One Hundred Merrie And Delightsome Stories Part 30

"St. John!" said the other old women, "we have compounded with the monks to pay them the t.i.the we owe them in linen, cloth, cushions, quilts, pillow-cases and such other trifles; and that by their own instructions and desire, for we should prefer to pay like the others."

"By Our Lady!" said Master John, "there is no harm done; it is quite right.

"I suppose they can go away now; can they not?" said the Seigneur to Master John.

"Yes!" said he, "but let them be sure and not forget to pay the t.i.the."

When they had all left the hall, the door was closed, and every man present looked hard at his neighbour.

"Well!" said the Seigneur. "What is to be done? We know for certain what these ribald monks have done to us, by the confession of one of them, and by our wives; we need no further witness."

After many and various opinions, it was resolved to set the convent on fire, and burn both monks and monastery.

They went to the bottom of the town, and came to the monastery, and took away the _Corpus Domini_ and all the relics and sent them to the parish church. Then without more ado, they set fire to the convent in several places, and did not leave till all was consumed--monks, convent, church, dormitory, and all the other buildings, of which there were plenty. So the poor Cordeliers had to pay very dearly for the new t.i.the they had levied. Even G.o.d could do nothing, but had His house burned down.

STORY THE THIRTY-THIRD -- THE LADY WHO LOST HER HAIR.

By Monseigneur.

_Of a n.o.ble lord who was in love with a damsel who cared for another great lord, but tried to keep it secret; and of the agreement made between the two lovers concerning her, as you shall hereafter hear._

A n.o.ble knight who lived in the marches of Burgundy, who was wise, valiant, much esteemed, and worthy of the great reputation he had, was so much in the graces of a fair damsel, that he was esteemed as her lover, and obtained from her, at sundry times, all the favours that she could honourably give him. She was also smitten with a great and n.o.ble lord, a prudent man, whose name and qualities I pa.s.s over, though if I were to recount them there is not one of you who would not recognise the person intended, which I do not wish.

This gentle lord, I say, soon perceived the love affair of the valiant gentleman just named, and asked him if he were not in the good graces of such and such a damsel,--that is to say the lady before mentioned.

He replied that he was not, but the other, who knew the contrary to be case, said that he was sure he was,

"For whatever he might say or do, he should not try to conceal such a circ.u.mstance, for if the like or anything more important had occurred to him (the speaker) he would not have concealed it."

And having nothing else to do, and to pa.s.s the time, he found means to make her fall in love with him. In which he succeeded, for in a very short time he was high in her graces and could boast of having obtained her favours without any trouble to win them.

The other did not expect to have a companion, but you must not think that the fair wench did not treat him as well or better than before, which encouraged him in his foolish love. And you must know that the brave wench was not idle, for she entertained the two at once, and would with much regret have lost either, and more especially the last-comer, for he was of better estate and furnished with a bigger lance than her first lover; and she always a.s.signed them different times to come, one after the other, as for instance one to-day and the other to-morrow.

The last-comer knew very well what she was doing, but he pretended not to, and in fact he cared very little, except that he was rather disgusted at the folly of the first-comer, who esteemed too highly a thing of little value.

So he made up his mind that he would warn his rival, which he did. He knew that the days on which the wench had forbidden him to come to her (which displeased him much) were reserved for his friend the first-comer. He kept watch several nights, and saw his rival enter by the same door and at the same hour as he did himself on the other days.

One day he said to him, "You well concealed your amours with such an one. I am rather astonished that you had so little confidence in me, considering what I know to be really the case between you and her. And in order that you may understand that I know all, let me tell you that I saw you enter her house at such and such an hour, and indeed no longer ago than yesterday I had an eye upon you, and from a place where I was, I saw you arrive--you know whether I speak the truth."

When the first-comer heard this accusation, he did not know what to say, and he was forced to confess what he would have willingly concealed, and which he thought no one knew but himself; and he told the last-comer that he would not conceal the fact that he was in love, but begged him not to make it known.

"And what would you say," asked the other, "if you found you had a companion?"

"Companion?" said he; "What companion? In a love affair? I never thought of it."

"By St. John!" said the last-comer, "I ought not to keep you longer in suspense--it is I. And since I see that you are in love with a woman who is not worth it, and if I had not more pity on you than you have on yourself I should leave you in your folly, but I cannot suffer such a wench to deceive you and me so long."

If any one was astonished at this news it was the first-comer who believed himself firmly established in the good graces of the wench, and that she loved no one but him. He did not know what to say or think, and for a long time could not speak a word. When at last he spoke, he said,

"By Our Lady! they have given me the onion (*) and I never suspected it.

I was easily enough deceived. May the devil carry away the wench, just as she is!"

(*) i.e. "they have made a fool of me."

"She has fooled the two of us," said the last-comer;

"at least she has begun well,--but we must even fool her."

"Do so I beg," said the first. "St. Anthony's fire burn me if ever I see the jade again."

"You know," said the second, "that we go to her each in turn. Well, the next time that you go, you must tell her that you well know that I am in love with her, and that you have seen me enter her house at such an hour, and dressed in such a manner, and that, by heaven, if ever you find me there again you will kill me stone dead, whatever may happen to you. I will say the same thing about you, and we shall then see what she will say and do, and then we shall know how to act."

"Well said, and just what I would wish," said the first.

As it was arranged, so was it done, for some days later it was the last-comer's turn to go and visit her; he set out and came to the place appointed.

When he was alone with the wench, who received him very kindly and lovingly it appeared, he put on--as he well knew how--a troubled, bothered air, and pretended to be very angry. She, who had been accustomed to see him quite otherwise, did not know what to think, and she asked what was the matter, for his manner showed that his heart was not at ease.

"Truly, mademoiselle," said he, "you are right; and I have good cause to be displeased and angry. Moreover, it is owing to you that I am in this condition."

"To me?" said she. "Alas, I have done nothing that I am aware of, for you are the only man in the world to whom I would give pleasure, and whose grief and displeasure touch my heart."

"The man who refuses to believe that will not be d.a.m.ned," said he. "Do you think that I have not perceived that you are on good terms with so-and-so (that is to say the first-comer). It is so, by my oath, and I have but too often seen him speak to you apart, and, what is more, I have watched and seen him enter here. But by heaven, if ever I find him here his last day has come, whatever may happen to me in consequence. I could not allow him to be aware that he has done me this injury--I would rather die a thousand times if it were possible. And you are as false as he is for you know of a truth that after G.o.d I love no one but you, and yet you encourage him, and so do me great wrong!"

"Ah, monseigneur!" she replied, "who has told you this story? By my soul! I wish that G.o.d and you should know that it is quite otherwise, and I call Him to witness that never in my life have I given an a.s.signation to him of whom you speak, nor to any other whoever he may be--so you have little enough cause to be displeased with me. I will not deny that I have spoken to him, and speak to him every day, and also to many others, but I have never had aught to do with him, nor do I believe that he thinks of me even for a moment, or if so, by G.o.d he is mistaken.

May G.o.d not suffer me to live if any but you has part or parcel in what is yours entirely."

"Mademoiselle," said he, "you talk very well, but I am not such a fool as to believe you."

Angry and displeased as he was, he nevertheless did that for which he came, and on leaving, said,

"I have told you, and given you fair warning that if ever I find any other person comes here, I will put him, or cause him to be put, in such a condition that he will never again worry me or any one else."

"Ah, Monseigneur," she replied, "by G.o.d you are wrong to imagine such things about him, and I am sure also that he does not think of me."

With that, the last-comer left, and, on the morrow, his friend, the first-comer did not fail to come early in the morning to hear the news, and the other related to him in full all that had pa.s.sed, how he had pretended to be angry and threatened to kill his rival, and the replies the jade made.

"By my oath," said the first, "she acted the comedy well! Now let me have my turn, and I shall be very much surprised if I do not play my part equally well."

A certain time afterwards his turn came, and he went to the wench, who received him as lovingly as she always did, and as she had previously received her other lover. If his friend the last-comer had been cross and quarrelsome both in manner and words, he was still more so, and spoke to her in this manner;

"I curse the hour and the day on which I made your acquaintance, for it is not possible to load the heart of a poor lover with more sorrows, regrets, and bitter cares than oppress and weigh down my heart to-day.