One Hundred Merrie And Delightsome Stories Part 72

The cure promised that he would do so, and never again be summoned for a similar offence. He left the Court and returned to his cure, and as soon as he came there, he called the draper and the tailor, and he had a gown made which trailed three quarters of an ell on the ground; for he told the tailor how he had been reproved for wearing a short gown, and ordered to wear a long one.

He put on this long robe, and allowed his beard and hair to grow, and in this habit performed his parochial duties, sang Ma.s.s, and did everything that a priest has to do.

The promoter was soon informed that the cure behaved in a way not compatible with good morals, whereupon a fresh summons was issued, and the priest appeared in his long gown.

"What is this?" asked the judge when the cure appeared before him. "It seems that you make fun of the statutes and ordinances of the Church!

Why do you not dress like the other priests? If it were not for some of your friends I should send you to prison."

"What, monseigneur!" said the cure. "Did you not order me to wear a long gown, and long hair? Have I not done as I was commanded? Is not my gown long enough? Is not my hair long? What do you wish me to do?"

"I wish," said the judge, "and I command that your gown and hair should be half long, neither too much nor too little, and for this great fault that you have committed, I condemn you to pay a fine of ten pounds to the Prosecutor, twenty pounds to the Chapter, and as much to the Bishop of Therouenne for his charities."

Our cure was much astonished, but there was nothing for it but to comply. He took leave of the judge, and returned to his house, considering how he should attire himself in order to obey the judge's sentence. He sent for the tailor, whom he ordered to make a gown as long on one side as that we have mentioned, and, as short as the first one on the other side, then he had himself shaved on one side only--that on which the gown was short--and in this guise went about the streets, and performed his sacred duties; and although he was told this was not right of him, he paid no attention.

The Prosecutor was again informed, and cited him to appear a third time. When he appeared, G.o.d knows how angry the judge was--he was almost beside himself, and, could scarcely sit on the Bench when he saw the cure dressed like a mummer. If the priest had been mulcted before he was still more so this time, and was condemned to pay very heavy fines.

Then the cure, finding himself thus amerced in fines and amends, said to the judge.

"With all due respect, it seems to me that I have obeyed your orders.

Hear what I have to say, and I will prove it."

Then he covered his long beard with his hand, and said;

"If you like, I have no beard." Then, covering the shaved side of his face, he said, "If you like, I have a long beard. Is not that what you ordered?"

The judge, seeing that he had to do with a joker, who was making fun of him, sent for a barber and a tailor, and before all the public, had the cure's hair and beard dressed, and his gown cut to a proper and reasonable length; then he sent him back to his cure where he conducted himself properly--having learned the right manner at the expense of his purse.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 95.jpg The sore Finger cured.]

STORY THE NINETY-FIFTH -- THE SORE FINGER CURED. [95]

By Philippe De Laon.

_Of a monk who feigned to be very ill and in danger of death, that he might obtain the favours of a certain young woman in the manner which is described hereafter._

It is usually the case, thank G.o.d, that in many religious communities there are certain good fellows who can play "base instruments".

Apropos of this, there was formerly in a convent at Paris, a good brother, a preacher, who was accustomed to visit his female neighbours.

One day his choice lighted on a very pretty woman, a near neighbour, young, buxom, and spirited, and but recently married to a good fellow.

Master monk fell in love with her, and was always thinking and devising ways and means by which he could compa.s.s his desires--which were, in short, to do you know what. Now he decided, "That is what I'll do." Then he changed his mind. So many plans came into his head that he could not decide on any; but of one thing he was sure, and that was that words alone would never seduce her from the paths of virtue. "For she is too virtuous, and too prudent. I shall be obliged, if I want to gain my ends, to gain them by cunning and deception."

Now listen to the plan the rascal devised, and how he dishonestly trapped the poor, little beast, and accomplished his immoral desires, as he proposed.

He pretended one day to have a bad finger--that which is nearest to the thumb, and is the first of the four on the right hand--and he wrapped it in linen bandages, and anointed it with strong-smelling ointments.

He went about with it thus for a day or two, hanging about the church porch, when he thought the aforesaid woman was coming, and G.o.d knows what pain he pretended to suffer.

The silly wench looked on him with pity, and seeing by his face that he appeared to be in great pain, she asked him what was the matter; and the cunning fox pitched up a piteous tale.

The day pa.s.sed, and on the morrow, about the hour of vespers, when the good woman was at home alone, the patient came and sat by her, and acted the sick man, that anyone who had seen him would have believed that he was in great danger. Sometimes he would walk to the window, then back again to the woman, and put on so many strange tricks that you would have been astonished and deceived if you had seen him. And the poor foolish girl, who pitied him so that the tears almost started from her eyes, comforted him as best she could,

"Alas, Brother Aubrey, have you spoken to such and such physicians?"

"Yes, certainly, my dear," he replied. "There is not a doctor or surgeon in Paris who has not studied my case."

"And what do they say? Will you have to suffer this pain for a long time?"

"Alas! yes; until I die, unless G.o.d helps me; for there is but one remedy for ray complaint, and I would rather die than reveal what that is,--for it is very far from decent, and quite foreign to my holy profession."

"What?" cried the poor girl. "Then there is a remedy! Then is it not very wrong and sinful of you to allow yourself to suffer thus? Truly it seems so to me, for you are in danger of losing sense and understanding, so sharp and terrible is the pain."

"By G.o.d, very sharp and terrible it is," said Brother Aubrey, "but there!--G.o.d sent it; praised be His name. I willingly suffer and bear all, and patiently await death, for that is the only remedy indeed--excepting one I mentioned to you--which can cure me."

"But what is that?"

"I told you that I should not dare to say what it is,--and even if I were obliged to reveal what it is, I should never have the will or power to put it in execution."

"By St. Martin!" said the good woman, "it appears to me that you are very wrong to talk like that. Pardieu! tell me what will cure you, and I a.s.sure you that I will do my utmost to help you. Do not wilfully throw away your life when help and succour can be brought. Tell me what it is, and you will see that I will help you--I will, pardieu, though it should cost me more than you imagine." The monk, finding his neighbour was willing to oblige him, after a great number of refusals and excuses, which, for the sake of brevity, I omit, said in a low voice.

"Since you desire that I should tell you, I will obey. The doctors all agreed that there was but one remedy for my complaint, and that was to put my finger into the secret place of a clean and honest woman, and keep it there for a certain length of time, and afterwards apply a certain ointment of which they gave me the receipt. You hear what the remedy is, and as I am by disposition naturally modest, I would rather endure and suffer all my ills than breathe a word to a living soul. You alone know of my sad lot, and that in spite of me."

"Well!" said the good woman, "what I said I would do I will do. I will willingly help to cure you, and am well pleased to be able to relieve you of the terrible pain which torments you, and find you a place in which you can put your sore finger."

"May G.o.d repay you, damsel," said the monk. "I should never have dared to make the request, but since you are kind enough to help me, I shall not be the cause of my own death. Let us go then, if it please you, to some secret place where no one can see us."

"It pleases me well," she replied.

So she led him to a fair chamber, and closed the door, and laid upon the bed, and the monk lifted up her clothes, and instead of the finger of his hand, put something hard and stiff in the place. When he had entered, she feeling that it was very big, said,

"How is it that your finger is so swollen? I never heard of anything like it."

"Truly," he replied, "it is the disease which made it like that."

"It is wonderful," she said.

Whilst this talk was going on, master monk accomplished that for which he had played the invalid so long. She when she felt--et cetera--asked what that was, and he replied,

"It is the boil on my finger which has burst. I am cured I think--thank G.o.d and you."

"On my word I am pleased to hear it," said the woman as she rose from the bed. "If you are not quite cured, come back as often as you like;--for to remove your pain there is nothing I would not do. And another time do not be so modest when it is a question of recovering your health."