The Fortunes of Garin by Mary Johnston
CHAPTER II
THE JONGLEUR AND THE HERD-GIRL
“JONGLEUR,” said Garin, “some miles from this spot there is a feast dayin a fair town. This is the strangest thing that ever I saw, that ajongleur should be here and not there!”
“Esquire,” said the other, “I have certain information that the princeholds to-day a great tourney, and that every knight and baron in fortymiles around has gone to the joust. I know not an odder thing than thatall the knights should be riding in one direction and all the esquiresin another!”
“Two odd things in one day is good measure,” said Garin. “That is afine lute you have.”
The thin dark person drew the musical instrument in front of him andbegan to play, and then to sing in a fair-to-middling voice.
“In the spring all hidden close, Lives many a bud will be a rose. In the spring ’tis crescent morn, But then, ah then, the man is born! In the spring ’tis yea or nay; Then cometh Love makes gold of clay! Love is the rose and truest gold, Love is the day and soldan bold, Love—”
The jongleur yawned and ceased to sing. “Why,” he asked the air, “whyshould I sing Guy of Perpignan’s doggerel and give it immortality whenGuy of Perpignan, turning on his heel, hath turned me off?”
He drew the ribbon over his head, laid the lute on the grass, andleaning back, closed his eyes. Garin gazed at the lute for a momentthen, dismounting, picked it up and tried his hand. He sang a huntingstave, in a better voice by far than was the jongleur’s. None had evertold him that he had a nightingale in his throat.
The jongleur opened his eyes. “Good squire, I could teach you to singnot so badly! But sing of love—sing of love! Hunting is, poeticallyspeaking, out of court favour.”
“I sing of that which I know of,” said Garin.
The other sat up. “Have I found the phœnix? Nay, nay, I trow not! Loveis the theme, and I have not found a man—no, not in cloister—whocould not rhyme and carol and expound it! Love is extremely infashion.—Have you a lord?”
“Aye.”
“Has not that lord a lady?”
“Aye, so.”
“Then love thy lady, and sing of it.”
“I know,” said Garin, “that love is the fashion.”
“The height of it,” answered the other. “It has been so now for fiftyyears and there seems no declining. It rages.”
Garin left his horse to crop the sweet grass and came and sat upon theboulder above the jongleur. “Tell me,” he said, “how it came to be so.I have a brother, older than me, who scoffs and saith that women didnot use to be of such account.”
The jongleur took up his lute again. “The troubadour whom, until theother day, I served, discusses that. He is proud and ungrateful, butyet for your edification, I will repeat what he says:—
“As earthly man walks earthly ways, At times he findeth, God the praise! Far leagues apart, thousand no less, Fresh life, fresh light, that will him bless. It cometh not save he do beckon. He groweth to it as I reckon. And when it comes the past seems grey, And only now the golden day. Then in its turn the golden day Fadeth before new gold alway. And yet he holds the ancient gain, And carryeth it with him o’er the plain. And so we fare and so we grow, Wise men would not have it other so.”
“That is a good rede,” said Garin.
“It continueth thus,” answered the jongleur.
“In time of old came Reason, King,— Ill fares the bow that lacks that string! When time was full, to give great light, Came Jesu’s word and churches’ might. Then Knighthood rose and Courtesy, And all we mean by Chivalry. These had not come, I rede you well, Save that before them rang a bell, ‘_Turn you, and look at Eve beside, Who with you roameth the world wide, And look no more as hart on hind._’ Now Love is seen by those were blind. Full day it is of high Love’s power. Her sceptre stands; it is her hour. And well I wis her lovely face To Time his reign will lend a grace!— But think ye not is made the ring! Morn will come a further thing.”
The jongleur ceased to finger his lute; Garin sat silent on theboulder. The light, sifting through the trees, chequered hisolive-green, close-fitting dress and his brown mantle. He sat, claspinghis knee, his eyes with the blue glints at once bright and dreamy.
“I have read,” he said, “that it is a great thing to be a great lover.”
“So all the troubadours say,” quoth the jongleur.
He put the ribbon of the lute around his neck, stretched himself androse. “Miles still to the town! The day is getting on, and I will bidyou adieu.”
Garin, too, looked at the sun, whistled to Paladin and left the boulder.
“My name is Elias,” said the jongleur, “and I was born at Montaudon. Ifyou make acquaintance with a rich baron who would like to hear a newtale or song each night for a thousand running, bear me in mind. I playharp, viol and lute, and so well and timedly that when they hear me,mourners leave their weeping and fall to dancing. Moreover, I know howto walk upon my hands and to vault and tumble, and I have a trick witheggs and another with platters in the air that no man or woman hathever seen into. I have also a great store of riddles. In addition, ifneed be, I can back a horse and thrust with a spear.”
“I know no such lord,” said Garin sadly. “I would I were he myself.”
“Then perhaps you may meet with some famous troubadour. I will servenone,” said Elias, “who is not in some measure famous. I prefer that hebe knight as well as poet. Be so kind as to round it in such an one’sear that you know a famed jongleur. Say to him that if God has notgiven him voice wherewith to sing or to relate his chansons, tensos,and sirventes, I, who sing like rossignol and who learned narration inTripoli and Alexandria, will do him at least some justice. But if hesings like rossignol himself or, God-like, speaks his own compositions,then say that I am the best accompanist—harp, lute, or viol—betweenSpain and Italy. Say that, even though he be armed so cap-à-pie,there will arise occasions when he is not in voice, or is weary orout of spirits. Then how well to have such as I beside him! Then tellhim that I have the completest memory, that I learn most quickly andneither forget nor misplace, and that never do I take a liberty withmy master’s verse. When you have come that far, make a pause; then,while he ponders, resume. Say that, doubtless, at that moment, ahundred jongleurs, scattered up and down the land, are chance learningand wrongly giving forth his mightiest, sweetest poems. Were it notwell—ask him—himself to teach them to one with memory and deliverybeyond reproach, who in turn might teach others? So, from mouth tomouth, all would go as it should, and he be published correctly. Letthat sink in. Then tell him that I am helpful in lesser ways,—silentwhen silence is wanted, always discreet, a good bearer of letters andmessages, quick at extrications, subtle as an Italian. Say that I ama good servant and honour him who feeds me and never mistake wherethe salt stands. Say that I am skilful beyond most, and earnest everfor the advancement and honour of my master. Lastly, say that I amagreeable, but not too agreeable, in the eyes of women.”
“That is necessary?” asked Garin.
“Absolutely,” answered the jongleur. “Your lover is as jealous as God.There must not be two Gods in one miracle play.”
“Does every troubadour,” asked Garin, “love greatly?”
“He thinks he does,” said Elias. “Do not forget, if you meet a trulyfamed one, Elias of Montaudon. You may also say that I have been inthe company of many poets, and that I know the secret soul of Guy ofPerpignan.”
Both left the boulder and stepped into the road. Garin laid his hand onPaladin’s neck.
“My lord is Raimbaut the Six-fingered,” he said. “His wife, my lady,is half-aged and evil to look upon, and she rails at every one saveRaimbaut, whom she fears.”
“That is ill-luck,” said the jongleur. “There is, perhaps, someneighbouring lady—”
“No. Not one.”
“To be very courtly,” said the jongleur, “one must be in love withLove. You need not at all see a woman as she is.
“She must always be noble?”
“It doth not yet descend to shepherdesses,” said the jongleur. “Forthem the antique way suffices.”
Garin mounted his horse and sat still in saddle, his eyes upon a fairgreen branch that the sun was transfiguring, making it very lively andintense in hue.
“Great love,” he said. “By the soul of my father, I think it is a greatthing! But if there is none set in your eyes to love—”
“Can you not,” said the jongleur, “like Lord Rudel, love one unseen?”
Garin sat regarding the green branch. “I do not know.... We love theunseen when we love Honour.” He sat for a moment in silence, then drewa sigh and spoke as though to himself. “It is with me as if all thingswere between coming and going, and a half-light, and a fulness thatpresses and yet knows not its path where it will go. I know not whatI shall do, nor how I shall carry life. Now I feel afire and now I amsad—” He broke off and looked beyond the green branch; then, beforethe other could speak, shook Paladin’s reins and moved down the leafyway. He glanced over his shoulder at the jongleur. “I will rememberyou.”
“Aye, remember!” returned the jongleur. He faced toward the town, putone leg before the other, and, going, swept his fingers across thestrings of his lute. He, too, looked over his shoulder and calledacross the widening distance. “Choose Love!” he called.
Garin, turning the corner of the jutty hill, lost sight of him. Thetinkle of the lute came a moment longer, then it, too, vanished. Thewind in the leaves sighed and sighed. “O Our Lady,” prayed Garin, “givethy guidance to the best man within me!”
It was now full afternoon, the road growing narrower and worse, untilat last it was a mere track. It ran through a forest large and old, andit grew quite lonely. The squire passed no one at all, saw only thegreat wood and its inmates that were four-footed or feathered. He wassympathetic to such life, and ordinarily gave it attention and found inan inward and disinterested pleasure attention’s reward. But to-day hismind was divided and troubled, and he rode unseeingly.
“The Abbot and Holy Church,” said part of his mind. “Raimbaut and someday knighthood,” said another part. “There is earthly power,” said thefirst part, “for those who serve Holy Church—serve Her to Her profitand liking. Earthly power—and in Heaven, prelates still!” Spoke thesecond part; “Ripe grapes of power fall, too, to the warrior’s hand.Only be tall enough, strong enough to pluck them from the stoutestfortress wall! Knights have become barons, barons counts, countskings!—And is not a good knight welcome in Heaven? I trow that he is,and that the angels vie with one another to do him honour!”
It seemed to Garin, though it seemed dimly enough, that other voiceswere trying to make themselves heard. But the first two were the loudones, the distinct ones. They were the fully formed, the sinewy, theinherited concepts.
He rode on. He was now near the end of the forest. It began to breakinto grassy glades. In a little time it had so thinned that lookingbetween the tree trunks one saw open country. Paladin raised his head,pricked his ears.
“What is it?” asked Garin. “Those yonder are only sheep upon thehillside.”
The next moment he heard a woman scream, “Help! Help!”
He pricked Paladin forward and together they burst into a little openspace, rounded by a thicket and shadowed by oaks. To one of these ahorse was tied. Its dismounted rider, a young man, richly dressed, hadby the arms and had forced to her knees, a peasant girl, herd, as itseemed, of a few sheep who might be seen upon the hillside beyond thethicket.
She cried again, “_A moi! A moi!_” She fought like a young tigress,twisting her body this way and that, striving to wrench her arms free,and that failing, bending her face and biting. The man was big-bonedand strong, with red-gold locks, inclining to auburn, and face and eyesjust now red and gleaming. He was young,—a very few years older thanGarin,—but his heel showed a knight’s spur. He bent the girl backward,struck her a blow that fairly stunned her outcry.
Garin burst into the ring. “Thou caitiff! Turn and fight!”
As he spoke he leaped to the ground and drew his dagger—a long andgood one it chanced to be.
The attacker turned upon him a face of surprise and fury. “Meddler!Meddler! Begone from here!” Snatching from his belt a small,silver-mounted horn, he blew it shrilly, for he had followers with himwhom he had sent ahead when he came upon the herd-girl and would stopfor ill passion’s sake. But they had gone too considerable a way, orthe wind blew against the horn, or a hill came between. Whatever itwas, he summoned in vain.
“O thou coward!” cried Garin. “Turn and fight!”
The knight stamped upon the ground. “Fight with a page or a squire atbest! My men shall scourge that green coat from your back! Begone withyour life—”
“Now,” answered Garin, “if you were heir of France, yet are you to mechurl and recreant!”
Whereupon the other took his hands from the herd-girl, drew his shortsword, and sprang upon him.
Raimbaut the Six-fingered had faults many and heavy, but those abouthim lacked not for instruction in the art of attack and defence. Garinwas skilful to make the difference not so pronounced between thatlong dagger of his and the other’s sword, and he was as strong ashis opponent, and his eyes nothing like so clouded with despite andfury. The knight had far the wider experience, was counted bold andsuccessful. But to-day he was at a disadvantage; he knew cold ragesin which he fought or tilted well; but this was a hot rage, and hisarm shook and he struck wide. Still the summoned men did not come, andstill the two struggled for mastery. As for the herd-girl—she hadrisen to her knees and then to her feet, and now was standing beneatha young oak, her eyes upon the combat. At first she had made a move toleave the place, and then had shaken her head and stayed.
Garin gained, his antagonist fighting now in a blind fury. Presentlythe squire gave a stroke so effective that the blood spouted and theknight, reeling, let fall his weapon. He himself followed, sinkingfirst upon his knee and then upon his face.
“Now have I slain you?” demanded Garin, and thrusting the sword asidewith his foot, kneeled to see.
Whereupon the other turned swiftly and struck upward with his dagger.The squire, jerking aside, went free of the intended hurt.
“Now! by the soul of my father!” swore Garin, “this is a noble knightand must be nobly dealt with!” And so he took the other’s wrists,forced away the dagger, and wrestling with him, bound his hands withhis belt, then dragged him to the nearest tree, and, cutting the bridlefrom his horse, ran the leather beneath his arms and tied him to thetrunk. This done, he took from him the horn, and stooping, glanced athis wound. “It will not kill you. Live and learn knightliness!”
The other, bound to the tree, twisted and strove, trying to freehimself. His face was no longer flushed but pale from loss of bloodand huge anger. His eyes burned like coals and he gnashed his teeth.He had a hawk nose, a sensuous mouth, and across his cheek a long andcuriously shaped scar, traced there by a poignard. Garin, gazing uponhim, saw that he promised to be a mighty man.
The bound one spoke, his voice shaking with passion. “Who are you andwhat is your name? Who is your lord? My father and I will come, levelyour house with earth, flay you alive and nail you head downward to atree—”
“If you can, fair sir,” said Garin. Stepping back, he saw upon theearth the herd-girl’s distaff where she had dropped it when the knightcame against her. The squire picked it up, came back to the captive’sside and thrust it between his tied hands. “Now,” he said, “let yourmen find you with no sword, but with a distaff!”
But the herd-girl moved at that from beneath the oak. Garin foundher at his side, a slim, dark girl, with torn dress and long, black,loosened hair. “You are all alike!” she cried. “You would shame himwith my distaff! But I tell you that it is my distaff that you shame!”With that she came to the bound man, caught the distaff from betweenhis hands, an
There, presently, Garin found her, lying beneath a green bank, her headburied in her arms.
“You were right,” said Garin, standing with Paladin beside her, “totake your distaff away. I am sorry that I did that.—Now what will youdo? He had those with him who will come to seek him.”
The girl stood up. “I have been a fool,” she said, succinctly. “Butthere! we learn by folly.” She looked about her. “Where will I go?Well, that is the question.”
“Where do you live?”
The herd-girl seemed to regard the horizon from west to east and fromeast to west. Then she said, “In a hut, two miles yonder. But his menwent that way.”
“Then you cannot go there now.”
“No.—Not now.”
Garin pondered. “It is less than two leagues,” he said, “to the Conventof Our Lady in Egypt. I could take you there. The good nuns will giveyou shelter and send you safe to-morrow to your people.”
The herd-girl seemed to consider it, then she nodded her head. She saidsomething, but her voice was half lost in the black torrent of herloosened hair. The sun’s rays were slant—it was growing late.
Garin mounted and drew her up behind him. At a little distance the roadforked.
“They went that way,” she said, pointing.
“Then it’s as well,” said Garin, “that we go this. Now we had best ridefast for a time.”
They rode fast for a good long way; then, as no hoof-sound or cry camefrom behind, the squire checked Paladin, and they went slowly enough totalk.
“I have hopes,” said Garin, “that he swooned, and when they found himcould tell them naught. Do you know his name?”
“No. I was asleep in the sun.”
“What is your name?”
“Jael.”
“The nuns will care for you.”
“I will ask them to let me stay and keep their sheep.”
They rode on through a fair, smiling country. Garin fell silent and theherd-girl was not talkative. He could not but ride wondering about thatknight back there, and who he might be and how powerful. He saw thatit was possible that he had provided a hornet’s nest for the ears ofCastel-Noir and Foulque. He drew a sigh, half-frighted and half-proudof a proved prowess.
The girl behind him moved slightly. “I had forgot to say it,” shemurmured. “I will say it now. Fair sir, I am humbly grateful—”
Garin had a great idiosyncrasy. He disliked to be thanked. “I likedthat fighting,” he said. “It was no sacrifice. That is,” he thought,“it will not be if he never find out my name.”
Paladin carried them a way farther. Said Garin, remembering chivalry,“It is man’s part to protect the weaker being, that is woman.”
“It puzzles so!” said the herd-girl. “I am not very weak. Is it man’spart, too, to lay hands upon a woman against her will? If man did notthat, then man need not do, at such cost, the other. What credit to putwater on the house you yourself set afire?”
“Now by Our Lady,” said Garin, “you are a strange herd-girl!”He twisted in the saddle so that he might look at her. She satstill,—young, slim and forlorn to the eye, dark as a berry, her feetbare and her dress so torn that her limbs showed. Her long, blackloosened hair almost hid her face, which seemed thin, with irregularfeatures. She had her distaff still, the forlorn serf’s daughter,herself a serf.
“If we plume ourselves it is a mistake, and foolishness,” said Garin.“But yet though one man act villainously, another may act well.”
“Just,” said the herd-girl. “And I thank the one who has actedwell—but not all men. I thank a man, but not mankind.”
“How old are you?”
“I am eighteen.”
“Where got you your thoughts?”
“There is time and need for thinking,” said the herd-girl, “when youkeep sheep.”
With that she sighed and fell silent. They were going now by a swiftstream; when, presently, they came to the ford and crossed, they wereupon convent lands. Our Lady in Egypt was a Cistercian convent, ampleand rich, and her grey-clad nuns came from noble houses. There werehumbly born lay sisters. The abbess was the sister of a prince. Theplace had wealth, and being of the order of Saint Bernard, then inits first strength, was like a hive for work. From the ford on, theroad was mended, the fields fat, the hedges trim. The convent had itsserfs, and the huts of these people were not miserable, nor did thepeople themselves look hunger-stricken and woe-begone. The hillsidessmiled with vineyards, the sky arched all with an Egyptian blue, thewestering sun, tempering his fierceness, looked benignly on. Presently,in a vale beside the stream, they saw the great place, set four-square,a tiny hamlet clinging like an infant to its skirts. Behind, coveringa pleasant slope, were olive groves with tall cypresses mounting likespires. Grey sisters worked among the grey trees. A bell rang slowly,with a silver tone.
“I will take you to the gate,” said Garin. “Then you can knock and thesister will let you in.”
“Aye, that will she. And you, fair squire, where will you go? Where isyour home?”
Now Garin was thinking, “If that knight is a powerful man it is wellthat I gave him no inkling of where to find me!” Assuredly he had nothought nor fear that the herd-girl might betray. And yet he did notsay, “I was born at Castel-Noir,” or “I live now in the castle ofRaimbaut the Six-fingered.” He said, “I dwell by the sea, a long wayfrom here.”
“Dusk is at hand,” said the herd-girl. “There, among those houses, isone set apart for benighted travellers.”
“How do you know that? Have you been here before?”
“Aye, once.—If you have far to ride, or the way is not clear beforeyou, you had best rest to-night in the traveller’s house.”
But Garin shook his head. “I will go on.”
With that they came, just before the sun went down, to the wall of theconvent, and the door beneath a round arch where the needy applied forshelter or relief. The squire checked Paladin. He made a motion todismount, but the girl put a brown hand upon his knee.
“Stay,” she said, “where you are! I will ring the bell and speak tothe portress.” So saying, she slipped to the earth like brown runningwater; then turned and spoke to the rescuer. “Fair squire,” she said,“take again my thanks. If ever I can pay good turn with good turn, besure that I will do it!” She moved within the arch, put her hand to thebell and set it jangling, then again turned her head. “Will you removefrom so close before the door? You will frighten the sister. And thesun is down and you had best be going. Farewell!”
Involuntarily Garin backed Paladin further from the round arch.The horse was eager for his stable, wheeled in that direction, andchafed at the yet restraining hand. Garin looked as in a dream at theherd-girl. Even now he could not see her face for that streaming hair.A grating in the convent door opened and the sister who was portresslooked forth. The herd-girl spoke, but he could not hear what was theword she said. A key grated, the convent door swung open. “Lord God!”cried the grey sister. He heard that, and had a glimpse of her standingwith lifted hands. The herd-girl crossed the threshold. Paladin,insisting upon the road, took for a moment the squire’s full attention.When he looked back the convent wall was blank; door and grating alikewere closed.