CHAPTER I.

THE IRON PINCERS

THE FULL SERIES OF

The Mysteries of the People

:: OR ::

History of a Proletarian Family Across the Ages

By EUGENE SUE

_Consisting of the Following Works:_

THE GOLD SICKLE; or, _Hena the Virgin of the Isle of Sen_.

THE BRASS BELL; or, _The Chariot of Death_.

THE IRON COLLAR; or, _Faustina and Syomara_.

THE SILVER CROSS; or, _The Carpenter of Nazareth_.

THE CASQUE'S LARK; or, _Victoria, the Mother of the Camps_.

THE PONIARD'S HILT; or, _Karadeucq and Ronan_.

THE BRANDING NEEDLE; or, _The Monastery of Charolles_.

THE ABBATIAL CROSIER; or, _Bonaik and Septimine_.

THE CARLOVINGIAN COINS; or, _The Daughters of Charlemagne_.

THE IRON ARROW-HEAD; or, _The Buckler Maiden_.

THE INFANTS SKULL; or, _The End of the World_.

THE PILGRIM'S SHELL; or, _Fergan the Quarryman_.

THE IRON PINCERS; or, _Mylio and Karvel_.

THE IRON TREVET; or, _Jocelyn the Champion_.

THE EXECUTIONER'S KNIFE; or, _Joan of Arc_.

THE POCKET BIBLE; or, _Christian the Printer_.

THE BLACKSMITH'S HAMMER; or, _The Peasant Code_.

THE SWORD OF HONOR; or, _The Foundation of the French Republic_.

THE GALLEY SLAVE'S RING; or, _The Family Lebrenn_.

Published Uniform With This Volume By

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THE IRON PINCERS

:: :: OR :: ::

MYLIO AND KARVEL

A Tale of the Albigensian Crusades

By EUGENE SUE

TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH

By DANIEL DE LEON

NEW YORK LABOR NEWS COMPANY. 1909

Copyright, 1909, by the

NEW YORK LABOR NEWS CO.

INDEX

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE vi

PART I. THE COURT OF LOVE.

INTRODUCTION 1

CHAPTER

I. THE ORCHARD OF MARPHISE 5

II. GOOSE-SKIN THE JUGGLER 20

III. FLORETTE 35

IV. THE GARDEN OF EGLANTINE 45

V. THE CRUSADERS 62

VI. ON TO LANGUEDOC 80

PART II. THE ALBIGENSIAN HERETICS.

I. THE PERFECT'S HOME 87

II. GIRAUDE OF LAVAUR 93

III. THE SHADOW OF WAR 99

IV. ROBIN LOVES ME, ROBIN HAS ME 109

V. SONG ON THE CRUSADE AGAINST THE ALBIGENSIANS 122

VI. SONG ON THE BUTCHERY OF CHASSENEUIL 125

VII. SONG ON THE BUTCHERY OF BEZIERS 128

VIII. SONG ON THE BURNING OF CARCASSONNE 132

IX. THE HERETICS' WAR SONG 141

X. BEFORE THE CASTLE OF LAVAUR 144

XI. MONTFORT AND THE PERFECT 150

XII. GOOSE-SKIN'S CONVERSION 165

XIII. THE ESPLANADE AT LAVAUR 176

EPILOGUE 191

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.

A new breath blows through this story, the thirteenth of the Eugene Sue

series, _The Mysteries of the People; or, History of a Proletarian

Family Across the Ages_. The epoch is the Thirteenth Century. The

rudeness and coarseness of the period described in the preceding

story--_The Pilgrim's Shell; or, Fergan the Quarryman_--now lies two

centuries behind. Religious bigotry still reigns supreme, but it now is

no more of the coarse nature typified by a Cuckoo Peter, it now partakes

of the flavor of a Duke of Montfort; amours are no longer of the vulgar

type of a Duke of Aquitaine, they now partake of the mental refinement

of "Courts of Love." Music and poetry chasten the harsh lines of the

Thirteenth Century and the season is prepared for the epoch described in

the following novel--_The Iron Trevet; or, Jocelyn the Champion_--the

age of chivalry. Nevertheless it was at this epoch that the religious

persecutions of the Albigensians happened. The fell fanaticism of

Montfort, the lawlessness of the clergy, and the dissoluteness of the

nobility are woven into a narrative with Mylio the Trouvere and his

brother Karvel, the type of religious purity, as the center figures of a

story that has all the fascination of drama, in which tears and

laughter, freedom and oppression alternate in rapid succession--a true

picture of its times.

DANIEL DE LEON.

Milford, Conn., September, 1909.

INTRODUCTION.

I, Mylio the Trouvere[1]--the great-great-grandson of Colombaik, whose

father, Fergan the Quarryman, was killed on the ramparts of Laon in the

defense of the franchise of the commune--have written this "play," or

narrative in dialogue, as is the vogue in these days.[2] The events

herein narrated transpired in the course of the year 1208, at the period

when the war of King Philip Augustus against King John of England and

against Germany raged at its worst. The description of the "Court of

Love," however much I may tone it down, reflects truthfully the

unbridled license of the morals that are prevalent in these times, and

the description of the persecutions of the Albigensian heretics, however

much I may tone down that, truthfully reflects the ferocity of the

religious bigotry of this self-same epoch. On the one subject and on the

other the facts are revolting. Nevertheless, I am of the opinion that

the morals and principles of the noble dames, the seigneurs and the

clergy should not be concealed from you, children of Joel. Your

knowledge of the facts will strengthen your aversion for these elements

of our oppression.

PART I.

THE COURT OF LOVE

CHAPTER I.

THE ORCHARD OF MARPHISE.

What I here have to narrate occurs towards evening on a beautiful autumn

day, in the orchard of Marphise, the noble Lady of Ariol. The orchard,

which lies in the close vicinity of the ramparts of the city of Blois,

is surrounded by a high wall, crowned by a hedge of yoke-elm. A handsome

summer-pavilion rises in the middle of the garden. The trees are

numerous, and their fruit-laden branches are ingeniously intertwined

with vines that bear clusters of purple grapes. Not far from the

pavilion, a stately pine-tree casts its shadow across a white marble

basin filled with limpid water and encircled by a broad band of lawn, on

which roses, anemones and gladiolas blend their lively colors. A bench

of verdure is contrived around the foot of the gigantic pine, whose

dense foliage allows the setting rays of the sun to penetrate it here

and there, and to empurple the crystal face of the water in the basin.

Twelve women, the eldest of whom, Marphise, the Lady of Ariol, has

hardly reached her thirtieth year, and the youngest, Eglantine,

Viscountess of Seligny, is not yet seventeen;--twelve women, the least

handsome of whom would everywhere, except here, have been considered a

star of beauty;--twelve women are assembled in this orchard. After a

collation in which the wines of Blois, of Saumur and of Beaugency have

moistened the delicate venison pasties, the eels preserved in mustard,

the cold partridges seasoned in verjuice--a dainty repast that is

rounded with toothsome confectionery and sweets, moistened, in their

turn, with no less copious libations of hippocrass or other spiced

wines--the eyes of the noble ladies begin to dance and their cheeks are

inflamed.

Certain of being alone among themselves, and sheltered from indiscreet

looks or inquisitive ears, the merry gossips observe neither in their

words nor in their demeanor the reserve that, perhaps, they might

observe elsewhere. Some, stretched at full length on the sward, turn the

limpid water of the basin into a mirror, contemplate themselves, and

make all manner of winsome grimaces at their own reflections in the

water; others, perched upon a ladder, amuse themselves plucking the

ruddy apples or mellow pears from the trees, and, as the petticoats of

the noble ladies serve for aprons in which to gather their harvest, the

color of their garters is often exposed--a circumstance that in no wise

disturbs our climbers, knowing as they do, that their limbs are well

shaped; others, again, hold themselves by the hands in a circle, and

amidst peals of laughter indulge in a giddy whirl; while still others,

being of a more indolent bent, repose upon the bench of verdure and

lazily enjoy the balmy air of the delightful evening.

These indolent ones should be named. They are: Marphise, the Lady of

Ariol; Eglantine, Viscountess of Seligny; and Deliane, Canoness of the

sacred Chapter of Nivelle. Marphise, tall, dark, with eyebrows boldly

arched and of no less deep a hue than her raven-black hair and large

black eyes, would have resembled the antique Minerva if, like the

goddess, Marphise had worn a brass casque on her head, and if her chest,

massive and white as alabaster, were imprisoned in a cuirass, in short,

if her physiognomy had recalled the austere dignity of the goddess of

wisdom. Fortunately, there is no trace of all that, thanks both to the

playful brilliancy of Marphise's eyes and to her laughing, sensual and

ruddy lips. Her coif of orange color, with its flaps gently turned above

her ears, exposes the strands of her black hair, which are braided with

a thread of pearls. Her elegant figure stands outlined under her robe of

white silk, a rich Lombard fabric relieved with orange-colored designs.

Her sleeves, open and flowing, her upturned collar, her sloping corsage,

leave her beautiful arms bare, and expose her under-waistcoat of

snow-white linen, fluted, and bordered with gold thread over her bosom.

In order to cool her burning cheek, Marphise flutters an ivory-handled

fan of peacock feathers. Indolently stretched upon the bench of verdure,

the nonchalant woman does not notice that a raised fold of her skirt

exposes one of her limbs which tightly fits a stocking of pale green

silk with silver ribs, together with her dainty slipper of Lyons

manufacture, with a red buckle ornamented with rubies.

Marphise turns with a smile towards Eglantine, who, standing behind the

bench of verdure, leans her elbows upon its back. Thus, only the face

and corsage of the charming Viscountess of Seligny are visible. She has

been well named, Eglantine. Never did the flower of the wild-rose,

barely blossomed from the bud, display a more delicate tint, or more

vernal, than the enchanting visage of the dainty blonde with eyes as

blue as the sky of May. All about her is rosy. Rosy are her cheeks, rosy

her lips, roses make up the little chaplet of perfumed flowers which

crowns the hair-net of silver thread through the squares of which her

deep blonde hair peeps out, and finally, rosy is the silk of her gorget,

which, from the waist all the way up to the neck, tightly fastened by a

row of marvelously wrought silver buttons, sets off her delicate

contour.

While Eglantine thus leans upon her elbows on the bench, Deliane, the

Canoness of the Chapter of Nivelle is upon her knees at the opposite

side of the verdure seat. With one of her arms familiarly reclined upon

the white shoulder of Marphise, she listens smiling to the erotic

conversation between Eglantine and the Lady of Ariol. Of the two

prattlers, one is of superb beauty, the other of charming prettiness.

Deliane the canoness, however, is celestial. Dream of a woman of as

divine a beauty as your imagination can conceive; clothe her in a

scarlet robe of delicate material bordered with ermine; add to that a

surplice of the white of the lily like the hood and veil which frame in

the ideal face of the canoness; steep her beautiful hazel eyes in a

languor of saintly love;--do that and you will have the portrait of the

matchless canoness. That being done, gild the group of these three women

with a ray of the setting sun, and you will admit that, at that moment,

the orchard of the Lady of Ariol, filled as it is with delicious fruit,

greatly resembles the terrestrial Paradise;--aye, surpasses it. For one

thing, instead of one solitary Eve, you see here a full dozen--some

blonde, some dark, some auburn; for another thing, that boor of an Adam

is absent, and absent also is the rainbow colored serpent, unless the

villain has hidden himself under some cluster of roses and gladiolas.

You have, so far, admired with your eyes; now listen to their talk,

always facetious and mirthful, at times anacreontic--rakish words

accompanied with immodest postures:

MARPHISE--"I am still laughing, Eglantine, about that pretty story--the

eternal stupidity of husbands."

THE CANONESS--"That simpleton of a husband bringing in a light, and

finding--what? Why his wife holding a calf by the tail!"

EGLANTINE--"And did the monk escape in the darkness?"

MARPHISE--"Oh! These tonsured friends are cunning lovers!"

THE CANONESS--"I don't know about that. They are taken to be more

secretive than the others. It is a mistake!"

EGLANTINE--"And then they ruin you with their solicitations after copes

and alms. There is nothing too brilliant for them. They are always

a-begging on the sly."

MARPHISE--"But the knights are also quite expensive luxuries! If the

clerk loves to strut under silks at the altar, the knight loves to shine

at the tourney, and often have we to pay for his swagger, from his spurs

to his casque, from the bridle of his horse to the horse itself, besides

garnishing his purse with round pieces of silver and gold!"

EGLANTINE--"And then, on some fine day, horse, armor, embroidered

housings--everything lands at the usurer's to fit out some wench, after

which your gallant friend returns to you dressed--only in his glory, and

you are weak enough to equip him anew! Oh! Believe me, dear friends,

they make sorry lovers, these tourney-hunters do! Without mentioning

that these redoubtable warriors are often duller than their mounts--"

THE CANONESS--"A clerk is no less sorry a choice. It must be admitted

that these churchmen have more wit about them than the knights, but just

think of the amusement connected with having to go to church in order to

hear your lover sing mass, or with running across him when he is

escorting a corpse to its last resting place and is mumbling away at his

prayers, in a hurry to return to the house of mourning and have his

share of the feast. I must confess it shocks my delicacy."

EGLANTINE--"And if he makes you a present! Fie! His gifts are

impregnated with a nauseating odor--they smell of dead bodies."

MARPHISE (laughing)--"'And should you die, my beloved, I shall very

piously and particularly recommend your soul to God, and sing a superb

mass with ringing bells.'--"

The three women laugh aloud at Marphise's joke.

THE CANONESS--"And for all that, out of ten women you will not find two

who have not a clerk or a knight for their lover."

MARPHISE--"I believe Deliane is mistaken."

EGLANTINE--"Let's see. We are here twelve in the orchard. We are all

young, as we know; handsome, as we are told. We are no fools, either. We

know how to find amusement while our husbands are away in the Holy

Land."

MARPHISE (laughing)--"Where they expiate their own sins--and ours."

THE CANONESS--"Blessed be Peter the Hermit! With his preaching of the

first Crusade over a hundred years ago, the holy man gave the signal for

the delectation of the women--"

MARPHISE--"That Peter the Hermit must have been bribed by the lovers.

More than one husband who departed for Palestine has repeated, while

scratching his ears: 'I'd like to know what my wife Capeluche is doing

at this hour! By the blood of God, what is my wife doing now?'"

EGLANTINE (impatiently)--"What we do? Indeed! Why, we enrol our husbands

in the large fraternity of St. Arnold. Besides, they are Crusaders.

Their salvation is, accordingly, doubly certain. But, for mercy's sake,

dear friends, let's leave our husbands in Palestine; may they stay there

as long as possible; and let us return to my plan. It is a pleasanter

thing to consider. Deliane claims that out of ten women there are not

two who have not a clerk or a knight for their lover. We are here twelve

of us. Each of us has her tender secret. Where is the woman so small as

to reject a lover when she is herself gentilely and loyally smitten? To

yield is a sweet duty."

THE CANONESS (with languor)--"Thank God, we do not desire our

fellowmen's death. We must yield to those who love us."

MARPHISE (gravely)--"The woman who, being adored with love, would cause

the death of a man by her refusal, must be condemned as a homicide. The

Court of Love has under my presidency, issued that memorable decree at

its last session under the young elm. The said decree was rendered at

the instance of the Conservator of the High Privileges of Love, who made

the application before the Chamber of Sweet Pledges. The applicant, if I

remember rightly, was a lover residing in the purlieus of the

'Delightful Passion,' 'Perseverence Street,' 'Hotel Despair,' where the

unhappy fellow was dying of his flame's inhumanity. Fortunately, when

our Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram, accompanied by the Bailiff of the Joy

of Joys, notified the tigress of the Court's decree, she recoiled before

the fear of falling into mortal sin by causing the death of her admirer,

and surrendered unconditionally to him."

THE CANONESS (with unction)--"It is so sweet a thing to snatch one of

God's creatures from the clutches of death!"

EGLANTINE--"Mercy, dear friends. Why do you not listen to my plan? All

the twelve of us have some secret love. Let us select one of us for

confessor. We shall each in succession make to her our sweet admission.

The confessor shall announce the result of our confidences. We shall

thus know the number of those who have a spurred or a tonsured lover.

The question will then be settled."

THE CANONESS--"An excellent idea! What say you, Marphise? I give it my

full support."

MARPHISE--"I accept it! And I am certain our other friends will join in.

That will furnish us amusement until night."

Indeed, Eglantine's proposition is gladly accepted by the young women.

They draw together, and by common accord choose Marphise as the Lady

Confessor. Upon her election, Marphise seats herself on the bench of

verdure; her friends step a few paces back and cast mischievous glances

upon the Lady Confessor and upon the one confessing. The first of these

is Eglantine, the pretty Viscountess of Seligny. She is on her knees at

the feet of Marphise, who assuming the manners of a nun, lovingly

presses the two hands of the penitent, and addresses her with a

self-confident air and sanctimonious voice:

MARPHISE--"Come, dear daughter, open to me your heart; conceal nothing;

frankly confess all your sins; say who is your lover."

EGLANTINE (with hands joined and eyes lowered)--"Lady Confessor, he whom

I love is young and handsome. He is brave as a knight; well-spoken as a

clerk; and yet is he neither clerk nor knight. His fame is greater than

that of the most famous counts and dukes; and yet is he neither count

nor duke. (Marphise listens to the confession with redoubled attention.)

Perhaps his birth is obscure, but his glory shines with incomparable

luster."

MARPHISE--"You may well be proud of such a choice. Your lover is a

marvel, a phoenix. What is the name of that admirable lover?"

EGLANTINE--"Lady Confessor, I may boldly name him. His name is Mylio the

Trouvere."

MARPHISE (thrilling and blushing with emotion)--"What! Did you say, dear

daughter, that it is--Mylio the Trouvere?"

EGLANTINE (with downcast eyes)--"Yes, Lady Confessor. That is his name."

MARPHISE (seeking to suppress her surprise and emotion)--"Go, dear

daughter, I pray to God that your lover be faithful to you."

The canoness steps forward in her turn, kneels down, and, slightly

smiling, slightly smites her well-rounded bosom with her white hands.

MARPHISE--"These tokens of sorrow denote some great sin, dear daughter!

Is your choice, perchance, blame-worthy?"

THE CANONESS--"Oh! Not at all! I only fear I am not beautiful enough for

my lover, who is the most accomplished of men: youth, wit, beauty,

courage--he joins them all in his person! What joy there is in his

company!"

MARPHISE--"And the name of that phoenix?"

THE CANONESS (languorously)--"Mylio the Trouvere. That is my friend's

name."

MARPHISE (nettled and even angered)--"He again?"

THE CANONESS--"Do you, perhaps, know my lover?"

MARPHISE (repressing herself)--"Do you tenderly love that lover, so

faithful to you?"

THE CANONESS (with fire)--"Oh! I love him with all the power of my

soul."

MARPHISE--"Go, dear daughter. Let the next one come. (sighs) May God

protect all constant loves."

Ursine, Countess of Mont-Ferrier, approaches on a run and leaping like a

doe in the month of May. You never saw, and never will you see a more

dainty, more saucy, or more savory creature. She was one of the most

giddy-headed climbers among those who gathered fruit. Her chaplet of

gladiolas lies awry over her head, and one of the heavy tresses of her

warm-blonde hair tumbles undone upon her dimpled shoulder that is as

white as it is plump. Her skirt is green of color, and red her

stockings. Her impudent mouth is still purple with the juice of grapes,

no less ripe than her own lips. She gives a last bite with her pearly

teeth to the almost wholly plundered cluster in her hands, and smiling

kneels down at Marphise's feet which she tenderly clasps. Before being

interrogated, she cries with charming volubility:

"Venerated Priestess, my lover is a mere college bachelor, but he is so

perfect, so handsome, so witty! Ah! (she clicks her tongue against the

roof of her mouth) that he would deserve to be a duke, an emperor, or a

Pope! Aye, a Pope! Even better, if better could be possible!"

MARPHISE (a vague apprehension stealing over her)--"And what is the name

of that model of a lover, that marvel of a gallant?"

URSINE--"His name, venerated Priestess? (snatching with her lips another

grape from the cluster). His name? Oh, for his exploits in love, he

should be called 'Valiant!' For his charms: 'Prince Charming!' For his

constancy, 'Constant!' For his love, 'Cupid' with the strength of

Hercules!"

MARPHISE--"You are a happy girl, dear daughter. Constancy is a rare

jewel in these days of fickleness and deceit."

URSINE (with ecstasy)--"If my lover only thought of being unfaithful, by

the stars in heaven, I would scratch out his eyes. Scores of times upon

his divine harp did he sing to me of his fidelity. For you must know, my

lover sings like a swan! (proudly) It is Mylio the Trouvere!"

After her confession, Ursine rises, and bounding again like a doe, runs

to rejoin her friends.

Sighing and silently fretting, Marphise calls and confesses Floril,

Huguette, Dulceline, Stephanette, Alix, Emma, Argentine and Adeline in

rapid succession. But, alas! do you notice the Lady Confessor? Do you

notice her well, and hear her? "And you, dear daughter," she asks, "What

is your lover's name?" "Mylio!" "And you?" "Mylio!" "And you?" "Mylio!"

Mylio, the same name every time! All the eleven have on their lips only

the name of that horrid Mylio. Almost dying with jealousy, the Lady

Confessor winds up with a hearty laugh at the experience, especially

when the brunette Adeline, the last one to confess, says to her: "I have

for lover the most glorious of trouveres, the most valiant, the most

faithful of adorers. To say so is to name to you Mylio, Lady Confessor."

MARPHISE (laughing aloud)--"Oh, poor friends! If that mischievous

juggler Adam the Hunchback, or Audefroid the Bastard, only knew our

secret, he would to-morrow be singing it under all the tents! It would

run from castle to castle, we would become the laughing-stock of the

whole world!"

EGLANTINE--"What do you mean?"

THE CANONESS--"You must now make the announcement, Marphise. How many of

us have a clerk for their lover?"

MARPHISE--"Not one, dear languorous girl!"

EGLANTINE--"And how many are there of us with a knight for lover?"

MARPHISE--"Not one! (The eleven women look at one another in silent

surprise.) Oh, dear friends! We have been shamefully played with. All of

us have the identical lover! Yes, the villain Mylio the Trouvere has

deceived all the twelve of us!"

Marphise's revelation first stupefies, then enrages the fair assembly.

The bevy of pretty women did not have, as Marphise, the advantage of the

necessary leisure secretly to habituate their minds to the thought, and

to philosophise over their discovery. All the eleven mouths call for

vengeance. The canoness invokes the punishment of the saints against the

felony of Mylio; in her despair Eglantine declares that she will turn

Bernardine nun the very next day. Tearing the chaplet of gladiolas from

her hair, Ursine throws it on the ground, tramples upon it, and swears

she will be revenged upon the shameless scamp. They then inquire from

one another by what diabolical sorcery the infamous fellow managed for

so long a time to keep his infidelity a secret. The recollection of his

perjured vows adds new fuel to the rage of the noble dames. The anger of

Marphise, who at first laughed over the adventure, is rekindled. She

cries out:

"Fair friends, our Court of Love will hold its last autumn session

to-morrow. It is a fortunate circumstance. The traitor shall be summoned

to appear before our tribunal, that he may be tried in his own presence,

sentenced and punished according to the enormity of his crimes. The

Court of Love will judge the felon, the infamous criminal who has so

shamefully deceived us."

URSINE (energetically)--"No! No! Let us pass judgment ourselves! The

Court may, due to certain circumstances, display culpable lenity towards

the monster."

SEVERAL VOICES--"Ursine is right! Let us pass judgment ourselves! The

felon should be punished by those whom he sinned against."

THE CANONESS (with unction)--"Dear sisters, why not try persuasion

before rigor? Let me take Mylio far from the corrupt haunts of men, into

some profound solitude, and there, if God should lend me His grace, I

expect to lead the culprit to the repentance of his past sins, and the

practice of exemplary fidelity in the future. We should have mercy for

human frailty."

URSINE--"Aye, dearest, so that he may practice towards you, no doubt,

that exemplary fidelity! Just look at the good soul! No! No! The scamp

has deceived us shamefully. Justice and vengeance! Neither grace nor

pity for such a felony!"

All the voices, the voice of the merciful canoness excepted, demand with

Countess Ursine, "Justice and vengeance!"

MARPHISE--"My friends, we shall be revenged! The fellow gave me a

rendezvous for this very evening at moon-rise. The sun is going down.

Let us all remain here. Mylio will come into the orchard thinking I am

alone. We shall then have him in our power--and shall act!"

Marphise's proposition is accepted unanimously, and amidst

recriminations and imprecations of all sorts, the rage-mad Ursine is

heard to pronounce the names of Fulbert and Abelard, and to mumble the

words: "We must punish him!"

CHAPTER II.

GOOSE-SKIN THE JUGGLER.

Night has come; the stars shine in the sky; only the moon has not yet

risen. In lieu of the laughing orchard of the Marchioness of Ariol, you

now see one of the last straggling houses of a suburb of Blois, and far

away a thick-leaved oak tree, under whose sheltering branches a stout

man lies asleep. He might be taken for Silenus if he were not clad in a

coat of brown cloth stained with grease and wine spots. His coat,

moreover, is as torn as his linsey-woolsey jonquil hose. His shoes are

fastened to his feet with pack-thread. The man's enormous paunch, which

rises and falls to the cadence of sonorous snores, has snapped the horn

buttons off his coat. His pimpled, shapeless, reddish and blotched nose

has, the same as his bald head, taken on the winy hue of the juice of

the vine that the sleeper is in the habit of quaffing in large

potations.

Near him on the sward lies a chaplet of vine-leaves with which he covers

the few grey hairs that are still left to him. Not far from the gay

customer is his "rotte," a resonant hurdy-gurdy from which his nimble

fingers know how to extract music, because Master Goose-Skin, for that

is his name, is a skilful juggler. His Bacchic and licentious songs are

unmatched in their efficacy to throw nuns, vagabonds and wenches into

the best of humor. So profound is Goose-Skin's sleep that he does not

hear the approaching footsteps of a new personage, who has just come out

of one of the last houses of the suburb. The personage is Mylio the

Trouvere.

Mylio is twenty-five years of age. Why speak of his face? His picture,

whether faithfully drawn or not, has been described by Marphise and her

companions. The trouvere's stature is robust and tall. On his black and

wavy hair he carries, half-drawn to one side, a scarlet camail, the

tippet of which falls upon and covers his wide shoulders. His white

tunic of fine woven Frisian cloth, held closed over his chest by a row

of gold buttons, is embroidered at the collar and sleeves with scarlet

silk. Of his double sleeves, the outer ones, slashed and floating, are

open almost up to the shoulders, while the inner ones fit tightly over

his arms and are held at the wrists with gold buttons. From his

embroidered belt hangs, on one side, a short sword, from the other an

almoner. Mylio has recently been on horseback. We notice that, instead

of the shoes with long points tipped upwards in the shape of ram's

horns, as is the fashion of the time, he wears over his hose large boots

of yellow leather embroidered in red and reaching up to his thighs.

While Goose-Skin continues soundly asleep and snoring sonorously, Mylio

stops a few steps away from the old juggler and remarks to himself with

an air of no little concern:

"I have not been able to meet the Lombard merchant at Amboise, from

where I now come; and he is not yet back at his house. The keeper at the

inn where he usually puts up, claims he has gone to Tours to sell some

silk goods. I shall have to wait for his return. Seeing he left

Languedoc about two months ago, he surely brings me a message from my

brother Karvel."

Mylio remains pensive for a moment and proceeds:

"Better than any other, Karvel deserves the name of 'Perfect,' the

designation or title given to their pastors by the Albigensian heretics,

as the Christian priests call this sect. It was no vain pride that led

my brother to accept the title of Perfect. He was led thereto by the

solemn determination to justify it by his life; and that life, lived so

admirably by him, has been seconded by an incomparable wife, the good

and gentle Morise. Never did virtue appear in more enchanting features.

Yes, Morise is perfect as my brother is a Perfect. (Smiling.) And yet

Karvel and myself are of one blood! Well, can I not, after all, say with

the modesty so peculiar to the trouvere, that I am perfect after my own

fashion? Have I not, although desperately in love with Florette,

respected the girl? (A long interval of silence.) Oh! when I compare her

candid love with the brazen love intrigues that have turned modern Gaul

into a lupanar--when I compare with the stoic life of my brother the

life of adventure into which the ardor of youth and the irresistible

taste for enjoyment have cast me for the last five years, when I do

that, then I am almost minded to follow the good inspiration that my

love for Florette has started in my heart. (He reflects.) Certes, in

these days of unbridled corruption, if he only has acquired some little

renown, is gifted with as much audacity as recklessness in morals, and

is a little better shaped than my friend Goose-Skin, who lies there

snoring like a canon at matins, the trouvere who makes the rounds of the

monasteries of nuns or of the castles, whose seigneurs are away on the

Crusade, has but to take his pick. Adventures cluster thick around him.

Fondled, caressed, generously paid for his songs in gold and silver

coin, besides the fervid kiss of the ladies of the manors or the

abbesses, a trouvere has nothing for which to envy either the clergymen

or the knights. He can have a dozen mistresses at one time, and feast

upon the most piquant infidelities. Like a merry bird of passage, soon

as his gay song has been heard, he can escape with one flap of his wings

from the white hand that seeks to retain him, and fly elsewhere to sing,

without ever concerning himself about the future, and without regrets on

the past. He has rendered kiss for kiss, he has charmed the ears with

his roundelays and the eyes with his plumage. What more can be wanted

from him? Aye, to-day so runs love in Gaul! Its emblem is no longer the

dove of Cyprus but the lascivious sparrow of Lesbia or the satyr of the

ancient priestess of Bacchus! It is the triumph of the god Cupid and his

dame Venus!

"Oh, how sweet it is to step for a moment out of the giddy bacchanalia,

and refresh one's soul and repose one's heart on the pure pillow of a

chaste love! How ineffable are the charms of the tender respect with

which one delights in surrounding the innocent confidence of a maid of

fifteen! (He again lapses into silence.) Strange! Whenever I think of

Florette my mind turns to my brother and his austere life--his useful

occupation, that puts mine to shame. Well, whatever I may decide, I must

this very evening snatch Florette from the danger that threatens her.

(Distant chimes of bells.) The curfew tolls the knell of day. It is now

nine o'clock. The sweet child does not expect me until moon-rise. The

Marchioness of Ariol and the Countess Ursine will have to dispense this

evening with my visit. Dusk was to have seen me enter the orchard of the

one, and dawn was to have seen me leave the castle of the other.

(Laughs.) This was to be their night. But let me wake up Goose-Skin. I

shall need his assistance. (Calls him.) Helloa, Goose-Skin! How the

fellow snores! He is in the fumes of the wine that he must have drunk on

credit in some tavern. (Stoops and shakes him vigorously.) Will you

never wake up, rogue! Old leather-bottle, swollen with wine!"

Goose-Skin emits a series of muffled grunts, whereupon he blows, snorts,

whimpers, yawns, stretches his limbs and finally sits up, rubbing his

eyes.

MYLIO--"I asked you to wait for me under this tree. You have a very

singular way of keeping watch!"

GOOSE-SKIN (rises in a dudgeon, picks up his chaplet of vine-leaves,

slams it upon his head, puts his hurdy-gurdy under his arm, and angrily

cries at Mylio)--"Ha! Traitor! Double-dyed thief! You robbed me of my

feast!"

MYLIO--"What feast did I rob you of, Sir Paunch? Come, wake up!"

GOOSE-SKIN--"You woke me up at the sweetest moment of my dream! And what

a dream! I was witnessing the combat of Shrove-Tide against

Shrove-Tuesday. Shrove-Tide, armed cap-a-pie, advanced mounted astride

of a salmon. For casque he had on an enormous oyster, for buckler a

cheese, for cuirass a ray, for spurs a round of sea-urchins, and for

sling an eel with an egg between its teeth for a stone!"

MYLIO--"Such is the gluttony of this Sir Paunch that even asleep he

dreams of eatables! Oh, you devil of a gourmand!"

GOOSE-SKIN--"Miscreant! You snatched from my mouth dishes that cost me

nothing, because, if Shrove-Tide was toothsomely armed, Shrove-Tuesday

was no less so. His casque consisted of a veal patty with a roasted

peacock for its top. Shrove-Tuesday, all cased in in hams, was astride

of a roe whose many-branched antlers were loaded with partridges. For

lance he had a long spit, run through a number of roast capons.

(Addressing the trouvere with a redoubled affectation of grotesque

anger) Vagabond! Man without faith or law! You woke me up at the very

moment when, Shrove-Tide succumbing to the blows of Shrove-Tuesday, I

was on the point of eating both the vanquished and the vanquisher! Arms

and armor! Everything! I was on the point of eating everything including

the mounts of the combatants! Oh, in all my life I shall not pardon you

for your villainy."

MYLIO--"Calm down! I shall substitute your dream with the reality. You

shall not want for victuals."

GOOSE-SKIN--"Oxhorns! A wonderful proposition! To eat with eyes open!

What would there be wonderful about that! On the contrary, without you I

was eating asleep! Oh, a plague upon you!"

MYLIO--"But suppose I were to furnish you wherewith to guzzle a whole

day and night, what would you then have to reproach me with? Just

answer, comrade!"

GOOSE-SKIN (gravely)--"You shut my mouth with the promise to fill it

with good wine and plenty!"

MYLIO--"Will you render me a service?"

GOOSE-SKIN--"I'm a glutton, a boozer, a gambler, a libertine, a lover of

wenches, a liar, a roysterer, a braggard, and a poltroon, but--oxhorns!

I am not an ingrate. Never shall I forget that you, Mylio, the

celebrated and brilliant trouvere, whose harp is the delight of the

castles, have more than once shared your purse with old Goose-Skin the

juggler, whose humble hurdy-gurdy cheers only taverns patronized by

vagabonds, serfs and wenches! No! Never shall I forget your generosity,

Mylio; and I swear to you that you always can count upon me--by the

faith of Goose-Skin, which is my war name."

MYLIO--"Are we not fellows in the gay science? Is not your merry

hurdy-gurdy, which rejoices the poor and causes them to forget for a

moment the misery of their lives, worth as much as my harp, which

entertains the lustful or cloyed idleness of the noble dames? Mention

not the services that I have rendered to you, my old friend."

GOOSE-SKIN (interrupting him)--"In helping me you have done more than

your duty. Never; no, never shall I forget it!"

MYLIO--"Very well! But now listen to me--"

GOOSE-SKIN (with solemnity)--"When God created the world he put in it

three kinds of men: the nobles, the priests and the serfs. To the nobles

he gave the land, to the priests the goods of the simpletons, and to the

serfs robust arms to work without let for the benefit of the priests."

MYLIO--"Well said. But now stop your speech-making, and let me inform

you--"

GOOSE-SKIN--"The lots being then distributed by the Almighty, there

remained two other and highly interesting classes to be provided

for--the jugglers and the wenches. The Lord thereupon charged the

priests to nourish the wenches, and he enjoined the seigneurs to keep

the jugglers well fed. So, you see, it was no duty on your part, seeing

that you are not a noble, to share your purse with me. Consequently, you

have done more than your duty. Consequently the ones who fall short of

their divine duty are the degenerate nobles, the curmudgeons, the

misers, the skin-flints, the pedants, the--"

MYLIO--"God's blood! By the horns of St. Joseph! Will you give me a

chance to speak?"

GOOSE-SKIN (in a pitiful and plaintive tone)--"Oh, the good times of the

jugglers are gone! Formerly their purses and their bellies were always

kept full. Alas! Our fathers have eaten the meat, we only have the bone

to gnaw upon. But, now, speak, Mylio! I shall be as silent as my friend

Gueulette, the tavern-keeper's daughter, when I implore her with

love--the cruel, pitiless lass! Speak, my benign companion. I listen."

MYLIO (impatiently)--"Are you really done?"

GOOSE-SKIN--"You will sooner pull out my tongue than make me say another

word, one single word more! My friend Gueulette herself, the roguish

lassy, whose nose is so provoking, and whose corsage is so

attractive--even she with her throat--"

MYLIO (walking away)--"The devil take the babbler!"

Goose-Skin runs after the trouvere, and imitating the gestures of the

deaf-and-dumb, indicates that he pledges himself to silence.

MYLIO (returning)--"I have here in my almoner ten handsome silver

deniers. They will be yours if you serve me well; but every superfluous

word that you utter means one denier less."

Goose-Skin renews his silent pledges, swearing upon his hurdy-gurdy and

his chaplet of vine-leaves that he will be mute as a fish.

MYLIO--"You know Chaillot, the miller of the Abbey of Citeaux?"

Goose-Skin nods affirmatively with his head.

MYLIO (smiling)--"By the Lord, Master Goose-Skin! You are keeping a good

guard on your silver deniers. Well, then, that Chaillot, a confirmed

drunkard, has for wife Chaillotte, an equally confirmed jade. Being of

an accommodating disposition she entertained the monks right royally

whenever they went to drink at her mill, until finally the miller's

house became nothing but a tavern for the monks of the Abbey of Citeaux.

Two weeks ago Abbot Reynier, the superior of Citeaux--"

GOOSE-SKIN--"If I did not fear that it would cost me a silver denier, I

would make free to say that the said Reynier is the most dissolute and

most wicked scamp that the devil ever tonsured! But out of fear of

having to pay for these truths with my good cash, I shall remain mute!"

MYLIO--"In honor to the accuracy of the picture that you have drawn I

shall pardon the interruption. But do not let it happen again! Now,

then, Abbot Reynier said to me two weeks ago: 'Would you like to see a

veritable treasure of rustic beauty? Join us to-morrow at the mill of

the abbey. There is a girl at the place who is barely fifteen years old.

Her aunt, the miller's wife, brought her up away from the public gaze.

The fruit is cherry-ripe. I wish you to give me your opinion of her.' I

accepted the abbot's offer. I love to witness the debaucheries of these

monks whom I hate. They furnish me with good points for my satires.

Well, I accompanied the superior and several of his friends to the mill.

Thanks to the provisions that we brought along from the abbey, the meat

was tender and the wine old. The heads began to swim. The repast being

over, the infamous Chaillotte triumphantly fetches in her niece, a girl

of fifteen, so beautiful--Oh, so beautiful!--a flower of grace and

innocence. At her sight, the frocked debauchers, the tonsured tipplers,

heated with wine, jump up neighing with lustful admiration. Frightened

out of her senses, the poor little girl steps hastily back, forgetting

that behind her is an open window that looks over the water of the

mill--"

GOOSE-SKIN (with a tone of sorrow)--"And the little girl drops into the

water? Poor little one!"

MYLIO--"Yes, but fortunately I stood near and I leaped after her. It was

in time. Drawn by the current, Florette was on the point of being broken

by the wheel of the mill when I pulled her out."

GOOSE-SKIN--"Even if it should cost me all my ten deniers, I shall cry

out aloud that you behaved like a brave fellow!"

MYLIO--"I carried Florette to the river bank. She regained

consciousness. I read in her sweet looks her ingenuous gratitude.

Profiting by the time that it would take the infamous Chaillotte to come

to us, I said to the poor child: 'You are the object of odious projects;

feign sickness as long as you can as the result of your fall; I shall

watch over you.' And noticing that we were in a close surrounded by a

hedge of yoke-elms, I added: 'Day after to-morrow in the evening, when

your aunt will be in bed, come if you can and meet me here; I shall then

let you know more.' Florette promised me all that I wanted. On the

evening agreed upon she was at the appointed place. That is as far as

matters stand."

GOOSE-SKIN--"Ho! Ho! So you snatched from the rogue of an abbot the

dainty that he was reserving for himself? That was a good stroke!"

MYLIO--"No, I have respected the charming child; she seduced me by her

candor. I am in love with, her, desperately in love! I wish to carry her

off this very night. I'll tell you why. I met the abbot yesterday.

'Well,' said I to him, 'what has become of the pretty girl whom you and

your monks scared so badly that she dropped into the water?' 'She has

been ailing as a consequence of her inopportune bath,' the abbot

answered me, 'but her health is restored; before the end of the week,'

he added laughing, 'I shall take another trip to the mill of Chaillotte

and eat a fritter.'"

GOOSE-SKIN--"Oh, wicked monk! It is you who should be frying in

Lucifer's big frying-pan! But if Abbot Reynier said so yesterday,

to-morrow will be Friday, day after to-morrow Saturday. We shall have to

hurry if we expect to save the innocent child from the pursuit of the

ruttish buck."

MYLIO--"At our last interview Florette promised me to be at our

accustomed trysting place to-night at moon-rise."

GOOSE-SKIN--"Will she consent to follow you?"

MYLIO--"I am certain."

GOOSE-SKIN--"Then, what need you of me?"

MYLIO--"It might happen that this time Florette fails to elude the

watchfulness of her aunt, and has not been able to come to our

rendezvous."

GOOSE-SKIN--"That would be uncomfortable, for time presses. Meseems I

hear the scamp of an abbot moving after his fritter--"

MYLIO--"It is absolutely necessary that I see Florette this evening. I

have foreseen the possibility of some obstacle or other. Now, this is

my plan. The miller Chaillot goes to bed drunk every night. If, in some

way hindered, Florette should not be able to leave the house and should

fail at our rendezvous, you are to walk up to the mill and noisily knock

at the door. Chaillot, drunk as a brute, will not quit his bed to open,

and--"

GOOSE-SKIN (scratching his ears)--"Are you quite sure that the said

Chaillot will not get up?"

MYLIO--"Yes; and even if he should get up, there is nothing to fear from

him."

GOOSE-SKIN--"You see, the thing is this: These millers have the habit of

being always accompanied by some big dog--"

MYLIO--"Master Goose-Skin, I already have pardoned you interruptions

enough to almost wipe out your silver deniers. Let me finish. If it

should not be convenient for you to lend me your aid, you are free to

step back after I shall have imparted my project to you. (Goose-Skin

promises to listen.) Well, then, if Florette fails at the rendezvous,

you will knock noisily at the house-door of the mill. One of two things:

Either the miller's wife, aware of the drunken state of her husband,

will herself rise to see who is knocking, or she will send Florette. If

the first happens, the dear child has agreed with me that she will

profit by her aunt's absence and will run out to meet me; if the second

happens, Florette, being thus furnished with a pretext to go out of the

house, will likewise come to meet me instead of ascertaining who is

knocking at the door. Now, let us suppose that by some miracle

Chaillot, not having gone drunk to bed, comes himself to the door.

(Goose-Skin mimics the barking of a dog.) Yes, I understand you, Sir

Poltroon! Chaillot comes with his dog. It is of that dog that you stand

in great fear, not so? (Goose-Skin nods affirmatively, rubbing his

calves.) But do you not know, egregious coward, that out of fear for

thieves, the occupants of isolated houses never open their doors at

night before first calling out and asking who is there? Accordingly, you

will have nothing to fear from that terrible dog. You will calmly answer

Chaillot that you have a message for his wife from one of the monks of

Citeaux and that you must see her immediately. The miller will hasten to

call up his worthy spouse. She will hasten to come to the door. The old

busybody has always some secret matter in hand for the hypocrites of the

abbey. From there on I shall have to rely upon your own wit, Seigneur

Juggler, to give some plausible excuse for your nocturnal call and to

keep Chaillotte as long as possible at the door with the charm of your

conversational powers."

GOOSE-SKIN--"'Venerable matron!' I'll say to the miller's wife, 'I have

knocked at your door in order to offer you my humble services. I can

break eggs by walking over them, empty a barrel by its bung-hole, make a

ball roll and blow out a candle. Do you need any horns for your goats,

or teeth for your dogs? Shoes for your cows? I can fashion all those

valuable articles, and I am the possessor of a thousand other curious

secrets--'"

MYLIO--"I doubt not your eloquence. Keep it for Chaillotte--That is my

project. Will you assist me? If you agree, the ten silver deniers are

yours."

GOOSE-SKIN--"Give--give--dear and kind friend. I shall sing your praises

for your liberality."

MYLIO (putting the money in his hand)--"Here are the ten silver

deniers."

GOOSE-SKIN (jumps, capers, clinks the coin in his hands and says)--"Oh,

blessed silver! Blessed be thou! With thee one buys women's petticoats

and absolutions! Gascon horses and abbeys! Handsome girls and bishops!

Oh, silver! Just show a corner of thy shining countenance, and forthwith

even the lame start to run in pursuit of you--(he sings):

"Robin loves me, Robin has me!

Robin wants me, he shall have me!

Robin bought me a dainty hood.

It is scarlet, jaunty and good.

Robin loves me, Robin has me!"

Singing and jumping, Goose-Skin follows Mylio, who strikes across the

woods a path that leads to the mill of Chaillot.

CHAPTER III.

FLORETTE.

After the sparkling carbuncle, the humble violet, hidden under the

grass. Son of Joel, you have assisted at the libertine and salacious

amusements of the noble ladies assembled in the orchard of the

Marchioness of Ariol. Forget for a moment the rare trees, the carefully

cultivated flowers, the marble basin of that fairies' garden. Turn your

mind from the magnificent displayfulness of that place, and fix it upon

the rustic spectacle now presented to you. The moon has risen and shines

refulgent from the azure of the star-bespangled dome of heaven. With its

mellow rays it lights a leafy willow under which a streamlet, formed by

the overflow of the water that turns the mill of Chaillot, flows

murmuringly by. The murmur of the running streamlet over its pebbly

bottom, from time to time the melodious notes of the nightingale--these

alone constitute the music of this beautiful night that is, moreover,

embalmed by the perfume of the wild thyme, irises and furze. A girl of

fifteen years--Florette--is seated at the edge of the stream on the

fallen trunk of an old tree. A ray of the moon that filters through the

leafy vault above her head, partially illumines the girl's face. Her

long auburn hair parts over her virginal forehead and the two long thick

strands into which it is braided reach almost down to the ground. Her

only clothing is an old skirt of green serge, fastened at her waist over

a shirt of coarse grey material, that is held closed at her bosom with a

copper button. Her handsome arms are bare, as are her feet with which

she listlessly caresses the silvery water of the stream. Tearful and

absorbed in thought, Florette sat down where she was without noticing

that her feet dipped in the water. You have seen, son of Joel, the

handsome or charming faces of the noble friends of the Marchioness of

Ariol. Yet none of those was endowed with the chaste and touching grace

that imparts an inexpressible charm to the ingenuous features of

Florette. Does not the budding flower, half hidden under the dewy leaf,

offer to your eyes in the morning a flitting freshness that the

slightest breath might wilt? Such is Florette the spinner. An

industrious child, from dawn to dusk, often deep into the night, she

spins by the light of her little lamp. She spins, and ever spins, both

flax and hemp. She spins them with her dainty fingers that are no less

nimble than the spindle itself. Always confined to an ill-lighted

chamber, the pure and white skin of the poor serf has not been tanned by

the heat of sun; the hard labors of the field have not deformed her

delicate hands. Florette sits there so completely absorbed in her own

sadness that she does not hear the slight noise that proceeds from the

hedge within which the mill is enclosed. Yes, so sorrowful and

absent-minded does Florette sit by the stream that she does not even

notice Mylio, who, having scaled the hedge, is stepping forward with

caution, looking hither and thither as if expecting to see some one.

Having noticed the young girl, whose back is turned to him from where

she sits, Mylio approaches without being heard by her, and smiling

places his two hands over her eyes; but instantly feeling the tears of

the serf wet his fingers, he leaps over the trunk of the fallen tree,

kneels down before her and says in a voice of tender solicitude:

"You weep, dear beautiful child?"

FLORETTE (drying her tears and smiling)--"You are now here, Mylio; I

shall try to weep no more. The sight of you gives me strength and

courage."

MYLIO--"I feared to miss you at our trysting place. But here I am near

you, and I trust I can assuage your grief. Tell me, dear child, what is

it that makes you weep?"

FLORETTE--"This evening my aunt Chaillotte gave me a new skirt and a

waist of fine fabric, and she brought me a bunch of roses for me to

weave myself a chaplet."

MYLIO--"Why should these means of beautifying yourself cause your tears

to flow?"

FLORETTE--"Alas! My aunt insists on my looking well because she expects

seigneur the abbot at the mill to-morrow--he comes to see me, said she."

MYLIO--"The infamous Chaillotte!"

FLORETTE--"My aunt said to me: 'If seigneur the abbot takes a liking to

you, you must not repel him. A girl should refuse nothing to a priest.'"

MYLIO--"And what did you answer?"

FLORETTE--"That I would obey the holy abbot."

MYLIO--"Would you, indeed!"

FLORETTE--"I did not wish to irritate my aunt this evening. A refusal

might have angered her. She has suspected nothing, and I have been able

to come here."

MYLIO--"But to-morrow, when the abbot will come would you consent--"

FLORETTE--"Mylio, to-morrow you will not be there, as you were a

fortnight ago, to dash to my assistance and prevent me from being broken

in the wheel of the mill--"

MYLIO--"Do you contemplate dying?"

FLORETTE--"A fortnight ago and out of fear at the sight of seigneurs the

monks, I fell into the water without meaning to--to-morrow I shall

voluntarily throw myself into the river. (The young girl wipes her tears

with the back of her hand, and drawing from her bosom a little box-wood

spindle gives it to the trouvere.) A serf and an orphan, I own nothing

in the world but this little spindle. For six years, in order to gain

the bread that my aunt frequently begrudged me, this spindle has whirled

from morning to night between my fingers; but in the last fortnight it

has more than once stood still, every time I interrupted my work to

think of you, Mylio--of you who saved my life. I therefore now ask you

as a favor that you keep the spindle as a souvenir of me, poor wretched

serf!"

MYLIO (with tears in his eyes and pressing the spindle to his

lips)--"Dear little spindle, thou, the companion of the lonely watches

of the little spinner; thou, who earned for her a bitter enough daily

bread; thou, that, lost in revery, she often contemplated hanging from a

single thread; dear little spindle, I shall ever keep thee, thou shalt

be my most precious treasure. (He takes from his fingers several gold

rings ornamented with precious stones and throws them into the stream

that runs at his feet.) To the devil with all these impure souvenirs!"

FLORETTE--"Why do you cast these rings into the water? Why do you throw

them away? Why that imprecation?"

MYLIO--"Go! Go! ye shameful souvenirs of an impure life! Ephemeral

pledges of a love as fickle as the waters that are now carrying you

away! Go! I prefer the spindle of Florette!"

FLORETTE (takes and kisses the trouvere's hands, and murmurs amid

tears)--"Oh, Mylio! I shall die happy!"

MYLIO (closing her in his arms)--"Die! You, die? Sweet, dear child, no!

Oh, no! Will you follow me?"

FLORETTE (sadly)--"You are trifling with me. What an offer do you make

to me!"

MYLIO--"Will you accompany me? I know in Blois a worthy woman, to whose

house I shall take you. You will remain hidden in the house two or three

days. We shall then depart for Languedoc, where I shall meet my brother.

During the journey you shall be my sister; upon our arrival you will

become my wife. My brother will bless our union. Will you entrust

yourself to me? Will you follow me on the spot? Will you come to my

country and live near my brother? All that I am telling you can be

easily done."

FLORETTE (has listened to the trouvere with increasing astonishment, she

passes her two hands over her forehead and says in a tremulous

voice)--"Am I dreaming? Is it yourself who ask me whether I would follow

you? Whether I would consent to be your wife?"

MYLIO (kneels down before the young serf, takes her two hands and

answers passionately)--"Yes, sweet child. It is myself who am saying to

you: 'Come, you shall be my wife! Will you be Mylio's?'"

FLORETTE--"Whether I will? To leave hell for paradise? Yes, I consent to

follow you!"

MYLIO (rises and listens in the direction of the hedge)--"It is the

voice of Goose-Skin! He is calling for help! What can have happened!"

FLORETTE (clasping her hands in despair)--"Oh! I knew it! It was a

dream!"

MYLIO (draws his sword and takes the girl's hand)--"Follow me, dear

child; fear nothing. Mylio will know how to defend you."

The trouvere walks rapidly towards the hedge, holding Florette by the

hand. The cries of Goose-Skin redouble in the measure that Mylio

approaches the hedge that surrounds the garden of the mill, and behind

which he causes Florette to conceal herself with the recommendation that

she remain silent and motionless. He then leaps over the enclosure, and

by the light of the moon he perceives the juggler puffing and blowing

and wrestling with a man whose face is concealed under the hood of his

brown cloak. At the sight of Mylio running to his help, Goose-Skin

redoubles his efforts and succeeds in throwing his adversary down.

Turning thereupon his own enormous weight to account, and thereby easily

keeping the hooded man under him, the juggler, who is now out of breath

with the struggle, lays himself face down, flat upon his adversary, who,

feeling himself crushed under the extraordinary weight, gasps in a rage:

"Wretch--vagabond--to--smother--me!"

GOOSE-SKIN (panting for breath)--"Ouf! After victory how delightful, how

glorious to rest on one's laurels! Victory! Victory, Mylio! The monster

is overcome!"

THE HOODED MAN--"I die--under--this mountain of flesh! Help! Help!--I

die--Help!"

MYLIO--"My old Goose-Skin, I shall never forget the service that you

have rendered me. Do not move. Keep that fellow down! Do not allow him

to rise and flee."

GOOSE-SKIN (stretching himself more and more at his ease over the

prostrate body of his adversary)--"Even if I wanted to rise, I could

not, I am so completely out of breath. Besides, I feel myself quite

comfortable upon the round cushion under me."

THE HOODED MAN--"Help! Murder! This beggar is breaking my ribs--Help!"

MYLIO (quickly stooping down)--"I know this voice! (He removes the hood

that hides the face of the vanquished man) Abbot Reynier! The superior

of the Abbey of Citeaux!"

GOOSE-SKIN (with a rude up-and-down wabble that draws a moan from the

monk)--"An abbot! I have the round body of an abbot for mattress!

Oxhorns! Suppose I take a nap! I would surely dream of pretty nuns and

good fare!"

MYLIO (to the monk)--"Ha! Ha! Sir Ribald! Consumed by your lustful

appetite you could not wait until to-morrow to eat the dainty dish of

fritters that you yesterday spoke about to me. Aye, driven by your

voracious hunger, you meant to introduce yourself this very night into

the house of the infamous Chaillotte, feeling assured that she would be

ready to dance attendance upon you at all hours! Ha! Ha! Sir Priapus!

You are there like a fox caught in a trap!"

GOOSE-SKIN--"I was hidden in the shadow, when I saw this fellow slinking

up to the hedge and making ready to climb it. Like a true Caesar, I fell

upon him when he was out of his balance--and I shall hold him. I am on

top! The enemy is vanquished!"

ABBOT REYNIER--"Oh, you brace of vile jugglers! You will pay dearly for

this outrage!"

MYLIO--"You speak truly, Reynier, abbot superior of the monks of Citeaux

of the Abbey of St. Victor! To-morrow it will be daylight, and that

daylight will expose your shame! You tonsured hypocrites may impose upon

simpletons and fools, but my valiant friend Goose-Skin and myself are

neither simpletons nor poltroons! We also enjoy a certain power! Now,

remember this, Sir Ribald. Should you be foolhardy enough to try to do

us some injury in revenge for this night's affair, we shall put it into

a song--Goose-Skin for the taverns, myself for the castles. By heaven!

From one end of Gaul to the other the lay will be sung of 'Reynier,

Abbot of Citeaux, going at night to snoop fritters at Chaillotte's, the

miller's wife, and getting only blows for his pains.'"

GOOSE-SKIN--"You fat monastic debauchee, trust to me for adding all the

needed zest to the music!"

ABBOT REYNIER (panting for breath)--"You are sacrilegious wretches--I am

here at your mercy--I promise you to keep quiet. But, Mylio, are you

after my life? Order this monstrous varlet of yours to roll off me--I am

suffocating! Mercy!"

MYLIO--"In order to be properly punished for having dreamed of a

paradise of love, you may well tarry a little longer in purgatory, my

chaste monk! You, Goose-Skin, keep him fast until you hear me cry:

'Good-evening, Sir Ribald!' You may then rise, and Seigneur Fox may run

off with his ears hanging, and take shelter in his holy burrow. Here is

my sword, with which you may keep this model of monastic chastity in

check if he should endeavor to rebel against you. To-morrow morning, my

valiant Caesar, I shall inform you of any further projects."

GOOSE-SKIN (takes up the sword, changes his posture in such a way that

he sits squarely upon the monk's stomach, and, pointing the sword at the

face of the prostrate man, says)--"You can go, Mylio; I shall wait for

the signal."

The trouvere re-enters the garden and speedily issues out of it with

Florette, whom he has wrapped in his cloak. He takes her in his arms and

helps her leap over the hedge, and thereupon the two lovers walk rapidly

towards the shaded road on which they presently disappear. At the sight

of the young serf, whom he immediately recognizes, Abbot Reynier emits a

deep sigh of grief and rage, a sigh that is rendered doubly doleful by

the weight of the juggler, who, comfortably seated upon the monk's

stomach, endeavors to while away the time both to himself and his

prisoner by singing the following bucolic:

"Fresh when blooms the violet,

And the rose and gladiol',

When the nightingale's songs roll,

Then I'm lured in love's sweet net,

Sing a song much prettier yet,

For the love of my own pet,

For the love of my Gueulette."

ABBOT REYNIER (in a fainting voice)--"The vagabond--is--flattening out

my intestines--he is pressing the life out of--me--"

MYLIO (from the distance)--"Good-evening, Sir Ribald! I can hear you

from afar!"

GOOSE-SKIN (rises with difficulty by helping himself up with one hand;

with the other he holds the sword pointed at the monk while he thus

walks backward in the direction whence the voice of Mylio

came)--"Good-evening, Sir Ribald! This is the moral of the adventure:

'He who fries the fish, often sees it eaten by another.'"

CHAPTER IV.

THE GARDEN OF EGLANTINE.

The night and two-thirds of the day have passed since the adventures of

the previous evening. You now see, son of Joel, a long avenue of

odoriferous trees that lead to the Court of Love, otherwise known as the

"Session Under the Elm." The session is held in the garden of the castle

of Eglantine, Viscountess of Seligny. On either side of the avenue, the

walled ditches are filled with limpid water, where swans and other

beautiful aquatic birds disport themselves. They swim and frolic in

loving couples, and cut gracefully through the water. The golden fish in

the canals, the twittering birds that flutter overhead from branch to

branch, seem also to go in couples. Only a poor featherless turtle dove,

perched on the top of a dead tree, utters plaintive notes in its lonely

singleness. The long alley which is intersected only by the bridge of

the canal, runs out upon a grass-plot that is studded with a thousand

flowers and in the center of which a magnificent elm raises its majestic

trunk, the thick foliage of whose branches builds a thick dome that is

impenetrable to the rays of the sun. It is under this elm that are held

the sessions of the Court of Love, a licentious tribunal that is also

called the "Chamber of Sweet Vows." The court is presided over by a

"Queen of Beauty," who represents Venus. The queen is Marphise, the

Marchioness of Ariol. The assistant female judges are Deliane, the

Canoness of Nivelle, Eglantine, Viscountess of Seligny, and Huguette of

Montreuel. The male judges at the Court of Love are, first of all, Sir

Hercules, Seigneur of Chinon, a redoubtable knight, blind of one eye and

ugly, but, it is said, much in demand with the ladies. He wears a rich

tunic with flowing sleeves, and on his black and kinky hair a chaplet of

gladiolas bound together with a pink ribbon. Next to him in importance

is Adam the Hunchback of Arras, a trouvere renowned for his licentious

songs; he is short and bears a hump both in front and behind. His eyes

sparkle with mischief; he looks like an old monkey. Next comes Master

Oenobarbus, the theological rhetorician, celebrated for the orthodoxy of

his religious controversies with the University of Paris. The

illustrious disputer is a dry, bilious and bald old man. Nevertheless he

affects the dandy, snaps his eyes, squeezes his mouth into the shape of

a heart and paints his hollow cheeks. He wears a tunic of pale green

silk, and his chaplet of interwoven daisies and violets conceals only

partly his scrawny lemon-colored skull. The last of the masculine judges

is Foulques, Seigneur of Bercy, only recently back from the Holy Land.

His bronzed and scarred visage testifies to his valiant services beyond

the seas. He is young, tall, and despite his somewhat ferocious mien,

has a pleasant face.

Garlands of flowers and streamers of ribbons hanging from gilt pillars

mark the sacred precincts of the tribunal. Farther away stands a

brilliant and choice assembly--noble ladies and knights, abbots and

abbesses from the neighboring monasteries. Mischievous looking pages and

jesting equerries have also put in an appearance at this session of the

Court of Love. Among the vast assemblage are the eleven friends of

Marphise, who the previous afternoon enjoyed the liberality of her

hospitality and joined her in swearing vengeance upon Mylio the

Trouvere, a vengeance, however, that he escaped by failing at the

rendezvous which engaged him to be in Marphise's orchard at night. The

petulant and vindictive little Countess Ursine, the bitterest of all the

twelve enraged beauties, can not keep in one place for a single instant.

She bristles from one lady friend to the other with an air of importance

and anger; whispers in the ear of one; makes a sign to another, and from

time to time exchanges significant looks with Marphise, the President of

the tribunal. Two large posts covered with foliage and flowers and each

surmounted with a silk flag--one bearing the effigy of Venus, the other

that of her son Cupid--mark the entrance to the Court of Love. At the

entrance of the enclosure stands Giraud of Lancon, a noble knight, who

officiates as the porter of the Chamber of Sweet Vows. He allows no lady

pleader to enter without exacting from her the toll of a kiss. Within

the enclosure, and ready for the orders of the tribunal, are William,

Seigneur of Lamotte, whose office is Conservator of the High Privileges

of Love; Lambert, Seigneur of Limoux, who is the Bailiff of the Joy of

Joys; Hugues, Seigneur of Lascy, who is the Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram,

and, as such, the one upon whom the duty devolves of introducing the

fair pleaders, from whom he also has the right to exact the fee of a

kiss; moreover it is his duty to assist the Bailiff of the Joy of Joys

in chaining with streamers of ribbons and flowers those upon whom the

tribunal pronounces sentence, and to lead them to the Prison of Love--a

somber tunnel of verdure furnished with moss couches, and located at a

secluded spot of the garden.

Such are the morals of these noble women and men; such are the pastimes

and amusements of the nobility of this epoch. Son of Joel, listen and

look; but do not feel surprised if at times your heart should leap with

indignation or sink with disgust.

Presently silence is ordered. Marphise, the President, opens a little

cage with gilt bars that is placed near her. Two white doves fly out,

flutter about for a moment, and then perch themselves on one of the

branches of the elm where they fall to cooing lovingly. The flight of

the doves announces the opening of the session.

MARPHISE (rising)--"Let our Conservator of the High Privileges of Love

call the cases that are to come up to-day before the Chamber of Sweet

Vows."

WILLIAM OF LAMOTTE (reading from a parchment ornamented with blue and

red bows)--"Aigline, high and noble Lady of La Roche-Aubert, Canoness of

Mons-en-Puelle, plaintiff; Sister Agnes, Bernardine nun, known by the

surname of the Plump Beauty, defendant."

The two parties to the suit step out of the crowd and approach the

precincts of the tribunal, led by the Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram.

Canoness Aigline is handsome and tall, her mien is imperious. She steps

forward, proud and arrogant, dressed in a long scarlet robe embroidered

with ermine. Her deliberate gait, her eyes, dark, brilliant and bold,

her stately beauty, contrast strongly with the humble attitude of her

opponent, Sister Agnes, the Bernardine nun known as the Plump Beauty.

The latter wears an unassuming robe of lustrous and well-fitting grey

drugget, that, however, sets off her ample proportions. A linen veil,

white as snow, frames in her face which shines with freshness and

health. Her plump and rosy cheeks are as downy as a peach. A smile that

is both pious and arch plays around her mouth, which, although rather

large, is appetizingly red and is furnished with two rows of pearly

teeth. Her large blue and amorous eyes are devoutly lowered and impart

to her the appearance of a purring puss. Her gait, in keeping with her

appearance, causes the hem of her dress just to graze the sward,

without, however, throwing the folds of her dress into disorder.

Altogether, Sister Agnes presents the aspect of the most charming woman

who ever emitted a sigh of love from under her monastic veil or in the

oratory of a convent.

At the moment when the stately and haughty canoness, accompanied by the

modest and well-rounded sister in grey, passes before Giraud of Lancon,

a veritable devil in sheepskin with eyes that sparkle with indomitable

fire, posted at the entrance of the sacred precincts of the Court, he

claims from the two litigants the toll that is due him--a kiss from

each. The superb Aigline drops the kiss with the disdainful pride of a

rich woman who gives an alms to a poor waif. Sister Agnes, on the

contrary, acquits herself of her toll duties with such conscientiousness

and suavity that the porter's eyes glisten like two burning coals. The

canoness and the Bernardine nun step into the enclosure reserved for the

litigants. Aigline advances with resolute steps to the foot of the

tribunal, where Marphise sits enthroned in the seat of Venus the Queen

of Love, and after making a slight bow, as if the token of deference

severely tried her pride, addresses the Court in a sonorous voice:

"Gracious Queen, deign to listen to us; receive with kindness the

complaints of your faithful subjects, who, until now jealous for your

cult, promise ever to remain equally devoted. For a long time all that

was noble and gallant deemed it a glory to love us, us the canonesses.

But, lo and behold, the grey Bernardine nuns are now striving to capture

our friends away from us. These interloping nuns are alluring and

complaisant, and they demand neither attention nor patient devotion. And

so it happens that the men are occasionally base enough to prefer these

nuns to us noble ladies. Therefore have we come, gracious Queen, to pray

you that you curb the insolence of the Bernardines, in order that

henceforth they shall not aspire after the noblemen who are made for

us, and for whom we are created."

The Bernardine nun steps forward in her turn, but timid and so modest,

and with her white hands so piously joined over her well-rounded bust

that all hearts are in her favor even before she has spoken. Instead of

only slightly bowing before the tribunal, as her accuser had done, the

little grey sister humbly falls upon her knees, and without even daring

to raise her beautiful blue eyes, addresses Marphise in a sweet voice

that sounds like the rippling of pearls:

"Kind and mighty Queen, to whose service the lives of us poor Bernardine

nuns are pledged, I have heard the accusation of our proud enemies.

What! Has not the Almighty Creator shaped us also for love? Are there

not among us women as beautiful and as attractive as among the superb

canonesses? Ermine and scarlet ornament their gowns, while in the

simplicity of our Order, our gowns have no ornament but that of

neatness. I admit that. But in exchange, we have ways, practices and

observances that, it seems to me, are at least equal to beautiful gowns.

The canonesses claim that we pilfer their friends away from them. No!

No! It is their haughtiness that repels their friends. Clad in our own

angelic sweetness, their friends prefer us to them. To please without

being exacting, to charm without dominating, to tender a love that is

humble yet at once fervent and disinterested--that is all our

'artfulness.' Oh, kind Queen, is it any fault of ours if our

adversaries fail to practice so simple an art--the art of loving?"

AIGLINE THE CANONESS (excitedly)--"What! Are these servants of the poor

to be allowed to add insult to injury? Certes, that man ought to blush

at his taste who should prefer a Bernardine nun to us--a Bernardine nun

with her grey skirt and her convent gossip! What knight would ever think

of them were it not for their impudent and persistent wiles? Brazen

provocations, that is the secret of their power! Seeing that it must be

said, I shall tell you, Oh Queen, to the shame of the Love whose

protecting mother you are, to the shame of the Love that moans at

beholding itself thus dragged into the mire, it is by the baseness of

their attachments that so many noble hearts, who otherwise would belong

to us, are lost. (Imperiously addressing the little sister in grey) Go

to! You have your mendicant monks and your convent brothers. That should

suffice you. Keep them. They would cut but a sorry figure in our

monasteries of Maubeuge, of Mons or of Nivelle--the rendezvous of the

choicest company. But dare not to raise your aspirations to the knights,

to the Princes of the Church, to the nobles, to the canons or to the

abbots. I forbid you!"

THE BERNARDINE NUN (with a bitter-sweet accent)--"You always return to

our grey skirts! Certes, they are not as costly as your scarlet robes.

And therefore it is not on that plane that we draw the comparison

between us. What we hold is that we are at least equal to you in point

of heart, in point of youth and in point of our charms. It is in the

name of these humble qualities, which we believe we possess, and in the

name of the fervor with which, Oh! Queen, we have ever worshiped at your

altars, that we, Bernardine nuns, conjure you to accord to us the

benefit of Love, and we request that you deny the unjust pretensions of

the canonesses, and that, by a decree issued from the Chamber of Sweet

Vows, these insatiable petitioners be and remain forever non-suited."

After pronouncing with energy the last words of her plea, the little

sister in grey modestly bows before the Court. Heated discussions

forthwith break out in the audience. Opinion is divided. Some approve

the haughty demands of the canonesses. Others, on the contrary, maintain

that the Bernardine nuns have the right on their side in refusing to

allow themselves to be dispossessed of the friends whom they have won by

their sweetness and grace. Marphise consults the tribunal, and then

gives judgment amid profound silence, as follows:

"You, canonesses, and you, Bernardine nuns, have come here to demand

judgment in the name of the Goddess of Love, whose unworthy

representative I am. This is the decree that she orders me to pronounce

in her name: It is I, Venus, who cause Love to spring up in the human

bosom. There is no creature in nature whom I do not inspire with certain

desires. Fishes, birds and quadrupeds, all render allegiance to my

empire. Animals, however, only follow their own instincts. Man is the

only being whom God has endowed with the gift of choice. Accordingly,

whatever his choice may be, I approve it, provided only it is guided by

Love. In my eyes, the female serf and the daughter of the monarch are

equal, provided they be young, handsome and loyally and devotedly love.

Canonesses in robes of ermine and purple, I always have esteemed your

services; your rich attire, your loving graces, your cultivated minds,

your ancient nobility will constantly attract friends to you. Keep them,

but do not drive from my amorous Court the poor Bernardine nuns who

serve me in their humble capacity with as much ardor, zeal and

constancy. You excel them by your raiment; milk and rose water impart

attractive whiteness to your skin; the red paint that enlivens your

cheeks adds luster to your sparkling eyes; perfumes of the Orient embalm

your magnificently braided hair; incessantly surrounded by the flower of

knighthood and of the Church, and accustomed to the niceties of language

and to choice expressions of gallantry, your conversation is more

entertaining than that of the poor grey sisters, who only hear the flat

language and coarse raillery of mendicant monks and convent brothers.

You are more dazzling and dashing than the humble Bernardines.

Nevertheless, the gentle and well-fed mule of a curate goes as far as

the curveting palfrey of a knight. The pheasant seduces our eyes with

its golden and azure plumage. Nevertheless, it is the bird's delicate,

white and fat meat that pleases the palate; and the partridge, under its

modest grey feathers, is as toothsome as the brilliant bird of

Phoenicia. I never could order any of the subjects of my empire to

prefer this lady-love to that. I will that their choice be free, varied

and numerous. As to your lovers, noble canonesses, it depends upon you

alone whether you will keep them or not. Be, like the Bernardine nuns,

at once sweet and ardent, obliging and exacting. You will not then ever

have to fear any infidelity."

The decree, worthy of Solomon, is received with general approval.

Nevertheless, yielding to a pardonable sense of fellowship, Deliane the

canoness emerges from her habitual languor, and seems to protest to the

other members of the tribunal against a decree that she regards as

unfavorable to the station of the canonesses. No less angry than

Deliane, forgetful of the religious respect that the decrees of the

sovereign Court are to be surrounded with, at the moment when, led by

the Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram, Aigline leaves the precinct of the

tribunal the latter pinches the Bernardine nun in the arm and says to

her in a spiteful tone: "Oh, you menial!--you have had me

non-suited--just heavens!--me!--non-suited!" Although smarting both from

the words and the vicious pinch, the little sister in grey contains

herself and casts an angelic look heavenward as if to court the

Almighty's favor with her martyrdom. The slight commotion created by the

vicious prank of the canoness is quickly calmed, and Marphise says:

"The case has been heard and judged. Now our Bailiff of the Joy of Joys

shall submit to us the disputed questions of Love, if there be any, in

order that the Court may pass upon them, and its decisions have the

force of law."

THE BAILIFF OF THE JOY OF JOYS (advances to the foot of the tribunal

carrying in one hand a roll of parchment tied in many-colored ribbons;

he bows to Marphise and says:)--"Illustrious Queen, I have received a

large number of questions touching upon grave, ticklish and delicate

points concerning the orthodoxy of Love. From all the corners of the

empire of Venus, your subjects address themselves to your supreme

infallible Court, and implore the charity of its light. The duchy of

Languors, the marquisate of Desires, the county of Refusal, the barony

of Expectation, together with so many other fiefs of your kingdom, Oh!

gracious Queen, humbly pray the Chamber of Sweet Vows to pass upon the

following questions, to the end that its decree may put an end to the

doubts of the people and determine the doctrine they are to adhere to.

They all stand in as much dread of heresy in matters that concern Love,

as they do in matters that concern the salvation of their souls."

MARPHISE--"Let our Bailiff of the Joy of Joys read the questions that

have been sent to be submitted to the Court. The Court will then go into

deliberative session, unless some urgent case that demands immediate

trial present itself in the meantime."

Saying this Marphise exchanges looks with Countess Ursine, whose

petulant impatience has been steadily on the increase.

THE BAILIFF OF THE JOY OF JOYS--"These are the questions submitted to

the supreme and infallible decision of the Court:

"1--Who should be sadder, he whose lady-love has died, or he whose

lady-love marries?

"2--Who should feel greater affliction, the husband whose wife is

unfaithful, or the lover who is deceived by his lady-love?

"3--Who is more to be blamed, he who boasts of favors that have not been

accorded him, or he who divulges the favors he has received from his

fair lady-love?

"4--You have a rendezvous with a married woman, which should you

prefer--to see the husband leave the house of your lady-love when you

are entering it; or see him enter when you are leaving?

"5--You have a lady-love; a rival takes her from you; which of the two

should feel happier--you who have been the fair one's first love, or

your rival whom she now prefers to you?

"6--A lover is enjoying the favors of his lady-love; a rival is in a

fair way of gaining them; she dies; which of the two should experience

deeper sorrow at the cruel loss?

"7--Your lady-love proposes to you one single day of joy under the

condition that you never after see her again; or she offers to see you

every day without, however, ever granting you any favors--which would

you prefer?"

"Oh, the devil!" cries Foulques of Bercy, one of the judges of the Court

of Love, suddenly interrupting the Bailiff of the Joy of Joys, "the

thing to do is to accept the day that is offered, and to enjoy it all

you can!"

MARPHISE (turning with severity towards the Seigneur of Bercy)--"We wish

to remind our gracious colleague that in a matter of such gravity and

importance the individual opinion of one member of the Court may in no

wise prejudge the merits of the case. (Foulques of Bercy bows

reverently.) Let our bailiff continue to read."

THE BAILIFF OF THE JOY OF JOYS--"8--Who should prize himself happier--an

old woman who has a young man for her lover, or an old man who has a

young girl for his lady-love?

"9--Which is preferable for a lady-love, a married woman or a maid?

"10--What is preferable, an unfaithful but beautiful lady-love, or a

less beautiful but faithful one?

"11--Two women are equal in point of beauty, of youth and of worth; one

has loved before; the other is still a novice; should a lover be more

anxious to please the former than to be beloved by the latter?

"12--A woman has obstinately rejected her lover and thereby caused his

death; should she be considered barbarous and a homicide, responsible

for the death that she caused?

"Such are the grave questions submitted for the decision of the Chamber

of Sweet Vows, and concerning which the inhabitants of the empire of

Cytherea humbly pray the Court to deliberate and pass upon, to the end

that the Court's decisions may be taken for a guide, and the people be

not exposed to fall into detestable and damnable heresies in matters of

Love."

ADAM THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS--"As a member of the Court I shall request

our beautiful and gracious President to give me leave to make a remark

upon the last question."

MARPHISE--"Illustrious trouvere, it is always happiness to us to hear

your voice. Impart to us your precious observation."

ADAM THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS--"I am of the opinion that the last question

should be excluded. It is no longer a debatable question. It has been

more than once decided in the affirmative--"

MASTER OENOBARBUS THE THEOLOGIAN--"Yes, the question has been disposed

of in the affirmative upon the reasoning presented by me. I beg leave of

the Court to be allowed to refresh its memory upon my reasoning. It was

this:

"'The Court, being consulted upon the question whether a woman, who, by

reason of her austerity, causes the death of a gallant, is a homicide.

Whereas, if Love hates obdurate hearts, God hates them no less; whereas,

God, the same as Love, allows Himself to be disarmed by a tender prayer;

whereas, whatever the manner may be in which a man's death is brought

about, you are guilty of murder from the moment that it appears that the

death resulted from your action; therefore the Court of Sweet Vows

decrees and orders as follows: The woman, who, through the rigor of her

refusal, has caused the death of a gallant, by whom she was loyally

courted, is actually guilty of barbarism and homicide.'

"Such was the decision of the Court. I do not believe the Court is

willing to reconsider its decree."

All the members of the tribunal rise and declare that they adhere to

their former judgment.

ADAM THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS--"In order to corroborate our decree and to

render it more popular and easy to be remembered, I propose that it be

formulated in meter, as follows:

"You are pretty, young and tender,

Deigned to others show much good:

Hear my verdict: Nothing e'er would

God above so much displease

As to let a Christian die, whom

You could save with greatest ease."

Both the tribunal and the audience applaud the metrical rendition of the

decree, as proposed by Adam the Hunchback of Arras. The Court proceeds

with the business before it.

MARPHISE--"Our Bailiff of the Joy of Joys shall insert the memorable

decree in the archives of the Court, and order all our trouveres,

minstrels, jugglers and other sinful brothers of the gay science, that

they spread the formula of the sovereign decree with their songs among

the subjects of Cytherea, to the end that none may plead ignorance on

the head of the monstrous heresy--the idea that a woman who causes the

death of her gallant by reason of her refusal is not a homicide."

MASTER OENOBARBUS THE THEOLOGIAN (with fanatical zeal)--"Yes; let the

women know that if other heresies may be expiated on earth in the flames

of the pyre, the vestibule of the eternal fire, let the tigresses know

that before they reach the furnace of Satan they will have to expiate

their impiousness in this world in the furnace of remorse. Night and day

they have before their eyes the specter of the ill-starred gallant,

their victim."

DELIANE THE CANONESS (plaintively languorous)--"Oh, only the pursuit of

their gallants on the other side of the grave will cause these inhuman

women to understand--but, alas! only too late--all the harm they have

done."

MARPHISE (vainly seeking to detect the impatient Countess Ursine in the

audience)--"Well--seeing that there is no other pressing suit before the

Court, the tribunal will now take up the questions that have been

submitted to it, and all of which demand its attention."

CHAPTER V.

THE CRUSADERS!

The Queen of Beauty and President of the Court of Love has barely

pronounced the words that indicate the taking up of the routine work

before her, when the petulant Ursine hurriedly elbows her way through

the crowd and presents herself at the entrance of the sacred precinct.

Giraud, Seigneur of Lancon, demands in his quality of porter the

customary toll due him--a kiss from the fair litigant. Ursine gives him

two on the mouth and walks to the foot of the tribunal crying: "Justice!

Justice!"

MARPHISE (with a sigh of relief and triumph)--"Speak, dear friend.

Justice will be rendered to you, if your right is clear."

COUNTESS URSINE (imperiously)--"Whether my right is clear! Just heavens!

Whether our rights are clear, I should say! I am the representative of

eleven victims, among whom I am the twelfth!"

MARPHISE--"Justice will be done to each and to all. What is your

grievance?"

COUNTESS URSINE--"Each of us, my eleven companions and myself, had a

secret gallant. He was charming, witty, daring, bold. Suddenly we

learned that we all had the identical lover! The traitor was deceiving

all twelve of us at once! Was there ever such audacity?"

ADAM THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS (claps his hands and exclaims:)--"What! All

the twelve! Oh, the terrible man! What an ample heart must not his be!"

The unheard-of felony throws the members of the Court into mute stupor,

except Marphise, Deliane, Huguette and Eglantine, who exchange knowing

looks among themselves.

FOULQUES OF BERCY--"I wish to put a question to the plaintiff. Did the

prodigious criminal at the time when his shocking infidelity was

discovered show himself less daring than usual towards the plaintiff and

her companions in misfortune?"

COUNTESS URSINE (with an explosion of violent indignation)--"Never did

the criminal act more charming. And we said so in secret to one another,

unknowing, alas! that we were all the while speaking of the identical

deceiver! We each said to the others: 'I have a magnificent lover, a

matchless gallant! He is always the same'--"

FOULQUES OF BERCY--"And you were all the time being nicely deceived, all

the twelve?"

COUNTESS URSINE (furious)--"Yes! It is that very circumstance that

renders the traitor all the more guilty!"

Foulques of Bercy shrugs his shoulders and does not seem to share the

plaintiff's opinion regarding the aggravation of the offense. Several

members of the Court, Marphise, Deliane, Eglantine and Huguette,

excepted, the majority of the fair ones in the gathering seem, on the

whole, rather to take the view of Foulques of Bercy, and to see an

extenuating circumstance in the very enormity of the misdeed. Marphise

notices with deep concern the propensity to indulgence. She rises

majestically in her seat and says:

"I wish to believe that all the members of the Court join me in feeling

a legitimate indignation at the miscreant, who, trampling under foot all

the divine and human laws of Love, has dared to commit so formidable an

offense against fidelity. If, however, it should happen that I am

mistaken; if there be any member of this tribunal inclined to indulgence

in sight of such an enormity, let him admit it openly, and his name and

his views will be proclaimed throughout the length and breadth of the

empire of Cytherea."

A profound silence ensues among the members of the Court.

MARPHISE (radiant)--"Oh, I felt certain that this august tribunal, which

has been established in order to take, with severe solicitude,

cognizance of the crimes against Love and to check them, aye, even to

punish them, if need be, would show itself worthy of its mission.

(Addresses the countess.) Dear friend, did you summon the criminal to

our bar?"

COUNTESS URSINE--"Yes, I summoned him to appear before the Court of

Sweet Vows; and whether it be audacity on his part or a stricken

conscience, he has obeyed the summons. I demand that it may please the

Court to deliver him to the twelve victims of his felony. They will

wreak signal vengeance upon him. (Impetuously.) We must see to it before

everything else that the monster, the traitor, the felon shall no longer

be able to deceive other women--and that he be punished on the spot--"

MARPHISE (hastening to interrupt the countess)--"Sweet friend, before

inflicting punishment, the Court must hear the accused."

COUNTESS URSINE--"The culprit has obeyed our summons and has come

accompanied by a fat varlet of a man, whom, he says, he may need in his

defense. They are both locked up in the Prison of Love back of the

garden."

MARPHISE--"We order our Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram and our Bailiff of

the Joy of Joys to bring forth the culprit and to lead him hither in

chains as is the usage, with the customary garlands on his head."

The Seneschal and the Bailiff furnish themselves with two long red and

blue ribbons to which several bouquets of flowers are fastened and

proceed towards the shady tunnel to fetch the prisoner. A great

agitation reigns among the crowd. Opinion is divided on the degree of

the culprit's guilt. Unanimous, however, is the curiosity to see the

lusty champion. Mylio the Trouvere presently appears, led by the

Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram and the Bailiff of the Joy of Joys.

Goose-Skin modestly remains outside of the enclosure of the Court. The

youth and good looks of the accused, his renown as a poet and singer,

immediately turn the female portion of the assembly in his favor.

MARPHISE (addressing Mylio in an imposing voice)--"You are charged

before the Chamber of Sweet Vows with a crime unheard-of in the annals

of Love. What have you to say in your own defense?"

MYLIO--"What is the crime that I am charged with?"

MARPHISE--"You have deceived twelve women at once. Each of them believed

she alone had you for her gallant. What blacker treason can there be?"

MYLIO--"Who are my accusers? I demand to see them and to be confronted

by them."

COUNTESS URSINE (impetuously)--"I accuse you! I am one of your twelve

victims. Will you dare to deny your crime?"

MYLIO--"My accuser is such a charming lady, that even if I were innocent

I would confess myself guilty. I have come hither to make a solemn

expiation of the past. I could choose no better place, no better time,

and no better audience. Deign to hear me."

MARPHISE--"Your frankness will not extenuate your crimes, albeit that it

does honor to your character. Do I understand you to say that you admit

your felony?"

MYLIO--"Yes; I have made love to noble, beautiful, obliging and easy

ladies who were mad for pleasure, and who were governed by no law other

than their own caprice."

MARPHISE--"Dare you impugn your victims?"

MYLIO--"Far from me be any such thought! Raised in the lap of plenty,

ignorance and idleness, those noble ladies only yielded to corrupting

examples and counsels. Had they been born in obscurity, leading an

honorable existence amidst the occupations and joys of family life,

they would all have been exemplary mothers and wives. But how could

those noble ladies choose but forget virtue, honor and duty in these

shameful days when debauchery has its code and libertinage its decrees,

and where unchastity, sitting in a sovereign Court, regulates vice and

decrees adultery? Such is the mission of the Court of Love."

Indescribable amazement is depicted on the faces of the Court, its

pursuivants and the audience, at the words of Mylio. The members of the

Chamber of Sweet Vows look at one another stupefied by the irreverent

language. Master Oenobarbus, the theological rhetorician, and Adam the

Hunchback of Arras rise to make answer, while the knight Foulques of

Bercy, the Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram and the Bailiff of the Joy of

Joys, all of whom are experts at their weapons, mechanically put their

hands to their sides in search of their swords. But they all attended

Court unarmed, according to the usage of the institution. Marphise raps

for silence and says to the trouvere:

"Wretch! Dare you insult these august tribunals that are established

throughout Gaul in order to propagate the laws of gallantry!"

"And of unbridled lechery!" cries a little flute-like voice,

interrupting Marphise. The words proceed from Goose-Skin, who, in order

to interject the incongruous words disguised his voice and traitorously

hid himself behind a cluster of foliage against which a young page, who

was placed near the entrance of the Court, leaned with his back not far

from the Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram. Stung to the quick, the dignitary

turns around and seizes the lad by the collar while Goose-Skin, emerging

from his hiding place cries in a voice that he purposely renders all the

more raucous: "The insolent little joker! From what brothel can he have

come that he uses such foul language towards noble dames? He should be

driven out on the spot, Seigneur Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram!

Oxhorns--Let us throw him out!"

The poor page looks nonplussed; his face turns red; he is dumbfounded;

he seeks in vain to stammer a few words in his own defense; he is beaten

by the indignant crowd; and finally, in order to escape worse treatment,

flees in the direction of the avenue of trees. After a while the turmoil

created by this incident subsides.

MARPHISE (with dignity)--"I know not what were the infamous words that

the miserable page, who no doubt is intoxicated, hurled at this

tribunal. But the vile words have fallen by virtue of the weight of

their own grossness back into the mire from which they issued, and have

not been able to rise to the pure ether of Love that this Court

inhabits! (A murmur of approbation receives the ethereal response of

Marphise, who thereupon proceeds, addressing Mylio:) What! A hundred

times did you repeat on the harp the decrees of the tribunal of

Cytherea; and now you insult it! Do you forget that only your chants

succeeded in lowering the otherwise insuperable barrier that rose

between yourself and the noble assemblages where you were tolerated

among the knights and the abbots, you, the child of villeins, you, a

vile serf, no doubt! The baseness of the language you have held to-day

reveals but too clearly the ignominy of your origin."

MYLIO (with bitterness)--"You speak truly. I am of serf stock. For

centuries your race has enslaved, degraded and crushed down mine. Yes;

while you here brazenly discuss in refined language foolish or obscene

subtleties, millions of poor female serfs are not allowed to enter their

husbands' bed until they have been soiled by the seigneurs in the name

of an infamous law! Oh! What I accuse myself of is having forgotten that

fact even for a moment--aye, I accuse myself triply for having done

that!"

MARPHISE--"The humble admission is but one more proof of the hugeness of

your insolence and of your ingratitude--dozen-fold traitor and felon!"

MYLIO--"You speak truly again! I was cruelly ungrateful towards my

family when, several years back, driven by the ardor of youth I left

Languedoc, the country of freedom, the country of honorable customs--a

happy land that has known how to crop the crests of the seigneurs and to

reconquer both its dignity and independence!"

MASTER OENOBARBUS THE THEOLOGIAN (angrily)--"Dare you glorify Languedoc,

that devilish country, that hot-bed of heresy!"

FOULQUES (excitedly)--"Languedoc, where the execrable communes of the

people still stand unshaken!"

MYLIO (proudly)--"I accuse myself for having left that noble and brave

province, and for coming to these debased regions to charm with

licentious songs the ears of this nobility that is the foe of my race!

That is my real crime."

The proud words of Mylio arouse the indignation of the seigneurs.

Fearing lest, in his capacity of the trouvere's companion, he may also

become the victim of the seigneurs' rage, Goose-Skin profits by the

tumult to slide unperceived towards the tunnel of verdure that serves as

the Prison of Love. The angered voice of the Seigneur of Bercy rises

above the din. Threatening Mylio with his fists, he cries:

"Wretch! To dare insult the knighthood and our holy Church, and that at

this place! I shall order my men to seize you, and they will use their

straps upon your shins! Miserable slave! Abominable scamp!"

MYLIO (calm and dignified)--"Foulques of Bercy, your men are

superfluous. Fetch a sword. Mine lies in the pavilion of verdure. By

God! If you are a man this Court of Love will be transformed into an

enclosed field and these fair ladies into the judges of the combat!"

FOULQUES (furious)--"Vile serf, I shall punish your insolence with my

cane! Down on your knees, villain!"

MYLIO (mockingly)--"By heaven! If your charming wife Emmeline heard you

make such threats she would say to you: 'Dear friend, do not insult in

that manner Mylio--he is a better man than you; he may hurt you!'"

At the cutting repartee, Foulques bounds from his seat. One of the

noblemen in the audience draws his sword, and passing it over to the

Seigneur of Bercy, says: "Avenge the affront, kill the villein as you

would a dog!" Mylio, unarmed, crosses his arms over his breast and

defies his adversary. But Goose-Skin, who, yielding to a first impulse

of poltroonery had fled to the Prison of Love where Mylio's sword lay,

hears the threats of Foulques, and realizing the danger the trouvere

runs, takes the sword, returns in haste, and the very moment when the

Seigneur of Bercy rushes sword in hand upon Mylio, the latter hears

behind him the panting voice of the juggler, saying: "Here is your

sword; defend yourself; defend both of us; if you do not I shall be cut

into shreds by virtue of our friendship. Oxhorns! Why did we run into

this hornets' nest!"

MYLIO (takes his sword and puts himself in a position of

defence)--"Thanks, my old Goose-Skin! I shall work for us both! Just

watch!"

All in a tremble the juggler shelters himself behind Mylio. Foulques of

Bercy, on his part, surprised at seeing the trouvere suddenly armed,

remains for a moment in perplexity. A knight is free to kill a

defenceless villein, but to cross steel with one is to disgrace himself.

MYLIO--"What, Foulques! You are afraid! Your wife's warning has

convinced you! You fear I may hurt you!"

FOULQUES OF BERCY (emitting a cry of rage and furiously attacking the

trouvere)--"You lie in your throat! Dog!"

MYLIO (defending himself and goading Foulques of Bercy with biting

mockery)--"I know Emmeline and I know she knows you. Did she not tell

you more than once not to get heated lest your adversary whip you?"

FOULQUES OF BERCY (fighting with redoubled impetuosity)--"Death and

fury! I must have his life!"

MYLIO (defending himself and still goading the Seigneur of Bercy with

his irritating jests)--"She knows you so well for a coward that she made

me promise her I would not tell on you when you ran away from a fight,

or nicely swallowed an affront."

GOOSE-SKIN (keeping safely entrenched behind the trouvere)--"Oxhorns!

Control your tongue! He will have neither pity nor mercy for us! You are

driving him so mad that he will have us broiled alive."

FOULQUES OF BERCY (fighting with unabated fury and increased rage at

being unable to wound Mylio)--"Blood of Christ! The vile vagabond

manages his sword like a knight!"

The combat continues a while longer, with ferocity on the knight's part

and imperturbable deliberation on the part of the trouvere, in the

center of a circle that consists of the audience and the members of the

Court, without either the trouvere or the knight being wounded. Both are

strong men and dexterous in the use of weapons. The huge body of

Goose-Skin, behind the trouvere, according as the latter's evolutions

compel him to move over the ground, jumps hither and thither, backward

and forward. His enormous paunch wobbles, he puffs for breath; he seems

to be suffocating. Finally, the trouvere ably parries a terrible blow

aimed at him by the seigneur and immediately plunges his sword into the

knight's thigh. The knight roars with rage, staggers and drops backward

upon the blood-stained sward. The witnesses to the combat hurry to

bring aid to the vanquished, and for an instant forget the trouvere.

GOOSE-SKIN (out of breath and still holding himself behind Mylio)--"Ouf!

The big scamp gave us a deal of trouble before we could bring him down.

But now, Mylio, take my advice. Let us profit by the tumult and pull our

legs out of the trap."

Suddenly the loud sound of trumpets is heard at the further end of the

avenue of trees, and almost immediately a large body of knights, armed

cap-a-pie, wearing on their shoulders the cross of the Crusaders and

covered with dust, are seen entering the avenue at a gallop. Among them,

and also on horseback, is Abbot Reynier, the superior of the monks of

Citeaux, clad in his white robe. Equerries follow the train bearing the

banners of their respective seigneurs. Arrived at the bridge that

intersects the broad avenue of trees, the seigneurs alight.

"The Crusaders! They are back from the Holy Land!" is the affrighted cry

that goes up from the gathering of noble ladies and knights congregated

at the Court of Love, and taken by surprise by their homing husbands.

The latter mistake the cry for a welcome, and run across the bridge

shouting joyfully: "Yes, dear wives! We are back from the Holy Land!

Eleven we departed, and eleven we return, thanks to the miraculous

protection of the Lord!"

"And of the good St. Arnold, the patron of deceived husbands!" added

Goose-Skin aside, as he profited by the tumult created by the new

arrivals to slip into the avenue with the trouvere. "What a droll and

lucky accident! It is the return of the eleven husbands of your eleven

sweethearts that saves you from the ire of that crowd! I shall split my

sides with laughter!"

Thanks to the general commotion, the trouvere and the juggler make good

their escape, while the eleven doughty crusading knights gladfully call

their noble wives to them. The Canoness Deliane, being the only

unmarried one of the twelve who met in the orchard of the Lady of Ariol,

remains behind. The eleven wives rush into the arms of the valiant

crusaders, who, blackened as moles and dusty as tramps, rejoice in the

embrace of their faithful spouses.

The first ebullitions of joy having somewhat subsided, Abbot Reynier,

clad in the long white robe of the monks of Citeaux, ascends the throne

that was until recently occupied by Marphise, the Queen of the Court of

Love; commands silence, and, like a new Cuckoo Peter, as Peter the

Hermit was popularly called, prepares to spread a new Crusade--this time

at home. The Crusade that he has in contemplation is not to the Holy

Land. The faith now calls for a raid upon the heretics of the south of

Gaul. Silence reigns, and Abbot Reynier, the sycophantic debauchee, who,

driven by his concupiscence, only the evening before clandestinely crept

into the close of the mill of Chaillotte, addresses the assembly, not in

the savage and fiery language of Peter the Hermit, but in measured

words, cold and trenchant as the iron of an axe:

"I have accompanied hither the seigneurs Crusaders, who, anxious to

meet their chaste wives, hasten to this place where we find the most

illustrious seigneurs of Touraine assembled. Ye noble seigneurs, learned

trouveres and noble ladies who hear me, the time is past for frivolous

games. The enemy is at our gates. The province of Languedoc has become

the hot-bed of an execrable heresy, that is slowly invading the rest of

Gaul, and menaces the three sanctuaries, arch-sanctuaries of the

land--the Church, the Royalty and the Nobility. The wildest of these

heretical miscreants, worse by far than the Saracens themselves, take

their arguments from the primitive Evangelium and deny both the

authority of the Church and the privileges of the seigneurs; they

declare the equality of men; they brand as a theft all wealth in the

hands of those who did not produce it; worst of all they hold that 'the

serf is the equal of the seigneur, and that he who does not work neither

shall he eat'!"

SEVERAL NOBLES' VOICES--"This is infamous! This is insanity! To death

with the miscreants!"

ABBOT REYNIER--"It is insanity, it is infamous; furthermore, it is

dangerous. The sectaries of this heresy gain daily new proselytes. Their

leaders, who are all the more vicious and pernicious seeing they affect

to practice the reforms that they preach, acquire in that way a

detestable influence over the populace. Their pastors, who replace our

own holy Catholic priests, have themselves called 'Perfects.' Finally,

in their infernal criminality, they seek to render their own lives

exemplary! It is high time that they be exterminated!"

SEVERAL NOBLES' VOICES--"The wretches! The hypocrites! To death with the

felons!"

ABBOT REYNIER--"Languedoc, that fertile region that abounds in wealth,

is in a frightful condition. The Catholic clergy are despised; the royal

authority is hardly recognized; the nobility is no less humbled than the

Church herself, and, shocking to say! unheard-of outrage! the nobility

of the region is almost wholly infected by the damnable heresy.

Everywhere replaced by popular magistrates, and stripped of all special

privileges, the seigneurs are confounded among the common people.

Serfdom no longer exists in that country; the nobility works its fields

in common with their tenants. Counts and viscounts are seen there

engaged in commerce like bourgeois, and growing rich by traffic!

Finally, and as if to cap the climax of abomination, the nobility

frequently marries Jewish wives, the daughters of opulent merchants!"

SEVERAL NOBLES' VOICES--"Shame! Abomination of desolation! It will be

the ruin of Christendom! That calls for vengeance! To the sack with

Languedoc! Death to the heretics!"

ABBOT REYNIER--"It is both a shame and a terrible danger, my brothers

and sisters. The heresy is spreading amain. If it triumphs, the Church

is done for, and so are royalty and nobility. The masses lose the sense

of terror for hell that we inculcate. We would then be compelled to

renounce our rights, our land, our property. We would be forced to bid

adieu to the happy and comfortable life that we lead. We would have to

resign ourselves to live by work like the serfs, the rustics and the

bourgeois. We would be condemned to help ourselves with our hands! What

a distressing perspective!"

SEVERAL NOBLES' VOICES--"It is the end of the world! It is chaos! An end

must be put to these heretics! They must be exterminated!"

ABBOT REYNIER--"In order to stamp out this heresy we must make a Crusade

against Languedoc! Such a war would be but play for so many valiant men

who have traveled as far as the Holy Land to fight the Saracens, and it

would be even more meritorious in the eyes of God."

THE ELEVEN CRUSADERS (in chorus)--"Blood of Christ! We have just arrived

from Palestine; if God wills it, we are ready to start to-morrow for

Languedoc!"

THE ELEVEN WIVES (heroically)--"Go, Oh, valiant husbands! We are

resigned to everything that the service of God commands! We are resigned

even to the sacrifice of having you absent! Depart immediately, ye

champions of the Church! May St. Joseph protect us."

ABBOT REYNIER--"I expected no less from the faith of these valorous

knights and from the courage and devotion of their worthy spouses! Oh,

dear brothers! If the Crusade to the Holy Land Paradise wins to us, know

that the Crusade against Languedoc, a deed that is pious and terrestrial

in one, will win for you a double Paradise from God. You will enjoy the

heavenly Paradise after death, and before death you will enjoy the

terrestrial Paradise of the fertile lands that you will conquer and

divide among yourselves! Such is the will of our Holy Father Innocent

III. The holy pontiff has issued to us, his servitor, the order to

preach this holy war of extermination. I shall read to you, my beloved

brothers and sisters, the letter that he has addressed to us on this

occasion:

"INNOCENT III TO HIS DEARLY BELOVED SON REYNIER, ABBOT OF CITEAUX:

"We hereby order you to bring to the knowledge of all princes,

counts and seigneurs of your province that we summon them to assist

you against the heretics of Languedoc; and that, when they shall

have arrived in that country, they banish out of it all those whom

you, my son Reynier, shall excommunicate; confiscate their goods,

and apply towards them the extreme punishment in case they persist

in their heresy. We enjoin all Catholics to arm themselves against

the heretics of Languedoc whenever my son Reynier may call upon

them so to do, and we grant to those who take part in this

expedition for the defence of the faith the property of the

heretics and all and the same indulgences that we accord to those

who depart on the Crusade to Palestine. Up, then, soldiers of

Christ! Up, then militia-men of the holy militia! Exterminate

impiety with all the means that God may reveal unto you. Fight the

heretics with vigorous and merciless hands by waging against them a

harder war than against the Saracens, because they are worse. And

let the orthodox Catholics be established on all the domains that

now belong to the heretics. Amen!"[3]

The last words of the letter of Pope Innocent III add fuel to the

religious enthusiasm of the audience. The noble seigneurs have often

heard about the industriousness of the inhabitants of the south of Gaul.

They have heard how the people of that region have grown wealthy through

a commerce that extends over the Orient and Greece, Italy and Spain;

they have heard the praises sung of the soil of Languedoc, which,

admirably cultivated, overflows with wine, grain and oil, and abounds

in cattle. The conquest of the new and veritable "promised land" is

easy. The journey is only about a hundred leagues' distance. What is

such a little trip to these doughty fighters, many of whom have traveled

as far as Palestine in search of a quarrel? Abbot Reynier's preaching

is, accordingly, crowned with completest success. The wives, delighted

at being rid again of their husbands, and counting upon their share of

the booty of Languedoc, incite the gallant knights to enter again and as

soon as possible upon the road of the Crusader against the heretics.

What can there be clearer than the heresy of Languedoc? Have not the

bedeviled fellows, by abolishing in their south of Gaul the delightful

privileges, thanks to which the noble ladies of the north of Gaul live

in luxury, pleasures, idleness and libertinage without other thought

than to make love, endangered all the delights in the north of Gaul

also? Accordingly, mindful of the possible contagion of such a

pestilence, and shuddering at the bare thought of their, noble dames

that they are, being reduced to live modestly and industriously by their

own labor like the villeins and bourgeois, they cry out louder still

than their husbands: "To arms! Death to the heretics!"

The Chamber of Sweet Vows dissolves amidst wild commotion. The larger

number of the knights, from the Bailiff of the Joy of Joys to the

Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram, hasten home to prepare for their departure

on the Crusade against Languedoc, where they are to exterminate the

heretics of the south of France.

CHAPTER VI.

ON TO LANGUEDOC!

Happily thrown into the shade by the arrival of the eleven Crusaders

from the Holy Land, Mylio and his companion profit by the address of

Abbot Reynier to reach a stone stair that leads down to one of the

canals, and to conceal themselves under the arch of the bridge. From

their place of concealment the two hear the words of the Abbot of

Citeaux and the acclamations of his audience. As much surprised as

alarmed at the projected war, seeing that his brother Karvel le Brenn is

one of the pastors, or Perfects, of the heretics of Languedoc, the

trouvere hastens to leave the garden without being seen, and skirting

the banks of the canal he finally arrives at a secluded spot near the

ramparts of Blois.

GOOSE-SKIN (who has followed his friend, and who observed profound

silence during his hasty march, finally stops out of breath)--"Because

you have the legs of a stag you feel not the least consideration for an

honest man who is hampered in his walk by a big paunch that heaven has

afflicted him with. Oh! Mylio, what a day this has been! It has made me

boil over with rage! If water were not a sort of mortal poison to me, I

would have rested on the edge of the garden. It is now night. What say

you, shall we drop in at the tavern of my friend Gueulette and gather

our spirits? Hey? Mylio? Do you not hear me? (strikes him on the

shoulder) Helloa, my bold and brave trouvere! Are you dreaming with open

eyes?"

MYLIO (awakes from his revery and reaches out his hand to the

juggler)--"Adieu, I bid you good-bye!"

GOOSE-SKIN--"How! 'Good-bye!' You are going away? You leave a

friend--what ingratitude!"

MYLIO (rummages in his purse)--"I shall share my purse with you. I have

not forgotten the service that you have just rendered me."

GOOSE-SKIN (pockets the money that the trouvere gives him)--"What! And

with that you rid yourself of your old companion? And I promised myself

so much pleasure running the country with you!"

MYLIO--"It is impossible! I shall depart instantly, and take Florette

along on the crupper of my horse."

GOOSE-SKIN--"I never indulged in the barbarity of crushing a horse under

my weight. You have just given me money. I shall purchase an ass, and

shall whip the brute so hard and so incontinently that he will be bound

to follow close upon the heels of your horse."

MYLIO--"You wish to accompany me without first inquiring what my

destination is?"

GOOSE-SKIN--"Oxhorns! Your route will be from castle to castle to charm

the ears and eyes of the beautiful ladies, to live high, to amuse

yourself. Oh, let me follow you--Each to his role--You will enchant the

noble dames, I their servants. Your harp will be for the large hall of

the manor, my hurdy-gurdy for the kitchen. Long live joy, and glory to

St. Joseph!"

MYLIO--"No, no! I renounce this life of license and adventure. I am

going back to my brother in Languedoc. I shall marry Florette, and,

perhaps, hardly shall I be married, when I may have to leave my wife and

go to war!"

GOOSE-SKIN--"To war! Did you say to war?"

MYLIO--"Did you not hear that sycophant of an Abbot Reynier preach the

extermination of the heretics? My brother is one of their leaders, he is

one of the Perfects. I am going to him and shall share the dangers that

he runs. So, then, adieu! The journey that I am about to set out upon is

not one of pleasure."

GOOSE-SKIN (scratching his ear)--"No! The greater the pity--and yet, if

I were sure that I would be no trouble to you on the route, it would

please me greatly to accompany you. How can I help it? Friendship,

custom--I would be greatly grieved to separate from you. It seems to me

that if I leave you I shall for long find the wine bitter and that not a

song could issue out of my throat. I can not live without your company."

MYLIO--"Your attachment touches my heart. But to go to Languedoc is to

plunge into the risks of war."

GOOSE-SKIN--"I shall not deny that I am as timid as a hare, but perhaps

I may acquire a more martial turn if I remain near you. Courage, the

saying goes, is contagious. Moreover, as you saw, at a pinch I can be

good for something. I can render some slight services. I beg you,

Mylio, allow that I follow you. Thanks to this money that you have so

generously given me, I shall buy a mount--Hold! It occurs to me that my

friend Gueulette's father has a mule that he will be glad to sell for

almost nothing. The beast is as stubborn as Gueulette herself; and by

departing with you I shall prove to that tigress that I can make light

of her attractions. That will be my revenge. So, then, I beg of you to

let me accompany you."

MYLIO--"Very well, my old Goose-Skin! Go and purchase your mule. It is

now dark. I shall run for Florette to the house of the worthy woman

where I have concealed her. We must leave Blois at the earliest

possible. Abbot Reynier or the friends of Foulques may give us trouble

if we tarry."

GOOSE-SKIN--"Let them come! Oxhorns! I already feel bold and brave! So

far from fearing danger, I would court it! Yes, I defy ye, giants,

enchanters, and demons--dare to appear before me! Just dare!"

Mylio and Goose-Skin separate, the latter dancing and singing. Their

journey to Languedoc is successfully made.

PART II.

THE ALBIGENSIAN HERETICS.

CHAPTER I.

THE PERFECT'S HOME.

Son of Joel, you have been made acquainted with the morals of the noble

ladies, of the seigneurs and of the abbots of the north of Gaul. To

judge by their ardor in undertaking the Crusade preached by Abbot

Reynier against Languedoc, the country infected by a devilish heresy, as

the monk said, they must be good Catholics. Oh, Fergan, my ancestor! A

century ago, you had occasion to shudder at the sight of the gigantic

butchery committed by the Crusaders in Jerusalem, where seventy thousand

defenceless Saracens were massacred within two days. The monstrosities

of the old Crusaders are now repeated in Gaul herself. A war of

extermination has been declared by the Pope, not now against the

Saracens, but against the sons of our own country. You shall now be

acquainted with the morals of these heretics of Languedoc, these honest

and industrious people upon whose heads all the furies are to be

unchained.

Lavaur, a flourishing city of the country of Albigeois, lies not far

from Albi. Sacrovir le Brenn, the son of Colombaik, and grandson of

Fergan the Quarryman, who was a tanner like his father, amassed a little

property and settled down with his wife and children near Lavaur

towards the year 1060. There he purchased a small tract of land which he

cultivated with the aid of his children. One of these died young; the

other grew to manhood, married and had a son named Conan le Brenn, who

was the father of Karvel the Perfect and Mylio the Trouvere.

The scene is placed in the humble but bright home of Karvel. The house

is situated at the extreme end of one of the suburbs of Lavaur, a

fortified town about seven leagues from Toulouse, the capital of the

marquisate of the same name, whose titulary master now is Raymond VII.

Karvel exercises the profession of physician. He consolidated his

father's heritage with a farmer who, together with his family, occupies

one part of the house, while the other part is reserved to Karvel and

his wife. Karvel is seated in a spacious chamber the narrow windows of

which, made of small glass squares that are held fast in a frame of

lead, open upon a meadow crossed by the river Agout. The Agout flows not

far from the ramparts of Lavaur. A long table, littered with parchments,

stands in the center of the chamber. On little shelves, ranged along the

walls, are vases with leaves or flowers, or filled with bulbs of

medicinal plants. In a corner is a stove over which several copper

vessels, used in the distillation of certain herbs, are held over the

fire by iron tripods. Morise, Karvel's wife, is attending to these,

while Karvel himself, leaning over the table, is poring over some

manuscripts on the art of healing.

Karvel is about thirty-six years of age. His admirable face is rendered

all the more remarkable by the expression of a high degree of

intelligence and of inexhaustible kindness. A long robe of black cloth

opening wide at his neck exposes the folds of his shirt that is fastened

with silver buttons. His wife Morise is thirty. Her blonde hair, braided

in plaits, crowns her lovely face, on which, thanks to a happy mixture,

playfulness is combined with gentleness and firmness.

Morise interrupts her labors, remains thoughtful for a moment and,

contemplating one of the copper vases which is rather more rounded than

the rest, smiles and says to her husband:

"That copper vase reminds me of the capers of poor Mylio, your brother.

He loved to put the basin over his head as a casque to make me laugh."

KARVEL (smiling sadly)--"But you, in turn, used to compel the

giddy-headed boy to taste our bitterest decoctions. Good, dear, Mylio!

If only our friend the Lombard merchant succeeded in meeting him in

Touraine!"

MORISE--"Our friend surely found him easily. All he had to do would be

to inquire after the celebrated Mylio the Trouvere. Your brother's name

is so well known that its fame reached as far as here. Was it not only

day before yesterday that Aimery was reciting to us some of Mylio's

songs translated into the language of this region?"

KARVEL (smiling again)--"Giraude did not altogether share the enthusiasm

of her brother Aimery for those licentious verses, and not that she

affects prudery. I have never seen such lofty virtue joined to so much

intelligence. Never--except--in yourself!"

MORISE--"Fie, flatterer! The idea of comparing me with the Lady of

Lavaur! That charming and virtuous woman, who, left a widow at twenty,

and although as beautiful as day, and Countess of Lavaur besides, and

having only to choose among the wealthiest seigneurs of Languedoc, still

preferred to remain single in order to devote her attention wholly to

the education of her son Aloys!"

KARVEL--"Oh! Say all imaginable good things you please about our friend

Giraude, you will still fall short of the full truth--Noble woman! How

angelic is her heart! How inexhaustible her charity! Oh, the saying does

not lie--'Never does a poor body knock at her door without leaving

happy.'"

MORISE--"It is she herself who supervises the school that she founded

for little children in order to combat the ignorance and misery that

breed all manner of vices. Boys and girls find there an asylum."

KARVEL--"And what a high degree of courage did she not display during

last year's great epidemic when the sick had to be tended! Noble and

saintly woman!"

MORISE--"I do admire the solid education that she gives to her son. I

shall not soon forget the day when Aloys, about to be twelve, was taken

to the City Hall of Lavaur by his mother who said to our consuls: 'My

friends, be the tutors of my son. His father would have brought him up,

as he was himself, in the respect for the communal franchises. The only

privilege that he will some day demand from you, will be to march in

the front ranks in case the city is attacked, or of offering you a

refuge in our castle. But thanks be to God, we shall continue to enjoy

peace; and my son, ever following in the footsteps of his father, will

cultivate his lands in common with our tenants. We shall have a holiday

in Lavaur when Aloys will have cut his first furrow on our fields,

guided by our oldest laborer. Aloys will ever feel proud of handling the

food-yielding plow and of cultivating his fields.'"

KARVEL--"And do you know that there was no abler farmer in all this

region than the old Master of Lavaur? From far and wide they came for

his advice. Oh, what a difference between the seigneurs of the north of

Gaul and those of our happy region! The former think of nothing but to

shine at tourneys and to indulge in a ruinous luxury which they are able

to keep up only by overwhelming their serfs with taxes. Here, on the

contrary, a few fools excepted, the seigneurs, almost all of whom have

risen from the bourgeoisie, cultivate their lands in common friendship

with their tenants, or equip vessels for commerce. And so we see here

universal prosperity and affluence in our smiling country."

MORISE--"Aimery, the brother of the Lady of Lavaur, was telling us only

yesterday: 'Languedoc is the envy of all Gaul.'"

KARVEL--"By the way of Aimery, is there anything more touching than the

unalterable affection that links him to his sister Giraude? When I

behold the two enjoying that delicious sentiment I regret all the more

the absence of our Mylio, our dearly beloved brother."

MORISE--"Patience! Your brother has a good heart. When the first ardor

of youth will have spent itself, he will return to us."

KARVEL--"I never doubted Mylio's heart. He only yielded to the

impetuosity of his age and the vivacity of his nature--to that craving

for adventures that, it would seem, asserts itself from time to time in

us, the sons of Joel."

MORISE--"Yes; in those legends of your family that we have so often read

together we have seen Karadeucq the Bagauder, Ronan the Vagre, Amael,

who was the favorite of Charles Martel, all of them, driven, like your

brother, to adopt a vagabond life in early youth. I feel quite sure that

Mylio will repent his light-headedness, and that we shall see him

again."

KARVEL--"One pleasure only our union has until now been deprived of. We

have no children. I should have liked to see Mylio married. The stock of

Joel might not then run out."

MORISE--"I take charge of his marriage. When your brother comes back to

us, he will be able to have his pick among the handsomest girls of

Lavaur. Some one of them will know how to pin him down here."

The door of the chamber is suddenly thrown open, and Karvel's farmer

neighbor enters precipitately, saying:

"Master Karvel, here are Dame Giraude, her brother and her son! They are

carrying in their arms a young girl in a faint."