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DAY 8 - TALE LXXI
Tale 72 of the Heptameron
In the town of Amboise there lived one Brimbaudier, ([1]) saddler to the
Queen of Navarre, and a man whose colour of feature showed him to be
by nature rather a servant of Bacchus than a priest of Diana. He had
married a virtuous woman who controlled his household very discreetly,
and with whom he was well content.
One day it was told him that his good wife was sick and in great danger,
at which tidings he was in the greatest trouble imaginable. He went with
all speed to her aid, and found her so low, poor woman, that she had
more need of a confessor than a doctor. Thereupon he made the most
pitiful lamentation that could be, but to represent it well 'twere
needful to speak thickly as he did, (2) and better still to paint one's
face like his.
When he had done all that he could for her, she asked for the cross, and
it was brought. On seeing this, the good man flung himself upon a bed in
despair, crying and saying in his thick speech—
"Ah God! I am losing my poor wife! What shall I do, unhappy man that I
am?"
After uttering many such complaints, he perceived that there was no one
in the room but a young servant-maid, passably fair and buxom, and he
called to her in a whisper.
"Sweetheart," he said, "I am dying. I am more than dead to see your
mistress dying in this manner. I know not what to do or say, except
that I commend myself to you, and beg you to care for my house and my
children. Take therefore the keys from my side, and order the household,
for I myself can attend to nothing more."
The poor girl had pity on him and comforted him, begging him not to
despair, so that, if she must lose her mistress, she might not also lose
her good master.
"Sweetheart," he replied, "'tis all of no avail, for I am indeed dying.
See yourself how cold my face is; bring your cheeks close to mine and
warm them."
With this he laid his hand upon her breast. She tried to make some
difficulty, but he begged her to have no fear, since they must indeed
see each other more closely. And speaking in this wise, he took her in
his arms and threw her upon the bed.
Then his wife, whose only company was the cross and the holy water,
and who had not spoken for two days, began to cry out as loudly as her
feeble voice enabled her—
"Ah! ah! ah! I am not dead yet!" And threatening them with her hand, she
repeated—"Villain! monster! I am not dead yet!"
On hearing her voice, the husband and maid rose up, but she was in such
a rage against them that her anger consumed the catarrhal humour that
had prevented her from speaking, and she poured upon them all the abuse
that she could think of. And from that hour she began to mend, though
not without often reproaching her husband for the little love he bore
her. (3)
"By this you see, ladies, the hypocrisy of men, and how a little
consolation will make them forget their sorrow for their wives."
"How do you know," said Hircan, "that he had not heard that such was the
best remedy his wife could have? Since his kindly treatment availed
not to cure her, he wished to try whether the opposite would prove any
better, and the trial was a very fortunate one. But I marvel that you
who are a woman should have shown how the constitution of your sex is
brought to amendment rather by foul means than by fair."
"Without doubt," said Longarine, "behaviour of that kind would make me
rise not merely from my bed, but from a grave such as that yonder."
"And what wrong did he do her," asked Saffre-dent, "by comforting
himself when he thought that she was dead? It is known that the
marriage-tie lasts only through life, and that when this is ended it is
loosed."
"Ay," said Oisille, "loosed from oath and bond, but a good heart is
never loosed from love. The husband you have told us of was indeed quick
to forget his grief, since he could not wait until his wife had breathed
her last."
"What I think strangest of all," said Nomerfide, "is that, when death
and the cross were before his eyes, he should not have lost all desire
to offend against God."
"A brave argument!" said Simontault. "You would therefore not be
surprised to see a man act wantonly provided he were a good distance
from the church and cemetery?"
"You may laugh at me as much as you please," said Nomerfide;
"nevertheless the contemplation of death must greatly chill a heart,
however young it may be."
"I should indeed be of the same opinion as yourself," said Dagoucin, "if
I had not heard a Princess say the opposite."
"In other words." said Parlamente, "she told some story about it. If it
be so, I will give you my place that you may relate it to us."
Then Dagoucin began as follows:—More ...
Footnotes:
- Boaistuau gives the name as Bruribandier, and Gruget
transforms it into Borribaudier. M, Pifteau, after examining
the MSS., is doubtful whether Brimbaudier is the correct
reading. Bromardier, which in old French meant a tippler
(Ducange, Briemardum), would have been an appropriate name
for the individual referred to.—Ed.
- Curiously enough, the transcriber of MS. No. 1520
attempts to give some idea of the husband's pronunciation by
transforming all his r's into l's. Here is an example: "Je
pelz ma povle femme, que fesai-ze, moi malhureux?... M'amie
je me meuls, je suis pis que tlepassé... je ne sçai que
faize," &c.—L.
- This story was imitated by Noël du Fail de La Hérissaye
in his Contes d'Eutrapel (ch. v. De la Goutte), where
the hero of the incident is called Glaume Esnaut de
Tremeril. "It is said," writes Du Fail, "that the wife of
that rascal Glaume of Tremeril when at the point of death,
on seeing Glaume too familiar with her serving-woman,
recovered her senses, saying, 'Ah! wicked man, I am not yet
so low as you thought. By God's grace, mistress baggage, you
shall go forth at once.'" Curiously enough, the 1585 edition
of the Contes d'Eutrapel was printed at Rennes for Noël
Glame, virtually the same name as Glaume.—M.
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