Tales and Novels of J. de La Fontaine Part 33

Of these I've known as good as any black, When husbands some a.s.sistance seemed to lack, And had so much to do, they monks might need; Or other friends, their work at home to speed.

This friar for to-morrow never thought, But squandered ev'ry thing as soon as brought; No saint-apostle less of wealth retained; Good cheer o'er ev'ry wish triumphant reigned, Save now and then to have a little fun, (Unknown to others) with a pretty nun.

FERONDE had got a spouse of pleasing sight, Related nearly to our friar white, Whose predecessor, uncle, sponsor kind, Now gone to realms of night, had her consigned, To be this silly blockhead's lawful wife, Who thought her hand the honour of his life.

'Tis said that b.a.s.t.a.r.d-daughters oft retain A disposition to the parent-train; And this, the saying, truly ne'er bellied, Nor was her spouse so weak but he descried, Things clearer than was requisite believed, And doubted much if he were not deceived.

THE wife would often to the prelate go, Pretending business, proper he should know; A thousand circ.u.mstances she could find; 'Twas then accounts: now sev'ral things combined; In short no day nor hour within the week, But something at the friar's she would seek.

The holy father then was always p.r.o.ne, To send the servants off and be alone.

Howe'er the husband, doubting tricks were played; Got troublesome; his wife would much upbraid When she returned, and often beat her too; In short,--he unaccommodating grew.

THE rural mind by nature jealous proves; Suspicion shows of ev'ry thing that moves; Unused to city ways, perverse appears, And, undismayed, to principle adheres:

THE friar found his situation hard; He loved his ease?--all trouble would discard; As priests in gen'ral anxiously desire; Their plan howe'er I never can admire, And should not choose at once to take the town, But by the escalade obtain the crown; In LOVE I mean; to WAR I don't allude: No silly bragging I would here intrude, Nor be enrolled among the martial train: 'Tis Venus' court that I should like to gain.

Let t'other custom be the better way: It matters not; no longer I'll delay, But to my tale return, and fully state, How our receiver, who misused his mate; Was put in purgatory to be cured, And, for a time, most thoroughly immured.

BY means of opiate powders, much renowned, The friar plunged him in a sleep profound.

Thought dead; the fun'ral obsequies achieved, He was surprised, and doubtless sorely grieved, When he awoke and saw where he was placed, With folks around, not much to suit his taste; For in the coffin he at large was left, And of the pow'r to move was not bereft, But might arise and walk about the tomb, Which opened to another vaulted room, The gloomy, hollow mansion of the dead: Fear quickly o'er his drooping spirits spread.

What's here? cried he: is't sleep, or is it death; Some charm or spell perhaps withdraws their breath.

Our wight then asked their names and business there; And why he was retained in such a snare?

In what had he offended G.o.d or man?--

Said one, console thyself:--past moments scan; When thou hast rested here a thousand years, Thou'lt then ascend amid the Heav'nly spheres; But first in holy purgatory learn, To cleanse thyself from sins that we discern; One day thy soul shall leave this loathsome place, And, pure as ice, repair to realms of grace.

Then this consoling Angel gave a thwack, And ten or dozen stripes laid on his back:-- 'Tis thy unruly, jealous mind, said he, Displeases G.o.d, and dooms thee here to be.

A MOURNFUL sigh the lorn receiver heaved, His aching shoulders rubbed, and sobbed and grieved; A thousand years, cried he, 'tis long indeed!

My very soul with horror seems to bleed.

WE should observe, this Angel was a wag, A novice-friar and a convent f.a.g; Like him the others round had parts to act, And were disguised in dresses quite exact.

Our penitent most humbly pardon sought; Said he, if e'er to life again I'm brought, No jealousy, suspicion's hateful bane, Shall ever enter my distracted brain.

May I not have this grace, this wished for boon?

Some hopes they gave, but it could not be soon; In short a year he lay upon the floor: Just food for life received, and nothing more, Each day on bread and water he was fed, And o'er his back the cat-o'nine-tails spread: Full twenty lashes were the number set, Unless the friar should from Heav'n first get Permission to remit at times a part, For charity was glowing in his heart.

WE, must not doubt, he often offered prayers, To ease the culprit's sufferings and cares.

The Angel likewise made a long discourse; Said he, those vile suspicions were the source, Of all thy sorrow, wretchedness, and pain: Think'st thou such thoughts the clergy entertain?

A friar white!--too bad in ev'ry sense: Ten strokes to one, if black, for such offence.

Repent, I say:--the other this desired, Though scarcely he could tell what was required.

MEANWHILE the prelate with the fav'rite dame, No time to lose, made ev'ry hour the same.

The husband, with a sigh, was heard to say: I wonder what my wife's about to-day?

About?--whate'er it be 'tis doubtless right; Our friar, to console her, takes delight; Thy business too is managed as before, And anxious care bestowed upon thy store.

HAS she as usual matters that demand Attendance at the cloister to be scanned?-- No doubt was the reply, for having now The whole affair upon her feeble brow, Poor woman! be her wishes what they will, She more a.s.sistance wants thy loss to fill.

DISCOURSE like this no pleasure gave the soul: To call him so seems best upon the whole, Since he'd not pow'r like others here to feed:-- Mere earthly shadow for a time decreed.

A MONTH was pa.s.sed in fasting, pains, and prayer; Some charity the friar made him share, And now and then remission would direct; The widow too he never would neglect, But, all the consolation in his pow'r, Bestowed upon her ev'ry leisure hour, His tender cares unfruitful were not long; Beyond his hopes the soil proved good and strong; In short our Pater Abbas justly feared, To make him father many signs appeared.

SINCE 'twere improper such a fact were known; When proofs perhaps too clearly might be shown, So many prayers were said and vigils kept, At length the soul from purgatory crept, So much reduced, and ev'ry way so thin But little more he seemed than bones and skin.

A THING so strange filled numbers with surprise, Who scarcely would believe their ears and eyes.

The friar pa.s.sed for saint:--Feronde his fruit; None durst presume to doubt nor to dispute; A double miracle at once appeared The dead's return: the lady's state revered.

With treble force Te Deum round was sung; Sterility in marriage oft was rung, And near the convent many offered prayers, In hopes their fervent vows would gain them heirs.

THE humble spouse and wife we now shall leave Let none, howe'er, suppose that we conceive, Each husband merits, as our soul, the same, To cure the jealous fears his breast inflame.

THE PSALTER

ONCE more permit me, nuns, and this the last; I can't resist, whatever may have pa.s.sed, But must relate, what often I've been told; Your tales of convent pranks are seldom cold; They have a grace that no where else we find, And, somehow, better seem to please designed.

Another then we'll have, which three will make:-- Three did I say?-'tis four, or I mistake; Let's count them well:-The GARD'NER first, we'll name; Then comes the ABBESS, whose declining frame Required a youth, her malady to cure A story thought, perhaps, not over pure; And, as to SISTER JANE, who'd got a brat, I cannot fancy we should alter that.

These are the whole, and four's a number round; You'll probably remark, 'tis strange I've found Such pleasure in detailing convent scenes:-- 'Tis not my whim, but TASTE, that thither leans: And, if you'd kept your breviary in view, 'Tis clear, you'd nothing had with this to do; We know, howe'er, 'tis not your fondest care; So, quickly to our hist'ry let's repair.

A CHARMING youth would frequent visits pay, To nuns, whose convent near his dwelling lay; And, 'mong the sisters, one his person saw, Who, by her eyes, would fain attention draw; Smiles she bestowed, and other complaisance, But not a single step would he advance; By old and young he greatly was admired; Sighs burst around, but none his bosom fired.

Fair Isabella solely got his love, A beauteous nun, and gentle as a dove, Till then a novice in the flow'ry chain, And envied doubly:--for her charms and swain.

Their soft amours were watched with eagle-eye: No pleasure's free from care you may rely; In life each comfort coupled is with ill, And this to alter baffles all our skill.

THE sister nuns so vigilant had been, One night when darkness overspread the scene; And all was proper mysteries to hide, Some words escaped her cell that doubts supplied, And other matters too were heard around, That in her breviary could not be found.

'Tis her gallant! said they: he's clearly caught; Alarm pervaded; swarms were quickly brought; Rage seemed to triumph; sentinels were placed; The abbess too must know they were disgraced.

Away they hastened to convey surprise, And, thund'ring at her door, cried, madam rise, For sister Isabella, in her cell, Has got a man, which surely can't be well.

YOU will observe, the dame was not at prayer, Nor yet absorbed in sleep, devoid of care, But with her then, this abbess had in bed Good parson John, by kindness thither led, A neighb'ring rector, confessor, and friend; She rose in haste the sisters to attend, And, seeking for her veil, with sense confused, The parson's breeches took for what she used, Which, in the dark, resembled what was worn By nuns for veils, and called (perhaps in scorn), Among themselves, their PSALTER, to express Familiarly, a common, awkward dress.

WITH this new ornament, by way of veil, She sallied forth and heard the woeful tale.

Then, irritated, she exclaimed with ire To see this wretched creature I desire, The devil's daughter, from her bold career, Who'll bring our convent to disgrace, I fear; But G.o.d forbid, I say, and with his leave, We'll all restore:--rebuke she shall receive.

A chapter we will call:--the sisters came, And stood around to hear their pious dame.

FAIR Isabella now the abbess sent, Who straight obeyed, and to her tears gave vent, Which overspread those lily cheeks and eyes, A roguish youth so lately held his prize.

What! said the abbess: pretty scandal here, When in the house of G.o.d such things appear; Ashamed to death you ought to be, no doubt, Who brought you thither?--such we always scout.

NOW Isabella, (--sister you must lose, Henceforth, that name to you we cannot use; The honour is too great,) in such a case, Pray are you sensible of your disgrace, And what's the punishment you'll undergo?

Before to-morrow, this you'll fully know; Our inst.i.tution chastis.e.m.e.nt decrees; Come speak, I say, we'll hear you if you please.

POOR Isabella, with her sight on ground, Confused, till then had scarcely looked around, Now raised her eyes, and luckily perceived The breeches, which her fears in part relieved, And that the sisters, by surprise unnerved, As oft's the case, had never once observed.

She courage took, and to the abbess said, There's something from the Psalter, on your head, That awkwardly hangs down; pray, madam, try To put it right, or 'twill be in your eye.

'TWAS knee-strings, worn, at times, by priests and beaux, For, more or less, all follow fas.h.i.+on's laws.

This veil, no doubt, had very much the air Of those unmentionables parsons wear; And this the nun, to frolicking inclined, It seems had well impressed upon her mind.

What, cried the abbess, dares she still to sneer?

How great her insolence to laugh and jeer, When sins so heavily upon her rest, And ev'ry thing remains quite unconfessed.

Upon my word, she'd be a saint decreed; My veil, young imp, your notice cannot need; 'Tis better think, you little h.e.l.lish crow, What pains your soul must undergo below.

THE mother abbess sermonized and fired, And seemed as if her tongue would ne'er be tired.

Again the culprit said, your Psalter, pray, Good madam, haste to set the proper way; On which the sisters looked, both young and old THOSE 'gan to laugh, while THESE were heard to scold.

OUR preacher, quite ashamed of what she'd done, Now lost her voice, and noticed not the nun; The murmur buzzed around, too well expressed, What thoughts the holy sisterhood possessed.