. ui rroveiK^f 
 
 Tiatic :;''oem 
 
 ">. or .Dale 
 
Class ' Hlj^^Z'A . 
 
 Book 
 
 / r 
 
 CopigteN". 
 
 GDPBilGHT DEPOStE 
 
THE 
 LIGHT OF PROVENCE 
 
 A DRAMATIC POEM 
 
 BY 
 "J. S. OF DALE" 
 
 (J I 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 Ube TRnfcfterbocket press 
 
 1917 
 

 Copyright, 1917 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 MAY 23 1917 
 
 ■Cbe ■ftnlcSetDortet JSteM, ««» IBo'l' 
 
 
'^ FOREWORD 
 
 J (The play is entirely historical ; though the char- 
 
 acter of Douce (pronounced Douce), daughter of 
 
 Raimond Berenger, Count of Provence, is partly 
 
 v^ imaginary; and Adelys is compounded of Adelaide, 
 
 ^ Coimtess of Burlatz (see VI. Hist. Languedoc, Devic 
 
 ^ and Vaissete, 157), the historical love of Arnaud 
 
 de Merveilh, and Ermengarde, Countess of Nar- 
 
 bonne). 
 
 Authorities: Histoire Generate de Languedoc par les 
 RR, PP. 
 
 Dom. C. L. Devic, 
 Dom. J. Vaissete, 
 religieux benedictins de Saint Maur (in 15 
 
 volumes, Toulouse, 1874). 
 The Monk of Montemaggiore. (Isola de Oro.) 
 Nostradamus. 
 History of the Albigenses. 
 
 H. C. Lea, The History of the Inquisition^ etc. etc. 
 etc. 
 
 Written, 1 880-1 896. 
 
 m 
 
DRAMATIS PERSON.E 
 
 ALBIGENSIANS : 
 
 Arnaud de Merveilh, called Rene of the Rose. 
 
 Raimond-Rogier, Count of Beziers. 
 
 Peyre, King of Aragon. 
 
 Aymeric, a Troubadour. 
 
 FoLQUET OF Marseili.es, a Troubadour, 
 
 {Later Bishop oj Toulouse and a Catholic.) 
 Bishop of Beziers. 
 GuiDO, a Painter. 
 Rambaud de Vaqueiras 
 Bertrand de Born 
 Bernard de Ventadour 
 
 GUILHEM d'AgOULT 
 
 Aymon, a Jongleur. 
 
 catholics: 
 
 Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester. 
 Dominic Guzman, head of the Inquisition. 
 Amalric, Abbot of Citeaux, legate of the Pope. 
 The Monk of Montemaggiore. 
 Eudes, Duke of Burgundy. 
 Count of Pons. 
 Amaury de Montfort. 
 
 Troubadours 
 
vi Dramatis Personae 
 
 Douce, of Provence. 
 
 Adelais or Adelys, Wife of Raimond. 
 
 Countess of Die. 
 
 Ermengarde of Narbonne. 
 
 EscLARMONDA, Alezais, Albigensian heretics, 
 
 Alalte, Biancafiora, Ermengarde, Bertranda, 
 Steffannetta, Rostange, Adelaisca, Anna, 
 Mabile, Brianda, Beatrice, Ermissenda, 
 Gialseranda, Isoarda, ladies of the Court 
 of Love, 
 
 Two soldiers of Raimond VI of Toulouse; two citi- 
 zens of Minerva; two citizens of Beziers; a 
 Herald; a Sentry; a Shepherd; choir of 
 maidens; troubadours; Dominicans; Albigen- 
 sian crusaders; Albigensian heretics; soldiers, 
 camp followers; citizens. 
 
THE LIGHT OF PROVENCE 
 
The Light of Provence 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 Wrath, and the song of birds. — ^The wrath of men 
 Which worketh not the righteousness of God 
 But springs, twice nurtured, from the wrath of 
 
 men. 
 The fall of Provence; and the putting out 
 By Northern Prankish hands of that fair light 
 That shed a hope of dawn on Rome's decay: 
 New convert tribes, led by a bigot priest 
 To wreak his vengeance on that sister land 
 That bore in the dark ages Latin light 
 Of learning, art and courtesy from Rome. 
 The Goths, departing, left a silent land; 
 Yet now that land is France; the gai sgavoir 
 And joy of life still spring from what they slew — 
 The wrath of men to man, of man to God 
 Then, underlying all, the ultimate — 
 The woe of God that worketh evil here, 
 The wrath of Him, who fashioned man to rue 
 On earth the ruin of his self- wrought woe, 
 The stem grey earth-light of the clouds we breathe, 
 
2 The Light of Provence 
 
 The workmate of our days, the too-well known, 
 Familiar, usual, unavoidable, 
 The tired anger. . . . 
 
 Then, the song of birds 
 The one thing else, unknown, of little note 
 To men who have faith but in things they make; 
 The breath of dawn, the light of stars and sea; 
 The birds, that stir beneath the cottage eaves 
 At call of daylight, little birds, which fly 
 Low, in the early morning, when men dream. 
 To bring the speech of God about their thatch. 
 
FIRST DAY 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 (An orchard f above the highroad, near Beziers, 
 Arnaud and Douce. It is a late autumn day 
 in 1208) 
 
 Arnaud {reads), 
 
 Aubade 
 
 I live aforest; and hard by 
 A little croft there is where I 
 Was wont to lie by trees that hung 
 Green covert over nests up high 
 In leafy spaces swinging, 
 Thence, far the forest aisles among, 
 The speech of little birds was flung, 
 And back in echoes ringing. 
 Now it befell, while I did lie. 
 
 My thoughts from cloudland bringing, 
 A little russet bird had sprung 
 Out from the shade; the woods had rung 
 
 The sweeter for his singing. 
 (Yet till then he had never sung, 
 
 3 
 
4 The Light of Provence 
 
 I saw the bird, that he was young, 
 And yet unapt for singing.) 
 But now he sang so wondrously 
 That all the rest made no reply, 
 And lying rapt in wonder, I 
 Did watch him as he flew so high. 
 His song still downward ringing; 
 And fainter, farther ever flung 
 The sweetness of his silver tongue 
 
 Came floating to me, bringing 
 Songs strange, and of my soul unstmg, 
 Songs falling like the rain among 
 The flowers from it springing; 
 Until he vanished in the sky. 
 He vanished; and, I trow, did die; 
 But singing . . . singing . . . 
 
 Arnaud: Dost like it, Douce? 
 
 Douce: It is very sweet. 
 
 Arnaud: I hate your tenzons and sirventes; not 
 Of poor false men, but of the buds and bees, 
 The seasons and the flowers would I sing, 
 Give me an aubade or a serenade, — 
 The rhyme, recurrent, rings, I dare to think 
 In fairness, very well? 
 
 Douce: 'Tis sweet, indeed. 
 
 Arnaud: Thou dost not seem to like it? 
 
 Douce: I — why no — 
 
 Dear Arnaud, in all truth, I fear, 'tis sad. 
 
First Day 5 
 
 Arnatui: *Tis sad? I fear, thou didst not under- 
 stand ; 
 The bird, seest thou, is but a thought, put for 
 Some fair young knight, stung by the darts of 
 
 love; 
 And so, he soars, and flies afar but sings! — , 
 No more shall he return to birds, his mates. 
 
 Douce: And she, his love; walked she not then 
 on earth? 
 
 Arnatcd: I fear me, thou art over nice. I thought 
 Thou wouldst have liked my verses — Do not cry. 
 
 My Douce, do not cry 
 
 (Kisses her.) 
 
 Douce: I love thy verse, 
 
 But when it is so sad, it brings the tears 
 To my imwilling eyes. 
 
 Arnaud: All things are sad; 
 
 Why prank them out in lying verse? Douce, 
 Dear Douce, oft it seems that I would stay 
 (We have grown up together, you and I) 
 With thee forever, far from all the world. 
 But looking ever on the world God made, 
 With eyes he gave me, in the light of heaven, 
 Leading, in trust of thee, the simpler life 
 Like this wild rose I hold here, in my hand. 
 Couldst thou live lowly? 
 
 Douce: Arnaud, I would live 
 
 As thou deemst best; with thee, singing thy 
 songs 
 
6 The Light of Provence 
 
 Forever, to the music of the bees. 
 
 (A peal of trumpets is heard in the distance.) 
 Arnaud: What*s that? 
 Douce: 'Tis Adelys, come from Toulouse, 
 
 And with her, our great lord, Don Raimond. 
 Arnaud: Hark! 
 
 *Tis Adelys? I saw her once— but once 
 
 {They lean over the orchard wall, watching 
 the procession. First come four herald- 
 buglers, hearing the arms of Beziers and the 
 cross of Toulouse; then, a trades-procession, 
 one ennobled burgher for each trade, with 
 wains bearing sample products, saddles and 
 cloth of Carcassonne, leather of Toulouse, 
 jewellery and paper made of rags from 
 Marseilles, etc.; then a company of hal- 
 berdiers; then a choir of maidens, strewing 
 flowers. Ten gonfaloniers follow, march- 
 ing in double quincunx, wide apart, bearing 
 silken banners between them.) 
 Douce: See there! 'Tis Toulouse, there is 
 Avignon ; 
 The County of Provence, and Carcassonne, 
 And there, the last one on the right — he bears 
 The bend of Aragon ; the viscounty 
 Of Beziers, and e*en Provence, do owe 
 Homage to Aragon. — The lion there 
 Is Leon, and the Castles are Castile. But oh! 
 See there the ladies of the court! 
 
First Day 7 
 
 (A hundred ladies follow^ splendidly robedy 
 
 riding on white palfreys with golden 
 
 chains for bridles. Beside each one rides 
 
 a knight attendant^ gorgeously equipped 
 
 bearing an unsheathed sword,) 
 
 Arnaud: Ah me! 
 
 Douce: Arnaud, wouldst thou not like thyself to be 
 
 One of yon brilliant knights, armed all in gold, 
 
 His lady fair beside? O Arnaud, look! 
 
 {Eight maidens^ bare-armed, walking in 
 satin shoes, carry a pavilion of flowers, 
 beneath which, in a chariot like a sea-shell 
 shaped, sits Adelys, and by her side King 
 Peyre of Aragon,) 
 Arnaud: I see. 
 
 Douce: O Arnaud, look! 
 
 Arnaud: She hath a lovely gown. 
 
 Douce: O Arnaud, she is beautiful I and see 
 No jewels bears she, but a plain silk robe 
 She wears ; and in her breast a simple rose, 
 A wild rose, like the rose that's in thy hand, — 
 
 But why? — thy face turns pale 
 
 Arnaud: Nay, nay, — I think 
 
 What have these people done, to shine so fair? 
 (Douce looks at him gravely; he turns away, 
 confused. While they are silent, the pro- 
 cession halts. A troubadour, Folquet of 
 Marseilles, steps out from the line with his 
 lute.) 
 
8 The Light of Provence 
 
 Folquet: Know all ye knights and singers of 
 Provence ! 
 That our most gracious countess, Adelys, 
 Of Toulouse Princess and of beauty queen, 
 Deigns on this day to hold her court of love. 
 All ye who, loving, are not loved again ; 
 All ye who, having loved, have suffered wrong; 
 All ye whose wounded hearts now seek redress 
 Against the gentle ladies of her court; — 
 All dames whose knights have failed in courtesy, 
 In constancy or troth; prefer your plaints 
 Before this, our most puissant court of love; 
 And our love's Queen shall justly right your 
 
 wrongs ! 
 And furthermore, our Adelys doth say 
 Unto the singer of the lost red rose. 
 That her most gracious ear hath heard his song, 
 Unfinished though it be — and he whose lay 
 Shall match this unknown note as his red rose 
 The rose her bosom bears — shall her love be. 
 
 Douce: O marvel! 
 
 {Tumult; after a fanfare the procession 
 passes on.) 
 
 Arnaud: Aye; and if ye think it hard 
 
 To match a red rose to a white one, how 
 Shall ye make naught of difference in souls? 
 There grows no wildflower in the common field 
 But differs each from others ; but of men 
 And height of heart and depth of soul or mind 
 
First Day 9 
 
 Ye would make nothing; but would trick them 
 out 
 
 According to the chance of stage and state! 
 
 And so, 'tis love alone that dares transcend, 
 
 Love bravely cherished in our fair warm sky, 
 
 Love, — that dares to dare or dares to die. 
 Douce: Amaud, Amaud — as the moon the tide 
 
 Her look hath drawn thy hearts blood to thy 
 heart — 
 Arnaud {angrily): The world, aye, priests of 
 heaven, do not dare 
 
 But truckle and compound; alone is left 
 
 Theuncertainjudgment of a woman's heart. . . . 
 
 Well, well . . . 'tis no unpleasant mounting- 
 stone 
 
 Whence men of mind ride o'er the world. Douce, 
 
 Why art thou sad again? 
 Douce: My Amaud, speak! 
 
 'Twas thou who wrotst the song, whose broken 
 bars 
 
 Are lost, like petals of the red wild rose 
 
 She wore — 'twas thou? 
 Arnaud: And if it were, what then? 
 
 Douce: You love her, then? 
 Arnaud: My child, I love not her; 
 
 Why, she is Countess, daughter of Provence, 
 
 Cousin to England, France, and Aragon; 
 
 Aye, she is Queen of Earth, set up to judge 
 
 Our songs that come from heaven. 
 
lo The Light of Provence 
 
 Douce: Thy song! Alas! 
 
 Arnaud: Wouldst thou not have me honoured 
 among men? 
 Among the kings, a poet; with poets a king? 
 Think on that Geoffrey Rudel, whose dear lines 
 Were writ in letters of unperished gold 
 To make him deathless in the hour he died. 
 
 Douce: But he did die. Dear love, I love thy 
 fame. 
 Thy laurels or thy bays ; but love thyself 
 The more. 
 
 Arnaud: Dear heart, thyself and this our love 
 Shall be entwined in wreaths my song shall weave 
 Of deathless asphodel; no other name 
 Shall share it with thee ; as they speak of word 
 And song, of sea and shore, so thee and me 1 
 Thus shall it be immortal 
 
 Douce: Greatness thine 
 
 I know; for fame I care not; with thee face 
 Death; only still I ask thy love. 
 
 Arnaud: And that 
 
 Thou hast, and shalt have, spite of all the world. 
 (Kisses her; the fanfare of trumpets is heard 
 faintly^ in the distance,) 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 {Afternoon, Hall and terrace in the castle of Don 
 Raimond Rogier; over the door is a helmet^ in 
 
First Day ii 
 
 token of hospitality open to all. Ladies, 
 knights, pages are sitting in groups; some play- 
 ing chess or dice; on the terrace a jongleur is 
 singing, to the music of the mandolins. Enter 
 Arnaud, lost in the throng of troubadours and 
 jongleurs; he is pale and much embarrassed. 
 After him follows, at a distance, Douce; she is 
 not seen by him, and is dressed as a flower-girl, 
 with a veil. Front, the Thrones; with Adelys 
 and Peyre of Aragon. Guido, Bernard de 
 Ventadour, Guilhem d'Agoult, Countess 
 OF Die,Ermengardeof Narbonne,Aymeric, 
 Aymon, Rambaud de Vaqueiras, Folquet, 
 troubadours, courtiers, flower maidens.) 
 
 Bernard de Ventadour: Queen Adelais, Adelais. 
 Hail! 
 
 Troubadours: Hail ! 
 
 Guido: Who are they, Guilhem, oh who are they? 
 
 Guilhem d'Agoult: The fifteen ladies of her court 
 of love, — 
 Alalte, Biancafiora, Ermengarde, 
 Bertranda, Steffanetta, and Rostange, 
 Adelaisca, Anna, and Mabile, 
 Brianda, Esclarmonda, Ermissende, 
 Giusseranda, Isoarda — one 
 I do not know. 
 
 Guido: She has a lovely face! 
 
 Aymeric: Her name is Douce — Douce of Provence. 
 
12 The Light of Provence 
 
 Guide: They say, the kings of England and of 
 France 
 With Peyre of Aragon, are coming here 
 To celebrate the peace made by Toulouse. 
 
 Aymeric {to Folguet): This peace — it will not last? 
 
 Folguet: God comes this way. 
 
 The Pope hath spoke; the Saint hath come; 
 
 the North 
 Shall send her swords to slay these heretics. 
 The pretext, that foul murder that was done 
 On holy Legate, sent by Innocent — 
 
 Guilhem: They gave one fifty thousand golden 
 crowns 
 To scatter *mid the French and English knights 
 I've sown the very soil with sols! 
 
 Outdo: They say 
 
 The cooking's by wax candles. 
 
 Aymon: Raimond burned 
 
 Thirty of his best horses for a show! 
 
 Guilhem: An empress, too, is coming! that 
 Eudoxe, 
 Daughter to Comnenus, the Emperor 
 Of Orient — and she's that one who came 
 To marry Aragon, attended by a pair 
 Of Eastern bishops; at Montpelier 
 She landed, but Alfonse had wed Sancie! 
 Count Baux of Orange dared not send her back; 
 So called his burgomasters, who advised 
 That he should marry her himself — ^he did. 
 
First Day 13 
 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: He*s left her since. 
 Guilhem: Perhaps — you know the song? 
 
 ''C*est ni jamais, 
 Et ni tou jours, 
 Qu'est la devise des amours. " 
 I wrote a book on loves, of olden time, 
 
 And how a knight should win a lady's love 
 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: Thou hadst best taught 
 her, how to keep him, then ! 
 In act and word, thou'rt dissolute. 
 Guilhem: The song 
 
 Of old and better times was different sung, — 
 ''C'est pour jamais, 
 Et pour toujours, 
 Qu*est la devise de I'amour." 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: A change of singular to 
 plural! Pah! 
 They're all the same. 
 Guilhem: La bele Isolde of Ireland said : 
 
 **Ther be withyn this londe but four loveres, 
 Guinever, Lancelot, Tristan, and I!" 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: Pah! 
 Guido: Look — Rambaud de Vaqueiras comes 
 there 
 Close by that lady standing — ^who is she? 
 Guilhem: Now may sweet Venus pardon thee, 
 rude boor. 
 That's our Countess of Die. 
 Guide: Listen — she sings. 
 
14 The Light of Provence 
 
 TENZON 
 
 Countess of Die: There is no love I 
 Rambaud de Vagueiras: I die for love of thee. 
 I have loved the Catalana 
 
 And the maiden Genoese, 
 Loved the eye of Barcelona 
 And the fair locks of Verona 
 And the ankles of Cadiz, — 
 English hands and Prankish faces, — 
 Now my heart will none of these; 
 I die for love ! 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: Those words are Fre- 
 deric the Emperor's, 
 Redbeard, who calls himself a troubadour 
 And is most generous of other people's 
 
 lands. 
 He scorned all women, therefore woo'd them 
 
 all, 
 Barbarous Barbarossa! he's no fool. 
 Countess of Die: There is no love: 
 
 Thou hast loved in Catalan and 
 
 Barcelona and Seville; 
 Foot of Spaniard, English hand, and 
 Frankish face, hair of Milan and 
 
 Divers others well or ill, — 
 All thy memories of all places 
 
 Scarce one woman's heart would fill, 
 Of all thy loves. 
 
First Day 15 
 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: She hath him there. 
 Guido: Too much he loved. 
 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: Too much ? 
 
 Aye, easily too many. 
 Guilhem: Hast thou heard 
 
 Of Gui d' Ussel, and how he left his dame? 
 He sang to her most sweetly, till her heart 
 Had fluttered to him, like a bird at call. 
 So said she, '* Gui, I can resist no more; 
 *'But first I will propose this riddle; which 
 " Of wife or mistress, wouldst thou have me be?" 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: I'll warrant they'd a 
 
 tenzon on it. 
 Guilhem: True; 
 
 He chose her then as mistress. 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: More fool he. 
 
 Guilhem: So she dismissed him with a sneer and 
 wed 
 A landless Gascon noble. 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: She did well ; 
 
 For lands grow wine when women cease to please ; 
 She saved her dower for a man of sense. 
 Ramhaud de Vaqueiras {continuing the tenzon) : 
 But thee I love; 
 By thine eyes I swear to love thee, 
 
 By the lilies of thy breast 
 Deeds I'll dare to do shall prove thee, 
 Songs I'll find to sing shall move thee, 
 Knight, trouvere, I'll never rest. 
 
i6 The Light of Provence 
 
 Give me only thine own graces 
 Naught I care for all the rest ! 
 Be hut my love. 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: Then do like Norman 
 William when he met 
 His Emma — ^first, he knocked her down ! 
 Guido: Peace, monk! 
 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: So made him stire of all 
 
 the rest. 
 Guilhem: Be still! 
 
 Countess of Die (striking a final chord upon her 
 lute, as if to end) : 
 
 Not me you love: 
 But the countess in her castle, 
 
 But the lady, nobly bom, 
 Sceptre, star, and golden tassel, 
 Equipage, array, and wassail, 
 
 Knees of courtiers, power to scorn; 
 Were it not for these my graces 
 I were a maid amidst the com 
 For all thy love, 
 {She ends with a laugh, in which all the 
 ladies join, Rambaud stands as if 
 shame-faced, with silent lute, Adelais 
 looks at him enquiringly,) 
 Ermengarde (now an old lady, from her throne first 
 speaking): 
 Well sung, fair Countess ! Sure thy virelay 
 Hath simg this pert young wren to silence. 
 
First Day 17 
 
 Bernard de Ventadour (also now first speaking): 
 
 Queen, 
 I come from France; and if our rustic Northern 
 
 speech 
 Do not offend your Roman ears, Gothics say 
 "Nul gentz de coeur en langue de cceur 
 Ne s'y mefie." 
 King Peyre: Bravo ! and thou hast loved a Queen 
 and taught a King 
 To love her — ^Eleanor — as thou didst love to sing : 
 "Parolz de cour en gentz de cour je m*en defie." 
 'Tis war ennobles — poets are but a toy! 
 Rambaud: A queen before a woman, she ; Provence 
 Hath chosen Adelys but queen of love. 
 "Parolz d 'amour en coeur aimant meiier ne 
 puis." 
 Adelais: Brave Rambaud! so our light Provencal 
 grace 
 Shall fly by France's six-foot heavy pace — 
 
 You saw, his Prankish metre did not scan ! 
 But to our countess — canst thou not reply? 
 Countess of Die: They said Toulouse had 
 burgher nobles, gilt 
 Their spurs with gold of trade; not yet, our 
 
 North! 
 My father hacked their gilt spurs from their 
 heels ! 
 Rambaud {now seizes his lute fiercely and steps 
 jorward): 
 
i8 The Light of Provence 
 
 I die jor love; 
 Let those who but mate for marriage 
 
 Talk of rank, and gold, and scorn, 
 Count the match a sad miscarriage 
 
 If one quartering be gone; 
 In such cold and lofty places 
 Naked Cupid's seldom born — 
 / only love! 
 Courtiers: Huzza! well sung, Rambaud de Va- 
 
 queiras! 
 Countess of Die: 
 
 This is no love: 
 Be it love, then what is honour? 
 
 Who, a maid, her troth hath said 
 Surely loveth ; shame upon her, 
 Land and lineage lie upon her, 
 
 If she break it, being wed; 
 Break her troth, then her disgrace is 
 Wanton — to love! 
 Ramhaud: 
 
 I only love: 
 Love for sordid fetters cares not, 
 
 Money's measure, worldly lies; 
 Who knows love, and knowing, dares not? 
 Past hath he not; and future spares not 
 
 Though it snap earth's pompous ties; 
 Love hath no law, such his high race is, 
 And I but love. 
 All: Huzza Rambaud! what says our Queen? 
 
First Day 19 
 
 AdeMs: Bring here 
 
 The golden book of all love's laws, compiled 
 By royal Eleanor, of all lords Queen — 
 
 {The book, bound in gold, is brought in by 
 four pages on a cushion made of myrtle and 
 apple-blossom; the Countess of Die and 
 Raivibaud de Vaqueiras stand forth to 
 hear the award.) 
 Adelais {reads): ^"Twixt married persons true 
 love cannot be" — 
 Rambaud, I do adjudge thee victor; she 
 Denies the love of others, hence denies 
 Her own; gold, rank what they who love not 
 
 win 
 She makes a shield against a love that dares. 
 For so, the singer of the lost wild rose 
 
 Hath said 
 
 King Peyre: Who is he? 
 
 Adelais: Nay — the herald, read, 
 
 Read thou the broken song, and let us hear 
 Which one of all our lover-poets can match 
 This broken wild rose on its stem; and he 
 Shall rank and fame attain, and maybe love, 
 If it so please to heaven — and the lady! 
 Herald {reads): 
 
 "The red rose of the woodland 
 Loves the white manor-rose; 
 The red rose bares his bosom 
 To every air that blows 
 
20 The Light of Provence 
 
 And brings him breath or blossom 
 Of his lady of the snows. 
 
 "Still in the great house garden 
 The pale rose keeps her nest ; 
 
 She knows a newer fragrance 
 From woodlands to the West. 
 
 It stirs her heart ; but trembling 
 She hides her lady breast. 
 
 Monk of Montemaggiore: A trivial thing. 
 Guilhem: It hath a pretty lilt. 
 
 Rambaiid: The Queen is sure to like it. 
 Ermengarde: Hist I 
 
 "Far off, the wild rose feels it — 
 He knows, but cannot find 
 
 Her, in the great house garden — 
 So far upon the wind 
 
 He flings his crimson petals 
 And seeketh her unkind. 
 
 "The pure white rose uncloses 
 To autumn winds her own. 
 
 There in her great house garden 
 Safe by her wall of stone — 
 
 About her, wild red petals 
 By autumn winds are blown. *' 
 
 Adelats (after a silence): 
 
 So, now — ye all seem lost — as I am lost 
 
First Day 21 
 
 In thought, or some strange dreaming. But, 
 
 Rambaud, 
 What lesson teaches this? 
 Rambaud: I do not know; 
 
 Perhaps, that one should kiss — 
 Feyre: One's neighbour? No, 
 
 But far afield for bliss — 
 Rambaud: One should not go. 
 
 Adelais: But canst thou finish it? 
 Rambaud: v Finish? why I 
 
 Have not come here so pat for poetry. 
 Adelais: Can no one end this song? 
 
 (Several troubadours step forward^ hut after 
 
 preluding, retire in despair.) 
 
 Countess of Die: You know the prize? 
 
 One look of love from our fair countess* eyes! 
 
 Arnaud {stands forward quickly, with his lute, 
 
 Adelais looks at him; Douce starts 
 
 forward, but stops and shrinks hack; he sings): 
 
 Her breast she would keep stainless, 
 Her heart from the wild free wood — 
 
 The wild rose leaves were scattered 
 On every wind and flood — 
 
 One petal that fell by her 
 
 Stained her with a dead heart's blood. 
 
 Adelais: The wild rose hath he in his hand — 'tis 
 he. 
 Thy name? 
 
22 The Light of Provence 
 
 Arnaud, Amaud of Merveilh. 
 Adelais: Thou shalt be 
 
 From now called Rene of the Rose. Merveilh 
 Thy home? Thou wert my subject — ^art my 
 
 page. 
 Thy station? 
 Arnaud: Student. 
 
 Adelais: This day thou art King. 
 
 Shalt rule supreme with me this Court of 
 
 Love. 
 Herald, if all our plaints are heard, we now 
 
 adjourn — 
 Rene, thy sceptre — 
 
 (She takes the red rose from her bosom, and 
 gives it him; receiving in turn his own, 
 which she places there, A procession 
 forms, and leaves the hall, the heralds 
 blowing trumpets, Arnaud leading Adelais 
 at the head; even King V'EY'KE falls behind. 
 The lute players and jongleurs follow; then 
 the general company, leaving, all but 
 Douce, who stands like one dreaming, her 
 eyes fixed upon the throne; Peyre falls 
 back, his suite at a distance.) 
 Peyre (to her): So — art thou his lover? 
 
 Console ye — all of this is but a jest. 
 
 (Exit Peyre. Douce sinks upon the 
 floor, Aymeric, returning from the pro- 
 cession) 
 
First Day 23 
 
 My girl — ^my lady — ^if thou art a stranger, 
 I pray thee, let me help thee — I am known. 
 
 (Douce and Aymeric are alone in the castle 
 hall: Arnaud does not look behind.) 
 
 Here endeth the First Day, 
 
SECOND DAY 
 
 January the i6th, 1209. 
 
 (Guardroom in the castle of Adelais at Burlatz, A 
 stone bench, on either side of which pages, guards, 
 and troubadours are lounging; in the centre a 
 table covered with flagons and goblets, guitars, 
 zithers, chessmen, playing cards, etc. — Ram- 
 BAUD and Bernard de Ventadour, Guido, 
 Aymon, and others. Afterward, Arnaud and 
 Peyre. — ^Aymeric, outside,) 
 
 Bernard: Heigho! to such loves, night; and 
 drink all day — 
 It grows upon me weary. 
 Rambatid: Better still 
 
 To drink all night and love by day — or sleep. 
 Bernard: That's our Don Raimond's part — ^and, 
 by the way, 
 How comes our peasant poet — still high in favour? 
 Rambaud: I think his red rose somewhat pale. 
 Bernard: Who loves 
 
 By giving dreams, must in a dream be paid. 
 I'd rather be a juggler than a poet! At least 
 His body's paid, that serves. 
 24 
 
Second Day 25 
 
 Aymo7t (sleepily) : Give me to drink. 
 
 Rambavd: Aye, drink! But look, Bernard, how- 
 well he is, 
 How pink before his temples! the smooth skin 
 But wrinkles at his bull-like nape — while I 
 And thou, Bernard, have wrinkles at the eyes, 
 Pale cheeks, lips worn to smile and sigh, and 
 
 eyes 
 Tired with too much searching — we, trouveres! 
 Bernard: Trouveres we are. — But not on earth 
 we find 
 The thing we seek ; we sing no earthly thing ; 
 If man could find it, 'twas no need, the singing! 
 Ramhatid: There speaks Bernard de Ventadour — 
 as spoke 
 Amaud Daniel, that greater Amaud, he 
 Who died at TripoH, for her still seeking — 
 Where are they now? What won their love of 
 
 woman? 
 Aye, or their love of man? Defeat and death, 
 Exile and poverty, their vows unheard 
 By her they maundered on — 
 Guido: Give me to drink. 
 
 Bernard: Nay, nay — thou'st drunk enough. 
 The artist like the juggler too? what ails you? 
 (Guido buries his face in his hands y sobbing.) 
 Rambatid: He'll wake that fellow Aymon, as he 
 snores — 
 Has thy last picture failed? 
 
26 The Light of Provence 
 
 Guido: I cannot bear *t 
 
 Bernard, Rambaud — ye know what I would 
 
 paint? 
 The light of broken water in a wood — 
 The lily, lucid in the forest shade — 
 The mountain snows at dawn ; the salted sea 
 Stretching at night more far than human 
 
 bounds 
 To widening bay, to sinking reef, the wild 
 Last shore, so lonely, where the last hearth-light 
 Is glassed upon the pitiless grey wave! 
 And then, for man — I'd paint the fireside, paint 
 The nests that human hearts make; paint brave 
 
 men, 
 Paint warriors, martyrs, saints — then, when I 
 
 dared, 
 I'd paint our Lady, Empress of the skies — 
 In Italy at least I painted saints — 
 But, as I have so base a need as bread, 
 I paint a wanton woman. 
 
 Rambaiid: Adelys? 
 
 A maud {who has just entered): 
 Thouliest! 
 
 (Guido snatches a sword from Aymon; Arnaud 
 rushes at him unarmed.) 
 
 Bernard: Hold ! 
 
 Rambaud: Here, Aymon, wake there! hold 
 
 These youths from flying at each other's throats! 
 A light word stings too quick a heavy heart! 
 
Second Day 27 
 
 Aymon {awakened by the noise): 
 
 Hush! still! young gentlemen! I say, be still! 
 
 {Sleepily, he throws his arms around the two.) 
 
 Will ye be quiet? So? Well, fight then! Ha! 
 
 {As he releases them, Guido staggers at a blow 
 
 from Arnaud, who then snatches up another 
 
 sword; they cross. Enter Raimond- 
 
 ROGIER.) 
 
 Raimond: What's this? Is this a Prankish 
 barrack? Knaves — 
 Thou juggler there, thy strength keep for thy 
 
 games — 
 And Guido? who is this? Ah, our young poet. 
 Rambaud, what was it? 
 Rambaud {Sings): 
 
 Love of Hght woman — 
 
 Glad love or sad — 
 Which is the worse for us? 
 
 Good one, or bad? 
 
 A lady hath been called a wanton. 
 Raimond: Who? 
 
 Who called her so? 
 
 {All look at Guido. He is about to speak, 
 when Arnaud takes the word.) 
 Arnaud: My lord, I am at fault— 
 
 'Twas of a maid— for we are countrymen— 
 We knew, long since, at home. 
 
28 The Light of Provence 
 
 Raimond: Aha — well, quiet then, 
 
 A present woman's hardly worth a fight, 
 Sure, not a memory — 
 
 {He passes out,) 
 Aymon: Scarcely, a desire — 
 
 Guido {to Arnaud): Dear sir, I beg to tender you 
 excuse; 
 You bore you well; my word was imdeserved. 
 But I'm half crazy. 
 Rambaud: That is well — but you, 
 
 Arnaud, a pardon tender; you're too quick. 
 You love her — what's a woman that is loved 
 By more than one? And what would you, that 
 love her? 
 Arnaud: No woman lives, is loved by more than 
 one 
 As I love her; and yet, if all the world 
 Did know her truly, so to love her, they, 
 As always I, proclaimed their love to all. 
 And open wore her image on their hearts. 
 As it was stamp'd within — ^yet all such love, 
 As when the breath of all a night resolves 
 In dew, upon a single rose — such love 
 No more would tarnish her than incense doth 
 Our lady Mary. 
 
 {Goes out; Bernard follows him,) 
 Guido: Prr! A swain indeed! 
 
 Aymon: A pox o' such! They'd turn a skin of 
 liquor. 
 
Second Day 29 
 
 Guido: Yet it was fine— but then he should talk 
 thus 
 Only of art, his poetry, or a picture; 
 'Tis dreams deserve, not women! 
 
 Rambaud: Women! Oh, 
 
 If women only saw! Were not too dull, 
 Too bound to earth, enslaved, inadequate 
 To meet the part man's noblest dreams assign 
 them! 
 
 Raimond {re-enters): 
 
 A woman's worth the having, not the dream- 
 
 ing- 
 What is this new philosophy? 
 Guido {bowing deferentially): The poet 
 
 Who hath been writing all day in his cell 
 Hath now rehearsed us some most fine spun 
 
 Hnes 
 That grace his repertory— But, my lord, 
 Would you but condescend to cast an eye 
 On my last picture? 
 Raimond: Sometime— first let's see 
 
 What hath the boy been doing in yon cham- 
 ber. 
 
 {They open a door, disclosing a small room, 
 empty but for a chair and table) 
 Why, here be rhymes! The floor is strewn with 
 
 them, 
 They lie like autumn leaves! 
 
 {Picks up a sheet, and reads it aloud) 
 
30 The Light of Provence 
 
 " In her heart I know she loved me; 
 Else how strange so deep had moved me 
 
 Her beautiful sad eyes? 
 Love is bom, but no love dies.'* 
 
 Nay, nay, my boy; but sometimes lovers do! 
 (Reads on.) 
 
 "Love lay in her heart, I know; 
 Else, however came it so 
 That I He here?" 
 
 Thou*rt not dead yet; I trow thou needest 
 
 shortening 
 By a heart, or else a head! Who is she, though? 
 Some village maid, perhaps. Ah yes, this 
 song. 
 
 (While he reads, Aymeric is heard singing, 
 outside,) 
 
 "I saw and loved a lily white, 
 I plucked the flower, for my delight, 
 I planted it within my heart, 
 I tended it with loving art — 
 But soiled and withered, there it lies, 
 I shall die when my flower dies. " 
 
 Raimond: Aha, the very song I have in hand — 
 Call him 
 
Second Day 31 
 
 In here, that sings — ^meanwhile, what have we 
 else? 
 
 (Reads,) 
 
 •'She hath her nest in the sun-flushed clouds 
 Over the sea, and the vanished sun." 
 
 That does not look the village maid so much — 
 
 (To Aymeric, whom Aymon drags in.) 
 Who are you, sir, that sing — didst write that 
 song? 
 Aymeric: Not I, sir, I but sing — *twas a young 
 lad; 
 I set it music, by the stars last night. 
 Raimond: At least, it seems, the youth hath had 
 
 his will — 
 Aymon: Why will he then still caterwaul so 
 
 much? 
 Raimond: Your name, boy? 
 Aymeric: Aymeric. 
 
 Raimond: Ejiow you 
 
 This Rene? 
 Aymeric: It was Douce whom I sang; 
 
 A maid of Burlatz; on the distaff side 
 She hath blood royal of thy liege, Provence ! 
 Aymon {coarsely): The maid is Douce called — 
 
 she seemeth douce! 
 Raimond: This Ren6 was it, then, that wrote 
 your song? 
 
32' The Light of Provence 
 
 Aymeric: Rene? 
 
 Raimond: *Tis Amaud of Merveilh they call 
 Ren6. 
 
 (He shows the paper. Aymeric tears his 
 copy in two. They laugh.) 
 Aymon {mockingly): Pray, sing some more! 
 Aymeric: Nay, nay — 
 
 Aymon: By'r lady, tears ! 
 
 Aymeric: It is a lie — a maid of honour, she — 
 
 She knows not me — 
 Aymon: It seems, you know not her! 
 Raimond: He may be right; see this, another 
 
 song! 
 
 {Reads another leaf!) 
 
 "O God, O Mary Mother for one sign — 
 Not word, nor letter, but some human sign, 
 As sun and stars tell there is life in heaven — 
 Such as God grants to all, save but the 
 damned." 
 
 This seems no village maid, profuse of fav- 
 ours! 
 Guide: IVe found a song! {Reads.) 
 
 "Her silence was upon my lips, 
 
 Her self was all of me. 
 And I rode today to the hills away 
 
 Where far off shone the sea. 
 
Second Day 33 
 
 And then I saw the white, white ships 
 
 Go sailing down the bay; 
 The winds did fail and each white sail 
 
 Swam on the edge of day." 
 
 Raimond: 'Tis pretty— is there more? 
 
 Guido {reads on): 
 
 " White sails, white sails, bear from my breast 
 My heart so far from me 
 
 And sink my love in a coral grove 
 Far down the voiceless sea. 
 
 Then she stay East and I stay West- 
 White sails, take my heart away — 
 
 And none shall know of my love below 
 Where the sunken ship shall stay." 
 
 Raimond: A sage resolve indeed— let's hope he 
 kept it? 
 Ah, here's another of the like import. 
 (Reads.) 
 
 "One steadfast level look within her eyes— 
 And then I knew my earthly life was dead. 
 Not any mummied monarch in the tomb 
 That is more dead than I— I'll look no more, 
 For it were ill she loved me; and thou, God, 
 Not all thy power can make her evil — " 
 
 Bah! 
 
34 The Light of Provence 
 
 Guido: Here are some more loose leaves — 
 
 Aymon: The man's a man 
 
 To fright a woman into bearing ghosts! 
 
 Guido {reads): 
 
 **Thou God immortal and all powerful, 
 I place a limit to thy power here — 
 Not thou on earth canst now give my soul 
 peace!" 
 
 Raimond: Hm! hm! I'm not so sure — but read 
 thou on. 
 
 Guido {reads): 
 
 I wonder would I have her know I loved her? 
 Perhaps, I dead, she dead, my love will die — 
 O God! to say one word of loving to her! 
 To bid some gentle carrier, some bird 
 Sing but one note of love from me away. 
 
 Mary Mother, Mary — nay, forgive. 
 
 1 were the same, although she loved me not, 
 But if I knew she loved me, I must die." 
 
 Raimond: I dare say not ! What hast thou there, 
 
 Bernard? 
 Bernard {reads): 
 
 "When I, a boy, a wild bird kept, 
 
 An iron cage was all its nest; 
 The wild bird fed not, nor yet slept, 
 
 But on the bars beat out its breast. 
 
Second Day 35 
 
 "When God in his own wisdom sets 
 A heart of love in world of laws, 
 
 The soul sins not, nor yet forgets. 
 But beats its heart out on the bars.** 
 
 Raimond: I'll make them something stronger! 
 Laws indeed ! 
 
 {Exit. GuiDO and Aymon follow.) 
 Ramhaud: Bernard, the boy's a poet — a crowned 
 trouvere ! 
 Read thou this dizaine — 
 
 (Bernard takes the paper and reads.) 
 
 The timewom rocks faced still the sea, 
 The stars came in the timeless sky, 
 The never ceasing v/inds went by. 
 The still recurring seasons came; 
 A man, in some few years to die. 
 Looked once within a woman's eye. 
 Their bones were dust, long years ago. 
 But spake the timeless stars unto 
 The endless sea, the rocks timewom, — 
 *'Now an eternal thing is born." 
 
 Bernard: Truly, he has found. 
 
 Ramhaud: And loves the Countess Adelys! 
 Bernard: Poor boy. 
 
 Arnaud {entering angrily): Rambaud! and 
 
 Ventadour! what's this? 
 Ramhaud: Thy nest is rifled, boy — we did it not. 
 
36 The Light of Provence 
 
 Arnaud: Thou 'It fight for this! 
 
 Bernard: Nay, nay, poor boy, believe 
 
 We would but help thee, if we could. 
 Rambaud: And thou 
 
 Hast found; we crown thee Troubadour, Arnaud: 
 Arnaud of Merveilh, marvel is thy work! 
 Seek not to war with us who are thy friends. 
 Forget thyself; bury thy heart; thy soul look 
 
 high 
 And join the choir of us who sorrow sing! 
 
 {Exeunt; Arnaud perceives Aymeric, who is 
 sitting at the table weeping,) 
 Arnaud: Who art thou? 
 Aymeric: Aymeric. 
 
 Arnaud: From whence? 
 
 Aymeric: Beziers. . . . 
 
 . . I set thy song of Douce. 
 Arnaud: Douce! 
 
 Where is she? 
 Aymeric: Maid to Adelys. 
 
 Arnaud: Ah me! 
 
 Aymeric: They say thou darest to love her — 
 
 Adelys — 
 Arnaud: Hush, hush — 
 Aymeric: They blamed the maid 
 
 that followed thee. 
 Arnaud: Douce, poor Douce — alas! 
 
 {He looks at Aymeric; they clasp hands.) 
 Aymeric: Dost thou then dare? 
 
Second Day 37 
 
 Arnaud: Dare? dare! Who speaks to me of 
 dare, in love? 
 Ne'er shall she know I love her; but no more 
 Shall men and women, life and death, and God 
 Avail to make my love one note the less! 
 I'll love until I die; and then my soul 
 Shall seek her soul within that other world 
 And die for her once more; and live and die 
 And Hve and die for her again; and so 
 Through all the myriad stars as they do burn 
 My love shall bum in each; nor be destroyed 
 Until the last lost star falls back in God, 
 And I with her; and so, no other thing 
 Shall then remain but she and God and I, 
 
 Or God alone, if she be lost in him 
 
 {Falls on a chair; after a moment^ hursts into 
 tears, A fanfare of trumpets in the hall; 
 the doors are flung open. Aymon, Guido, 
 GTtd others.) 
 
 Aymon: Hear now, you fool! 
 
 Guido: The Count's new edict — hear! 
 
 A pretty ending to a court of love! 
 
 Herald: * ' To any jongleur, troubadour, who dares 
 Aspire to love a lady of our court; 
 To poet, or page, or cavalier that makes 
 Suit to a lady of the higher blood, 
 She being wedded — Raimond thus enacts. 
 Our gracious liege, to bring the olden time 
 Once back, and cure the evil of our day. 
 
38 The Light of Provence 
 
 The lady shall go scatheless save in shame, 
 But to her lover shall be pain of death. 
 Hear and obey. I, Raimond-Rogier. " 
 Ramhaud {aside): The bars are fixt indeed! 
 What was't he said, 
 Bernard? That love is born, but dies not so? 
 {Enter Adelys and train, Don Raimond 
 with her. Douce is among the maids of 
 honour. Aymeric steps forward, Ar- 
 NAUD stands up; then hows deeply, with 
 upturned eyes. Adelys fails to notice 
 him; Douce blushes, hut Aymeric turns 
 pale. The herald stands forward again.) 
 Herald: Our lady bids announce, today shall be 
 This subject of our tenzon; Aymeric 
 And Rene of the Rose dispute, which love 
 Doth bring more dole : of woman bad or good. 
 {The company pass on, Adelys not pausing 
 for the heraWs speech. Arnaud stands 
 motionless where he had howed.) 
 Ramhaud: But whereas the King of Aragon? 
 Such law 
 Should pass not in his absence. 
 Bernard: Aymeric, 
 
 A pretty thought thou hadst; *twill well dis- 
 pute. 
 Guido: We painters only can make ladies live 
 To future ages ; not thy foolish songs. 
 We paint their eyes and bosoms, render these 
 
Second Day 39 
 
 Immortal; ye but limn your hearts and theirs. 
 
 Of hearts they take no pride. 
 Aymeric: Are ours so true? 
 
 Arnaud {to himself): My Adelys — so love was 
 born — so, love — 
 
 But nay! Love may be slain, but no love dies! 
 
SCENE II 
 
 (Evening. The great hall of the castle. Pages are 
 lighting candles y servants preparing for the fete; 
 Douce enters; Arnaud is sitting by the guard- 
 room doory through which sounds of merriment 
 are heard,) 
 
 Douce: Arnaud? Thou hast been sitting here 
 
 since then? 
 Arnaud: Writing my poem. 
 Douce {Laying her hand on his shoulder): Do not 
 
 offend her! 
 Arnaud: I? 
 
 She scoms me! 
 Douce: No — she dared not love thee. 
 
 Arnaud: Then, 
 
 I dare. 
 Douce: O Arnaud, she is good. 
 Arnaud: Aye, her serene 
 
 High goodness hath vouchsafed no word, no sign, 
 
 No one brave look to stir my heart to Hving. 
 
 She brought me hither. Now you know ! I lied ; 
 
 I met her by the roadside — and she smiled. 
 
 I broke my faith to thee, my manhood's prize, 
 
 My poet's life, to win a look of her — 
 40 
 
Second Day 41 
 
 But when she found I loved, it frightened her — 
 She dare not. 
 
 Douce: Amaud, she is brave, and pure — 
 
 Arnaud: I care not. I had never dared to let 
 A single heartpulse ebb in love for her; 
 She filled the Virgin's shrine within my soul. 
 But now she's hedged about with orders, 
 
 rank, 
 Her prudence, and his law, to trammel love, 
 She hath demeaned herself to baser arms, 
 And I dare cry aloud, I love her, I — 
 The Countess Adelys! 
 
 Douce: Hush, Amaud, hush! 
 
 {She sinks upon a chair.) 
 
 Amaud: Thy heart is broken too ! 
 
 Douce: I knew it long. 
 
 Arnaud: What now all this world's laws? I 
 watched her still. 
 Until the moment came; the sword thrust 
 
 oped 
 My soul to ecstasy. So now I sweep 
 And garnish all recesses of my soul. 
 As pure as she, and then for days do fast. 
 Until at last I see her, once or twice 
 Within each year; until she bade me here. 
 Why, Douce, I have dreamed that when I died 
 God looked upon me so; and then I stayed 
 In heaven. 
 
 Aymeric {enters^ singing): 
 
42 The Light of Provence 
 
 Love of light woman 
 Light the heart stirs — 
 
 Wliich is the evil love, 
 Angel's or hers? 
 
 Arnatcd: Hark! Any man could write a truer 
 song; 
 'Tis only angels drive a man to hell — 
 Aymeric: Save thou thy verses for the tenzon 
 then, 
 Here comes King Pedro, as it seems, returned. 
 Arnaud: King Pedro! That is why — God, 
 
 O God! 
 Douce: Believe me, Arnaud, thou dost wrong 
 
 her — 
 Ramhaud {overhearing as he enters): Aye, 
 
 King Peyre finds his case as ill as thine. 
 Herald (entering first; theft Raimond, Adelys, 
 Countess of Die and courtiers, Peyre joins 
 theniy Adelys ascends the throne): 
 Now hear ye! all ye poets or knights, draw nigh! 
 Each hath a verse and sonnet, then reply. 
 First thou, Arnaud — our Queen now bids thee 
 speak. 
 
 Arnaud: Love of light woman. 
 Good one or bad — 
 Which be the worse for man, 
 Glad love or s^ad? 
 
Second Day 
 
 Aymeric: Glad; if his love for her 
 Endetli in loss, 
 Of it a hero bom 
 Wars for the Cross. 
 
 43 
 
 Arnaud: But, if he starve for her, 
 Scorn is his dole 
 Lost is his faith in her, 
 Lost is his soul. 
 
 Aymeric: Lonely do battle then 
 In the heart's night; 
 Die, the world's joy unknown, 
 Leaving it light! 
 
 Rambaud, Bernard: Aymeric! 
 
 Adelais: Aymeric, the couplet's won. 
 
 Now for the sonnet, Arnaud, try thou first! 
 Arnaud: My sonnet's on a Queen — Herodias! 
 
 No sorrow known, light laughter hath thy heart 
 For all eternity, since that one day 
 Thou sawst thy Saviour fainting by the way, 
 
 And lookedst down, from thy light life apart, 
 
 Upon His sorrow, and the bitter smart 
 
 Of thorns, that hedged His path from thine 
 
 away; 
 And thy heart found no other thing to say 
 
 Than laughter — to the Saviour of thy heart. 
 
44 The Light of Provence 
 
 Light woman, now throughout the tiring years 
 Shalt thou laugh — ^while thy soul afire with shame 
 From life to death runs, and to life thereafter, 
 Still laughter holds thine eyes, awhile the tears 
 Well from thy soul in anguish at His name 
 To press behind thine eyeballs strained to 
 laughter! 
 
 Adelats: 'Tis horrible. 
 
 Rambaud: But she was no good woman. Thou, 
 What hast thou, Aymeric, to match his sonnet? 
 
 Aymeric: Maria. 
 
 Arnatid: She came not to see the Cross, 
 
 As did Herodias, the one who laughed ; 
 To the Tomb came not the Virgin ; Mary came. 
 Of Magdala ; you do not call her good — 
 Yet first was she to see the risen Lord! 
 
 Adelys: Peace, Rene — Now, thy sonnet, Ay- 
 meric. 
 
 Aymeric: 
 
 No sorrow knowing, hath the heart of sorrow 
 
 Deep hid within thine eyes; Mary, thy grace 
 For pity of today, the high tomorrow 
 
 Turns its new joy to sadness in thy face. 
 So new announced to thee, that earth, removed, 
 
 Shimmers a mist of tears before thy sight, 
 Not seen, yet understood; renounced, yet loved, 
 
 Thy dim eyes shining with a higher light; 
 
Second Day 45 
 
 For thou hast looked upon the front of God. 
 Thy Hps are stilled, for they have touched the 
 rod, 
 
 Foreknowing His will, of His mercy sure; 
 What to thee is that flower of earth that dies 
 In thy hand? Thou art silent ; in thine eyes 
 
 The infinite compassion of the pure. 
 
 Adelys: *Tis beautiful. 
 
 Arnaud: Pretty enow — my friend 
 
 Hath lived i* the country and hath not known 
 the world! 
 
 {He steps forward fiercely.) 
 
 St. Ursula, upon her way to heaven 
 
 Once met a pilgrim lying in her path ; 
 
 His lips too parched to speak, his eyes besought 
 
 Her for a cup of water — but his limbs 
 
 Lay in the dust, and on his breast was blood. 
 
 She sighed — but, lest the dust should touch her 
 
 robe 
 Went on to heaven, and was sainted there — 
 Only, the damned from hell cry out at her! 
 
 {Silence, The courtiers look at Adelys.) 
 Adelys {slowly risiiig from her throne): 
 I do adjudge to Aymeric the wreath — 
 
 {She descends the throne; the courtiers throng 
 to Aymeric.) 
 
46 The Light of Provence 
 
 To Ren6 vanquished, give this cup of water. 
 (Arnaud — (Ren6) starts forward; then falls 
 upon his knees; Adelys takes a gilt cup 
 from hy the ewer on the table, drinks of it, 
 and gives it to him; this takes place on the 
 side, the crowd, front, surrounding Ayme- 
 Ric; some laugh; R.4IMOND and Peyre 
 watch Adelais closely,) 
 Arnaud: My lady — 
 
 (Raimond and Peyre come up; she waves 
 them on.) 
 Peyre (bowing): Raimond, come on — ^for our 
 
 Queen 
 It seems, would give a private audience! 
 Arnaud (as the company are leaving the hall, to 
 Adelys alone): 
 Let me but say God bless you once — and then 
 I'll go — I pray you, speak — Thou canst not 
 
 help 
 My praying for thee? Well, then, I shall 
 
 pray. 
 God bless thee, ever, never tell thee so; 
 Good — *tis a secret betwixt me and God. 
 Adelys (turning aside): 
 
 King Peyre, my lord and I do bid thee come 
 To join our banquet. 
 
 (They go out, with the courtiers.) 
 
 Guido (to Arnaud); Told I not thee so? 
 
 Thy verse is well enough; the World prevails 
 
Second Day 47 
 
 What ho, there, Rambaud? Aymon, bring us 
 drink. 
 Douce {lingering behind): 
 
 Thou hadst thy cup of water — seek the Cross. 
 (Arnaud goes after her; the others drink.) 
 
SCENE III 
 
 {Guardroonij as in Scene I.; the door open to the 
 great hall; it is late at night,) 
 
 Sentry (heard singing outside): 
 
 Guard of the tower, 
 
 Watch thou the hour, 
 The walls, lest any come 
 
 Armed with power, 
 
 Our sleep devour — 
 Lady and lord are home. 
 
 Back from the war 
 
 Closed his eyes are. 
 He rests by his true heart; 
 
 Watch thou afar; 
 
 By morning star. 
 Lady and lord must part! 
 
 Guido (to Aymon); Where art thou going? 
 Aymon: A wench awaits me — 
 
 Guido: Aye, 
 
 Money is still the cheapest price we pay. 
 
 Who would be young, and keep his life, should love 
 
 All, or not any. 
 
 48 
 
Second Day 49 
 
 Aymon: I love 'em aU— but first 
 
 Another drink. 
 Guido {sings drunkenly) : 
 
 If a dame trouble thee, 
 
 Make her thine own; 
 If a face haunteth thee, 
 
 Be her breast shown; 
 What though her eyes be bright, 
 
 Have at thy dame; 
 Close in thy arms o* night 
 
 The rest's the same! 
 
 Aymon: Ha, good! main good! Til tell my giri 
 o* that — 
 Oho, boy, drink! 
 Bertrand: Ye guzzHng swme— Guido, 
 
 Thy beauty visions then have come to this? 
 Guido: What would you? I am Hving in the 
 world — 
 It sees them not with me, believes them not. 
 Bertrand: Then see them thou alone. Did Per- 
 ceval 
 Desire companions when he saw the Grail? 
 Thy ''lily, lucid in the forest shade" 
 Unseen of worid or men, remains a maid; 
 So thee, who art of heaven's beauty sure, 
 Thy dreams of heaven here on earth keep pure. 
 But what is this? 
 
 {Lights, and a tumult, come from the upper 
 
50 The Light of Provence 
 
 stair; the noise increases; they all start up, 
 Raimond comes down, with guards, drag- 
 ging Arnaud, after him; King Peyre, 
 FoLQUET, and other troubadours, Aymeric 
 at the last. The hall becomes rapidly 
 crowded, beyond the guardroom.) 
 Raimond: My liege, I caught him at our lady's 
 
 door — 
 Peyre: V/ho is the fellow? 
 
 Folguet: I do charge the man 
 
 A heretic and troubadour — attached 
 To them of Albi that do lead the schism 
 And Raimond there, his master. 
 Raimond: I, thou sayst? 
 
 Tore yester morn I never saw the lad. 
 Folguet: And yet he sang so pat! The red rose 
 thou 
 Content wouldst see him wearing! If not thine 
 The greater shame, then, hers. 
 Raimond {dashes a glass in his face): Thy 
 craven face 
 Thus I, as sovereign prince, degrade! Thy spurs 
 So hack from thy heels! Now go; upon the 
 
 road 
 The common routiers, thy fellows, join, 
 And live by tricks, or alms, or robbery, — 
 My liege of Aragon, to whom I deign 
 My homage, rather than to poor rough France, 
 Say, did I well? 
 
Second Day 51 
 
 Folquet: Stop, king— thy pride and his 
 
 Stay, for a word. Not Folquet, troubadour 
 Has this loose vassal so insulted! Spurs 
 IVe cast away, with viol and coat-of-mail, 
 The robe of the White Cross I wear; this scroll 
 Within my scrip the august speech of Rome. 
 I, bishop of Marseilles, and legate of 
 His Holiness, I give no homage— kneel I 
 
 {He suits his act to the words; Raimond and 
 Peyke bow humbly, but do not kneel; Fol- 
 quet opens the scroll and reads, like one 
 who hardly deigns.) 
 
 "Too long, Provence, thy fair land blossoming 
 With poetry and pleasant thought! Too long, 
 Too leniently in thy fair towers they live 
 And broider living with all arts and crafts 
 And snares of Eastern learning, till they doubt 
 The Church's ministers! Thy priests, still 
 
 wed, 
 Vie with thy troubadours in song, and these 
 With our anointed kings in shock of battle. 
 Thy cities are too learned and too fine 
 Thy towns, repubHcs, and thy burghers, 
 
 knights. 
 So is thy fair life breeding heresy." 
 Therefore hath Innocent his legates sent, 
 Amalric, Abbot of Citeaux, and I, 
 And Peter Castelnau, who martyr'd lies 
 
52 The Light of Provence 
 
 Murdered by men of Raimond of Toulouse, 
 Thy liege and lord of all Provence — 
 
 Raimond: *Tis false! 
 
 I had no part in 't! 
 
 Folguet: Prove thou then thy truth; 
 
 Provence is under interdict; Raimond 
 The Pope hath excommunicated; thou, 
 Raimond-Rogier, King Peyre, prove now your 
 
 faith ; 
 Hear now, thy Queen shall speak — ^if it be true 
 What thou, Raimond, hast said; and Aragon 
 Vex not his Holiness already vext 
 At the loose living of thy subject courts. 
 By yielding this first trial of thy law — 
 If so say Adelys, and this young man confirm 
 Her story, let him die the death decreed. 
 But if the youth be but a mask, a screen. 
 For Peyre of Aragon — then, Raimond, join 
 Thy brother France against the traitors both, 
 Toulouse and Aragon. Speak, Raimond, first. 
 
 Raimond: I never saw the youth ere yester eve. 
 
 Aymon: Pray, father, I would but put in a 
 word — 
 He is the same young gallant that we caught 
 A-rhyming in this guardroom, rhyming to 
 
 Folquet: Peace, fool. But thou, and first — thy 
 name? 
 
 Arnaud: Arnaud. 
 
 Folg^uet: Arnaud — no other? 
 
Second Day 53 
 
 Arnaud: Arnaud of Merveilh. 
 
 Folquet: Thy errand, then? 
 
 Peyre: Aye, sirrah, tell thy errand 
 
 And speedier a lie bring death than truth! 
 Arnaud: I came — (Adelys appears), I cannot 
 tell— 
 
 {He is silent; Peyre puts his hand to his 
 sword,) 
 
 (Douce appears.) 
 Douce: My lady, pray — 
 
 Adelys {taking her hand): 
 
 Have thou no fear, dear girl — ^Naught can 
 
 harm me — 
 What wouldst thou say? Why, speak then — 
 
 Holy Priest, 
 This maiden fair and pure hath won my love, 
 
 My dearest maid of honour 
 
 Douce: Not to him, 
 
 But to the King. Sire, I must speak; our 
 
 Queen 
 Is guiltless; Arnaud injured not thy law; 
 I am no maid of Provence but a country girl; 
 For love, I followed him to court; I am — 
 
 He came this night to see me — I*m 
 
 {She swoons.) 
 Aymon: His wench, 
 
 Aymeric {starting forward toward Douce): 
 
 Then God forgive thee! 
 Arnaud: Nay — 
 
54 The Light of Provence 
 
 Peyre: Enough of this. 
 
 A petty scandal! Masquerading maids 
 
 WeVe seen ere now 
 
 Raimond: But none so lovely. Well, 
 
 You Folquet, priest, since priest you are, go 
 
 back 
 To tell thy Pope of this new story. — Sir, 
 
 {To Arnaud.) 
 Thy little life is saved, though at some cost. 
 In reputation to your douce ladye! 
 Begone, the pair of you — and get ye wed. 
 Arnaud: Oh, Douce, Douce! 
 
 {He falls at her feet, clasping her hands ^ and 
 kissing them passionately.) 
 Adelys: Rise — Not you — Poor girl! 
 
 So — this, Sir, is thy love? 
 Arnaud: Oh, Douce, Douce! 
 
 Aymeric: She breathes once more — God bless 
 her — Come, away! 
 Arnaud, I know" a place within the hills 
 Breathes peace; beyond or priest^s or prince's 
 word 
 
 Arnaud, bring thou her there 
 
 Arnaud: Oh, Douce, Douce ! 
 
 Here endeih the Second Day, 
 
THIRD DAY 
 
 July the 2 1st, 1209. 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 ( The Rock of Menerba, A public sqtiare before the old 
 fortress-church on the peak of the rock; far below ^ 
 the plains lie hazy in the level light; it is the hour 
 before sunset, Bernard de Ventadour on 
 guard, with a page. Enter Arnaud, dressed as 
 an Albigensian^ in the garments of a ^^ working 
 friar y'' but about his waist a sword! A few 
 people, women and youths, are in the square. 
 The page unstrings a lute, and Bernard pre- 
 ludes; as he sings, a greater company assembles^ 
 issuing in part through the cathedral doors,) 
 
 Bernard {sings, in French): 
 
 Joie d'amour ne dure une heure 
 Peine d'amour dure toute la vie; 
 Peine de terre ne dure qu*une heure, 
 Joie de del dure pour jamais. 
 {He sees Arnaud as he ends the couplet. 
 Douce comes out, and with her Aymeric, 
 . waiting behind until she addresses him.) 
 Douce {going up to Arnaud) : Brother! 
 
 {She kisses him.) 
 
 55 
 
56 The Light of Provence 
 
 Arnaud: My sister! 
 
 (He lays his hand upon her head.) 
 Christ's peace be on thee, and His mother's love! 
 And, Aymeric, thou too? 
 
 Aymeric {dressed as a poor many with the Peni- 
 tent^ s crosses on his breast^ coming forward) : 
 
 Whence hast thou come? 
 What news from Beziers? Doth still the foe 
 Besiege our lady? 
 
 Arnaud: I am come from Rome, 
 
 Service doing unto my master Raimond, as 
 Doth he to Innocent, once called by us 
 Servant to the servants of God. 
 
 Voices: From Rome! 
 
 Where Gregory, great Hildebrand, gives place 
 To Innocent the Third, the Anti-christ, 
 Who arms the Cross 'gainst us, not Palestine — 
 The Scarlet Woman ; he the Anti-christ ! 
 
 Aymeric: The Bishop! Peace! 
 
 Bishop of Beziers: Kneel not, my son, thou knowst 
 We Good Men kneel not unto men, but God! 
 No man is holy, all are brethren — 
 What word sends us the Holy Father? 
 
 Arnaud: War! 
 
 To priests and poor men, women, children, all 
 Even to babes unborn whose mothers bear 
 The black cross on the breast, or who have wed 
 Or born a babe to any one of us, 
 Or who have sheltered, succoured, seen, aye, talked 
 
Third Day 57 
 
 With one of us ; whose roof, whose parents' roof 
 
 Hath covered one of Albi — so we're named — 
 
 While to each roiitier, Brabazon, who kills 
 
 Or rapes or murders one of us, or stills 
 
 An unborn child, he gives — indulgences; 
 
 Perpetual absolution for the crimes 
 
 He have committed or he yet shall do. 
 
 The crusade for the Holy Land recalled, 
 
 Crusade is preached by him against Provence, 
 
 Of cheaper lust and glory ; he who wars 
 
 Against Toulouse, or Roger of Beziers 
 
 Or Raimond — ^he may leave his gear at home! 
 
 No usury shall nm upon his debts, 
 
 Him none shall sue; may leave his wife behind, 
 
 His concubines the ladies of Provence, 
 
 Whose lives he haply spares, — fairer than they 
 
 Of Palestine and with less travel won; 
 
 May leave his soul behind! for Innocent 
 
 Decrees him heaven when too old to sin. 
 
 Bishop: And Raimond? 
 
 Arnaud: Excommunicated — thou 
 
 Degraded — ^interdict upon Provence. 
 
 Bishop: Who leads? 
 
 Arnaud: Folquet, the bishop of Marseilles 
 
 Once troubadour; Citeaux, the legate he 
 Who charged our Raimond Peter's murderer. 
 All wear the mocking cross upon the breast, 
 To show they war on us as Saracens ! 
 And chief is that barbarian of the North, 
 
58 The Light of Provence 
 
 Montfort of England, claiming all Provence 
 As but the French king's fief — Poor Louis, he 
 Once wrote himself too rude to write to us 
 Lest he offend our ears — but dares not fight. 
 
 Bishop: But surely, airs not by the sword — 
 doth not 
 The Holy Father also try to win us back 
 By prayer, or peace, or by the Virgin's love? 
 
 Arnaud: Not he — or stay — ^yes, he hath sent to us 
 An order new of monks; they copy us. 
 Live poorly, take no money, use no land 
 To fatten Rome with churches — as they say — 
 A Spaniard, at their head, one Dominic; 
 Him Innocent hath charged to bring us back 
 By some new clever rules of inquest, to 
 The Church 
 
 Bishop: We never left the Church, the Pope — 
 
 Voices: Anti-christ! Anti-christ! 
 
 Bishop: Ah peace, m}'- friends, 
 
 The holy Church is ours, and Innocent 
 Most surely — ^why, they call us the Good Men; 
 God's will shall work through his appointed 
 
 church 
 Aye e'en through Innocent, the Priest of Rome — 
 We call him servant of God's servants still. 
 
 Arnaud: The monk of Citeaux hath in private 
 said 
 'T were well thou shouldst be killed in battle, lest 
 Thy trial should reveal — 
 
Third Day 59 
 
 Bishop: God*s will be done! 
 
 Meanwhile, in prayerful hope for this poor land 
 We too have formed an Order — Capucins 
 Who wear the pallium, and plate that bears 
 The image of the Virgin, with the words 
 "Agnus dei qui toUis peccata mundi'* — 
 A carpenter, a poor man, had a dream 
 That such might rid our land of Brabazons 
 And bring a day of peace, so that the son 
 Of murdered sire would spare the murderer. 
 The peace of the most blessed Mary, come 
 To our poor land!— But now, the Angelus— 
 {He hares his head; all stand reverently. 
 After the prayer enter a procession of 
 young women; Douce is among them; she 
 sees Arnaud, who is standing, leaning on 
 his sword, the two white crosses hanging 
 from his cape; she passes on, her eyes cast 
 down; the maidens stop before the church 
 door, the Bishop gives them his benediction; 
 then speaks, in Provengal.) 
 
 Bishop: 
 
 Oiet, virgines, aiso que vos dinmi, 
 Aisex presen, que vos commandareum: 
 Atendet un espos, Jeshu, Salvaire a nom. 
 Gaire noi dormat ! 
 
 The Maidens {singing): 
 
 Venit in terra per los vestra pechet; 
 De la Vergine en Bethlem fo net, 
 
6o The Light of Provence 
 
 E flum Jordan lavet e bateet; 
 Gaire noi dormet! 
 Bishop (as he speaks^ the crowd gathers more and 
 morey all except the old men in the garb of 
 soldiers; many, like Arnaud, wear the peni- 
 tential crosses): 
 Good Men, this market-place alone will serve 
 For ye to hear the words of Arnaud, come 
 But lately from his pilgrimage to Rome. 
 Our church, you know, is not a pile of stones 
 But all God's earth; and as our Saviour says, 
 His temple hath become a den of thieves. 
 So make we now the market-place His church. 
 Speak, Arnaud. 
 Arnaud: Good Men, ye have heard our Head. 
 Yes, I have been to Como and to Rome 
 And even to Ragusa, to that land 
 Where Bulgars still keep pure the faith that 
 
 Rome 
 Since evil days of Sylvester, hath lost. 
 When Constantine seduced her first with gifts, 
 So brought the Apostolic church to earth 
 And made eternal power temporal. 
 Faith of the East, the dawning land of Christ, 
 And life of Paul, the perfect man, who led 
 First among men the life on earth — so we 
 Are called Paulicians here, Katharoi there, 
 Good Men, we dare be called in both. Now hear : 
 I found in all our lands this same true faith, 
 
Third Day 6i 
 
 One God is there, one Spirit, and one Christ, 
 
 Maker of all things incorruptible; 
 
 And Christ was bom on earth, but never died, 
 
 But only he was seen to die of men. 
 
 So hold we to the creed, the Eucharist, 
 
 As symbol of the life that never died. 
 
 While things corruptible, this earth and world 
 
 Are wrought of Satan, and shall not endure, 
 
 But, like our bodies, die. Hence fleshly love 
 
 And fleshly death have no place in God's eye, 
 
 But are the veil of Satan. Evil all 
 
 Appearances; for truth we may not see; 
 
 They vanish, and the unseen lasts; this world, 
 
 This seeming world, is hell; and all of us 
 
 Are angels fallen from some other life, 
 
 Not purified till seven earthly lives. 
 
 No other purgator^^ is than this; 
 
 In that doth Rome lie; most of all she lies 
 
 In giving men the power to bind and loose, 
 
 In masses for the dead, indulgences; 
 
 The Scarlet One shall bind the church of Cod 
 
 By temporalities ; and hath, or is 
 
 A part of this coarse web v/here now we live; 
 
 She murder doth when she invites to war. 
 
 Beware of vestments, images, the cross; 
 
 The gospels only are the source of truth. 
 
 These ever should we read ; read, of the old. 
 
 The Psalms, Ecclesiastes, Daniel, Job, 
 
 Isaiah, Solomon, the prophets twelve — 
 
62 The Light of Provence 
 
 The rest is evil. Freely read the New; 
 And learn the gospels in your homely speech. 
 Be kind, on earth, and marry if you will, 
 But spiritual marriage is alone of God. 
 Yet is 't no worse for priests to wed than you, 
 So have no faith in monkish professions. 
 ^ Fear not false fame or poverty, or death — 
 And so thy brothers' blessings unto ye. 
 This is the message of the East — Is't well? 
 
 Bernard de Ventadour {advancing from the crowd): 
 'Tis well with us as yet — Minerva's rock 
 Still shelters us with lofty mail from him 
 The Englishman, who fights with naked fist. 
 He bruises with it yet on Carcassonne, 
 Our true faith armeth yet its walls — their 
 
 guard 
 But women and old men. From Queribus, 
 Where Bernard, called the Thorncutter, hath 
 
 cleared 
 The furze which sheltered hunted Catherans, 
 The news comes all have perished — ^him, Bernard 
 Posterity shall gibbet in the moon, 
 The man beside the thornbush! 
 
 Arnaud: Carcassonne? 
 
 Bernard: Its bells cry mercy yet to us afar; 
 The French wolf standeth yet at bay. Guilhem, 
 That cursed Guilhem, who did put the oath 
 Each second year to every boy of twelve 
 Or girl of two years more, did they abjure? 
 
Third Day 63 
 
 Then made each act or speech with one of us 
 Relapse in law — so that he sighed because 
 It were impossible to bum so many — 
 Yet said, ''Qui aytal fara, aytal perira" — 
 So burned he all he could, and burned again 
 At each one's church his entrails and his heart, 
 Then threw the ashes in a running stream 
 Lest they were kept and saved for relics — all 
 In name of God and of the blessed Mary, and 
 Cf Dominic, the Spanish Dominic, 
 As were he in the Trinity — Guilhem 
 The citizens have burned, and made his skull 
 Into a drinking-cup — until the time 
 Some Pope shall come to canonise him too ! 
 Therefore hath Folquet sworn, not stone on 
 
 stone 
 Shall rest, in Carcassonne. 
 
 (Raimbaud enters.) 
 
 Arnaud: Why, thou, Rambaud, 
 
 Rambaud de Vaqueiras in armour too? 
 
 Rambaud: All we who loved the gentle life have 
 learned 
 From love sublimed, the white life of the sword ; 
 From light of Hfe to battle brave with night, 
 From fair Provence to meet the Prankish 
 
 horde, 
 From gentle eyes, the look to outface death. 
 From peace on earth, to win the peace of heaven. 
 
 Arnaud: And of Count Raimond? 
 
64 The Light of Provence 
 
 Ramhatcd: Raimond of Toulouse 
 
 Is old, and excommunicate — he kneels 
 Before the Pope, and prayeth for his folk, 
 Poor folk! by too much light he led astray! 
 Raimond-Rogier hath thrown him in Toulouse; 
 They say he holds it Hke a wolf a bone. 
 
 Arnaud: Raimond-Rogier? where 
 
 (Countess of Die enters.) 
 
 Countess of Die: From Toulouse I come, 
 
 A woman only, through the Montfort's Hnes, 
 
 He hoping I would tell thee that they starve. 
 
 Their eyes are bright with hunger, but their 
 
 hearts 
 Still beat for battle — so they bid us wait. 
 For Aragon is ours — King Peyre will come! 
 Arnaud: Thou too! 
 
 Countess of Die: Not one of all our idle courts 
 But raised their love, of earthly joys outworn. 
 To crave the love of Christ; not one but 
 
 learned 
 To touch soft breasts to naked steel — so I ! 
 Bishop: To sleep, then, and to prayer for those 
 who need 
 Yet more than we the might that comes from 
 
 Him 
 Who bids us all so live, so die, that still 
 Our deaths, our lives, shall work to win the 
 
 world 
 Back to the truth, in God's own time ' Amen. 
 
Third Day 65 
 
 All. Amen. 
 
 {The crowd begins to disperse. Douce, to 
 Arnaud, walking aside.) 
 Douce: But one thing, Amaud, thou didst never 
 ask 
 
 One place forgot— yet I could see thine eyes 
 
 Kindle, as each one spoke, to hear her name— 
 
 Adelys — 
 Arnaud: I have not seen her since that day 
 
 Thou drag'dst thy dear heart in the mire 
 
 That I might live! I live for thee alone; 
 
 I know not where she dwells on earth. — Douce! 
 
 Each day, each hour, I have forgotten her; 
 
 Nay, every waking minute, every dream — 
 Douce: Hath been that thou forgot'st her— ah, 
 I know! 
 
 I know, I know. 
 Arnaud: Douce, my love for thee — 
 
 And were it not— in these times other things 
 
 Than a light woman — 
 Douce: Hush, thy words do hurt; 
 
 She wears the crosses, Arnaud, as do we; 
 
 God help me — when she loves, she will be true. 
 
 Alone, she leads our arms in Beziers — 
 Arnaud {eagerly): 
 
 Then she is well? 
 Douce: All, Rene of the Rose! 
 
 The flames of war indeed sweep through our land 
 
 Licking with its red tongue the lives of men, 
 
 5 
 
66 The Light of Provence 
 
 The souls of women, withering the land — 
 Thy love, it withers not. 
 Arnaud: But nay — 
 
 Douce: I know; 
 
 I love thee, dear, too much not still to know ! 
 Arnaud: Douce — when I have won a smile of 
 
 God, 
 Purged, though it be by death, my poor boy*s 
 
 heart. 
 Made it so pure the Virgin Mary's self 
 May dwell there — wilt thou then believe, 
 
 forgive? 
 Douce: Forgive, believe? Arnaud, I never 
 
 blamed ; 
 Dost thou not see? I gave thee, Arnaud, love; 
 Forgive thou her. 
 Arnaud: If I do save my soul; 
 
 Else shairt appeal her at the throne of heaven. 
 When I*m a priest of hell; for know thou, 
 
 Douce, 
 The priests of hell shall be of those whom God 
 Hath lied to. With the damned, not of them, 
 
 walk 
 They silent there; but when they speak, their 
 
 speech 
 Is all that other lost souls know for prayer. 
 Good were they not; for never had they hope; 
 Bad were they not; their hearts bore too much 
 
 woe. 
 
Third Day 67 
 
 Yet those lost souls in hell, who priests would 
 
 scorn, 
 And jeer at angels, look on these with trust. 
 For they are those whom, when they dwelt on 
 
 earth, 
 God cheated with His light— made day to 
 
 night, 
 Good, evil; angel, devil; falsehood, truth, 
 Or less false than the truth; those unto whom 
 He sent an angel with a radiant wing 
 A voice of heaven, eyes of noonday sky, 
 But lust of earth and power in her heart. 
 Such are the ministers to hell; they go 
 From v/orld to worlds, through all God's endless 
 
 chain, 
 Beliefless, hopeless, yet still serving Him 
 Whose Hght they may not see. He trieth 
 
 them 
 Thus sore, almost unto eternity. 
 Douce: He trieth them— for that he loves them 
 most. 
 Forgive thou her. 
 Arnaud: If I do save my soul — 
 
 Else shall't appeal her at the throne of heaven. 
 Douce: Forgive thou her — 
 
 (Douce goes into a house, leaving Arnaud 
 alone. After a moment, he takes his lute 
 and preludes. Aymeric comes out, and 
 listens as he sings.) 
 
68 The Light of Provence 
 
 Arnatid: 
 
 O love, my dear love, in whose gentle eyes 
 Dwells all my light abiding here on earth, 
 Days grow to weeks, and weeks to months 
 of dearth, 
 Months, years — and still the world between us 
 
 lies! 
 Ah, love, my heart is fainting, though it tries 
 Bravely to beat the march of life alone; 
 Make me some sign, love ; for I am as one 
 Who dwells in some far star of desert skies. 
 The green earth's spring and bloom is far to me 
 Who see it through the silent interspace; 
 The world's a cloud confused; and so, thy 
 face, 
 Of all its radiances, alone I see. 
 
 So far away I dwell from thee and thine. 
 Make me, dear love, for Mary's sake, some 
 sigh! 
 A ymeric: Amaud ? 
 Arnaud: Didst hear me, Aymeric? I rest 
 
 By making sonnets, as in olden days! 
 Aymeric: Friend, hide it not; it is no shame to 
 love 
 As thou hast loved. 
 Arnaud: O Aymeric! that day, 
 
 That day to me she died. But I have heard 
 By ruined Tintagel there lived 
 A holy hermit, known to far and wide 
 
Third Day 69 
 
 For sanctity, and peace, and charity. 
 But once each year this holy hermit came 
 Dust}'-, in his friar's gown, unto the gate 
 Of Camelot, and of the first he met 
 "How goes Queen Guinever"? he said — ^And if 
 The answer came, She lives and well — so went 
 Him back imto his hermitage. And then, 
 When haply answered they. She lives, the same 
 He went him back unto his cell and prayed. 
 But when, on that last year, he met a youth 
 Who rudely answered him, "Queen Guinever? 
 Thou fool, dost thou not know that she is dead ? " 
 
 dead?" 
 "God's praise be," said the old man, and his 
 
 head 
 Raised he then first to heaven, and he smiled. 
 Spake twice "God's praise be" — and, the night, 
 
 he died. 
 What's that? 
 
 {The crowd begins to gather again; the church 
 
 bells ring.) 
 {While the stage ails again, the night falls,) 
 
SCENE II 
 
 (Arnaud, Aymeric; Bernard de Ventadour in 
 the watch-tower; Douce, Guido, the Bishop 
 OF Beziers; Albigensians.) 
 Bernard (from the watchtower): 
 
 A messenger — nay, no attack; 
 A messenger — ^he craveth entrance, says 
 He comes from Beziers — 
 Arnatid: Beziers! 
 
 Douce: Alas! 
 
 Bishop: News from my fold! Bid him come in 
 
 —Guido! 
 Guido {the gates thrown open^ enters feebly from the 
 steep cliff -path t supported by two sentries; he is 
 pale and wasted): 
 The Countess Adelais bade me come 
 To crave for help — ^for sixty thousand men 
 And English Montfort do besiege the tower 
 She needeth men 
 Bishop: We have no men; the few 
 
 Are needed here, that garrison these walls; 
 God will protect her — 
 Arnaud: Breaking forward from Aymeric and 
 Douce.) 
 70 
 
Third Day 71 
 
 I am not of yours, 
 I went to Rome — tell her that I will come, 
 If that she have forgiven me enough 
 To let my poor life serve. 
 Bishop: Well spoke, Arnaud, 
 
 And I will pray to God — nay I myself 
 Will go to Montfort's camp to intercede, 
 The sheep are of my fold ! 
 Guido: Ren6 — 
 
 Arnaud: Call me 
 
 But Arnaud of MerveiUi — 
 Guido: Arnaud, I know 
 
 The way — the way to Beziers — I can 
 I can lead — lead thee to — v/hat is yon light? 
 The light I've tried to paint! Rene— at 
 
 last 
 At last — you see it now — 
 Arnaud {bending down and supporting him): 
 
 Guido, of her? 
 Guid^o: She lives — the light calls — Thou must 
 
 go alone — 
 Arnaud: Father, the holy oils— 'tis too late— 
 
 {Guido dies.) Dead ! 
 
 Bishop: Dead? There are no wounds — 
 Arnaud: The man died, starved. 
 
 Father, I go alone — Forgive me, Douce — 
 
 {More tenderly.) 
 My Douce, listen — I must seek the Cross. 
 
 {The last light falls on Gvwo's face. DouCE 
 
72 The Light of Provence 
 
 closes his eyes. The people kneel. The 
 Bishop raises his hand, Arnaud de- 
 scends, hy the cliff-path.) 
 
 Here endeth the Third Day, 
 
FOURTH DAY 
 July 22d, 1209 (Jotir de la Madeleine). 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 ( The French camp before Beziers. Amalric Legate 
 of the Pope; Simon de Montfort; Folquet, 
 Bishop of Marseilles; Eudes, Duke of Bur- 
 gundy; the count of Pons; soldiers, Dominicans , 
 AlJdgensian crusaders, Frenchmen or Braban- 
 gons, wearing one white cross on the breast; 
 women camp-followers etc.) 
 
 Montfort: Most holy legate, we have prayed thee 
 come 
 That we may have thy counsel. Carcassonne 
 Is fast besieged, and in it he of Foix, 
 Raimond-Rogier, the nephew; and Toulouse 
 Is held by Raimond, arch recalcitrant; 
 Beziers but by a woman, faint for food. 
 She first must fall; then Carcassonne, I swear! 
 God's holy war goes on. 
 
 Citeaux: Children, well done! 
 
 And you, my liege — the Holy Father bids 
 Me call you Count of Provence, vassal but 
 73 
 
74 The Light of Provence 
 
 To saintly Philip, King of France, and lord 
 Of Aquitaine, neath only England's King 
 He bids all hail thee! 
 
 Knights and Crusaders: Hail! 
 
 Eudes {aside to Pons): He goeth far! 
 
 Pons: Too far, indeed for me — Raimond-Rogier, 
 A fine youth he ! While Raimond of Toulouse, 
 Brother to all the kings of Christendom, 
 France, England, Aragon— lord of this land — 
 We've done him ill enough not to despoil 
 A sovereign prince his heritage. But hark — 
 
 Citeaux {reading): Further, the Holy Father 
 sends this bull 
 To his misguided children of Provence: 
 *'The miserable state, or rather say 
 Th' established misery of our Narbonne 
 Hath long tormented with anxiety 
 Our mind, suspended our right arm in doubt — " 
 
 Eudes {aside): What jargon's that? 
 
 Pons: That's hoty rhetoric — 
 
 {Crosses himself.) 
 
 Citeaux'^ {going on): This fruitful land, though 
 laboured with much sweat 
 Though sweated with much labour, idle lies, 
 All virgin to the plow, v/hile its poor folk 
 Have left the holy church for heresies. 
 Know that felicity of sinners is 
 
 ^ This speech of Citeaux is entirely historical andi'loften literally 
 transcribed. — (Author's note.) 
 
Fourth Day 75 
 
 The greatest of all infelicities. 
 Such sinners they of Albi. Do they not 
 Despise all ordination? Call the Pope 
 The Anti-christ, in that he decks our Church 
 In robes and vestments and in carven stone, 
 And rules tliis Earth for Heaven ? Do they not 
 Hold marriage evil, chastity no virtue, 
 Confess no sins, and absolution scorn? 
 Deny the Presence, creeds reject, condemn 
 All masses for the dead? Degrade the Book 
 To versions in the vulgar speech, against 
 The council of Toulouse, v/hich forbade all 
 Save psalter, breviary, or the book 
 Of blessed Mary's hours? They defile 
 Our churches to a meeting-place for lust ; 
 They call the Cross mere wood; dispense with 
 
 laws 
 And canons of the Church, but claim the words 
 Of Christ and His apostles are enough ; 
 The cock upon the steeple is no doctor 
 Unto these; the cloth that veils the Host 
 No better than their breeches; eat no flesh 
 That's bom from copulation; so they say; 
 Such things they do. Yet something in their lives 
 Hath lured the common people to beheve. 
 In that they harmless Hve and pure — ^well then : 
 
 Here's Dominic the holy, pure as they, 
 For they but chastely live — while Dominic 
 
76 The Light of Provence 
 
 A virgin lives, and virgin yet shall die; 
 Armed with a virgin's cruelty, he'll bum 
 Implacably each sinner from the land. 
 Why some time since, at Montreal, they burned 
 These false Paulician writings; some one there 
 One page of Dominic's put in the flames; 
 Pressed down upon the glowing cinder, his 
 White page but turned the whiter on the coals. 
 
 Now hear ye — Dominic shall die a saint; 
 Ere he be canonised, his earthly corse 
 Shall breathe an odour sweet as early rose; 
 While Raimond, excommunicate, shall lie 
 Four centuries outside the holy ground 
 Of St. John in Toulouse, and there be seen 
 To rot away unburied — Of his skull 
 There shall a drinking-cup be shown, 
 Marked with a fieur-de-lys, to future years! 
 These I foretell, these things that now I tell! 
 
 When Innocent, God's holy servant, pleased 
 To establish this new Order, which should go 
 Barefoot, no money take nor land, 
 (For such appearance of a spotless life 
 Appear to lead the vulgar from the truth) 
 Among our cities to dispute and preach — 
 (For they like preaching, call arch heretics 
 Ministers not priests — sermons they like; 
 Well, sermons they shall have; sermo we call 
 
Fourth Day 77 
 
 The burning of a heretic — a flaming text !) 
 Dominicans can preach, and sinners spy 
 Denoimcing to our Inquisition. So 
 The Pope calls also Philip, to crusade 
 Against these worse than Saracens ; and gives 
 Full license over body, life or land. 
 With absolutions for all sins occurred 
 To them in such a war — the while he bids 
 Osma and Dominic to preach in peace, 
 Inquire, convert, persuade — ^when all else fails 
 To hand the pervert to the secular arm. 
 Eudes: A tender way to end it! 
 Pons: What is that? 
 
 Citeaux (unfolding a roll of parchment^ to the 
 
 Dominicans): 
 "The method of proceeding: Heretics. 
 When a suspected heretic*s denoimced, 
 First block they all his doors; then watch to 
 
 see 
 Who visits there; for one who visits, greets 
 Or eats with heretics, is what we quaestors can 
 *In vehement suspicion* — such an one 
 Must penance do at Canterbury or 
 At least to Compostella; if the doubt 
 Be violent, must to the holy land. 
 To serve the Christian Empire in the East ; 
 Sometimes he may return within three years; 
 Meanwhile, his goods are forfeit, and his kin 
 In vehement supicion. Should he then 
 
78 The Light of Provence 
 
 Relapse, the Church may only save his soul, 
 Though he recant, his body first must burn." 
 
 Eudes: A truly heavenly mercy! 
 
 Pons: Hist, the rules! 
 
 Citeaux: Our servant Folquet, Bishop of Mar- 
 seilles, 
 Hath nicely drawn this holy Order rules 
 For working grace on those of Albi. — First, 
 The accused is cited thrice — such caution shows 
 The Church her erring sheep ; in practice, 
 
 though. 
 All three are served together and the last 
 Will do for all — but only, if he's found. 
 More commonly, the man perversely hides; 
 And then, if absent, we interpellate 
 And if the erring soul make no reply 
 The inquisition's made. — ^We find that time 
 Is saved if we begin at once with that. 
 We swear him, on the Writ, to fully say 
 All that he knows of heresy — not of himself 
 Only (for that we know) but others, dead 
 Or living. If the man deny, conceal 
 (That is, say nothing) , then he's put in gaol 
 And weakened by a fast; kept severed from 
 His family; told, perhaps, his wife's 
 In vehement suspicion; or that she 
 Denounced him first (this way we find 
 Most excellent). — Recalcitrant, 
 We vex him with the Question — 
 
Fourth Day 79 
 
 Elides: Question? What 
 
 By'r lady may be that? 
 
 Pons: The bloody rack. 
 
 Citeaux: Yet have we kinder ways — we find some 
 times 
 A show of kindness best will move the heart 
 Of men, inscrutable in sin, who hope 
 To save their wife or children — promise this 
 And you may get most anything. Write down 
 The names he calls on. After all is said 
 Question his wife and children; with them then 
 Confront him; in his frenzy he'll say more. 
 The children, under twelve, may take the oath, 
 But not to save him; that is mala reL 
 The wife, if pardoned, wear the crosses. 
 
 Thus 
 Go on with others, till enough have told 
 The truth to make a ^'sermon"; then be these 
 Delivered to the secular. The Church 
 Of blood-guilt must be free — so frame a prayer, 
 A formal prayer, that mercy may be shown. 
 But on next feast day be they duly burned 
 For it 's approved, no blood is shed in burning. 
 
 Eudes: 'Tis thus the Goths strike terror thro* 
 the land. 
 But these be fine Italians! 
 
 Pons: Wilier they! 
 
 Citeaux {continuing: 
 Meantime the bier shall stand before the doors 
 
8o The Light of Provence 
 
 Of all that knew the man accused, in sign 
 Of grave suspicion; sometimes fear will lead 
 Others to put you on a scent quite new. 
 The bier should always stand before the door 
 Of them that read the Bible in our tongue. 
 Let none of those they call *' Good Men" escape 
 By learning it by rote ; but send them too 
 The bier, in sign that they and theirs are barred 
 From God's great feast. And as such even now 
 When they are summoned, or the bier appears, 
 Do fiy to Beziers or Carcassonne 
 "Where are none of our Order, or Toulouse 
 Where our writs run not; citizens of these, 
 Both men and women, down to girls of twelve 
 Must wear the penitential crosses ; all 
 Are in suspicion ; meanwhile, I release 
 For Innocent, all men from keeping faith 
 With any one of them. — 
 
 Now here, what fault, 
 What culpae have ye for today? 
 
 First Dominican: Stand up! 
 
 {A young woman stands upy robed in black, 
 the two white crosses of the heretics upon 
 her breast) 
 
 Folquet: Thy name is? 
 
 Woman: Esclarmonda. 
 
 Folquet: Woman, speak! 
 
 For grace of heaven, 'fess thy sins to us! 
 (Esclarmonda stands mute): 
 
Fourth Day 8i 
 
 First Dominican: She'll never speak — for she is 
 in the state 
 Th' accused call endura — 
 
 (EscLARJVioNDA sinks to the ground.) 
 
 She is faint 
 For want of food — 
 Folquet: Or obstinate; speak thou 
 
 Then for her; tell us what you know. 
 First Dominican: At home 
 
 (I living there) I saw her, with her aunt 
 A woman called Servana greet two men, 
 Bernard and Peter, heretics. She bowed 
 To them three times, and benedicite 
 Each time they uttered. This maid saw the 
 
 aunt 
 Hereticated last week, ere she died, 
 After a week's endura^ all she ate 
 A potion of wild cucumber. She twice 
 Hath fled the holy Inquisition's keep. 
 She calls the heretics *'good men and true." 
 Folgiiet: Ad murum strictiim — to the close four 
 
 walls. 
 Second Dominican: She hath a father — 
 Folquet: Holy Church withdraws 
 
 The hand that hitherto kept him from harm. 
 {Movement^ and significant glances among 
 the crusaders.) 
 First Dominican: Woman, stand up! This lady, 
 Alezais, 
 
82 The Light of Provence 
 
 Hath let a heretic say prayers beside 
 Her dying son-in-law — 
 
 Folguet: Then let her wear 
 
 The crosses till such time as she repent, 
 And watch her, watch each one to whom she 
 
 speaks. 
 Above all, her own family; for God's grace 
 Begins at home; a Christian should denounce 
 The heretics nearest in blood the first. 
 
 Third Dominican: Pierre Mauran, a laic of Tou- 
 louse 
 Most notable, most rich, and ripe in years. 
 In virtue of mine oaths to give the nam^es. 
 Of all whom I suspect — I here present; 
 He hath two castles, where he preaches nights; 
 He hath denied to these that he hath e'er 
 Denied the wafer to be flesh of Christ — 
 
 All: O blasphemy! 
 
 Citeaux: Accursed Arian! 
 
 Folguet: Let him be naked dragged to every shrine 
 And whipt by nettles; on a ladder stand 
 "At last before St. Stephen's Church tonight 
 With two red tongues a palm long on his breast, 
 And salutary penance let him do 
 With bread and water of affliction; then 
 Jerusalem, within the forty days 
 Departing, let him seek; his earthly goods 
 Are confiscate; returning, let him be 
 Delivered over to the secular. 
 
Fourth Day 83 
 
 First Dominican: Your holiness, Seivana I forgot, 
 The aunt of Esclarmonda, she I said 
 Was dead! 
 
 Folqiiet: Her bones be disinterred and burned. 
 
 Are these then all? 
 
 Aymon {rushing forward) : Your holiness! 
 
 Folquet: What's this? 
 
 Why Aymon, thou? thou too a heretic? 
 Or dost thou but denounce one? 
 
 Aymwn: Nay, the fault — 
 
 Not heresy, may God f oref end ! — is mine. 
 Thou knowest, holy Father, 'tis the rite 
 Of old, on Easter day, in Ste. Nicaise 
 Some Christian knight an unbelieving Jew- 
 To lend a box o' the ears — each year 'tis done 
 In holy memory of that blow that Christ 
 Bore, in the temple, from the Jews' high priest. 
 This year, the lot was mine ; a starveling Jew 
 They brought; I hit him fair; but with such zeal 
 (Forgetting to remove my glove of mail) 
 I boxed his ears, boxed out his eyes and brains! 
 
 Uontfort: Since then, this man is mine, he bears 
 the Cross — 
 
 Folquet: A comfortable Christian! he were 
 shrived. 
 Had he but done the half — Ho, ho! what's that? 
 
 Montfort: My lord, I see a sally from the town — 
 Do they submit? They come unarmed — 
 
 Folquet: Unarmed? 
 
84 The Light of Provence 
 
 Montfort: Truly, they are! 
 Citeaux: I offered them their lives 
 
 This once, if they would bring to me a list 
 Of priests, great men and capitouls, 
 Of heresy whom we by fire might purge, 
 So save their souls for heaven — ^they refused — • 
 Folquet: O insolent! 
 
 Citeaux: Their bishop called them all 
 
 Assembled, to the church of Ste. Nicaise ! 
 Hungry with siege, they threatened they would 
 
 eat 
 Their children first; demanded safe conduct; 
 At last, and promise of quick penance. 
 
 This 
 I freely gave. 
 Montfort: Gave? 
 
 Citeaux: Aye; Raimond has't. 
 
 And now, for their souls' good, the pious 
 
 fraud 
 Hath grace, I trust — ^be not alarmed, Folquet; 
 Unfaithfulness with such is highest faith; 
 We keep no faith with who break faith with 
 
 God. 
 Safe conduct shall they find — to grace in heaven ! 
 Folquet, O pious fraud! O fraudulent piety! 
 Elides: See, there they come— the gates are 
 opening, 
 They come — 
 Pons: And Roger first of all — 
 
Fourth Day 85 
 
 Citeaux: Conceal the guards, — 
 
 So! Now pass them through the banners two 
 by two, 
 
 Seize them and bind them. 
 Montfort: But the treaty pledged — 
 
 Citeaux: A treaty shall they have; but that I 
 pledged 
 
 Must be confirmed by me for Innocent. 
 Raimond {struggling with the guards): 
 
 What bodes this force? For my poor people's 
 Hves 
 
 I come to treat ; safety was promised me, 
 
 Their Hves to them — 
 Citeaux: Four hundred shall be burned 
 
 And fifty hanged; the rest we give their lives — 
 
 How many came ye? 
 Raimond: Not four hundred — 
 
 Citeaux: Thine 
 
 The blame then; had ye fully trusted me. 
 
 The others had escaped. — Stay, yet one grace; 
 
 Thy life, a sovereign prince, is spared thee — 
 Raimond: I 
 
 Will give it gladly for the lives of these 
 
 I led astray. 
 Folguet: The heretic confesses! 
 
 Raimond: Nay, 
 
 The bishop made this list of all he deems 
 
 Suspect of heresy ; they'll wear the cross 
 
 In sign of their repentance — 
 
86 The Light of Provence 
 
 Citeaux: Give't me — good! 
 
 By their own bishop these shall be condemned, 
 But thou shalt have thy life, if thoult go 
 
 back 
 And bid the town surrender; thou the twelfth 
 Mayst then escape; the others, male, shall meet 
 With heaven's justice; of the women, maids 
 Shall make a pilgrimage from church to camp, 
 Clothed in their shifts, that it may come to 
 
 pass 
 What martyr Pierre predicted, ''des pucelles 
 Ne restera ni manteaux ni gonelles,*^ 
 
 Montfort: And our French nobles shall be there 
 to judge 
 The fair ones who have virgin breasts ; of these 
 They'll make the mothers of a new Provence; 
 The others who have bred to heretics 
 Shall to the soldiery. 
 
 Raimond: Mary and Christ ! 
 
 Know then, foul Briton, that thy Breton sage 
 MerHn, the mage, hath prophesied of thee : 
 "Yet shall the stone, and she who throws it, 
 
 come. 
 That all the world shall cry to bid it home, 
 Let fall upon the sinner!" That is thou, 
 And old wives say, a noble demoiselle's 
 The tender hand shall loose the catapult! 
 
 Montfort: Merlin's a fool. 
 
 Raimond: The Pope 'twas, told it me. 
 
Fourth Day ^j 
 
 Citeaux: Blaspheme thou not — Montfort, a holy 
 vessel! 
 
 Wilt thou give up thy people? 
 Raimond: This 1*11 do 
 
 When that ass flies to heaven. 
 Citecux (to the guards): Bind him fast — 
 
 {To Montfort.) God's hand shall sure remove 
 this stumbling-block — 
 
 A dysentery let it be, tonight. 
 
 {Aloud.) Search him — 
 Eudes: I've had enough; I've served in full 
 
 The forty days I vowed; I'U stay no more. 
 Pons: Nor I. {Exit) 
 Montfort: Father, the guard brings other news: 
 
 A mighty cloud approaches from the South, 
 
 The dust of some great army — 
 Citeaux: Press the siege! 
 
 Montfort: They make the banners to be Aragon — 
 Eudes: The Briton sinks his jaw upon his hand. 
 
 The news is not to his liking — 
 
 {Exit Eudes, following Pons.) 
 Citeaux: Pedro's a 
 
 Most Catholic majesty — so named by Rome — 
 
 But he's of kin to Raimond of Toulouse, 
 
 Closer than kin, they say, to Adelys; 
 
 Yet can it be that he whose ancestor 
 
 Placed Aragon beneath Rome's special guard 
 
 And from her took his mantle, sceptre, orb. 
 
 Then laid them on Rome's altar for a sword, 
 
88 The Light of Provence 
 
 And, crowned with bread unleavened, first 
 
 was called 
 Alferez of the Church, took first the oath 
 To prosecute all heresy, renounced 
 All right of patronage to Rome, and paid 
 Annual five hundred mancuses, so that 
 His very priests rebelled his too great sanctity 
 And formed "la Union" 'gainst him — can it be 
 Of all men he*s against us? Well, they say 
 He*s dangerous more i* the bower than the 
 
 field. 
 Folguet: His very heir was born by stratagem 
 When he begot her on his lawful wife; 
 For, thoughtful of the blood of Aragon, 
 His nobles, so they say, tricked him with her 
 In lieu of some light lady, at a feast! 
 Still, it is strange that Spain, which Innocent 
 Of all lands favoured, should him first betray. 
 Citeaux: Nay, 
 
 "From Toledo and from Naples 
 Came in one night all witches' capers " — 
 
 Trust 
 
 The Spaniard not. What's that? 
 Guard {to Montfort): A letter, sire, 
 
 We found 'neath Raimond's coat of mail. 
 Montfort: Let's have't, 
 
 What's this? 'tis true, 'tis Aragon who writes. 
 
Fourth Day 89 
 
 'Tis written to a woman — ^Adelys? 
 {Reading.) 
 
 He's coming with a host; all Aragon 
 
 Attends him, bids her to hold out and hope, 
 
 " Since he is led to victory by her eyes! " 
 Citeaux: We need not fear him whom a woman's 
 face 
 
 Leads to tmdo the work of God — Montfort, 
 
 Go thou to meet him — 
 Montfort: Aye, and God's for us; 
 
 Since Peyre hath for him but his lady's eyes. 
 
SCENE II. (Evening of same day.) 
 
 {The church of St. Nazaire in Beziers, thronged with 
 citizens, women, and children to the number of 
 eight thousand. The noise of the siege outside 
 is heard, above the continuous ringing of the 
 bells. The people are thronging to the altar 
 for protection where the canons in their Easter 
 stoles are telling mass.) 
 
 First Citizen {near the door, to a soldier entering: 
 
 How goes the siege? 
 Soldier: They make no break as yet. 
 
 Citizen. Would Raimond were still here! 
 {Hums a refrain.) 
 **0 Raimond, due de Narbonne, 
 Marquis de Provence, 
 Cette gent fausse et felonne 
 Fuit votre presence — 
 Ces buveurs de France!" 
 Second Soldier {covered with dust and blood): 
 
 The bishop's hearing mass? 
 Citizen. Hath Pedro come? 
 First Soldier. He battle gave at noon, hast thou 
 
 not heard? 
 Citizen: Why, no ; at dawn they bade us refuge here 
 
 90 
 
Fourth Day 91 
 
 Our wives and children ; and they said last night 
 That Aragon had come in succotir — 
 
 First Soldier: Aye, last night 
 
 Lay Pedro in the arms of some fair dame, 
 Delilah to our Samson — curse her still! 
 At noon Montfort attacked, ere Aragon 
 Had got him strength to fight. "With naked fist 
 The Englishman struck here, beneath the chin, 
 And hurled him helmet first, to earth; tonight, 
 He lies where no fair dame may comfort him! 
 
 Second Soldier: Worse have I heard : our Raimond- 
 Rogier 
 Hath died of dysentery, suddenly. 
 
 First Soldier: The Englishman gives sudden 
 deaths. 
 
 Citizen: Jesus! 
 
 First Soldier: I went to school in Paris; there 
 were known 
 These Englishmen as drunkards, quarrelsome; 
 The Germans fond of midnight orgies too. 
 The French for pride, Normans for vanity, 
 Poitou folk false and money-loving; mean 
 And cowardly the Lombards, violent- 
 The Romans, cruel they of Sicily; 
 Brabant sent brigands, Flemings vain and weak — 
 Such is the horde the Pope hath sent Provence. 
 
 Second Soldier: And Montfort, nothing weak, hath 
 all their evil — 
 
 Citizen: God help my girls! 
 
92 The Light of Provence 
 
 First Soldier: Aye, we shalL need]no help 
 
 To die, if they get in 1 
 Citizen: Our widows they 
 
 Forbid to marry all but Frenchmen. 
 First Soldier: Hark! 
 
 What's that? A louder clamour comes — 
 Arnatid (rushes in): Pray, pray! 
 
 Upon your knees, good people — breach is made. 
 The Montfort comes; I go to save thy Queen — 
 Surely they will not slay you at the shrines! 
 
 (The bells ring louder; the priests are inton- 
 ing mass at every altar; the acolytes swing 
 their censers. The chant of the besiegers is 
 heard.) 
 "Holy spirit, thou descending. 
 With supernal grace defending. 
 Thou, Creator, mortals bending 
 
 Kneeling lowly at thy feet; 
 We, thy creatures, do implore thee, 
 Fill thy grace our hearts before thee, 
 Mortal we, divine adore thee 
 Who art called the Paraclete! 
 First Soldier: So soon? (Unsheathes his sword.) 
 Second Soldier: The bells call mercy; sheathe thy 
 sword. 
 Kneel, kneel; the Presence is beneath yon cloth; 
 Sure Folquet, Bishop of his Holiness, 
 Citeaux his holy Legate, will respect 
 The shrine, the sanctuary — 
 
Fourth Day 93 
 
 First Soldier: Nay, they fight — 
 
 {Hymn of the invaders as before.) 
 
 **Thou, the septiform, reward us, 
 Finger of God, from evil ward us, 
 O word of God, turn thou toward us 
 Gifting with His speech thy tongue — " 
 
 Second Soldier: To the street then; they may de- 
 lay a while. 
 {Hymn continues, the invaders thronging in,) 
 *'His light give unto our seeing, 
 His will unto us agreeing, 
 Strengthen with His strength our being. 
 Right to do; to suffer, wrong!" 
 
 First Soldier: 
 Amaud hath led our Countess, with those 
 
 known 
 To be arch-heretics, her ladies, all 
 Whom Citeaux swore to spare not, where he 
 
 knows 
 A secret passage imderground that leads 
 Through caverns to the towers of Cubardes 
 Three leagues away — 
 Second Soldier: Fight then, and hold them 
 
 we! 
 While in the church the people pray. 
 First Soldier: Montfort! 
 
 {Hymn, as before,) 
 
94 The Light of Provence 
 
 ''Smite the foe that would undo us, 
 Lead his soul to heaven through us, 
 Thou the guide, give thou unto us 
 
 Peace, with the eternal host; 
 Give us peace, and give us even 
 Joy on earth, then give us heaven, 
 Grace to pray thy graces seven 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!*' 
 Second Soldier: Montfort! O holy Amalric! we 
 fight— 
 The heretics are gone; and in this church 
 But old men and the women pray. Toll, 
 
 toll 
 The bells; the priests are in their stoles; 
 'Tis holy Trinity— 
 
 {Falls, pierced by a pike.) 
 First Soldier: The bells toll mercy— Oh! 
 
 {He Jails.) 
 (Hymn, as before.) 
 Veni creator, eternal, 
 In thy glory sempiternal 
 Bringing us thy bread diurnal, 
 Holy spirit. Holy Ghost! 
 (Montfort, Citeaux, Amalric, Folquet, 
 appear with the Bishop of Beziers. 
 The bells ring louder.) 
 Citizen: Montfort! we do not fight! God's holy 
 church, 
 We pray — the Host — 
 
Fourth Day 95 
 
 Citeaux: Slay, slay, spare not ye any! 
 
 {The vast throng join in the hymn; above the 
 
 singing and the tumult is heard the shrill 
 
 tinkle of the hell of the Eucharist; the canon 
 
 at the altar elevates the Host,) 
 
 First Soldier {dying) \ Sacrilege! 
 
 Montfort: Not the women! 
 
 Citizen {dying) \ vSacrilege! 
 
 Bishop of Beziers: All are not heretics — 
 
 Montfort: The women spare — 
 
 Citeaux: Nay, kill them all; for God will know 
 His own. 
 
 {The canon falls at the altar, stabbed; the 
 massacre goes on, the priests still saying 
 the mass, the hells still tolling, until the last 
 ringer falls.) 
 
 Here endeth the Fourth Day, 
 
FIFTH DAY 
 
 (A year later: July the 22d, 12 lo.) 
 SCENE I 
 
 {Early morning; a foggy day. The Rock of Menerba, 
 as in Day Third. Path in the ravine below 
 the cliff. Enter two citizens, talking,) 
 
 First Citizen: They say Provence is lost. 
 
 Second Citizen: In Carcassonne 
 
 Our daughters wed with Frenchmen. They 
 
 must mix 
 With mongrel Frank or Gothic, Roman blood, 
 For France is English, Alleman, Walloon — 
 And Paris speech and Paris customs rule. 
 
 First Citizen: They say the laws of Montfort 
 tax all priests 
 WhoVe lawful wives; forbid our heiresses 
 To marry any but a Frenchman, save 
 By Simon's leave. 
 
 Second Citizen, And by his grace, those knights 
 Whose lands he*s robbed, are suffered to become 
 Tirelupins, routiers or brabazons^ 
 
 » Thieves, tramps, or mercenaries. 
 96 
 
Fifth Day 97 
 
 With rights o' the road — ^provided still they 
 
 wear 
 Only one spur, and bear no arms, and ride 
 Upon a rossin!^ 
 
 First Citizen: Not a foot of land 
 
 Is left great Raimond (of Toulouse, I mean). 
 The other died — though uncle he to Spain, 
 Brother to England, father to Navarre, 
 Castile his nephew, cousin e'en to France 
 And of the holy Roman Emperor; 
 He's gone to swear to Lackland for his fief 
 And holds Provence of England. 
 
 Second Citizen: Bah! 
 
 "The stone shall fall, and she who launches it." 
 Montfort's too high for John of England now, 
 Wrought from him Magna Charta; still more 
 
 here 
 Feeble French Philip cannot hold him curbed. 
 
 First Citizen: Provence! Provence! the land that 
 was to lead 
 The world the way of Hght ! To Italy 
 Hath passed the torch of art, and to rude France 
 The brutish power. So before the Gaul 
 Fell Rome our ancestor. Provence is done. 
 
 Aymeric {coming from the cliff path and overhearing) : 
 Aye — but the sparks from these our martyr-fires, 
 Spread o'er the world, shall blaze again to flame, 
 In Germany, Bohemia, England, France — 
 s Rossin = a poor red horse. C/. Rosinante, Don Quixote. 
 
98 The Light of Provence 
 
 I saw it in a dream last night — Rochelle 
 Shall follow Carcassonne, and stranger lands 
 Unknown now to our world our truth shall know; 
 And while the coming ages model them 
 On us for earthly courtesy and love 
 Of women, and the high respect that frees 
 Women from being but the drudge of man, 
 Men from Rome's slavery, or the East's dis- 
 grace — 
 So shall the faith that now Provence hath lost 
 Rise from its ashes here to be the world's; 
 Our church is not a stone, but all of earth; 
 And when, a thousand years hence, men shall 
 
 come 
 To gaze on dead walls that are Carcassonne, 
 On blood and fire-stained stones of Beziers, 
 And ask, what place was this ? they shall be told, 
 These be the stones that Rome o'erthrew in vain ; 
 These make eternal protest of her sway. 
 These mark the birthplace of a faith reformed, 
 A lordship living in a people free ! 
 First Citizen: Provence is sure the first of Chris- 
 tian lands — 
 Did not the leper Simon, Magdalen, 
 Martha and Lazarus and Joseph, he 
 V\7'ho last did touch Christ's living body, come 
 Hither, to found our chiurch? 
 Second Citizen: Yet Dominic's 
 
 A holy man. 
 
Fifth Day 99 
 
 First Citizen: His Inquisition's curst! 
 
 Aymeric. I dreamed, the shell of stone that makes 
 his font 
 Shall go to Spain, to christen Spanish kings. 
 A while, they'll overrule the world; then fall 
 With all their might of earth to England's 
 
 hand, 
 And men of English race whose faith is ours; 
 Burn they the last of us of Albi, still 
 The faith that's burned out here shall live i' the 
 
 snows 
 Of Alpine valleys, in the hearts of men, 
 In women's hopes, the foam of seas — meanwhile 
 The Montfort lion claws the Toulouse Cross. 
 {Two priests with light wallets cf provisions 
 come up the valley, overhearing.) 
 First Priest: That's well enough but for the mean- 
 while — I 
 Meanwhile must live, beget and meanwhile die, 
 My wife they've taken from me. 
 Second Priest: Dominic's 
 
 A virgin by the grace of heaven — not 
 By his own fault — and he will none of wives. 
 Calls ours no better than our concubines 
 And hath prevailed on Innocent to make a bull 
 Enforcing celibacy on all priests. 
 First Priest: "Gignere nos pr^cipit vetus testa- 
 mentum 
 Ubi Novum prohibet, nusquam est inventum. " 
 
loo The Light of Provence 
 
 So, the Old Testament bids us beget 
 And where the New forbids it, I forget ! 
 Second Priest: And since you 're rhyming Latin, 
 I'U reply— 
 I was a troubadour — 
 First Priest: And so was 1 1 
 
 Second Priest: **01im quando Dominus ylem 
 infirmavit 
 Utriusque generis animas creavit, 
 Neutri vero generis nullum vegetavit 
 Quod debemus gignere satis intimavit. " 
 First Priest: It soundeth well; translate, I beg. 
 Second Priest: I'll try: 
 
 "Who did from dust each living thing engender 
 Gave to each animal a separate gender; 
 Since in his wisdom he made nothing neuter 
 He bids, as nature prompts — do thou recruit 
 her." 
 First Priest: The rhyme is vile — 
 Second Priest: Then I will close as they did: 
 "Propter hoc et alia dogmata doctorum 
 Reor esse melius et magis decorum 
 Quisquam suam habeat et non proximorum 
 Ne incurrat odium vel iram eorum. " 
 ^ 'Tis true, it does not scan- 
 First Priest: Yet I'm persuaded. 
 
 Second Priest: "Pater noster, nunc pro me, 
 quoniam peccavi 
 Dicat quisque presbyter cum sua suavi. " 
 
Fifth Day loi 
 
 First Priest: I understand— but , lest I sin , translate ! 
 Second Priest: "And thus, according to these 
 learned sages 
 Decorum bids, as suiting best our ages, 
 Each priest to keep his own wife, not another's, 
 Lest he incur the hatred of his brothers; 
 And since I've sinned in seeking thus to ease 
 The lives of every priest and deacon, please 
 Each priest or deacon with his sweetheart 
 
 say 
 A paternoster for me once a day!" 
 Aymeric: Stop your dog-latin; call it leonine 
 Were, sure, to make a lion of a cur — 
 
 {The light changes; the sun rises above the 
 morning mist.) 
 Our leader comes — ^what news? 
 Arnaud {coming up the path): They all are safe. 
 We came out to Cubardes; stone Carcassonne 
 Now holds the Countess with its cliff of mail; 
 So holy Jago hides the virgin's bower 
 High o'er the white-fanged waves that break 
 from England! 
 
 {Exeunt the two priests, talking.) 
 Aymeric: And Adelais ? 
 
 Arnaud: Alas, she saw me not; 
 
 She looked beyond as were I but one lance 
 Of all devoted lancers of her guard — 
 My eyes did pierce her, and I let them fall. 
 Aymeric: 'Twas well. 
 
102 The Light of Provence 
 
 Arnatid: But could I look once more in hers! 
 She seemed to scorn me — ^Aymeric, I dreamed, 
 And I have written down my dream just as it 
 came. 
 
 {Hands Aymeric a paper.) 
 Aymeric (reads), 
 
 I dreamed, my lady walked bright in a garden, 
 and I lay as a winged thing at her feet; so that, not 
 seeing, she stepped on me and bruised m}^ wings. 
 And the Lord of the garden, who made all things 
 therein, her soul and even mine, reproved her, 
 even her ; so that she said. Lord, it is only an insect, 
 and it dieth of my lightest touch. — Then said the 
 Lord, thou hast such power over it, then owest 
 thou all the more duty; for even as I to thee, so 
 thou to him. Neither think thou it is an insect, 
 but even a soul with wings like thine, only that 
 it hath folded them beneath thy feet. — Then, 
 in my dream, my lady was sorry; but she told me 
 not. 
 
 Aymeric: Arnaud, I too have dreamed; but now 
 I see 
 God ; and His pathway marked for thee and me 
 On earth; I see why these our hearts must beat 
 With bolts of levin in a frame of clay, 
 Manikins about a spark of primal fire. 
 Threefold the root of love is ; love of God, 
 And woman's love, and love of child; triune, 
 And passeth from the flesh to Holy Ghost. 
 
Fifth Day 103 
 
 Deride not sex, nor prize it, nor refuse 
 The earthly symbol of the higher love; 
 She that hath borne a manchild to the world, 
 Unwed, hath served a higher end than she 
 Who dedicates her barren dust to God. 
 The root of earth may bear a flower of heaven, 
 And in the sunlight it breathe out it's soul 
 It may be death alone can purify; 
 What heaven may give the reason, I know not; 
 Yet God gave me to dream, all love is one. 
 Despair not for thy love of Adelys; 
 It was no sin; and now that all is well 
 With her— 
 Arnaud: I'll see her, Aymeric, no more. * 
 
 Aymeric: For, I too, dreamed; I dreamed that 
 
 she was dead — 
 Arnaitd: 
 
 Pray God! 
 Aymeric: Amen; yet when she dies stay thou 
 In earth, by Douce of Provence, in her land, 
 Warming thy life and hers by embers. I 
 Go to the North and in the Northland die. 
 I leave thee Douce— I pray thee, keep her well. 
 Arnaud: I love her, Aymeric — 
 ^y^eric: I trust her thee; 
 
 Soft be thy lives, and gentle children bear 
 The blood of our Provence to kinder days; 
 Make peace with Rome; await the will of God; 
 Be thy life of the heart, mine of the soul. 
 
I04 The Light of Provence 
 
 Some day, bid Douce tell thy child of me; 
 My children are but words ; yet shall they die 
 Never till distant ages, races, burn 
 Alight with truth that swords have stabbed out 
 here. 
 
 {Alarum. The sentinels cry from the 
 tower.) 
 Sentinels: Montfort! Montfort! 
 Aymeric: Christ's mercy, what is there? 
 
 Sentinel: Montfort! Bernard de Ventadour has 
 come, 
 Montfort, Montfort, is slain ! 
 Aymeric: God's mercy — 
 
 Cries {from the town): Dead! 
 
 {The bells are ringing; the great gates are 
 thrown open, the town's whole people com- 
 ing forth; a hymn begins in the background, 
 heard louder as they approach; gradually 
 the cries, Montfort! Montfort is dead! 
 die out, and the words of the hymn are heard 
 instead. The strains come louder and 
 louder as the main body of the procession 
 comes upon the stage, centre; Bernard 
 DE Ventadour approaches from the gorge 
 to the right. The hymn ceases, and all 
 are silent.) 
 Bernard: Montfort is dead. Simon the English- 
 man 
 Boasted to leave this land the mouth of hell, 
 
Fifth Day 105 
 
 Boasted that he would leave no stone on stone, 
 No man at arms, no babe at breast, no grave. 
 No maid but had passed through his soldier's 
 
 hands 
 To breed an alien people for Provence; 
 A maid hath killed him. 
 
 Multitude: Miracle ! 
 
 Bernard: A maid, 
 
 That Merlin's prophecy might be fulfilled. 
 While he stood arming with a mighty host 
 That monstrous engine that they call the Cat, 
 Designed to batter in stone Carcassonne, 
 Which Charlemagne in vain nine years besieged, 
 (They'd made a breach within the walls) 
 
 Folquet 
 Their bishop — curst be he — 
 
 Multitude: Accurst be he ! 
 
 Bernard: Folquet had led his pack to the wolf's 
 lair, 
 Had promised pardon — So, the walls were 
 
 manned 
 By only maids or women, some old men — 
 That time he chose to enter. Then, they armed ; 
 The garrison and some few who'd escaped 
 From Montfort's camp ; we saw the breach begin 
 With ravin, rape and ruin, murder-lust ; 
 We armed and rushed upon the Frenchmen's 
 
 pikes 
 A horror 'twas to see! And as Montfort 
 
io6 The Light of Provence 
 
 Himself stood aiming with that devil's Cat, 
 A slender lady, nobly born, whose arms 
 Were whiter than our faces, and whose hand, 
 Knew but to broider and to play the lute. 
 Her brother, father, dead at Montfort's hand, 
 Embroidered now her life and his in fate. 
 Aiming herself the mangonel, the stone 
 Departed straight and split the Montfort's skull. 
 I' the fosse he lay, amid his ravished. 
 The girl herself, when the great roar began 
 From Montfort's soldiery, leapt from the wall 
 And gave her life for his, but undefiled. 
 Aymeric: A prayer to God ! No bishop now have 
 we 
 Yet must we go to pray God's grace. God's 
 
 church 
 Is made not out of mitres nor of walls. 
 Good Men ! come let us pray; give thanks to God 
 And pray for ourselves and for Montfort's soul. 
 {All go out hut Arnaud. AJter a moment's 
 thought he descends through the gorge to the 
 right. The mists drift up; the stage 
 remains deserted. Distant choirs of hymns 
 are heard from the summit of the Rock 
 above. The stage has become almost dark, 
 when, from the right, Adelais comes. She 
 is quite alone, dressed like a youth in a coat 
 of mail, but carrying the helmet in her hand; 
 her face is revealed beautiful and white, 
 
Fifth Day 107 
 
 the hunted look within her eyes; she hurries 
 across and disappears, climbing the path 
 that leads to the castle, left. The stage is 
 now all dim, Aymeric's voice is heard 
 calling from above, to the left.) 
 Aymeric: Arnaud! Arnaud! 
 
 {From the battlements of the castle, now visible 
 high in front, signal fires begin to start.) 
 
 Lavaur is ta'en ! Arnaud! 
 (Arnaud approaches slowly from the right, 
 as one in a dream) : 
 Arnaud {breathlessly, in broken sentences.) 
 
 Through the dark moss the water flashed 
 
 All in single diamonds 
 
 Down in the ferny solitude the brook 
 
 Ran through the gorge in broken light 
 
 And little sparkling falls upon the stones 
 
 That lay there uppermost ibelow 
 
 There came the cadence of the deeper stream, 
 The steady beating of its stronger heart ; 
 I stood there, in the night, and thought on her 
 And lo! God worked a miracle; she stood 
 Beside me there! — I, whose heart 
 Had said farewell forever! 
 Aymeric: They cry, Lavaur 
 
 Is taken! 
 
 Arnaud: and then I died, and met 
 
 The Virgin Mary, with her eyes, in heaven. 
 Aymeric: The signal fires are lit, for all to corae — 
 
io8 The Light of Provence 
 
 A maud: — So then, spoke Fate — She saw me — I 
 Went out to wait through all the worlds 
 For her; she knowing, 
 Halfly, as a child thinks first of death. 
 So shall my soul, in some day, not in time, 
 Greet hers; all taint of flesh long gone. 
 Almost our names; only her eyes I know 
 Like Mary Virgin's, worshipped best through 
 tears! 
 
 (He suffers himself to he led along hy Aymeric. 
 As they disappear^ to the left, the signal 
 fires increase, the tocsin begins to ring.) 
 
SCENE II 
 
 {The summit of the Rock, later.) 
 (Adelais, standing alone; Arnaud, leaning 
 on a parapet in the foreground, looking 
 at her; Aymeric, Douce, Bernard, the 
 garrison and people of the Alhigenses; 
 later, Folquet, Amaury de Montfort, 
 CiTEAUx, and the French.) 
 Multitude: Lavaiir! Lavaur is ta'en! Lavaur 
 
 is lost ! 
 Aymeric: Courage, courage, good men! Mont- 
 fort is slain; 
 What of Lavaur? 
 
 {Arnaud descends from the battlements. 
 Aymeric on the steps of the cathedral; the 
 multitude filling the street; Adelais, in 
 full armor, at the left.) 
 Multitude: God save thee, Adelys! 
 
 Adelais {lays aside her helmet; her dark hair falls 
 upon her coat of mail; the crowd are silent): 
 Montfort is dead; but Folquet lives. Folquet 
 Betrayed us. 
 Arnaud: O God's ban be his! 
 
 But for his crozier, I had slain him there 
 That day he charged the lie, thy life on mine — 
 109 
 
no The Light of Provence 
 
 Adelats: Ren6, look thou to Douce — that old 
 
 time 
 Is as a thousand years agone; and I 
 Die with my people here ; look thou to her. 
 My people ! O my loved hearts of Provence, 
 Hear what was done Lavaur — the last, save 
 
 this, 
 Of all our earthly refuges. 
 
 No greater guard 
 Than it lies from here to the gate of Spain; 
 Beneath its scarp the Moorish power beat 
 Like idle waves that scarce prevail to stir 
 The seaweed at a crag's foot, eight long months. 
 Some sorcery was used; this Spanish priest 
 Brought from the pagan East a spell of beads. 
 Each one a potent curse, bound by a cord. 
 So made it what they called a rosary, 
 Where of each bead was made by Dominic 
 A spell for our undoing. First there came 
 The heat, with pestilence; the water failed, 
 The springs dried up, the well within the keep. 
 The ravin' d rock cracked open, towers fell. 
 Dame Giraude held Lavaur; her men fell sick, 
 Some one betrayed her; by a secret path 
 The Frenchmen entered in with Amalric; 
 The people of Lavaur passed by the sword, 
 Who had not died of thirst; Giraude herself 
 They cast alive into the barren well 
 And piled her corpse with stones — 
 
Fifth Day iii 
 
 The Multitude: Alarm! 
 
 The French approach! Alarm! O ring the 
 bells— 
 
 Bernard: Aye, Folquet's at their head — and 
 Amalric 
 The Abbot of Citeaux, the Montfort's whelp — 
 
 Aymeric: Amaury? 
 
 Bernard: Aye, the same. Whom have we left ? 
 Bertrand? 
 
 Arnaud: He gave his life at Aigues. 
 
 Bernard: Guido ? 
 
 Arnaud: He died to breathe a message from our 
 Queen. 
 
 Bernard: Thou, Aymeric? 
 
 Arnaud: He hath turned priest. 
 
 Bernard: Thou, priest? 
 
 Adelals: He never was in mind a heretic ! 
 
 His heart bled with us, but it yearned for peace. 
 He goeth now, a Catholic, to preach 
 To alien land, the truth; perhaps, some light 
 From our lost embers — I did bid him go. 
 And with him gentle Douce, the heiress last 
 To our Provence ; and Arnaud, that we called 
 In our light days our Rene of the Rose — 
 Go thou — and ward thy sword his holy bell 
 A priest be he — but thou, thy Douce wed. 
 
 Arnaud: And thou? 
 
 Adelats: And I? I go where goes the rose 
 
 Or where the wreath of incense — 
 
112 The Light of Provence 
 
 Folguet {bestriding the rampart): Thou shalt die. 
 
 Countess of Burlatz, claimant of Provence, 
 
 Mother of heresy, and corruptress 
 
 By thy fair body of thy men's foul hearts — 
 Adelats: Thou liest, there — 
 Folguet: Shalt die!— thy followers 
 
 Such as embrace the truth, and here renounce 
 
 May live ; but thou shalt die, nor mother be 
 
 To future sinners — 
 Adelais: I would not mother to thy son 
 
 Therefore thou soughtst the church — 
 
 (FoLQUET climbs the rampart with Citeaux, 
 Amaury, and the French army.) 
 Folguet: Ho there! 
 
 Ho! bring their faggots, pile the pyres high 
 
 Intone the Veni Creator — Bid all 
 
 Come see their Countess burn. First, strip her 
 there 
 
 And bruise her body fair upon the stones I 
 
 To all that help, free grace ! e'en though relapsed, 
 
 Pardon — to all save her! 
 Citeaux: Dost thou not fear 
 
 So generous a delivery may not commend 
 
 Itself to heaven? 
 Folguet: Be not disturbed; I know 
 
 These people well; and very few be sure 
 
 But shall on this day find their way to heaven I 
 {During this scene the crusaders have been 
 scattering over the ramparts, meeting no 
 
Fifth Day 113 
 
 resistance. Amaury de Montfort takes 
 his place beside the leaders^ the piles of 
 faggots are rapidly prepared; the ** Veni 
 Creator*^ is begun, but it is overpowered by 
 the songs of the Albigenses (''Gaire non 
 Dor met ") • As the church doors are suddenly 
 flung open, this song gradually gives place 
 to a battle hymn, of which the words, at 
 first, are heard confusedly. By twos and 
 threes the townspeople issue out, all singing. 
 The words are now heard more plainly* 
 EuDES and Pons with the soldiers.) 
 Choir: Misericordiam, 
 
 Misericordiam, 
 Misericordiam, 
 ut nobis des — 
 {The largest pyre is now ablaze, Adelais 
 steps forward, on the steps of the church.) 
 Eudes of Burgundy: God, it is she ! 
 Pons: Hush, none can save her — Oh — 
 
 (Adelais has hurled herself into the flames. — 
 Singing still, by twos and threes, all follow 
 her, without haste, steadily. Folquet 
 falls upon his knees, sobbing; but Citeaux 
 remains upright.) 
 Eudes: Oh, who are those — the maid — 
 Pons: Douce is her name — 
 
 And Arnaud, our young page — My liege, the 
 lives 
 
114 The Light of Provence 
 
 Of one young girl, a priest, a gentleman, 
 For France's honour — 
 Amaury: Granted — ^for the fame 
 
 Of France 1 
 Eudes: O friends, dear friends, go back to 
 pray 
 Ere your own church avow you, and re- 
 nounce — 
 Douce: Arnaud — 
 Arnaud: I come! 
 
 Douce: I love thee — 
 
 Arnaud: O, I come — 
 
 Douce: Arnaud ! 
 
 {The Latin hymn, as before, is heard from 
 within.) 
 Choir: Misericordiam, misericordiam, date ad 
 nos . . . 
 
 (Arnaud flings himself into the fire where 
 Adelais had gone. Douce sinks to her 
 knees. Aymeric appears in Roman vest- 
 ments.) 
 A ymeric: My sister — come ! 
 
 (Douce falls to the ground. By this time, 
 nearly all the heretics have burned them- 
 selves. As the last couples come out from 
 the church door on the way to their mar- 
 tyrdom, the few voices now singing 
 cause the words of the hymn to be more 
 distinct.) 
 
Fifth Day 115 
 
 Choir: Misericordiam, 
 
 Misericordiam, 
 
 Misericordiam 
 Date ad nos — 
 Vos qui in coelo estis, 
 Nobis in terra! 
 Aymeric {lifting up Douce and looking at her tender- 
 ly): Vos qui in coelo estis — nobis in terr^! 
 
 THE CURTAIN FALLS SLOWLY 
 
M Selection from the 
 Catalogue of 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 Complete Catalogue sent 
 on application 
 
Seven Short Plays 
 
 By 
 
 Lady Gregory 
 
 Author of «*New Comedies/' "Our Irish Theatre/' etc 
 
 72°. $L50 
 
 The plays in this volume are the following: 
 Spreading the News, Hyacinth Halvey, The 
 Rising of the Moon, The Jackdaw, The Work" 
 house Ward, The Travelling Man, The Gaol Gate, 
 The volume also contains music for the songs in 
 the plays and notes explaining the conception of 
 the plays. 
 
 Among the three great exponents of the 
 modem Celtic movement in Ireland, Lady 
 Gregory holds an unusual place. It is she from 
 whom came the chief historical impulse which 
 resulted in the re-creation for the present 
 generation of the elemental poetry of early 
 Ireland, its wild disorders, its loves and hates — 
 all the passionate light and shadow of that fierce 
 and splendid race. 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York London 
 
Irish Folk-History Plays 
 
 By 
 LADY GREGORY 
 
 First Series. The Tragedies 
 
 GRANIA KINCORA DERVORGILLA 
 
 Second Series. The Tragic Comedies 
 
 THE CANAVANS THE WHITE COCKADE 
 
 THE DELIVERER 
 
 2 vols. Each, ^l.50 net. By mail, $1.65 
 
 Lady Gregory has preferred going for her material to the tra- 
 ditional folk-history rather than to the authorized printed versions, 
 and she has been able, in so doing, to make her plays more living. 
 One of these, iCincora, telling of Brian Boru, who reigned in the 
 year looo, evoked such keen local interest that an old farmer 
 travelled from the neighborhood of Kincora to see it acted in 
 Dublin. 
 
 The story of Crania, on which Lady Gregory has founded one 
 of these plays, was taken entirely from tradition. Grania was a 
 beautiful young woman and was to have been married to Finn, the 
 great leader of the Fenians; but before the marriage, she went 
 away from the bridegroom with his handsome young kinsman, 
 Diarmuid. After many years, when Diarmuid had died (and Finn 
 had a hand in his death), she went back to Finn and became his 
 queen. 
 
 Another of Lady Gregory's plays. The Canaoans dealt with 
 the stormy times of Queen Elizabeth, whose memory is a horror in 
 Ireland second only to that of Cromwell. 
 
 The White Cockade is founded on a tradition of King James 
 having escaped from Ireland after the battle of the Boyne in a wine 
 barrel. 
 
 The choice of folk history rather than written history gives a 
 freshness of treatment and elasticity of material which made the 
 late J. M. Synge say that " Lady Gregory's method had brought 
 back the possibility of writing historic plays." 
 
 All these plays, except Grania, which has not yet been staged, 
 have been very successfully performed in Ireland. They are written 
 in the dialect of Kiltartan, which had already become familiar to 
 readers of Lady Gregory's books. 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK LONDON 
 
New Comedies 
 
 By 
 LADY GREGORY 
 
 The Bogie Men— The Full Moon— Coats 
 Darner's Gold— McDonough*s Wife 
 
 ^^ With Portrait in Photogravure, $1.50 net By mail, $165 
 
 The pla5rs have been acted with great success 
 by the Abbey Company, and have been highly 
 extolled by appreciative audiences and an en- 
 thusiastic press. They are distinguished by a 
 humor of unchallenged originality. 
 
 One of the plays in the collection, ** Coats," 
 depends for its plot upon the rivalry of two 
 editors, each of whom has written an obituary 
 notice of the other. The dialogue is full of 
 crisp humor. *' McDonough's Wife," another 
 drama that appears in the volume, is based on a 
 legend, and explains how a whole town rendered 
 honor against its will. * ' The Bogie Men ' ' has as 
 its underlying situation an amusing misimder- 
 standing of two chimney-sweeps. The wit and 
 absurdity of the dialogue are in Lady Gregory's 
 best vein. ** Damer's Gold " contains the story 
 of a miser beset by his gold-hungry relations. 
 Their hopes and plans are upset by one they had 
 believed to be of the simple of the world, but 
 who confounds the Wisdom of the Wise. " The 
 Full Moon " presents a Httle comedy enacted on 
 an Irish railway station. It is characterized by 
 humor of an original and delightful character 
 and repartee that is distinctly clever. 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK LONDON 
 
Our Irish Theatre 
 
 By Lady Gregory 
 
 Author of " Irish Folk-History Plays," " New Comedies," etc. 
 12°. Illustrated. $1.50 net. By mail, $1.63 
 
 The volume presents an account not only 
 of the great contemporary dramatic move- 
 ment of Ireland, including such names as 
 those of Synge, Yeats, and Lady Gregory 
 herself, but of the stage history of the Dublin 
 Theatre from its erection. A section of the 
 book that possesses a very pertinent interest 
 for American readers is that which has to do 
 with the bitter antagonism which the Irish 
 actors encountered on their first visit to our 
 shores, an antagonism which happily expended 
 itself and was converted upon the second 
 visit of these players into approval and en- 
 thusiastic endorsement. The book contains 
 a full record of the growth and development 
 of an important dramatic undertaking, in 
 which the writer has been a directing force. 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York London 
 
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 (724)779-2111