Chapter 7

My First Encounters

with City Life

 

 

 

Journal Entry Continues

 

“With our stomachs full and spirits high, we four friends sauntered out into the night heading down the Montaigne Sainte-Geneviève in the general direction of the river and the older students’ more familiar haunts. Dusk had already begun to envelop the streets and alleys and paint the city in drab and fading colours. We were urinating in a near-by alley and singing a ballad about dying for love, when Gaudin spotted the rapid movement of shadows diving for cover at the opposite end of the alley. Still singing at the top of his voice, so as not to let on that he was alert to the presence of the intruders, he nodded to the rest of us to reverse course and head back to the street entrance. Brave with drink, we were not as yet stupid enough to be fearless, and we agreed to follow the main streets where there would be the added security of activity and witnesses.

“We knew, of course, that street gangs seldom targeted students because they were perennially penniless, threadbare and seldom in possession of anything worth stealing. Students also tended to travel in company, and street thugs were known to steer clear of anything resembling a fair fight, except when gang wars pitted one side against the other and all restraint was forgotten in the barrage of tree branches, stones and blacksmith’s anvils. Almost at a given signal, on those nights when it seemed like armies were rising like rats out of the sewers, people would close their doors, shutter their windows and snuff out all of their candles to wait out the storm.

“This, however, was not such a night. As we wound past rolling wagons pushing through the rue des Ecoles, we saw men engaged in unloading ponderous wheels of cheese and racks of smoked meats, bolts of cloth and lengths of tanned leather ready to be cut and sown into purses, shoes and saddle bags. The bustle spilled over into the wide length of the St Germain, where men were hammering make-shift booths and stands into place and erecting rickety tents with sticks and blankets, under which to secure their goods.

“All this frenetic activity was a hasty preparation for the Saint Germain Fair, which would spring to life with the next day’s dawning and envelop the entire Left Bank in its festive frenzy. The four of us took a side street past the old church of Saint-Séverin, in the direction of a particularly run-down looking tavern, when, all at once, the church bells pealed out the evening Angelus. Hands immediately released hammers, bolts of cloth and tent poles to make the sign of the cross. One of a pair of nearby nuns was heard mumbling the words: “Angelus Domini nuntiavit Mariae”, to which the other responded: “Et concepit de Spiritu Sancto,” and in the time it took to say three “Ave’s” all hands had returned to their labours.

“Another class of workers chose this moment to move into position for their nightly duties. Groups of women, dressed in bright colours adorned with ruffs and silk stitching, made dance-like movements in brightly beaded shoes with elevated leathered heels. On cue, the women took up pre-ordained positions on the steps leading up to the old church. Clearly, they had not come to pray, as they gathered their skirts about them and raised them sufficiently to display their high heeled shoes and silk hose. That night, seven of them sat evenly distributed in a three dimensional pattern up and down the church steps, striking casual poses and shaking back their heads to allow their long tresses of hair to fly loose and cascade like silk waterfalls over their pink shoulders and into the cleft between out-stretched breasts.

“‘Holy Mother of God...’ I exclaimed, having caught sight of one particular raven haired beauty, still evidently uncomfortably new at this, whose huge eyes were deep blue pools of warm and glistening liquid. She shifted her position ever so slightly, and I thought I could hear the stiff cloth of the crenulated shift that assuredly lay beneath her skirt as it rubbed against her thigh like a tender twig.

“‘Close your mouth, Howard,’ said Dormoy looking genuinely embarrassed at my apparent naivety.

“‘Yes,’ said Gaudin. ‘She might think you’re having an epileptic fit. She’ll take you to one of their doctors who specialize in syphilis and epilepsy, two common ailments among whores.’

“‘As usual, our model for sensitivity and respect,’ commented Testagrossa putting a fatherly hand on my shoulder. ‘One must respect women as the very pinnacle of God’s creation. On the other hand,’ the young Italian added with a self-deprecating shrug, ‘One cannot help but admire women as the very pinnacle of Nature’s handiwork! Therein lies the dilemma of the human condition.’

“‘Oh shut up, you prig!’ said Gaudin, who was getting increasing irritated with his philosophical friend. ‘That’s the most fat-headed remark I have ever heard. You persist in confusing love with lust, which is a simple human vice, in which many of us engage daily without so much as a second thought about the nobility of human nature or the eternal destiny of man,’ pronounced Gaudin, his right hand raised in a rhetorical gesture.

“‘Do you deny the eternal destiny of man?’ asked Testagrossa, his own right hand cutting through the air opposite Gaudin’s.

“‘By no means,’ added the leader of revels, ‘but why must it interfere with my pleasure?’

“While my two friends were thus engaged in a truly eternal debate, the workers whose preparations for the morning market were now complete had decided to reward themselves for their evening´s labours by sampling the church step wares. They sauntered up alone and strolled away in couples with an ease and grace that one would truly expect of hereditary nobility, while we observers were left with our words.

“This gave Dormoy a new sense of purpose. ‘I think,’ he postulated with the smoothness of a southerner, ‘that it is time to initiate our young friend into the mysteries and the pleasures of the night.’

“‘With a prostitute?’ asked Testagrossa in genuine indignation.

“‘What’s the difference?’ asked Gaudin with a cavalier disregard for his friend’s sensitivity. ‘They’re all sisters under their shifts, you know,’ he added, strutting a few steps, like a rooster.

“‘It should be one he fancies,’ counselled Dormoy. ‘The first time should be special.’

“‘Every time is special for me,’ said Gaudin, still perfecting the rooster movement with his neck.

“I ignored them all and just stepped out, slowly and tentatively, in the direction of the dark haired girl. I caught her eye and she turned toward me so that I could have a full frontal view of her low bodice framed with her silky, shining hair, darker than the night sky. I drew in my breath. I could feel myself shaking and I was sure that I was about to lose my courage, turn and run, but the girl boldly fixed her gaze, those enormous pools of blue luminosity, on me. Like a force greater than the pounding surf and inexorable tides, her eyes drew me into the sphere of her power and the deft practice of her art.

“My friends broke off their extended debate on the nature and destiny of man to notice that one man, at least, had already taken matters into his own trembling hands. They felt as if they were watching someone in a dream, walking through a door without any knowledge of what he might find on the other side. They were both happy and afraid for me, and not one of them thought to call out any words of banter or of advice. I was beyond their sphere, well past the need for anyone’s advice.

“They were so taken up with my chosen path that they failed to notice the return of the shadows in the recesses of the nearby booths. Suddenly and inexplicably, the workers all disappeared under their stalls and the girls abruptly broke their poses and fled into three of the adjacent alleys, amid the crinkling of skirt against shifts. My dark beauty was the last to leave, with a momentary, side-long glance in my direction, permitting her to mouth the words, ‘Ask for Julie.’ Before my friends and I knew what was happening, eight dark and emaciated youths emerged from the streets behind them.

“Their clothes were rags and their hands and faces were black with soot and street dust, but their eyes were luminous and predatory like wolves. Five of them were holding make-shift clubs, torn from the large hanging branches of trees, and the others brandished fists that shone by the light of a near-by torch with the lurid red of bloody scabs and old scars. The four of us stood like rooted trees, exposed to the elements, when we realized that the eight youths were ignoring us. Instead, the predators were circling like a pack toward four small figures who had just had the misfortune to emerge from one of the three alleys into which the prostitutes had fled just moments before.

“The strangers’ clothing was dark, so it was difficult to distinguish them at first. There was a man, a woman and two children, girls, the youngest of which could not have been older than seven years. The man wore a plain jerkin, tied, at the waist, with a broad belt over loose fitting trousers and high boots. There was neither lace collar no any mark of contrast about his dress, and on his head, he wore a tall hat that looked like a tower with a broad rim about the bottom. The woman was equally plain in her attire, without the slightest hint of colour or ornament, and her hair was completely hidden beneath a tight fitting white bonnet tied neatly beneath her chin. As the children, too, were bonneted, without a single, playful hair in sight, in dresses as devoid of colour as that of their mother, we concluded that this must be a family of Huguenots who had just emerged from an evening prayer service in the home of one of their co-religionists.

“Slowly, the eight youths encircled the hapless family of four moving ever closer and hissing ‘heretics, heretics’ through uneven, yellow and clenched teeth. The parents instinctively formed a kind of human barrier between the manoeuvring attackers and the children, mother and father each on one side, arms joined and bound around the little ones.

“A particularly vigilant street vendor must have given a thought to the protection of his wares and run off to find one of the mounted companies of the Duc de Guise, who were currently enforcing the peace in the city. For presently, a troop of five armoured horsemen entered the square and took up position at the far end. As soon as they realized that only a Huguenot family and not the vendors’ stalls were in any jeopardy, they hung back, with exchanged sniggers and some relief, to watch the spectacle.

“A tall youth, who occupied the forward juncture point of two columns of ruffians, launched himself at the tight family formation, delivering a blow to the father’s kidney causing him to fold and collapse in pain. A second youth then moved in to separate the other three, roughly pushing the smallest child aside. She cried out as her elbow made contact with a cobble stone, before she skidded to a halt, face down in the street. Two other youths now grabbed the mother and older daughter from behind and held them while the leader made for the mother’s skirts and taunted her about what he intended to do.

“All of a sudden, I heard a cry like the roar of an enraged animal and saw my philosophical friend, Testagrossa, lurch at the assailants closest to the women, his fists clenched and his head lowered into a battering ram. He struck the lead youth from behind, sending him flailing to the ground on all fours. Surprised and momentarily confused by the assault on their leader, the two youths behind them released the women’s arms and regrouped with two others who had come around to assist.

“‘Courez’ (‘Run!’), Testagrossa shouted at the released captives. The mother darted to where her youngest lay and, grasping her firmly by the hand, moved away, one daughter trailing from each hand.

“By now, the leader was back on his feet and organising a counter attack. Testagrossa and the father stood back to back and positioned themselves between the youths and the fleeing women. Suddenly, the Italian student and the father were flanked by Dormoy and me. I answered my friend’s questioning eyes through clenched teeth: ‘I hate bullies!’

“The assailants, now faced with a new enemy, were in need of fresh tactics. One of the youths, who had let go his hold on the women, pick up a loose cobble stone and prepared to throw it at Testagrossa’s large head. As the ruffian’s torso pivoted and his right hand moved behind his ear, some one hit him from behind at the knees. He was lifted into the air, his legs flying in front of him as he fell to the ground in a heap. His attacker, of course, was Gaudin, who grinned at us to indicate that the tide of this battle had clearly turned.

“Before there could be another round, however, the armoured horsemen moved into place between the two camps and turned their horses’ flanks against us black robbed students. One soldier raised a pike and struck Testagrossa on the side of his head, sending him reeling to the ground. Another menaced Dormoy with his drawn sword and would have struck the unarmed youth had the group not fallen back and taken cover behind a nearby wagon. The troop leader addressed us from a-top his stamping smoking charger, in words that I render in my journal which, although in English, convey, more or less, the tone and ferocity :

“‘Back to your scholarly shit holes, you drunken Latins,’ he thundered, his drawn sword punctuating the air for emphasis. ‘See to it that you don’t harass honest townies out for a little fun with some of our local heretics.’

“Testagrossa, who had not made it to the wagon, rose slowly from the street where he had fallen, his head throbbing and his chest heaving with the effort. ‘Tell the Duc de Guise’, he snarled, blinking up at the Captain of the troop, ‘that his King does not authorise him to make war on women and children.’

“The guard captain was poised to strike him again, this time with the hilt of his sword, when I emerged from behind the wagon and began to pull my friend toward our protective cover. I looked up at the armed horseman and declared with a ‘sang-froid’ that I certainly did not feel: ‘You have no authority over us. Only our provosts can meet out discipline, if warranted.’

“The captain sneered with irritation but pulled back his horse issuing a final command: ‘Get you home to your rats’ nests before I send you to your provost as stew meat!’ The troop then turned their horses and moved away, the gang of youths having long since fled into the night.

“We sat for a while, huddled together on the ground, the four of us and the embattled Huguenot father. We breathed a sigh of relief and then realized in how much pain we were. The Huguenot father turned to us and lowering his head said: ‘I cannot begin to thank you for saving my family from those ruffians, but why did you choose to help us, at your own peril?’

“Testagrossa, as usual, found the right words, as he had for a waitress and a prostitute that night. ‘Did not our Lord tell of a man beaten by brigands and left for dead only to be saved by an outcast of another faith? What else could we do?’

“There was silence among the five of us then, as we rose, dusted off our clothing and tried our unsteady feet. Blood was seeping through the Huguenot’s jerkin, and Testagrossa warned him not to go to a physician. ‘They are butchers, all of them. They’ll bleed you and do as much harm as your attackers.’ He thought for a moment and then took the Huguenot by the arm. ‘Take your family and go to the Abbey of Sainte-Geneviève. Ask for Brother Anselm. He’s a strange little man, but no one knows more about medicines and healing herbs than he does. They say he has read Hippocrates in the original Greek and that he reads Hebrew and Arabic, as well, to unlock the secrets and mysteries of Eastern medicine. He says that our modern doctors are barbarians compared to the ancients.’

“The father was still very unsteady on his feet. He looked up at his benefactor, a child-like expression overcoming the pain reflected on his face, ‘…but won’t they turn us away as heretics and enemies of their faith?’ he asked uncertainly.

“‘St. Benedict gave them a strict rule of hospitality. They can’t turn the needy from their gates, even if they are murderers. Besides, all you have to do is tell the brother gatekeeper that Bernardo Giambelli sent you and that you want to see Brother Anselm. He’ll show you right in and take you to the herb garden. They all know me there, because of all the hours I pass in their library.’ The young Huguenot was near to weeping, by now, with exhaustion and gratitude. ‘Make sure he sees your little girl,’ added Testagrossa after further consideration. ‘She’s received some pretty nasty cuts, and Anselm has a poultice that will prevent puss and swelling.’ The young man nodded his gratitude, once again, and moved into the adjacent alley to re-join his family.

“The four us looked at each other and began to laugh at such a sorry and dishevelled company. Gaudin put his arm around Testagrossa and couldn’t stop laughing. ‘You’re a disgrace, Father Testagrossa and I’m proud of you.’

“‘We’re all proud to call you our brother and our friend,’ I added, smiling at Testagrossa’s large unruly head and his torn black robe.

“‘I’m tired,’ said the young Italian, ‘and I have to get some sleep if I’m going to hear mass tomorrow before we go to the fair.’

“After making arrangements to meet at St. Séverin at 9:00 am the next morning, we went our separate ways: Gaudin and I to the rue St. Victor to be cleaned, scolded and fussed over by our land lady, Mme. Beber, while Dormoy and Testagrossa headed back up the Montaigne Sainte-Geneviève to the Ecurie to be tended by Marie Blanchard, and the lovely Caterina.”