
 your goods and your person belong to the Chapter of the 
 abbey." 
 
 "Yes, monseigneur, I am passionately in love with this 
 girl, and more touched with her misery and her Christian 
 heart than even with her perfections ; but I am," said he, 
 with tears in his eyes, "still more astonished at your harsh-^ 
 ness, and I say it although I know that my fate is in your 
 hands. Yes, monseigneur, I know the law; and if my 
 goods fall to your domain, if I become a bondsman, if I 
 lose my house and my citizenship, I will still keep that 
 engine, gained by my labours and my studies, and which 
 lies there," cried he, striking his forehead, "in a place of 
 which no one, save God, can be lord but myself. And 
 your whole abbey could not pay for the special creations 
 which proceed therefrom. You may have my body, my 
 wife, my children, but nothing shall get you my engine ; 
 nay, not even torture, seeing that I am stronger than iron 
 is hard, and more patient than sorrow is great." 
 
 So saying, the silversmith, enraged by the calmness of 
 the abbot, who seemed resolved to acquire for the abbey 
 the good man's doubloons, brought down his fist upon an 
 oaken chair, and shivered it into fragments, for it split as 
 under the blow of a mace. 
 
 "Behold, monseigneur, what kind of servant you will 
 have, and of an artificer of things divine you will make a 
 mere cart-horse." 
 
 "My son," replied the abbot, "you have wrongfully 
 
126 PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 
 
 broken my chair, and lightly judged my mind. This 
 wench belongs to the abbey, and not to me. I am the 
 faithful servant of the rights and customs of this glorious 
 monastery ; although I might grant this woman licence to 
 bear free children, I am responsible for this to God and to 
 the abbey. Now, since there was here an altar, bonds- 
 men and monks, id est, from time imrnemorial, there has 
 never occurred the case of a citizen becoming the property 
 of the abbey by marriage with a bondswoman. Now, 
 thetefore, is there need to exercise the right, and to make 
 use of it that it be not lost, weakened, worn out, or fallen 
 into disuse, which would occasion a thousand difficulties. 
 And this is of a higher advantage to the State and to the 
 abbey than your stones, however beautiful they be, seeing 
 that we have treasure wherewith to buy rare jewels, and 
 that no treasure can establish customs and laws. I call 
 upon the king's chamberlain to bear witness to the infinite 
 pains which his majesty takes every day to fight for the 
 establishment of his orders." 
 
 "That is to close my mouth," said the chamberlain. 
 
 The silversmith, who was not a great. scholar, remained 
 thoughtful. Then came Tiennette, clean as a new pin, her 
 hair raised up, dressed in a robe of white wool with a blue 
 sash, with tiny shoes and white stockings; in fact, so 
 royally beautiful, so noble in hier bearing was she, that the 
 silversmith was petrified with ecstasy, and the chamber- 
 lain confessed he had never spen so perfect a creature. 
 Thinking there was too much danger in this sight for the 
 poor jeweller, he led him into the town and begged him 
 to think no further of the affair, since the abbey was not 
 likely to liberate so good a bait for the citizens and nobles 
 
PERSEVER-^NCE IN LOVE 127 
 
 of the Parisian stream. In fact, the Chapter let the poor 
 lover know that if he married this girl he must resolve 
 to yield up his goods and his house to the abbey, consider 
 himself a bondsman, both he and the children of the afore- 
 said marriage; although, by a special grace, the abbot 
 would let him his house on the condition of his giving an 
 inventory of his furniture and paying a yearly rent, and 
 coming during eight days to live in a shed adjoining the 
 domain, thus performing an act of service. The silver- 
 smith, to whom every one spoke of the cupidity of the 
 monks, saw clearly that the abbot would incommutably 
 maintain this order, and his soul was filled with despair. 
 At one time he determined to burn down the monastery ; 
 at another, he proposed to lure the abbot into a place 
 where he could torment him until he had signed a charter 
 for Tiennette's liberation; in fact, a thousand ideas pos- 
 sessed his brain, and as quickly evaporated. But after 
 much lamentation he determined to carry off the girl, and 
 fly with hef into a sure place, from which nothing could 
 draw him, and made his preparations accordingly; for, 
 once out of the kingdom, his friends or the king could 
 better tackle the monks and bring them to reason. The 
 good man counted, however, without his abbot, for going 
 to the meadows, he found Tiennette no more there, and 
 learned that she was confined in the abbey, and with such 
 rigour, that to get at her it would be necessary to lay siege 
 to the monastery. Then Master Anseau passed his time 
 in tears, complaints, and lamentations ; and all the city, 
 the townspeople, and the housewives, talked of his adven- 
 ture, the noise of which was so great, that the king sent 
 for the old abbot to court, and demanded of him why he 
 
128 PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 
 
 did not yield under the circumstances to the great love of 
 his silversmith, and why he did not put into practice 
 Christian charity. 
 
 "Because, monseigneur," replied the priest, "all rights 
 are knit together like the pieces of a coat of mail, and if 
 one makes default, all fail. If this girl were taken from 
 us against our wish, and if the custom were not observed, 
 your subjects would soon take off your crown, and raise 
 up in various places violence and sedition, in order to abol- 
 ish the taxes and imposts that weigh upon the populace." 
 
 The king's mouth was closed. Every one was eager to 
 know the end of this adventure. So great was the curi- 
 osity that certain lords wagered that the Tourainian would 
 desist from his love, and the ladies wagered the contrary. 
 The silversmith having complained to the queen that the 
 monks had hidden his well-beloved from his sight, she 
 found the deed detestable and horrible ; and in consequence 
 o^ her commands to the lord abbot it was permitted to the 
 Tourainian to go every day into the parlour of the abbey, 
 where came Tiennette, but under the control of an old 
 monk, and she always came attired in great splendour like 
 a lady. The two lovers had no other licence than to see 
 each other, and to speak to each other, without being able 
 to snatch the smallest atom of pleasure, and always grew 
 their love more powerful. 
 
 One day Tiennette discoursed thus with her lover — 
 "My dear lord, I have determined to make you a gift of 
 my life, in order to relieve your suffering, and in this wise : 
 in informing myself concerning everything I have found a 
 means to set aside the rights of the abbey, and to give you 
 all the joy you hope for from my fruition. 
 
PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE I29 
 
 "The ecclesiastical judge has ruled that as you become 
 a bondsman only by accession, and because you were not 
 born a bondsman, your servitude will cease with the cause 
 that made you a serf. Now, if you love me more than all 
 else, lose your goods to purchase our happiness, and es- 
 pouse me. Then when you have had your will of me, 
 when you have hugged me and embraced me to your 
 heart's content, before I have offspring will I voluntarily 
 kill myself, and thus you will become free again ; at least, 
 you will have the king on your side, who, it is said, wishes 
 you well. And, without doubt, God will pardon me that I 
 cause my own death, in order to deliver my lord spouse." 
 
 "My dear Tiennette," cried the jeweller, "it is finished — 
 I will be a bondsman, and thou wilt live to make my hap- 
 piness as long as my days. In thy company, the hardest 
 chains will weigh but lightly, and little shall I reck the 
 want of gold, when all my riches are in thy heart, and my 
 only pleasure in thy sweet body. I place myself in the 
 hands of St. Eloi, who will deign in this misery to look 
 uijon us with pitying eyes, and guard us from all evils. 
 Now I shall go hence to a scrivener to have the deeds 
 and contracts drawn up. At least, dear flower of my days, 
 thou shalt be gorgeously attired, well housed, and served 
 like a queen during thy lifetime, since the lord abbot leaves 
 me the earnings of my profession." 
 
 Tiennette, crying and laughing, tried to put off her good 
 fortune, and wished to die, rather than reduce to slavery 
 a free man ; but the good Anseau whispered such soft 
 words to her, and threatened so firmly to follow her to the 
 tomb, that she agreed to the said marriage, thinking that 
 
130 PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 
 
 she could always free herself after having tasted the pleas- 
 ures of love. 
 
 When the submission of the Tourainian became known 
 in the town, and that for his sweetheart he yielded up his 
 wealth and his liberty, every one wished to see him. The 
 ladies of the court encumbered themselves with jewels, in 
 order to speak with him, and there fell upon him as from 
 the clouds, women enough to make up for the time he had 
 been without them ; but if any of them approached Tien- 
 nette in beauty, none had her heart. To be brief, when the 
 hour of slavery and love was at hand, Anseau moulded all 
 his gold into a royal crown, in which he fixed all his pearls 
 and diamonds, and went secretly to the queen, and gave 
 it her, saying, "Madame, I know not how to dispose of my 
 fortune, which you here behold. To-morrow everything 
 that is found in my house will be the property of the 
 cursed monks, who have had no pity on me. Then deign, 
 madame, to accept this. It is a slight return for the joy 
 which, through you, I have experienced in seeing her I 
 love ; for no sum of money is worth one of her glances. I 
 do not know what will become of me, but if one day my 
 children are delivered, I rely upon your queenly gener- 
 osity." 
 
 "Well said, good man," cried the king. "The abbey 
 will one day need my aid, and I will not lose the remem- 
 brance of this." 
 
 There was a vast crowd at the abbey for the nuptials of 
 Tiennette, to whom the queen presented the bridal dress, 
 and to whom the king granted a license to wear every day 
 golden rings in her ears. When the charming pair came 
 from the abbey to the house of Anseau (now serf) over 
 
PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE I3I 
 
 against St. Leu, there were torches at the window to see 
 them pass, and a double line in the streets, as though it 
 were a royal entry. The poor husband had made himself 
 a collar of gold, which he wore on his left arm in token of 
 his belonging to the abbey of St. Germain. But in spite of 
 his servitude the people cried out, "Noel ! Noel !" as to a 
 new crowned king. And the good man bowed to them 
 gracefully, happy as a lover, and joyful at the homage 
 which every one rendered to the grace and modesty of 
 Tiennette. Then the good Tourainian found green boughs 
 and violets in crowns in his honour ; and the principal in- 
 habitants of the quarter were all there, who, as a great 
 honour, played music to him, and cried to him, "You will 
 always be a noble man in spite of the abbey." You may 
 be sure that the happy pair indulged in amorous conflict 
 to their hearts' content ; that the good man's blows were 
 vigorous; and that his sweetheart, like a good country 
 maiden, was of a nature, to return them. Thus they lived 
 together a whole month, happy as the doves, who in 
 spring-time build their nest twig by twig. Tiennette was 
 delighted with the beautiful house and the customers, who 
 came and went away astonished at her. This month of 
 flowers passed, there came one day, with great pomp, the 
 good old Abbot Hugon, their lord and master, who en- 
 tered the house, which then belonged not to the jeweller, 
 but to the Chapter, and said to the two spouses: — "My 
 children, you are released, free and quit of everything ; and 
 I should tell you that from the first I was much struck 
 with the love which united you one to the other. The 
 rights of the abbey once recognised, I was, so far as I was 
 concerned, determined to restore you to perfect enjoyment. 
 
132 PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE 
 
 after having proved your loyalty by the test of God. And 
 this manumission will cost you nothing." Having thus 
 said, he gave them each a little tap with his hand on the 
 cheek. And they fell about his knees weeping tears of 
 joy for such good reasons. The Tourainian informed the 
 people of the neighbourhood, who picked up in the streets 
 the largesse, and received the benedictions of the goqd 
 Abbot Hugon. 
 
 Then with great honour, Master Anseau held the reins 
 of his mule, as far as the gate of Bussy. During the jour- 
 ney the jeweller, who had taken a bag of silver, threw the 
 pieces to the poor and suffering, crying, "Largesse, lar- 
 gesse to God! God save and guard the abbot! Long 
 live the good Lord Hugon !" And returning to his house 
 he regaled his friends, and had fresh wedding festivities, 
 which lasted a fortnight. You can imagine that the abbot 
 was reproached by the Chapter, for his clemency in open- 
 ing the door for such good prey to escape, so that when a 
 year after the good man Hugon fell ill, his prior told him 
 that it was a punishment from Heaven, because he had 
 neglected the sacred interests of the Chapter and of God. 
 "If I have judged that man aright," said the abbot, "he 
 will not forget what he owes us." 
 
 In fact, this day happening by chance to be the anniver- 
 sary of the marriage, a monk came to announce that the 
 silversmith supplicated his benefactor to receive him. 
 Soon he entered the room where the abbot was, and spread 
 out before him two marvellous shrines, which since that 
 time no workman has surpassed, in any portion of the 
 Christian world, and which were named the "Vow of a 
 Steadfast Love." These two treasures are, as every one 
 
PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE ' 1 33 
 
 knows, placed on the principal altar of the church, and are 
 esteemed as an inestimable work, for the silversmith had 
 spent thereon all his wealth. Nevertheless, this work, far 
 from emptying his purse, filled it full to overflowing, be- 
 cause so rapidly increased his fame and his fortune that 
 he was able to buy a patent of nobility and lands, and he 
 founded the house of Anseau, which has since been held 
 in great honour in fair Touraine. 
 
 This teaches us to have always recourse to God and 
 the saints in all the undertakings of life, to be steadfast in 
 all good things, and, above all, that a great love triumphs 
 over everything, which is an old sentence ; but the author 
 has rewritten it, because it is a most pleasant one. 
 
CONCERNING A PROVOST WHO DID 
 NOT RECOGNISE THINGS. 
 
 IN the good town of Bourges, at the time when that 
 lord the king disported himself there, who after- 
 wards abandoned his search after pleasure to conquer 
 the kingdom, and did indeed conquer it, there lived a 
 provost, entrusted by him with the maintenance, of order, 
 and called the provost-royal. From which came, under 
 the glorious son of the said king, the office of provost 
 of the hoitel, in which behaved rather harshly my lord 
 Tristan of Mere, of whom these tales oft make mention, 
 although he was by no means a merry fellow. I give this 
 information to the friends who pilfer from old manu- 
 scripts to manufacture new ones, and I show thereby how 
 learned these Tales really are, without appearing to be so. 
 Very well, then, this provost was named Picot, or Picault, 
 of which some made picottin, picoter, and picoree; by 
 some Pitot or Pitaut, from which came pitance; by others, 
 in Languedoc, Pichot, from which nothing comes worth 
 knowing ; by these Petiot or Petiet ; by those Petitot and 
 Petinault, or Petiniaud, which was the masonic appella- 
 tion ; but at Bourges he was called Petit, a name which 
 was eventually adopted by the family, which has multi- 
 plied exceedingly, for everywhere you find "des Petits," 
 and so he will be called Petit in this narrative. I have 
 
 134 
 
CONCERNING A PROVOST 135 
 
 given this etymolog)' in order to throw a light on our 
 language, and show how our citizens have finished by ac- 
 quiring names. But enough of science. This said pro- 
 vost, who had as many names as there were provinces into 
 which the court went, was in reality a little bit of a man, 
 whose mother had given him so strange a hide that when 
 he wanted to laugh he used to stretch his cheeks like a 
 cow making water, and this smile at court was called the 
 provost's smile. One day the king, hearing this pro- 
 verbial expression used by certain lords, said, jokingly, 
 "You are in error, gentlemen. Petit does not laugh, he's 
 short of skin below the mouth." But with his false laugh. 
 Petit was all the more suited to his occupation of watch- 
 ing and catching evil-doers. In fact, he was worth what 
 he cost. For all malice, he was a bit of a cuckold, for all 
 vice, he went to vespers, for all wisdom he obeyed God, 
 when it was convenient ; for all joy he had a wife in his 
 house ; and for all change in his joy he looked for a man 
 to hang, and when he was asked to find one he never 
 failed to meet him; but when he was between the 
 sheets he never troubled himself about thieves. Can 
 you find in all Christendom a more virtuous provost? 
 No ! All provosts hang too little, or too much, while this 
 one just hanged as much as was necessary to be a provost. 
 This good fellow had for his wife in legitimate marriage, 
 and much to the astonishment of every one, the prettiest 
 little woman in Bourges. So it was that often, while on 
 his road to the execution, he would ask God the same 
 question as several others in the town did — namely, why 
 he. Petit, he the sheriff, he the provost royal, had to him- 
 self. Petit, provost royal and sheriff, a wife so exquisitely 
 
136 CONCERNING A PROVOST WHO 
 
 shaped, so dowered with charms, that a donkey seeing her 
 pass by would bray with delight. To this God vouch* 
 safed no reply, and doubtless had His reasons. But the 
 slanderous tongues of the town replied for Him, that the 
 young lady was by no means a maiden when she became 
 the wife of Petit. Others said she did not keep her affec- 
 tions solely for him. The wags answered, that donkeys 
 often got into fine stables. Every one had taunts ready 
 which would have made a nice little collection had any one 
 gathered them together. From them, however, it is neces- 
 sary to take nearly four-fourths, seeing that Petit's wife 
 was a virtuous woman, who had a lover for pleasure and a 
 husband for duty. How many were there in the town as 
 careful of their hearts and mouths ? If you can point out 
 one to me, I'll give you a kick or a halfpenny, whichever 
 you like. You will find some who have neither husband nor 
 lover. Certain females have a lover and no husband. 
 Ugly women have a husband and no lover. But to meet 
 with a woman who, having one husband and one lover, 
 keeps to the deuce without trying for the trey, there is 
 the miracle, you see, you greenheads, blockheads, and 
 dolts ! Now then, put the true character of this virtuous 
 woman on the tablets of your memory, go your ways, and 
 let me go mine. The good Madame Petit was not one of 
 those ladies who are always on the move, running hither 
 and thither, can't keep still a moment, but trot about, wor- 
 rying, hurrying, chattering, and clattering, and have noth- 
 ing in them to keep them steady, but are so light that they 
 run after a gastric zephyr as after their quintessence. 
 No ; 6n the contrary, she was a good housewife, always 
 sitting in her chair or sleeping in her bed, ready as a 
 
DID NOT RECOGNIZE THINGS. 137 
 
 candlestick, waiting for her lover when her husband went 
 out, receiving the husband when the lover had gone. This 
 dear woman never thought of dressing herself only to 
 annoy and make other wives jealous. Pish ! she had found 
 a better use for the merry time of youth, and put life into 
 her joints in order to make the best use of it. Now you 
 know the provost and his good wife. The provost's lieu- 
 tenant in duties matrimonial, duties which are so heavy 
 that it takes two men to execute them, was a noble lord, 
 a landowner, who disliked the king exceedingly. You 
 must bear this in mind, because it is one of the principal 
 points of the storv. The constable, who was a rough 
 Scotch gentleftian, had seen by chance Petit's wife, and 
 wished to have a little conversation with her comfortably, 
 towards the morning, just the time to tell his beads, which 
 was Christianly honest, or honestly Christian, in order to 
 argue with her concerning the things of science or the 
 science of things. Thinking herself quite learned enough, 
 Madame Petit, who was, as has been stated, a virtuous, 
 wise, and honest wife, refused to listen to the said con- 
 stable. After certain arguments, reasonings, tricks, and 
 messages, which were of no avail, he swore by his great 
 black coquedouille that he would rip up the gallant al- 
 though he was a man of mark. But he swore nothing 
 about the lady. This denotes a good Frenchman, for in 
 such a dilemma there are certain offended persons who 
 would upset the whole business of three persons by killing 
 four. The constable wagered his big, black coquedouille 
 before the king and the lady of Sorel, who were playing 
 cards before supper; and his majesty was well pleased, 
 
138 CONCERNING A PROVOST WHO 
 
 because he would be relieved of this noble, who displeased 
 him, and that without costing him a Thank you. 
 
 "And how will you manage the affair ?" said Madame 
 de Sorel to him, with a smile. 
 
 "Oh, oh!" replied the constable. "You may be sure, 
 madame, I do not wish to lose my big black coquedouille." 
 
 "What was, then, this great coquedouille ?" 
 
 "Ha, ha ! This point is shrouded in darkness to a de- 
 gree that would make you ruin your eyes in ancient books , 
 but it was certainly something of great importance. Nev- 
 ertheless, let us put on our spectacles, and search it out. 
 Douille signifies, in Brittany, a girl, and coqi^e means a 
 cook's frying pan. From this word has come into France 
 that of coquin — a knave who eats, licks, laps, sucks, and 
 fritters his money away, and gets into stews ; is always in 
 hot water, and eats up everything, leads an idle life, and 
 doing this, becomes wicked, becomes poor, and that incites 
 him to steal or to beg. From this it may be concluded by 
 the learned that the great coquedouille was a household 
 utensil in the shape of a kettle, used for cooking things." 
 
 "Well," continued the constable, who was the Sieur de 
 Richmond, "I will have the husband ordered to go into 
 the country for a day and a night, to arrest certain peas- 
 ants suspected of plotting treacherously with the English. 
 Thereupon my two pigeons, believing their man absent, 
 will be as nierry as soldiers oflf duty; and, if a certain 
 thing takes place, I will let loose the provost, sending him. 
 
DID NOT RECOGNIZE THINGS. I39 
 
 in the king's name, to search the house where the couple 
 will be, in order that he may slay our friend, who pretends 
 to have this good cordelier* all to himself." 
 
 "What does this mean ?" said the Lady of Beaute. 
 
 "Equivoque," answered the king, smiling. 
 
 "Come to supper," said Madame Agnes. "You are bad 
 men, who with one word insult both the citizens' wives and 
 a holy order." 
 
 Now, for a long time, Madame Petit had longed to have 
 a night of liberty, during which she might visit the house 
 of the said noble, where she could make as much noise as 
 she liked without jvakiiig the neighbours, because at the 
 provost's house she was afraid of being overheard, and had 
 to content herself well with the pilferings of love, little 
 tastes, and nibbles, daring at the most only to trot, while 
 what she desired was a smart gallop. On the morrow, 
 therefore, the lady's-maid went off about midday to the 
 young lord's house, and told the lover — from whom she 
 received many presents, and therefore in no way disliked 
 him — that he might make his preparations for pleasure, 
 and for supper, for that he might rely upon the provost's 
 better half being with him in the evening, both hungry and 
 thirsty. 
 
 "Good!" said he. "Tell your mistress I will not stint 
 her in anything she desires." 
 
 The pages of the cunning constable, who were watch- 
 ing the house, seeing the gallant prepare for his gallan- 
 
 * Cordelier, a Franciscan friar. The allusion is, of course, to 
 the professional "cord" of the husband. There, is not sufficient 
 agreement between the French and English languages to give 
 this passage its full force in the translation. 
 
\ 
 
 X40 CONCERNING A PROVOST WHO 
 
 tries, and set out the flagons and the meats, went and in- 
 formed their master that everything had happened as he 
 wished. Hearing this, the good constable rubbed his 
 hands, thinking how nicely the provost would catch the 
 pair. He instantly sent word to him, that by the king's 
 express commands he was to return to town, in order that 
 he might seize at the said lord's house an English noble- 
 man, with whom he was vehemently suspected to be ar- 
 ranging a plot of diabolical darkness. But before he put 
 this order into execution, he was to come to the king's 
 hotel, in order that he might understand the courtesy to 
 be exercised in this case. The provost, joyous at the 
 chance of speaking to the king, used such diligence that 
 he was in town just at the time when the two lovers were 
 singing the first note of their evening hymn. The lord of 
 cuckoldom and its surrounding lands, who is a strange 
 lord, managed things so well, that madame was only con- 
 versing with her lord lover at the time that her lord 
 spouse was talking to the constable and the king ; at which 
 he was pleased, and so was his wife — a. case of concord 
 rare in matrimony. 
 
 "I was saying to monseigneur," said the constable to 
 the provost, as he entered the king's apartment, "that 
 every man in the kingdom has a right to kill his wife and 
 her lover if he find them in an act of infidelity. But his 
 majesty, who is clement, argues that he has only a right 
 to kill the man, and not the woman. Now what would 
 you do, Mr. Provost, if by chance you found a gentleman 
 taking a stroll in that fair meadow of which laws, human 
 and divine, enjoin you alone to cultivate the verdure?" 
 
 "I would kill everything," said the provost; "I would 
 
DID NOT RECOGNIZE THINGS. I4I 
 
 scrunch the five hundred thousand devils of nature, flower 
 and seed, and send them flying, the pips and the apples, 
 the grass and the meadow, the woman and the man." 
 
 "You would be in the wrong," said the king. "That is 
 contrary to the laws of the Church and of the State ; of the 
 State, because you might deprive me of a subject ; of the 
 Church, because you would be sending an innocent to 
 limbo unshriven." 
 
 "Sire, I admire your profound wisdom, and I clearly 
 perceive you to be the centre of all justice." 
 
 "We can then only kill the knight — Amen," said the 
 constable, "kill the horseman. Now go quickly to the 
 house of the suspected l9rd, but without letting yourself 
 be bamboozled, do not forget what is due to his position." 
 
 The provost, believing he would certainly be Chan- 
 cellor of France if he properly acquitted himself of his 
 task, went from the castle into the town, took his men, 
 arrived at the nobleman's residence, arranged his people 
 outside, placed guards at all the doors, opened noiselessly 
 by order of the king, climbs the stairs, asks the servants 
 in which room their master is, puts them under arrest, 
 goes up alone, and knocks at the door of the room where 
 the two lovers are tilting in love's tournament, and says 
 to them — 
 
 "Open, in the name of our lord the king !" 
 
 The lady recognised her husband's voice, and Could not 
 repress a smile, thinking that she had not waited for the 
 king's order to do what she had done. But after laughter 
 came terror. Her lover took his cloak, threw it over him, 
 and came to the door. There, not knowing that his life 
 was in peril, he declared that he belonged to the court and 
 to the king's household. 
 
142 CONCERNING A PROVOST WHO 
 
 "Bah!" said the provost. "I have strict orders from 
 the king ; and under pain of being treated as a rebel, you 
 are bound instantly to receive me." 
 
 Then the lord went out to him, still holding the door. 
 
 "What do you want here ?" 
 
 "An enemy of our lord the king, whom we command 
 you to deliver into our hands, othei'wise you must follow 
 me with him to the castle.'' 
 
 This, thought the lover, is a piece of treachery on the 
 part of the constable, whose propositions my dear mistress 
 treated with scorn. We must get out of this scrape in 
 some way. Then turning towards the provost, he went 
 double or quits on the risk, reasoning thus with the 
 cuckold : — 
 
 "My friend, you know that I consider you to be as gal- 
 lant a man as it is possible for a provost to be in the dis- 
 charge of his duty. Now, can I have confidence in you? 
 I have here with me the fairest lady of the court. As for 
 Englishmen, I have not sufficient of one to make the 
 breakfast of the constable, M. de Richmond, who sends 
 you here. This is (to be candid with you) the result of a 
 bet made between myself and the constable, who shares it 
 with the King. Both have wagered that they know who 
 is the lady of my heart ; and I have wagered to the con- 
 trary. No one more than myself hates the English, who 
 took my estates in Picardy. Is it not a knavish trick to 
 put justice in motion against me ? Ho ! ho ! my lord con- 
 stable, a chamberlain is worth two of you, and I will beat 
 you yet. My dear Petit, I give you permission to search 
 by night and by day, every nook and cranny of my house. 
 
DID NOT RECOGNIZE THINGS. I43 
 
 But come in here alone, search my room, turn the bed 
 over, do what you like. Only allow me to cover with a 
 cloth or a handkerchief this fair lady, who is at present 
 in the costume of an archangel, in order that you may not 
 know to what husband she belongs." 
 
 "Willingly," said the provost. "But I am an old bird, 
 not easily caught with chaff, and would like to be sure that 
 it is really a lady of the court, and not an Englishman, for 
 these English have flesh as white and soft as women, and 
 I know it well, because I've hanged so many of them." 
 
 "Well, then," said the lord, "seeing of what crime I am 
 suspected, from which I am bound to free myself, I will 
 go and ask my lady-love to consent for a moment to aban- 
 don her modesty. She is too fond of me to refuse to save 
 me from reproach. I will beg her to turn herself over 
 and show you a physiognomy, which will in no way com- 
 promise her, and will be sufficient to enable you to recog- 
 nise a noble woman, although she will be in a sense upside 
 down." 
 
 "All right," said the provost. 
 
 The lady having heard every word, had foldel up all 
 her clothes, and put them under the bolster, had taken off 
 het chemise, that her husband should not recognize it, had 
 twisted her head up in a sheet, and had brought to light 
 the carnal convexities which commenced where her spine 
 finished. 
 
 "Come in, my friend," said the lord. 
 
 The provost looked up the chimney, opened the cup- 
 board, the clothes' chest, felt under the bed, in the sheets, 
 and everywhere. Then he began to study what was on 
 the bed. 
 
144 CONCERNING A PROVOST WHO 
 
 "My lord," said he, regarding his legitimate appur- 
 tenances, "I have seen young English lads with backs like 
 that. You must forgive me doing my duty, but I must see 
 otherwise." 
 
 "What do you call otherwise?" said the lord. 
 
 "Well, the other physiognomy, or, if you prefer it, the 
 physiognomy of the other." 
 
 "Then you will allow madame to cover herself and ar- 
 range only to show you sufficient to convince you," said 
 the lover, knowing that the lady had a mark or two easy 
 to recognise. "Turn your back a moment, so that my 
 dear lady may satisfy propriety." 
 
 The wife smiled at her lover, kissed him for his dex- 
 terity, arranged herself cunningly ; and the husband seeing 
 in full that which the jade had never let him see before, 
 was quite convinced that no English person could be thus 
 fashioned without being a charming Englishwoman. 
 
 "Yes, my lord," he whispered in the ear of his lieuten- 
 ant, "this is certainly a lady of the court, because the 
 townswomen are neither so well formed nor so charming." 
 
 Then the house being thoroughly searched, and no Eng- 
 lishman found, the provost returned, as the constable had 
 told him, to the king's residence. 
 
 "Is he slain ?" said the constable. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "He who grafted horns upon your forehead." 
 
 "I only saw a lady in his couch, who seemed to be 
 greatly enjoying herself with him." 
 
 "You, with your own eyes, saw this woman, cursed 
 cuckold, and you did not kill your rival ?" 
 
 "It was not a common woman, but a lady of the court." 
 
DID NOT RECOGNIZE THINGS. 145 
 
 •'You saw her?" 
 
 "And verified her in both cases." 
 
 "What do you mean by those words?" cried the king, 
 who was bursting with laughter. 
 
 "I say, with all the respect due to your majesty, that I 
 have verified the over and the under." 
 
 "You do not, then, know the physiognomies of your 
 own wife, you old fool without memory 1 You deserve to 
 be hanged." 
 
 "I hold those features of my wife in too great respect to 
 gaze upon them. Besides, she is so modest that she would 
 die rather than expose an atom of her body." 
 
 "True," said the king ; "it was not made to be shown." 
 
 "Old coquedouille ! that was your wife," said the con- 
 stable. 
 
 "My lord constable, she is asleep, poor girl 1" 
 
 "Quick, quick, then ! To horse 1 Let us be ofif, and if 
 she be in your house I'll forgive you." 
 
 Then the constable, followed by the provost, went to 
 the latter's house, in less time than it would have taken a 
 beggar to empty the poor-box. "Hullo ! there, hi 1" Hear- 
 ing the noise made by the men, which threatened to bring 
 the walls about their ears, the maid-servant opened the 
 door, yawning and stretching her arms. The constable 
 and the provost rushed into the room, where, with great 
 difficulty, they succeeded in wdiking the lady, who pre- 
 tended to be terrified, and was so soundly asleep that her 
 eyes were full of gum. At this the provost was in great 
 glee, saying to the constable that some one had certainly 
 deceived him, that his wife was a virtuous woman, and 
 was more astonished than any of them at these proceed- 
 
146 CONCERNING A PROVOST WHO 
 
 ings. The constable turned on his heel and departed. 
 The good provost began directly to undress to get to bed 
 early, since this adventure had brought his good wife to 
 his memory. When he was unharnessing himself, and was 
 knocking off his nether garments, madame, still aston- 
 ished, said to him^ — 
 
 "Oh, my dear husband, what is the meaning of all this 
 uproar — this constable and his pages, and why did he 
 come to see if I was asleep ? Is it to be henceforward part 
 of a constable's duty to look after our . . ." 
 
 "I do not know," said the provost, interrupting her, to 
 tell her what had happened to him. 
 
 "And you saw without my permission a lady of the 
 court! Ha! ha! heu! heul hein!" Then she began to 
 moan, to weep, and to cry in such a deplorable manner 
 and so loudly, that her lord was quite aghast. 
 
 "What's the matter, my darling? What is it? What 
 do you want?" 
 
 "Ah, you won't love me any more after seeing how 
 beautiful court ladies are !" 
 
 "Nonsense, my child ! They are great ladies. I don't 
 mind telling you in confidence; they are great ladies in 
 every respect." 
 
 "Well," said she, "am I nicer?" 
 "Ah," said he, "in a great measure. Yes !" 
 "They have, then, great happiness," said she, sighing, 
 "when I have so much with so little beauty." 
 
 Thereupon the provost tried a better argument to argue 
 with his good wife, and argued so well that she finished 
 by allowing herself to be convinced that Heaven has or- 
 
DID NOT RECOGNIZE THINGS. I47 
 
 dained that much pleasure may be obtained from small 
 things. 
 
 This shows us that nothing here below can prevail 
 again-st the Church of cuckolds. 
 
ABOUT THE MONK AMADOR, 
 WHO WAS A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. 
 
 ONE day that it was drizzling with rain — a time when 
 the ladies remain gleefully at home, because they 
 love the damp, and can have at their apron-strings the 
 men who are not disagreeable to them — ^the queen was in 
 her chamber, at the castle of Amboise, against the window 
 curtains. There, seated in her chair, she was working at 
 a piece of tapestry to amuse herself, but was using her 
 needle heedlessly, watching the rain fall into the Loire, 
 and was lost in thought, where her ladies were following 
 her example. The king was arguing with those of his 
 Court who had accompanied him from the chapel — for it 
 was a question of returning to dominical vespers. Hi^ 
 arguments, statements, and reasonings finished, he looked 
 at the queen, saw that she was melancholy, saw that the 
 ladies were melancholy also> and noted the fact that they 
 were all acquainted with the mysteries of matrimony. 
 
 "Did I not see the Abbot of Turpenay here just now ?" 
 said he. 
 
 Hearing these words, there advanced towards the king 
 the monk, who, by his constant petitions, rendered himself 
 so obnoxious to Louis the Eleventh, that that monarch 
 seriously commanded his provost-royal to remove him 
 from his sight ; and it has been related in the first volume 
 
 148 
 
A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. I49 
 
 of these Tales, how the monk was saved through the mis- 
 take of Sieur Tristran. The monk was at this time a man 
 whose qualities had grown rapidly, so much so that his 
 wit had communicated a jovial hue to his face. He was a 
 great favourite with the ladies, who crammed him with 
 wine, confectioneries, and dainty dishes at the dinnersi 
 suppers, and merry-makings, to which they invited him, 
 because every host likes those cheerful guests of God with 
 nimble jaws, who say as many words as they put away 
 tit-bits. This abbot was a pernicious fellow, who would 
 relate to the ladies many a merry tale, at which they were 
 only offended when they had heard them ; since, to judge 
 them, things must be heard. 
 
 "My reverend father," said the king, "behold the twi- 
 light hour, in which ears feminine may be regaled with 
 certain pleasant stories, for the ladies can laugh without 
 blushing, or blush without laughing, as it suits them 
 best. Give us a good story — a regular monk's story. I 
 shall listen to it, i' faith, with pleasure, because I want to 
 be amused, and so do the ladies." 
 
 "We only submit to this, in order to please your lord- 
 ship," said the queen ; "because our good friend the abbot 
 goes a little too far." 
 
 "Then," replied the king, turning towards the monk, 
 "read us some Christian admonition, holy father, to amuse 
 madame." 
 
 "Sire, my sight is weak, and the day is closing." 
 
 "Give us a story, then, that stops at the girdle." 
 
 "Ah, sire !" said the monk, smiling, "the one I am think- 
 ing of stops there ; but it commences at the feet." 
 
 The lords present made such gallant remonstrances and 
 
ISO ABOUT THE MONK AMADOR, WHO WAS 
 
 supplications to the queen and her ladies, that, like the 
 good Bretonne that she WM, she gave the monk a gentle 
 smile, and said — 
 
 "As you will, my father ; but you must answer to God 
 for our sins." 
 
 "Willingly, madame; if it be your pleasure to take mine, 
 you will be a gainer." 
 
 Every one laughed, and so did the queen. The king 
 went and sat by his dear wife, well beloved by him, as 
 every one knows. The courtiers received permission to be 
 seated — the old courtiers, of course, understood ; for the 
 young ones stood, by the ladies' permission, beside their 
 chairs, to laugh at the same time as they did. Then the 
 Abbot of Turpenay gracefully delivered himself of the 
 following tale, the risky passages of which he gave in a 
 low, soft, and flute-like voice: — 
 
 About a hundred years ago at the least, there occurred 
 great quarrels in Christendom because there were two 
 popes at Rome, each one pretending to be legitimately 
 elected, which caused great annoyance to the monasteries, 
 abbeys, and bishoprics, since, in order to be recbgnised by 
 as many as possible, each of thes two popes granted titles 
 and rights to his adherents, the which made double own- 
 ers everywhere. Under these circumstances, the monas- 
 teries and abbeys that were at war with their neighbours 
 would not recognize both the popes, and found themselves 
 much embarrassed by the others, who always gave the 
 verdict to the enemies of the Chapter. This wicked schism 
 brought abovit considerable mischief, and proved abund- 
 antly that no error is worse in Christianity than the adul- 
 tery of the Church. Now at this time, when the devil was 
 
A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. I51 
 
 making havoc among our possessions, the most illustrious 
 abbey of Turpenay, of which I am at present the unworthy 
 ruler, had a heavy trial on concerning the settlement of 
 certain rights with the redoubtable Sire de Cande, an idol- 
 atrous infidel, a relapsed heretic, and most wicked lord. 
 This devil, sent upon earth in the shape of a nobleman, 
 was, to tell the truth, a good soldier, well received at Court, 
 and a friend of the Sieur Burealu de la Riviere, who was a 
 person to whom the king was exceedingly partial — King 
 Charles the Fifth, of glorious memory. Beneath the shel- 
 ter of the favour of this Sieur de la Riviere, the Lord of 
 Cande did exactly as he pleased in the valley of the Indre, 
 where he used to be master of everything, from Mont- 
 bazon to Usse. You may be sure that his neighbours were 
 terribly afraid of him, and to save their skulls let him have 
 his way. Thefy would, however, have preferred him under 
 the ground to above it, and heartily wished him bad luck ; 
 but he troubled himself little about that. In the whole val- 
 ley the noble abbey alone showed fight to this demon, for 
 it has always been a doctrine of the Church to take into 
 her lap the weak and suffering, and use every effort to pro- 
 tect the oppressed, especially those whose rights and privi- 
 leges are menaced. For this reason this rough warrior 
 hated monks exceedingly, especially those of Turpenay, 
 who would not allow themselves to be robbed of their 
 rights either by force or stratagem. He was well pleased 
 at the ecclesiastical schism, and waited the decision of our 
 abbey, concerning which pope they should choose, to pil- 
 lage them, being quite ready to recognise the one to whom 
 the Abbot of Turpenay should refuse his obedience. Since 
 his return to his castle, it was his custom to torment and 
 
152 ABOUT THE MONK AMADOR, WHO WAS 
 
 annoy the priests whom he encountered upon his domains 
 in such a manner, that a poor monk, surprised by him on 
 his private road, which was by the water-side, perceived 
 no other method of safety than to throw himself into the 
 river,- where, by a special miracle of the Almighty, whom 
 the good man fervently invoked, his gown floated him on 
 the Indre, and he made his way comfortably to the other 
 side, which he attained in full view of the Lord of Cande, 
 who was not ashamed to enjoy the terrors of a servant of 
 God. Now you see of what stuff this horrid man was 
 made. The abbot, to whom, at that time, the care of our 
 glorious abbey was committed, led a most holy life, and 
 prayed to God with devotion ; but he would have saved 
 his own soul ten times, of such good quality was his re- 
 ligion, before finding a chance to save the abbey itself from 
 the clutches of this wretch. Although he was very per- 
 plexed, and saw the evil hour at hand, he relied upon God 
 for succour, saying that he would never allow the property 
 of his Church to be touched, and that He who had raised 
 up the Princess Judith for the Hebrews, and Queen Lu- 
 cretia for the Romans, would keep his most illustrious 
 abbey of Turpenay, and indulged in other equally sapient 
 remarks. But his monks, who — ^to our shame I confess it 
 — were unbelievers, reproached him with his happy-go- 
 lucky way of looking at things, and declared that, to bring 
 the chariot of Providence to the rescue in time, all the oxen 
 in the province would have to be yoked to it; that the 
 trumpets of Jericho were no longer made in any portion 
 of the world ; that God was disgusted with His creation, 
 and would have nothing more to do with it ; in short, a 
 thousand and one things that were doubts and contumelies 
 
A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. 153 
 
 against God. At this desperate juncture there rose up a 
 monk named Amador. This name had been given him by 
 way of a joke, since his person offered a perfect portrait 
 of the false god ^gipan. He was like him, strong in the 
 stomach ; like him, had crooked legs ; arms hairy as those 
 of a saddler, a back made to carry a wallet, a face as red 
 as the phiz of a drunkard, glistening eyes, a tangled beard, 
 was hairy faced, and so puffed out with fat and meat that 
 you would have fancied him in an interesting condition. 
 You may be sure that he sung his matins on the steps of 
 the wine-cellar, and said his vespers in the vineyards of the 
 Lord. He was as fond of his bed as a beggar with sores, 
 and would go about the valley fuddling, faddling, blessing 
 the bridals, plucking the grapes, and giving them to the 
 girls to taste, in spite of the prohibition of the abbot. In 
 fact, he was a pilferer, a loiterer, and a bad soldier of the 
 ecclesiastical militia, of whom nobody in the abbey took 
 any notice, but let him do as he liked from motives of 
 Christian charity, thinking him mad. Amador, knowing 
 that it was a question of the ruin of the abbey, in which 
 he was as snug as a bug in a rug, put up his bristles, took 
 notice of this and of that, went into each of the cells, lis- 
 tened in the refectory, shivered in his shoes, and declared 
 that he would attempt to save the abbey. He took cog- 
 nisance of the contested points, received from the abbot 
 permission to postpone the case, and was promised by the 
 whole Chapter the vacant office of sub-prior if he succeed- 
 ed in putting an end to the litigation. Then he set off 
 across the country, heedless of the cruelty and ill-treatment 
 of the Sieur de Cande, saying that he had that within his 
 gown which would subdue him. He went his way with 
 
154 ABOUT THE MONK AMADOR, WHO WAS 
 
 nothing but this said gown for his viaticum ; but then in 
 it was enough fat to feed a dwarf. He selected to go to 
 the chateau, a day when it rained hard enough to fill the 
 tubs of all the housewives, and arrived without meeting a 
 soul, in sight of Cande, and looking like a drowned dog, 
 stepped bravely into the courtyard, and took shelter under 
 a stye-roof to wait until the fury of the elements had 
 calmed down, and placed himself boldly in front of the 
 room where the owner of the chateau should be. A ser- 
 vant perceiving him while laying the supper, took pity on 
 him, and told him to make himself scarce, otherwise his 
 master would give him a horsewhipping, just to open the 
 conversation, and asked him what made him so bold as to 
 enter a house where monks were hated more than a red 
 leper. 
 
 "Ah!" said Amador, "I am on my way to Tours, sent 
 thither by my lord abbot. If the Lord of Cande yvere not 
 so bitter against the poor servants of God, I should not be 
 kept during such a deluge in the courtyard, but in the 
 house. I hope that he will find mercy in his hour of 
 need." 
 
 The servant reported these words to his master, who at 
 first wished to have the monk thrown into the big trough 
 of the castle among the other filth. But the lady of Cande, 
 who had great authority over her spouse, and was respect- 
 ed by him, because through her he expected a lar.ge inheri- 
 tance, and because she was a little tyrannical, reprimanded 
 him, saying, that it was possible this monk was a Chris- 
 tian ; that in such weather thieves would succour an officer 
 of justice ; that, besides, it was necessary to treat him well 
 to find out to what decision the brethren of Turpenay had 
 
A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. 155 
 
 come with regard to the schism business, and that her 
 advice was to put an end by kindness and not by force to 
 the difficulties arisen between the abbey and the domain of 
 Cande, because no lord since the coming of Christ had 
 ever been stronger than the Church, and that sooner or 
 later the abbey would ruin the castle ; finally, she gave 
 utterance to a thousand wise arguments,such as ladies use 
 in the height of the storms of life, when they have had 
 about enough of them. Amador's face was so piteous, his 
 appearance so wretched and so open to banter, that the 
 lord, saddened by the weather, conceived the idea of enjoy- 
 in a joke at his expense, tormenting him, playing tricks 
 on him, and of giving him a lively recollection of his re- 
 ception at the chateau. Then this gentleman, who had 
 secret relations with his wife's maid, sent this girl, who 
 was called Perrotte, to put an end to his ill-will towards 
 the luckless Amador. As soon as the plot had been ar- 
 ranged between them, the wench, who hated monks, in 
 order to please her master, went to the monk, who was 
 standing under the pigstye, and assuming a courteous 
 demeanor in order the better to please him, said — 
 
 "Holy father, the master of this house is ashamed to 
 see a servant of God out in the rain when there is room for 
 him in doors, a good fire in the chimney, and a table 
 spread. I invite you in his name and that of the lady of 
 the house to step in." 
 
 "I thank the lady and the lord, not for their hospitality, 
 which is a Christian thing, hut for having sent an ambas- 
 sador to me, a poor sinner, an angel of such delicate beauty 
 that I fancy I see the Virgin over our altar." 
 
 Saying which, Amador raised his nose in the air, and 
 
IS6 ABOUT THE MONK AMADOR, WHO WAS 
 
 saluted with the two flakes of fire that sparkled in his 
 bright eyes the pretty maidservant, who thought him 
 neither so ugly nor so foul, nor so bestial : when, follow- 
 ing Perrotte up the steps, Amador received on the nose, 
 cheeks, and other portions of his face a slash of the whip, 
 which made him see all the lights of the Magnificat, so well 
 was the dose administered by the Sieur de Cande, who, 
 busy chastening his greyhounds, pretended not to see the 
 monk. He requested Amador to pardon him this acci- 
 dent, and ran after the dogs who had caused the mischief 
 to his guest. The laughing servant, who knew what was 
 coming, had dexterously kept out of the way. Noticing 
 this business, Amador suspected the relations of Perrotte 
 and the chevalier, concerning whom it is possible that the 
 lasses of the valley had already whispered something into 
 his ear. Of the people who were then in the room not 
 one made room for the man of God, who remained right 
 in the draught between the door and the window, where 
 he stood freezing until the moment when the Sire de 
 Cahde, his wife, and his aged sister. Mademoiselle de 
 Cande, who had the charge of the young heiress of the 
 house, aged about sixteen years, came and sat in their 
 chairs at the head of the table, far from the common peo- 
 ple, according to the old custom usual among the lords of 
 the period, much to their discredit. The Sire de Cande, 
 paying no attention to the monk, let him sit at the extreme 
 end of the table, in a corner, where two mischievous lads 
 had orders to squeeze and elbow him. Indeed, these fel- 
 lows worried his feet, his body, and his arms like real tor- 
 turers, poured white wine into his goblet for water, in 
 order to fuddle him, and the better to amuse themselves 
 
A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. 1 57 
 
 with him ; but they made him drink seven large jugfuls 
 without making him belch, break wind, sweat, or snort, 
 which horrified them exceedingly, especially as his eye 
 remained as clear as crystal. Encouraged, however, by' a 
 glance from their lord, they still kept on throwing, while 
 bowing to him, gravy into his beard, and wiping it dry in 
 a manner to tear every hair of it out. The varlet who 
 served a caudle baptized his head with it, and took care to 
 let the burning liquor trickle down poof Amador's back- 
 bone. All this agony he endured with meekness, because 
 the Spirit of God was in him, and also the hope of finish- 
 ing the litigation by holding out in the castle. Neverthe- 
 less, the mischievous lot burst into such roars of laughter 
 at the warm baptism given by the cook's lad to the soaked 
 monk, even the butler making jokes at his expense, that 
 the lady of Cande was compelled to potice what was going 
 on at the end of the table. Then she perceived Amador, 
 who had a look of sublime resignation upon his face, and 
 was endeavouring to get something out of the big beef 
 bones that had been put upon his pewter platter. At this 
 moment the poor monk, who had administered a dexterous 
 blow of the knife to a big ugly bone, took it in his hairy 
 hands, snapped it in two, sucked the warm marrow out of 
 it, and found it good. "Truly," said she to herself, "God 
 has put great strength into this monk !" At the same time 
 she seriously forbade the pages, servants, and others to tor- 
 ment the poor man, to whom out of mockery they had just 
 given some rotten apples and maggoty nuts. He, perceiv- 
 ing that the old lady and her charge, the lady and the ser- 
 vants had seen him manoeuvring the bone, pushed back 
 his sleeve, showed the powerful muscles of his arm, placed 
 
158 ABOUT THE MONK AMADOR, WHO WAS 
 
 the nuts near his wrist on the bifurcation of the veins, and 
 crushed them one by one by pressing them with the palm 
 of his hand so vigorously that they appeared like ripe 
 medlars. He also crunched them between his teeth, white 
 as the teeth of a dog, husk, shell, fruit, and all, of which 
 he made in a second a mash which he swallowed like 
 honey. He crushed them between two fingers, which he 
 used like scissors to cut them in two without a moment's 
 hesitation. ' You may be sure that the women wfire silent, 
 that the men believed the devil to be in the monk ; and had 
 it not been for his wife and the darkness of the night, the 
 Sieur de Cande, having the fear of God before his eyes, 
 would have kicked him out of the house. Every one de- 
 clared that the monk was a man capable of throwing the 
 castle into the moat. Therefore, as soon as every one 
 had wiped his mouth, my lord took care to imprison this 
 devil, whose strength was terrible to behold, and had him 
 conducted to a wretched little closet where Perrotte had 
 arranged her machine, in order to annoy him during the 
 night. The tom-cats of the neighbourhood had been re- 
 quested to come and confess to him, invited to tell him 
 their sins in embryo towards the tabbies who attracted 
 their fiffections, and also the little pigs, for whom fine 
 lumps of tripe had been placed under the bed in order to 
 prevent Ihem becoming monks, of which they were very 
 desirous, by disgusting them with the style of libera, which 
 the monk would sing to them. At every movement of poor 
 Amador, who would find short horsehair in the sheets, he 
 would bring down cold water on to the bed, and a thou- 
 sand other tricks were arranged, such as are usually prac- 
 tised in castles. Every one went to bed in expectation of 
 
A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. 1 59 
 
 the nocturnal revels of the monk, certain that they would 
 not be disappointed, since he had been lodged under the 
 tiles at the top of a little tower, the guard of the door of 
 which was committed to dogs who howled for a bit of 
 him. In order to ascertain in what language the conver- 
 sation with the cats and pigs would be carried on, the Sire 
 came to stay with his dear Perrotte, who slept in the next 
 room. As soon as he found himself thus treated, Amador 
 drew from his bag a knife, and dexterously extricated him- 
 self. Then he began to listen in order to find out the ways 
 of the place, and heard the ;iiaster of the house laughing 
 with his maid-servant. Suspecting their manoeuvres, he 
 waited till the moment when the lady of the house should 
 be alone in bed; and made his way into her room with bare 
 feet, in order that his sandals should not be in his secrets. 
 He appeared to her by the light of the lamp in the manner 
 in which monks generally appear during the night — ^that 
 is, in a marvellous state, which the laity find it difficult 
 long to sustain ; and the thing is an effect of the frock, 
 which magnifies everything. Then having let her see that 
 he was all a monk, he made the following little speech : — 
 "Know, madame, that I am sent by Jesus and the Virgin 
 Mary to warn you^o put an end to the improper perversi- 
 ties which are taking place — to the injury of your virtue, 
 which is treacherously deprived of your husband's best 
 attention, which he lavishes upon your maid. What is the 
 use of being a lady if the seigneurial dues are received 
 elsewhere. According to this, your servant is the lady and 
 you are the servant. Are not all the joys bestowed upon 
 her due to you? You will find them all amassed in our 
 Holy Church, Which is the consolation of the afflicted. 
 
l6o ABOUT THE MONK AMADOR, WHO WAS 
 
 Behold in me the messenger, ready to pay these debts if 
 you do not renounce them." 
 
 Saying this, the good monk gently loosened his girdle 
 in which he was incommoded, so much did he appear 
 affected by the sight of those beauties which the Sieur de 
 Cande disdained. 
 
 "If you speak truly, my father, I will submit to your 
 guidance," said she, springing lightly out of the bed. "You 
 are, for sure, a messenger of God, because you have seen 
 in a single day that which I have not noticed here for a 
 long time." 
 
 Then she went, accompanied by Amador, whose holy 
 robe she did not fail to run her hand over, and was so 
 struck when she found it real, that she hoped to find her 
 husband guilty ; and indeed she heard him talking about 
 the monk in her servant's bed. Perceiving this felony, she 
 went into a furious rage, and opened her mouth to resolve 
 it into words — which is the usual method of women — and 
 wished to kick up the devil's delight before handing the 
 girl over to justice. But Amador told her that it would 
 be more sensible to avenge herself first, and cry out after- 
 wards. 
 
 "Avenge me quickly, then, my father," said she, "that I 
 may begin to cry out." 
 
 Thereupon the monk avenged her most monastically 
 with a good and ample vengeance, that she indulged in as 
 a drunkard who puts his, lips to the bunghole of a barrel ; 
 for when a lady avenges herself, she should get drunk 
 with vengeance, or not taste it at all. And the chatelaine 
 was revenged to that degree that she could not move; 
 since nothing agitates, takes away the breath, and ex- 
 
A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. l6l 
 
 hausts, like anger and vengeance. But although she was 
 avenged, and doubly and trebly avenged, yet would she 
 not forgive, in order that she might reserve the right of 
 avenging herself with the monk, now here, now there. 
 Perceiving this love for vengeance, Amador promised to 
 aid her in it as long as her ire lasted, for he informed her 
 that he knew, in his quality of a monk, constrained to 
 meditate long on the nature of things, an infinite number 
 of modes, methods, and manners of practising revenge. 
 Then he pointed out to her canonically what a Christian 
 thing it is to revenge oneself, because all through the Holy 
 Scriptures God declares himself, above all things, to be 
 a Grod of vengeance ; and, moreover, demonstrates to us, 
 by His establishment in the infernal regions, how royally 
 divine a thing vengeance is, since His vengeance is eternal. 
 From which it followed, that women and monks ought to 
 revenge themselves, under pain of not being Christians 
 and faithful servants of celestial doctrines. This dogma 
 pleased the lady much, and she confessed that she had 
 never understood the commandments of the Church, and 
 invited her well-beloved monk to enlighten her thoroughly 
 concerning them. Then the chatelaine, whose vital spirits 
 had been excited by the vengeance which had refreshed 
 them, went into the room where the jade was amusing 
 herself, and by chance found her with her hand where 
 she, the chatelaine, often had her eye— like the merchants 
 have on their most prdcious articles, in order to see that 
 they are not stolen. They were — according to President 
 Lizet, when he was in a merry mood— a couple taken in 
 flagrant delectation, and looked dumfounded, sheepish, 
 and foolish. The sight that met her eyes displeased the 
 
l62 ABOUT THE MONK AMADOR, WHO WAS 
 
 lady beyond the power of words to express, as it appeared 
 by her discourse, of, which the roughness was similar to 
 that of the water of her big pond when the sluice-gates 
 were opened. It was a sermon in three heads, accom- 
 panied with music of a high gamut, varied in the tones, 
 with many sharps among the keys. 
 
 "Out upon virtue! my lord; I've had my share of it. 
 You have shown me that religion in conjugal faith is an 
 abuse ; this is then the reason that I have no son. How 
 many children have you consigned to this common oven, 
 this poor-box, this bottomless alms-purse, this leper's por- 
 ringer, the true cemetery of the house of Cande? I will 
 know if I am childless from a constitutional defect, or 
 through your fault I will have handsome cavaliers, in 
 order that I may have an heir. You can get the bastards, 
 I the legitimate children." 
 
 "My dear," said the bewildered lord, "don't shout so." 
 
 "But," replied the lady, "I will shout, and shout to make 
 myself heard, heard by the archbishop, heard by the legate, 
 by the king, by my brothers, who will avenge this infamy 
 for me." 
 
 "Do not dishonour your husband !" 
 
 "This is a dishonour, then? You are right; but, my 
 lord, it is not brought about by you, but by this hussy, 
 whom I will have sewn up in a sack and thrown into the 
 Indre; thus your dishonour will be washed away. Hi, 
 there !" she called out. 
 
 ^'Silence, madame !" said the sire, as shamefaced as a 
 blind man's dog ; because this great warrior, so ready to 
 kill others, was like a child in the hands of his wife, a 
 state of aflfairs to which soldiers are accustomed, because 
 
A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. 163 
 
 in them lies the strength and is found all the dull carnality 
 of matter ; while, on the contrary, in woman is a subtle 
 spirit and a scintillation of perfumed flame that lights up 
 paradise and dazzles the male. This is the reason that 
 certain women govern their husbands, because mind is 
 the master of matter. 
 
 (At this the ladies began to laugh, as did also the king.) 
 "I will not be silent" said the lady of Cande (said the 
 abbot, continuing his tale) ; "I have been too grossly out- 
 raged. This, then, is the reward of the wealth I brought 
 you, and of my virtuous conduct ! Did I ever refuse to 
 obey you even during Lent, and on fast days ? Am I so 
 cold as to freeze the sun? Do you think that I embrace 
 by force, from duty, or pure kindness of heart? Am I 
 too hallowed for you to touch? Am I a holy shrine? 
 Was there heed of a papal brief to kiss me ? Qod's truth I 
 have you had so much of me that you are tired ? Am I not 
 to your taste? Do ch&rming wenches know more than 
 ladies? Ha! perhaps it is so, since she has let you work 
 in the field without sowing. Teach me the business ; I will 
 practise it with those whom I take into my service, for it 
 is settled that I am free. That is as we should be. Your 
 society was wearisome, and the little pleasure I derived 
 from it cost me too dear. Thank God ! I am quit of you 
 and your whims, because I intend to retire to a monas- 
 tery." . . She meant to say a convent, but this avenging 
 monk had perverted her tongue. 
 
 "And I shall be more comfortable in this monastery 
 with my daughter, than in this place of abominable wick- 
 edness. You can inherit from your wench. Ha ! ha ! the 
 fine lady of Cande ! Look at her !" 
 
164 ABOUT THE MONK AMADOR, WHO WAS 
 
 "What is the matter ?" said Amador, appearing sudden- 
 ly upon the scene. 
 
 "The matter is, my father," replied she, "that my wrongs 
 cry aloud for vengeance. To begin with, I shall have this 
 trollop thrown into the river, sewn up in a sack, for hav- 
 ing diverted the seed of the house of Cande from its 
 proper channel. It will be saving the hangman a job. 
 For the rest I will—" 
 
 "Abandon your anger, my daughter," said the monk. 
 "It is commanded us by the Church to forgive those who 
 trespass against us, if w^ would find favour in the sight 
 of Heaven, because you pardon those who also pardon 
 others. God avenges Himself eternally on those who 
 have avenged themselvfcs, but keeps in His paradise those 
 who have pardoned. From that comes the jubilee, which 
 is a day of great rejoicing, because all debts and offences 
 are forgiven. Thus is it a source of happiness to pardon. 
 Pardon ! pardon ! to pardon is a most holy work. Pardon 
 Monseigneur de Cande, who will bless you for your gra- 
 cious clemency, and will henceforward love you much. 
 This forgiveness will restore to you the flowers of youth ; 
 and believe, my dear sweet young lady, that forgiveness 
 is in certain cases the best means of vengeance. Pardon 
 your maid-servant, who will pray heaven for you. Thus 
 God, supplicated by all, will have you in His keeping, and 
 will bless you with male lineage for this pardon." 
 
 Thus saying, the monk took the hand of the sire, placed 
 it in that of the lady, and added — 
 
 "Go and talk over the pardon." 
 
 And then he whispered into the husband's ears this sage 
 advice — 
 
A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. l6S 
 
 "My lord, use yoltr best argument, and you will silence 
 her with it, because a woman's mouth is only full of 
 words when she is empty elsewhere. Argue continually 
 and thus you will always have the upper hand of your 
 wife." 
 
 "By the body of Jupiter! there's good in this monk 
 after all," said the seigneur, as he went out. 
 
 As soon as Amador found himself alone with Perrotte 
 he spoke to her as follows — 
 
 "You are to blame, my dear, for having wished to tor- 
 ment a poor servant of God ; therefore are you now the 
 object of celestial wrath, which will fall upon you. To 
 whatever place you fly it will always follow you, will 
 seize upon you in every limb, even after your death, and 
 will cook you like a pasty in the oven of hell, where you 
 will simmer eternally, and every day you will receive seven 
 hundred thousand million lashes of the whip, for the one 
 1 received through you." 
 
 "Ah, holy father," said the wench, casting herself at 
 the monk's feet, "you alone can save me, for in your 
 gown I should be sheltered from the anger of God." 
 
 Saying this, she raised the robe to place herself be- 
 neath it, and exclaimed — 
 
 "By my faith ! monks are better than knights." 
 
 "By the sulphur of the devil! you are not acquainted 
 with monks?" 
 
 "No," said Perrotte. 
 
 "And you don't know the service that monks sing with- 
 out saying a word?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Thereupon the monk went through this said service 
 
l66 ABOUT THE MONK AMADOR, WHO WAS 
 
 for her, as it is sung on great feast days, with all the grand 
 effects used in monasteries, the psalms well chanted in 
 fa major, the flaming tapers, and the choristers, and ex- 
 plained to her the Introit, and also the Ite missa est, and 
 departed, leaving her so sanctified that the wrath of 
 heaven would have great difficulty in discovering any 
 portion of the girl that was not thoroughly monasticated. 
 By his orders, Perrotte conducted him to Mademoiselle 
 de Cande, the lord's sister, to whom he went in order to 
 learn if it was her desire to confess to him, because monks 
 came so rarely to the castle. The lady was delighted, as 
 would any good Christian have been, at such a chance of 
 clearing out her conscience. Amador requested her to 
 show him her conscience, and she having allowed him to 
 see that which he considered the conscience of old maids, 
 he found it in a bad state, and told her that the sins of 
 women were accomplished there ; that to be for the future 
 without sin it was necessary to have the conscience 
 corked up by a monk's indulgence. The poor ignorant 
 lady having replied that she did not know where these 
 indulgences were to be had, the monk informed her that 
 he had a relic with him which "enabled him to grant one, 
 that nothing was more indulgent than this relic, because 
 without saying a word it produced infinite pleasures, 
 which is the true, eternal and primary character of an 
 indulgence. The poor lady was so pleased with this relic, 
 the virtue of which she tried in various ways, that her 
 brain became muddled, and she had so much faith in it 
 that she indulged as devoutly in indulgences as the Lady 
 of Cande had indulged in vengeances. This business of 
 confession woke up the younger Demoiselle de Cande, 
 
A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. 167 
 
 who came to watch the proceedings. You may imagine 
 that the monk had hoped for this occurrence, since his 
 mouth watered at the sight of this fair blossom, whom he 
 also confessed, because the elder lady could not hinder 
 him from bestowing upon the younger one, who wished it, 
 what remained of the indulgences. But, remember, this 
 pleasure was due to him for the trouble he had taken. 
 The morning having dawned, the pigs having eaten their 
 tripe, and the cats having become disenchanted with love, 
 and having watered all the places rubbed with herbs, 
 Amador went to rest himself in his bed, which Perrotte 
 had put straight again. Every one slept, thanks to the 
 monk, so long that no one in the castle was up before 
 noon, which was the dinner hour. The servants all be- 
 lieved the monk to be a devil who had carried off the cats, 
 the pigs, and also their masters. In spite of these ideas, 
 however, every one was in the room at meal time. 
 
 "Come, my father," said the chatelaine, giving her arm 
 to the monk, whom she put at her side in the baron's 
 chair, to the great astonishment of the attendants, be- 
 cause the Sire of Cande said not a word. "Page, give 
 some of this to Father Amador," said madame. 
 
 "Father Amador has need of so and so," said the De- 
 moiselle de Cande. 
 
 "Fill up Father Amador's goblet," said the sire. 
 
 "Father Amador has no bread," said the little lady. 
 
 "What do you require, Father Amador ?" said Perrotte. 
 
 It was Father Amador here. Father Amador there. 
 He was regaled like a little maiden on her wedding night. 
 
 "Eat, father," said madame; "you made such a bad 
 meal yesterday." 
 
l68 ABOUT THE MONK AMADOR, WHO WAS 
 
 "Drink, father," said the sire. "You are, s'blood! the 
 finest monk I ever set eyes on." 
 
 "Father Amador is a handsome monk," said Perrotte. 
 
 "An indulgent monk," said the demoiselle. 
 
 "A beneficent monk," said the little one. 
 
 "A great monk," said the lady. 
 
 "A monk who well deserves his name," said the clerk 
 of the castle. 
 
 Amador munched and chewed, tried all the dishes, 
 lapped up the hypocras, licked his chaps, sneezed, blew 
 himself out, strutted and stamped about like a bull in a 
 field. The others regarded him with great fear, believing 
 him to be a magician. Dinner over, the Lady' of Cande, 
 the demoiselle, and the little one, besought the Sire de 
 Cande with a thousand fine arguments, to terminate the 
 litigation. A great deal was said to him by madame, 
 who pointed out to him how useful a monk was in a 
 castle; by mademoiselle, who wished for the future to 
 polish up her conscience every day ; by the little one, who 
 pulled her father's beard, and asked that this monk might 
 always be at Cande. If ever thetiifference were arranged, 
 it would be by the monk : the monk was of a good under- 
 standing, gentle and virtuous as a saint ; it was a misfor- 
 tune to be at enmity with a monastery containing such 
 monks. If all the monks were like him, the abbey would 
 always have everywhere the advantage of the castle, and 
 would ruin it, because this monk was very strong. Final- 
 ly, they gave utterance to a thousand reasons, which were 
 like a deluge of words, and were so pluvially showered 
 down that the sire yielded, saying, that there would never 
 be a moment's peace in the house until matters were set- 
 
A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. 1 69 
 
 ded to the satisfaction of the women. Then he sent for 
 the clerk, who wrote down for him, and also for the 
 monk. Then Amador surprised them exceedingly by 
 showing them the charters and letters of credit, which 
 would prevfent the sire and his clerk delaying this agree- 
 ment. When the Lady of Cande saw them about -to put 
 an end to this old case, she went to the linen chest to get 
 some fine cloth to make a new gown for her dear Ama- 
 dor. Every one in the house had noticed how his old 
 gown was worn, and it would have been a great shame to 
 leave such a treasure in such a worn-out case. Every one 
 was eager to work at the gown. Madame cut it, the ser- 
 vant put the hood on, the demoiselle sewed it, and the 
 little demoiselle worked at the sleeves. And all set so 
 heartily to work to adorn the monk, that the robe was 
 ready by supper time, as was also the charter of agree- 
 ment prepared and sealed by the Sire de Cande. 
 
 "Ah, my father!" said the lady, "if you love us, you 
 will refresh yourself after your merry labour by washing 
 yourself in a bath that I have had heated by Perrotte." 
 
 Amador was then bathed in scented water. When he 
 came out he found a new robe of fine linen and lovely 
 sandals ready for him, which made him appear the most 
 glorious monk in the world. 
 
 Meanwhile, Ihe monks of Turpenay, fearing for Am- 
 ador, had ordered two of their number to spy about the 
 castle. These spies came round by the moat, just as Per- 
 rotte threw Amador's greasy old gown, with other rub- 
 bish, into it. Seeing which, they thought that it was all 
 over with the poor madman. They therefore returned, 
 and announced that it was certain Amador had suffered 
 
170 ABOUT THE MONK AMADOR^ WHO WAS 
 
 martyrdom in the service of the abbey. Hearing which, 
 the abbot ordered them to assemble in the chapel and pray 
 to God, in order to assist this devoted servant in his tor- 
 ments. The monk having supped, put his charter into his 
 girdle, and wished to return to Turpenay. Then he found 
 at the foot of the steps madame's mare, bridled and sad- 
 dled, and held ready for him by a groom. The lord had 
 ordered his njen-at-arms to accompany the good monk, so 
 that no accident might befall him. Seeing which, Amador 
 pardoned the tricks of the night before, and bestowed his 
 benediction upon every one before taking his departure 
 from this converted place. Madame followed him with 
 her eyes, and proclaimed him a splendid rider. Perrotte 
 declared that for a monk he held himself more upright in 
 the saddle than any of the men-at-arms. Mademoiselle de 
 Cande sighed. The little one wished to have him for her 
 confessor. 
 
 "He has sanctified the castle," said they, when they 
 were in the room again. 
 
 When Amador and his suite came to the gates of the 
 abbey a scene of terror ensued, since the guardian thought 
 • that the Sire de Cande had had his appetite for monks 
 whetted by the blood of poor Amador, and wished to sack 
 the abbey. But Amador shouted with his fine bass voice, 
 and was recognised and admitted into the courtyard ; and 
 when he dismounted from madame's mare there was up- 
 roar enough to m?ike the monks as wild as April moons. 
 They gave vent to shouts of joy in the refectory, and all 
 came to congratulate Amador, who waved the charter 
 over his head. The men-at-arms were regaled with the 
 best wine in the cellars, which was a present made to the 
 
A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. 171 
 
 monks of Turpenay by those of Marmoutier, to whom 
 belonged the lands at Vouvray. The good abbot having 
 had the document of the Sire de Cande read, went about 
 saying — 
 
 "On these divine occasions there always appears the 
 finger of God, to whom we should render thanks." 
 
 As the good abbot kept on at this finger of God, when 
 thanking Amador, the monk, annoyed to see the instru- 
 ment of their delivery thus diminished, said to him — 
 
 "Well, say that it was the arm, my father, and drop the 
 subject." 
 
 The termination of this trial between the Sieur de 
 Cande and the abbey of Turpenay was followed by a bless- 
 ing which rendered him devoted to the Church, becatise 
 nine months after he had a son. Two years afterwards 
 Amador was chosen as abbot by the monks, who reckoned 
 upon a merry government with a madcap. But Amador 
 became an abbot, became steady and austere, because he 
 had conquered his evil desires by his labours, and recast 
 his nature at the female forge, in which is that fire which 
 is the most perfecting, persevering, persistent, perdurable, 
 permanent, perennial, and permeating fire that there ever 
 was in the world. It is a fire to ruin everything, and it 
 ruined so well the evil that was in Amador, that it left only 
 that which it could not eat — that is, his wit, which was as 
 clear as a diamond, which is, as every one knows, a resi- 
 due of the great fire by which our globe was formerly 
 carbonized. Amador was then the instrument chosen by 
 Providence to reform our illustrious abbey, since he put 
 everything right there, watched night and day over his 
 monks, made them all rise at the hours appointed for 
 
172 A GLORIOUS ABBOT OF TURPENAY. 
 
 prayers, counted them in chapel as a shepherd counts his 
 sheep, kept them well in hand, and punished their faults 
 so severely, that he made them most virtuous brethren. 
 
 This teaches us to look upon womankind more as the 
 instruments of our salvation than of our pleasure. Be- 
 sides which, this narrative teaches us that we should never 
 attempt to struggle with the Churchmen. 
 
 The king and the queen found this tale in the best taste ; 
 the courtiers confessed that they had never heard a better ; 
 and the ladies would all willingly have been the heroines 
 of it 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 I. 
 
 HOW BERTHA REMAINED A MAIDEN IN THE 
 MARRIED STATE. 
 
 ABOUT the time of the first flight of the Dauphin, 
 which threw our good sire, Charles the Victori- 
 ous, into a state of great dejection, there happened a great 
 misfortune to a noble house of Touraine, since extinct in 
 every branch ; and it is owing to this fact that this most 
 deplorable history may now safely be brought to light. 
 To aid him in this work the author calls to his assistance 
 the holy confessors, martyrs, and other celestial domina- 
 tions, who, by the commandments of God, were the pro- 
 moters of good in this affair. 
 
 From some defect in his character, the Sire Imbert de 
 Bastarnay, one of the most landed lords in our land of 
 Touraine, had no confidence in the mind of the female of 
 man, whom he considered much too animated, on account 
 of her numerous vagaries, and it may be he was right. 
 In consequence of this idea he reached his old age without 
 a companion, which was certainly not to his advantage. 
 Alwavs leading a solitary life, this said man had no idea 
 of making himself agreeable to others, having only been 
 mixed up with wars and the orgies of bachelors, with 
 
 173 
 
174 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 whom he did not put himself out of the way. Thus he 
 remained stale in his garments, sweating in his accoutre- 
 ments, with dirty hands and an apeish face. In short, he 
 looked the ugliest man in Christendom. As far as re- 
 gards his person only though, since so far as his heart, 
 his head, and other secret places were concerned, he had 
 properties which rendered him most praiseworthy. An 
 angel (pray believe this) would have walked a long way 
 without meeting an old warrior firmer at his post, a lord 
 with a more spotless scutcheon, of shorter speech, and 
 more perfect loyalty. 
 
 Certain people have stated, they have heard that he 
 gave sound advice, and was a good and profitable man to 
 consult. Was it not a strange freak on the part of God, 
 who plays sometimes jokes on us, to have granted so many 
 perfections to a man so badly apparelled ? When he was 
 sixty in appearance, though only fifty in years, he deter- 
 mined to take unto himself a wife, in order to obtain line- 
 age. Then, while forging about for a place where he 
 might be able to find a lady to his liking, he heard much 
 vaunted, the great merits and perfections of a daughter of 
 the illustrious house of Rohan, which at that time had 
 some property in the province. The young lady in ques- 
 tion was called Bertha, that being her pet name. Imbert 
 having been to see her at the castle of Montbazon, was, 
 in consequence of the prettiness and innocent virtue of 
 this said Bertha de Rohan, seized with so great a desire 
 to possess her, that he determined to make her his wife, 
 believing that never could a girl of such lofty descent fail 
 in her duty. This marriage was soon celebrated, because 
 the Sire de Rohan had seven daughters, and hardly knew 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. I75 
 
 how to provide for them all, at a time when people were 
 just recovering from the late wars, and patching up their 
 unsettled affairs. Now the good man Bastarnay happily 
 found Bertha really a maiden, which fact bore witness 
 to her proper bringing up and perfect maternal correc- 
 tion. So immediately the night arrived when it should 
 be lawful for him to embrace her, he got her with child 
 so roughly that he had proof of the result two months 
 after marriage, which rendered the Sire Imbert joyful to 
 a degree. In order that we may here finish with this por- 
 tion of the story let us at once state that from this legiti- 
 mate grain was born the Sire de Bastarnay, who was duke 
 by the grace of Louis the Eleventh, his chamberlain, and, 
 more than that, his ambassador in the countries of Europe, 
 and well-beloved of this most redoubtable lord, to whom 
 he was never faithless. His loyalty was an heritage from 
 his father, who from his early youth was much attached to 
 the Dauphin, whose fortunes he followed, even in the re- 
 bellions, since he was a man to put Christ on the cross 
 again if he had been required by him to do so, which is 
 the flower of friendship rarely to be found encompassing 
 princes and great people. At first, the fair lady of Bas- 
 tarnay comported herself so loyally that her society caused 
 those thick vapours and black clouds to vanish, which 
 obscured in the mind of this great man, the brightness of 
 the feminine glory. Now, according to the custom of un- 
 believers, he passed from suspicion to confidence so thor- 
 oughly, that he yielded up the government of his house to 
 the said Bertha, made her mistress of his deeds and ac- 
 tions, queen of his honour, guardian of his grey hairs, and 
 would have slaughtered without a contest any one who 
 
176 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 had said an evil word concerning this mirror of virtue, 
 on whom no breath had fallen save the breath issued from 
 his conjugal and marital lips, cold and withered as they 
 were. To speak truly on all points, it should be explained, 
 that to this virtuous behaviour considerably aided the little 
 boy, who during six years occupied day and night the 
 attention of his pretty mother, who first nourished him 
 with her milk, and made of him a lover's lieutenant, yield- 
 ing to him her sweet breasts, which he gnawed at, hungry, 
 as often as he would, and was, like a lover, always there. 
 This good mother knew no other pleasures than those of 
 his rosy lips, had no other caresses than those of his tiny 
 little hands, which ran about her hke the feet of playful 
 mice, read in no other book than his clear baby eyes, in 
 which the blue sky was reflected, and listened to no other 
 music than his cries, which sounded in her ears as angels' 
 whispers. You may be sure that she was always fondling 
 him, had a desire to. kiss him at dawn of day, kissed him 
 in the evening, would rise in the night to eat him up with 
 kisses, made herself a child as he was a child, educated 
 him in the perfect religion of maternity ; finally, behaved 
 as the best and happiest mother that ever lived, without 
 disparagement to our lady the Virgin, who could have 
 had little trouble in bringing up our Saviour, since he was 
 God. This employment and the little taste which Bertha 
 had for the blisses of matrimony much delighted the old 
 man, since he would have been unable to return the affec- 
 tion of a too amorous wife, and desired to practise econ- 
 omy, to have the wherewithal for a second child. After 
 six years had passed away, the mother was compelled to 
 give her son into the hands of the grooms and other per- 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 177 
 
 sons to whom Messire de Bastarnay committed the task 
 to mould him properly, in order that his heir should have 
 an heritage of the virtues, qualities, and courage of the 
 house, as well as the domains and the name. Then did 
 Bertha shed many tears, her happiness being gone. For 
 the great heart of this mother it was nothing to have this 
 well-beloved son after others, and during only certain 
 short fleeting hours. Therefore she became sad and mel- 
 ancholy. Noticing her grief, the good man wished to be- 
 stow upon her another child and could not, and the poor 
 lady was displeased thereat, because she declared that the 
 making of a child wearied her much and cost her dear. 
 And this is true, or no doctrine is true, and you must burn 
 the Gospels as a pack of stories if you have not faith in 
 this innocent remark. This, nevertheless, to certain ladies 
 (I do not mention men, since they have a smattering of 
 the science), this will still seem an untruth. The writer 
 has taken care here to give the mute reasons of this 
 strange antipathy ; I mean the distaste of Bertha, because 
 I love the ladies above all things, knowing that for want 
 of the pleasure of love, my face would grow old and my 
 heart torment me. Did you ever meet a scribe so com- 
 plaisant and so fond of the ladies as I am ? No ; of course 
 not. Therefore, do I love them devotedly, but not so often 
 as I could wish, since I have oftener in my hands my 
 goose-quill than I have the barbs with which one tickles 
 their lips to make them laugh and be merry in all inno- 
 cence. I understand them, and in this way. 
 
 The good man Bastarnay was not a smart young fellow 
 of an amorous nature, and acquainted with the pranks of 
 the thing. He did not trouble himself much about the 
 
178 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 fashion in which he killed a soldier so long as he killed 
 him ; he would have killed him in all ways without saying 
 a word, in battle, of course, understood. This perfect 
 heedlessness in the matter of death was in accordance 
 with his nonchalance in the matter of life, the birth and 
 manner of begetting a child, and the ceremonies thereto 
 appertaining. The good sire was ignorant of the many 
 litigious, dilatory, interlocutory, and preparatory exploits 
 and the little humourings of the little fagots placed in the 
 oven to heat it ; of the sweet perfumed branches gathered 
 little by little in the forests of love, fondlings, coddlings, 
 huggings, nursing, the bites at the cherry, the cat-licking, 
 and other little tricks and traffic of love which ruffians 
 know, which lovers preserve, and which thp ladies love 
 better than their salvation, because there is more of the 
 cat than the woman in them. This shines forth in perfect 
 evidence in their feminine ways. If you think it worth 
 while watching them, examine them attentively while they 
 eat: not one of them (I am speaking of women, noble 
 and well-educated) puts her knife in the eatables and 
 thrusts it into her mouth, as do brutally the males ; no, 
 they turn over their food, pick the pieces that please them 
 as they would grey peas in a dovecot; they suck the 
 sauces by mouthfuls ; play with their knife and spoon as 
 if they only ate in consequence of a judge's order, so much 
 do they dislike to go straight to the point, and make free 
 use of variations, finesse, and little tricks in everything, 
 which is the especial attribute of these creatures, and the 
 reason that the sons of Adam delight in them, since they 
 do everything differently to themselves, and they do weli. 
 You think so too. Good ! I love you. Now then, Imbert 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 179 
 
 de Bastarnay, an old soldier, ignorant of the tricks of 
 love, entered into the sweet garden of Venus as he would 
 into a place taken by assault, without giving any heed to 
 the cries of the poor inhabitants in tears, and placed a 
 child as he would an arrow in the dark. Although the 
 gentle Bertha was not used to such treatment (poor child, 
 she was but fifteen), she believed in her virgin faith, that 
 the happiness of becoming a mother demanded this ter- 
 rible, dreadful bruising and nasty business ; so during this 
 painful task she would pray to God to assist her, and 
 recite Aves to our Lady, esteeming her lucky, in only 
 having the Holy Ghost to endure. By this means, never 
 having experienced anything but pain in marriage, she 
 never troubled her husband to go through the ceremony 
 again. Now seeing that the old fellow was scarcely equal 
 to it — as has been before stated — she lived in perfect soli- 
 tude, like a nun. She hated the society of men, and never 
 suspected that the Author of the world had put so much 
 joy in that from which she had only received infinite mis- 
 ery. But she loved all the more her little one, who had 
 cost her so much before he was born. Do not be aston- 
 ished, therefore, that she held aloof from that gallant 
 tourney in which it is the mare who governs her cavalier, 
 guides him, fatigues him, and abuses him if he stumbles. 
 This is the true history of certain unhappy unions, accord- 
 ing to the statement of the old men and women, and the 
 certain reason of the follies committed by certain women, 
 who too late perceive, I know not how, that they have 
 been deceived, and attempt to crowd into a day more time 
 than it will hold, to have their proper share of life. That 
 is philosophical, my friends. Therefore study well this 
 
l8o BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 page, in order that you may wisely look to the proper 
 government of your wives, your sweethearts, and all 
 females generally, and particularly thos.e who by chance 
 may be under your care, from which God preserve you. 
 Thus a virgin in deed, although a mother, Bertha was in 
 her one-and-twentieth year a castle flower, the glory of 
 her good man, and the honour of the province. The said 
 Bastarnay took great pleasure in beholding this child 
 come, go, and frisk about like a willow-switch, as lively as 
 an eel, as innocent as her little one, and still most sensible 
 and of sound understanding; so much so that he never 
 undertook any project without consulting her about it, 
 seeing that if the minds of these angels have not been 
 disturbed in -their purity, they give a sound answer to 
 everything one asks of them. At this time Bertha lived 
 near the town of Loches, in the castle of her lord, and 
 there resided, with no desire to do anything but look 
 after her household duties; after the old custom of the 
 good housewives, from which the ladies of France were 
 led away when Queen Catherine and the Italians came 
 with their balls and merrymakings. To these practices 
 Francis the First and his successors, whose easy ways did 
 as much harm to the State of France as the goings on 
 of the Protestants lent their aid. This, however, has noth- 
 ing to do with my story. About this time the lord and 
 lady of Bastarnay were invited by the king to come to 
 his town of Loches, where for the present he was with his 
 court, in which the beauty of the lady of Bastarnay had 
 made a great noise. Bertha came to Loches, received 
 many kind praises from the king, was the centre of the 
 homage of all the young nobles, who feasted their eyes 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. l8l 
 
 on this apple of love, and of the old ones, who warmed 
 themselves at this sun. But you may be sure that all of 
 them, old and young, would have suffered death a thou- 
 sand times over to have at their service this instrument 
 of joy, which dazzled their eyes and muddled their brains. 
 Bertha was more talked about in Loches than either God 
 or the Gospels, which enraged a great many ladies who 
 were not so bountifully endowed with charms, and would 
 have given all that was left of their honour to have sent 
 back to her castle this fair gatherer of smiles. A young 
 lady having early perceived that one of her lovers was 
 smitten with Bertha, took such a hatred to her that from 
 it arose all the misfortunes of the lady of Bastarnay ; but 
 also from the same source came her happiness, and her 
 discovery of the gentle land of love, of which she was 
 ignorant. This wicked lady had a relation who had con- 
 fessed to her, directly he saw Bertha, that to be her lover 
 he would be willing to die after a month's happiness with 
 her. Bear in mind that this cousin was as handsome as a 
 girl is beautiful, had no hair on his chin, would have 
 gained his enemy's forgiveness by asking for it, so melo- 
 dious was his young voice, and was scarcely twenty years 
 of age. 
 
 "Dear cousin," said she to him, "leave the room, and go 
 to your house ; I will endeavour to give you this joy. But 
 do not let yourself be seen by her, nor by that old baboon- 
 face, by an error of nature on a Christian's body, and to 
 whom belongs this beauteous fay." 
 
 The young gentleman out of the way, the lady came 
 rubbing her treacherous nose against Bertha's, and called 
 her "My friend, my treasure, my star of beauty ;" trying 
 
l82 BERTHA THE PENITEMfT. 
 
 in every way to be agreeable to her, to make her venge- 
 ance more certain on the poor child who, all unwittingly, 
 had caused her lover's heart to be faithless, which, for 
 women ambitious in love, is the worst of infidelities. 
 After a little conversation, the plotting lady suspected that 
 poor Bertha was a maiden in matters of love, when she 
 saw her eyes full of limpid water, no marks on the tem- 
 ples, no little black speck on the point of her little nose, 
 white as snow, where usually the marks of the amusement 
 are visible, no wrinkle on her brow ; in short, no habit of 
 pleasure apparent on her face — clear as the face of an in- 
 nocent maiden. Then this traitress put certain women's 
 questions to her, and was perfectly assured by the replies 
 of Bertha, that, if she had had the profit of being a 
 mother, the pleasures of love had been denied to her. At 
 this she rejoiced greatly on her cousin's behalf — like" the 
 good woman she was. Then she told her, that in the 
 town of Lochesithere lived a young and noble lady, of the 
 family of Rohan, who at that time had need of the assist- 
 ance of a lady of position to be reconciled with the Sire 
 Louis de Rohan; that if she had as much goodness as 
 God had given her beauty, she would take her with her to 
 the castle, ascertain for herself the sanctity of her life, 
 and bring about a reconciliation with the Sire de Rohan, 
 who refused to receive her. To this Bertha consented 
 without hesitation, because the misfortunes of this girl 
 were known to her, but not the poor young lady herself, 
 whose name was Sylvia, and whom she had believed to be 
 in a foreign land. 
 
 It is here necessary to state why the king had given 
 this invitation to the Sire de Bastarnay. He had a suspi- 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. I83 
 
 cion of the first flight of his son the Dauphin into Bur- 
 gundy, and wished to deprive him of so good a councillor 
 as was the said Bastarnay. But the veteran, faithful to 
 young Louiis, had already, without saying a word, made 
 up his mind. Therefore he took Bertha back to his castle ; 
 but before they set out she told him she had taken a com- 
 panion and introduced her to him. It was the young lord, 
 disguised as a girl, with the assistance of his cousin, who 
 was jealous of Bertha, and annoyed at her virtue. Imbert 
 drew back a little when he learnt that it was Sylvia de 
 Rohan, but was also much affected at the kindness of 
 Bettha, whom he thanked for her attempt to bring a little 
 wandering lamb back to the fold. He made much of his 
 wife, when his last night at home came, left men-at-arms 
 about the castle, and then set out with the Dauphin fot 
 Burgundy, having a cruel enemy in his bosom without 
 suspecting it. The face of the young lad was unknown 
 to him, because he was a yoimg page come to see the 
 king's court, and who had been brought up by Cardinal 
 Dunois, in whose service he was a knight-bachelor. The 
 old lord, believing that he was a girl, thought him very 
 modest and timid, because the lad, dbubting the language 
 of his eyes, kept them always cast down ; and when Bertha 
 kissed him on the mouth, he trembled lest his petticoat 
 might be indiscreet, and would walk away to the window, 
 so fearful was he of being recognized as a man of Bastar- 
 nay, and killed before he had made love to the lady. 
 Therefore he was as joyful as any lover would have been 
 in his place, when the portcullis was lowered, and the old 
 lord galloped away across the country. He had been in 
 such suspense that he made a vow to build a pillar at his 
 
184 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 own expense in the cathedral at Tours, because he had es- 
 caped the danger of his mad scheme. He gave, indeed, 
 fifty gold marks to pay God for his delight. But by 
 chance he had to pay for it over again to the devil, as it 
 appears from the following facts if the tale pleases you 
 well enough to induce you to follow the narrative, which 
 will be succinct, as all good speeches should be. 
 
 II. 
 
 HOW BERTHA BEHAVED, KNOWING THE BUSINESS OF LOVE. 
 
 This bachelor was the young Sire Jehan de Sacchez, 
 cousin of the Sieur de Montmorency, to whom, by the 
 death of the said Jehan, the fiefs of Sacchez and other 
 places would return, according to the deed of tenure. He 
 was twenty years of age, and glowed like burning coal ; 
 therefore you may be sure that he had a hard job to get 
 through the first day. While old Imbert was galloping 
 across thte fields, the two cousins perched themselves 
 under the lantern of the portcullis, in order to keep him 
 the longer in view, and waved him signals of farewell. 
 When the clouds of dust raised by the heels of the horses 
 were no longer visible upon the horizon, they came down 
 and went back into the great room of the castle. 
 
 "What shall we do, dear cousin?" said Bertha to the 
 false Sylvia. "Do you like music? we will play together. 
 Let us sing the lay of some sweet ahcient bard. Eh ? what 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 185 
 
 do you say ? Come to my organ ; come along. As you 
 love me, sing!" 
 
 Then she took Jehan by the hand and led him to the 
 keyboard of the organ, at which the young fellow seated 
 himself prettily, after the manner of women. "Ah ! sweet 
 coz," cried Bertha, as soon as the first notes tried, the lad 
 turned his head towards her, in order that they might sing 
 together, "ah ! sweet coz, you have a wonderful glance in 
 your eye ; you move I know not what in my heart." 
 
 "Ah, cousin," replied the false Sylvia, "that it is which 
 has been my ruin. A sweet milord of the land across 
 the sea told me so often that I had fine eyes, and kissed 
 them so well, that I yielded, so much pleasure did I feel in 
 letting them be kissed." 
 
 "Cousin, does love, then, commence in the eyes ?" 
 
 "In them is the forge of CupidVbolts, my dear Bertha," 
 said the lover, casting fire and flame at her. 
 
 "Let us go on with our singing." 
 
 Then they sang, by Jehan's desire, a lay of Christine de 
 Pisan, every word of which breathed love. 
 
 "Ah, cousin, what a deep and powerful voice you have ! 
 It seems to pierce me." 
 
 "Where?" said the impudent Sylvia. 
 
 "There," replied Bertha, touching her little diaphragm, 
 where the sounds of love are understood better than by 
 ears, but the diaphragm lies nearer the heart, and that 
 which is undoubtedly the first brain, the second heart, and 
 the third ear of the ladies. I say this, with all respect and 
 with all honour, for physical reasons and for no others. 
 
 "Let us leave off singing," said Bertha; "it has too 
 
1 86 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 great an effect upon me. Come to the window ; we can 
 do needlework until the evening." 
 
 "Ah, dear cousin of my soul! I don't know how to 
 hold the needle in my fingers, having been accustomed', to 
 my perdition, to do something else with them." 
 
 "Eh? what did you do then all day long?" 
 
 "Ah, I yielded to the current of love, which makes days 
 seem instants^ months seem days, and years months ; and 
 if it could last, would gulp down eternity like a straw- 
 berry, seeing that it is all youth and fragrance, sweetness 
 and endless joy." 
 
 Then the youth dropped his beautiful eyelids over his 
 eyes, and remained as melancholy as a poor lady who has 
 been abandoned by her lover, who weeps for him, wishes 
 to kiss him, and would pardon his perfidy, if he would but 
 seek once again the sweet path to his once-loved fold. 
 
 "Cousin, does love blossom in the married state?" 
 
 "Oh, no," said Sylvia; "because in the married state 
 everything is duty, but in love everything is done in per- 
 fect freedom of heart. This difference communicates an 
 indescribable soft balm to those caresses which are the 
 flowers of love." 
 
 "Cousin, let us change the conversation ; it affects me 
 more than did the music." 
 
 She called hastily to a servant to bring her boy to her, 
 who came, and when Sylvia saw him, she exclaimed^ < 
 
 "Ah, the little dear, he is as beautiful as love !" 
 
 Then she kissed him heartily upon the forehead. 
 
 "Come, my little one," said the mother, as the child 
 clambered into her lap, "Thou art thy mother's blessing, 
 her unclouded joy, the delight of her every hour, her 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. I87 
 
 crown, her jewel, her own pure pearl, her spotless soul, 
 her treasure, her morning and evening star, her only 
 flame, and her heart's darling. Give me thy hands, that 
 I may eat them ; give me thine ears, that I may bite them ; 
 give me thy head, that I may kiss thy curls. Be happy, 
 sweet flower of my body, that I may be happy too." 
 
 "Ah, cousin !" said Sylvia, "you are speaking the lan- 
 guage of love to him." 
 
 "Love is a child, then?" 
 
 "Yes, cousin; therefore the heathen always portrayed 
 him as a little boy." 
 
 And with many other remarks fertile in the imagery of 
 love, the two pretty cousins amused themselves until sup- 
 per time, playing with the child. 
 
 "Would you not like to have another?" whispered 
 Jehan, at an opportune moment, into his cousin's ear, 
 which he touched with his warm lips. 
 
 "Ah, Sylvia ! for that I would endure a hundred years 
 of purgatory, if it would only please God to give me that 
 joy. But in spite of the work, labour, and industry of my 
 spouse, which causes me much pain, my waist does not 
 vary in size. Alas ! it is nothing to have but one child. 
 If I hear the sound of a cry in the castle, my heart beats 
 ready to burst. I fear man and beast alike for this inno- 
 cent darling ; I dread volts, passes, and manual exercises ; 
 in fact, I dread everything. I live not in myself, but in 
 him alone. And, alas! I like to endure these miseries, 
 because while I fidget and tremble, it is a sign that my 
 offspring is safe and sound. To be brief — for I am never 
 weary of talking on this subject— I believe that my breath 
 is in him, and not in myself." 
 
l88 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 With these words she hugged him to her breasts, as 
 only mothers know how to hug children, with a spiritual 
 force that is felt only in their hearts. If you doubt this, 
 watch a cat carrying her kittens in her mouth ; not one of 
 them gives a single mew. The youthful gallant who had 
 had certain fears about watering this fair, unfertile plain, 
 was reassured by this speech. He thought then that it 
 would only be following the commandments of God to 
 win this saint to love ; and he thought rightly. At night 
 Bertha asked her cousin — according to the old custom, to 
 which the ladies of our day object — to keep her company 
 in her big seigneurial bed. To which request Sylvia re- 
 plied — in order to keep up the role of a well-born maiden 
 — ^that nothing would give her greater pleasure. The 
 curfew rang, and found the two cousins in a chamber 
 richly ornamented with carpeting, fringes, and royal ta- 
 pestries, and Bertha began gracefully to disarray herself, 
 assisted by her women. You can imagine that her com- 
 panion modestly declined their services, and told her 
 cousin, with a little blush, that she was accustomed to 
 undress herself ever since she had lost the services of her 
 dearly beloved, who had put her out of conceit with femi- 
 nine fingers by his gentle ways ; that these preparations 
 brought back the pretty speeches he used to make,^ and 
 his merry pranks while playing the lady's-maid ; and that 
 to her injury, the memory of all these things brought the 
 water into her mouth. This discourse considerably aston- 
 ished the lady Bertha, who let her cousin say her prayers, 
 and make her other preparations for the night beneath the 
 curtains of the bed, into which my lord, inflamed with 
 desire, soon tumbled, happy at being able to catch an occa- 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 189 
 
 sional glimpse of the wondrous charms of the chatelaine, 
 which were in no way injured. Bertha, believing herself 
 to be with an experienced girl, did not omit any of her 
 usual practices ; she washed her feet, not minding whether 
 she raised them little or much, exposed her delicate little 
 shoulders, and did as all the ladies do when they are retir- 
 ing to rest. At last she came to bed, and settled herself 
 comfortably in it, kissing her cousin on the lips, which 
 she found remarkably warm. 
 
 "Are you unwell, Sylvia, that you burn so?" said she. 
 
 "I always burn like that when I go to bed," replied her 
 companion, "because at that time there comes back to my 
 memory the pretty little tricks that he invented to please 
 me, and which make me burn still more." 
 
 "Ah, cousin, tell me all about this he. Tell all the 
 sweets of love to me, who live beneath the shadow of a 
 hoary head, of which the snows keep me from such warm 
 feelings. Tell me all; you are cured. It will be a good 
 warning to me, and then your misfortunes will have been 
 a salutary lesson to two poor weak women." 
 
 "I do not know I ought to obey you, sweet cousin," said 
 the youth. 
 
 "Tell me why not." 
 
 "Ah, deeds are better than words," said the false 
 maiden, heaving a sigh deep as the ut of an organ. "But 
 I am afraid that this milord has encumbered me with 
 so much joy that you may get a little of it, which would 
 be enough to give you a daughter, since the power of en- 
 gendering is weakened in me." 
 
 "But," said Bertha, "between us, would it be a sin ?" 
 
 'It would be, on the contrary, a joy both here and in 
 
igO BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 heaven; the angels would shed their fragrance around 
 you, and make sweet music in your ears." 
 
 "Tell me quickly, then," said Bertha. 
 
 "Well, then, this is how my dear lord made my heart 
 rejoice." 
 
 With these words Jehan took Bertha in his arms, and 
 strained her hungering to his heart, for in the soft light of 
 the lamp, and clothed with the spotless linen, she was in 
 this tempting bed, like the pretty petals of a lily at the bot- 
 tom of the virgin calyx. 
 
 "When he held me as I hold thee he said to me, with a 
 voice far sweeter than mine, 'Ah, Bertha, thou art my 
 eternal love, my priceless treasure, my joy by day and my 
 joy by night ; thou art fairer than the day is day ; there is 
 naught so pretty as thou art. I love thee more than God, 
 and would endure a thousand deaths for the happiness I 
 ask of thee 1' Then he would kiss me, not after the man- 
 ner of husbands, which is rough, but in a peculiar dove- 
 like fashion." 
 
 To show her there and then how much better was the 
 method of lovers, he sucked all the honey from Bertha's 
 lips, and taught her how, with her pretty tongue, small 
 and rosy as that of a cat, she could speak to the heart 
 without saying a single word, and becoming exhausted at 
 this game, Jehan spread the fire of his kisses from the 
 mouth to the neck, from the neck to the sweetest forms 
 that ever a woman gave her child to slake its thirst upon. 
 And whoever had been in his place would have thought 
 himself a wicked man not to imitate him. 
 
 "Ah !" said Bertha, fast bound in love without knowing 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. igi 
 
 it; "this is better. I must take care to tell Imbert 
 about it." 
 
 "Are you in your proper senses, cousin? Say nothing 
 about it to your old husband. How could he make his 
 hands pleasant like mine? They are as hard as washer- 
 woman's beetles, and his piebald beard would hardly 
 please this centre of bliss, that rose in which lies our 
 wealth, our substance, our loves, and our fortune. Do 
 you know that it is a living flower, which should be fon- 
 dled thus, and not used like a trombone, or as if it were 
 a catapult of war ? Now this was the gentle way of my 
 beloved Englishman." 
 
 Thus saying, the handsome youth comported himself so 
 bravely in the battle that victory crowned his efforts, and 
 poor innocent Bertha exclaimed — 
 
 "Ah! cousin, the angels are come! but so beautiful is 
 their music, that I hear nothing else, and so flaming are 
 their luminous rays, that my eyes are closing." 
 
 And, indeed, she fainted under the burden of those joys 
 of love which burst forth in her like the highest notes of 
 the organ, which glistened like the most magnificent au- 
 rora, which flowed in her veins like the finest musk, and 
 loosened the liens of her life in giving her a child of love, 
 who made a great deal of confusion in taking up his quar- 
 ters. Finally, Bertha imagined herself to be in Paradise, 
 so happy did she feel ; and woke from this beautiful dream 
 in the arms of Jehan, exclaiming — 
 "Ah! who would not have been married in England!" 
 "My sweet mistress," said Jehan, whose ecstasy was 
 sooner over, "you are married to me in France, where 
 
192 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 things are managed still better, for I am a man who would 
 give a thousand lives for you if he had them." 
 
 Poor Bertha gave a shriek so sharp that it pierced the 
 walls, and leaped out of the bed like a mountebank of the 
 plains of Egypt would have done. She fell upon her knees 
 before her Prie-Dieu, joined her hands, and wept more 
 pearls than ever Mary Magdalene wore. "Ah, I am 
 dead !" she cried ; "I am deceived by a devil who has taken 
 the face of an angel. I am lost ; I am the mother for cer- 
 tain of a beautiful child, without being more guilty than 
 you, Madame the Virgin. Implore the pardon of God 
 for me, if I have not that of men upon earth ; or let me 
 die, so that I may not blush before my lord and master." 
 
 Hearing that she said nothing against him, Jehan rose, 
 quite aghast to see Bertha take this charming dance for 
 two so to heart. But the moment ehe heard her Gabriel 
 moving she sprang quickly to her feet, regarded him with 
 a tearful face, and her eyes illumined with a holy anger, 
 which made her more lovely to look upon, exclaimed, "If 
 you advance a single step towards me, I will make one 
 towards death!" 
 
 And she took her stiletto in her hand. 
 K^ So heartrending was the tragic spectacle of her grief 
 that Jehan answered her — 
 
 "It is not for thee but for me to die, my dear, beautiful 
 mistress, more dearly loved than will ever woman be again 
 upon this earth." 
 
 "If you had truly loved me you would not have killed 
 me as you have, for I will die sooner than be reproached 
 by my husband." 
 
 "Will you die?" said he. 
 
PERTHA THE PENITENT. I93 
 
 "Assuredly," said she, 
 
 "Now, if I am here pierced with a thousand blows, you 
 will have your husband's pardon, to whom you will say 
 that if your innocence was surprised, you have avenged 
 his honour by killing the man who had deceived you ; and 
 it will be the greatest happiness that could ever befall me 
 to die for you, the moment you refuse to live for me." 
 
 Hearing this tender discourse spoken with tears. Bertha 
 dropped the dagger ; Jehan sprang upon it, and thrust it 
 into his breast, saying — "Such happiness can be paid for 
 but with death!" 
 
 And fell stiff and stark. 
 
 Bertha, terrified, called aloud for her maid. The ser- 
 vant came, and terribly alarmed to see a wounded man in 
 Madame's chamber, and Madame holding him up, crying 
 and saying, "What have you done, my love ?" because she 
 believed he was dead, and remembered her vanished joys, 
 and thought how beautiful Jehan must be, since every one, 
 even Imbert, believed him to be a girl. In her sorrow she 
 confessed all to her maid, sobbing and crying out, "that it 
 was quite enough to have upon her mind the life of a child 
 without having the death of a man as well." Hearing 
 this the poor lover tried to open his eyes, and only suc- 
 ceeded in showing a little bit of. the white of them. 
 
 "Ha ! Madame, don't cry out," said the servant, "let us 
 keep our senses together ^nd save this pretty knight. I 
 will go and seek La Fallotte, in order not to let any physi- 
 cian or surgeon into this secret, and as she is a sorceress 
 she will, to please Madame, perform the miracle of heal- 
 ing this wound so that not a trace of it shall remain." 
 
194 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 "Run !" replied Bertha. "I will love you, and will pay 
 you well for this assistance." 
 
 But before anything else was done the lady and her 
 maid agreed to be silent about this adventure, and hide 
 Jehan from every eye. Then the servant went out into the 
 night to seek La Fallotte, and was accompanied by her 
 mistress as far as the postern, because the guard could not 
 raise the portcullis without Bertha's special order. Ber- 
 tha found on going back that her lover had fainted, for the 
 blood was flowing from the wound. At this sight she 
 drank a little of his blood, thinking that Jehan had shed it 
 for her. Affected by this great love and by the danger, 
 she kissed this pretty varlet of pleasure on the face, bound 
 up his wound, bathing it with her tears, beseeching him 
 not to die, and exclaiming that if he would live she would 
 love him with all her heart. You can imagine that the 
 chatelaine became still more enamoured while observing 
 what a difference there was between a young knight like 
 Jehan, white, downy, and agreeable, and an old fellow like 
 Imbert, bristly, yellow, and wrinkled. This difference 
 brought back to her memory that which she had found 
 in the pleasure of love. Moved by this souvenir, her kisses 
 became so warm that Jehan came back to his senses, his 
 look improved, and he could see Bertha, from whom in 
 a feeble voice he asked forgiveness. But Bertha forbade 
 him to speak until La Fallotte had arrived. Then both of 
 them consumed the time by loving each other with their 
 eyes, since in those of Bertha there was nothing but com- 
 passion, and on these occasions pity is akin to love. 
 
 La Fallotte was a hunchback, vehemently suspected of 
 dealings in necromancy, and of riding to nocturnal orgies 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 195 
 
 on a broomstick, according to the custom of witches. Cer- 
 tain persons had seen her putting the harness on her 
 broom in the stable, which, as every one knows, is on the 
 housetops. To tell the truth, she possessed certain medi- 
 cal secrets, and was of such great service to ladies in 
 certain things, and to the nobles, that she lived in perfect 
 tranquility, without giving up the ghost on a pile of fagots, 
 but on a feather bed, for she made a hatful of money, al- 
 though the physicians tormented her by declaring that 
 she sold poisons, which was certainly true, as will be 
 shown in the sequel. The servant and La Fallotte came 
 on the same ass, making such haste that they arrived at 
 the castle before the day had fully dawned. The old 
 hunchback exclaimed, as she entered the chamber, "Now, 
 then, my children, what is the matter?" This was her 
 manner, which was familiar with great people, who ap- 
 peared very small to her. She put on her spectacles, and 
 carefully examined the wound, saying, "This is fine blood, 
 my dear ; you have tasted it. That's all right, he has bled 
 externally." Then she washed the wound with a fine 
 sponge, under the nose of the lady and the servant, who 
 held their breath. To be brief, Fallotte gave it as her 
 medical opinion, that the youth would not die from this 
 blow, "although," said she, looking at his hand, "he will 
 come to a violent end through this night's deed." This 
 decree of chiromancy frightened considerably both Bertha 
 and the maid. Fallotte prescribed certain remedies, and 
 promised to come again the following night. Indeed, she 
 tended the wound for a whole fortnight, coming secretly 
 at night-time. The people about the castle were told by 
 the servant that their young lady, Sylvia de Rohan, was in 
 
196 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 danger of death, through a swelling of the stomach, which 
 must remain a mystery for the honour of Madame, who 
 was her cousin. Each one was satisfied with this story, of 
 which his mouth was so full that he told it to his fellows. 
 The good people believed that it was the malady which 
 was fraught with danger ; but it was not ! it was the con- 
 valescence, for the stronger Jehan grew, the weaker Ber- 
 tha became, and so weak that she alUowed herself to drift 
 into that Paradise the gates of which Jehan had opened 
 for her. To be brief, she loved him more and more. But 
 in the midst of her happiness, always mingled with appre- 
 hension at the menacing words of Fallotte, and tormented 
 by her great religion, she was in great fear of her hus- 
 band, Imbert, to whom she was compelled to write that he 
 had given her a child, who would be ready to delight him 
 on his return. Poor Bertha avoided her lover, Jehan, 
 during the day on which she wrote the lying letter, over 
 which she soaked her handkerchief with tears. Finding 
 himself avoided (for they had previously left each other 
 no more than fire leaves the wood it has bitten) Jehan be- 
 lieved that she was beginning to hate him, and straight- 
 way he cried too. In the evening Bertha, touched by his 
 tears, which had left their mark upon his eyes, although 
 he had well dried them, told him the cause of her sorrow, 
 mingling therewith the confession of her terrors for the 
 future, pointing out to him how much they were both to 
 blame, and discoursing so beautifully to him, gave utter- 
 ance to such Christian sentences, ornamented with holy 
 tears and contrite prayers, that Jehan was touched to the 
 quick by the sincerity of his mistress. This love inno- 
 cently united to repentance, this nobility in sin, this mix- 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 197 
 
 ttire of weakness and strength, would, as the old authors 
 say, have changed the nature of a tiger, melting it to pity. 
 You will not be astonished then, that Jehan was compelled 
 to pledge his word as a knight-bachelor, to obey her in 
 whatever she should command him, to save her in this 
 world and in the next. Delighted at this confidence in 
 her, and this goodness of heart. Bertha cast herself at 
 Jehan's feet, and kissing them, exclaimed — 
 
 "Oh, my love ! whom I am compelled to love, although 
 it is a mortal sin to do so, thou who art so good, so gentle 
 to thy poor Bertha, if thou wouldst have her always think 
 of thee with pleasure, and stop the torrent of her tears, 
 whose source is so pretty and so pleasant (here, to show 
 him that it was so, she let him steal a kiss) — ^Jehan, if 
 thou wouldst that the memory of our celestial joys, angel 
 music, and the fragrance of love should be a consolation 
 to me in my loneliness rather than a torment, do that 
 which the Virgin commanded me to order thee in a dream, 
 in which I was beseeching her to direct me in the present 
 case, for I have asked her to come to me, and she had 
 come. Then I told her the horrible anguish I should en- 
 dure, trembling for this little one, whose movements I 
 already feel, and for the real father, who would be at the 
 mercy of the other, and might expiate his paternity by a 
 violent death, since it is possible that La Fallotte saw 
 clearly into his future life. Then the beautiful Virgin told 
 me, smiling, that the Church offered its forgiveness for 
 our faults if we followed her commandments ; that it was 
 necessary to save one's self from the pains of hell, by re- 
 forming before Heaven became angry. Then with her 
 finger she showed me a Jehan like thee, but dressed as 
 
198 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 thou shouldst be, and as thou wilt be, if thou dost but love 
 thy Bertha with a love eternal." 
 
 Jehan assured her of his perfect obedience, and raised 
 her, seating her on his knee, and kissing her. The un- 
 happy Bertha told him then that this garment was a 
 monk's frock, and- tremblingly besought him — almost 
 fearing a refusal — to enter the Church, and retire to 
 Marmoutier, beyond Tours; pledging him her word that 
 she would grant him a last night, after which she would 
 be neither for him nor for any one else in the world 
 again. And each year, as a reward for this, she would 
 let him come to her one day, in order that he might see 
 his child. Jehan, bound by his oath, promised to obey his 
 mistress, saying that by this means he would be faithful 
 to her, and would experience no joys of love but those 
 tasted in her divine embrace, and would live upon the dear 
 remembrance of them. Hearing these sweet words. Ber- 
 tha declared to him that, however great might have been 
 her sin, and whatever God reserved for her, this happi- 
 ness would enable her to support it, since she believed she 
 had not fallen through a man, but through an angel. 
 
 Then they returned to the nest which contained their 
 love, but only to bid a final adieu to all their lovely flow- 
 ers. There can be but little doubt that Seigneur Cupid 
 had something to do with this festival, for no woman ever 
 experienced such joy in any part of the world before, and 
 no man ever took as much. The especial property of true 
 love is a certain harmony which brings it about that the 
 more one gives, the more the other receives, and vice 
 versa, as in certain cases in mathematics, where things 
 are multiplied by themselves without end. This problem 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 199 
 
 can only be explained to unscientific people, by asking 
 them to look into their Venetian glasses, in which are to 
 be seen thousands of faces produced by one alone. Thus, 
 in the hearts of two lovers, the roses of pleasure multiply 
 within them in a manner which causes them to be aston- 
 ished that so much joy can be contained, without anything 
 bursting. Bertha and Jehan would have wished in this 
 night to have finished their days, and thought, from the 
 excessive languor which flowed in their veins, that love 
 had resolved to bear them away on his wings with the 
 kiss of death ; but they held out in spite of these numerous 
 multiplications. 
 
 On the morrow, as the return of Monsieur Imbert de 
 Bastarnay was close at hand, the lady Sylvia was com- 
 pelled to depart. The poor girl left her cousin, covering 
 her with tears and with kisses ; it was always her last, buti 
 the last lasted till evening. Then he was compelled to 
 leave her, and he did leave her, although the blood of his 
 heart congealed, like the fallen wax of a Paschal candle. 
 According to his promise, he wended his way towards 
 Marmoutier, which he'entered towards the eleventh hour 
 of the day, and was placed among the novices. Mon- 
 seigneur de Bastarnay was informed that Sylvia had re- 
 turned to the Lord, which is the signification of le Seig- 
 neur in the English language ; and therefore in this Bertha 
 did not lie. 
 
 The joy of her husband, when he say Bertha without 
 her waistband — she could not wear it, so much had she 
 increased in size — commenced the martyrdom of this poor 
 woman, who did not know how to deceive, and who, at 
 each false word, went to her Prie-Dieu, wept her blood 
 
200 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 away from her eyes in tears, burst into prayers, and rec- 
 ommended herself to the graces of Messieurs the Saints 
 in Paradise. It happened that she cried so loudly to God 
 that He heard her, because He hears everything ; He hears 
 the stones that roll beneath the waters, the poor who 
 groan, and the flies who wing their way through the air. 
 It is as well that you should know this, otherwise you 
 would not believe in what happened. God commanded 
 the archangel Michael to make for this penitent a hell 
 upon earth, so that she might enter without dispute into 
 Paradise. Then St. Michael descended from the skies as 
 far as the gate of hell, and handed over this triple soul to 
 the devil, telling him that he had permission to torment it 
 during the rest of her days, at the same time indicating 
 to him Bertha, Jehan, and the child. The devil, who by 
 the will of God is lord of all evil, told the archangel that 
 he would obey the message. During this heavenly ar- 
 rangement life went on as usual here below. The sweet 
 lady of Bastarnay gave the most beautiful child in the 
 world to the Sire Imbert — a boy all lilies and roses, of 
 great intelligence, like a little Jesus, merry and arch as a 
 pagan love. He became more beautiful day by day, while 
 the elder was turning to an ape, like his father, whom he 
 painfully resembled. The younger boy was as bright as 
 a star, and resembled his father and mother, whose cor- 
 poreal and spiritual perfections had produced a compound 
 of illustrious graces and marvellous intelligence. Seeing 
 this perpetual miracle of body and mind blended with the 
 essential conditions, Bastarnay declared that for his eter- 
 nal salvation he would like to make the younger the elder, 
 and that he would do with the kings' protection. Bertha 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 20I 
 
 did not know what to do, for she adored the child of 
 Jehan, and could only feel a feeble affection for the other, 
 whom, nevertheless, she protected against the evil inten- 
 tions of the old fellow Bastarnay. Bertha, satisfied with 
 the way things were going, quieted her conscience with 
 falsehood, and thought that all danger was past, since 
 twelve years had elapsed with no other alloy than the 
 doubt which at times embittered her joy. Each year, ac- 
 cording to her pledged faith, the monk of Marmoutier, 
 who was unknown to every one except the servant-maid, 
 came to pass a whole day at the Chateau to see his child, 
 although Bertha had many times besought brother Jehan 
 to yield his right. But Jehan pointed to the child, saying, 
 "You see him every day of the year, and I only once!" 
 And the poor mother could find no word ready to answer 
 this speech with. 
 
 A few months before the last rebellion of the Dauphin 
 Louis against his father, the boy was treading closely on 
 the heels of his twelfth year, and appeared likely to be- 
 come a great savant, so learned was he in all the sciences. 
 Old Bastarnay had never been more delighted at having 
 been a father in his life, and resolved to take his son with 
 him to the Court of Burgundy, where Duke Charles 
 promised to make for this well-beloved son a position 
 which should be the envy of princes, for he was not at all 
 averse to clever people. Seeing matters thus arranged, 
 the devil judged the time to be ripe for his mischiefs. He 
 took his tail and flapped it right into the middle of this 
 happiness, so that he could stir it up in his own peculiar 
 way. 
 
202 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 III. 
 
 HORRIBLE CHASTISEMENT OF BERTHA AND EXPIATION OF 
 THE SAME, WHO DIED PARDONED. 
 
 The servant of the lady of Bastarnay, who was then 
 about five-and-thirty years old, fell in love with one of 
 the master's men-at-arms, and was silly enough to let him 
 take loaves out of the oven, until there resulted therefrom 
 a natural swelling, which certain wags in these parts call 
 a nine months' dropsy. The poor woman begged her mis- 
 tress to intercede for her with the master, so that he might 
 compel this wicked man to finish at the altar that which 
 he had commenced elsewhere. Madame de Bastarnay 
 had no difficulty in obtaining this favour from him, and 
 the servant was quite satisfied. But the old warrior, who 
 was always extremely rough, hastened into his pretorium, 
 and blew him up sky high, ordering him, under the pain 
 of the gallows, to marry the girl ; which the soldier pre- 
 ferred to do, thinking more i>f his neck than of his peace 
 of mind. Bastarnay sent also for the female, to whom he 
 imagined, for the honour of his house, he ought to sing a 
 litany, mixed with epithets and ornamented with ex- 
 tremely strong expressions, and make her think, by way 
 of punishment, that she was not going to be married, but 
 flung into one of the cells in the gaol. The girl fancied 
 that Madame wanted to get rid of her, in order to inter 
 the secret of the birth of her beloved son. With this im- 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT., 203 
 
 pression, when the old ape said such outrageous things to 
 her — namely, that he must have been a fool to keep a har- 
 lot in his house — she replied that he certainly was a very 
 big fool, seeing that for a long time past his wife had 
 been playing the harlot, and with a monk too, which was 
 the worst thing that could happen to a warrior. Think 
 of the greatest storm you ever saw in your life, and you 
 will have a weak sketch of the furious rage into which 
 the old man fell, when thus assailed in a portion of his 
 heart where was a triple life. He seized the girl by the 
 throat, and would have killed her there and then, but she, 
 to prove her story, detailed the how, the why, and the 
 when, and said that if he had no faith in her, he could 
 have the evidence of his own ears by hiding himself the 
 day that Father Jehan de Sacchez, the prior of Marmou- 
 tier, came. He would then hear the words of the father, 
 who solaced himself for his year's fast, and in one day 
 kissed his son for the rest of the year. Imbert ordered 
 this woman instantly to leave the castle, since, if her ac- 
 cusation were true, he would kill her just as though she 
 had invented a tisiie of lies. In an instant he had given 
 her a hundred crowns, besides her man, enjoining them 
 not to sleep in Touraine ; and, for greater security, they 
 were conducted into Burgundy, by De Bastarnay's offi- 
 cers. He informed his wife of their departure, saying, 
 that as her servant was a damaged article he had thought 
 it best to get rid of her, but had given her a hundred 
 crowns, and found employment for the man at the Court 
 of Burgundy. Bertha was astonished to learn that her 
 maid had left the castle without receiving her dismissal 
 from herself, her mistress; but she said nothing. Soon 
 
204 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 afterwards she had other fish to fry, for she became a 
 prey to vague apprehensions, because her husband com- 
 pletely changed in his manner, commenced to notice the 
 likeness of his first-born to himself, and could find noth- 
 ing resembling his nose, or his forehead, his this, or his 
 that, in the youngster he loved so well. 
 
 "He is my very image," replied Bertha one day that he 
 was throwing out these hints. "Know you riot that in 
 well-regulated households, children are formed from the 
 father and mother, each in turn, or often from both to- 
 gether, because the mother mingles her qualities with the 
 vital force of the father? Some physicians declare that 
 they have known many children born without any resem- 
 blance to either father or mother, and attribute these mys- 
 teries to the whim of the Almighty." 
 
 "You have become very learned, my dear," replied Bas- 
 tarnay; "but I, who am an ignoramus, I should fancy 
 
 that a child who resembled a monk " "• 
 
 "Had a monk for a father!" said Bertha, looking at 
 him with an unflinching gaze, although ice rather than 
 blood was coursing through her veins. 
 
 The old fellow thought he was mistaken, and cursed 
 the servant ; but he was none the less determined to make 
 sure of the affair. As the day of Father Jehan's visit was 
 close at hand. Bertha, whose suspicions were aroused by 
 this speech, wrote him that it was her wish that he should 
 not come this year, without, however, telling him her 
 reason ; then she went in search of La Fallotte at Loches, 
 who was to give her letter to Jehan, and believed every- 
 thing was safe for the present. She was all the more 
 pleased at having written to her friend the prior, when 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 205 
 
 Imbert, who, towards the time appointed for the poor 
 monk's annual treat, had always been accustomed to take 
 a journey into the province of Maine, where he had con- 
 siderable property, remained this time at home, giving as 
 his reason the preparations for rebellion which Monseig- 
 neur Louis was then making against his father, who, as 
 every one knows, was so cut up at this revolt that it 
 caused hfs death. ' This reason was so good an one that 
 poor Bertha was quite satisfied with it, and did not trouble 
 herself. On the regular day, however, the prior arrived 
 as usual. Bertha seeing him, turned pale, and asked him 
 if he had not received her message. 
 
 "What message ?" said Jehan. 
 
 "Ah ! we are lost, then ; the child, thou, and I," replied 
 Bertha. 
 
 "Why so ?" said the prior. 
 
 "I know not," said she; "but our last day has come." 
 
 She inquired of her dearly beloved son where Bastar- 
 nay was. The young man told her that his father had 
 been sent for by special messenger to Loches, and would 
 not be back until evening. Thereupon Jehan wished, in 
 spite of his mistress, to remain with her and his dear 
 son, asserting that no harm would come of it, after the 
 lapse of twelve years, since the birth of their boy. The 
 days when that adventurous night you wot of was cele- 
 brated, Bertha stayed in her room with the poor monk 
 until supper time. But on this occasion the lovers — ^has- 
 tened by the apprehensions of Bertha, which were shared 
 by Jehan directly she had informed him of them — dined 
 immediately, although the prior of Marmoutier reassured 
 Bertha by pointing out to her the privileges of the 
 
206 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 Church, and how Bastarnay, already in bad odour at 
 Court, would be afraid to attack a dignitary of Marmou- 
 tier. When they were sitting down to table their little one 
 happened to be playing, and in spite of the reiterated 
 prayers of his mother, would not stop his games, since 
 he was galloping about the courtyard on a fine Spanish 
 barb, which Duke Charles of Burgundy had presented to 
 Bastarnay. And because young lads like to show off, 
 varlets make themselves bachelors at arms, and bachelors 
 wish to play the knight, this boy was delighted at being 
 able to show the monk what a man he was becoming ; he 
 made the horse jump like a flea in the bedclothes, and sat 
 as steady as a trooper in the saddle. 
 
 "Let him have his way, my darling," said the monk to 
 Bertha. "Disobedient children often become great char- 
 acters." 
 
 Bertha ate sparingly, for her heart was as swollen as a 
 sponge in water. At the first mouthful, the monk, who 
 was a great scholar, felt in his stomach a pain, and on his 
 palate a bitter taste of poison that caused him to suspect 
 that the Sire de Bastarnay had given them all their 
 quietus. Before he had made this discovery Bertha had 
 eaten. Suddenly the monk pulled off the tablecloth and 
 flung everything into the fireplace, telling Bertha his sus- 
 picion. Bertha thanked the Virgin that her son had been 
 so taken up with his sport. Retaining his presence of 
 mind, Jehan, who had not forgotten the lesson he had 
 learned as a page, leaped into the courtyard, lifted his son 
 from the horse, sprang across it himself, and flew across 
 the country with such speed that you would have thought 
 him a shooting-star if you had seen him digging the spurs 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 207 
 
 into the horse's bleeding flanks, and he was at Loches in 
 Fallotte's house in the same space of time that Only the 
 devil could have done the journey. He stated the case to 
 her in two' words, for the poison was already frying his 
 marrow^, and requested her to give him an antidote. 
 
 "Alas," said the sorceress, "had I known that it was for 
 you I was jgiving this poison, I would have received in 
 my br6ast the dagger's point, with which I was threat- 
 ened; and wotild have sacrificed my poor life to save that 
 of a man of God, and of the sweetest woman that ever 
 blossomed on this earth ; for, alas ! my dear friend, I have 
 only two drops of the counter-poison that you see in this 
 phial." 
 
 "Is there enough for her?" 
 
 "Yes ; but go at once," said the old hag. 
 
 The monk came back more quickly than he went, so 
 that the horse died under him in the courtyard. He 
 rushed into the room where Bertha, believing her last 
 hour to be come, was kissing her son, and writhing like 
 a lizard in the fire, uttering no cry for herself, but for 
 the child, left to the wrath of Bastarnay, forgetting her 
 qwn agony at the thought of his cruel future. 
 
 "Take this," said the monk ; "my life is saved !" 
 
 Jehan had the great courage to say these words with 
 an unmoved face, although he felt the claws of death 
 seizing his heart. Hardly had Bertha drunk when the 
 prior fell dead, not, however, without kissing his son, 
 and regarding his dear lady with an eye that changed 
 not even after his last sigh. This sight turned her cold 
 as marble, and terrified her so much that she remained 
 rigid before this dead man, stretched at her feet, pressing 
 
208 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 the hand of her child, who wept, although her own eye 
 was as dry as the Red Sea when the Hebrews crossed it 
 under the leadership of Baron Moses, for it seemed to her 
 that she had sharp sand rolling under her eyelids. Pray 
 for her, ye charitable souls, for never was woman so 
 agonized, in divining that her lover had saved her life at the 
 expense of her own. Aided by her son, she herself placed 
 the monk in the middle of the bed, and stood by the side 
 of it, praying with the boy, whom she then told that the 
 prior was his true father. In this state she waited her evil 
 hour, and her evil hour did not take long in coming, for 
 towards the eleventh hour Bastarnay arrived, and was in- 
 formed at the portcullis that the monk was dead, and not 
 Madame and the child, and he saw his beautiful Spanish 
 horse lying dead. Thereupon, seized with a furious desire 
 to slay Bertha and the monk's bastard, he sprang up the 
 stairs with one bound ; but at the sight of this corpse, for 
 whom his wife and her son repeated incessant litanies, 
 having no ears for his torrents of invective, having no 
 eyes for his writhings and threats, he had no longer the 
 courage to perpetrate this dark deed. After the first fury 
 of his rage had passed, he could not bring himself to it, 
 and quitted the room like a coward and a man taken in 
 crime, stung to the quick by those prayers continuously 
 said for the monk. The night was passed in tears, groans, 
 and prayers. By an express order from Madame, her ser- 
 vant had been to Loches to purchase for her the attire of 
 a young lady of quality, and for her poor child a horse 
 and the arms of an esquire ; noticing which, the Sieur de 
 Bastarnay was much astonished. He sent for Madame 
 and the monk's son, but neither mother nor child returned 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 2O9 
 
 any answer, but quietly put on the clothes purchased by 
 the servant. By Madame's order this servant made up 
 the account of her effects, arranged her clothes, purples, 
 jewels, and diamonds, as the property of a widow is ar- 
 ranged when she renounces her rights. Bertha ordered 
 even her alms-purse to be included, in order that the 
 ceremony might be p£rfect. The report of these pre* - 
 arations ran through the house, and every one knew then 
 that the mistress was about to leave it, a circumstance that 
 filled every heart with sorrow, even that of a little scul- 
 lion, who had only been a week in the place, but to whom 
 Madame had already given a kind word. Frightened at 
 these preparations, old Bastarnay came into her cham- 
 ber, and found her weeping over the body of Jehan, for 
 her tears had come at last; but she dried them directly 
 she perceived her husband. To his numerous questions 
 she replied briefly by the confession of her fault, telling 
 him how she had been duped, how the poor page had been 
 distressed, showing him upon the corpse the mark of the 
 poniard wound ; how long he had been getting well ; and 
 how, in obedience to her, and from penitence towards 
 God and man, he had entered the Church, abandoning the 
 glorious career of a knight, putting an end to his name, 
 which was certainly worse than death; how she, while 
 avenging her honour, had thought that even God Him- 
 self would not have refused the monk one day in the year 
 to see the son for whom he sacrificed everything; how, 
 not wishing to live with a murderer, she was about to quit 
 his house, leaving all her property behind her ; because, if 
 the honour of the Bastarnays was stained, it was not she 
 who had brought the shame about ; because in this calam- 
 
2IO BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 ity she had arranged matters as best she could; finally, 
 she added a vow to go over mountain and valley, she and 
 her son, until all was expiated, for she knew how to ex- 
 piate all. 
 
 Having with noble mien and a pale face uttered these 
 beautiful words, she took her child by the hand and went 
 out in great mourning, more magnificently beautiful than 
 was Mademoiselle Hagar on her departure from the resi- 
 dence of the patriarch Abraham, and so proudly, that all 
 the servants and retainers fell on their knees as she passed 
 along, imploring her with joined hands, like Notre-Dame* 
 de la Riche. It was pitiful to see the Sieur de Bastarnay 
 following her, ashamed, weeping, confessing himself to 
 blame, and downcast and despairing, like a man being led 
 to the gallows, there to be! turned off. 
 
 Bertha turned a deaf ear to everything. The desola- 
 tion was so great that she found the drawbridge low- 
 ered, and hastened to quit the castle, fearing that it might 
 be suddenly raised again ; but no one had the right or the 
 heart to do it. She sat down on the kerb of the moat, in 
 view of the whole castle, who begged her, with tears, to 
 stay. The poor sire was standing with his hand upon the 
 chain of the portcullis, as silent as the stone saints carved 
 above the door. He saw Bertha order her son to shake 
 the dust from his shoes at the end of the bridge, in order 
 to have nothing belonging to Bastarnay about him; and 
 she did likewise. Then, indicating the sire to her son with 
 her finger, she spake to him as follows — 
 
 "Child, behold the murderer of thy father, who was, as 
 thou art aware, the poor prior ; but thou hast taken the 
 name of this man. Give it him back here, even as thou 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 211 
 
 leavest the dust taken by thy shoes from his castle. For 
 the food that thou hast had in the castle, by God's help we 
 will also settle.' 
 
 Hearing this, Bastarnay would have let his wife re- 
 ceive a whole monastery of monks in order not to be aban- 
 doned by her, and by a young squire capable of becoming 
 the honour of his house, and remained with his head 
 sunk down against the chains. 
 
 The heart of Bertha was suddenly filled with holy 
 solace, for the banner of the great monastery turned the 
 corner of a road across the fields, and appeared accom- 
 panied by the chants of the Church, which burst forth like 
 heavenly music. The monks, informed of the murder 
 perpetrated on their well-beloved prior, came in proces- 
 sion, assisted by the ecclesiastical justice, to claim his 
 body. When he saw this, the Sire de Bastarnay had 
 barely the time to make for the postern with his men, and 
 set out towards Monseigneur Louis, leaving everything 
 in confusion. 
 
 Poor Bertha, en croupe behind her son, came to Mont- 
 bazon to bid her father farewell, telling him that this 
 blow would be her death, and was consoled by those of 
 her family, who endeavoured to raise her spirits, but were 
 unable to do so. The old Sire de Rohan presented his 
 grandson with a splendid suit of armour, telling him so 
 to acquire glory and honour that he might turn his 
 mother's faults into eternal renown. But Madame de 
 Bastarnay had implanted in the mind of her dear son no 
 other idea than of atoning for the harm done, in order to 
 save her and Jehan from eternal damnation. Both then 
 set out for the places then in a state of rebellion, in order 
 
2X2 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 to render such services to Bastarnay that he would receive 
 from them more than life itself. Now the heat of the 
 sedition was, as every one knows, in the neighbourhood 
 of Angouleme, and of Bordeaux in Guienne, and other 
 parts of the kingdom, where great battles and severe con- 
 flicts between the rebels and the royal armies were likely to 
 take place. The principal one which finished the war was 
 given between Rulfec and Angouleme, where all the pris- 
 oners taken were tried and hanged. This battle, com- 
 manded by old Bastarnay, took place in the month of No- 
 vember, seven months after the poisoning of Jehan. Now 
 the baron knew that his head had been strongly recom- 
 mended as one to be cut off, he being the right hand of . 
 Monseigneur Louis. Directly his men began to fall back, 
 the old fellow found himself surrounded by six men deter- 
 mined to seize him. Then he understood that they wished 
 to take him alive, in order to proceed against his house, 
 ruin his name, and confiscate his property. The poor sire 
 preferred rather to die and save his family, and present 
 the domains to his son. He defended himself, like the 
 brave old lion that he was. In spite of their number, these 
 said soldiers, seeing three of their comrades fall, were 
 obliged to attack Bastarnay at the risk of killing him, and 
 threw themselves together upon him, after having laid low 
 two of his equerries and a page. In this extreme danger 
 an esquire, wearing the arms of Rohan, fell upon the as- 
 sailants like a thunderbolt, and killed two of them, crying, 
 "God save the Bastarnays !" The third man-at-arms, who 
 had already seized old Bastarnay, was so hard pressed by 
 this squire, that he was obliged to leave the elder and 
 turn against the younger, to whom he gave a thrust with 
 
BERTHA THE PENITENT. 213 
 
 his dagger through a flaw in his armour. Bastarnay was 
 too good a comrade to fly without assisting the liberator 
 of his house, who was badly wounded. With a blow of 
 nis mace he killed the man-at-arms, seized the squire, 
 lifted him on to his horse, and gained the open, accom- 
 panied by a guide, who led him to the castle of Roche- 
 Foucauld, which he entered by night, and found in the 
 great room Bertha de Rohan, who had arranged this re- 
 treat for him.- But on removing the helmet of his rescuer, 
 he recognised the son of Jehan, who expired upon the 
 table, by<a final efifort kissing his mother, and saying in a 
 loud voice to her, "Mother, we have paid the debt we 
 owed him I" Hearing these words, the mother clasped the 
 body of her loved child to her heart, and separated from 
 him never again, for she died of grief, without hearing or 
 heeding the pardon and repentance of Bastarnay. 
 
 This strange calamity hastened the last day of the poor 
 old man, who did not live to see the coronation of King 
 Louis the Eleventh. He founded a daily mass in the 
 church of Roche-Foucauld, where in the same grave he 
 placed mother and son, with a large tombstone, upon 
 which their lives are much honoured in the Latin lan- 
 guage. 
 
 The morals which any one can deduce from this his- 
 tory are most profitable for the conduct of life, since this 
 shows how gentlemen should be courteous with the dear- 
 ly beloveds of their wives. Further, it teaches us that 
 
214 BERTHA THE PENITENT. 
 
 all children are blessings sent by God Himself, and over 
 them fathers, whether true or false, have no right of 
 murder, as was formerly the case at Rome, owing to a 
 heathen and abominable law, which ill became that Chris- 
 tianity which makes us all sons of God. 
 
HOW THE PRETTY MAID OF PORTILLON 
 CONVINCED HER JUDGE. 
 
 THE maid of Portillon, who became, as every one 
 knows, La Tascherette, was, before she became a 
 dyer, a laundress at the said place of Portillon, from 
 which she took her name. If any there be who do not 
 know Tours, it may be as well to state that Portillon is 
 down the Loire, on the same side as St. Cyr, about as 
 far from the bridge which leads to the cathedral of Tours 
 as the said bridge is distant from Marmoutier, since the 
 bridge is in the centre of the embankment between Por- 
 tillon and Marmoutier. Do you thoroughly understand? 
 Yes ? Good ! Now the maid had there her washhouse, 
 from which she ran to the Loire with her washing in a 
 second, and took the ferry-boat to get to St. Martin, 
 which was on the other side of the river, for she had to 
 deliver the greater part of her work in Chateauneuf and 
 other places. About Midsummer day, seven years before 
 marrying old Taschereau, she had just reached the right 
 age to be loved. As she was a merry girl she allowed 
 herself to be loved, without making a choice from any of 
 the lads who pursued her with their intentions. Although 
 there used to come to the bench under her window the son 
 of Rabelais, who had seven boats on the Loire, Jehan's 
 eldest, Marchandeau the tailor, and Peccard the ecclesias- 
 
 215 
 
2l6 HOW THE PRETTY MAID OF PORTILLON 
 
 tical goldsmith, she made fun of them all, because she 
 wished to be taken to church before burthening herself 
 with a man, which proves that she was an honest woman 
 until she was wheedled out of her virtue. She was one of 
 those girls who take great care not to be contaminated, 
 but who, if by chance they get deceived, let things take 
 their course, thinking that for one stain or for fifty a 
 good polishing up is necessary. These characters demand 
 our indulgence. 
 
 A young noble of the court perceived her one day when 
 she was crossing the water in the glare of the noonday 
 sun, which lit tip her ample charms, and seeing her, 
 asked who she was. An old man, who was working on 
 the banks, told him she was called the Pretty Maid of 
 Portillon, a laundress, celebrated for her merry ways and 
 her virtue. This young lord, besides ruffles to starch, 
 had many precious linen draperies and things ; he re- 
 solved to give the custom of his house to this girl, whom 
 he stopped on the road. He was thanked by her and 
 heartily, because he was the Sire du Fou, the king's cham- 
 berlain. This encounter made her so joyful that her 
 mouth was full of his name. She talked about it a great 
 deal to the people of St. Martin, and when she got back 
 to her washhouse was still full of it, and on the morrow 
 at her work her tongue went nineteen to the dozen, and 
 all on the same subject, so that as much was said con- 
 cerning my Lord du Fou in Portillon as of God in a 
 sermon ; that is, a great deal too much. 
 
 "If she works like that in cold water, what will she do 
 in warm?" said an old washerwoman. "She wants du 
 Fou ; he'll give her du Fou 1" 
 
CONVINCED HER JUDGE. 21/ 
 
 The first time this giddy wench, with her head full of 
 Monsieur du Fou, had to deliver the linen at his hotel, the 
 chamberlain wished to see her, and was very profuse in 
 praises and compliments concerning her charms, and 
 wound up by telling her that she was not at alU silly to 
 be beautiful, ai;id therefore he would give her more than 
 she expected. The deed followed the word, for the mo- 
 ment his people were out of the room, he began to caress 
 the maid, who thinking he was about to take out the 
 money from his purse, dared not look at the purse, but 
 said, like a girl ashamed to take her wages, "It will be 
 for the first time." 
 
 "It will be soon/' said he. 
 
 Some people say that he had great difficulty in forcing 
 her to accept what he offered- her, and hardly forced her 
 at all ; others that he forced her badly, because she came 
 out, like an army flagging on the route, crying and groan- 
 ing, and came to the judge. It liappened that the judge 
 was out. La Portillone awaited his return in his room, 
 weeping and saying to the servant that she had been 
 robbed, because Monseigneur du Fou had given her noth- 
 ing but his mischief ; whilst a canon of the Chapter used 
 to give her large sums for that which M. du Fou wanted 
 for nothing. If she loved a man she would think it wise 
 to do things for him for nothing, because it would be a 
 pleasure to her; but the chamberlain had treated her 
 roughly, and not kindly and gently, as he should have 
 done, and that therefore he owed her the thousand 
 crowns of the canon. The judge came in, saw the wench, 
 and wished to kiss her, but she put herself on guard, and 
 said she had come to make a complaint. The judge replied 
 
2l8 HOW THE PREITY MAID OF PORTILLON 
 
 that certainly she could have the offender hanged if she 
 liked, because he was most anxious to serve her. The 
 injured maiden replied that she did not wish the death 
 of her man, but that he should pay her a thousand gold 
 crowns, because she had been robbed against her will. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" said the judge, "what he took was worth 
 more than that." 
 
 "For the thousand crowns I'll cry quits, because I shall 
 be able to live without washing." 
 
 "He who has robbed you, is he well off?" 
 
 "Oh yes." 
 
 "Then he shall pay dearly for it. Who is it?" 
 
 "Monseigneur du Fou." 
 
 "Oh, that alters the case," said the judge. 
 
 "But justice?" said she. 
 
 "I said the case, not the justice of it," replied the judge. 
 "I must know how the affair occurred." 
 
 Then the girl related naively how she was arranging 
 the young lord's ruffles in his wardrobe, when he began 
 to play with her skirts, and she turned round, saying — 
 
 "Go on with you !" 
 
 "You have no case," said the judge, "for by that speech 
 he thought that you gave him leave to go on. Ha ! ha !" 
 
 Then she declared that she had defended herself, weep- 
 ing and crying out, and that that constitutes an assault. 
 
 "A wench's antics to incite him," said the judge. 
 
 Finally, La Portillone declared that against her will she 
 had been taken around the waist and thrown, although 
 she had kicked and cried and struggled, but that seeing no 
 help at hand, she had lost courage. 
 
CONVINCED HER JUDGE. 219 
 
 "Good ! good !" said the judge. "Did you take pleasure 
 in the affair?" 
 
 "No," said she. "My anguish can only be paid for 
 with a thousand crowns." 
 
 "My dear," said the judge, "I cannot receive your com- 
 plaint, because I believe no girl can be thus treated 
 against her will." 
 
 "Hi! hi! hi! Ask your servant," said the little laun- 
 dress, sobbing, "and hear what she'll tell you." 
 
 The servant affirmed that there were pleasant assaults 
 and unpleasant ones; that if La Portillone had received 
 neither amusement nor money, either one or the other was 
 due to her. This wise counsel threw the judge into a 
 state of great perplexity. 
 
 "Jacqueline," said he, "before I sup I'll get to the bot- 
 tom of this. Now go and fetch my needle and the red 
 thread that I sew the law paper bags with." 
 
 Jacqueline came back with a big needle, pierced with 
 a pretty little hole, and a big red thread, such as the 
 judges use. Then she remained standing to see the 
 question decided, very much disturbed, as was also the 
 complainant at these, mysterious preparations. 
 
 "My dear," said the judge, "I am going to hold the 
 bodkin, of which the eye is sufficiently large, to put this 
 thread into it without trouble. If you do put it in, I will 
 take up your case, and will make Monseigneur offer you 
 a compromise." 
 
 "What's that?" said she. "I will not allow it." 
 
 "It is a word used in justice to signify an agreement." 
 
 "A compromise is then agreeable with justice?" said 
 La Portillone. 
 
220 HOW THE PRETTY MAID OP PORTILLON 
 
 "My dear, this violence has also opened your mind. 
 Are you ready?" 
 
 "Yes," said she. 
 
 The waggish judge gave the poor nymph fair play, 
 holding the eye steady for her ; but when she wished to 
 slip in the thread that she had twisted to make straight, 
 he moved a little, and the thread went on the other side. 
 She suspected the judge's argument, wetted the thread, 
 stretched it, and came back again. The judge moved, 
 twisted about, and wriggled like a bashful maiden ; still 
 the cursed thread would not enter. The girl kept trying 
 at the eye, and the judge kept fidgeting. The marriage 
 of the thread could not be consummated, the bodkin re- 
 mained virgin, and the servant began to laugh, saying to 
 La Portillone that she knew better how to endure than to 
 perform. Then the roguish judge laughed too, and the 
 fair Portillone cried for her golden crowns. 
 
 "If you don't keep still," cried she, losing patience; 
 "if you keep moving about I shall never be able to put 
 the thread in." 
 
 "Then, my dear, if you had done the same, Mon- 
 seigneur would have been unsuccessful too. Think, too, 
 how easy is the one affair, and how difficult the other." 
 
 The pretty wench, who declared she had been forced, 
 remained thoughtful, and sought to find a means to con- 
 virice the judge by showing how she had been compelled 
 to yield, since the honour of all poor girls liable to violence 
 was at stake. ■ 
 
 "Monseigneur, in order that the bet may be fair, I must 
 do exactly as the young lord did. If I had only had to 
 
CONVINCED HER JUDGE. 221 
 
 move I should be moving still, but he went through other 
 performances." 
 
 "Let us hear them," replied the judge. 
 
 Then La Portillone straightens the thread ; and rubs it 
 in the wax of the candle, to make it firm and straight; 
 then she looks towards the eye of the bodkin, held by the 
 judge, slipping always to the right or to the left. Then 
 she began making endearing little speeches, such as, "Ah, 
 the pretty little bodkin! what a pretty mark to aim at! 
 Never did I see such a little jewel ! What a pretty little 
 eye ! Let me put this little thread into it ! Ah ! you will 
 hurt my poor thread, my nice little thread! Keep still! 
 Come, my love of a judge, judge of my love ! Wont the 
 thread go nicely into this iron gate, which makes good 
 use of the thread, for it comes out very much out of 
 order?" Then she burst out laughing, for she was better 
 up in this game than the judge, who laughed too, so 
 saucy and comical and arch was she, pushing the thread 
 backwards and forwards. She kept the poor judge with 
 the case in his hand until seven o'clock, keeping on fidget- 
 ing and moving about like a schoolboy let loose; but as 
 La Portillone kept on trying to put the thread in, he 
 could not help it. As, however, his joint was burning, 
 and his wrist was tired, he was obliged to rest himself for 
 a minute on the side of the table ; then very dexterously 
 the fair maid of Portillon slipped the thread in, saying — 
 
 "That's how the thing occurred." 
 
 "But my joint was burning." 
 
 "So was mine," said she. 
 
 The judge, convinced, told La Portillone that he would 
 speak to Monseigneur du Fou, and would himself carry 
 
222 HOW THE PRETTY MAID OF PORTILLON 
 
 the affair through, since it was certain the young lord 
 has embraced her against her will, but that for valid rea- 
 sons he would keep the affair dark. On the morrow the 
 judge went to the Court and saw Monseigneur du Fou, 
 to whom he recounted the young woman's complaint, and 
 how she had set forth her case. This complaint lodged in 
 Court, tickled the king immensely. Young du Fou hav- 
 ing said that there was some truth in it, the king asked if 
 he had much difficulty, and as he replied, innocently, 
 "No," the king declared the girl was quite worth a hun- 
 dred gold crowns, and the chamberlain gave them to the 
 judge, in order not to be taxed with stinginess, and said 
 that starch would be a good income to La Portillone. The 
 judge came back to La Portillone, and said, smiling, that 
 he had raised a hundred gold crowns for her. But if she 
 desired the balance of the thousand, there were at that 
 moment in the king's apartments certain lords who, know- 
 ing the case, had offered to make up the sum for her with 
 her consent. The little hussy did not refuse this offer, 
 saying, that in order to do no more washing in the filture 
 she did not mind doing a little hard work now. She 
 gratefully acknowledged the trouble the good judge had 
 taken, and gained her thousand crowns in a month. From 
 this came the falsehoods and jokes concerning her be- 
 cause out of these ten lords jealousy made a hundred, 
 whilst, differently from young men, La Portillone settled 
 down to a virtuous life directly she had her thousand 
 crowns. Even a duke, who would have counted out five 
 hundred crowns, would have found this girl rebellious, 
 which proves she was niggardly with her property. It 
 is true that the king caused her to be sent for to his retreat 
 
CONVINCED HER JUDGE. 223 
 
 of Rue Quinquangrogne, on the mall of Chardonneret, 
 found her extremely pretty, exceedingly affectionate, en- 
 joyed her society, and forbade the sergeants to interfere 
 with her in any way whatever. Seeing she was so beauti- 
 ful, Nicole Beaupertuis, the king's mistress, gave her a 
 hundred gold crowns to go to Orleans, in order to see if 
 the colour of the Loire was the same there as at Portillon. 
 She went there, and the more willingly because she did 
 not care very much for the king. When the good man 
 came who confessed the king in his last hours, and was 
 afterwards canonized. La Portillone went to him to polish 
 up her conscience, did penance, and founded a bed in the 
 leper-house of St Lazare-les-Tours. Many ladies whom 
 you know have been assaulted by more than two lords, 
 and have founded no other beds than those of their own 
 houses. It is well to relate this fact, in order to cleanse 
 the reputation of this honest girl, who herself once washed 
 dirty things, and who afterwards became famous for her 
 clever tricks and her wit. She gave a proof of her merit 
 in marrying Taschereau, whom she cuckolded right mer- 
 rily, as has been related in the story of The Reproach. 
 This proves to us most satisfactorily that with strength 
 and patience justice itself can be violated. 
 
IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT 
 FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE. 
 
 DURING the time when knights courteously offered 
 to each other both help and assistance in seeking 
 their fortunes, it happened that in Sicily — which, as you 
 are probably aware, is an island situated in the corner of 
 the Mediterranean Sea, and formerly celebrated — one 
 knight met in a wood another knight, who had the ap- 
 pearance of a Frenchman. Presumably, this Frenchman 
 was by some chance stripped of everything, and was so 
 wretchedly attired that but for his princely air he might 
 have been taken for a blackguard. It was possible that 
 his horse had died of hunger or fatigue, on disembark- 
 ing from the foreign shore from which he came, on the 
 faith of the good luck which happened to the French in 
 Sicily, which was true in every respect. The Sicilian 
 knight, whose name was Pezare, was a Venetian long 
 absent from the Venetian republic, and with no desire to 
 return there, since he had obtained a footing in the Court 
 of the King of Sicily. Being short of funds in Venice, 
 because he was a younger son, he had no fancy for com- 
 merce, and was for that reason eventually abandoned by 
 his family, a most illustrious one. He therefore remained 
 at this Court, where he was much liked by the king. This 
 gentleman was riding a splendid Spanish horse, and 
 
 224 
 
FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE. 225 
 
 thinking to himself how lonely he was in this strange 
 Court, without trusty friends, and how in such cases for- 
 tune was harsh to helpless people and became a traitress, 
 when he met the poor French knight, who appeared far 
 worse off than he, who had good weapons, a fine horse, 
 and a mansion where servants were then preparing a 
 sumptuous supper. 
 
 "You must have come a long way to have so much 
 dust on your feet," said the Venetian. 
 
 "My feet have not as much dust as the road was long," 
 answered the Frenchman. 
 
 "If you have travelled so much," continued the Vene- 
 tian, "you must be a learned man." 
 
 "I have learned," replied the Frenchman, "to give no 
 heed to those who do not trouble about me. I have 
 learned that however high a man's head was, his feet 
 were always level with mine ; more than that, I have 
 learned to have no confidence in the warm days of winter, 
 in the sleep of my enemies, or the words of my friends." 
 
 "You are, then, richer than I am," said the Venetian, 
 astonished, "since you tell me things of which I never 
 thought." 
 
 "Everyone must think for himself," said the French- 
 man; "and as you have interrogated me, I can request 
 from you the kindness of pointing to me the road to 
 Palermo or some inn, for the night is closing in." 
 
 "Are you, then, acquainted with no French or Sicilian 
 gentlemen at Palermo?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then you are not certain of being received?" 
 
226 IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT 
 
 "I am disposed to forgive those who reject me. The 
 road, sir, if you please." 
 
 "I am lost like yourself," said the Venetian. "Let us 
 look for it in company/' 
 
 "To do that we must go together ; but you are on horse- 
 back, I am on foot." 
 
 The Venetian took the French knight on his saddle be- 
 hind him, and said — 
 
 "Do you know with whom you are?" 
 
 "With a man, apparently." 
 
 "Do you think you are in safety ?" 
 
 "If you were a robber, you would have to take care of 
 yourself," said the Frenchman, putting the point of his 
 dagger to the Venetian's heart. 
 
 "Well, now, my noble Frenchman, you appear to me 
 a man of great learning and sound sense; know that I 
 am a noble, established at the Court of Sicily, but alone, 
 and I seek a. friend. You seem to be in the same plight, 
 and, judging from appearancesj you do not seem friendly 
 with your lot, and have apparently need of everybod]^." 
 
 "Should I be happier if everybody wanted me?" 
 
 "You are a devil, who turn every one of my words 
 against me. By St. Mark ! my lord knight, can one trust 
 you?" 
 
 "More than yourself, who commenced our federal 
 friendship by deceiving me, since you gtiide your horse 
 like a man who knows his way, and you said you were 
 lost." 
 
 "And did not you deceive me," said the Venetian, "by 
 making a sage of your years walk, and giving a noble 
 
FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE. 22/ 
 
 knight the appearance of a vagabond? Here is my 
 abode ; my servants have prepared supper for us." 
 
 The Frenchman jumped off the horse, and entered the 
 house with the Venetian cavalier, accepting his supper. 
 They both seated themselves at the table. The French- 
 man fought so well with his jaws, he twisted the morsels 
 with so much agility, that he showed himself equally 
 learned in suppers, and showed it again in dexterously 
 draining the wine flasks without his eye becoming dimmed 
 or his understanding affected. Then you may be sure the 
 Venetian thought to himself he had fallen in with a fine 
 son of Adam, sprung from the right side and the wrong 
 one. While they were drinking together, the Venetian 
 endeavored to find some joint through which to sound 
 the secret depths of his friend's cogitations. He, how- 
 ever, clearly perceived that he would cast aside his shirt 
 sooner than his prudence, and judged it opportune to gain 
 his esteem by opening his doublet to him. Therefore he 
 told him in what state was Sicily, where reigned Prince 
 Leufroid and his gentle wife ; how gallant was the Court, 
 what courtesy there flourished, that there abounded many 
 lords of Spain, Italy, France, and other countries, lords 
 in high feather and well feathered; many princesses, as 
 rich as noble, and as noble as rich ; that this prince had the 
 loftiest aspirations — such as to conquer Morocco, Con- 
 stantinople, Jerusalem, the lands of Soudan, and other 
 African places. Certain men of vast minds conducted his 
 affairs, bringing together the ban and arriere ban of the 
 flower of Christian chivalry, and kept up his splendour 
 with the idea of causing to reign over the Mediterranean 
 this Sicily, so opulent in time gone by, and of ruining 
 
228 IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT 
 
 Venice, which had not a foot of land. These designs had 
 been planted in the king's mind by him, Pezare; but 
 although he was high in that prince's favour, he felt him- 
 self weak, had no assistance from the courtiers, and de- 
 sired to make a friend. In this great trouble he had gone 
 for a little ride to turn matters over in his mind, and de- 
 cide upon the course to pursue. Now, since while in this 
 idea he had met a man of so much sense as the chevalier 
 had proved himself to be, he proposed to fraternize with 
 him, to open his purse to him, and give him his palace to 
 live in. They would journey in company through life in 
 search of honours and pleasure, without concealing one 
 single thought, and would assist each other on all occa- 
 sions as the brothers-in-arms did at the Crusades. Now, 
 as the Frenchman was seeking his fortune, and required 
 assistance, the Venetian did not for a moment expect that 
 this offer of mutual consolation would be refused. 
 
 "Although I stand in need of no assistance," said the 
 Frenchman, "because I rely upon a point which will pro- 
 cure me all that I desire, I should like to acknowledge 
 your courtesy, dear Chevalier Pezare. You will soon see 
 that you will yet be the debtor of Gauttier de Montsoreau, 
 a gentleman of the fair land of Touraine." 
 
 "Do you possess any relic with which your fortune is 
 wound up ?" said the Venetian. 
 
 "A talisman given me by my dear mother," said the 
 Touraiiiian, "with which castles and cities are built and 
 demolished, a hammer to coin money, a remedy for every 
 ill, a traveller's staff always ready to be tried, and worth 
 most when in a state of readiness, a master tool, which 
 
FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE. 229 
 
 executes wondrous works in all sorts of forges, without 
 making the slightest noise.' 
 
 "Eh ! by St. Mark you have, then, a mystery concealed 
 in your hauberk ?" 
 
 "No," said the French knight ; "it is a perfectly natural 
 thing. Here it is." 
 
 And rising suddenly from the table to prepare for bed, 
 Gauttier showed the Venetian the finest talisman to pro- 
 cure joy that he had ever seen. 
 
 "This," said the Frenchman, as they both got into bed 
 together, according to the custom of the times, "over- 
 comes every obstacle, by making itself master of female 
 hearts ; and as the ladies are the queens in this Court, your 
 friend Gauttier will soon reign there." 
 
 The Venetian remained in great astonishment at the 
 sight of these charms of the said Gauttier, who had indeed 
 been bounteously endowed by his mother, and perhaps also 
 by his father, and would thus triumph over everything, 
 since he joined to this corporeal perfection the wit of a 
 young page, and the wisdom of an old devil. Then they 
 swore an eternal friendship, regarding as nothing therein 
 a woman's heart, vowing to have one and the same idea, 
 as if their heads had been in the same helmet ; and they 
 fell asleep on the same pillow, enchanted with this frater- 
 nity. This was a common occurrence in those days. 
 
 On the morrow the Venetian gave a fine horse to his 
 friend Gauttier, also a purse full of money, fine silken hose, 
 a velvet doublet fringed with gold, and an embroidered 
 mantle, which garments set oflf his figure so well, and 
 showed up his beauties, that the Venetian was certain he 
 would captivate all the ladies. The servants received or- 
 
230 IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT 
 
 ders to obey this Gauttier as they would himself, so that 
 they fancied their master had been fishing, and had caught 
 this Frenchman. Then the two friends made their entry 
 into Palermo at the hour when the princes and princesses 
 were taking the air. Pezare presented his French friend, 
 speaking so highly of his merits, and obtaining such a 
 gracious reception for him, that Leufroid kept him to sup- 
 per. The knight kept a sharp eye on the Court, and 
 noticed therein various curious little secret practices. If 
 the king was a brave and handsome prince, the princess 
 was a Spanish lady of high temperature, the most beauti- 
 ful and most noble woman of his Court, but inclined, to 
 melancholy. Looking at her, the Tourainian belieye;d that 
 she was sparingly embraced by the king, for the law of 
 Touraine is that joy in the face comes from joy elsewhere. 
 Pezare pointed out to his friend Gauttier several ladies to 
 whom Leufroid was exceedingly gracious and who were 
 exceedingly jealous, and fought for him in a tournament 
 of gallantries and wonderful female inventions. From all 
 this Gauttier concluded that the prince went considerably 
 astray with his Court, although he had the prettiest wife 
 in the world, and occupied himself by taxing the ladies of 
 Sicily, in order that he might put his horse in their stables, 
 vary his fodder, and learn the equestrian capabilities of 
 many lands. Perceiving what a life Leufroid was leading, 
 the Sire de Montsoreau, certain that no one in the Court 
 had had the heart to enlighten the queen, determined at 
 one blow to plant his halberd in the field of the fair 
 Spaniard by a master stroke ; and this is how. At supper- 
 time, in order to show courtesy to the foreign knight, the 
 king took care to place him near the queen, to whom the 
 
FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE. 23I 
 
 gallant Gauttier offered his arm, to take her into the room, 
 and conducted her there hastily, to get ahead of those who 
 were following, in order to whisper, first of all, a word 
 concerning a subject which always pleases the ladies in 
 whatever condition they may be. Imagine what this word 
 was, and how it went straight through the stubble and 
 weeds into the warm thicket of love. 
 
 "I know, your majesty, what causes your paleness of 
 face." 
 
 "What?" said she. 
 
 "You are so loving that the king loves you night and 
 day; thus you abuse your advantage, for he will die of 
 love." 
 
 "What should I do to keep him alive ?" said the queen. 
 
 "Forbid him to repeat at your altar more than three 
 prayers a day." 
 
 "You are joking after the French fashion, Sir Knight, 
 seeing that the king's devotion to me does not extend be- 
 yond a short prayer a week." 
 
 "You are deceived," said Gauttier, seating himself at the 
 table. "I can prove to you that love should go through 
 the whole mass, matins, and vespers, with an Ave now 
 and then, for queens as for simple women, and go through 
 the ceremony every day, like the monks in their monastery, 
 with fervour; but for you these litanies should never 
 finish." 
 
 The queen cast upon the knight a glance which was far 
 from one of displeasure, smiled at him, and shook her 
 head. 
 
 "In this," said she, "men are great liars." 
 
 "I have with me a great truth which I will sliow you 
 
232 IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT 
 
 when you wish it," replied the knight. "I undertake to 
 give you queen's fare, and put you on the high road to 
 joy ; by this means you will make up for lost time, the more 
 so as the king is ruined through other women, while I 
 have reserved my advantages for your service." 
 
 "And if the king learns our arrangement, he will put 
 your head on a level with your feet." 
 
 "Even if this misfortune befell me after the first night, 
 I should believe I had lived a hundred years, from the joy 
 therein received, for never have I seen, after visiting all 
 Courts, a princess fit to hold a candle to your beauty. To 
 be brief, if I die not by the sword, you will still be the 
 cause of my death, for I am resolved to spend my life in 
 our love, if life will depart in the place whence it comes." 
 
 Now this queen had never heard such words before, and 
 preferred them to the most sweetly sung mass ; her pleas- 
 ure showed itself in her face, which became purple, for 
 these words made her blood boil within her veins, so that 
 the strings of her lute were moved thereat, and struck a 
 sweet note that rang melodiously in her ears, for this lute 
 fills with its music the brain and the body of the ladies, 
 by a sweet artifice of their resonant nature: What a 
 shame to be young, beautiful, Spanish, and queen, and yet 
 neglected. She conceived an intense disdain for those of 
 her Court who had kept their lips closed concerning this 
 infidelity, through fear of the king, and determined to re- 
 venge herself with the aid of this handsome Frenchman, 
 who cared so little for life that in his first words he had 
 staked it in making a proposition to a queen, which was 
 worthy of death, if she did her duty. Instead of this, how- 
 
FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE. 233 
 
 ever, she pressed his foot with her own, in a manner that 
 admitted no misconception, and said aloud to him — 
 
 "Sir Knight, let us change the subject, for it is very 
 wrong of you to attack a poor queen in her weak spot. 
 Tell us the customs of the ladies of the Court of France." 
 
 Thus did the knight receive the delicate hint that the 
 business was arranged. Then he commenced to talk of 
 merry and pleasant things, which during supper kept the 
 Court, the king, the queen, and all the courtiers in a good 
 humour ; so much so that when the siege was raised, 
 Leufroid declared that he had never laughed so much in 
 his life. Then they strolled about the gardens, which were 
 the most beautiful in the world, and the queen made a 
 pretext of the chevalier's sayings to walk beneath a groTe 
 of blossoming orange trees, which yielded a delicious fra- 
 grance. 
 
 "Lovely and noble queen," said Gauttier, immediately, 
 "I have seen in all countries the perdition of love have its 
 birth in those first attentions, which we call courtesy ; if 
 you have confidence in me, let us agree, as people of high 
 intelligence, to love each other without standing on so 
 much ceremony; by this means no suspicions will be 
 aroused, our happiness will be less dangerous and more 
 lasting. In this fashion should queens conduct their 
 amours, if they would avoid interference." 
 
 "Well said," said she. "But as I am new at this busi- 
 ness, I do not know what arrangements to make." 
 
 "Have you among your women one in whom you have 
 perfect confidence?" 
 
 "Yes," said she ; "I have a maid who came from Spain 
 
234 IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT 
 
 with me, who would put herself on a gridiron for me, like 
 St. Lawrence did for God, but she is always poorly." 
 
 "That's good," said her companion, "because you go to 
 see her." 
 
 "Yes," said the queen, "and sometimes at night." 
 
 "Ah !" exclaimed Gauttier, "I make a vow to St. Rosalie, 
 patroness of Sicilly, to build her a golden altar for this 
 fortune." 
 
 "O Jesus !" cried the queen. "I am doubly blessed in 
 having a lover so handsome and yet so religious." 
 
 "Ah, my dear, I have two sweethearts to-day, because 
 I have a queen to love in heaven above and another one 
 here below, and luckily these loves cannot clash one with 
 the other." 
 
 This sweet speech so affected the queen, that for a 
 nothing she would have fled with this cunning French- 
 man. 
 
 "The Virgin Mary is very powerful in heaven," said 
 the queen. "Love grant that I may be like her 1" 
 
 "Bah ! they are talking of the Virgin Mary," said the 
 king, who by chance had come to watch them, disturbed 
 by a gle^xn of jealousy, cast into his heart by a Sicilian 
 courtier, who was furious at the sudden favour which the 
 Frenchman had obtained. 
 
 The queen and the chevalier laid their plans, and every- 
 thing was secretly arranged to furnish the helmet of the 
 king with two invisible ornaments. The knight rejoined 
 the Court, made himself agreeable to every one, and x^- 
 turned to the palace of Pezare, whom he told that their 
 fortunes were made, because on the morrow, at night, he 
 would sleep with the queen. This swift success astonished 
 
FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE. 235 
 
 the Venetian, who, like a good friend, went in search of 
 fine perfumes, linen of Brabant, and precious garments, 
 to which queens are accustomed, with all of which he 
 loaded his friend Gauttier, in order that the case tnight be 
 worthy the jewel. 
 
 "Ah, my friend," said he, "are you sure not to falter, but 
 to go vigorously to work, to serve the queen bravely, and 
 give her such joys in her castle of Gallardin that she may 
 hold on for ever to this master staff, like a drowning 
 sailor to a plank?" 
 
 "As for that, fear nothing, dear Pezare, because I have 
 the arrears of the journey, and I will deal with her as with 
 a simple servant, instructing her in the ways of the ladies 
 of Touraine, who understand love better than all others, 
 because they make it, remake it, and unmake it to make 
 it again ; and having remade it, *till keep on making it ; 
 and having nothing else to do, have to do that which 
 always wants doing. Now let us settle our plans. This 
 is how we shall obtain the government of this island. I 
 shall hold the queen and you the king ; we will play the 
 comedy of great enemies before the eyes of the courtiers, 
 in order to divide them into two parties under our com- 
 mand, and yet, unknown to all, we will remain friends. 
 By this means we shall know their plots, and will thwart 
 them, you by listening to my enemies and I to yours. In 
 the course of a few days we will pretend to quarrel, in 
 order to strive one against the other. This quarrel will 
 be caused by the favour in which I will manage to place 
 you with the king, through the channel of the queen, and 
 he will give you supreme power, to my injury," 
 
236 IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT 
 
 On the morrow Gauttier went to the house of the 
 Spanish lady whom before the courtiers he recognized as 
 having known in Spain, and he remained there seven 
 whole days. As you can imagine, the Tourainian treated 
 the queen as a fondly loved woman, and showed her so 
 many terra incognita in love, French fashions, little tender- 
 nesses, etc., that she nearly lost her reason through it, and 
 swore that the French were the only people who thorough- 
 ly understood love. You see how the king was punished, 
 who, to keep her virtuous, had allowed weeds to grow in 
 the grange of love. Their supernatural festivities touched 
 the queen so strongly that she made a vow of eternal love 
 to Montsoreau, who had awaked her, by revealing to 
 her the joys of the proceeding. It was arranged that the 
 Spanish lady should take care always to be ill ; and that 
 the only man to whom the lovers would confide their secret 
 should be the court physician, who was much attached to- 
 the queen. By chance this physician had in his glottis, 
 chords exactly similar to those of Gauttier, so that by a 
 freak of nature they had the same voice, which much 
 astonished the queen. The physician swore on his life 
 faithfully to serve the pretty couple, for he deplored the 
 sad desertion of this beautiful woman, and was delighted 
 to know she would be served as a queen should be — a rare 
 thing. 
 
 A month elapsed and everything was going on to the 
 satisfaction of the two friends, who worked the plans laid 
 by the queen, in order to get the government of Sicily into 
 the hands of Pezare, to the detriment of Montsoreau, 
 whom the king loved for his great wisdom ; but the 
 queen would not consent to have him, because he was so 
 
FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE. 237 
 
 ungallant. Leufroid dismissed the Duke of Cataneo, his 
 principal follower, and put the Chevalier Pezare in his 
 place. The Venetian took no notice of his friend the 
 Frenchman. Then Gauttier burst out, declaiming loudly 
 against the treachery and abused friendship of his former 
 comrade, and instantly earned the devotion of Cataneo and 
 his friends, with whom he made a compact to overthrow 
 Pezare. Directly he was in office the Venetian, who was 
 a shrewd man, and well suited to govern states, which was 
 the usual employment of Venetian gentlemen, worked 
 wonders in Sicily, repaired the ports, brought merchants 
 there by the fertility of his inventions and by granting 
 them facilities, put bread into the mouths of hundreds of 
 poor people, drew thither artisans of all trades, because 
 fetes were always being held, and also the idle and rich 
 from all quarters, even from the East. Thus harvests, the 
 products of the earth, and other commodities, were plenti- 
 ful; and galleys and ships came from Asia, the which 
 made the king much envied, and the happiest king in the 
 Cbtistian world, because through these things his Court 
 was the most renowned in the countries of Europe. This 
 fine political aspect was the result of the perfect agreement 
 of two men who thoroughly understood each other. The 
 one looked after the pleasures, and was himself the delight 
 of the queen, whose face was always bright and gay, be- 
 cause she was served according to the method of Touraine, 
 and because animated through excessive happiness; and 
 he also took care to keep the king amused, finding him 
 every day new mistresses, and casting him into a whirl of 
 dissipation. The king was much astonished at the good 
 temper of the queen, whom, since the arrival of the Sire de 
 
238 IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT 
 
 Montsoreau in the island, he had touched no more than a 
 Jew touches bacon. Thus occupied, the king and the 
 queen abandoned the care of their kingdom to the other 
 friend, who conducted the affairs of government, ruled 
 the establishment, managed the finances, and looked to the 
 army, and all exceedingly well^ knowing where money was 
 to be made, enriching the treasury, and preparing all the 
 great enterprises above mentioned. 
 
 This state of things lasted three years, some say four, 
 but the monks of Saint Benoist have not wormed out the 
 date, which remains obscure, like the reasons for the quar- 
 rel between the two friends. Probably the Venetian had 
 the high ambition to reign without any control or dispute, 
 and forgot the services which the Frenchman had rendered 
 him. Thus do the men who live in Courts behave, for, 
 according to the statements of Messire Aristotle in his 
 works, that which ages the most rapidly in this world is a 
 kindness, although extinguished love is sometimes very 
 rancid. Now, relying on the perfect friendship of Leu- 
 froid, who called him his crony, and would have done any- 
 thing for him, the Venetian conceived the idea of getting 
 rid of his friend by revealing to the king the mystery of 
 his cuckoldom, and showing him the source of the queen's 
 happiness, not doubting for a moment but that he would 
 commence by depriving Montsoreau of his head, accord- 
 ing to a practice common in Sicily under similar circum- 
 stances. By this means Pezare would have all the money 
 that he and Gauttier had noiselessly conveyed to the house 
 of a Lombard at Genes, which money was their joint prop' 
 erty on account of their fraternity. This treasure, in- 
 creased on one side by the magnificent presents made to 
 
FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE. 239 
 
 Montsoreau by the queen, who had vast estates in Spain, 
 and other, by inheritance in Italy; on the other, by the 
 king's gifts to his prime minister, to whom he also gave 
 certain rights over the merchants, and other indulgences. 
 The treacherous friend, having determined to break his 
 vow, took care to conceal his intention from Gauttier, be- 
 cause the Tourainian was an awkward man to tackle. 
 One night that Pezare knew that the queen was in bed with 
 her lover, who loved her still as though each night were 
 a wedding one, so skilful was she at the business, the 
 traitor promised the king to let him take evidence in the 
 case, through a hole which he had made in the wardrobe 
 of the Spanish lady, who always pretended to be at death's 
 door. In order to obtain a better view, Pezare waited un- 
 til the sun had risen. The Spanish lady, who was fleet of 
 foot, had a quick eye and a sharp ear, heard footsteps, 
 peeped out, and perceived the king,, followed by the Vene- 
 tian, through a crossbar in the closet in which she slept 
 the nights that the queen had her lover between two sheets, 
 which is certainly the best way to have a lover. She ran 
 to warn the couple of this betrayal. But the king's eye 
 was already at the cursed hole. Leufroid saw — what? 
 That beautiful and divine lantern which burns so much oil 
 and lights the world — a lantern adorned with the most 
 lovely baubles, flaming brilliantly, which he thought more 
 lovely than all the others, because he had lost sight of it 
 for so long a time that it appeared quite new to him ; but 
 the size of the hole prevented him seeing anything else 
 except the hand of a man, which modestly covered the lan- 
 tern, and he heard the voice of Montsoreau saying, "How's 
 the little treasure, this morning?" A playful expression, 
 
240 IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT 
 
 which lovers use jokingly, because this lantern is in all 
 countries the sun of love, and for this the prettiest possi- 
 ble names are bestowed upon it, while comparing it to the 
 loveliest things in nature, such as my pomegranate, my 
 rose, my little shell, my hedgehog, my gulf of love, my 
 treasure, my master, my little one ; some even dared most 
 heretically to say, my god 1 If you don't believe it, ask 
 your friends. 
 
 At this moment the lady let them understand by a ges- 
 ture that the king was there. 
 
 "Can he hear ?" said the queen. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Can he see?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Who brought him?" 
 
 "Pezare." 
 
 "Fetch the physician, and get Gauttier into his own 
 room," said the queen. 
 
 In less time than it takes a beggar to say "God bless 
 you, sir !" the queen had swathed the lantern in linen and 
 paint, so that you would have thought it a hideous wound 
 in a state of grievous inflammation. When the king, en- 
 raged by what he overheard, burst open the door, he 
 found the queen lying on the bed exactly as he had seen 
 her through the hole, and the physician, examining the 
 lantern swathed in bandages, and saying, "How is the 
 little treasure, this morning?" in exactly the same voice 
 as the king had heard. A jocular and cheerful expression, 
 because physicians and surgeons use cheerful words with 
 ladies and treat this sweet flower with flowery phrases. 
 This sight made the king look as foolish as a fox caught 
 
FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE. 24I 
 
 in a trap. The queen sprang up, reddening with shame, 
 and asking what man dared to intrude upon her privacy 
 at such a moment, but perceiving the king, she said to him 
 as follows : 
 
 "Ah! my lord, you have discovered that which I have 
 endeavoured to conceal from you ; that I am so badly treat- 
 ed by you that I am afflicted with a burning ailment, of 
 which my dignity would not allow me to complain, but 
 which needs secret dressing in order to assuage the in^ 
 fluence of the vital forces. To save my honour and your 
 own, I am compelled to come to my good Lady Miraflor, 
 who consoles me in my troubles." 
 
 Then the physician commenced to treat Leufroid to an 
 oration, interlarded with Latin quotations and precious 
 grains from Hippocrates, Galen, the school of Salerno, 
 and others, in which he showed him how necessary to 
 women was the proper cultivation of the field of Venus, 
 and that there was great danger of death to queens of 
 Spanish temperament, whose blood was excessively 
 amorous. He delivered himself of his arguments with 
 great solemnity of feature, voice, and manner, in order 
 to give the Sire de Montsoreau time to get to bed. Then 
 the queen took the same text to preach the king a sermon 
 as long as his arm, and requested the loan of that limb, 
 that the king might conduct her to her apartment instead 
 of the poor invalid, who usually did so in order to avoid 
 calumny. When they were in the gallery where the Sire 
 de Montsoreau resided, the queen said, jokingly, "You 
 should play a good trick on this Frenchman, who I would 
 wager is with some lady, and not in his own room. All 
 the ladies of Court are in love with him, and there will 
 
242 IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT 
 
 be mischief some day through him. If you had taken 
 my advice he would not be in Sicily now." 
 
 Leufroid went suddenly into Gauttier's room, whom 
 he found in a deep sleep, and snoring like a monk in 
 church. The queen returned with the king, whom she 
 took to her apartments, and whispered to one of the 
 guards to send to her the lord whose place Pezare occu- 
 pied. Then, while she fondled the king, taking break- 
 fast with him, she took the lord directly he came, into an 
 adjoining room. 
 
 "Erect a gallows on the bastion," said she, "then seize 
 the knight Pezare, and manage so that he is hanged in- 
 stantly, without giving time to write or say a single word 
 on any subject whatsoever. Such is our good pleasure 
 and supreme command." 
 
 Cataneo made no remark. While Pezare was thinking 
 to himself that his friend Gauttier would soon be minus 
 his head, the Duke Cataneo came to seize and lead him 
 on to the bastion, from which he could see at the queen's 
 window the Sire de Montsoreau in company with the 
 king, the queen, and the courtiers, and came to the con- 
 clusion that he who looked after the queen had a better 
 chance in everything than he who looked after the king. 
 
 "My dear," said the queen to her spouse, leading him 
 to the window, "behold a traitor, who was endeavouring 
 •to deprive you of that which you hold dearest in the 
 world, and I will give you the proofs when you have the 
 leisure to study them." 
 
 Montsoreau, seeing the preparations for the final cere- 
 mony, threw himself at the king's feet, to obtain the par- 
 
FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE. 243 
 
 don of him who was his mortal enemy, at which the king 
 was much moved. 
 
 "Sire de Montsoreau," said the queen, turning towards 
 him with an angry look, "are you so bold as to oppose 
 our will and pleasure?" 
 
 "You are a noble knight," said the king, "but you do 
 not know how bitter this Venetian was against you." 
 
 Pezare was delicately strangled between the head and 
 the shoulders, for the queen revealed his treacheries to 
 the king, proving to him, by the declaration of a Lom- 
 bard of the town, the enormous sums which Pezare had 
 in the Bank of Genes, the whole of which were given up 
 to Montsoreau. 
 
 This noble and lovely queen died, as related in the his- 
 tory of Sicily, that is, in consequence of a heavy labour, 
 during which she gave birth to a son, who was a man as 
 great in himself as he was unfortunate in his undertak- 
 ings. The king believed the physician's statement, that 
 the sad termination of this accouchement was caused by 
 the too chaste life the queen had led, and believing himself 
 responsible for it, he founded the Church of the Madonna, 
 which is one of the finest in the town of Palermo. The 
 Sire de Montsoreau, who was a witness of the king's re- 
 morse, told him that when a king got his wife from Spain, 
 he ought to know that this queen would require more at- 
 tention than any other, because the Spanish ladies were so 
 lively that they equalled ten ordinary women, and that if 
 he wished a wife for show only, he should get her from 
 the north of Germany, where the women are cold as ice. 
 The good knight came back to Touraine laden with 
 wealth, and lived there many years, but never mentioned 
 
244 FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE. 
 
 his adventures in Sicily. He returned there to aid the 
 king's son in his principal attempt against Naples, and 
 left Italy when this sweet prince was wounded, as is re- 
 lated in the Chronicle. 
 
 Besides the high moralities contained in the title of this 
 tale, where it is said that fortune, being female, is always 
 on the side of the ladies, and that men are quite right to 
 serve them well, it shows us that silence is the better part 
 of wisdom. Nevertheless, the monkish author of this nar- 
 rative seems to draw this other no less learned moral there- 
 from, that interest which makes so many friendships, 
 breaks them also. But from these three versions you can 
 choose the one that best accords with your judgment and 
 your momentary requirement. 
 
CONCERNING A POOR MAN WHO WAS 
 CALLED LE VIEUX PAR-CHEMINS. 
 
 THE old chronicler who furnished the hemp to weave 
 the present story, is said to have lived at the time 
 when the affair occurred in the city of Rouen. In the 
 environs of this fair town, where at that time dwelt Duke 
 Richard, an old man used to beg, whose name was Try- 
 ballot, but to whom was given the nickname of Le Vieux 
 par-Chemins, or Old Man of the Roads ; not because he 
 was yellow and dry as vellum, but because he was always 
 in the high-ways and the by-ways — up hill and down dale 
 — slept with the sky for his counterpane, and went about 
 in rags and tatters. Notwithstanding this, he was very 
 popular in the duchy, where every one had grown used 
 to him, so much so that if the month went by without any 
 one seeing his cup held towards them, people would say, 
 "Where is the old man ?" and the usual answer was, "On 
 the roads." 
 
 This said man had had for a father a Tryballot, who 
 was in his lifetime a skilled artisan, so economical and 
 careful, that he left considerable wealth to his son. 
 
 But the young lad soon frittered it away, for he was 
 the very opposite of the old fellow, who, returning from 
 the fields to his house, picked up, now here, now there, 
 many a little stick of wood left right and left, saying, 
 
 245 
 
24^ CONCERNING A POOR MAN WHO WAS 
 
 conscientiously, that one should never come home empty 
 handed. Thus he warmed himself in winter at the ex- 
 pense of the careless ; and he did well. Every one recog- 
 nised what a good example this was for the country, since 
 a year before his death no one left a morsel of wood on 
 the road; he had compelled the most dissipated to be 
 thrifty and orderly. But his son made ducks and drakes 
 of everything, and did not follow his wise examples. The 
 father had predicted the thing. From the boy's earliest 
 youth, when the good Tryballot set him to watch the birds 
 who came to eat the peas, the beans, and the grain, and 
 to drive the thieves away, above all, the jays, who spoiled 
 everything, he would study their habits, and took delight 
 in watching with what grace they came and went, flew off 
 loaded, and returned, watching with a quick eye the snares 
 and nets ; and he would laugh heartily at their cleverness 
 in avoiding them, Tryballot senior went into a passion 
 when he found his grain considerably less in measure. 
 But although he pulled his son's ears whenever he caught 
 him idling and trifling under a nut tree, the little rascal 
 did not alter his conduct, but continued to study the habits 
 of the blackbirds, sparrows, and other intelligent marau- 
 ders. One day his father told him that he would be wise 
 to model himself after them, for that if he continued this 
 kind of life, he would be compelled in his old age, like 
 them, to pilfer, and like them, would be pursued by jus- 
 tice. This came true: for, as has before been stated, he 
 dissipated in a few days the crowns which his careful 
 father had acquired in a lifetime. He dealt with men as 
 he did with the sparrows, letting every one put a Hand in 
 his pocket, and contemplating the grace and polite de- 
 
CALLED LE VIEUX PAR-CHEMINS. 247 
 
 meanor of those who assisted to empty it. The end of his 
 weahh was thus soon reached. When the devil had the 
 empty money bag to himself, Tryballot did not appear at 
 all cut up, saying, that he "did not wish to damn himself 
 for this world's goods, and that he had studied philosophy 
 in the school of the birds." 
 
 After having thoroughly enjoyed himself, of all his 
 goods, there only remained to him a goblet bought at 
 Landict, and three dice, quite sufficient furniture for 
 drinking and gambling, so that he went about without 
 being encumbered, as are the great, with chariots, carpets, 
 dripping-pans, and an infinite number of varlets. Trybal- 
 lot wished to see his good friends, but they no longer 
 knew him, which fact gave him leave no longer to recog- 
 nise any one. Seeing this, he determined to choose a pro- 
 fession in which there was nothing to do and plenty to 
 gain. Thinking this over, he remembered the indulgences 
 of the blackbirds and the sparrows. Then the good Try- 
 ballot selected for his profession that of begging money 
 at people's houses, and pilfering. From the first day, 
 charitable people gave him something, and Tryballot was 
 content, finding the business good, without advance money 
 or bad debts ; on the contrary, full of accommodation. He 
 went about it so heartily, that he was liked everywhere, 
 and received a thousand consolations refused to rich peo- 
 ple. The good man watched the peasants planting, sow- 
 ing, reaping, and making harvest, and said to himself, 
 that they worked a little for him as well. He who had a 
 pig in his larder owed him a bit of it, without suspecting 
 it. The man who baked a loaf in his oven often cooked 
 it for Tryballot without knowing it. He took nothing by 
 
248 CONCERNING A POOR MAN WHO WAS 
 
 force ; on the contrary, people said to him kindly, while 
 making him a present, "Here, Vieux par-Chemins, cheer 
 up, old fellow. How are you ? Come, take this ; the cat 
 began it, you can finish it." 
 
 Vieux par-Chemins was at all the weddings, baptisms, 
 and funerals, because he went everywhere where there 
 was, openly or secretly, merriment and feasting. He re- 
 ligiously kept the statutes and canons of his order — 
 namely, to do nothing, because if he had been able to do 
 the smallest amount of work no one would ever give him 
 anything again. After having refreshed himself, this 
 wise man would lay at full length in a ditch, or against a 
 church wall, and think over public affairs; and then he 
 would philosophise, like his pretty tutors, the blackbirds, 
 jays, and sparrows, and thought a good deal while mump- 
 ing ; for, because his apparel was poor, was that a reason 
 his understanding should not be rich? His philosophy 
 amused his clients, to whom he would repeat, by way of 
 thanks, the finest aphorisms of his science. According to 
 him, suppers produced gout in the rich ; he boasted that 
 he had nimble feet, because his shoemaker gave him 
 boots that did not pinch his corns. There were aching 
 heads beneath diadems, but his never ached, because it was 
 touched neither by luxury nor any other chaplet. And 
 again, that jewelled rings hindered the circulation of the 
 blood. Although he covered himself with sores after the 
 manner of cadgers, you may be sure he was as sound as 
 a child at the baptismal font. The good man disported 
 himself with other rogues, playing with his three dice, 
 which he kept to remind him to spend his coppers, in order 
 that he might always be poor. In spite of his vow, he was, 
 
CALLED LE VIEUX PAR-CHEMINS. 249 
 
 like all the order of mendicants, so wealthy that one day at 
 the Paschal feast, another beggar wishing to rent his profit 
 from him, Vieux par-Chemins refused ten crowns for it ; 
 in fact, the same evening he spent fourteen crowns in 
 drinking the healths of the alm's-givers, because it is in 
 the statutes of beggary that one should show one's grati- 
 tude to donors. Although he carefully got rid of that 
 which had been a source of anxiety to others, who hav- 
 ing too much wealth went in search of poverty, he was 
 happier with nothing in the world than when he had his 
 father's money. And seeing what are the conditions of 
 nobility, he was always on the high road to it, because he 
 did nothing except according to his fancy, and lived nobly 
 without labour. Thirty crowns would not have got him 
 out of a bed when he was once in it. The morrow always 
 dawned for him as it did for others, while leading this 
 happy life; which, according to the statement of Plato, 
 whose authority has more than once been invoked in these 
 narratives, certain ancient sages had led before him. At 
 last Vieux par-Chemins reached the age of eighty-two 
 years, having never been a single day without picking up 
 money, and possessed the healthiest colour and complex- 
 ion imaginable. He believed that if he had persevered in 
 the race for wealth he would have been spoiled and buried 
 years before. It is possible he was right. 
 
 In his early youth Vieux par-Chemins had the illus- 
 trious virtue of being very partial to the ladies ; and his 
 abundance of love was, it is said, the result of his studies 
 among the sparrows. Thus it was that he was always 
 ready to give the ladies his assistance in counting the 
 joists, and this generosity finds its physical cause in the 
 
250 CONCERNING A POOR MAN WHO WAS 
 
 fact that, having nothing to do, he was always ready to 
 do something. His secret virtues brought about, it is 
 said, that popularity which he enjoyed in the provinces. 
 Certain people say that the lady of Caumont had him in 
 her castle, to learn the truth about these qualities, and 
 kept him there for a week, to prevent him begging. But 
 the good man jumped over the hedges and fled in great 
 terror of being rich. Advancing in age, this great quin- 
 tessencer found himself disdained, although his notable 
 faculties of loving were in no way impaired. This unjust 
 turning away on the part of the female tribe caused the 
 first trouble of Vieux par-Chemins, and the celebrated 
 trial of Rouen, to which it is time I came. 
 
 In this eighty-second year of his age he was compelled 
 to remain continent for about seven months, during which 
 time he met no woman kindly disposed towards him ; and 
 he declared before the judge that that caused the greatest 
 astonishment of his long and honourable life. In this 
 most pitiable state he saw in the fields during the merry 
 month of May a girl, who by chance was a maiden, and 
 minding cows. The heat was so excessive that this cow- 
 herdess had stretched herself beneath the shadow of a 
 beech tree, her face to the ground, after the custom of 
 people who labour in the fields, in order to get a little 
 nap while her animals were grazing. She was awakened 
 by the deed of the old man, who had stolen from her that 
 which a poor girl can only lose once. Finding herself 
 ruined without receiving from the process either knowl- 
 edge or pleasure, she cried out so loudly that the people 
 working in the fields ran to her, and were called upon 
 by her as witnesses, at the time when that destruction 
 
CALLED LE VIEUX PAR-CHEMINS. 251 
 
 was visible in her which is appropriate only to a bridal 
 night. She cried and groaned, saying that the old ape 
 might just as well have played his tricks on her mother, 
 who would have said nothing. 
 
 He made answer to the peasants, who had already 
 raised their hoes to kill him, that he had been compelled 
 to enjoy himself. These people objected that a man can 
 enjoy himself very well without enjoying a maiden — a 
 case for the provost, which would bring him straight to 
 the gallows ; and he was taken with a great clamour to 
 the gaol at Rouen. 
 
 The girl, interrogated by the provost, declared that she 
 was sleeping in order to do something, and that she 
 thought she was dreaming of her lover, with whom she 
 was then at loggerheads, because before marriage he 
 wished to take certain liberties; and, jokingly, in this 
 dream she let him reconnoitre to a certain extent, in order 
 to avoid any dispute afterwards, and that in spite of her 
 prohibition he went further than she had given him leave 
 to go, and finding more pain than pleasure in the affair, 
 she had been awakened by Vieux par-Chemins, who had 
 attacked her as a gi-ey-friar would a ham at the end of 
 Lent. 
 
 This trial caused so great a commotion m the town of 
 Rouen that the provost was sent for by the duke, who had 
 an intense desire to know if the thing were true. Upon 
 the affirmation of the provost, he ordered Vieux par- 
 Chemins to be broiight to his palace, in order that he 
 might hear what defence he had to make. The poor old 
 fellow appeared before the prince, and informed him 
 naively of the misfortune which his impulsive nature had 
 
252 CONCERNING A POOR MAN WHO WAS 
 
 brought upon him, declaring that he was like a young 
 fellow impelled by imperious desires ; that up to the pres- 
 ent year he had sweethearts of his own, but for the last 
 eight months he had been a total abstainer ; that he was 
 too poor to find favour with girls of the town; that 
 honest women, who once were charitable to him, had 
 taken a dislike to his hair, which had feloniously turned 
 white in spite of the green youth of his Iqve, and that he 
 felt compelled to avail himself of the chance when he saw 
 this maiden, who, stretched at full length under the beech 
 tree, left visible the lining of her dress and two hemis- 
 pheres white as snow, which had deprived him of reason ; 
 that the fault was the girl's and not his, because young 
 maidens should be forbidden to entice passers-by by show- 
 ing them that which caused Venus to be named Callipyge; 
 finally, the prince ought to be aware what trouble a man 
 has to control himself at the hour of noon, because that 
 was the time of day at which King David was smitten 
 with the wife of the Sieur Uriah ; that where a Hebrew 
 king, beloved of God, had succumbed, a poor man, de- 
 prived of all joy, and reduced to begging his bread, could 
 not expect to escape ; that for the matter of that, he was 
 quite willing to sing psalms for the remainder of his days, 
 and play upon the lute by way of penance, in imitation of 
 the said king, who had had the misfortune to slay a hus- 
 band, while he had only done a trifling injury to a peas- 
 ant girl. The duke listened to the arguments of Vieux 
 par-Chemins, and said that he was a man of good parts. 
 Then he made this memorable decree, that if, as this beg- 
 gar declared, he had need of such gratifications at his age, 
 he gave permission to prove it at the foot of the ladder 
 
CALLED LE VIEUX PAR-CHEMINS. 253 
 
 which he would have to mount to be hanged, according 
 to the sentence already passed on him by the provost ; that 
 if then, the rope being round his neck, between the priest 
 and the hangman, a like desire seized him he should have 
 a free pardon. 
 
 This decree becoming known, there was a tremendous 
 crowd to see the old fellow led to the gallows. There was 
 a line drawn up as if for a ducal entry, and in it a many 
 more bonnets than hats. Vieux par-Chemins was saved 
 by a lady curious to see how this precious violator would 
 finish his career. She told the duke that religion demand- 
 ed that he should have a fair chance. And she dressed 
 herself out as if for a ball ; she brought intentionally into 
 evidence two hillocks of such snowy whiteness that the 
 whitest linen neckerchief would have paled before them ; 
 indeed, these fruits of love stood out, without a wrinkle, 
 over her corset, like two beautiful apples, and made one's 
 mouth water, so exquisite were they. This noble lady, 
 who was one of those who rouse one's manhood, had a 
 smile ready on her lips for the old fellow. Vieux par- 
 Chemins, dressed in garments of coarse cloth, more cer- 
 tain of being in the desired state after hanging than be- 
 fore it, came along between the officers of justice with a 
 sad countenance, glancing now here and there, and seeing 
 nothing but head-dresses ; and he would, he declared, have 
 given a hundred crowns for a girl tucked up as was the 
 cowherdess, whose charms, though they had been his ruin, 
 he still remembered, and they might still have saved him ; 
 but, as he was old, the remembrance was not sufficiently 
 recent. But when, at the foot of the ladder, he saw the 
 twin charms of the lady, and the pretty delta that their 
 
254 CONCERNING A POOR MAN WHO WAS 
 
 confluent rotundities produced, the sight so much excited 
 him that his emotion was patent to the spectators. 
 
 "Make haste and see that the required conditions are 
 fulfilled," said he to the officers. "I have gained my par- 
 don, but I cannot answer for my saviour." 
 
 The lady was well pleased with this homage, which, she 
 said, was greater than his offence. The guards, whose 
 business it was to proceed to a verification, believed the 
 culprit to be the devil, because never in their writs had 
 they seen an I so perpendicular as was the old man. He 
 was marched in triumph through the town to the palace 
 of the duke, to whom the guards and others stated the 
 facts. In that period of ignorance, this affair was thought 
 so much of that the town voted the erection of a column 
 on the spot where the old fellow gained his pardon, and 
 he was portrayed thereon in stone in the attitude he as- 
 sumed at the sight of that honest and virtuous lady. The 
 statue was still to be seen when Rouen was taken by the 
 English, and the writers of the period have included this 
 history among the notable events of the reign. 
 
 As the town offered to supply the old man with all he 
 required, and see to his sustenance, clothing, and amuse- 
 ments, the good duke arranged matters by giving the in- 
 jured maiden a thousand crowns and marrying her to her 
 seducer, who then lost his name of Vieux par-Chemins. 
 
 He was named by the duke the Sieur de Bonne-C . 
 
 This wife was confined nine months afterwards of a per- 
 fectly formed male child, alive and kicking, and born with 
 two teeth. From this marriage came the house of Bonne- 
 
 C , who, from motives modest but wrong, besought 
 
 our well-beloved king Louis Eleventh to grant them let- 
 
CALLED LE VIEUX PAR-CHEMINS. 255 
 
 ters patent to change their name into that of Bonne-Chose. 
 
 The king pointed out to the Sieur de Bonne-C that 
 
 there was in the State of Venice an illustrious family 
 
 named C'oglioni, who wore three "C au naturel" on 
 
 their coat of arms. The gentlemen of the House of 
 
 Bonne-C stated to the king that their wives were 
 
 ashamed to be thus called in public assemblies ; the king 
 answered that they would lose a good deal, because there 
 is a good deal in a name. Nevertheless, he granted the 
 letters. After that this race was known by this name, and 
 founded families in many provinces. The first Sieur de 
 
 Bonne-C lived another twenty-seven years, and had 
 
 another son and two daughters. But he grieved much at 
 becoming rich, and no longer being able to pick up a living 
 in the streets. 
 
 From this you can obtain finer lessons and higher mor- 
 als than from any story you will read all your life long — 
 of course, excepting these hundred glorious Droll Tales — 
 namely, that never could adventure of this sort have hap- 
 pened to the impaired and ruined constitutions of court 
 rascals, rich people, and others who dig their graves with 
 their teeth by over-eating and drinking many wines that 
 impair the implements of happiness ; which said over-ffed 
 people were lolling luxuriously in costly draperies and on 
 feather beds, while the Sieur de Bonne-Chose was rough- 
 ing it. In a similar situation, if they had eaten cabbage, it 
 would have given them the diarrhoea. This may incite 
 many of those who read this story to change their mode of 
 life, in order to imitate Vieux par-Chemins in his old age. 
 
ODD SAYINGS OF THREE PILGRIMS. 
 
 WHEN the pope left his good town of Avignon to 
 take up his residence in Rome, certain pilgrims 
 were thrown out who had set out for this country, and 
 would have to pass the high Alps, in order to gain this 
 said town of Rome, where they were going to seek the 
 remittimus of various sins. Then were to be seen on the 
 roads, and in the hostelries, those who wore the collar of 
 the order of Cain, otherwise the flower of the penitents, 
 all wicked fellows, burthened with leprous souls, which 
 thirsted to bathe in the papal piscina, and all carrying with 
 them gold or precious things to purchase absolution, pay 
 for their beds, and present to the saints. You may be sure 
 that those who drank water going, on their return, if the 
 landlords gave them water, wished it to be the holy water 
 of the cellar. 
 
 At this time three pilgrims came to this said town of 
 Avignon to their injury, seeing that it was widowed of 
 the pope. While they were passing the Rhodane,.to reach 
 the Mediterranean coast, one of the thr^e pilgrims, who 
 had with him a son about ten years of age, parted company 
 with the others, and near the town of Milan suddenly ap- 
 peared again, but without the boy. Now in the evening, 
 at supper, they had a hearty feast in order to celebrate the 
 return of the pilgrim, who they thought had become dis- 
 gusted with penitence through the pope not being in 
 
 256 
 
ODD SAYINGS OF THREE PILGRIMS. 257 
 
 Avignon. Of these three reamers towards Rome, one 
 had come from the city of Paris, the other from Germany, 
 and the third, who doubtless wished to instruct his son on 
 the journey, had his home in the duchy of Burgundy, in 
 which he had certain fiefs, and was a younger son of the 
 house of Villers-la-Faye(Fi//a in Fago), and was named 
 La Vaugrenand. The German baron had met the citizen 
 of Paris just past Lyons, and both had accosted the Sire 
 de la Vaugrenand in sight of Avignon. 
 
 Now, in this hostelry the three pilgrims loosened their 
 tongues, and agreed to journey to Rome together, in order 
 the better to resist the footpads, night-birds, and other 
 malefactors, who made it their business to ease pil- 
 grims of that which weighed upon their bodies before the 
 pope eased them of that which weighed upon their con- 
 sciences. After drinking, the three companions com- 
 menced to talk together, for the bottle is the key of con- 
 versation, and each made this confession — that the cause 
 of his pilgrimage was a woman. The- servant who 
 watched them drinking, told them that of a hundred pil- 
 grims who stopped in the locality, ninety-nine were travel- 
 ling from the same thing. These three wise men then 
 begkn to consider how pernicious is woman to man. The 
 baron showed the heavy gold chain that he had in his 
 hauberk to present to Saint Peter, and said his crime was 
 such that he would not get rid of with the value of two 
 such chains. The Parisian took off his glove, and exposed 
 a ring set with a white diamond, saying that he had a 
 hundred like it for the pope. The Burgundian took off his 
 hat, and exhibited two wonderful pearls, that were beau- 
 tiful ear pendants for Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, and*can- 
 
258 ODD SAYINGS OF THREE PILGRIMS. 
 
 didly confessed that he would rather have left them round 
 his wife's neck. 
 
 Thereupon the servant exclaimed that their sins must 
 have been as great as those of Visconti. 
 
 Then the pilgrims replied that they were such that they 
 had each made a solemn vow in their minds never to go 
 astray again during the remainder of their days, however 
 beautiful the woman might be, and this in addition to the 
 penance which the pope might impose upon them. 
 
 Then the servant expressed her astonishment that all 
 had made the same vow. The Burgundian added, that 
 this vow had been the cause of his lagging behind, because 
 he had been in extreme fear that his son, in spite of his 
 age, might go astray, and that he had made a vow to pre- 
 vent people and beasts alike gratifying their passions in 
 his house, or upon his estates. The baron having inquired 
 the particulars of the adventure, the sire narrated the af- 
 fair as follows : — 
 
 "You know that the good Countess Jeanne d' Avignon 
 made formerly a law for the harlots, whom she compelled 
 to live in the outskirts of the town in houses with window- 
 shutters painted red and closed. Now passing in your 
 company through this vile neighbourhood, my lad 're- 
 marked these houses with closed window-shutters, painted 
 red, and his curiosity being aroused — for these ten-year 
 old little devils have eyes for everything — he pulled me by 
 the sleeve, and kept on pulling me until he had learned 
 from me what these houses were. Then, to obtain peace, 
 I told him that young lads had nothing to do with such 
 places, and could only enter them at peril of their lives, 
 because it was a place where men and women were manu- 
 
ODD SAYINGS OF THREE PILGRIMS. 259 
 
 factured, and the danger was such for any one unacquaint- 
 ed with the business that if a novice entered, flying chan- 
 cres and other wild beasts would seize upon his face. Fear 
 seized the lad, who then followed me to the hostelry in a 
 state of agitation, and not daring to cast his eyes upon 
 these said bordels. While I was in the stable, seeing to 
 the putting up of the horses, my son went off like a rob- 
 ber, and the servant was unable to tell me what had become 
 of him. Then I was in great fear of the wenches, but had 
 confidence in the laws, which forbade them to admit such 
 children. At supper time the rascal came back to me look- 
 ing no more ashamed of himself than did our divine Sav- 
 iour in the temple among the doctors. 'Whence come 
 you ?' said I to him. 'From the houses with the red shut- 
 ters,' he replied. 'Little blackguard,' said I, Til give you 
 a taste of the whip.' Then he began to moan and cry. I 
 told him that if he would confess all that had happened to 
 him I would let him oft the beating. 'Ha,' said he, 'I took 
 good care not to go in, because of the flying chancres and 
 other wild beasts. I only looked through the chinks of the 
 windows, in order to see how men were manufactured.' 
 'And what did you see ?' I asked. 'I saw,' said he, 'a fine 
 woman just being finished, because she only wanted one 
 peg, which a young workman was fitting in with energy. 
 Directly she was finished she turned round, spoke to, and 
 kissed her manufacturer.' 
 
 " 'Have your supper,' said I ; and the same night I re 
 turned into Burgundy, and left him with his mother, being 
 sorely afraid that at the first town he might want to fit a 
 peg into some girl." 
 
 "These children often make these sort of answers," said 
 
26o ODD SAYINGS OF THREE PILGRIMS. 
 
 the Parisian. "One of my neighbour's children revealed 
 the cuckoldom of his father by a reply. One day I asked, 
 to see if he were well instructed at school in religious mat- 
 ters, 'What is hope ?' 'One of the king's big archers, who 
 comes here when father goes out,' said he. Indeed, the 
 sergeant of the archers was named Hope. My friend was 
 dumbfounded at this, and, although to keep his counte- 
 nance he looked in the mirror, he could not see his horns 
 there." 
 
 The baron observed that the boy's remark was good in 
 this way : that Hope is a person who comes to bed with 
 us when the realities of life are out of the way, 
 
 "Is a cuckold made in the image of God?" asked the 
 Burgundian. 
 
 "No," said the Parisian, "because God was wise in tli's 
 respect, that he took no wife; therefore is He happy 
 through all eternity." 
 
 "But," said the maid-servant, "cuckolds are made in 
 the image of God before they are horned." 
 
 Then the three pilgrims began to curse the women, sav- 
 ing that they were the cause of all the evil in the world. 
 "Their heads are as empty as helmets," said the Bur- 
 gundian. 
 
 "Their hearts as straight as bill-hooks," said the Pari- 
 sian. 
 
 "Why are there so many men pilgrims and so few 
 women pilgrims ?" said the German baron. 
 
 "Their cursed member never sins," replied the Parisian ; 
 "it knows neither father nor mother, the commandments 
 of God, nor those of the Church, neither laws divine nor 
 human : their member knows no doctrine, understands no 
 
ODD SAYINGS OF THREE PILGRIMS. 26l 
 
 heresies, and cannot be blamed ; it is innocent of all, and 
 always on the laugh ; its understanding is nil; and for this 
 reason do I hold it in utter detestation." 
 
 ■"I also," said the Burgundian, "and I begin to under- 
 stand the different reading by a learned man of the verses 
 of the Bible, in which the account of the Creation is given. 
 In this Commentary, which in my country we call a Noel, 
 lies the reason of imperfectron of this feature of women, 
 of which, different to that of other females, no man can 
 slake the thirst, such diabolical heat existing there. In 
 this Noel it is stated that the Lord God, having turned 
 his head to look at a donkey, who had brayed for the first 
 time in his Paradise, while he was manufacturing Eve, 
 the devil seized this moment to put his finger into this too 
 divine creature, and made a warm wound, which the Lord 
 took care to close with a stitch, from which comes the 
 "maid. By means of this frenum, the woman should re- 
 main closed, and children be miade in the same manner in 
 which God made the angels, by a pleasure far above carnal 
 pleasure as the heaven is above the earth. Observing this 
 closing, the devil, wild at being done, pinched the Sieur 
 Adam, who was asleep, by the skin, and stretched a por- 
 tion of it out in imitation of his diabolical tail ; but as the 
 father of man was on his back this appendage came out 
 in front. Thus these two productions of the devil had a 
 desire to reunite themselves, following the law of similari- 
 ties which God had laid down for the conduct of the 
 world. From this came the first sin and the sorrows of 
 the human race, because God, noticing the devil's work, 
 determined to see what would come of it." 
 The servant declared that they were quite correct in 
 
262 ODD SAYINGS OF THREE PILGRIMS. 
 
 their statements, for that woman was a bad animal, and 
 that she herself knew some who were better under the 
 ground than on it. The pilgrims, noticing then how pretty 
 the girl was, were afraid of breaking their vows, and went 
 straight to bed. The girl went and told her mistress that 
 she was harbouring infidels, and told her what they had 
 said about women. 
 
 "Ah!" said the landlady, "what matters it to me the 
 thoughts my customers have in their brains, so long as 
 their purses are well filled." 
 
 And when the servant had told of the jewels, she ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 "Ah, these are questions which concern all women. Let 
 us go and reason with them. I'll take the nobles, you can 
 have the citizen." 
 
 The landlady, who was the most shameless inhabitant 
 of the duchy of Milan, went into the chamber where the 
 Sire de la Vaugrenand and the German baron were sleep- 
 ing, and congratulated them upon their vows, saying that 
 the women would not lose much by them ; but to accom- 
 plish these said vows it was necessary they should en- 
 deavour to withstand the strongest temptation. Then she 
 offered to lie down beside them, so anxious was she to see 
 if she would be left unrnolested, a thing which had never 
 happened to her yet in the company of a man. 
 
 On the morrow, at breakfast, the servant had the ring 
 on her finger, her mistress had the gold chain and the 
 pearl earrings. The three pilgrims stayed in the town 
 about a month, spending there all the money they had in 
 their purses, and agreed that if they had spoken so severely 
 
ODD SAYINGS OF THREE PILGRIMS. 263 
 
 of women it was because they had not known those of 
 Milan. 
 
 On his return to Germany the baron made this observa- 
 tion : that he was only guilty of one sin, that of being in 
 his castle. The citizen of Paris came back full of stories 
 for his wife, and found her full of Hope. The Burgun- 
 dian saw Madame de la Vaugrenand so troubled that he 
 nearly died of the consolations he administered to her, in 
 spite of his former opinions. This teaches us to hold our 
 tongties in hostelries. 
 
INNOCENCE. 
 
 BY the double crest of my fowl, and by the rose lining 
 of my sweetheart's slipper! By all the horns of 
 well-beloved cuckolds, and by the virtue of their blessed 
 wives ! the finest work of man is neither poetry, nor paint- 
 ed pictures, nor music, nor castles, nor statues, be they 
 carved never so well, nor rowing, nor sailing galleys, but 
 children. Understand me, children up to the age of ten 
 years, for after that they become men or women, and cut- 
 ting their wisdom teeth, are not worth what they cost : the 
 worst are the best. Watch them playing, prettily and in- 
 nocently, with slippers; above all, cancellated ones, with 
 the household utensils, leaving that which displeases them, 
 crying after that which pleases them, munching the sweets 
 and confectionery in the house, nibbling at the stores, and 
 always laughing as soon as their teeth are cut, and you 
 will agree with me that they are in every way lovable ; be- 
 sides which they are flower and fruit — the fruit of love, 
 the flower of life. Before their minds have been unsettled 
 by the disturbances of life, there is nothing in this world 
 more blessed or more pleasant than their sayings, which 
 are naive beyond description. This is as true as the double 
 chewing machine of a cow. Do not expect a man to be 
 innocent after the manner of children, because there is an, 
 I know not what, ingredient of reason in the naivete of a 
 man, while the naivete of children is canc^id, immaculate, 
 
 264 
 
INNOCENCE. 265 
 
 and has all the finesse of the mother, which is plainly 
 proved in this tale. 
 
 Queen Catherine was at that time Dauphine, and to 
 make herself welcome to the king, her father-in-law, who 
 at that time was very ill indeed, presented him, from time 
 to time, with Italian pictures, knowing that he liked them 
 much, being a friend of the Sieur Raphael d'Urbin and of 
 the Sieurs Primatice and Leonardo da Vinci, to whom he 
 sent large sums of money. She obtained from her family 
 — who had the pick of these works, because at that time 
 the Duke of Medicis governed Tuscany — a precious pic- 
 ture, painted by a Venetian named Titian (artist to the 
 Emperor Charles, and in very high favour), in which 
 there were portraits of Adam and Eve at the moment 
 when God left them to wander about the terrestrial Para- 
 dise, and Svere painted their full height, in the costume of 
 the period, in which it is difficult to make a mistake, be- 
 cause they were attired in their ignorance, and caparisoned 
 with the divine grace which enveloped them — a difficult 
 thing to execute on account of the colour, but one in which 
 the said Sieur Titian excelled. The picture was put into 
 the room of the poor king, who was then ill with the dis- 
 ease of which he eventually died. It had a great sttccess 
 at the Court of France, where every one wished to see it ; 
 but no one was able to until after the king's death, since at 
 his desire it was allowed to remain in his room as long as 
 he lived. 
 
 One day Madame Catherine took with her to the king's 
 room her son Francis and little Margot, who began to talk 
 at random, as children will. Now here, now there, these 
 children had heard this picture of Adam and Eve spoken 
 
266 INNOCENCE. 
 
 about, and had tormented their mother to take them there. 
 Since the two little ones at times amused the old king, 
 Madame the Dauphine consented to their request. 
 
 "You wished to see Adam and Eve, who were our first 
 parents : there they are," said she. 
 
 Then she left them in great astonishment before Titian's 
 picture, and seated herself by the bedside of the king, who 
 delighted to watch the children. 
 
 "Which of the two is Adam ?" said Francis, nudging his 
 sister Margaret's elbow. 
 
 "You silly !" replied she, "to know that, they would have 
 to be dressed !" 
 
 This reply, which delighted the poor king and the 
 mother, was mentioned in a letter written in Florence by 
 Queen Catherine. 
 
 No writer having brought it to light, it will remain, like 
 a sweet flower, in a corner of these Tales, although it is 
 in no way droll, and there is no other moral to be drawn 
 from it except that to hear these pretty speeches of in- 
 fancy one must beget the children. 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 
 I. 
 
 HOW MADAME IMPERIA WAS CAUGHT IN THE VERY NET 
 SHE WAS ACCUSTOMED TO SPREAD FOR HER LOVE-BIRDS. 
 
 THE lovely lady Imperia, who gloriously opens these 
 tales, because she was the glory of her time, was 
 compelled to come into the town of Rome, after the hold- 
 ing of the council, for the Cardinal of Ragusa loved her 
 more than his cardinal's hat. and wished to have her near 
 him. This rascal was so magnificent, that he presented 
 her with the beautiful palace that she had in the Papal 
 capital. About this time she had the misfortune to find 
 herself in an interesting condition by this cardinal. As 
 every one knows, this pregnancy finished with a fine little 
 daughter, concerning whom the Pope said jokingly that 
 she should be named Theodora, as if to say The Gift of 
 God. The girl was thus named, and was exquisitely love- 
 ly. Jhe cardinal left his inheritance to this Theodora, 
 whom the fair Imperia established in her hotel, for she 
 was flying from Rome as from a pernicious place, where 
 children were begotten, and where she had nearly spoilt 
 her beautiful figure, her celebrated perfections, lines of the 
 body, curves of the back, delicious breasts, and serpentine 
 charms which placed her as much above the other women 
 
 267 
 
268 THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 
 
 of Christendom as the Holy Father was above all other 
 Christians. But all hr lovers knew that with the assist- 
 ance of eleven doctors of Padua, seven master surgeons 
 of Pavia, and five surgeons come from all parts, who as- 
 sisted at her confinement, she was preserved from all in- 
 jury. Some go so far as to say that she gained therein 
 superfineness and whiteness of skin. A famous man, of 
 the school of Salerno, wrote a book on the subject, to 
 show the value of a confinement for the freshness, health, 
 preservation, and beauty of women. In this very learned 
 book it was clearly proved to readers that that which was 
 beautiful to see in Imperia, was that which it was permis- 
 sible for lovers alone to behold ; a rare case then, for she 
 did not disarrange her attire for the petty German princes 
 whom she called her margraves, burgraves, electors, and 
 dukes, just as a captain ranks his soldiers. 
 
 Every one knows that when she was eighteen years of 
 age, the lovely Theodora, to atone for her mother's gay 
 life, wished to retire into the bosom of the Church. With 
 this idea she placed herself in the hands of a cardinal, in 
 order that he might instruct her in the duties of the devout. 
 This wicked shepherd found the lamb so magnificently 
 beautiful that he attempted to debauch her. Theodora 
 instantly stabbed herself with a stilleto, in order not to be 
 contaminated by the evil-minded priest. This adventure, 
 which was consigned to the history of the period, inade a 
 great commotion in Rome, and was deplored by every one, 
 so much was the daughter of Imperia beloved. 
 
 Then this noble courtesan, much afflicted, returned to 
 Rome, there to weep for her poor daughter. She set out 
 in the thirty-ninth year of her age, which was, according 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 269 
 
 to some authors, the summer of her magnificent beauty, 
 because then she had attained the acme of her perfection, 
 like ripe fruit. Sorrow made her haughty and hard with 
 those who spoke to her of love, in order to dry her tears. 
 The pope himself visited her in her palace, and gave her 
 certain words of admonition. But she refused to be com- 
 forted, saying that she would henceforward devote her- 
 self to God, because she had never yet been satisfied by 
 any man, although she had ardently desired it ; and all of 
 them, even a little priest, whom she had adored like a 
 saint's shrine, had deceived her. God, she was sure, would 
 not do so. This resolution disconcerted many, for she was 
 the joy of a vast number of lords. So that people ran 
 about the streets of Rome crying out, "Where is Madame 
 Imperia? Is she going to deprive the world of love?" 
 Some of the ambassadors wrote to their masters on the 
 subject. The Emperor of the Romans was much cut up 
 about it, because he loved her to distraction for eleven 
 weeks ; had left her only to go to the wars, and loved her 
 still as much as his most precious member, which, accord- 
 ing to his own statement, was his eye, for that alone em- 
 braced the whole of his dear Imperia. In this extremity 
 the Pope sent for a Spanish physician, and conducted him 
 to the beautiful creature, to whom he proved, by various 
 arguments, adorned with Latin and Greek quotations, that 
 beauty is impaired by tears and tribulation, and that 
 through sorrow's door wrinkles step in. This proposition, 
 confirmed by the doctors of the Holy College in controv- 
 ersy, had the effect of opening the doors of the palace that 
 same evening. The young cardinals, the foreign envoys, 
 the wealthy inhabitants, and the principal men of the town 
 
270 THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 
 
 of Rome came, crowded the rooms, and held a joyous fes- 
 tival ; the common people made grand illuminations, and 
 thus the whole population celebrated the return of the 
 Queen of Pleasure to her occupation, for she was at that 
 time the presiding deity of Love. The experts in all the 
 arts loved her much, because she spent considerable sums 
 of money in improving the church in Rome, which con- 
 tained poor Theodora's tomb, which was destroyed dur- 
 ing that pillage of Rome in which perished the traitorous 
 constable of Bourbon, for this holy maiden was placed 
 therein in a massive coffin of gold and silver, which the 
 cursed soldiers were anxious to obtain. The basilic cost, 
 it is said, more than the pyramid erected by the Lady 
 Rhodepa, an Egyptian courtesan, eighteen hundred years 
 before the coming of our divine Saviour, which proves 
 the antiquity of this pleasant occupation, the extravagant 
 prices which the wise Egyptians paid for their pleasures, 
 and how things deteriorate, seeing that now for a trifle 
 you can have a chemise full of female loveliness in the 
 Rue du Petit^Heulen, at Paris. Is it not an abomination? 
 Never had Madame Imperia appeared so lovely as at 
 this first gala after her mourning. All the princes, cardi- 
 nals, and others declared that she was worthy the homage 
 of the whole world, which was there represented by a 
 noble from every known land, and thus was it amply dem- 
 onstrated that beauty was in every place queen of every- 
 thing. The envoy of the King of France, who was a cadet 
 of the house of I'lle Adam, arrived late, although he had 
 never yet seen Imperia, and was most anxious to do so. 
 He was a handsome young knight, much in favour with 
 his sovereign, in whose court he had a mistress, whom he 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 27I 
 
 loved with infinite tenderness, and who was the daughter 
 of Monsieur de Montmorency, a lord whose domains bor- 
 dered upon those of the house of I'lle Adam. To this pen- 
 niless cadet the king had given certain missions to the 
 duchy of Milan, of which he had acquitted himself so well 
 that he was sent to Rome to advance the negotiations con- 
 cerning which historians have written so much in their 
 books. Now if he had nothing of his own, poor little I'lle 
 Adam relied upon so good a beginning. He was slightly 
 built, but upright as a column, dark, with black, glistening 
 eyes, and a man not easily taken in; but concealing his 
 finesse, he had the air of an innocent child, which made 
 him gentle and amiable as a laughing maiden. Directly 
 this gentleman joined her circle, and her eyes had rested 
 upon him, Madame Imperia felt herself bitten by a strong 
 desire, which stretched the harp strings of her nature, and 
 produced therefrom a sound she had not heard for many 
 a day. She was seized with such a vertigo of true love at 
 the sight of this freshness of youth, that but for her im- 
 perial dignity she would have kissed the good cheeks 
 which shone like little apples. Now take note of this; 
 that so called modest wornen, and ladies whose skirts bear 
 their armorial bearings, are thoroughly ignorant of the 
 nature of a man, because they keep to one alone, like that 
 queen of France who believed all men had ulcers in the 
 nose because the king had; but a great courtesan, like 
 Madame Imperia, knew man to his core, because she had 
 handled a great many. In her retreat every one came out 
 in his true colours, and concealed nothing, thinking to 
 himself that he would not be long with her. Having often 
 deplored this subjection, sometimes he would remark 
 
272 THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 
 
 that she suffered from pleasure more than she suffered 
 from pain. There was the dark shadow of her life. You 
 may be sure that a lover was often compelled to part with 
 a nice little heap of crowns in order to pass the night 
 with her, and was reduced to desperation by a refusal. 
 Now for her it was a joyful thing to feel a youthful desire, 
 like that she had for the little priest, whose story com- 
 mences this collection ; but because she was older than in 
 those merry days, love was more fully established in her, 
 and she soon perceived that it was of a fiery nature when 
 it began to make itself felt ; indeed, she suffered in her 
 skin like a cat that is being scorched, and so much so that 
 she had an intense longing to spring on to this gentleman, 
 and bear him in triumph to her nest, as a kite does its prey, 
 but with great difficulty she restrained herself. When he 
 came and bowed to her, she threw back her head, and as- 
 sumed a most dignified attitude, as do those who have a 
 love infatuation in their hearts. The gravity of her de- 
 meanour to the young ambassador caused many to think 
 that she had work in store for him ; equivocating on the 
 word, after the custom of the time. LTle Adam, knowing 
 himself to be dearly loved by his mistress, troubled him- 
 self but little about Madame Imperia, grave or gay, and 
 frisked about like a goat let loose. The courtesan, terribly 
 annoyed at this, changed her tone, from being sulky be- 
 came gay and lively, came to him, softened her voice, 
 sharpened her glance, gracefully inclined her head, rubbed 
 against him with her sleeve, and called him Monseigneur, 
 embraced him with loving words, trifled with his hand, 
 and finished by smiling at him most affably. He, not im- 
 agining that so unprofitable a lover would suit her, for 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 273 
 
 he was as poor as a church mouse, and did not know that 
 his beauty was equal i^ her eyes to all the treasures of the 
 world, was not taken in her trap, but continued to ride the 
 high horse with his hands on his hips. This disdain of 
 her passion irritated Madame to the heart, which by this 
 spark was set in flame. If you doubt this, it is because 
 you know nothing of the profession of Madame Imperia, 
 who by reason of it might be compared to a chimney, in 
 which a great number, of fires had been lighted, which had 
 filled it with soot ; in this state a match was sufficient to 
 burn everything there, where a hundred fagots had 
 smoked comfortably. She burned within from top to toe 
 in a horrible manner, and could not be extinguished save 
 with the water of love. The cadet of ITle Adam left the 
 room without noticing this ardour. Madame, disconso- 
 late at his departure, lost her senses from her head to her 
 feet, and so thoroughly that she sent a messenger to him 
 in the galleries, begging him to pass the night with her. 
 On no other occasion of her life had she had this cow- 
 ardice, either for king, pope, or emperor, since the high 
 price of her favours came from the bondage in which she 
 held her admirers, whom the more she humbled the more 
 she raised herself. The disdainful hero of this history was 
 informed by the head chamber-woman, who was a clever 
 jade, that in all probability a great treat awaited him, for 
 most certainly Madame would regale him with her most 
 delicate inventions of love. LTle Adam returned to the 
 salons, delighted at this lucky chance. Directly the envoy 
 of France reappeared, as every one had seen Imperia turn 
 pale at his departure, the general joy knew no bounds, 
 because every one was delighted to see her return to her 
 
274 TH£ ^^^ IMPERIA MARRIED. 
 
 old life of love. An English cardinal, who had drained 
 more than one big-bellied flagon, and wished to taste Im- 
 peria, went to I'lle Adam and whispered to him, "Hold 
 her fast, so that she shall never again escape us." The 
 story of this night was told to the pope at his levee, and 
 caused him to remark, Laetamini, gentes, quoniam sur- 
 rexit Dominnus. A quotation which the old cardinals 
 abominated as a profanation of sacred texts. Seeing 
 which, the pope reprimanded them severely, and took oc- 
 casion to lecture them, telling them that if they were good 
 Christians they were bad politicians. Indeed, he relied 
 upon the fair Imperia to reclaim the emperor, and with 
 this idea syringed her well with flattery. 
 
 The lights of the palace being extinguished, the golden 
 llagons on the floor, and the servants drunk and stretched 
 about on the carpets, Madame entered her bed-chamber, 
 leading by the hand her dear lover-elect ; and she was well 
 pleased, and has since confessed that so strongly was she 
 bitten with love, she could hardly restrain herself from 
 rolling at his feet like a beast of the field, begging him to 
 crush her beneath him if he could. LTle Adam slipped off 
 his garments, and tumbled into bed as if he were in his 
 own house. Seeing which, Madame hastened her prepa- 
 rations, and sprang into her lover's arms with a ffenzy 
 that astonished her women, who knew her to be ordinarily 
 one of the most modest of women on these occasions. This 
 astonishment became general throughout the country, for 
 the pair remained in bed for nine days, eating, drinking, 
 and embracing in a marvellous and most masterly manner. 
 Madame told her women that at last she had put her hand 
 on a phoenix of love, since he revived from every attack. 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 275 
 
 Nothing was talked of in Rome and Italy but the victory 
 that had been gained over Imperia, who had boasted that 
 she would yield to no man, and spat upon all of them, 
 even the dukes. As to the aforesaid margraves and bur- 
 graves, she gave them the tail of her dress to hold, and 
 said that if she did not tread them under foot, they would 
 trample upon her. Madame confessed to her servants 
 that, differently to all the other men she had had to put up 
 with, the more she fondled this child of love, the more 
 she desired to do so, and that she would never be able to 
 part with him ; nor his splendid eyes, which blinded her ; 
 nor his branch of coral, that she always hungered after. 
 She further declared that if such were his desire, she 
 would let him suck her blood, and eat her breasts — which 
 were the most lovely in the world — ^and cut her tresses, 
 of which she had only given a single one to the Emperor 
 of the Romans, who kept it in his breast, like a precious 
 relic ; finally, she confessed that on that night only had life 
 begun for her, because the embrace of Villiers de I'lle 
 Adam sent the blood to her in three bounds and in a brace 
 of shakes. These expressions becoming known, made 
 every one very miserable. Directly she went out, Imperia 
 told the ladies of Rome that she should die if she were 
 deserted by this gentleman, and would cause herself, like 
 Queen Cleopatra, to be bitten by an asp. She declared 
 openly that she had bidden an eternal adieu to her former 
 gay life, and would show the whole world what virtue was 
 by abandoning her empire for this Villiers de I'lle Adam, 
 whose servant she would rather be than reign over Chris- 
 tendom. The English cardinal remonstrated with the 
 pope that this love for one, in the heart of a woman who 
 
276 THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 
 
 was the joy of all, was an infamous depravity, and that 
 he ought with a brief in partibus, to annul this marriage, 
 which robbed the fashionable world of its principal attrac- 
 tion. But the love of this poor woman, who had confessed 
 the miseries of her life, was so sweet a thing, and so 
 moved the most dissipated heart, that he silenced all 
 clamour, and every one forgave her her happiness. One 
 day during Lent, Imperia made her people fast, and or- 
 dered them to go and confess, and return to God. She 
 herself went and fell at the pope's feet, and there showed 
 such penitence, that she obtained from him remission of 
 all her sins, believing that the absolution of the pope would 
 communicate to her soul that virginity which she was 
 grieved at being unable to offer to her lover. It is impos- 
 sible to help thinking that there was some virtue in the 
 ecclesiastical piscina, for the poor cadet was so smothered 
 with love that he fancied himself in Paradise, and left the 
 negotiations of the King of France, left his love for Made- 
 moiselle de Montmorency — in fact, left everything to 
 marry Madame Imperia, in order that he might live and 
 die with her. Such was the effect of the learned ways of 
 this great lady of pleasure directly she turned her science 
 to the profit of a virtuous love. Imperia bade adieu to her 
 admirers at a royal feast, given in honour of her wedding, 
 which was a wonderful ceremony, at which all the Italian 
 princes were present. She had, it is said, a million gold 
 crowns ; in spite of the vastness of this sum, every one, 
 far from blaming I'lle Adam, paid him many compliments,' 
 because it was evident that neither Madame Imperia nor 
 her young husband thought of anything but one. The 
 pope blessed their marriage, and said that it was a fine 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 2'J'J 
 
 thing to see the foolish virgin returning to God by the 
 road of marriage. 
 
 But during that last night in which it would be permis- 
 sible for all to behold the Queen of Beauty, who was about 
 to become a simple chatelaine of the kingdom of France, 
 there were a great number of men who mourned for the 
 merry nights, the suppers, the masked balls, the joyous 
 games, and the melting hours, when each one emptied his 
 heart to her. Every one regretted the ease and freedom 
 which had always been found in the residence of this 
 lovely creature, who now appeared more tempting than 
 she had ever done in her life, for the fervid heat of her 
 great love made her glisten like a summer sun. Much 
 did they lament the fact that she had had the sad phantasy 
 to become a respectable woman. To these Madame de 
 rile Adam answered jestingly, that after twenty-four 
 years passed in the service of the public, she had a right 
 to retire. Others said to her, that however distant the 
 sun was, people could warm themselves in it, while she 
 would show herself no more. To these she replied that 
 she would still have smiles to bestow upon those lords 
 who would come and see how she played the role of a vir- 
 tuous woman. To this the English envoy answered, he 
 believed her capable of pushing virtue to its extreme 
 point. She gave a present to each of her friends, and large 
 sums to the poor and suffering of Rome ; besides this, she 
 left to the convent where her daughter was to have been, 
 and to the church she had built, the wealth she had in- 
 herited from Theodora, which came from the Cardinal of 
 Ragusa. 
 
 When the two spouses set out they were accompanied 
 
278 THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIEa 
 
 a long way by knights in mourning, and even by the com- 
 mon people, who wished them every happiness, because 
 Madame Imperia had been hard on the rich only, and had 
 always been kind and gentle with the poor. This lovely 
 queen of love was hailed with acclamations throughout 
 the journey in all the towns of Italy where the report of 
 her conversion had spread, and where every one was curi- 
 ous to see pass, a case so rare as two such spouses. Sev- 
 eral princes received this handsome couple at their courts, 
 saying it was but right to show honour to this woman 
 who had the courage to renounce her empire over the 
 world of fashion, to become a virtuous woman. But there 
 was an evil-minded fellow, one my lord Duke of Ferrara, 
 who said to I'lle Adam that his great fortune had not cost 
 him much. At this first offence Madame Imperia showed 
 what a good heart she had, for she gave up all the money 
 she had received from her lovers to ornament the dome 
 of St. Maria del Fiore, in the town of Florence, which 
 turned the laugh against the Sire d'Este, who boasted 
 that he had built a church in spite of the empty condition 
 of his purse. You may be sure he was reprimanded for 
 this joke by his brother the cardinal. The fair Imperia 
 only kept her own wealth and that which the Emperor 
 had bestowed upon her out of pure friendship since his 
 departure, the amount of which was, however, consider- 
 able. The cadet of ITle Adam had a duel with the duke, 
 in which he wounded him. Thus neither Madame de ITle 
 Adam nor her husband could be in any way reproached. 
 This piece of chivalry caused her to be gloriously received 
 in all places she passed through, especially in Piedmont, 
 where the fetes were splendid. Verses, which the poet 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 279 
 
 then composed, such as sonnets, epithalamias, and odes, 
 have been given in certain collections ; but all poetry was 
 weak in comparison with her, who was, according to an 
 expression of Monsieur Boccaccio, poetry itself. 
 
 The prize in this tourney of fetes and gallantry must be 
 awarded to the good Emperor of the Romans, who, know- 
 ing of the misbehaviour of the Duke of Ferrera, de- 
 spatched an envoy to his old flame, charged with Latin 
 manuscripts, in which he told her that he loved her so 
 much for herself, that he was delighted to know that she 
 was happy, but grieved to know that all her happiness was 
 not derived from him ; that he had lost the right to make 
 her presents, but that, if the king of France received her 
 coldly, he would think it an honour to acquire a VilHers 
 to the holy empire, and would give him such principalities 
 as he might choose from his domains. The fair Imperia 
 replied that she was extremely obliged to the Emperor, 
 but that had she to suffer contumely upon contumely in 
 France, she still intended there to finish her days. 
 
280 TEE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIEZX 
 
 11. 
 
 HOW THIS MARRIAGE ENDEU 
 
 Not knowing if she would be received or not, the lady 
 of' rile Adam would not go to Court, but lived in the 
 country, where her husband made a fine establishment, 
 purchasing the manor of Beaumont-le-Vicomte, which 
 gave rise to the equivoke upon this name, made by our 
 well-beloved Rabelais, in his most magnificent book. He 
 acquired also the domain of Nointel, the forest of Care- 
 nelle, St. Martin, and other places in the neighbourhood 
 of rile Adam, where his brother Villiers resided. These 
 said acquisitions made him the most powerful lord in the 
 He de France and county of Paris. He built a wonderful 
 castle near Beaumont, which was afterwards ruined by 
 the English, and adorned it with the furniture, foreign 
 tapestries, chests, pictures, statues, and curiosities of his 
 wife, who was a great connoisseur, which made this place 
 equal to the most magnificent castles known. The happy 
 pair led a life so envied by all, that nothing was talked 
 about in Paris and at Court but this marriage, the good 
 fortune of the Sire de Beaumont, and, above all, of the 
 perfect, loyal, gracious, and religious life of his wife, 
 who from habit many still called Madame Imperia; who 
 was no longer proud and sharp as steel, but had the vir- 
 tues and qualities of a respectable woman, and was an 
 
THE FAIR IMPEEIA MARRIED. 281 
 
 example in many things to a queen. She was much be- 
 loved by the Church on account of her great religion, for 
 she had never once forgotten God, having, as she once 
 said, spent much of her time with churchmen, abbots, bish- 
 ops, and cardinals, who had sprinkled her well with holy 
 water, and under the curtains worked her eternal salva- 
 tion. The praises sung in honour of this lady had such 
 an effect, that the king came to Beauvoisis to gaze upon 
 this wonder, and did the sire the honour to sleep at Beau- 
 mont, remained there three days, and had a royal hunt 
 there with the queen and the whole Court. You may be 
 sure that he was surprised, as were also the queen, the 
 ladies, and the Court, at the. manners of this superb, creat- 
 ure,- who was proclaimed lady of courtesy and beauty. 
 The king first, then the queen, and afterwards every indi- 
 vidual member of the company, complimented I'lle Adam 
 on having chosen such a wife. The modesty of the chate- 
 laine did more than pride would have acomplished; for 
 she was invited to Court, and everywhere, so imperious 
 was her great heart, so tyrannic her violent love for her 
 husband. You may be sure that her charms, hidden under 
 the garments of virtue, were none the less exquisite. The 
 king gave the vacant post of lieutenant of the He de 
 France and provost of Paris to his ancient ambassador, 
 giving him the title of Viscount of Beaumont, which es- 
 tablished him as governor of the whole province, and put 
 him on an excellent footing at Court. But this was the 
 cause of a great wound in Madame's heart, because a 
 wretch, jealous of this unclouded happiness, asked her, 
 playfully, if Beaumont had ever spoken to her of his first 
 love, Mademoiselle de Montmorency, who at that time 
 
282 
 
 THE FAIR IMPERIA MABIUED. 
 
 was twenty-two years of age, as she was sixteen at the 
 time the marriage took place in Rome — ^the which young 
 lady loved I'lle Adam so much that she remained a maiden, 
 would listen to no proposals of marriage, and was dying 
 of a broken heart, unable to banish her perfidious lover 
 from her remembrance, and was desirous of entering the 
 convent of Chelles. Madame Imperia, during the six 
 years of her marriage, had never heard this name, and 
 was sure from this fact that she was indeed beloved. You 
 can imagine that this time had been passed as a single 
 day, that both believed they had only been married the 
 evening before, and that each night was as a wedding 
 night, «and that if business took the knight out of doors, 
 he was quite melancholy, being unwilling ever to have 
 her out of his sight, and she was the same with him. The 
 king, who was very partial to the viscount, also made a 
 remark to him which stung him to the quick, when he 
 said, "You have no children?" To which Beaumont re- 
 plied, with the face of a man whose raw place you have 
 touched with your finger, "Monseigneur, my brother has ; 
 thus our line is safe." 
 
 Now it happened that his brother's two children died 
 suddenly — one from a fall from his horse at a tournament 
 and the other from illness. Monsieur ITle Adam the 
 elder was so stricken with grief at these two deaths that 
 he expired soon after, so much did he love his two sons. 
 By this means the manor of Beaumont, the property at 
 Carenelle, St. Martin, Nointel, and the surrounding do- 
 mains, were re-united to the manor of I'lle Adam, and the 
 neighbouring forests, and the cadet became the head of 
 the house. At this time Madame was forty-five, and was 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 283 
 
 still fit to bear children ; but, alas ! she conceived not. As 
 soon as she saw the lineage of I'lle Adam destroyed, she 
 was anxious to obtain offspring. Now, as during the 
 seven years which had elapsed she had never once had 
 the slightest symptom of pregnancy, she believed, accord- 
 ing to the statement of a clever physician whom she sent 
 for from Paris, that this barrenness proceeded from the 
 fact, that both she and her husband, always more lovers 
 than spouses, allowed pleasure to interfere with business, 
 and by this means engendering was prevented. Then she 
 endeavoured to restrain her impetuosity, and to take things 
 coolly, because the physician had explained to her that 
 in a state of nature animals never failed to breed, because 
 the females employed none of those artifices, tricks, and 
 hanky-pankies with which women accommodate the olives 
 of Poissy, and for this reason they thoroughly deserved 
 the title of beasts. She promised him no longer to play 
 with such a serious affair, and to forget all the ingenious 
 devices in which she had been so fertile. But, alas! al- 
 though she kept as quiet as that German woman who lay 
 so still that her husband embraced her to death, and then 
 went, poor baron, to obtain absolution from the pope, who 
 delivered his celebrated brief, in which he requested the 
 ladies of Franconia to be a little more lively, and prevent 
 a repetition of such a crime, Madame de I'lle Adam did 
 not conceive, and fell into a state of great melancholy. 
 Then she began to notice how thoughtful had become her 
 husband, I'lle Adam, whom she watched when he thought 
 she was not looking, and who wept that he had no fruit 
 of his great love. Soon this pair mingled their tears, for 
 everything was common to the two in this fine household, 
 
284 THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 
 
 and as they never left each other, the thought of the one 
 was necessarily the thought of the other. When Madame 
 beheld a poor person's child she nearly died of grief, and 
 it took her a whole day to recover. Seeing this great; sor- 
 row, rile Adam ordered all children to be kept out of his 
 wife's sight, and said soothing things to her, such as that 
 children often turned out badly ; to which she replied, that 
 a child made by those who loved so passionately would be 
 the finest child in the world. He told her that their sons 
 might perish, like those of his poor brother ; to which she 
 replied, that she would not let them stir further from her 
 petticoats than a hen allows her chickens. In fact, she had 
 an answer for everything. Madame caused a woman to 
 be sent for who dealt in magic, and wh6 was supposed to 
 be learned in these mysteries, who told her that she had 
 often seen women unable to conceive in spite of every 
 eflfort, but yet they had succeeded by studying the manners 
 and customs of animals. Madame took the beasts of the 
 field for her preceptors, but she did not increase her size ; 
 her flesh still remained firm and white as marble. She 
 returned to the physical science of the master doctors of 
 Paris, and sent for a celebrated Arabian physician, who 
 had just arrived in France with a new science. Then this 
 savant, brought up in the school of one Sieur Averroes, 
 entered into certain medical details, and declared that the 
 loose life she had formerly led had for ever ruined her 
 chance of obtaining offspring. The physical reasons which 
 he assigned were so contrary to the teaching of the holy 
 books which establish the majesty of man, made in the 
 image of his Creator, and were so contrary to the system 
 upheld by sound sense and good doctrine, that the doctors 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 285 
 
 of Paris laughed them to scorn. The Arabian physician 
 left the school where his master, the Sieur Averroes, was 
 unknown. The doctors told Madame, who had come to 
 Paris, that she was to keep on as usual, since she had had 
 during her gay life the lovely Theodora, by the cardinal 
 of Ragusa, and that the right of having children remained 
 with women as long as their blood circulated, and that all 
 she had to do was to multiply the chances of conception. 
 This advice appeared to her so good that she multiplied 
 her victories, but it was only multiplying her defeats, since 
 she obtained the flowers of love without its fruits. The 
 poor afflicted woman wrote then to the pope, who loved 
 her much, and told him of her sorrows. The good pope 
 replied to her with a gracious homily, written with his own 
 hand, in which he told her that when human science and 
 things terrestrial failed, we should turn to Heaven, and 
 implore the grace of God. Then she determined to go 
 with naked feet, accompanied by her husband, to Notre 
 Dame de Liesse, celebrated for her intervention in similar 
 cases, and made a vow to build a magnificent cathedral in 
 gratitude for the child. But she bruised and injured her 
 pretty feet, and conceived nothing but a violent grief, 
 which was so great that some of her lovely tresses fell off 
 and some turned white. At last the faculty of making 
 children was taken from her, which brought on the vap- 
 ours consequent upon hypochondria, and caused her skin 
 to turn yellow. She was then forty-nine years of age, and 
 lived in her castle of ITle Adam, where she grew as thin 
 as a leper in a lazar-house. The poor creature was all the 
 more wretched because ITle Adam was still amorous, and 
 as good as gold to her, who failed in her duty, because she 
 
286 THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 
 
 had formerly been too free with the men, and was now, 
 according to her own disdainful remark, only a cauldron 
 to cook chitterlings. "Ha !" said she, one evening when 
 these thoughts were toripenting her. "In spite of the 
 Church, in spite of the king, in spite of everything, Ma- 
 dame de rile Adam is still the wicked Imperia !" She fell 
 into a violent passion when she saw this handsome gentle- 
 man have everything man can desire, great wealth, royal 
 favour, unequalled love, matchless wife, pleasure such as 
 none other could procure, and yet fail in that which is 
 dearest to the head of a house — namely, lineage. With 
 this idea in her head, she wished to die, thinking how good 
 and noble he had been to her, and how much she failed in 
 her duty in not giving him children, and in being hence- 
 forward unable to do so. She hid her sorrow in the secret 
 recesses of her heart, and conceived a devotion worthy her 
 great love. To put into practice this heroic design she 
 became still more amorous, took extreme care of her 
 charms, and made use of learned precepts to maintain her 
 bodily perfections, which threw out an incredible lustre. 
 
 About this time the Sieur de Montmorency conquered 
 the repulsion his daughter entertained for marriage, and 
 her alliance with one Sieur de Chatillon was much talked 
 about. Madame Imperia, who lived only three leagues 
 distant from Montmorency, one day sent her husband out 
 hunting in the forest, and set out towards the castle where 
 the young lady lived. Arrived in the grounds she walked 
 about there, telling a servant to inform his mistress that 
 a lady had a most important communication to make to 
 her, and that she had come to request an audience. Much 
 interested by the account which she received of the beauty, 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 287 
 
 courtesy, and manners of the unknown lady, Mademoiselle 
 de Montmorency went in great haste into the gardens, and 
 there met her rival, whom she did not know. 
 
 "My dear," said the poor woman, weeping to find the 
 young maiden as beautiful as herself, "I know that they 
 are trying to force you into a marriage with Monsieur de 
 Chatillon, although. you still love Monsieur de I'lle Adam. 
 Have confidence in the prophecy that I here make you, that 
 he whom you have loved, and who only was false to you 
 through a snare into which an angel might have fallen, 
 will be free from the burden of his old wife before the 
 leaves fall. Thus the constancy of your love will have its 
 crown of flowers. Now have the courage to refuse this 
 marriage they are arranging for you, and you may yet 
 clasp your first and only love. Pledge me your word to 
 love and cherish I'lIe Adam, who is the kindest of men ; 
 never to cause him a moment's anguish, and tell him to 
 reveal to you all the secrets of love invented by Madame 
 Imperia, because, in practising them, being young, you 
 will be easily able to obliterate the remembrance of her 
 from his mind." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Montmorency was so astonished that 
 she could make no answer, and let this queen of beauty 
 depart, and believed her to be a fairy, until a workman 
 told her that the fairy was Madame de I'lle Adam. Al- 
 though the adventure was inexplicable, she told her father 
 that she would not give her consent to the proposed mar- 
 riage until after the autumn, so much is it in the nature 
 of Love to ally itself with Hope, in spite of the bitter pills 
 which this deceitful and gracious companion gives her to 
 swallow like bulls' eyes. During the months when the 
 
288 THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 
 
 grapes are gathered, Imperia would not let I'lle Adam 
 leave her, and was so amorous that one would have imag- 
 ined she wished to kill him, since I'lle Adam felt as though 
 he had a fresh bride in his arms every night. The next 
 morning the good woman requested him to keep the re- 
 membrance of these joys in his heart. Then, to know 
 what her lover's real thoughts on the subject were, she 
 said to him, "Poor I'lle Adam, we were very silly to marry 
 — a lad like you, with your twenty-three years, and an old 
 woman close on forty." He answered her, that his hap- 
 piness was such that he was the envy of every one, that at 
 her age her equal did not exist among the younger wom- 
 en, and that if ever she grew old he would love her wrin- 
 kles, believing that even in the tomb she would be lovely, 
 and her skeleton lovable. 
 
 To these answers, which brought the tears into her eyes, 
 she one morning answered maliciously, that Mademoiselle 
 Montmorency was very lovely and very faithful. This 
 speech forced I'lle Adam to tell her that she pained him 
 by telling him of the only wrong he had ever committed 
 in his life — the breaking of the troth pledged to his first 
 sweetheart, all love for whom he had since effaced from 
 his heart. This candid speech made her seize him and 
 clasp him to her heart, affected at the loyalty of his dis- 
 course on a subject from which many would have shrunk. 
 
 "My dear love," said she, "for a long time past I have 
 been siiffering from a retraction of the heart, which has 
 always since my youth been dangerous to my life, and in 
 this opinion the Arabian physician coincides. If I die, I 
 wish you to make the most binding oath a knight can 
 make, to wed Mademoiselle Montmorency. I am so cer- 
 
THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 289 
 
 tain of dying, that T leave my property to you only on con- 
 dition that this marriage takes place." 
 
 Hearing this I'lle Adam turned pale, and felt faint at 
 the mere thought of an eternal separation from his good 
 wife. 
 
 "Yes, dear treasure of love," continued she. "I am 
 punished by God there where my sins were committed, 
 for the great joys that I feel dilate my heart, and have, 
 according to the Arabian doctor, weakened the vessels 
 which in a moment of excitement will burst ; but I have 
 always implored God to take my life at the age in which I 
 now am, because I would not see my charms marred by 
 the ravages of time." 
 
 This great and noble woman saw then how well she was 
 beloved. This is how she obtained the greatest sacrifice 
 of love that ever was made upon this earth. She alone 
 knew what a charm existed in the embraces, fondlings, 
 and raptures of the conjugal bed, which were such that 
 poor ITIe Adam would rather have died than allow him- 
 self to be deprived of the amorous delicacies she knew so 
 well how to prepare. At this confession made by her that, 
 in the excitement of love, her heart would burst, the chev- 
 alier cast himself at her knees, and declared that to pre- 
 serve her life he would never ask her for love, but would 
 live contented to see her only at his side, happy at being 
 able to touch but the hem of her garment. 
 
 She replied, bursting into tears, "that she would rather 
 die than lose one iota of his love ; that she would die as she 
 had lived, since luckily she could make a man embrace her 
 when such was her desire without having to put her re- 
 quest into words." 
 
290 THE FAIR IMPERIA MARRIED. 
 
 Here it must be stated that the cardinal of Ragusa had 
 given her as a present an article, which this holy joker 
 called in articulo mortis. It was a tiny glass bottle, no 
 bigger than a bean, made at Venice, and containing a 
 poison so subtle that by breaking it between the teeth 
 death came instantly and painlessly. He had received it 
 from the Signora Tophana, the celebrated maker of poi- 
 sons of the town of Rome. 
 
 Now this tiny bottle was under the bezel of a ring, pre- 
 served from all objects that could break it by certain plates 
 of gold. Poor Imperia put it into her mouth several times 
 without being able to make up her mind to bite it, so much 
 pleasure did she take in the moment she believed to be her 
 last. Then she would pass before her in mental review all 
 her methods of enjoyment before breaking the glass, and 
 determined that when she felt the most perfect of all joys 
 she would bite the bottle. 
 
 The poor creature departed this life on the night of the 
 first day of October. Then was there heard a great clamour 
 in the forests and in the clouds, as if the loves had cried 
 aloud, "The great Noc is dead !" in imitation of the pagan 
 gods who, at the coming of the Saviour of men, fled into 
 the skies, saying, "The great Pan is slain !" A cry which 
 was heard by some persons navigating the Eubean Sea, 
 and preserved by a father of the Church. 
 
 Madame Imperia died without being spoiled in shape, 
 so much had God made her the irreproachable model of a 
 woman. She had, it was said, a magnificent tint upon 
 her flesh, caused by the proximity of the flaming wings of 
 Pleasure, who cried and groaned over her corpse. Her 
 husband mourned for her most bitterly, never suspecting 
 
THE FAIR IMFERIA MARRIED. SQI 
 
 that she had died to deliver him from a childless wife, for 
 the doctor who embalmed her said not a word concerning 
 the cause of her death. This great sacrifice was discovered 
 six years after the marriage of I'lle Adam with Mademoi- 
 selle de Montmorency, because she told him all about the 
 visit of Madame Imperia. The poor gentleman immedi- 
 ately fell into a state of great melancholy, and finished by 
 dying, being unable to banish the remembrance of those 
 joys of love which it was beyond the power of a novice to 
 restore to him; thereby did he prove the truth of that 
 which was said at the time, that this woman would never 
 die in a heart where she had once reigned. 
 
 This teaches us that virtue is well understood but by 
 those who have practised vice ; for among the most mod- 
 est women few would thus have sacrificed life, in what- 
 ever high state of religion you look for them. 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 AH ! mad little one, thou whose business it is to make 
 the house merry, again hast thou been wallowing, 
 in spite of a thousand prohibitions, in that slough of mel- 
 ancholy, whence thou hast already fished out Bertha, and 
 come back with thy tresses dishevelled, like a girl who has 
 been ill-treated by a regiment of soldiers ! Where are thy 
 golden aiglets and bells, thy filigree flowers of fantastic 
 design? Where hast thou left thy crimson head-dress, 
 ornamented with precious gewgaws that cost a minot of 
 pearls ? Why spoil with pernicious tears thy black eyes, so 
 pleasant when therein sparkles the wit of a tale, that popes 
 pardon thee thy sayings for the sake of thy merry laugh- 
 ter, feel their souls caught between the ivory of thy teeth, 
 have their hearts drawn by the rose point of thy sweet 
 tongue, and would barter the holy slipper for a hundred 
 of the smiles that hover round thy vermilion lips ? Laugh- 
 ing lassie, if thou wouldst remain always fresh and young, 
 weep no more ; think of riding the bridleless fleas, of brid- 
 ling with the golden clouds thy chameleon chimeras, of 
 metamorphosing the realities of life into figures clothed 
 with the rainbow, caparisoned with roseate dreams, and 
 mantled with wings blue as the eyes of the partridge. By 
 the Body and the Blood, by the Censer and the Seal, by 
 the Book and the Sword, by the Rag and the Gold, by the 
 Sound and the Colour, if thou dost but return once into 
 
 292 
 
EPILOGUE. 293 
 
 that hovel of elegies where eunuchs find ugly women for 
 imbecile sultans, I'll curse thee ; I'll rave at thee ; I'll make 
 
 thee fast from roguery and love ; I'll 
 
 Phist ! Here she is astride a sunbeam, with a volume 
 that is ready to burst with merry meteors ! She plays in 
 their prisms, tearing about so madly, so wildly, so boldly, 
 so contrary to good sense, so contrary to good manners, 
 so contrary to everything, that one has to touch her with 
 long feathers, to follow her siren's tail in the golden facets 
 which trifle among the artifices of these new peals of 
 laughter. Ye gods! but she is sporting herself in them 
 like a hundred schoolboys in a hedge full of blackberries, 
 after vespers. To the devil the magister ! The volume is 
 finished ! Out upon work ! What ho ! my jovial friends ; 
 this way!