Part 19

“I will tell you,” said she. “My husband is so violent in his night-work that it is astounding, and, in fact, last night he so tumbled me, that by my oath I am afraid of him to-night. Therefore I would beg of you to take my place, and if ever I can do anything for you in return, you may command me--body and goods.”

The good neighbour, to oblige her, promised to take her place--for which she was greatly thanked.

Now you must know that our merchant when he returned from dinner, laid in a good stock of birch rods, which he carried secretly into his house, and hid near his bed, saying to himself that if his wife worried him she should be well paid.

But he did not do this so secretly but what his wife was on her guard and prepared, for she knew by long experience her husband’s brutality.

He did not sup at home, but stopped out late, and came home when he expected she would be in bed and naked. But his design failed, for late that evening she made her neighbour undress and go to bed in her place, and charged her expressly not to speak to her husband when he came, but pretend to be dumb and ill. And she did more, for she put out the fire both in the chamber and in the kitchen. That being done, she told her neighbour that as soon as ever her husband rose in the morning, she was to leave and return to her own house, and she promised that she would.

The neighbour being thus put to bed, the brave woman went off to the Cordelier to eat the lamprey and gain her pardons, as was her custom.

While she was feasting there, the merchant came home after supper, full of spite and anger about the lamprey, and to execute the plan he had conceived, took his rods in his hand and then searched for a light for the candle, but found no fire even in the chimney.

When he saw that, he went to bed without saying a word, and slept till dawn, when he rose and dressed, and took his rods, and so thrashed his wife’s substitute, in revenge for the lamprey, till she bled all over, and the sheets of the bed were as bloody as though a bullock had been flayed on them, but the poor woman did not dare to say a word, or even to show her face.

His rods being all broken, and his arm tired, he left the house, and the poor woman, who had expected to enjoy the pleasant pastime of the sports of love, went home soon afterwards to bemoan her ill-luck and her wounds, and not without cursing and threatening the woman who had brought this upon her.

Whilst the husband was still away from home, the good woman returned from seeing the Cordelier, and found the bed-chamber all strewn with birch twigs, the bed all crumpled, and the sheets covered with blood, and she then knew that her neighbour had suffered bodily injury, as she had expected. She at once remade the bed, and put on fresh and clean sheets, and swept the chamber, and then she went to see her neighbour, whom she found in a pitiable condition, and it need not be said was not able to give her any consolation.

As soon as she could, she returned home, and undressed, and laid down on the fair white bed that she had prepared, and slept well till her husband returned from the town, his anger quite dissipated by the revenge he had taken, and came to his wife whom he found in bed pretending to sleep.

“What is the meaning of this, mademoiselle?” he said. “Is it not time to get up?”

“Oh dear!” she said, “is it day yet? By my oath I never heard you get up. I was having a dream which had lasted a long time.”

“I expect,” he replied, “that you were dreaming about the lamprey, were you not? It would not be very wonderful if you did, for I gave you something to remember it by this morning.”

“By God!” she said, “I never thought about you or your lamprey.”

“What?” said he. “Have you so soon forgotten?”

“Forgotten?” she answered. “Why not? a dream is soon forgotten.”

“Well, then, did you dream about the bundle of birch rods I used on you not two hours ago?”

“On me?” she asked.

“Yes, certainly; on you,” he said. “I know very well I thrashed you soundly, as the sheets of the bed would show.”

“By my oath, dear friend,” she replied, “I do not know what you did or dreamed, but for my part I recollect very well that this morning you indulged in the sports of love with much desire; I am sure that if you dreamed you did anything else to me it must be like yesterday, when you made sure you had given me the lamprey.”

“That would be a strange dream,” said he. “Show yourself that I may see you.”

She turned down the bed-clothes and showed herself quite naked, and without mark or wound. He saw also that the sheets were fair and white, and without any stain. It need not be said that he was much astonished, and he thought the matter over for a long time, and was silent. At last he said;

“By my oath, my dear, I imagined that I gave you a good beating this morning, even till you bled--but I see well I did nothing of the kind, and I do not know exactly what _did_ happen.”

“Marry!” she said “Get the idea that you have beaten me out of your head, for you never touched me, as you can see. Make up your mind that you dreamed it.”

“I am sure you are right,” said he, “and I beg of you to pardon me, for I did wrong to abuse you before all the strangers I brought to the house.”

“That is easily pardoned,” she replied; “but at any rate take care that you are not so rash and hasty another time.”

“No, I will not be, my dear!” said he.

Thus, as you have heard, was the merchant deceived by his wife, and made to believe that he had dreamed that he had bought the lamprey; also in the other matters mentioned above.

*****

[Illustration: 39.jpg BOTH WELL SERVED.]

STORY THE THIRTY-NINTH -- BOTH WELL SERVED. [39]

By Monseigneur De Saint Pol.

_Of a knight who, whilst he was waiting for his mistress amused himself three times with her maid, who had been sent to keep him company that he might not be dull; and afterwards amused himself three times with the lady, and how the husband learned it all from the maid, as you will hear._

A noble knight of the Marches of Haynau--rich, powerful, brave, and a good fellow--was in love with a fair lady for a long time, and was so esteemed and secretly loved by her, that whenever he liked he repaired to a private and remote part of her castle, where she came to visit him, and they conversed at their leisure of their pleasant mutual love.

Not a soul knew of their pleasant pastime, except a damsel who served the lady, and who had kept the matter secret for a long time, and had served the dame so willingly in all her affairs that she was worthy of a great reward. Moreover, she was such a good girl, that not only had she gained the affection of her mistress for her services in this and other matters, but the husband of the lady esteemed her as much as his wife did, because he found her good, trustworthy, and diligent.

It chanced one day that the lady knew her aforesaid lover to be in the house, but could not go to him as soon as she wished, because her husband detained her; at which she was much vexed, and sent the damsel to tell him that he must yet have patience, and that, as soon as she could get rid of her husband, she would come to him.

The damsel went to the knight, who was awaiting the lady, and delivered her message, and he, being a courteous knight, thanked her much for her message, and made her sit by him; then tenderly kissed her two or three times. She did not object, which gave the knight encouragement to proceed to other liberties, which also were not refused him.

This being finished, she returned to her mistress, and told her that her lover was anxiously awaiting her.

“Alas!” said the lady, “I know full well he is, but my husband will not go to bed, and there are a lot of people here whom I cannot leave. God curse them! I would much rather be with him. He is very dull, is he not--all alone up there?”

“Faith! I believe he is,” replied the damsel, “but he comforts himself as well as he can with the hope of your coming.’’

“That I believe, but at any rate he has been all alone, and without a light, for more than two hours; it must be very lonely. I beg you, my dear, to go back to him again and make excuses for me, and stay with him. May the devil take the people who keep me here!”

“I will do what you please, madam, but it seems to me that he loves you so much you have no need to make excuses; and also, that, if I go, you will have no woman here, and perhaps monseigneur may ask for me and I cannot be found.”

“Do not trouble about that,” said the lady. “I will manage that all right if he should ask for you. But it vexes me that my friend should be alone--go and see what he is doing, I beg.”

“I will go, since you wish it,” she replied.

That she was pleased with her errand need not be said, though to conceal her willingness she had made excuses to her mistress. She soon came to the knight, who was still waiting, and said to him;

“Monseigneur, madame has sent me to you again to make her excuses for keeping you so long waiting, and to tell you how vexed she is.”

“You may tell her,” said he, “that she may come at her leisure, and not to hurry on my account, for you can take her place.”

With that he kissed and cuddled her, and did not suffer her to depart till he had tumbled her twice, which was not much trouble to him, for he was young and vigorous, and fond of that sport.

The damsel bore it all patiently, and would have been glad to often have the same luck, if she could without prejudice to her mistress.

When she was about to leave, she begged the knight to say nothing to her mistress.

“Have no fear,” said he.

“I beg of you to be silent,” she said.

Then she returned to her mistress, who asked what her friend was doing?

“He is still,” the damsel replied, “awaiting you.”

“But,” said the lady, “is he not vexed and angry?”

“No,” said the damsel, “since he had company. He is much obliged to you for having sent me, and if he often had to wait would like to have me to talk to him to pass the time,--and, faith! I should like nothing better, for he is the pleasantest man I ever talked to. God knows that it was good to hear him curse the folks who detained you--all except monseigneur; he would say nothing against him.”

“St. John! I wish that he and all his company were in the river, so that I could get away.”

In due time monseigneur--thank God--sent away his servants, retired to his chamber, undressed, and went to bed. Madame, dressed only in a petticoat, put on her night-dress, took her prayer-book, and began,--devoutly enough God knows--to say her psalms and paternosters, but monseigneur, who was as wide awake as a rat, was anxious for a little conversation, and wished madame to put off saying her prayers till the morrow, and talk to him.

“Pardon me,” she replied, “but I cannot talk to you now--God comes first you know. Nothing would go right in the house all the week if I did not give God what little praise I can, and I should expect bad luck if I did not say my prayers now.”

“You sicken me with all this bigotry,” said monseigneur. “What is the use of saying all these prayers? Come on, come on! and leave that business to the priests. Am I not right, Jehannette?” he added, addressing the damsel before mentioned.

“Monseigneur,” she replied, “I do not know what to say, except that as madame is accustomed to serve God, let her do so.”

“There, there!” said madame to her husband, “I see well that you want to argue, and I wish to finish my prayers, so we shall not agree. I will leave Jehannette to talk to you, and will go to my little chamber behind to petition God.”

Monseigneur was satisfied, and madame went off at full gallop to her friend, the knight, who received her with God knows how great joy, and the honour that he did her was to bend her knees and lay her down.

But you must know that whilst madame was saying her prayers with her lover, it happened, I know not how, that her husband begged Jehannette, who was keeping him company, to grant him her favours.

To cut matters short, by his promises and fine words she was induced to obey him, but the worst of it was that madame, when she returned from seeing her lover, who had tumbled her twice before she left, found her husband and Jehannette, her waiting-woman, engaged in the very same work which she had been performing, at which she was much astonished; and still more so were her husband and Jehannette at being thus surprised.

When madame saw that, God knows how she saluted them, though she would have done better to hold her tongue; and she vented her rage so on poor Jehannette that it seemed as though she must have a devil in her belly, or she could not have used such abominable words.

Indeed she did more and worse, for she picked up a big stick and laid it across the girl’s shoulders, on seeing which, monseigneur, who was already vexed and angry, jumped up and so beat his wife that she could not rise.

Having then nothing but her tongue, she used it freely God knows, but addressed most of her venomous speeches to poor Jehannette, who no longer able to bear them, told monseigneur of the goings-on of his wife, and where she had been to say her prayers, and with whom.

The whole company was troubled--monseigneur because he had good cause to suspect his wife, and madame, who was wild with rage, well beaten, and accused by her waiting-woman.

How this unfortunate household lived after that, those who know can tell.

*****

STORY THE FORTIETH -- THE BUTCHER’S WIFE WHO PLAYED THE GHOST IN THE CHIMNEY.

By Michault De Changy.

_Of a Jacobin who left his mistress, a butcher’s wife, for another woman who was younger and prettier, and how the said butcher’s wife tried to enter his house by the chimney._

It happened formerly at Lille, that a famous clerk and preacher of the order of St. Dominic, converted, by his holy and eloquent preaching, the wife of a butcher; in such wise that she loved him more than all the world, and was never perfectly happy when he was not with her.

But in the end Master Monk tired of her, and wished that she would not visit him so often, at which she was as vexed as she could be, but the rebuff only made her love him the more.

The monk, seeing that, forbade her to come to his chamber, and charged his clerk not to admit her, whatever she might say; at which she was more vexed and infuriated than ever, and small marvel.

If you ask me why the monk did this, I should reply that it was not from devotion, or a desire to lead a chaste life, but that he had made the acquaintance of another woman, who was prettier, much younger, and richer, and with whom he was on such terms that she had a key to his chamber.

Thus it was that the butcher’s wife never came to him, as she had been accustomed, so that his new mistress could in all leisure and security come and gain her pardons and pay her tithe, like the women of Ostelleria, of whom mention has been made.

One day, after dinner, there was a great feast held in the chamber of Master Monk, and his mistress had promised to come and bring her share both of wine and meat. And as some of the other brothers in that monastery were of the same kidney, he secretly invited two or three of them; and God knows they had good cheer at this dinner, which did not finish without plenty of drink.

Now you must know that the butcher’s wife was acquainted with many of the servants of these preachers, and she saw them pass her house, some bearing wine, some pasties, some tarts, and so many other things that it was wonderful.

She could not refrain from asking what feast was going forward at their house? And the answer was that all this dainties were for such an one,--that is to say her monk--who had some great people to dinner.

“And who are they?” she asked.

“Faith! I know not,” he said. “I only carry my wine to the door, and there our master takes it from us. I know not who is there!”

“I see,” she said, “that it is a secret. Well, well! go on and do your duty.”

Soon there passed another servant, of whom she asked the same questions, and he replied as his fellow had done, but rather more, for he said,

“I believe there is a damsel there;--but she wishes her presence to be neither seen nor known.”

She guessed who it was, and was in a great rage, and said to herself that she would keep an eye upon the woman who had robbed her of the love of her friend, and, no doubt, if she had met her she would have read her a pretty lesson, and scratched her face.

She set forth with the intention of executing the plan she had conceived. When she arrived at the place, she waited long to meet the person she most hated in the world, but she had not the patience to wait till her rival came out of the chamber where the feast was being held, so at last she determined to use a ladder that a tiler, who was at work at the roof, had left there whilst he went to dinner.

She placed this ladder against the kitchen chimney of the house, with the intention of dropping in and saluting the company, for she knew well that she could not enter in any other way.

The ladder being placed exactly as she wished it, she ascended it to the chimney, round which she tied a fairly thick cord that by chance she found there. Having tied that firmly, as she believed, she entered the said chimney and began to descend; but the worst of it was that she stuck there without being able to go up or down, however much she tried--and this was owing to her backside being so big and heavy, and to the fact that the cord broke, so that she could not climb back. She was in sore distress, God knows, and did not know what to say or do. She reflected that it would be better to await the arrival of the tiler, and make an appeal to him when he came to look for his ladder and his rope; but this hope was taken from her, for the tiler did not come to work until the next morning, on account of the heavy rain, of which she had her share, for she was quite drenched.

When the evening grew late, the poor woman heard persons talking in the kitchen, whereupon she began to shout, at which they were much astonished and frightened, for they knew not who was calling them, or whence the voice came. Nevertheless, astonished as they were, they listened a little while, and heard the voice now in front and now behind, shrieking shrilly. They believed it was a spirit, and went to tell their master, who was in the dormitory, and was not brave enough to come and see what it was, but put it off till the morning.

You may guess what long hours the poor woman spent, being all night in the chimney. And, by bad luck, it rained heavily for a long time.

The next day, early in the morning, the tiler came to work, to make up for the time the rain had made him lose on the previous day. He was quite astonished to find his ladder in another place than where he left it, and the rope tied round the chimney, and did not know who had done it. He determined to fetch the rope, and mounted the ladder and came to the chimney, and undid the cord, and put his head down the chimney, where he saw the butcher’s wife, looking more wretched than a drowned cat, at which he was much astonished.

“What are you doing here, dame?” he asked. “Do you want to rob the poor monks who live here?”

“Alas, friend,” she replied, “by my oath I do not. I beg of you to help me to get out, and I will give you whatever you ask.”

“I will do nothing of the kind,” he said, “if I do not know who you are and whence you come.”

“I will tell you if you like,” she said, “but I beg of you not to repeat it.”

Then she told him all about her love affair with the monk, and why she had come there. The tiler took pity on her, and with some trouble, and by means of his rope, pulled her out, and brought her down to the ground. And she promised him that if he held his tongue she would give him beef and mutton enough to supply him and his family all the year, which she did. And the other kept the matter so secret that everybody heard of it.

*****

[Illustration: 41.jpg Love in Arms.]

STORY THE FORTY-FIRST -- LOVE IN ARMS.

By Monseigneur De La Roche.

_Of a knight who made his wife wear a hauberk whenever he would do you know what; and of a clerk who taught her another method which she almost told her husband, but turned it off suddenly._

A noble knight of Haynau, who was wise, cunning, and a great traveller, found such pleasure in matrimony, that after the death of his good and prudent wife, he could not exist long unmarried, and espoused a beautiful damsel of good condition, who was not one of the cleverest people in the world, for, to tell the truth, she was rather dull-witted, which much pleased her husband, because he thought he could more easily bend her to his will.