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Lewis the Gross, the last sovereign, marched at one time to his frontiers against the Germans at the head of an army of two hundred thousand men; but a petty lord of Corbeil, of Puiset, of Couci, was able, at another period, to set that prince at defiance, and to maintain open war against him.
It would be with him also, as erst with the Castellan of Couci, who having his Love fast only in his heart, told over in his song, Ah, God, strong Love, I sit and weep alone, Remembering the solace that was given; The tender guise, the semblance that was shown By her, my friend, my comrade, and my Heaven.
Thomas de Marle, Lord of Couci, had been committing cruel ravages upon the town and church of Laon, lands and inhabitants; when "Louis, summoned by their complaints, repaired to Laon, and there, on the advice of the bishops and grandees, and especially of Raoul, the illustrious Count of Vermandois, the most powerful, after the king, of the lords in this part of the country, he determined to go and attack the castle of Couci, and so went back to his own camp.
M. de Sartines," pursued he, "I wish to secure to him a thousand crowns yearly; and, further, you will supply him with six thousand francs ready money, which M. de la Borde will repay to your order. Now are you satisfied, Couci?" said the king, turning to me. My only reply was to throw my arms around his neck without ceremony, spite of the presence of a witness, who might blush at my familiarity.
Il y a des comptes, des roys, des ducs; ainsi C'est assez pour moy d'estre Seigneur de Seton. Which may be thus rendered: Earl, duke, or king, be thou that list to be: Seton, thy lordship is enough for me. This distich reminds us of the "pride which aped humility," in the motto of the house of Couci: Je suis ni roy, ni prince aussi; Je suis le Seigneur de Coucy.
M. de Sartines," pursued he, "I wish to secure to him a thousand crowns yearly; and, further, you will supply him with six thousand francs ready money, which M. de la Borde will repay to your order. <Now are you satisfied, Couci?>" said the king, turning to me.
John turned pale at the thought. The beautiful story of the Falcon, in Boccaccio, which the young knight killed to regale his mistress, or the still more tragical history of Couci, who minced his rival's heart, and served it up to his wife, could not have affected him more deeply. We grieved over our lost dahlia, as if it had been a thing of life.
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