"INNOCENT III TO HIS DEARLY BELOVED SON REYNIER, ABBOT OF CITEAUX:"We hereby order you to bring to the knowledge of all princes, counts and seigneurs of your province that we summon them to assist you against the heretics of Languedoc; and that, when they shall have arrived in that country, they banish out of it all those whom you, my son Reynier, shall excommunicate; confiscate their goods, and apply towards them the extreme punishment in case they persist in their heresy. We enjoin all Catholics to arm themselves against the heretics of Languedoc whenever my son Reynier may call upon them so to do, and we grant to those who take part in this expedition for the defence of the faith the property of the heretics and all and the same indulgences that we accord to those who depart on the Crusade to Palestine. Up, then, soldiers of Christ! Up, then militia-men of the holy militia! Exterminate impiety with all the means that God may reveal unto you. Fight the heretics with vigorous and merciless hands by waging against them a harder war than against the Saracens, because they are worse. And let the orthodox Catholics be established on all the domains that now belong to the heretics. Amen!"[3]
"INNOCENT III TO HIS DEARLY BELOVED SON REYNIER, ABBOT OF CITEAUX:
"We hereby order you to bring to the knowledge of all princes, counts and seigneurs of your province that we summon them to assist you against the heretics of Languedoc; and that, when they shall have arrived in that country, they banish out of it all those whom you, my son Reynier, shall excommunicate; confiscate their goods, and apply towards them the extreme punishment in case they persist in their heresy. We enjoin all Catholics to arm themselves against the heretics of Languedoc whenever my son Reynier may call upon them so to do, and we grant to those who take part in this expedition for the defence of the faith the property of the heretics and all and the same indulgences that we accord to those who depart on the Crusade to Palestine. Up, then, soldiers of Christ! Up, then militia-men of the holy militia! Exterminate impiety with all the means that God may reveal unto you. Fight the heretics with vigorous and merciless hands by waging against them a harder war than against the Saracens, because they are worse. And let the orthodox Catholics be established on all the domains that now belong to the heretics. Amen!"[3]
The last words of the letter of Pope Innocent III add fuel to the religious enthusiasm of the audience. The noble seigneurs have often heard about the industriousness of the inhabitants of the south of Gaul. They have heard how the people of that region have grown wealthy through a commerce that extends over the Orient and Greece, Italy and Spain; they have heard the praises sung of the soil of Languedoc, which, admirably cultivated, overflowswith wine, grain and oil, and abounds in cattle. The conquest of the new and veritable "promised land" is easy. The journey is only about a hundred leagues' distance. What is such a little trip to these doughty fighters, many of whom have traveled as far as Palestine in search of a quarrel? Abbot Reynier's preaching is, accordingly, crowned with completest success. The wives, delighted at being rid again of their husbands, and counting upon their share of the booty of Languedoc, incite the gallant knights to enter again and as soon as possible upon the road of the Crusader against the heretics. What can there be clearer than the heresy of Languedoc? Have not the bedeviled fellows, by abolishing in their south of Gaul the delightful privileges, thanks to which the noble ladies of the north of Gaul live in luxury, pleasures, idleness and libertinage without other thought than to make love, endangered all the delights in the north of Gaul also? Accordingly, mindful of the possible contagion of such a pestilence, and shuddering at the bare thought of their, noble dames that they are, being reduced to live modestly and industriously by their own labor like the villeins and bourgeois, they cry out louder still than their husbands: "To arms! Death to the heretics!"
The Chamber of Sweet Vows dissolves amidst wild commotion. The larger number of the knights, from the Bailiff of the Joy of Joys to the Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram, hasten home to prepare for their departure on the Crusade against Languedoc, where they are to exterminate the heretics of the south of France.
Happily thrown into the shade by the arrival of the eleven Crusaders from the Holy Land, Mylio and his companion profit by the address of Abbot Reynier to reach a stone stair that leads down to one of the canals, and to conceal themselves under the arch of the bridge. From their place of concealment the two hear the words of the Abbot of Citeaux and the acclamations of his audience. As much surprised as alarmed at the projected war, seeing that his brother Karvel le Brenn is one of the pastors, or Perfects, of the heretics of Languedoc, the trouvere hastens to leave the garden without being seen, and skirting the banks of the canal he finally arrives at a secluded spot near the ramparts of Blois.
Goose-Skin(who has followed his friend, and who observed profound silence during his hasty march, finally stops out of breath)—"Because you have the legs of a stag you feel not the least consideration for an honest man who is hampered in his walk by a big paunch that heaven has afflicted him with. Oh! Mylio, what a day this has been! It has made me boil over with rage! If water were not a sort of mortal poison to me, I would have restedon the edge of the garden. It is now night. What say you, shall we drop in at the tavern of my friend Gueulette and gather our spirits? Hey? Mylio? Do you not hear me? (strikes him on the shoulder) Helloa, my bold and brave trouvere! Are you dreaming with open eyes?"
Mylio(awakes from his revery and reaches out his hand to the juggler)—"Adieu, I bid you good-bye!"
Goose-Skin—"How! 'Good-bye!' You are going away? You leave a friend—what ingratitude!"
Mylio(rummages in his purse)—"I shall share my purse with you. I have not forgotten the service that you have just rendered me."
Goose-Skin(pockets the money that the trouvere gives him)—"What! And with that you rid yourself of your old companion? And I promised myself so much pleasure running the country with you!"
Mylio—"It is impossible! I shall depart instantly, and take Florette along on the crupper of my horse."
Goose-Skin—"I never indulged in the barbarity of crushing a horse under my weight. You have just given me money. I shall purchase an ass, and shall whip the brute so hard and so incontinently that he will be bound to follow close upon the heels of your horse."
Mylio—"You wish to accompany me without first inquiring what my destination is?"
Goose-Skin—"Oxhorns! Your route will be from castle to castle to charm the ears and eyes of the beautiful ladies, to live high, to amuse yourself. Oh, let me follow you—Each to his role—You will enchant the noble dames,I their servants. Your harp will be for the large hall of the manor, my hurdy-gurdy for the kitchen. Long live joy, and glory to St. Joseph!"
Mylio—"No, no! I renounce this life of license and adventure. I am going back to my brother in Languedoc. I shall marry Florette, and, perhaps, hardly shall I be married, when I may have to leave my wife and go to war!"
Goose-Skin—"To war! Did you say to war?"
Mylio—"Did you not hear that sycophant of an Abbot Reynier preach the extermination of the heretics? My brother is one of their leaders, he is one of the Perfects. I am going to him and shall share the dangers that he runs. So, then, adieu! The journey that I am about to set out upon is not one of pleasure."
Goose-Skin(scratching his ear)—"No! The greater the pity—and yet, if I were sure that I would be no trouble to you on the route, it would please me greatly to accompany you. How can I help it? Friendship, custom—I would be greatly grieved to separate from you. It seems to me that if I leave you I shall for long find the wine bitter and that not a song could issue out of my throat. I can not live without your company."
Mylio—"Your attachment touches my heart. But to go to Languedoc is to plunge into the risks of war."
Goose-Skin—"I shall not deny that I am as timid as a hare, but perhaps I may acquire a more martial turn if I remain near you. Courage, the saying goes, is contagious. Moreover, as you saw, at a pinch I can be good forsomething. I can render some slight services. I beg you, Mylio, allow that I follow you. Thanks to this money that you have so generously given me, I shall buy a mount—Hold! It occurs to me that my friend Gueulette's father has a mule that he will be glad to sell for almost nothing. The beast is as stubborn as Gueulette herself; and by departing with you I shall prove to that tigress that I can make light of her attractions. That will be my revenge. So, then, I beg of you to let me accompany you."
Mylio—"Very well, my old Goose-Skin! Go and purchase your mule. It is now dark. I shall run for Florette to the house of the worthy woman where I have concealed her. We must leave Blois at the earliest possible. Abbot Reynier or the friends of Foulques may give us trouble if we tarry."
Goose-Skin—"Let them come! Oxhorns! I already feel bold and brave! So far from fearing danger, I would court it! Yes, I defy ye, giants, enchanters, and demons—dare to appear before me! Just dare!"
Mylio and Goose-Skin separate, the latter dancing and singing. Their journey to Languedoc is successfully made.
Son of Joel, you have been made acquainted with the morals of the noble ladies, of the seigneurs and of the abbots of the north of Gaul. To judge by their ardor in undertaking the Crusade preached by Abbot Reynier against Languedoc, the country infected by a devilish heresy, as the monk said, they must be good Catholics. Oh, Fergan, my ancestor! A century ago, you had occasion to shudder at the sight of the gigantic butchery committed by the Crusaders in Jerusalem, where seventy thousand defenceless Saracens were massacred within two days. The monstrosities of the old Crusaders are now repeated in Gaul herself. A war of extermination has been declared by the Pope, not now against the Saracens, but against the sons of our own country. You shall now be acquainted with the morals of these heretics of Languedoc, these honest and industrious people upon whose heads all the furies are to be unchained.
Lavaur, a flourishing city of the country of Albigeois, lies not far from Albi. Sacrovir le Brenn, the son of Colombaik, and grandson of Fergan the Quarryman, who was a tanner like his father, amassed a little property and settleddown with his wife and children near Lavaur towards the year 1060. There he purchased a small tract of land which he cultivated with the aid of his children. One of these died young; the other grew to manhood, married and had a son named Conan le Brenn, who was the father of Karvel the Perfect and Mylio the Trouvere.
The scene is placed in the humble but bright home of Karvel. The house is situated at the extreme end of one of the suburbs of Lavaur, a fortified town about seven leagues from Toulouse, the capital of the marquisate of the same name, whose titulary master now is Raymond VII.
Karvel exercises the profession of physician. He consolidated his father's heritage with a farmer who, together with his family, occupies one part of the house, while the other part is reserved to Karvel and his wife. Karvel is seated in a spacious chamber the narrow windows of which, made of small glass squares that are held fast in a frame of lead, open upon a meadow crossed by the river Agout. The Agout flows not far from the ramparts of Lavaur. A long table, littered with parchments, stands in the center of the chamber. On little shelves, ranged along the walls, are vases with leaves or flowers, or filled with bulbs of medicinal plants. In a corner is a stove over which several copper vessels, used in the distillation of certain herbs, are held over the fire by iron tripods. Morise, Karvel's wife, is attending to these, while Karvel himself, leaning over the table, is poring over some manuscripts on the art of healing.
Karvel is about thirty-six years of age. His admirableface is rendered all the more remarkable by the expression of a high degree of intelligence and of inexhaustible kindness. A long robe of black cloth opening wide at his neck exposes the folds of his shirt that is fastened with silver buttons. His wife Morise is thirty. Her blonde hair, braided in plaits, crowns her lovely face, on which, thanks to a happy mixture, playfulness is combined with gentleness and firmness.
Morise interrupts her labors, remains thoughtful for a moment and, contemplating one of the copper vases which is rather more rounded than the rest, smiles and says to her husband:
"That copper vase reminds me of the capers of poor Mylio, your brother. He loved to put the basin over his head as a casque to make me laugh."
Karvel(smiling sadly)—"But you, in turn, used to compel the giddy-headed boy to taste our bitterest decoctions. Good, dear, Mylio! If only our friend the Lombard merchant succeeded in meeting him in Touraine!"
Morise—"Our friend surely found him easily. All he had to do would be to inquire after the celebrated Mylio the Trouvere. Your brother's name is so well known that its fame reached as far as here. Was it not only day before yesterday that Aimery was reciting to us some of Mylio's songs translated into the language of this region?"
Karvel(smiling again)—"Giraude did not altogether share the enthusiasm of her brother Aimery for those licentious verses, and not that she affects prudery. I havenever seen such lofty virtue joined to so much intelligence. Never—except—in yourself!"
Morise—"Fie, flatterer! The idea of comparing me with the Lady of Lavaur! That charming and virtuous woman, who, left a widow at twenty, and although as beautiful as day, and Countess of Lavaur besides, and having only to choose among the wealthiest seigneurs of Languedoc, still preferred to remain single in order to devote her attention wholly to the education of her son Aloys!"
Karvel—"Oh! Say all imaginable good things you please about our friend Giraude, you will still fall short of the full truth—Noble woman! How angelic is her heart! How inexhaustible her charity! Oh, the saying does not lie—'Never does a poor body knock at her door without leaving happy.'"
Morise—"It is she herself who supervises the school that she founded for little children in order to combat the ignorance and misery that breed all manner of vices. Boys and girls find there an asylum."
Karvel—"And what a high degree of courage did she not display during last year's great epidemic when the sick had to be tended! Noble and saintly woman!"
Morise—"I do admire the solid education that she gives to her son. I shall not soon forget the day when Aloys, about to be twelve, was taken to the City Hall of Lavaur by his mother who said to our consuls: 'My friends, be the tutors of my son. His father would have brought him up, as he was himself, in the respect for the communal franchises. The only privilege that he will some day demandfrom you, will be to march in the front ranks in case the city is attacked, or of offering you a refuge in our castle. But thanks be to God, we shall continue to enjoy peace; and my son, ever following in the footsteps of his father, will cultivate his lands in common with our tenants. We shall have a holiday in Lavaur when Aloys will have cut his first furrow on our fields, guided by our oldest laborer. Aloys will ever feel proud of handling the food-yielding plow and of cultivating his fields.'"
Karvel—"And do you know that there was no abler farmer in all this region than the old Master of Lavaur? From far and wide they came for his advice. Oh, what a difference between the seigneurs of the north of Gaul and those of our happy region! The former think of nothing but to shine at tourneys and to indulge in a ruinous luxury which they are able to keep up only by overwhelming their serfs with taxes. Here, on the contrary, a few fools excepted, the seigneurs, almost all of whom have risen from the bourgeoisie, cultivate their lands in common friendship with their tenants, or equip vessels for commerce. And so we see here universal prosperity and affluence in our smiling country."
Morise—"Aimery, the brother of the Lady of Lavaur, was telling us only yesterday: 'Languedoc is the envy of all Gaul.'"
Karvel—"By the way of Aimery, is there anything more touching than the unalterable affection that links him to his sister Giraude? When I behold the two enjoying that delicious sentiment I regret all the more the absence of our Mylio, our dearly beloved brother."
Morise—"Patience! Your brother has a good heart. When the first ardor of youth will have spent itself, he will return to us."
Karvel—"I never doubted Mylio's heart. He only yielded to the impetuosity of his age and the vivacity of his nature—to that craving for adventures that, it would seem, asserts itself from time to time in us, the sons of Joel."
Morise—"Yes; in those legends of your family that we have so often read together we have seen Karadeucq the Bagauder, Ronan the Vagre, Amael, who was the favorite of Charles Martel, all of them, driven, like your brother, to adopt a vagabond life in early youth. I feel quite sure that Mylio will repent his light-headedness, and that we shall see him again."
Karvel—"One pleasure only our union has until now been deprived of. We have no children. I should have liked to see Mylio married. The stock of Joel might not then run out."
Morise—"I take charge of his marriage. When your brother comes back to us, he will be able to have his pick among the handsomest girls of Lavaur. Some one of them will know how to pin him down here."
The door of the chamber is suddenly thrown open, and Karvel's farmer neighbor enters precipitately, saying:
"Master Karvel, here are Dame Giraude, her brother and her son! They are carrying in their arms a young girl in a faint."
Just as the Perfect is about to step out of the chamber in which he and his wife Morise were discussing the prospects of Mylio, and to render assistance to the guests that were announced, Aimery, his sister Giraude and her son enter, carrying in Florette in a swoon. The Lady of Lavaur and her brother hold the young girl in their arms. Aloys, a lad of fourteen, holds her feet. Florette is gently deposited upon a couch of woven straw. While Morise runs into another room for a cordial, Karvel takes the sweet girl's pulse. Her dusty clothes and tattered shoes reveal that she walked a long distance. Her forehead is bathed in perspiration. Her face is pale, her respiration troubled.
The Lady of Lavaur, her brother and son group themselves near the couch and await silent and uneasy the words from the lips of the physician. Giraude, who is of the same age as Morise and of striking beauty, is modestly dressed in a robe of green material. An orange-colored coif, from which hangs a white veil that partially covers her face, exposes her two heavy tresses of black hair. Herlarge and gentle blue eyes, now moistened with a tear, rest upon Florette, whom she contemplates with tender interest.
Aimery is forty years of age, and is dressed in field laborer's clothes—a broad-brimmed felt hat, a blouse held around his waist by a leather belt, a cloth coat and heavy leather boots. His open, comely, and resolute physiognomy depicts deep concern in the girl's condition.
Aloys, who is as rustically clad as his mother's brother, strikingly resembles his parent. The only marked difference is that his youthful face, in contrast to his mother's, is slightly browned by the sun. The education that his mother gives him is intended to inure the lad to manly and useful work, and to cultivate in him a taste for the same. The boy's eyes are filled with tears as he contemplates Florette, into whose mouth the physician pours a cordial by introducing the head of a little flask between her lips. The group presents the picture of charming benevolence.
The Lady of Lavaur(holding up Florette's head, speaks in a low voice to the Perfect and Aimery:)—"Poor child! She does not yet regain consciousness! How pale she is! What a sweet and charming face she has!"
Aimery—"The face of an angel, friend Karvel! What do you think can be the cause of her swoon? Do you think she is in danger?"
Karvel—"I see no trace of a fall or of a wound. The poor girl must have experienced some severe shock, or she may have succumbed to excessive fatigue. (Turning to his wife) Morise, fetch me some fresh water."
Aloys has frequently been at the Perfect's. He knows his way in the house. He anticipates Morise, runs to an earthenware vase, dips out some water into a cup and brings the same to the physician. Touched by the attention of the boy, Karvel turns to Giraude with a look of approbation. The mother kisses her son on the forehead.
"In acting so thoughtfully, my friend, Aloys conducts himself obedient to your instructions. He seeks to be useful to others."
Florette, whose temples the Perfect moistens with the fresh water that Aloys brought to him and into which he poured a few drops of an elixir, slowly regains consciousness. Her face gradually regains its color. She sighs twice. Presently tears gather slowly under her long eyelashes and she murmurs in a feeble voice:
"Mylio! Mylio! Help! Help!"
Karvel(amazed)—"What is that she says?"
Aimery—"She pronounces your brother's name; she calls for help."
Florette raises both her hands to her forehead. A profound silence reigns in the chamber. She sits up on the couch. Her large eyes wander timid and surprised hither and thither, all around her. She gathers her thoughts, and presently, breaking out in tears, she cries in a heart-rending voice:
"Oh! Have mercy! Save Mylio! Save him!"
Karvel(alarmed)—"What great danger does my brother run?"
Florette(clasping her hands)—"Are you Karvel the Perfect, Mylio's brother?"
Karvel—"Yes; yes. But calm yourself, poor child, and tell me where my brother is. What danger threatens him? Tell us who you are, and how you happen to know my brother."
Florette—"I am a poor serf of the country of Touraine. Mylio saved my life and my honor. He said to me: 'Florette, I am going back to Languedoc. During our journey you will be my sister; when we arrive at my brother's house you will be my wife—I wish him to bless our union.' Mylio kept his promise. We traveled happy at heart. When we were about five leagues from here—" (sobs smother Florette's voice; she is unable to utter another word.)
The Lady of Lavaur(in a low voice to the Perfect)—"Oh, Karvel, your brother's tender love for this poor serf testifies in his favor. His heart has remained true, despite the slips of his youth. May God be praised!"
Karvel(drying his tears)—"We never doubted it. But what has happened to him? Good God, what are we about to learn!"
Aimery—"Sister, I shall go out; I may be able to gather some information."
Aloys(with alacrity)—"Uncle, I will go with you, if mother allows. I shall help you in your inquiries!"
Karvel(to Aimery)—"Wait a minute, my friend! (To Florette who is still sobbing) Dear child—dear sister—you are now our sister, I beg you, calm yourself, and tell us what has happened to Mylio, and where we could find him."
Florette—"He told me that besides his wish of beingspeedily back to his brother's house, there was another reason, which he would inform you of, that induced him to hurry the journey, on account of which we traveled day and night. I was on the crupper of Mylio's horse; a friend of his accompanied us on a mule. This morning we halted at a large burg which is entered through a stone arcade—"
Karvel—"That is the burg of Montjoire, about four leagues from here."
Florette—"We traveled so fast from the time that we left Touraine that our horse's shoes wore out, and he lost two before we entered the burg. Intending to have his mount reshod, Mylio inquired for a blacksmith and took his friend and myself to an inn where he told us to wait for him. Mylio's companion is a merry juggler. He fell to playing upon his hurdy-gurdy and to singing songs against the church and the priests before the people at the inn. While he was at it, two monks escorted by several knights came in and ordered him in the name of the Pope to stop. He answered them with some jests. Thereupon the men of the escort, together with the monks, rushed at poor old Goose-Skin, that is his name, and they beat him and called him a heretical dog."
Aimery—"This looks serious! The monks have never before dared to show so much audacity. At Montjoire, as in the rest of Albigeois, the priests of Rome are loved as the pest. But the people in the inn are of this country. Did they not take the part of your traveling companion?"
Florette—"Yes, sir; they did, and Mylio came in asthe scuffle was at its height. He tried to defend his friend who was being badly treated. The people of the inn had the worst of the fight and fled, leaving Mylio and the juggler in the hands of the monks; these said they were going to lock up the two heretics in the dungeon of the seigneur of the burg."
Aimery—"Impossible! Raoul of Montjoire execrates the black-frocked militia as much as I do myself. I can hardly understand the impudence of those monks. Do they think they are in the north of Gaul? This dirty work will have to be looked into."
Florette—"Alas! sir, what I am telling you is but too true. When Mylio saw himself overpowered, he and his companion pinioned and that the two were being dragged away, he cried out to me: 'Florette, run quick to Lavaur; inquire your way; when you arrive at the suburb of the town ask for the house of Karvel the Perfect, and tell my brother I am held here a prisoner.' Thereupon I ran all the way to this place—"
The Lady of Lavaur—"And your strength gave out, did it not, dear child? And you dropped down where we found you, about two hundred paces from here?"
Florette—"Yes, madam. But for mercy's sake! Hasten to the help of Mylio! The monks may want to kill him. Run to his assistance!"
Aimery(to Karvel)—"I shall take my sister back to Lavaur. You and I will then jump upon our horses and ride out to Raoul. I guarantee that we shall bring Mylio back with us."
Aimery's plan is accepted, but its execution is immediately rendered superfluous. Hurried steps are heard approaching the house. Florette looks electrified, listens in the direction of the door and cries out: "It is he! It is Mylio—I recognize his steps—I hear him!"
Almost immediately after Florette's announcement Mylio steps into the chamber, followed by Goose-Skin. Florette, Karvel and Morise rush to meet the trouvere. He responds to their embraces with inexpressible bliss. Aimery, Aloys and his mother contemplate the scene with deep emotion.
The Lady of Lavaur—"Oh! He who can inspire so much affection must merit it!"
Aloys(in a low voice to his mother and pointing at Goose-Skin who stands aside)—"Mother, look at that poor old man! Nobody speaks to him. He is entirely forgotten—And he seems to be sad. Shall I go to him and bid him welcome in this country?"
The Lady of Lavaur—"That is a kindly thought. Do so, my dear child."
While Mylio answers in mute transport the caresses ofhis dear ones, Aloys timidly approaches the old juggler. Goose-Skin is not sad, only he feels greatly embarrassed. In speaking to him of the austere virtues of Karvel the Perfect and his wife, Mylio above all recommended to the juggler not to break out into gross and ribald jests, as was his wont. Accordingly, faithful to the instructions of his friend, Goose-Skin is holding himself in. The old fellow makes serious efforts to repress his droll thoughts; he puckers up his lips, strives to look serious and venerable, but only succeeds in imparting to his otherwise jovial features the pitiful expression that Aloys mistook for sadness.
Aloys(with a kindly voice)—"Welcome in our country, good father!"
Goose-Skin(aside to himself)—"This brat is surely a little Perfect himself. I shall have to keep guard over my tongue. (Aloud to Aloys in a grave and sententious tone) May God preserve you, my young master, and always keep you in the path of virtue. Because virtue—affords more true and merry contentment than the most charming grace—What do I say!—Virtue is a man's lady-love. Well now, virtue excels love-making." (Unable to understand the last words of Goose-Skin, Aloys looks upon the juggler with wondering eyes and returns to his mother, while Goose-Skin proceeds apart to himself) "I am satisfied with my first trial. I have given the youngster a high opinion of my wisdom and of my powers of speech."
Karvel(leading Mylio to Aimery and his sister)—"Dame Giraude, I solicit from you for Mylio a little of the good will that you entertain toward us."
The Lady of Lavaur—"You well know, Karvel, that Aimery and myself have long shared your tender affection for your brother."
Mylio(respectfully and sincerely)—"Madam, Karvel has just been telling me of the debt of gratitude that I owe you. (Pointing to Florette) This dear child dropped on the road exhausted with fatigue—and you, your worthy brother and your son brought her help—you carried her to my brother—"
The Lady of Lavaur(interrupting Mylio)—"If the filling of a duty deserves reward, we shall find it in the happiness of having been helpful to this charming girl, who will soon belong to the brother of one of our best friends."
Mylio(to Aimery, smiling)—"Will you, at least, sir, allow me to thank you for your kindness towards me and my traveling companion? Karvel tells me that you were on the point of taking horse to deliver us from the clutches of our enemies."
Aimery—"Very naturally. Raoul of Montjoire is a friend of mine. Like all of us inhabitants of Languedoc, he has only aversion for the monastic fraternity. I was sure that he would set you free at my request, both you and your merry companion, yonder bulky customer, whose droll songs caused the disturbance."
Goose-Skin(hearing himself referred to as a droll and merry customer, and considering himself in the midst ofpeople who are all more or less Perfects, redoubles his efforts to look dignified)—"I request the noble lady, the noble sir and the other members of this company kindly not to take me for a droll customer. My song, which provoked the ire of the tonsured gentry at the inn, was simply a cry of indignation uttered by a man who might have been virtuous—but who, ripened by experience, knows that the gown does not make the monk, that the bowl does not make the wine, that the gorget does not make the throat, that the skirt does not make the legs—"
Mylio interrupts the flow of Goose-Skin's eloquence with an angry look. The juggler holds his tongue, steps back penitently, and in order to keep himself in countenance proceeds to examine the copper vessels that are placed on the distilling furnace.
Mylio(turning to Aimery, who, together with Karvel could not suppress a smile at the words of the juggler)—"Overpowered, disarmed, pinioned by the men who escorted the two monks, myself and my companion were taken to Raoul of Montjoire. One of the monks said to him: 'These two heretics have had the audacity, one of them of singing a song that was insulting to the priests of the Lord, the other of defending the singer. I call upon you, in the name of the Church, to punish the two criminals.' 'By God, monk, I thank you' answered Raoul, 'you could bring no more acceptable guests to me,' and addressing his men he proceeded: 'Here, friends! Untie the bonds of these brave contemners of the Church of Rome, the modern Babylon that is smirched with rapine and blood!'"
Aimery—"That language is the only one that Raoul could hold!"
Mylio—"As soon done as said. We were freed from our bonds and the Sire of Montjoire added, showing the monk the door: 'Get you gone, and quick as possible, you agent of Rome, vile Romanist, wicked Roman creeper! You are not here in France where the tonsured lackeys of Rome rule the roost!' 'Detestable miscreant! Damned heretic!' cried the monk, furious, and he left the room shaking his fists at Raoul and saying: 'Tremble! The day of the wrath of heaven is near! You will soon be all crushed in your nests, vile viperous heretics!'"
The Lady of Lavaur—"The audacity of these monks should arouse our indignation, were it not that we are aware of the impotence of their hatred."
Mylio—"Oh, madam, the day is unhappily at hand when the hatred of the priests is a thing to be feared. I have hastened hither to let you know it."
Karvel—"What do you mean?"
Mylio—"I have traveled almost day and night to be ahead of tidings that I can plainly see have not yet reached you, and that explain the insolence of the monk and the threats that he hurled at Raoul."
Aimery—"What has happened?"
Mylio—"Pope Innocent III has issued orders to all the bishops to preach a Crusade against the heretics of Languedoc."
Aimery(laughing)—"A Crusade? Do these tonsuredfolks take our country for the Holy land? We are not Saracens!"
Mylio—"At this very hour he is unchaining against your provinces the same fanatic hatred and savage cupidity that at one time the Papacy unchained against the Saracens. The Pope has already bestowed your lands and other property upon the future Crusaders. He has promised them pardon for all their crimes, the past, the present and the future—earthly riches, heavenly treasures."
The Lady of Lavaur—"What you tell us, Mylio, seems incredible. Whence can all that hatred against us 'heretics,' as they call us, proceed? Does not the Catholic Church preserve in Languedoc its churches, its domains, its bishoprics, its monks and its priests? Have they ever been disturbed in the exercise of their cult? Why should they make a Crusade against us? Simply because we practice the evangelical morality of Jesus according to our own faith? Simply because our heart and our reason reject the myth of original sin which smites with its anathema even the child in its mother's womb? Simply because we smile at the pretension of the priests to claim to be the infallible representatives of God on earth, and declare that the newly born child will be damned if it dies unbaptized? Can they mean to punish us because we prefer our own Perfects, worthy pastors like you, Karvel, who, industrious and austere, practice and preach in the midst of the sacred joys of family life the sublime doctrine of Christ, the friend of the poor and the sorrowing, the enemy of the hypocrites and of the rich? But, moreover, why resort toviolence? Are the Catholic priests the only repositories of the true faith? Are they the only inspired ones of God? Let them convert us by reason, by gentleness, by persuasion. Why appeal to violence—to fire and sword! No, no! It would be the height of blindness and of human perversity!"
Mylio—"The Crusades against the Saracens were preached by the Church, and the same Church is now stirring up anew the same execrable passions against the provinces that have withdrawn themselves from the tyranny of Rome. Great dangers are threatening Languedoc. While passing Cahors I learned that a man of rare military valor, but fanatical and merciless, Simon, Count of Montfort-L'Amaury, one of the most famous heroes of the last Crusade in the Holy Land, was placed in the chief command of the Catholic army that is about to invade this country."
Karvel—"Simon of Montfort is well known by us! The choice of such a chief is, indeed, the signal for a war of extermination, a war without mercy or pity. Helas! What disasters are in store for us!"
Aimery—"If the Catholics attack us we shall know how to defend ourselves. I swear to God, this war will be a terrible one!"
The Lady of Lavaur(anxiously)—"But what harm do we do the Catholics? Do we force our belief upon them? By what right should they want to impose theirs upon us with war and violence? In battle the children of the poor mothers are killed. (Saying this in a trembling voice and her eyes wet with tears, Giraude presses her sonwith anxiety and tenderness to her heart, and takes Aimery's hand.) War is the terror of mothers, sisters and wives! War is an execrable affair!"
Aimery—"Sister dear, calm your fears!"
The Lady of Lavaur—"Alas! I am no heroine. I live on my love for my son and for you, and when I think that you, together with so many friends dear to my heart, may perish in this terrible war! (Again embraces her son passionately and murmurs:) Oh! I am afraid! Good God, have mercy upon us!"
Aloys—"Good mother, do not fear; we shall defend you."
The Lady of Lavaur—"We shall flee this very evening with my brother. We shall take ship at Aigues-Mortes—"
Aimery—"And who will defend the city and the Castle of Lavaur, of which your son is the seigneur?"
The Lady of Lavaur—"Let the priests seize our castle, our lands and all, provided only my son and you are left to me!"
Aimery—"The capture of the city and the castle fatedly draws in its wake the ruin and death of all the inhabitants and men of the field who will take refuge in them at the first tidings of the Crusade. Would you leave them without a guide?"
The Lady of Lavaur—"Pardon me, brother; pardon me, friends. What I said was cowardly—"
A Farmer(enters)—"Seigneur Aimery, one of your servants has just come from the castle, where your friendshave gone in haste to consider matters of grave importance with you and with Dame Giraude. Your presence is requested."
Aimery—"The tidings brought by Mylio are confirmed!"
Karvel(to the Lady of Lavaur)—"Courage, Giraude! Friendly hearts and firm devotion will never be wanting to you."
The Lady of Lavaur(drying her tears)—"Adieu, good Karvel! Pity my weakness! I am ashamed of it! Pardon a moment of debility!"
Karvel—"No; you have not been weak. The mother spoke—the sister—the cry of nature leaped from your soul; I honor you all the more therefore. I well know that you never fall short of any duty when the moment comes to fill it."
The Lady of Lavaur—"Alas! I hope so—Oh! What a horrible thing war is! We were happy! (She contemplates her son, embraces and weeps over him.) What wrong have we done to those priests? What wrong have we done them, my poor child!"
Aimery(to Mylio)—"Your presence in these perilous days is a welcome assistance. We know you to be a resolute man, Mylio. So long, Karvel. I shall let you know this evening the result of our conversation with our friends at the castle, and the decision that we may have adopted."
Before leaving the Perfect's house the Lady of Lavaur approaches Florette who all this while has been seated near Morise. After keeping himself aside for a while,Goose-Skin sat down on a bench and is now sound asleep. He is exhausted with the rough handling that he received at the inn. The Lady of Lavaur takes Florette's hand and says with a sad smile on her lips:
"Poor little one, good and devoted as you are, you arrive in our country at an unhappy season. May we weather the dangers that threaten us without having to lose any head that is dear to us! Whatever may happen, count in it on my friendship." Moved into tears, Florette raises to her lips the hands of the Lady of Lavaur with brimming emotion. After a last adieu to Morise and the Perfect, the Lady of Lavaur leaves, accompanied by her son and Aimery.
Left to themselves the family of the Perfect for a moment contemplate one another in silent admiration for Giraude.
Mylio(to Karvel)—"I can not express to you how that woman's charming kindness touches my heart. Even in the midst of her anxieties for her son and her brother, she has words of good will for Florette."
Karvel—"That woman is an angel! (He looks at Mylio in silence for a moment; his eyes moisten with a tear of tenderness; he opens his arms and in a voice trembling with love proceeds:) One more embrace—still another—my dearly beloved brother!"
Mylio and Karvel embrace passionately. Morise and Florette share in silence the emotions of the two brothers. None seem to hear the snores of Goose-Skin, whose sleep is ever sounder and grows more noisy.
Morise(to Mylio)—"So you have come back to us to stay!"
Mylio—"Oh! dear sister, yes; permanently—not so, Florette?"
Florette—"My wishes will be yours, Mylio; still it issweet to conform to them, seeing I am received with so much kindness by your dear relatives."
Mylio—"And yet, brother, if you have no objection, I have a project that will take me away for several days."
Morise—"What! So soon! Did you hear the wicked boy, Florette? He thinks of leaving us!"
Florette(smiling)—"Either Mylio will take me along with him, or he will leave me here with you; whichever way, I shall be satisfied."
Karvel—"What is your plan, brother?"
Mylio—"My sincere love for Florette has put an end to the pranks of my youth. Your own indulgence and Morise's will draw a veil over the past. Nevertheless I have put to bad use the faculty for poetry that nature endowed me with. I now desire to turn it to a useful purpose. Brother, you and I have read in the legends of our family how, at the time of the invasion of Gaul by the Romans, the Gallic bards fired the courage of our combatants, and how, still later, after the Roman conquest, the bards continued to arouse with their patriotic chants the people of Gaul against the foreign conqueror. The memorable chant of the Chief of the Hundred Valleys:
'Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!'
armed more than one arm against the Romans."
Karvel—"I grasp your thought—I approve it, Mylio—Aye, it would be putting the poetic talent that God giftedyou with to a noble use, by using it to arouse the enthusiasm of our people."
Mylio—"The Church orders her monks to preach the extermination of our country. Now, we the trouveres, like the Gallic bards of old, will fire the people with our songs against the fanatics who threaten our freedom and our lives!"
Morise—"The thought is generous and noble. I join my approval to Karvel's."
Mylio—"A minute ago the Lady of Lavaur repeated twice a few words that drew tears from me: 'What wrong have we done to those priests, my poor child?'"
Florette—"Oh! Mylio, those words made me also weep. They still affect me!"
Mylio—"It is because they are true and heart-rending words that escaped from a maternal heart. What wrong was done to those priests!"
At this moment a snore that sounds like a thunder clap breaks upon the silence from the corner where Goose-Skin is soundly sleeping. Mylio turns around, looks at the juggler, and, smiling at the sight, says to Karvel:
"Brother, I have wholly forgotten to mention my traveling companion to you."
Morise—"Despite his serious mien, your brave companion makes me feel like laughing."
Karvel—"The poor man perhaps feels sad that a minute ago Mylio stopped him short at the best turn of his paraphrase concerning the profound truth that 'the gown does not make the monk.' His discourse was interrupted."
Mylio—"My companion is a juggler, which is the same as saying that his coarse songs, much as they are liked in the taverns, are hardly calculated for delicate ears. I therefore notified Goose-Skin, that is the name that he goes by, that he must keep a watch over his words when near you. Hence his embarrassment, and his obstinate persistence in assuming a venerable appearance. I must pray your indulgence towards him. Yours also, Morise. He is entitled to it by reason of his attachment to me, of which he has given me more than one proof."
Karvel—"All good hearts deserve indulgence and friendship, brother. (Smiling) But I am inclined to reproach you for having made of us scare-crows of virtue and frightening the poor fellow. That is why he is so embarrassed in his conversation and demeanor."
A second snore so prodigious and so much louder than the first escapes from Goose-Skin that he is himself awakened with a start. He rubs his eyes and rolls them around with a scared look; rises abruptly and re-assuming his air of gravity addresses Morise with great affectation of politeness:
"May our compassionate hostess bestow upon me the alms of her mercy for the enormous incongruity of my sleep. But we have been traveling day and night since we left Blois; hence great is my fatigue. Besides, and moreover, in that it causes the vile low appetites to slumber, sleep is of itself a sort of virtue—"
Mylio(interrupting him)—"Why, sister, this fat man who is here boasting to you of the virtuous innocence ofhis sleep, in that it causes his earthly appetites to slumber—this identical man, who speaks to you in that guise, came near throttling me one day, simply because I woke him up in the middle of a savory dream in which, after seeing Shrove-Tide do battle with Shrove-Tuesday, the one armed with fishes the other with sausages, he was just about to devour both the vanquished and the vanquisher, together with their full accoutrements."
Goose-Skin(in a tone of pitiful reproach to his friend, seeing that Karvel and his wife laugh at Mylio's story)—"Oh, Mylio!"
Mylio—"Accordingly, you are informed that my friend Goose-Skin, whom I hereby introduce to you, is a gourmand, likes his cups a little—or, rather, a good deal—"
Goose-Skin—"I! Just heavens!"
Mylio—"He is also somewhat of a fibber, a roysterer, not over bold, considerable of a libertine and a braggart—that is his portrait from the side of his morals!"
Goose-Skin(with a contrite air)—"Oh! Respectable host and hostess! Do not believe that wicked jester! All that he has just told you is false!"
Mylio—"After this confession that modesty alone kept back from my friend's lips, I shall add: But he has a good heart, he shares his crust of bread with whomsoever is hungry, and his pot of wine with whomsoever is thirsty. Finally, he has given me proofs of affection that I shall not forget in all my life. (Addressing Goose-Skin more particularly) This being said, my good Goose-Skin, my friends and myself must now request you not to have theword 'virtue' constantly on your lips, and, instead of lowering your eyes, of keeping yourself under constraint, of puckering your lips with an air of piety, allow your broad smile to spread freely over your wide countenance, and, should it please you, even to sing, full throated, whatever is your favorite song. Nobody will be angry about it."
Karvel(to Goose-Skin, who heaves a sigh of relief, and whose face seems slowly to dilate)—"My brother has interpreted our thoughts. So, then, dear guest, no more constraint. Return to your natural good spirits. We heartily love a hearty laugh. Do you know why? Because a false or wicked heart never is frankly joyous. Moreover, we believe that much should be pardoned to those who have remained good; they will become better. You are of the former, dear guest. We welcome you. We shall love you as you are, and, jolly friend, love us as we are."
Goose-Skin(wholly himself again)—"Oh! Dame Virtue, I bow to you—"
Mylio(interrupting him)—"How is that? Still affecting sanctity?"
Goose-Skin—"Oh! Dame Virtue! You muffle yourself up in an unseemly cloak. With a suspicious eye, foaming mouth and twisted neck you harass people in the voice of an owl in love, saying: 'This way! Come immediately this way, you lumbering scamp! You sack of wine! You pig of gluttony! You brick of lasciviousness! You hare of cowardice! This way! Be quick about it and adore me, serve me! Woo me! And if you do not, I shall strangle you, vagabond! Green dog! Red donkey! Triplemule!' And do you wonder, sweet lady, that people take their paunches between their hands in order that they may be able to run all the faster, and escape from your gracious invitation?"
Morise(to Karvel, smiling)—"He is right!"
Goose-Skin—"Oh sharp-tongued dame! Old scold of a dame! Claw-fingered dame! Just assume for a moment the mild look, the sweet voice, the good heart, the gentle language of my amiable hostess, Dame Morise, who stands here, or of our worthy host Karvel, who stands there, and you will see, Dame Virtue, whether you will still cause people to run away from you, and whether people will not, on the contrary, say to you (addressing Morise:) 'Dame Virtue, poor old Goose-Skin has been pursued until now by a horrible witch, who, usurping your name, strove by dint of insult and scratches to force him to court her. Alas! Old Goose-Skin now finds out too late the trickery of the witch; he is no longer of the age to court anybody. Therefore, gracious Dame Virtue, pity Goose-Skin. He only now sees you for the first time in your pure and charming reality.' But, alas! I am now too old to dare raise my eyes to you!"
Morise(smiling)—"Let it be so! I shall be Dame Virtue; and in accepting the name I certainly am not Dame Modesty. But, never mind! I am Dame Virtue. Now, then, as such, I call upon you earnestly to raise your eyes up to me. I am neither proud, exacting, jealous nor difficult to please. Young folks or old, good looking or homely, provided their actions prove to me that they occasionallyremember me, ever find me in a happy frame of mind and loving. So you see, dear guest, that despite your age, you still may love Dame Virtue!"
Goose-Skin(scratching his ear)—"Oh, certainly! If all that shall be required of me will be some slight service, now and then, I certainly shall enlist myself as your servant, Dame Virtue. But, in all humility, I know myself."
Mylio—"Come, now, my good friend! No exaggerated modesty. I shall on the spot give you an opportunity to prove to my brother and sister that you are capable of a brave and generous act."
Goose-Skin—"Do not undertake too much—take care! I am not yet very firmly nailed to virtue."
Mylio—"A minute ago, while you slept, I informed Karvel, and he approved it, of a good and useful project that I have in mind. You heard at Blois the words of Abbot Reynier as clearly as I did. The Church is about to let loose the dogs of war upon Languedoc. We must now, with our songs, raise the popular resistance to the pitch of heroism against the merciless Crusade. Second me in the undertaking. I rely upon you."
Goose-Skin—"Ho! Mylio, my poor hurdy-gurdy will not wait to accompany my songs. It will break loose all of itself—with laughter if it hears me strike a heroic note. No, no! For your harp be the laurel of battle, for my humble hurdy-gurdy a branch of the grape vine or a bouquet of marjoram."
Karvel(to Goose-Skin)—"Noble guest, take my brother's word. If he has charmed with his chants theears of the rich, you have charmed those of the poor. You will certainly move their hearts as well if you sing to them of the frightful ills that our country is threatened with by the Crusade that is being preached against us."
Goose-Skin—"Worthy host, may I never in my life again touch a tankard of wine, if I know what to sing upon such a theme."
Florette(timidly)—"Mylio—if I dared—"
Mylio—"Speak, dear child!"
Florette—"I heard you on the road say that that wicked monk of Citeaux, Abbot Reynier, from whose clutches I escaped, thanks to you, Mylio, is one of the chiefs of the Crusade. It seems to me that if Master Goose-Skin would narrate in a song the story of how that wicked monk, who is one of the chief agents of this war which they have started in the name of God, meant to ruin a poor serf girl—"
Goose-Skin(clapping his hands gleefully)—"Florette is right! 'The Fritter of the Abbot of Citeaux!' That shall be the title of the song. You remember, Mylio, the words of Sir Ribald when he told you he meant to make a speedy call at the mill of Chaillotte? Ha! By my hurdy-gurdy! I shall salt the song. I shall pepper it so generously that even people with palates no better than a whale's, once they shall have tasted my song will be seized with a furious appetite to despatch the sycophants! The hypocrites! Devoured with concupiscence, they now propose to massacre people in the name of the Savior of the world!"
Mylio—"Excellent! Excellent, my old Goose-Skin! Instil in your verses the indignation of your soul, and your song will be good for ten thousand soldiers in the defense of Languedoc. (To Florette) Your excellent judgment has served you well, dear girl. Your straightforward and childlike heart is justly in revolt at the horrible spectacle of the hypocrisy of these proud, greedy and debauched priests, who now threaten to exterminate the people of this country while they invoke the name of Jesus, the God of love and forgiveness. (To Morise and Karvel) I shall be back on the day of danger. If my love for Florette has inspired me with disgust for my barren and dissolute life, the remembrance of both you, Morise, and you Karvel, has brought me back here. I wish that my marriage with her who is to be the companion of my life be consecrated by your and your wife's presence. To marry under your auspices, is not that to pledge myself to take you for my model?"
Karvel(profoundly moved, takes the hands of Florette and Mylio, joins them in his own, and says in a tremulous voice)—"Your marriage will be inscribed to-morrow in the register of our city magistrates. Mylio, my brother, Florette, my sister, you whom the mysterious bonds of the heart already unite, I take to witness the thoughts of your souls and the words of your lips, be ye forevermore one! Henceforth rejoice at the same joys, suffer the same pains, console each other in the same hopes, share with each other the daily toils that will worthily provide you with your daily bread. If, happier than Morise and myself, youshould live again in your children, strive by precept and by example to develop in them their original goodness. Bring them up in the love of work, of justice and of right, to the end that, faithful to the morals of Christ, one of the wisest men that humanity has produced, they be indulgent towards those whom ignorance, neglect or misery have led astray. For all such let them have a ready pardon, instruction, love and charity.
"But also habituate their young souls to be awake to and to entertain a horror for oppression and iniquity. Habituate your children to the thought that some day they may have to suffer, to struggle and perhaps to die in the defense of their rights. Teach them that, if clemency towards the weak and the suffering is a virtue, resignation to the violent acts of an oppressor is an act of cowardice, is a crime! Saturate their souls in the hatred for injustice; then, on the day of trial, your children will be found ready and resolute. Let them repose unshakable faith in the future, in the enfranchisement of Gaul, our motherland.
"Finally, impart to your children this virile druid conviction—'Man, immortal and infinite like God, proceeds from one world to another, eternally reviving body and soul in those innumerable stars that shine in the firmament.' Impart to them this sturdy belief, and they will be, as our fathers were during the heroic epoch of our history, healed of the disease of death.
"And now, Mylio, my brother, and Florette, my sister,may your union be what the ardent wishes of my heart desire for it! May the ills that threaten this country leave you unscathed! Oh, believe us, Florette, you will be doubly cherished by us, because, thanks to you, our brother has come back to us, and my wife and myself have gained a sister in you."
At the end of these words, Karvel the Perfect presses Florette and Mylio to his heart and holds them long in his embrace. With her forehead leaning on the shoulder of her husband, Morise partakes of the deep emotion that thrills him and the bridal couple. Goose-Skin himself can not hold back a tear which he wipes away with the point of his thumb. But speedily recovering his habitual good spirits, the old juggler cries out:
"Oxhorns! Master Karvel, excuse the sincerity of old Goose-Skin, but he is of the impression that in the south, as well as the north of Gaul, there is no wedding without a repast. I therefore demand for this evening the wedding feast; to-morrow the marriage will be entered in the city's register; and day after to-morrow Mylio and I will depart to preach the anti-Crusade in our fashion. (Addressing Morise) Oh! Dame Virtue, see how you have mastered me! Ordinarily I am as craven as a hare, and yet, to please you, I shall take the road and preach war with my music-box. But, God wills it. I feel so furiously inclined to sing my war song, that my throat is dry in advance. It will have to be very thoroughly moistened."
Karvel(smiling)—"It fortunately happens, merry guest, that we have in the house a cask of Montpelier wine. We shall forthwith broach it."
Morise(to Goose-Skin)—"And I have in yonder cupboard a ham of Aragon that is worthy of serving as a mace to the famous knight Shrove-Tuesday, whose defeat you dreamed!"
Goose-Skin—"Oh! Dear Dame Virtue, you will think you are dreaming, yourself, when you see me play my jaws and swallow your victuals."
Karvel—"You may exercise your jaws also upon a brace of superb capons that our farmer brought us yesterday. And we also have a trout, quite worthy of serving knight Shrove-Tide for mount."
Goose-Skin—"That is a feast worthy of a chapter of canonesses!"
Karvel(to Goose-Skin, and pointing to Mylio, who is speaking to Florette in a low voice)—"The prodigal son has returned, must we not kill the fatted calf?"
Mylio(to Florette in a low and fervid tone)—"And now, at last, my sweet friend, my charming Florette, you are really my wife!"
Florette(contemplating her husband with tender love and tears in her eyes)—"Mylio, all I have in my heart, my love, my life I give you. It is little—in exchange for the happiness that I owe you!"
Goose-Skin(interrupting the lovers)—"What is that you are prattling about in that languorous voice? Rather sing my song, little Florette, sing it in a joyous voice: