The Iron Pincers; or, Mylio and Karvel: A Tale of the Albigensian Crusades

Karvel – "The poor man perhaps feels sad that a minute ago Mylio stopped him short at the best turn of his paraphrase concerning the profound truth that 'the gown does not make the monk.' His discourse was interrupted."

Mylio – "My companion is a juggler, which is the same as saying that his coarse songs, much as they are liked in the taverns, are hardly calculated for delicate ears. I therefore notified Goose-Skin, that is the name that he goes by, that he must keep a watch over his words when near you. Hence his embarrassment, and his obstinate persistence in assuming a venerable appearance. I must pray your indulgence towards him. Yours also, Morise. He is entitled to it by reason of his attachment to me, of which he has given me more than one proof."

Karvel – "All good hearts deserve indulgence and friendship, brother. (Smiling) But I am inclined to reproach you for having made of us scare-crows of virtue and frightening the poor fellow. That is why he is so embarrassed in his conversation and demeanor."

A second snore so prodigious and so much louder than the first escapes from Goose-Skin that he is himself awakened with a start. He rubs his eyes and rolls them around with a scared look; rises abruptly and re-assuming his air of gravity addresses Morise with great affectation of politeness:

"May our compassionate hostess bestow upon me the alms of her mercy for the enormous incongruity of my sleep. But we have been traveling day and night since we left Blois; hence great is my fatigue. Besides, and moreover, in that it causes the vile low appetites to slumber, sleep is of itself a sort of virtue – "

Mylio (interrupting him) – "Why, sister, this fat man who is here boasting to you of the virtuous innocence of his sleep, in that it causes his earthly appetites to slumber – this identical man, who speaks to you in that guise, came near throttling me one day, simply because I woke him up in the middle of a savory dream in which, after seeing Shrove-Tide do battle with Shrove-Tuesday, the one armed with fishes the other with sausages, he was just about to devour both the vanquished and the vanquisher, together with their full accoutrements."

Goose-Skin (in a tone of pitiful reproach to his friend, seeing that Karvel and his wife laugh at Mylio's story) – "Oh, Mylio!"

Mylio – "Accordingly, you are informed that my friend Goose-Skin, whom I hereby introduce to you, is a gourmand, likes his cups a little – or, rather, a good deal – "

Goose-Skin – "I! Just heavens!"

Mylio – "He is also somewhat of a fibber, a roysterer, not over bold, considerable of a libertine and a braggart – that is his portrait from the side of his morals!"

Goose-Skin (with a contrite air) – "Oh! Respectable host and hostess! Do not believe that wicked jester! All that he has just told you is false!"

Mylio – "After this confession that modesty alone kept back from my friend's lips, I shall add: But he has a good heart, he shares his crust of bread with whomsoever is hungry, and his pot of wine with whomsoever is thirsty. Finally, he has given me proofs of affection that I shall not forget in all my life. (Addressing Goose-Skin more particularly) This being said, my good Goose-Skin, my friends and myself must now request you not to have the word 'virtue' constantly on your lips, and, instead of lowering your eyes, of keeping yourself under constraint, of puckering your lips with an air of piety, allow your broad smile to spread freely over your wide countenance, and, should it please you, even to sing, full throated, whatever is your favorite song. Nobody will be angry about it."

Karvel (to Goose-Skin, who heaves a sigh of relief, and whose face seems slowly to dilate) – "My brother has interpreted our thoughts. So, then, dear guest, no more constraint. Return to your natural good spirits. We heartily love a hearty laugh. Do you know why? Because a false or wicked heart never is frankly joyous. Moreover, we believe that much should be pardoned to those who have remained good; they will become better. You are of the former, dear guest. We welcome you. We shall love you as you are, and, jolly friend, love us as we are."

Goose-Skin (wholly himself again) – "Oh! Dame Virtue, I bow to you – "

Mylio (interrupting him) – "How is that? Still affecting sanctity?"

Goose-Skin – "Oh! Dame Virtue! You muffle yourself up in an unseemly cloak. With a suspicious eye, foaming mouth and twisted neck you harass people in the voice of an owl in love, saying: 'This way! Come immediately this way, you lumbering scamp! You sack of wine! You pig of gluttony! You brick of lasciviousness! You hare of cowardice! This way! Be quick about it and adore me, serve me! Woo me! And if you do not, I shall strangle you, vagabond! Green dog! Red donkey! Triple mule!' And do you wonder, sweet lady, that people take their paunches between their hands in order that they may be able to run all the faster, and escape from your gracious invitation?"

Morise (to Karvel, smiling) – "He is right!"

Goose-Skin – "Oh sharp-tongued dame! Old scold of a dame! Claw-fingered dame! Just assume for a moment the mild look, the sweet voice, the good heart, the gentle language of my amiable hostess, Dame Morise, who stands here, or of our worthy host Karvel, who stands there, and you will see, Dame Virtue, whether you will still cause people to run away from you, and whether people will not, on the contrary, say to you (addressing Morise:) 'Dame Virtue, poor old Goose-Skin has been pursued until now by a horrible witch, who, usurping your name, strove by dint of insult and scratches to force him to court her. Alas! Old Goose-Skin now finds out too late the trickery of the witch; he is no longer of the age to court anybody. Therefore, gracious Dame Virtue, pity Goose-Skin. He only now sees you for the first time in your pure and charming reality.' But, alas! I am now too old to dare raise my eyes to you!"

Morise (smiling) – "Let it be so! I shall be Dame Virtue; and in accepting the name I certainly am not Dame Modesty. But, never mind! I am Dame Virtue. Now, then, as such, I call upon you earnestly to raise your eyes up to me. I am neither proud, exacting, jealous nor difficult to please. Young folks or old, good looking or homely, provided their actions prove to me that they occasionally remember me, ever find me in a happy frame of mind and loving. So you see, dear guest, that despite your age, you still may love Dame Virtue!"

Goose-Skin (scratching his ear) – "Oh, certainly! If all that shall be required of me will be some slight service, now and then, I certainly shall enlist myself as your servant, Dame Virtue. But, in all humility, I know myself."

Mylio – "Come, now, my good friend! No exaggerated modesty. I shall on the spot give you an opportunity to prove to my brother and sister that you are capable of a brave and generous act."

Goose-Skin – "Do not undertake too much – take care! I am not yet very firmly nailed to virtue."

Mylio – "A minute ago, while you slept, I informed Karvel, and he approved it, of a good and useful project that I have in mind. You heard at Blois the words of Abbot Reynier as clearly as I did. The Church is about to let loose the dogs of war upon Languedoc. We must now, with our songs, raise the popular resistance to the pitch of heroism against the merciless Crusade. Second me in the undertaking. I rely upon you."

Goose-Skin – "Ho! Mylio, my poor hurdy-gurdy will not wait to accompany my songs. It will break loose all of itself – with laughter if it hears me strike a heroic note. No, no! For your harp be the laurel of battle, for my humble hurdy-gurdy a branch of the grape vine or a bouquet of marjoram."

Karvel (to Goose-Skin) – "Noble guest, take my brother's word. If he has charmed with his chants the ears of the rich, you have charmed those of the poor. You will certainly move their hearts as well if you sing to them of the frightful ills that our country is threatened with by the Crusade that is being preached against us."

Goose-Skin – "Worthy host, may I never in my life again touch a tankard of wine, if I know what to sing upon such a theme."

Florette (timidly) – "Mylio – if I dared – "

Mylio – "Speak, dear child!"

Florette – "I heard you on the road say that that wicked monk of Citeaux, Abbot Reynier, from whose clutches I escaped, thanks to you, Mylio, is one of the chiefs of the Crusade. It seems to me that if Master Goose-Skin would narrate in a song the story of how that wicked monk, who is one of the chief agents of this war which they have started in the name of God, meant to ruin a poor serf girl – "

Goose-Skin (clapping his hands gleefully) – "Florette is right! 'The Fritter of the Abbot of Citeaux!' That shall be the title of the song. You remember, Mylio, the words of Sir Ribald when he told you he meant to make a speedy call at the mill of Chaillotte? Ha! By my hurdy-gurdy! I shall salt the song. I shall pepper it so generously that even people with palates no better than a whale's, once they shall have tasted my song will be seized with a furious appetite to despatch the sycophants! The hypocrites! Devoured with concupiscence, they now propose to massacre people in the name of the Savior of the world!"

Mylio – "Excellent! Excellent, my old Goose-Skin! Instil in your verses the indignation of your soul, and your song will be good for ten thousand soldiers in the defense of Languedoc. (To Florette) Your excellent judgment has served you well, dear girl. Your straightforward and childlike heart is justly in revolt at the horrible spectacle of the hypocrisy of these proud, greedy and debauched priests, who now threaten to exterminate the people of this country while they invoke the name of Jesus, the God of love and forgiveness. (To Morise and Karvel) I shall be back on the day of danger. If my love for Florette has inspired me with disgust for my barren and dissolute life, the remembrance of both you, Morise, and you Karvel, has brought me back here. I wish that my marriage with her who is to be the companion of my life be consecrated by your and your wife's presence. To marry under your auspices, is not that to pledge myself to take you for my model?"

Karvel (profoundly moved, takes the hands of Florette and Mylio, joins them in his own, and says in a tremulous voice) – "Your marriage will be inscribed to-morrow in the register of our city magistrates. Mylio, my brother, Florette, my sister, you whom the mysterious bonds of the heart already unite, I take to witness the thoughts of your souls and the words of your lips, be ye forevermore one! Henceforth rejoice at the same joys, suffer the same pains, console each other in the same hopes, share with each other the daily toils that will worthily provide you with your daily bread. If, happier than Morise and myself, you should live again in your children, strive by precept and by example to develop in them their original goodness. Bring them up in the love of work, of justice and of right, to the end that, faithful to the morals of Christ, one of the wisest men that humanity has produced, they be indulgent towards those whom ignorance, neglect or misery have led astray. For all such let them have a ready pardon, instruction, love and charity.

"But also habituate their young souls to be awake to and to entertain a horror for oppression and iniquity. Habituate your children to the thought that some day they may have to suffer, to struggle and perhaps to die in the defense of their rights. Teach them that, if clemency towards the weak and the suffering is a virtue, resignation to the violent acts of an oppressor is an act of cowardice, is a crime! Saturate their souls in the hatred for injustice; then, on the day of trial, your children will be found ready and resolute. Let them repose unshakable faith in the future, in the enfranchisement of Gaul, our motherland.

"Finally, impart to your children this virile druid conviction – 'Man, immortal and infinite like God, proceeds from one world to another, eternally reviving body and soul in those innumerable stars that shine in the firmament.' Impart to them this sturdy belief, and they will be, as our fathers were during the heroic epoch of our history, healed of the disease of death.

"And now, Mylio, my brother, and Florette, my sister, may your union be what the ardent wishes of my heart desire for it! May the ills that threaten this country leave you unscathed! Oh, believe us, Florette, you will be doubly cherished by us, because, thanks to you, our brother has come back to us, and my wife and myself have gained a sister in you."

At the end of these words, Karvel the Perfect presses Florette and Mylio to his heart and holds them long in his embrace. With her forehead leaning on the shoulder of her husband, Morise partakes of the deep emotion that thrills him and the bridal couple. Goose-Skin himself can not hold back a tear which he wipes away with the point of his thumb. But speedily recovering his habitual good spirits, the old juggler cries out:

"Oxhorns! Master Karvel, excuse the sincerity of old Goose-Skin, but he is of the impression that in the south, as well as the north of Gaul, there is no wedding without a repast. I therefore demand for this evening the wedding feast; to-morrow the marriage will be entered in the city's register; and day after to-morrow Mylio and I will depart to preach the anti-Crusade in our fashion. (Addressing Morise) Oh! Dame Virtue, see how you have mastered me! Ordinarily I am as craven as a hare, and yet, to please you, I shall take the road and preach war with my music-box. But, God wills it. I feel so furiously inclined to sing my war song, that my throat is dry in advance. It will have to be very thoroughly moistened."

Karvel (smiling) – "It fortunately happens, merry guest, that we have in the house a cask of Montpelier wine. We shall forthwith broach it."

Morise (to Goose-Skin) – "And I have in yonder cupboard a ham of Aragon that is worthy of serving as a mace to the famous knight Shrove-Tuesday, whose defeat you dreamed!"

Goose-Skin – "Oh! Dear Dame Virtue, you will think you are dreaming, yourself, when you see me play my jaws and swallow your victuals."

Karvel – "You may exercise your jaws also upon a brace of superb capons that our farmer brought us yesterday. And we also have a trout, quite worthy of serving knight Shrove-Tide for mount."

Goose-Skin – "That is a feast worthy of a chapter of canonesses!"

Karvel (to Goose-Skin, and pointing to Mylio, who is speaking to Florette in a low voice) – "The prodigal son has returned, must we not kill the fatted calf?"

Mylio (to Florette in a low and fervid tone) – "And now, at last, my sweet friend, my charming Florette, you are really my wife!"

Florette (contemplating her husband with tender love and tears in her eyes) – "Mylio, all I have in my heart, my love, my life I give you. It is little – in exchange for the happiness that I owe you!"

Goose-Skin (interrupting the lovers) – "What is that you are prattling about in that languorous voice? Rather sing my song, little Florette, sing it in a joyous voice:

"Robin loves me, Robin has me!Robin wished me – he shall have me!"

CHAPTER V

SONG ON THE CRUSADE AGAINST THE ALBIGENSIANS

Behold them, the priests at their head,Behold them, the Cath'lic Crusaders!The red cross on their breasts,And the Christ on their lips,The fagot in one hand,The sword in the other!Behold them in our dear land of Languedoc!Behold them, the Cath'lic Crusaders,Behold them, the priests at their head!What wrong have we done to these priests?Oh, what wrong have we done unto them!From all the quarters of old Gaul,They rush into Albigeois, the Cath'lic Crusaders.At their head march the legate of the Pope, and Reynier, the Abbot of Citeaux,And with them many a bishop and many an archbishop:The Archbishop of Sens, and he of Rheims,The Bishop of Cahors, and he of Limoges;The Bishop of Nevers, and he of Clermont;The Bishop of Agde, and he of Autun.What wrong have we done to these priests?Oh, what wrong have we done unto them!The Knighthood is numerous also:Simon, bloodthirsty Count of Montfort, their commander.Him follow the Count of Narbonne and the Count of St. Paul,The Viscount of Turenne and Adhemar of Poitiers,Bertrand of Cardaillac and Bertrand of Gordon,The Count of Le Forez and he of Auxerre,Peter of Courtenay and Foulques of Bercy,Hugues of Lascy and Lambert of Limoux,Neroweg of the Templars' Order,Also knight Gerard of Lancon,And many more! So many more!What an army! What an army!Twenty-thousand knights, all cased in iron.Two hundred thousand footmen, strollers, serfs and vagabonds.From near and far, all, to the call of the priests,They have come to deluge in blood our Languedoc.They have come from Auvergne and from Burgundy,From Rouergue and from Poitou,From Normandy and from Saintogne,From Lorraine and from Brittany.Over hills and over valleys, by the land and by the waterThey have come, and still they come.They all approach with the cry:"To the heretics, death!"Behold them, the priests at their head,Behold them, the Cath'lic Crusaders!The red cross on their breasts,The Christ on their lips,The fagot in one hand,The sword in the other!Behold them in our dear land of Languedoc!Behold them, the Cath'lic Crusaders,Behold them, the priests at their head!What wrong have we done to these priests?Oh, what wrong have we done unto them!

CHAPTER VI

SONG ON THE BUTCHERY OF CHASSENEUIL

Here they are, before Chasseneuil, the Catholic Crusaders,Before Chasseneuil, the fortified town!Behind their high walls' shelter, men, women and childrenHave sought refuge from burgs and from hamlets.The men in arms are on the ramparts;Women and children weep in the houses.The women and children weep in the houses,The Crusaders have sighted the town.Behold Abbot Reynier of Citeaux.He steps forth; he speaks. He says:"Heretics of Chasseneuil, choose —The Catholic faith or death!"The answer comes:"Monk, be gone!Romanist, avaunt!We prefer death to the Church of Rome!The devil take the Pope!Monk be gone!We prefer death to the Church of Rome!"Abbot Reynier, in a passion,Back to the Crusaders he rides, and he cries:"Kill, burn, pillage, ravage!That not one of the Chasseneuil hereticsEscape the sword or the flames!Their goods now belong to the Catholics!Kill, burn, pillage, ravage!"The assailants are wild, no less so th' assailed.How the blood flows! Oh! How it flows!The besiegers are in numbers, uncountable:The besieged are but few.Woe to the vanquished!The ramparts being scaledThe priests pour in, cross in hand:"Kill – kill the Chasseneuil heretics!Kill – kill the Chasseneuil heretics!"The Crusaders have massacred, slaughtered and killedOld men and young,Aged grand-mothers, youthful grand-daughters,Virgins and infants!The blood runs in streams through the streets of Chasseneuil!The blood runs red and steaming,As waves in the butcher's place of slaughter!They have massacred at ChasseneuilFull seven thousand of our people,The Catholic Crusaders!They have slaughtered seven thousand at Chasseneuil!At last, tired of carnage and outraging women,They pillage and pillage again!In pillaging houses they meet women and old men,Children and many of the wounded,Who sought refuge in places concealed.The gibbets are raised!The pyres are lighted!The rope and the flames end the workWhich the sword set on foot.Torture and slaughter!The rope and the flames end the workWhich the sword set on foot!Ravaged from one end to the other,The city contains but corpses in heaps!"To Beziers!"Now cries the papal legate."Fall to, Montfort, up and to work!His Holiness has issued the order!Kill, pillage, burn all heretics,As was done at Chasseneuil!""To Beziers!" echoes back the Count of Montfort.And, behold, they march to Beziers,The Catholic Crusaders,The red cross on their breasts,The name of Jesus on their lips,The sword in one hand,The fagot in the other,To torture and to slaughter!What wrong have we done to these priests?What wrong have we done unto them!

CHAPTER VII

SONG ON THE BUTCHERY OF BEZIERS

Behold, them, the Cath'lic Crusaders,Arrived before fortified Beziers!They are gorged with pillage and blood,The priests ever leading the way!At the side of Montfort are the Archbishops of Sens and Bordeaux,The Bishops of Puy, Autun, Limoges, Bazas and Agde,Besides from Clermont, Cahors and Nevers.The Army of the Faith encircles the town.Reginald of Montpayroux, the Bishop of Beziers,Whom, together with all of his priests, the peopleHad left unincommoded in his episcopal palace,Reginald of Montpayroux, then addresses the town:"Renounce your heresy,Submit to the Catholic Church;If not, by the Catholic Church I swear to you,Not one house I'll leave standing in your town of Beziers!Not one living being shall be left with his life!""Be gone, bishop!" he's answered aloud,"Be gone, Romanist! Sooner we'll kill ourselves,Ourselves, our wives and our children than submit to your Church!""Be gone, bishop! Sooner we'll kill ourselves,Ourselves, our wives and our children than submit to your Church!"Thus did the people make answer. To MontfortThe bishop reports, and he adds: "Fall to, Montfort!His Holiness has issued the orderTo arms!Kill, burn, pillage and ravage!Let not a single heretic escape death!Their goods are now ours!""Yes!" cries the Abbot of Citeaux. "Not even ifTwenty thousand, a hundred thousand they be,Not one of them, no, not a single one shall escapeThe rope, or the sword, or the flames!Torture and slaughter!"No! Not a single creature escapesThe rope, or the sword, or the flames!"But," answers Montfort,"There are Catholics at Beziers;How are we, in the midst of the carnageTo distinguish the faithful?"The papal legate cries in answer:"Kill away!Kill them all!The Lord will distinguish His own!""Kill them all!" cries the papal legate,"The Lord will distinguish His own!"Beziers is taken by assault;They kill all the living, as they did at Chasseneuil,The Cath'lic Crusaders!First, seven thousand children, sheltered in St. Madeleine's Church,Are put to the swordAnd the carnage continues two consecutive days.Aye, two consecutive days, from sun-rise to sun-rise.And the time is all needed, those two days and nights,To slaughter sixty-three thousand creatures of God;Aye, sixty-three thousand,Catholics and heretics killed at Beziers!Sixty-three thousand.That is the number of Beziers' victims.After the raping of women and slaughter, the pillage;After the pillage, the torch of th' incendiary.The booty is placed upon wagons outside the townAnd then – "Burn up Beziers! Burn up the heretic hot-bed!"And all is burned down – all —Artisans' houses and houses of bourgeois;The communal City Hall, and the viscount's palace;The hospital of the poor, and the great cathedral built by Gervais.Everything burned, aye everything.And when all is burnt down, and the wagons of booty heaped high,And the vine-stocks pulled up by the roots,And the olive trees cut down in the orchard,And the crops consumed by the flames in the garrets,"To Carcassonne!"Cries the papal legate."Fall to, Montfort! On the march!His Holiness has issued the order.To Carcassonne!Kill, pillage, burn the heretics, as we have doneAt Chasseneuil and Beziers!To Carcassonne!""On to Carcassonne!Kill, pillage, burn the heretics as we have doneAt Chasseneuil and Beziers!On to Carcassonne," echoes Montfort.And behold them, they march on Carcassonne,The Cath'lic Crusaders, the priests in the lead!The red cross on their breasts,The name of Jesus on their lips,The sword in one hand,The fagot in the other!To the rape, to tortures and slaughter!What wrong have we done to these priests?Oh, what wrong have we done unto them!

CHAPTER VIII

SONG ON THE BURNING OF CARCASSONNE

They march upon Carcassonne,The Cath'lic Crusaders! Ill fortified is the town,Into the town, Roger, the young Viscount of Beziers,Too late back from Aragon to defend the capital of his domain,Has thrown himself.The young man is bold and generous, beloved by all.A heretic, like most the seigneurs of Languedoc,This land of freedom.The young viscount bows before the popular magistrates,And to the city's franchise.The viscount and councilmen re-kindle the town's folks' enthusiasm,Chilled for a moment by the massacres of Chasseneuil and Beziers.Deep ditches are dug, high palisades raisedTo strengthen the ramparts of Carcassonne.The old and the young, the rich and the poor, men, women and children —All labor with zeal for the defense of the city, and they say:"No! We shall not let ourselves be slaughtered asThe people of Chasseneuil and Beziers —No!""No! We shall not let ourselves be slaughtered asThe people of Chasseneuil and Beziers – No!"But the line of the horizon is soon darkened by dust,From afar the earth tremblesUnder the tread of steeds caparisoned in iron,And mounted by warriors cased in iron themselves.The iron points of a forest of lances glisten,They glisten like the armorsIn the rays of the rising sun.The hill, the valley and the plainSoon are covered with cohorts innumerable.The multitude in arms has steadily, steadily swollen.It reaches from East to West, it overlaps the horizon.It approaches from the North and the South,And Carcassonne is from all sides surrounded.The wagons and baggage follow the trains,And behind them larger and still larger crowds.Early in the morning th' invader descends the distant hills.The Cath'lic Crusaders encamp towards evening.Early in the morning th' invader descends the distant hills.The Cath'lic Crusaders arrive and encamp towards evening.Montfort, the prelates and knights raise their tents;The multitude sleeps on the ground under the vault of the heavens.They are so delightful; oh! so delightful, the nights of Languedoc!Other Crusaders invade and they pillage the suburbs,Whose inhabitants fled within Carcassonne.At dawn the next morning, the trumpets sound in the Crusaders' camp;"To the assault! Death to the heretics of Carcassonne!Kill – kill as you did at Chasseneuil and Beziers!To the assault!"The men of Carcassonne are on the ramparts.The struggle begins; it is bloody, it is furious.The young viscount and consuls by example and courage redoubleThe strength of the besieged.Women and children fetch stones for the engines of war;The ditches are heaped full with corpses."Victory for the heretics! This time they triumph!"The assailants are all driven back.But dearly they paid for this vict'ry, the heretics!Helas! They paid for it dearly,The heretics of Carcassonne.Of their men there are killed, or are woundedFull twelve thousand heroes, the flow'r of the brave.Still greater is the loss of the Crusaders.But still their forces number near two hundred thousand.A messenger from Montfort arrives in Carcassonne, and he says:"Sir viscount, Sirs consuls! The Pope's blessed legate and alsoSeigneur Montfort the count offer a truce unto you,And they swear on their faith of Cath'lic priests and of knightsThat if you, viscount and consuls, will come to the camp of the crusadersYou shall all be respected, and allowed to return to your cityShould you decline to accept the terms that the legate and count will propose."Reposing their faith in the oaths of the priest and the knight,"Let's to the camp!" say the consuls in the hope their city to save.And they appear in the tent of Montfort.They appear in the tent of Montfort.The viscount says to the count: "Spare the unhappy town,Mention the ransom; it shall be paid unto you.If you refuse, to Carcassonne we shall ride backAnd bury ourselves under its ruins!""Brave Sire!" answers Montfort,"The whole of your domain now belongs unto me:The Holy Father to the soldiers of Christ has given the goods of the heretics.Write on the spot to your townsmen to renounceTheir damnable heresy, else we'll assault them again on the morrow.By the God who died and again resurrected, I swear,Unless they renounce, your townsmen will be put to the sword,As we did with those of Chasseneuil and Beziers."The viscount makes answer: "Montfort, adieu!We've a horror for the Church of the Pope; we reject your proposal;We shall know how to die!"And Montfort replies: "No 'adieus' here will pass, Sir Viscount of Beziers!Yourself and your councilmen now are my prisoners,The prisoners of me, Montfort, the chief of this holy Crusade.""Your prisoners we? We, whom a truce now protects?We, who are here relying on the word of a priest, of the papal legate?We, who are here under your pledge as a knight?No, not we; we're no pris'ners of thine."Abbot Reynier of Citeaux then replies: "These are the Pope's own words:'None is bound to keep his pledge to him who keeps not his pledge to God.'"You shall remain our prisoners, Viscount of Beziers!To-morrow, to the assault!Fall to, Montfort!The Holy Father has ordered:'Kill, burn, pillage! Let not a heretic of CarcassonneEscape the sword, the rope, or the flames!'""Let not a heretic of CarcassonneEscape the sword, the rope, or the flames!"The young viscount and consuls are pinioned —The viscount soon dies by poison, the consuls on the gibbet.At dawn th' assault is sounded;The Crusaders march against the walls;The walls, they are unguarded, they are not now defended.The Crusaders knock down the palisades,Fill up the ditches, beat in the gates.None guard the city; none defend it.Without striking a blow the Crusaders rush into the streets,They rush into the houses.Not a soul is seen on the street, not a soul is found in the houses.The silence of the tomb reigns in Carcassonne,What has become of its people?The silence of the tomb reigns in Carcassonne,What has become of its people?The Crusaders invade every nook, every corner.They find, at last, in hidden cornersSome people gravely wounded, some ill and some old,Or some women lying-in.The Crusaders thus find some wives, some daughters or mothersWho refused to abandon some husband, some father, some son,Too seriously wounded or old to take flight,To take flight through the woods and the mountains,And there to keep in concealmentFor days, for months, perhaps.They fled! Did all the inhabitants of Carcassonne flee?They fled! Did all the inhabitants of Carcassonne flee?Yes, notified during the night of the fate of their viscount and consuls,Afraid of the extermination threatened to their town,All fled, the wounded dragging behind,The mothers carrying their children on backs and on arms,The men taking charge of the provisions.Aye, leaving behind their hearths and their goods,All have fled by a secret subterranean passage —They fled, the people of Carcassonne fled.They fled, the people of Carcassonne fled,The thickets of the forests,The caverns of the mountains will be their place of refuge,For days to come and months.If ever they see their town again,How many will return from the woods, the caverns and the rocks?How many will have survived exhaustion?They left, twenty thousand and more;A few thousand, perhaps, may return."Oh! the heretics of Carcassonne have slipped through our fingers!"Thus cries the papal legate:"Those who were unable to follow them shall bear the punishment for all.Pillage the town, and after the pillage the pyre, the gibbetFor the miscreants who fell into our hands!"Carcassonne is ravaged from cellar to garret.After the pillage the gibbets are raised,And the wood is piled for the pyres.Death! Torture! Rape! Slaughter!Carcassonne is ravaged from cellar to garret.After the pillage the gibbets are raised,And the wood is piled for the pyres.The Crusaders carry the wounded,Mutilated some of these are, others expiring;The weak, the old, the lying-in women,The daughters, the wives and the mothers of those who were unable to flee —All are hanged, quartered, or burned.Flare up, ye flames of the pyres!Ye ropes of the gibbets, straighten yourselvesUnder the weight of your loads!All are hanged, quartered or burned —All the Carcassonne heretics left in the town;All are hanged, quartered or burned,And then the wagons are filled with the booty."To Lavaur!" now cries the papal legate."Fall to, Montfort! On the march!Kill, pillage, burn the heretics!Our Holy Father thus has issued the order!""To Lavaur! To Lavaur!" Montfort makes answer.And behold, the Cath'lic Crusaders now march upon Lavaur.Priests lead the way,The red cross on their breasts,The name of Jesus on their lips,The sword in one hand,The torch in the other!What wrong have we done to these priests?Oh, what wrong have we done unto them!