of the _Fabliaux_; it is called the _Lai d'Aristote_. When
Alexander had conquered India, he rested in shameful sloth, a slave to
love for a young Hindoo princess. Aristotle, master of all wisdom,
reproved his quondam pupil for this neglect of grave matters; and the
Hindoo girl, perceiving Alexander's unhappy frame of mind, discovered
what had produced it. She will be revenged on the crabbed old scholar;
ere noon of the next day she will make him forget grammar and logic, if
Alexander will only allow her free scope, and he shall see Aristotle's
defeat if he will watch from a window opening on the garden. In the
early morn, while the dew was on the grass and the birds were just
beginning to sing, she tripped out into the garden, her corsage loosely
fastened, her golden hair waving wildly down her neck; and as she picked
her way hither and thither among the flowers, her petticoat daintily
lifted, she sang sweet little songs of love. Master Aristotle, at his
books, heard the singer, and "such a sweet memory she stirred in his
heart that he shut his book." "Alas," he said, "what is the matter with
my heart? Here am I, old and bald, pale and thin, and a philosopher more
sour than any yet known or heard of." The damsel gathered flowers and
wove a garland for herself, singing the while so sweetly, so enticingly,
that the sour philosopher gave way, opened his window, and talked to
her, nay, came out to her and courted her like a very lover, offering to
risk for her sake body and soul. She asked not so much by way of proof
of his devotion. "It is merely a little whim of mine," she said, "if you
will gratify me in that, I might love you." The whim is, that he should
let her ride about the garden on his back. "And you must have a saddle
on: I shall go more gracefully." Love won the day, and there was the
foremost scholar in the world prancing about on all fours like a colt,
with a saucy girl on his back, when Alexander appeared at the window.
The pedagogue was not dismayed; with the saddle and bridle upon him, he
looked up at the king: "Sire, tell me if I was not right to fear love
for you, in all the ardor of youth, since love has harnessed me thus, I
who am old and withered! I have combined precept and example: it is for
you to profit by them."

Sometimes the poet of the Fabliau pauses to describe his heroine and her
costume; now it is a lively country maiden, barefooted, with her clothes
all wet from the armful of water-cress sh