Our Lady's Juggler
By Anatole France
In the days of King Louis
there lived a poor juggler by the name of Barnabas, a native
of Compiègne, who wandered from city to city performing
tricks of skill and prowess.
On fair days he would lay
down in the public square a worn and aged carpet, and after having
attracted a group of children and idlers by certain amusing remarks
which he had learned from an old juggler, and which he invariably
repeated in the same fashion without altering a word, he would
assume the strangest postures, and balance a pewter plate on
the tip of his nose. At first the crowd regarded him with indifference,
but when, with his hands and head on the ground he threw into
the air and caught with his feet six copper balls that glittered
in the sunlight, or when, throwing himself back until his neck
touched his heels, he assumed the form of a perfect wheel
and in that position juggled with twelve knives, he elicited
a murmur of admiration from his audience, and small coins rained
on his carpet.
Still, Barnabas of Compiègne,
like most of those who exist by their accomplishments, had a
hard time making a living. Earning his bread by the sweat of
his brow, he bore rather more than his share of those miseries
we are all heir to through the fault of our Father Adam.
Besides, he was unable to
work as much as he would have liked, for in order to exhibit
his wonderful talents, he required-like the trees-the warmth
of the sun and the heat of the day. In winter time he was no
more than a tree stripped of its leaves, in fact, half-dead.
The frozen earth was too hard for the juggler. Like the cicada
mentioned by Marie de France, he suffered during the bad season
from hunger and cold. But, since he had a simple heart, he suffered
He had never thought much
about the origin of wealth nor about the inequality of human
conditions. He firmly believed that if this world was evil the
next could not but be good, and this faith upheld him. He was
not like the clever fellows who sell their souls to the devil;
he never took the name of God in vain; he lived the life of an
honest man, and though he had no wife of his own, he did not
covet his neighbor's, for woman is the enemy of strong men, as
we learn by the story of Samson which is written in the Scriptures.
Verily, his mind was not turned
in the direction of carnal desire, and it caused him far greater
pain to renounce drinking than to forego the pleasure of women.
For, though he was not a drunkard, he enjoyed drinking when the
weather was warm. He was a good man, fearing God, and devout
in his adoration of the Holy Virgin. When he went into a church
he never failed to kneel before the image of the Mother of God
and to address her with this prayer: "My Lady, watch over
my life until it shall please God that I die, and when I am dead,
see that I have the joys of Paradise."
One evening, after a day of
rain, as he walked sad and bent with his juggling balls under
his arm and his knives wrapped up in his old carpet seeking some
barn where he might go supperless to bed, he saw a monk going
in his direction, and respectfully saluted him. As they were
both walking at the same pace, they fell into conversation.
"Friend," said the
monk, "how does it happen that you are dressed all in green?
Are you perchance going to play the part of the fool in some
"No, indeed, father,"
said Barnabas. "My name is Barnabas, and my business is
that of juggler. It would be the finest calling in the world
if I could eat every day."
answered the monk, "be careful what you say. There is no
finer calling than the monastic. The priest celebrates the praise
of God, the Virgin, and the saints; the life of a monk is a perpetual
hymn to the Lord."
And Barnabas replied: "Father,
I confess I spoke like an ignorant man. My estate cannot be compared
to yours, and though there may be some merit in dancing and balancing
a stick with a denier on top of it on the end of your nose, it
is in no wise comparable to your merit. Father, I wish I might,
like you, sing the Office every day, especially the Office of
the Very Holy Virgin, to whom I am specially and piously devoted.
I would willingly give up the art by which I am known from Soissons
to Beauvais, in more than six hundred cities and villages, in
order to enter the monastic life."
The monk was touched by the
simplicity of the juggler, and as he was not lacking in discernment,
he recognized in Barnabas one of those well-disposed men of whom
Our Lord has said, "Let peace be with them on earth."
And he made answer therefore:
"Friend Barnabas, come
with me and I will see that you enter the monastery of which
I am the Prior. He who led Mary the Egyptian through the desert
put me across your path in order that I might lead you to salvation."
Thus did Barnabas become a monk. In the monastery which he entered,
the monks celebrated most magnificently the cult of the Holy
Virgin, each of them bringing to her service all the knowledge
and skill which God had given him.
The Prior, for his part, wrote
books, setting forth, according to the rules of scholasticism,
all the virtues of the Mother of God. Brother Maurice copied
these treatises with a cunning hand on pages of parchment, while
Brother Alèsandre decorated them with delicate miniatures
representing the Queen of Heaven seated on the throne of Solomon,
with four lions on guard at the foot of it. Around her head,
which was encircled by a halo, flew seven doves, the seven gifts
of the Holy Spirit: fear, piety, knowledge, power, judgment,
intelligence, and wisdom. With her were six golden-haired virgins:
Humility, Prudence, Retirement, Respect, Virginity, and Obedience.
At her feet two little figures, shining white and quite naked,
stood in suppliant attitudes. They were souls imploring, not
in vain, Her all-powerful intercession for their salvation. On
another page Brother Aléxandre depicted Eve in the presence
of Mary, that one might see at the same time sin and its redemption,
woman humiliated, and the Virgin exalted. Among the other much-prized
pictures in his book were the Well of Living Waters, the Fountain,
the Lily, the Moon, the Sun, and the Closed Garden, of which
much is said in the Canticle; the Gate of Heaven and the City
of God. These were all images of the Virgin.
Brother Marbode, too, was
one of the cherished children of Mary. He was ever busy cutting
images of stone, so that his beard, his eyebrows and his hair
were white with the dust, and his eyes perpetually swollen and
full of tears. But he was a hardy and a happy man in his old
age, and there was no doubt that the Queen of Paradise watched
over the declining days of Her child. Marbode represented Her
seated in a pulpit, Her forehead encircled by a halo, with an
orb of pearls. He was at great pains to make the folds of Her
robe cover the feet of Her of whom the prophet has said, "My
beloved is like a closed garden."
At times he represented Her
as a graceful child, and Her image seemed to say, "Lord,
Thou art My Lord!" There were also in the Monastery poets
who composed prose writings in Latin and hymns in honor of the
Most Gracious Virgin Mary; there was, indeed, one among them-a
Picard-who translated the Miracles of Our Lady into rimed verses
in the vulgar tongue.
Perceiving so great a competition
in praise and so fine a harvest of good works, Barnabas fell
to lamenting his ignorance and simplicity.
"Alas!" he sighed
as he walked by himself one day in the little garden shaded by
the Monastery wall, "I am so unhappy because I cannot, like
my brothers, give worthy praise to the Holy Mother of God to
whom I have consecrated all the love in my heart. Alas, I am
a stupid fellow, without art, and for your service, Madame, I
have no edifying sermons, no fine treatises nicely prepared according
to the rules, no beautiful paintings, no cunningly carved statues,
and no verses counted off by feet and marching in measure!
Alas, I have nothing!"
Thus did he lament and abandon
himself to his misery.
One evening when the monks
were talking together by way of diversion, he heard one of them
tell of a monk who could not recite anything but the Ave Maria.
He was scorned for his ignorance, but after he died there sprang
from his mouth five roses, in honor of the five letters in the
name Maria. Thus was his holiness made manifest.
In listening to this story,
Barnabas was conscious once more of the Virgin's beneficence,
but he was not consoled by the example of the happy miracle,
for his heart was full of zeal and he wanted to celebrate the
glory of His Lady in Heaven.
He sought for a way in which
to do this, but in vain, and each day brought him greater sorrow,
until one morning he sprang joyously from his cot and ran to the
chapel, where he remained alone for more than an hour. He returned
thither again after dinner, and from that day onward he would
go into the chapel every day the moment it was deserted,
passing the greater part of the time which
the other monks dedicated
to the pursuit of the liberal arts and the sciences. He was no
longer sad and he sighed no more. But such singular conduct aroused
the curiosity of the other monks, and they asked themselves why
Brother Barnabas retired alone so often, and the Prior, whose
business it was to know everything that his monks were doing,
determined to observe Barnabas. One day, therefore, when Barnabas
was alone in the chapel, the Prior entered in company with two
of the oldest brothers, in order to watch, through the bars of
the door, what was going on within.
They saw Barnabas before the
image of the Holy Virgin, his head on the floor and his feet
in the air, juggling with six copper balls and twelve knives.
In honor of the Holy Virgin he was performing the tricks which
had in former days brought him the greatest fame. Not understanding
that he was thus putting his best talents at the service of the
Holy Virgin, the aged brothers cried out against such sacrilege.
The Prior knew that Barnabas had a simple soul, but he believed
that the man had lost his wits. All three set about to remove
Barnabas from the chapel, when they saw the Virgin slowly descend
from the altar and, with a fold of her blue mantle, wipe the
sweat that streamed over the juggler's forehead.
Then the Prior, bowing his
head down to the marble floor, repeated these words:
"Blessed are the pure
in heart, for they shall see God."
"Amen," echoed the
brothers, bowing down to the floor.
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