THE CANTERBURY MAGAZINE: By Geoffrey Oldcastle, Gent. No. 9.] "AT THAT TRIBUNAL STANDS THE WRITING TRIBE TIME IS THE JUDGE TIME HAS NOR FRIEND NOR FOE; YOUNG. MARCH, 1835. [VOL. II. HUGH LEMAIRE. SHOWING HOW A POOR GENTLEMAN GAVE RICH DOWERS TO HIS DESCENDANTS. In a solitary tower, in the middle of the woods which formerly abounded in the neighbourhood of Paris, lived a certain gentleman named HUGH LEMAIRE. Young, handsome, and noble, but ruined by the expenses of his forefathers in the Holy Wars, that tower was the sole inheritance which remained to him. It was lofty, strong, and decorated with his coat of arms; but dark, and so small and inconvenient, as scarcely to afford him a lodging. A field surrounded it which was small and uncultivated, and full of thistles, heath, and brambles. This tower and this field he called his Castle and his domain. Now, it happened one day that this same handsome, noble, and poor gentleman saw a young lady named Arletta, who was still more handsome, still more noble, and still poorer than himself; and thinking her worthy of every thing that was good, he offered her all that had fallen to his share, namely, his heart, his faith, his field, and his tower. She did not disdain the offer, but returned him love for love; gave him her hand; and, after having received the nuptial benediction, they came to inhabit together the little castle, and said, as they entered it, "God will bless us !" This union was, in fact, blessed; too much so, perhaps ; for, at the end of the fourth year, they had already six children; the good lady never having less than two at a time. But, in proportion as the family increased, their narrow lodging seemed to grow still narrower; for there was no opening a door, without a foot, a shoulder, or an arm popping out; so much were they crowded one upon another. Now, in this very small lodging, poverty grew to such a height, that the children often went to bed supperless; and where the children did so once, the parents did so four times, as they always gave to them the last morsel of bread without reserving any for themselves. One evening, when our gentleman and his wife were sitting sadly, in the midst of their sleeping children, Hugh Lemaire said to Arletta, "We cannot go on thus; get me some serf's old clothes, that I may disguise myself, and hire myself to dig the monk's fields, or to assist some workman of the town in his labours." 'Hugh," said the good woman, "better a hole in your skin, than a stain in your arms. Rather put on your armour, and go off to Paris to the Abbey of St. Germain d'Auxerre; offer yourself to the monks as their champion in the trials of the judgment of God. If they accept of you, by upholding their rights towards all and against all, you will at once gain honour and profit." The Knight set off accordingly to find the monks. Every thing was sadly changed! The clergy, in concert with the nobles, were at open variance with the King, who wished entirely to abolish single combats. A revolt was plotting; but, till it was ripe for breaking out, all parties abstained from submitting causes and crimes to the judgment of God. Nevertheless, one petty noble, with only two quarterings, obstinately disputed with the monks of St. Germain some point of trifling importance. Hugh fought with him; but it was with closed lists, in the inner court of the Abbey, whilst the monks, caring little for so paltry a cause, performed, as usual, their church services, and took no note of the combat. The champion of a strange cause, against an unknown adversary, fighting in a bye-place, without any other spectators of his prowess than two indifferent judges, who were obliged to be present as witnesses, our friend had small heart for fighting. Hugh conquered his adversary with great difficulty, if, indeed, it could be called a victory; for the judges, seeing the two combatants equally bruised, harrassed, and out of breath, because the Abbey was the richest and most powerful, gave the victory to its champion. Hugh, therefore, was neither rewarded nor applauded, receiving only three sous d'or,* and plenty of bruises, which he carried home with him. *The sous d'or was worth about 10s. 6d. "the bright "Don't send me back again," said he to his wife; days of duels are gone by: they have found somewhere down there, an old piece of parchment, where the devil has scribbled his signature, and which they call the Pandects. The King insists, that we may there find an answer for every complaint, and that we are no longer to fight with any other weapons than the tongue and the pen the glory of God and of the sword have nothing to do with it." "Come in," said the wife," and let me dress your wounds with the oil and wine that I have prepared; and since you have brought back some pence, we will eat while we are looking out for some other expedient." While the money lasted, they racked their invention in vain; but when they came to their last blancs, * the gentleman began again to complain of his nobility, which forbad his gaining his bread, and said to his wife, "What shall I do?" "The great Baron of Montmorency is about to marry his son, and to give a succession of festivals at his Castle. There will be all sorts of amusements, tournaments, passages of arms, battles with blunt weapons, and, above all, a melee or general combat. Go there, my gentle lord; you will make some rich prisoner, who will ransom himself by a year's income, according to custom; or, at least, you will win some fine courser or beautiful suit of armour, which you may sell to procure us food." The husband did as he was advised. He went to the sports; but, alas! he only brought back a miserable one-eyed hack, all over bruises, which he seized in the melee, and which he could not sell for more than four deniers. This resource did not last long; and they again began to pity themselves as their poverty became more urgent. Early on the morning of a day when they had only three oboles ‡ left, Arletta rose with the dawn, mounted to the highest room of the tower, opened a large chest and drew out some remains of tinsel, and of ancient dresses, which she had brought with her at her marriage, and put away in this place; but which, the cares of her matrimonial life, had since caused her entirely to forget. She set about diligently putting them in order. She took as much, or more, care than ever in dressing herself in them; employed a great deal of art, in order to hide their worn and faded state; turned the old stuffs, and folded them, and made them up in draperies, so as to display only the fresh and dazzling parts. She arranged her long hair, suiting all to set off the contour of her face, and the graces of her figure. In short, she succeded so well, that her husband fancied he saw her again in all the freshness of her beauty, as when he first fell in love with her. The air of a gentlewoman never forsook her; so true it is, that nobility always shews itself. "I am going," said she to her husband, "to a cousin of * A small copper money of the value of nearly a farthing. + The denier is worth 5d. The obole is about 1d, mine, who lives at court, and do you stay and take care of the children." 66 Go, my dear, and heaven bless you; act according to the dictates of your own prudence and sagacity." As soon as her cousin saw her, she ran delighted to meet her, saying," you have, then, at last, recollected me, so long as it is, since we saw each other! I ought to be the more grateful for your visit, for your dress, and brilliancy of appearance, show me that you are happily and well married." "Heaven be praised!" replied Arletta, "my husband is a handsome nobleman; I am mother of a very fine family; and our castle, emblazoned with our arms, is surrounded on all sides by our estates." Come, then," said the former, "I will do my best to entertain you properly." They entered, and the lady of the house having made her visitor sit down by a table, placed before her a loaf of fine white bread, some dishes of cold meat, wine, and abundance of sweetmeats, which she had made, she said, for the King's comfit box; then, as she was a great gossip, she began to prate away, while Arletta refreshed herself; of which, indeed, she had great need. As soon as she had filled her stomach, and warmed it with a few glasses of wine, the good woman, to whom this was a grand treat, began to grow gay, and to talk merrily, recollecting all the good jokes and laughs of their young days. But her hostess, stopping her directly-" We must be careful, cousin, not to be heard amusing ourselves, talking, singing, and laughing; for the king has, for a long time, been attacked by a melancholy disorder, and is continually, and on all occasions, sad and sorrowful; therefore, the queen is sad, of course, and the nobility who surround, and visit them, are sad too; and consequently their ladies, their attendants, and their servants are sad; in short, at court we are all sad; it is enough to break one's heart!" "Come to the point;" said Arletta, "what sad event has happened, to reduce you all to such a state of sadness ?" "Few know anything about it," replied her cousin, with an air of mystery; "but all that has happened I know it is a strange story! Well aware of my discretion, they have told it to me, on condition, however, that I do not speak of it; of course, therefore, I hold my tongue. Never reveal a secret! terrible! Any secrets that are confided to me, are buried, as if in a dungeon, dead as if in the tomb; were my head on the block I would not betray them, to any other than you; you understand, cousin ; you are a wise and prudent woman; one whom I have not the injustice to suspect of indiscretion. Come close, and give me all your attention." The lady of the castle, who was curious, and loved a little mystery, did not require twice telling, and her companion seeing how attentively she prepared to listen, began thus: "To obtain forgiveness for some great sin which he has committed, and which he keeps a secret, (as, indeed, he is only obliged to tell it to his confessor), our king, Philip-Le-Bel, made a vow to go to the Holy Land, on foot, fully armed, and holding a lighted taper, in his hand. But when the remorse for the said sin was somewhat abated, and the fear of eternal fire was not quite so strong, the good king began to reflect that the journey was very long, his armour very heavy, and that he would find it difficult to keep his candle alight all the way from Paris to Jerusalem. He began, also, to regret, beforehand, all his kingly enjoyments, which were not to accompany him; to compare his soft and silken robes with the hard and heavy armour which he was never to take off; the pace of his horse appeared more easy; the shelter of his palace more comfortable; in short, he regretted his vow, without, however, daring to break it. Then it was that he became gloomy and silent. Every one hoped it would be a passing cloud; but, on the contrary, his grief became greater from day to day, and his health gave way. "The queen was alarmed, and sought, but in vain, to find out the cause. She employed every means to persuade the king to inform her, but in vain. She had, as vainly, recourse to saints, relics, and offerings, and after having tried the most holy men, she consulted physicians, magicians, sorcerers; and as kings have always the cleverest in their service, they managed so well, that one day, overcome by the load of grief which he could no longer support, he came, of his own accord, to deposit his secret in the bosom of the queen, and discovered to her at once, his vow, and his regret for having bound himself by it. "The queen said to the king; 'you are distressing yourself about nothing; why not send some one in your place? You cannot be ignorant that by the help of alms to the church, that is often done?' "Your council would be good,' said the king,' if I had not set my heart on its remaining a secret.' Very well,' said she, 'it shall be a secret, since we will impart it only to our greatest confidants. On these occasions it is only necessary to draw one's purse strings pretty largely; let us send to the monks, and find one of them who will undertake the pilgrimage for you.' "No time was lost in sending, and the King felt quite rejoiced; not doubting the assurance of his wife, that not one only, but ten monks, would offer to go to Jerusalem in his place, considering that he was resolved not to dispute about the price. But the monks answered, that it did not become them to put on armour, except for the defence of the wealth of the church ; that to abandon their holy robes for so long a time, and for such a journey, would be to infringe the rules of their order and to incense their patron; and that, besides, in the memory of a monk, it was never known that any ecclesiastic had set off to go so far on foot and in armour. |