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

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 water
They 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 children
Have 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 heretics
Escape 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 scaled
The priests pour in, cross in hand:
"Kill – kill the Chasseneuil heretics!
Kill – kill the Chasseneuil heretics!"
 
 
The Crusaders have massacred, slaughtered and killed
Old 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 Chasseneuil
Full 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 work
Which the sword set on foot.
Torture and slaughter!
 
 
The rope and the flames end the work
Which 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 people
Had 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 Montfort
The bishop reports, and he adds: "Fall to, Montfort!
His Holiness has issued the order
To 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 if
Twenty thousand, a hundred thousand they be,
Not one of them, no, not a single one shall escape
The rope, or the sword, or the flames!
Torture and slaughter!"
 
 
No! Not a single creature escapes
The rope, or the sword, or the flames!
"But," answers Montfort,
"There are Catholics at Beziers;
How are we, in the midst of the carnage
To 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 sword
And 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 town
And 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 done
At Chasseneuil and Beziers!
To Carcassonne!"
 
 
"On to Carcassonne!
Kill, pillage, burn the heretics as we have done
At 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 raised
To 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 as
The people of Chasseneuil and Beziers —
No!"
 
 
"No! We shall not let ourselves be slaughtered as
The people of Chasseneuil and Beziers – No!"
But the line of the horizon is soon darkened by dust,
From afar the earth trembles
Under 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 armors
In the rays of the rising sun.
The hill, the valley and the plain
Soon 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 redouble
The 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 wounded
Full 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 also
Seigneur Montfort the count offer a truce unto you,
And they swear on their faith of Cath'lic priests and of knights
That if you, viscount and consuls, will come to the camp of the crusaders
You shall all be respected, and allowed to return to your city
Should 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 back
And 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 renounce
Their 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 Carcassonne
Escape the sword, the rope, or the flames!'"
 
 
"Let not a heretic of Carcassonne
Escape 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 corners
Some people gravely wounded, some ill and some old,
Or some women lying-in.
The Crusaders thus find some wives, some daughters or mothers
Who 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 concealment
For 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 gibbet
For 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 yourselves
Under 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!
 

CHAPTER IX
THE HERETICS' WAR SONG

 
Aye, behold them on the march to Lavaur,
The fagot in one hand,
The sword in the other,
The Catholic Crusaders!
Aye, behold what they've done until now.
 
 
Oh, valiant sons of Languedoc!
Oh, ye sons of ancient Gaul,
Who, like our fathers, have known how to re-conquer freedom,
Read on the flag of the Catholic Crusaders,
Read – read these lines traced in blood and in fire:
"Chasseneuil,"
"Beziers,"
"Carcassonne."
Tell me! Will "Lavaur" also soon be read on its folds?
And "Albi"?
"Toulouse"?
"Arles"?
"Narbonne"?
"Avignon"?
"Orange"?
"Beaucaire"?
Tell me, has there been enough rapine and rape,
Carnage and arson?
Tell me, is't enough?
Are Chasseneuil, Beziers, Carcassonne enough?
 
 
Tell me, Chasseneuil, Beziers, Carcassonne —
Is't enough?
Tell me, are all our cities to be turned into heaps of ashes?
Our fields into deserts, whitened with human bones?
Our woods into forests of gibbets?
Our rivers into torrents of blood?
Our skies into ruddy reflections of conflagrations and pyres?
Tell me, will you submit,
Ye brave men who emancipated yourselves from the yoke of Rome?
Will you relapse, you, your wives, your children,
Under the execrable power of the priests,
Whose soldiers rape, slay and burn women and children?
Are you ready for that?
No! You are not! No!
Your hearts beat high, your blood boils and you declare:
Chasseneuil, Beziers, Carcassonne – that's enough! Too much!
 
 
Aye, aye, Chasseneuil, Beziers, Carcassonne – that's enough!
Despite their valor, our brothers have perished.
Let us redouble our valor,
Let us crush our enemy.
No truce nor mercy for him.
Over mountains and valleys —
Let's pursue him! Harrass him! Cut him to pieces!
Let us rise as one man, sons of Languedoc,
All!
Implacable war!
War to the death to the Cath'lic Crusader!
Right is with us;
All is justified against them —
The fork and the scythe,
The club and the stone,
The hands and the teeth!
To arms, ye heretics of Languedoc!
To arms!
Also we cry:
"On to Lavaur!"
And may Lavaur be the grave of the Cath'lic Crusaders!
Vengeance! Death to the invader!
 

Mylio the Trouvere composed this song, and throughout the country sang it from place to place while the army of the Crusaders marched upon the city and Castle of Lavaur.⁴