|
|
Tale 48 of the Heptameron
At an inn, in a village of the land of Perigort, there was celebrated
the marriage of a maiden of the house, at which all the kinsfolk and
friends strove to make as good cheer as might be. On the day of the
wedding there arrived at the inn two Grey Friars, to whom supper was
given in their own room, since it was not meet for those of their
condition to be present at a wedding. However, the chief of the two, who
had the greater authority and craft, resolved that, since he was shut
out from the board, he would share the bed, and in this way play them
one of the tricks of his trade.
When evening was come, and the dances were begun, the Grey Friar
continued to observe the bride for a long time, and found her
very handsome and to his taste. Then, inquiring carefully of the
serving-woman concerning the room in which she was to lie, he found that
it was close to his own, at which he was well pleased; and so good a
watch did he keep in order to work his end, that he perceived the bride
being led from the hall by the old women, as is the custom. As it was
yet very early, the bridegroom would not leave the dance, in which he
was so greatly absorbed that he seemed to have altogether forgotten his
wife.
Not so the Friar, for, as soon as his ears told him that the bride was
in bed, he put off his grey robe and went and took the husband's place.
Being fearful of discovery, however, he stayed but a very short time,
and then went to the end of a passage where his comrade, who was keeping
watch for him, signed to him that the husband was dancing-still.
The Friar, who had not yet satisfied his wicked lust, thereupon went
back to bed with the bride, until his comrade gave him a signal that it
was time to leave.
The bridegroom afterwards came to bed, and his wife, who had been so
tormented by the Friar that she desired naught but rest, could not help
saying to him—
"Have you resolved never to sleep or do anything but torment me?"
The unhappy husband, who had but just come in, was greatly astonished
at this, and asked what torment he had given her, seeing that he had not
left the dance.
"A pretty dance!" said the poor girl. "This is the third time that you
have come to bed. I think you would do better to sleep."
The husband was greatly astonished on hearing these words, and set aside
thought of everything else in order that he might learn the truth of
what had passed.
When his wife had told him the story, he at once suspected the Grey
Friars who were lodged in the house, and forthwith rising, he went into
their room, which was close beside his own.
Not finding them there, he began to call out for help in so loud a voice
that he speedily drew together all his friends, who, when they had heard
the tale, assisted him with candles, lanterns, and all the dogs of the
village to hunt for the Grey Friars.
Not finding them in the house, they made all diligence, and so caught
them among the vines, where they treated them as they deserved; for,
after soundly beating them, they cut off their arms and legs, and left
them among the vines to the care of Bacchus and Venus, of whom they had
been better disciples than of St. Francis.
"Be not amazed, ladies, if such folk, being cut off from our usual
mode of life, do things of which adventurers (2) even would be ashamed.
Wonder rather that they do no worse when God withdraws his hand from
them, for so little does the habit make the monk, that it often unmakes
him through the pride it lends him. For my own part, I go not beyond the
religion that is taught by St. James, who has told us to 'keep the
heart pure and unspotted toward God, and to show all charity to our
neighbours.'"(3)
"Heavens!" said Oisille, "shall we never have done with tales about
these tiresome Grey Friars?"
Then said Ennasuite—
"If, ladies, princes and gentlemen are not spared, the Grey Friars, it
seems to me, are highly honoured by being noticed. They are so useless
that, were it not that they often do evil things worthy of remembrance,
they would never even be mentioned; and, as the saying goes, it is
better to do evil than to do nothing at all. Besides, the more varied
the flowers the handsomer will our posy be."
"If you will promise not to be angry with me," said Hircan, "I will tell
you the story of a great lady whose wantonness was so extreme that you
will forgive the poor friar for having taken what he needed, where
he was able to find it, seeing that she, who had enough to eat,
nevertheless sought for dainties in too monstrous a fashion."
"Since we have sworn to speak the truth," said Oisille, "we have also
sworn to hear it. You may therefore speak with freedom, for the evil
things that we tell of men and women are not uttered to shame those
that are spoken of in the story, but to take away all trust in created
beings, by revealing the trouble to which these are liable, and this to
the end that we may fix and rest our hope on Him alone who is perfect,
and without whom every man is only imperfection."
"Well then," said Hircan, "I will relate my story without fear."
Footnotes:
-
We have already had an instance of a friar stealing into
a wife's bed at night-time, in the husband's absence (see
ante, vol. iii., tale xxili.). For a similar incident see
the Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles, No. xxx.—Ed.
2 This is an allusion to the dismissed French Swiss, and
German lansquenets who roamed about France in little bands,
kidnapping, plundering, and at times hiring themselves out
as spadassins. These men, the pests of the country, were
commonly known by the name of adventurers.—B. J.
- "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is
this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction
and to keep himself unspotted from the world."—James i.
27.—Ed.
|
|
