When all were seated, the question was put, who should begin; and Saffredent said—­

“You did me the honour to have me begin on two days.  Methinks we should act wrongly towards the ladies if one of them did not also begin on two.”

“It were then needful,” said the Lady Oisille, “either that we should continue here for a great while, or else that a gentleman and a lady of the company should forego the beginning of a day.”

“For my part,” said Dagoucin, “had I been chosen, I would have given my place to Saffredent.”

“And I,” said Nomerfide, “to Parlamente, for I have been so wont to serve that I know not how to command.”

To this all agreed, and Parlamente thus began—­

“Ladies, the days that are past have been filled with so many tales of wisdom, that I would beg you to fill this one with the greatest (yet most real) follies that we can remember.  So, to lead the way, I will begin.”

[Illustration:  219a.  The Saddler’s Wife Cured by the sight of her Husband Caressing the Serving-maid]

[The Saddler’s Wife Cured by the sight of her Husband Caressing the Serving-maid]

[Illustration:  219.jpg Page Image]

TALE LXXI.

A saddler’s wife, who was grievously sick, was made whole and recovered the power of speech, which for the space of two days site had lost, on seeing her husband holding his serving-maid too familiarly on the bed whilst she herself was drawing to her end.

In the town of Amboise there lived one Brimbaudier, (1) saddler to the Queen of Navarre, and a man whose colour of feature showed him to be by nature rather a servant of Bacchus than a priest of Diana.  He had married a virtuous woman who controlled his household very discreetly, and with whom he was well content.

1 Boaistuau gives the name as Bruribandier, and Gruget transforms it into Borribaudier.  M, Pifteau, after examining the MSS., is doubtful whether Brimbaudier is the correct reading.  Bromardier, which in old French meant a tippler (Ducange, Briemardum), would have been an appropriate name for the individual referred to.—­Ed.

One day it was told him that his good wife was sick and in great danger, at which tidings he was in the greatest trouble imaginable.  He went with all speed to her aid, and found her so low, poor woman, that she had more need of a confessor than a doctor.  Thereupon he made the most pitiful lamentation that could be, but to represent it well ’twere needful to speak thickly as he did, (2) and better still to paint one’s face like his.

2 Curiously enough, the transcriber of MS. No. 1520 attempts to give some idea of the husband’s pronunciation by transforming all his r’s into l’s.  Here is an example:  “Je pelz ma povle femme, que fesai-ze, moi malhureux?...  M’amie je me meuls, je suis pis que tlepasse... je ne scai que faize,” &c.—­L.

When he had done all that he could for her, she asked for the cross, and it was brought.  On seeing this, the good man flung himself upon a bed in despair, crying and saying in his thick speech—­