_TALE XI._ (B).
_Of the jests made by a Grey Friar in his sermons_. (1)
1 See _ante_, p. 89, note 2, _and post_. Appendix B.
Near the town of Blere in Touraine there is a village called St.Martin-le-Beau, whither a Grey Friar belonging to the monastery atTours was summoned to preach during the seasons of Advent and Lent.This friar, who was more garrulous than learned, and now and then foundhimself at a loss for matter to eke out his hour, would thereupon begintelling tales which more or less agreeably satisfied the good villagers.
One Holy Thursday he preached about the Paschal Lamb, and while speakingof how it was eaten at night, seeing that there were present at thepreaching some handsome young ladies of Amboise, who were newlyarrived to keep Easter at the village, and to stay there for a few daysafterwards, he wished to surpass himself, and thereupon asked all thewomen-folk whether they knew what it was to eat raw flesh at night. "Iwill tell you what it is, ladies," he said, whereat the young men ofAmboise, who had just arrived with their wives, sisters, and nieces, andwho had no knowledge of the pilgrim's humour, began to be scandalised;though on listening further their indignation gave place to laughter,even when he said that to eat the lamb it was needful to have one'sloins girt, one's feet in one's shoes, and one's hand on one's staff.
The friar, seeing them laugh at this, and guessing the reason,immediately corrected himself. "Well," said he, "to have shoes on one'sfeet and a staff in one's hand; 'tis all one."
That this sally was received with laughter you will readily believe.Even the ladies could not refrain from merriment, and for them headded other diverting sayings. Then finding the time was nearly up, andwishing the ladies to be well pleased with him when they departed, hesaid to them--"Now, fair ladies, when you are chatting presently withyour gossips, you will be asking one another: 'Who, pray, is this MasterFriar, that speaks out so boldly? He must be a brisk fellow.' I willtell you, ladies, yes, I will tell you, and be not astonished if I speakout boldly, for I am of Anjou, at your service."
With these words he ended his sermon, leaving his hearers more disposedto laugh at his foolish speeches than to weep in memory of our Lord'sPassion which was then being commemorated.
The other sermons that he preached during the festival had much thesame value. You are aware that these friars never fail to go beggingfor their Easter eggs, and receive not only eggs, but many other things,such as linen, yarn, chitterlings, hams, chines, and similar trifles. Sowhen Easter Tuesday came, and the friar was making those exhortations tocharity of which such folks as he are no niggards, he said--
"I am bound to thank you, ladies, for the liberality you have shown toour poor monastery, and yet I cannot forbear telling you that you havehitherto not duly considered the nature of our wants. You have for themost part given us chitterlings, but of these we ourselves have no lack.God be praised, our monastery is indeed full of them. What then can wedo with so many? I will tell you. My advice, ladies, is that you shouldmix your hams with our chitterlings; in this way you would bestow finealms."
Then, continuing his sermon, he brought into it certain scandalousmatter, and, whilst discoursing upon it somewhat bluntly and quotingsundry examples, he said in apparent amazement--
"Truly, ladies and gentlemen of Saint-Martin, I am greatly astonishedthat you should be scandalised so unreasonably at what is less thannothing, and should tell tales of me wherever you go, saying: 'It is abig business; who could have thought that the father would have gothis landlady's daughter with child?' A monk get a girl with child!" hecontinued; "forsooth, what a wonder! But hark you, fair ladies, wouldyou not rather have had cause for wonderment, had the girl acted thus bythe monk?"
"Such, ladies, was the wholesome food on which this worshipful shepherdfed the Lord's flock. And so brazen was he, that after committing thesin, he spake openly of it in the pulpit, where nought should be saidthat tends to aught but the edification of one's neighbour, and aboveall to the glory of God."
"Truly," said Saffredent, "he was a master monk--I should have likedhim nearly as well as Brother Anjibaut, who gets credit for all thejests that are spoken in merry company."
"For my part, I can see nothing laughable in such mockery," saidOisille, "especially in such a place."
"You forget, madam," said Nomerfide, "that at that time, though itwas not so very long ago, the good villagers, and indeed most of thedwellers in the large towns, who think themselves cleverer than otherpeople, had greater regard for such preachers as he than for those whopurely and simply preached the holy Gospel to them."
"However that may be," said Hircan, "he was not wrong in asking for hamsin exchange for chitterlings, for in hams there is far more eating. Andeven if some devout creature had understood him amphibologically, as Ibelieve he wished to be understood, neither he nor his brethren wouldhave fared badly any more than the wench that had her bag full."
"But how impudent of him," said Oisille, "to pervert the meaning ofthe text to suit his fancy, thinking that he had to do with beasts likehimself, and shamelessly trying to entice the poor little women so thathe might teach them how to eat raw flesh at night."
"True," said Simontault; "but you forget that he saw before him thoseyoung tripe-sellers of Amboise in whose tub he would fain have washedhis ------ shall I name it? No, but you understand me--and have treatedthem to a taste of it, not roasted, but stirring and frisking, so as toplease them the more."
"Softly, softly, Simontault," said Parlamente; "you forget yourself.Have you laid aside your accustomed modesty to don it only in time ofnecessity?"
"No, madam, no," said he; "'twas the unworthy monk that led me astray.Wherefore, that we may return to the matter in hand, I beg Nomerfide,who caused my offence, to give her vote to some one who will make thecompany forget our common fault."
"Since you include me in your transgression," said Nomerfide, "I willchoose one who will atone for our failings, that is Dagoucin. He is sodiscreet that to save his life he would not say a foolish thing."
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