“I make a vow to Monsieur the Saint Eloi, under whose invocation are
the silversmiths, to fashion two images of pure silver, with the best
workmanship I am able to perform. One shall be a statue of Madame the
Virgin, to this end, to thank her for the liberty of my dear wife; and
the other for my said patron, if I am successful in my undertaking to
liberate the bondswoman Tiennette here present, and for which I rely
upon his assistance. Moreover, I swear by my eternal salvation, to
persevere with courage in this affair, to spend therein all I process,
and only to quit it with my life. God has heard me,” said he. “And
you, little one,” he added, turning towards the maid.
“Ha! monseigneur, look! My cow is running about the fields,” cried
she, sobbing at the good man’s knees. “I will love you all my life;
but withdraw your vow.”
“Let us to look after the cow,” said the silversmith, raising her,
without daring yet to kiss her, although the maid was well disposed to
it.
“Yes,” said she, “for I shall be beaten.”
And behold now the silversmith, scampering after the cursed cow, who
gave no heed to their amours; she was taken by the horns, and held in
the grip of the Touranian, who for a trifle would have thrown her in
the air, like a straw.
“Adieu, my sweet one! If you go into the town, come to my house, over
against St Leu’s Church. I am called Master Anseau, and am silversmith
to the King of France, at the sign of St. Eloi. Make me a promise to
be in this field the next Lord’s-Day; fail not to come, even should it
rain halberds.”
“Yes, dear Sir. For this I would leap the walls, and, in gratitude,
would I be yours without mischief, and cause you no sorrow, at the
price of my everlasting future. Awaiting the happy moment, I will pray
God for you with all my heart.”
And then she remained standing like a stone saint, moving not, until
she could see the good citizen no longer, and he went away with
lagging steps, turning from time to time further to gaze upon her. And
when he was far off, and out of her sight, she stayed on, until
nightfall, lost in meditation, knowing not if she had dreamed that
which had happened to her. Then she went back to the house, where she
was beaten for staying out, but felt not the blows. The good
silversmith could neither eat nor drink, but closed his workshop,
possessed of this girl, thinking of nothing but this girl, seeing
everywhere the girl; everything to him being to possess this girl. Now
when the morrow was come, he went with great apprehension towards the
abbey to speak to the lord abbot. On the road, however, he suddenly
thought of putting himself under the protection of one of the king’s
people, and with this idea returned to the court, which was then held
in the town. Being esteemed by all for his prudence, and loved for his
little works and kindnesses, the king’s chamberlain--for whom he had
once made, for a present to a lady of the court, a golden casket set
with precious stones and unique of its kind--promised him assistance,
had a horse saddled for himself, and a hack for the silversmith, with
whom he set out for the abbey, and asked to see the abbot, who was
Monseigneur Hugon de Sennecterre, aged ninety-three. Being come into
the room with the silversmith, waiting nervously to receive his
sentence, the chamberlain begged the abbot to sell him in advance a
thing which was easy for him to sell, and which would be pleasant to
him.