CHAPTER II.

GOOSE-SKIN THE JUGGLER.

Night has come; the stars shine in the sky; only the moon has not yet risen. In lieu of the laughing orchard of the Marchioness of Ariol, you now see one of the last straggling houses of a suburb of Blois, and far away a thick-leaved oak tree, under whose sheltering branches a stout man lies asleep. He might be taken for Silenus if he were not clad in a coat of brown cloth stained with grease and wine spots. His coat, moreover, is as torn as his linsey-woolsey jonquil hose. His shoes are fastened to his feet with pack-thread. The man's enormous paunch, which rises and falls to the cadence of sonorous snores, has snapped the horn b.u.t.tons off his coat. His pimpled, shapeless, reddish and blotched nose has, the same as his bald head, taken on the winy hue of the juice of the vine that the sleeper is in the habit of quaffing in large potations.

Near him on the sward lies a chaplet of vine-leaves with which he covers the few grey hairs that are still left to him. Not far from the gay customer is his "rotte," a resonant hurdy-gurdy from which his nimble fingers know how to extract music, because Master Goose-Skin, for that is his name, is a skilful juggler. His Bacchic and licentious songs are unmatched in their efficacy to throw nuns, vagabonds and wenches into the best of humor. So profound is Goose-Skin's sleep that he does not hear the approaching footsteps of a new personage, who has just come out of one of the last houses of the suburb. The personage is Mylio the Trouvere.

Mylio is twenty-five years of age. Why speak of his face? His picture, whether faithfully drawn or not, has been described by Marphise and her companions. The trouvere's stature is robust and tall. On his black and wavy hair he carries, half-drawn to one side, a scarlet camail, the tippet of which falls upon and covers his wide shoulders. His white tunic of fine woven Frisian cloth, held closed over his chest by a row of gold b.u.t.tons, is embroidered at the collar and sleeves with scarlet silk. Of his double sleeves, the outer ones, slashed and floating, are open almost up to the shoulders, while the inner ones fit tightly over his arms and are held at the wrists with gold b.u.t.tons. From his embroidered belt hangs, on one side, a short sword, from the other an almoner. Mylio has recently been on horseback. We notice that, instead of the shoes with long points tipped upwards in the shape of ram's horns, as is the fashion of the time, he wears over his hose large boots of yellow leather embroidered in red and reaching up to his thighs.

While Goose-Skin continues soundly asleep and snoring sonorously, Mylio stops a few steps away from the old juggler and remarks to himself with an air of no little concern:

"I have not been able to meet the Lombard merchant at Amboise, from where I now come; and he is not yet back at his house. The keeper at the inn where he usually puts up, claims he has gone to Tours to sell some silk goods. I shall have to wait for his return. Seeing he left Languedoc about two months ago, he surely brings me a message from my brother Karvel."

Mylio remains pensive for a moment and proceeds:

"Better than any other, Karvel deserves the name of 'Perfect,' the designation or t.i.tle given to their pastors by the Albigensian heretics, as the Christian priests call this sect. It was no vain pride that led my brother to accept the t.i.tle of Perfect. He was led thereto by the solemn determination to justify it by his life; and that life, lived so admirably by him, has been seconded by an incomparable wife, the good and gentle Morise. Never did virtue appear in more enchanting features.

Yes, Morise is perfect as my brother is a Perfect. (Smiling.) And yet Karvel and myself are of one blood! Well, can I not, after all, say with the modesty so peculiar to the trouvere, that I am perfect after my own fashion? Have I not, although desperately in love with Florette, respected the girl? (A long interval of silence.) Oh! when I compare her candid love with the brazen love intrigues that have turned modern Gaul into a lupanar--when I compare with the stoic life of my brother the life of adventure into which the ardor of youth and the irresistible taste for enjoyment have cast me for the last five years, when I do that, then I am almost minded to follow the good inspiration that my love for Florette has started in my heart. (He reflects.) Certes, in these days of unbridled corruption, if he only has acquired some little renown, is gifted with as much audacity as recklessness in morals, and is a little better shaped than my friend Goose-Skin, who lies there snoring like a canon at matins, the trouvere who makes the rounds of the monasteries of nuns or of the castles, whose seigneurs are away on the Crusade, has but to take his pick. Adventures cl.u.s.ter thick around him.

Fondled, caressed, generously paid for his songs in gold and silver coin, besides the fervid kiss of the ladies of the manors or the abbesses, a trouvere has nothing for which to envy either the clergymen or the knights. He can have a dozen mistresses at one time, and feast upon the most piquant infidelities. Like a merry bird of pa.s.sage, soon as his gay song has been heard, he can escape with one flap of his wings from the white hand that seeks to retain him, and fly elsewhere to sing, without ever concerning himself about the future, and without regrets on the past. He has rendered kiss for kiss, he has charmed the ears with his roundelays and the eyes with his plumage. What more can be wanted from him? Aye, to-day so runs love in Gaul! Its emblem is no longer the dove of Cyprus but the lascivious sparrow of Lesbia or the satyr of the ancient priestess of Bacchus! It is the triumph of the G.o.d Cupid and his dame Venus!

"Oh, how sweet it is to step for a moment out of the giddy baccha.n.a.lia, and refresh one's soul and repose one's heart on the pure pillow of a chaste love! How ineffable are the charms of the tender respect with which one delights in surrounding the innocent confidence of a maid of fifteen! (He again lapses into silence.) Strange! Whenever I think of Florette my mind turns to my brother and his austere life--his useful occupation, that puts mine to shame. Well, whatever I may decide, I must this very evening s.n.a.t.c.h Florette from the danger that threatens her.

(Distant chimes of bells.) The curfew tolls the knell of day. It is now nine o'clock. The sweet child does not expect me until moon-rise. The Marchioness of Ariol and the Countess Ursine will have to dispense this evening with my visit. Dusk was to have seen me enter the orchard of the one, and dawn was to have seen me leave the castle of the other.

(Laughs.) This was to be their night. But let me wake up Goose-Skin. I shall need his a.s.sistance. (Calls him.) h.e.l.loa, Goose-Skin! How the fellow snores! He is in the fumes of the wine that he must have drunk on credit in some tavern. (Stoops and shakes him vigorously.) Will you never wake up, rogue! Old leather-bottle, swollen with wine!"

Goose-Skin emits a series of m.u.f.fled grunts, whereupon he blows, snorts, whimpers, yawns, stretches his limbs and finally sits up, rubbing his eyes.

MYLIO--"I asked you to wait for me under this tree. You have a very singular way of keeping watch!"

GOOSE-SKIN (rises in a dudgeon, picks up his chaplet of vine-leaves, slams it upon his head, puts his hurdy-gurdy under his arm, and angrily cries at Mylio)--"Ha! Traitor! Double-dyed thief! You robbed me of my feast!"

MYLIO--"What feast did I rob you of, Sir Paunch? Come, wake up!"

GOOSE-SKIN--"You woke me up at the sweetest moment of my dream! And what a dream! I was witnessing the combat of Shrove-Tide against Shrove-Tuesday. Shrove-Tide, armed cap-a-pie, advanced mounted astride of a salmon. For casque he had on an enormous oyster, for buckler a cheese, for cuira.s.s a ray, for spurs a round of sea-urchins, and for sling an eel with an egg between its teeth for a stone!"

MYLIO--"Such is the gluttony of this Sir Paunch that even asleep he dreams of eatables! Oh, you devil of a gourmand!"

GOOSE-SKIN--"Miscreant! You s.n.a.t.c.hed from my mouth dishes that cost me nothing, because, if Shrove-Tide was toothsomely armed, Shrove-Tuesday was no less so. His casque consisted of a veal patty with a roasted peac.o.c.k for its top. Shrove-Tuesday, all cased in in hams, was astride of a roe whose many-branched antlers were loaded with partridges. For lance he had a long spit, run through a number of roast capons.

(Addressing the trouvere with a redoubled affectation of grotesque anger) Vagabond! Man without faith or law! You woke me up at the very moment when, Shrove-Tide succ.u.mbing to the blows of Shrove-Tuesday, I was on the point of eating both the vanquished and the vanquisher! Arms and armor! Everything! I was on the point of eating everything including the mounts of the combatants! Oh, in all my life I shall not pardon you for your villainy."

MYLIO--"Calm down! I shall subst.i.tute your dream with the reality. You shall not want for victuals."

GOOSE-SKIN--"Oxhorns! A wonderful proposition! To eat with eyes open!

What would there be wonderful about that! On the contrary, without you I was eating asleep! Oh, a plague upon you!"

MYLIO--"But suppose I were to furnish you wherewith to guzzle a whole day and night, what would you then have to reproach me with? Just answer, comrade!"

GOOSE-SKIN (gravely)--"You shut my mouth with the promise to fill it with good wine and plenty!"

MYLIO--"Will you render me a service?"

GOOSE-SKIN--"I'm a glutton, a boozer, a gambler, a libertine, a lover of wenches, a liar, a roysterer, a braggard, and a poltroon, but--oxhorns!

I am not an ingrate. Never shall I forget that you, Mylio, the celebrated and brilliant trouvere, whose harp is the delight of the castles, have more than once shared your purse with old Goose-Skin the juggler, whose humble hurdy-gurdy cheers only taverns patronized by vagabonds, serfs and wenches! No! Never shall I forget your generosity, Mylio; and I swear to you that you always can count upon me--by the faith of Goose-Skin, which is my war name."

MYLIO--"Are we not fellows in the gay science? Is not your merry hurdy-gurdy, which rejoices the poor and causes them to forget for a moment the misery of their lives, worth as much as my harp, which entertains the l.u.s.tful or cloyed idleness of the n.o.ble dames? Mention not the services that I have rendered to you, my old friend."

GOOSE-SKIN (interrupting him)--"In helping me you have done more than your duty. Never; no, never shall I forget it!"

MYLIO--"Very well! But now listen to me--"

GOOSE-SKIN (with solemnity)--"When G.o.d created the world he put in it three kinds of men: the n.o.bles, the priests and the serfs. To the n.o.bles he gave the land, to the priests the goods of the simpletons, and to the serfs robust arms to work without let for the benefit of the priests."

MYLIO--"Well said. But now stop your speech-making, and let me inform you--"

GOOSE-SKIN--"The lots being then distributed by the Almighty, there remained two other and highly interesting cla.s.ses to be provided for--the jugglers and the wenches. The Lord thereupon charged the priests to nourish the wenches, and he enjoined the seigneurs to keep the jugglers well fed. So, you see, it was no duty on your part, seeing that you are not a n.o.ble, to share your purse with me. Consequently, you have done more than your duty. Consequently the ones who fall short of their divine duty are the degenerate n.o.bles, the curmudgeons, the misers, the skin-flints, the pedants, the--"

MYLIO--"G.o.d's blood! By the horns of St. Joseph! Will you give me a chance to speak?"

GOOSE-SKIN (in a pitiful and plaintive tone)--"Oh, the good times of the jugglers are gone! Formerly their purses and their bellies were always kept full. Alas! Our fathers have eaten the meat, we only have the bone to gnaw upon. But, now, speak, Mylio! I shall be as silent as my friend Gueulette, the tavern-keeper's daughter, when I implore her with love--the cruel, pitiless la.s.s! Speak, my benign companion. I listen."

MYLIO (impatiently)--"Are you really done?"

GOOSE-SKIN--"You will sooner pull out my tongue than make me say another word, one single word more! My friend Gueulette herself, the roguish la.s.sy, whose nose is so provoking, and whose corsage is so attractive--even she with her throat--"

MYLIO (walking away)--"The devil take the babbler!"

Goose-Skin runs after the trouvere, and imitating the gestures of the deaf-and-dumb, indicates that he pledges himself to silence.

MYLIO (returning)--"I have here in my almoner ten handsome silver deniers. They will be yours if you serve me well; but every superfluous word that you utter means one denier less."

Goose-Skin renews his silent pledges, swearing upon his hurdy-gurdy and his chaplet of vine-leaves that he will be mute as a fish.

MYLIO--"You know Chaillot, the miller of the Abbey of Citeaux?"

Goose-Skin nods affirmatively with his head.

MYLIO (smiling)--"By the Lord, Master Goose-Skin! You are keeping a good guard on your silver deniers. Well, then, that Chaillot, a confirmed drunkard, has for wife Chaillotte, an equally confirmed jade. Being of an accommodating disposition she entertained the monks right royally whenever they went to drink at her mill, until finally the miller's house became nothing but a tavern for the monks of the Abbey of Citeaux.

Two weeks ago Abbot Reynier, the superior of Citeaux--"

GOOSE-SKIN--"If I did not fear that it would cost me a silver denier, I would make free to say that the said Reynier is the most dissolute and most wicked scamp that the devil ever tonsured! But out of fear of having to pay for these truths with my good cash, I shall remain mute!"

MYLIO--"In honor to the accuracy of the picture that you have drawn I shall pardon the interruption. But do not let it happen again! Now, then, Abbot Reynier said to me two weeks ago: 'Would you like to see a veritable treasure of rustic beauty? Join us to-morrow at the mill of the abbey. There is a girl at the place who is barely fifteen years old.

Her aunt, the miller's wife, brought her up away from the public gaze.

The fruit is cherry-ripe. I wish you to give me your opinion of her.' I accepted the abbot's offer. I love to witness the debaucheries of these monks whom I hate. They furnish me with good points for my satires.

Well, I accompanied the superior and several of his friends to the mill.

Thanks to the provisions that we brought along from the abbey, the meat was tender and the wine old. The heads began to swim. The repast being over, the infamous Chaillotte triumphantly fetches in her niece, a girl of fifteen, so beautiful--Oh, so beautiful!--a flower of grace and innocence. At her sight, the frocked debauchers, the tonsured tipplers, heated with wine, jump up neighing with l.u.s.tful admiration. Frightened out of her senses, the poor little girl steps hastily back, forgetting that behind her is an open window that looks over the water of the mill--"

GOOSE-SKIN (with a tone of sorrow)--"And the little girl drops into the water? Poor little one!"

MYLIO--"Yes, but fortunately I stood near and I leaped after her. It was in time. Drawn by the current, Florette was on the point of being broken by the wheel of the mill when I pulled her out."