The Mayor's Magnificent Feast

Anne, the loveliest and most virtuous maiden of her province, went walking one afternoon along the bank of a stream. When she had come quite far from her village, she suddenly spied a youth she knew, Guillot, bathing in the water. What she saw pleased her, for Guillot was a well-made young man with neither fault nor lack; and she concealed herself behind some shrubs and let her gaze wander where it would, from one attraction to another.

He saw her.

Well aware of the admiration his robust manhood called forth, he came out of the water, stood boldly before her and inquired whether she had been long watching. Her blushes revealed the truth. Guillot then counted his conquest already made; but Anne wished to retain her virtue. Yet she was reluctant to discourage him overmuch, for her appreciation of his masculine beauty was overpowering. Therefore, when he suggested that she owed him at least that degree of observation she had enjoyed, she allowed herself to be convinced.

Anne, like Guillot, could not be reproached for fault or lack. When she had complied with his request and displayed her loveliness to his sight, he burned to add touch to vision. He advanced upon her. But she retreated yet faster than he approached, snatching up her garments as she withdrew, goaded to haste by reawakened conscience. Thus she escaped him, for when he turned back to the stream to seek his clothes so that he might more decorously pursue her, she attired herself speedily and fled toward the village.

She had gone only a little way when she heard a hail. She turned, half hoping, half fearing, that it might be Guillot. But instead of his stalwart figure she beheld the panting, pudgy Mayor of the town. This elderly, pious personage greeted her pleasantly, and they walked on together.

Before they had reached the village, the Mayor halted and told her sternly that he had witnessed the encounter by the stream.

Now, the Mayor was a highly respected man, and considered very good. Anne was therefore abashed at his having observed her actions with Guillot, but she also felt pride at having not strayed from the paths of virtue. For, she reasoned, since her temptation had been so great, was not her virtue in having resisted it that much greater also? Therefore, since the Mayor had seen that she had allowed Guillot to look as she had looked but had not allowed him to touch, Anne awaited the old man's praise.

Praise was not forthcoming. The Mayor too had been inflamed by Anne's loveliness, and his jealousy aroused by Guillot; and he determined to spoil her memory of the brief moments by the stream. Therefore he stormed at her, reminding her that she had let the youth see this -- and this -- and this -- and each time his pointing hand touched the spot it indicated, and lingered there.

Anne protested, again and again, that she was guiltless, that she and Guillot had not touched. Nevertheless, the Mayor responded, she had sinned, and sinned deeply -- as deeply as if she had yielded. For, he told her, in the eyes of men and of the saints, "It is as much to have seen and desired as to have touched."

On being thus reprimanded by such an authority, Anne sorrowed that she and Guillot had not enjoyed their sin to the utmost. Lost in this thought, she freed herself from the Mayor and ran down the road home. That night she sought out Guillot. And together they repeated, with additions and much additional pleasure, the sin which they had committed by the stream.

Guillot, however, was a soldier. After some weeks of these joys, he was called to battle. In his absence, Anne's parents affianced her to a wealthy merchant, whom in time she married.

Meanwhile, the Mayor had not forgotten his desire for her.

Not long after the marriage, he called upon Anne. He inquired after her husband's health, then queried whether the merchant were as strong and healthy as Guillot. Seeing the red rise in her cheeks, the Mayor pressed his advantage and asked if she had told her husband about the scene that he had observed.

Anne answered that her husband knew nothing of Guillot, and that she hoped to forget him and hoped that the Mayor might forget him as well.

He assured her that he would try, but that he feared he could do so only with her help. She must walk with him beside the stream, so that their moments there together might efface his recollection of her moments there with Guillot. Anne reminded him that she and Guillot had merely looked at one another on the bank; surely that could not be such a difficult memory to erase? But the Mayor reminded her that "It is as much to have seen and desired as to have touched." Anne pleaded that she could not easily neglect her household duties; and the Mayor offered to explain the matter to her husband. Thereafter Anne pleaded no more, but agreed.

One day, weeks later, word came to the Mayor that on the morrow a group of important personages from the Court would pass through the village. He resolved to lay a fine table for them, but since his larder was not well stocked, he went to inquire of Anne whether she could contribute to the feast. She showed him a magnificent boar which her husband had that morning killed, and offered to prepare it for him. When he had eagerly assented, she had servants carry the animal to his house.

The next evening, at table, the Mayor passed around the choicest wines and appetizers to his guests. He advised them to partake of these sparingly, however, lest their appetites for the regal main course be small. His guests had seen the carcass of the boar, and they heeded his words. When the table had been cleared, all awaited the serving of the boar.

Some time elapsed, and the company grew impatient. At length the Mayor became more than impatient; embarrassed, he grew angry. He ran to his kitchen to ask Anne the reason for the delay; and she was not there.

"Perhaps," he told himself, "she has taken the boar back to her own kitchen to prepare, since hers is so much finer than mine." Accordingly, he hastened to her home. But when he entered there, he saw that she too had had guests. For he found her, not preparing the boar, but supervising the disposal of its bones. All else had been eaten. He could hardly believe his eyes. In despair and fury, he turned his wrath upon Anne. She harkened to his words without speaking until, exhausted, he ceased his tirade and awaited her explanations. She offered only one:

"Why are you so enraged, sir? Surely it is as much to have seen and desired as to have eaten."