[41] _Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_: “now first done into the English
tongue by Robert B. Douglas, (_One Hundred Merrie and Delightsome
Stories_)”: Paris, Charles Carrington, 1899 (?): 82nd story. The
editors of _Anthologica Rarissima_ have taken slight liberties with
Mr. Douglas’ translation, deeming archaic phraseology more fitting to
the atmosphere of the narrative.
_Of a shepherd who made an agreement with a shepherdess that he should
mount upon her “in order that he might see farther,” but was not to
penetrate beyond a mark which she herself made with her hand upon the
instrument of the said shepherd--as will more plainly appear hereafter._
Listen, an it please ye, to what happened, near Lille, to a shepherd
and a young shepherdess who tended their flocks together, or near
together.
Nature had already stirred in them, and they were of an age to know
“the way of the world,” so one day an agreement was made between them
that the shepherd should mount on the shepherdess “in order to see
farther,”[42]--provided, however, that he should not penetrate beyond
a mark which she made with her hand upon the natural instrument of the
shepherd, and which was about two fingers’ breadth below the head; and
the mark was made with a blackberry taken from the hedge.
[42] The phrase has passed into use as an accepted slang term for the
sexual act.
That being done, they began God’s work, and the shepherd pushed in as
though it had cost him no trouble, and without thinking about any mark
or sign, or the promise he had made to the shepherdess, for all that
he had it buried up to the hilt, and if he had had more he would have
found a place to put it.
The pretty shepherdess, who had never had such a wedding, enjoyed
herself so much that she would willingly have done nothing else all
her life. The battle being ended, both went to look after their sheep,
which had meanwhile strayed some distance. They being brought together
again, the shepherd, who was called Hacquin, to pass the time, sat in a
swing set up between two hedges, and there he swung, as happy as a king.
The shepherdess sat by the side of a ditch, and made a wreath of
flowers. She sang a little song, hoping that it would attract the
shepherd, and he would begin the game over again; but that was very far
from his thoughts. When she found he did not come, she began to call:
“Hacquin! Hacquin!”
And he replied: “What wantest thou?”
“Come hither! Come hither! Wilt thou?” said she.
But Hacquin had had a surfeit of pleasure and made answer:
“In God’s name, leave me alone. I do naught. I enjoy myself.”
Then the shepherdess cried:
“Come hither, Hacquin; I will let thee go in further, without making
any mark.”
“By St. John,” said Hacquin, “I went far beyond the mark, and I do not
want any more.”
He would not go to the shepherdess, who was much vexed to have to
remain idle.[43]
[43] _Songs of the Groves: Records of the Ancient World_, (The Vine
Press: Steyning, Sussex: 1921), has a singularly charming account
of a rustic courtship. _The Wooing_, the poem to which we refer, is
a rendering from the Greek of Theocritus, and is remarkable for the
vivid picture conjured up before our eyes in a few lines of verse.
Daphnis, a young shepherd, and a maiden, discourse of love and
marriage; eventually she yields to his passion:--
“_Remove your hand, you satyr; do not seek my blossoms so!_”
“_Just a first glance! Oh! I must see those snowy flowers of mine!_”
“_O Pan! O Pan! I’m fainting! Take away that hand of thine!_”
“_Darling, look up! Don’t tremble so! Why fear your Lycidas?_”
“_Oh, Daphnis! I shall spoil my robe; it’s filthy on this grass._”
“_But--just see here!--the softest fleece over your robe I’ve
thrown._”
“_Ah me! Oh! Don’t undo my belt! Why do you loose my zone?_”
“_Because the Paphian Queen must have it for an offering._”
“_Some one will come! I hear a noise! Leave off, you cruel thing!_”
“_A noise? My cypresses: they murmur how my darling weds._”
“_Oh, I am bare! You’ve torn my robe into a string of shreds!_”
“_A better robe I’ll give you soon; a larger robe I’ll buy._”
“_Oh, yes! You’ll give me all, when soon salt even you’ll deny._”
“_Oh, I could pour my soul into you for your dear delight!_”
“_Forgive, O Artemis, forgive your faithless acolyte._”
“_Venus shall have an ox; a calf for Cupid I will burn._”
“_A virgin came I hither, but a woman shall return._”
“_The nurse, the mother, of my babes, now never more a maid._”
_So with young limbs entwined in love all joyously they played,
Soft-murmuring each to each; then from their secret couch they leap:
She, when she had arisen, went away to feed her sheep;
Shame was in her eyes, but her heart beat high above:
Joyous, he went to feed his flocks, glad from the bed of love._