2 That is, in which of the chapels. A friar would not
officiate at the high altar.--Ed.
Feeling persuaded that a spiritual love such as this, with any pleasure
that she might derive from it, could not wound her conscience, she
failed not to go and hear the sermon every day and to take her husband
with her; and they both gave such great praise to the preacher, that
they spoke of nought beside at table or elsewhere. At last this supposed
spiritual fire became so carnal that the poor lady’s heart in which it
glowed began to consume her whole body; and just as she had been slow to
feel the flame, so did she now swiftly kindle, and feel all the delights
of passion, before she knew that she even was in love. Being thus
surprised by her enemy, Love, she offered no further resistance to his
commands. But the worst was that the physician who might have cured
her ills was ignorant of her distemper; for which reason, banishing the
dread she should have had of making known her foolishness to a man of
wisdom, and her vice and wickedness to a man of virtue and honour, she
proceeded to write to him of the love she bore him, doing this, to begin
with, as modestly as she could. And she gave her letter to a little
page, telling him what he had to do, and saying that he was to be
careful above all things that her husband should not see him going to
the monastery of the Grey Friars.
The page, desiring to take the shortest way, passed through a street in
which his master was sitting in a shop. Seeing him pass, the gentleman
came out to observe whither he was going, and when the page perceived
him, he was quite confused, and hid himself in a house. Noticing this,
his master followed him, took him by the arm and asked him whither he
was bound. Finding also that he had a terrified look and made but empty
excuses, he threatened to beat him soundly if he did not confess the
truth.
“Alas, sir,” said the poor page, “if I tell you, my lady will kill me.”
The gentleman, suspecting that his wife was making some bargain without
his knowledge, promised the page that he should come by no hurt, and
should be well rewarded, if he told the truth; whereas, if he lied, he
should be thrown into prison for life. Thereupon the little page, eager
to have the good and to avoid the evil, told him the whole story, and
showed him the letter that his mistress had written to the preacher. At
this her husband was the more astonished and grieved, as he had all his
life long been persuaded of the faithfulness of his wife, in whom he had
never discovered a fault.
Nevertheless, being a prudent man, he concealed his anger, and so that
he might fully learn his wife’s intention, he sent a reply as though
from the preacher, thanking her for her goodwill, and declaring that his
was as great towards her. The page, having sworn to his master that he
would conduct the matter with discretion, (3) brought the counterfeit
letter to his mistress, who was so greatly rejoiced by it that her
husband could see that her countenance was changed; for, instead of
growing lean from the fasts of Lent, she now appeared fairer and fresher
than before they began.
3 This is borrowed from MS. 1520. In our MS. the passage
runs, “The page having shown his master how to conduct this
affair,” &c.--L.
It was now mid-Lent, but no thought of the Passion or Holy Week
prevented the lady from writing her frenzied fancies to the preacher
according to her wont; and when he turned his eyes in her direction, or
spoke of the love of God, she thought that all was done or said for love
of her; and so far as her eyes could utter her thoughts, she did not
spare them.
The husband never failed to return her similar answers, but after Easter
he wrote to her in the preacher’s name, begging her to let him know how
he could secretly see her. She, all impatient for the meeting, advised
her husband to go and visit some estates of theirs in the country, and
this he agreed to do, hiding himself, however, in the house of a friend.
Then the lady failed not to write to the preacher that it was time he
should come and see her, since her husband was in the country.
The gentleman, wishing thoroughly to try his wife’s heart, then went to
the preacher, and begged him for the love of God to lend him his robe.
The preacher, who was a man of worth, replied that the rules of
his Order forbade it, and that he would never lend his robe for a
masquerade. (4) The gentleman assured him, however, that he would make
no evil use of it, and that he wanted it for a matter necessary to his
happiness and his salvation. Thereupon the Friar, who knew the other
to be a worthy and pious man, lent it to him; and with this robe, which
covered his face so that his eyes could not be seen, the gentleman put
on a false beard and a false nose, each similar to the preacher’s. He
also made himself of the same height by means of cork. (5)
4 This may be compared with the episode of Tappe-coue or
Tickletoby in Pantagruel:--“Villon, to dress an old clownish
father grey-beard, who was to represent God the Father [at
the performance of a mystery], begged of Friar Stephen
Tickletoby, sacristan to the Franciscan Friars of the place,
to lend him a cope and a stole. Tickletoby refused him,
alleging that by their provincial statutes it was rigorously
forbidden to give or lend anything to players. Villon
replied that the statute reached no further than farces,
drolls, antics, loose and dissolute games.... Tickletoby,
however, peremptorily bid him provide himself elsewhere, if
he would, and not to hope for anything out of his monastical
wardrobe.... Villon gave an account of this to the players
as of a most abominable action; adding that God would
shortly revenge himself and make an example of Tickletoby.”--
Urquhart’s _Works of Rabelais, Pantagruel_, (Book IV.
xiii.)--M.
5 In Boaistuau’s edition the sentence runs, “and by putting
some cork in his shoes made himself of the same height as
the preacher.”--L.
Thus garmented, he repaired in the evening to his wife’s apartment,
where she was very piously awaiting him. The poor fool did not tarry
for him to come to her, but ran to embrace him like a woman bereft of
reason. Keeping his face bent down lest he should be recognised, he
then began making the sign of the cross, and pretended to flee from her,
saying the while nothing but--
“Temptation! temptation!”
“Alas, father,” said the lady, “you are indeed right, for there is no
stronger temptation than that which proceeds from love. But for this
you have promised me a remedy; and I pray you, now that we have time and
opportunity, to take pity upon me.”
So saying, she strove to embrace him, but he ran all round the room,
making great signs of the cross, and still crying--
“Temptation! temptation!”
However, when he found that she was urging him too closely, he took a
big stick that he had beneath his cloak and beat her so sorely as to
end her temptation, and that without being recognised by her. Then he
immediately went and returned the robe to the preacher, assuring him
that it had brought him good fortune.
On the morrow, pretending to come from a distance, he returned home and
found his wife in bed, when, as though he knew nothing of her sickness,
he asked her the cause of it; and she replied that it was a catarrh,
and that she could move neither hand nor foot. The husband, who was much
inclined to laugh, made as though he were greatly grieved, and as if
to cheer her told her that he had bidden the saintly preacher to supper
that evening. But she quickly replied--
“God forbid, sweetheart, that you should ever invite such folk. They
bring misfortune into every house they visit.”
“Why, sweet,” said the husband, “how is this? You have always greatly
praised this man, and for my own part I believe that if there be a holy
man on earth, it is he.”
“They are good in church and when preaching,” answered the lady, “but in
our houses they are very antichrists. I pray you, sweet, let me not see
him, for with my present sickness it would be enough to kill me.”
“Since you do not wish to see him,” returned the husband, “you shall not
do so, but I must have him here to supper.”
“Do what you will,” she replied, “but let me not see him, for I hate
such folk as I do the devil.”