STORY THE EIGHTY-FOURTH — THE DEVIL’S SHARE. 84
Robert B. (Robert Bruce) Douglas translation
STORY THE EIGHTY-FOURTH — THE DEVIL’S SHARE. 84
By The Marquis De Rothelin.
Of one of his marshals who married the sweetest and most lovable woman there was in all Germany. Whether what I tell you is true—for I do not swear to it that I may not be considered a liar—you will see more plainly below.
Whilst we are waiting tor some one to come forward and tell us a good story, I will relate a little one which will not detain you long, but is quite true, and happened lately.
I had a marshal, who had served me long and faithfully, and who determined to get a wife, and was married to the most ill-tempered woman in all the country; and when he found that neither by good means or bad could he cure her of her evil temper, he left her, and would not live with her, but avoided her as he would a tempest, for if he knew she was in any place he would go in the contrary direction. When she saw that he avoided her, and that he gave her no opportunity of displaying her temper, she went in search of him, and followed him, crying God knows what, whilst he held his tongue and pursued his road, and this only made her worse and she bestowed more curses and maledictions on her poor husband than a devil would on a damned soul.
One day she, finding that her husband did not reply a word to anything she said, followed him through the street, crying as loud as she could before all the people;
“Come here, traitor! speak to me. I belong to you. I belong to you!”
And my marshal replied each time; “I give my share to the devil! I give my share to the devil.”
Thus they went all through the town of Lille, she crying all the while “I belong to you,” and the other replying “I give my share to the devil.”
Soon afterwards, so God willed, this good woman died, and my marshal was asked if he were much grieved at the loss of his wife, and he replied that never had such a piece of luck occurred to him, and if God had promised him anything he might wish, he would have wished for his wife’s death; “for she,” he said, “was so wicked and malicious that if I knew she were in paradise I would not go there, for there could be no peace in any place where she was. But I am sure that she is in hell, for never did any created thing more resemble a devil than she did.” Then they said to him;
“Really you ought to marry again. You should look out for some good, quiet, honest woman.”
“Marry?” said he. “I would rather go and hang myself on a gibbet than again run the danger of finding such a hell as I have—thank God—now escaped from.”
Thus he lived, and still lives—but I know not what he will be.
