From Fabliaux or Tales, abridged from French Manuscripts of the XIIth and XIIIth Centuries by M. Le Grand, selected and translated into English Verse, by the late G. L. Way, Esq., with A Preface, Notes and Appendix, by the late G. Ellis, Esq., A New Edition, corrected in Three Volumes, Volume I, Printed for J. Rodwell, London; 1815; pp. 61-70, 173-176.
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LIST, lordings all, for new the tale I tell:
It chanc’d unto a priest I knew right well.
His aged mother, and a gamesome lass,
With him beneath one roof their days did pass;
The crone, with years bent down, and hunch’d behind,
Show’d in her shape the model of her mind:
The leman had, besure, a pretty face;
Nor fail’d she in the duties of her place;
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The crone was busy too, and toil’d amain;
But different deeds a different guerdon gain:
So nothing lack’d the lass; but she might have
Kirtles, and cloaks, and silver girdle brave,
And linings soft of lamb or squirrel’s skin:
Forsooth the neighbours made a parlous din;
The matron, ne’ertheless, was choicely fed,
Good pease, good pottage, and the best of bread;
But when she clamour’d to be costlier dress’d,
For here her taste was curious as the best,
Her eloquence might ne’er one whit prevail
Though the priest’s ears were deafen’d with the tale.
Hence, loud from morn to evening would she scold,
And every neighbour heard her grievance told,
With calumnies and lies full many a score,
Still as she gadded on from door to door;
Till the whole village ’gan the priest to shun,
And hate him as a hard unnatural son.
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At last, one morn when humour bore the sway,
And, as it chanc’d, it was a summer’s day,
He fairly stopp’d the brawl with master-tone,
And bad her take her chattels, and begone.
She not a pace would budge, but — ‘Yea!’ she cried,
‘I go, and bring the bishop by my side:
‘Besure thy secret life shall be bewray’d,
‘Lewd deeds and dealings with that shameless jade:’ —
‘Out!’ — quoth the priest in choler; ‘there’s the door —
‘Mark well the past, for thou shalt mark no more.’
Forth far’d the crone, nigh wood; nor slack’d her way
Till prostrate at the bishop’s feet she lay;
There rav’d for vengeance, outcast and exil’d,
For vengeance on a base unnatural child,
Who, wanting long time past in reverence meet,
At length had driven her forth into the street
With foul reproach and other nameless ill,
To gratify a strumpet’s wanton will.
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With patient care the prelate heard the crone,
And promis’d her all justice should be done:
And, for his custom’d session was at hand,
Straight to the culprit priest he sent command
There to attend the charges to refute,
And bound the crone to prosecute her suit.
Now came the day; the priests press on to court,
Two hundred sure, and crowds of meaner sort:
Through the mid-throng the beldam passage made,
And sued full loud for justice undelay’d:
‘Peace!’ quoth the prelate judge, with look severe;
‘Wait thou thy son’s approach attendant here;
‘If true thy charge, or e’er this court be ended
‘His benefice is gone, and he suspended!’
The crone, unskill’d in phrase, now ween’d to see
Her pendent child aloft on gallow-tree,
And felt her inmost bowels yearn amain
For the base bantling she had borne with pain,
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And lov’d so dear, and nourish’d at her breast;
And rued her luckless choler unrepress’d.
Fain would she flee; but flight may nought prevent
Her son’s arrest, and sequent punishment:
This way and that her crafty wit she tries,
And, as a woman rarely lacks device,
So well she sped, that chancing to behold
A chaplain boon, with chin of double fold,
With glossy cheek, just entering at the door,
And a huge mass of cumbrous paunch before,
‘Lo here! lo here my bairn!’ she ’gan to cry;
‘Now, sire, now grant me justice, or I die!’
‘Unthankful son!’ the prelate straight began
To the strange priest with mute amazement wan,
‘Thus dost thou scant thine aged parent there
‘To deck thy leman loose with robes of vair?
‘Thus shame the church, and bring her wealth to waste
‘In harlot revel squander’d and disgrac’d?’ —
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‘Liege lord1’ the astonied chaplain cried, ‘I know,
‘And practis’d once, what sons to mothers owe;
‘Many a year since, so may my bones find rest!
‘My parent died, and all those duties ceas’d:
‘But for that woman there, by day or night
‘Till this strange hour she never cross’d my sight!’
‘How!’ quoth the prelate, kindling as he spoke,
‘Thus would’st thou rid thy shoulder from the yoke?
‘Thy parent, first ill-treated, then denied,
‘And the strong justice of my court defied.
‘Hear then — in thee this instant I arrest
‘All ministry and function of a priest,
‘Unless borne hence with thee this matron wend,
‘Hous’d, clad, and cherish’d as thy dearest friend:
‘Forth from this hour should she or stranger prove
‘That aught thou fail in debt of filial love,
‘The law takes course,’ — The wrathful prelate ceas’d”
Abash’d full sore retir’d the luckless priest;
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In doleful dump he mounts his steed amain
With his foul prize, and homeward turns the rein.
Two miles or more the pair had journey’d one,
When in the road they met the beldam’s son;
And, ‘Whither bent?’ the rueful chaplain cried;
‘I to the bishop’s court,’ the son replied:
‘Thee,’ quoth the first, ‘may like good luck befall!
‘I too was summon’d to attend the hall,
‘Nor wist I why; and lo, this goodly meed,
‘My mother, as it seems, to house and feed.’
The son, who, while the priest his story told,
Eyed the quaint gestures of the beldam old
With nods and winks to keep the secret tight,
Refrain’d from laughter well as mortal might:
‘If thou,’ quoth he, ‘thus early at the court,
‘Hast had one mother given thee to support,
‘My mind forbodes our worthy prelate’s pain
‘May gift us tardier travellers with twain.
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‘What say’st thou, friend? suppose some wight inclin’d
‘To take this reverend matron up behind,
‘And quit thee of thy charge, and kind entreat;
‘What brave reward might recompense the feat?’
‘Troth,’ quoth the priest, ‘to speak without disguise,
‘I’m not the man to scant him in his price:
‘I’ll pay him forty livres by the year,
‘Villain or clerk, nor think the bargain dear.’
‘Enough, fair brother mine!’ returns the son;
‘So please the lady here, our deed is done.’
The crone well-pleas’d besure: so, all agreed,
Home son and mother fare on pacing steed;
Each year his plighted dole the chaplain paid,
Nor future plaint to bishop e’er was made.
Page 64, Line 5. ‘And linings soft of lamb or
‘squirrel’s skin.’
The use and estimation of furs has been already noticed. Furs were the common coverings of beds, besides forming the principal and most distinctive part of dress. The more precious furs, as ermine and sable, were reserved for kings, knights, and the principal nobility of both sexes. Persons of an inferior rank contented themselves with the vair, (probably the Hungarian squirrel,) and the gris or gray. The lower orders of citizens and burgesses with the common squirrel and lamb skins. The peasants wore cat skins, badger skins, &c. The mantles of our kings and peers, 174 and the furred robes of the several classes of our municipal officers, are the remains of this once universal fashion.
Page 66, Line 8. ‘Two hundred sure, and crowds
‘of meaner sort.’
The enormous number of clients here represented as assisting at a bishop’s court, will not appear surprising to those who consider the almost unlimited power of the clergy during the middle ages. Their jurisdictions extended not only over the members of their own body, but comprised all persons who had taken the cross, all pilgrims, widows, and orphans, and clerks, a class of men which were extremely numerous because highly privileged. The causes of which they took cognizance were usury, simony, adultery, schism, heresy, sacrilege; in short of all crimes which were sinful, or which had the most distant relation to any of the sacraments: as the settlements on brides, widows, younger children, wills, &c. &c.
Page 70, Line 8. ‘Villain or clerk, nor think the
‘bargain dear.’
It is well known that the word villain, which at present is applied to a vicious character, originally signified nothing more than a country servant. In the 175 feudal times, the culture of the lands was executed by three sorts of persons. The first were the small allodial proprietors, who were freemen, though they sometimes voluntarily became the vassals of their more opulent neighbours, whose power was necessary for their protection. The other two classes were the serfs and the villains, both of which were slaves.
The serfs were in the lowest state of slavery. They did not enjoy, like the Africans in our colonies, the privilege of marrying whom they pleased, or of transmitting their little property to their children or friends. All the fruits of their labour belonged to the master whose land they tilled, and by whom they were fed and clothed. Their only recompense was a bare permission to exits. The villains were less miserable. Their situation seems to have resembled that of the Russian peasants at this day. They were, like the serfs, attached to the soil; and were transferred with it by purchases, and had a right to dispose of any surplus that might arise from their industry.
With regard to the term clerk, it was of very extensive import. It comprehended, indeed, originally, such persons only as bore the clerical tonsure, amongst
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whom, however, might be found a multitude of married persons, artisans or others: but in process of time a much wider criterion was established: every one that could read being accounted (in England at least) a clerk or clericus, and allowed the benefit of clerkship.