e has gathered; now it is a
coquette finishing her toilette before the mirror, which she makes a
little page hold while she binds up her tresses and flirts with him; and
now it is a party of ladies seated in some castle bower, embroidering
heraldic devices on the banners of their knights. Then there is a jolly
story of three _commeres_ of Paris, the wife of Adam de Gonesse, her
niece Marie Clipe, and Dame Tifaigne, milliner, who tell their husbands
that they are going on a pilgrimage, oh! a pious pilgrimage, on the
feast of the Three Kings of Cologne. They evade their watchful but too
credulous spouses, and here they are seated at an inn table, where one
gets "as good wine as ever grew; it is health itself; 'tis a wine clear,
sparkling, strong, fine, fresh, soft to the tongue, and sweet and
pleasant to swallow." The good cheer begins with much eating of fat
goose, fritters, onions, cheese, almonds, pears, and nuts, while the
trio joins in singing:

"Commeres, menons bon revel!
Tels vilains l'escot paiera
Qui ja du vin n'ensaiera."

(Gossips, let's revel and frolic to our heart's content! The poor devil
who has never put away wine will pay the score.) And then, the meal
over, they come "out of the tavern into the street," not a little
exhilarated, one may fancy, by this famous wine, and away they go
singing to the fair.

Not all the pictures of women are as innocently amusing or mirthful as
this one; on the contrary, the general attitude of the authors of the
_Fabliaux_ is distinctly unflattering, not to say hostile. Sometimes it
is merely one of the infinite variations on the idea of the scarcity of
virtuous wives; it is Chicheface, the cow who feeds on virtuous wives,
and who is all but starved to death, while Bigorne, with less rigorous
ideas as to the morals of her food, is choked, fit to burst. But in
general the notion prevails, as one writer himself puts it, that "woman
is of too feeble intellect; she laughs at nothing, she cries at nothing;
she will turn from love to hate in a moment. The strong hand alone can
control her; and yet, beating is useless, for her faults are inherent;
nature made her captious, obstinate, perverse; she is an inferior
creature, by nature degraded and vicious."

But slightly different from this is the sentiment of the _Roman de la
Rose_, when we take this huge work in its complete and most influential
form. The _Roman de la Rose_, to rehearse a few well-known