The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 52

Hard-by the town of Alençon there lived a gentleman named my lord de la Tireliere, who came one morning from his house to the town on foot, as much because it was no long distance as for that it was freezing hard enough to split the stones, on which account he had not left at home his great cloak lined with fox-skin. And when he had done his business, he lit upon a lawyer named Antony Bacheré, who was of his acquaintance, and after some talk of his affairs, said to him that he was desirous of finding a good breakfast, but it must be at another's charges. And while they spoke to this effect they sat them down before an apothecary's shop, where the apprentice heard their discourse, and resolved forthwith to provide them with a breakfast. So he went out from his shop to a certain street in the town, where all men performed their occasions, and found there a mighty lump of ordure, frozen so ​hard that it was like to a small loaf of refined sugar; straightway he wrapped it in brave white paper, as he was accustomed to do with his drugs that they might be an admiration to men, and hid it in his sleeve. And as he passed before the gentleman and the lawyer he let this fine sugar-loaf fall near them as if by mischance, and entered into a house whither he feigned to be carrying it. My lord de la Tireliere, thinking it was a sugar-loaf, hasted to pick it up, and so soon as he had done so the knave of an apprentice returned searching and asking for his sugar on every side. The gentleman, who conceived he had admirably cozened him, went quickly with his fellow to a tavern, saying: "The charges of our breakfast are provided for by master apprentice." When he was in the inn he called for good bread, good meat, and good drink, being persuaded that he had wherewithal to pay; but when as they ate they began to grow warm, the sugar-loaf began to thaw and filled the room with its own peculiar stink. Whereat he that bore it in his bosom began to chide the serving-maid, saying: "You of this town are the beastliest folk I ever have seen, for either you or your children have strown all the floor with filth." The serving-maid answered: "By St. Peter, but there is no filth in this house, unless you have brought it in with you." On this they arose for the great stink that was in their nostrils, and stood hard-by the fire, where the gentleman, drawing a handkerchief from his breast, found it all besmeared with the melted sugar. And when he opened his great-cloak lined with fox-skin, it was altogether spoilt, and he had nought to say to his fellow but: "The rogue we thought to deceive hath paid us well for it!" And having discharged their reckoning they went out as sad as they had come in glad, thinking to have cozened the knave of an apprentice.

"We often find, ladies, a like hap befall them that take delight in like cozenage. If the gentleman had not wished to eat at the expense of another he would not have drunken so filthy a brew at his own. It is true, ladies, my tale is not as clean as might be; but you gave me leave to tell the truth, which I have done, to show you how when the cozener is cozened no one is sorry." "Men say," says Hircan, "that words do not stink, but they that utter them are not so easily quit of them as not to give forth some stench." "It is true ​that words of this kind," said Oisille, "do not stink; but others there are called smutty, that give forth such an evil odour that the soul takes more heart at the hearing of them than the body at the smelling of a sugar-loaf like that in the story." "I pray you," said Hircan, "tell me what words you esteem so foul as to do hurt to the soul and mind of an honest woman." It would be a brave thing, truly," said Oisille, "were I to say to you the very words counsel no woman to say." "Thereby," said Saffredent, "I understand well what these words be. Women who desire to be of good reputation do not commonly use them, but I would know of the company here present why it is that, though they dare not use them, they are so easily moved to laughter when they are uttered in their presence." Parlamente answered: "We do not laugh to hear these brave words, but true it is that all men are inclined to laugh when a slip is made, or one word said for another, the which happens to the most discreet and ready speakers. But when a man talks smuttily without any ignorance but with evil intent, I know no honest woman to whom such talk is not an abomination, and who would not only turn a deaf ear to men of this fashion, but would also separate herself from their company." "You say truly," said Geburon, "for I have seen women make the sign of the cross at the hearing of these words." "But how often," asked Simontault, "doth a woman put on her mask so that she may secretly laugh and openly rebuke?" "It were better to do thus," said Parlamente, "than to let it be known that one took pleasure in such talk." "You praise, then," said Dagoucin, "hypocrisy in ladies equally with virtue?" "Virtue would be better by far," answered Longarine, "but when it fails us we must call hypocrisy to our aid, as we use high-heeled shoes to conceal our littleness. It is no small thing if we have imperfections to be able to hide them." "By my faith," said Hircan, "it would sometimes be better for you to show a small failing than to cover up all so closely under the cloak of virtue." "It is true," said Ennasuitte, "that the borrowed cloak when it is snatched away doth do her as much dishonour as it was before honourable; and there was once a woman who by too much concealing of a small fault fell into a greater. "I suspect," said Hircan, "I know her of whom you speak, but, at least, do not give her name." "And I," said ​Geburon, "do give you my vote, if after you have told the story you will tell us the names, the which we will swear never to reveal." "I promise you," said Ennasuitte, "for there is nothing that cannot be told in a seemly fashion."