One Hundred Merrie And Delightsome Stories Part 40

"Certainly," he replied.

"Then go," she said, "whilst he finishes the work he had begun when you interrupted him; otherwise the contract will not be binding."

"By St. John! is it so?" said the lover.

"I always keep my word," said the good merchant. "By G.o.d, no man shall say I am a cheat or a liar. You will finish the job you have begun, and I am to have my twelve bushels of wheat on the terms agreed. That was our contract--was it not?"

"Yes, truly," said his wife.

"Good bye, then," said the husband, "but at any rate be sure that I have six bushels of wheat to-morrow."

"Don't be afraid," said the other. "I will keep my word." So the good man left the house, quite joyful that he was to have twelve bushels of wheat, and his wife and her lover recommenced more heartily than ever. I have heard that the wheat was duly delivered on the dates agreed.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 44.jpg The match-making Priest.]

STORY THE FORTY-FOURTH -- THE MATCH-MAKING PRIEST.

By Monseigneur De La Roche.

_Of a village priest who found a husband for a girl with whom he was in love, and who had promised him that when she was married she would do whatever he wished, of which he reminded her on the wedding-day, and the husband heard it, and took steps accordingly, as you will hear._

In the present day they are many priests and cures who are good fellows, and who can as easily commit follies and imprudences as laymen can.

In a pretty village of Picardy, there lived formerly a cure of a lecherous disposition. Amongst the other pretty girls and women of his parish, he cast eyes on a young and very pretty damsel of nubile age, and was bold enough to tell her what he wanted.

Won over by his fair words, and the hundred thousand empty promises he made, she was almost ready to listen to his requests, which would have been a great pity, for she was a nice and pretty girl with pleasant manners, and had but one fault,--which was that she was not the most quick-witted person in the world.

I do not know why it occurred to her to answer him in that manner, but one day she told the cure, when he was making hot love to her, that she was not inclined to do what he required until she was married, for if by chance, as happened every day, she had a baby, she would always be dishonoured and reproached by her father, mother, brothers, and all her family, which she could not bear, nor had she strength to sustain the grief and worry which such a misfortune would entail.

"Nevertheless, if some day I am married, speak to me again, and I will do what I can for you, but not otherwise; so give heed to what I say and believe me once for all."

The cure was not over-pleased at this definite reply, bold and sensible as it was, but he was so amorous that he would not abandon all hope, and said to the girl;

"Are you so firmly decided, my dear, not to do anything for me until you are married?"

"Certainly, I am," she replied.

"And if you are married, and I am the means and the cause, you will remember it afterwards, and honestly and loyally perform what you have promised?"

"By my oath, yes," she said, "I promise you."

"Thank you," he said, "make your mind easy, for I promise you faithfully that if you are not married soon it will not be for want of efforts or expense on my part, for I am sure that you cannot desire it more than I do; and in order to prove that I am devoted to you soul and body, you will see how I will manage this business."

"Very well, monsieur le cure," she said, "we shall see what you will do."

With that she took leave of him, and the good cure, who was madly in love with her, was not satisfied till he had seen her father. He talked over various matters with him, and at last the worthy priest spoke to the old man about his daughter, and said,

"Neighbour, I am much astonished, as also are many of your neighbours and friends, that you do not let your daughter marry. Why do you keep her at home when you know how dangerous it is? Not that--G.o.d forbid--I say, or wish to say, that she is not virtuous, but every day we see girls go wrong because they do not marry at the proper age. Forgive me for so openly stating my opinion, but the respect I have for you, and the duty I owe you as your unworthy pastor, require and compel me to tell you this."

"By the Lord, monsieur le cure," said the good man, "I know that your words are quite true, and I thank you for them, and do not think that I have kept her so long at home from any selfish motive, for if her welfare is concerned I will do all I can for her, as I ought. You would not wish, nor is it usual, that I should buy a husband for her, but if any respectable young man should come along, I will do everything that a good father should."

"Well said," replied the cure, "and on my word, you could not do better than marry her off quickly. It is a great thing to be able to see your grandchildren round you before you become too old. What do you say to so-and-so, the son of your neighbour?--He seems to me a good, hard-working man, who would make a good husband."

"By St. John!" said the old man, "I have nothing but good to say about him. For my own part, I know him to be a good young man and a good worker. His father and mother, and all his relatives, are respectable people, and if they do me the honour to ask my daughter's hand in marriage for him, I shall reply in a manner that will satisfy them."

"You could not say more," replied the cure, "and, if it please G.o.d, the matter shall be arranged as I wish, and as I know for a fact that this marriage would be to the benefit of both parties, I will do my best to farther it, and with this I will now say farewell to you."

If the cure had played his part well with the girl's father, he was quite as clever in regard to the father of the young man. He began with a preamble to the effect that his son was of an age to marry, and ought to settle down, and brought a hundred thousand reasons to show that the world would be lost if his son were not soon married.

"Monsieur le cure," replied also the second old man, "there is much truth in what you say, and if I were now as well off as I was, I know not how many years ago, he would not still be unmarried; for there is nothing in the world I desire more than to see him settled, but want of money has prevented it, and so he must have patience until the Lord sends us more wealth than we have at present."

"Then," said the cure, "if I understand you aright, it is only money that is wanting."

"Faith! that is so," said the old man. "If I had now as much as I had formerly, I should soon seek a wife for him."

"I have concerned myself," said the cure, "because I desire the welfare and prosperity of your son, and find that the daughter of such an one (that is to say his ladylove) would exactly suit him. She is pretty and virtuous, and her father is well off, and, as I know, would give some a.s.sistance, and--which is no small matter--is a wise man of good counsel, and a friend to whom you and your son could have recourse. What do you say?"

"Certainly," said the good man, "if it please G.o.d that my son should be fortunate enough to be allied to such a good family; and if I thought that he could anyhow succeed in that, I would get together what money I could, and would go round to all my friends, for I am sure that he could never find anyone more suitable."

"I have not chosen badly then," said the cure. "And what would you say if I spoke about this matter to her father, and conducted it to its desired end, and, moreover, lent you twenty francs for a certain period that we could arrange?"

"By my oath, monsieur le cure," said the good man, "you offer me more than I deserve. If you did this, you would render a great service to me and mine."

"Truly," answered the cure, "I have not said anything that I do not mean to perform; so be of good cheer, for I hope to see this matter at an end."

To shorten matters, the cure, hoping to have the woman when once she was married, arranged the matter so well that, with the twenty francs he lent, the marriage was settled, and the wedding day arrived.

Now it is the custom that the bride and bridegroom confess on that day.

The bridegroom came first, and when he had finished, he withdrew to a little distance saying his orisons and his paternosters. Then came the bride, who knelt down before the cure and confessed. When she had said all she had to say, he spoke to her in turn, and so loudly, that the bridegroom, who was not far off, heard every word, and said,

"My dear, I beg you to remember now the promise you formerly made me.

You promised me that when you were married that I should ride you; and now you are married, thank G.o.d, by my means and endeavours, and through the money that I have lent."

"Monsieur le cure," she said, "have no fear but what I will keep the promise I have made, if G.o.d so please."

"Thank you," he replied, and then gave her absolution after this devout confession, and suffered her to depart.

The bridegroom, who had heard these words, was not best pleased, but nevertheless thought it not the right moment to show his vexation.

After all the ceremonies at the church were over, the couple returned home, and bed-time drew near. The bridegroom whispered to a friend of his whom he dearly loved, to fetch a big handful of birch rods, and hide them secretly under the bed, and this the other did.