One Hundred Merrie And Delightsome Stories Part 66

STORY THE EIGHTY-FOURTH -- THE DEVIL'S SHARE. [84]

By The Marquis De Rothelin.

_Of one of his marshals who married the sweetest and most lovable woman there was in all Germany. Whether what I tell you is true--for I do not swear to it that I may not be considered a liar--you will see more plainly below._

Whilst we are waiting tor some one to come forward and tell us a good story, I will relate a little one which will not detain you long, but is quite true, and happened lately.

I had a marshal, who had served me long and faithfully, and who determined to get a wife, and was married to the most ill-tempered woman in all the country; and when he found that neither by good means or bad could he cure her of her evil temper, he left her, and would not live with her, but avoided her as he would a tempest, for if he knew she was in any place he would go in the contrary direction. When she saw that he avoided her, and that he gave her no opportunity of displaying her temper, she went in search of him, and followed him, crying G.o.d knows what, whilst he held his tongue and pursued his road, and this only made her worse and she bestowed more curses and maledictions on her poor husband than a devil would on a d.a.m.ned soul.

One day she, finding that her husband did not reply a word to anything she said, followed him through the street, crying as loud as she could before all the people;

"Come here, traitor! speak to me. I belong to you. I belong to you!"

And my marshal replied each time; "I give my share to the devil! I give my share to the devil."

Thus they went all through the town of Lille, she crying all the while "I belong to you," and the other replying "I give my share to the devil."

Soon afterwards, so G.o.d willed, this good woman died, and my marshal was asked if he were much grieved at the loss of his wife, and he replied that never had such a piece of luck occurred to him, and if G.o.d had promised him anything he might wish, he would have wished for his wife's death; "for she," he said, "was so wicked and malicious that if I knew she were in paradise I would not go there, for there could be no peace in any place where she was. But I am sure that she is in h.e.l.l, for never did any created thing more resemble a devil than she did." Then they said to him;

"Really you ought to marry again. You should look out for some good, quiet, honest woman."

"Marry?" said he. "I would rather go and hang myself on a gibbet than again run the danger of finding such a h.e.l.l as I have--thank G.o.d--now escaped from."

Thus he lived, and still lives--but I know not what he will be.

STORY THE EIGHTY-FIFTH -- NAILED! [85]

By Monseigneur De Santilly.

_Of a goldsmith, married to a fair, kind, and gracious lady, and very amorous withal of a cure, her neighbour, with whom her husband found her in bed, they being betrayed by one of the goldsmith's servants, who was jealous, as you will hear._

A hundred years ago, or thereabouts, there happened in a town on the borders of France a curious incident, which I will relate, to increase my number of stories, and also because it deserves to rank with the others.

In this town there was a man whose wife was fair, kind, and gracious, and much enamoured of a churchman, her own cure and near neighbour, who loved her as much as she did him, but to find an opportunity to come together amorously was difficult, but it was at last found by the ingenuity of the lady, in the manner I will describe.

Her husband was a goldsmith, and so greedy of gain that he would never sleep an hour in which he could work.

Every day he would rise an hour or two before dawn, and let his wife take a long rest till eight or nine o'clock, or as long as she pleased.

This amorous dame seeing how diligent her husband was, and that he rose early every day to hammer and work, determined to employ with the cure the time during which she was neglected by her husband, and arranged that at such and such an hour her lover could visit her without her husband's knowledge, for the cure's house stood next to hers.

This happy expedient was proposed to the cure, who gladly accepted it, for it seemed to him that his amour could be carried on easily and secretly. So as soon as the proposal was made it was executed, and thus they continued to live for a long time; but fortune--envious perhaps of their happiness and sweet enjoyment--willed that their amours should be unfortunately discovered in the manner you will hear.

This goldsmith had an a.s.sistant, who was in love with his master's wife, and very jealous of her, and he perceived the cure often talking to the lady, and he guessed what was the matter. But he could not imagine how and when they met, unless it was that the cure came in the morning when he and his master were in the workshop. These suspicions so ran in his head that he watched and listened in order that he might find out the truth, and he watched so well that he learned the facts of the case, for one morning he saw the cure come, soon after the goldsmith had left the chamber, and enter and close the door after him.

When he was quite sure that his suspicions were confirmed, he informed his master of his discovery in these terms.

"Master, I serve you, not only that I may earn your money, eat your bread, and do your work well and honestly, but also to protect your honour and preserve it from harm. If I acted otherwise I should not be worthy to be your servant. I have long had a suspicion that our cure was doing you a grievous wrong, but I said nothing to you until I was sure of the facts. That you may not suppose I am trumping up an idle story, I would beg of you to let us go now to your chamber, for I am sure that we shall find him there."

When the good man heard this news, he was much inclined to laugh, but he agreed to go to his chamber along with his a.s.sistant--who first made him promise that he would not kill the cure, or otherwise he would not accompany him, but consented that the cure should be well punished.

They went up to the chamber, and the door was soon opened. The husband entered first, and saw his wife in the arms of the cure who was forging as hard as he could.

The goldsmith cried;

"Die, die, scoundrel! What brings you here?"

The cure was surprised and alarmed, and begged for mercy.

"Silence, rascally priest, or I will kill you on the spot!"

"Oh, neighbour have mercy, for G.o.d's sake," said the cure; "do with me whatever you like."

"By my father's soul! before I let you go I will make you so that you will never want to hammer on any feminine anvil again. Get up, and let yourself be bound, unless you wish to die!"

The poor wretch allowed himself to be fastened by his two enemies to a bench, face upwards, and with his legs hanging down on each side of the bench. When he was well fastened, so that he could move nothing but his head, he was carried thus trussed (*) into a little shed behind the house, which the goldsmith used as a melting-room.

(*) The word in the original is _marescaucie_, which presumably means,--treated as the soldiers of the _marechaussee_ treated their prisoners. Bibliophile Jacob avoided philological pitfalls of this sort by omitting the phrase altogether.

When the cure was safely placed in this shed, the goldsmith sent for two long nails with large heads, and with these he fastened to the bench the two hammers which had in his absence forged on his wife's anvil, and after that undid all the ropes which fastened the poor wretch. Then taking a handful of straw, he set fire to the shed, and leaving the cure to his fate, rushed into the street, crying "Fire!"

The priest, finding himself surrounded by flames, saw that he must either lose his genitals or be burned alive, so he jumped up and ran away, leaving his purse nailed there.

An alarm was soon raised in the street, and the neighbours ran to put out the fire. But the cure sent them back, saying that he had just come from the spot, and all the harm that could occur had already been done, so that they could give no a.s.sistance--but he did not say that it was he who had suffered all the harm.

Thus was the poor cure rewarded for his love, through the false and treacherous jealousy of the goldsmith's a.s.sistant, as you have heard.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 86.jpg Foolish Fear.]

STORY THE EIGHTY-SIXTH -- FOOLISH FEAR.