The Iron Pincers or Mylio and Karvel Part 1

The Iron Pincers.

by Eugene Sue.

PREFACE.

A new breath blows through this story, the thirteenth of the Eugene Sue series, _The Mysteries of the People; or, History of a Proletarian Family Across the Ages_. The epoch is the Thirteenth Century. The rudeness and coa.r.s.eness of the period described in the preceding story--_The Pilgrim's Sh.e.l.l; or, Fergan the Quarryman_--now lies two centuries behind. Religious bigotry still reigns supreme, but it now is no more of the coa.r.s.e nature typified by a Cuckoo Peter, it now partakes of the flavor of a Duke of Montfort; amours are no longer of the vulgar type of a Duke of Aquitaine, they now partake of the mental refinement of "Courts of Love." Music and poetry chasten the harsh lines of the Thirteenth Century and the season is prepared for the epoch described in the following novel--_The Iron Trevet; or, Jocelyn the Champion_--the age of chivalry. Nevertheless it was at this epoch that the religious persecutions of the Albigensians happened. The fell fanaticism of Montfort, the lawlessness of the clergy, and the dissoluteness of the n.o.bility are woven into a narrative with Mylio the Trouvere and his brother Karvel, the type of religious purity, as the center figures of a story that has all the fascination of drama, in which tears and laughter, freedom and oppression alternate in rapid succession--a true picture of its times.

DANIEL DE LEON.

Milford, Conn., September, 1909.

INTRODUCTION.

I, Mylio the Trouvere[1]--the great-great-grandson of Colombaik, whose father, Fergan the Quarryman, was killed on the ramparts of Laon in the defense of the franchise of the commune--have written this "play," or narrative in dialogue, as is the vogue in these days.[2] The events herein narrated transpired in the course of the year 1208, at the period when the war of King Philip Augustus against King John of England and against Germany raged at its worst. The description of the "Court of Love," however much I may tone it down, reflects truthfully the unbridled license of the morals that are prevalent in these times, and the description of the persecutions of the Albigensian heretics, however much I may tone down that, truthfully reflects the ferocity of the religious bigotry of this self-same epoch. On the one subject and on the other the facts are revolting. Nevertheless, I am of the opinion that the morals and principles of the n.o.ble dames, the seigneurs and the clergy should not be concealed from you, children of Joel. Your knowledge of the facts will strengthen your aversion for these elements of our oppression.

PART I.

THE COURT OF LOVE

CHAPTER I.

THE ORCHARD OF MARPHISE.

What I here have to narrate occurs towards evening on a beautiful autumn day, in the orchard of Marphise, the n.o.ble Lady of Ariol. The orchard, which lies in the close vicinity of the ramparts of the city of Blois, is surrounded by a high wall, crowned by a hedge of yoke-elm. A handsome summer-pavilion rises in the middle of the garden. The trees are numerous, and their fruit-laden branches are ingeniously intertwined with vines that bear cl.u.s.ters of purple grapes. Not far from the pavilion, a stately pine-tree casts its shadow across a white marble basin filled with limpid water and encircled by a broad band of lawn, on which roses, anemones and gladiolas blend their lively colors. A bench of verdure is contrived around the foot of the gigantic pine, whose dense foliage allows the setting rays of the sun to penetrate it here and there, and to empurple the crystal face of the water in the basin.

Twelve women, the eldest of whom, Marphise, the Lady of Ariol, has hardly reached her thirtieth year, and the youngest, Eglantine, Viscountess of Seligny, is not yet seventeen;--twelve women, the least handsome of whom would everywhere, except here, have been considered a star of beauty;--twelve women are a.s.sembled in this orchard. After a collation in which the wines of Blois, of Saumur and of Beaugency have moistened the delicate venison pasties, the eels preserved in mustard, the cold partridges seasoned in verjuice--a dainty repast that is rounded with toothsome confectionery and sweets, moistened, in their turn, with no less copious libations of hippocra.s.s or other spiced wines--the eyes of the n.o.ble ladies begin to dance and their cheeks are inflamed.

Certain of being alone among themselves, and sheltered from indiscreet looks or inquisitive ears, the merry gossips observe neither in their words nor in their demeanor the reserve that, perhaps, they might observe elsewhere. Some, stretched at full length on the sward, turn the limpid water of the basin into a mirror, contemplate themselves, and make all manner of winsome grimaces at their own reflections in the water; others, perched upon a ladder, amuse themselves plucking the ruddy apples or mellow pears from the trees, and, as the petticoats of the n.o.ble ladies serve for ap.r.o.ns in which to gather their harvest, the color of their garters is often exposed--a circ.u.mstance that in no wise disturbs our climbers, knowing as they do, that their limbs are well shaped; others, again, hold themselves by the hands in a circle, and amidst peals of laughter indulge in a giddy whirl; while still others, being of a more indolent bent, repose upon the bench of verdure and lazily enjoy the balmy air of the delightful evening.

These indolent ones should be named. They are: Marphise, the Lady of Ariol; Eglantine, Viscountess of Seligny; and Deliane, Canoness of the sacred Chapter of Nivelle. Marphise, tall, dark, with eyebrows boldly arched and of no less deep a hue than her raven-black hair and large black eyes, would have resembled the antique Minerva if, like the G.o.ddess, Marphise had worn a bra.s.s casque on her head, and if her chest, ma.s.sive and white as alabaster, were imprisoned in a cuira.s.s, in short, if her physiognomy had recalled the austere dignity of the G.o.ddess of wisdom. Fortunately, there is no trace of all that, thanks both to the playful brilliancy of Marphise's eyes and to her laughing, sensual and ruddy lips. Her coif of orange color, with its flaps gently turned above her ears, exposes the strands of her black hair, which are braided with a thread of pearls. Her elegant figure stands outlined under her robe of white silk, a rich Lombard fabric relieved with orange-colored designs.

Her sleeves, open and flowing, her upturned collar, her sloping corsage, leave her beautiful arms bare, and expose her under-waistcoat of snow-white linen, fluted, and bordered with gold thread over her bosom.

In order to cool her burning cheek, Marphise flutters an ivory-handled fan of peac.o.c.k feathers. Indolently stretched upon the bench of verdure, the nonchalant woman does not notice that a raised fold of her skirt exposes one of her limbs which tightly fits a stocking of pale green silk with silver ribs, together with her dainty slipper of Lyons manufacture, with a red buckle ornamented with rubies.

Marphise turns with a smile towards Eglantine, who, standing behind the bench of verdure, leans her elbows upon its back. Thus, only the face and corsage of the charming Viscountess of Seligny are visible. She has been well named, Eglantine. Never did the flower of the wild-rose, barely blossomed from the bud, display a more delicate tint, or more vernal, than the enchanting visage of the dainty blonde with eyes as blue as the sky of May. All about her is rosy. Rosy are her cheeks, rosy her lips, roses make up the little chaplet of perfumed flowers which crowns the hair-net of silver thread through the squares of which her deep blonde hair peeps out, and finally, rosy is the silk of her gorget, which, from the waist all the way up to the neck, tightly fastened by a row of marvelously wrought silver b.u.t.tons, sets off her delicate contour.

While Eglantine thus leans upon her elbows on the bench, Deliane, the Canoness of the Chapter of Nivelle is upon her knees at the opposite side of the verdure seat. With one of her arms familiarly reclined upon the white shoulder of Marphise, she listens smiling to the erotic conversation between Eglantine and the Lady of Ariol. Of the two prattlers, one is of superb beauty, the other of charming prettiness.

Deliane the canoness, however, is celestial. Dream of a woman of as divine a beauty as your imagination can conceive; clothe her in a scarlet robe of delicate material bordered with ermine; add to that a surplice of the white of the lily like the hood and veil which frame in the ideal face of the canoness; steep her beautiful hazel eyes in a languor of saintly love;--do that and you will have the portrait of the matchless canoness. That being done, gild the group of these three women with a ray of the setting sun, and you will admit that, at that moment, the orchard of the Lady of Ariol, filled as it is with delicious fruit, greatly resembles the terrestrial Paradise;--aye, surpa.s.ses it. For one thing, instead of one solitary Eve, you see here a full dozen--some blonde, some dark, some auburn; for another thing, that boor of an Adam is absent, and absent also is the rainbow colored serpent, unless the villain has hidden himself under some cl.u.s.ter of roses and gladiolas.

You have, so far, admired with your eyes; now listen to their talk, always facetious and mirthful, at times anacreontic--rakish words accompanied with immodest postures:

MARPHISE--"I am still laughing, Eglantine, about that pretty story--the eternal stupidity of husbands."

THE CANONESS--"That simpleton of a husband bringing in a light, and finding--what? Why his wife holding a calf by the tail!"

EGLANTINE--"And did the monk escape in the darkness?"

MARPHISE--"Oh! These tonsured friends are cunning lovers!"

THE CANONESS--"I don't know about that. They are taken to be more secretive than the others. It is a mistake!"

EGLANTINE--"And then they ruin you with their solicitations after copes and alms. There is nothing too brilliant for them. They are always a-begging on the sly."

MARPHISE--"But the knights are also quite expensive luxuries! If the clerk loves to strut under silks at the altar, the knight loves to shine at the tourney, and often have we to pay for his swagger, from his spurs to his casque, from the bridle of his horse to the horse itself, besides garnishing his purse with round pieces of silver and gold!"

EGLANTINE--"And then, on some fine day, horse, armor, embroidered housings--everything lands at the usurer's to fit out some wench, after which your gallant friend returns to you dressed--only in his glory, and you are weak enough to equip him anew! Oh! Believe me, dear friends, they make sorry lovers, these tourney-hunters do! Without mentioning that these redoubtable warriors are often duller than their mounts--"

THE CANONESS--"A clerk is no less sorry a choice. It must be admitted that these churchmen have more wit about them than the knights, but just think of the amus.e.m.e.nt connected with having to go to church in order to hear your lover sing ma.s.s, or with running across him when he is escorting a corpse to its last resting place and is mumbling away at his prayers, in a hurry to return to the house of mourning and have his share of the feast. I must confess it shocks my delicacy."

EGLANTINE--"And if he makes you a present! Fie! His gifts are impregnated with a nauseating odor--they smell of dead bodies."

MARPHISE (laughing)--"'And should you die, my beloved, I shall very piously and particularly recommend your soul to G.o.d, and sing a superb ma.s.s with ringing bells.'--"

The three women laugh aloud at Marphise's joke.

THE CANONESS--"And for all that, out of ten women you will not find two who have not a clerk or a knight for their lover."

MARPHISE--"I believe Deliane is mistaken."

EGLANTINE--"Let's see. We are here twelve in the orchard. We are all young, as we know; handsome, as we are told. We are no fools, either. We know how to find amus.e.m.e.nt while our husbands are away in the Holy Land."

MARPHISE (laughing)--"Where they expiate their own sins--and ours."

THE CANONESS--"Blessed be Peter the Hermit! With his preaching of the first Crusade over a hundred years ago, the holy man gave the signal for the delectation of the women--"

MARPHISE--"That Peter the Hermit must have been bribed by the lovers.

More than one husband who departed for Palestine has repeated, while scratching his ears: 'I'd like to know what my wife Capeluche is doing at this hour! By the blood of G.o.d, what is my wife doing now?'"

EGLANTINE (impatiently)--"What we do? Indeed! Why, we enrol our husbands in the large fraternity of St. Arnold. Besides, they are Crusaders.

Their salvation is, accordingly, doubly certain. But, for mercy's sake, dear friends, let's leave our husbands in Palestine; may they stay there as long as possible; and let us return to my plan. It is a pleasanter thing to consider. Deliane claims that out of ten women there are not two who have not a clerk or a knight for their lover. We are here twelve of us. Each of us has her tender secret. Where is the woman so small as to reject a lover when she is herself gentilely and loyally smitten? To yield is a sweet duty."

THE CANONESS (with languor)--"Thank G.o.d, we do not desire our fellowmen's death. We must yield to those who love us."

MARPHISE (gravely)--"The woman who, being adored with love, would cause the death of a man by her refusal, must be condemned as a homicide. The Court of Love has under my presidency, issued that memorable decree at its last session under the young elm. The said decree was rendered at the instance of the Conservator of the High Privileges of Love, who made the application before the Chamber of Sweet Pledges. The applicant, if I remember rightly, was a lover residing in the purlieus of the 'Delightful Pa.s.sion,' 'Perseverence Street,' 'Hotel Despair,' where the unhappy fellow was dying of his flame's inhumanity. Fortunately, when our Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram, accompanied by the Bailiff of the Joy of Joys, notified the tigress of the Court's decree, she recoiled before the fear of falling into mortal sin by causing the death of her admirer, and surrendered unconditionally to him."

THE CANONESS (with unction)--"It is so sweet a thing to s.n.a.t.c.h one of G.o.d's creatures from the clutches of death!"