"Why?" said he. "Do you want to sleep with any of the brothers."

She imagined that her husband knew that she paid the t.i.the, and replied;

"No, I do not want to sleep with him; I only want to pay."

"Pay what?" said he.

"You know very well," she answered; "Why do you ask?"

"What do I know well?" he asked, "I never meddle with your debts."

"At least," she said, "you know very well that I must pay the t.i.the."

"What t.i.the?"

"Marry!" she replied. "It always has to be paid;--the t.i.the for our nights together. You are lucky--I have to pay for us both."

"And to whom do you pay?" he asked.

"To brother Eustace," she replied. "You go on home, and let me go in and discharge my debt. It is a great sin not to pay, and I am never at ease in my mind when I owe him anything."

"It is too late to-night," said he, "he has gone to bed an hour ago."

"By my oath," said she, "I have been this year later than this. If one wants to pay one can go in at any hour."

"Come along! come along!" he said. "One night makes no such great matter."

So they returned home; both husband and wife vexed and displeased--the wife because she was not allowed to pay her t.i.the, and the husband because he had learned how he had been deceived, and was filled with anger and thoughts of vengeance, rendered doubly bitter by the fact that he did not dare to show his anger.

A little later they went to bed together, and the husband, who was cunning enough, questioned his wife indirectly, and asked if the other women of the town paid t.i.thes as she did?

"By my faith they do," she replied. "What privilege should they have more than me? There are sixteen to twenty of us who pay brother Eustace.

Ah, he is so devout. And he has so much patience. Brother Bartholomew has as many or more, and amongst others my lady (*) is of the number.

Brother Jacques also has many; Brother Anthony also--there is not one of them who has not a number."

(*) The wife of the Seigneur.

"St. John!" said the husband, "they do not do their work by halves. Now I understand well that they are more holy than I thought them; and truly I will invite them all to my house, one after the other, to feast them and hear their good words. And since Brother Eustace receives your t.i.thes, he shall be the first. See that we have a good dinner to-morrow, and I will bring him."

"Most willingly," she replied, "for then at all events I shall not have to go to his chamber to pay him; he can receive it when he comes here."

"Well said," he replied; "give it him here;" but as you may imagine he was on his guard, and instead of sleeping all night, thought over at his leisure the plan he intended to carry out on the morrow.

The dinner arrived, and Brother Eustace, who did not know his host's intentions stuffed a good meal under his hood. And when he had well eaten, he rolled his eyes on his hostess, and did not spare to press her foot under the table--all of which the host saw, though he pretended not to, however much to his prejudice it was.

After the meal was over and grace was said, he called Brother Eustace and told him that he wanted to show him an image of Our Lady that he had in his chamber, and the monk replied that he would willingly come.

They both entered the chamber, and the host closed the door so that he could not leave, and then laying hold of a big axe, said to the Cordelier.

"By G.o.d's death, father! you shall never go out of this room--unless it be feet foremost--if you do not confess the truth."

"Alas, my host, I beg for mercy. What is it you, would ask of me?"

"I ask," said he, "the t.i.the of the t.i.the you have received from my wife."

When the Cordelier heard the word t.i.thes, he began to think that he was in a fix, and did not know what to reply except to beg for mercy, and to excuse himself as well as he could.

"Now tell me," said the husband, "what t.i.the it is that you take from my wife and the others?"

The poor Cordelier was so frightened that he could not speak, and answered never a word.

"Tell me all about it," said the young man, "and I swear to you I will let you go and do you no harm;--but if you do not confess I will kill you stone dead."

When the other felt convinced that he had better confess his sin and that of his companions and escape, than conceal the facts and be in danger of losing his life, he said;

"My host, I beg for mercy, and I will tell you the truth. It is true that my companions and I have made all the women of this town believe that they owe us t.i.thes for all the times their husbands sleep with them. They believed us, and they all pay--young and old--when once they are married. There is not one that is excused--my lady even pays like the others--her two nieces also--and in general there is no one that is exempt."

"Marry!" said the other, "since my lord and other great folks pay it, I ought not to be dissatisfied, however much I may dislike it. Well! you may go, worthy father, on this condition--that you do not attempt to collect the t.i.the that my wife owes you."

The other was never so joyous as when he found himself outside the house, and said to himself that he would never ask for anything of the kind again, nor did he, as you will hear.

When the host of the Cordelier was informed by his wife of this new t.i.the, he went to his Lord and told him all about the tax and how it concerned him. You may imagine that he was much astonished, and said;

"Ah, cursed wretches that they are! Cursed be the hour that ever my father--whom may G.o.d pardon--received them! And now they take our spoils and dishonour us, and ere long they may do worse. What is to be done?"

"By my faith, Monseigneur" said the other, "if it please you and seem good to you, you should a.s.semble all your subjects in this town, for the matter touches them as much as you. Inform them of this affair, and consult with them what remedy can be devised before it is too late."

Monseigneur approved, and ordered all his married subjects to come to him, and in the great hall of his castle, he showed them at full length why he had called them together.

If my lord had been astonished and surprised when he heard the news, so also were all the good people who were there a.s.sembled. Some of them said, "We ought to kill them," others "They should be hanged!" others "Drown them!" Others said they could not believe it was true--the monks were so devout and led such holy lives. One said one thing, another said another.

"I will tell you," said the Seigneur, "what we will do. We will bring our wives. .h.i.ther, and Master John, or some other, shall preach a little sermon in which he will take care to make allusion to t.i.thes, and ask the women, in the name of all of us, whether they discharge their debts, as we are anxious they should be paid, and we shall hear their reply."

After some discussion they all agreed to the Seigneur's proposal. So orders were issued to all the married women of the town, and they all came to the great hall, where their husbands were a.s.sembled. My lord even brought my lady, who was quite astonished to see so many persons.

An usher of my lord's commanded silence, and Master John, who was slightly raised above the other people, began the address which follows;

"Mesdames and mesdemoiselles, I am charged by my lord and those of his council to explain briefly the reason why you are called together. It is true that my lord, his council, and all his people who are here met together, desire to make a public examination of their conscience,--the cause being that that they wish (G.o.d willing) to make ere long a holy procession in praise of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and His Glorious Mother, and from the present moment to be in such a devout frame of mind that they may the better praise him in their prayers, and that all the works which they do may be most agreeable to G.o.d. You know that there have been no wars in our time, and that our neighbours have been terribly afflicted both by pestilence and famine. Whilst others have been cast down, we have nothing to complain of, and we must own that G.o.d has preserved us. There is good reason that we should acknowledge that this is not due to our own virtues, but to the great and liberal mercy of our Blessed Redeemer, who cries, calls, and invites us to put up in our parish church, devout prayers, to which we are to add great faith and firm devotion. The holy convent of the Cordeliers in this town has greatly aided, and still aids us in preserving the above-mentioned benefits. Moreover, we wish to know if you women also perform that which you have undertaken, and whether you sufficiently remember the obligation you owe the Church, and therefore it will be advisable that, by way of precaution, I should mention the princ.i.p.al points. Four times a year,--that is to say at the four Natales (*) you must confess to some priest or monk having the power of absolution, and if at each festival you receive your Creator that will be well done, but twice, or at least once a year, you ought to receive the Communion. Bring an offering every Sunday to each Ma.s.s; those who are able should freely give t.i.thes to G.o.d--as fruit, poultry, lambs, pigs, and other accustomed gifts. You owe also another t.i.the to the holy monks of the convent of St. Francis, and which we earnestly desire to see paid. It greatly concerns us, and we desire it to be continued, nevertheless there are many of you who have not acted properly in this respect, and who by negligence, or backwardness, have neglected to pay in advance. You know that the good monks cannot come to your houses to seek their t.i.thes;--that would disturb and trouble them too much; it is quite enough if they take the trouble to receive it. It is important that this should be mentioned--it remains to see who have paid, and who still owe."

(*) The four princ.i.p.al festivals in the life of Christ-- Christmas, Easter, Whitsuntide, and Ascension.

Master John had no sooner finished his discourse, than more than twenty women began to cry at the same time, "I have paid!" "I have paid!"

"I owe nothing!" "Nor I," "Nor I." A hundred other voices chimed in--generally to say that they owed nothing--and four or six pretty young women were even heard to declare that they had paid well in advance, one four times; one, six; and another, ten.

There were also I know not how many old women who said not a word, and Master John asked them if they had paid their t.i.the, and they replied that they had made an arrangement with the Cordeliers.

"What!" said he, "you do not pay? You ought to advise and persuade the others to do their duty, and you yourselves are in default!"

"Marry!" said one of them, "I am not to blame. I have been several times to perform my duty, but my confessor would not listen to me: he always says he is too busy."