"Do-It-Yourself" Stories
The Cursed Harp of D’Artois
Angelie lived with her four brothers and five sisters on a pig farm in the Kingdom of Burgundy. She was always letting her curiosity get her into trouble. When she was two years old she wondered what it would be like to ride the dog like a horse. She got bitten. When she was four her father warned her not to get too close to the old sow. She got bitten. When she was six she poked an interesting looking soft grey mass stuck on a tree branch, and had 56 bee stings on her body.
The family traveled on yearly visits to the ocean to gather sea weed. All the women and girls of the village would camp out while the men folk stayed at home tending the farms. Angelie loved these summertime trips. When she was nine her mother told her not to get too close to the ocean waves. Of course she plowed right in, and nearly drowned, except that her older sister was a strong swimmer and saved her.
One would think that Angelie would learn to be more cautious about events in her life, but as she grew up her insatiable curiosity lead her into bigger and bigger trouble. One day she made a nearly fatal mis-judgement. Here is how it happened:
During the annual harvest festival in October when Angelie was twelve she went with two of her brothers to the big city of Amiens to sell ham and bacon. She loved the sights and smells and the chaotic crowds which surrounded her. Everything was bright and colorful. She especially loved watching the workmen on the new cathedral walls hoisting up the giant stones with cranes and winches.
“Look out, young lady. You’re too close to our scaffolding,” she heard one of the workmen call out. But it was too late. A falling hammer landed right at her feet and bounced in front of her.
“Sorry,” she blurted, and scurried on, aware that once again she had barely avoided disaster.
As they approached the square in front of the cathedral Angelie heard lovely music. It was Raimbeau de Provence, the traveling jongleur who had come to entertain the harvesters. He was dancing and singing, and playing some sort of pipe. As she approached he suddenly contorted his body into a pretzel shape, stuck his head out between his knees and sang a song about the king’s daughter.
“Centimes, centimes, spare change,” he chanted as he passed around his hat. Angelie noticed an oddly shaped bag sitting next to where Raimbeau was performing.
It was perfectly natural that she should ask, “What’s in your funny shaped bag?”
“This, my dear friends, is the cursed harp D’Artois. But I cannot show it to you, because, alas, anyone who plucks these strings will fall under the ancient spell of the Dark Emperor.”
“But what would happen to that person? Would they suddenly burst into flames? Be lifted up to the clouds on a white horse? Turn into a dragon?” Suddenly her curiosity became intolerable. “Can’t we just look at it?”
“You can look at your own peril.” With a flourish Raimbeau uncovered a beautifully crafted harp with twenty strings.
“Can you just play it once for us to see what it sounds like?” Angelie pleaded.
“No Madmoiselle. I value my life too much.”
“Just one note? Surely one string doesn’t count as music.”
“The curse is very strict and I dare not.” Raimbeau was adamant.
But Angelie did not give up her idea of playing the harp. She waited until the jongleur had passed into the crowd with his hat outstretched. Then she rushed over to where the harp beckoned. She plucked one string. Nothing happened. She played two more. She did not disappear or turn into a monster. In fact, everyone around her stopped to listen to the lovely sounds.
“Some curse, where nothing happens. That Raimbeau fellow must be making it all up. It’s easy, and I’ll bet he doesn’t even know how to play.” she thought, as she began to strum more rapidly. She had never touched a musical instrument before, but somehow she knew just how to hold it, and her fingers seemed to know how to get the best sound from the gut strings. She played a virelai she had just heard the jongleur singing a minute earlier.
She heard Raimbeau crying out, “:Foolish girl, what have you done? Put that harp down immediately before the curse has set.”
“I don’t want to. I love playing this harp.” She replied, as she began a lively estampie.
“Ayeee, and alas!” he cried out. “You will become another of Artois’ victims!”
But Angelie was too busy with her new found passion to care. She played on, and people began to dance and sing along with her. She played so beautifully that people came out of their houses and the square in front of the church was packed with people listening.
Soon her fingers began to sting, but she kept right on playing. The sun rose high, and burned her eyes. Her mouth was dry, and she grew hungry. Vaguely she wondered if her brothers kept that bit of bread and cheese for her lunch, or if they had already eaten it all. She played balatas, rondeaux, and trottos which no one had ever heard.
Then her blistered fingers ached and burned with every string she plucked, but somehow she could not put down the harp. The townsfolk drifted about their business. Raimbeau, who had been anxiously watching for most of the day, left to find dinner. Her two brothers called out to her, but she could not hear what they said. Something about tomorrow. The sun sank, and the full moon rose up over the top of the new cathedral, quiet now that all the workers had left. She could see the outline of the East rose window against the sky. A bitter autumn wind picked up and she remembered she had left her woolen cloak back in their wagon. On into the freezing night the lovely harp sounds filled the empty square, but with a frantic quality now. The dances sounded desperate, relentless and urgent. The people who lived around the square locked their doors and shutters against the devilish onslaught. Angelie’s arms and hands ached, and as she looked at the harp she noticed that the strings were red and slick in the moonlight. She guessed that her fingers were now bleeding on the strings. Still she could not stop.
Questions to ponder:
- How does she stop?
- Does some one help her?
- Who is Artois?
- How did the jongleur get the harp?
- Does she ever stop being so curious?