It would seem a strange command in our day, were any one to order his
servant to bring down the library; and certainly would infer a much
more operose undertaking than fell to the lot of old Onfroy, the
seneschal, who, while Calord, his man, cast almost a whole tree in the
chimney, and the varlets of De Coucy unloaded his baggage-horses,
easily brought down a small wooden box, containing the whole
literature of the château. And yet, perhaps, had not the De Coucys,
from father to son, been distinguished trouvères, no such treasure of
letters would their castle have contained; for, to count the nobles of
the kingdom throughout, scarce one in a hundred could read and write.
De Coucy, however, had wasted--as it was then called--some of his
earlier years in the study of profane literature, till the death of
his two elder brothers had called him from such pursuits; from which
time his whole course of reading had been in the romances of the day,
where figured either Charlemagne with his peers and paladins, or the
heroes, writers, and philosophers of antiquity, all mingled together,
and habited as knights and magicians.
A manuscript, however, in those days, was of course much more precious
in the eyes of those who could read, than such a thing possibly can be
now; and De Coucy, hoping, as many have done since, to shelter himself
behind a book, from the sharp attacks of unpleasant thought, eagerly
opened the manifold bars and bucklings of the wooden case, and took
out the first vellum that his hand fell upon. This proved to be but a
collection of tensons, lais, and pastourelles,--all of which he knew
by heart, so that he was obliged to search farther. The next he came
to had nearly shared the same fate, being a copy of the Life of Louis
the Fat, written in Latin a few years before, by Suger, abbot of St.
Denis. The Latin, however, was easy, and De Coucy's erudition coining
to his aid, he read various passages from those various pages, wherein
the great minister who wrote it gives such animated pictures of all
that passed immediately previous to the very age and scenes amidst
which the young knight was then living. At length his eye rested on
the epigraph of the sixteenth chapter, "Concerning the treachery
committed at the Roche Guyon, by William, brother-in-law of the
king;--concerning, also, the death of Guy; and the speedy vengeance
that overtook William."
No title could have been more attractive in the eyes of De Coucy; and
skipping a very little of his text, where his remembrance of the
language failed him, he went on to read.
"Upon a promontory formed by the great river Seine, at a spot
difficult of access, is built an ignoble castle, of a frightful
aspect, called La Roche Guyon. On the surface of the promontory the
castle is invisible, being hollowed out of the bowels of the high
rock. The skilful hand of him who formed it has cut the high rock
itself on the side of the hill, and by a mean and narrow opening has
practised a subterranean habitation of immense extent.
* * * * *
"This subterranean castle, not more hideous in the sight of men than
in the sight of God, had about this time for its lord, Guy de la Roche
Guyon,--a young man of gentle manners, a stranger to the wickedness of
his ancestors. He had indeed interrupted its course, and showed
himself resolved to lead a tranquil and honourable life, free from
their infamous and greedy rapacity.
"Surprised by the very position of his wretched castle, and massacred
by the treachery of his own father-in-law, the most wicked of the
wicked, he lost, by an unexpected blow, both his dwelling and his
life.
"William, his father-in-law, was by birth a Norman; and, unequalled in
treachery, he made himself appear the dearest friend of his daughter's
husband. This man, tormented by black envy, and brewing wicked
designs, unhappily found, on the evening of a certain Sunday, an
opportunity of executing his diabolical designs. He came then, with
his arms covered with a mantle, and accompanied by a handful of
assassins; and mingled himself, though with very different thoughts,
amongst a crowd of pious people hastening to a church, which
communicated by a passage in the rock with the subterranean castle of
Guy. For some time, while the rest gave themselves up to prayer, he
feigned to pray also; but, in truth, occupied himself in examining
attentively the passage communicating with the dwelling of his
son-in-law. At that moment, Guy entered the church; when, drawing his
sword, and seconded by his criminal associates, William, madly
yielding to the iniquity of his heart, cast himself into the doorway,
and struck down his son-in-law, who was already smiling a welcome upon
him, when he felt the edge of his sword. The noble bride of the
châtelain, stupefied at the sight, tore her hair and her cheeks, after
the manner of women in their anger, and running towards her husband,
without fearing the fate that menaced her, she cast herself upon him
to cover his body from the blows of the murderer, crying, while he
received a thousand wounds,--'Vile butchers! slay me rather than
him!--What has he done to merit death?'"
* * * * *
"Seizing her by the hair, the assassins dragged her away from her
husband, who, crushed by their repeated blows, pierced by their
swords, and almost torn in pieces with his various wounds, soon
expired under their hands. Not contented yet, with a degree of cruelty
worthy of Herod, such of his unhappy children as they could find they
dashed mercilessly against the rock--"[16]
--------------------
[Footnote 16: This singular picture of the barbarism of the age
immediately preceding that of Philip Augustus is rendered as literally
as possible from the Life of Louis le Gros by Suger, Abbot of St.
Denis.]
--------------------
"Give me my lance!" cried De Coucy, starting up, with his blood
boiling at this picture of an age so near his own--"give me my lance,
ho! By all the saints of France----"
But at that moment remembering that the event which Suger recounted
must have taken place full fifty years before, and therefore that none
of the actors therein could be a fit object for the vengeance which he
had thought of inflicting with his own hand, he sat down again, and
read out the tale, running rapidly through the murderer's first
triumphant contemplation of the property he had obtained by the death
of his son-in-law, and even of his own daughter, but pausing with an
angry sort of gladness over the detail of the signal punishment
inflicted on him and his accomplices. Nor did he find the barbarous
aggravation of tearing his heart from his bosom, and casting his body,
attached to a plank, into the river Seine, to float to his native
place, in any degree too horrible an award for so horrible a villain.
On the contrary, starting from his chair, with all the circumstances
of his own fate forgotten, he was striding up and down the hall,
wishing that this same bloodthirsty Guillaume had been alive then to
meet him in fight; when suddenly, just as the old seneschal was
bustling in to lay out the table for his young lord's supper, the
long, loud blast of a horn sounded at the outer gates.
"Throw open the gates, and see who is there!" cried De Coucy. "By the
blessed rood! I have visiters early!"
"In the holy Virgin's name! beau sire, open not the gates to-night!"
cried the old seneschal. "You do not know what you do. All the
neighbouring barons have driven the cotereaux off their own lands on
to yours, because it is here a _terre libre_; and there are at least
two thousand in the woods round about. Be ruled. Sir Guy!--be ruled!"
"Ha, say you?" cried De Coucy. "But how is it, good Onfroy, that you
can then drive out the swine you speak of, to feed in the forest?"
"Because--because--because, beau sire," replied the old man,
hesitating as if he feared the effect of his answer,--"because I
agreed with their chief, that if he and his would never show
themselves within half a league of the castle, I would pay him a
tribute of two fat hogs monthly.
"A tribute!" thundered De Coucy, striking his clenched fist upon the
table--"a tribute!" Then suddenly lowering his voice, he added: "Oh,
my good Onfroy! what are the means of a De Coucy shrunk to, that his
castle, in his absence even, should pay a tribute to thieves and
pick-purses! How many able serfs have you within the walls? I know
your power was small. How many?"
"But nine good men, and three old ones," replied the seneschal,
shaking his head sadly; "and they are but serfs, you know, my lord--I
am but weakling, now-a-day; and Calord, though a freeman, has known no
service."
"And how many vassals bound to furnish a man?" demanded De
Coucy.--"Throw open the gates, I say!" he continued, turning fiercely
upon Calord, while the horn sounded again. "I would fain see the
coterel who should dare to take two steps in this hall with Guy de
Coucy standing by his own hearth. How many vassals, Onfroy?"
"But seven, beau sire," replied the old man, looking from time to time
towards the door of the hall, which led out into the court, and which
Calord had left open behind him,--"but seven, Sir Guy; and they are
only bound to a forty days' riding in the time of war."
"And now tell me, Onfroy," continued De Coucy, standing as calmly with
his back towards the door as if he had been surrounded by a host of
his friends. "If you have paid this tribute, why are you now afraid of
these thieves?"
"Because, Sir Guy," replied the seneschal, "the last month's hogs have
not been sent; there being soldiers of the king's down at the town,
within sound of the bancloche.--But see, Sir Guy! see! they are
pouring into the court! I told you how 'twould be!--See, see!--torches
and all! Well, one can die now as well as a week hence!"
De Coucy turned, and at first the number of horsemen that were filing
into the court, two at a time, as they mounted the steep and narrow
road, almost induced him to bid the gates be shut, that he might deal
with them with some equably: but a second glance changed his purpose,
for though here and there was to be seen a haubert or a plastron
glistening in the torch-light, by far the greater part of the horsemen
were in the garb of peace.
"These are no cotereaux, good Onfroy," said he, staying the old
seneschal, who was in the act of drawing down from the wall some rusty
monument of wars long gone. "These are peaceable guests, and must be
as well treated as we may. For the cotereaux, I will take order with
them before I be two days older; and they shall find the woods of De
Coucy Magny too hot a home for summer weather.--Who is it seeks De
Coucy?" he continued, advancing as he saw one of the cavalcade
dismounting at the hall door.
"Guillaume de la Roche Guyon," replied the stranger, walking forward
into the hall; while De Coucy, with his mind full of all he had just
been reading connected with that name, instinctively started back, and
laid his hand on his dagger; but, instantly remembering himself, he
advanced to meet the cavalier, and welcomed him to the château.
The stranger was a slight young man, without other arms than his
sword; but he wore knightly spurs and belt, and in the front of his
hat appeared the form of a grasshopper, beautifully modelled in gold.
His features had instantly struck De Coucy as being familiar to him,
but it was principally this little emblem, joined with a silk scarf
hanging from his neck, that fully recalled to his mind the young
troubadour he had seen at the château of Vic le Comte.
"I crave your hospitality, beau sire, for myself and train," said the
young stranger. "Hardly acquainted with this part of fair France, for
my greater feofs lie in sweet Provence, I have lost my way in these
forests--But methinks we have met before, noble châtelain;" and as he
recognised De Coucy, a slight degree of paleness spread over the
youth's face.
De Coucy, however, remarked it not: his was one of those generous
natures, from which resentments pass like clouds from the summer sun,
and he forgot entirely a slight feeling of jealousy which the young
troubadour had excited in his bosom while at Vic le Comte; and,
instead of wishing, as he had then done, to have him face to face in
deadly arms, he welcomed him to his château with every hospitable
greeting.
"'Tis but an hour since I arrived myself, good knight," said he; "and
after a ten years' absence my castle is scantily furnished for the
reception of such an honourable guest. But see thou servest us the
best of all we have, Onfroy, and speedily."
"Haw, haw! haw, haw!" cried Gallon the fool, with his head protruded
through one of the doors--"haw, haw! The lion feasted the fox, and the
fox got the best of the dinner."
"I will make thee juggle till thy limbs ache," said De Coucy, "and
this very night. Sir Gallon! So will I punish thine insolence,--'Tis a
juggler slave, beau sire," he continued, turning to Guillaume de la
Roche Guyon, who gazed with some astonishment at the juggler's
apparition. "I bought him of the Infidels, into whose power he had
fallen, several years ago. He must have been once a shrewd-witted
knave, and wants not sense now when he chooses to employ it; but for
some trick he played his miscreant master, the Saracen tied him by the
legs to his horse's tail one day, and dragged him a good league across
the sands to sell him at our camp, in time of truce. Poor Gallon
himself says his brain was then turned the wrong way, and has never
got right again since, so that he breaks his sour jests on every one."
The tables were soon spread, and the provisions, which indeed
consisted of little else than pork, or _bacon_, as it was then called
in France, with the addition of two unfortunate fowls, doomed to
suffer for their lord's return, were laid out in various trenchers all
the way down the middle of the board. De Coucy and his guest took
their places, side by side, at the top; and all the free men in the
train of either, were ranged along the sides. No fine _dressoir_,
covered with silver and with gold, ornamented the hall of the young
knight; all the plate which the crusades had left in his castle,
consisting of two large hanaps, or drinking cups, of silver, and a
saltcellar in the form of of a ship. Jugs of earthenware, and cups of
horn, lay ranged by platters of wood and pewter; and a momentary sting
of mortified pride passed through De Coucy's heart, as the poverty of
his house stood exposed to the eyes of the young troubadour.
For his part, however, Guillaume de la Roche seemed perfectly
contented with his fare and reception; praised the wine, which was
indeed excellent, and evinced a traveller's appetite towards the hot
steaks of pork, and the freshly slaughtered fowls.
Gradually De Coucy began to feel more at his ease, and, forgetting the
poverty of his household display, laughed and jested with his guest.
Pledging each other in many a cup, and at last adding thereto many a
song, the hours passed rapidly away. Gallon the fool was called; and a
stiff cord being stretched across the apartment, he performed feats
thereon, that would have broken the heart of any modern rope-dancer,
adding flavour and piquancy to the various contortions of his limbs,
by the rich and racy ugliness of his countenance.
"That cannot be his real nose?" observed the young Provençal, turning
with an inquiring look to De Coucy.
"By all the saints of heaven! it is," replied De Coucy; "at least, I
have seen him with no other."
"It cannot be!" said the troubadour, almost in the words of
Slawkenbergius, "There never was a nose like that! 'Tis surely a
sausage of Bijorre--both shape, and colour, and size. I will never
believe it to be a true nose!"
"Ho! Gallon," cried De Coucy. "Bring thy nose here, and convince this
fair knight that 'tis thine own lawful property."
Gallon obeyed; and jumping down from his rope, approached the place
where the two knights sat, swaying his proboscis up and down in such a
manner, as to show that it was almost preternaturally under the
command of his volition.
This, however, did not satisfy the young Provençal, who, as he came
nearer, was seized with an irresistible desire to meddle with the
strange appendix to the jongleur's face; and, giving way to this sort
of boyish whim, at the moment when Gallon was nearest, he seized his
nose between his finger and thumb, and gave it a tweak fully
sufficient to demonstrate its identity with the rest of his flesh.
Gallon's hand flew to his dagger; and it was already gleaming half out
of the sheath, when a loud "How now!" from De Coucy stayed him; and
affecting to take the matter as a joke, he threw a somerset backwards,
and bounded out of the hall.
"I could not have resisted, had he been an emperor!" said the young
man, laughing. "Oh, 'tis a wonderful appendage, and gives great
dignity to his countenance!"
"The dignity of ugliness," said De Coucy. "But take care that Gallon
the fool comes not across you with his dagger. He is as revengeful as
an ape."
"Oh, I will give him some gold," said the troubadour. "One touch of
such a nose as that is worth all the sheckles of Solomon's temple."
De Coucy laughed, and the evening passed on in uninterrupted glee and
harmony; but when the young knight found that his new companion was
the grandson of the unfortunate Guy de la Roche Guyon, the account of
whose assassination he had just read, his heart seemed to open to him
more than ever; and telling him, with a smile at the remembrance of
having called for his lance, how much the history had moved him, Guy
de Coucy poured forth his free and generous heart in professions of
interest and regard. The young stranger seemed to meet him as frankly;
but to a close observer perhaps, the very rounding of his phrases
would have betrayed more study than was consistent with the same
effusion of feeling which might be seen in all De Coucy's actions.
The châtelain, however, did not remark any defect; but after having
commanded a sleeping cup to be brought to the young Provençal's
bedroom, he led him thither himself. Here indeed his pride was
somewhat gratified to find that the old seneschal had preserved the
sleeping apartments with the most heedful care from the same decay
that had affected the rest of the castle, and that the rich tapestries
over the walls, the hangings of the bed, and its coverings of miniver
and sable, attested that the family of De Coucy Magny had once at
least known days of splendour.
The next morning, by sunrise, the whole party in the castle were
stirring; and Guillaume de la Roche Guyon gave orders to prepare his
horses. De Coucy pressed his stay, but could not prevail; and after
having adduced a thousand motives to induce his guest to prolong his
visit, he added one, which to his mind was irresistible. "I find,"
said he, "that during my absence, fighting for the recovery of
Christ's cross and sepulchre, a band of lawless routiers and cotereaux
have refuged themselves in my woods. Some two thousand, they are
called; but let us strike off one-half for exaggeration. Now, I
propose to drive them out with fire and sword, and doubt not to muster
fifty good men-at-arms. Your train amounts to nearly the same number,
and I shall be very happy to share the honour and pastime with so fair
a knight, if you be disposed to join me."
The young man coloured slightly, but declined. "Important business,"
he said, "which he was afraid must have suffered by the mishap of his
having lost his way the evening before, would utterly prevent him from
enjoying the great honour of fighting under Sir Guy de Coucy;--but he
should be most happy," he added, "to leave all the armed men of his
train, if they could be of assistance in expelling the banditti from
the territories of the Sire de Coucy. As for himself he no way feared
to pursue his journey with merely his unarmed servants."
De Coucy, however, declined--somewhat drily too; his favourable
opinion of the young stranger being greatly diminished by his
neglecting, on any account, so fair an opportunity of exercising his
prowess and gaining renown. He conducted him courteously to his horse,
notwithstanding, drank the stirrup cup with him at parting, and,
wishing him a fair and prosperous journey, returned into his castle.
Guillaume de la Roche Guyon rode on in silence at the head of his
troop, till he had descended to the very bottom of the hill on which
the château stood; then, turning to one of his favourite retainers, as
they entered the forest--"By the Lord! Philippeau," cried he, "saw ye
ever such beggarly fare? I slept not all night, half-choked as I was
with hog's flesh. And did you hear how he pressed me to my meat, as if
he would fain have choked me outright? The Lord deliver us from such
poor châtelains, and send them back to fight in Palestine.
"So say I, beau sire," replied the retainer: "if they will take ship
thither, we will pray for a fair wind."
"And the cups of horn, Philippeau," cried his lord, "and the wooden
platters--did you mark them? Oh, they were well worthy the viands they
contained!"
"So say I, beau sire," replied the living echo. "May they never
contain any thing better!--for château and châtelain, dinner and
dishes, were all of a piece."
"And think of his dreaming that I would go against the honest
cotereaux with him!" cried the youth--"risking my horse and my life,
and losing my time: all to rid his land of some scores of men as brave
as himself, I dare say, and a great deal richer. 'Twould have been a
rare folly, indeed!"
"So say I, beau sire," rejoined the inevitable Philippeau; "that
would have been turning his man before he had shown himself your
master.--Ha, ha, ha!"
"Haw, haw, haw!" shouted a voice in answer, whose possessor remained
for a moment invisible. The next instant, however, the legs of a man
appeared dangling from one of the trees, a few yards before them; then
down dropped his body at the extent of his arms; and, letting himself
fall like a piece of lead, Gallon the fool stood motionless in their
way.
"Ha!" cried Guillaume de la Roche, drawing forward what was called his
_aumonière_[17], a sort of pouch by his side, and taking out a couple
of pieces of gold, "Our good jongleur come for his guerdon!--Hold,
fellow!" and he cast the money to Gallon the fool, who caught each
piece before it fell to the ground.
--------------------
[Footnote 17: This part of the dress was a small pouch borne under the
arm, and called escarcelle, or pera, when carried by pilgrims to the
Holy Land. With the utmost reverence for the learning, talent, and
patience of Ducange, it appears to me that he was mistaken in his
interpretation of a passage of Cassian, relative to this part of the
pilgrim's dress. The sentence in Cassian is as follows: "Ultimus est
habitus eorum pellis caprina, quæ melotes, vel pera appellatur, et
baculus;" which Ducange affirms to mean, that they wore a dress of
goat-skins, a wallet, and a stick. Embarrassed by taking _habitus_ in
the limited sense of a garment, I should rather be inclined to think
that the author merely meant that the last part of their (the monks')
dress was what is called a pera, made of goat-skins, and a stick, and
not three distinct articles, as Ducange imagines.--See _Ducange_,
Dissert. xv.]
--------------------
"Haw, haw! haw, haw!" cried Gallon. "Gramercy, beau sire! gramercy!
Now will I tell thee a piece of news," he continued in his abrupt and
unconnected manner,--"a piece of news that never should you have heard
but for these two pieces of gold. Your lady love is at the castle of
the Sire de Montmorency. Speed thither fast, and you shall win her
yet.--Haw, haw! Do you understand? Win her old father first. Tell him
of your broad lands, and your rich castles; for old Sir Julian loves
gold, as if it paved the way to heaven.--Haw, haw, haw! When his love
is won, never fear but that his daughter's will come after; and then,
all because thou hast broad lands enough of thine own, thou shall have
all good Count Julian's to back them,--Haw, haw! haw, haw! Thus it is
we give to those that want not; and to those who want, we spit in
their face--a goodly gift!--Haw, haw! The world is mad, not I--'tis
but the mishap of being single in one's opinion!--Haw, haw, haw!" and
darting away into the forest without staying farther question, he was
soon lost to their sight.
No sooner, however, had Gallon the fool assured himself that he was
out of reach of pursuit, than suddenly stopping, he cast himself on
the ground, and rolled over and over two or three times, while he made
the wood ring with his laughter. "Now have I murdered him!--now have I
slaughtered him!--now have I given his throat to the butcher!" cried
he, "as sure as if I held his head under knock-me-down De Coucy's
battle-axe!--now will he go and buy the old fool Julian's consent and
promise, for gold and rich furniture.--Haw, haw, haw! Then will
Isadore refuse; and let the De Coucy know.--Haw, haw! Then will De
Coucy come with lance and shield, and provoke my gallant to the fight,
which for his knighthood he dare not refuse--then will my great
man-slayer, my iron-fisted singer of songs, crush me this tiny,
smoothed-faced, quaint apparelled imp of Provence, as I've seen a
great eater crunch a lark.--Haw, haw! haw, haw! And all for having
tweaked my nose, though none of them know any thing about it! He will
insult my countenance no more, I trow, when the velvet black moles are
digging through his cold heart with their white hands. Ah, cursed
countenance!" he cried as if seized with some sudden emotion of rage,
and striking his clenched fist hard upon his hideous face--"Ah, cursed
countenance! thou hast brought down upon me mock and mimicry, hatred
and contempt! Every thing is loved--every thing is sought--every thing
is admired, but I; and I am fled from by all that see me. I am hated,
and I hate myself--I am the devil--surely I am the devil!--and if so,
I will enjoy my reign.--Beware! beware! ye that mock me; for I will
live by gnawing your hearts--I will, I will!--Haw, haw!--that I will!"
and suddenly bounding up, he caught one of the large boughs above his
head, swung himself backward and forward for a minute in the air; and
then springing forward, with a loud screaming laugh, flew back to the
castle like an arrow shot from a bow.