Droll Stories

by Honoré de Balzac

  “Ah, my pretty one,” said he, “you are not overburdened with the goods of this world that you thus work with your hands upon the Lord’s Day. Are you not afraid of being cast into prison?”

  “Monseigneur,” replied the maid, casting down her eyes, “I have nothing to fear, because I belong to the abbey. The Lord Abbot has given me leave to exercise the cow after vespers.”

  “You love your cow, then, more than the salvation of your soul?”

  “Ah, monseigneur, our beast is almost the half of our poor lives.”

  “I am astonished, my girl, to see you poor and in rags, clothed like a fagot, running barefoot about the fields on the Sabbath, when you carry about you more treasures than you could dig up in the grounds of the abbey. Do not the townspeople pursue you, and torment you with love?”

  “Oh, never, monseigneur. I belong to the abbey,” replied she, showing the jeweler a collar on her left arm like those that the beasts of the field have, but without the little bell, and at the same time casting such a deplorable glance at our townsman that he was stricken quite sad, for by the eyes are communicated contagions of the heart when they are strong.

  “And what does this mean?” he said, wishing to hear all about it.

  And he touched the collar, upon which was engraved the arms of the abbey very distinctly, but which he did not wish to see.

  “Monseigneur, I am the daughter of an homme de corps; thus, whoever unites himself to me by marriage will become a bondsman, even if he were a citizen of Paris, and would belong body and goods to the abbey. If he loved me otherwise, his children would still belong to the domain. For this reason I am neglected by every one, abandoned like a poor beast of the field. But what makes me most unhappy is, that according to the pleasure of monseigneur the abbot, I shall be coupled at some time with a bondsman. And if I were less ugly than I am, at the sight of my collar the most amorous would flee from me as from the black plague.”

  So saying, she pulled her cow by the cord to make it follow her.

  “And how old are you?” asked the silversmith.

  “I do not know, monseigneur; but our master, the abbot, has kept account.”

  This great misery touched the heart of the good man, who had in his day eaten the bread of sorrow. He regulated his pace to the girl’s, and they went together towards the water in painful silence. The good man gazed at the fine forehead, the round red arms, the queen’s waist, the feet dusty, but made like those of a Virgin Mary; and the sweet physiognomy of this girl, who was the living image of St. Genevieve, the patroness of Paris, and the maidens who live in the fields. And make sure that this Joseph suspected the pretty white of the sweet girl’s breasts, which were by a modest grace carefully covered with an old rag, and looked at them as a schoolboy looks at a rosy apple on a hot day. Also, may you depend upon it that these little hillocks of nature denoted a wench fashioned with delicious perfection, like everything the monks possess. Now, the more it was forbidden our silversmith to touch them, the more his mouth watered for these fruits of love. And his heart leaped almost into his mouth.

  “You have a fine cow,” said he.

  “Would you like a little milk?” replied she. “It is so warm these early days of May. You are far from the town.”

  In truth, the sky was a cloudless blue, and glared like a forge. Everything was radiant with youth, the leaves, the air, the girls, the lads; everything was burning, was green, and smelt like balm. This naïve offer, made without the hope of recompense, though a byzant would not have paid for the special grace of the speech; and the modesty of the gesture with which the poor girl turned to him gained the heart of the jeweller, who would have liked to be able to put this bondswoman into the skin of a queen, and Paris at her feet.

  “Nay, my child, I thirst not for milk, but for you, whom I would have leave to liberate.”

  “That cannot be, and I shall die the property of the abbey. For years we have lived so, from father to son, from mother to daughter. Like my poor ancestors, I shall pass my days on this land, as will also my children, because the abbot cannot legally let us go.”

  “What!” said the Tourainian; “has no gallant been tempted by your bright eyes to buy your liberty, as I bought mine from the king?”

  “It would cost too dear; thus it is those whom at first sight I please, go as they came.”

  “And you have never thought of gaining another country in company with a lover on horseback on a fleet courser?”

  “Oh, yes. But, monseigneur, if I were caught I should be hanged at least; and my gallant, even were he a lord, would lose more than one domain over it, beside other things. I am not worth so much; besides, the abbey has arms longer than my feet are swift. So I live on in perfect obedience to God, who has placed me in this plight.”

  “What is your father?”

  “He tends the vines in the gardens of the abbey.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She is a washerwoman.”

  “And what is your name?”

  “I have no name, dear sir. My father was baptized Etienne, my mother is Etienne, and I am Tiennette, at your service.”

  “Sweetheart,” said the jeweller, “never has woman pleased me as you please me; and I believe that your heart contains a wealth of goodness. Now, since you offered yourself to my eyes at the moment when I was firmly deliberating upon taking a companion, I believe that I see in you a sign from heaven! and if I am not displeasing to you, I beg you to accept me as your friend.”

  Immediately the maid lowered her eyes. These words were uttered in such a way, in so grave a tone, so penetrating a manner, that the said Tiennette burst into tears.

  “No, monseigneur, I should be the cause of a thousand unpleasantnesses, and of your misfortune. For a poor bondsmaid, the conversation has gone far enough.”

  “Ho!” cried Anseau; “you do not know, my child, the man you are dealing with.”

  The Tourainian crossed himself, joined his hands, and said—

  “I make a vow to Monsieur the Saint Eloi, under whose invocation are the silversmiths, to fashion two images of pure silver, with the best workmanship I am able to perform. One shall be a statue of Madame the Virgin, to this end, to thank her for the liberty of my dear wife; and the other for my said patron, if I am successful in my undertaking to liberate the bondswoman Tiennette here present, and for which I rely upon his assistance. Moreover, I swear by my eternal salvation, to persevere with courage in this affair, to spend therein all I possess, and only to quit it with my life. God has heard me,” said he. “And you, little one,” he added, turning towards the maid.

  “Ha! monseigneur, look! My cow is running about the fields,” cried she, sobbing at the good man’s knees. “I will love you all my life; but withdraw your vow.”

  “Let us look after the cow,” said the silversmith, raising her, without daring yet to kiss her, although the maid was well disposed to it.

  “Yes,” said she, “for I shall be beaten.”

  And behold now the silversmith, scampering after the cursed cow, who gave no heed to their amours; she was taken by the horns, and held in the grip of the Tourainian, who for a trifle could have thrown her in the air, like a straw.

  “Adieu, my sweet one! If you go into the town, come to my house, over against Saint Leu’s Church. I am called Master Anseau, and am silversmith to the King of France, at the sign of St. Eloi. Make me a promise to be in this field the next Lord’s Day; fail not to come, even should it rain halberds.”

  “Yes, dear sir. For this would I leap the walls, and, in gratitude, would I be yours without mischief, and cause you no sorrow, at the price of my everlasting future. Awaiting the happy moment, I will pray God for you with all my heart.”

  And then she remained standing like a stone saint, moving not, until she could see the good citizen no longer, and he went away with lagging steps turning from time to time towards her to gaze upon her. And when he was afar off, and out of her sight, she stayed on, until nightfall
, lost in meditation, knowing not if she had dreamed that which had happened to her. Then went she back to the house, where she was beaten for staying out, but felt not the blows. The good silversmith could neither eat nor drink, but closed his workshop, possessed of this girl, thinking of nothing but this girl, seeing everywhere this girl; everything to him being to possess this girl. Now when the morrow was come, went he with great apprehension towards the abbey to speak to the lord abbot. On the road, however, he suddenly thought of putting himself under the protection of one of the king’s people, and with this idea returned to the Court, which was then held in the town. Being esteemed by all for his prudence, and loved for his little works and kindnesses, the king’s chamberlain—for whom he had once made, for a present to a lady of the Court, a golden casket set with precious stones, and unique of its kind—promised him assistance, had a horse saddled for himself, and a hack for the silversmith, with whom he set out for the abbey, and asked to see the abbot, who was Monseigneur Hugon de Sennecterre, aged ninety-three. Being come into the room with the silversmith, waiting nervously to receive his sentence, the chamberlain begged the abbot to sell him in advance a thing which was easy for him to sell, and which would be pleasant to him.

  To which the abbot replied, looking at the chamberlain—

  “That the canons inhibited and forbade him thus to engage his word.”

  “Behold, my dear father,” said the chamberlain, “the jeweller of the Court, who has conceived a great love for a bondswoman belonging to your abbey, and I request you, in consideration of my obliging you in any such desire as you may wish to see accomplished, to emancipate this maid.”

  “Which is she?” asked the abbot of the citizen.

  “Her name is Tiennette,” answered the silversmith, timidly.

  “Ho! ho!” said the good old Hugon, smiling. “The angler has caught us a good fish! This is a grave business, and I know not how to decide by myself.”

  “I know, my father, what those words mean,” said the chamberlain, knitting his brow.

  “Fine sir,” said the abbot, “know you what this maid is worth?”

  The abbot ordered Tiennette to be fetched, telling his clerk to dress her in her finest clothes, and to make her look as nice as possible.

  “Your love is in danger,” said the chamberlain to the silversmith, pulling him on one side. “Dismiss this phantasy. You can meet anywhere, even at Court, with women of wealth, young and pretty, who would willingly marry you. For this, if need there be, the king would assist you by giving you some title, which in course of time would enable you to found a good family. Are you sufficiently well furnished with crowns to become the founder of a noble line?”

  “I know not, monseigneur,” replied Anseau. “I have put money by.”

  “Then see if you cannot buy the manumission of this maid. I know the monks. With them money does everything.”

  “Monseigneur,” said the silversmith to the abbot, coming towards him, “you have the charge and office of representing here below the goodness of God, who is often clement towards us, and has infinite treasures of mercy for our sorrows. Now, I will remember you each evening and each morning in my prayers, and never forget that I received my happiness at your hands, if you will aid me to gain this maid in lawful wedlock, without keeping in servitude the children born of this union. And for this I will make you a receptacle for the Holy Eucharist, so elaborate, so rich with gold, precious stones, and winged angels, that no other shall be like it in all Christendom. It shall remain unique, it shall dazzle your eyesight, and shall be so far the glory of your altar, that the people of the town and foreign nobles shall rush to see it, so magnificent shall it be.”

  “My son,” replied the abbot, “have you lost your senses? If you are resolved to have this wench for a legal wife, your goods and your person belong to the Chapter of the abbey.”

  “Yes, monseigneur, I am passionately in love with this girl, and more touched with her misery and her Christian heart than even with her perfections; but I am,” said he, with tears in his eyes, “still more astonished at your harshness, and I say it although I know that my fate is in your hands. Yes, monseigneur, I know the law; and if my goods fall to your domain, if I become a bondsman, if I lose my house and my citizenship, I will still keep that engine, gained by my labours and my studies, and which lies there,” cried he, striking his forehead, “in a place of which no one, save God, can be lord but myself. And your whole abbey could not pay for the special creations which proceed therefrom. You may have my body, my wife, my children, but nothing shall get you my engine; nay, not even torture, seeing that I am stronger than iron is hard, and more patient than sorrow is great.”

  So saying, the silversmith, enraged by the calmness of the abbot, who seemed resolved to acquire for the abbey the good man’s doubloons, brought down his fist upon an oaken chair, and shivered it into fragments, for it split as under the blow of a mace.

  “Behold, monseigneur, what kind of servant you will have, and of an artificer of things divine you will make a mere cart-horse.”

  “My son,” replied the abbot, “you have wrongfully broken my chair, and lightly judged my mind. This wench belongs to the abbey, and not to me. I am the faithful servant of the rights and customs of this glorious monastery; although I might grant this woman licence to bear free children, I am responsible for this to God and to the abbey. Now, since there was here an altar, bondsmen and monks, id est, from time immemorial, there has never occurred the case of a citizen becoming the property of the abbey by marriage with a bondswoman. Now, therefore, is there need to exercise the right, and to make use of it that it be not lost, weakened, worn out, or fallen into disuse, which would occasion a thousand difficulties. And this is of a higher advantage to the State and to the abbey than your stones, however beautiful they be, seeing that we have treasure wherewith to buy rare jewels, and that no treasure can establish customs and laws. I call upon the king’s chamberlain to bear witness to the infinite pains which his majesty takes every day to fight for the establishment of his orders.”

  “That is to close my mouth,” said the chamberlain.

  The silversmith, who was not a great scholar, remained thoughtful. Then came Tiennette, clean as a new pin, her hair raised up, dressed in a robe of white wool with a blue sash, with tiny shoes and white stockings; in fact, so royally beautiful, so noble in her bearing was she, that the silversmith was petrified with ecstasy, and the chamberlain confessed he had never seen so perfect a creature. Thinking there was too much danger in this sight for the poor jeweller, he led him into the town and begged him to think no further of the affair, since the abbey was not likely to liberate so good a bait for the citizens and nobles of the Parisian stream. In fact, the Chapter let the poor lover know that if he married this girl he must resolve to yield up his goods and his house to the abbey, consider himself a bondsman, both he and the children of the aforesaid marriage; although, by a special grace, the abbot would let him his house on the condition of his giving an inventory of his furniture and paying a yearly rent, and coming during eight days to live in a shed adjoining the domain, thus performing an act of service. The silversmith, to whom every one spoke of the cupidity of the monks, saw clearly that the abbot would incommutably maintain this order, and his soul was filled with despair. At one time he determined to burn down the monastery; at another, he proposed to lure the abbot into a place where he could torment him until he had signed a charter for Tiennette’s liberation; in fact, a thousand ideas possessed his brain, and as quickly evaporated. But after much lamentation he determined to carry off the girl, and fly with her into a sure place, from which nothing could draw him, and made his preparations accordingly; for, once out of the kingdom, his friends or the king could better tackle the monks and bring them to reason. The good man counted, however, without his abbot, for going to the meadows, he found Tiennette no more there, and learned that she was confined in the abbey, and with such rigour, that to get at her it would be necessa
ry to lay siege to the monastery. Then Master Anseau passed his time in tears, complaints, and lamentations; and all the city, the townspeople, and the housewives, talked of his adventure, the noise of which was so great, that the king sent for the old abbot to court, and demanded of him why he did not yield under the circumstances to the great love of his silversmith, and why he did not put into practice Christian charity.