CHAPTER VIII

Justice and Truth

"Justice and truth are like the sun; they traverse the earth; they set."

"They rise again on the other side," I added. A smile lit up the peaceful, flamand face.

"Yes, they rise again on the other side."

We were at the gate.

"How I wish my wife had been here," I said, thoughtlessly. "She would so have enjoyed talking with you."

The little monk smiled, twinkled almost. Here was an artless stranger, indeed!

"Monsieur," shaking his head, "We do not allow ladies to pass the gate." It was my turn to smile, and to apologise. My friend guide understood. He took my hand.

"Probably," he murmured, "we meet no more in this world. Then, adieu."

Again he bowed low, with spread hands. The iron gate of Citeaux clanged behind me; I was out in the living world once more. As I rode to Nuits in the rain, between the dripping trees of the ancient forest, whose glades had echoed to the foot-fall of St. Bernard, I felt, more strongly than ever before, how close is the rapport existing between the ascetic mysticism of that time—symbolising the soul of things in saint and hermit—and the wider transcendentalism of to-day, that, taking, as Bacon took, the all for its medium, works, through art, through science, through poetry, through even subtler and more recondite communion of the human spirit with fellow spirits and with nature, towards the ultimate goal of truth.

Footnotes:[98]Some authorities think that the name refers to the many pools, overgrown with bulrushes and other aquatic plants—Cit-eaux.[99]The author of "A Concise History of the Cistercian Order," cap. iii. p. 67, states that tradition assigns the appearance of the vision to St. Alberic, but he adds that the immediate historical cause of the adoption of the white habit is somewhat mysterious. I venture to think that the legendary cause was also the historical one, seeing that all the Cistercian houses were dedicated to "the Queen of Heaven and Earth, Holy Mary." Moreover, what more natural than such a symbol in a wholly symbolical age?[100]See Life of St. Stephen in "Cistercian Saints" quoted in "A Concise History of the Cistercian Order." p. 68.[101]Martenne Thes. Anec. Tome v., p. 1650, quoted in "History of Cistercian Order." p. 71.[102]"Cistercian Saints" cap. xiii., quoted in "A Concise History of the Cistercian Order." Chevalier speaks also of a boy face, and a white forehead; and adds that his bearing would have appeared proud but for a slight drooping of the head upon the shoulders, which lent sweetness to his general appearance.[103]Guill. Vit. S. Bern: lib. 1, n. 2. Quoted Chevalier's "Histoire de St. Bernard," p. 8.[104]Chevalier's "Life of St. Bernard." p. 55.[105]Chevalier's "St. Bernard," vol. xi., p. 357.[106]Quoted "Histoire de St. Bernard," Chevalier, vol. ii., p. 350.[107]Pignot's "Cluny," Tome iii., pp. 108-114.[108]Petit. "Histoire des Ducs Capétiens."

Footnotes:

[98]Some authorities think that the name refers to the many pools, overgrown with bulrushes and other aquatic plants—Cit-eaux.

[99]The author of "A Concise History of the Cistercian Order," cap. iii. p. 67, states that tradition assigns the appearance of the vision to St. Alberic, but he adds that the immediate historical cause of the adoption of the white habit is somewhat mysterious. I venture to think that the legendary cause was also the historical one, seeing that all the Cistercian houses were dedicated to "the Queen of Heaven and Earth, Holy Mary." Moreover, what more natural than such a symbol in a wholly symbolical age?

[100]See Life of St. Stephen in "Cistercian Saints" quoted in "A Concise History of the Cistercian Order." p. 68.

[101]Martenne Thes. Anec. Tome v., p. 1650, quoted in "History of Cistercian Order." p. 71.

[102]"Cistercian Saints" cap. xiii., quoted in "A Concise History of the Cistercian Order." Chevalier speaks also of a boy face, and a white forehead; and adds that his bearing would have appeared proud but for a slight drooping of the head upon the shoulders, which lent sweetness to his general appearance.

[103]Guill. Vit. S. Bern: lib. 1, n. 2. Quoted Chevalier's "Histoire de St. Bernard," p. 8.

[104]Chevalier's "Life of St. Bernard." p. 55.

[105]Chevalier's "St. Bernard," vol. xi., p. 357.

[106]Quoted "Histoire de St. Bernard," Chevalier, vol. ii., p. 350.

[107]Pignot's "Cluny," Tome iii., pp. 108-114.

[108]Petit. "Histoire des Ducs Capétiens."

Heading, chapter VIII; Paray-le-Monial; the Church

The country, as one travels from Cluny to Paray-le Monial, is varied and interesting—so were the other passengers. At Charolles, there entered our compartment two priests, one of whom devoted himself to his book, while the other, a very tall, spare ecclesiastic, divided his time evenly between his breviary, the sign of the cross, and a close scrutiny of my wife. Whether there was any connection in his mind between the last two occupations, I am unable to determine.

This little incident was sufficient to remind us that Paray—as the adjunct Le Monial implies—is a town of ecclesiastical origin and tradition. It was, in fact, a daughter of Cluny, an annexe of the maison abbatiale, and a place of rest and of villégiature for the abbots, who had their country seat here. To-day it is the centre of the cult of the Sacré Cœur, and a favourite place of pilgrimage for the French peasantry of the district.

On arrival at the station, while I was engaged with the luggage, a straw-hatted individual, who had been lounging about in the company of a youngwoman, drew my wife's attention to the fact that there was no "plaque" on our bicycles. On being referred to me, he demanded my permit, which I naturally refused to exhibit, until he had proved his authority to ask for it. He then produced, from his pocket-book, a printed paper, which appeared to be the document required. I showed my permit accordingly; whereupon, with a satirical smile, and the remark, "Une simple formalité, Monsieur," the insuppressible strolled off. Insolent officialism is one of the "désagréments" of France, to which a few more years of democratic supremacy will probably expose this country also. A breach of that "simple formalité," as he called it, would inevitably have brought me to the sub-prefecture, and would have cost me thirty francs and costs, for each machine. Let cyclists in France see that they comply with all "simples formalités."

Setting out in the morning to explore Paray, we had corroborative evidence of an impression already formed, concerning the manners—or want of them—of many Burgundians. Two or three groups of young girls, passing us in the streets, burst into shrieks of laughter under our very noses; and a band of school children, who intercepted and surrounded us at a corner shop, in a narrow lane, could not have shown deeper interest had we been two teddy bears, or a Punch and Judy show. They made the street absolutely impassable; we could not move until the shop-keeper emerged, and drove them away.

Two Priests

Modesty compels me to add that my wife was always the chief cause of this hilarity and interest. These public attentions made her so uneasy that she asked me plaintively, on one occasion, whether she had grown a hump in the night! Though able to reassure her upon that point, I could not, nor can I at this moment, satisfactorily account for the undisguised astonishment her appearance caused; but I lean to the conclusion that the secret lay mainly in her clothes. My wife was dressed—quite simply—but she was dressed; whereas the women of Burgundy merely wore clothes; garments that bore no relation to each other, nor to the individuality of the wearer. The directors of the Grands Magazins du Louvre have much to answer for in these matters, and it was positively refreshing, in the remoter parts of thecountry, to see the village women, naturally dressed, walking like goddesses, freely, and in the shape in which Nature made them.

But to return from flesh and blood to the stones of Paray. Her old monuments, though few, are choice. The best of them, excepting the church, is the Hotel de Ville, a building with an exquisite Renaissance façade, beautifully harmonized, showing Italian influence, and dating from 1525. The flatness of the elevation is relieved, and the whole bound together vertically, by three half-round turrets, which spring from corbels below the sill strings of the first floor windows. Three moulded courses ornamented with heads and busts in medallion,[109]and panels in relief, extend right across the building, below the windows. Several of the heads, including that of Francis I., are still recognizable portraits. Between the windows, and beside the turrets, are decorative, sculptured pilasters. There are many figures in niches, and a profusion of scallop-shell ornament, all showing the transitional character of the work. The top story, with alternating turrets, and gables surmounted by statuettes, is extremely effective. All the windows are beautifully proportioned, and finely, though not deeply, moulded. As a whole, weathered by time to a rich, warm brown, this is one of the most effective façades of its kind that I know in France.

The interior, which might easily be restored, has been spoiled by whitewashing the oak beams of ceilings that shelter many exhibits, of little interest, excepting some nice tiles from the old house. This was built by a rich cloth manufacturer, Pierre Jayet, from 1525-1528. According to Montégut, Pierre's brother was so jealous of the beauty of the building, that he determined to eclipse it; and accordingly erected the church of St. Nicholas, which, with the later tower of that name (1658), still stands opposite to the Hotel de Ville. If the date of the Church, as given to me, namely 1505, is correct, the legend must be without foundation; but, whether it be true or false, that lovely façade has nothing to fear from comparison with any other building in the town.

Paray-le Monial's church is a splendid and typical example of the Clunisian school of Burgundian architecture, about contemporary with the Cathedral of Autun. In fact, you have only to create, in imagination, a longer nave, transeptal towers, a second transept, and flying buttresses, to form a very good idea of the appearance of Cluny abbey in the middle ages.

From the eastern end you get the typical Burgundian effect of a series of apsidal chapels and collaterals, lifting the eye, stage by stage, up to the central clock tower, and thus conveying an impression of dependent solidity unique in architecture, and quite symbolical of Burgundian character. The apsidal chapels are buttressed by engaged columns, and lightened by a string, ornamented with a billet, run right round, to form the drip-stones and the abaci of the capitals, some of which are very beautiful.

'Tis sad that Cluny's fair daughter is content to keep such ill company. The approach to, and view of, the church from the north, is almost completely blocked out by hideous booths filled with tawdry trinkets, by a "Diorama Musée," and other mean erections, which should be ruthlessly swept away by the authorities. Visitors may be annoyed, too, as we were, by the attentions of an imbecile woman, employed by the hangers-on of the church, to fetch water and run errands for them. She looked over my shoulder diligently while I took notes, and only replied with a wild stare, and a "Rien, rien," to my request to know what I could do for her. A few yards further on, we came upon the following:—

Apparition of the Sacred Heart to Blessed Margaret Mary Alacocque.The Nusstree and Garden of the VisitationFigures in natural size,Entrance ... Centimes.[110]

On reading this effusion, our first impression was, that there must be some mental affinity between the dreadful woman who had just been jibbering at us, and the promoters of this novel entertainment; until we realized that the wax-works were merely another catch-penny, aimed at pilgrims' pockets—the invitation I had just read being no more than a weak attempt to rope in an occasional English enthusiast. The discovery, not far off, of a similar legend, written in bad German, revealed the origin of the "Nusstree." It is curious how seldom French attempts to break out publicly into the English tongue, meet with any degree of success. From the "High Life Tailor" of Parisian boulevards, to the "Nusstree" of Paray-le Monial, it is always the same story; one English word is as good as another to a Frenchman who understands neither.

The north door of the church, flanked though it be by disreputable buildings, is a graceful construction, of somewhat unusual classical design, well harmonized and proportioned, and exquisitely carved. All the sculpture, from the flowered architrave within the pilasters, to the ornamentation of the shafts and the shouldered arches, is very pleasing, as are the doors themselves, with their quatre-foiled iron ornament, surrounding an inner cross.

The primitive porch, and the western towers of the church are somewhat remarkable. Murray, on what authority I cannot say, puts their date at 1004, but Viollet-le-Duc contents himself with admitting this portion to be earlier than the remainder of the Church. The northern tower is the later of the two. The porch is arched, and of two bays, forming six quadripartite vaults between the arches. The weight of the towers above was originally taken by two central clusters of stone columns, which proved quite inadequate for the purpose, and were replaced—in the 19th century, I think—by a granite column.[111]The western precincts of the Church exhibit the usual signs of decadence of ecclesiastical power and influence. Dead leaves littering the porch, mercifully screen the "choses immondes" and the building materials with which the floor is scattered; and as though the building were not yet sufficiently defiled, a board invites the public to deposit its rubbish between the porch and the river, on a site at present in the occupation of noisy children.

Seen from within, the church is noble and impressive; but the eye at once notices a want of proportion; the height of the first storey being too great for that of the triforium and clerestories. This is due, in part, to the shortness of the nave, which might be three times as long, and, in part, to the flatness of the triforium, a true blind-story, rendered mean for lack of shadow to break up the flatness of the arcades. The supports for the vaulting take the form of fluted pilasters, which rise to the capitals, on a level with the sill string, below the triforium; whence the thrust is taken by half round vaulting shafts.

Paray-le-Monial; North Door of the Church

Here, as elsewhere in Burgundy and Southern France, the pointed arch is obviously used as a necessity of construction, rather than for any inherent love the builders bore it. Before the art of buttressing had developed, no other method was open to them.[112]

Grateful memories still linger of that vista—down the wide-aisled nave to the well-proportioned columns of the apse, bathed in rich colours from the stained glass, which, modern though it be, is worthy, when compared with our recollections of Notre Dame de Cluny. The interior has not many decorative features, except the fluted pilasters, and the archivolts, somewhat in the Lombard style, in which the lozenge and the billet ornament are effectively used. Very local, on the contrary, and very characteristic are the Byzantine beasts carved among the foliage on the capitals of the ambulatory.

'Tis a pity that the crossings are so prominent; their nudity enhances the ill-effect of the debauch of whitewash that renders the interior so cold. One of the few good monuments is a fifteenth-century, south-eastern, transeptal chapel, with the remains of the gothic canopied tomb of the Seigneurs of Digoin. The windows, doors and niches of the chapel are satisfactory, but the ribbed vaulting is clumsy, and much too heavy for so small a roof. I believe that the figures are all modern.

As we left by the north transept, we noticed a lady standing before the statue of St. Peter. Rising upon her toes until her bonnet feathers nodded, she was just able, with an effort, to kiss the toe of the Saint. I examined that toe; it was bright with the salutes of the faithful.

Nowhere do I remember to have seen so many appeals and warnings against blasphemy and desecration as are displayed in the church of Paray. No doubt they are needful and salutary; but it struck us, that, before enforcing too severely their observance, the ecclesiastical authorities would do well to set their own house in order, and, once for all, to sweep the precincts of their basilica clear of all rubbish, human and inanimate, that now defiles it. I wonder, sometimes, whether those who are responsible for the condition of affairs at Paray, and other great French churches, have ever seen the close of Salisbury, or of Wells, or can ever have realized how enhancing to the dignity and grandeur of mediæval architecture, and how seemly, as settings to a sacred building, are the delicious haunts of peace, upon whose trim, green lawns and ancestral elms, those ancient cathedrals look down. That, having done so, they can be content to let the towers of Paray rise from among tawdry booths and a howling wilderness of filth and débris, is something I do not care to believe. That is why, having visited in hope Cluny's lovely daughter, we left her with little other feeling than one of sadness that such things should be.

The country around Paray is not particularly interesting; but some fine views of the Church are to be had from the other side of the Bourbince. Having set forth on bicycles to explore the land, we halted on a little bridge that crosses the Canal du Centre. The waterway was lined, on our side, for about a hundred yards, with small tumble-down cottages and sheds. The other bank was alive with washerwomen all thumping mercilessly at soapy garments. As we appeared, the thumping ceased. Every scrubbing-brush was put down, or remained poised in mid-air, and all eyes turned towards the two figures, who, even at that distance, bore the stamp of aliens.

We approached a cottage labelled "Café." Before it was a perambulator containing a howling baby, whom a very serious little maid of about fourteen was trying unsuccessfully to hush. We sat down on a rickety bench, and ordered things. The little maid was so shy that her lips refused to part; but her ears were open; she fetched and carried willingly, though dumbly. We sat sipping, and contemplating nature. The washers returned to their thumping; the baby howled.

Presently a lanky mule, into whom the spirit of devilment had entered, broke from a neighbouring shed, and made for the bridge. The girl left her charge, and endeavoured to "shoo" the beast to his stall again. He would neither be coerced nor cajoled, but, with a wicked gleam in his eye, turned his back upon her blandishments, and, to the great peril of the baby, lashed out fiercely with both heels. The girl rushed to the perambulator. Conscious of victory, the ass lay down upon the towing path, and rolled and kicked, until the washers across the water were screened from us by clouds of dust. Then, in due season, he arose and walked quietly back to his stable. As my wife observed: "He is a very young mule; and there is no fun in being naughty, if nobody minds."

A moment later, we saw coming towards us with swinging strides over the bridge, a tall, swarthy, handsome figure, dressed as a stage bandit, in copper-coloured leather coat, of the same tint as his face, a dark slouch hat,and black leather gaiters. From each capacious side pocket projected the neck of a large, white-glass, wine bottle. He called for a drink, and sat down near us on a bench before the café; then, removing one of the bottles from his coat, he revealed two snakes wriggling within it. Holding the bottle by the neck, he shook it before the eyes of the howling baby, who promptly fell into such strong convulsions that my wife feared for its life.

"What are those?" I asked, pointing to the bottle.

"Vipers," said the bandit, "'Tis my trade." Diving into the coat again, he produced a metal armlet inscribed "Charmeur de Vipères." Thence followed, one by one, all his certificates of efficiency, signed by the mayors of places in the neighbourhood—Digoin, Mâcon, and Paray. Here were forty-six killed in one day; thirty-five more in the woods of Charolles; "Et il y en a encore." He did not stay long enough for us to question him concerning his methods of procedure; but, rising abruptly from the wooden bench, strode off, a great, bronzed figure, and was soon lost among the coppery tints of the Burgundian forest.

I have often wondered since, whether he worked solely by close observation, or whether he had developed that supernormal or subnormal faculty, withheld from most, but granted often to undeveloped minds, as it was to the boy in Rollinat's song:—

When Autumn has tinted the boughs and the brakes,With fixed eyes, sadly and sweetly asway,The wandering idiot who charms the snakes,Wearying never, hobbles all day.The vipers asleep on the marge of their lakesIn chorus awaken at sound of his song;And, shrilling thin hisses, they follow along—A crowd of old gossips—each path that takesThe wandering idiot who charms the snakes.[113]

When Autumn has tinted the boughs and the brakes,With fixed eyes, sadly and sweetly asway,The wandering idiot who charms the snakes,Wearying never, hobbles all day.

The vipers asleep on the marge of their lakesIn chorus awaken at sound of his song;And, shrilling thin hisses, they follow along—A crowd of old gossips—each path that takesThe wandering idiot who charms the snakes.[113]

We saw the mysterious snake-charmer once more in Paray. He raised the wide, slouch hat, and saluted with all the dignity of a forest king.

Footnotes:[109]Hence the original name, "Maison des Pompons."[110]The Reference is to the alleged apparition of Christ, revealing His Bleeding Heart, to a young girl, Marguerite Marie Alacocque, in 1690, beneath a nut-tree, the site of which is now marked by the Chapelle de la Visitation. It was this vision which established in Paray the "Culte du Sacré Cœur," now common throughout France.[111]Viollet le Duc. "Dictionnaire Raisonné" Tome vii. p. 283.[112]Bond's "Gothic Architecture in England," p. 265.[113]"Songs of old France," Percy Allen.

Footnotes:

[109]Hence the original name, "Maison des Pompons."

[110]The Reference is to the alleged apparition of Christ, revealing His Bleeding Heart, to a young girl, Marguerite Marie Alacocque, in 1690, beneath a nut-tree, the site of which is now marked by the Chapelle de la Visitation. It was this vision which established in Paray the "Culte du Sacré Cœur," now common throughout France.

[111]Viollet le Duc. "Dictionnaire Raisonné" Tome vii. p. 283.

[112]Bond's "Gothic Architecture in England," p. 265.

[113]"Songs of old France," Percy Allen.

Heading, chapter IX; Gontran and Bertille

To the outward eye Chalon-Sur-Saône is no more than a thriving, modern, commercial town, containing little of interest to the antiquarian; though the stir of life on the busy wharves may prove enticing to those who weary, sometimes, of the sleepiness of country towns, and the faded glories of mediæval cities. Yet, for our part, especially when we are in France, we prefer the shadows of the past to the realities of the present; and, no sooner were we in Châlon, than we set ourselves to picturing the town as it had been, when the river was the scene of royal pageants, when three golden bands girdled the city walls, and great tournaments were held on the island where bold knights laid lance in rest round the banner of La Dame des Pleurs.

One of the last of the river pageants was in 1371, when the Duke of Anjou gave rendez-vous to Philippe le Hardi, his brother, at the papal city of Avignon. The Duke embarked at Châlon with a great suite. In the first vessel was Philip and his principal barons; then came the Chancellor's boat, with other nobles; then the barges of the kitchen, the wardrobe, the wine-cellar, and the fish store. The Duke appeared with great éclat at Avignon, and offered the pope a courser, a hackney, two flagons, and two basins of silver-gilt. He also dealt so generously with the cardinals, that, to enablehim to return, he was obliged to pawn his jewels with a Lombard, as security for a loan of twenty thousand francs.[114]

But I want now to go back to earlier days, even, than those—to the year 589, when Gontran was king of Burgundy, and had his court at Châlon—whenever his wars with Childebert and Chilperic allowed him to hold court anywhere. Gontran, it was, who, twelve years before, in 577, had founded two miles away eastward, in the plain, a great abbey in honour of St. Marcel, the apostle of the Châlonnais, martyred upon that very spot. Gontran too, it was, who rebuilt the walls of Châlon, broken down by the Huns, and ornamented them, for a belt, with three bands of golden stone; so that, in after years, the early historians and the poets, singing of the city by the Saône, hailed it as Orbandale, the town "aux bandelettes d'or." That is why, to-day, the arms of Châlon are three golden circles, two and one, on a field of azure.

I am going to tell here, briefly, the story of Bertille, the heroine of the golden bands—surnamed, not too happily, La Judith Châlonnaise.[115]

In the year 589, there dwelt in the royal city of Châlon, a worthy man, Vulfrand by name, and his wife, Ludwige. They had a daughter, Bertille, supple, graceful, dignified, and so lovely and virtuous, that she was the pride, not of her parents only, but of all the town, famous though it then was for producing beautiful women. Bertille was nearly seventeen years old, and she had been brought up in the Christian faith, at a time when that religion, then still young, needed every proselyte it could win. And she was her parents' only child.

One summer evening, after Bertille had read aloud the vesper prayer, her father, having made the sign of the cross upon his brow, rose, and went to the door of the apartment, which opened upon the street. Standing upon the threshold, he was enjoying the freshness of the twilight air, when suddenly he was aware of a commotion in the neighbouring street—the stir of a great crowd, men's voices, and the clatter of horses' hoofs.

"Bertille!" he called, "Come, come quickly, or you will be too late!" And, indeed, already there drew near a great cortège, ecclesiastics for the most part, proceeding in some dis-array, and hastening, because of the late hour, and the distance they had yet to go.

King Gontran had convoked a council in the church of St. Marcel—the town then named Hobiliacus—and thither this cortège of bishops and priests was bent, eager to arrive before nightfall, that they might begin their conference early the next morning.

Bertille came to the door just as the last members of the cortège were passing. Among them was a rider whose costume showed plainly that he was no ecclesiastic. From the scutcheon embroidered upon the front of his garment, he appeared to be a noble—lord, perhaps, of some neighbouring kingdom. His steed was rearing; and he, not averse from showing to the crowd his strength and skill in horsemanship, let it plunge at its will. Then he reined it in, and was looking proudly around him at the moment when Bertille ran to the door. His eyes rested upon her, in a fixed gaze. Bertille felt the stare; and shuddered before it.

"Father, that horseman is not following the cortège," said the girl, blushing and hiding her head behind Vulfrand's shoulder. "Let us go in," she added, "I have seen enough."

"What is the matter, ma belle, are you feeling ill?"

"No, but that lord's stare has tired me."

"And reddened you, too, little angel of Paradise! But in with you! though there's small harm in being seen; even when one is as pretty as you." He kissed her forehead, smiling, and together they went in. They told the mother what had chanced. "His eyes," said Bertille, "were upon me like a serpent's upon a bird."

Night fell, and with it came the hour of sleep.

"Allons!" said Vulfrand, "Good night, my Bertille; sleep well, and above all, forget the eye of that serpent."

"If only you were there, to put your foot on his head," said she, smiling, to her father.

"Oh! you are no big girl, are you?—no more than the little bird was a big bird. Go to bed; sleep, dream of him, and crush him under your own heel." Half an hour later, Bertille was asleep.

Meanwhile, the young horseman in question, Amalon by name, a Duke in rank, from the country of Champagne, charged with the conduct of negotiations at the court of Burgundy, was following the cortège of ecclesiastics, with whom he must attend to-morrow's council at St. Marcel. But, ever, as he rode, the beautiful face of Bertille shining before his eyes, awoke evil thoughts within him. He soon decided that so fair a maid was betterworth his attention, than a discussion with the bishops concerning the goods of the church. So, after waiting until the boats had carried the learned company across the Saône, he returned to his own apartment, preoccupied, and with his heart beating rather faster than was its wont.

"Surely the girl is very fair," he said to himself, "and well worth a little trouble. These are quiet days in my town of Troyes; and who knows but the name of Duchess may tickle her ears." Then he, too, slept.

The next day, the Duke Amalon, faring forth earlier than was his custom, chanced to meet Bertille in the street, as she was going forth to do marketing for the household. Making her a low obeisance, he accosted the maid, told her who he was, and how her charms had brought him, at one glance, to her feet. But, to his great surprise, he found that neither the magic title of Duke, nor of Duchess, even, wrought favourably with the girl. On the contrary, her dark eyes showed only fear and resentment, until, taking advantage of the protection afforded by passers-by, she turned swiftly and fled from him, homeward.

"Fly away, shy dove," hissed the young lord between his teeth. "None the less there shall be good bird-nesting to-morrow."

A week later, Duke Amalon sat at the board. He was sick at heart, his proud face aflame with wine and anger. Messengers were announced, and there entered to him the five servants he had left behind at Châlon.

"You have been longer than long enough," he growled at them, "Ere now I would have caught her six times over."

"She did not quit the house until this morning, Prince, and 'tis a day's journey twixt there and here."

"'Tis well enough, for this time," said he, relenting somewhat. "Bring in the shy dove." And he threw them a purse of gold. As they withdrew, Amalon retired into a far corner of the apartment. The valets led into the room Bertille, pale as the morn, and trembling, her hand upon her breast.

"Where am I?" she cried. "Mother of God, whither hast thou let them bring me?" And her beautiful, terrified eyes searched the room. They lighted upon the dark face of the Duke.

"Ah!" she cried, and uttering a piercing scream, fell upon her knees.

"Well, shy bird; are you still so little fain to become the lady of fair Champagne?" And he drew near to her. The girl raised her eyes. "Do not come near to me," she whispered, and turned away her head.

"Come, come, listen to reason, little one. A duchy for your beaux yeux; sooth! tis not too much; yet, for all that, be not too exacting." He laid his fingers under the chin of the kneeling girl. Shuddering, Bertille sprang to her feet; his touch had aroused anger, and, with anger, courage. She turned from him, the red lips blanching, so firmly were they set.

"Nay, do not fly my sight, wild dove."

"The dove flies the serpent's gaze," she replied. Amalon made a step nearer. She heard the foot-fall, and could not restrain a little cry, that was half appeal, half prayer. As she prayed, her eye caught the glint of something shining upon the wall opposite. That cry irritated the lord. His sensual face grew darker.

"Cry on," he scoffed; "Walls hear naught; and my men without hear only my voice." With a sob, she flung herself on her knees before him.

"Pity! lord duke, pity! for my parents' sake. Soil not your honour, nor mine; yield a frail girl to her mother again. Already she has wept long for me." Then, as she humbled her beauty before him, and her long, black hair, dishevelled, swept his very feet, strong passion burnt out all pity from Amalon's heart. He bent low, and took her in his arms. With a wild cry, the girl broke from his grasp, and rushed to the thing shining on the wall. Cursing, the duke followed her. As he reached her, she turned.

"Serpent, feel how the dove can peck!" Torchlight flashed bright upon the uplifted blade. There came the sound of a blow, an awful cry, and Duke Amalon, his skull cloven, lay prostrate at the feet of the maid.

With a crash, the doors flew open; five poniards were raised over Bertille's head. The Duke saw them, before darkness swam into his dying eyes.

"Slay her not," he whispered, "Slay her not, but let her go. This is God's hand; so should virtue strike." He shuddered in every limb; then lay still in death.

The great council at St. Marcel was nearing its end. Already King Gontran had withdrawn to his private apartments, and the fathers were deeply occupied with the last session of the conference. The voice of the speaker was filling the vast nave, and all were rapt in the closest attention, when suddenly the door of the church was seen to open swiftly, and a figure, heedless of the guardian's stern warning, entered the church, and ran down the nave towards the choir. At the barrier behind which the conference wasassembled, the new-comer knelt; and the astonished prelates saw before them a young girl, weary and travel-stained, whose disordered dress and dishevelled hair could not conceal her natural beauty.

Crossing her hands upon her breast, she looked upwards.

"Mother of Christ! it was to keep me still worthy of thee!"

The priest, who had been addressing the conference, stood silent. Every eye was fastened upon the maid. The ecclesiastics gathered round her, putting questions.

"My fathers, I have but one boon to ask of you. Deign to take me to the king. It is with him that I would speak." So the fathers brought her to the king's presence, within the monastery. The Prince received her kindly; but Bertille hesitated, her beautiful eyes downcast.

"Speak," said Gontran, smiling; "A maid as fair as you are has little to fear."

"Prince," replied the young girl, "I know not how it may have pleased God to fashion me; but if it be, indeed, beauty that He has given me—then is beauty a fatal gift?"

"How so?" said the King, with rising interest. The girl stood silent. She reddened, and bent her head still lower. Her breast heaved, and the tears flowed down.

"Prince," she said in broken tones, "I am ... guilty ... and I come to yield myself into your hands." All eyes looked at her in astonishment.

"Guilty, my child, you!" said Gontran, not less amazed than the others. "That is not easily believed."

"Yet it is true, Prince; and the proof is, that for three days I have seen neither father nor mother."

"And where are your parents?"

"At Châlon."

"And why have you not seen them for so long?"

"I dared not return to them. Look, Prince, look!" She loosened a fold of her dress; and there, plain for all to see, was a large, red, stain.

"Blood!" cried Gontran.

"Blood, my King!" Then the girl told all her tale. As they heard it, indignation, writ at first upon every face, gave way to nods and smiles, and murmurs of applause scarce restrained, when the end came.

"No criminal here, holy fathers, methinks; but rather a heroine!" said Gontran. Then, turning to the maid, he added:

"You hold yourself guilty; but, meseems you have been guided rather by the Hand of God. Was the widow of Bethulie guilty when she delivered her people? Yet, in my thought, your maiden modesty and fear rank you above even that noble Judith. Be comforted then; to-morrow you shall see your parents again. Now, go to rest; and God have you in His care this night." So they made ready a chamber for Bertille; and there she slept, and that right soundly.

On the next day, Gontran sent secretly to Châlon certain servants, with commands to bring the parents of Bertille to his presence. The good people were much terrified, and refused, at first, to follow the king's men, saying that the loss of their daughter had stricken them so deep in sorrow, that they would go no whither for no man—even though he be their own beloved king, Gontran. But at length they let themselves be persuaded, and went—not without fearful questioning as to what their lord the king might want with such simple folk as they.

So they came before the king at the monastery of St. Marcel, and Gontran told them that he wotted well their story, and asked them whether they were indeed fain to see their child again.

"Ah! Prince," moaned the naïve old Vulfrand, "If the dear God had but one angel in all heaven—and he lost her—dost think he would not be fain for her face again?" And Ludwige wailed an echo to that plaint. Then the king spoke much with them both, and knew that, in sooth, these two loved their daughter well.

Meanwhile, one after one, the priests and bishops were filling the chamber; but Vulfrand and Ludwige, with eyes only for the king, knew nought of this, until Gontran made a movement causing them to look round. Then, when they saw themselves in the midst of this royal assembly, they feared greatly, and Ludwige clung to her husband. But, with a smile and a gracious nod, the king reassured them, and bade them be seated upon two stools, not far from his own person. So they sat amazed, and knew not yet whether good was to befall them, or evil.

Gontran made a sign, and a great silence fell upon all. Then there entered a young page, bearing, upon a cushion of azure velvet, three small,golden crowns, the which he laid at the king's feet. Then that sainted and holy bishop, Gregory of Tours, rose from his chair in the great hall, and approached the throne. The page lifted, and put into his hands, the cushion and the three crowns. Holding them forth, Gregory turned to that august assembly.

"These three crowns," said he, "are each the reward of a merit—merits widely differing, yet such as Heaven is pleased to unite, sometimes, in a single being. Yestereve were you and I permitted to see and to hear her whom God has so privileged; and you shall now judge whether she is worthy of these rewards, or rather, whether these rewards are worthy of her."

"The first of these crowns is the crown of beauty—you have seen her, lords. The second is the crown of virtue—and how great hers is, you know well. The third is the crown of courage—you have heard her, and you have acclaimed her, even as have I." A murmur of assent rolled through the assembly.

Meanwhile the young maid had been brought into the hall. She was dressed in fair, white raiment, and veiled, even to her feet. She drew near to the throne; and her tread was light as the foot-fall of an angel. Ludwige and Vulfrand could not take their eyes from off her. Their hearts beat within them as never before; yet they scarce knew why; though, indeed, they sat beside a king.

"Come hither, noble child," said Gregory of Tours. And he took the golden crowns in his hands, and laid upon the royal dais the azure cushion, and bade the maid kneel thereon. Then he gave the three golden crowns in to the hands of the king, and yielding place to him, stood respectfully by his side. The king spoke.

"Noble child, Heaven has granted you beauty, and beauty deserves a crown. Here is the crown of beauty." And he laid upon her brow the first golden circlet. Then he spoke again.

"Noble child, thine is the purest virtue; virtue deserves a crown. Here is the crown of virtue." And he placed upon her head the second golden circlet. A third time the king spoke.

"Noble child, you have given proof of strong courage; and courage deserves a crown. Here is the crown of courage." And he laid upon her head the third golden round. Vulfrand and Ludwige gazed breathlessly.

"Now, brave maiden," added the king, "raise your veil." The girl obeyed.

"My daughter!... Bertille!" ... "My Mother!" The two women wept in each other's arms. Vulfrand drew near to the king.

"There was that within, Sire, told me you knew somewhat of my daughter." Gontran smiled.

"Good people," said he to the happy parents, "Bertille will go back with you to Châlon, and there, if I know aught of maids' minds, she will tell you all. Be happy, then; for God has given you a daughter after His Own Heart." Then, turning to the assembly, he spoke thus:

"Lords, since the fatal passage of the Huns across our land, our walls have lain in ruin. We must needs raise them again. In so doing, let us preserve the memory of Bertille's triumph. Three bands of gilded stone shall be built within the wall, to serve it for a girdle; and to remind all descendants to whom our fair city may pass, of the honour due to beauty, to courage, and to virtue."

Loud rang the applause from all the townspeople, when, that very evening, Bertille and her parents returned to their home. The family of dead Amalon were forbidden by Gontran, on pain of extinction, to molest further either parents or daughter, and soon, around the new walls of the royal city of Châlon, ran a triple girdle of gold—the three crowns we see to-day upon the arms of the town.

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