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“You know that the good Countess Jeane d’Avignon made formerly a law for the harlots, who she compelled to live in the outskirts of the town in houses with window-shutters painted red and closed. Now passing in my company in this vile neighbourhood, my lad remarked these houses with closed window-shutters, painted red, and his curiosity being aroused–for these ten-year old little devils have eyes for everything–he pulled me by the sleeve and kept on pulling until he had learnt from me what these houses were. Then, to obtain peace, I told him that young lads had nothing to do with such places, and could only enter them at the peril of their lives, because it was a place where men and women were manufactured, and the danger was such for anyone unacquainted with the business that if a novice entered, flying chancres and other wild beasts would seize upon his face. Fear seized the lad, who then followed me to the hostelry in a state of agitation, and not daring to cast his eyes upon the said bordels. While I was in the stable, seeing to the putting up of the horses, my son went off like a robber, and the servant was unable to tell me what had become of him. Then I was in great fear of the wenches, but had confidence in the laws, which forbade them to admit such children. At supper-time the rascal came back to me looking no more ashamed of himself than did our divine Saviour in the temple among the doctors.

“‘Whence comes you?’ said I to him.

“‘From the houses with the red shutters,’ he replied.

“‘Little blackguard,’ said I, ‘I’ll give you a taste of the whip.’

“Then he began to moan and cry. I told him that if he would confess all that had happened to him I would let him off the beating.

“‘Ha,’ said he, ‘I took care not to go in, because of the flying chancres and other wild beasts. I only looked through the chinks of the windows, in order to see how men were manufactured.’

“‘And what did you see?’ I asked.

“‘I saw,’ said he, ‘a fine woman just being finished, because she only wanted one peg, which a young worker was fitting in with energy. Directly she was finished she turned round, spoke to, and kissed her manufacturer.’

“‘Have your supper,’ said I; and the same night I returned into Burgundy, and left him with his mother, being sorely afraid that at the first town he might want to fit a peg into some girl.”

“These children often make these sort of answers,” said the Parisian. “One of my neighbour’s children revealed the cuckoldom of his father by a reply. One day I asked, to see if he was well instructed at school in religious matters, ‘What is hope?’ ‘One of the king’s big archers, who comes here when father goes out,’ said he. Indeed, the sergeant of the Archers was named Hope. My friend was dumbfounded at this, and, although to keep his countenance he looked in the mirror, he could not see his horns there.”

The baron observed that the boy’s remark was good in this way: that Hope is a person who comes to bed with us when the realities of life are out of the way.

“Is a cuckold made in the image of God?” asked the Burgundian.

“No,” said the Parisian, “because God was wise in this respect, that he took no wife; therefore is He happy through all eternity.”

“But,” said the maid-servant, “cuckolds are made in the image of God before they are horned.”

Then the three pilgrims began to curse women, saying that they were the cause of all the evils in the world.

“Their heads are as empty as helmets,” said the Burgundian.

“Their hearts are as straight as bill-hooks,” said the Parisian.

“Why are there so many men pilgrims and so few women pilgrims?” said the German baron.