by Eugène Sue
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 being speedily 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 as the 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.”
CHAPTER III.
THE SHADOW OF WAR.
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 of his 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 of people 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 tonsured folks 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 to violence? 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 son with 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 friends have 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 ex
hausted 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.
CHAPTER IV.
ROBIN LOVES ME, ROBIN HAS ME!
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 is sweet 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.”