Droll Stories, vol 2 | Page 3

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Etext prepared by Ian Hodgson, [email protected] and Dagny, [email protected] and John Bickers, [email protected]

DROLL STORIES COLLECTED FROM THE ABBEYS OF TOURAINE VOLUME II: THE SECOND TEN TALES
by HONORE DE BALZAC

CONTENTS
THE SECOND TEN TALES
PROLOGUE THE THREE CLERKS OF SAINT NICHOLAS THE CONTINENCE OF KING FRANCIS THE FIRST THE MERRY TATTLE OF THE NUNS OF POISSY HOW THE CHATEAU D'AZAY CAME TO BE BUILT THE FALSE COURTESAN THE DANGER OF BEING TOO INNOCENT THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE THE SERMON OF THE MERRY VICAR OF MEUDON THE SUCCUBUS DESPAIR IN LOVE EPILOGUE

SECOND TEN TALES

PROLOGUE
Certain persons have reproached the Author for knowing no more about the language of the olden times than hares do of telling stories. Formerly these people would have been vilified, called cannibals, churls, and sycophants, and Gomorrah would have been hinted at as their natal place. But the Author consents to spare them the flowery epithets of ancient criticism; he contents himself with wishing not to be in their skin, for he would be disgusted with himself, and esteem himself the vilest of scribblers thus to calumniate a poor little book which is not in the style of any spoil-paper of these times. Ah! ill- natured wretches! you should save your breath to cool your own porridge! The Author consoles himself for his want of success in not pleasing everyone by remembering that an old Tourainian, of eternal memory, had put up with such contumely, that losing all patience, he declared in one of his prologues, that he would never more put pen to paper. Another age, but the same manners. Nothing changes, neither God above nor men below. Thereupon of the Author continues his task with a light heart, relying upon the future to reward his heavy labours.
And certes, it is a hard task to invent A HUNDRED DROLL TALES, since not only have ruffians and envious men opened fire upon him, but his friends have imitated their example, and come to him saying "Are you mad? Do you think it is possible? No man ever had in the depths of his imagination a hundred such tales. Change the hyperbolic title of your budget. You will never finish it." These people are neither misanthropes nor cannibals; whether they are ruffians I know not; but for certain they are kind, good-natured friends; friends who have the courage to tell you disagreeable things all your life along, who are rough and sharp as currycombs, under the pretence that they are yours to command, in all the mishaps of life, and in the hour of extreme unction, all their worth will be known. If such people would only keep these sad kindnesses; but they will not. When their terrors are proved to have been idle, they exclaimed triumphantly, "Ha! ha! I knew it. I always said so."
In order not to discourage fine sentiments, intolerable though they be, the Author leaves to his friends his old shoes, and in order to make their minds easy, assures them that he has, legally protected and exempt from seizure, seventy droll stories, in that reservoir of nature, his brain. By the gods! they are precious yarns, well rigged out with phrases, carefully furnished with catastrophes, amply