We saw
his tomb, too--in the cathedral (yes, I believe Brian saw it more
clearly than we!), one of those grand tombs they gave prelates in the
days of Louis XIV: and when the Becketts had followed Jim's example in
generosity, we bade adieu to the--oh, _ever_ so much kindlier heir of
the great controversialist. I'm afraid, to tell the truth, the little
old lady cared more to know that her Jim's favourite cheese--Brie--was
made in Meaux, than anything else in the town's history. Nevertheless,
she listened with a charmed air to Brian's story of Meaux's great
romance--as she listens to all Brian's stories. It was you, Padre, who
told it to Brian, and to me, one winter night when we'd been reading
about Gaston, de Foix, "Gaston le Bel." Our talk of his exploits
brought us to Meaux, at the time of the Jacquerie, in the twelfth
century. The common people had revolted against the nobles who oppressed
them, and all the Ile-de-France--adorable name!--seethed with civil war.
In Meaux was the Duchess of Orleans, with three hundred great ladies,
most of them beautiful and young. The peasants besieged the Duchess
there, and she and her lovely companions were put to sore straits, when
suddenly arrived brave Gaston to save them. I don't quite know why he
took the trouble to come so far, from his hill-castle near the Spanish
frontier, but most likely he loved one of the shut-up ladies. Or perhaps
it was simply for love of all womanhood, since Gaston was so chivalrous
that Froissart said, "I never saw one like him of personage, nor of so
fair form, nor so well made.
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