Droll Stories from the Abbeys of Touraine | Page 8

strolled about
the town waiting the appointed hour, although he was well-favoured
and gallant enough to find others less difficult to overcome than was
Madame Imperia.
The night came; the little Touranian, exalted with pride caparisoned
with desire, and spurred by his "alacks" and "alases" which nearly
choked him, glided like an eel into the domicile of the veritable Queen
of the Council--for before her bowed humbly all the authority, science,
and wisdom of Christianity. The major domo did not know him, and
was going to bundle him out again, when one of the chamber-women
called him from the top of the stairs--"Eh M. Imbert, it is Madame's
young fellow," and poor Philippe, blushing like a wedding night, ran up
the stairs, shaking with happiness and delight. The servant took him by
the hand and led into the chamber where sat Madame, lightly attired
like a brave woman who awaits her conqueror.
The dazzling Imperia was seated near a table covered with a shaggy
cloth ornamented with gold, and with all the requisites for a dainty
carouse. Flagons of wine, various drinking glasses, bottles of the
hippocras, flasks full of good wine of Cyprus, pretty boxes full of
spices, roast peacocks, green sauces, little salt hams--all that would
gladden the eyes of the gallant if he had not so madly loved Madame
Imperia.
She saw well that the eyes of the young priest were all for her.

Although accustomed to the curl-paper devotion of the churchmen, she
was well satisfied that she had made a conquest of the young priest
who all day long had been in her head.
The windows had been closed; Madame was decked out in a manner fit
to do honours to a prince of the Empire. Then the rogue, beatified by
the holy beauty of Imperia, knew that Emperor, burgraf, nay, even a
cardinal about to be elected pope, would willingly for that night have
changed places with him, a little priest who, beneath his gown, had
only the devil and love.
He put on a lordly air, and saluted her with a courtesy by no means
ungraceful; and then the sweet lady said to him, regaling with a
piercing glance--
"Come and sit close to me, that I may see if you have altered since
yesterday."
"Oh yes," said he.
"And how?" said she.
"Yesterday," replied the artful fellow, "I loved you; today, we love each
other, and from a poor sinner I have become richer than a king."
"Oh, little one, little one!" cried she, merrily; "yes, you are indeed
changed, for from a young priest I see well you have turned into an old
devil."
And side by side they sat down before a large fire, which helped to
spread their ecstasy around. They remained always ready to begin
eating, seeing that they only thought of gazing into each other's eyes,
and never touched a dish. Just as they were beginning to feel
comfortable and at their ease, there came a great noise at Madame's
door, as if people were beating against it, and crying out.
"Madame," cried the little servant hastily, "here's another of them."
"Who is it?" cried she in a haughty manner, like a tyrant, savage at
being interrupted.
"The Bishop of Coire wishes to speak with you."
"May the devil take him!" said she, looking at Philippe gently.
"Madame he has seen the light through the chinks, and is making a
great noise."
"Tell him I have the fever, and you will be telling him no lie, for I am
ill of this little priest who is torturing my brain."
But just as she had finished speaking, and was pressing with devotion

the hand of Philippe who trembled in his skin, appeared the fat Bishop
of Coire, indignant and angry. The officers followed him, bearing a
trout canonically dressed, fresh from the Rhine, and shining in a golden
platter, and spices contained in little ornamental boxes, and a thousand
dainties, such as liqueurs and jams, made by the holy nuns at his
Abbey.
"Ah, ah!" said he, with his deep voice, "I haven't time to go to the devil,
but you must give me a touch of him in advance, eh! my little one."
"Your belly will one day make a nice sheath for a sword," replied she,
knitting her brows above her eyes, which from being soft and gentle
had become mischievous enough to make one tremble.
"And this little chorus singer is here to offer that?" said the bishop,
insolently turning his great rubicund face towards Philippe.
"Monseigneur, I'm here to confess Madame."
"Oh, oh, do you not know the canons? To confess the ladies at this time
of night is a right reserved to bishops, so take yourself off; go and herd
with simple monks, and never