AN EPISODE
A woman speaks. Year 1218; war of the Albigenses.
I
Saint Dominick, Pope Innocent,
Thou holy host Lyons once bent
On Languedoc, may God the Father
Plunge you in everlasting Hell!
And may the blood of those who fell
At Béziers together gather
In torrents of eternal pain,
And on your souls beat boiling rain!
II
And Mountfort!—it was given me,
(For I had prayed incessantly),
To be the David to this giant.—
An Albigensian warrior
My husband was. He, in the war,
The Pope had thundered on defiant
Thoulouse and outlawed Languedoc,
Stood with Earl Raymond like a rock.
III
The walls of Béziers cried loud,
And Carcassonne's, red in their cloud
Of blood, disease, and conflagration,
For vengeance!—When he left me here,
With my two babes, I felt no fear.
The crusade's excommunication
Poured down its holy Catholics
To crush and burn us heretics.
IV
At Carcassonne he fell. And there
My babes died famished. And despair
And hell were mine within their prison,
Till Mother of our God portrayed
This Mountfort's death. On me were laid
Blessed hands of power in a vision.
A call, my soul could not refuse,
Compelled me to besieged Thoulouse.
V
No arrow mine, no arbalist;
A sling, a stone, a woman's wrist
God and His virgin Mother aided.—
Their engines rocked our walls. I felt
The time had come and, praying, knelt;
Then, from the sling my hair had braided,
Launched at De Mountfort's bassinet
The rock where eyebrow eyebrow met.
VI
Thus Mountfort died. Of Carcassonne
Our Lady 'twas who aimed the stone,
That slew this monster that was master:—
For I— I was the instrument,
Saint Dominick and Innocent,
That hurled on you and yours disaster!
Two armies saw me whirl the sling
While Heaven stood by me—white of wing.
