wife from you; you shall have her back to-night, and to
enhance the honour done you ... your eldest child will be a baron!"
Everyone looks out of window at the absurd figure of this dead man in
wedding garments. He is followed by bursts of laughter, and the noisy
rabble, down to the lowest scullion, give chase to the "cuckold."[28]

[28] The old tales are very sportive, but rather monotonous.
They turn on three jokes only: the despair of the _cuckold_,
the cries of the _beaten_, the wry faces of the _hanged_. The
first is amusing, the second laughable, the third, as crown
of all, makes people split their sides. And the three have
one point in common: it is the weak and helpless who is
ill-used.

* * * * *

The poor fellow would have burst, had he nothing to hope for from the
Devil. By himself he returns: is the house empty as well as desolate?
No, there is company waiting for him there: by the fireside sits
Satan.

But soon his bride comes back, poor wretch, all pale and undone. Alas!
alas! for her condition. At his feet she throws herself and craves
forgiveness. Then, with a bursting heart, he flings his arms round her
neck. He weeps, he sobs, he roars, till the house shakes again.

But with her comes back God. For all her suffering, she is pure,
innocent, holy still. Satan for that nonce will get no profit: the
treaty is not yet ripe.

Our silly Fabliaux, our absurd tales, assume with regard to this
deadly outrage and all its further issues, that the woman sides with
her oppressors against her husband; they would have us believe that
her brutal treatment by the former makes her happy and transports her
with delight. A likely thing indeed! Doubtless she might be seduced by
rank, politeness, elegant manners. But no pains are ever taken to that
end. Great would be the scoffing at anyone who made true-love's wooing
towards a serf. The whole gang of men, to the chaplain, the butler,
even the footmen, would think they honoured her by deeds of outrage.
The smallest page thought himself a great lord, if he only seasoned
his love with insolence and blows.

* * * * *

One day, the poor woman, having just been ill-treated during her
husband's absence, begins weeping, and saying quite aloud, the while
she is tying up her long hair, "Ah, those unhappy saints of the woods,
what boots it to offer them my vows? Are they deaf, or have