There all was gay enough. A number of the townspeople were seated on benches in the spacious courtyard. The windows of the low buildings at the side had been chosen as boxes by the more distinguished of the burghers. And the stage was erected in a large barn at the end of the yard, the mighty doors having been removed for that purpose. Marion and Perette arrived at the moment of the exit of Dame Avaritia, who had spoken the prologue, and assured many rich burghers of the town of her further protection. Not a place was left free for our two fair sight-seers, either in the courtyard, or at the windows. But Perette was not to be daunted, and knowing the house, she made her way through a side building, and advanced with Marion up to the barn. Here they placed themselves behind the great linen cloths with which the stage had been fenced off, and peeped through a rent in the curtain at the play, unhindered by the actors, who, in their fantastic dresses, sought to pay their court to the two pretty women. Marion took not the slightest notice of them, and stood rooted to one spot. Perette exercised the sharpness of her little tongue on the player folk now and then, and, in common parlance, gave them quite as good, or perhaps better than they brought.
But Master Adam, little dreaming that his young wife was watching him, had, in the meantime, advanced from the other side in his own character and costume.
He began in smooth verses to bewail his sorrows. He wanted to go to Paris, and never a sou had he in his pockets, and his millionaire of an uncle had, just at this moment, been attacked by the most hopeless complaint in the world, an obstinate avarice, so that from him there was nothing to hope. To him entered a doctor, whom Adam consulted as to whether it was possible to cure avarice, for he could show him a splendid specimen of it, if he wished to try his hand. Whereupon the doctor broke forth into a learned dissertation on the different varieties of the disease, distinguishing those curable from those incurable; and in the case which Adam described, he had but little doubt that he could be of service, if he was only permitted to see the patient himself. Then a third personage advanced, so ridiculously like Adam's venerable uncle in figure and manner and dress, that the laughter of the spectators seemed never coming to an end. To this worthy gentleman the doctor advanced with great politeness, felt his pulse, and looked gravely at his tongue, asked about this and that, and then made some more pointed inquiries about specific symptoms of the miser fever, from which he understood he suffered. Upon which the old gentleman burst into a great rage, upbraided his rascally nephew soundly for accusing him of having such a scandalous complaint, and declared the grounds upon which he refused to assist him on his journey to Paris. The principal reason was, that Adam was only just married, and had already grown tired of his wife, who nevertheless was, as all Arras knew, a perfect model of beauty and virtue.
In ever-increasing irritation had poor Marion been an unsuspected participator in all this conversation--and who could blame a virtuous wife for feeling irritated--when all at once she saw her domestic sorrows made a butt for a laughing public. She took no heed of the polished verses and comical grimaces with which the conversation of the three actors was adorned, and which so delighted the audience. With a bitter anxiety, and forgetting all else, she now listened to the answer her husband was to give to her uncle. When, however, Adam drily explained to the audience that a pretty woman was not necessarily an amusing one, and that his Marion's mouth was better adapted for kisses than conversation, that nevertheless no one grew wiser by kissing, but, on the contrary, by witty conversation; and that he would present any one amongst them, who had ever heard his Marion give utterance to an observation at all bordering on the witty, the sum of two golden crowns; then the poor listener could no longer restrain herself. With one bound she was on the stage, and stood with glowing eyes and angry brow directly opposite to him who had so basely slandered her.
"Are you not ashamed, Adam?" she cried in the midst of his harangue; "are you not ashamed to speak thus of your own wedded wife before all the town? Oh, if you had ever loved me, only a little, a little, that speech would never have passed your lips! And now tell me, have I deserved it from you? Have I ever caused you one hour's grief? Have I not done everything to please you? And now will you speak ill of me before all Arras?"
So angry and heart-grieved, amidst tears and sobbings, scolded the poor beauty. The audience who took it all for part of the play, laughed at first, aye, and some amongst them were mischievous enough to enjoy their neighbour's domestic discomfort. When, however, they began to see that it was the veritable Marion herself, the worst of them lost their gaiety and stared astonished at the stage. But Adam, much as he was startled at first by this sudden apparition, quickly recovered himself, and cried loudly and undauntedly, "My good fellow-townsmen, this does not belong to our play; this woman fell suddenly in amongst us, and does not belong to our company at all. Let me entreat some of you to lead her away. You hear that she does not talk verse, like all the actors who have the honour of performing this most remarkable farce before your worthinesses!" Therewith, he took Marion gently by the hand, to lead her from the stage. But she shook herself free, and encouraged by the demand of some amount the spectators, that she should be permitted to remain, and fight for her own cause, cried, "Aye! and I will, I say too! and make you all the judges of whether I have not been badly played upon. It is true that I am naturally silent, but is it to be considered a fault, on my part, if I do what you men are always throwing in the teeth of us poor women, letting alone all useless chattering, and listening quietly to what my husband has to say?" "Marion is right." "Long live Marion! she shall speak again!" shouted the spectators, laughing, and waving her encouragement. "And," she continued, growing even more eloquent, "if I have no right to be here because I do not speak verses, I know enough and of the very best too! My husband, who slanders me now, wrote them on me himself before we were married; and you shall hear them that you may know how double-tongued he is, and what fair words he once had for my praise, although he now has only complaints."
Therewith she stepped to the edge of the stage and sang the following verses, with a voice that threatened to desert her--
"Cheeks as red and eyes as dancing,
Arms and necks like lilies glancing,
You may find in Arras town.