He paced up and down a few times, gesticulating vehemently, glanced sideways at his wife, and began again.
"Are you not a standing proof that I am right? Why don't you cry, as any other ordinary woman would do, and fall upon my neck and beseech me to remain, and say that I am your darling Adam--your only love--your handsome Adam, though, by-the-bye, I am not handsome, and promise everything, whether you can perform it or not? There you stand, and don't know how to help yourself! Am I to give up my art and my young years for the pleasure of staring at you? And supposing we should have children, and they take after you! Do you expect that I shall be able to compose the stupidest birthday ode, with six or seven boys and girls, all as lovely as pictures, and as stupid, sitting round me and staring at me? But we will not part in enmity; and so I tell you, in all love and friendship, that you can no longer be my wife! I will away to Paris as soon as I can raise money enough for the journey; you can return to your parents, or, if you like, you can go to my old uncle, who is so fond of you; he will take good care of you--you shall want for nothing; and if you should have a child, I will keep it as my own--but, remain with you I cannot, Marion! By my soul's salvation! a poet I am, and a poet I will remain--and weariness is poison to the merrie art! Now I am going to my uncle--be a good girl, and let us part friends."
He stretched out his hand towards her, but she saw it not for tears. He thought it needless on that account to wait and see whether she would behave as he had told her other women would do under the circumstances; he turned hastily towards the door and disappeared into the house.
An hour after the wedded pair had thus parted "in friendship," the door of a stately house, in which lived the rich senator, Adam's uncle, was thrown open, and Adam stepped hastily out, in high excitement. He hurried onwards without regarding which way he took, and now and then scraps of his internal conversation with himself burst forth, as he clenched his fist or twisted his fingers in his long round-cut hair.
"The old shark!" he growled. "And yet he had got rags of virtuous poverty to cover the nakedness of his avarice! What is it to him if I and my wife choose to agree to a friendly separation? I wish he would take her himself, if it were not a pity for her, pretty young thing! Truly, whether I moulder here or not touches not his money-bags; but, to travel and to see the world, and gain wisdom--ay! that pinches Master Money-bags sore! Pah! because he gave me the cottage, and arranged my household, am I to freeze in Arras, and blunder about with those rogues of balladmakers, and hide my light under a bushel? If I am obliged to travel like a mountebank, and train dogs and apes to get to Paris, I'll do it! I'll show the old gold-scratcher that Adam de la Halle is no petticoat knight, but knows how to follow his own way."
And this same way of his own carried him this time to the Three Golden Lilies, the best tavern in the good old town of Arras. There were but few guests in the drinking-room at this hour. Adam seated himself in a corner, and did not look up until the host, bringing him wine, greeted him respectfully,
"You come as if called for, Master Adam," said mine host of the Lilies. "There is one of my guests, see you--the man sitting yonder by the stove and looking towards you. Well, a week ago he brought a troop of players into the town, to play the great passion-piece at Easter, in the cathedral The reverend gentlemen there sent for them; and now it wants fourteen days to the time, and they are all loitering about idle and eating their pay before they get it; and their director lodges with me, and drinks stoutly on the score. 'Sir,' I said to him just before you came in, 'sir,' said I, 'if you could manage to scrape together a little money by your art in the mean time, it would do both you and me good.'--'Ay!' said he, 'if we had only a decent piece, a mystery, or a miracle; for I have left my whole bundle of plays behind at Cambria, all except the passion-piece.'--'Eh, sir!' said I. 'Here with us the country is alive with gay minstrels, troubadours, and ballad-singers and there is Master Adam de la Halle, who is worth them all put together.'--'By St. Nicholas,' said my man, 'I would give him half the receipts if he would write me a piece, and it succeeded'--and just at that moment you came through the door, and so he sent me to ask you."
Adam rose up, swallowed his wine hastily, and then went straight to the leader of the strollers, who sprang from his seat respectfully, and bowed low. They conversed for a short time, and then shook hands. "So be it," said Adam; "within eight days your people shall play. And the day after I shall receive my money, and now our Lady preserve you. I will go and set about your affair at once." So he went, and after his fashion, he growled something between his teeth, that sounded very much like "I'll make them remember me."
Eight days had passed away, and Marion sat in her chamber one afternoon, with eyes red with weeping, and cheeks pale with sorrow, so intently engaged turning over old letters which she had in her lap that she did not hear the door open, and one of her old playmates enter. When her friend called her by name, she sprang up startled. "Good day, Perette," she said; "what brings you here?" "or rather, what keeps you here?" answered the girl, saucily; "you sit and you cry, and you never think of going near the Three Lilies, where your husband's new piece is to be acted by the strange players. What a wife you are! I should be the first to go if I had a husband who could charm half the town into the courtyard of an old inn. What have you got there? Have you been studying all the old songs your Adam made on you? I should think that you ought to have them all at your fingers' ends now like your rosary." The poor wife began to weep bitterly. "Don't you know then," she sobbed, "and is not the whole town of Arass talking about it--that he is going to Paris, and intends to leave me behind, and is never, never coming back again?" "Bah! nonsense," cried Perette, "what has put all that into your head?" "He said it to me himself, word for word; and since that time he has never eaten at home, and only returns very late at night, and sleeps below in the saloon." "Well, well, he has had his hands full of his new play, and then men are always fanciful, Marion, and must always be doing something to plague us; but, God be praised! all are not dead that do not laugh. Dry your eyes, be a sensible woman, and come with me to the play. What will your husband think of you if you don't even wish to see a play he has written himself?"
So half comforting, half scolding, she drew the sorrowing young wife out of her room to the Three Lilies.