Droll Stories

In Short

This collection of short stories is a deliberate, scholarly, and spirited homage to the French Renaissance. Written in a style that mimics the earthy, archaic language of Rabelais and the Queen of Navarre, the book presents a series of vignettes involving lusty priests, jealous husbands, clever wives, and pragmatic kings. It is celebrated as a stylistic tour de force, effectively recreating the atmosphere of medieval and sixteenth-century Touraine. While often bawdy and cynical, the writing remains a sophisticated work of art, prized for its wit and historical vividness.

The Story

The narrative arc of these tales is not a singular plot, but rather a rhythmic, repeating cycle of desire and consequence. The collection opens with the arrival of Philippe, a young, lovesick priest, at the home of the formidable Madame Imperia, a woman whose beauty commands the respect of kings and cardinals alike. Philippe, initially a bumbling novice in the arts of love, finds himself transformed through his encounter with her, shifting from a nervous supplicant into a confident lover.

From these heights of courtly intrigue, the stories descend into the domestic and the provincial. We meet the Seneschal Bruyn, an aging, powerful man who takes a beautiful young wife named Blanche. Despite his attempts to guard her innocence, she navigates his possessiveness with the natural, sharp-witted guile of her sex. Her dalliances—specifically with a page named Rene de Jallanges—reveal the tension between religious mandates and human impulse. The stories often hinge on such "venial sins," where the characters seek to reconcile their bodily urges with their fear of the afterlife, frequently using the Church’s own machinery of confession to facilitate their affairs.

The king—Louis XI—appears as a recurring presence, portrayed not as a remote sovereign but as a man who moves through his own domain with a mix of ruthless pragmatism and dark, coarse humor. He is a judge of men and an arbiter of cuckoldry, often orchestrating the fates of his subjects with a shrug. In one instance, he allows a monk to live simply because he has mistakenly ordered the death of an innocent gentleman instead, showing a whimsical, terrifying sense of justice.

Other tales follow the tragicomic patterns of infidelity, such as the story of the high constable’s wife, who attempts to save her lover from her husband’s wrath by dressing a steward’s son in noble attire, only to see the scheme end in death and political maneuverings. Throughout, the stories move from the private bedchamber to the public square, ending with encounters like that of the dyer’s wife, Tascherette, who saves her lover from her husband’s sword by invoking the sanctity of fatherhood—a gambit that results in the accidental death of a meddling neighbor rather than the lovers. The book concludes with an epilogue that speaks directly to the reader, defending the "merry Muse" of these tales against the prudery of later generations, asserting that the joy found in such stories is a timeless, if unruly, human necessity.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The collection opens with the introduction of Philippe, a young priest who sheds his religious inhibition to become a lover in the house of the sophisticated Madame Imperia. This sets the tone for the entire volume: the collision of sacred authority and profane desire.

The domestic struggle The narrative shifts to the Seneschal Bruyn, who attempts to keep his bride, Blanche, in a state of sheltered innocence. Her inevitable awakening leads to a series of deceptions that leave the older, outmatched husband struggling to maintain control of his household.

The royal intersection King Louis XI enters the fray, acting as both a lover of commoners and a cold-blooded administrator of justice. He moves through these stories as a force of nature, indifferent to the moral distress of those whose lives he disrupts.

The tragic turn The stories frequently spiral into violence and mourning, particularly when the games of cuckoldry go awry. Characters like the Constable’s wife must rely on desperate schemes and the "sixth sense" of women to navigate the lethal jealousy of their lords.

The final moral The collection concludes by moving through the countryside, visiting the life and death of a beloved vicar who serves his flock with both spiritual and physical comfort. A final, raucous tale of a dyer and his wife reminds the reader that spite is a dangerous vice, and the epilogue bids the reader to embrace the "joyous lark" of these stories despite the insults of critics.

The People

The characters are archetypes of their age, driven by elemental urges rather than complex psychological development. Madame Imperia is the archetype of the powerful woman, a "Queen of the Council" who wields her beauty to command the most influential men of Christendom. The Seneschal Bruyn is the embodiment of aging power, a man of "iron nature" who rules his lands with a firm hand but is rendered a "miller's mule" by his young wife’s demands. Blanche, his wife, possesses an innate, almost instinctive cunning, using her innocence as a weapon to navigate a world that seeks to define her. King Louis XI serves as the ultimate arbiter, a ruler who is neither purely good nor purely evil, but entirely transactional, treating lives as he treats his court—as pieces in a game of power. Tascherette, the dyer’s wife, represents the resilience of the common woman, whose quick-witted improvisation keeps her lover safe and leaves her husband in a state of bewildered submission. Together, these figures illustrate a world where virtue is fragile, but wit is a survival mechanism.

In Its Own Voice

Regarding the transformation of a nervous young man into a lover:

"Yesterday," replied the artful fellow, "I loved you; today, we love each other, and from a poor sinner I have become richer than a king."

Describing the Seneschal Bruyn’s struggle to keep his wife in a state of purity:

He resolved to preserve and defend this pretty jewel of love. With tears in his eyes he kissed her sweet golden tresses, the beautiful eyelids, and her ripe red mouth, and he did it softly for fear of waking her.

Reflecting on the legacy of a simple, beloved vicar:

And the girls, the widows, the wives and little girls looked at each other, regretting him more than a friend, and said, "He was more than a priest, he was a man!"

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an argument for the vitality of the physical life against the constraints of moral dogma. It questions the utility of rigid virtue in a world governed by appetite and human frailty. By setting these tales in the sixteenth century, the author explores the tension between the "moyen age"—a time of open, if shocking, honesty about bodily functions and desires—and the "fastidious descendants" who judge them. The book posits that life, love, and the pursuit of pleasure are fundamentally messy, and that attempting to sanitize them is not only futile but a denial of our nature. It is a defense of the "merry Muse," suggesting that laughter and desire are the most honest responses to an often cruel and capricious world.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the ribald wit of Boccaccio or the linguistic playfulness of Rabelais will find this collection immensely rewarding. It is a book for those who appreciate the craft of language; the translation succeeds in maintaining a tone of historical archaism that feels both authentic and surprisingly lively.

However, prospective readers should be prepared for the book's specific challenges. The humor is decidedly "of its time," relying heavily on themes of sexual deception, cuckoldry, and the mocking of clerical hypocrisy, which may feel repetitive or even crude to some. The archaic style, while brilliant, requires a patient reader willing to immerse themselves in a different cadence of thought. Additionally, the casual attitude toward violence and the objectification of women reflect the period’s attitudes, which the author presents without modern filters. If you are willing to look past these period attitudes, you will find a book that is profoundly alive—a work that refuses to be solemn, preferring instead to celebrate the "good laugh" as a necessary medicine for the human condition. It remains a fascinating artifact of how a nineteenth-century writer reached backward to find a more authentic, uninhibited voice for his own era.