[78] _Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_: R. B. Douglas’ translation:
Paris, Charles Carrington. _C.f._ note _ante_.
_Of a young man of Rouen, married to a fair young girl of the age of
fifteen or thereabouts; and how the mother of the girl wished to have
the marriage annulled by the Judge of Rouen, and of the sentence which
the said Judge pronounced when he had heard the parties--as you will
hear more plainly in the course of the said story._
In the good town of Rouen, not long ago, a young man was married to a
fair and tender virgin, aged fifteen, or thereabouts. On the day of
the great feast--that is to say, the wedding--the mother of the young
girl, as is customary in such places, instructed the bride in all the
mysteries of wedlock, and taught her how to behave to her husband on
the first night.
The young girl, who was looking forward to the time when she could put
these doctrines into practice, took great pains and trouble to remember
the lesson given her by her good mother, and it seemed to her that when
the time came for her to put these counsels into execution, that she
would perform her duties so well that her husband would praise her,
and be well pleased with her.
The wedding was performed with all honour and due solemnity, and the
desired night came; and soon after the feast was ended, and the young
people had withdrawn after having taken leave of the newly married
couple, the mother, cousins, neighbours, and other lady friends led the
bride to the chamber where she was to spend the night with her husband,
where they joyfully divested her of her raiment, and put her to bed, as
was right and proper. Then they wished her good-night, and one said:
“My dear, may God give thee joy and pleasure in thy husband, and mayst
thou so live with him as to be for the salvation of both your souls.”
Another said:
“My dear, God give thee such peace and happiness with thy husband, that
the heavens may be filled with your works.”
And all, having expressed similar wishes, left. The bride’s mother,
who remained the last, questioned her daughter if perchance she had
remembered the lesson she had been taught. And the girl, who, as the
proverb goes, did not carry her tongue in her pocket, replied that
she well remembered all that had been told her, and--thank God--had
forgotten nothing.
“Well done,” said the mother. “Now I will leave thee, recommending thee
to God and praying that He may give thee good luck. Farewell, my dear
child.”
“Farewell, my good and wise mother.”
As soon as the schoolmistress[79] had finished, the husband, who was
outside the door expecting something better, came in. The mother closed
the door, and told him that she hoped he would be gentle with her
daughter. He promised that he would, and as soon as he had bolted the
door, he--who had nothing on but his doublet--threw it off, jumped on
the bed, drew as close as he might to his bride, and, lance in hand,
prepared to give battle.
[79] Obviously a play on words, with reference to the lessons in
marital duty given by the mother to the daughter.
But when he approached the barrier where the skirmish was to take
place, the girl laid hold of his lance, which was as straight and stiff
as a cow-keeper’s horn, and when she felt how hard and big it was, she
was sore affrighted, and fell to crying aloud, saying that her shield
was not of a strength to receive and bear the blows of so huge a weapon.
All his efforts notwithstanding, the husband could not persuade
her to joust with him, and this bickering endured throughout the
night, without his being able to do aught, which much displeased our
bridegroom. Nevertheless, he abode patient, hoping to make up for the
time lost on the following night; but ‘twas the same as on the first
night, even so on the third, and even so up to the fifteenth, matters
remaining just as I have related.
And when fifteen days had passed since the young couple were wed, they
still not having come together, the mother came to visit her pupil, and
after a thousand questions, spoke to the girl of her husband, demanding
what sort of a man he was and whether he did his duty well. And the
girl answered that he was very well as a man, and was a quiet and a
peaceable.
“But,” said the mother, “doth he do what he ought to do?”
“Yea,” quoth the girl, “but....”
“But _what_?” said the mother. “Thou art keeping something back, I am
assured. Tell me forthwith and conceal naught; for I must know now. Is
he a man capable of performing his marital duties in the way I taught
thee?”
The poor girl, being thus pressed, was obliged to own that he had not
yet done the business, but she did not say that she was the cause of
the delay, and that she had always refused the combat.
When her mother heard this sad news, God knows what a disturbance she
made, swearing by all her gods that she would soon find a remedy for
that, for she was well acquainted with the Judge of Rouen, who was her
friend, and would favour her cause.
“The marriage must be annulled,” said she, “and I have no doubt but
that I shall find a way, and thou mayst be sure, my child, that before
two days are past thou wilt be divorced and married to another man, who
will not let thee rest in peace all that time. Dost leave the business
to me.”
The good woman, half beside herself, went and related her wrong to her
husband, the father of the girl, and told him that they had lost their
daughter, and adducing many reasons why the marriage should be annulled.
She pleaded her cause so well that her husband took her side, and was
content that the bridegroom (who knew no reason why a complaint should
be lodged against him) should be cited before the Judge. But, at any
rate, he was personally summoned to appear before the Judge, at his
wife’s demand, to show cause why he should not leave her, and permit
her to marry again, or explain the reason why, in so many days that
he had lived with her, he had not demonstrated that he was a man, and
performed the duties that a husband should.
When the day came, the parties presented themselves at the proper time
and place, and they were called upon to state their case. The mother of
the bride began to plead her daughter’s cause, and God knoweth the laws
concerning marriage which she quoted, none of which, she maintained,
had her son-in-law fulfilled; therefore she demanded that he should be
divorced from her daughter forthwith without more ado.
The young man was much astonished to find himself thus attacked, but
lost no time in replying to the allegations of his adversary, quietly
stating his case, and relating in what wise his wife had always refused
him leave to perform his marital duties.
The mother, when she heard this reply, was more wroth than ever, and
could scarce bring herself to believe it; and she asked her daughter if
that was true which her husband had said.
“Yea, truly, mother,” replied the girl.
“Oh, wretched child,” said her mother. “Wherefore didst thou refuse?
Did I not teach thee thy lesson many times?”
The poor girl might not answer, so shamed was she.
“At any rate,” said the mother, “I must know the reason why thou hast
refused. Tell it me forthwith, lest I grow exceeding wroth.”
The girl was forced to confess that she had found the lance of the
champion so vast, that she had not dared to present her shield lest
he killed her; and so she still felt, nor was she reassured on that
point, albeit her mother had bade her be without fear. Whereat the
mother addressed the Judge, saying:
“Monseigneur, thou hast heard the confession of my daughter, and the
defence of my son-in-law. I beg of thee give judgement forthwith.”
The Judge gave orders for a bed to be prepared in his house, the couple
to lie on it together; and he commanded the bride boldly to lay hold of
the tilting staff,[80] and put it where it was ordered to go. When this
judgement was delivered, the mother said:
[80] Mr. Douglas translates simply: ... “stick or instrument.” The
word in the text, _bourdon_, signifies literally “a pilgrim’s staff.”
It is followed by the word _joustouer_, “to tilt or joust,” or “a
tilter, a jouster,” which Mr. Douglas ignores. The combination,
however, seems to keep more faithfully to the spirit of the story. On
the other hand, _bourdon_ is a recognised erotic term for _penis_.
Farmer, (_Slang and its Analogues_: vol. 5, p. 290), quotes Rabelais
as employing the word in this sense. Landes, (_Glossaire érotique de
la langue française_: Brussels, 1861), includes it in a list which
comprises 212 slang terms for the male organ of generation. _Le petit
Citateur: Notes érotiques et pornographiques_: Paris, 1881: only
300 printed, a curious and valuable little work dealing with the
lesser known expressions and metaphors of venery, and intended to
serve as a complement to the ordinary erotic dictionary, describes
_bourdon_ as “the virile member, the grand chord which gives the
note in the amorous duet.” The _Memoirs of Miss Fanny_ are quoted:
“ ... enraptured, split open by the enormous size of my ravisher’s
_bourdon_, my thighs all bloodstained, I remained for some time
overwhelmed by fatigue and pleasure....” The French text referred to
in the foregoing note is that of Garnier Frères, Paris, n.d.
“I thank thee, my lord; thou hast judged well. Come, my child, do what
thou shouldst, and take heed to obey the Judge, and put the lance where
it should be put.”
“I am satisfied,” answered the daughter, “to put it where it ought to
go, but it may rot there ere I take it out again.”
So they quitted the court, and went and carried out the sentence
themselves, without the aid of any sergeants. By this means the young
man enjoyed his joust, and was sooner weary of it than she who would
not begin.[81]
[81] This story, the 86th of _Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_, is
singularly lacking in climax when compared with the majority of old
_fabliaux_. The opening is very promising; but once the husband has
stated his case, the fabric seems to fall to pieces, and the wife’s
final speech is as silly as it is unjustified. The author has tried
to round off the story by dragging in the ages-old tag about the
woman who, from hating the pleasures of love, becomes a veritable
glutton for them. Compared with “Beyond the Mark,” which is artistic
and dramatic from the first to the last line, “Foolish Fear” is a
poor thing. Nevertheless, we have thought fit to include it in this
anthology because its opening is as characteristic as its finish is
_un_characteristic of this type of _fabliaux_.