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 injuryin 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 issuesout 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:
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.'"
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 thesessions 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 insheepskin 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 aspireafter 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 itany 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. Itis 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 guidedby 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 Marphiseand 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 husbandwhose 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 nowise 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:
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 toexpiate 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."
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, themajority 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 todeliver 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 existenceamidst 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 backnot 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 childof 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 thisnobility 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 uponthe 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 thetumult 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 tolive 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 InnocentIII. 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: