The Angel Asrael

by S. Henry Berthoud

  In the year 1233, on the Monday of Trinity, after the procession had made a tour of the town, Monseigneur the Bishop went back to the Episcopal Manor, not without giving his blessing beforehand to the guides from the drawbridge. Then there was a great racket of trumpets and viols, and the cries of the corporations were heard to repeat from all directions: “Saint Antoine! Saint Maur! Sainte Pélagie!” etc.

  Dominating all the others, the cry of the mulquiniers rose up: “Notre-Dame! Notre-Dame!” for there was no guild in Cambrai richer and more numerous than theirs, given that the preparation and sale of fine thread obtained large profits, and it required a great many individual tasks to get them to bobbins fit for the weaving

  Incontrovertibly, the individual who strutted most conspicuously with the importance of that corporation was our old acquaintance Nicolas Parigault, the mulquiniers’ sot-seuris.

  His waist encased in a little wooden horse on which one might have thought that he was veritably perched—for a cloth trailing on the ground did not allow it to be seen whether Parigault’s legs were beneath it or those of a wooden hack—the sot-seuris ran around all the passers-by and had no shortage of quips and licentious jokes, inspired by many draughts of wine. The mulquiniers welcomed the lewd merriment with bursts of laughter and applause, and as you can imagine such encouragement only emboldened and exited him.

  Not far from the drawbridge of the manor, Madame Berthe and Lydorie, accompanied by Séverin, were watching the animated spectacle offered by the immense crowd, previously concentrated, which was now beginning to scatter in all directions. The sot-seuris recognized the canon’s sister, and came to gambol around her in order to be gratified by a few copper coins. But it was a complete waste of time making his charger leap and prance, and saluting over and over with his wooden sword; Madame Berthe did not give him a patard. The fact is that the lady had forgotten to pick up her satchel before leaving the house.

  The sot-seuris, whose head, as we have said, had been warmed up by excessive draughts of wine, then began to tease the canon’s sister in improper terms.

  Séverin enjoined him to be more circumspect.

  “Saint Touch-me-Not, my patron!” cried Parigault, giving the young man a slap with his wooden sword. “Saint Touch-me-Not! My son, you have impugned my honor and stained my escutcheon with filth. It’s necessary for us to fight a duel. You take for a helmet one of your father’s old cooking-pots, and a kiss from that pretty gypsy will be granted to the victor.”

  At those uncouth words Lydorie’s face turned red, and she could not hold back her tears, for there was a large crowd there, in which some rejoiced in that insult, because Madame Berthe protégée deluded herself somewhat and sometimes spoke ill of people of low birth.

  In any case, the townspeople were, most of the time, openly hostile to the canons because of their privileges, which the Chapter always wanted to diminish, while they sought, on the contrary, to increase them. You can imagine, therefore, how the little people rejoiced in seeing the sister and the intimates of a canon mocked.

  Séverin, wanting to put an end to the discourteous negotiation, tried to cleave a path through the crowd to get back to the manor, but, instead of making way for him, it tightened its ranks, and the sot-seuris, supported in that fashion, put his multicolored arms around Lydorie’s waist, and made a gross kiss resonate on the poor child’s cheeks.

  At that final insult, Severin struck the buffoon with a terrible blow, who fell silent, his face rudely bloodied.

  If you had heard the clamors that rose up from all parts when the beloved sot-seuris fell, you would have gone pale with dread. All those who were there, without taking into account that Parigault had merited it, started shouting: “Aie! Aie! We’re being murdered, guildsmen rally!” and rushed Séverin. On the other hand, the archers guarding the drawbridge ran to help the young man, and a frightful melee ensued.

  But the townsmen, who had no weapons, found themselves at a disadvantage in the battle, for the archers’ daggers thrust at them good and hard, while they could only render in exchange blows with closed fists or staves—which, to tell the truth, they delivered rudely.

  During the disorder of the brawl, Séverin was able to get Madame Berthe and Lydorie back inside. That was not easy, given that one of them was lying in a faint in the poor clerk’s arm and the other seemed almost to have lost her reason.

  The archers then decided to beat a retreat, for more guildsmen were arriving at every moment to attack them. Thanks to their good discipline they got out of it with a few bruises and succeeded in returning to the manor and raising the drawbridge without leaving any of their companions at the mercy of the townspeople.

  The people of Cambrai, seeing at least thirty guildsmen rudely covered in wounds, went to take possession of the town barriers in spite of the commands and admonitions of the high bailiff; others ran to Saint-Géry and the Magdelaine to sound the tocsin there and rouse the rest of the lower orders.

  In less than no time, four thousand fanatics were under arms. They took possession of the Château de Selles, which Robert, the bailiff of the chapter, did not have the courage to defend, and imprisoned the senior curate, a relative of Messire Watremetz, who, thinking no evil, was returning peacefully from the castellany of Marcoing.

  Pillages and extortions were carried out in the various quarters of Cambrai. A freeman who had taken refuge in the Abbaye de Saint-Aubert was taken out by force and only released in return for a large ransom. Finally, the houses of the archdeacon of Brussels and several canons who were living in the town were broken into and looted.

  Everyone in the Episcopal manor was in consternation. The Bishop held a council to decide what to do in such difficult circumstances, and no one proffered any good advice but many heaped abuse—more than was appropriate to clergymen—upon poor Séverin, the innocent cause of the revolt.

  Meanwhile, the townsmen brought strong ladders in order to scale the walls, and there was scarcely any means of resisting their assault, for the men-at-arms were small in number at the Episcopal manor and the capture of the fortress of Selles by the assailants rendered its defense almost impossible.

  But it would not have made any difference; they only had food for two days, and after that time it would have been necessary to surrender, unless the seigneurs of the Bishop’s fiefs came to attack the townsmen. Unfortunately, there was little aid to be expected from those pretty suzerains, more likely to make common cause with the rebels than to attack them and reckon with them.

  Nevertheless, the aspect of things suddenly changed, without anyone anticipating it.

  The sot-seuris Parigault—who was thought to be half-dead, although he had only been stunned by the blow struck by Séverin, and the unconsciousness that gripped him was three-quarters due to drunkenness—had been carried to his home. When his wife’s cares had brought him round and he learned what had happened, the wily companion reflected seriously on the big risk that he was taking by letting things continue at the momentum with which they had begun.

  It will be necessary for the guildsmen to make honorable amends in any case, he thought, for the emperor will shake their shoulders rudely for the villainous manner in which they’ve just treated the bishop. The bigwigs will extract a good deal of gold in exchange. But I, the cause of all this, will pay with my skin; and it could be that I’ll be seen prancing at the top of the high scaffold of the Coupe-Oreille. Oh, my throat tightens just thinking about it!

  Quickly mounting his wooden horse, Parigault ran to the manor, where everyone was very surprised and glad to see him. Aping a general then, he performed so many buffooneries that the townsmen forgot to deploy their ladders and press ahead with the assault.

  It is necessary to say that the wisest and richest among the, including Master Le Beaudin and Master Eustache Dinault, only watched the revolt with a sullen frown; they calculated that their savings would be depleted when the emperor came to avenge his bishop, which would not fail to happen, given that he had swo
rn on his share of paradise to do so during the last riot.

  They therefore saw with contentment the diversion brought by the presence of the sot-seuris, and were already seeking to tell him in secret to try to bring the great stir to an end, when hazard and the malicious skill of the Fool came to serve them marvelously in their desire for peace.

  Having no suspicion of that had happened, and supposing that the feast of Trinity alone had assembled the immense crowd in the quarters surrounding the episcopal manor by which they were encumbered, Magalouffe was returning tranquilly at the walking pace of his mule. Two scullions were marching behind him, holding the bridles of four horses laden with provisions of which the savant cook had been in quest himself in the places where the best was to be found. Then too, he was meditating the important question of how it was necessary to cook a magnificent salmon trout that he was carrying behind him, not having wanted to confide the fish in question—the most beautiful that had been fished out of the Escaut in living memory—to the care of anyone else.

  He had just taken the resolution to serve the trout with a bitter almond sauce, old wine and grape juice when he suddenly found himself stopped by the sot-seuris, who shouted to him at the top of his voice: “Bonjour, well met, be welcome, brother ambassador of the Bishop.”

  Magalouffe rebuffed the buffoon disdainfully, but the latter, redoubling his frolics, found a means of making people believe that Magalouffe was listening to him, when, to tell the truth, the cook was only grumbling and cursing wholeheartedly.

  Then, raising his voice, as if he were about to announce the result of the conference, the jester proclaimed: “Oyez, bourgeois, oyez; Monseigneur the Bishop, in order to complete the good and joyful pleasantry that we have commenced, has sent his cook to negotiate with your sot-seuris, not without rich presents, such as you see on these two horses.

  “Monseigneur deems that things have perhaps become a little more facetious than they should have done, but, in favor of the feast of Trinity, no more account will be taken by him of the events of today than if they had not happened; the matter has been settled between us two sage clerks.”

  With these words he threw himself into Magalouffe’s arms, who, falling from a height, was preparing to reply; but the sot-seuris caught him in such a fashion and gripped him so forcefully, that he could not utter an audible word.

  “Now, all of you go home,” Parigault continued, “in order that the Sire d’Esnes men-at-arms, so well equipped, who will soon arrive, do not take it into their heads to believe that you are out of control. Go, I give you my blessing.”

  With those words he made parody of blessing the townspeople, raising and lowering his fool’s baton.

  “He’s right! He’s right! Long live Monseigneur Godefroi!” was shouted in all directions. And then everyone went home rapidly, having more desire to close his door with solid bars of wood than to take the Episcopal manor by storm.

  In the meantime, Magalouffe, brought up to date by Nicolas Parigault, succeeded, not without difficulty, in having the drawbridge of the episcopal manor lowered, and explained what had just happened to the bishop and the canons, amazed to see the populace going away peacefully, having previously been intent on revolt and carnage.

  We shall say right away that a deputation of guildsmen came the following day to beg the bishop for mercy. Monseigneur Godefroi de Fontaine, after more than one remonstration, granted them their pardon under the following conditions:

  That the procurator of the town, in the presence of the magistrate and forty bourgeois, would make solemn restitution of everything that had been stolen from each place where the damage had been caused;

  That they would pay two thousand livres for the things that had been destroyed and other losses, for which ten guildsmen would stand surety;

  That a hundred townsmen in chemises would come to make honorable amends in the Episcopal church;

  That in order to prevent the townsmen from recidivism, it would be very severely prohibited for anyone to appear with the town standards without an express order from the magistrate;

  And finally, that the bell of the Magdelaine, which had been rung to rouse the people, would be removed.

  As several lords rallying to the bishop had arrived with companies of men-at-arms, the townspeople were obliged to obey those conditions, harsh as they appeared to them.

  *

  Among the talents and qualities that recommended Magalouffe among cooks of great renown, people admired most of all that at the first sound of the horn he was always ready, along with his scullions, to serve a feast on time; he had never—absolutely never—caused the delay of a single ave.

  And if the steward took it into his head to enquire: “Where are we, Master Cook?” Magalouffe would have made, with irritated pride, the following response: “Never has it happened that people have had to wait for dinner or supper since I have had the good fortunate of being the episcopal cook. It never will happen, as long as it pleases Monseigneur to keep me in that employ and the good God to keep me alive.”

  Now, four days after the events that I have just recounted, the varlets sounded the horn; Monseigneur had just sat down at table, and the surprise was great, for there were not yet any dishes there, except for the bread-baskets, which had been prepared the evening before.

  Rapidly, as you can imagine, the steward, as flustered as one can be, started running excitedly to the episcopal kitchens.

  Magalouffe, as if struck by the fire of heaven, was standing silent and immobile, while the scullions were making every effort, not without amazement at the languor of their chief. They could be heard enquiring of one another, in low voices, what great chagrin might have depressed Magalouffe in that fashion—they said “great” because grief had not caused him to omit the duties of his office, even for a single second, when he had lost his wife, of whom he was nevertheless very fond.

  At the voice of the steward, he emerged from his reverie with a start, and commanded everyone so rapidly and so well that supper was ready immediately. After which, he returned to his chagrin, and started weeping with a bitterness that could scarcely be believed.

  “That’s too much self-affliction for a delayed supper,” said the steward. “Once is not a habitual sin. In any case, as Monseigneur often says, quoting the Holy Scriptures, it’s written that a sage stumbles seven times a day.”

  “Oh, I’m exceedingly mournful, and I have every reason to be. By Sainte Marthe! If I knew, in the entire principality of Cambrésis, anyone who was in a fit state to hold, as I hold it, the white baton of Episcopal cook, I’d give it to him, I swear it, and I’d go to fulfill the wretched métier of brother-cook in some Carmelite convent, where they only eat boiled roots.”

  The steward tried once again to console Magalouffe, but the poor man exclaimed, more pitifully still:

  “Why did Our Lord, in his mercy, not deign to conserve in my soul the desire that I once nourished of instructing my son in the noble science that has earned me such renown? Instructed by Magalouffe, he would have been lauded, like me, as one of the finest practitioners of his art; he would have become Episcopal cook.

  “Now tell me, in good conscience, whether there is, throughout Cambrésis, any finer and more highly-esteemed title than that of Episcopal cook, which proves a rank among the twenty-four free-fiefs and grants the power of administering law and knowing feudal, civil, criminal and other affairs in the jurisdiction of Monseigneur the Bishop?

  “Accursed be the benefits of Messire Watremetz! Monseigneur the Bishop has humiliated me just now with regard to my son; he has called him by the vile names of quarrelsome and discourteous; he has added that if he does not mend his ways, he will be forced to refuse him the orders of the clergy. Yes, he said all that to me—to me, Magalouffe, who had reached the age of sixty-four without ever having hung his head or heard a reprimand, either for myself or my own!

  “Oh, if Messire Watremetz had not taken Séverin out of the kitchen, he would not have instructed himself
in foolish sciences and I would not have shivered in all my limbs at such harsh words from Monseigneur; the name of Magalouffe would still be stainless!

  “I could not hold back my tears, and Monseigneur, having allowed himself to be softened, and remembering my long service, ended up granting me pardon for my son and promising that he will give him the first orders of the clergy the day after tomorrow. Thanks be rendered to him, but he made me feel ill, and I shall never recover from the great blow that he has struck me!”

  The steward comforted Magalouffe as best he could, said fine words to him at length, and then went away to where his duty summoned him.

  Magalouffe was beginning to recover somewhat when Séverin, of whom he had sent someone in quest, arrived, pale and distraught. Kneeling down at first, in accordance with custom, he asked for his father’s blessing; then he waited modestly, his eyes lowered, for the latter to acquaint him with the reasons for which he had summoned him.

  Master Magalouffe collected himself for a few moments. Then he began to list, with an anguished complaisance the misdeeds of his son that the bishop had previously recited with so much bitterness.

  His voice, which he tried at first to render dignified, low and slow, gradually became shrill and screeching; it was as high as possible when, by virtue of a sudden reversal, it fell back to a graver tone, exactly like the voice of a preacher who, after having striven to bark a description of Hell, concludes his sermon with the word Paradise, adding in a level voice, the customary: “That’s the happiness that I desire.”

  Now, that mutation of voice was to announce that Monseigneur, in his benignity, had granted the pardon of such gross faults, and had consented to confer on Séverin, two days hence, the first orders of the clergy.

  “I can’t be a priest,” the young man replied, in a tremulous voice.

  As he pronounced those bold words, he raised his eyes; and that glance emboldened him, for Magalouffe’s face did not express anger.