“I am sure, father, that were I so evilly inclined, you would be the
first to cast a stone at me.”
“Come out into the courtyard,” returned the monk, “and you will see what
I have done.”
When she beheld the two women and the man lying dead, she was so
terrified that she stood like a statue, without uttering a word. The
villain, who did not seek merely an hour’s delight, would not take her
by force, but forthwith said to her--
“Mistress, be not afraid; you are in the hands of him who, of all living
men, loves you the most.”
So saying, he took off his long robe, beneath which he wore a shorter
one, which he gave to the lady, telling her that if she did not take it,
she should be numbered with those whom she saw lying lifeless before her
eyes.
More dead than alive already, the lady resolved to feign obedience,
both to save her life, and to gain time, as she hoped, for her husband’s
return. At the command of the friar, she set herself to put off her
head-dress as slowly as she was able; and when this was done, the friar,
heedless of the beauty of her hair, quickly cut it off. Then he caused
her to take off all her clothes except her chemise, and dressed her in
the smaller robe he had worn, he himself resuming the other, which he
was wont to wear; then he departed thence with all imaginable speed,
taking with him the little friar he had coveted so long.
But God, who pities the innocent in affliction, beheld the tears of
this unhappy lady, and it so happened that her husband, having arranged
matters more speedily than he had expected, was now returning home by
the same road by which she herself was departing. However, when the
friar perceived him in the distance, he said to the lady--
“I see your husband coming this way. I know that if you look at him he
will try to take you out of my hands. Go, then, before me, and turn
not your head in his direction; for, if you make the faintest sign, my
dagger will be in your throat before he can deliver you.”
As he was speaking, the gentleman came up, and asked him whence he was
coming.
“From your house,” replied the other, “where I left my lady in good
health, and waiting for you.”
The gentleman passed on without observing his wife, but a servant who
was with him, and who had always been wont to foregather with one of
the friar’s comrades named Brother John, began to call to his mistress,
thinking, indeed, that she was this Brother John. The poor woman, who
durst not turn her eyes in the direction of her husband, answered not a
word. The servant, however, wishing to see her face, crossed the road,
and the lady, still without making any reply, signed to him with her
eyes, which were full of tears.
The servant then went after his master and said--“Sir, as I crossed the
road I took note of the friar’s companion. He is not Brother John, but
is very like my lady, your wife, and gave me a pitiful look with eyes
full of tears.”
The gentleman replied that he was dreaming, and paid no heed to him; but
the servant persisted, entreating his master to allow him to go back,
whilst he himself waited on the road, to see if matters were as he
thought. The gentleman gave him leave, and waited to see what news he
would bring him. When the friar heard the servant calling out to Brother
John, he suspected that the lady had been recognised, and with a great,
iron-bound stick that he carried, he dealt the servant so hard a blow in
the side that he knocked him off his horse. Then, leaping upon his body,
he cut his throat.
The gentleman, seeing his servant fall in the distance, thought that he
had met with an accident, and hastened back to assist him. As soon as
the friar saw him, he struck him also with the iron-bound stick, just
as he had struck the servant, and, flinging him to the ground, threw
himself upon him. But the gentleman being strong and powerful, hugged
the friar so closely that he was unable to do any mischief, and was
forced to let his dagger fall. The lady picked it up, and, giving it to
her husband, held the friar with all her strength by the hood. Then her
husband dealt the friar several blows with the dagger, so that at last
he cried for mercy and confessed his wickedness. The gentleman was
not minded to kill him, but begged his wife to go home and fetch their
people and a cart, in which to carry the friar away. This she did,
throwing off her robe, and running as far as her house in nothing but
her shift, with her cropped hair.
The gentleman’s men forthwith hastened to assist their master to bring
away the wolf that he had captured. And they found this wolf in the
road, on the ground, where he was seized and bound, and taken to the
house of the gentleman, who afterwards had him brought before the
Emperor’s Court in Flanders, when he confessed his evil deeds.
And by his confession and by proofs procured by commissioners on the
spot, it was found that a great number of gentlewomen and handsome
wenches had been brought into the monastery in the same fashion as the
friar of my story had sought to carry off this lady; and he would have
succeeded but for the mercy of Our Lord, who ever assists those that put
their trust in Him. And the said monastery was stripped of its spoils
and of the handsome maidens that were found within it, and the monks
were shut up in the building and burned with it, as an everlasting
memorial of this crime, by which we see that there is nothing more
dangerous than love when it is founded upon vice, just as there is
nothing more gentle or praiseworthy when it dwells in a virtuous heart.
(2)
2 Queen Margaret states (_ante_, p. 5) that this tale was
told by M. de St.-Vincent, ambassador of Charles V., and
seems to imply that the incident recorded in it was one of
recent occurrence. The same story may be found, however, in
most of the collections of early _fabliaux_. See _OEuvres de
Rutebeuf_, vol. i. p. 260 (_Frère Denise_), Legrand
d’Aussy’s _Fabliaux_, vol. iv. p. 383, and the _Recueil
complet des Fabliaux_, Paris, 1878, vol. iii. p. 253. There
is also some similarity between this tale and No. LX. of the
_Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_. Estienne quotes it in his
_Apologie pour Hérodote_, L’Estoile in his _Journal du règne
de Henri III. (anno_ 1577), Malespini uses it in his
_Ducento Novelle_ (No. 75), and it suggested to Lafontaine
his _Cordeliers de Catalogne_.--L. and M.
“I am very sorry, ladies, that truth does not provide us with stories
as much to the credit of the Grey Friars as it does to the contrary. It
would be a great pleasure to me, by reason of the love that I bear their
Order, if I knew of one in which I could really praise them; but we have
vowed so solemnly to speak the truth that, after hearing it from such
as are well worthy of belief, I cannot but make it known to you.
Nevertheless, I promise you that, whenever the monks shall accomplish a
memorable and glorious deed, I will be at greater pains to exalt it than
I have been in relating the present truthful history.”
“In good faith, Geburon,” said Oisille, “that was a love which might
well have been called cruelty.”
“I am astonished,” said Simontault, “that he was patient enough not to
take her by force when he saw her in her shift, and in a place where he
might have mastered her.”
“He was not an epicure, but a glutton,” said Saffredent. “He wanted to
have his fill of her every day, and so was not minded to amuse himself
with a mere taste.”
“That was not the reason,” said Parlamente. “Understand that a lustful
man is always timorous, and the fear that he had of being surprised and
robbed of his prey led him, wolf-like, to carry off his lamb that he
might devour it at his ease.”
“For all that,” said Dagoucin, “I cannot believe that he loved her, or
that the virtuous god of love could dwell in so base a heart.”
“Be that as it may,” said Oisille, “he was well punished, and I pray God
that like attempts may meet with the same chastisement. But to whom will
you give your vote?”
“To you, madam,” replied Geburon; “you will, I know, not fail to tell us
a good story.”
“Since it is my turn,” said Oisille, “I will relate to you one that is
indeed excellent, seeing that the adventure befel in my own day, and
before the eyes of him who told it to me. You are, I am sure, aware
that death ends all our woes, and this being so, it may be termed our
happiness and tranquil rest. It is, therefore, a misfortune if a man
desires death and cannot obtain it, and so the most grievous punishment
that can be given to a wrongdoer is not death, but a continual torment,
great enough to render death desirable, but withal too slight to bring
it nearer. And this was how a husband used his wife, as you shall hear.”
[Illustration: 0016.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 017a.jpg Bernage observing the German Lady’s Strange Penance]
[Bernage observing the German Lady’s Strange Penance]
[Illustration: 017.jpg Page Image
_TALE XXXII_.
_Bernage, learning in what patience and humility a German
lady submitted to the strange penance laid upon her for her
unchastity by her husband, so persuaded the latter that he
forgot the past, showed pity to his wife, and, taking her
back again, afterwards had by her some very handsome
children_.
King Charles, eighth of the name, sent into Germany a gentleman called
Bernage, Lord of Sivray, near Amboise, (1) who to make good speed spared
not to travel both by day and night. In this wise he came very late one
evening to a gentleman’s castle, where he asked for lodging, a request
which was not granted him without great difficulty.
1 Bernage, Bernaige, or Vernaiges, as the name is diversely
written in the MSS. of the _Heptameron_, was in 1495 equerry
to Charles VIII., a post which brought him an annual salary
of 300 livres.--See Godefroy’s _Histoire de Charles VIII_.,
p. 705. Civray, near Chenonceaux, on the Cher, was a fief of
the barony of Amboise. In 1483 we find a certain John
Goussart doing homage for it to the crown.--Archives
Nationales, Section Domaniale, côte 3801.--L.
However, when the gentleman came to know that he was servant to so great
a King, he went to him and begged him not to take the churlishness of
his servants in bad part, since he was obliged to keep his house thus
closed on account of certain of his wife’s kinsfolk who sought to do
him hurt. Bernage then told him the nature of his mission, wherein the
gentleman offered to serve the interests of the King his master, so far
as in him lay; and he forthwith led Bernage into the house, where he
lodged and entertained him honourably.
It was the hour for supper, and the gentleman led him into a handsome
room, hung with beautiful tapestry, where, as soon as the meats were
served, he saw come from behind the hangings the most beautiful woman it
were possible to behold; though her head was shorn and she was dressed
in black garments of the German fashion.
After the gentleman had washed his hands with Bernage, water was borne
to the lady, who also washed hers and then sat down at the end of the
table without speaking to the gentleman, or he to her. The Lord de
Bernage looked very closely at her, and thought her one of the most
beautiful women he had ever seen, except that her face was very pale,
and its expression very sad.
After eating a little, she asked for drink, which was brought to her by
a servant in a most marvellous vessel, for it was a death’s head, the
eyeholes of which were closed with silver; and from this she drank two
or three times. When she had supped, the lady washed her hands, made
a reverence to the lord of the house, and retired again behind the
tapestry without speaking to any one. Bernage was exceedingly amazed at
this strange sight, and became very melancholy and thoughtful.