STORY THE FORTY-SIXTH -- HOW THE NUN PAID FOR THE PEARS. [46]

By Monseigneur De Thianges (*).

_Of a Jacobin and a nun, who went secretly to an orchard to enjoy pleasant pastime under a pear-tree; in which tree was hidden one who knew of the a.s.signation, and who spoiled their sport for that time, as you will hear._

(*) The name of the author of this story is spelled in four different ways in different editions of these tales--Viz, Thieurges, Thienges, Thieuges and Thianges.

It is no means unusual for monks to run after nuns. Thus it happened formerly that a Jacobin so haunted, visited, and frequented a nunnery in this kingdom, that his intention became known,--which was to sleep with one of the ladies there.

And G.o.d knows how anxious and diligent he was to see her whom he loved better than all the rest of the world, and continued to visit there so often, that the Abbess and many of the nuns perceived how matters stood, at which they were much displeased. Nevertheless, to avoid scandal, they said not a word to the monk, but gave a good scolding to the nun, who made many excuses, but the abbess, who was clear-sighted, knew by her replies and excuses that she was guilty.

So, on account of that nun, the Abbess restrained the liberty of all, and caused the doors of the cloisters and other places to be closed, so that the poor Jacobin could by no means come to his mistress. That greatly vexed him, and her also, I need not say, and you may guess that they schemed day and night by what means they could meet; but could devise no plan, such a strict watch did the Abbess keep on them.

It happened one day, that one of the nieces of the Abbess was married, and a great feast was made in the convent. There was a great a.s.semblage of people from the country round, and the Abbess was very busy receiving the great people who had come to do honour to her niece.

The worthy Jacobin thought that he might get a glimpse of his mistress, and by chance be lucky enough to find an opportunity to speak to her. He came therefore, and found what he sought; for, because of the number of guests, the Abbess was prevented from keeping watch over the nun, and he had an opportunity to tell his mistress his griefs, and how much he regretted the good time that had pa.s.sed; and she, who greatly loved him, gladly listened to him, and would have willingly made him happy. Amongst other speeches, he said;

"Alas! my dear, you know that it is long since we have had a quiet talk together such as we like; I beg of you therefore, if it is possible, whilst everyone is otherwise engaged than in watching us, to tell me where we can have a few words apart."

"So help me G.o.d, my friend," she replied, "I desire it no less than you do. But I do not know of any place where it can be done; for there are so many people in the house, and I cannot enter my chamber, there are so many strangers who have come to this wedding; but I will tell you what you can do. You know the way to the great garden; do you not?"

"By St. John! yes," he said.

"In the corner of the garden," she said, "there is a nice paddock enclosed with high and thick hedges, and in the middle is a large pear-tree, which makes the place cool and shady. Go there and wait for me, and as soon as I can get away, I will hurry to you."

The Jacobin greatly thanked her and went straight there. But you must know there was a young gallant who had come to the feast, who was standing not far from these lovers and had heard their conversation, and, as he knew the paddock, he determined that he would go and hide there, and see their love-making.

He slipped out of the crowd, and as fast as his feet could carry him, ran to this paddock, and arrived there before the Jacobin; and when he came there, he climbed into the great pear-tree--which had large branches, and was covered with leaves and pears,--and hid himself so well that he could not be easily seen.

He was hardly ensconced there when there came trotting along the worthy Jacobin, looking behind him to see if his mistress was following; and G.o.d knows that he was glad to find himself in that beautiful spot, and never lifted his eyes to the pear-tree, for he never suspected that there was anyone there, but kept his eyes on the road by which he had come.

He looked until he saw his mistress coming hastily, and she was soon with him, and they rejoiced greatly, and the good Jacobin took off his gown and his scapulary, and kissed and cuddled tightly the fair nun.

They wanted to do that for which they came thither, and prepared themselves accordingly, and in so doing the nun said;

"Pardieu, Brother Aubrey, I would have you know that you are about to enjoy one of the prettiest nuns in the Church. You can judge for yourself. Look what b.r.e.a.s.t.s i what a belly! what thighs! and all the rest."

"By my oath," said Brother Aubrey, "Sister Jehanne, my darling, you also can say that you have for a lover one of the best-looking monks of our Order, and as well furnished as any man in this kingdom," and with these words, taking in his hand the weapon with which he was about to fight, he brandished it before his lady's eyes, and cried, "What do you say?

What do you think of it? Is it not a handsome one? Is it not worthy of a pretty girl?"

"Certainly it is," she said.

"And you shall have it."

"And you shall have," said he who was up in the pear-tree, "all the best pears on the tree;" and with that he took and shook the branches with both hands, and the pears rattled down on them and on the ground, at which Brother Aubrey was so frightened that he hardly had the sense to pick up his gown, but ran away as fast as he could without waiting, and did not feel safe till he was well away from the spot.

The nun was as much, or more, frightened, but before she could set off, the gallant had come down out of the tree, and taking her by the hand, prevented her leaving, and said; "My dear, you must not go away thus: you must first pay the fruiterer."

She saw that a refusal would appear unseasonable, and was fain to let the fruiterer complete the work which Brother Aubrey had left undone.

STORY THE FORTY-SEVENTH -- TWO MULES DROWNED TOGETHER. [47]

By Monseigneur De La Roche.

_Of a President who knowing of the immoral conduct of his wife, caused her to be drowned by her mule, which had been kept without drink for a week, and given salt to eat--as is more clearly related hereafter._

In Provence there lived formerly a President of great and high renown, who was a most learned clerk and prudent man, valiant in arms, discreet in counsel, and, in short, had all the advantages which man could enjoy.

(*) Though not mentioned here by name, the princ.i.p.al character in this story has been identified with Chaffrey Carles, President of the Parliament of Gren.o.ble. On the front of a house in the Rue de Cleres, in Gren.o.ble is carved a coat of arms held by an angel who has her finger on her lips. The arms are those of the Carles family and the figure is supposed to refer to this story. At any rate the secret was very badly kept, for the story seems to have been widely known within a few years of its occurrence.

One thing only was wanting to him, and that was the one that vexed him most, and with good cause--and it was that he had a wife who was far from good. The good lord saw and knew that his wife was unfaithful, and inclined to play the wh.o.r.e, but the sense that G.o.d had given him, told him that there was no remedy except to hold his tongue or die, for he had often both seen and read that nothing would cure a woman of that complaint.

But, at any rate, you may imagine that a man of courage and virtue, as he was, was far from happy, and that his misfortune rankled in his sorrowing heart. Yet as he outwardly appeared to know or see nothing of his wife's misconduct, one of his servants came to him one day when he was alone in his chamber, and said,

"Monsieur, I want to inform you, as I ought, of something which particularly touches your honour. I have watched your wife's conduct, and I can a.s.sure you that she does not keep the faith she promised, for a certain person (whom he named) occupies your place very often."

The good President, who knew as well or better than the servant who made the report, how his wife behaved, replied angrily;

"Ha! scoundrel, I am sure that you lie in all you say! I know my wife too well, and she is not what you say--no! Do you think I keep you to utter lies about a wife who is good and faithful to me! I will have no more of you; tell me what I owe you and then go, and never enter my sight again if you value your life!"

The poor servant, who thought he was doing his master a great service, said how much was due to him, received his money and went, but the President, seeing that the unfaithfulness became more and more evident, was as vexed and troubled as he could be. He could not devise any plan by which he could honestly get rid of her, but it happened that G.o.d willed, or fortune permitted that his wife was going to a wedding shortly, and he thought it might be made to turn out lucky for him.

He went to the servant who had charge of the horses, and a fine mule that he had, and said,

"Take care that you give nothing to drink to my mule either night or day, until I give you further orders, and whenever you give it its hay, mix a good handful of salt with it--but do not say a word about it."

"I will say nothing," said the servant, "and I will do whatever you command me."

When the wedding day of the cousin of the President's wife drew near, she said to her husband,

"Monsieur, if it be your pleasure, I would willingly attend the wedding of my cousin, which will take place next Sunday, at such a place."

"Very well, my dear; I am satisfied: go, and G.o.d guide you."

"Thank you, monsieur," she replied, "but I know not exactly how to go.

I do not wish to take my carriage; your nag is so skittish that I am afraid to undertake the journey on it."

"Well, my dear, take my mule--it looks well, goes nicely and quietly, and is more sure-footed than any animal I ever saw."

"Faith!" she said, "I thank you: you are a good husband."