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diff --git a/old/7lnlv10.txt b/old/7lnlv10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..242bdb2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/7lnlv10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7019 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Line of Love, by James Branch Cabell +#4 in our series by James Branch Cabell + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Line of Love + Dizain des Mariages + +Author: James Branch Cabell + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9488] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 5, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LINE OF LOVE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + THE LINE OF LOVE + + BY + + JAMES BRANCH CABELL + + + 1921 + + + + +TO + +ROBERT GAMBLE CABELL I + + + + +"He loved chivalrye, +Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisye. +And of his port as meek as is a mayde, +He never yet no vileinye ne sayde +In al his lyf, unto no maner wight. +He was a verray parfit gentil knyght." + + + + +_Introduction_ + + +The Cabell case belongs to comedy in the grand manner. For fifteen years +or more the man wrote and wrote--good stuff, sound stuff, extremely +original stuff, often superbly fine stuff--and yet no one in the whole of +this vast and incomparable Republic arose to his merit--no one, that is, +save a few encapsulated enthusiasts, chiefly somewhat dubious. It would +be difficult to imagine a first-rate artist cloaked in greater obscurity, +even in the remotest lands of Ghengis Khan. The newspapers, reviewing +him, dismissed him with a sort of inspired ill-nature; the critics of a +more austere kidney--the Paul Elmer Mores, Brander Matthewses, Hamilton +Wright Mabies, and other such brummagem dons--were utterly unaware of +him. Then, of a sudden, the imbeciles who operate the Comstock Society +raided and suppressed his "Jurgen," and at once he was a made man. Old +book-shops began to be ransacked for his romances and extravaganzas--many +of them stored, I daresay, as "picture-books," and under the name of the +artist who illustrated them, Howard Pyle. And simultaneously, a great +gabble about him set up in the newspapers, and then in the literary +weeklies, and finally even in the learned reviews. An Englishman, Hugh +Walpole, magnified the excitement with some startling _hochs_; a single +_hoch_ from the Motherland brings down the professors like firemen +sliding down a pole. To-day every literate American has heard of Cabell, +including even those presidents of women's clubs who lately confessed +that they had never heard of Lizette Woodworth Reese. More of his books +are sold in a week than used to be sold in a year. Every flapper in the +land has read "Jurgen" behind the door; two-thirds of the grandmothers +east of the Mississippi have tried to borrow it from me. Solemn _Privat +Dozenten_ lecture upon the author; he is invited to take to the +chautauqua himself; if the donkeys who manage the National Institute of +Arts and Letters were not afraid of his reply he would be offered its +gilt-edged ribbon, vice Sylvanus Cobb, deceased. And all because a few +pornographic old fellows thrust their ever-hopeful snouts into the man's +tenth (or was it eleventh or twelfth?) book! + +Certainly, the farce must appeal to Cabell himself--a sardonic mocker, +not incapable of making himself a character in his own _revues_. But I +doubt that he enjoys the actual pawing that he has been getting--any more +than he resented the neglect that he got for so long. Very lately, in the +midst of the carnival, he announced his own literary death and burial, +and even preached a burlesque funeral sermon upon his life and times. +Such an artist, by the very nature of his endeavors, must needs stand +above all public-clapper-clawing, pro or con. He writes, not to please +his customers in general, nor even to please his partisans in particular, +but to please himself. He is his own criterion, his own audience, his own +judge and hangman. When he does bad work, he suffers for it as no holy +clerk ever suffered from a gnawing conscience or Freudian suppressions; +when he does good work he gets his pay in a form of joy that only artists +know. One could no more think of him exposing himself to the stealthy, +uneasy admiration of a women's club--he is a man of agreeable exterior, +with handsome manners and an eye for this and that--than one could +imagine him taking to the stump for some political mountebank or getting +converted at a camp-meeting. What moves such a man to write is the +obscure, inner necessity that Joseph Conrad has told us of, and what +rewards him when he has done is his own searching and accurate judgment, +his own pride and delight in a beautiful piece of work. + +At once, I suppose, you visualize a somewhat smug fellow, loftily +complacent and superior--in brief, the bogus artist of Greenwich Village, +posturing in a pot-hat before a cellar full of visiting schoolmarms, all +dreaming of being betrayed. If so, you see a ghost. It is the curse of +the true artist that his work never stands before him in all its imagined +completeness--that he can never look at it without feeling an impulse to +add to it here or take away from it there--that the beautiful, to him, is +not a state of being, but an eternal becoming. Satisfaction, like the +praise of dolts, is the compensation of the aesthetic cheese-monger--the +popular novelist, the Broadway dramatist, the Massenet and Kipling, the +Maeterlinck and Augustus Thomas. Cabell, in fact, is forever fussing over +his books, trying to make them one degree better. He rewrites almost as +pertinaciously as Joseph Conrad, Henry James, or Brahms. Compare "Domnei" +in its present state to "The Soul of Melicent," its first state, circa +1913. The obvious change is the change in title, but of far more +importance are a multitude of little changes--a phrase made more musical, +a word moved from one place to another, some small banality tracked down +and excised, a brilliant adjective inserted, the plan altered in small +ways, the rhythm of it made more delicate and agreeable. Here, in "The +Line of Love," there is another curious example of his high capacity for +revision. It is not only that the book, once standing isolated, has been +brought into the Cabellian canon, and so related to "Jurgen" and "Figures +of Earth" at one end, and to the tales of latter-day Virginia at the +other; it is that the whole texture has been worked over, and the colors +made more harmonious, and the inner life of the thing given a fresh +energy. Once a flavor of the rococo hung about it; now it breathes and +moves. For Cabell knows a good deal more than he knew in 1905. He is an +artist whose work shows constant progress toward the goals he aims +at--principally the goal of a perfect style. Content, with him, is always +secondary. He has ideas, and they are often of much charm and +plausibility, but his main concern is with the manner of stating them. It +is surely not ideas that make "Jurgen" stand out so saliently from the +dreadful prairie of modern American literature; it is the magnificent +writing that is visible on every page of it--writing apparently simple +and spontaneous, and yet extraordinarily cunning and painstaking. The +current notoriety of "Jurgen" will pass. The Comstocks will turn to new +imbecilities, and the followers of literary parades to new marvels. But +it will remain an author's book for many a year. + +By author, of course, I mean artist--not mere artisan. It was certainly +not surprising to hear that Maurice Hewlett found "Jurgen" exasperating. +So, too, there is exasperation in Richard Strauss for plodding +music-masters. Hewlett is simply a British Civil Servant turned author, +which is not unsuggestive of an American Congressman turned philosopher. +He has a pretty eye for color, and all the gusto that goes with +beefiness, but like all the men of his class and race and time he can +think only within the range of a few elemental ideas, chiefly of a +sentimental variety, and when he finds those ideas flouted he is +horrified. The bray, in fact, revealed the ass. It is Cabell's +skepticism that saves him from an Americanism as crushing as Hewlett's +Briticism, and so sets him free as an artist. Unhampered by a mission, +happily ignorant of what is commended by all good men, disdainful of the +petty certainties of pedagogues and green-grocers, not caring a damn +what becomes of the Republic, or the Family, or even snivelization +itself, he is at liberty to disport himself pleasantly with his nouns, +verbs, adjectives, adverbs, conjunctions, prepositions and pronouns, +arranging them with the same free hand, the same innocent joy, the same +superb skill and discretion with which the late Jahveh arranged carbon, +nitrogen, sulphur, hydrogen, oxygen and phosphorus in the sublime form +of the human carcass. He, too, has his jokes. He knows the arch effect +of a strange touch; his elaborate pedantries correspond almost exactly +to the hook noses, cock eyes, outstanding ears and undulating Adam's +apples which give so sinister and Rabelaisian a touch to the human +scene. But in the main he sticks to more seemly materials and designs. +His achievement, in fact, consists precisely in the success with which +he gives those materials a striking newness, and gets a novel vitality +into those designs. He takes the ancient and mouldy parts of speech--the +liver and lights of harangues by Dr. Harding, of editorials in the New +York _Times_, of "Science and Health, with a Key to the Scriptures," of +department-store advertisements, of college yells, of chautauqual +oratory, of smoke-room anecdote--and arranges them in mosaics that +glitter with an almost fabulous light. He knows where a red noun should +go, and where a peacock-blue verb, and where an adjective as darkly +purple as a grape. He is an imagist in prose. You may like his story and +you may not like it, but if you don't like the way he tells it then +there is something the matter with your ears. As for me, his experiments +with words caress me as I am caressed by the tunes of old Johannes +Brahms. How simple it seems to manage them--and how infernally difficult +it actually is! + +H. L. MENCKEN. + +_Baltimore, October 1st, 1921_. + + + + +_Contents_ + +CHAPTER + +THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY + + I THE EPISODE CALLED THE WEDDING JEST + + II THE EPISODE CALLED ADHELMAR AT PUYSANGE + + III THE EPISODE CALLED LOVE-LETTERS OF FALSTAFF + + IV THE EPISODE CALLED "SWEET ADELAIS" + + V THE EPISODE CALLED IN NECESSITY'S MORTAR + + VI THE EPISODE CALLED THE CONSPIRACY OF ARNAYE + + VII THE EPISODE CALLED THE CASTLE OF CONTENT + + VIII THE EPISODE CALLED IN URSULA'S GARDEN + + IX THE EPISODE CALLED PORCELAIN CUPS + + X THE ENVOI CALLED SEMPER IDEM + + + + +THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY + +_"In elect utteraunce to make memoriall, +To thee for souccour, to thee for helpe I call, +Mine homely rudeness and dryghness to expell +With the freshe waters of Elyconys well."_ + + +MY DEAR MRS. GRUNDY: You may have observed that nowadays we rank the +love-story among the comfits of literature; and we do this for the +excellent reason that man is a thinking animal by courtesy rather +than usage. + +Rightly considered, the most trivial love-affair is of staggering import. +Who are we to question this, when nine-tenths of us owe our existence to +a summer flirtation? And while our graver economic and social and psychic +"problems" (to settle some one of which is nowadays the object of all +ponderable fiction) are doubtless worthy of most serious consideration, +you will find, my dear madam, that frivolous love-affairs, little and +big, were shaping history and playing spillikins with sceptres long +before any of these delectable matters were thought of. + +Yes, even the most talked-about "questions of the day" are sometimes +worthy of consideration; but were it not for the kisses of remote years +and the high gropings of hearts no longer animate, there would be none to +accord them this same consideration, and a void world would teeter about +the sun, silent and naked as an orange. Love is an illusion, if you +will; but always through this illusion, alone, has the next generation +been rendered possible, and all endearing human idiocies, including +"questions of the day," have been maintained. + +Love, then, is no trifle. And literature, mimicking life at a +respectful distance, may very reasonably be permitted an occasional +reference to the corner-stone of all that exists. For in life "a +trivial little love-story" is a matter more frequently aspersed than +found. Viewed in the light of its consequences, any love-affair is of +gigantic signification, inasmuch as the most trivial is a part of +Nature's unending and, some say, her only labor, toward the peopling of +the worlds. + +She is uninventive, if you will, this Nature, but she is tireless. +Generation by generation she brings it about that for a period weak men +may stalk as demigods, while to every woman is granted at least one hour +wherein to spurn the earth, a warm, breathing angel. Generation by +generation does Nature thus betrick humanity, that humanity may endure. + +Here for a little--with the gracious connivance of Mr. R. E. Townsend, +to whom all lyrics hereinafter should be accredited--I have followed +Nature, the arch-trickster. Through her monstrous tapestry I have traced +out for you the windings of a single thread. It is parti-colored, this +thread--now black for a mourning sign, and now scarlet where blood has +stained it, and now brilliancy itself--for the tinsel of young love +(if, as wise men tell us, it be but tinsel), at least makes a +prodigiously fine appearance until time tarnish it. I entreat you, dear +lady, to accept this traced-out thread with assurances of my most +distinguished regard. + +The gift is not great. Hereinafter is recorded nothing more weighty than +the follies of young persons, perpetrated in a lost world which when +compared with your ladyship's present planet seems rather callow. +Hereinafter are only love-stories, and nowadays nobody takes love-making +very seriously.... + +And truly, my dear madam, I dare say the Pompeiians did not take Vesuvius +very seriously; it was merely an eligible spot for a _fete champetre_. +And when gaunt fishermen first preached Christ about the highways, depend +upon it, that was not taken very seriously, either. _Credat Judaeus_; but +all sensible folk--such as you and I, my dear madam--passed on with a +tolerant shrug, knowing "their doctrine could be held of no sane man." + + * * * * * + +APRIL 30, 1293--MAY 1, 1323 + +"_Pus vezem de novelh florir pratz, e vergiers reverdezir rius e fontanas +esclarzir, ben deu quascus lo joy jauzir don es jauzens_." + + +It would in ordinary circumstances be my endeavor to tell you, first of +all, just whom the following tale concerns. Yet to do this is not +expedient, since any such attempt could not but revive the question as to +whose son was Florian de Puysange? + +No gain is to be had by resuscitating the mouldy scandal: and, indeed, +it does not matter a button, nowadays, that in Poictesme, toward the end +of the thirteenth century, there were elderly persons who considered the +young Vicomte de Puysange to exhibit an indiscreet resemblance to Jurgen +the pawnbroker. In the wild youth of Jurgen, when Jurgen was a +practising poet (declared these persons), Jurgen had been very intimate +with the former Vicomte de Puysange, now dead, for the two men had much +in common. Oh, a great deal more in common, said these gossips, than the +poor vicomte ever suspected, as you can see for yourself. That was the +extent of the scandal, now happily forgotten, which we must at outset +agree to ignore. + +All this was in Poictesme, whither the young vicomte had come a-wooing +the oldest daughter of the Comte de la Foret. The whispering and the +nods did not much trouble Messire Jurgen, who merely observed that he +was used to the buffets of a censorious world; young Florian never heard +of this furtive chatter; and certainly what people said in Poictesme did +not at all perturb the vicomte's mother, that elderly and pious lady, +Madame Felise de Puysange, at her remote home in Normandy. The +principals taking the affair thus quietly, we may with profit emulate +them. So I let lapse this delicate matter of young Florian's paternity, +and begin with his wedding._ + + + + +CHAPTER I + +_The Episode Called The Wedding Jest_ + + +1. _Concerning Several Compacts_ + +It is a tale which they narrate in Poictesme, telling how love began +between Florian de Puysange and Adelaide de la Foret. They tell also how +young Florian had earlier fancied other women for one reason or another; +but that this, he knew, was the great love of his life, and a love which +would endure unchanged as long as his life lasted. + +And the tale tells how the Comte de la Foret stroked a gray beard, and +said, "Well, after all, Puysange is a good fief--" + +"As if that mattered!" cried his daughter, indignantly. "My father, you +are a deplorably sordid person." + +"My dear," replied the old gentleman, "it does matter. Fiefs last." + +So he gave his consent to the match, and the two young people were +married on Walburga's Eve, on the day that ends April. + +And they narrate how Florian de Puysange was vexed by a thought that was +in his mind. He did not know what this thought was. But something he had +overlooked; something there was he had meant to do, and had not done: and +a troubling consciousness of this lurked at the back of his mind like a +small formless cloud. All day, while bustling about other matters, he had +groped toward this unapprehended thought. + +Now he had it: Tiburce. + +The young Vicomte de Puysange stood in the doorway, looking back into the +bright hall where they of Storisende were dancing at his marriage feast. +His wife, for a whole half-hour his wife, was dancing with handsome +Etienne de Nerac. Her glance met Florian's, and Adelaide flashed him an +especial smile. Her hand went out as though to touch him, for all that +the width of the hall severed them. + +Florian remembered presently to smile back at her. Then he went out of +the castle into a starless night that was as quiet as an unvoiced menace. +A small and hard and gnarled-looking moon ruled over the dusk's secrecy. +The moon this night, afloat in a luminous gray void, somehow reminded +Florian of a glistening and unripe huge apple. + +The foliage about him moved at most as a sleeper breathes, while Florian +descended eastward through walled gardens, and so came to the graveyard. +White mists were rising, such mists as the witches of Amneran +notoriously evoked in these parts on each Walburga's Eve to purchase +recreations which squeamishness leaves undescribed. + +For five years now Tiburce d'Arnaye had lain there. Florian thought of +his dead comrade and of the love which had been between them--a love more +perfect and deeper and higher than commonly exists between men--and the +thought came to Florian, and was petulantly thrust away, that Adelaide +loved ignorantly where Tiburce d'Arnaye had loved with comprehension. +Yes, he had known almost the worst of Florian de Puysange, this dear lad +who, none the less, had flung himself between Black Torrismond's sword +and the breast of Florian de Puysange. And it seemed to Florian unfair +that all should prosper with him, and Tiburce lie there imprisoned in +dirt which shut away the color and variousness of things and the +drollness of things, wherein Tiburce d'Arnaye had taken such joy. And +Tiburce, it seemed to Florian--for this was a strange night--was +struggling futilely under all that dirt, which shut out movement, and +clogged the mouth of Tiburce, and would not let him speak; and was +struggling to voice a desire which was unsatisfied and hopeless. + +"O comrade dear," said Florian, "you who loved merriment, there is a +feast afoot on this strange night, and my heart is sad that you are not +here to share in the feasting. Come, come, Tiburce, a right trusty +friend you were to me; and, living or dead, you should not fail to make +merry at my wedding." + +Thus he spoke. White mists were rising, and it was Walburga's Eve. + +So a queer thing happened, and it was that the earth upon the grave +began to heave and to break in fissures, as when a mole passes through +the ground. And other queer things happened after that, and presently +Tiburce d'Arnaye was standing there, gray and vague in the moonlight as +he stood there brushing the mold from his brows, and as he stood there +blinking bright wild eyes. And he was not greatly changed, it seemed to +Florian; only the brows and nose of Tiburce cast no shadows upon his +face, nor did his moving hand cast any shadow there, either, though the +moon was naked overhead. + +"You had forgotten the promise that was between us," said Tiburce; and +his voice had not changed much, though it was smaller. + +"It is true. I had forgotten. I remember now." And Florian shivered a +little, not with fear, but with distaste. + +"A man prefers to forget these things when he marries. It is natural +enough. But are you not afraid of me who come from yonder?" + +"Why should I be afraid of you, Tiburce, who gave your life for mine?" + +"I do not say. But we change yonder." + +"And does love change, Tiburce? For surely love is immortal." + +"Living or dead, love changes. I do not say love dies in us who may hope +to gain nothing more from love. Still, lying alone in the dark clay, +there is nothing to do, as yet, save to think of what life was, and of +what sunlight was, and of what we sang and whispered in dark places when +we had lips; and of how young grass and murmuring waters and the high +stars beget fine follies even now; and to think of how merry our loved +ones still contrive to be, even now, with their new playfellows. Such +reflections are not always conducive to philanthropy." + +"Tell me," said Florian then, "and is there no way in which we who are +still alive may aid you to be happier yonder?" + +"Oh, but assuredly," replied Tiburce d'Arnaye, and he discoursed of +curious matters; and as he talked, the mists about the graveyard +thickened. "And so," Tiburce said, in concluding his tale, "it is not +permitted that I make merry at your wedding after the fashion of those +who are still in the warm flesh. But now that you recall our ancient +compact, it is permitted I have my peculiar share in the merriment, and I +may drink with you to the bride's welfare." + +"I drink," said Florian, as he took the proffered cup, "to the welfare of +my beloved Adelaide, whom alone of women I have really loved, and whom I +shall love always." + +"I perceive," replied the other, "that you must still be having your +joke." + +Then Florian drank, and after him Tiburce. And Florian said, "But it is a +strange drink, Tiburce, and now that you have tasted it you are changed." + +"You have not changed, at least," Tiburce answered; and for the first +time he smiled, a little perturbingly by reason of the change in him. + +"Tell me," said Florian, "of how you fare yonder." + +So Tiburce told him of yet more curious matters. Now the augmenting mists +had shut off all the rest of the world. Florian could see only vague +rolling graynesses and a gray and changed Tiburce sitting there, with +bright wild eyes, and discoursing in a small chill voice. The appearance +of a woman came, and sat beside him on the right. She, too, was gray, as +became Eve's senior: and she made a sign which Florian remembered, and it +troubled him. + +Tiburce said then, "And now, young Florian, you who were once so dear to +me, it is to your welfare I drink." + +"I drink to yours, Tiburce." + +Tiburce drank first: and Florian, having drunk in turn, cried out, "You +have changed beyond recognition!" + +"You have not changed," Tiburce d'Arnaye replied again. "Now let me tell +you of our pastimes yonder." + +With that he talked of exceedingly curious matters. And Florian began to +grow dissatisfied, for Tiburce was no longer recognizable, and Tiburce +whispered things uncomfortable to believe; and other eyes, as wild as +his, but lit with red flarings from behind, like a beast's eyes, showed +in the mists to this side and to that side, for unhappy beings were +passing through the mists upon secret errands which they discharged +unwillingly. Then, too, the appearance of a gray man now sat to the left +of that which had been Tiburce d'Arnaye, and this newcomer was marked so +that all might know who he was: and Florian's heart was troubled to note +how handsome and how admirable was that desecrated face even now. + +"But I must go," said Florian, "lest they miss me at Storisende, and +Adelaide be worried." + +"Surely it will not take long to toss off a third cup. Nay, comrade, who +were once so dear, let us two now drink our last toast together. Then go, +in Sclaug's name, and celebrate your marriage. But before that let us +drink to the continuance of human mirth-making everywhere." + +Florian drank first. Then Tiburce took his turn, looking at Florian as +Tiburce drank slowly. As he drank, Tiburce d'Arnaye was changed even +more, and the shape of him altered, and the shape of him trickled as +though Tiburce were builded of sliding fine white sand. So Tiburce +d'Arnaye returned to his own place. The appearances that had sat to his +left and to his right were no longer there to trouble Florian with +memories. And Florian saw that the mists of Walburga's Eve had departed, +and that the sun was rising, and that the graveyard was all overgrown +with nettles and tall grass. + +He had not remembered the place being thus, and it seemed to him the +night had passed with unnatural quickness. But he thought more of the +fact that he had been beguiled into spending his wedding-night in a +graveyard, in such questionable company, and of what explanation he could +make to Adelaide. + + +2. _Of Young Persons in May_ + +The tale tells how Florian de Puysange came in the dawn through flowering +gardens, and heard young people from afar, already about their maying. +Two by two he saw them from afar as they went with romping and laughter +into the tall woods behind Storisende to fetch back the May-pole with +dubious old rites. And as they went they sang, as was customary, that +song which Raimbaut de Vaqueiras made in the ancient time in honor of +May's ageless triumph. + +Sang they: + +"_May shows with godlike showing +To-day for each that sees +May's magic overthrowing +All musty memories +In him whom May decrees +To be love's own. He saith, +'I wear love's liveries +Until released by death_.' + +"_Thus all we laud May's sowing, +Nor heed how harvests please +When nowhere grain worth growing +Greets autumn's questing breeze, +And garnerers garner these-- +Vain words and wasted breath +And spilth and tasteless lees-- +Until released by death. + +"Unwillingly foreknowing +That love with May-time flees, +We take this day's bestowing, +And feed on fantasies +Such as love lends for ease +Where none but travaileth, +With lean infrequent fees, +Until released by death_." + +And Florian shook his sleek black head. "A very foolish and pessimistical +old song, a superfluous song, and a song that is particularly out of +place in the loveliest spot in the loveliest of all possible worlds." + +Yet Florian took no inventory of the gardens. There was but a happy sense +of green and gold, with blue topping all; of twinkling, fluent, tossing +leaves and of the gray under side of elongated, straining leaves; a sense +of pert bird noises, and of a longer shadow than usual slanting before +him, and a sense of youth and well-being everywhere. Certainly it was +not a morning wherein pessimism might hope to flourish. + +Instead, it was of Adelaide that Florian thought: of the tall, impulsive, +and yet timid, fair girl who was both shrewd and innocent, and of her +tenderly colored loveliness, and of his abysmally unmerited felicity in +having won her. Why, but what, he reflected, grimacing--what if he had +too hastily married somebody else? For he had earlier fancied other women +for one reason or another: but this, he knew, was the great love of his +life, and a love which would endure unchanged as long as his life lasted. + + +3. _What Comes of Marrying Happily_ + +The tale tells how Florian de Puysange found Adelaide in the company of +two ladies who were unknown to him. One of these was very old, the other +an imposing matron in middle life. The three were pleasantly shaded by +young oak-trees; beyond was a tall hedge of clipped yew. The older women +were at chess, while Adelaide bent her meek golden head to some of that +fine needlework in which the girl delighted. And beside them rippled a +small sunlit stream, which babbled and gurgled with silver flashes. +Florian hastily noted these things as he ran laughing to his wife. + +"Heart's dearest--!" he cried. And he saw, perplexed, that Adelaide had +risen with a faint wordless cry, and was gazing at him as though she +were puzzled and alarmed a very little. + +"Such an adventure as I have to tell you of!" says Florian then. + +"But, hey, young man, who are you that would seem to know my daughter so +well?" demands the lady in middle life, and she rose majestically from +her chess-game. + +Florian stared, as he well might. "Your daughter, madame! But certainly +you are not Dame Melicent." + +At this the old, old woman raised her nodding head. "Dame Melicent? And +was it I you were seeking, sir?" + +Now Florian looked from one to the other of these incomprehensible +strangers, bewildered: and his eyes came back to his lovely wife, and his +lips smiled irresolutely. "Is this some jest to punish me, my dear?" + +But then a new and graver trouble kindled in his face, and his eyes +narrowed, for there was something odd about his wife also. + +"I have been drinking in queer company," he said. "It must be that my +head is not yet clear. Now certainly it seems to me that you are Adelaide +de la Foret, and certainly it seems to me that you are not Adelaide." + +The girl replied, "Why, no, messire; I am Sylvie de Nointel." + +"Come, come," says the middle-aged lady, briskly, "let us make an end to +this play-acting, and, young fellow, let us have a sniff at you. No, you +are not tipsy, after all. Well, I am glad of that. So let us get to the +bottom of this business. What do they call you when you are at home?" + +"Florian de Puysange," he answered, speaking meekly enough. This capable +large person was to the young man rather intimidating. + +"La!" said she. She looked at him very hard. She nodded gravely two or +three times, so that her double chin opened and shut. "Yes, and you favor +him. How old are you?" + +He told her twenty-four. + +She said, inconsequently: "So I was a fool, after all. Well, young man, +you will never be as good-looking as your father, but I trust you have an +honester nature. However, bygones are bygones. Is the old rascal still +living? and was it he that had the impudence to send you to me?" + +"My father, madame, was slain at the battle of Marchfeld--" + +"Some fifty years ago! And you are twenty-four. Young man, your +parentage had unusual features, or else we are at cross-purposes. Let us +start at the beginning of this. You tell us you are called Florian de +Puysange and that you have been drinking in queer company. Now let us +have the whole story." + +Florian told of last night's happenings, with no more omissions than +seemed desirable with feminine auditors. + +Then the old woman said: "I think this is a true tale, my daughter, for +the witches of Amneran contrive strange things, with mists to aid them, +and with Lilith and Sclaug to abet. Yes, and this fate has fallen before +to men that were over-friendly with the dead." + +"Stuff and nonsense!" said the stout lady. + +"But, no, my daughter. Thus seven persons slept at Ephesus, from the time +of Decius to the time of Theodosius--" + +"Still, Mother--" + +"--And the proof of it is that they were called Constantine and Dionysius +and John and Malchus and Marcian and Maximian and Serapion. They were +duly canonized. You cannot deny that this thing happened without +asserting no less than seven blessed saints to have been unprincipled +liars, and that would be a very horrible heresy--" + +"Yet, Mother, you know as well as I do--" + +"--And thus Epimenides, another excellently spoken-of saint, slept at +Athens for fifty-seven years. Thus Charlemagne slept in the Untersberg, +and will sleep until the ravens of Miramon Lluagor have left his +mountains. Thus Rhyming Thomas in the Eildon Hills, thus Ogier in Avalon, +thus Oisin--" + +The old lady bade fair to go on interminably in her gentle resolute +piping old voice, but the other interrupted. + +"Well, Mother, do not excite yourself about it, for it only makes your +asthma worse, and does no especial good to anybody. Things may be as you +say. Certainly I intended nothing irreligious. Yet these extended naps, +appropriate enough for saints and emperors, are out of place in one's own +family. So, if it is not stuff and nonsense, it ought to be. And that I +stick to." + +"But we forget the boy, my dear," said the old lady. "Now listen, Florian +de Puysange. Thirty years ago last night, to the month and the day, it +was that you vanished from our knowledge, leaving my daughter a forsaken +bride. For I am what the years have made of Dame Melicent, and this is my +daughter Adelaide, and yonder is her daughter Sylvie de Nointel." + +"La, Mother," observed the stout lady, "but are you certain it was the +last of April? I had been thinking it was some time in June. And I +protest it could not have been all of thirty years. Let me see now, +Sylvie, how old is your brother Richard? Twenty-eight, you say. Well, +Mother, I always said you had a marvelous memory for things like that, +and I often envy you. But how time does fly, to be sure!" + +And Florian was perturbed. "For this is an awkward thing, and Tiburce has +played me an unworthy trick. He never did know when to leave off joking; +but such posthumous frivolity is past endurance. For, see now, in what a +pickle it has landed me! I have outlived my friends, I may encounter +difficulty in regaining my fiefs, and certainly I have lost the fairest +wife man ever had. Oh, can it be, madame, that you are indeed my +Adelaide!" + +"Yes, every pound of me, poor boy, and that says much." + +"--And that you have been untrue to the eternal fidelity which you vowed +to me here by this very stream! Oh, but I cannot believe it was thirty +years ago, for not a grass-blade or a pebble has been altered; and I +perfectly remember the lapping of water under those lichened rocks, and +that continuous file of ripples yonder, which are shaped like +arrowheads." + +Adelaide rubbed her nose. "Did I promise eternal fidelity? I can hardly +remember that far back. But I remember I wept a great deal, and my +parents assured me you were either dead or a rascal, so that tears could +not help either way. Then Ralph de Nointel came along, good man, and made +me a fair husband, as husbands go--" + +"As for that stream," then said Dame Melicent, "it is often I have +thought of that stream, sitting here with my grandchildren where I once +sat with gay young men whom nobody remembers now save me. Yes, it is +strange to think that instantly, and within the speaking of any simple +word, no drop of water retains the place it had before the word was +spoken: and yet the stream remains unchanged, and stays as it was when I +sat here with those young men who are gone. Yes, that is a strange +thought, and it is a sad thought, too, for those of us who are old." + +"But, Mother, of course the stream remains unchanged," agreed Dame +Adelaide. "Streams always do except after heavy rains. Everybody knows +that, and I can see nothing very remarkable about it. As for you, +Florian, if you stickle for love's being an immortal affair," she added, +with a large twinkle, "I would have you know I have been a widow for +three years. So the matter could be arranged." + +Florian looked at her sadly. To him the situation was incongruous with +the terrible archness of a fat woman. "But, madame, you are no longer the +same person." + +She patted him upon the shoulder. "Come, Florian, there is some sense in +you, after all. Console yourself, lad, with the reflection that if you +had stuck manfully by your wife instead of mooning about graveyards, I +would still be just as I am to-day, and you would be tied to me. Your +friend probably knew what he was about when he drank to our welfare, for +we would never have suited each other, as you can see for yourself. Well, +Mother, many things fall out queerly in this world, but with age we learn +to accept what happens without flustering too much over it. What are we +to do with this resurrected old lover of mine?" + +It was horrible to Florian to see how prosaically these women dealt with +his unusual misadventure. Here was a miracle occurring virtually before +their eyes, and these women accepted it with maddening tranquillity as an +affair for which they were not responsible. Florian began to reflect that +elderly persons were always more or less unsympathetic and inadequate. + +"First of all," says Dame Melicent, "I would give him some breakfast. He +must be hungry after all these years. And you could put him in +Adhelmar's room--" + +"But," Florian said wildly, to Dame Adelaide, "you have committed the +crime of bigamy, and you are, after all, my wife!" + +She replied, herself not untroubled: "Yes, but, Mother, both the cook and +the butler are somewhere in the bushes yonder, up to some nonsense that I +prefer to know nothing about. You know how servants are, particularly on +holidays. I could scramble him some eggs, though, with a rasher. And +Adhelmar's room it had better be, I suppose, though I had meant to have +it turned out. But as for bigamy and being your wife," she concluded more +cheerfully, "it seems to me the least said the soonest mended. It is to +nobody's interest to rake up those foolish bygones, so far as I can see." + +"Adelaide, you profane equally love, which is divine, and marriage, which +is a holy sacrament." + +"Florian, do you really love Adelaide de Nointel?" asked this terrible +woman. "And now that I am free to listen to your proposals, do you wish +to marry me?" + +"Well, no," said Florian: "for, as I have just said; you are no longer +the same person." + +"Why, then, you see for yourself. So do you quit talking nonsense about +immortality and sacraments." + +"But, still," cried Florian, "love is immortal. Yes, I repeat to you, +precisely as I told Tiburce, love is immortal." + +Then says Dame Melicent, nodding her shriveled old head: "When I was +young, and was served by nimbler senses and desires, and was housed in +brightly colored flesh, there were a host of men to love me. Minstrels +yet tell of the men that loved me, and of how many tall men were slain +because of their love for me, and of how in the end it was Perion who won +me. For the noblest and the most faithful of all my lovers was Perion of +the Forest, and through tempestuous years he sought me with a love that +conquered time and chance: and so he won me. Thereafter he made me a fair +husband, as husbands go. But I might not stay the girl he had loved, nor +might he remain the lad that Melicent had dreamed of, with dreams +be-drugging the long years in which Demetrios held Melicent a prisoner, +and youth went away from her. No, Perion and I could not do that, any +more than might two drops of water there retain their place in the +stream's flowing. So Perion and I grew old together, friendly enough; +and our senses and desires began to serve us more drowsily, so that we +did not greatly mind the falling away of youth, nor greatly mind to note +what shriveled hands now moved before us, performing common tasks; and we +were content enough. But of the high passion that had wedded us there was +no trace, and of little senseless human bickerings there were a great +many. For one thing"--and the old lady's voice was changed--"for one +thing, he was foolishly particular about what he would eat and what he +would not eat, and that upset my housekeeping, and I had never any +patience with such nonsense." + +"Well, none the less," said Florian, "it is not quite nice of you to +acknowledge it." + +Then said Dame Adelaide: "That is a true word, Mother. All men get +finicky about their food, and think they are the only persons to be +considered, and there is no end to it if once you begin to humor them. So +there has to be a stand made. Well, and indeed my poor Ralph, too, was +all for kissing and pretty talk at first, and I accepted it willingly +enough. You know how girls are. They like to be made much of, and it is +perfectly natural. But that leads to children. And when the children +began to come, I had not much time to bother with him: and Ralph had his +farming and his warfaring to keep him busy. A man with a growing family +cannot afford to neglect his affairs. And certainly, being no fool, he +began to notice that girls here and there had brighter eyes and trimmer +waists than I. I do not know what such observations may have led to when +he was away from me: I never inquired into it, because in such matters +all men are fools. But I put up with no nonsense at home, and he made me +a fair husband, as husbands go. That much I will say for him gladly: and +if any widow says more than that, Florian, do you beware of her, for she +is an untruthful woman." + +"Be that as it may," replied Florian, "it is not quite becoming to speak +thus of your dead husband. No doubt you speak the truth: there is no +telling what sort of person you may have married in what still seems to +me unseemly haste to provide me with a successor: but even so, a little +charitable prevarication would be far more edifying." + +He spoke with such earnestness that there fell a silence. The women +seemed to pity him. And in the silence Florian heard from afar young +persons returning from the woods behind Storisende, and bringing with +them the May-pole. They were still singing. + +Sang they: + +"_Unwillingly foreknowing +That love with May-time flees, +We take this day's bestowing, +And feed on fantasies_--" + + +4. _Youth Solves It_ + +The tale tells how lightly and sweetly, and compassionately, too, then +spoke young Sylvie de Nointel. + +"Ah, but, assuredly, Messire Florian, you do not argue with my pets +quite seriously! Old people always have some such queer notions. Of +course love all depends upon what sort of person you are. Now, as I see +it, Mama and Grandmama are not the sort of persons who have real +love-affairs. Devoted as I am to both of them, I cannot but perceive they +are lacking in real depth of sentiment. They simply do not understand or +care about such matters. They are fine, straightforward, practical +persons, poor dears, and always have been, of course, for in things like +that one does not change, as I have often noticed. And Father, and +Grandfather Perion, too, as I remember him, was kind-hearted and +admirable and all that, but nobody could ever have expected him to be a +satisfactory lover. Why, he was bald as an egg, the poor pet!" + +And Sylvie laughed again at the preposterous notions of old people. She +flashed an especial smile at Florian. Her hand went out as though to +touch him, in an unforgotten gesture. "Old people do not understand," +said Sylvie de Nointel, in tones which took this handsome young fellow +ineffably into confidence. + +"Mademoiselle," said Florian, with a sigh that was part relief and all +approval, "it is you who speak the truth, and your elders have fallen +victims to the cynicism of a crassly material age. Love is immortal when +it is really love and when one is the right sort of person. There is the +love--known to how few, alas! and a passion of which I regret to find +your mother incapable--that endures unchanged until the end of life." + +"I am so glad you think so, Messire Florian," she answered demurely. + +"And do you not think so, mademoiselle?" + +"How should I know," she asked him, "as yet?" He noted she had incredibly +long lashes. + +"Thrice happy is he that convinces you!" says Florian. And about them, +who were young in the world's recaptured youth, spring triumphed with an +ageless rural pageant, and birds cried to their mates. He noted the red +brevity of her lips and their probable softness. + +Meanwhile the elder women regarded each other. + +"It is the season of May. They are young and they are together. Poor +children!" said Dame Melicent. "Youth cries to youth for the toys of +youth, and saying, 'Lo, I cry with the voice of a great god!'" + +"Still," said Madame Adelaide, "Puysange is a good fief--" + +But Florian heeded neither of them as he stood there by the sunlit +stream, in which no drop of water retained its place for a moment, and +which yet did not alter in appearance at all. He did not heed his elders +for the excellent reason that Sylvie de Nointel was about to speak, and +he preferred to listen to her. For this girl, he knew, was lovelier than +any other person had ever been since Eve first raised just such admiring, +innocent, and venturesome eyes to inspect what must have seemed to her +the quaintest of all animals, called man. So it was with a shrug that +Florian remembered how he had earlier fancied other women for one reason +or another; since this, he knew, was the great love of his life, and a +love which would endure unchanged as long as his life lasted. + + * * * * * + +APRIL 14, 1355--OCTOBER 23, 1356 + +"_D'aquest segle flac, plen de marrimen, +S'amor s'en vai, son jot teinh mensongier_." + + +_So Florian married Sylvie, and made her, they relate, a fair husband, +as husbands go. And children came to them, and then old age, and, lastly, +that which comes to all. + +Which reminds me that it was an uncomfortable number of years ago, in an +out-of-the-way corner of the library at Allonby Shaw, that I first came +upon_ Les Aventures d'Adhelmar de Nointel. _This manuscript dates from +the early part of the fifteenth century and is attributed--though on no +very conclusive evidence, says Hinsauf,--to the facile pen of Nicolas de +Caen (circa 1450), until lately better known as a lyric poet and +satirist. + +The story, told in decasyllabic couplets, interspersed after a rather +unusual fashion with innumerable lyrics, seems in the main authentic. Sir +Adhelmar de Nointel, born about 1332, was once a real and stalwart +personage, a younger brother to that Henri de Nointel, the fighting +Bishop of Mantes, whose unsavory part in the murder of Jacques van +Arteveldt history has recorded at length; and it is with the exploits of +this Adhelmar that the romance deals, not, it may be, without +exaggeration. + +In any event, the following is, with certain compressions and omissions +that have seemed desirable, the last episode of the_ Aventures. _The tale +concerns the children of Florian and Sylvie: and for it I may claim, at +least, the same merit that old Nicolas does at the very outset; since as +he veraciously declares--yet with a smack of pride: + +Cette bonne ystoire n'est pas usee, +Ni guere de lieux jadis trouvee, +Ni ecrite par clercz ne fut encore._ + + + + +CHAPTER II + +_The Episode Called Adhelmar at Puysange_ + + +I. _April-magic_ + +When Adhelmar had ended the tale of Dame Venus and the love which she +bore the knight Tannhaeuser (here one overtakes Nicolas midcourse in +narrative), Adhelmar put away the book and sighed. The Demoiselle Melite +laughed a little--her laughter, as I have told you, was high and +delicate, with the resonance of thin glass--and demanded the reason of +his sudden grief. + +"I sigh," he answered, "for sorrow that this Dame Venus is dead." + +"Surely," said she, wondering at his glum face, "that is no great +matter." + +"By Saint Vulfran, yes!" Adhelmar protested; "for the same Lady Venus was +the fairest of women, as all learned clerks avow; and she is dead these +many years, and now there is no woman left alive so beautiful as +she--saving one alone, and she will have none of me. And therefore," he +added, very slowly, "I sigh for desire of Dame Venus and for envy of the +knight Tannhaeuser." + +Again Melite laughed, but she forbore--discreetly enough--to question him +concerning the lady who was of equal beauty with Dame Venus. + +It was an April morning, and they set in the hedged garden of Puysange. +Adhelmar read to her of divers ancient queens and of the love-business +wherein each took part, relating the histories of the Lady Heleine and of +her sweethearting with Duke Paris, the Emperor of Troy's son, and of the +Lady Melior that loved Parthenopex of Blois, and of the Lady Aude, for +love of whom Sieur Roland slew the pagan Angoulaffre, and of the Lady +Cresseide that betrayed love, and of the Lady Morgaine la Fee, whose +Danish lover should yet come from Avalon to save France in her black hour +of need. All these he read aloud, suavely, with bland modulations, for he +was a man of letters, as letters went in those days. Originally, he had +been bred for the Church; but this vocation he had happily forsaken long +since, protesting with some show of reason that France at this particular +time had a greater need of spears than of aves. + +For the rest, Sir Adhelmar de Nointel was known as a valiant knight, who +had won glory in the wars with the English. He had lodged for a fortnight +at Puysange, of which castle the master, Sire Reinault (son to the late +Vicomte Florian) was Adhelmar's cousin: and on the next day Adhelmar +proposed to set forth for Paris, where the French King--Jehan the +Luckless--was gathering his lieges about him to withstand his kinsman, +Edward of England. + +Now, as I have said, Adhelmar was cousin to Reinault, and, in +consequence, to Reinault's sister, the Demoiselle Melite; and the latter +Adhelmar loved, at least, as much as a cousin should. That was well +known; and Reinault de Puysange had sworn very heartily that this was a +great pity when he affianced her to Hugues d'Arques. Both Hugues and +Adhelmar had loved Melite since boyhood,--so far their claims ran +equally. But while Adhelmar had busied himself in the acquisition of some +scant fame and a vast number of scars, Hugues had sensibly inherited the +fief of Arques, a snug property with fertile lands and a stout fortress. +How, then, should Reinault hesitate between them? + +He did not. For the Chateau d'Arques, you must understand, was builded in +Lower Normandy, on the fringe of the hill-country, just where the +peninsula of Cotentin juts out into the sea; Puysange stood not far +north, among the level lands of Upper Normandy: and these two being the +strongest castles in those parts, what more natural and desirable than +that the families should be united by marriage? Reinault informed his +sister of his decision; she wept a little, but did not refuse to comply. + +So Adhelmar, come again to Puysange after five years' absence, found +Melite troth-plighted, fast and safe, to Hugues. Reinault told him. +Adhelmar grumbled and bit his nails in a corner, for a time; then +laughed shortly. + +"I have loved Melite," he said. "It may be that I love her still. Hah, +Saint Vulfran! why should I not? Why should a man not love his cousin?" + +Adhelmar grinned, while the vicomte twitched his beard and wished +Adhelmar at the devil. + +But the young knight stuck fast at Puysange, for all that, and he and +Melite were much together. Daily they made parties to dance, and to hunt +the deer, and to fish, but most often to rehearse songs. For Adhelmar +made good songs. + +[Footnote: Nicolas indeed declares of Adhelmar, earlier in the tale, in +such high terms as are not uncommon to this chronicle: + +Hardi estait et fier comme lions, +Et si faisait balades et chancons, +Rondeaulx et laiz, tres bans et pleins de grace, +Comme Orpheus, cet menestrier de Thrace.] + +To-day, the summer already stirring in the womb of the year, they sat, as +I have said, in the hedged garden; and about them the birds piped and +wrangled over their nest-building, and daffodils danced in spring's honor +with lively saltations, and overhead the sky was colored like a robin's +egg. It was very perilous weather for young folk. By reason of this, when +he had ended his reading about the lady of the hollow hill, Sir Adhelmar +sighed again, and stared at his companion with hungry eyes, wherein +desire strained like a hound at the leash. + +Said Melite, "Was this Lady Venus, then, exceedingly beautiful?" + +Adhelmar swore an oath of sufficient magnitude that she was. + +Whereupon Melite, twisting her fingers idly and evincing a sudden +interest in her own feet, demanded if this Venus were more beautiful than +the Lady Ermengarde of Arnaye or the Lady Ysabeau of Brieuc. + +"Holy Ouen!" scoffed Adhelmar; "these ladies, while well enough, I grant +you, would seem to be callow howlets blinking about that Arabian Phoenix +which Plinius tells of, in comparison with this Lady Venus that is dead!" + +"But how," asked Melite, "was this lady fashioned that you commend so +highly?--and how can you know of her beauty who have never seen her?" + +Said Adhelmar: "I have read of her fairness in the chronicles of Messire +Stace of Thebes, and of Dares, who was her husband's bishop. And she was +very comely, neither too little nor too big; she was fairer and whiter +and more lovely than any flower of the lily or snow upon the branch, but +her eyebrows had the mischance of meeting. She had wide-open, beautiful +eyes, and her wit was quick and ready. She was graceful and of demure +countenance. She was well-beloved, and could herself love well, but her +heart was changeable--" + +"Cousin Adhelmar," declared Melite, flushing somewhat, for the portrait +was like enough, "I think that you tell of a woman, not of a goddess of +heathenry." + +"Her eyes," said Adhelmar, and his voice shook, and his hands, lifting a +little, trembled,--"her eyes were large and very bright and of a color +like that of the June sunlight falling upon deep waters. Her hair +was of a curious gold color like the Fleece that the knight Jason sought, +and it curled marvellously about her temples. For mouth she had but a +small red wound; and her throat was a tower builded of ivory." + +But now, still staring at her feet and glowing with the even complexion +of a rose, (though not ill-pleased), the Demoiselle Melite bade him +desist and make her a song. Moreover, she added, beauty was but a +fleeting thing, and she considered it of little importance; and then she +laughed again. + +Adhelmar took up the lute that lay beside them and fingered it for a +moment, as though wondering of what he would rhyme. Afterward he sang for +her as they sat in the gardens. + +Sang Adhelmar: + +_"It is in vain I mirror forth the praise +In pondered virelais +Of her that is the lady of my love; +Far-sought and curious phrases fail to tell +The tender miracle +Of her white body and the grace thereof. + +"Thus many and many an artful-artless strain +Is fashioned all in vain: +Sound proves unsound; and even her name, that is +To me more glorious than the glow of fire +Or dawn or love's desire +Or opals interlinked with turquoises, +Mocks utterance. + +"So, lacking skill to praise +That perfect bodily beauty which is hers, +Even as those worshippers +Who bore rude offerings of honey and maize, +Their all, into the gold-paved ministers +Of Aphrodite, I have given her these +My faltering melodies, +That are Love's lean and ragged messengers."_ + +When he had ended, Adhelmar cast aside the lute, and caught up both of +Melite's hands, and strained them to his lips. There needed no wizard to +read the message in his eyes. + +Melite sat silent for a moment. Presently, "Ah, cousin, cousin!" she +sighed, "I cannot love you as you would have me love. God alone knows +why, true heart, for I revere you as a strong man and a proven knight and +a faithful lover; but I do not love you. There are many women who would +love you, Adhelmar, for the world praises you, and you have done brave +deeds and made good songs and have served your King potently; and +yet"--she drew her hands away and laughed a little wearily--"yet I, poor +maid, must needs love Hugues, who has done nothing. This love is a +strange, unreasoning thing, my cousin." + +"But do you in truth love Hugues?" asked Adhelmar, in a harsh voice. + +"Yes," said Melite, very softly, and afterward flushed and wondered +dimly if she had spoken the truth. Then, somehow, her arms clasped about +Adhelmar's neck, and she kissed him, from pure pity, as she told +herself; for Melite's heart was tender, and she could not endure the +anguish in his face. + +This was all very well. But Hugues d'Arques, coming suddenly out of a +pleached walk, at this juncture, stumbled upon them and found their +postures distasteful. He bent black brows upon the two. + +"Adhelmar," said he, at length, "this world is a small place." + +Adhelmar rose. "Indeed," he assented, with a wried smile, "I think there +is scarce room in it for both of us, Hugues." + +"That was my meaning," said the Sieur d'Arques. + +"Only," Adhelmar pursued, somewhat wistfully, "my sword just now, Hugues, +is vowed to my King's quarrel. There are some of us who hope to save +France yet, if our blood may avail. In a year, God willing, I shall come +again to Puysange; and till then you must wait." + +Hugues conceded that, perforce, he must wait, since a vow was sacred; +and Adhelmar, who suspected Hugues' natural appetite for battle to be +lamentably squeamish, grinned. After that, in a sick rage, Adhelmar +struck Hugues in the face, and turned about. + +The Sieur d'Arques rubbed his cheek ruefully. Then he and Melite stood +silent for a moment, and heard Adhelmar in the court-yard calling his men +to ride forth; and Melite laughed; and Hugues scowled. + + +2. _Nicolas as Chorus_ + +The year passed, and Adhelmar did not return; and there was much fighting +during that interval, and Hugues began to think the knight was slain and +would never return to fight with him. The reflection was borne with +equanimity. + +So Adhelmar was half-forgot, and the Sieur d'Arques turned his mind to +other matters. He was still a bachelor, for Reinault considered the +burden of the times in ill-accord with the chinking of marriage-bells. +They were grim times for Frenchmen: right and left the English pillaged +and killed and sacked and guzzled and drank, as if they would never have +done; and Edward of England began, to subscribe himself _Rex Franciae_ +with some show of excuse. + +In Normandy men acted according to their natures. Reinault swore lustily +and looked to his defences; Hugues, seeing the English everywhere +triumphant, drew a long face and doubted, when the will of God was made +thus apparent, were it the part of a Christian to withstand it? Then he +began to write letters, but to whom no man at either Arques or Puysange +knew, saving One-eyed Peire, who carried them. + + +3. _Treats of Huckstering_ + +It was in the dusk of a rain-sodden October day that Adhelmar rode to the +gates of Puysange, with some score men-at-arms behind him. They came from +Poictiers, where again the English had conquered, and Adhelmar rode with +difficulty, for in that disastrous business in the field of Maupertuis he +had been run through the chest, and his wound was scarce healed. +Nevertheless, he came to finish his debate with the Sieur d'Arques, wound +or no wound. + +But at Puysange he heard a strange tale of Hugues. Reinault, whom +Adhelmar found in a fine rage, told the story as they sat over +their supper. + +It had happened, somehow, (Reinault said), that the Marshal Arnold +d'Andreghen--newly escaped from prison and with his disposition +unameliorated by Lord Audley's gaolership,--had heard of these letters +that Hugues wrote so constantly; and the Marshal, being no scholar, had +frowned at such doings, and waited presently, with a company of horse, on +the road to Arques. Into their midst, on the day before Adhelmar came, +rode Peire, the one-eyed messenger; and it was not an unconscionable +while before Peire was bound hand and foot, and d'Andreghen was reading +the letter they had found in Peire's jerkin. "Hang the carrier on that +oak," said d'Andreghen, when he had ended, "but leave that largest branch +yonder for the writer. For by the Blood of Christ, our common salvation! +I will hang him there on Monday!" + +So Peire swung in the air ere long and stuck out a black tongue at the +crows, who cawed and waited for supper; and presently they feasted while +d'Andreghen rode to Arques, carrying a rope for Hugues. + +For the Marshal, you must understand, was a man of sudden action. Only +two months ago, he had taken the Comte de Harcourt with other gentlemen +from the Dauphin's own table to behead them that afternoon in a field +behind Rouen. It was true they had planned to resist the _gabelle_, the +King's immemorial right to impose a tax on salt; but Harcourt was Hugues' +cousin, and the Sieur d'Arques, being somewhat of an epicurean +disposition, esteemed the dessert accorded his kinsman unpalatable. + +There was no cause for great surprise to d'Andreghen, then, to find that +the letter Hugues had written was meant for Edward, the Black Prince of +England, now at Bordeaux, where he held the French King, whom the Prince +had captured at Poictiers, as a prisoner; for this prince, though he had +no particular love for a rogue, yet knew how to make use of one when +kingcraft demanded it,--and, as he afterward made use of Pedro the +Castilian, he was now prepared to make use of Hugues, who hung like a +ripe pear ready to drop into Prince Edward's mouth. "For," as the Sieur +d'Arques pointed out in his letter, "I am by nature inclined to favor you +brave English, and so, beyond doubt, is the good God. And I will deliver +Arques to you; and thus and thus you may take Normandy and the major +portion of France; and thus and thus will I do, and thus and thus must +you reward me." + +Said d'Andreghen, "I will hang him at dawn; and thus and thus may the +devil do with his soul!" + +Then with his company d'Andreghen rode to Arques. A herald declared to +the men of that place how the matter stood, and bade Hugues come forth +and dance upon nothing. The Sieur d'Arques spat curses, like a cat driven +into a corner, and wished to fight, but the greater part of his garrison +were not willing to do so in such a cause: and so d'Andreghen took him +and carried him off. + +In anger having sworn by the Blood of Christ to hang Hugues d'Arques to a +certain tree, d'Andreghen had no choice in calm but to abide by his oath. +This day being the Sabbath, he deferred the matter; but the Marshal +promised to see to it that when morning broke the Sieur d'Arques should +dangle side by side with his messenger. + +Thus far the Vicomte de Puysange. He concluded his narrative with a dry +chuckle. "And I think we are very well rid of him, Adhelmar. Holy Maclou! +that I should have taken the traitor for a true man, though! He would +sell France, you observe,--chaffered, they tell me, like a pedlar over +the price of Normandy. Heh, the huckster, the triple-damned Jew!" + +"And Melite?" asked Adhelmar, after a little. + +Again Reinault shrugged. "In the White Turret," he said; then, with a +short laugh: "Oy Dieus, yes! The girl has been caterwauling for this +shabby rogue all day. She would have me--me, the King's man, look +you!--save Hugues at the peril of my seignory! And I protest to you, by +the most high and pious Saint Nicolas the Confessor," Reinault swore, +"that sooner than see this huckster go unpunished, I would lock Hell's +gate on him with my own hands!" + +For a moment Adhelmar stood with his jaws puffed out, as if in thought, +and then he laughed like a wolf. Afterward he went to the White Turret, +leaving Reinault smiling over his wine. + + +4. _Folly Diversely Attested_ + +He found Melite alone. She had robed herself in black, and had gathered +her gold hair about her face like a heavy veil, and sat weeping into it +for the plight of Hugues d'Arques. + +"Melite!" cried Adhelmar; "Melite!" The Demoiselle de Puysange rose with +a start, and, seeing him standing in the doorway, ran to him, incompetent +little hands fluttering before her like frightened doves. She was very +tired, by that day-long arguing with her brother's notions about honor +and knightly faith and such foolish matters, and to her weariness +Adhelmar seemed strength incarnate; surely he, if any one, could aid +Hugues and bring him safe out of the grim marshal's claws. For the +moment, perhaps, she had forgotten the feud which existed between +Adhelmar and the Sieur d'Arques; but in any event, I am convinced, she +knew that Adhelmar could refuse her nothing. So she ran toward him, her +cheeks flushing arbutus-like, and she was smiling through her tears. + +Oh, thought Adhelmar, were it not very easy to leave Hugues to the dog's +death he merits and to take this woman for my own? For I know that she +loves me a little. And thinking of this, he kissed her, quietly, as one +might comfort a sobbing child; afterward he held her in his arms for a +moment, wondering vaguely at the pliant thickness of her hair and the +sweet scent of it. Then he put her from him gently, and swore in his soul +that Hugues must die, so that this woman might be Adhelmar's. + +"You will save him?" Melite asked, and raised her face to his. There was +that in her eyes which caused Adhelmar to muse for a little on the nature +of women's love, and, subsequently, to laugh harshly and make vehement +utterance. + +"Yes!" said Adhelmar. + +He demanded how many of Hugues' men were about. Some twenty of them had +come to Puysange, Melite said, in the hope that Reinault might aid them +to save their master. She protested that her brother was a coward for not +doing so; but Adhelmar, having his own opinion on this subject, and +thinking in his heart that Hugues' skin might easily be ripped off him +without spilling a pint of honest blood, said, simply: "Twenty and twenty +is two-score. It is not a large armament, but it may serve." + +He told her his plan was to fall suddenly upon d'Andreghen and his men +that night, and in the tumult to steal Hugues away; whereafter, as +Adhelmar pointed out, Hugues might readily take ship for England, and +leave the marshal to blaspheme Fortune in Normandy, and the French King +to gnaw at his chains in Bordeaux, while Hugues toasts his shins in +comfort at London. Adhelmar admitted that the plan was a mad one, but +added, reasonably enough, that needs must when the devil drives. And so +firm was his confidence, so cheery his laugh--he managed to laugh +somehow, though it was a stiff piece of work,--that Melite began to be +comforted somewhat, and bade him go and Godspeed. + +So then Adhelmar left her. In the main hall he found the vicomte still +sitting over his wine of Anjou. + +"Cousin," said Adhelmar, "I must ride hence to-night." + +Reinault stared at him: a mastering wonder woke in Reinault's face. +"Ta, ta, ta!" he clicked his tongue, very softly. Afterward he sprang +to his feet and clutched Adhelmar by both arms. "No, no!" Reinault +cried. "No, Adhelmar, you must not try that! It is death, lad,--sure +death! It means hanging, boy!" the vicomte pleaded, for, hard man that +he was, he loved Adhelmar. + +"That is likely enough," Adhelmar conceded. + +"They will hang you,"' Reinault said again: "d'Andreghen and the Count +Dauphin of Vienna will hang you as blithely as they would Iscariot." + +"That, too," said Adhelmar, "is likely enough, if I remain in France." + +"Oy Dieus! will you flee to England, then?" the vicomte scoffed, +bitterly. "Has King Edward not sworn to hang you these eight years past? +Was it not you, then, cousin, who took Almerigo di Pavia, that Lombard +knave whom he made governor of Calais,--was it not you, then, who +delivered Edward's loved Almerigo to Geoffrey de Chargny, who had him +broken on the wheel? Eh, holy Maclou! but you will get hearty welcome and +a chaplain and a rope in England." + +Adhelmar admitted that this was true. "Still," said he, "I must ride +hence to-night." + +"For her?" Reinault asked, and jerked his thumb upward. + +"Yes," said Adhelmar,--"for her." + +Reinault stared in his face for a while. "You are a fool, Adhelmar," said +he, at last, "but you are a brave man, and you love as becomes a +chevalier. It is a great pity that a flibbertigibbet wench with a +tow-head should be the death of you. For my part, I am the King's vassal; +I shall not break faith with him; but you are my guest and my kinsman. +For that reason I am going to bed, and I shall sleep very soundly. It is +likely I shall hear nothing of the night's doings,--ohime, no! not if you +murder d'Andreghen in the court-yard!" Reinault ended, and smiled, +somewhat sadly. + +Afterward he took Adhelmar's hand and said: "Farewell, lord Adhelmar! O +true knight, sturdy and bold! terrible and merciless toward your enemies, +gentle and simple toward your friends, farewell!" + +He kissed Adhelmar on either cheek and left him. In those days men +encountered death with very little ado. + +Then Adhelmar rode off in the rain with thirty-four armed followers. +Riding thus, he reflected upon the nature of women and upon his love +for the Demoiselle de Puysange; and, to himself, he swore gloomily that +if she had a mind to Hugues she must have Hugues, come what might. +Having reached this conclusion, Adhelmar wheeled upon his men, and +cursed them for tavern-idlers and laggards and flea-hearted snails, and +bade them spur. + +Melite, at her window, heard them depart, and heard the noise of their +going lapse into the bland monotony of the rain's noise. This dank night +now divulged no more, and she turned back into the room. Adhelmar's +glove, which he had forgotten in his haste, lay upon the floor, and +Melite lifted it and twisted it idly. + +"I wonder--?" said she. + +She lighted four wax candles and set them before a mirror that was in the +room. Melite stood among them and looked into the mirror. She seemed very +tall and very slender, and her loosened hair hung heavily about her +beautiful shallow face and fell like a cloak around her black-robed body, +showing against the black gown like melting gold; and about her were the +tall, white candles tipped with still flames of gold. Melite laughed--her +laughter was high and delicate, with the resonance of thin glass,--and +raised her arms above her, head, stretching tensely like a cat before a +fire, and laughed yet again. + +"After all," said she, "I do not wonder." + +Melite sat before the mirror, and braided her hair, and sang to herself +in a sweet, low voice, brooding with unfathomable eyes upon her image in +the glass, while the October rain beat about Puysange, and Adhelmar rode +forth to save Hugues that must else be hanged. + +Sang Melite: + +"_Rustling leaves of the willow-tree +Peering downward at you and me, +And no man else in the world to see, + +"Only the birds, whose dusty coats +Show dark in the green,--whose throbbing throats +Turn joy to music and love to notes_. + +"Lean your body against the tree, +Lifting your red lips up to me, +Melite, and kiss, with no man to see! + +"And let us laugh for a little:--Yea, +Let love and laughter herald the day +When laughter and love will be put away. + +"Then you will remember the willow-tree +And this very hour, and remember me, +Melite,--whose face you will no more see! + +"So swift, so swift the glad time goes, +And Eld and Death with their countless woes +Draw near, and the end thereof no man knows, + +"Lean your body against the tree, +Lifting your red lips up to me, +Melite, and kiss, with no man to see!"_ + +Melite smiled as she sang; for this was a song that Adhelmar had made for +her upon a May morning at Nointel, before he was a knight, when both were +very young. So now she smiled to remember the making of the verses which +she sang while the October rain was beating about Puysange. + + +5. _Night-work_ + +It was not long before they came upon d'Andreghen and his men camped +about a great oak, with One-eyed Peire a-swing over their heads for a +lamentable banner. A shrill sentinel, somewhere in the dark, demanded the +newcomers' business, but without receiving any adequate answer, for at +that moment Adhelmar gave the word to charge. + +Then it was as if all the devils in Pandemonium had chosen Normandy for +their playground; and what took place in the night no man saw for the +darkness, so that I cannot tell you of it. Let it suffice that Adhelmar +rode away before d'Andreghen had rubbed sleep well out of his eyes; and +with Adhelmar were Hugues d'Arques and some half of Adhelmar's men. The +rest were dead, and Adhelmar was badly hurt, for he had burst open his +old wound and it was bleeding under his armor. Of this he said nothing. + +"Hugues," said he, "do you and these fellows ride to the coast; thence +take ship for England." + +He would have none of Hugues' thanks; instead, he turned and left Hugues +to whimper out his gratitude to the skies, which spat a warm, gusty rain +at him. Adhelmar rode again to Puysange, and as he went he sang. + +Sang Adhelmar: + +"D'Andreghen in Normandy +Went forth to slay mine enemy; +But as he went +Lord God for me wrought marvellously; + +"Wherefore, I may call and cry +That am now about to die, +'I am content!' + +"Domine! Domine! +Gratias accipe! +Et meum animum +Recipe in coelum_!" + + +6. They Kiss at Parting + +When he had come to Puysange, Adhelmar climbed the stairs of the White +Turret,--slowly, for he was growing very feeble now,--and so came again +to Melite crouching among the burned-out candles in the slate-colored +twilight which heralded dawn. + +"He is safe," said Adhelmar. He told Melite how Hugues was rescued and +shipped to England, and how, if she would, she might straightway follow +him in a fishing-boat. "For there is likely to be ugly work at Puysange," +Adhelmar said, "when the marshal comes. And he will come." + +"But what will you do now, my cousin?" asked Melite. + +"Holy Ouen!" said Adhelmar; "since I needs must die, I will die in +France, not in the cold land of England." + +"Die!" cried Melite. "Are you hurt so sorely, then?" + +He grinned like a death's-head. "My injuries are not incurable," said +he, "yet must I die very quickly, for all that. The English King will +hang me if I go thither, as he has sworn to do these eight years, because +of that matter of Almerigo di Pavia: and if I stay in France, I must hang +because of this night's work." + +Melite wept. "O God! O God!" she quavered, two or three times, like one +hurt in the throat. "And you have done this for me! Is there no way to +save you, Adhelmar?" she pleaded, with wide, frightened eyes that were +like a child's. + +"None," said Adhelmar. He took both her hands in his, very tenderly. "Ah, +my sweet," said he, "must I, whose grave is already digged, waste breath +upon this idle talk of kingdoms and the squabbling men who rule them? I +have but a brief while to live, and I wish to forget that there is aught +else in the world save you, and that I love you. Do not weep, Melite! In +a little time you will forget me and be happy with this Hugues whom you +love; and I?--ah, my sweet, I think that even in my grave I shall dream +of you and of your great beauty and of the exceeding love that I bore you +in the old days." + +"Ah, no, I shall not ever forget, O true and faithful lover! And, indeed, +indeed, Adhelmar, I would give my life right willingly that yours might +be saved!" + +She had almost forgotten Hugues. Her heart was sad as she thought of +Adhelmar, who must die a shameful death for her sake, and of the love +which she had cast away. Beside it, the Sieur d'Arques' affection showed +somewhat tawdry, and Melite began to reflect that, after all, she had +liked Adhelmar almost as well. + +"Sweet," said Adhelmar, "do I not know you to the marrow? You will forget +me utterly, for your heart is very changeable. Ah, Mother of God!" +Adhelmar cried, with a quick lift of speech; "I am afraid to die, for the +harsh dust will shut out the glory of your face, and you will forget!" + +"No; ah, no!" Melite whispered, and drew near to him. Adhelmar smiled, a +little wistfully, for he did not believe that she spoke the truth; but it +was good to feel her body close to his, even though he was dying, and he +was content. + +But by this time the dawn had come completely, flooding the room with its +first thin radiance, and Melite saw the pallor of his face and so knew +that he was wounded. + +"Indeed, yes," said Adhelmar, when she had questioned him, "for my breast +is quite cloven through." And when she disarmed him, Melite found a great +cut in his chest which had bled so much that it was apparent he must die, +whether d'Andreghen and Edward of England would or no. + +Melite wept again, and cried, "Why had you not told me of this?" + +"To have you heal me, perchance?" said Adhelmar. "Ah, love, is hanging, +then, so sweet a death that I should choose it, rather than to die very +peacefully in your arms? Indeed, I would not live if I might; for I have +proven traitor to my King, and it is right that traitors should die; and, +chief of all, I know that life can bring me naught more desirable than I +have known this night. What need, then, have I to live?" + +Melite bent over him; for as he spoke he had lain back in a tall carven +chair by the east window. She was past speech. But now, for a moment, her +lips clung to his, and her warm tears fell upon his face. What better +death for a lover? thought Adhelmar. + +Yet he murmured somewhat. "Pity, always pity!" he said, wearily. "I shall +never win aught else of you, Melite. For before this you have kissed me, +pitying me because you could not love me. And you have kissed me now, +pitying me because I may not live." + +But Melite, clasping her arms about his neck, whispered into his ear the +meaning of this last kiss, and at the honeyed sound of her whispering +his strength came back for a moment, and he strove to rise. The level +sunlight through the open window smote full upon his face, which was +very glad. Melite was conscious of her nobility in causing him such +delight at the last. + +"God, God!" cried Adhelmar, and he spread out his arms toward the dear, +familiar world that was slowly taking form beneath them,--a world now +infinitely dear to him; "all, my God, have pity and let me live a +little longer!" + +As Melite, half frightened, drew back from him, he crept out of his +chair and fell prone at her feet. Afterward his hands stretched forward +toward her, clutching, and then trembled and were still. + +Melite stood looking downward, wondering vaguely when she would next +know either joy or sorrow again. She was now conscious of no emotion +whatever. It seemed to her she ought to be more greatly moved. So the +new day found them. + + * * * * * + +MARCH 2, 1414 + +"_Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest +him for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg_?" + + +_In the chapel at Puysange you may still see the tomb of Adhelmar; but +Melite's bones lie otherwhere. "Her heart was changeable," as old Nicolas +says, justly enough; and so in due time it was comforted. + +For Hugues d'Arques--or Hugh Darke, as his name was Anglicized--presently +stood high in the favor of King Edward. A fief was granted to Messire +Darke, in Norfolk, where Hugues shortly built for himself a residence at +Yaxham, and began to look about for a wife: it was not long before he +found one. + +This befell at Bretigny when, in 1360, the Great Peace was signed +between France and England, and Hugues, as one of the English embassy, +came face to face with Reinault and Melite. History does not detail the +meeting; but, inasmuch as the Sieur d'Arques and Melite de Puysange were +married at Rouen the following October, doubtless it passed off +pleasantly enough. + +The couple had sufficient in common to have qualified them for several +decades of mutual toleration. But by ill luck, Melite died in child-birth +three years after her marriage. She had borne, in 1361, twin daughters, +of whom Adelais died a spinster; the other daughter, Sylvia, circa 1378, +figured in an unfortunate love-affair with one of Sir Thomas Mowbray's +attendants, but subsequently married Robert Vernon of Winstead. Melite +left also a son, Hugh, born in 1363, who succeeded to his father's estate +of Yaxham in 1387, in which year Hugues fell at the battle of Radcot +Bridge, fighting in behalf of the ill-fated Richard of Bordeaux. + +Now we turn to certain happenings in Eastcheap, at the Boar's Head +Tavern._ + + + + +CHAPTER III + +_The Episode Called Love-Letters of Falstaff_ + + +I. "_That Gray Iniquity_" + +There was a sound of scuffling within as Sir John Falstaff--much +broken since his loss of the King's favor, and now equally decayed in +wit and health and reputation--stood fumbling at the door of the Angel +room. He was particularly shaky this morning after a night of +particularly hard drinking. + +But he came into the apartment singing, and, whatever the scuffling had +meant, found Bardolph in one corner employed in sorting garments from a +clothes-chest, while at the extreme end of the room Mistress Quickly +demurely stirred the fire; which winked at the old knight rather +knowingly. + +"_Then came the bold Sir Caradoc_," carolled Sir John. "Ah, mistress, +what news?--_And eke Sir Pellinore_.--Did I rage last night, Bardolph? +Was I a Bedlamite?" + +"As mine own bruises can testify," Bardolph assented. "Had each one of +them a tongue, they would raise a clamor beside which Babel were as an +heir weeping for his rich uncle's death; their testimony would qualify +you for any mad-house in England. And if their evidence go against the +doctor's stomach, the watchman at the corner hath three teeth--or, +rather, hath them no longer, since you knocked them out last night--that +will, right willingly, aid him to digest it." + +"Three, say you?" asked the knight, rather stiffly lowering his great +body into his great chair set ready for him beside the fire. "I would +have my valor in all men's mouths, but not in this fashion, for it is too +biting a jest. Three, say you? Well, I am glad it was no worse; I have a +tender conscience, and that mad fellow of the north, Hotspur, sits +heavily upon it, so that thus this Percy, being slain by my valor, is +_per se_ avenged, a plague on him! Three, say you? I would to God my name +were not so terrible to the enemy as it is; I would I had 'bated my +natural inclination somewhat, and had slain less tall fellows by some +threescore. I doubt Agamemnon slept not well o' nights. Three, say you? +Give the fellow a crown apiece for his mouldy teeth, if thou hast them; +if thou hast them not, bid him eschew this vice of drunkenness, whereby +his misfortune hath befallen him, and thus win him heavenly crowns." + +"Indeed, sir," began Bardolph, "I doubt--" + +"Doubt not, sirrah!" cried Sir John, testily; and continued, in a +virtuous manner: "Was not the apostle reproved for that same sin? Thou +art a Didymus, Bardolph;--an incredulous paynim, a most unspeculative +rogue! Have I carracks trading in the Indies? Have I robbed the exchequer +of late? Have I the Golden Fleece for a cloak? Nay, it is paltry gimlet, +and that augurs badly. Why, does this knavish watchman take me for a +raven to feed him in the wilderness? Tell him there are no such ravens +hereabout; else had I ravenously limed the house-tops and set springes in +the gutters. Inform him that my purse is no better lined than his own +broken skull: it is void as a beggar's protestations, or a butcher's +stall in Lent; light as a famished gnat, or the sighing of a new-made +widower; more empty than a last year's bird-nest, than a madman's eye, +or, in fine, than the friendship of a king." + +"But you have wealthy friends, Sir John," suggested the hostess of the +Boar's Head Tavern, whose impatience had but very hardly waited for this +opportunity to join in the talk. "Yes, I warrant you, Sir John. Sir John, +you have a many wealthy friends; you cannot deny that, Sir John." + +"Friends, dame?" asked the knight, and cowered closer to the fire, as +though he were a little cold. "I have no friends since Hal is King. I +had, I grant you, a few score of acquaintances whom I taught to play at +dice; paltry young blades of the City, very unfledged juvenals! Setting +my knighthood and my valor aside, if I did swear friendship with these, +I did swear to a lie. But this is a censorious and muddy-minded world, so +that, look you, even these sprouting aldermen, these foul bacon-fed +rogues, have fled my friendship of late, and my reputation hath grown +somewhat more murky than Erebus. No matter! I walk alone, as one that +hath the pestilence. No matter! But I grow old; I am not in the vaward of +my youth, mistress." + +He nodded his head with extreme gravity; then reached for a cup of sack +that Bardolph held at the knight's elbow. + +"Indeed, I know not what your worship will do," said Mistress Quickly, +rather sadly. + +"Faith!" answered Sir John, finishing the sack and grinning in a somewhat +ghastly fashion; "unless the Providence that watches over the fall of a +sparrow hath an eye to the career of Sir John Falstaff, Knight, and so +comes to my aid shortly, I must needs convert my last doublet into a +mask, and turn highwayman in my shirt. I can take purses yet, ye Uzzite +comforters, as gaily as I did at Gadshill, where that scurvy Poins, and +he that is now King, and some twoscore other knaves did afterward assault +me in the dark; yet I peppered some of them, I warrant you!" + +"You must be rid of me, then, master," Bardolph interpolated. "I for one +have no need of a hempen collar." + +"Ah, well!" said the knight, stretching himself in his chair as the +warmth of the liquor coursed through his inert blood; "I, too, would be +loth to break the gallows' back! For fear of halters, we must alter our +way of living; we must live close, Bardolph, till the wars make us +Croesuses or food for crows. And if Hal but hold to his bias, there will +be wars: I will eat a piece of my sword, if he have not need of it +shortly. Ah, go thy ways, tall Jack; there live not three good men +unhanged in England, and one of them is fat and grows old. We must live +close, Bardolph; we must forswear drinking and wenching! But there is +lime in this sack, you rogue; give me another cup." + +The old knight drained this second cup, and unctuously sucked at and +licked his lips. Thereafter, + +"I pray you, hostess," he continued, "remember that Doll Tearsheet sups +with me to-night; have a capon of the best, and be not sparing of the +wine. I will repay you, upon honor, when we young fellows return from +France, all laden with rings and brooches and such trumperies like your +Norfolkshire pedlars at Christmas-tide. We will sack a town for you, and +bring you back the Lord Mayor's beard to stuff you a cushion; the Dauphin +shall be your tapster yet; we will walk on lilies, I warrant you, to the +tune of _Hey, then up go we!"_ + +"Indeed, sir," said Mistress Quickly, in perfect earnest, "your worship +is as welcome to my pantry as the mice--a pox on 'em!--think themselves; +you are heartily welcome. Ah, well, old Puss is dead; I had her of +Goodman Quickly these ten years since;--but I had thought you looked for +the lady who was here but now;--she was a roaring lion among the mice." + +"What lady?" cried Sir John, with great animation. "Was it Flint the +mercer's wife, think you? Ah, she hath a liberal disposition, and will, +without the aid of Prince Houssain's carpet or the horse of Cambuscan, +transfer the golden shining pieces from her husband's coffers to mine." + +"No mercer's wife, I think," Mistress Quickly answered, after +consideration. "She came with two patched footmen, and smacked of +gentility;--Master Dumbleton's father was a mercer; but he had red +hair;--she is old;--and I could never abide red hair." + +"No matter!" cried the knight. "I can love this lady, be she a very Witch +of Endor. Observe, what a thing it is to be a proper man, Bardolph! She +hath marked me;--in public, perhaps; on the street, it may be;--and then, +I warrant you, made such eyes! and sighed such sighs! and lain awake o' +nights, thinking of a pleasing portly gentleman, whom, were I not +modesty's self, I might name;--and I, all this while, not knowing! Fetch +me my Book of Riddles and my Sonnets, that I may speak smoothly. Why was +my beard not combed this morning? No matter, it will serve. Have I no +better cloak than this?" Sir John was in a tremendous bustle, all a-beam +with pleasurable anticipation. + +But Mistress Quickly, who had been looking out of the window, said, +"Come, but your worship must begin with unwashed hands, for old Madam +Wish-for't and her two country louts are even now at the door." + +"Avaunt, minions!" cried the knight. "Avaunt! Conduct the lady hither, +hostess; Bardolph, another cup of sack. We will ruffle it, lad, and go to +France all gold, like Midas! Are mine eyes too red? I must look sad, you +know, and sigh very pitifully. Ah, we will ruffle it! Another cup of +sack, Bardolph;--I am a rogue if I have drunk to-day. And avaunt! vanish! +for the lady comes." + +He threw himself into a gallant attitude, suggestive of one suddenly +palsied, and with the mien of a turkey-cock strutted toward the door to +greet his unknown visitor. + + +2. _"Then was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, a Boy"_ + +The woman who entered was not the jolly City dame one looked for: and, at +first sight, you estimated her age as a trifle upon the staider side of +sixty. But to this woman the years had shown unwonted kindliness, as +though time touched her less with intent to mar than to caress; her form +was still unbent, and her countenance, bloodless and deep-furrowed, bore +the traces of great beauty; and, whatever the nature of her errand, the +woman who stood in the doorway was unquestionably a person of breeding. + +Sir John advanced toward her with as much elegance as he might muster; +for gout when coupled with such excessive bulk does not beget an +overpowering amount of grace. + +"_See, from the glowing East, Aurora comes_," he chirped. "Madam, permit +me to welcome you to my poor apartments; they are not worthy--" + +"I would see Sir John Falstaff, sir," declared the lady, courteously, +but with some reserve of manner, and looking him full in the face as she +said this. + +"Indeed, madam," suggested Sir John, "if those bright eyes--whose glances +have already cut my poor heart into as many pieces as the man in the +front of the almanac--will but desist for a moment from such butcher's +work and do their proper duty, you will have little trouble in finding +the bluff soldier you seek." + +"Are you Sir John?" asked the lady, as though suspecting a jest. "The son +of old Sir Edward Falstaff, of Norfolk?" + +"His wife hath frequently assured me so," Sir John protested, very +gravely; "and to confirm her evidence I have about me a certain +villainous thirst that did plague Sir Edward sorely in his lifetime, and +came to me with his other chattels. The property I have expended long +since; but no Jew will advance me a maravedi on the Falstaff thirst. It +is a priceless commodity, not to be bought or sold; you might as soon +quench it." + +"I would not have known you," said the lady, wonderingly; "but," she +added, "I have not seen you these forty years." + +"Faith, madam," grinned the knight, "the great pilferer Time hath since +then taken away a little from my hair, and added somewhat (saving your +presence) to my belly; and my face hath not been improved by being the +grindstone for some hundred swords. But I do not know you." + +"I am Sylvia Vernon," said the lady. "And once, a long while ago, I was +Sylvia Darke." + +"I remember," said the knight. His voice was altered. Bardolph would +hardly have known it; nor, perhaps, would he have recognized his master's +manner as he handed Dame Sylvia to the best chair. + +"A long while ago," she repeated, sadly, after a pause during which +the crackling of the fire was very audible. "Time hath dealt harshly +with us both, John;--the name hath a sweet savor. I am an old woman +now. And you--" + +"I would not have known you," said Sir John; then asked, almost +resentfully, "What do you here?" + +"My son goes to the wars," she answered, "and I am come to bid him +farewell; yet I should not tarry in London, for my lord is feeble and +hath constant need of me. But I, an old woman, am yet vain enough to +steal these few moments from him who needs me, to see for the last time, +mayhap, him who was once my very dear friend." + +"I was never your friend, Sylvia," said Sir John. + +"Ah, the old wrangle!" said the lady, and smiled a little wistfully. "My +dear and very honored lover, then; and I am come to see him here." + +"Ay!" interrupted Sir John, rather hastily; and he proceeded, glowing +with benevolence: "A quiet, orderly place, where I bestow my patronage; +the woman of the house had once a husband in my company. God rest his +soul! he bore a good pike. He retired in his old age and 'stablished this +tavern, where he passed his declining years, till death called him gently +away from this naughty world. God rest his soul, say I!" + +This was a somewhat euphemistic version of the taking-off of Goodman +Quickly, who had been knocked over the head with a joint-stool while +rifling the pockets of a drunken guest; but perhaps Sir John wished to +speak well of the dead, even at the price of conferring upon the present +home of Sir John an idyllic atmosphere denied it by the London +constabulary. + +"And you for old memories' sake yet aid his widow?" the lady murmured. +"That is like you, John." + +There was another silence, and the fire crackled more loudly than ever. + +"And are you sorry that I come again, in a worse body, John, strange and +time-ruined?" + +"Sorry?" echoed Sir John; and, ungallant as it was, he hesitated a +moment before replying: "No, faith! But there are some ghosts that will +not easily bear raising, and you have raised one." + +"We have summoned up no very fearful spectre, I think," replied the lady; +"at most, no worse than a pallid, gentle spirit that speaks--to me, at +least--of a boy and a girl who loved each other and were very happy a +great while ago." + +"Are you come hither to seek that boy?" asked the knight, and chuckled, +though not merrily. "The boy that went mad and rhymed of you in those +far-off dusty years? He is quite dead, my lady; he was drowned, mayhap, +in a cup of wine. Or he was slain, perchance, by a few light women. I +know not how he died. But he is quite dead, my lady, and I had not been +haunted by his ghost until to-day." + +He stared at the floor as he ended; then choked, and broke into a fit of +coughing which unromantic chance brought on just now, of all times. + +"He was a dear boy," she said, presently; "a boy who loved a young maid +very truly; a boy that found the maid's father too strong and shrewd for +desperate young lovers--Eh, how long ago it seems, and what a flood of +tears the poor maid shed at being parted from that dear boy!" + +"Faith!" admitted Sir John, "the rogue had his good points." + +"Ah, John, you have not forgotten, I know," the lady said, looking up +into his face, "and, you will believe me that I am very heartily sorry +for the pain I brought into your life?" + +"My wounds heal easily," said Sir John. + +"For though my dear dead father was too wise for us, and knew it was for +the best that I should not accept your love, believe me, John, I always +knew the value of that love, and have held it an honor that any woman +must prize." + +"Dear lady," the knight suggested, with a slight grimace, "the world is +not altogether of your opinion." + +"I know not of the world," she said; "for we live away from it. But we +have heard of you ever and anon; I have your life quite letter-perfect +for these forty years or more." + +"You have heard of me?" asked Sir John; and, for a seasoned knave, he +looked rather uncomfortable. + +"As a gallant and brave soldier," she answered; "of how you fought at sea +with Mowbray that was afterward Duke of Norfolk; of your knighthood by +King Richard; of how you slew the Percy at Shrewsbury; and captured +Coleville o' late in Yorkshire; and how the Prince, that now is King, did +love you above all men; and, in fine, of many splendid doings in the +great world." + +Sir John raised a protesting hand. He said, with commendable modesty: "I +have fought somewhat. But we are not Bevis of Southampton; we have slain +no giants. Heard you naught else?" + +"Little else of note," replied the lady; and went on, very quietly: "But +we are proud of you at home in Norfolk. And such tales as I have heard I +have woven together in one story; and I have told it many times to my +children as we sat on the old Chapel steps at evening, and the shadows +lengthened across the lawn, and I bid them emulate this, the most perfect +knight and gallant gentleman that I have known. And they love you, I +think, though but by repute." + +Once more silence fell between them; and the fire grinned wickedly at the +mimic fire reflected by the old chest, as though it knew of a most +entertaining secret. + +"Do you yet live at Winstead?" asked Sir John, half idly. + +"Yes," she answered; "in the old house. It is little changed, but there +are many changes about." + +"Is Moll yet with you that did once carry our letters?" + +"Married to Hodge, the tanner," the lady said; "and dead long since." + +"And all our merry company?" Sir John demanded. "Marian? And Tom and +little Osric? And Phyllis? And Adelais? Zounds, it is like a breath of +country air to speak their names once more." + +"All dead," she answered, in a hushed voice, "save Adelais, and even to +me poor Adelais seems old and strange. Walter was slain in the French +wars, and she hath never married." + +"All dead," Sir John informed the fire, as if confidentially; then he +laughed, though his bloodshot eyes were not merry. "This same Death hath +a wide maw! It is not long before you and I, my lady, will be at supper +with the worms. But you, at least, have had a happy life." + +"I have been content enough," she said, "but all that seems run by; for, +John, I think that at our age we are not any longer very happy nor very +miserable." + +"Faith!" agreed Sir John, "we are both old; and I had not known it, my +lady, until to-day." + +Again there was silence; and again the fire leapt with delight at the +jest. + +Sylvia Vernon arose suddenly and cried, "I would I had not come!" + +Then said Sir John: "Nay, this is but a feeble grieving you have wakened. +For, madam--you whom I loved once!--you are in the right. Our blood runs +thinner than of yore; and we may no longer, I think, either sorrow or +rejoice very deeply." + +"It is true," she said; "but I must go; and, indeed, I would to God I had +not come!" + +Sir John was silent; he bowed his head, in acquiescence perhaps, in +meditation it may have been; but he stayed silent. + +"Yet," said she, "there is something here which I must keep no longer: +for here are all the letters you ever writ me." + +Whereupon she handed Sir John a little packet of very old and very faded +papers. He turned them awkwardly in his hand once or twice; then stared +at them; then at the lady. + +"You have kept them--always?" he cried. + +"Yes," she responded, wistfully; "but I must not be guilty of continuing +such follies. It is a villainous example to my grandchildren," Dame +Sylvia told him, and smiled. "Farewell." + +Sir John drew close to her and took her hands in his. He looked into her +eyes for an instant, holding himself very erect,--and it was a rare event +when Sir John looked any one squarely in the eyes,--and he said, +wonderingly, "How I loved you!" + +"I know," she murmured. Sylvia Vernon gazed up into his bloated old face +with a proud tenderness that was half-regretful. A quavering came into +her gentle voice. "And I thank you for your gift, my lover,--O brave true +lover, whose love I was not ever ashamed to own! Farewell, my dear; yet a +little while, and I go to seek the boy and girl we know of." + +"I shall not be long, madam," said Sir John. "Speak a kind word for me in +Heaven; for I shall have sore need of it." + +She had reached the door by this. "You are not sorry that I came?" + +Sir John answered, very sadly: "There are many wrinkles now in your dear +face, my lady; the great eyes are a little dimmed, and the sweet +laughter is a little cracked; but I am not sorry to have seen you thus. +For I have loved no woman truly save you alone; and I am not sorry. +Farewell." And for a moment he bowed his unreverend gray head over her +shrivelled fingers. + + +3. "_This Pitch, as Ancient Writers do Report, doth Defile_" + +"Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to the vice of lying!" +chuckled Sir John, and leaned back rheumatically in his chair and +mumbled over the jest. + +"Yet it was not all a lie," he confided, as if in perplexity, to the +fire; "but what a coil over a youthful green-sickness 'twixt a lad and a +wench more than forty years syne! + +"I might have had money of her for the asking," he presently went on; +"yet I am glad I did not; which is a parlous sign and smacks of dotage." + +He nodded very gravely over this new and alarming phase of his character. + +"Were it not a quaint conceit, a merry tickle-brain of Fate," he asked of +the leaping flames, after a still longer pause, "that this mountain of +malmsey were once a delicate stripling with apple cheeks and a clean +breath, smelling of civet, and as mad for love, I warrant you, as any +Amadis of them all? For, if a man were to speak truly, I did love her. + +"I had the special marks of the pestilence," he assured a particularly +incredulous--and obstinate-looking coal,--a grim, black fellow that, +lurking in a corner, scowled forbiddingly and seemed to defy both the +flames and Sir John. "Not all the flagons and apples in the universe +might have comforted me; I was wont to sigh like a leaky bellows; to weep +like a wench that hath lost her grandam; to lard my speech with the +fag-ends of ballads like a man milliner; and did, indeed, indite sonnets, +canzonets, and what not of mine own elaboration. + +"And Moll did carry them," he continued; "plump brown-eyed Moll, that +hath married Hodge the tanner, and reared her tannerkins, and died +long since." + +But the coal remained incredulous, and the flames crackled merrily. + +"Lord, Lord, what did I not write?" said Sir John, drawing out a paper +from the packet, and deciphering by the firelight the faded writing. + +Read Sir John: + +"_Have pity, Sylvia? Cringing at thy door +Entreats with dolorous cry and clamoring, +That mendicant who quits thee nevermore; +Now winter chills the world, and no birds sing +In any woods, yet as in wanton Spring +He follows thee; and never will have done, +Though nakedly he die, from following +Whither thou leadest. + +"Canst thou look upon +His woes, and laugh to see a goddess' son +Of wide dominion, and in strategy + +"More strong than Jove, more wise than Solomon, +Inept to combat thy severity? +Have pity, Sylvia! And let Love be one +Among the folk that bear thee company_." + +"Is it not the very puling speech of your true lover?" he chuckled; and +the flames spluttered assent. "_Among the folk that bear thee company_," +he repeated, and afterward looked about him with a smack of gravity. +"Faith, Adam Cupid hath forsworn my fellowship long since; he hath no +score chalked up against him at the Boar's Head Tavern; or, if he have, I +doubt not the next street-beggar might discharge it." + +"And she hath commended me to her children as a very gallant gentleman +and a true knight," Sir John went on, reflectively. He cast his eyes +toward the ceiling, and grinned at invisible deities. "Jove that sees all +hath a goodly commodity of mirth; I doubt not his sides ache at times, as +if they had conceived another wine-god." + +"Yet, by my honor," he insisted to the fire; then added, +apologetically,--"if I had any, which, to speak plain, I have not,--I am +glad; it is a brave jest; and I did love her once." + +Then the time-battered, bloat rogue picked out another paper, and read: + +"'_My dear lady,--That I am not with thee to-night is, indeed, no fault +of mine; for Sir Thomas Mowbray hath need of me, he saith. Yet the +service that I have rendered him thus far is but to cool my heels in his +antechamber and dream of two great eyes and of that net of golden hair +wherewith Lord Love hath lately snared my poor heart. For it comforts +me_--' And so on, and so on, the pen trailing most juvenal sugar, like a +fly newly crept out of the honey-pot. And ending with a posy, filched, I +warrant you, from some ring. + +"I remember when I did write her this," he explained to the fire. "Lord, +Lord, if the fire of grace were not quite out of me, now should I be +moved. For I did write it; and it was sent with a sonnet, all of Hell, +and Heaven, and your pagan gods, and other tricks of speech. It should be +somewhere." + +He fumbled with uncertain fingers among the papers. "Ah, here it is," he +said at last, and he again began to read aloud. + +Read Sir John: + +"_Cupid invaded Hell, and boldly drove +Before him all the hosts of Erebus, +Till he had conquered: and grim Cerberus +Sang madrigals, the Furies rhymed of love, +Old Charon sighed, and sonnets rang above +The gloomy Styx; and even as Tantalus +Was Proserpine discrowned in Tartarus, +And Cupid regnant in the place thereof_. + +"_Thus Love is monarch throughout Hell to-day; +In Heaven we know his power was always great; +And Earth acclaimed Love's mastery straightway +When Sylvia came to gladden Earth's estate:-- +Thus Hell and Heaven and Earth his rule obey, +And Sylvia's heart alone is obdurate_. + +"Well, well," sighed Sir John, "it was a goodly rogue that writ it, +though the verse runs but lamely! A goodly rogue! + +"He might," Sir John suggested, tentatively, "have lived cleanly, and +forsworn sack; he might have been a gallant gentleman, and begotten +grandchildren, and had a quiet nook at the ingleside to rest his old +bones: but he is dead long since. He might have writ himself _armigero_ +in many a bill, or obligation, or quittance, or what not; he might have +left something behind him save unpaid tavern bills; he might have heard +cases, harried poachers, and quoted old saws; and slept in his own family +chapel through sermons yet unwrit, beneath his presentment, done in +stone, and a comforting bit of Latin: but he is dead long since." + +Sir John sat meditating for a while; it had grown quite dark in the room +as he muttered to himself. He rose now, rather cumbrously and +uncertainly, but with a fine rousing snort of indignation. + +"Zooks!" he said, "I prate like a death's-head. A thing done hath an end, +God have mercy on us all! And I will read no more of the rubbish." + +He cast the packet into the heart of the fire; the yellow papers curled +at the edges, rustled a little, and blazed; he watched them burn to the +last spark. + +"A cup of sack to purge the brain!" cried Sir John, and filled one to the +brim. "And I will go sup with Doll Tearsheet." + + * * * * * + +SEPTEMBER 29, 1422 + +"_Anoon her herte hath pitee of his wo, +And with that pitee, love com in also; +Thus is this quene in pleasaunce and in loye_." + + +_Meanwhile had old Dome Sylvia returned contentedly to the helpmate whom +she had accepted under compulsion, and who had made her a fair husband, +as husbands go. It is duly recorded, indeed, on their shared tomb, that +their forty years of married life were of continuous felicity, and set a +pattern to all Norfolk. The more prosaic verbal tradition is that Lady +Vernon retained Sir Robert well in hand by pointing out, at judicious +intervals, that she had only herself to blame for having married such a +selfish person in preference to a hero of the age and an ornament of the +loftiest circles. + +I find, on consultation of the Allonby records, that Sylvia Vernon died +of a quinsy, in 1419, surviving Sir Robert by some three months. She had +borne him four sons and four daughters: of these there remained at +Winstead in 1422 only Sir Hugh Vernon, the oldest son, knighted by Henry +V at Agincourt, where Vernon had fought with distinction; and Adelais +Vernon, the youngest daughter, with whom the following has to do._ + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +_The Episode Called "Sweet Adelais"_ + + +1. _Gruntings at Aeaea_ + +It was on a clear September day that the Marquis of Falmouth set out for +France. John of Bedford had summoned him posthaste when Henry V was +stricken at Senlis with what bid fair to prove a mortal distemper; for +the marquis was Bedford's comrade-in-arms, veteran of Shrewsbury, +Agincourt and other martial disputations, and the Duke-Regent suspected +that, to hold France in case of the King's death, he would presently need +all the help he could muster. + +"And I, too, look for warm work," the marquis conceded to Mistress +Adelais Vernon, at parting. "But, God willing, my sweet, we shall be wed +at Christmas for all that. The Channel is not very wide. At a pinch I +might swim it, I think, to come to you." + +He kissed her and rode away with his men. Adelais stared after them, +striving to picture her betrothed rivalling Leander in this fashion, and +subsequently laughed. The marquis was a great lord and a brave captain, +but long past his first youth; his actions went somewhat too deliberately +ever to be roused to the high lunacies of the Sestian amorist. So Adelais +laughed, but a moment later, recollecting the man's cold desire of her, +his iron fervors, Adelais shuddered. + +This was in the court-yard at Winstead. Roger Darke of Yaxham, the girl's +cousin, standing beside her, noted the gesture, and snarled. + +"Think twice of it, Adelais," said he. + +Whereupon Mistress Vernon flushed like a peony. "I honor him," she said, +with some irrelevance, "and he loves me." + +Roger scoffed. "Love, love! O you piece of ice! You gray-stone saint! +What do you know of love?" Master Darke caught both her hands in his. +"Now, by Almighty God, our Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ!" he said, +between his teeth, his eyes flaming; "I, Roger Darke, have offered you +undefiled love and you have mocked at it. Ha, Tears of Mary! how I love +you! And you mean to marry this man for his title! Do you not believe +that I love you, Adelais?" he whimpered. + +Gently she disengaged herself. This was of a pattern with Roger's +behavior any time during the past two years. "I suppose you do," Adelais +conceded, with the tiniest possible shrug. "Perhaps that is why I find +you so insufferable." + +Afterward Mistress Vernon turned on her heel and left Master Darke. In +his fluent invocation of Mahound and Termagaunt and other overseers of +the damned he presently touched upon eloquence. + + +2. _Comes One with Moly_ + +Adelais came into the walled garden of Winstead, aflame now with autumnal +scarlet and gold. She seated herself upon a semicircular marble bench, +and laughed for no apparent reason, and contentedly waited what Dame Luck +might send. + +She was a comely maid, past argument or (as her lovers habitually +complained) any adequate description. Circe, Colchian Medea, Viviane du +Lac, were their favorite analogues; and what old romancers had fabled +concerning these ladies they took to be the shadow of which Adelais +Vernon was the substance. At times these rhapsodists might have supported +their contention with a certain speciousness, such as was apparent +to-day, for example, when against the garden's hurly-burly of color, the +prodigal blazes of scarlet and saffron and wine-yellow, the girl's green +gown glowed like an emerald, and her eyes, too, seemed emeralds, vivid, +inscrutable, of a clear verdancy that was quite untinged with either blue +or gray. Very black lashes shaded them. The long oval of her face (you +might have objected), was of an absolute pallor, rarely quickening to a +flush; but her petulant lips burned crimson, and her hair mimicked the +dwindling radiance of the autumn sunlight and shamed it. All in all, the +aspect of Adelais Vernon was, beyond any questioning, spiced with a +sorcerous tang; say, the look of a young witch shrewd at love-potions, +but ignorant of their flavor; yet before this the girl's comeliness had +stirred men's hearts to madness, and the county boasted of it. + +Presently Adelais lifted her small imperious head, and then again she +smiled, for out of the depths of the garden, with an embellishment of +divers trills and roulades, came a man's voice that carolled blithely. + +Sang the voice: + +_"Had you lived when earth was new +What had bards of old to do +Save to sing in praise of you? + +"Had you lived in ancient days, +Adelais, sweet Adelais, +You had all the ancients' praise,-- +You whose beauty would have won +Canticles of Solomon, +Had the sage Judean king +Gazed upon this goodliest thing +Earth of Heaven's grace hath got. + +"Had you gladdened Greece, were not +All the nymphs of Greece forgot? + +"Had you trod Sicilian ways, +Adelais, sweet Adelais_, + +"You had pilfered all their praise: +Bion and Theocritus +Had transmitted unto us +Honeyed harmonies to tell +Of your beauty's miracle, +Delicate, desirable, +And their singing skill were bent +You-ward tenderly,--content, +While the world slipped by, to gaze +On the grace of you, and praise +Sweet Adelais_." + +Here the song ended, and a man, wheeling about the hedge, paused to +regard her with adoring eyes. Adelais looked up at him, incredibly +surprised by his coming. + +This was the young Sieur d'Arnaye, Hugh Vernon's prisoner, taken at +Agincourt seven years earlier and held since then, by the King's command, +without ransom; for it was Henry's policy to release none of the +important French prisoners. Even on his death-bed he found time to +admonish his brother, John of Bedford, that four of these,--Charles +d'Orleans and Jehan de Bourbon and Arthur de Rougemont and Fulke +d'Arnaye,--should never be set at liberty. "Lest," as the King said, with +a savor of prophecy, "more fire be kindled in one day than all your +endeavors can quench in three." + +Presently the Sieur d'Arnaye sighed, rather ostentatiously; and Adelais +laughed, and demanded the cause of his grief. + +"Mademoiselle," he said,--his English had but a trace of accent,--"I am +afflicted with a very grave malady." + +"What is the name of this malady?" said she. + +"They call it love, mademoiselle." + +Adelais laughed yet again and doubted if the disease were incurable. But +Fulke d'Arnaye seated himself beside her and demonstrated that, in his +case, it might not ever be healed. + +"For it is true," he observed, "that the ancient Scythians, who lived +before the moon was made, were wont to cure this distemper by +blood-letting under the ears; but your brother, mademoiselle, denies me +access to all knives. And the leech Aelian avers that it may be cured by +the herb agnea; but your brother, mademoiselle, will not permit that I go +into the fields in search of this herb. And in Greece--he, mademoiselle, +I might easily be healed of my malady in Greece! For in Greece is the +rock, Leucata Petra, from which a lover may leap and be cured; and the +well of the Cyziceni, from which a lover may drink and be cured; and the +river Selemnus, in which a lover may bathe and be cured: but your brother +will not permit that I go to Greece. You have a very cruel brother, +mademoiselle; seven long years, no less, he has penned me here like a +starling in a cage." + +And Fulke d'Arnaye shook his head at her reproachfully. + +Afterward he laughed. Always this Frenchman found something at which to +laugh; Adelais could not remember in all the seven years a time when she +had seen him downcast. But while his lips jested of his imprisonment, his +eyes stared at her mirthlessly, like a dog at his master, and her gaze +fell before the candor of the passion she saw in them. + +"My lord," said Adelais, "why will you not give your parole? Then you +would be free to come and go as you elected." A little she bent toward +him, a covert red showing in her cheeks. "To-night at Halvergate the Earl +of Brudenel holds the feast of Saint Michael. Give your parole, my lord, +and come with us. There will be in our company fair ladies who may +perhaps heal your malady." + +But the Sieur d'Arnaye only laughed. "I cannot give my parole," he said, +"since I mean to escape for all your brother's care." Then he fell to +pacing up and down before her. "Now, by Monseigneur Saint Medard and the +Eagle that sheltered him!" he cried, in half-humorous self-mockery; +"however thickly troubles rain upon me, I think that I shall never give +up hoping!" After a pause, "Listen, mademoiselle," he went on, more +gravely, and gave a nervous gesture toward the east, "yonder is France, +sacked, pillaged, ruinous, prostrate, naked to her enemy. But at +Vincennes, men say, the butcher of Agincourt is dying. With him dies the +English power in France. Can his son hold that dear realm? Are those tiny +hands with which this child may not yet feed himself capable to wield a +sceptre? Can he who is yet beholden to nurses for milk distribute +sustenance to the law and justice of a nation? He, I think not, +mademoiselle! France will have need of me shortly. Therefore, I cannot +give my parole." + +"Then must my brother still lose his sleep, lord, for always your +safe-keeping is in his mind. To-day at cock-crow he set out for the coast +to examine those Frenchmen who landed yesterday." + +At this he wheeled about. "Frenchmen!" + +"Only Norman fishermen, lord, whom the storm drove to seek shelter in +England. But he feared they had come to rescue you." + +Fulke d'Arnaye shrugged his shoulders. "That was my thought, too," he +admitted, with a laugh. "Always I dream of escape, mademoiselle. Have a +care of me, sweet enemy! I shall escape yet, it may be." + +"But I will not have you escape," said Adelais. She tossed her glittering +little head. "Winstead would not be Winstead without you. Why, I was but +a child, my lord, when you came. Have you forgotten, then, the lank, +awkward child who used to stare at you so gravely?" + +"Mademoiselle," he returned, and now his voice trembled and still the +hunger in his eyes grew more great, "I think that in all these years I +have forgotten nothing--not even the most trivial happening, +mademoiselle,--wherein you had a part. You were a very beautiful child. +Look you, I remember as if it were yesterday that you never wept when +your good lady mother--whose soul may Christ have in his keeping!--was +forced to punish you for some little misdeed. No, you never wept; but +your eyes would grow wistful, and you would come to me here in the +garden, and sit with me for a long time in silence. 'Fulke,' you would +say, quite suddenly, 'I love you better than my mother.' And I told you +that it was wrong to make such observations, did I not, mademoiselle? My +faith, yes! but I may confess now that I liked it," Fulke d'Arnaye ended, +with a faint chuckle. + +Adelais sat motionless. Certainly it was strange, she thought, how the +sound of this man's voice had power to move her. Certainly, too, this man +was very foolish. + +"And now the child is a woman,--a woman who will presently be Marchioness +of Falmouth. Look you, when I get free of my prison--and I shall get +free, never fear, mademoiselle,--I shall often think of that great lady. +For only God can curb a man's dreams, and God is compassionate. So I hope +to dream nightly of a gracious lady whose hair is gold and whose eyes are +colored like the summer sea and whose voice is clear and low and very +wonderfully sweet. Nightly, I think, the vision of that dear enemy will +hearten me to fight for France by day. In effect, mademoiselle, your +traitor beauty will yet aid me to destroy your country." + +The Sieur d'Arnaye laughed, somewhat cheerlessly, as he lifted her hand +to his lips. + +And certainly also (she concluded her reflections) it was absurd how this +man's touch seemed an alarm to her pulses. Adelais drew away from him. + +"No!" she said: "remember, lord, I, too, am not free." + +"Indeed, we tread on dangerous ground," the Frenchman assented, with a +sad little smile. "Pardon me, mademoiselle. Even were you free of your +trothplight--even were I free of my prison, most beautiful lady, I have +naught to offer you yonder in that fair land of France. They tell me that +the owl and the wolf hunt undisturbed where Arnaye once stood. My chateau +is carpeted with furze and roofed with God's Heaven. That gives me a +large estate--does it not?--but I may not reasonably ask a woman to share +it. So I pray you pardon me for my nonsense, mademoiselle, and I pray +that the Marchioness of Falmouth may be very happy." + +And with that he vanished into the autumn-fired recesses of the garden, +singing, his head borne stiff. Oh, the brave man who esteemed misfortune +so slightly! thought Adelais. She remembered that the Marquis of Falmouth +rarely smiled; and once only--at a bull-baiting--had she heard him laugh. +It needed bloodshed, then, to amuse him, Adelais deduced, with that +self-certainty in logic which is proper to youth; and the girl shuddered. + +But through the scarlet coppices of the garden, growing fainter and yet +more faint, rang the singing of Fulke d'Arnaye. + +Sang the Frenchman: + +"Had you lived in Roman times +No Catullus in his rhymes +Had lamented Lesbia's sparrow: +He had praised your forehead, narrow +As the newly-crescent moon, +White as apple-trees in June; +He had made some amorous tune +Of the laughing light Eros +Snared as Psyche-ward he goes +By your beauty,--by your slim, +White, perfect beauty. + +"After him +Horace, finding in your eyes +Horace limned in lustrous wise, +Would have made you melodies +Fittingly to hymn your praise, +Sweet Adelais." + + +3. Roger is Explicit + +Into the midst of the Michaelmas festivities at Halvergate that night, +burst a mud-splattered fellow in search of Sir Hugh Vernon. Roger Darke +brought him to the knight. The fellow then related that he came from +Simeon de Beck, the master of Castle Rising, with tidings that a strange +boat, French-rigged, was hovering about the north coast. Let Sir Hugh +have a care of his prisoner. + +Vernon swore roundly. "I must look into this," he said. "But what shall I +do with Adelais?" + +"Will you not trust her to me?" Roger asked. "If so, cousin, I will very +gladly be her escort to Winstead. Let the girl dance her fill while she +may, Hugh. She will have little heart for dancing after a month or so of +Falmouth's company." + +"That is true," Vernon assented; "but the match is a good one, and she is +bent upon it." + +So presently he rode with his men to the north coast. An hour later Roger +Darke and Adelais set out for Winstead, in spite of all Lady Brudenel's +protestations that Mistress Vernon had best lie with her that night at +Halvergate. + +It was a clear night of restless winds, neither warm nor chill, but fine +September weather. About them the air was heavy with the damp odors of +decaying leaves, for the road they followed was shut in by the autumn +woods, that now arched the way with sere foliage, rustling and whirring +and thinly complaining overhead, and now left it open to broad splashes +of moonlight, where fallen leaves scuttled about in the wind vortices. +Adelais, elate with dancing, chattered of this and that as her gray mare +ambled homeward, but Roger was moody. + +Past Upton the road branched in three directions; here Master Darke +caught the gray mare's bridle and turned both horses to the left. + +"Why, of whatever are you thinking!" the girl derided him. "Roger, this +is not the road to Winstead!" + +He grinned evilly over his shoulder. "It is the road to Yaxham, Adelais, +where my chaplain expects us." + +In a flash she saw it all as her eyes swept these desolate woods. "You +will not dare!" + +"Will I not?" said Roger. "Faith, for my part, I think you have mocked me +for the last time, Adelais, since it is the wife's duty, as Paul very +justly says, to obey." + +Swiftly she slipped from the mare. But he followed her. "Oh, infamy!" the +girl cried. "You have planned this, you coward!" + +"Yes, I planned it," said Roger Darke. "Yet I take no great credit +therefor, for it was simple enough. I had but to send a feigned message +to your block-head brother. Ha, yes, I planned it, Adelais, and I planned +it well. But I deal honorably. To-morrow you will be Mistress Darke, +never fear." + +He grasped at her cloak as she shrank from him. The garment fell, leaving +the girl momentarily free, her festival jewels shimmering in the +moonlight, her bared shoulders glistening like silver. Darke, staring at +her, giggled horribly. An instant later Adelais fell upon her knees. + +"Sweet Christ, have pity upon Thy handmaiden! Do not forsake me, sweet +Christ, in my extremity! Save me from this man!" she prayed, with +entire faith. + +"My lady wife," said Darke, and his hot, wet hand sank heavily upon her +shoulder, "you had best finish your prayer before my chaplain, I think, +since by ordinary Holy Church is skilled to comfort the sorrowing." + +"A miracle, dear lord Christ!" the girl wailed. "O sweet Christ, a +miracle!" + +"Faith of God!" said Roger, in a flattish tone; "what was that?" + +For faintly there came the sound of one singing. + +Sang the distant voice: + +_"Had your father's household been +Guelfic-born or Ghibelline, +Beatrice were unknown +On her star-encompassed throne. + +"For, had Dante viewed your grace, +Adelais, sweet Adelais, +You had reigned in Bice's place,-- +Had for candles, Hyades, +Rastaben, and Betelguese,-- +And had heard Zachariel +Chaunt of you, and, chaunting, tell +All the grace of you, and praise +Sweet Adelais."_ + + +4. _Honor Brings a Padlock_ + +Adelais sprang to her feet. "A miracle!" she cried, her voice shaking. +"Fulke, Fulke! to me, Fulke!" + +Master Darke hurried her struggling toward his horse. Darke was muttering +curses, for there was now a beat of hoofs in the road yonder that led to +Winstead. "Fulke, Fulke!" the girl shrieked. + +Then presently, as Roger put foot to stirrup, two horsemen wheeled about +the bend in the road, and one of them leapt to the ground. + +"Mademoiselle," said Fulke d'Arnaye, "am I, indeed, so fortunate as to be +of any service to you?" + +"Ho!" cried Roger, with a gulp of relief, "it is only the French +dancing-master taking French leave of poor cousin Hugh! Man, but you +startled me!" + +Now Adelais ran to the Frenchman, clinging to him the while that she told +of Roger's tricks. And d'Arnaye's face set mask-like. + +"Monsieur," he said, when she had ended, "you have wronged a sweet and +innocent lady. As God lives, you shall answer to me for this." + +"Look you," Roger pointed out, "this is none of your affair, Monsieur +Jackanapes. You are bound for the coast, I take it. Very well,--ka me, +and I ka thee. Do you go your way in peace, and let us do the same." + +Fulke d'Arnaye put the girl aside and spoke rapidly in French to his +companion. Then with mincing agility he stepped toward Master Darke. + +Roger blustered. "You hop-toad! you jumping-jack!" said he, "what do +you mean?" + +"Chastisement!" said the Frenchman, and struck him in the face. + +"Very well!" said Master Darke, strangely quiet. And with that they +both drew. + +The Frenchman laughed, high and shrill, as they closed, and afterward +he began to pour forth a voluble flow of discourse. Battle was wine +to the man. + +"Not since Agincourt, Master Coward--he, no!--have I held sword in hand. +It is a good sword, this,--a sharp sword, is it not? Ah, the poor +arm--but see, your blood is quite black-looking in this moonlight, and I +had thought cowards yielded a paler blood than brave men possess. We live +and learn, is it not? Observe, I play with you like a child,--as I played +with your tall King at Agincourt when I cut away the coronet from his +helmet. I did not kill him--no!--but I wounded him, you conceive? +Presently, I shall wound you, too. My compliments--you have grazed my +hand. But I shall not kill you, because you are the kinsman of the +fairest lady earth may boast, and I would not willingly shed the least +drop of any blood that is partly hers. Ohe, no! Yet since I needs must do +this ungallant thing--why, see, monsieur, how easy it is!" + +Thereupon he cut Roger down at a blow and composedly set to wiping his +sword on the grass. The Englishman lay like a log where he had fallen. + +"Lord," Adelais quavered, "lord, have you killed him?" + +Fulke d'Arnaye sighed. "Helas, no!" said he, "since I knew that you +did not wish it. See, mademoiselle,--I have but made a healthful and +blood-letting small hole in him here. He will return himself to +survive to it long time--Fie, but my English fails me, after these so +many years--" + +D'Arnaye stood for a moment as if in thought, concluding his +meditations with a grimace. After that he began again to speak in +French to his companion. The debate seemed vital. The stranger +gesticulated, pleaded, swore, implored, summoned all inventions between +the starry spheres and the mud of Cocytus to judge of the affair; but +Fulke d'Arnaye was resolute. + +"Behold, mademoiselle," he said, at length, "how my poor Olivier excites +himself over a little matter. Olivier is my brother, most beautiful lady, +but he speaks no English, so that I cannot present him to you. He came to +rescue me, this poor Olivier, you conceive. Those Norman fishermen of +whom you spoke to-day--but you English are blinded, I think, by the fogs +of your cold island. Eight of the bravest gentlemen in France, +mademoiselle, were those same fishermen, come to bribe my gaoler,--the +incorruptible Tompkins, no less. He, yes, they came to tell me that Henry +of Monmouth, by the wrath of God King of France, is dead at Vincennes +yonder, mademoiselle, and that France will soon be free of you English. +France rises in her might--" His nostrils dilated, he seemed taller; then +he shrugged. "And poor Olivier grieves that I may not strike a blow for +her,--grieves that I must go back to Winstead." + +D'Arnaye laughed as he caught the bridle of the gray mare and turned her +so that Adelais might mount. But the girl, with a faint, wondering cry, +drew away from him. + +"You will go back! You have escaped, lord, and you will go back!" + +"Why, look you," said the Frenchman, "what else may I conceivably do? We +are some miles from your home, most beautiful lady,--can you ride those +four long miles alone? in this night so dangerous? Can I leave you here +alone in this so tall forest? He, surely not. I am desolated, +mademoiselle, but I needs must burden you with my company homeward." + +Adelais drew a choking breath. He had fretted out seven years of +captivity. Now he was free; and lest she be harmed or her name be +smutched, however faintly, he would go back to his prison, jesting. "No, +no!" she cried aloud. + +But he raised a deprecating hand. "You cannot go alone. Olivier here +would go with you gladly. Not one of those brave gentlemen who await me +at the coast yonder but would go with you very, very gladly, for they +love France, these brave gentlemen, and they think that I can serve her +better than most other men. That is very flattering, is it not? But all +the world conspires to flatter me, mademoiselle. Your good brother, by +example, prizes my company so highly that he would infallibly hang the +gentleman who rode back with you. So, you conceive, I cannot avail myself +of their services. But with me it is different, hein? Ah, yes, Sir Hugh +will merely lock me up again and for the future guard me more vigilantly. +Will you not mount, mademoiselle?" + +His voice was quiet, and his smile never failed him. It was this steady +smile which set her heart to aching. Adelais knew that no natural power +could dissuade him; he would go back with her; but she knew how +constantly he had hoped for liberty, with what fortitude he had awaited +his chance of liberty; and that he should return to captivity, smiling, +thrilled her to impotent, heart-shaking rage. It maddened her that he +dared love her thus infinitely. + +"But, mademoiselle," Fulke d'Arnaye went on, when she had mounted, "let +us proceed, if it so please you, by way of Filby. For then we may ride a +little distance with this rogue Olivier. I may not hope to see Olivier +again in this life, you comprehend, and Olivier is, I think, the one +person who loves me in all this great wide world. Me, I am not very +popular, you conceive. But you do not object, mademoiselle?" + +"No!" she said, in a stifled voice. + +Afterward they rode on the way to Filby, leaving Roger Darke to regain at +discretion the mastership of his faculties. The two Frenchmen as they +went talked vehemently; and Adelais, following them, brooded on the +powerful Marquis of Falmouth and the great lady she would shortly be; but +her eyes strained after Fulke d'Arnaye. + +Presently he fell a-singing; and still his singing praised her in a +desirous song, yearning but very sweet, as they rode through the autumn +woods; and his voice quickened her pulses as always it had the power to +quicken them, and in her soul an interminable battling dragged on. + +Sang Fulke d'Arnaye: + +_"Had you lived when earth was new +What had bards of old to do +Save to sing in praise of you? + +"They had sung of you always, +Adelais, sweet Adelais, +As worthiest of all men's praise; +Nor had undying melodies, +Wailed soft as love may sing of these +Dream-hallowed names,--of Heloise, +Ysoude, Salome, Semele, +Morgaine, Lucrece, Antiope, +Brunhilda, Helen, Melusine, +Penelope, and Magdalene: +--But you alone had all men's praise, +Sweet Adelais"_ + + +5. _"Thalatta!"_ + +When they had crossed the Bure, they had come into the open country,--a +great plain, gray in the moonlight, that descended, hillock by hillock, +toward the shores of the North Sea. On the right the dimpling lustre of +tumbling waters stretched to a dubious sky-line, unbroken save for the +sail of the French boat, moored near the ruins of the old Roman +station, Garianonum, and showing white against the unresting sea, like +a naked arm; to the left the lights of Filby flashed their unblinking, +cordial radiance. + +Here the brothers parted. Vainly Olivier wept and stormed before +Fulke's unwavering smile; the Sieur d'Arnaye was adamantean: and +presently the younger man kissed him on both cheeks and rode slowly +away toward the sea. + +D'Arnaye stared after him. "Ah, the brave lad!" said Fulke d'Arnaye. "And +yet how foolish! Look you, mademoiselle, that rogue is worth ten of me, +and he does not even suspect it." + +His composure stung her to madness. + +"Now, by the passion of our Lord and Saviour!" Adelais cried, wringing +her hands in impotence; "I conjure you to hear me, Fulke! You must not do +this thing. Oh, you are cruel, cruel! Listen, my lord," she went on with +more restraint, when she had reined up her horse by the side of his, +"yonder in France the world lies at your feet. Our great King is dead. +France rises now, and France needs a brave captain. You, you! it is you +that she needs. She has sent for you, my lord, that mother France whom +you love. And you will go back to sleep in the sun at Winstead when +France has need of you. Oh, it is foul!" + +But he shook his head. "France is very dear to me," he said, "yet there +are other men who can serve France. And there is no man save me who may +to-night serve you, most beautiful lady." + +"You shame me!" she cried, in a gust of passion. "You shame my +worthlessness with this mad honor of yours that drags you jesting to your +death! For you must die a prisoner now, without any hope. You and Orleans +and Bourbon are England's only hold on France, and Bedford dare not let +you go. Fetters, chains, dungeons, death, torture perhaps--that is what +you must look for now. And you will no longer be held at Winstead, but in +the strong Tower at London." + +"Helas, you speak more truly than an oracle," he gayly assented. + +And hers was the ageless thought of women. "This man is rather foolish +and peculiarly dear to me. What shall I do with him? and how much must I +humor him in his foolishness?" + +D'Arnaye stayed motionless: but still his eyes strained after Olivier. + +Well, she would humor him. There was no alternative save that of perhaps +never seeing Fulke again. + +Adelais laid her hand upon his arm. "You love me. God knows, I am not +worthy of it, but you love me. Ever since I was a child you have loved +me,--always, always it was you who indulged me, shielded me, protected me +with this fond constancy that I have not merited. Very well,"--she +paused, for a single heartbeat,--"go! and take me with you." + +The hand he raised shook as though palsied. "O most beautiful!" the +Frenchman cried, in an extreme of adoration; "you would do that! You +would do that in pity to save me--unworthy me! And it is I whom you call +brave--me, who annoy you with my woes so petty!" Fulke d'Arnaye slipped +from his horse, and presently stood beside the gray mare, holding a +small, slim hand in his. "I thank you," he said, simply. "You know that +it is impossible. But yes, I have loved you these long years. And +now--Ah, my heart shakes, my words tumble, I cannot speak! You know that +I may not--may not let you do this thing. Why, but even if, of your +prodigal graciousness, mademoiselle, you were so foolish as to waste a +little liking upon my so many demerits--" He gave a hopeless gesture. +"Why, there is always our brave marquis to be considered, who will so +soon make you a powerful, rich lady. And I?--I have nothing." + +But Adelais had rested either hand upon a stalwart shoulder, bending down +to him till her hair brushed his. Yes, this man was peculiarly dear to +her: she could not bear to have him murdered when in equity he deserved +only to have his jaws boxed for his toplofty nonsense about her; and, +after all, she did not much mind humoring him in his foolishness. + +"Do you not understand?" she whispered. "Ah, my paladin, do you think I +speak in pity? I wished to be a great lady,--yes. Yet always, I think, I +loved you, Fulke, but until to-night I had believed that love was only +the man's folly, the woman's diversion. See, here is Falmouth's ring." +She drew it from her finger, and flung it awkwardly, as every woman +throws. Through the moonlight it fell glistening. "Yes, I hungered for +Falmouth's power, but you have shown me that which is above any temporal +power. Ever I must crave the highest, Fulke--Ah, fair sweet friend, do +not deny me!" Adelais cried, piteously. "Take me with you, Fulke! I will +ride with you to the wars, my lord, as your page; I will be your wife, +your slave, your scullion. I will do anything save leave you. Lord, it is +not the maid's part to plead thus!" + +Fulke d'Arnaye drew her warm, yielding body toward him and stood in +silence. Then he raised his eyes to heaven. "Dear Lord God," he cried, in +a great voice, "I entreat of Thee that if through my fault this woman +ever know regret or sorrow I be cast into the nethermost pit of Hell for +all eternity!" Afterward he kissed her. + +And presently Adelais lifted her head, with a mocking little laugh. +"Sorrow!" she echoed. "I think there is no sorrow in all the world. +Mount, my lord, mount! See where brother Olivier waits for us yonder." + + * * * * * + +JUNE 5, 1455--AUGUST 4, 1462 + +_"Fortune fuz par clercs jadis nominee, Qui toi, Francois, crie et nomme +meurtriere."_ + + +_So it came about that Adelais went into France with the great-grandson +of Tiburce d'Arnaye: and Fulke, they say, made her a very fair husband. +But he had not, of course, much time for love-making. + +For in France there was sterner work awaiting Fulke d'Arnaye, and he set +about it: through seven dreary years he and Rougemont and Dunois managed, +somehow, to bolster up the cause of the fat-witted King of Bourges (as +the English then called him), who afterward became King Charles VII of +France. But in the February of 1429--four days before the Maid of Domremy +set forth from her voice-haunted Bois Chenu to bring about a certain +coronation in Rheims Church and in Rouen Square a flamy martyrdom--four +days before the coming of the good Lorrainer, Fulke d'Arnaye was slain at +Rouvray-en-Beausse in that encounter between the French and the English +which history has commemorated as the Battle of the Herrings. + +Adelais was wooed by, and betrothed to, the powerful old Comte de +Vaudremont; but died just before the date set for this second marriage, +in October, 1429. She left two sons: Noel, born in 1425, and Raymond, +born in 1426; who were reared by their uncle, Olivier d'Arnaye. It was +said of them that Noel was the handsomest man of his times, and Raymond +the most shrewd; concerning that you will judge hereafter. Both of these +d'Arnayes, on reaching manhood, were identified with the Dauphin's party +in the unending squabbles between Charles VII and the future Louis XI. + +Now you may learn how Noel d'Arnaye came to be immortalized by a legacy +of two hundred and twenty blows from an osierwhip--since (as the testator +piously affirms), "chastoy est une belle aulmosne."_ + + + + +CHAPTER V + +_The Episode Called In Necessity's Mortar_ + + +1. "Bon Bec de Paris" + +There went about the Rue Saint Jacques a notable shaking of heads on the +day that Catherine de Vaucelles was betrothed to Francois de Montcorbier. + +"Holy Virgin!" said the Rue Saint Jacques; "the girl is a fool. Why has +she not taken Noel d'Arnaye,--Noel the Handsome? I grant you Noel is an +ass, but, then, look you, he is of the nobility. He has the Dauphin's +favor. Noel will be a great man when our exiled Dauphin comes back from +Geneppe to be King of France. Then, too, she might have had Philippe +Sermaise. Sermaise is a priest, of course, and one may not marry a +priest, but Sermaise has money, and Sermaise is mad for love of her. She +might have done worse. But Francois! Ho, death of my life, what is +Francois? Perhaps--he, he!--perhaps Ysabeau de Montigny might inform us, +you say? Doubtless Ysabeau knows more of him than she would care to +confess, but I measure the lad by other standards. Francois is +inoffensive enough, I dare assert, but what does Catherine see in him? He +is a scholar?--well, the College of Navarre has furnished food for the +gallows before this. A poet?--rhyming will not fill the pot. Rhymes are a +thin diet for two lusty young folk like these. And who knows if Guillaume +de Villon, his foster-father, has one sou to rub against another? He is +canon at Saint Benoit-le-Betourne yonder, but canons are not Midases. The +girl will have a hard life of it, neighbor, a hard life, I tell you, +if--but, yes!--if Ysabeau de Montigny does not knife her some day. Oh, +beyond doubt, Catherine has played the fool." + +Thus far the Rue Saint Jacques. + +This was on the day of the Fete-Dieu. It was on this day that Noel +d'Arnaye blasphemed for a matter of a half-hour and then went to the +Crowned Ox, where he drank himself into a contented insensibility; that +Ysabeau de Montigny, having wept a little, sent for Gilles Raguyer, a +priest and aforetime a rival of Francois de Montcorbier for her favors; +and that Philippe Sermaise grinned and said nothing. But afterward +Sermaise gnawed at his under lip like a madman as he went about seeking +for Francois de Montcorbier. + + +2. "_Deux estions, et n'avions qu'ung Cueur_" + +It verged upon nine in the evening--a late hour in those days--when +Francois climbed the wall of Jehan de Vaucelles' garden. + +A wall!--and what is a wall to your true lover? What bones, pray, did the +Sieur Pyramus, that ill-starred Babylonish knight, make of a wall? did +not his protestations slip through a chink, mocking at implacable granite +and more implacable fathers? Most assuredly they did; and Pyramus was a +pattern to all lovers. Thus ran the meditations of Master Francois as he +leapt down into the garden. + +He had not, you must understand, seen Catherine for three hours. Three +hours! three eternities rather, and each one of them spent in Malebolge. +Coming to a patch of moonlight, Francois paused there and cut an agile +caper, as he thought of that approaching time when he might see Catherine +every day. + +"Madame Francois de Montcorbier," he said, tasting each syllable with +gusto. "Catherine de Montcorbier. Was there ever a sweeter juxtaposition +of sounds? It is a name for an angel. And an angel shall bear it,--eh, +yes, an angel, no less. O saints in Paradise, envy me! Envy me," he +cried, with a heroical gesture toward the stars, "for Francois would +change places with none of you." + +He crept through ordered rows of chestnuts and acacias to a window +wherein burned a dim light. He unslung a lute from his shoulder and +began to sing, secure in the knowledge that deaf old Jehan de Vaucelles +was not likely to be disturbed by sound of any nature till that time +when it should please high God that the last trump be noised about the +tumbling heavens. + +It was good to breathe the mingled odor of roses and mignonette that was +thick about him. It was good to sing to her a wailing song of unrequited +love and know that she loved him. Francois dallied with his bliss, +parodied his bliss, and--as he complacently reflected,--lamented in the +moonlight with as tuneful a dolor as Messire Orpheus may have evinced +when he carolled in Hades. + +Sang Francois: + +_"O Beauty of her, whereby I am undone! +O Grace of her, that hath no grace for me! +O Love of her, the bit that guides me on +To sorrow and to grievous misery! +O felon Charms, my poor heart's enemy! +O furtive murderous Pride! O pitiless, great +Cold Eyes of her! have done with cruelty! +Have pity upon me ere it be too late! + +"Happier for me if elsewhere I had gone +For pity--ah, far happier for me, +Since never of her may any grace be won, +And lest dishonor slay me, I must flee. +'Haro!' I cry, (and cry how uselessly!) +'Haro!' I cry to folk of all estate, + +"For I must die unless it chance that she +Have pity upon me ere it be too late. + +"M'amye, that day in whose disastrous sun +Your beauty's flower must fade and wane and be +No longer beautiful, draws near,--whereon +I will nor plead nor mock;--not I, for we +Shall both be old and vigorless! M'amye, +Drink deep of love, drink deep, nor hesitate +Until the spring run dry, but speedily +Have pity upon me--ere it be too late! + +"Lord Love, that all love's lordship hast in fee, +Lighten, ah, lighten thy displeasure's weight, +For all true hearts should, of Christ's charity, +Have pity upon me ere it be too late."_ + +Then from above a delicate and cool voice was audible. "You have mistaken +the window, Monsieur de Montcorbier. Ysabeau de Montigny dwells in the +Rue du Fouarre." + +"Ah, cruel!" sighed Francois. "Will you never let that kite hang upon +the wall?" + +"It is all very well to groan like a bellows. Guillemette Moreau did not +sup here for nothing. I know of the verses you made her,--and the gloves +you gave her at Candlemas, too. Saint Anne!" observed the voice, somewhat +sharply; "she needed gloves. Her hands are so much raw beef. And the +head-dress at Easter,--she looks like the steeple of Saint Benoit in it. +But every man to his taste, Monsieur de Montcorbier. Good-night, Monsieur +de Montcorbier." But, for all that, the window did not close. + +"Catherine--!" he pleaded; and under his breath he expressed uncharitable +aspirations as to the future of Guillemette Moreau. + +"You have made me very unhappy," said the voice, with a little sniff. + +"It was before I knew you, Catherine. The stars are beautiful, m'amye, +and a man may reasonably admire them; but the stars vanish and are +forgotten when the sun appears." + +"Ysabeau is not a star," the voice pointed out; "she is simply a lank, +good-for-nothing, slovenly trollop." + +"Ah, Catherine--!" + +"You are still in love with her." + +"Catherine--!" + +"Otherwise, you will promise me for the future to avoid her as you would +the Black Death." + +"Catherine, her brother is my friend--!" + +"Rene de Montigny is, to the knowledge of the entire Rue Saint Jacques, a +gambler and a drunkard and, in all likelihood, a thief. But you prefer, +it appears, the Montignys to me. An ill cat seeks an ill rat. Very +heartily do I wish you joy of them. You will not promise? Good-night, +then, Monsieur de Montcorbier." + +"Mother of God! I promise, Catherine." + +From above Mademoiselle de Vaucelles gave a luxurious sigh. "Dear +Francois!" said she. + +"You are a tyrant," he complained. "Madame Penthesilea was not more +cruel. Madame Herodias was less implacable, I think. And I think that +neither was so beautiful." + +"I love you," said Mademoiselle de Vaucelles, promptly. + +"But there was never any one so many fathoms deep in love as I. Love +bandies me from the postern to the frying-pan, from hot to cold. Ah, +Catherine, Catherine, have pity upon my folly! Bid me fetch you Prester +John's beard, and I will do it; bid me believe the sky is made of +calf-skin, that morning is evening, that a fat sow is a windmill, and I +will do it. Only love me a little, dear." + +"My king, my king of lads!" she murmured. + +"My queen, my tyrant of unreason! Ah, yes, you are all that is ruthless +and abominable, but then what eyes you have! Oh, very pitiless, large, +lovely eyes--huge sapphires that in the old days might have ransomed +every monarch in Tamerlane's stable! Even in the night I see them, +Catherine." + +"Yet Ysabeau's eyes are brown." + +"Then are her eyes the gutter's color. But Catherine's eyes are twin +firmaments." + +And about them the acacias rustled lazily, and the air was sweet +with the odors of growing things, and the world, drenched in +moonlight, slumbered. Without was Paris, but old Jehan's garden-wall +cloistered Paradise. + +"Has the world, think you, known lovers, long dead now, that were once as +happy as we?" + +"Love was not known till we discovered it." + +"I am so happy, Francois, that I fear death." + +"We have our day. Let us drink deep of love, not waiting until the spring +run dry. Catherine, death comes to all, and yonder in the church-yard the +poor dead lie together, huggermugger, and a man may not tell an +archbishop from a rag-picker. Yet they have exulted in their youth, and +have laughed in the sun with some lass or another lass. We have our day, +Catherine." + +"Our day wherein I love you!" + +"And wherein I love you precisely seven times as much!" + +So they prattled in the moonlight. Their discourse was no more +overburdened with wisdom than has been the ordinary communing of lovers +since Adam first awakened ribless. Yet they were content, who, were young +in the world's recaptured youth. + +Fate grinned and went on with her weaving. + + +3. "Et Ysabeau, Qui Dit: Enne!" + +Somewhat later Francois came down the deserted street, treading on air. +It was a bland summer night, windless, moon-washed, odorous with +garden-scents; the moon, nearing its full, was a silver egg set on +end--("Leda-hatched," he termed it; "one may look for the advent of Queen +Heleine ere dawn"); and the sky he likened to blue velvet studded with +the gilt nail-heads of a seraphic upholsterer. Francois was a poet, but a +civic poet; then, as always, he pilfered his similes from shop-windows. + +But the heart of Francois was pure magnanimity, the heels of Francois +were mercury, as he tripped past the church of Saint Benoit-le-Betourne, +stark snow and ink in the moonlight. Then with a jerk Francois paused. + +On a stone bench before the church sat Ysabeau de Montigny and Gilles +Raguyer. The priest was fuddled, hiccuping in his amorous dithyrambics as +he paddled with the girl's hand. "You tempt me to murder," he was saying. +"It is a deadly sin, my soul, and I have no mind to fry in Hell while my +body swings on the Saint Denis road, a crow's dinner. Let Francois live, +my soul! My soul, he would stick little Gilles like a pig." + +Raguyer began to blubber at the thought. + +"Holy Macaire!" said Francois; "here is a pretty plot a-brewing." Yet +because his heart was filled just now with loving-kindness, he forgave +the girl. _"Tantaene irae?"_ said Francois; and aloud, "Ysabeau, it is +time you were abed." + +She wheeled upon him in apprehension; then, with recognition, her rage +flamed. "Now, Gilles!" cried Ysabeau de Montigny; "now, coward! He is +unarmed, Gilles. Look, Gilles! Kill for me this betrayer of women!" + +Under his mantle Francois loosened the short sword he carried. But the +priest plainly had no mind to the business. He rose, tipsily fumbling a +knife, and snarling like a cur at sight of a strange mastiff. "Vile +rascal!" said Gilles Raguyer, as he strove to lash himself into a rage. +"O coward! O parricide! O Tarquin!" + +Francois began to laugh. "Let us have done with this farce," said he. +"Your man has no stomach for battle, Ysabeau. And you do me wrong, my +lass, to call me a betrayer of women. Doubtless, that tale seemed the +most apt to kindle in poor Gilles some homicidal virtue: but you and I +and God know that naught has passed between us save a few kisses and a +trinket or so. It is no knifing matter. Yet for the sake of old time, +come home, Ysabeau; your brother is my friend, and the hour is somewhat +late for honest women to be abroad." + +"Enne?" shrilled Ysabeau; "and yet, if I cannot strike a spark of courage +from this clod here, there come those who may help me, Francois de +Montcorbier. 'Ware Sermaise, Master Francois!" + +Francois wheeled. Down the Rue Saint Jacques came Philippe Sermaise, like +a questing hound, with drunken Jehan le Merdi at his heels. "Holy +Virgin!" thought Francois; "this is likely to be a nasty affair. I would +give a deal for a glimpse of the patrol lanterns just now." + +He edged his way toward the cloister, to get a wall at his back. But +Gilles Raguyer followed him, knife in hand. "O hideous Tarquin! O +Absalom!" growled Gilles; "have you, then, no respect for churchmen?" + +With an oath, Sermaise ran up. "Now, may God die twice," he panted, "if I +have not found the skulker at last! There is a crow needs picking between +us two, Montcorbier." + +Hemmed in by his enemies, Francois temporized. "Why do you accost me thus +angrily, Master Philippe?" he babbled. "What harm have I done you? What +is your will of me?" + +But his fingers tore feverishly at the strap by which the lute was swung +over his shoulder, and now the lute fell at their feet, leaving Francois +unhampered and his sword-arm free. + +This was fuel to the priest's wrath. "Sacred bones of Benoit!" he +snarled; "I could make a near guess as to what window you have been +caterwauling under." + +From beneath his gown he suddenly hauled out a rapier and struck at the +boy while Francois was yet tugging at his sword. + +Full in the mouth Sermaise struck him, splitting the lower lip through. +Francois felt the piercing cold of the steel, the tingling of it against +his teeth, then the warm grateful spurt of blood; through a red mist, he +saw Gilles and Ysabeau run screaming down the Rue Saint Jacques. + +He drew and made at Sermaise, forgetful of le Merdi. It was shrewd work. +Presently they were fighting in the moonlight, hammer-and-tongs, as the +saying is, and presently Sermaise was cursing like a madman, for Francois +had wounded him in the groin. Window after window rattled open as the Rue +Saint Jacques ran nightcapped to peer at the brawl. Then as Francois +hurled back his sword to slash at the priest's shaven head--Frenchmen had +not yet learned to thrust with the point in the Italian manner--Jehan le +Merdi leapt from behind, nimble as a snake, and wrested away the boy's +weapon. Sermaise closed with a glad shout. + +"Heart of God!" cried Sermaise. "Pray, bridegroom, pray!" + +But Francois jumped backward, tumbling over le Merdi, and with apish +celerity caught up a great stone and flung it full in the priest's +countenance. + +The rest was hideous. For a breathing space Sermaise kept his feet, his +outspread arms making a tottering cross. It was curious to see him peer +about irresolutely now that he had no face. Francois, staring at the +black featureless horror before him, began to choke. Standing thus, with +outstretched arms, the priest first let fall his hands, so that they hung +limp from the wrists; his finger-nails gleamed in the moonlight. His +rapier tinkled on the flagstones with the sound of shattering glass, and +Philippe Sermaise slid down, all a-jumble, crumpling like a broken toy. +Afterward you might have heard a long, awed sibilance go about the +windows overhead as the watching Rue Saint Jacques breathed again. + +Francois de Montcorbier ran. He tore at his breast as he ran, stifling. +He wept as he ran through the moon-washed Rue Saint Jacques, making +animal-like and whistling noises. His split lip was a clammy dead thing +that napped against his chin as he ran. + +"Francois!" a man cried, meeting him; "ah, name of a name, Francois!" + +It was Rene de Montigny, lurching from the Crowned Ox, half-tipsy. He +caught the boy by the shoulder and hurried Francois, still sobbing, to +Fouquet the barber-surgeon's, where they sewed up his wound. In +accordance with the police regulations, they first demanded an account of +how he had received it. Rene lied up-hill and down-dale, while in a +corner of the room Francois monotonously wept. + +Fate grinned and went on with her weaving. + + +4. "_Necessite Faict Gens Mesprende_" + +The Rue Saint Jacques had toothsome sauce for its breakfast. The quarter +smacked stiff lips over the news, as it pictured Francois de Montcorbier +dangling from Montfaucon. "Horrible!" said the Rue Saint Jacques, and +drew a moral of suitably pious flavor. + +Guillemette Moreau had told Catherine of the affair before the day was +aired. The girl's hurt vanity broke tether. + +"Sermaise!" said she. "Bah, what do I care for Sermaise! He killed him in +fair fight. But within an hour, Guillemette,--within a half-hour after +leaving me, he is junketing on church-porches with that trollop. They +were not there for holy-water. Midnight, look you! And he swore to +me--chaff, chaff! His honor is chaff, Guillemette, and his heart a +bran-bag. Oh, swine, filthy swine! Eh, well, let the swine stick to his +sty. Send Noel d'Arnaye to me." + +The Sieur d'Arnaye came, his head tied in a napkin. + +"Foh!" said she; "another swine fresh from the gutter? No, this is a +bottle, a tun, a walking wine-barrel! Noel, I despise you. I will marry +you if you like." + +He fell to mumbling her hand. An hour later Catherine told Jehan de +Vaucelles she intended to marry Noel the Handsome when he should come +back from Geneppe with the exiled Dauphin. The old man, having wisdom, +lifted his brows, and returned to his reading in _Le Pet au Diable_. + +The patrol had transported Sermaise to the prison of Saint Benoit, where +he lay all night. That day he was carried to the hospital of the Hotel +Dieu. He died the following Saturday. + +Death exalted the man to some nobility. Before one of the apparitors of +the Chatelet he exonerated Montcorbier, under oath, and asked that no +steps be taken against him. "I forgive him my death," said Sermaise, +manly enough at the last, "by reason of certain causes moving him +thereunto." Presently he demanded the peach-colored silk glove they would +find in the pocket of his gown. It was Catherine's glove. The priest +kissed it, and then began to laugh. Shortly afterward he died, still +gnawing at the glove. + +Francois and Rene had vanished. "Good riddance," said the Rue Saint +Jacques. But Montcorbier was summoned to answer before the court of the +Chatelet for the death of Philippe Sermaise, and in default of his +appearance, was subsequently condemned to banishment from the kingdom. + +The two young men were at Saint Pourcain-en-Bourbonnais, where Rene had +kinsmen. Under the name of des Loges, Francois had there secured a place +as tutor, but when he heard that Sermaise in the article of death had +cleared him of all blame, Francois set about procuring a pardon. +[Footnote: There is humor in his deposition that Gilles and Ysabeau and +he were loitering before Saint Benoit's in friendly discourse,--"pour soy +esbatre." Perhaps Rene prompted this; but in itself, it is characteristic +of Montcorbier that he trenched on perjury, blithely, in order to screen +Ysabeau.] It was January before he succeeded in obtaining it. + +Meanwhile he had learned a deal of Rene's way of living. "You are a +thief," Francois observed to Montigny the day the pardon came, "but you +have played a kindly part by me. I think you are Dysmas, Rene, not +Gestas. Heh, I throw no stones. You have stolen, but I have killed. Let +us go to Paris, lad, and start afresh." + +Montigny grinned. "I shall certainly go to Paris," he said. "Friends wait +for me there,--Guy Tabary, Petit Jehan and Colin de Cayeux. We are +planning to visit Guillaume Coiffier, a fat priest with some six hundred +crowns in the cupboard. You will make one of the party, Francois." + +"Rene, Rene," said the other, "my heart bleeds for you." + +Again Montigny grinned. "You think a great deal about blood nowadays," he +commented. "People will be mistaking you for such a poet as was crowned +Nero, who, likewise, gave his time to ballad-making and to murdering +fathers of the Church. Eh, dear Ahenabarbus, let us first see what the +Rue Saint Jacques has to say about your recent gambols. After that, I +think you will make one of our party." + + +5. "_Yeulx sans Pitie!_" + +There was a light crackling frost under foot the day that Francois came +back to the Rue Saint Jacques. Upon this brisk, clear January day it was +good to be home again, an excellent thing to be alive. + +"Eh, Guillemette, Guillemette," he laughed. "Why, lass--!" + +"Faugh!" said Guillemette Moreau, as she passed him, nose in air. "A +murderer, a priest-killer." + +Then the sun went black for Francois. Such welcoming was a bucket of +cold water, full in the face. He gasped, staring after her; and pursy +Thomas Tricot, on his way from mass, nudged Martin Blaru in the ribs. + +"Martin," said he, "fruit must be cheap this year. Yonder in the gutter +is an apple from the gallows-tree, and no one will pick it up." + +Blaru turned and spat out, "Cain! Judas!" + +This was only a sample. Everywhere Francois found rigid faces, sniffs, +and skirts drawn aside. A little girl in a red cap, Robin Troussecaille's +daughter, flung a stone at Francois as he slunk into the cloister of +Saint Benoit-le-Betourne. In those days a slain priest was God's servant +slain, no less; and the Rue Saint Jacques was a respectable God-fearing +quarter of Paris. + +"My father!" the boy cried, rapping upon the door of the Hotel de la +Porte-Rouge; "O my father, open to me, for I think that my heart is +breaking." + +Shortly his foster-father, Guillaume de Villon, came to the window. +"Murderer!" said he. "Betrayer of women! Now, by the caldron of John! how +dare you show your face here? I gave you my name and you soiled it. Back +to your husks, rascal!" + +"O God, O God!" Francois cried, one or two times, as he looked up into +the old man's implacable countenance. "You, too, my father!" + +He burst into a fit of sobbing. + +"Go!" the priest stormed; "go, murderer!" + +It was not good to hear Francois' laughter. "What a world we live in!" +he giggled. "You gave me your name and I soiled it? Eh, Master Priest, +Master Pharisee, beware! _Villon_ is good French for _vagabond_, an +excellent name for an outcast. And as God lives, I will presently drag +that name through every muckheap in France." + +Yet he went to Jehan de Vaucelles' home. "I will afford God one more +chance at my soul," said Francois. + +In the garden he met Catherine and Noel d'Arnaye coming out of the house. +They stopped short. Her face, half-muffled in the brown fur of her cloak, +flushed to a wonderful rose of happiness, the great eyes glowed, and +Catherine reached out her hands toward Francois with a glad cry. + +His heart was hot wax as he fell before her upon his knees. "O heart's +dearest, heart's dearest!" he sobbed; "forgive me that I doubted you!" + +And then for an instant, the balance hung level. But after a while, +"Ysabeau de Montigny dwells in the Rue du Fouarre," said Catherine, in a +crisp voice,--"having served your purpose, however, I perceive that +Ysabeau, too, is to be cast aside as though she were an old glove. +Monsieur d'Arnaye, thrash for me this betrayer of women." + +Noel was a big, handsome man, like an obtuse demi-god, a foot taller +than Francois. Noel lifted the boy by his collar, caught up a stick and +set to work. Catherine watched them, her eyes gemlike and cruel. + +Francois did not move a muscle. God had chosen. + +After a little, though, the Sieur d'Arnaye flung Francois upon the +ground, where he lay quite still for a moment. Then slowly he rose +to his feet. He never looked at Noel. For a long time Francois +stared at Catherine de Vaucelles, frost-flushed, defiant, incredibly +beautiful. Afterward the boy went out of the garden, staggering like +a drunken person. + +He found Montigny at the Crowned Ox. "Rene," said Francois, "there is no +charity on earth, there is no God in Heaven. But in Hell there is most +assuredly a devil, and I think that he must laugh a great deal. What was +that you were telling me about the priest with six hundred crowns in his +cupboard?" + +Rene slapped him on the shoulder. "Now," said he, "you talk like a man." +He opened the door at the back and cried: "Colin, you and Petit Jehan and +that pig Tabary may come out. I have the honor, messieurs, to offer you a +new Companion of the Cockleshell--Master Francois de Montcorbier." + +But the recruit raised a protesting hand. "No," said he,--"Francois +Villon. The name is triply indisputable, since it has been put upon me +not by one priest but by three." + + +6. _"Volia l'Estat Divers d'entre Eulx"_ + +When the Dauphin came from Geneppe to be crowned King of France, there +rode with him Noel d'Arnaye and Noel's brother Raymond. And the +longawaited news that Charles the Well-Served was at last servitor to +Death, brought the exiled Louis post-haste to Paris, where the Rue Saint +Jacques turned out full force to witness his triumphal entry. They +expected, in those days, Saturnian doings of Louis XI, a recrudescence of +the Golden Age; and when the new king began his reign by granting Noel a +snug fief in Picardy, the Rue Saint Jacques applauded. + +"Noel has followed the King's fortunes these ten years," said the Rue +Saint Jacques; "it is only just. And now, neighbor, we may look to see +Noel the Handsome and Catherine de Vaucelles make a match of it. The +girl has a tidy dowry, they say; old Jehan proved wealthier than the +quarter suspected. But death of my life, yes! You may see his tomb in +the Innocents' yonder, with weeping seraphim and a yard of Latin on it. +I warrant you that rascal Montcorbier has lain awake in half the prisons +in France thinking of what he flung away. Seven years, no less, since he +and Montigny showed their thieves' faces here. La, the world wags, +neighbor, and they say there will be a new tax on salt if we go to war +with the English." + +Not quite thus, perhaps, ran the meditations of Catherine de Vaucelles +one still August night as she sat at her window, overlooking the acacias +and chestnuts of her garden. Noel, conspicuously prosperous in blue and +silver, had but now gone down the Rue Saint Jacques, singing, clinking +the fat purse whose plumpness was still a novelty. That evening she had +given her promise to marry him at Michaelmas. + +This was a black night, moonless, windless. There were a scant half-dozen +stars overhead, and the thick scent of roses and mignonette came up to +her in languid waves. Below, the tree-tops conferred, stealthily, and the +fountain plashed its eternal remonstrance against the conspiracy they +lisped of. + +After a while Catherine rose and stood contemplative before a long mirror +that was in her room. Catherine de Vaucelles was now, at twenty-three, in +the full flower of her comeliness. Blue eyes the mirror showed +her,--luminous and tranquil eyes, set very far apart; honey-colored hair +massed heavily about her face, a mouth all curves, the hue of a +strawberry, tender but rather fretful, and beneath it a firm chin; only +her nose left something to be desired,--for that feature, though +well-formed, was diminutive and bent toward the left, by perhaps the +thickness of a cobweb. She might reasonably have smiled at what the +mirror showed her, but, for all that, she sighed. + +"O Beauty of her, whereby I am undone," said Catherine, wistfully. "Ah, +God in Heaven, forgive me for my folly! Sweet Christ, intercede for me +who have paid dearly for my folly!" + +Fate grinned in her weaving. Through the open window came the sound of a +voice singing. + +Sang the voice: + +_"O Beauty of her, whereby I am undone! +O Grace of her, that hath no grace for me! +O Love of her, the bit that guides me on +To sorrow and to grievous misery! +O felon Charms, my poor heart's enemy--"_ + +and the singing broke off in a fit of coughing. + +Catherine had remained motionless for a matter of two minutes, her head +poised alertly. She went to the gong and struck it seven or eight times. + +"Macee, there is a man in the garden. Bring him to me, Macee,--ah, love +of God, Macee, make haste!" + +Blinking, he stood upon the threshold. Then, without words, their lips +met. + +"My king!" said Catherine; "heart's emperor!" + +"O rose of all the world!" he cried. + +There was at first no need of speech. + +But after a moment she drew away and stared at him. Francois, though he +was but thirty, seemed an old man. His bald head shone in the +candle-light. His face was a mesh of tiny wrinkles, wax-white, and his +lower lip, puckered by the scar of his wound, protruded in an eternal +grimace. As Catherine steadfastly regarded him, the faded eyes, +half-covered with a bluish film, shifted, and with a jerk he glanced over +his shoulder. The movement started a cough tearing at his throat. + +"Holy Macaire!" said he. "I thought that somebody, if not Henri Cousin, +the executioner, was at my heels. Why do you stare so, lass? Have you +anything to eat? I am famished." + +In silence she brought him meat and wine, and he fell upon it. He ate +hastily, chewing with his front teeth, like a sheep. + +When he had ended, Catherine came to him and took both his hands in hers +and lifted them to her lips. "The years have changed you, Francois," she +said, curiously meek. + +Francois put her away. Then he strode to the mirror and regarded it +intently. With a snarl, he turned about. "The years!" said he. "You are +modest. It was you who killed Francois de Montcorbier, as surely as +Montcorbier killed Sermaise. Eh, Sovereign Virgin! that is scant cause +for grief. You made Francois Villon. What do you think of him, lass?" + +She echoed the name. It was in many ways a seasoned name, but +unaccustomed to mean nothing. Accordingly Francois sneered. + +"Now, by all the fourteen joys and sorrows of Our Lady! I believe that +you have never heard of Francois Villon! The Rue Saint Jacques has not +heard of Francois Villon! The pigs, the gross pigs, that dare not peep +out of their sty! Why, I have capped verses with the Duke of Orleans. The +very street-boys know my Ballad of the Women of Paris. Not a drunkard in +the realm but has ranted my jolly Orison for Master Cotard's Soul when +the bottle passed. The King himself hauled me out of Meung gaol last +September, swearing that in all France there was not my equal at a +ballad. And you have never heard of me!" + +Once more a fit of coughing choked him mid-course in his indignant +chattering. + +She gave him a woman's answer: "I do not care if you are the greatest +lord in the kingdom or the most sunken knave that steals ducks from Paris +Moat. I only know that I love you, Francois." + +For a long time he kept silence, blinking, peering quizzically at her +lifted face. She did love him; no questioning that. But presently he +again put her aside, and went toward the open window. This was a matter +for consideration. + +The night was black as a pocket. Staring into it, Francois threw back his +head and drew a deep, tremulous breath. The rising odor of roses and +mignonette, keen and intolerably sweet, had roused unforgotten pulses in +his blood, had set shame and joy adrum in his breast. + +The woman loved him! Through these years, with a woman's unreasoning +fidelity, she had loved him. He knew well enough how matters stood +between her and Noel d'Arnaye; the host of the Crowned Ox had been +garrulous that evening. But it was Francois whom she loved. She was +well-to-do. Here for the asking was a competence, love, an ingleside of +his own. The deuce of it was that Francois feared to ask. + +"--Because I am still past reason in all that touches this ignorant, +hot-headed, Pharisaical, rather stupid wench! That is droll. But love is +a resistless tyrant, and, Mother of God! has there been in my life a day, +an hour, a moment when I have not loved her! To see her once was all that +I had craved,--as a lost soul might covet, ere the Pit take him, one +splendid glimpse of Heaven and the Nine Blessed Orders at their fiddling. +And I find that she loves me--me! Fate must have her jest, I perceive, +though the firmament crack for it. She would have been content enough +with Noel, thinking me dead. And with me?" Contemplatively he spat out of +the window. "Eh, if I dared hope that this last flicker of life left in +my crazy carcass might burn clear! I have but a little while to live; if +I dared hope to live that little cleanly! But the next cup of wine, the +next light woman?--I have answered more difficult riddles. Choose, then, +Francois Villon,--choose between the squalid, foul life yonder and her +well-being. It is true that starvation is unpleasant and that hanging is +reported to be even less agreeable. But just now these considerations are +irrelevant." + +Staring into the darkness he fought the battle out. Squarely he faced the +issue; for that instant he saw Francois Villon as the last seven years +had made him, saw the wine-sodden soul of Francois Villon, rotten and +weak and honeycombed with vice. Moments of nobility it had; momentarily, +as now, it might be roused to finer issues; but Francois knew that no +power existent could hearten it daily to curb the brutish passions. It +was no longer possible for Francois Villon to live cleanly. "For what am +I?--a hog with a voice. And shall I hazard her life's happiness to get me +a more comfortable sty? Ah, but the deuce of it is that I so badly need +that sty!" + +He turned with a quick gesture. + +"Listen," Francois said. "Yonder is Paris,--laughing, tragic Paris, who +once had need of a singer to proclaim her splendor and all her misery. +Fate made the man; in necessity's mortar she pounded his soul into the +shape Fate needed. To king's courts she lifted him; to thieves' hovels +she thrust him down; and past Lutetia's palaces and abbeys and taverns +and lupanars and gutters and prisons and its very gallows--past each in +turn the man was dragged, that he might make the Song of Paris. He could +not have made it here in the smug Rue Saint Jacques. Well! the song is +made, Catherine. So long as Paris endures, Francois Villon will be +remembered. Villon the singer Fate fashioned as was needful: and, in this +fashioning, Villon the man was damned in body and soul. And by God! the +song was worth it!" + +She gave a startled cry and came to him, her hands fluttering toward his +breast. "Francois!" she breathed. + +It would not be good to kill the love in her face. + +"You loved Francois de Montcorbier. Francois de Montcorbier is dead. The +Pharisees of the Rue Saint Jacques killed him seven years ago, and that +day Francois Villon was born. That was the name I swore to drag through +every muckheap in France. And I have done it, Catherine. The Companions +of the Cockleshell--eh, well, the world knows us. We robbed Guillamme +Coiffier, we robbed the College of Navarre, we robbed the Church of Saint +Maturin,--I abridge the list of our gambols. Now we harvest. Rene de +Montigny's bones swing in the wind yonder at Montfaucon. Colin de Cayeux +they broke on the wheel. The rest--in effect, I am the only one that +justice spared,--because I had diverting gifts at rhyming, they said. +Pah! if they only knew! I am immortal, lass. _Exegi monumentum_. Villon's +glory and Villon's shame will never die." + +He flung back his bald head and laughed now, tittering over that +calamitous, shabby secret between all-seeing God and Francois Villon. She +had drawn a little away from him. This well-reared girl saw him exultant +in infamy, steeped to the eyes in infamy. But still the nearness of her, +the faint perfume of her, shook in his veins, and still he must play the +miserable comedy to the end, since the prize he played for was to him +peculiarly desirable. + +"A thief--a common thief!" But again her hands fluttered back. "I drove +you to it. Mine is the shame." + +"Holy Macaire! what is a theft or two? Hunger that causes the wolf to +sally from the wood, may well make a man do worse than steal. I could +tell you--For example, you might ask in Hell of one Thevenin Pensete, who +knifed him in the cemetery of Saint John." + +He hinted a lie, for it was Montigny who killed Thevenin Pensete. Villon +played without scruple now. + +Catherine's face was white. "Stop," she pleaded; "no more, Francois,--ah, +Holy Virgin! do not tell me any more." + +But after a little she came to him, touching him almost as if with +unwillingness. "Mine is the shame. It was my jealousy, my vanity, +Francois, that thrust you back into temptation. And we are told by those +in holy orders that the compassion of God is infinite. If you still care +for me, I will be your wife." + +Yet she shuddered. + +He saw it. His face, too, was paper, and Francois laughed horribly. + +"If I still love you! Go, ask of Denise, of Jacqueline, or of Pierrette, +of Marion the Statue, of Jehanne of Brittany, of Blanche Slippermaker, of +Fat Peg,--ask of any trollop in all Paris how Francois Villon loves. You +thought me faithful! You thought that I especially preferred you to any +other bed-fellow! Eh, I perceive that the credo of the Rue Saint Jacques +is somewhat narrow-minded. For my part I find one woman much the same as +another." And his voice shook, for he saw how pretty she was, saw how she +suffered. But he managed a laugh. + +"I do not believe you," Catherine said, in muffled tones. "Francois! You +loved me, Francois. Ah, boy, boy!" she cried, with a pitiable wail; "come +back to me, boy that I loved!" + +It was a difficult business. But he grinned in her face. + +"He is dead. Let Francois de Montcorbier rest in his grave. Your voice is +very sweet, Catherine, and--and he could refuse you nothing, could he, +lass? Ah, God, God, God!" he cried, in his agony; "why can you not +believe me? I tell you Necessity pounds us in her mortar to what shape +she will. I tell you that Montcorbier loved you, but Francois Villon +prefers Fat Peg. An ill cat seeks an ill rat." And with this, +tranquillity fell upon his soul, for he knew that he had won. + +Her face told him that. Loathing was what he saw there. + +"I am sorry," Catherine said, dully. "I am sorry. Oh, for high God's +sake! go, go! Do you want money? I will give you anything if you will +only go. Oh, beast! Oh, swine, swine, swine!" + +He turned and went, staggering like a drunken person. + +Once in the garden he fell prone upon his face in the wet grass. About +him the mingled odor of roses and mignonette was sweet and heavy; the +fountain plashed interminably in the night, and above him the chestnuts +and acacias rustled and lisped as they had done seven years ago. Only he +was changed. + +"O Mother of God," the thief prayed, "grant that Noel may be kind to +her! Mother of God, grant that she may be happy! Mother of God, grant +that I may not live long!" + +And straightway he perceived that triple invocation could be, rather +neatly, worked out in ballade form. Yes, with a separate prayer to each +verse. So, dismissing for the while his misery, he fell to considering, +with undried cheeks, what rhymes he needed. + + * * * * * + +JULY 17, 1484 + +"_Et puis il se rencontre icy une avanture merveilleuse, c'est que le +fils de Grand Turc ressemble a Cleonte, a peu de chose pres_." + + +_Noel d'Arnaye and Catherine de Vaucelles were married in the September +of 1462, and afterward withdrew to Noel's fief in Picardy. There Noel +built him a new Chateau d'Arnaye, and through the influence of Nicole +Beaupertuys, the King's mistress, (who was rumored in court by-ways to +have a tenderness for the handsome Noel), obtained large grants for its +maintenance. Madame d'Arnaye, also, it is gratifying to record, appears +to have lived in tolerable amity with Sieur Noel, and neither of them +pried too closely into the other's friendships. + +Catherine died in 1470, and Noel outlived her but by three years. Of the +six acknowledged children surviving him, only one was legitimate--a +daughter called Matthiette. The estate and title thus reverted to Raymond +d'Arnaye, Noel's younger brother, from whom the present family of Arnaye +is descended. + +Raymond was a far shrewder man than his predecessor. For ten years' +space, while Louis XI, that royal fox of France, was destroying feudalism +piecemeal,--trimming its power day by day as you might pare an +onion,--the new Sieur d'Arnaye steered his shifty course between France +and Burgundy, always to the betterment of his chances in this world +however he may have modified them in the next. At Arras he fought beneath +the orifiamme; at Guinegate you could not have found a more staunch +Burgundian: though he was no warrior, victory followed him like a +lap-dog. So that presently the Sieur d'Arnaye and the Vicomte de +Puysange--with which family we have previously concerned ourselves--were +the great lords of Northern France. + +But after the old King's death came gusty times for Sieur Raymond. It is +with them we have here to do_. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +_The Episode Called The Conspiracy of Arnaye_ + + +1. _Policy Tempered with Singing_ + +"And so," said the Sieur d'Arnaye, as he laid down the letter, "we may +look for the coming of Monsieur de Puysange to-morrow." + +The Demoiselle Matthiette contorted her features in an expression of +disapproval. "So soon!" said she. "I had thought--" + +"Ouais, my dear niece, Love rides by ordinary with a dripping spur, and +is still as arbitrary as in the day when Mars was taken with a net and +amorous Jove bellowed in Europa's kail-yard. My faith! if Love distemper +thus the spectral ichor of the gods, is it remarkable that the warmer +blood of man pulses rather vehemently at his bidding? It were the least +of Cupid's miracles that a lusty bridegroom of some twenty-and-odd should +be pricked to outstrip the dial by a scant week. For love--I might tell +you such tales--" + +Sieur Raymond crossed his white, dimpled hands over a well-rounded +paunch and chuckled reminiscently; had he spoken doubtless he would have +left Master Jehan de Troyes very little to reveal in his Scandalous +Chronicle: but now, as if now recalling with whom Sieur Raymond +conversed, d'Arnaye's lean face assumed an expression of placid sanctity, +and the somewhat unholy flame died out of his green eyes. He was like no +other thing than a plethoric cat purring over the follies of kittenhood. +You would have taken oath that a cultured taste for good living was the +chief of his offences, and that this benevolent gentleman had some sixty +well-spent years to his credit. True, his late Majesty, King Louis XI, +had sworn Pacque Dieu! that d'Arnaye loved underhanded work so heartily +that he conspired with his gardener concerning the planting of cabbages, +and within a week after his death would be heading some treachery against +Lucifer; but kings are not always infallible, as his Majesty himself had +proven at Peronne. + +"--For," said the Sieur d'Arnaye, "man's flesh is frail, and the devil is +very cunning to avail himself of the weaknesses of lovers." + +"Love!" Matthiette cried. "Ah, do not mock me, my uncle! There can be no +pretence of love between Monsieur de Puysange and me. A man that I have +never seen, that is to wed me of pure policy, may look for no Alcestis in +his wife." + +"You speak like a very sensible girl," said Sieur Raymond, complacently. +"However, so that he find her no Guinevere or Semiramis or other +loose-minded trollop of history, I dare say Monsieur de Puysange will +hold to his bargain with indifferent content. Look you, niece, he, also, +is buying--though the saying is somewhat rustic--a pig in a poke." + +Matthiette glanced quickly toward the mirror which hung in her apartment. +The glass reflected features which went to make up a beauty already +be-sonneted in that part of France; and if her green gown was some months +behind the last Italian fashion, it undeniably clad one who needed few +adventitious aids. The Demoiselle Matthiette at seventeen was very tall, +and was as yet too slender for perfection of form, but her honey-colored +hair hung heavily about the unblemished oval of a countenance whose nose +alone left something to be desired; for this feature, though well shaped, +was unduly diminutive. For the rest, her mouth curved in an +irreproachable bow, her complexion was mingled milk and roses, her blue +eyes brooded in a provoking calm; taking matters by and large, the smile +that followed her inspection of the mirror's depths was far from +unwarranted. Catherine de Vaucelles reanimate, you would have sworn; and +at the abbey of Saint Maixent-en-Poitou there was a pot-belly monk, a +Brother Francois, who would have demonstrated it to you, in an +unanswerable ballad, that Catherine's daughter was in consequence all +that an empress should be and so rarely is. Harembourges and Bertha +Broadfoot and white Queen Blanche would have been laughed to scorn, +demolished and proven, in comparison (with a catalogue of very intimate +personal detail), the squalidest sluts conceivable, by Brother Francois. + +But Sieur Raymond merely chuckled wheezily, as one discovering a fault in +his companion of which he disapproves in theory, but in practice finds +flattering to his vanity. + +"I grant you, Monsieur de Puysange drives a good bargain," said Sieur +Raymond. "Were Cleopatra thus featured, the Roman lost the world very +worthily. Yet, such is the fantastic disposition of man that I do not +doubt the vicomte looks forward to the joys of to-morrow no whit more +cheerfully than you do: for the lad is young, and, as rumor says, has +been guilty of divers verses,--ay, he has bearded common-sense in the +vext periods of many a wailing rhyme. I will wager a moderate amount, +however, that the vicomte, like a sensible young man, keeps these +whimsies of flames and dames laid away in lavender for festivals and the +like; they are somewhat too fine for everyday wear." + +Sieur Raymond sipped the sugared wine which stood beside him. "Like +any sensible young man," he repeated, in a meditative fashion that was +half a query. + +Matthiette stirred uneasily. "Is love, then, nothing?" she murmured. + +"Love!" Sieur Raymond barked like a kicked mastiff. "It is very +discreetly fabled that love was brought forth at Cythera by the ocean +fogs. Thus, look you, even ballad-mongers admit it comes of a +short-lived family, that fade as time wears on. I may have a passion for +cloud-tatters, and, doubtless, the morning mists are beautiful; but if I +give rein to my admiration, breakfast is likely to grow cold. I deduce +that beauty, as represented by the sunrise, is less profitably considered +than utility, as personified by the frying-pan. And love! A niece of mine +prating of love!" The idea of such an occurrence, combined with a fit of +coughing which now came upon him, drew tears to the Sieur d'Arnaye's +eyes. "Pardon me," said he, when he had recovered his breath, "if I speak +somewhat brutally to maiden ears." + +Matthiette sighed. "Indeed," said she, "you have spoken very brutally!" +She rose from her seat, and went to the Sieur d'Arnaye. "Dear uncle," +said she, with her arms about his neck, and with her soft cheek brushing +his withered countenance, "are you come to my apartments to-night to tell +me that love is nothing--you who have shown me that even the roughest, +most grizzled bear in all the world has a heart compact of love and +tender as a woman's?" + +The Sieur d'Arnaye snorted. "Her mother all over again!" he complained; +and then, recovering himself, shook his head with a hint of sadness. + +He said: "I have sighed to every eyebrow at court, and I tell you this +moonshine is--moonshine pure and simple. Matthiette, I love you too +dearly to deceive you in, at all events, this matter, and I have learned +by hard knocks that we of gentle quality may not lightly follow our own +inclinations. Happiness is a luxury which the great can very rarely +afford. Granted that you have an aversion to this marriage. Yet consider +this: Arnaye and Puysange united may sit snug and let the world wag; +otherwise, lying here between the Breton and the Austrian, we are so many +nuts in a door-crack, at the next wind's mercy. And yonder in the South, +Orleans and Dunois are raising every devil in Hell's register! Ah, no, ma +mie; I put it to you fairly is it of greater import that a girl have her +callow heart's desire than that a province go free of Monsieur War and +Madame Rapine?" + +"Yes, but--" said Matthiette. + +Sieur Raymond struck his hand upon the table with considerable heat. +"Everywhere Death yawps at the frontier; will you, a d'Arnaye, bid him +enter and surfeit? An alliance with Puysange alone may save us. Eheu, it +is, doubtless, pitiful that a maid may not wait and wed her chosen +paladin, but our vassals demand these sacrifices. For example, do you +think I wedded my late wife in any fervor of adoration? I had never seen +her before our marriage day; yet we lived much as most couples do for +some ten years afterward, thereby demonstrating--" + +He smiled, evilly; Matthiette sighed. + +"--Well, thereby demonstrating nothing new," said Sieur Raymond. "So do +you remember that Pierre must have his bread and cheese; that the cows +must calve undisturbed; that the pigs--you have not seen the sow I had +to-day from Harfleur?--black as ebony and a snout like a rose-leaf!--must +be stied in comfort: and that these things may not be, without an +alliance with Puysange. Besides, dear niece, it is something to be the +wife of a great lord." + +A certain excitement awoke in Matthiette's eyes. "It must be very +beautiful at Court," said she, softly. "Masques, fetes, tourneys every +day;--and they say the new King is exceedingly gallant--" + +Sieur Raymond caught her by the chin, and for a moment turned her +face toward his. "I warn you," said he, "you are a d'Arnaye; and +King or not--" + +He paused here. Through the open window came the voice of one singing to +the demure accompaniment of a lute. + +"Hey?" said the Sieur d'Arnaye. + +Sang the voice: + +"_When you are very old, and I am gone, +Not to return, it may be you will say-- +Hearing my name and holding me as one +Long dead to you,--in some half-jesting way +Of speech, sweet as vague heraldings of May +Rumored in woods when first the throstles sing-- +'He loved me once.' And straightway murmuring +My half-forgotten rhymes, you will regret +Evanished times when I was wont to sing +So very lightly, 'Love runs into debt.'_" + +"Now, may I never sit among the saints," said the Sieur d'Arnaye, "if +that is not the voice of Raoul de Prison, my new page." + +"Hush," Matthiette whispered. "He woos my maid, Alys. He often sings +under the window, and I wink at it." + +Sang the voice: + +_"I shall not heed you then. My course being run +For good or ill, I shall have gone my way, +And know you, love, no longer,--nor the sun, +Perchance, nor any light of earthly day, +Nor any joy nor sorrow,--while at play +The world speeds merrily, nor reckoning +Our coming or our going. Lips will cling, +Forswear, and be forsaken, and men forget +Where once our tombs were, and our children sing-- +So very lightly!--'Love runs into debt.' + +"If in the grave love have dominion +Will that wild cry not quicken the wise clay, +And taunt with memories of fond deeds undone,-- +Some joy untasted, some lost holiday,-- +All death's large wisdom? Will that wisdom lay +The ghost of any sweet familiar thing +Come haggard from the Past, or ever bring +Forgetfulness of those two lovers met +When all was April?--nor too wise to sing +So very lightly, 'Love runs into debt.' + +"Yet, Matthiette, though vain remembering +Draw nigh, and age be drear, yet in the spring +We meet and kiss, whatever hour beset +Wherein all hours attain to harvesting,-- +So very lightly love runs into debt."_ + +"Dear, dear!" said the Sieur d'Arnaye. "You mentioned your maid's +name, I think?" + +"Alys," said Matthiette, with unwonted humbleness. + +Sieur Raymond spread out his hands in a gesture of commiseration. "This +is very remarkable," he said. "Beyond doubt, the gallant beneath has made +some unfortunate error. Captain Gotiard," he called, loudly, "will you +ascertain who it is that warbles in the garden such queer aliases for our +good Alys?" + + +2. _Age Glosses the Text of Youth_ + +Gotiard was not long in returning; he was followed by two men-at-arms, +who held between them the discomfited minstrel. Envy alone could have +described the lutanist as ill-favored; his close-fitting garb, wherein +the brave reds of autumn were judiciously mingled, at once set off a +well-knit form and enhanced the dark comeliness of features less French +than Italian in cast. The young man now stood silent, his eyes mutely +questioning the Sieur d'Arnaye. + +"Oh, la, la, la!" chirped Sieur Raymond. "Captain, I think you are at +liberty to retire." He sipped his wine meditatively, as the men filed +out. "Monsieur de Frison," d'Arnaye resumed, when the arras had fallen, +"believe me, I grieve to interrupt your very moving and most excellently +phrased ballad in this fashion. But the hour is somewhat late for melody, +and the curiosity of old age is privileged. May one inquire, therefore, +why you outsing my larks and linnets and other musical poultry that are +now all abed? and warble them to rest with this pleasing but--if I may +venture a suggestion--rather ill-timed madrigal?" + +The young man hesitated for an instant before replying. "Sir," said he, +at length, "I confess that had I known of your whereabouts, the birds had +gone without their lullaby. But you so rarely come to this wing of the +chateau, that your presence here to-night is naturally unforeseen. As it +is, since chance has betrayed my secret to you, I must make bold to +acknowledge it; and to confess that I love your niece." + +"Hey, no doubt you do," Sieur Raymond assented, pleasantly. "Indeed, I +think half the young men hereabout are in much the same predicament. But, +my question, if I mistake not, related to your reason for chaunting +canzonets beneath her window." + +Raoul de Frison stared at him in amazement. "I love her," he said. + +"You mentioned that before," Sieur Raymond suggested. "And I agreed, as I +remember, that it was more than probable; for my niece here--though it be +I that speak it--is by no means uncomely, has a commendable voice, the +walk of a Hebe, and sufficient wit to deceive her lover into happiness. +My faith, young man, you show excellent taste! But, I submit, the purest +affection is an insufficient excuse for outbaying a whole kennel of +hounds beneath the adored one's casement." + +"Sir," said Raoul, "I believe that lovers have rarely been remarkable for +sanity; and it is an immemorial custom among them to praise the object of +their desires with fitting rhymes. Conceive, sir, that in your youth, had +you been accorded the love of so fair a lady, you yourself had scarcely +done otherwise. For I doubt if your blood runs so thin as yet that you +have quite forgot young Raymond d'Arnaye and the gracious ladies whom he +loved,--I think that your heart must needs yet treasure the memories of +divers moonlit nights, even such as this, when there was a great silence +in the world, and the nested trees were astir with desire of the dawn, +and your waking dreams were vext with the singular favor of some woman's +face. It is in the name of that young Raymond I now appeal to you." + +"H'm!" said the Sieur d'Arnaye. "As I understand it, you appeal on the +ground that you were coerced by the moonlight and led astray by the +bird-nests in my poplar-trees; and you desire me to punish your +accomplices rather than you." + +"Sir,--" said Raoul. + +Sieur Raymond snarled. "You young dog, you know that in the most prosaic +breast a minor poet survives his entombment,--and you endeavor to make +capital of the knowledge. You know that I have a most sincere affection +for your father, and have even contracted since you came to Arnaye more +or less tolerance for you,--which emboldens you, my friend, to keep me +out of a comfortable bed at this hour of the night with an idiotic +discourse of moonlight and dissatisfied shrubbery! As it happens, I am +not a lank wench in her first country dance. Remember that, Raoul de +Frison, and praise the good God who gave me at birth a very placable +disposition! There is not a seigneur in all France, save me, but would +hang you at the crack of that same dawn for which you report your +lackadaisical trees to be whining; but the quarrel will soon be Monsieur +de Puysange's, and I prefer that he settle it at his own discretion. I +content myself with advising you to pester my niece no more." + +Raoul spoke boldly. "She loves me," said he, standing very erect. + +Sieur Raymond glanced at Matthiette, who sat with downcast head. "H'm!" +said he. "She moderates her transports indifferently well. Though, again, +why not? You are not an ill-looking lad. Indeed, Monsieur de Frison, I am +quite ready to admit that my niece is breaking her heart for you. The +point on which I wish to dwell is that she weds Monsieur de Puysange +early to-morrow morning." + +"Uncle," Matthiette cried, as she started to her feet, "such a marriage +is a crime! I love Raoul!" + +"Undoubtedly," purred Sieur Raymond, "you love the lad unboundedly, +madly, distractedly! Now we come to the root of the matter." He sank back +in his chair and smiled. "Young people," said he, "be seated, and hearken +to the words of wisdom. Love is a divine insanity, in which the sufferer +fancies the world mad. And the world is made up of madmen who condemn and +punish one another." + +"But," Matthiette dissented, "ours is no ordinary case!" + +"Surely not," Sieur Raymond readily agreed; "for there was never an +ordinary case in all the history of the universe. Oh, but I, too, have +known this madness; I, too, have perceived how infinitely my own +skirmishes with the blind bow-god differed in every respect from all that +has been or will ever be. It is an infallible sign of this frenzy. +Surely, I have said, the world will not willingly forget the vision of +Chloris in her wedding garments, or the wonder of her last clinging kiss. +Or, say Phyllis comes to-morrow: will an uninventive sun dare to rise in +the old, hackneyed fashion on such a day of days? Perish the thought! +There will probably be six suns, and, I dare say, a meteor or two." + +"I perceive, sir," Raoul said here, "that after all you have not +forgotten the young Raymond of whom I spoke." + +"That was a long while ago," snapped Sieur Raymond. "I know a deal more +of the world nowadays; and a level-headed world would be somewhat +surprised at such occurrences, and suggest that for the future Phyllis +remain at home. For whether you--or I--or any one--be in love or no is to +our fellow creatures an affair of astonishingly trivial import. Not since +Noe that great admiral, repeopled the world by begetting three sons upon +Dame Noria has there been a love-business worthy of consideration; nor, +if you come to that, not since sagacious Solomon went a-wenching has a +wise man wasted his wisdom on a lover. So love one another, my children, +by all means: but do you, Matthiette, make ready to depart into Normandy +as a true and faithful wife to Monsieur de Puysange; and do you, Raoul de +Prison, remain at Arnaye, and attend to my falcons more carefully than +you have done of late,--or, by the cross of Saint Lo! I will clap the +wench in a convent and hang the lad as high as Haman!" + +Whereon Sieur Raymond smiled pleasantly, and drained his wine-cup as one +considering the discussion ended. + +Raoul sat silent for a moment. Then he rose. "Monsieur d'Arnaye, you know +me to be a gentleman of unblemished descent, and as such entitled to a +hearing. I forbid you before all-seeing Heaven to wed your niece to a man +she does not love! And I have the honor to request of you her hand in +marriage." + +"Which offer I decline," said Sieur Raymond, grinning placidly,--"with +every imaginable civility. Niece," he continued, "here is a gentleman who +offers you a heartful of love, six months of insanity, and forty years +of boredom in a leaky, wind-swept chateau. He has dreamed dreams +concerning you: allow me to present to you the reality." + +With some ceremony Sieur Raymond now grasped Matthiette's hand and led +her mirror-ward. "Permit me to present the wife of Monsieur de Puysange. +Could he have made a worthier choice? Ah, happy lord, that shall so soon +embrace such perfect loveliness! For, frankly, my niece, is not that +golden hair of a shade that will set off a coronet extraordinarily well? +Are those wondrous eyes not fashioned to surfeit themselves upon the +homage and respect accorded the wife of a great lord? Ouais, the thing is +indisputable: and, therefore, I must differ from Monsieur de Frison here, +who would condemn this perfection to bloom and bud unnoticed in a paltry +country town." + +There was an interval, during which Matthiette gazed sadly into the +mirror. "And Arnaye--?" said she. + +"Undoubtedly," said Sieur Raymond,--"Arnaye must perish unless Puysange +prove her friend. Therefore, my niece conquers her natural aversion to a +young and wealthy husband, and a life of comfort and flattery and gayety; +relinquishes you, Raoul; and, like a feminine Mettius Curtius, sacrifices +herself to her country's welfare. Pierre may sleep undisturbed; and the +pigs will have a new sty. My faith, it is quite affecting! And so," Sieur +Raymond summed it up, "you two young fools may bid adieu, once for all, +while I contemplate this tapestry." He strolled to the end of the room +and turned his back. "Admirable!" said he; "really now, that leopard is +astonishingly lifelike!" + +Raoul came toward Matthiette. "Dear love," said he, "you have chosen +wisely, and I bow to your decision. Farewell, Matthiette,--O indomitable +heart! O brave perfect woman that I have loved! Now at the last of all, I +praise you for your charity to me, Love's mendicant,--ah, believe me, +Matthiette, that atones for aught which follows now. Come what may, I +shall always remember that once in old days you loved me, and, +remembering this, I shall always thank God with a contented heart." He +bowed over her unresponsive hand. "Matthiette," he whispered, "be happy! +For I desire that very heartily, and I beseech of our Sovereign Lady--not +caring to hide at all how my voice shakes, nor how the loveliness of you, +seen now for the last time, is making blind my eyes--that you may never +know unhappiness. You have chosen wisely, Matthiette; yet, ah, my dear, +do not forget me utterly, but keep always a little place in your heart +for your boy lover!" + +Sieur Raymond concluded his inspection of the tapestry, and turned with a +premonitory cough. "Thus ends the comedy," said he, shrugging, "with much +fine, harmless talking about 'always,' while the world triumphs. +Invariably the world triumphs, my children. Eheu, we are as God made us, +we men and women that cumber His stately earth!" He drew his arm through +Raoul's. "Farewell, niece," said Sieur Raymond, smiling; "I rejoice that +you are cured of your malady. Now in respect to gerfalcons--" said he. +The arras fell behind them. + + +3. _Obdurate Love_ + +Matthiette sat brooding in her room, as the night wore on. She was +pitifully frightened, numb. There was in the room, she dimly noted, a +heavy silence that sobs had no power to shatter. Dimly, too, she seemed +aware of a multitude of wide, incurious eyes which watched her from every +corner, where panels snapped at times with sharp echoes. The night was +well-nigh done when she arose. + +"After all," she said, wearily, "it is my manifest duty." Matthiette +crept to the mirror and studied it. + +"Madame de Puysange," said she, without any intonation; then threw her +arms above her head, with a hard gesture of despair. "I love him!" she +cried, in a frightened voice. + +Matthiette went to a great chest and fumbled among its contents. She drew +out a dagger in a leather case, and unsheathed it. The light shone evilly +scintillant upon the blade. She laughed, and hid it in the bosom of her +gown, and fastened a cloak about her with impatient fingers. Then +Matthiette crept down the winding stair that led to the gardens, and +unlocked the door at the foot of it. + +A sudden rush of night swept toward her, big with the secrecy of dawn. +The sky, washed clean of stars, sprawled above,--a leaden, monotonous +blank. Many trees whispered thickly over the chaos of earth; to the left, +in an increasing dove-colored luminousness, a field of growing maize +bristled like the chin of an unshaven Titan. + +Matthiette entered an expectant world. Once in the tree-chequered +gardens, it was as though she crept through the aisles of an unlit +cathedral already garnished for its sacred pageant. Matthiette heard the +querulous birds call sleepily above; the margin of night was thick with +their petulant complaints; behind her was the monstrous shadow of the +Chateau d'Arnaye, and past that was a sullen red, the red of contused +flesh, to herald dawn. Infinity waited a-tiptoe, tense for the coming +miracle, and against this vast repression, her grief dwindled into +irrelevancy: the leaves whispered comfort; each tree-bole hid chuckling +fauns. Matthiette laughed. Content had flooded the universe all through +and through now that yonder, unseen as yet, the scarlet-faced sun was +toiling up the rim of the world, and matters, it somehow seemed, could +not turn out so very ill, in the end. + +Matthiette came to a hut, from whose open window a faded golden glow +spread out into obscurity like a tawdry fan. From without she peered into +the hut and saw Raoul. A lamp flickered upon the table. His shadow +twitched and wavered about the plastered walls,--a portentous mass of +head upon a hemisphere of shoulders,--as Raoul bent over a chest, sorting +the contents, singing softly to himself, while Matthiette leaned upon the +sill without, and the gardens of Arnaye took form and stirred in the +heart of a chill, steady, sapphire-like radiance. + +Sang Raoul: + +_"Lord, I have worshipped thee ever,-- +Through all these years +I have served thee, forsaking never +Light Love that veers +As a child between laughter and tears. +Hast thou no more to afford,-- +Naught save laughter and tears,-- +Love, my lord? + +"I have borne thy heaviest burden, +Nor served thee amiss: +Now thou hast given a guerdon; +Lo, it was this-- +A sigh, a shudder, a kiss. +Hast thou no more to accord! +I would have more than this, +Love, my lord. + +"I am wearied of love that is pastime +And gifts that it brings; +I entreat of thee, lord, at this last time + +"Ineffable things. +Nay, have proud long-dead kings +Stricken no subtler chord, +Whereof the memory clings, +Love, my lord? + +"But for a little we live; +Show me thine innermost hoard! +Hast thou no more to give, +Love, my lord?"_ + + +4. _Raymond Psychopompos_ + +Matthiette went to the hut's door: her hands fell irresolutely upon the +rough surface of it and lay still for a moment. Then with the noise of a +hoarse groan the door swung inward, and the light guttered in a swirl of +keen morning air, casting convulsive shadows upon her lifted countenance, +and was extinguished. She held out her arms in a gesture that was half +maternal. "Raoul!" she murmured. + +He turned. A sudden bird plunged through the twilight without, with a +glad cry that pierced like a knife through the stillness which had fallen +in the little room. Raoul de Frison faced her, with clenched hands, +silent. For that instant she saw him transfigured. + +But his silence frightened her. There came a piteous catch in her voice. +"Fair friend, have you not bidden me--_be happy?_" + +He sighed. "Mademoiselle," he said, dully, "I may not avail myself of +your tenderness of heart; that you have come to comfort me in my sorrow +is a deed at which, I think, God's holy Angels must rejoice: but I cannot +avail myself of it." + +"Raoul, Raoul," she said, "do you think that I have come in--pity!" + +"Matthiette," he returned, "your uncle spoke the truth. I have dreamed +dreams concerning you,--dreams of a foolish, golden-hearted girl, who +would yield--yield gladly--all that the world may give, to be one flesh +and soul with me. But I have wakened, dear, to the braver reality,--that +valorous woman, strong enough to conquer even her own heart that her +people may be freed from their peril." + +"Blind! blind!" she cried. + +Raoul smiled down upon her. "Mademoiselle," said he, "I do not doubt that +you love me." + +She went wearily toward the window. "I am not very wise," Matthiette +said, looking out upon the gardens, "and it appears that God has given +me an exceedingly tangled matter to unravel. Yet if I decide it +wrongly I think the Eternal Father will understand it is because I am +not very wise." + +Matthiette for a moment was silent. Then with averted face she spoke +again. "My uncle commands me, with many astute saws and pithy sayings, to +wed Monsieur de Puysange. I have not skill to combat him. Many times he +has proven it my duty, but he is quick in argument and proves what he +will; and I do not think it is my duty. It appears to me a matter wherein +man's wisdom is at variance with God's will as manifested to us through +the holy Evangelists. Assuredly, if I do not wed Monsieur de Puysange +there may be war here in our Arnaye, and God has forbidden war; but I may +not insure peace in Arnaye without prostituting my body to a man I do not +love, and that, too, God has forbidden. I speak somewhat grossly for a +maid, but you love me, I think, and will understand. And I, also, love +you, Monsieur de Frison. Yet--ah, I am pitiably weak! Love tugs at my +heart-strings, bidding me cling to you, and forget these other matters; +but I cannot do that, either. I desire very heartily the comfort and +splendor and adulation which you cannot give me. I am pitiably weak, +Raoul! I cannot come to you with an undivided heart,--but my heart, such +as it is, I have given you, and to-day I deliver my honor into your hands +and my life's happiness, to preserve or to destroy. Mother of Christ, +grant that I have chosen rightly, for I have chosen now, past retreat! I +have chosen you, Raoul, and that love which you elect to give me, and of +which I must endeavor to be worthy." + +Matthiette turned from the window. Now, her bright audacity gone, her +ardors chilled, you saw how like a grave, straightforward boy she was, +how illimitably tender, how inefficient. "It may be that I have decided +wrongly in this tangled matter," she said now. "And yet I think that God, +Who loves us infinitely, cannot be greatly vexed at anything His children +do for love of one another." + +He came toward her. "I bid you go," he said. "Matthiette, it is my duty +to bid you go, and it is your duty to obey." + +She smiled wistfully through unshed tears. "Man's wisdom!" said +Matthiette. "I think that it is not my duty. And so I disobey you, +dear,--this once, and no more hereafter." + +"And yet last night--" Raoul began. + +"Last night," said she, "I thought that I was strong. I know now it was +my vanity that was strong,--vanity and pride and fear, Raoul, that for a +little mastered me. But in the dawn all things seem very trivial, saving +love alone." + +They looked out into the dew-washed gardens. The daylight was fullgrown, +and already the clear-cut forms of men were passing beneath the swaying +branches. In the distance a trumpet snarled. + +"Dear love," said Raoul, "do you not understand that you have brought +about my death? For Monsieur de Puysange is at the gates of Arnaye; and +either he or Sieur Raymond will have me hanged ere noon." + +"I do not know," she said, in a tired voice. "I think that Monsieur de +Puysange has some cause to thank me; and my uncle loves me, and his +heart, for all his gruffness, is very tender. And--see, Raoul!" She drew +the dagger from her bosom. "I shall not survive you a long while, O man +of all the world!" + +Perplexed joy flushed through his countenance. "You will do +this--for me?" he cried, with a sort of sob. "Matthiette, +Matthiette, you shame me!" + +"But I love you," said Matthiette. "How could it be possible, then, for +me to live after you were dead?" + +He bent to her. They kissed. + +Hand in hand they went forth into the daylight. The kindly, familiar +place seemed in Matthiette's eyes oppressed and transformed by the +austerity of dawn. It was a clear Sunday morning, at the hightide of +summer, and she found the world unutterably Sabbatical; only by a +vigorous effort could memory connect it with the normal life of +yesterday. The cool edges of the woods, vibrant now with multitudinous +shrill pipings, the purple shadows shrinking eastward on the dimpling +lawns, the intricate and broken traceries of the dial (where they had met +so often), the blurred windings of their path, above which brooded the +peaked roofs and gables and slender clerestories of Arnaye, the broad +river yonder lapsing through deserted sunlit fields,--these things lay +before them scarce heeded, stript of all perspective, flat as an open +scroll. To them all this was alien. She and Raoul were quite apart from +these matters, quite alone, despite the men of Arnaye, hurrying toward +the courtyard, who stared at them curiously, but said nothing. A brisk +wind was abroad in the tree-tops, scattering stray leaves, already dead, +over the lush grass. Tenderly Raoul brushed a little golden sycamore leaf +from the lovelier gold of Matthiette's hair. + +"I do not know how long I have to live," he said. "Nobody knows that. But +I wish that I might live a great while to serve you worthily." + +She answered: "Neither in life nor death shall we be parted now. That +only matters, my husband." + +They came into the crowded court-yard just as the drawbridge fell. A +troop of horse clattered into Arnaye, and the leader, a young man of +frank countenance, dismounted and looked about him inquiringly. Then he +came toward them. + +"Monseigneur," said he, "you see that we ride early in honor of your +nuptials." + +Behind them some one chuckled. "Love one another, young people," said +Sieur Raymond; "but do you, Matthiette, make ready to depart into +Normandy as a true and faithful wife to Monsieur de Puysange." + +She stared into Raoul's laughing face; there was a kind of anguish in her +swift comprehension. Quickly the two men who loved her glanced at each +other, half in shame. + +But the Sieur d'Arnaye was not lightly dashed. "Oh, la, la, la!" chuckled +the Sieur d'Arnaye, "she would never have given you a second thought, +monsieur le vicomte, had I not labelled you forbidden fruit. As it is, my +last conspiracy, while a little ruthless, I grant you, turns out +admirably. Jack has his Jill, and all ends merrily, like an old song. I +will begin on those pig-sties the first thing to-morrow morning." + + * * * * * + +OCTOBER 6, 1519 + +_"Therefore, like as May month flowereth and flourisheth in many +gardens, so in likewise let every man of worship flourish his heart in +this world; first unto God, and next unto the joy of them that he +promiseth his faith unto."_ + + +_The quondam Raoul de Prison stood high in the graces of the Lady Regent +of France, Anne de Beaujeu, who was, indeed, tolerably notorious for her +partiality to well-built young men. Courtiers whispered more than there +is any need here to rehearse. In any event, when in 1485 the daughter of +Louis XI fitted out an expedition to press the Earl of Richmond's claim +to the English crown, de Puysange sailed from Havre as commander of the +French fleet. He fought at Bosworth, not discreditably; and a year +afterward, when England had for the most part accepted Henry VII, +Matthiette rejoined her husband. + +They never subsequently quitted England. During the long civil wars, de +Puysange was known as a shrewd captain and a judicious counsellor to the +King, who rewarded his services as liberally as Tudorian parsimony would +permit. After the death of Henry VII, however, the vicomte took little +part in public affairs, spending most of his time at Tiverton Manor, in +Devon, where, surrounded by their numerous progeny, he and Matthiette +grew old together in peace and concord. + +Indeed, the vicomte so ordered all his cool love-affairs that, having +taken a wife as a matter of expediency, he continued as a matter of +expediency to make her a fair husband, as husbands go. It also seemed to +him, they relate, a matter of expediency to ignore the interpretation +given by scandalous persons to the paternal friendship extended to Madame +de Puysange by a high prince of the Church, during the last five years of +the great Cardinal Morton's life, for the connection was useful. + +The following is from a manuscript of doubtful authenticity still to be +seen at Allonby Shaw. It purports to contain the autobiography of Will +Sommers, the vicomte's jester, afterward court-fool to Henry VIII._ + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +_The Episode Called The Castle of Content_ + + +1. _I Glimpse the Castle_ + +"And so, dearie," she ended, "you may seize the revenues of Allonby with +unwashed hands." + +I said, "Why have you done this?" I was half-frightened by the sudden +whirl of Dame Fortune's wheel. + +"Dear cousin in motley," grinned the beldame, "'twas for hatred of Tom +Allonby and all his accursed race that I have kept the secret thus long. +Now comes a braver revenge: and I settle my score with the black spawn of +Allonby--euh, how entirely!--by setting you at their head." + +"Nay, I elect for a more flattering reason. I begin to suspect you, +cousin, of some human compunction." + +"Well, Willie, well, I never hated you as much as I had reason to," she +grumbled, and began to cough very lamentably. "So at the last I must make +a marquis of you--ugh! Will you jest for them in counsel, Willie, and +lead your henchman to battle with a bawdy song--ugh, ugh!" + +Her voice crackled like burning timber, and sputtered in groans that +would have been fanged curses had breath not failed her: for my aunt +Elinor possessed a nimble tongue, whetted, as rumor had it, by the +attendance of divers Sabbats, and the chaunting of such songs as honest +men may not hear and live, however highly the succubi and warlocks and +were-cats, and Satan's courtiers generally, commend them. + +I squinted down at one green leg, scratched the crimson fellow to it with +my bauble, and could not deny that, even so, the witch was dealing +handsomely with me to-night. + +'Twas a strange tale which my Aunt Elinor had ended, speaking swiftly +lest the worms grow impatient and Charon weigh anchor ere she had done: +and the proofs of the tale's verity, set forth in a fair clerkly +handwriting, rustled in my hand,--scratches of a long-rotted pen that +transferred me to the right side of the blanket, and transformed the +motley of a fool into the ermine of a peer. + +All Devon knew I was son to Tom Allonby, who had been Marquis of Falmouth +at his uncle's death, had not Tom Allonby, upon the very eve of that +event, broken his neck in a fox-hunt; but Dan Gabriel, come post-haste +from Heaven had with difficulty convinced the village idiot that Holy +Church had smiled upon Tom's union with a tanner's daughter, and that +their son was lord of Allonby Shaw. I doubted it, even as I read the +proof. Yet it was true,--true that I had precedence even of the great +Monsieur de Puysange, who had kept me to make him mirth on a shifty diet, +first coins, then curses, these ten years past,--true that my father, +rogue in all else, had yet dealt equitably with my mother ere he +died,--true that my aunt, less honorably used by him, had shared their +secret with the priest who married them, maliciously preserving it till +this, when her words fell before me as anciently Jove's shower before the +Argive Danae, coruscant and awful, pregnant with undreamed-of chances +which stirred as yet blindly in Time's womb. + +A sick anger woke in me, remembering the burden of ignoble years this hag +had suffered me to bear; yet my so young gentility bade me avoid reproach +of the dying peasant woman, who, when all was said, had been but ill-used +by our house. Death hath a strange potency: commanding as he doth, +unquestioned and unchidden, the emperor to have done with slaying, the +poet to rise from his unfinished rhyme, the tender and gracious lady to +cease from nice denying words (mixed though they be with pitiful sighs +that break their sequence like an amorous ditty heard through the strains +of a martial stave), and all men, gentle or base, to follow Death's gaunt +standard into unmapped realms, something of majesty enshrines the +paltriest knave on whom the weight of Death's chill finger hath fallen. I +doubt not that Cain's children wept about his deathbed, and that the +centurions spake in whispers as they lowered Iscariot from the +elder-tree: and in like manner the reproaches which stirred in my brain +had no power to move my lips. The frail carnal tenement, swept and +cleansed of all mortality, was garnished for Death's coming; and I could +not sorrow at his advent here: but I perforce must pity rather than +revile the prey which Age and Poverty, those ravenous forerunning hounds +of Death yet harried, at the door of the tomb. + +Running over these considerations in my mind, I said, "I forgive you." + +"You posturing lack-wit!" she returned, and her sunk jaws quivered +angrily. "D'ye play the condescending gentleman already! Dearie, your +master did not take the news so calmly." + +"You have told him?" + +I had risen, for the wried, and yet sly, malice of my aunt's face was +rather that of Bellona, who, as clerks avow, ever bore carnage and +dissension in her train, than that of a mortal, mutton-fed woman. Elinor +Sommers hated me--having God knows how just a cause--for the reason that +I was my father's son; and yet, for this same reason as I think, there +was in all our intercourse an odd, harsh, grudging sort of tenderness. + +She laughed now,--flat and shrill, like the laughter of the damned heard +in Hell between the roaring of flames. "Were it not common kindness to +tell him, since this old sleek fellow's fine daughter is to wed the +cuckoo that hath your nest? Yes, Willie, yes, your master hath known +since morning." + +"And Adeliza?" I asked, in a voice that tricked me. + +"Heh, my Lady-High-and-Mighty hath, I think, heard nothing as yet. She +will be hearing of new suitors soon enough, though, for her father, +Monsieur Fine-Words, that silky, grinning thief, is very keen in a +money-chase,--keen as a terrier on a rat-track, may Satan twist his neck! +Pshutt, dearie! here is a smiling knave who means to have the estate of +Allonby as it stands; what live-stock may go therewith, whether +crack-brained or not, is all one to him. He will not balk at a drachm or +two of wit in his son-in-law. You have but to whistle,--but to whistle, +Willie, and she'll come!" + +I said, "Eh, woman, and have you no heart?" + +"I gave it to your father for a few lying speeches," she answered, "and +Tom Allonby taught me the worth of all such commerce." There was a smile +upon her lips, sister to that which Clytemnestra may have flaunted in +welcome of that old Emperor Agamemnon, come in gory opulence from the +sack of Troy Town. "I gave it--" Her voice rose here to a despairing +wail. "Ah, go, before I lay my curse upon you, son of Thomas Allonby! +But do you kiss me first, for you have just his lying mouth. So, that is +better! And now go, my lord marquis; it is not fitting that death +should intrude into your lordship's presence. Go, fool, and let me die +in peace!" + +I no longer cast a cautious eye toward the whip (ah, familiar unkindly +whip!) that still hung beside the door of the hut; but, I confess, my +aunt's looks were none too delectable, and ancient custom rendered her +wrath yet terrible. If the farmers thereabouts were to be trusted, I knew +Old Legion's bailiff would shortly be at hand, to distrain upon a soul +escheat and forfeited to Dis by many years of cruel witchcrafts, close +wiles, and nameless sorceries; and I could never abide unpared nails, +even though they be red-hot. Therefore, I relinquished her to the village +gossips, who waited without, and I tucked my bauble under my arm. + +"Dear aunt," said I, "farewell!" + +"Good-bye, Willie!" said she; "I shall often laugh in Hell to think of +the crack-brained marquis that I made on earth. It was my will to make a +beggar of Tom's son, but at the last I play the fool and cannot do it. +But do you play the fool, too, dearie, and"--she chuckled here--"and have +your posture and your fine long words, whatever happens." + +"'Tis my vocation," I answered, briefly; and so went forth into +the night. + + +2. _At the Ladder's Foot_ + +I came to Tiverton Manor through a darkness black as the lining of +Baalzebub's oldest cloak. The storm had passed, but clouds yet hung +heavy as feather-beds between mankind and the stars; as I crossed the +bridge the swollen Exe was but dimly visible, though it roared beneath +me, and shook the frail timbers hungrily. The bridge had long been +unsafe: Monsieur de Puysange had planned one stronger and less hazardous +than the former edifice, of which the arches yet remained, and this was +now in the making, as divers piles of unhewn lumber and stone attested: +meanwhile, the roadway was a makeshift of half-rotten wood that even in +this abating wind shook villainously. I stood for a moment and heard the +waters lapping and splashing and laughing, as though they would hold it +rare and desirable mirth to swallow and spew forth a powerful marquis, +and grind his body among the battered timber and tree-boles and dead +sheep swept from the hills, and at last vomit him into the sea, that a +corpse, wide-eyed and livid, might bob up and down the beach, in quest of +a quiet grave where the name of Allonby was scarcely known. The +imagination was so vivid that it frightened me as I picked my way +cat-footed through the dark. + +The folk of Tiverton Manor were knotting on their nightcaps, by this; but +there was a light in the Lady Adeliza's window, faint as a sick glowworm. +I rolled in the seeded grass and chuckled, as I thought of what a day or +two might bring about, and I murmured to myself an old cradle-song of +Devon which she loved and often sang; and was, ere I knew it, carolling +aloud, for pure wantonness and joy that Monsieur de Puysange was not +likely to have me whipped, now, however blatantly I might elect to +discourse. + +Sang I: + +_"Through the mist of years does it gleam as yet-- +That fair and free extent +Of moonlit turret and parapet, +Which castled, once, Content? + +"Ei ho! Ei ho! the Castle of Content, +With drowsy music drowning merriment +Where Dreams and Visions held high carnival, +And frolicking frail Loves made light of all,-- +Ei ho! the vanished Castle of Content!"_ + +As I ended, the casement was pushed open, and the Lady Adeliza came upon +the balcony, the light streaming from behind her in such fashion as made +her appear an angel peering out of Heaven at our mortal antics. Indeed, +there was always something more than human in her loveliness, though, to +be frank, it savored less of chilling paradisial perfection than of a +vision of some great-eyed queen of faery, such as those whose feet glide +unwetted over our fen-waters when they roam o' nights in search of unwary +travellers. Lady Adeliza was a fair beauty; that is, her eyes were of the +color of opals, and her complexion as the first rose of spring, blushing +at her haste to snare men's hearts with beauty; and her loosened hair +rippled in such a burst of splendor that I have seen a pale brilliancy, +like that of amber, reflected by her bared shoulders where the bright +waves fell heavily against the tender flesh, and ivory vied with gold in +beauty. She was somewhat proud, they said; and to others she may have +been, but to me, never. Her voice was a low, sweet song, her look that of +the chaste Roman, beneficent Saint Dorothy, as she is pictured in our +Chapel here at Tiverton. Proud, they called her! to me her condescensions +were so manifold that I cannot set them down: indeed, in all she spoke +and did there was an extreme kindliness that made a courteous word from +her of more worth than a purse from another. + +She said, "Is it you, Will Sommers?" + +"Madonna," I answered, "with whom else should the owls confer? It is a +venerable saying that extremes meet. And here you may behold it +exemplified, as in the conference of an epicure and an ostrich: though, +for this once, Wisdom makes bold to sit above Folly." + +"Did you carol, then, to the owls of Tiverton?" she queried. + +"Hand upon heart," said I, "my grim gossips care less for my melody than +for the squeaking of a mouse; and I sang rather for joy that at last I +may enter into the Castle of Content." + +The Lady Adeliza replied, "But nobody enters there alone." + +"Madonna," said I, "your apprehension is nimble. I am in hope that a +woman's hand may lower the drawbridge." + +She said only "You--!" Then she desisted, incredulous laughter breaking +the soft flow of speech. + +"Now, by Paul and Peter, those eminent apostles! the prophet Jeremy never +spake more veraciously in Edom! The fool sighs for a fair woman,--what +else should he do, being a fool? Ah, madonna, as in very remote times +that notable jester, Love, popped out of Night's wind-egg, and by his +sorcery fashioned from the primeval tangle the pleasant earth that sleeps +about us,--even thus, may he not frame the disorder of a fool's brain +into the semblance of a lover's? Believe me, the change is not so great +as you might think. Yet if you will, laugh at me, madonna, for I love a +woman far above me,--a woman who knows not of my love, or, at most, +considers it but as the homage which grateful peasants accord the +all-nurturing sun; so that, now chance hath woven me a ladder whereby to +mount to her, I scarcely dare to set my foot upon the bottom rung." + +"A ladder?" she said, oddly: "and are you talking of a rope ladder?" + +"I would describe it, rather," said I, "as a golden ladder." + +There came a silence. About us the wind wailed among the gaunt, deserted +choir of the trees, and in the distance an owl hooted sardonically. + +The Lady Adeliza said: "Be bold. Be bold, and know that a woman loves +once and forever, whether she will or no. Love is not sold in the shops, +and the grave merchants that trade in the ultimate seas, and send forth +argosies even to jewelled Ind, to fetch home rich pearls, and strange +outlandish dyes, and spiceries, and the raiment of imperious queens of +the old time, have bought and sold no love, for all their traffic. It is +above gold. I know"--here her voice faltered somewhat--"I know of a woman +whose birth is very near the throne, and whose beauty, such as it is, +hath been commended, who loved a man the politic world would have none +of, for he was not rich nor famous, nor even very wise. And the world +bade her relinquish him; but within the chambers of her heart his voice +rang more loudly than that of the world, and for his least word said she +would leave all and go with him whither he would. And--she waits only for +the speaking of that word." + +"Be bold?" said I. + +"Ay," she returned; "that is the moral of my tale. Make me a song of it +to-night, dear Will,--and tomorrow, perhaps, you may learn how this +woman, too, entered into the Castle of Content." + +"Madonna--!" I cried. + +"It is late," said she, "and I must go." + +"To-morrow--?" I said. My heart was racing now. + +"Ay, to-morrow,--the morrow that by this draws very near. Farewell!" She +was gone, casting one swift glance backward, even as the ancient +Parthians are fabled to have shot their arrows as they fled; and, if the +airier missile, also, left a wound, I, for one, would not willingly have +quitted her invulnerate. + +3. _Night, and a Stormed Castle_ + +I went forth into the woods that stand thick about Tiverton Manor, where +I lay flat on my back among the fallen leaves, dreaming many dreams to +myself,--dreams that were frolic songs of happiness, to which the papers +in my jerkin rustled a reassuring chorus. + +I have heard that night is own sister to death; now, as the ultimate torn +cloud passed seaward, and the new-washed harvest-moon broke forth in a +red glory, and stars clustered about her like a swarm of golden bees, I +thought this night was rather the parent of a new life. But, indeed, +there is a solemnity in night beyond all jesting: for night knits up the +tangled yarn of our day's doings into a pattern either good or ill; it +renews the vigor of the living, and with the lapsing of the tide it draws +the dying toward night's impenetrable depths, gently; and it honors the +secrecy of lovers as zealously as that of rogues. In the morning our +bodies rise to their allotted work; but our wits have had their season in +the night, or of kissing, or of junketing, or of high resolve; and the +greater part of such noble deeds as day witnesses have been planned in +the solitude of night. It is the sage counsellor, the potent physician +that heals and comforts the sorrows of all the world: and night proved +such to me, as I pondered on the proud race of Allonby, and knew that in +the general record of time my name must soon be set as a sonorous word +significant, as the cat might jump, for much good or for large evil. + +And Adeliza loved me, and had bidden me be bold! I may not write of what +my thoughts were as I considered that stupendous miracle. + +But even the lark that daily soars into the naked presence of the sun +must seek his woven nest among the grass at twilight; and so, with many +yawns, I rose after an hour of dreams to look for sleep. Tiverton Manor +was a formless blot on the mild radiance of the heavens, but I must needs +pause for a while, gazing up at the Lady Adeliza's window, like a hen +drinking water, and thinking of divers matters. + +It was then that something rustled among the leaves, and, turning, I +stared into the countenance of Stephen Allonby, until to-day Marquis of +Falmouth, a slim, comely youth, and son to my father's younger brother. + +"Fool," said he, "you walk late." + +"Faith!" said I, "instinct warned me that a fool might find fit company +here,--dear cousin." He frowned at the word, for he was never prone to +admit the relationship, being in disposition somewhat precise. + +"Eh?" said he; then paused for a while. "I have more kinsmen than I knew +of," he resumed, at length, "and to-day spawns them thick as herrings. +Your greeting falls strangely pat with that of a brother of yours, +alleged to be begot in lawful matrimony, who hath appeared to claim the +title and estates, and hath even imposed upon the credulity of Monsieur +de Puysange." + +I said, "And who is this new kinsman?" though his speaking had brought my +heart into my mouth. "I have many brethren, if report speak truly as to +how little my poor father slept at night." + +"I do not know," said he. "The vicomte had not told me more than half the +tale when I called him a double-faced old rogue. Thereafter we +parted--well, rather hastily!" + +I was moved with a sort of pity, since it was plainer than a pike-staff +that Monsieur de Puysange had bundled this penniless young fellow out of +Tiverton, with scant courtesy and a scantier explanation. Still, the +wording of this sympathy was a ticklish business. I waved my hand upward. +"The match, then, is broken off, between you and the Lady Adeliza?" + +"Ay!" my cousin said, grimly. + +Again I was nonplussed. Since their betrothal was an affair of rank +conveniency, my Cousin Stephen should, in reason, grieve at this +miscarriage temperately, and yet if by some awkward chance he, too, +adored the delicate comeliness asleep above us, equity conceded his taste +to be unfortunate rather than remarkable. Inwardly I resolved to bestow +upon my Cousin Stephen a competence, and to pick out for him somewhere a +wife better suited to his station. Meanwhile a silence fell. + +He cleared his throat; swore softly to himself; took a brief turn on the +grass; and approached me, purse in hand. "It is time you were abed," said +my cousin. + +I assented to this. "And since one may sleep anywhere," I reasoned, "why +not here?" Thereupon, for I was somewhat puzzled at his bearing, I lay +down upon the gravel and snored. + +"Fool," he said. I opened one eye. "I have business here"--I opened +the other--"with the Lady Adeliza." He tossed me a coin as I sprang +to my feet. + +"Sir--!" I cried out. + +"Ho, she expects me." + +"In that case--" said I. + +"The difficulty is to give a signal." + +"'Tis as easy as lying," I reassured him; and thereupon I began to sing. + +Sang I: + +_"Such toll we took of his niggling hours +That the troops of Time were sent +To seise the treasures and fell the towers +Of the Castle of Content. + +"Ei ho! Ei ho! the Castle of Content, +With flaming tower and tumbling battlement +Where Time hath conquered, and the firelight streams +Above sore-wounded Loves and dying Dreams,-- +Ei ho! the vanished Castle of Content!"_ + +And I had scarcely ended when the casement opened. + +"Stephen!" said the Lady Adeliza. + +"Dear love!" said he. + +"Humph!" said I. + +Here a rope-ladder unrolled from the balcony and hit me upon the head. + +"Regard the orchard for a moment," the Lady Adeliza said, with the +wonderfullest little laugh. + +My cousin indignantly protested, "I have company,--a burr that +sticks to me." + +"A fool," I explained,--"to keep him in countenance." + +"It was ever the part of folly," said she, laughing yet again, "to be +swayed by a woman; and it is the part of wisdom to be discreet. In any +event, there must be no spectators." + +So we two Allonbys held each a strand of the ladder and stared at the +ripening apples, black globes among the wind-vext silver of the leaves. +In a moment the Lady Adeliza stood between us. Her hand rested upon mine +as she leapt to the ground,--the tiniest velvet-soft ounce-weight that +ever set a man's blood a-tingle. + +"I did not know--" said she. + +"Faith, madonna!" said I, "no more did I till this. I deduce but now that +the Marquis of Falmouth is the person you discoursed of an hour since, +with whom you hope to enter the Castle of Content." + +"Ah, Will! dear Will, do not think lightly of me," she said. "My +father--" + +"Is as all of them have been since Father Adam's dotage," I ended; "and +therefore is keeping fools and honest horses from their rest." + +My cousin said, angrily, "You have been spying!" + +"Because I know that there are horses yonder?" said I. "And fools +here--and everywhere? Surely, there needs no argent-bearded Merlin come +yawning out of Brocheliaunde to inform us of that." + +He said, "You will be secret?" + +"In comparison," I answered, "the grave is garrulous, and a death's-head +a chattering magpie; yet I think that your maid, madonna,--" + +"Beatris is sworn to silence." + +"Which signifies she is already on her way to Monsieur de Puysange. She +was coerced; she discovered it too late; and a sufficiency of tears and +pious protestations will attest her innocence. It is all one." I winked +an eye very sagely. + +"Your jesting is tedious," my cousin said. "Come, Adeliza!" + +Blaise, my lord marquis' French servant, held three horses in the +shadow, so close that it was incredible I had not heard their trampling. +Now the lovers mounted and were off like thistledown ere Blaise put foot +to stirrup. + +"Blaise," said I. + +"Ohe!" said he, pausing. + +"--if, upon this pleasurable occasion, I were to borrow your horse--" + +"Impossible!" + +"If I were to take it by force--" I exhibited my coin. + +"Eh?" + +"--no one could blame you." + +"And yet perhaps--" + +"The deduction is illogical," said I. And pushing him aside, I mounted +and set out into the night after my cousin and the Lady Adeliza. + + +4. _All Ends in a Puff of Smoke_ + +They rode leisurely enough along the winding highway that lay in the +moonlight like a white ribbon in a pedlar's box; and staying as I did +some hundred yards behind, they thought me no other than Blaise, being, +indeed, too much engrossed with each other to regard the outer world very +strictly. So we rode a matter of three miles in the whispering, moonlit +woods, they prattling and laughing as though there were no such monster +in all the universe as a thrifty-minded father, and I brooding upon many +things beside my marquisate, and keeping an ear cocked backward for +possible pursuit. + +In any ordinary falling out of affairs they would ride unhindered to +Teignmouth, and thence to Allonby Shaw; they counted fully upon doing +this; but I, knowing Beatris, who was waiting-maid to the Lady Adeliza, +and consequently in the plot, to be the devil's own vixen, despite an +innocent face and a wheedling tongue, was less certain. + +I shall not easily forget that riding away from the old vicomte's +preparations to make a match of it between Adeliza and me. About us the +woods sighed and whispered, dappled by the moonlight with unstable +chequerings of blue and silver. Tightly he clung to my crupper, that +swart tireless horseman, Care; but ahead rode Love, anterior to all +things and yet eternally young, in quest of the Castle of Content. The +horses' hoofs beat against the pebbles as if in chorus to the Devon +cradle-song that rang idly in my brain. 'Twas little to me--now--whether +the quest were won or lost; yet, as I watched the Lady Adeliza's white +cloak tossing and fluttering in the wind, my blood pulsed more strongly +than it is wont to do, and was stirred by the keen odors of the night and +by many memories of her gracious kindliness and by a desire to serve +somewhat toward the attainment of her happiness. Thus it was that my +teeth clenched, and a dog howled in the distance, and the world seemed +very old and very incurious of our mortal woes and joys. + +Then that befell which I had looked for, and I heard the clatter of +horses' hoofs behind us, and knew that Monsieur de Puysange and his men +were at hand to rescue the Lady Adeliza from my fine-looking young +cousin, to put her into the bed of a rich fool. So I essayed a gallop. + +"Spur!" I cried;--"in the name of Saint Cupid!" + +With a little gasp, she bent forward over her horse's mane, urging him +onward with every nerve and muscle of her tender body. I could not keep +my gaze from her as we swept through the night. Picture Europa in her +traverse, bull-borne, through the summer sea, the depths giving up their +misshapen deities, and the blind sea-snakes writhing about her in hideous +homage, while she, a little frightened, thinks resolutely of Crete beyond +these unaccustomed horrors and of the god desirous of her contentation; +and there, to an eyelash, you have Adeliza as I saw her. + +But steadily our pursuers gained on us: and as we paused to pick our way +over the frail bridge that spanned the Exe, their clamor was very near. + +"Take care!" I cried,--but too late, for my horse swerved under me as I +spoke, and my lord marquis' steed caught foot in a pile of lumber and +fell heavily. He was up in a moment, unhurt, but the horse was lamed. + +"You!" cried my Cousin Stephen. "Oh, but what fiend sends me this +burr again!" + +I said: "My fellow-madmen, it is all one if I have a taste for +night-riding and the shedding of noble blood. Alack, though, that I have +left my brave bauble at Tiverton! Had I that here, I might do such deeds! +I might show such prowess upon the person of Monsieur de Puysange as +your Nine Worthies would quake to hear of! For I have the honor to inform +you, my doves, that we are captured." + +Indeed, we were in train to be, for even the two sound horses were +well-nigh foundered: Blaise, the idle rogue, had not troubled to provide +fresh steeds, so easy had the flitting seemed; and it was conspicuous +that we would be overtaken in half an hour. + +"So it seems," said Stephen Allonby. "Well! one can die but once." Thus +speaking, he drew his sword with an air which might have been envied by +Captain Leonidas at Thermopylae. + +"Together, my heart!" she cried. + +"Madonna," said I, dismounting as I spoke, "pray you consider! With +neither of you, is there any question of death; 'tis but that Monsieur de +Puysange desires you to make a suitable match. It is not yet too late; +his heart is kindly so long as he gets his will and profit everywhere, +and he bears no malice toward my lord marquis. Yield, then, to your +father's wishes, since there is no choice." + +She stared at me, as thanks for this sensible advice. "And you--is it you +that would enter into the Castle of Content?" she cried, with a scorn +that lashed. + +I said: "Madonna, bethink you, you know naught of this man your father +desires you to wed. Is it not possible that he, too, may love--or may +learn to love you, on provocation? You are very fair, madonna. Yours is a +beauty that may draw a man to Heaven or unclose the gates of Hell, at +will; indeed, even I, in my poor dreams, have seen your face as bright +and glorious as is the lighted space above the altar when Christ's blood +and body are shared among His worshippers. Men certainly will never cease +to love you. Will he--your husband that may be--prove less susceptible, +we will say, than I? Ah, but, madonna, let us unrein imagination! +Suppose, were it possible, that he--even now--yearns to enter into the +Castle of Content, and that your hand, your hand alone, may draw the bolt +for him,--that the thought of you is to him as a flame before which honor +and faith shrivel as shed feathers, and that he has loved you these many +years, unknown to you, long, long before the Marquis of Falmouth came +into your life with his fair face and smooth sayings. Suppose, were it +possible, that he now stood before you, every pulse and fibre of him +racked with an intolerable ecstasy of loving you, his heart one vast +hunger for you, Adeliza, and his voice shaking as my voice shakes, and +his hands trembling as my hands tremble,--ah, see how they tremble, +madonna, the poor foolish hands! Suppose, were it possible,--" + +"Fool! O treacherous fool!" my cousin cried, in a fine rage. + +She rested her finger-tips upon his arm. "Hush!" she bade him; then +turned to me an uncertain countenance that was half pity, half wonder. +"Dear Will," said she, "if you have ever known aught of love, do you not +understand how I love Stephen here?" + +But she did not any longer speak as a lord's daughter speaks to the fool +that makes mirth for his betters. + +"In that case," said I,--and my voice played tricks,--"in that case, may +I request that you assist me in gathering such brushwood as we may find +hereabout?" + +They both stared at me now. "My lord," I said, "the Exe is high, the +bridge is of wood, and I have flint and steel in my pocket. The ford is +five miles above and quite impassable. Do you understand me, my lord?" + +He clapped his hands. "Oh, excellent!" he cried. + +Then, each having caught my drift, we heaped up a pile of broken boughs +and twigs and brushwood on the bridge, all three gathering it together. +And I wondered if the moon, that is co-partner in the antics of most +rogues and lovers, had often beheld a sight more reasonless than the +foregathering of a marquis, a peer's daughter, and a fool at dead of +night to make fagots. + +When we had done I handed him the flint and steel. "My lord," said I, +"the honor is yours." + +"Udsfoot!" he murmured, in a moment, swearing and striking futile sparks, +"but the late rain has so wet the wood that it will not kindle." + +I said, "Assuredly, in such matters a fool is indispensable." I heaped +before him the papers that made an honest woman of my mother and a +marquis of me, and seizing the flint, I cast a spark among them that set +them crackling cheerily. Oh, I knew well enough that patience would coax +a flame from those twigs without my paper's aid, but to be patient does +not afford the posturing which youth loves. So it was a comfort to wreck +all magnificently: and I knew that, too, as we three drew back upon the +western bank and watched the writhing twigs splutter and snap and burn. + +The bridge caught apace and in five minutes afforded passage to nothing +short of the ardent equipage of the prophet Elias. Five minutes later the +bridge did not exist: only the stone arches towered above the roaring +waters that glistened in the light of the fire, which had, by this, +reached the other side of the river, to find quick employment in the +woods of Tiverton. Our pursuers rode through a glare which was that of +Hell's kitchen on baking-day, and so reached the Exe only to curse vainly +and to shriek idle imprecations at us, who were as immune from their +anger as though the severing river had been Pyriphlegethon. + +"My lord," I presently suggested, "it may be that your priest +expects you?" + +"Indeed," said he, laughing, "it is possible. Let us go." Thereupon they +mounted the two sound horses. "Most useful burr," said he, "do you follow +on foot to Teignmouth; and there--" + +"Sir," I replied, "my home is at Tiverton." + +He wheeled about. "Do you not fear--?" + +"The whip?" said I. "Ah, my lord, I have been whipped ere this. It is +not the greatest ill in life to be whipped." + +He began to protest. + +"But, indeed, I am resolved," said I. "Farewell!" + +He tossed me his purse. "As you will," he retorted, shortly. "We thank +you for your aid; and if I am still master of Allonby--" + +"No fear of that!" I said. "Farewell, good cousin marquis! I cannot weep +at your going, since it brings you happiness. And we have it on excellent +authority that the laughter of fools is as the crackling of thorns under +a pot. Accordingly, I bid you God-speed in a discreet silence." + +I stood fumbling my cousin's gold as he went forward into the night; but +she did not follow. + +"I am sorry--" she began. She paused and the lithe fingers fretted with +her horse's mane. + +I said: "Madonna, earlier in this crowded night, you told me of love's +nature: must my halting commentary prove the glose upon your text? Look, +then, to be edified while the fool is delivered of his folly. For upon +the maternal side, love was born of the ocean, madonna, and the ocean is +but salt water, and salt water is but tears; and thus may love claim +love's authentic kin with sorrow. Ay, certainly, madonna, Fate hath +ordained for her diversion that through sorrow alone we lovers may attain +to the true Castle of Content." + +There was a long silence, and the wind wailed among the falling, +tattered leaves. "Had I but known--" said Adeliza, very sadly. + +I said: "Madonna, go forward and God speed you! Yonder your lover waits +for you, and the world is exceedingly fair; here is only a fool. As for +this new Marquis of Falmouth, let him trouble you no longer. 'Tis an +Eastern superstition that we lackbrains are endowed with peculiar gifts +of prophecy: and as such, I predict, very confidently, madonna, that you +will see and hear no more of him in this life." + +I caught my breath. In the moonlight she seemed God's master-work. Her +eyes were big with half-comprehended sorrow, and a slender hand stole +timorously toward me. I laughed, seeing how she strove to pity my great +sorrow and could not, by reason of her great happiness. I laughed and was +content. "As surely as God reigns in Heaven," I cried aloud, "I am +content, and this moment is well purchased with a marquisate!" + +Indeed, I was vastly uplift and vastly pleased with my own nobleness, +just then, and that condition is always a comfort. + +More alertly she regarded me; and in her eyes I saw the anxiety and the +wonder merge now into illimitable pity. "That, too!" she said, smiling +sadly. "That, too, O son of Thomas Allonby!" And her mothering arms were +clasped about me, and her lips clung and were one with my lips for a +moment, and her tears were wet upon my cheek. She seemed to shield me, +making of her breast my sanctuary. + +"My dear, my dear, I am not worthy!" said Adeliza, with a tenderness I +cannot tell you of; and presently she, too, was gone. + +I mounted the lamed horse, who limped slowly up the river bank; very +slowly we came out from the glare of the crackling fire into the cool +darkness of the autumn woods; very slowly, for the horse was lamed and +wearied, and patience is a discreet virtue when one journeys toward +curses and the lash of a dog-whip: and I thought of many quips and jests +whereby to soothe the anger of Monsieur de Puysange, and I sang to myself +as I rode through the woods, a nobleman no longer, a tired Jack-pudding +whose tongue must save his hide. + +Sang I: + +_"The towers are fallen; no laughter rings +Through the rafters, charred and rent; +The ruin is wrought of all goodly things +In the Castle of Content. + +"Ei ho! Ei ho! the Castle of Content, +Rased in the Land of Youth, where mirth was meant! +Nay, all is ashes 'there; and all in vain +Hand-shadowed eyes turn backward, to regain +Disastrous memories of that dear domain,-- +Ei ho! the vanished Castle of Content!"_ + + * * * * * + +MAY 27, 1559 + +_"'O welladay!' said Beichan then, +'That I so soon have married thee! +For it can be none but Susie Pie, +That sailed the sea for love of me.'"_ + + +_How Will Sommers encountered the Marchioness of Falmouth in the +Cardinal's house at Whitehall, and how in Windsor Forest that noble lady +died with the fool's arms about her, does not concern us here. That is +matter for another tale. + +You are not, though, to imagine any scandal. Barring an affair with Sir +Henry Rochford, and another with Lord Norreys, and the brief interval in +1525 when the King was enamored of her, there is no record that the +marchioness ever wavered from the choice her heart had made, or had any +especial reason to regret it. + +So she lived and died, more virtuously and happily than most, and found +the marquis a fair husband, as husbands go; and bore him three sons and +a daughter. + +But when the ninth Marquis of Falmouth died long after his wife, in the +November of 1557, he was survived by only one of these sons, a junior +Stephen, born in 1530, who at his father's demise succeeded to the title. +The oldest son, Thomas, born 1531, had been killed in Wyatt's Rebellion +in 1554; the second, George, born 1526, with a marked look of the King, +was, in February, 1556, stabbed in a disreputable tavern brawl. + +Now we have to do with the tenth Marquis of Falmouth's suit for the hand +of Lady Ursula Heleigh, the Earl of Brudenel's co-heiress. You are to +imagine yourself at Longaville Court, in Sussex, at a time when Anne +Bullen's daughter was very recently become Queen of England._ + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +_The Episode Called In Ursula's Garden_ + + +1. Love, and Love's Mimic + +Her three lovers had praised her with many canzonets and sonnets on that +May morning as they sat in the rose-garden at Longaville, and the +sun-steeped leaves made a tempered aromatic shade about them. Afterward +they had drawn grass-blades to decide who should accompany the Lady +Ursula to the summer pavilion, that she might fetch her viol and sing +them a song of love, and in the sylvan lottery chance had favored the +Earl of Pevensey. + +Left to themselves, the Marquis of Falmouth and Master Richard Mervale +regarded each the other, irresolutely, like strange curs uncertain +whether to fraternize or to fly at one another's throat. Then Master +Mervale lay down in the young grass, stretched himself, twirled his thin +black mustachios, and chuckled in luxurious content. + +"Decidedly," said he, "your lordship is past master in the art of +wooing; no university in the world would refuse you a degree." + +The marquis frowned. He was a great bluff man, with wheat-colored hair, +and was somewhat slow-witted. After a little he found the quizzical, +boyish face that mocked him irresistible, and he laughed, and unbent from +the dignified reserve which he had for a while maintained portentously. + +"Master Mervale," said the marquis, "I will be frank with you, for you +appear a lad of good intelligence, as lads run, and barring a trifle of +affectation and a certain squeamishness in speech. When I would go +exploring into a woman's heart, I must pay my way in the land's current +coinage of compliments and high-pitched protestations. Yes, yes, such +sixpenny phrases suffice the seasoned traveler, who does not +ostentatiously display his gems while traveling. Now, in courtship, +Master Mervale, one traverses ground more dubious than the Indies, and +the truth, Master Mervale, is a jewel of great price." + +Master Mervale raised his eyebrows. "The truth?" he queried, gently. "Now +how, I wonder, did your lordship happen to think of that remote +abstraction." For beyond doubt, Lord Falmouth's wooing had been that +morning of a rather florid sort. + +However, "It would surely be indelicate," the marquis suggested, "to +allow even truth to appear quite unclothed in the presence of a lady?" He +smiled and took a short turn on the grass. "Look you, Master Mervale," +said he, narrowing his pale-blue eyes to slits, "I have, somehow, a +disposition to confidence come upon me. Frankly, my passion for the Lady +Ursula burns more mildly than that which Antony bore the Egyptian; it is +less a fire to consume kingdoms than a candle wherewith to light a +contented home; and quite frankly, I mean to have her. The estates lie +convenient, the families are of equal rank, her father is agreed, and she +has a sufficiency of beauty; there are, in short, no obstacles to our +union save you and my lord of Pevensey, and these, I confess, I do not +fear. I can wait, Master Mervale. Oh, I am patient, Master Mervale, but, +I own, I cannot brook denial. It is I, or no one. By Saint Gregory! I +wear steel at my side, Master Mervale, that will serve for other purposes +save that of opening oysters!" So he blustered in the spring sunlight, +and frowned darkly when Master Mervale appeared the more amused than +impressed. + +"Your patience shames Job the Patriarch," said Master Mervale, "yet, it +seems to me, my lord, you do not consider one thing. I grant you that +Pevensey and I are your equals neither in estate nor reputation; still, +setting modesty aside, is it not possible the Lady Ursula may come, in +time, to love one of us?" + +"Setting common sense aside," said the marquis, stiffly, "it is possible +she may be smitten with the smallpox. Let us hope, however, that she may +escape both of these misfortunes." + +The younger man refrained from speech for a while. Presently, "You liken +love to a plague," he said, "yet I have heard there was once a cousin of +the Lady Ursula's--a Mistress Katherine Beaufort--" + +"Swounds!" Lord Falmouth had wheeled about, scowled, and then tapped +sharply upon the palm of one hand with the nail-bitten fingers of the +other. "Ay," said he, more slowly, "there was such a person." + +"She loved you?" Master Mervale suggested. + +"God help me!" replied the marquis; "we loved each other! I know not how +you came by your information, nor do I ask. Yet, it is ill to open an old +wound. I loved her; let that suffice." With a set face, he turned away +for a moment and gazed toward the high parapets of Longaville, +half-hidden by pale foliage and very white against the rain-washed sky; +then groaned, and glared angrily into the lad's upturned countenance. +"You talk of love," said the marquis; "a love compounded equally of +youthful imagination, a liking for fantastic phrases and a disposition +for caterwauling i' the moonlight. Ah, lad, lad!--if you but knew! That +is not love; to love is to go mad like a star-struck moth, and afterward +to strive in vain to forget, and to eat one's heart out in the +loneliness, and to hunger--hunger--" The marquis spread his big hands +helplessly, and then, with a quick, impatient gesture, swept back the +mass of wheat-colored hair that fell about his face. "Ah, Master +Mervale," he sighed, "I was right after all,--it is the cruelest plague +in the world, and that same smallpox leaves less troubling scars." + +"Yet," Master Mervale said, with courteous interest, "you did not marry?" + +"Marry!" His lordship snarled toward the sun and laughed. "Look you, +Master Mervale, I know not how far y'are acquainted with the business. It +was in Cornwall yonder years since; I was but a lad, and she a +wench,--Oh, such a wench, with tender blue eyes, and a faint, sweet voice +that could deny me nothing! God does not fashion her like every +day,--_Dieu qui la fist de ses deux mains_, saith the Frenchman." The +marquis paced the grass, gnawing his lip and debating with himself. +"Marry? Her family was good, but their deserts outranked their fortunes; +their crest was not the topmost feather in Fortune's cap, you understand; +somewhat sunken i' the world, Master Mervale, somewhat sunken. And I? My +father--God rest his bones!--was a cold, hard man, and my two elder +brothers--Holy Virgin, pray for them!--loved me none too well. I was the +cadet then: Heaven helps them that help themselves, says my father, and I +ha'n't a penny for you. My way was yet to make in the world; to saddle +myself with a dowerless wench--even a wench whose least 'Good-morning' +set a man's heart hammering at his ribs--would have been folly, Master +Mervale. Utter, improvident, shiftless, bedlamite folly, lad!" + +"H'm!" Master Mervale cleared his throat, twirled his mustachios, and +smiled at some unspoken thought. "We pay for our follies in this +world, my lord, but I sometimes think that we pay even more dearly for +our wisdom." + +"Ah, lad, lad!" the marquis cried, in a gust of anger; "I dare say, as +your smirking hints, it was a coward's act not to snap fingers at fate +and fathers and dare all! Well! I did not dare. We parted--in what +lamentable fashion is now of little import--and I set forth to seek my +fortune. Ho, it was a brave world then, Master Mervale, for all the tears +that were scarce dried on my cheeks! A world wherein the heavens were as +blue as a certain woman's eyes,--a world wherein a likely lad might see +far countries, waggle a good sword in Babylon and Tripolis and other +ultimate kingdoms, beard the Mussulman in his mosque, and at last fetch +home--though he might never love her, you understand--a soldan's daughter +for his wife,-- + +_With more gay gold about her middle +Than would buy half Northumberlee."_ + +His voice died away. He sighed and shrugged. "Eh, well!" said the +marquis; "I fought in Flanders somewhat--in Spain--what matter where? +Then, at last, sickened in Amsterdam, three years ago, where a messenger +comes to haul me out of bed as future Marquis of Falmouth. One brother +slain in a duel, Master Mervale; one killed in Wyatt's Rebellion; my +father dying, and--Heaven rest his soul!--not over-eager to meet his +Maker. There you have it, Master Mervale,--a right pleasant jest of +Fortune's perpetration,--I a marquis, my own master, fit mate for any +woman in the kingdom, and Kate--my Kate who was past human +praising!--vanished." + +"Vanished?" The lad echoed the word, with wide eyes. + +"Vanished in the night, and no sign nor rumor of her since! Gone to seek +me abroad, no doubt, poor wench! Dead, dead, beyond question, Master +Mervale!" The marquis swallowed, and rubbed his lips with the back of his +hand. "Ah, well!" said he; "it is an old sorrow!" + +The male animal shaken by strong emotion is to his brothers an +embarrassing rather than a pathetic sight. Master Mervale, lowering his +eyes discreetly, rooted up several tufts of grass before he spoke. Then, +"My lord, you have known of love," said he, very slowly; "does there +survive no kindliness for aspiring lovers in you who have been one of us? +My lord of Pevensey, I think, loves the Lady Ursula, at least, as much as +you ever loved this Mistress Katherine; of my own adoration I do not +speak, save to say that I have sworn never to marry any other woman. Her +father favors you, for you are a match in a thousand; but you do not love +her. It matters little to you, my lord, whom she may wed; to us it +signifies a life's happiness. Will not the memory of that Cornish +lass--the memory of moonlit nights, and of those sweet, vain aspirations +and foiled day-dreams that in boyhood waked your blood even to such +brave folly as now possesses us,--will not the memory of these things +soften you, my lord?" + +But Falmouth by this time appeared half regretful of his recent outburst, +and somewhat inclined to regard his companion as a dangerously plausible +young fellow who had very unwarrantably wormed himself into Lord +Falmouth's confidence. Falmouth's heavy jaw shut like a trap. + +"By Saint Gregory!" said he; "if ever such notions soften me at all, I +pray to be in hell entirely melted! What I have told you of is past, +Master Mervale; and a wise man does not meditate unthriftily upon +spilt milk." + +"You are adamant?" sighed the boy. + +"The nether millstone," said the marquis, smiling grimly, "is in +comparison a pillow of down." + +"Yet--yet the milk was sweet, my lord?" the boy suggested, with a faint +answering smile. + +"Sweet!" The marquis' voice had a deep tremor. + +"And if the choice lay between Ursula and Katherine?" + +"Oh, fool!--Oh, pink-cheeked, utter ignorant fool!" the marquis groaned. +"Did I not say you knew nothing of love?" + +"Heigho!" Master Mervale put aside all glum-faced discussion, with a +little yawn, and sprang to his feet. "Then we can but hope that +somewhere, somehow, Mistress Katherine yet lives and in her own good time +may reappear. And while we speak of reappearances--surely the Lady Ursula +is strangely tardy in making hers?" + +The marquis' jealousy when it slumbered slept with an open ear. "Let us +join them," he said, shortly, and he started through the gardens with +quick, stiff strides. + + +2. _Song-guerdon_ + +They went westward toward the summer pavilion. Presently the marquis +blundered into the green gloom of the maze, laid out in the Italian +fashion, and was extricated only by the superior knowledge of Master +Mervale, who guided Falmouth skilfully and surely through manifold +intricacies, to open daylight. + +Afterward they came to a close-shaven lawn, where the summer pavilion +stood beside the brook that widened here into an artificial pond, spread +with lily-pads and fringed with rushes. The Lady Ursula sat with the Earl +of Pevensey beneath a burgeoning maple-tree. Such rays as sifted through +into their cool retreat lay like splotches of wine upon the ground, and +there the taller grass-blades turned to needles of thin silver; one +palpitating beam, more daring than the rest, slanted straight toward the +little head of the Lady Ursula, converting her hair into a halo of misty +gold, that appeared out of place in this particular position. She seemed +a Bassarid who had somehow fallen heir to an aureole; for otherwise, to +phrase it sedately, there was about her no clamant suggestion of +saintship. At least, there is no record of any saint in the calendar who +ever looked with laughing gray-green eyes upon her lover and mocked at +the fervor and trepidation of his speech. This the Lady Ursula now did; +and, manifestly, enjoyed the doing of it. + +Within the moment the Earl of Pevensey took up the viol that lay beside +them, and sang to her in the clear morning. He was sunbrowned and very +comely, and his big, black eyes were tender as he sang to her sitting +there in the shade. He himself sat at her feet in the sunlight. + +Sang the Earl of Pevensey: + +_"Ursula, spring wakes about us-- +Wakes to mock at us and flout us +That so coldly do delay: +When the very birds are mating, +Pray you, why should we be waiting-- +We that might be wed to-day! + +"'Life is short,' the wise men tell us;-- +Even those dusty, musty fellows +That have done with life,--and pass +Where the wraith of Aristotle +Hankers, vainly, for a bottle, +Youth and some frank Grecian lass._ + +"Ah, I warrant you;--and Zeno +Would not reason, now, could he know +One more chance to live and love: +For, at best, the merry May-time +Is a very fleeting play-time;-- +Why, then, waste an hour thereof? + +"Plato, Solon, Periander, +Seneca, Anaximander, +Pyrrho, and Parmenides! +Were one hour alone remaining +Would ye spend it in attaining +Learning, or to lips like these? + +"Thus, I demonstrate by reason +Now is our predestined season +For the garnering of all bliss; +Prudence is but long-faced folly; +Cry a fig for melancholy! +Seal the bargain with a kiss"_ + +When he had ended, the Earl of Pevensey laughed and looked up into the +Lady Ursula's face with a long, hungry gaze; and the Lady Ursula laughed +likewise and spoke kindly to him, though the distance was too great for +the eavesdroppers to overhear. Then, after a little, the Lady Ursula bent +forward, out of the shade of the maple into the sun, so that the sunlight +fell upon her golden head and glowed in the depths of her hair, as she +kissed Pevensey, tenderly and without haste, full upon the lips. + + +3. _Falmouth Furens_ + +The Marquis of Falmouth caught Master Mervale's arm in a grip that made +the boy wince. Lord Falmouth's look was murderous, as he turned in the +shadow of a white-lilac bush and spoke carefully through sharp breaths +that shook his great body. + +"There are," said he, "certain matters I must immediately discuss with my +lord of Pevensey. I desire you, Master Mervale, to fetch him to the spot +where we parted last, so that we may talk over these matters quietly and +undisturbed. For else--go, lad, and fetch him!" + +For a moment the boy faced the half-shut pale eyes that were like coals +smouldering behind a veil of gray ash. Then he shrugged his shoulders, +sauntered forward, and doffed his hat to the Lady Ursula. There followed +much laughter among the three, many explanations from Master Mervale, +and yet more laughter from the lady and the earl. The marquis ground his +big, white teeth as he listened, and he appeared to disapprove of so +much mirth. + +"Foh, the hyenas! the apes, the vile magpies!" the marquis observed. He +heaved a sigh of relief, as the Earl of Pevensey, raising his hands +lightly toward heaven, laughed once more, and departed into the +thicket. Lord Falmouth laughed in turn, though not very pleasantly. +Afterward he loosened his sword in the scabbard and wheeled back to seek +their rendezvous in the shadowed place where they had made sonnets to +the Lady Ursula. + +For some ten minutes the marquis strode proudly through the maze, +pondering, by the look of him, on the more fatal tricks of fencing. In a +quarter of an hour he was lost in a wilderness of trim yew-hedges which +confronted him stiffly at every outlet and branched off into innumerable +gravelled alleys that led nowhither. + +"Swounds!" said the marquis. He retraced his steps impatiently. He cast +his hat upon the ground in seething desperation. He turned in a different +direction, and in two minutes trod upon his discarded head-gear. + +"Holy Gregory!" the marquis commented. He meditated for a moment, then +caught up his sword close to his side and plunged into the nearest +hedge. After a little he came out, with a scratched face and a scant +breath, into another alley. As the crow flies, he went through the maze +of Longaville, leaving in his rear desolation and snapped yew-twigs. He +came out of the ruin behind the white-lilac bush, where he had stood and +had heard the Earl of Pevensey sing to the Lady Ursula, and had seen +what followed. + +The marquis wiped his brow. He looked out over the lawn and breathed +heavily. The Lady Ursula still sat beneath the maple, and beside her was +Master Mervale, whose arm girdled her waist. Her arm was about his neck, +and she listened as he talked eagerly with many gestures. Then they both +laughed and kissed each other. + +"Oh, defend me!" groaned the marquis. Once more he wiped his brow, as he +crouched behind the white-lilac bush. "Why, the woman is a second +Messalina!" he said. "Oh, the trollop! the wanton! Oh, holy Gregory! Yet +I must be quiet--quiet as a sucking lamb, that I may strike afterward as +a roaring lion. Is this your innocence, Mistress Ursula, that cannot +endure the spoken name of a spade? Oh, splendor of God!" + +Thus he raged behind the white-lilac bush while they laughed and kissed +under the maple-tree. After a space they parted. The Lady Ursula, still +laughing, lifted the branches of the rearward thicket and disappeared +in the path which the Earl of Pevensey had taken. Master Mervale, +kissing his hand and laughing yet more loudly, lounged toward the +entrance of the maze. + +The jackanapes (as anybody could see), was in a mood to be pleased with +himself. Smiles eddied about the boy's face, his heels skipped, +disdaining the honest grass; and presently he broke into a glad little +song, all trills and shakes, like that of a bird ecstasizing over the +perfections of his mate. + +Sang Master Mervale: + +_"Listen, all lovers! the spring is here +And the world is not amiss; +As long as laughter is good to hear, +And lips are good to kiss, +As long as Youth and Spring endure, +There is never an evil past a cure +And the world is never amiss. + +"O lovers all, I bid ye declare +The world is a pleasant place;-- +Give thanks to God for the gift so fair, +Give thanks for His singular grace! +Give thanks for Youth and Love and Spring! +Give thanks, as gentlefolk should, and sing, +'The world is a pleasant place!'"_ + +In mid-skip Master Mervale here desisted, his voice trailing into +inarticulate vowels. After many angry throes, a white-lilac bush had been +delivered of the Marquis of Falmouth, who now confronted Master Mervale, +furiously moved. + + +4. _Love Rises from un-Cytherean Waters_ + +"I have heard, Master Mervale," said the marquis, gently, "that love +is blind?" + +The boy stared at the white face, that had before his eyes veiled rage +with a crooked smile. So you may see the cat, tense for the fatal spring, +relax and with one paw indolently flip the mouse. + +"It is an ancient fable, my lord," the boy said, smiling, and made as +though to pass. + +"Indeed," said the marquis, courteously, but without yielding an inch, +"it is a very reassuring fable: for," he continued, meditatively, "were +the eyes of all lovers suddenly opened, Master Mervale, I suspect it +would prove a red hour for the world. There would be both tempers and +reputations lost, Master Mervale; there would be sword-thrusts; there +would be corpses, Master Mervale." + +"Doubtless, my lord," the lad assented, striving to jest and have done; +"for all flesh is frail, and as the flesh of woman is frailer than that +of man, so is it, as I remember to have read, the more easily entrapped +by the gross snares of the devil, as was over-well proved by the +serpent's beguiling deceit of Eve at the beginning." + +"Yet, Master Mervale," pursued the marquis, equably, but without smiling, +"there be lovers in the world that have eyes?" + +"Doubtless, my lord," said the boy. + +"There also be women in the world, Master Mervale," Lord Falmouth +suggested, with a deeper gravity, "that are but the handsome sepulchres +of iniquity,--ay, and for the major part of women, those miracles which +are their bodies, compact of white and gold and sprightly color though +they be, serve as the lovely cerements of corruption." + +"Doubtless, my lord. The devil, as they say, is homelier with that sex." + +"There also be swords in the world, Master Mervale?" purred the marquis. +He touched his own sword as he spoke. + +"My lord--!" the boy cried, with a gasp. + +"Now, swords have at least three uses, Master Mervale," Falmouth +continued. "With a sword one may pick a cork from a bottle; with a sword +one may toast cheese about the Twelfth Night fire; and with a sword one +may spit a man, Master Mervale,--ay, even an ambling, pink-faced, lisping +lad that cannot boo at a goose, Master Mervale. I have no inclination, +Master Mervale, just now, for either wine or toasted cheese." + +"I do not understand you, my lord," said the boy, in a thin voice. + +"Indeed, I think we understand each other perfectly," said the marquis. +"For I have been very frank with you, and I have watched you from behind +this bush." + +The boy raised his hand as though to speak. + +"Look you, Master Mervale," the marquis argued, "you and my lord of +Pevensey and I be brave fellows; we need a wide world to bustle in. Now, +the thought has come to me that this small planet of ours is scarcely +commodious enough for all three. There be purgatory and Heaven, and yet +another place, Master Mervale; why, then, crowd one another?" + +"My lord," said the boy, dully, "I do not understand you." + +"Holy Gregory!" scoffed the marquis; "surely my meaning is plain enough! +it is to kill you first, and my lord of Pevensey afterward! Y'are +phoenixes, Master Mervale, Arabian birds! Y'are too good for this world. +Longaville is not fit to be trodden under your feet; and therefore it is +my intention that you leave Longaville feet first. Draw, Master +Mervale!" cried the marquis, his light hair falling about his flushed, +handsome face as he laughed joyously, and flashed his sword in the +spring sunshine. + +The boy sprang back, with an inarticulate cry; then gulped some dignity +into himself and spoke. "My lord," he said, "I admit that explanation may +seem necessary." + +"You will render it, if to anybody, Master Mervale, to my heir, who will +doubtless accord it such credence as it merits. For my part, having two +duels on my hands to-day, I have no time to listen to a romance out of +the Hundred Merry Tales." + +Falmouth had placed himself on guard; but Master Mervale stood with +chattering teeth and irresolute, groping hands, and made no effort to +draw. "Oh, the block! the curd-faced cheat!" cried the marquis. "Will +nothing move you?" With his left hand he struck at the boy. + +Thereupon Master Mervale gasped, and turning with a great sob, ran +through the gardens. The marquis laughed discordantly; then he followed, +taking big leaps as he ran and flourishing his sword. + +"Oh, the coward!" he shouted; "Oh, the milk-livered rogue! Oh, you +paltry rabbit!" + +So they came to the bank of the artificial pond. Master Mervale swerved +as with an oath the marquis pounced at him. Master Mervale's foot caught +in the root of a great willow, and Master Mervale splashed into ten feet +of still water, that glistened like quicksilver in the sunlight. + +"Oh, Saint Gregory!" the marquis cried, and clasped his sides in noisy +mirth; "was there no other way to cool your courage? Paddle out and be +flogged, Master Hare-heels!" he called. The boy had come to the surface +and was swimming aimlessly, parallel to the bank. "Now I have heard," +said the marquis, as he walked beside him, "that water swells a man. Pray +Heaven, it may swell his heart a thousandfold or so, and thus hearten him +for wholesome exercise after his ducking--a friendly thrust or two, a +little judicious bloodletting to ward off the effects of the damp." + +The marquis started as Master Mervale grounded on a shallow and rose, +dripping, knee-deep among the lily-pads. "Oh, splendor of God!" cried +the marquis. + +Master Mervale had risen from his bath almost clean-shaven; only one +sodden half of his mustachios clung to his upper lip, and as he rubbed +the water from his eyes, this remaining half also fell away from the +boy's face. + +"Oh, splendor of God!" groaned the marquis. He splashed noisily into +the water. "O Kate, Kate!" he cried, his arms about Master Mervale. +"Oh, blind, blind, blind! O heart's dearest! Oh, my dear, my dear!" +he observed. + +Master Mervale slipped from his embrace and waded to dry land. "My +lord,--" he began, demurely. + +"My lady wife,--" said his lordship of Falmouth, with a tremulous smile. +He paused, and passed his hand over his brow. "And yet I do not +understand," he said. "Y'are dead; y'are buried. It was a frightened boy +I struck." He spread out his strong arms. "O world! O sun! O stars!" he +cried; "she is come back to me from the grave. O little world! small +shining planet! I think that I could crush you in my hands!" + +"Meanwhile," Master Mervale suggested, after an interval, "it is I that +you are crushing." He sighed,--though not very deeply,--and continued, +with a hiatus: "They would have wedded me to Lucius Rossmore, and I could +not--I could not--" + +"That skinflint! that palsied goat!" the marquis growled. + +"He was wealthy," said Master Mervale. Then he sighed once more. "There +seemed only you,--only you in all the world. A man might come to you in +those far-off countries: a woman might not. I fled by night, my lord, by +the aid of a waiting-woman; became a man by the aid of a tailor; and set +out to find you by the aid of such impudence as I might muster. But luck +did not travel with me. I followed you through Flanders, Italy, +Spain,--always just too late; always finding the bird flown, the nest yet +warm. Presently I heard you were become Marquis of Falmouth; then I gave +up the quest." + +"I would suggest," said the marquis, "that my name is Stephen;--but why, +in the devil's name, should you give up a quest so laudable?" + +"Stephen Allonby, my lord," said Master Mervale, sadly, "was not Marquis +of Falmouth; as Marquis of Falmouth, you might look to mate with any +woman short of the Queen." + +"To tell you a secret," the marquis whispered, "I look to mate with one +beside whom the Queen--not to speak treason--is but a lean-faced, yellow +piece of affectation. I aim higher than royalty, heart's +dearest,--aspiring to one beside whom empresses are but common hussies." + +"And Ursula?" asked Master Mervale, gently. + +"Holy Gregory!" cried the marquis, "I had forgot! Poor wench, poor wench! +I must withdraw my suit warily,--firmly, of course, yet very kindlily, +you understand, so as to grieve her no more than must be. Poor +wench!--well, after all," he hopefully suggested, "there is yet +Pevensey." + +"O Stephen! Stephen!" Master Mervale murmured; "Why, there was never any +other but Pevensey! For Ursula knows all,--knows there was never any +more manhood in Master Mervale's disposition than might be gummed on with +a play-actor's mustachios! Why, she is my cousin, Stephen,--my cousin and +good friend, to whom I came at once on reaching England, to find you, +favored by her father, pestering her with your suit, and the poor girl +well-nigh at her wits' end because she might not have Pevensey. So," said +Master Mervale, "we put our heads together, Stephen, as you observe." + +"Indeed," my lord of Falmouth said, "it would seem that you two wenches +have, between you, concocted a very pleasant comedy." + +"It was not all a comedy," sighed Master Mervale,--"not all a comedy, +Stephen, until to-day when you told Master Mervale the story of Katherine +Beaufort. For I did not know--I could not know--" + +"And now?" my lord of Falmouth queried. + +"H'm!" cried Master Mervale, and he tossed his head. "You are very +unreasonable in anger! you are a veritable Turk! you struck me!" + +The marquis rose, bowing low to his former adversary. "Master Mervale," +said the marquis, "I hereby tender you my unreserved apologies for the +affront I put upon you. I protest I was vastly mistaken in your +disposition and hold you as valorous a gentleman as was ever made by +barbers' tricks; and you are at liberty to bestow as many kisses and +caresses upon the Lady Ursula as you may elect, reserving, however, a +reasonable sufficiency for one that shall be nameless. Are we friends, +Master Mervale?" + +Master Mervale rested his head upon Lord Falmouth's shoulder, and sighed +happily. Master Mervale laughed,--a low and gentle laugh that was vibrant +with content. But Master Mervale said nothing, because there seemed to be +between these two, who were young in the world's recaptured youth, no +longer any need of idle speaking. + + * * * * * + +JUNE 1, 1593 + +_"She was the admirablest lady that ever lived: therefore, Master Doctor, +if you will do us that favor, as to let us see that peerless dame, we +should think ourselves much beholding unto you."_ + + +_There was a double wedding some two weeks later in the chapel at +Longaville: and each marriage appears to have been happy enough. + +The tenth Marquis of Falmouth had begotten sixteen children within +seventeen years, at the end of which period his wife unluckily died in +producing a final pledge of affection. This child, a daughter, survived, +and was christened Cynthia: of her you may hear later. + +Meanwhile the Earl and the Countess of Pevensey had propagated more +moderately; and Pevensey had played a larger part in public life than was +allotted to Falmouth, who did not shine at Court. Pevensey, indeed, has +his sizable niche in history: his Irish expeditions, in 1575, were once +notorious, as well as the circumstances of the earl's death in that year +at Triloch Lenoch. His more famous son, then a boy of eight, succeeded to +the title, and somewhat later, as the world knows, to the hazardous +position of chief favorite to Queen Elizabeth. + +"For Pevensey has the vision of a poet,"--thus Langard quotes the lonely +old Queen,--"and to balance it, such mathematics as add two and two +correctly, where you others smirk and assure me it sums up to whatever +the Queen prefers. I have need of Pevensey: in this parched little age +all England has need of Pevensey." + +That is as it may have been: at all events, it is with this Lord +Pevensey, at the height of his power, that we have now to do._ + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +_The Episode Called Porcelain Cups_ + + +1. _Of Greatness Intimately Viewed_ + +"Ah, but they are beyond praise," said Cynthia Allonby, enraptured, "and +certainly you should have presented them to the Queen." + +"Her majesty already possesses a cup of that ware," replied Lord +Pevensey. "It was one of her New Year's gifts, from Robert Cecil. Hers +is, I believe, not quite so fine as either of yours; but then, they tell +me, there is not the like of this pair in England, nor indeed on the +hither side of Cataia." + +He set the two pieces of Chinese pottery upon the shelves in the south +corner of the room. These cups were of that sea-green tint called +celadon, with a very wonderful glow and radiance. Such oddities were the +last vogue at Court; and Cynthia could not but speculate as to what +monstrous sum Lord Pevensey had paid for this his last gift to her. + +Now he turned, smiling, a really superb creature in his blue and gold. +"I had to-day another message from the Queen--" + +"George," Cynthia said, with fond concern, "it frightens me to see you +thus foolhardy, in tempting alike the Queen's anger and the Plague." + +"Eh, as goes the Plague, it spares nine out of ten," he answered, +lightly. "The Queen, I grant you, is another pair of sleeves, for an +irritated Tudor spares nobody." + +But Cynthia Allonby kept silence, and did not exactly smile, while she +appraised her famous young kinsman. She was flattered by, and a little +afraid of, the gay self-confidence which led anybody to take such +chances. Two weeks ago it was that the terrible painted old Queen had +named Lord Pevensey to go straightway into France, where, rumor had it, +King Henri was preparing to renounce the Reformed Religion, and making +his peace with the Pope: and for two weeks Pevensey had lingered, on one +pretence or another, at his house in London, with the Plague creeping +about the city like an invisible incalculable flame, and the Queen asking +questions at Windsor. Of all the monarchs that had ever reigned in +England, Elizabeth Tudor was the least used to having her orders +disregarded. Meanwhile Lord Pevensey came every day to the Marquis of +Falmouth's lodgings at Deptford: and every day Lord Pevensey pointed out +to the marquis' daughter that Pevensey, whose wife had died in childbirth +a year back, did not intend to go into France, for nobody could foretell +how long a stay, as a widower. Certainly it was all very flattering.... + +"Yes, and you would be an excellent match," said Cynthia, aloud, "if that +were all. And yet, what must I reasonably expect in marrying, sir, the +famous Earl of Pevensey?" + +"A great deal of love and petting, my dear. And if there were anything +else to which you had a fancy, I would get it for you." + +Her glance went to those lovely cups and lingered fondly. "Yes, dear +Master Generosity, if it could be purchased or manufactured, you would +get it for me--" + +"If it exists I will get it for you," he declared. + +"I think that it exists. But I am not learned enough to know what it is. +George, if I married you I would have money and fine clothes and gilded +coaches, and an army of maids and pages, and honor from all men. And you +would be kind to me, I know, when you returned from the day's work at +Windsor--or Holyrood or the Louvre. But do you not see that I would +always be to you only a rather costly luxury, like those cups, which the +Queen's minister could afford to keep for his hours of leisure?" + +He answered: "You are all in all to me. You know it. Oh, very well do you +know and abuse your power, you adorable and lovely baggage, who have kept +me dancing attendance for a fortnight, without ever giving me an honest +yes or no." He gesticulated. "Well, but life is very dull in Deptford +village, and it amuses you to twist a Queen's adviser around your +finger! I see it plainly, you minx, and I acquiesce because it delights +me to give you pleasure, even at the cost of some dignity. Yet I may no +longer shirk the Queen's business,--no, not even to amuse you, my dear." + +"You said you had heard from her--again?" + +"I had this morning my orders, under Gloriana's own fair hand, either to +depart to-morrow into France or else to come to-morrow to Windsor. I need +not say that in the circumstances I consider France the more wholesome." + +Now the girl's voice was hurt and wistful. "So, for the thousandth time, +is it proven the Queen's business means more to you than I do. Yes, +certainly it is just as I said, George." + +He observed, unruffled: "My dear, I scent unreason. This is a high +matter. If the French King compounds with Rome, it means war for +Protestant England. Even you must see that." + +She replied, sadly: "Yes, even I! oh, certainly, my lord, even a +half-witted child of seventeen can perceive as much as that." + +"I was not speaking of half-witted persons, as I remember. Well, it +chances that I am honored by the friendship of our gallant Bearnais, and +am supposed to have some claim upon him, thanks to my good fortune last +year in saving his life from the assassin Barriere. It chances that I may +perhaps become, under providence, the instrument of preserving my fellow +countrymen from much grief and trumpet-sounding and throat-cutting. +Instead of pursuing that chance, two weeks ago--as was my duty--I have +dangled at your apron-strings, in the vain hope of softening the most +variable and hardest heart in the world. Now, clearly, I have not the +right to do that any longer." + +She admired the ennobled, the slightly rapt look which, she knew, denoted +that George Bulmer was doing his duty as he saw it, even in her +disappointment. "No, you have not the right. You are wedded to your +statecraft, to your patriotism, to your self-advancement, or christen it +what you will. You are wedded, at all events, to your man's business. You +have not the time for such trifles as giving a maid that foolish and +lovely sort of wooing to which every maid looks forward in her heart of +hearts. Indeed, when you married the first time it was a kind of +infidelity; and I am certain that poor, dear mouse-like Mary must have +felt that often and over again. Why, do you not see, George, even now, +that your wife will always come second to your real love?" + +"In my heart, dear sophist, you will always come first. But it is not +permitted that any loyal gentleman devote every hour of his life to +sighing and making sonnets, and to the general solacing of a maid's +loneliness in this dull little Deptford. Nor would you, I am sure, desire +me to do so." + +"I hardly know what I desire," she told him ruefully. "But I know that +when you talk of your man's business I am lonely and chilled and far +away from you. And I know that I cannot understand more than half your +fine high notions about duty and patriotism and serving England and so +on," the girl declared: and she flung wide her lovely little hands, in a +despairing gesture. "I admire you, sir, when you talk of England. It +makes you handsomer--yes, even handsomer!--somehow. But all the while I +am remembering that England is just an ordinary island inhabited by a +number of ordinary persons, for the most of whom I have no particular +feeling one way or the other." + +Pevensey looked down at her for a while with queer tenderness. Then he +smiled. "No, I could not quite make you understand, my dear. But, ah, why +fuddle that quaint little brain by trying to understand such matters as +lie without your realm? For a woman's kingdom is the home, my dear, and +her throne is in the heart of her husband--" + +"All this is but another way of saying your lordship would have us cups +upon a shelf," she pointed out--"in readiness for your leisure." + +He shrugged, said "Nonsense!" and began more lightly to talk of other +matters. Thus and thus he would do in France, such and such trinkets +he would fetch back--"as toys for the most whimsical, the loveliest, +and the most obstinate child in all the world," he phrased it. And +they would be married, Pevensey declared, in September: nor (he gaily +said) did he propose to have any further argument about it. Children +should be seen--the proverb was dusty, but it particularly applied to +pretty children. + +Cynthia let him talk. She was just a little afraid of his +self-confidence, and of this tall nobleman's habit of getting what he +wanted, in the end: but she dispiritedly felt that Pevensey had failed +her. Why, George Bulmer treated her as if she were a silly infant; and +his want of her, even in that capacity, was a secondary matter: he was +going into France, for all his petting talk, and was leaving her to shift +as she best might, until he could spare the time to resume his +love-making.... + + +2. _What Comes of Scribbling_ + +Now when Pevensey had gone the room seemed darkened by the withdrawal of +so much magnificence. Cynthia watched from the window as the tall earl +rode away, with three handsomely clad retainers. Yes, George was very +fine and admirable, no doubt of it: even so, there was relief in the +reflection that for a month or two she was rid of him. + +Turning, she faced a lean, dishevelled man, who stood by the Magdalen +tapestry scratching his chin. He had unquiet bright eyes, this +out-at-elbows poet whom a marquis' daughter was pleased to patronize, and +his red hair was unpardonably tousled. Nor were his manners beyond +reproach, for now, without saying anything, he, too, went to the window. +He dragged one foot a little as he walked. + +"So my lord Pevensey departs! Look how he rides in triumph! like lame +Tamburlaine, with Techelles and Usumcasane and Theridamas to attend him, +and with the sunset turning the dust raised by their horses' hoofs into a +sort of golden haze about them. It is a beautiful world. And truly, +Mistress Cyn," the poet said, reflectively, "that Pevensey is a very +splendid ephemera. If not a king himself, at least he goes magnificently +to settle the affairs of kings. Were modesty not my failing, Mistress +Cyn, I would acclaim you as strangely lucky, in being beloved by two fine +fellows that have not their like in England." + +"Truly, you are not always thus modest, Kit Marlowe--" + +"But, Lord, how seriously Pevensey takes it all! and takes himself in +particular! Why, there departs from us, in befitting state, a personage +whose opinion as to every topic in the world is written legibly in the +carriage of those fine shoulders, even when seen from behind and from so +considerable a distance. And in not one syllable do any of these opinions +differ from the opinions of his great-great-grandfathers. Oho, and hark +to Deptford! now all the oafs in the Corn-market are cheering this +bulwark of Protestant England, this rising young hero of a people with no +nonsense about them. Yes, it is a very quaint and rather splendid +ephemera." + +The daughter of a marquis could not quite approve of the way in which +this shoemaker's son, however talented, railed at his betters. "Pevensey +will be the greatest man in these kingdoms some day. Indeed, Kit Marlowe, +there are those who say he is that much already." + +"Oh, very probably! Still, I am puzzled by human greatness. A century +hence what will he matter, this Pevensey? His ascent and his declension +will have been completed, and his foolish battles and treaties will have +given place to other foolish battles and treaties, and oblivion will have +swallowed this glistening bluebottle, plumes and fine lace and stately +ruff and all. Why, he is but an adviser to the queen of half an island, +whereas my Tamburlaine was lord of all the golden ancient East: and what +does my Tamburlaine matter now, save that he gave Kit Marlowe the subject +of a drama? Hah, softly though! for does even that very greatly matter? +Who really cares to-day about what scratches were made upon wax by that +old Euripides, the latchet of whose sandals I am not worthy to unloose? +No, not quite worthy, as yet!" + +And thereupon the shabby fellow sat down in the tall leather-covered +chair which Pevensey had just vacated: and this Marlowe nodded his +flaming head portentously. "Hoh, look you, I am displeased, Mistress Cyn, +I cannot lend my approval to this over-greedy oblivion that gapes for +all. No, it is not a satisfying arrangement, that I should teeter +insecurely through the void on a gob of mud, and be expected by and by to +relinquish even that crazy foothold. Even for Kit Marlowe death lies in +wait! and it may be, not anything more after death, not even any lovely +words to play with. Yes, and this Marlowe may amount to nothing, after +all: and his one chance of amounting to that which he intends may be +taken away from him at any moment!" + +He touched the breast of a weather-beaten doublet. He gave her that queer +twisted sort of smile which the girl could not but find attractive, +somehow. He said: "Why, but this heart thumping here inside me may stop +any moment like a broken clock. Here is Euripides writing better than I: +and here in my body, under my hand, is the mechanism upon which depend +all those masterpieces that are to blot the Athenian from the reckoning, +and I have no control of it!" + +"Indeed, I fear that you control few things," she told him, "and that +least of all do you control your taste for taverns and bad women. Oh, I +hear tales of you!" And Cynthia raised a reproving forefinger. + +"True tales, no doubt." He shrugged. "Lacking the moon he vainly cried +for, the child learns to content himself with a penny whistle." + +"Ah, but the moon is far away," the girl said, smiling--"too far to hear +the sound of human crying: and besides, the moon, as I remember it, was +never a very amorous goddess--" + +"Just so," he answered: "also she was called Cynthia, and she, too, was +beautiful." + +"Yet is it the heart that cries to me, my poet?" she asked him, softly, +"or just the lips?" + +"Oh, both of them, most beautiful and inaccessible of goddesses." Then +Marlowe leaned toward her, laughing and shaking that disreputable red +head. "Still, you are very foolish, in your latest incarnation, to be +wasting your rays upon carpet earls who will not outwear a century. Were +modesty not my failing, I repeat, I could name somebody who will last +longer. Yes, and--if but I lacked that plaguey virtue--I would advise you +to go a-gypsying with that nameless somebody, so that two manikins might +snatch their little share of the big things that are eternal, just as the +butterfly fares intrepidly and joyously, with the sun for his torchboy, +through a universe wherein thought cannot estimate the unimportance of a +butterfly, and wherein not even the chaste moon is very important. Yes, +certainly I would advise you to have done with this vanity of courts and +masques, of satins and fans and fiddles, this dallying with tinsels and +bright vapors; and very movingly I would exhort you to seek out Arcadia, +travelling hand in hand with that still nameless somebody." And of a +sudden the restless man began to sing. + +Sang Kit Marlowe: + +_"Come live with me and be my love, +And we will all the pleasures prove +That hills and valleys, dales and fields, +Woods or steepy mountain yields. + +"And we will sit upon the rocks, +And see the shepherds feed their flocks +By shallow rivers, to whose falls +Melodious birds sing madrigals--"_ + +But the girl shook her small, wise head decisively. "That is all very +fine, but, as it happens, there is no such place as this Arcadia, where +people can frolic in perpetual sunlight the year round, and find their +food and clothing miraculously provided. No, nor can you, I am afraid, +give me what all maids really, in their heart of hearts, desire far more +than any sugar-candy Arcadia. Oh, as I have so often told you, Kit, I +think you love no woman. You love words. And your seraglio is tenanted by +very beautiful words, I grant you, though there is no longer any Sestos +builded of agate and crystal, either, Kit Marlowe. For, as you may +perceive, sir, I have read all that lovely poem you left with me last +Thursday--" + +She saw how interested he was, saw how he almost smirked. "Aha, so you +think it not quite bad, eh, the conclusion of my _Hero and Leander_?" + +"It is your best. And your middlemost, my poet, is better than aught else +in English," she said, politely, and knowing how much he delighted to +hear such remarks. + +"Come, I retract my charge of foolishness, for you are plainly a wench +of rare discrimination. And yet you say I do not love you! Cynthia, you +are beautiful, you are perfect in all things. You are that heavenly +Helen of whom I wrote, some persons say, acceptably enough. How strange +it was I did not know that Helen was dark-haired and pale! for certainly +yours is that immortal loveliness which must be served by poets in life +and death." + +"And I wonder how much of these ardors," she thought, "is kindled by my +praise of his verses?" She bit her lip, and she regarded him with a hint +of sadness. She said, aloud: "But I did not, after all, speak to Lord +Pevensey concerning the printing of your poem. Instead, I burned your +_Hero and Leander_." + +She saw him jump, as under a whip-lash. Then he smiled again, in that wry +fashion of his. "I lament the loss to letters, for it was my only copy. +But you knew that." + +"Yes, Kit, I knew it was your only copy." + +"Oho! and for what reason did you burn it, may one ask?" + +"I thought you loved it more than you loved me. It was my rival, I +thought--" The girl was conscious of remorse, and yet it was remorse +commingled with a mounting joy. + +"And so you thought a jingle scribbled upon a bit of paper could be your +rival with me!" + +Then Cynthia no longer doubted, but gave a joyous little sobbing +laugh, for the love of her disreputable dear poet was sustaining the +stringent testing she had devised. She touched his freckled hand +caressingly, and her face was as no man had ever seen it, and her +voice, too, caressed him. + +"Ah, you have made me the happiest of women, Kit! Kit, I am almost +disappointed in you, though, that you do not grieve more for the loss of +that beautiful poem." + +His smiling did not waver; yet the lean, red-haired man stayed +motionless. "Why, but see how lightly I take the destruction of my +life-work in this, my masterpiece! For I can assure you it was a +masterpiece, the fruit of two years' toil and of much loving +repolishment--" + +"Ah, but you love me better than such matters, do you not?" she asked +him, tenderly. "Kit Marlowe, I adore you! Sweetheart, do you not +understand that a woman wants to be loved utterly and entirely? She wants +no rivals, not even paper rivals. And so often when you talked of poetry +I have felt lonely and chilled and far away from you, and I have been +half envious, dear, of your Heros and Helens and your other +good-for-nothing Greek minxes. But now I do not mind them at all. And I +will make amends, quite prodigal amends, for my naughty jealousy: and my +poet shall write me some more lovely poems, so he shall--" + +He said: "You fool!" + +And she drew away from him, for this man was no longer smiling. + +"You burned my _Hero and Leander_! You! you big-eyed fool! You lisping +idiot! you wriggling, cuddling worm! you silken bag of guts! had not even +you the wit to perceive it was immortal beauty which would have lived +long after you and I were stinking dirt? And you, a half-witted animal, a +shining, chattering parrot, lay claws to it!" Marlowe had risen in a sort +of seizure, in a condition which was really quite unreasonable when you +considered that only a poem was at stake, even a rather long poem. + +And Cynthia began to smile, with tremulous hurt-looking young lips. "So +my poet's love is very much the same as Pevensey's love! And I was right, +after all." + +"Oh, oh!" said Marlowe, "that ever a poet should love a woman! What jokes +does the lewd flesh contrive!" Of a sudden he was calmer; and then rage +fell away from him like a dropped cloak, and he viewed her as with +respectful wonder. "Why, but you sitting there, with goggling innocent +bright eyes, are an allegory of all that is most droll and tragic. Yes, +and indeed there is no reason to blame you. It is not your fault that +every now and then is born a man who serves an idea which is to him the +most important thing in the world. It is not your fault that this man +perforce inhabits a body to which the most important thing in the world +is a woman. Certainly it is not your fault that this compost makes yet +another jumble of his two desires, and persuades himself that the two are +somehow allied. The woman inspires, the woman uplifts, the woman +strengthens him for his high work, saith he! Well, well, perhaps there +are such women, but by land and sea I have encountered none of them." + +All this was said while Marlowe shuffled about the room, with bent +shoulders, and nodding his tousled red head, and limping as he walked. +Now Marlowe turned, futile and shabby looking, just where a while ago +Lord Pevensey had loomed resplendent. Again she saw the poet's queer, +twisted, jeering smile. + +"What do you care for my ideals? What do you care for the ideals of that +tall earl whom for a fortnight you have held from his proper business? or +for the ideals of any man alive? Why, not one thread of that dark hair, +not one snap of those white little fingers, except when ideals irritate +you by distracting a man's attention from Cynthia Allonby. Otherwise, he +is welcome enough to play with his incomprehensible toys." + +He jerked a thumb toward the shelves behind him. + +"Oho, you virtuous pretty ladies! what all you value is such matters as +those cups: they please the eye, they are worth sound money, and people +envy you the possession of them. So you cherish your shiny mud cups, and +you burn my _Hero and Leander_: and I declaim all this dull nonsense over +the ashes of my ruined dreams, thinking at bottom of how pretty you are, +and of how much I would like to kiss you. That is the real tragedy, the +immemorial tragedy, that I should still hanker after you, my Cynthia--" + +His voice dwelt tenderly upon her name. His fever-haunted eyes were +tender, too, for just a moment. Then he grimaced. + +"No, I was wrong--the tragedy strikes deeper. The root of it is that +there is in you and in all your glittering kind no malice, no will to do +harm nor to hurt anything, but just a bland and invincible and, upon the +whole, a well-meaning stupidity, informing a bright and soft and +delicately scented animal. So you work ruin among those men who serve +ideals, not foreplanning ruin, not desiring to ruin anything, not even +having sufficient wit to perceive the ruin when it is accomplished. You +are, when all is done, not even detestable, not even a worthy peg whereon +to hang denunciatory sonnets, you shallow-pated pretty creatures whom +poets--oh, and in youth all men are poets!--whom poets, now and always, +are doomed to hanker after to the detriment of their poesy. No, I concede +it: you kill without pre-meditation, and without ever suspecting your +hands to be anything but stainless. So in logic I must retract all my +harsh words; and I must, without any hint of reproach, endeavor to bid +you a somewhat more civil farewell." + +She had regarded him, throughout this preposterous and uncalled-for +harangue, with sad composure, with a forgiving pity. Now she asked him, +very quietly, "Where are you going, Kit?" + +"To the Golden Hind, O gentle, patient and unjustly persecuted virgin +martyr!" he answered, with an exaggerated bow--"since that is the part in +which you now elect to posture." + +"Not to that low, vile place again!" + +"But certainly I intend in that tavern to get tipsy as quickly as +possible: for then the first woman I see will for the time become the +woman whom I desire, and who exists nowhere." And with that the +red-haired man departed, limping and singing as he went to look for a +trull in a pot-house. + +Sang Kit Marlowe: + +_"And I will make her beds of roses +And a thousand fragrant posies; +A cap of flowers, and a kirtle +Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. + +"A gown made of the finest wool +Which from our pretty lambs we pull; +Fair-lined slippers for the cold, +With buckles of the purest gold--"_ + + +3. _Economics of Egeria_ + +She sat quite still when Marlowe had gone. + +"He will get drunk again," she thought despondently. "Well, and why +should it matter to me if he does, after all that outrageous ranting? He +has been unforgivably insulting--Oh, but none the less, I do not want to +have him babbling of the roses and gold of that impossible fairy world +which the poor, frantic child really believes in, to some painted woman +of the town who will laugh at him. I loathe the thought of her laughing +at him--and kissing him! His notions are wild foolishness; but I at least +wish that they were not foolishness, and that hateful woman will not care +one way or the other." + +So Cynthia sighed, and to comfort her forlorn condition fetched a +hand-mirror from the shelves whereon glowed her green cups. She touched +each cup caressingly in passing; and that which she found in the mirror, +too, she regarded not unappreciatively, from varying angles.... Yes, +after all, dark hair and a pale skin had their advantages at a court +where pink and yellow women were so much the fashion as to be common. Men +remembered you more distinctively. + +Though nobody cared for men, in view of their unreasonable behavior, and +their absolute self-centeredness.... Oh, it was pitiable, it was +grotesque, she reflected sadly, how Pevensey and Kit Marlowe had both +failed her, after so many pretty speeches. + +Still, there was a queer pleasure in being wooed by Kit: his insane +notions went to one's head like wine. She would send Meg for him again +to-morrow. And Pevensey was, of course, the best match imaginable.... No, +it would be too heartless to dismiss George Buhner outright. It was +unreasonable of him to desert her because a Gascon threatened to go to +mass: but, after all, she would probably marry George, in the end. He +was really almost unendurably silly, though, about England and freedom +and religion and right and wrong and things like that. Yes, it would be +tedious to have a husband who often talked to you as though he were +addressing a public assemblage.... Yet, he was very handsome, +particularly in his highflown and most tedious moments; that year-old son +of his was sickly, and would probably die soon, the sweet forlorn little +pet, and not be a bother to anybody: and her dear old father would be +profoundly delighted by the marriage of his daughter to a man whose wife +could have at will a dozen celadon cups, and anything else she chose to +ask for.... + +But now the sun had set, and the room was growing quite dark. So Cynthia +stood a-tiptoe, and replaced the mirror upon the shelves, setting it +upright behind those wonderful green cups which had anew reminded her of +Pevensey's wealth and generosity. She smiled a little, to think of what +fun it had been to hold George back, for two whole weeks, from +discharging that horrible old queen's stupid errands. + + +4. _Treats Philosophically of Breakage_ + +The door opened. Stalwart young Captain Edward Musgrave came with a +lighted candle, which he placed carefully upon the table in the +room's centre. + +He said: "They told me you were here. I come from London. I bring +news for you." + +"You bring no pleasant tidings, I fear--" + +"As Lord Pevensey rode through the Strand this afternoon, on his way +home, the Plague smote him. That is my sad news. I grieve to bring such +news, for your cousin was a worthy gentleman and universally respected." + +"Ah," Cynthia said, very quiet, "so Pevensey is dead. But the Plague +kills quickly!" + +"Yes, yes, that is a comfort, certainly. Yes, he turned quite black in +the face, they report, and before his men could reach him had fallen from +his horse. It was all over almost instantly. I saw him afterward, hardly +a pleasant sight. I came to you as soon as I could. I was vexatiously +detained--" + +"So George Bulmer is dead, in a London gutter! It seems strange, +because he was here, befriended by monarchs, and very strong and +handsome and self-confident, hardly two hours ago. Is that his blood +upon your sleeve?" + +"But of course not! I told you I was vexatiously detained, almost at your +gates. Yes, I had the ill luck to blunder into a disgusting business. The +two rapscallions tumbled out of a doorway under my horse's very nose, +egad! It was a near thing I did not ride them down. So I stopped, +naturally. I regretted stopping, afterward, for I was too late to be of +help. It was at the Golden Hind, of course. Something really ought to be +done about that place. Yes, and that rogue Marler bled all over a new +doublet, as you see. And the Deptford constables held me with their +foolish interrogatories--" + +"So one of the fighting men was named Marlowe! Is he dead, too, dead in +another gutter?" + +"Marlowe or Marler, or something of the sort--wrote plays and sonnets and +such stuff, they tell me. I do not know anything about him--though, I +give you my word, now, those greasy constables treated me as though I +were a noted frequenter of pot-houses. That sort of thing is most +annoying. At all events, he was drunk as David's sow, and squabbling +over, saving your presence, a woman of the sort one looks to find in that +abominable hole. And so, as I was saying, this other drunken rascal dug a +knife into him--" + +But now, to Captain Musgrave's discomfort, Cynthia Allonby had begun to +weep heartbrokenly. + +So he cleared his throat, and he patted the back of her hand. "It is a +great shock to you, naturally--oh, most naturally, and does you great +credit. But come now, Pevensey is gone, as we must all go some day, and +our tears cannot bring him back, my dear. We can but hope he is better +off, poor fellow, and look on it as a mysterious dispensation and that +sort of thing, my dear--" + +"Oh, Ned, but people are so cruel! People will be saying that it was I +who kept poor Cousin George in London this past two weeks, and that but +for me he would have been in France long ago! And then the Queen, +Ned!--why, that pig-headed old woman will be blaming it on me, that +there is nobody to prevent that detestable French King from turning +Catholic and dragging England into new wars, and I shall not be able to +go to any of the Court dances! nor to the masques!" sobbed Cynthia, "nor +anywhere!" + +"Now you talk tender-hearted and angelic nonsense. It is noble of you to +feel that way, of course. But Pevensey did not take proper care of +himself, and that is all there is to it. Now I have remained in London +since the Plague's outbreak. I stayed with my regiment, naturally. We +have had a few deaths, of course. People die everywhere. But the Plague +has never bothered me. And why has it never bothered me? Simply because I +was sensible, took the pains to consult an astrologer, and by his advice +wear about my neck, night and day, a bag containing tablets of toads' +blood and arsenic. It is an infallible specific for men born in February. +No, not for a moment do I wish to speak harshly of the dead, but sensible +persons cannot but consider Lord Pevensey's death to have been caused by +his own carelessness." + +"Now, certainly that is true," the girl said, brightening. "It was really +his own carelessness and his dear lovable rashness. And somebody could +explain it to the Queen. Besides, I often think that wars are good for +the public spirit of a nation, and bring out its true manhood. But then +it upset me, too, a little, Ned, to hear about this Marlowe--for I must +tell you that I knew the poor man, very slightly. So I happen to know +that to-day he flung off in a rage, and began drinking, because somebody, +almost by pure chance, had burned a packet of his verses--" + +Thereupon Captain Musgrave raised heavy eyebrows, and guffawed so +heartily that the candle flickered. "To think of the fellow's putting it +on that plea! when he could so easily have written some more verses. That +is the trouble with these poets, if you ask me: they are not practical +even in their ordinary everyday lying. No, no, the truth of it was that +the rogue wanted a pretext for making a beast of himself, and seized the +first that came to hand. Egad, my dear, it is a daily practise with these +poets. They hardly draw a sober breath. Everybody knows that." + +Cynthia was looking at him in the half-lit room with very flattering +admiration.... Seen thus, with her scarlet lips a little +parted--disclosing pearls,--and with her naive dark eyes aglow, she was +quite incredibly pretty and caressable. She had almost forgotten until +now that this stalwart soldier, too, was in love with her. But now her +spirits were rising venturously, and she knew that she liked Ned +Musgrave. He had sensible notions; he saw things as they really were, and +with him there would never be any nonsense about toplofty ideas. Then, +too, her dear old white-haired father would be pleased, because there was +a very fair estate.... + +So Cynthia said: "I believe you are right, Ned. I often wonder how they +can be so lacking in self-respect. Oh, I am certain you must be right, +for it is just what I felt without being able quite to express it. You +will stay for supper with us, of course. Yes, but you must, because it is +always a great comfort for me to talk with really sensible persons. I do +not wonder that you are not very eager to stay, though, for I am probably +a fright, with my eyes red, and with my hair all tumbling down, like an +old witch's. Well, let us see what can be done about it, sir! There was a +hand-mirror--" + +And thus speaking, she tripped, with very much the reputed grace of a +fairy, toward the far end of the room, and standing a-tiptoe, groped at +the obscure shelves, with a resultant crash of falling china. + +"Oh, but my lovely cups!" said Cynthia, in dismay. "I had forgotten they +were up there: and now I have smashed both of them, in looking for my +mirror, sir, and trying to prettify myself for you. And I had so fancied +them, because they had not their like in England!" + +She looked at the fragments, and then at Musgrave, with wide, innocent +hurt eyes. She was really grieved by the loss of her quaint toys. But +Musgrave, in his sturdy, common-sense way, only laughed at her +seriousness over such kickshaws. + +"I am for an honest earthenware tankard myself!" he said, jovially, as +the two went in to supper. + + * * * * * + +1905-1919 + +_"Tell me where is fancy bred Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, +how nourished?... Then let us all ring fancy's knell."_ + + + + +CHAPTER X + +_The Envoi Called Semper Idem_ + + +1. _Which Baulks at an Estranging Sea_ + +Here, then, let us end the lovers' comedy, after a good precedent, with +supper as the denouement. _Chacun ira souper: la comedie ne peut pas +mieux finir._ + +For epilogue, Cynthia Allonby was duly married to Edward Musgrave, and he +made her a fair husband, as husbands go. That was the upshot of +Pevensey's death and Marlowe's murder: as indeed, it was the outcome of +all the earlier-recorded heart-burnings and endeavors and spoiled dreams. +Through generation by generation, traversing just three centuries, I have +explained to you, my dear Mrs. Grundy, how divers weddings came about: +and each marriage appears, upon the whole, to have resulted +satisfactorily. Dame Melicent and Dame Adelaide, not Florian, touched the +root of the matter as they talked together at Storisende: and the trio's +descendants could probe no deeper. + +But now we reach the annals of the house of Musgrave: and further +adventuring is blocked by R. V. Musgrave's monumental work _The Musgraves +of Matocton_. The critical may differ as to the plausibility of the +family tradition (ably defended by Colonel Musgrave, pp. 33-41) that +Mistress Cynthia Musgrave was the dark lady of Shakespeare's Sonnets, and +that this poet, also, in the end, absolved her of intentional malice. +There is none, at any event, but may find in this genealogical classic a +full record of the highly improbable happenings which led to the +emigration of Captain Edward Musgrave, and later of Cynthia Musgrave, to +the Colony of Virginia; and none but must admire Colonel Musgrave's +painstaking and accurate tracing of the American Musgraves who descended +from this couple, down to the eve of the twentieth century. + +It would be supererogatory, therefore, for me to tell you of the various +Musgrave marriages, and to re-dish such data as is readily accessible on +the reference shelves of the nearest public library, as well as in the +archives of the Colonial Dames, of the Society of the Cincinnati, and of +the Sons and Daughters of various wars. It suffices that from the +marriage of Edward Musgrave and Cynthia Allonby sprang this well-known +American family, prolific of brave gentlemen and gracious ladies who in +due course, and in new lands, achieved their allotted portion of laughter +and anguish and compromise, very much as their European fathers and +mothers had done aforetime. + +So I desist to follow the line of love across the Atlantic; and, for the +while at least, make an end of these chronicles. My pen flags, my ink +runs low, and (since Florian wedded twice) the Dizain of Marriages is +completed. + + +2. _Which Defers to Various Illusions_ + +I have bound up my gleanings from the fields of old years into a modest +sheaf; and if it be so fortunate as to please you, my dear Mrs. +Grundy,--if it so come about that your ladyship be moved in time to +desire another sheaf such as this,--why, assuredly, my surprise will be +untempered with obduracy. The legends of Allonby have been but lightly +touched upon: and apart from the _Aventures d'Adhelmar_, Nicolas de Caen +is thus far represented in English only by the _Roi Atnaury_ (which, to +be sure, is Nicolas' masterpiece) and the mutilated _Dizain des Reines_ +and the fragmentary _Roman de Lusignan_. + +But since you, madam, are not Schahriah, to give respite for the sake of +an unnarrated tale, I must now without further peroration make an end. +Through the monstrous tapestry I have traced out for you the windings of +a single thread, and I entreat you, dear lady, to accept it with +assurances of my most distinguished regard. + +And if the offering be no great gift, this lack of greatness, believe me, +is due to the errors and limitations of the transcriber alone. + +For they loved greatly, these men and women of the past, in that rapt +hour wherein Nature tricked them to noble ends, and lured them to skyey +heights of adoration and sacrifice. At bottom they were, perhaps, no more +heroical than you or I. Indeed, neither Florian nor Adhelmar was at +strict pains to act as common-sense dictated, and Falstaff is scarcely +describable as immaculate: Villon thieved, Kit Marlowe left a wake of +emptied bottles, and Will Sommers was notoriously a fool; Matthiette was +vain, and Adelais self-seeking, and the tenth Marquis of Falmouth, if you +press me, rather a stupid and pompous ass: and yet to each in turn it was +granted to love greatly, to know at least one hour of magnanimity when +each was young in the world's annually recaptured youth. + +And if that hour did not ever have its sequel in precisely the +anticipated life-long rapture, nor always in a wedding with the person +preferred, yet since at any rate it resulted in a marriage that turned +out well enough, in a world wherein people have to consider expediency, +one may rationally assert that each of these romances ended happily. +Besides, there had been the hour. + +Ah, yes, this love is an illusion, if you will. Wise men have protested +that vehemently enough in all conscience. But there are two ends to every +stickler for his opinion here. Whether you see, in this fleet hour's +abandonment to love, the man's spark of divinity flaring in momentary +splendor,--a tragic candle, with divinity guttering and half-choked among +the drossier particles, and with momentary splendor lighting man's +similitude to Him in Whose likeness man was created,--or whether you, +more modernly, detect as prompting this surrender coarse-fibred Nature, +in the Prince of Lycia's role (with all mankind her Troiluses to be +cajoled into perpetuation of mankind), you have, in either event, +conceded that to live unbefooled by love is at best a shuffling and +debt-dodging business, and you have granted this unreasoned, transitory +surrender to be the most high and, indeed, the one requisite action which +living affords. + +Beyond that is silence. If you succeed in proving love a species of +madness, you have but demonstrated that there is something more +profoundly pivotal than sanity, and for the sanest logician this is a +disastrous gambit: whereas if, in well-nigh obsolete fashion, you confess +the universe to be a weightier matter than the contents of your skull, +and your wits a somewhat slender instrument wherewith to plumb +infinity,--why, then you will recall that it is written _God is love_, +and this recollection, too, is conducive to a fine taciturnity. + + +EXPLICIT LINEA AMORIS + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Line of Love, by James Branch Cabell + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LINE OF LOVE *** + +This file should be named 7lnlv10.txt or 7lnlv10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7lnlv11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7lnlv10a.txt + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Line of Love + Dizain des Mariages + +Author: James Branch Cabell + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9488] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 5, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LINE OF LOVE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + THE LINE OF LOVE + + BY + + JAMES BRANCH CABELL + + + 1921 + + + + +TO + +ROBERT GAMBLE CABELL I + + + + +"He loved chivalrye, +Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisye. +And of his port as meek as is a mayde, +He never yet no vileinye ne sayde +In al his lyf, unto no maner wight. +He was a verray parfit gentil knyght." + + + + +_Introduction_ + + +The Cabell case belongs to comedy in the grand manner. For fifteen years +or more the man wrote and wrote--good stuff, sound stuff, extremely +original stuff, often superbly fine stuff--and yet no one in the whole of +this vast and incomparable Republic arose to his merit--no one, that is, +save a few encapsulated enthusiasts, chiefly somewhat dubious. It would +be difficult to imagine a first-rate artist cloaked in greater obscurity, +even in the remotest lands of Ghengis Khan. The newspapers, reviewing +him, dismissed him with a sort of inspired ill-nature; the critics of a +more austere kidney--the Paul Elmer Mores, Brander Matthewses, Hamilton +Wright Mabies, and other such brummagem dons--were utterly unaware of +him. Then, of a sudden, the imbeciles who operate the Comstock Society +raided and suppressed his "Jurgen," and at once he was a made man. Old +book-shops began to be ransacked for his romances and extravaganzas--many +of them stored, I daresay, as "picture-books," and under the name of the +artist who illustrated them, Howard Pyle. And simultaneously, a great +gabble about him set up in the newspapers, and then in the literary +weeklies, and finally even in the learned reviews. An Englishman, Hugh +Walpole, magnified the excitement with some startling _hochs_; a single +_hoch_ from the Motherland brings down the professors like firemen +sliding down a pole. To-day every literate American has heard of Cabell, +including even those presidents of women's clubs who lately confessed +that they had never heard of Lizette Woodworth Reese. More of his books +are sold in a week than used to be sold in a year. Every flapper in the +land has read "Jurgen" behind the door; two-thirds of the grandmothers +east of the Mississippi have tried to borrow it from me. Solemn _Privat +Dozenten_ lecture upon the author; he is invited to take to the +chautauqua himself; if the donkeys who manage the National Institute of +Arts and Letters were not afraid of his reply he would be offered its +gilt-edged ribbon, vice Sylvanus Cobb, deceased. And all because a few +pornographic old fellows thrust their ever-hopeful snouts into the man's +tenth (or was it eleventh or twelfth?) book! + +Certainly, the farce must appeal to Cabell himself--a sardonic mocker, +not incapable of making himself a character in his own _revues_. But I +doubt that he enjoys the actual pawing that he has been getting--any more +than he resented the neglect that he got for so long. Very lately, in the +midst of the carnival, he announced his own literary death and burial, +and even preached a burlesque funeral sermon upon his life and times. +Such an artist, by the very nature of his endeavors, must needs stand +above all public-clapper-clawing, pro or con. He writes, not to please +his customers in general, nor even to please his partisans in particular, +but to please himself. He is his own criterion, his own audience, his own +judge and hangman. When he does bad work, he suffers for it as no holy +clerk ever suffered from a gnawing conscience or Freudian suppressions; +when he does good work he gets his pay in a form of joy that only artists +know. One could no more think of him exposing himself to the stealthy, +uneasy admiration of a women's club--he is a man of agreeable exterior, +with handsome manners and an eye for this and that--than one could +imagine him taking to the stump for some political mountebank or getting +converted at a camp-meeting. What moves such a man to write is the +obscure, inner necessity that Joseph Conrad has told us of, and what +rewards him when he has done is his own searching and accurate judgment, +his own pride and delight in a beautiful piece of work. + +At once, I suppose, you visualize a somewhat smug fellow, loftily +complacent and superior--in brief, the bogus artist of Greenwich Village, +posturing in a pot-hat before a cellar full of visiting schoolmarms, all +dreaming of being betrayed. If so, you see a ghost. It is the curse of +the true artist that his work never stands before him in all its imagined +completeness--that he can never look at it without feeling an impulse to +add to it here or take away from it there--that the beautiful, to him, is +not a state of being, but an eternal becoming. Satisfaction, like the +praise of dolts, is the compensation of the aesthetic cheese-monger--the +popular novelist, the Broadway dramatist, the Massenet and Kipling, the +Maeterlinck and Augustus Thomas. Cabell, in fact, is forever fussing over +his books, trying to make them one degree better. He rewrites almost as +pertinaciously as Joseph Conrad, Henry James, or Brahms. Compare "Domnei" +in its present state to "The Soul of Melicent," its first state, circa +1913. The obvious change is the change in title, but of far more +importance are a multitude of little changes--a phrase made more musical, +a word moved from one place to another, some small banality tracked down +and excised, a brilliant adjective inserted, the plan altered in small +ways, the rhythm of it made more delicate and agreeable. Here, in "The +Line of Love," there is another curious example of his high capacity for +revision. It is not only that the book, once standing isolated, has been +brought into the Cabellian canon, and so related to "Jurgen" and "Figures +of Earth" at one end, and to the tales of latter-day Virginia at the +other; it is that the whole texture has been worked over, and the colors +made more harmonious, and the inner life of the thing given a fresh +energy. Once a flavor of the rococo hung about it; now it breathes and +moves. For Cabell knows a good deal more than he knew in 1905. He is an +artist whose work shows constant progress toward the goals he aims +at--principally the goal of a perfect style. Content, with him, is always +secondary. He has ideas, and they are often of much charm and +plausibility, but his main concern is with the manner of stating them. It +is surely not ideas that make "Jurgen" stand out so saliently from the +dreadful prairie of modern American literature; it is the magnificent +writing that is visible on every page of it--writing apparently simple +and spontaneous, and yet extraordinarily cunning and painstaking. The +current notoriety of "Jurgen" will pass. The Comstocks will turn to new +imbecilities, and the followers of literary parades to new marvels. But +it will remain an author's book for many a year. + +By author, of course, I mean artist--not mere artisan. It was certainly +not surprising to hear that Maurice Hewlett found "Jurgen" exasperating. +So, too, there is exasperation in Richard Strauss for plodding +music-masters. Hewlett is simply a British Civil Servant turned author, +which is not unsuggestive of an American Congressman turned philosopher. +He has a pretty eye for color, and all the gusto that goes with +beefiness, but like all the men of his class and race and time he can +think only within the range of a few elemental ideas, chiefly of a +sentimental variety, and when he finds those ideas flouted he is +horrified. The bray, in fact, revealed the ass. It is Cabell's +skepticism that saves him from an Americanism as crushing as Hewlett's +Briticism, and so sets him free as an artist. Unhampered by a mission, +happily ignorant of what is commended by all good men, disdainful of the +petty certainties of pedagogues and green-grocers, not caring a damn +what becomes of the Republic, or the Family, or even snivelization +itself, he is at liberty to disport himself pleasantly with his nouns, +verbs, adjectives, adverbs, conjunctions, prepositions and pronouns, +arranging them with the same free hand, the same innocent joy, the same +superb skill and discretion with which the late Jahveh arranged carbon, +nitrogen, sulphur, hydrogen, oxygen and phosphorus in the sublime form +of the human carcass. He, too, has his jokes. He knows the arch effect +of a strange touch; his elaborate pedantries correspond almost exactly +to the hook noses, cock eyes, outstanding ears and undulating Adam's +apples which give so sinister and Rabelaisian a touch to the human +scene. But in the main he sticks to more seemly materials and designs. +His achievement, in fact, consists precisely in the success with which +he gives those materials a striking newness, and gets a novel vitality +into those designs. He takes the ancient and mouldy parts of speech--the +liver and lights of harangues by Dr. Harding, of editorials in the New +York _Times_, of "Science and Health, with a Key to the Scriptures," of +department-store advertisements, of college yells, of chautauqual +oratory, of smoke-room anecdote--and arranges them in mosaics that +glitter with an almost fabulous light. He knows where a red noun should +go, and where a peacock-blue verb, and where an adjective as darkly +purple as a grape. He is an imagist in prose. You may like his story and +you may not like it, but if you don't like the way he tells it then +there is something the matter with your ears. As for me, his experiments +with words caress me as I am caressed by the tunes of old Johannes +Brahms. How simple it seems to manage them--and how infernally difficult +it actually is! + +H. L. MENCKEN. + +_Baltimore, October 1st, 1921_. + + + + +_Contents_ + +CHAPTER + +THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY + + I THE EPISODE CALLED THE WEDDING JEST + + II THE EPISODE CALLED ADHELMAR AT PUYSANGE + + III THE EPISODE CALLED LOVE-LETTERS OF FALSTAFF + + IV THE EPISODE CALLED "SWEET ADELAIS" + + V THE EPISODE CALLED IN NECESSITY'S MORTAR + + VI THE EPISODE CALLED THE CONSPIRACY OF ARNAYE + + VII THE EPISODE CALLED THE CASTLE OF CONTENT + + VIII THE EPISODE CALLED IN URSULA'S GARDEN + + IX THE EPISODE CALLED PORCELAIN CUPS + + X THE ENVOI CALLED SEMPER IDEM + + + + +THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY + +_"In elect utteraunce to make memoriall, +To thee for souccour, to thee for helpe I call, +Mine homely rudeness and dryghness to expell +With the freshe waters of Elyconys well."_ + + +MY DEAR MRS. GRUNDY: You may have observed that nowadays we rank the +love-story among the comfits of literature; and we do this for the +excellent reason that man is a thinking animal by courtesy rather +than usage. + +Rightly considered, the most trivial love-affair is of staggering import. +Who are we to question this, when nine-tenths of us owe our existence to +a summer flirtation? And while our graver economic and social and psychic +"problems" (to settle some one of which is nowadays the object of all +ponderable fiction) are doubtless worthy of most serious consideration, +you will find, my dear madam, that frivolous love-affairs, little and +big, were shaping history and playing spillikins with sceptres long +before any of these delectable matters were thought of. + +Yes, even the most talked-about "questions of the day" are sometimes +worthy of consideration; but were it not for the kisses of remote years +and the high gropings of hearts no longer animate, there would be none to +accord them this same consideration, and a void world would teeter about +the sun, silent and naked as an orange. Love is an illusion, if you +will; but always through this illusion, alone, has the next generation +been rendered possible, and all endearing human idiocies, including +"questions of the day," have been maintained. + +Love, then, is no trifle. And literature, mimicking life at a +respectful distance, may very reasonably be permitted an occasional +reference to the corner-stone of all that exists. For in life "a +trivial little love-story" is a matter more frequently aspersed than +found. Viewed in the light of its consequences, any love-affair is of +gigantic signification, inasmuch as the most trivial is a part of +Nature's unending and, some say, her only labor, toward the peopling of +the worlds. + +She is uninventive, if you will, this Nature, but she is tireless. +Generation by generation she brings it about that for a period weak men +may stalk as demigods, while to every woman is granted at least one hour +wherein to spurn the earth, a warm, breathing angel. Generation by +generation does Nature thus betrick humanity, that humanity may endure. + +Here for a little--with the gracious connivance of Mr. R. E. Townsend, +to whom all lyrics hereinafter should be accredited--I have followed +Nature, the arch-trickster. Through her monstrous tapestry I have traced +out for you the windings of a single thread. It is parti-colored, this +thread--now black for a mourning sign, and now scarlet where blood has +stained it, and now brilliancy itself--for the tinsel of young love +(if, as wise men tell us, it be but tinsel), at least makes a +prodigiously fine appearance until time tarnish it. I entreat you, dear +lady, to accept this traced-out thread with assurances of my most +distinguished regard. + +The gift is not great. Hereinafter is recorded nothing more weighty than +the follies of young persons, perpetrated in a lost world which when +compared with your ladyship's present planet seems rather callow. +Hereinafter are only love-stories, and nowadays nobody takes love-making +very seriously.... + +And truly, my dear madam, I dare say the Pompeiians did not take Vesuvius +very seriously; it was merely an eligible spot for a _fęte champętre_. +And when gaunt fishermen first preached Christ about the highways, depend +upon it, that was not taken very seriously, either. _Credat Judaeus_; but +all sensible folk--such as you and I, my dear madam--passed on with a +tolerant shrug, knowing "their doctrine could be held of no sane man." + + * * * * * + +APRIL 30, 1293--MAY 1, 1323 + +"_Pus vezem de novelh florir pratz, e vergiers reverdezir rius e fontanas +esclarzir, ben deu quascus lo joy jauzir don es jauzens_." + + +It would in ordinary circumstances be my endeavor to tell you, first of +all, just whom the following tale concerns. Yet to do this is not +expedient, since any such attempt could not but revive the question as to +whose son was Florian de Puysange? + +No gain is to be had by resuscitating the mouldy scandal: and, indeed, +it does not matter a button, nowadays, that in Poictesme, toward the end +of the thirteenth century, there were elderly persons who considered the +young Vicomte de Puysange to exhibit an indiscreet resemblance to Jurgen +the pawnbroker. In the wild youth of Jurgen, when Jurgen was a +practising poet (declared these persons), Jurgen had been very intimate +with the former Vicomte de Puysange, now dead, for the two men had much +in common. Oh, a great deal more in common, said these gossips, than the +poor vicomte ever suspected, as you can see for yourself. That was the +extent of the scandal, now happily forgotten, which we must at outset +agree to ignore. + +All this was in Poictesme, whither the young vicomte had come a-wooing +the oldest daughter of the Comte de la Foręt. The whispering and the +nods did not much trouble Messire Jurgen, who merely observed that he +was used to the buffets of a censorious world; young Florian never heard +of this furtive chatter; and certainly what people said in Poictesme did +not at all perturb the vicomte's mother, that elderly and pious lady, +Madame Félise de Puysange, at her remote home in Normandy. The +principals taking the affair thus quietly, we may with profit emulate +them. So I let lapse this delicate matter of young Florian's paternity, +and begin with his wedding._ + + + + +CHAPTER I + +_The Episode Called The Wedding Jest_ + + +1. _Concerning Several Compacts_ + +It is a tale which they narrate in Poictesme, telling how love began +between Florian de Puysange and Adelaide de la Foręt. They tell also how +young Florian had earlier fancied other women for one reason or another; +but that this, he knew, was the great love of his life, and a love which +would endure unchanged as long as his life lasted. + +And the tale tells how the Comte de la Foręt stroked a gray beard, and +said, "Well, after all, Puysange is a good fief--" + +"As if that mattered!" cried his daughter, indignantly. "My father, you +are a deplorably sordid person." + +"My dear," replied the old gentleman, "it does matter. Fiefs last." + +So he gave his consent to the match, and the two young people were +married on Walburga's Eve, on the day that ends April. + +And they narrate how Florian de Puysange was vexed by a thought that was +in his mind. He did not know what this thought was. But something he had +overlooked; something there was he had meant to do, and had not done: and +a troubling consciousness of this lurked at the back of his mind like a +small formless cloud. All day, while bustling about other matters, he had +groped toward this unapprehended thought. + +Now he had it: Tiburce. + +The young Vicomte de Puysange stood in the doorway, looking back into the +bright hall where they of Storisende were dancing at his marriage feast. +His wife, for a whole half-hour his wife, was dancing with handsome +Etienne de Nérac. Her glance met Florian's, and Adelaide flashed him an +especial smile. Her hand went out as though to touch him, for all that +the width of the hall severed them. + +Florian remembered presently to smile back at her. Then he went out of +the castle into a starless night that was as quiet as an unvoiced menace. +A small and hard and gnarled-looking moon ruled over the dusk's secrecy. +The moon this night, afloat in a luminous gray void, somehow reminded +Florian of a glistening and unripe huge apple. + +The foliage about him moved at most as a sleeper breathes, while Florian +descended eastward through walled gardens, and so came to the graveyard. +White mists were rising, such mists as the witches of Amneran +notoriously evoked in these parts on each Walburga's Eve to purchase +recreations which squeamishness leaves undescribed. + +For five years now Tiburce d'Arnaye had lain there. Florian thought of +his dead comrade and of the love which had been between them--a love more +perfect and deeper and higher than commonly exists between men--and the +thought came to Florian, and was petulantly thrust away, that Adelaide +loved ignorantly where Tiburce d'Arnaye had loved with comprehension. +Yes, he had known almost the worst of Florian de Puysange, this dear lad +who, none the less, had flung himself between Black Torrismond's sword +and the breast of Florian de Puysange. And it seemed to Florian unfair +that all should prosper with him, and Tiburce lie there imprisoned in +dirt which shut away the color and variousness of things and the +drollness of things, wherein Tiburce d'Arnaye had taken such joy. And +Tiburce, it seemed to Florian--for this was a strange night--was +struggling futilely under all that dirt, which shut out movement, and +clogged the mouth of Tiburce, and would not let him speak; and was +struggling to voice a desire which was unsatisfied and hopeless. + +"O comrade dear," said Florian, "you who loved merriment, there is a +feast afoot on this strange night, and my heart is sad that you are not +here to share in the feasting. Come, come, Tiburce, a right trusty +friend you were to me; and, living or dead, you should not fail to make +merry at my wedding." + +Thus he spoke. White mists were rising, and it was Walburga's Eve. + +So a queer thing happened, and it was that the earth upon the grave +began to heave and to break in fissures, as when a mole passes through +the ground. And other queer things happened after that, and presently +Tiburce d'Arnaye was standing there, gray and vague in the moonlight as +he stood there brushing the mold from his brows, and as he stood there +blinking bright wild eyes. And he was not greatly changed, it seemed to +Florian; only the brows and nose of Tiburce cast no shadows upon his +face, nor did his moving hand cast any shadow there, either, though the +moon was naked overhead. + +"You had forgotten the promise that was between us," said Tiburce; and +his voice had not changed much, though it was smaller. + +"It is true. I had forgotten. I remember now." And Florian shivered a +little, not with fear, but with distaste. + +"A man prefers to forget these things when he marries. It is natural +enough. But are you not afraid of me who come from yonder?" + +"Why should I be afraid of you, Tiburce, who gave your life for mine?" + +"I do not say. But we change yonder." + +"And does love change, Tiburce? For surely love is immortal." + +"Living or dead, love changes. I do not say love dies in us who may hope +to gain nothing more from love. Still, lying alone in the dark clay, +there is nothing to do, as yet, save to think of what life was, and of +what sunlight was, and of what we sang and whispered in dark places when +we had lips; and of how young grass and murmuring waters and the high +stars beget fine follies even now; and to think of how merry our loved +ones still contrive to be, even now, with their new playfellows. Such +reflections are not always conducive to philanthropy." + +"Tell me," said Florian then, "and is there no way in which we who are +still alive may aid you to be happier yonder?" + +"Oh, but assuredly," replied Tiburce d'Arnaye, and he discoursed of +curious matters; and as he talked, the mists about the graveyard +thickened. "And so," Tiburce said, in concluding his tale, "it is not +permitted that I make merry at your wedding after the fashion of those +who are still in the warm flesh. But now that you recall our ancient +compact, it is permitted I have my peculiar share in the merriment, and I +may drink with you to the bride's welfare." + +"I drink," said Florian, as he took the proffered cup, "to the welfare of +my beloved Adelaide, whom alone of women I have really loved, and whom I +shall love always." + +"I perceive," replied the other, "that you must still be having your +joke." + +Then Florian drank, and after him Tiburce. And Florian said, "But it is a +strange drink, Tiburce, and now that you have tasted it you are changed." + +"You have not changed, at least," Tiburce answered; and for the first +time he smiled, a little perturbingly by reason of the change in him. + +"Tell me," said Florian, "of how you fare yonder." + +So Tiburce told him of yet more curious matters. Now the augmenting mists +had shut off all the rest of the world. Florian could see only vague +rolling graynesses and a gray and changed Tiburce sitting there, with +bright wild eyes, and discoursing in a small chill voice. The appearance +of a woman came, and sat beside him on the right. She, too, was gray, as +became Eve's senior: and she made a sign which Florian remembered, and it +troubled him. + +Tiburce said then, "And now, young Florian, you who were once so dear to +me, it is to your welfare I drink." + +"I drink to yours, Tiburce." + +Tiburce drank first: and Florian, having drunk in turn, cried out, "You +have changed beyond recognition!" + +"You have not changed," Tiburce d'Arnaye replied again. "Now let me tell +you of our pastimes yonder." + +With that he talked of exceedingly curious matters. And Florian began to +grow dissatisfied, for Tiburce was no longer recognizable, and Tiburce +whispered things uncomfortable to believe; and other eyes, as wild as +his, but lit with red flarings from behind, like a beast's eyes, showed +in the mists to this side and to that side, for unhappy beings were +passing through the mists upon secret errands which they discharged +unwillingly. Then, too, the appearance of a gray man now sat to the left +of that which had been Tiburce d'Arnaye, and this newcomer was marked so +that all might know who he was: and Florian's heart was troubled to note +how handsome and how admirable was that desecrated face even now. + +"But I must go," said Florian, "lest they miss me at Storisende, and +Adelaide be worried." + +"Surely it will not take long to toss off a third cup. Nay, comrade, who +were once so dear, let us two now drink our last toast together. Then go, +in Sclaug's name, and celebrate your marriage. But before that let us +drink to the continuance of human mirth-making everywhere." + +Florian drank first. Then Tiburce took his turn, looking at Florian as +Tiburce drank slowly. As he drank, Tiburce d'Arnaye was changed even +more, and the shape of him altered, and the shape of him trickled as +though Tiburce were builded of sliding fine white sand. So Tiburce +d'Arnaye returned to his own place. The appearances that had sat to his +left and to his right were no longer there to trouble Florian with +memories. And Florian saw that the mists of Walburga's Eve had departed, +and that the sun was rising, and that the graveyard was all overgrown +with nettles and tall grass. + +He had not remembered the place being thus, and it seemed to him the +night had passed with unnatural quickness. But he thought more of the +fact that he had been beguiled into spending his wedding-night in a +graveyard, in such questionable company, and of what explanation he could +make to Adelaide. + + +2. _Of Young Persons in May_ + +The tale tells how Florian de Puysange came in the dawn through flowering +gardens, and heard young people from afar, already about their maying. +Two by two he saw them from afar as they went with romping and laughter +into the tall woods behind Storisende to fetch back the May-pole with +dubious old rites. And as they went they sang, as was customary, that +song which Raimbaut de Vaqueiras made in the ancient time in honor of +May's ageless triumph. + +Sang they: + +"_May shows with godlike showing +To-day for each that sees +May's magic overthrowing +All musty memories +In him whom May decrees +To be love's own. He saith, +'I wear love's liveries +Until released by death_.' + +"_Thus all we laud May's sowing, +Nor heed how harvests please +When nowhere grain worth growing +Greets autumn's questing breeze, +And garnerers garner these-- +Vain words and wasted breath +And spilth and tasteless lees-- +Until released by death. + +"Unwillingly foreknowing +That love with May-time flees, +We take this day's bestowing, +And feed on fantasies +Such as love lends for ease +Where none but travaileth, +With lean infrequent fees, +Until released by death_." + +And Florian shook his sleek black head. "A very foolish and pessimistical +old song, a superfluous song, and a song that is particularly out of +place in the loveliest spot in the loveliest of all possible worlds." + +Yet Florian took no inventory of the gardens. There was but a happy sense +of green and gold, with blue topping all; of twinkling, fluent, tossing +leaves and of the gray under side of elongated, straining leaves; a sense +of pert bird noises, and of a longer shadow than usual slanting before +him, and a sense of youth and well-being everywhere. Certainly it was +not a morning wherein pessimism might hope to flourish. + +Instead, it was of Adelaide that Florian thought: of the tall, impulsive, +and yet timid, fair girl who was both shrewd and innocent, and of her +tenderly colored loveliness, and of his abysmally unmerited felicity in +having won her. Why, but what, he reflected, grimacing--what if he had +too hastily married somebody else? For he had earlier fancied other women +for one reason or another: but this, he knew, was the great love of his +life, and a love which would endure unchanged as long as his life lasted. + + +3. _What Comes of Marrying Happily_ + +The tale tells how Florian de Puysange found Adelaide in the company of +two ladies who were unknown to him. One of these was very old, the other +an imposing matron in middle life. The three were pleasantly shaded by +young oak-trees; beyond was a tall hedge of clipped yew. The older women +were at chess, while Adelaide bent her meek golden head to some of that +fine needlework in which the girl delighted. And beside them rippled a +small sunlit stream, which babbled and gurgled with silver flashes. +Florian hastily noted these things as he ran laughing to his wife. + +"Heart's dearest--!" he cried. And he saw, perplexed, that Adelaide had +risen with a faint wordless cry, and was gazing at him as though she +were puzzled and alarmed a very little. + +"Such an adventure as I have to tell you of!" says Florian then. + +"But, hey, young man, who are you that would seem to know my daughter so +well?" demands the lady in middle life, and she rose majestically from +her chess-game. + +Florian stared, as he well might. "Your daughter, madame! But certainly +you are not Dame Melicent." + +At this the old, old woman raised her nodding head. "Dame Melicent? And +was it I you were seeking, sir?" + +Now Florian looked from one to the other of these incomprehensible +strangers, bewildered: and his eyes came back to his lovely wife, and his +lips smiled irresolutely. "Is this some jest to punish me, my dear?" + +But then a new and graver trouble kindled in his face, and his eyes +narrowed, for there was something odd about his wife also. + +"I have been drinking in queer company," he said. "It must be that my +head is not yet clear. Now certainly it seems to me that you are Adelaide +de la Foręt, and certainly it seems to me that you are not Adelaide." + +The girl replied, "Why, no, messire; I am Sylvie de Nointel." + +"Come, come," says the middle-aged lady, briskly, "let us make an end to +this play-acting, and, young fellow, let us have a sniff at you. No, you +are not tipsy, after all. Well, I am glad of that. So let us get to the +bottom of this business. What do they call you when you are at home?" + +"Florian de Puysange," he answered, speaking meekly enough. This capable +large person was to the young man rather intimidating. + +"La!" said she. She looked at him very hard. She nodded gravely two or +three times, so that her double chin opened and shut. "Yes, and you favor +him. How old are you?" + +He told her twenty-four. + +She said, inconsequently: "So I was a fool, after all. Well, young man, +you will never be as good-looking as your father, but I trust you have an +honester nature. However, bygones are bygones. Is the old rascal still +living? and was it he that had the impudence to send you to me?" + +"My father, madame, was slain at the battle of Marchfeld--" + +"Some fifty years ago! And you are twenty-four. Young man, your +parentage had unusual features, or else we are at cross-purposes. Let us +start at the beginning of this. You tell us you are called Florian de +Puysange and that you have been drinking in queer company. Now let us +have the whole story." + +Florian told of last night's happenings, with no more omissions than +seemed desirable with feminine auditors. + +Then the old woman said: "I think this is a true tale, my daughter, for +the witches of Amneran contrive strange things, with mists to aid them, +and with Lilith and Sclaug to abet. Yes, and this fate has fallen before +to men that were over-friendly with the dead." + +"Stuff and nonsense!" said the stout lady. + +"But, no, my daughter. Thus seven persons slept at Ephesus, from the time +of Decius to the time of Theodosius--" + +"Still, Mother--" + +"--And the proof of it is that they were called Constantine and Dionysius +and John and Malchus and Marcian and Maximian and Serapion. They were +duly canonized. You cannot deny that this thing happened without +asserting no less than seven blessed saints to have been unprincipled +liars, and that would be a very horrible heresy--" + +"Yet, Mother, you know as well as I do--" + +"--And thus Epimenides, another excellently spoken-of saint, slept at +Athens for fifty-seven years. Thus Charlemagne slept in the Untersberg, +and will sleep until the ravens of Miramon Lluagor have left his +mountains. Thus Rhyming Thomas in the Eildon Hills, thus Ogier in Avalon, +thus Oisin--" + +The old lady bade fair to go on interminably in her gentle resolute +piping old voice, but the other interrupted. + +"Well, Mother, do not excite yourself about it, for it only makes your +asthma worse, and does no especial good to anybody. Things may be as you +say. Certainly I intended nothing irreligious. Yet these extended naps, +appropriate enough for saints and emperors, are out of place in one's own +family. So, if it is not stuff and nonsense, it ought to be. And that I +stick to." + +"But we forget the boy, my dear," said the old lady. "Now listen, Florian +de Puysange. Thirty years ago last night, to the month and the day, it +was that you vanished from our knowledge, leaving my daughter a forsaken +bride. For I am what the years have made of Dame Melicent, and this is my +daughter Adelaide, and yonder is her daughter Sylvie de Nointel." + +"La, Mother," observed the stout lady, "but are you certain it was the +last of April? I had been thinking it was some time in June. And I +protest it could not have been all of thirty years. Let me see now, +Sylvie, how old is your brother Richard? Twenty-eight, you say. Well, +Mother, I always said you had a marvelous memory for things like that, +and I often envy you. But how time does fly, to be sure!" + +And Florian was perturbed. "For this is an awkward thing, and Tiburce has +played me an unworthy trick. He never did know when to leave off joking; +but such posthumous frivolity is past endurance. For, see now, in what a +pickle it has landed me! I have outlived my friends, I may encounter +difficulty in regaining my fiefs, and certainly I have lost the fairest +wife man ever had. Oh, can it be, madame, that you are indeed my +Adelaide!" + +"Yes, every pound of me, poor boy, and that says much." + +"--And that you have been untrue to the eternal fidelity which you vowed +to me here by this very stream! Oh, but I cannot believe it was thirty +years ago, for not a grass-blade or a pebble has been altered; and I +perfectly remember the lapping of water under those lichened rocks, and +that continuous file of ripples yonder, which are shaped like +arrowheads." + +Adelaide rubbed her nose. "Did I promise eternal fidelity? I can hardly +remember that far back. But I remember I wept a great deal, and my +parents assured me you were either dead or a rascal, so that tears could +not help either way. Then Ralph de Nointel came along, good man, and made +me a fair husband, as husbands go--" + +"As for that stream," then said Dame Melicent, "it is often I have +thought of that stream, sitting here with my grandchildren where I once +sat with gay young men whom nobody remembers now save me. Yes, it is +strange to think that instantly, and within the speaking of any simple +word, no drop of water retains the place it had before the word was +spoken: and yet the stream remains unchanged, and stays as it was when I +sat here with those young men who are gone. Yes, that is a strange +thought, and it is a sad thought, too, for those of us who are old." + +"But, Mother, of course the stream remains unchanged," agreed Dame +Adelaide. "Streams always do except after heavy rains. Everybody knows +that, and I can see nothing very remarkable about it. As for you, +Florian, if you stickle for love's being an immortal affair," she added, +with a large twinkle, "I would have you know I have been a widow for +three years. So the matter could be arranged." + +Florian looked at her sadly. To him the situation was incongruous with +the terrible archness of a fat woman. "But, madame, you are no longer the +same person." + +She patted him upon the shoulder. "Come, Florian, there is some sense in +you, after all. Console yourself, lad, with the reflection that if you +had stuck manfully by your wife instead of mooning about graveyards, I +would still be just as I am to-day, and you would be tied to me. Your +friend probably knew what he was about when he drank to our welfare, for +we would never have suited each other, as you can see for yourself. Well, +Mother, many things fall out queerly in this world, but with age we learn +to accept what happens without flustering too much over it. What are we +to do with this resurrected old lover of mine?" + +It was horrible to Florian to see how prosaically these women dealt with +his unusual misadventure. Here was a miracle occurring virtually before +their eyes, and these women accepted it with maddening tranquillity as an +affair for which they were not responsible. Florian began to reflect that +elderly persons were always more or less unsympathetic and inadequate. + +"First of all," says Dame Melicent, "I would give him some breakfast. He +must be hungry after all these years. And you could put him in +Adhelmar's room--" + +"But," Florian said wildly, to Dame Adelaide, "you have committed the +crime of bigamy, and you are, after all, my wife!" + +She replied, herself not untroubled: "Yes, but, Mother, both the cook and +the butler are somewhere in the bushes yonder, up to some nonsense that I +prefer to know nothing about. You know how servants are, particularly on +holidays. I could scramble him some eggs, though, with a rasher. And +Adhelmar's room it had better be, I suppose, though I had meant to have +it turned out. But as for bigamy and being your wife," she concluded more +cheerfully, "it seems to me the least said the soonest mended. It is to +nobody's interest to rake up those foolish bygones, so far as I can see." + +"Adelaide, you profane equally love, which is divine, and marriage, which +is a holy sacrament." + +"Florian, do you really love Adelaide de Nointel?" asked this terrible +woman. "And now that I am free to listen to your proposals, do you wish +to marry me?" + +"Well, no," said Florian: "for, as I have just said; you are no longer +the same person." + +"Why, then, you see for yourself. So do you quit talking nonsense about +immortality and sacraments." + +"But, still," cried Florian, "love is immortal. Yes, I repeat to you, +precisely as I told Tiburce, love is immortal." + +Then says Dame Melicent, nodding her shriveled old head: "When I was +young, and was served by nimbler senses and desires, and was housed in +brightly colored flesh, there were a host of men to love me. Minstrels +yet tell of the men that loved me, and of how many tall men were slain +because of their love for me, and of how in the end it was Perion who won +me. For the noblest and the most faithful of all my lovers was Perion of +the Forest, and through tempestuous years he sought me with a love that +conquered time and chance: and so he won me. Thereafter he made me a fair +husband, as husbands go. But I might not stay the girl he had loved, nor +might he remain the lad that Melicent had dreamed of, with dreams +be-drugging the long years in which Demetrios held Melicent a prisoner, +and youth went away from her. No, Perion and I could not do that, any +more than might two drops of water there retain their place in the +stream's flowing. So Perion and I grew old together, friendly enough; +and our senses and desires began to serve us more drowsily, so that we +did not greatly mind the falling away of youth, nor greatly mind to note +what shriveled hands now moved before us, performing common tasks; and we +were content enough. But of the high passion that had wedded us there was +no trace, and of little senseless human bickerings there were a great +many. For one thing"--and the old lady's voice was changed--"for one +thing, he was foolishly particular about what he would eat and what he +would not eat, and that upset my housekeeping, and I had never any +patience with such nonsense." + +"Well, none the less," said Florian, "it is not quite nice of you to +acknowledge it." + +Then said Dame Adelaide: "That is a true word, Mother. All men get +finicky about their food, and think they are the only persons to be +considered, and there is no end to it if once you begin to humor them. So +there has to be a stand made. Well, and indeed my poor Ralph, too, was +all for kissing and pretty talk at first, and I accepted it willingly +enough. You know how girls are. They like to be made much of, and it is +perfectly natural. But that leads to children. And when the children +began to come, I had not much time to bother with him: and Ralph had his +farming and his warfaring to keep him busy. A man with a growing family +cannot afford to neglect his affairs. And certainly, being no fool, he +began to notice that girls here and there had brighter eyes and trimmer +waists than I. I do not know what such observations may have led to when +he was away from me: I never inquired into it, because in such matters +all men are fools. But I put up with no nonsense at home, and he made me +a fair husband, as husbands go. That much I will say for him gladly: and +if any widow says more than that, Florian, do you beware of her, for she +is an untruthful woman." + +"Be that as it may," replied Florian, "it is not quite becoming to speak +thus of your dead husband. No doubt you speak the truth: there is no +telling what sort of person you may have married in what still seems to +me unseemly haste to provide me with a successor: but even so, a little +charitable prevarication would be far more edifying." + +He spoke with such earnestness that there fell a silence. The women +seemed to pity him. And in the silence Florian heard from afar young +persons returning from the woods behind Storisende, and bringing with +them the May-pole. They were still singing. + +Sang they: + +"_Unwillingly foreknowing +That love with May-time flees, +We take this day's bestowing, +And feed on fantasies_--" + + +4. _Youth Solves It_ + +The tale tells how lightly and sweetly, and compassionately, too, then +spoke young Sylvie de Nointel. + +"Ah, but, assuredly, Messire Florian, you do not argue with my pets +quite seriously! Old people always have some such queer notions. Of +course love all depends upon what sort of person you are. Now, as I see +it, Mama and Grandmama are not the sort of persons who have real +love-affairs. Devoted as I am to both of them, I cannot but perceive they +are lacking in real depth of sentiment. They simply do not understand or +care about such matters. They are fine, straightforward, practical +persons, poor dears, and always have been, of course, for in things like +that one does not change, as I have often noticed. And Father, and +Grandfather Perion, too, as I remember him, was kind-hearted and +admirable and all that, but nobody could ever have expected him to be a +satisfactory lover. Why, he was bald as an egg, the poor pet!" + +And Sylvie laughed again at the preposterous notions of old people. She +flashed an especial smile at Florian. Her hand went out as though to +touch him, in an unforgotten gesture. "Old people do not understand," +said Sylvie de Nointel, in tones which took this handsome young fellow +ineffably into confidence. + +"Mademoiselle," said Florian, with a sigh that was part relief and all +approval, "it is you who speak the truth, and your elders have fallen +victims to the cynicism of a crassly material age. Love is immortal when +it is really love and when one is the right sort of person. There is the +love--known to how few, alas! and a passion of which I regret to find +your mother incapable--that endures unchanged until the end of life." + +"I am so glad you think so, Messire Florian," she answered demurely. + +"And do you not think so, mademoiselle?" + +"How should I know," she asked him, "as yet?" He noted she had incredibly +long lashes. + +"Thrice happy is he that convinces you!" says Florian. And about them, +who were young in the world's recaptured youth, spring triumphed with an +ageless rural pageant, and birds cried to their mates. He noted the red +brevity of her lips and their probable softness. + +Meanwhile the elder women regarded each other. + +"It is the season of May. They are young and they are together. Poor +children!" said Dame Melicent. "Youth cries to youth for the toys of +youth, and saying, 'Lo, I cry with the voice of a great god!'" + +"Still," said Madame Adelaide, "Puysange is a good fief--" + +But Florian heeded neither of them as he stood there by the sunlit +stream, in which no drop of water retained its place for a moment, and +which yet did not alter in appearance at all. He did not heed his elders +for the excellent reason that Sylvie de Nointel was about to speak, and +he preferred to listen to her. For this girl, he knew, was lovelier than +any other person had ever been since Eve first raised just such admiring, +innocent, and venturesome eyes to inspect what must have seemed to her +the quaintest of all animals, called man. So it was with a shrug that +Florian remembered how he had earlier fancied other women for one reason +or another; since this, he knew, was the great love of his life, and a +love which would endure unchanged as long as his life lasted. + + * * * * * + +APRIL 14, 1355--OCTOBER 23, 1356 + +"_D'aquest segle flac, plen de marrimen, +S'amor s'en vai, son jot teinh mensongier_." + + +_So Florian married Sylvie, and made her, they relate, a fair husband, +as husbands go. And children came to them, and then old age, and, lastly, +that which comes to all. + +Which reminds me that it was an uncomfortable number of years ago, in an +out-of-the-way corner of the library at Allonby Shaw, that I first came +upon_ Les Aventures d'Adhelmar de Nointel. _This manuscript dates from +the early part of the fifteenth century and is attributed--though on no +very conclusive evidence, says Hinsauf,--to the facile pen of Nicolas de +Caen (circa 1450), until lately better known as a lyric poet and +satirist. + +The story, told in decasyllabic couplets, interspersed after a rather +unusual fashion with innumerable lyrics, seems in the main authentic. Sir +Adhelmar de Nointel, born about 1332, was once a real and stalwart +personage, a younger brother to that Henri de Nointel, the fighting +Bishop of Mantes, whose unsavory part in the murder of Jacques van +Arteveldt history has recorded at length; and it is with the exploits of +this Adhelmar that the romance deals, not, it may be, without +exaggeration. + +In any event, the following is, with certain compressions and omissions +that have seemed desirable, the last episode of the_ Aventures. _The tale +concerns the children of Florian and Sylvie: and for it I may claim, at +least, the same merit that old Nicolas does at the very outset; since as +he veraciously declares--yet with a smack of pride: + +Cette bonne ystoire n'est pas usée, +Ni gučre de lieux jadis trouvée, +Ni čcrite par clercz ne fut encore._ + + + + +CHAPTER II + +_The Episode Called Adhelmar at Puysange_ + + +I. _April-magic_ + +When Adhelmar had ended the tale of Dame Venus and the love which she +bore the knight Tannhäuser (here one overtakes Nicolas midcourse in +narrative), Adhelmar put away the book and sighed. The Demoiselle Mélite +laughed a little--her laughter, as I have told you, was high and +delicate, with the resonance of thin glass--and demanded the reason of +his sudden grief. + +"I sigh," he answered, "for sorrow that this Dame Venus is dead." + +"Surely," said she, wondering at his glum face, "that is no great +matter." + +"By Saint Vulfran, yes!" Adhelmar protested; "for the same Lady Venus was +the fairest of women, as all learned clerks avow; and she is dead these +many years, and now there is no woman left alive so beautiful as +she--saving one alone, and she will have none of me. And therefore," he +added, very slowly, "I sigh for desire of Dame Venus and for envy of the +knight Tannhäuser." + +Again Mélite laughed, but she forbore--discreetly enough--to question him +concerning the lady who was of equal beauty with Dame Venus. + +It was an April morning, and they set in the hedged garden of Puysange. +Adhelmar read to her of divers ancient queens and of the love-business +wherein each took part, relating the histories of the Lady Heleine and of +her sweethearting with Duke Paris, the Emperor of Troy's son, and of the +Lady Melior that loved Parthénopex of Blois, and of the Lady Aude, for +love of whom Sieur Roland slew the pagan Angoulaffre, and of the Lady +Cresseide that betrayed love, and of the Lady Morgaine la Fée, whose +Danish lover should yet come from Avalon to save France in her black hour +of need. All these he read aloud, suavely, with bland modulations, for he +was a man of letters, as letters went in those days. Originally, he had +been bred for the Church; but this vocation he had happily forsaken long +since, protesting with some show of reason that France at this particular +time had a greater need of spears than of aves. + +For the rest, Sir Adhelmar de Nointel was known as a valiant knight, who +had won glory in the wars with the English. He had lodged for a fortnight +at Puysange, of which castle the master, Sire Reinault (son to the late +Vicomte Florian) was Adhelmar's cousin: and on the next day Adhelmar +proposed to set forth for Paris, where the French King--Jehan the +Luckless--was gathering his lieges about him to withstand his kinsman, +Edward of England. + +Now, as I have said, Adhelmar was cousin to Reinault, and, in +consequence, to Reinault's sister, the Demoiselle Mélite; and the latter +Adhelmar loved, at least, as much as a cousin should. That was well +known; and Reinault de Puysange had sworn very heartily that this was a +great pity when he affianced her to Hugues d'Arques. Both Hugues and +Adhelmar had loved Mélite since boyhood,--so far their claims ran +equally. But while Adhelmar had busied himself in the acquisition of some +scant fame and a vast number of scars, Hugues had sensibly inherited the +fief of Arques, a snug property with fertile lands and a stout fortress. +How, then, should Reinault hesitate between them? + +He did not. For the Château d'Arques, you must understand, was builded in +Lower Normandy, on the fringe of the hill-country, just where the +peninsula of Cotentin juts out into the sea; Puysange stood not far +north, among the level lands of Upper Normandy: and these two being the +strongest castles in those parts, what more natural and desirable than +that the families should be united by marriage? Reinault informed his +sister of his decision; she wept a little, but did not refuse to comply. + +So Adhelmar, come again to Puysange after five years' absence, found +Mélite troth-plighted, fast and safe, to Hugues. Reinault told him. +Adhelmar grumbled and bit his nails in a corner, for a time; then +laughed shortly. + +"I have loved Mélite," he said. "It may be that I love her still. Hah, +Saint Vulfran! why should I not? Why should a man not love his cousin?" + +Adhelmar grinned, while the vicomte twitched his beard and wished +Adhelmar at the devil. + +But the young knight stuck fast at Puysange, for all that, and he and +Mélite were much together. Daily they made parties to dance, and to hunt +the deer, and to fish, but most often to rehearse songs. For Adhelmar +made good songs. + +[Footnote: Nicolas indeed declares of Adhelmar, earlier in the tale, in +such high terms as are not uncommon to this chronicle: + +Hardi estait et fier comme lions, +Et si faisait balades et chançons, +Rondeaulx et laiz, trčs bans et pleins de grâce, +Comme Orpheus, cet menestrier de Thrace.] + +To-day, the summer already stirring in the womb of the year, they sat, as +I have said, in the hedged garden; and about them the birds piped and +wrangled over their nest-building, and daffodils danced in spring's honor +with lively saltations, and overhead the sky was colored like a robin's +egg. It was very perilous weather for young folk. By reason of this, when +he had ended his reading about the lady of the hollow hill, Sir Adhelmar +sighed again, and stared at his companion with hungry eyes, wherein +desire strained like a hound at the leash. + +Said Mélite, "Was this Lady Venus, then, exceedingly beautiful?" + +Adhelmar swore an oath of sufficient magnitude that she was. + +Whereupon Mélite, twisting her fingers idly and evincing a sudden +interest in her own feet, demanded if this Venus were more beautiful than +the Lady Ermengarde of Arnaye or the Lady Ysabeau of Brieuc. + +"Holy Ouen!" scoffed Adhelmar; "these ladies, while well enough, I grant +you, would seem to be callow howlets blinking about that Arabian Phoenix +which Plinius tells of, in comparison with this Lady Venus that is dead!" + +"But how," asked Mélite, "was this lady fashioned that you commend so +highly?--and how can you know of her beauty who have never seen her?" + +Said Adhelmar: "I have read of her fairness in the chronicles of Messire +Stace of Thebes, and of Dares, who was her husband's bishop. And she was +very comely, neither too little nor too big; she was fairer and whiter +and more lovely than any flower of the lily or snow upon the branch, but +her eyebrows had the mischance of meeting. She had wide-open, beautiful +eyes, and her wit was quick and ready. She was graceful and of demure +countenance. She was well-beloved, and could herself love well, but her +heart was changeable--" + +"Cousin Adhelmar," declared Mélite, flushing somewhat, for the portrait +was like enough, "I think that you tell of a woman, not of a goddess of +heathenry." + +"Her eyes," said Adhelmar, and his voice shook, and his hands, lifting a +little, trembled,--"her eyes were large and very bright and of a color +like that of the June sunlight falling upon deep waters. Her hair +was of a curious gold color like the Fleece that the knight Jason sought, +and it curled marvellously about her temples. For mouth she had but a +small red wound; and her throat was a tower builded of ivory." + +But now, still staring at her feet and glowing with the even complexion +of a rose, (though not ill-pleased), the Demoiselle Mélite bade him +desist and make her a song. Moreover, she added, beauty was but a +fleeting thing, and she considered it of little importance; and then she +laughed again. + +Adhelmar took up the lute that lay beside them and fingered it for a +moment, as though wondering of what he would rhyme. Afterward he sang for +her as they sat in the gardens. + +Sang Adhelmar: + +_"It is in vain I mirror forth the praise +In pondered virelais +Of her that is the lady of my love; +Far-sought and curious phrases fail to tell +The tender miracle +Of her white body and the grace thereof. + +"Thus many and many an artful-artless strain +Is fashioned all in vain: +Sound proves unsound; and even her name, that is +To me more glorious than the glow of fire +Or dawn or love's desire +Or opals interlinked with turquoises, +Mocks utterance. + +"So, lacking skill to praise +That perfect bodily beauty which is hers, +Even as those worshippers +Who bore rude offerings of honey and maize, +Their all, into the gold-paved ministers +Of Aphrodite, I have given her these +My faltering melodies, +That are Love's lean and ragged messengers."_ + +When he had ended, Adhelmar cast aside the lute, and caught up both of +Mélite's hands, and strained them to his lips. There needed no wizard to +read the message in his eyes. + +Mélite sat silent for a moment. Presently, "Ah, cousin, cousin!" she +sighed, "I cannot love you as you would have me love. God alone knows +why, true heart, for I revere you as a strong man and a proven knight and +a faithful lover; but I do not love you. There are many women who would +love you, Adhelmar, for the world praises you, and you have done brave +deeds and made good songs and have served your King potently; and +yet"--she drew her hands away and laughed a little wearily--"yet I, poor +maid, must needs love Hugues, who has done nothing. This love is a +strange, unreasoning thing, my cousin." + +"But do you in truth love Hugues?" asked Adhelmar, in a harsh voice. + +"Yes," said Mélite, very softly, and afterward flushed and wondered +dimly if she had spoken the truth. Then, somehow, her arms clasped about +Adhelmar's neck, and she kissed him, from pure pity, as she told +herself; for Mélite's heart was tender, and she could not endure the +anguish in his face. + +This was all very well. But Hugues d'Arques, coming suddenly out of a +pleached walk, at this juncture, stumbled upon them and found their +postures distasteful. He bent black brows upon the two. + +"Adhelmar," said he, at length, "this world is a small place." + +Adhelmar rose. "Indeed," he assented, with a wried smile, "I think there +is scarce room in it for both of us, Hugues." + +"That was my meaning," said the Sieur d'Arques. + +"Only," Adhelmar pursued, somewhat wistfully, "my sword just now, Hugues, +is vowed to my King's quarrel. There are some of us who hope to save +France yet, if our blood may avail. In a year, God willing, I shall come +again to Puysange; and till then you must wait." + +Hugues conceded that, perforce, he must wait, since a vow was sacred; +and Adhelmar, who suspected Hugues' natural appetite for battle to be +lamentably squeamish, grinned. After that, in a sick rage, Adhelmar +struck Hugues in the face, and turned about. + +The Sieur d'Arques rubbed his cheek ruefully. Then he and Mélite stood +silent for a moment, and heard Adhelmar in the court-yard calling his men +to ride forth; and Mélite laughed; and Hugues scowled. + + +2. _Nicolas as Chorus_ + +The year passed, and Adhelmar did not return; and there was much fighting +during that interval, and Hugues began to think the knight was slain and +would never return to fight with him. The reflection was borne with +equanimity. + +So Adhelmar was half-forgot, and the Sieur d'Arques turned his mind to +other matters. He was still a bachelor, for Reinault considered the +burden of the times in ill-accord with the chinking of marriage-bells. +They were grim times for Frenchmen: right and left the English pillaged +and killed and sacked and guzzled and drank, as if they would never have +done; and Edward of England began, to subscribe himself _Rex Franciae_ +with some show of excuse. + +In Normandy men acted according to their natures. Reinault swore lustily +and looked to his defences; Hugues, seeing the English everywhere +triumphant, drew a long face and doubted, when the will of God was made +thus apparent, were it the part of a Christian to withstand it? Then he +began to write letters, but to whom no man at either Arques or Puysange +knew, saving One-eyed Peire, who carried them. + + +3. _Treats of Huckstering_ + +It was in the dusk of a rain-sodden October day that Adhelmar rode to the +gates of Puysange, with some score men-at-arms behind him. They came from +Poictiers, where again the English had conquered, and Adhelmar rode with +difficulty, for in that disastrous business in the field of Maupertuis he +had been run through the chest, and his wound was scarce healed. +Nevertheless, he came to finish his debate with the Sieur d'Arques, wound +or no wound. + +But at Puysange he heard a strange tale of Hugues. Reinault, whom +Adhelmar found in a fine rage, told the story as they sat over +their supper. + +It had happened, somehow, (Reinault said), that the Marshal Arnold +d'Andreghen--newly escaped from prison and with his disposition +unameliorated by Lord Audley's gaolership,--had heard of these letters +that Hugues wrote so constantly; and the Marshal, being no scholar, had +frowned at such doings, and waited presently, with a company of horse, on +the road to Arques. Into their midst, on the day before Adhelmar came, +rode Peire, the one-eyed messenger; and it was not an unconscionable +while before Peire was bound hand and foot, and d'Andreghen was reading +the letter they had found in Peire's jerkin. "Hang the carrier on that +oak," said d'Andreghen, when he had ended, "but leave that largest branch +yonder for the writer. For by the Blood of Christ, our common salvation! +I will hang him there on Monday!" + +So Peire swung in the air ere long and stuck out a black tongue at the +crows, who cawed and waited for supper; and presently they feasted while +d'Andreghen rode to Arques, carrying a rope for Hugues. + +For the Marshal, you must understand, was a man of sudden action. Only +two months ago, he had taken the Comte de Harcourt with other gentlemen +from the Dauphin's own table to behead them that afternoon in a field +behind Rouen. It was true they had planned to resist the _gabelle_, the +King's immemorial right to impose a tax on salt; but Harcourt was Hugues' +cousin, and the Sieur d'Arques, being somewhat of an epicurean +disposition, esteemed the dessert accorded his kinsman unpalatable. + +There was no cause for great surprise to d'Andreghen, then, to find that +the letter Hugues had written was meant for Edward, the Black Prince of +England, now at Bordeaux, where he held the French King, whom the Prince +had captured at Poictiers, as a prisoner; for this prince, though he had +no particular love for a rogue, yet knew how to make use of one when +kingcraft demanded it,--and, as he afterward made use of Pedro the +Castilian, he was now prepared to make use of Hugues, who hung like a +ripe pear ready to drop into Prince Edward's mouth. "For," as the Sieur +d'Arques pointed out in his letter, "I am by nature inclined to favor you +brave English, and so, beyond doubt, is the good God. And I will deliver +Arques to you; and thus and thus you may take Normandy and the major +portion of France; and thus and thus will I do, and thus and thus must +you reward me." + +Said d'Andreghen, "I will hang him at dawn; and thus and thus may the +devil do with his soul!" + +Then with his company d'Andreghen rode to Arques. A herald declared to +the men of that place how the matter stood, and bade Hugues come forth +and dance upon nothing. The Sieur d'Arques spat curses, like a cat driven +into a corner, and wished to fight, but the greater part of his garrison +were not willing to do so in such a cause: and so d'Andreghen took him +and carried him off. + +In anger having sworn by the Blood of Christ to hang Hugues d'Arques to a +certain tree, d'Andreghen had no choice in calm but to abide by his oath. +This day being the Sabbath, he deferred the matter; but the Marshal +promised to see to it that when morning broke the Sieur d'Arques should +dangle side by side with his messenger. + +Thus far the Vicomte de Puysange. He concluded his narrative with a dry +chuckle. "And I think we are very well rid of him, Adhelmar. Holy Maclou! +that I should have taken the traitor for a true man, though! He would +sell France, you observe,--chaffered, they tell me, like a pedlar over +the price of Normandy. Heh, the huckster, the triple-damned Jew!" + +"And Mélite?" asked Adhelmar, after a little. + +Again Reinault shrugged. "In the White Turret," he said; then, with a +short laugh: "Oy Dieus, yes! The girl has been caterwauling for this +shabby rogue all day. She would have me--me, the King's man, look +you!--save Hugues at the peril of my seignory! And I protest to you, by +the most high and pious Saint Nicolas the Confessor," Reinault swore, +"that sooner than see this huckster go unpunished, I would lock Hell's +gate on him with my own hands!" + +For a moment Adhelmar stood with his jaws puffed out, as if in thought, +and then he laughed like a wolf. Afterward he went to the White Turret, +leaving Reinault smiling over his wine. + + +4. _Folly Diversely Attested_ + +He found Mélite alone. She had robed herself in black, and had gathered +her gold hair about her face like a heavy veil, and sat weeping into it +for the plight of Hugues d'Arques. + +"Mélite!" cried Adhelmar; "Mélite!" The Demoiselle de Puysange rose with +a start, and, seeing him standing in the doorway, ran to him, incompetent +little hands fluttering before her like frightened doves. She was very +tired, by that day-long arguing with her brother's notions about honor +and knightly faith and such foolish matters, and to her weariness +Adhelmar seemed strength incarnate; surely he, if any one, could aid +Hugues and bring him safe out of the grim marshal's claws. For the +moment, perhaps, she had forgotten the feud which existed between +Adhelmar and the Sieur d'Arques; but in any event, I am convinced, she +knew that Adhelmar could refuse her nothing. So she ran toward him, her +cheeks flushing arbutus-like, and she was smiling through her tears. + +Oh, thought Adhelmar, were it not very easy to leave Hugues to the dog's +death he merits and to take this woman for my own? For I know that she +loves me a little. And thinking of this, he kissed her, quietly, as one +might comfort a sobbing child; afterward he held her in his arms for a +moment, wondering vaguely at the pliant thickness of her hair and the +sweet scent of it. Then he put her from him gently, and swore in his soul +that Hugues must die, so that this woman might be Adhelmar's. + +"You will save him?" Mélite asked, and raised her face to his. There was +that in her eyes which caused Adhelmar to muse for a little on the nature +of women's love, and, subsequently, to laugh harshly and make vehement +utterance. + +"Yes!" said Adhelmar. + +He demanded how many of Hugues' men were about. Some twenty of them had +come to Puysange, Mélite said, in the hope that Reinault might aid them +to save their master. She protested that her brother was a coward for not +doing so; but Adhelmar, having his own opinion on this subject, and +thinking in his heart that Hugues' skin might easily be ripped off him +without spilling a pint of honest blood, said, simply: "Twenty and twenty +is two-score. It is not a large armament, but it may serve." + +He told her his plan was to fall suddenly upon d'Andreghen and his men +that night, and in the tumult to steal Hugues away; whereafter, as +Adhelmar pointed out, Hugues might readily take ship for England, and +leave the marshal to blaspheme Fortune in Normandy, and the French King +to gnaw at his chains in Bordeaux, while Hugues toasts his shins in +comfort at London. Adhelmar admitted that the plan was a mad one, but +added, reasonably enough, that needs must when the devil drives. And so +firm was his confidence, so cheery his laugh--he managed to laugh +somehow, though it was a stiff piece of work,--that Mélite began to be +comforted somewhat, and bade him go and Godspeed. + +So then Adhelmar left her. In the main hall he found the vicomte still +sitting over his wine of Anjou. + +"Cousin," said Adhelmar, "I must ride hence to-night." + +Reinault stared at him: a mastering wonder woke in Reinault's face. +"Ta, ta, ta!" he clicked his tongue, very softly. Afterward he sprang +to his feet and clutched Adhelmar by both arms. "No, no!" Reinault +cried. "No, Adhelmar, you must not try that! It is death, lad,--sure +death! It means hanging, boy!" the vicomte pleaded, for, hard man that +he was, he loved Adhelmar. + +"That is likely enough," Adhelmar conceded. + +"They will hang you,"' Reinault said again: "d'Andreghen and the Count +Dauphin of Vienna will hang you as blithely as they would Iscariot." + +"That, too," said Adhelmar, "is likely enough, if I remain in France." + +"Oy Dieus! will you flee to England, then?" the vicomte scoffed, +bitterly. "Has King Edward not sworn to hang you these eight years past? +Was it not you, then, cousin, who took Almerigo di Pavia, that Lombard +knave whom he made governor of Calais,--was it not you, then, who +delivered Edward's loved Almerigo to Geoffrey de Chargny, who had him +broken on the wheel? Eh, holy Maclou! but you will get hearty welcome and +a chaplain and a rope in England." + +Adhelmar admitted that this was true. "Still," said he, "I must ride +hence to-night." + +"For her?" Reinault asked, and jerked his thumb upward. + +"Yes," said Adhelmar,--"for her." + +Reinault stared in his face for a while. "You are a fool, Adhelmar," said +he, at last, "but you are a brave man, and you love as becomes a +chevalier. It is a great pity that a flibbertigibbet wench with a +tow-head should be the death of you. For my part, I am the King's vassal; +I shall not break faith with him; but you are my guest and my kinsman. +For that reason I am going to bed, and I shall sleep very soundly. It is +likely I shall hear nothing of the night's doings,--ohimé, no! not if you +murder d'Andreghen in the court-yard!" Reinault ended, and smiled, +somewhat sadly. + +Afterward he took Adhelmar's hand and said: "Farewell, lord Adhelmar! O +true knight, sturdy and bold! terrible and merciless toward your enemies, +gentle and simple toward your friends, farewell!" + +He kissed Adhelmar on either cheek and left him. In those days men +encountered death with very little ado. + +Then Adhelmar rode off in the rain with thirty-four armed followers. +Riding thus, he reflected upon the nature of women and upon his love +for the Demoiselle de Puysange; and, to himself, he swore gloomily that +if she had a mind to Hugues she must have Hugues, come what might. +Having reached this conclusion, Adhelmar wheeled upon his men, and +cursed them for tavern-idlers and laggards and flea-hearted snails, and +bade them spur. + +Mélite, at her window, heard them depart, and heard the noise of their +going lapse into the bland monotony of the rain's noise. This dank night +now divulged no more, and she turned back into the room. Adhelmar's +glove, which he had forgotten in his haste, lay upon the floor, and +Mélite lifted it and twisted it idly. + +"I wonder--?" said she. + +She lighted four wax candles and set them before a mirror that was in the +room. Mélite stood among them and looked into the mirror. She seemed very +tall and very slender, and her loosened hair hung heavily about her +beautiful shallow face and fell like a cloak around her black-robed body, +showing against the black gown like melting gold; and about her were the +tall, white candles tipped with still flames of gold. Mélite laughed--her +laughter was high and delicate, with the resonance of thin glass,--and +raised her arms above her, head, stretching tensely like a cat before a +fire, and laughed yet again. + +"After all," said she, "I do not wonder." + +Mélite sat before the mirror, and braided her hair, and sang to herself +in a sweet, low voice, brooding with unfathomable eyes upon her image in +the glass, while the October rain beat about Puysange, and Adhelmar rode +forth to save Hugues that must else be hanged. + +Sang Mélite: + +"_Rustling leaves of the willow-tree +Peering downward at you and me, +And no man else in the world to see, + +"Only the birds, whose dusty coats +Show dark in the green,--whose throbbing throats +Turn joy to music and love to notes_. + +"Lean your body against the tree, +Lifting your red lips up to me, +Mélite, and kiss, with no man to see! + +"And let us laugh for a little:--Yea, +Let love and laughter herald the day +When laughter and love will be put away. + +"Then you will remember the willow-tree +And this very hour, and remember me, +Mélite,--whose face you will no more see! + +"So swift, so swift the glad time goes, +And Eld and Death with their countless woes +Draw near, and the end thereof no man knows, + +"Lean your body against the tree, +Lifting your red lips up to me, +Mélite, and kiss, with no man to see!"_ + +Mélite smiled as she sang; for this was a song that Adhelmar had made for +her upon a May morning at Nointel, before he was a knight, when both were +very young. So now she smiled to remember the making of the verses which +she sang while the October rain was beating about Puysange. + + +5. _Night-work_ + +It was not long before they came upon d'Andreghen and his men camped +about a great oak, with One-eyed Peire a-swing over their heads for a +lamentable banner. A shrill sentinel, somewhere in the dark, demanded the +newcomers' business, but without receiving any adequate answer, for at +that moment Adhelmar gave the word to charge. + +Then it was as if all the devils in Pandemonium had chosen Normandy for +their playground; and what took place in the night no man saw for the +darkness, so that I cannot tell you of it. Let it suffice that Adhelmar +rode away before d'Andreghen had rubbed sleep well out of his eyes; and +with Adhelmar were Hugues d'Arques and some half of Adhelmar's men. The +rest were dead, and Adhelmar was badly hurt, for he had burst open his +old wound and it was bleeding under his armor. Of this he said nothing. + +"Hugues," said he, "do you and these fellows ride to the coast; thence +take ship for England." + +He would have none of Hugues' thanks; instead, he turned and left Hugues +to whimper out his gratitude to the skies, which spat a warm, gusty rain +at him. Adhelmar rode again to Puysange, and as he went he sang. + +Sang Adhelmar: + +"D'Andreghen in Normandy +Went forth to slay mine enemy; +But as he went +Lord God for me wrought marvellously; + +"Wherefore, I may call and cry +That am now about to die, +'I am content!' + +"Domine! Domine! +Gratias accipe! +Et meum animum +Recipe in coelum_!" + + +6. They Kiss at Parting + +When he had come to Puysange, Adhelmar climbed the stairs of the White +Turret,--slowly, for he was growing very feeble now,--and so came again +to Mélite crouching among the burned-out candles in the slate-colored +twilight which heralded dawn. + +"He is safe," said Adhelmar. He told Mélite how Hugues was rescued and +shipped to England, and how, if she would, she might straightway follow +him in a fishing-boat. "For there is likely to be ugly work at Puysange," +Adhelmar said, "when the marshal comes. And he will come." + +"But what will you do now, my cousin?" asked Mélite. + +"Holy Ouen!" said Adhelmar; "since I needs must die, I will die in +France, not in the cold land of England." + +"Die!" cried Mélite. "Are you hurt so sorely, then?" + +He grinned like a death's-head. "My injuries are not incurable," said +he, "yet must I die very quickly, for all that. The English King will +hang me if I go thither, as he has sworn to do these eight years, because +of that matter of Almerigo di Pavia: and if I stay in France, I must hang +because of this night's work." + +Mélite wept. "O God! O God!" she quavered, two or three times, like one +hurt in the throat. "And you have done this for me! Is there no way to +save you, Adhelmar?" she pleaded, with wide, frightened eyes that were +like a child's. + +"None," said Adhelmar. He took both her hands in his, very tenderly. "Ah, +my sweet," said he, "must I, whose grave is already digged, waste breath +upon this idle talk of kingdoms and the squabbling men who rule them? I +have but a brief while to live, and I wish to forget that there is aught +else in the world save you, and that I love you. Do not weep, Mélite! In +a little time you will forget me and be happy with this Hugues whom you +love; and I?--ah, my sweet, I think that even in my grave I shall dream +of you and of your great beauty and of the exceeding love that I bore you +in the old days." + +"Ah, no, I shall not ever forget, O true and faithful lover! And, indeed, +indeed, Adhelmar, I would give my life right willingly that yours might +be saved!" + +She had almost forgotten Hugues. Her heart was sad as she thought of +Adhelmar, who must die a shameful death for her sake, and of the love +which she had cast away. Beside it, the Sieur d'Arques' affection showed +somewhat tawdry, and Mélite began to reflect that, after all, she had +liked Adhelmar almost as well. + +"Sweet," said Adhelmar, "do I not know you to the marrow? You will forget +me utterly, for your heart is very changeable. Ah, Mother of God!" +Adhelmar cried, with a quick lift of speech; "I am afraid to die, for the +harsh dust will shut out the glory of your face, and you will forget!" + +"No; ah, no!" Mélite whispered, and drew near to him. Adhelmar smiled, a +little wistfully, for he did not believe that she spoke the truth; but it +was good to feel her body close to his, even though he was dying, and he +was content. + +But by this time the dawn had come completely, flooding the room with its +first thin radiance, and Mélite saw the pallor of his face and so knew +that he was wounded. + +"Indeed, yes," said Adhelmar, when she had questioned him, "for my breast +is quite cloven through." And when she disarmed him, Mélite found a great +cut in his chest which had bled so much that it was apparent he must die, +whether d'Andreghen and Edward of England would or no. + +Mélite wept again, and cried, "Why had you not told me of this?" + +"To have you heal me, perchance?" said Adhelmar. "Ah, love, is hanging, +then, so sweet a death that I should choose it, rather than to die very +peacefully in your arms? Indeed, I would not live if I might; for I have +proven traitor to my King, and it is right that traitors should die; and, +chief of all, I know that life can bring me naught more desirable than I +have known this night. What need, then, have I to live?" + +Mélite bent over him; for as he spoke he had lain back in a tall carven +chair by the east window. She was past speech. But now, for a moment, her +lips clung to his, and her warm tears fell upon his face. What better +death for a lover? thought Adhelmar. + +Yet he murmured somewhat. "Pity, always pity!" he said, wearily. "I shall +never win aught else of you, Mélite. For before this you have kissed me, +pitying me because you could not love me. And you have kissed me now, +pitying me because I may not live." + +But Mélite, clasping her arms about his neck, whispered into his ear the +meaning of this last kiss, and at the honeyed sound of her whispering +his strength came back for a moment, and he strove to rise. The level +sunlight through the open window smote full upon his face, which was +very glad. Mélite was conscious of her nobility in causing him such +delight at the last. + +"God, God!" cried Adhelmar, and he spread out his arms toward the dear, +familiar world that was slowly taking form beneath them,--a world now +infinitely dear to him; "all, my God, have pity and let me live a +little longer!" + +As Mélite, half frightened, drew back from him, he crept out of his +chair and fell prone at her feet. Afterward his hands stretched forward +toward her, clutching, and then trembled and were still. + +Mélite stood looking downward, wondering vaguely when she would next +know either joy or sorrow again. She was now conscious of no emotion +whatever. It seemed to her she ought to be more greatly moved. So the +new day found them. + + * * * * * + +MARCH 2, 1414 + +"_Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest +him for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg_?" + + +_In the chapel at Puysange you may still see the tomb of Adhelmar; but +Mélite's bones lie otherwhere. "Her heart was changeable," as old Nicolas +says, justly enough; and so in due time it was comforted. + +For Hugues d'Arques--or Hugh Darke, as his name was Anglicized--presently +stood high in the favor of King Edward. A fief was granted to Messire +Darke, in Norfolk, where Hugues shortly built for himself a residence at +Yaxham, and began to look about for a wife: it was not long before he +found one. + +This befell at Brétigny when, in 1360, the Great Peace was signed +between France and England, and Hugues, as one of the English embassy, +came face to face with Reinault and Mélite. History does not detail the +meeting; but, inasmuch as the Sieur d'Arques and Mélite de Puysange were +married at Rouen the following October, doubtless it passed off +pleasantly enough. + +The couple had sufficient in common to have qualified them for several +decades of mutual toleration. But by ill luck, Mélite died in child-birth +three years after her marriage. She had borne, in 1361, twin daughters, +of whom Adelais died a spinster; the other daughter, Sylvia, circa 1378, +figured in an unfortunate love-affair with one of Sir Thomas Mowbray's +attendants, but subsequently married Robert Vernon of Winstead. Mélite +left also a son, Hugh, born in 1363, who succeeded to his father's estate +of Yaxham in 1387, in which year Hugues fell at the battle of Radcot +Bridge, fighting in behalf of the ill-fated Richard of Bordeaux. + +Now we turn to certain happenings in Eastcheap, at the Boar's Head +Tavern._ + + + + +CHAPTER III + +_The Episode Called Love-Letters of Falstaff_ + + +I. "_That Gray Iniquity_" + +There was a sound of scuffling within as Sir John Falstaff--much +broken since his loss of the King's favor, and now equally decayed in +wit and health and reputation--stood fumbling at the door of the Angel +room. He was particularly shaky this morning after a night of +particularly hard drinking. + +But he came into the apartment singing, and, whatever the scuffling had +meant, found Bardolph in one corner employed in sorting garments from a +clothes-chest, while at the extreme end of the room Mistress Quickly +demurely stirred the fire; which winked at the old knight rather +knowingly. + +"_Then came the bold Sir Caradoc_," carolled Sir John. "Ah, mistress, +what news?--_And eke Sir Pellinore_.--Did I rage last night, Bardolph? +Was I a Bedlamite?" + +"As mine own bruises can testify," Bardolph assented. "Had each one of +them a tongue, they would raise a clamor beside which Babel were as an +heir weeping for his rich uncle's death; their testimony would qualify +you for any mad-house in England. And if their evidence go against the +doctor's stomach, the watchman at the corner hath three teeth--or, +rather, hath them no longer, since you knocked them out last night--that +will, right willingly, aid him to digest it." + +"Three, say you?" asked the knight, rather stiffly lowering his great +body into his great chair set ready for him beside the fire. "I would +have my valor in all men's mouths, but not in this fashion, for it is too +biting a jest. Three, say you? Well, I am glad it was no worse; I have a +tender conscience, and that mad fellow of the north, Hotspur, sits +heavily upon it, so that thus this Percy, being slain by my valor, is +_per se_ avenged, a plague on him! Three, say you? I would to God my name +were not so terrible to the enemy as it is; I would I had 'bated my +natural inclination somewhat, and had slain less tall fellows by some +threescore. I doubt Agamemnon slept not well o' nights. Three, say you? +Give the fellow a crown apiece for his mouldy teeth, if thou hast them; +if thou hast them not, bid him eschew this vice of drunkenness, whereby +his misfortune hath befallen him, and thus win him heavenly crowns." + +"Indeed, sir," began Bardolph, "I doubt--" + +"Doubt not, sirrah!" cried Sir John, testily; and continued, in a +virtuous manner: "Was not the apostle reproved for that same sin? Thou +art a Didymus, Bardolph;--an incredulous paynim, a most unspeculative +rogue! Have I carracks trading in the Indies? Have I robbed the exchequer +of late? Have I the Golden Fleece for a cloak? Nay, it is paltry gimlet, +and that augurs badly. Why, does this knavish watchman take me for a +raven to feed him in the wilderness? Tell him there are no such ravens +hereabout; else had I ravenously limed the house-tops and set springes in +the gutters. Inform him that my purse is no better lined than his own +broken skull: it is void as a beggar's protestations, or a butcher's +stall in Lent; light as a famished gnat, or the sighing of a new-made +widower; more empty than a last year's bird-nest, than a madman's eye, +or, in fine, than the friendship of a king." + +"But you have wealthy friends, Sir John," suggested the hostess of the +Boar's Head Tavern, whose impatience had but very hardly waited for this +opportunity to join in the talk. "Yes, I warrant you, Sir John. Sir John, +you have a many wealthy friends; you cannot deny that, Sir John." + +"Friends, dame?" asked the knight, and cowered closer to the fire, as +though he were a little cold. "I have no friends since Hal is King. I +had, I grant you, a few score of acquaintances whom I taught to play at +dice; paltry young blades of the City, very unfledged juvenals! Setting +my knighthood and my valor aside, if I did swear friendship with these, +I did swear to a lie. But this is a censorious and muddy-minded world, so +that, look you, even these sprouting aldermen, these foul bacon-fed +rogues, have fled my friendship of late, and my reputation hath grown +somewhat more murky than Erebus. No matter! I walk alone, as one that +hath the pestilence. No matter! But I grow old; I am not in the vaward of +my youth, mistress." + +He nodded his head with extreme gravity; then reached for a cup of sack +that Bardolph held at the knight's elbow. + +"Indeed, I know not what your worship will do," said Mistress Quickly, +rather sadly. + +"Faith!" answered Sir John, finishing the sack and grinning in a somewhat +ghastly fashion; "unless the Providence that watches over the fall of a +sparrow hath an eye to the career of Sir John Falstaff, Knight, and so +comes to my aid shortly, I must needs convert my last doublet into a +mask, and turn highwayman in my shirt. I can take purses yet, ye Uzzite +comforters, as gaily as I did at Gadshill, where that scurvy Poins, and +he that is now King, and some twoscore other knaves did afterward assault +me in the dark; yet I peppered some of them, I warrant you!" + +"You must be rid of me, then, master," Bardolph interpolated. "I for one +have no need of a hempen collar." + +"Ah, well!" said the knight, stretching himself in his chair as the +warmth of the liquor coursed through his inert blood; "I, too, would be +loth to break the gallows' back! For fear of halters, we must alter our +way of living; we must live close, Bardolph, till the wars make us +Croesuses or food for crows. And if Hal but hold to his bias, there will +be wars: I will eat a piece of my sword, if he have not need of it +shortly. Ah, go thy ways, tall Jack; there live not three good men +unhanged in England, and one of them is fat and grows old. We must live +close, Bardolph; we must forswear drinking and wenching! But there is +lime in this sack, you rogue; give me another cup." + +The old knight drained this second cup, and unctuously sucked at and +licked his lips. Thereafter, + +"I pray you, hostess," he continued, "remember that Doll Tearsheet sups +with me to-night; have a capon of the best, and be not sparing of the +wine. I will repay you, upon honor, when we young fellows return from +France, all laden with rings and brooches and such trumperies like your +Norfolkshire pedlars at Christmas-tide. We will sack a town for you, and +bring you back the Lord Mayor's beard to stuff you a cushion; the Dauphin +shall be your tapster yet; we will walk on lilies, I warrant you, to the +tune of _Hey, then up go we!"_ + +"Indeed, sir," said Mistress Quickly, in perfect earnest, "your worship +is as welcome to my pantry as the mice--a pox on 'em!--think themselves; +you are heartily welcome. Ah, well, old Puss is dead; I had her of +Goodman Quickly these ten years since;--but I had thought you looked for +the lady who was here but now;--she was a roaring lion among the mice." + +"What lady?" cried Sir John, with great animation. "Was it Flint the +mercer's wife, think you? Ah, she hath a liberal disposition, and will, +without the aid of Prince Houssain's carpet or the horse of Cambuscan, +transfer the golden shining pieces from her husband's coffers to mine." + +"No mercer's wife, I think," Mistress Quickly answered, after +consideration. "She came with two patched footmen, and smacked of +gentility;--Master Dumbleton's father was a mercer; but he had red +hair;--she is old;--and I could never abide red hair." + +"No matter!" cried the knight. "I can love this lady, be she a very Witch +of Endor. Observe, what a thing it is to be a proper man, Bardolph! She +hath marked me;--in public, perhaps; on the street, it may be;--and then, +I warrant you, made such eyes! and sighed such sighs! and lain awake o' +nights, thinking of a pleasing portly gentleman, whom, were I not +modesty's self, I might name;--and I, all this while, not knowing! Fetch +me my Book of Riddles and my Sonnets, that I may speak smoothly. Why was +my beard not combed this morning? No matter, it will serve. Have I no +better cloak than this?" Sir John was in a tremendous bustle, all a-beam +with pleasurable anticipation. + +But Mistress Quickly, who had been looking out of the window, said, +"Come, but your worship must begin with unwashed hands, for old Madam +Wish-for't and her two country louts are even now at the door." + +"Avaunt, minions!" cried the knight. "Avaunt! Conduct the lady hither, +hostess; Bardolph, another cup of sack. We will ruffle it, lad, and go to +France all gold, like Midas! Are mine eyes too red? I must look sad, you +know, and sigh very pitifully. Ah, we will ruffle it! Another cup of +sack, Bardolph;--I am a rogue if I have drunk to-day. And avaunt! vanish! +for the lady comes." + +He threw himself into a gallant attitude, suggestive of one suddenly +palsied, and with the mien of a turkey-cock strutted toward the door to +greet his unknown visitor. + + +2. _"Then was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, a Boy"_ + +The woman who entered was not the jolly City dame one looked for: and, at +first sight, you estimated her age as a trifle upon the staider side of +sixty. But to this woman the years had shown unwonted kindliness, as +though time touched her less with intent to mar than to caress; her form +was still unbent, and her countenance, bloodless and deep-furrowed, bore +the traces of great beauty; and, whatever the nature of her errand, the +woman who stood in the doorway was unquestionably a person of breeding. + +Sir John advanced toward her with as much elegance as he might muster; +for gout when coupled with such excessive bulk does not beget an +overpowering amount of grace. + +"_See, from the glowing East, Aurora comes_," he chirped. "Madam, permit +me to welcome you to my poor apartments; they are not worthy--" + +"I would see Sir John Falstaff, sir," declared the lady, courteously, +but with some reserve of manner, and looking him full in the face as she +said this. + +"Indeed, madam," suggested Sir John, "if those bright eyes--whose glances +have already cut my poor heart into as many pieces as the man in the +front of the almanac--will but desist for a moment from such butcher's +work and do their proper duty, you will have little trouble in finding +the bluff soldier you seek." + +"Are you Sir John?" asked the lady, as though suspecting a jest. "The son +of old Sir Edward Falstaff, of Norfolk?" + +"His wife hath frequently assured me so," Sir John protested, very +gravely; "and to confirm her evidence I have about me a certain +villainous thirst that did plague Sir Edward sorely in his lifetime, and +came to me with his other chattels. The property I have expended long +since; but no Jew will advance me a maravedi on the Falstaff thirst. It +is a priceless commodity, not to be bought or sold; you might as soon +quench it." + +"I would not have known you," said the lady, wonderingly; "but," she +added, "I have not seen you these forty years." + +"Faith, madam," grinned the knight, "the great pilferer Time hath since +then taken away a little from my hair, and added somewhat (saving your +presence) to my belly; and my face hath not been improved by being the +grindstone for some hundred swords. But I do not know you." + +"I am Sylvia Vernon," said the lady. "And once, a long while ago, I was +Sylvia Darke." + +"I remember," said the knight. His voice was altered. Bardolph would +hardly have known it; nor, perhaps, would he have recognized his master's +manner as he handed Dame Sylvia to the best chair. + +"A long while ago," she repeated, sadly, after a pause during which +the crackling of the fire was very audible. "Time hath dealt harshly +with us both, John;--the name hath a sweet savor. I am an old woman +now. And you--" + +"I would not have known you," said Sir John; then asked, almost +resentfully, "What do you here?" + +"My son goes to the wars," she answered, "and I am come to bid him +farewell; yet I should not tarry in London, for my lord is feeble and +hath constant need of me. But I, an old woman, am yet vain enough to +steal these few moments from him who needs me, to see for the last time, +mayhap, him who was once my very dear friend." + +"I was never your friend, Sylvia," said Sir John. + +"Ah, the old wrangle!" said the lady, and smiled a little wistfully. "My +dear and very honored lover, then; and I am come to see him here." + +"Ay!" interrupted Sir John, rather hastily; and he proceeded, glowing +with benevolence: "A quiet, orderly place, where I bestow my patronage; +the woman of the house had once a husband in my company. God rest his +soul! he bore a good pike. He retired in his old age and 'stablished this +tavern, where he passed his declining years, till death called him gently +away from this naughty world. God rest his soul, say I!" + +This was a somewhat euphemistic version of the taking-off of Goodman +Quickly, who had been knocked over the head with a joint-stool while +rifling the pockets of a drunken guest; but perhaps Sir John wished to +speak well of the dead, even at the price of conferring upon the present +home of Sir John an idyllic atmosphere denied it by the London +constabulary. + +"And you for old memories' sake yet aid his widow?" the lady murmured. +"That is like you, John." + +There was another silence, and the fire crackled more loudly than ever. + +"And are you sorry that I come again, in a worse body, John, strange and +time-ruined?" + +"Sorry?" echoed Sir John; and, ungallant as it was, he hesitated a +moment before replying: "No, faith! But there are some ghosts that will +not easily bear raising, and you have raised one." + +"We have summoned up no very fearful spectre, I think," replied the lady; +"at most, no worse than a pallid, gentle spirit that speaks--to me, at +least--of a boy and a girl who loved each other and were very happy a +great while ago." + +"Are you come hither to seek that boy?" asked the knight, and chuckled, +though not merrily. "The boy that went mad and rhymed of you in those +far-off dusty years? He is quite dead, my lady; he was drowned, mayhap, +in a cup of wine. Or he was slain, perchance, by a few light women. I +know not how he died. But he is quite dead, my lady, and I had not been +haunted by his ghost until to-day." + +He stared at the floor as he ended; then choked, and broke into a fit of +coughing which unromantic chance brought on just now, of all times. + +"He was a dear boy," she said, presently; "a boy who loved a young maid +very truly; a boy that found the maid's father too strong and shrewd for +desperate young lovers--Eh, how long ago it seems, and what a flood of +tears the poor maid shed at being parted from that dear boy!" + +"Faith!" admitted Sir John, "the rogue had his good points." + +"Ah, John, you have not forgotten, I know," the lady said, looking up +into his face, "and, you will believe me that I am very heartily sorry +for the pain I brought into your life?" + +"My wounds heal easily," said Sir John. + +"For though my dear dead father was too wise for us, and knew it was for +the best that I should not accept your love, believe me, John, I always +knew the value of that love, and have held it an honor that any woman +must prize." + +"Dear lady," the knight suggested, with a slight grimace, "the world is +not altogether of your opinion." + +"I know not of the world," she said; "for we live away from it. But we +have heard of you ever and anon; I have your life quite letter-perfect +for these forty years or more." + +"You have heard of me?" asked Sir John; and, for a seasoned knave, he +looked rather uncomfortable. + +"As a gallant and brave soldier," she answered; "of how you fought at sea +with Mowbray that was afterward Duke of Norfolk; of your knighthood by +King Richard; of how you slew the Percy at Shrewsbury; and captured +Coleville o' late in Yorkshire; and how the Prince, that now is King, did +love you above all men; and, in fine, of many splendid doings in the +great world." + +Sir John raised a protesting hand. He said, with commendable modesty: "I +have fought somewhat. But we are not Bevis of Southampton; we have slain +no giants. Heard you naught else?" + +"Little else of note," replied the lady; and went on, very quietly: "But +we are proud of you at home in Norfolk. And such tales as I have heard I +have woven together in one story; and I have told it many times to my +children as we sat on the old Chapel steps at evening, and the shadows +lengthened across the lawn, and I bid them emulate this, the most perfect +knight and gallant gentleman that I have known. And they love you, I +think, though but by repute." + +Once more silence fell between them; and the fire grinned wickedly at the +mimic fire reflected by the old chest, as though it knew of a most +entertaining secret. + +"Do you yet live at Winstead?" asked Sir John, half idly. + +"Yes," she answered; "in the old house. It is little changed, but there +are many changes about." + +"Is Moll yet with you that did once carry our letters?" + +"Married to Hodge, the tanner," the lady said; "and dead long since." + +"And all our merry company?" Sir John demanded. "Marian? And Tom and +little Osric? And Phyllis? And Adelais? Zounds, it is like a breath of +country air to speak their names once more." + +"All dead," she answered, in a hushed voice, "save Adelais, and even to +me poor Adelais seems old and strange. Walter was slain in the French +wars, and she hath never married." + +"All dead," Sir John informed the fire, as if confidentially; then he +laughed, though his bloodshot eyes were not merry. "This same Death hath +a wide maw! It is not long before you and I, my lady, will be at supper +with the worms. But you, at least, have had a happy life." + +"I have been content enough," she said, "but all that seems run by; for, +John, I think that at our age we are not any longer very happy nor very +miserable." + +"Faith!" agreed Sir John, "we are both old; and I had not known it, my +lady, until to-day." + +Again there was silence; and again the fire leapt with delight at the +jest. + +Sylvia Vernon arose suddenly and cried, "I would I had not come!" + +Then said Sir John: "Nay, this is but a feeble grieving you have wakened. +For, madam--you whom I loved once!--you are in the right. Our blood runs +thinner than of yore; and we may no longer, I think, either sorrow or +rejoice very deeply." + +"It is true," she said; "but I must go; and, indeed, I would to God I had +not come!" + +Sir John was silent; he bowed his head, in acquiescence perhaps, in +meditation it may have been; but he stayed silent. + +"Yet," said she, "there is something here which I must keep no longer: +for here are all the letters you ever writ me." + +Whereupon she handed Sir John a little packet of very old and very faded +papers. He turned them awkwardly in his hand once or twice; then stared +at them; then at the lady. + +"You have kept them--always?" he cried. + +"Yes," she responded, wistfully; "but I must not be guilty of continuing +such follies. It is a villainous example to my grandchildren," Dame +Sylvia told him, and smiled. "Farewell." + +Sir John drew close to her and took her hands in his. He looked into her +eyes for an instant, holding himself very erect,--and it was a rare event +when Sir John looked any one squarely in the eyes,--and he said, +wonderingly, "How I loved you!" + +"I know," she murmured. Sylvia Vernon gazed up into his bloated old face +with a proud tenderness that was half-regretful. A quavering came into +her gentle voice. "And I thank you for your gift, my lover,--O brave true +lover, whose love I was not ever ashamed to own! Farewell, my dear; yet a +little while, and I go to seek the boy and girl we know of." + +"I shall not be long, madam," said Sir John. "Speak a kind word for me in +Heaven; for I shall have sore need of it." + +She had reached the door by this. "You are not sorry that I came?" + +Sir John answered, very sadly: "There are many wrinkles now in your dear +face, my lady; the great eyes are a little dimmed, and the sweet +laughter is a little cracked; but I am not sorry to have seen you thus. +For I have loved no woman truly save you alone; and I am not sorry. +Farewell." And for a moment he bowed his unreverend gray head over her +shrivelled fingers. + + +3. "_This Pitch, as Ancient Writers do Report, doth Defile_" + +"Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to the vice of lying!" +chuckled Sir John, and leaned back rheumatically in his chair and +mumbled over the jest. + +"Yet it was not all a lie," he confided, as if in perplexity, to the +fire; "but what a coil over a youthful green-sickness 'twixt a lad and a +wench more than forty years syne! + +"I might have had money of her for the asking," he presently went on; +"yet I am glad I did not; which is a parlous sign and smacks of dotage." + +He nodded very gravely over this new and alarming phase of his character. + +"Were it not a quaint conceit, a merry tickle-brain of Fate," he asked of +the leaping flames, after a still longer pause, "that this mountain of +malmsey were once a delicate stripling with apple cheeks and a clean +breath, smelling of civet, and as mad for love, I warrant you, as any +Amadis of them all? For, if a man were to speak truly, I did love her. + +"I had the special marks of the pestilence," he assured a particularly +incredulous--and obstinate-looking coal,--a grim, black fellow that, +lurking in a corner, scowled forbiddingly and seemed to defy both the +flames and Sir John. "Not all the flagons and apples in the universe +might have comforted me; I was wont to sigh like a leaky bellows; to weep +like a wench that hath lost her grandam; to lard my speech with the +fag-ends of ballads like a man milliner; and did, indeed, indite sonnets, +canzonets, and what not of mine own elaboration. + +"And Moll did carry them," he continued; "plump brown-eyed Moll, that +hath married Hodge the tanner, and reared her tannerkins, and died +long since." + +But the coal remained incredulous, and the flames crackled merrily. + +"Lord, Lord, what did I not write?" said Sir John, drawing out a paper +from the packet, and deciphering by the firelight the faded writing. + +Read Sir John: + +"_Have pity, Sylvia? Cringing at thy door +Entreats with dolorous cry and clamoring, +That mendicant who quits thee nevermore; +Now winter chills the world, and no birds sing +In any woods, yet as in wanton Spring +He follows thee; and never will have done, +Though nakedly he die, from following +Whither thou leadest. + +"Canst thou look upon +His woes, and laugh to see a goddess' son +Of wide dominion, and in strategy + +"More strong than Jove, more wise than Solomon, +Inept to combat thy severity? +Have pity, Sylvia! And let Love be one +Among the folk that bear thee company_." + +"Is it not the very puling speech of your true lover?" he chuckled; and +the flames spluttered assent. "_Among the folk that bear thee company_," +he repeated, and afterward looked about him with a smack of gravity. +"Faith, Adam Cupid hath forsworn my fellowship long since; he hath no +score chalked up against him at the Boar's Head Tavern; or, if he have, I +doubt not the next street-beggar might discharge it." + +"And she hath commended me to her children as a very gallant gentleman +and a true knight," Sir John went on, reflectively. He cast his eyes +toward the ceiling, and grinned at invisible deities. "Jove that sees all +hath a goodly commodity of mirth; I doubt not his sides ache at times, as +if they had conceived another wine-god." + +"Yet, by my honor," he insisted to the fire; then added, +apologetically,--"if I had any, which, to speak plain, I have not,--I am +glad; it is a brave jest; and I did love her once." + +Then the time-battered, bloat rogue picked out another paper, and read: + +"'_My dear lady,--That I am not with thee to-night is, indeed, no fault +of mine; for Sir Thomas Mowbray hath need of me, he saith. Yet the +service that I have rendered him thus far is but to cool my heels in his +antechamber and dream of two great eyes and of that net of golden hair +wherewith Lord Love hath lately snared my poor heart. For it comforts +me_--' And so on, and so on, the pen trailing most juvenal sugar, like a +fly newly crept out of the honey-pot. And ending with a posy, filched, I +warrant you, from some ring. + +"I remember when I did write her this," he explained to the fire. "Lord, +Lord, if the fire of grace were not quite out of me, now should I be +moved. For I did write it; and it was sent with a sonnet, all of Hell, +and Heaven, and your pagan gods, and other tricks of speech. It should be +somewhere." + +He fumbled with uncertain fingers among the papers. "Ah, here it is," he +said at last, and he again began to read aloud. + +Read Sir John: + +"_Cupid invaded Hell, and boldly drove +Before him all the hosts of Erebus, +Till he had conquered: and grim Cerberus +Sang madrigals, the Furies rhymed of love, +Old Charon sighed, and sonnets rang above +The gloomy Styx; and even as Tantalus +Was Proserpine discrowned in Tartarus, +And Cupid regnant in the place thereof_. + +"_Thus Love is monarch throughout Hell to-day; +In Heaven we know his power was always great; +And Earth acclaimed Love's mastery straightway +When Sylvia came to gladden Earth's estate:-- +Thus Hell and Heaven and Earth his rule obey, +And Sylvia's heart alone is obdurate_. + +"Well, well," sighed Sir John, "it was a goodly rogue that writ it, +though the verse runs but lamely! A goodly rogue! + +"He might," Sir John suggested, tentatively, "have lived cleanly, and +forsworn sack; he might have been a gallant gentleman, and begotten +grandchildren, and had a quiet nook at the ingleside to rest his old +bones: but he is dead long since. He might have writ himself _armigero_ +in many a bill, or obligation, or quittance, or what not; he might have +left something behind him save unpaid tavern bills; he might have heard +cases, harried poachers, and quoted old saws; and slept in his own family +chapel through sermons yet unwrit, beneath his presentment, done in +stone, and a comforting bit of Latin: but he is dead long since." + +Sir John sat meditating for a while; it had grown quite dark in the room +as he muttered to himself. He rose now, rather cumbrously and +uncertainly, but with a fine rousing snort of indignation. + +"Zooks!" he said, "I prate like a death's-head. A thing done hath an end, +God have mercy on us all! And I will read no more of the rubbish." + +He cast the packet into the heart of the fire; the yellow papers curled +at the edges, rustled a little, and blazed; he watched them burn to the +last spark. + +"A cup of sack to purge the brain!" cried Sir John, and filled one to the +brim. "And I will go sup with Doll Tearsheet." + + * * * * * + +SEPTEMBER 29, 1422 + +"_Anoon her herte hath pitee of his wo, +And with that pitee, love com in also; +Thus is this quene in pleasaunce and in loye_." + + +_Meanwhile had old Dome Sylvia returned contentedly to the helpmate whom +she had accepted under compulsion, and who had made her a fair husband, +as husbands go. It is duly recorded, indeed, on their shared tomb, that +their forty years of married life were of continuous felicity, and set a +pattern to all Norfolk. The more prosaic verbal tradition is that Lady +Vernon retained Sir Robert well in hand by pointing out, at judicious +intervals, that she had only herself to blame for having married such a +selfish person in preference to a hero of the age and an ornament of the +loftiest circles. + +I find, on consultation of the Allonby records, that Sylvia Vernon died +of a quinsy, in 1419, surviving Sir Robert by some three months. She had +borne him four sons and four daughters: of these there remained at +Winstead in 1422 only Sir Hugh Vernon, the oldest son, knighted by Henry +V at Agincourt, where Vernon had fought with distinction; and Adelais +Vernon, the youngest daughter, with whom the following has to do._ + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +_The Episode Called "Sweet Adelais"_ + + +1. _Gruntings at Aeaea_ + +It was on a clear September day that the Marquis of Falmouth set out for +France. John of Bedford had summoned him posthaste when Henry V was +stricken at Senlis with what bid fair to prove a mortal distemper; for +the marquis was Bedford's comrade-in-arms, veteran of Shrewsbury, +Agincourt and other martial disputations, and the Duke-Regent suspected +that, to hold France in case of the King's death, he would presently need +all the help he could muster. + +"And I, too, look for warm work," the marquis conceded to Mistress +Adelais Vernon, at parting. "But, God willing, my sweet, we shall be wed +at Christmas for all that. The Channel is not very wide. At a pinch I +might swim it, I think, to come to you." + +He kissed her and rode away with his men. Adelais stared after them, +striving to picture her betrothed rivalling Leander in this fashion, and +subsequently laughed. The marquis was a great lord and a brave captain, +but long past his first youth; his actions went somewhat too deliberately +ever to be roused to the high lunacies of the Sestian amorist. So Adelais +laughed, but a moment later, recollecting the man's cold desire of her, +his iron fervors, Adelais shuddered. + +This was in the court-yard at Winstead. Roger Darke of Yaxham, the girl's +cousin, standing beside her, noted the gesture, and snarled. + +"Think twice of it, Adelais," said he. + +Whereupon Mistress Vernon flushed like a peony. "I honor him," she said, +with some irrelevance, "and he loves me." + +Roger scoffed. "Love, love! O you piece of ice! You gray-stone saint! +What do you know of love?" Master Darke caught both her hands in his. +"Now, by Almighty God, our Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ!" he said, +between his teeth, his eyes flaming; "I, Roger Darke, have offered you +undefiled love and you have mocked at it. Ha, Tears of Mary! how I love +you! And you mean to marry this man for his title! Do you not believe +that I love you, Adelais?" he whimpered. + +Gently she disengaged herself. This was of a pattern with Roger's +behavior any time during the past two years. "I suppose you do," Adelais +conceded, with the tiniest possible shrug. "Perhaps that is why I find +you so insufferable." + +Afterward Mistress Vernon turned on her heel and left Master Darke. In +his fluent invocation of Mahound and Termagaunt and other overseers of +the damned he presently touched upon eloquence. + + +2. _Comes One with Moly_ + +Adelais came into the walled garden of Winstead, aflame now with autumnal +scarlet and gold. She seated herself upon a semicircular marble bench, +and laughed for no apparent reason, and contentedly waited what Dame Luck +might send. + +She was a comely maid, past argument or (as her lovers habitually +complained) any adequate description. Circe, Colchian Medea, Viviane du +Lac, were their favorite analogues; and what old romancers had fabled +concerning these ladies they took to be the shadow of which Adelais +Vernon was the substance. At times these rhapsodists might have supported +their contention with a certain speciousness, such as was apparent +to-day, for example, when against the garden's hurly-burly of color, the +prodigal blazes of scarlet and saffron and wine-yellow, the girl's green +gown glowed like an emerald, and her eyes, too, seemed emeralds, vivid, +inscrutable, of a clear verdancy that was quite untinged with either blue +or gray. Very black lashes shaded them. The long oval of her face (you +might have objected), was of an absolute pallor, rarely quickening to a +flush; but her petulant lips burned crimson, and her hair mimicked the +dwindling radiance of the autumn sunlight and shamed it. All in all, the +aspect of Adelais Vernon was, beyond any questioning, spiced with a +sorcerous tang; say, the look of a young witch shrewd at love-potions, +but ignorant of their flavor; yet before this the girl's comeliness had +stirred men's hearts to madness, and the county boasted of it. + +Presently Adelais lifted her small imperious head, and then again she +smiled, for out of the depths of the garden, with an embellishment of +divers trills and roulades, came a man's voice that carolled blithely. + +Sang the voice: + +_"Had you lived when earth was new +What had bards of old to do +Save to sing in praise of you? + +"Had you lived in ancient days, +Adelais, sweet Adelais, +You had all the ancients' praise,-- +You whose beauty would have won +Canticles of Solomon, +Had the sage Judean king +Gazed upon this goodliest thing +Earth of Heaven's grace hath got. + +"Had you gladdened Greece, were not +All the nymphs of Greece forgot? + +"Had you trod Sicilian ways, +Adelais, sweet Adelais_, + +"You had pilfered all their praise: +Bion and Theocritus +Had transmitted unto us +Honeyed harmonies to tell +Of your beauty's miracle, +Delicate, desirable, +And their singing skill were bent +You-ward tenderly,--content, +While the world slipped by, to gaze +On the grace of you, and praise +Sweet Adelais_." + +Here the song ended, and a man, wheeling about the hedge, paused to +regard her with adoring eyes. Adelais looked up at him, incredibly +surprised by his coming. + +This was the young Sieur d'Arnaye, Hugh Vernon's prisoner, taken at +Agincourt seven years earlier and held since then, by the King's command, +without ransom; for it was Henry's policy to release none of the +important French prisoners. Even on his death-bed he found time to +admonish his brother, John of Bedford, that four of these,--Charles +d'Orleans and Jehan de Bourbon and Arthur de Rougemont and Fulke +d'Arnaye,--should never be set at liberty. "Lest," as the King said, with +a savor of prophecy, "more fire be kindled in one day than all your +endeavors can quench in three." + +Presently the Sieur d'Arnaye sighed, rather ostentatiously; and Adelais +laughed, and demanded the cause of his grief. + +"Mademoiselle," he said,--his English had but a trace of accent,--"I am +afflicted with a very grave malady." + +"What is the name of this malady?" said she. + +"They call it love, mademoiselle." + +Adelais laughed yet again and doubted if the disease were incurable. But +Fulke d'Arnaye seated himself beside her and demonstrated that, in his +case, it might not ever be healed. + +"For it is true," he observed, "that the ancient Scythians, who lived +before the moon was made, were wont to cure this distemper by +blood-letting under the ears; but your brother, mademoiselle, denies me +access to all knives. And the leech Aelian avers that it may be cured by +the herb agnea; but your brother, mademoiselle, will not permit that I go +into the fields in search of this herb. And in Greece--he, mademoiselle, +I might easily be healed of my malady in Greece! For in Greece is the +rock, Leucata Petra, from which a lover may leap and be cured; and the +well of the Cyziceni, from which a lover may drink and be cured; and the +river Selemnus, in which a lover may bathe and be cured: but your brother +will not permit that I go to Greece. You have a very cruel brother, +mademoiselle; seven long years, no less, he has penned me here like a +starling in a cage." + +And Fulke d'Arnaye shook his head at her reproachfully. + +Afterward he laughed. Always this Frenchman found something at which to +laugh; Adelais could not remember in all the seven years a time when she +had seen him downcast. But while his lips jested of his imprisonment, his +eyes stared at her mirthlessly, like a dog at his master, and her gaze +fell before the candor of the passion she saw in them. + +"My lord," said Adelais, "why will you not give your parole? Then you +would be free to come and go as you elected." A little she bent toward +him, a covert red showing in her cheeks. "To-night at Halvergate the Earl +of Brudenel holds the feast of Saint Michael. Give your parole, my lord, +and come with us. There will be in our company fair ladies who may +perhaps heal your malady." + +But the Sieur d'Arnaye only laughed. "I cannot give my parole," he said, +"since I mean to escape for all your brother's care." Then he fell to +pacing up and down before her. "Now, by Monseigneur Saint Médard and the +Eagle that sheltered him!" he cried, in half-humorous self-mockery; +"however thickly troubles rain upon me, I think that I shall never give +up hoping!" After a pause, "Listen, mademoiselle," he went on, more +gravely, and gave a nervous gesture toward the east, "yonder is France, +sacked, pillaged, ruinous, prostrate, naked to her enemy. But at +Vincennes, men say, the butcher of Agincourt is dying. With him dies the +English power in France. Can his son hold that dear realm? Are those tiny +hands with which this child may not yet feed himself capable to wield a +sceptre? Can he who is yet beholden to nurses for milk distribute +sustenance to the law and justice of a nation? He, I think not, +mademoiselle! France will have need of me shortly. Therefore, I cannot +give my parole." + +"Then must my brother still lose his sleep, lord, for always your +safe-keeping is in his mind. To-day at cock-crow he set out for the coast +to examine those Frenchmen who landed yesterday." + +At this he wheeled about. "Frenchmen!" + +"Only Norman fishermen, lord, whom the storm drove to seek shelter in +England. But he feared they had come to rescue you." + +Fulke d'Arnaye shrugged his shoulders. "That was my thought, too," he +admitted, with a laugh. "Always I dream of escape, mademoiselle. Have a +care of me, sweet enemy! I shall escape yet, it may be." + +"But I will not have you escape," said Adelais. She tossed her glittering +little head. "Winstead would not be Winstead without you. Why, I was but +a child, my lord, when you came. Have you forgotten, then, the lank, +awkward child who used to stare at you so gravely?" + +"Mademoiselle," he returned, and now his voice trembled and still the +hunger in his eyes grew more great, "I think that in all these years I +have forgotten nothing--not even the most trivial happening, +mademoiselle,--wherein you had a part. You were a very beautiful child. +Look you, I remember as if it were yesterday that you never wept when +your good lady mother--whose soul may Christ have in his keeping!--was +forced to punish you for some little misdeed. No, you never wept; but +your eyes would grow wistful, and you would come to me here in the +garden, and sit with me for a long time in silence. 'Fulke,' you would +say, quite suddenly, 'I love you better than my mother.' And I told you +that it was wrong to make such observations, did I not, mademoiselle? My +faith, yes! but I may confess now that I liked it," Fulke d'Arnaye ended, +with a faint chuckle. + +Adelais sat motionless. Certainly it was strange, she thought, how the +sound of this man's voice had power to move her. Certainly, too, this man +was very foolish. + +"And now the child is a woman,--a woman who will presently be Marchioness +of Falmouth. Look you, when I get free of my prison--and I shall get +free, never fear, mademoiselle,--I shall often think of that great lady. +For only God can curb a man's dreams, and God is compassionate. So I hope +to dream nightly of a gracious lady whose hair is gold and whose eyes are +colored like the summer sea and whose voice is clear and low and very +wonderfully sweet. Nightly, I think, the vision of that dear enemy will +hearten me to fight for France by day. In effect, mademoiselle, your +traitor beauty will yet aid me to destroy your country." + +The Sieur d'Arnaye laughed, somewhat cheerlessly, as he lifted her hand +to his lips. + +And certainly also (she concluded her reflections) it was absurd how this +man's touch seemed an alarm to her pulses. Adelais drew away from him. + +"No!" she said: "remember, lord, I, too, am not free." + +"Indeed, we tread on dangerous ground," the Frenchman assented, with a +sad little smile. "Pardon me, mademoiselle. Even were you free of your +trothplight--even were I free of my prison, most beautiful lady, I have +naught to offer you yonder in that fair land of France. They tell me that +the owl and the wolf hunt undisturbed where Arnaye once stood. My château +is carpeted with furze and roofed with God's Heaven. That gives me a +large estate--does it not?--but I may not reasonably ask a woman to share +it. So I pray you pardon me for my nonsense, mademoiselle, and I pray +that the Marchioness of Falmouth may be very happy." + +And with that he vanished into the autumn-fired recesses of the garden, +singing, his head borne stiff. Oh, the brave man who esteemed misfortune +so slightly! thought Adelais. She remembered that the Marquis of Falmouth +rarely smiled; and once only--at a bull-baiting--had she heard him laugh. +It needed bloodshed, then, to amuse him, Adelais deduced, with that +self-certainty in logic which is proper to youth; and the girl shuddered. + +But through the scarlet coppices of the garden, growing fainter and yet +more faint, rang the singing of Fulke d'Arnaye. + +Sang the Frenchman: + +"Had you lived in Roman times +No Catullus in his rhymes +Had lamented Lesbia's sparrow: +He had praised your forehead, narrow +As the newly-crescent moon, +White as apple-trees in June; +He had made some amorous tune +Of the laughing light Eros +Snared as Psyche-ward he goes +By your beauty,--by your slim, +White, perfect beauty. + +"After him +Horace, finding in your eyes +Horace limned in lustrous wise, +Would have made you melodies +Fittingly to hymn your praise, +Sweet Adelais." + + +3. Roger is Explicit + +Into the midst of the Michaelmas festivities at Halvergate that night, +burst a mud-splattered fellow in search of Sir Hugh Vernon. Roger Darke +brought him to the knight. The fellow then related that he came from +Simeon de Beck, the master of Castle Rising, with tidings that a strange +boat, French-rigged, was hovering about the north coast. Let Sir Hugh +have a care of his prisoner. + +Vernon swore roundly. "I must look into this," he said. "But what shall I +do with Adelais?" + +"Will you not trust her to me?" Roger asked. "If so, cousin, I will very +gladly be her escort to Winstead. Let the girl dance her fill while she +may, Hugh. She will have little heart for dancing after a month or so of +Falmouth's company." + +"That is true," Vernon assented; "but the match is a good one, and she is +bent upon it." + +So presently he rode with his men to the north coast. An hour later Roger +Darke and Adelais set out for Winstead, in spite of all Lady Brudenel's +protestations that Mistress Vernon had best lie with her that night at +Halvergate. + +It was a clear night of restless winds, neither warm nor chill, but fine +September weather. About them the air was heavy with the damp odors of +decaying leaves, for the road they followed was shut in by the autumn +woods, that now arched the way with sere foliage, rustling and whirring +and thinly complaining overhead, and now left it open to broad splashes +of moonlight, where fallen leaves scuttled about in the wind vortices. +Adelais, elate with dancing, chattered of this and that as her gray mare +ambled homeward, but Roger was moody. + +Past Upton the road branched in three directions; here Master Darke +caught the gray mare's bridle and turned both horses to the left. + +"Why, of whatever are you thinking!" the girl derided him. "Roger, this +is not the road to Winstead!" + +He grinned evilly over his shoulder. "It is the road to Yaxham, Adelais, +where my chaplain expects us." + +In a flash she saw it all as her eyes swept these desolate woods. "You +will not dare!" + +"Will I not?" said Roger. "Faith, for my part, I think you have mocked me +for the last time, Adelais, since it is the wife's duty, as Paul very +justly says, to obey." + +Swiftly she slipped from the mare. But he followed her. "Oh, infamy!" the +girl cried. "You have planned this, you coward!" + +"Yes, I planned it," said Roger Darke. "Yet I take no great credit +therefor, for it was simple enough. I had but to send a feigned message +to your block-head brother. Ha, yes, I planned it, Adelais, and I planned +it well. But I deal honorably. To-morrow you will be Mistress Darke, +never fear." + +He grasped at her cloak as she shrank from him. The garment fell, leaving +the girl momentarily free, her festival jewels shimmering in the +moonlight, her bared shoulders glistening like silver. Darke, staring at +her, giggled horribly. An instant later Adelais fell upon her knees. + +"Sweet Christ, have pity upon Thy handmaiden! Do not forsake me, sweet +Christ, in my extremity! Save me from this man!" she prayed, with +entire faith. + +"My lady wife," said Darke, and his hot, wet hand sank heavily upon her +shoulder, "you had best finish your prayer before my chaplain, I think, +since by ordinary Holy Church is skilled to comfort the sorrowing." + +"A miracle, dear lord Christ!" the girl wailed. "O sweet Christ, a +miracle!" + +"Faith of God!" said Roger, in a flattish tone; "what was that?" + +For faintly there came the sound of one singing. + +Sang the distant voice: + +_"Had your father's household been +Guelfic-born or Ghibelline, +Beatrice were unknown +On her star-encompassed throne. + +"For, had Dante viewed your grace, +Adelais, sweet Adelais, +You had reigned in Bice's place,-- +Had for candles, Hyades, +Rastaben, and Betelguese,-- +And had heard Zachariel +Chaunt of you, and, chaunting, tell +All the grace of you, and praise +Sweet Adelais."_ + + +4. _Honor Brings a Padlock_ + +Adelais sprang to her feet. "A miracle!" she cried, her voice shaking. +"Fulke, Fulke! to me, Fulke!" + +Master Darke hurried her struggling toward his horse. Darke was muttering +curses, for there was now a beat of hoofs in the road yonder that led to +Winstead. "Fulke, Fulke!" the girl shrieked. + +Then presently, as Roger put foot to stirrup, two horsemen wheeled about +the bend in the road, and one of them leapt to the ground. + +"Mademoiselle," said Fulke d'Arnaye, "am I, indeed, so fortunate as to be +of any service to you?" + +"Ho!" cried Roger, with a gulp of relief, "it is only the French +dancing-master taking French leave of poor cousin Hugh! Man, but you +startled me!" + +Now Adelais ran to the Frenchman, clinging to him the while that she told +of Roger's tricks. And d'Arnaye's face set mask-like. + +"Monsieur," he said, when she had ended, "you have wronged a sweet and +innocent lady. As God lives, you shall answer to me for this." + +"Look you," Roger pointed out, "this is none of your affair, Monsieur +Jackanapes. You are bound for the coast, I take it. Very well,--ka me, +and I ka thee. Do you go your way in peace, and let us do the same." + +Fulke d'Arnaye put the girl aside and spoke rapidly in French to his +companion. Then with mincing agility he stepped toward Master Darke. + +Roger blustered. "You hop-toad! you jumping-jack!" said he, "what do +you mean?" + +"Chastisement!" said the Frenchman, and struck him in the face. + +"Very well!" said Master Darke, strangely quiet. And with that they +both drew. + +The Frenchman laughed, high and shrill, as they closed, and afterward +he began to pour forth a voluble flow of discourse. Battle was wine +to the man. + +"Not since Agincourt, Master Coward--he, no!--have I held sword in hand. +It is a good sword, this,--a sharp sword, is it not? Ah, the poor +arm--but see, your blood is quite black-looking in this moonlight, and I +had thought cowards yielded a paler blood than brave men possess. We live +and learn, is it not? Observe, I play with you like a child,--as I played +with your tall King at Agincourt when I cut away the coronet from his +helmet. I did not kill him--no!--but I wounded him, you conceive? +Presently, I shall wound you, too. My compliments--you have grazed my +hand. But I shall not kill you, because you are the kinsman of the +fairest lady earth may boast, and I would not willingly shed the least +drop of any blood that is partly hers. Ohé, no! Yet since I needs must do +this ungallant thing--why, see, monsieur, how easy it is!" + +Thereupon he cut Roger down at a blow and composedly set to wiping his +sword on the grass. The Englishman lay like a log where he had fallen. + +"Lord," Adelais quavered, "lord, have you killed him?" + +Fulke d'Arnaye sighed. "Hélas, no!" said he, "since I knew that you +did not wish it. See, mademoiselle,--I have but made a healthful and +blood-letting small hole in him here. He will return himself to +survive to it long time--Fie, but my English fails me, after these so +many years--" + +D'Arnaye stood for a moment as if in thought, concluding his +meditations with a grimace. After that he began again to speak in +French to his companion. The debate seemed vital. The stranger +gesticulated, pleaded, swore, implored, summoned all inventions between +the starry spheres and the mud of Cocytus to judge of the affair; but +Fulke d'Arnaye was resolute. + +"Behold, mademoiselle," he said, at length, "how my poor Olivier excites +himself over a little matter. Olivier is my brother, most beautiful lady, +but he speaks no English, so that I cannot present him to you. He came to +rescue me, this poor Olivier, you conceive. Those Norman fishermen of +whom you spoke to-day--but you English are blinded, I think, by the fogs +of your cold island. Eight of the bravest gentlemen in France, +mademoiselle, were those same fishermen, come to bribe my gaoler,--the +incorruptible Tompkins, no less. Hé, yes, they came to tell me that Henry +of Monmouth, by the wrath of God King of France, is dead at Vincennes +yonder, mademoiselle, and that France will soon be free of you English. +France rises in her might--" His nostrils dilated, he seemed taller; then +he shrugged. "And poor Olivier grieves that I may not strike a blow for +her,--grieves that I must go back to Winstead." + +D'Arnaye laughed as he caught the bridle of the gray mare and turned her +so that Adelais might mount. But the girl, with a faint, wondering cry, +drew away from him. + +"You will go back! You have escaped, lord, and you will go back!" + +"Why, look you," said the Frenchman, "what else may I conceivably do? We +are some miles from your home, most beautiful lady,--can you ride those +four long miles alone? in this night so dangerous? Can I leave you here +alone in this so tall forest? Hé, surely not. I am desolated, +mademoiselle, but I needs must burden you with my company homeward." + +Adelais drew a choking breath. He had fretted out seven years of +captivity. Now he was free; and lest she be harmed or her name be +smutched, however faintly, he would go back to his prison, jesting. "No, +no!" she cried aloud. + +But he raised a deprecating hand. "You cannot go alone. Olivier here +would go with you gladly. Not one of those brave gentlemen who await me +at the coast yonder but would go with you very, very gladly, for they +love France, these brave gentlemen, and they think that I can serve her +better than most other men. That is very flattering, is it not? But all +the world conspires to flatter me, mademoiselle. Your good brother, by +example, prizes my company so highly that he would infallibly hang the +gentleman who rode back with you. So, you conceive, I cannot avail myself +of their services. But with me it is different, hein? Ah, yes, Sir Hugh +will merely lock me up again and for the future guard me more vigilantly. +Will you not mount, mademoiselle?" + +His voice was quiet, and his smile never failed him. It was this steady +smile which set her heart to aching. Adelais knew that no natural power +could dissuade him; he would go back with her; but she knew how +constantly he had hoped for liberty, with what fortitude he had awaited +his chance of liberty; and that he should return to captivity, smiling, +thrilled her to impotent, heart-shaking rage. It maddened her that he +dared love her thus infinitely. + +"But, mademoiselle," Fulke d'Arnaye went on, when she had mounted, "let +us proceed, if it so please you, by way of Filby. For then we may ride a +little distance with this rogue Olivier. I may not hope to see Olivier +again in this life, you comprehend, and Olivier is, I think, the one +person who loves me in all this great wide world. Me, I am not very +popular, you conceive. But you do not object, mademoiselle?" + +"No!" she said, in a stifled voice. + +Afterward they rode on the way to Filby, leaving Roger Darke to regain at +discretion the mastership of his faculties. The two Frenchmen as they +went talked vehemently; and Adelais, following them, brooded on the +powerful Marquis of Falmouth and the great lady she would shortly be; but +her eyes strained after Fulke d'Arnaye. + +Presently he fell a-singing; and still his singing praised her in a +desirous song, yearning but very sweet, as they rode through the autumn +woods; and his voice quickened her pulses as always it had the power to +quicken them, and in her soul an interminable battling dragged on. + +Sang Fulke d'Arnaye: + +_"Had you lived when earth was new +What had bards of old to do +Save to sing in praise of you? + +"They had sung of you always, +Adelais, sweet Adelais, +As worthiest of all men's praise; +Nor had undying melodies, +Wailed soft as love may sing of these +Dream-hallowed names,--of Héloďse, +Ysoude, Salomę, Semelę, +Morgaine, Lucrece, Antiopę, +Brunhilda, Helen, Mélusine, +Penelope, and Magdalene: +--But you alone had all men's praise, +Sweet Adelais"_ + + +5. _"Thalatta!"_ + +When they had crossed the Bure, they had come into the open country,--a +great plain, gray in the moonlight, that descended, hillock by hillock, +toward the shores of the North Sea. On the right the dimpling lustre of +tumbling waters stretched to a dubious sky-line, unbroken save for the +sail of the French boat, moored near the ruins of the old Roman +station, Garianonum, and showing white against the unresting sea, like +a naked arm; to the left the lights of Filby flashed their unblinking, +cordial radiance. + +Here the brothers parted. Vainly Olivier wept and stormed before +Fulke's unwavering smile; the Sieur d'Arnaye was adamantean: and +presently the younger man kissed him on both cheeks and rode slowly +away toward the sea. + +D'Arnaye stared after him. "Ah, the brave lad!" said Fulke d'Arnaye. "And +yet how foolish! Look you, mademoiselle, that rogue is worth ten of me, +and he does not even suspect it." + +His composure stung her to madness. + +"Now, by the passion of our Lord and Saviour!" Adelais cried, wringing +her hands in impotence; "I conjure you to hear me, Fulke! You must not do +this thing. Oh, you are cruel, cruel! Listen, my lord," she went on with +more restraint, when she had reined up her horse by the side of his, +"yonder in France the world lies at your feet. Our great King is dead. +France rises now, and France needs a brave captain. You, you! it is you +that she needs. She has sent for you, my lord, that mother France whom +you love. And you will go back to sleep in the sun at Winstead when +France has need of you. Oh, it is foul!" + +But he shook his head. "France is very dear to me," he said, "yet there +are other men who can serve France. And there is no man save me who may +to-night serve you, most beautiful lady." + +"You shame me!" she cried, in a gust of passion. "You shame my +worthlessness with this mad honor of yours that drags you jesting to your +death! For you must die a prisoner now, without any hope. You and Orleans +and Bourbon are England's only hold on France, and Bedford dare not let +you go. Fetters, chains, dungeons, death, torture perhaps--that is what +you must look for now. And you will no longer be held at Winstead, but in +the strong Tower at London." + +"Hélas, you speak more truly than an oracle," he gayly assented. + +And hers was the ageless thought of women. "This man is rather foolish +and peculiarly dear to me. What shall I do with him? and how much must I +humor him in his foolishness?" + +D'Arnaye stayed motionless: but still his eyes strained after Olivier. + +Well, she would humor him. There was no alternative save that of perhaps +never seeing Fulke again. + +Adelais laid her hand upon his arm. "You love me. God knows, I am not +worthy of it, but you love me. Ever since I was a child you have loved +me,--always, always it was you who indulged me, shielded me, protected me +with this fond constancy that I have not merited. Very well,"--she +paused, for a single heartbeat,--"go! and take me with you." + +The hand he raised shook as though palsied. "O most beautiful!" the +Frenchman cried, in an extreme of adoration; "you would do that! You +would do that in pity to save me--unworthy me! And it is I whom you call +brave--me, who annoy you with my woes so petty!" Fulke d'Arnaye slipped +from his horse, and presently stood beside the gray mare, holding a +small, slim hand in his. "I thank you," he said, simply. "You know that +it is impossible. But yes, I have loved you these long years. And +now--Ah, my heart shakes, my words tumble, I cannot speak! You know that +I may not--may not let you do this thing. Why, but even if, of your +prodigal graciousness, mademoiselle, you were so foolish as to waste a +little liking upon my so many demerits--" He gave a hopeless gesture. +"Why, there is always our brave marquis to be considered, who will so +soon make you a powerful, rich lady. And I?--I have nothing." + +But Adelais had rested either hand upon a stalwart shoulder, bending down +to him till her hair brushed his. Yes, this man was peculiarly dear to +her: she could not bear to have him murdered when in equity he deserved +only to have his jaws boxed for his toplofty nonsense about her; and, +after all, she did not much mind humoring him in his foolishness. + +"Do you not understand?" she whispered. "Ah, my paladin, do you think I +speak in pity? I wished to be a great lady,--yes. Yet always, I think, I +loved you, Fulke, but until to-night I had believed that love was only +the man's folly, the woman's diversion. See, here is Falmouth's ring." +She drew it from her finger, and flung it awkwardly, as every woman +throws. Through the moonlight it fell glistening. "Yes, I hungered for +Falmouth's power, but you have shown me that which is above any temporal +power. Ever I must crave the highest, Fulke--Ah, fair sweet friend, do +not deny me!" Adelais cried, piteously. "Take me with you, Fulke! I will +ride with you to the wars, my lord, as your page; I will be your wife, +your slave, your scullion. I will do anything save leave you. Lord, it is +not the maid's part to plead thus!" + +Fulke d'Arnaye drew her warm, yielding body toward him and stood in +silence. Then he raised his eyes to heaven. "Dear Lord God," he cried, in +a great voice, "I entreat of Thee that if through my fault this woman +ever know regret or sorrow I be cast into the nethermost pit of Hell for +all eternity!" Afterward he kissed her. + +And presently Adelais lifted her head, with a mocking little laugh. +"Sorrow!" she echoed. "I think there is no sorrow in all the world. +Mount, my lord, mount! See where brother Olivier waits for us yonder." + + * * * * * + +JUNE 5, 1455--AUGUST 4, 1462 + +_"Fortune fuz par clercs jadis nominée, Qui toi, François, crie et nomme +meurtričre."_ + + +_So it came about that Adelais went into France with the great-grandson +of Tiburce d'Arnaye: and Fulke, they say, made her a very fair husband. +But he had not, of course, much time for love-making. + +For in France there was sterner work awaiting Fulke d'Arnaye, and he set +about it: through seven dreary years he and Rougemont and Dunois managed, +somehow, to bolster up the cause of the fat-witted King of Bourges (as +the English then called him), who afterward became King Charles VII of +France. But in the February of 1429--four days before the Maid of Domremy +set forth from her voice-haunted Bois Chenu to bring about a certain +coronation in Rheims Church and in Rouen Square a flamy martyrdom--four +days before the coming of the good Lorrainer, Fulke d'Arnaye was slain at +Rouvray-en-Beausse in that encounter between the French and the English +which history has commemorated as the Battle of the Herrings. + +Adelais was wooed by, and betrothed to, the powerful old Comte de +Vaudremont; but died just before the date set for this second marriage, +in October, 1429. She left two sons: Noël, born in 1425, and Raymond, +born in 1426; who were reared by their uncle, Olivier d'Arnaye. It was +said of them that Noel was the handsomest man of his times, and Raymond +the most shrewd; concerning that you will judge hereafter. Both of these +d'Arnayes, on reaching manhood, were identified with the Dauphin's party +in the unending squabbles between Charles VII and the future Louis XI. + +Now you may learn how Noël d'Arnaye came to be immortalized by a legacy +of two hundred and twenty blows from an osierwhip--since (as the testator +piously affirms), "chastoy est une belle aulmosne."_ + + + + +CHAPTER V + +_The Episode Called In Necessity's Mortar_ + + +1. "Bon Bec de Paris" + +There went about the Rue Saint Jacques a notable shaking of heads on the +day that Catherine de Vaucelles was betrothed to François de Montcorbier. + +"Holy Virgin!" said the Rue Saint Jacques; "the girl is a fool. Why has +she not taken Noël d'Arnaye,--Noël the Handsome? I grant you Noël is an +ass, but, then, look you, he is of the nobility. He has the Dauphin's +favor. Noël will be a great man when our exiled Dauphin comes back from +Geneppe to be King of France. Then, too, she might have had Philippe +Sermaise. Sermaise is a priest, of course, and one may not marry a +priest, but Sermaise has money, and Sermaise is mad for love of her. She +might have done worse. But François! Ho, death of my life, what is +François? Perhaps--he, he!--perhaps Ysabeau de Montigny might inform us, +you say? Doubtless Ysabeau knows more of him than she would care to +confess, but I measure the lad by other standards. François is +inoffensive enough, I dare assert, but what does Catherine see in him? He +is a scholar?--well, the College of Navarre has furnished food for the +gallows before this. A poet?--rhyming will not fill the pot. Rhymes are a +thin diet for two lusty young folk like these. And who knows if Guillaume +de Villon, his foster-father, has one sou to rub against another? He is +canon at Saint Benôit-le-Bétourné yonder, but canons are not Midases. The +girl will have a hard life of it, neighbor, a hard life, I tell you, +if--but, yes!--if Ysabeau de Montigny does not knife her some day. Oh, +beyond doubt, Catherine has played the fool." + +Thus far the Rue Saint Jacques. + +This was on the day of the Fęte-Dieu. It was on this day that Noël +d'Arnaye blasphemed for a matter of a half-hour and then went to the +Crowned Ox, where he drank himself into a contented insensibility; that +Ysabeau de Montigny, having wept a little, sent for Gilles Raguyer, a +priest and aforetime a rival of François de Montcorbier for her favors; +and that Philippe Sermaise grinned and said nothing. But afterward +Sermaise gnawed at his under lip like a madman as he went about seeking +for François de Montcorbier. + + +2. "_Deux estions, et n'avions qu'ung Cueur_" + +It verged upon nine in the evening--a late hour in those days--when +François climbed the wall of Jehan de Vaucelles' garden. + +A wall!--and what is a wall to your true lover? What bones, pray, did the +Sieur Pyramus, that ill-starred Babylonish knight, make of a wall? did +not his protestations slip through a chink, mocking at implacable granite +and more implacable fathers? Most assuredly they did; and Pyramus was a +pattern to all lovers. Thus ran the meditations of Master François as he +leapt down into the garden. + +He had not, you must understand, seen Catherine for three hours. Three +hours! three eternities rather, and each one of them spent in Malebolge. +Coming to a patch of moonlight, François paused there and cut an agile +caper, as he thought of that approaching time when he might see Catherine +every day. + +"Madame François de Montcorbier," he said, tasting each syllable with +gusto. "Catherine de Montcorbier. Was there ever a sweeter juxtaposition +of sounds? It is a name for an angel. And an angel shall bear it,--eh, +yes, an angel, no less. O saints in Paradise, envy me! Envy me," he +cried, with a heroical gesture toward the stars, "for François would +change places with none of you." + +He crept through ordered rows of chestnuts and acacias to a window +wherein burned a dim light. He unslung a lute from his shoulder and +began to sing, secure in the knowledge that deaf old Jehan de Vaucelles +was not likely to be disturbed by sound of any nature till that time +when it should please high God that the last trump be noised about the +tumbling heavens. + +It was good to breathe the mingled odor of roses and mignonette that was +thick about him. It was good to sing to her a wailing song of unrequited +love and know that she loved him. François dallied with his bliss, +parodied his bliss, and--as he complacently reflected,--lamented in the +moonlight with as tuneful a dolor as Messire Orpheus may have evinced +when he carolled in Hades. + +Sang François: + +_"O Beauty of her, whereby I am undone! +O Grace of her, that hath no grace for me! +O Love of her, the bit that guides me on +To sorrow and to grievous misery! +O felon Charms, my poor heart's enemy! +O furtive murderous Pride! O pitiless, great +Cold Eyes of her! have done with cruelty! +Have pity upon me ere it be too late! + +"Happier for me if elsewhere I had gone +For pity--ah, far happier for me, +Since never of her may any grace be won, +And lest dishonor slay me, I must flee. +'Haro!' I cry, (and cry how uselessly!) +'Haro!' I cry to folk of all estate, + +"For I must die unless it chance that she +Have pity upon me ere it be too late. + +"M'amye, that day in whose disastrous sun +Your beauty's flower must fade and wane and be +No longer beautiful, draws near,--whereon +I will nor plead nor mock;--not I, for we +Shall both be old and vigorless! M'amye, +Drink deep of love, drink deep, nor hesitate +Until the spring run dry, but speedily +Have pity upon me--ere it be too late! + +"Lord Love, that all love's lordship hast in fee, +Lighten, ah, lighten thy displeasure's weight, +For all true hearts should, of Christ's charity, +Have pity upon me ere it be too late."_ + +Then from above a delicate and cool voice was audible. "You have mistaken +the window, Monsieur de Montcorbier. Ysabeau de Montigny dwells in the +Rue du Fouarre." + +"Ah, cruel!" sighed François. "Will you never let that kite hang upon +the wall?" + +"It is all very well to groan like a bellows. Guillemette Moreau did not +sup here for nothing. I know of the verses you made her,--and the gloves +you gave her at Candlemas, too. Saint Anne!" observed the voice, somewhat +sharply; "she needed gloves. Her hands are so much raw beef. And the +head-dress at Easter,--she looks like the steeple of Saint Benoit in it. +But every man to his taste, Monsieur de Montcorbier. Good-night, Monsieur +de Montcorbier." But, for all that, the window did not close. + +"Catherine--!" he pleaded; and under his breath he expressed uncharitable +aspirations as to the future of Guillemette Moreau. + +"You have made me very unhappy," said the voice, with a little sniff. + +"It was before I knew you, Catherine. The stars are beautiful, m'amye, +and a man may reasonably admire them; but the stars vanish and are +forgotten when the sun appears." + +"Ysabeau is not a star," the voice pointed out; "she is simply a lank, +good-for-nothing, slovenly trollop." + +"Ah, Catherine--!" + +"You are still in love with her." + +"Catherine--!" + +"Otherwise, you will promise me for the future to avoid her as you would +the Black Death." + +"Catherine, her brother is my friend--!" + +"René de Montigny is, to the knowledge of the entire Rue Saint Jacques, a +gambler and a drunkard and, in all likelihood, a thief. But you prefer, +it appears, the Montignys to me. An ill cat seeks an ill rat. Very +heartily do I wish you joy of them. You will not promise? Good-night, +then, Monsieur de Montcorbier." + +"Mother of God! I promise, Catherine." + +From above Mademoiselle de Vaucelles gave a luxurious sigh. "Dear +François!" said she. + +"You are a tyrant," he complained. "Madame Penthesilea was not more +cruel. Madame Herodias was less implacable, I think. And I think that +neither was so beautiful." + +"I love you," said Mademoiselle de Vaucelles, promptly. + +"But there was never any one so many fathoms deep in love as I. Love +bandies me from the postern to the frying-pan, from hot to cold. Ah, +Catherine, Catherine, have pity upon my folly! Bid me fetch you Prester +John's beard, and I will do it; bid me believe the sky is made of +calf-skin, that morning is evening, that a fat sow is a windmill, and I +will do it. Only love me a little, dear." + +"My king, my king of lads!" she murmured. + +"My queen, my tyrant of unreason! Ah, yes, you are all that is ruthless +and abominable, but then what eyes you have! Oh, very pitiless, large, +lovely eyes--huge sapphires that in the old days might have ransomed +every monarch in Tamerlane's stable! Even in the night I see them, +Catherine." + +"Yet Ysabeau's eyes are brown." + +"Then are her eyes the gutter's color. But Catherine's eyes are twin +firmaments." + +And about them the acacias rustled lazily, and the air was sweet +with the odors of growing things, and the world, drenched in +moonlight, slumbered. Without was Paris, but old Jehan's garden-wall +cloistered Paradise. + +"Has the world, think you, known lovers, long dead now, that were once as +happy as we?" + +"Love was not known till we discovered it." + +"I am so happy, François, that I fear death." + +"We have our day. Let us drink deep of love, not waiting until the spring +run dry. Catherine, death comes to all, and yonder in the church-yard the +poor dead lie together, huggermugger, and a man may not tell an +archbishop from a rag-picker. Yet they have exulted in their youth, and +have laughed in the sun with some lass or another lass. We have our day, +Catherine." + +"Our day wherein I love you!" + +"And wherein I love you precisely seven times as much!" + +So they prattled in the moonlight. Their discourse was no more +overburdened with wisdom than has been the ordinary communing of lovers +since Adam first awakened ribless. Yet they were content, who, were young +in the world's recaptured youth. + +Fate grinned and went on with her weaving. + + +3. "Et Ysabeau, Qui Dit: Enné!" + +Somewhat later François came down the deserted street, treading on air. +It was a bland summer night, windless, moon-washed, odorous with +garden-scents; the moon, nearing its full, was a silver egg set on +end--("Leda-hatched," he termed it; "one may look for the advent of Queen +Heleine ere dawn"); and the sky he likened to blue velvet studded with +the gilt nail-heads of a seraphic upholsterer. François was a poet, but a +civic poet; then, as always, he pilfered his similes from shop-windows. + +But the heart of François was pure magnanimity, the heels of François +were mercury, as he tripped past the church of Saint Benoit-le-Bétourné, +stark snow and ink in the moonlight. Then with a jerk François paused. + +On a stone bench before the church sat Ysabeau de Montigny and Gilles +Raguyer. The priest was fuddled, hiccuping in his amorous dithyrambics as +he paddled with the girl's hand. "You tempt me to murder," he was saying. +"It is a deadly sin, my soul, and I have no mind to fry in Hell while my +body swings on the Saint Denis road, a crow's dinner. Let François live, +my soul! My soul, he would stick little Gilles like a pig." + +Raguyer began to blubber at the thought. + +"Holy Macaire!" said François; "here is a pretty plot a-brewing." Yet +because his heart was filled just now with loving-kindness, he forgave +the girl. _"Tantaene irae?"_ said François; and aloud, "Ysabeau, it is +time you were abed." + +She wheeled upon him in apprehension; then, with recognition, her rage +flamed. "Now, Gilles!" cried Ysabeau de Montigny; "now, coward! He is +unarmed, Gilles. Look, Gilles! Kill for me this betrayer of women!" + +Under his mantle Francois loosened the short sword he carried. But the +priest plainly had no mind to the business. He rose, tipsily fumbling a +knife, and snarling like a cur at sight of a strange mastiff. "Vile +rascal!" said Gilles Raguyer, as he strove to lash himself into a rage. +"O coward! O parricide! O Tarquin!" + +François began to laugh. "Let us have done with this farce," said he. +"Your man has no stomach for battle, Ysabeau. And you do me wrong, my +lass, to call me a betrayer of women. Doubtless, that tale seemed the +most apt to kindle in poor Gilles some homicidal virtue: but you and I +and God know that naught has passed between us save a few kisses and a +trinket or so. It is no knifing matter. Yet for the sake of old time, +come home, Ysabeau; your brother is my friend, and the hour is somewhat +late for honest women to be abroad." + +"Enné?" shrilled Ysabeau; "and yet, if I cannot strike a spark of courage +from this clod here, there come those who may help me, François de +Montcorbier. 'Ware Sermaise, Master François!" + +François wheeled. Down the Rue Saint Jacques came Philippe Sermaise, like +a questing hound, with drunken Jehan le Merdi at his heels. "Holy +Virgin!" thought François; "this is likely to be a nasty affair. I would +give a deal for a glimpse of the patrol lanterns just now." + +He edged his way toward the cloister, to get a wall at his back. But +Gilles Raguyer followed him, knife in hand. "O hideous Tarquin! O +Absalom!" growled Gilles; "have you, then, no respect for churchmen?" + +With an oath, Sermaise ran up. "Now, may God die twice," he panted, "if I +have not found the skulker at last! There is a crow needs picking between +us two, Montcorbier." + +Hemmed in by his enemies, François temporized. "Why do you accost me thus +angrily, Master Philippe?" he babbled. "What harm have I done you? What +is your will of me?" + +But his fingers tore feverishly at the strap by which the lute was swung +over his shoulder, and now the lute fell at their feet, leaving François +unhampered and his sword-arm free. + +This was fuel to the priest's wrath. "Sacred bones of Benoit!" he +snarled; "I could make a near guess as to what window you have been +caterwauling under." + +From beneath his gown he suddenly hauled out a rapier and struck at the +boy while Francois was yet tugging at his sword. + +Full in the mouth Sermaise struck him, splitting the lower lip through. +Francois felt the piercing cold of the steel, the tingling of it against +his teeth, then the warm grateful spurt of blood; through a red mist, he +saw Gilles and Ysabeau run screaming down the Rue Saint Jacques. + +He drew and made at Sermaise, forgetful of le Merdi. It was shrewd work. +Presently they were fighting in the moonlight, hammer-and-tongs, as the +saying is, and presently Sermaise was cursing like a madman, for François +had wounded him in the groin. Window after window rattled open as the Rue +Saint Jacques ran nightcapped to peer at the brawl. Then as Francois +hurled back his sword to slash at the priest's shaven head--Frenchmen had +not yet learned to thrust with the point in the Italian manner--Jehan le +Merdi leapt from behind, nimble as a snake, and wrested away the boy's +weapon. Sermaise closed with a glad shout. + +"Heart of God!" cried Sermaise. "Pray, bridegroom, pray!" + +But François jumped backward, tumbling over le Merdi, and with apish +celerity caught up a great stone and flung it full in the priest's +countenance. + +The rest was hideous. For a breathing space Sermaise kept his feet, his +outspread arms making a tottering cross. It was curious to see him peer +about irresolutely now that he had no face. François, staring at the +black featureless horror before him, began to choke. Standing thus, with +outstretched arms, the priest first let fall his hands, so that they hung +limp from the wrists; his finger-nails gleamed in the moonlight. His +rapier tinkled on the flagstones with the sound of shattering glass, and +Philippe Sermaise slid down, all a-jumble, crumpling like a broken toy. +Afterward you might have heard a long, awed sibilance go about the +windows overhead as the watching Rue Saint Jacques breathed again. + +Francois de Montcorbier ran. He tore at his breast as he ran, stifling. +He wept as he ran through the moon-washed Rue Saint Jacques, making +animal-like and whistling noises. His split lip was a clammy dead thing +that napped against his chin as he ran. + +"François!" a man cried, meeting him; "ah, name of a name, François!" + +It was René de Montigny, lurching from the Crowned Ox, half-tipsy. He +caught the boy by the shoulder and hurried François, still sobbing, to +Fouquet the barber-surgeon's, where they sewed up his wound. In +accordance with the police regulations, they first demanded an account of +how he had received it. René lied up-hill and down-dale, while in a +corner of the room François monotonously wept. + +Fate grinned and went on with her weaving. + + +4. "_Necessité Faict Gens Mesprende_" + +The Rue Saint Jacques had toothsome sauce for its breakfast. The quarter +smacked stiff lips over the news, as it pictured François de Montcorbier +dangling from Montfaucon. "Horrible!" said the Rue Saint Jacques, and +drew a moral of suitably pious flavor. + +Guillemette Moreau had told Catherine of the affair before the day was +aired. The girl's hurt vanity broke tether. + +"Sermaise!" said she. "Bah, what do I care for Sermaise! He killed him in +fair fight. But within an hour, Guillemette,--within a half-hour after +leaving me, he is junketing on church-porches with that trollop. They +were not there for holy-water. Midnight, look you! And he swore to +me--chaff, chaff! His honor is chaff, Guillemette, and his heart a +bran-bag. Oh, swine, filthy swine! Eh, well, let the swine stick to his +sty. Send Noël d'Arnaye to me." + +The Sieur d'Arnaye came, his head tied in a napkin. + +"Foh!" said she; "another swine fresh from the gutter? No, this is a +bottle, a tun, a walking wine-barrel! Noël, I despise you. I will marry +you if you like." + +He fell to mumbling her hand. An hour later Catherine told Jehan de +Vaucelles she intended to marry Noël the Handsome when he should come +back from Geneppe with the exiled Dauphin. The old man, having wisdom, +lifted his brows, and returned to his reading in _Le Pet au Diable_. + +The patrol had transported Sermaise to the prison of Saint Benoit, where +he lay all night. That day he was carried to the hospital of the Hôtel +Dieu. He died the following Saturday. + +Death exalted the man to some nobility. Before one of the apparitors of +the Châtelet he exonerated Montcorbier, under oath, and asked that no +steps be taken against him. "I forgive him my death," said Sermaise, +manly enough at the last, "by reason of certain causes moving him +thereunto." Presently he demanded the peach-colored silk glove they would +find in the pocket of his gown. It was Catherine's glove. The priest +kissed it, and then began to laugh. Shortly afterward he died, still +gnawing at the glove. + +François and René had vanished. "Good riddance," said the Rue Saint +Jacques. But Montcorbier was summoned to answer before the court of the +Châtelet for the death of Philippe Sermaise, and in default of his +appearance, was subsequently condemned to banishment from the kingdom. + +The two young men were at Saint Pourçain-en-Bourbonnais, where René had +kinsmen. Under the name of des Loges, François had there secured a place +as tutor, but when he heard that Sermaise in the article of death had +cleared him of all blame, François set about procuring a pardon. +[Footnote: There is humor in his deposition that Gilles and Ysabeau and +he were loitering before Saint Benoît's in friendly discourse,--"pour soy +esbatre." Perhaps René prompted this; but in itself, it is characteristic +of Montcorbier that he trenched on perjury, blithely, in order to screen +Ysabeau.] It was January before he succeeded in obtaining it. + +Meanwhile he had learned a deal of René's way of living. "You are a +thief," François observed to Montigny the day the pardon came, "but you +have played a kindly part by me. I think you are Dysmas, René, not +Gestas. Heh, I throw no stones. You have stolen, but I have killed. Let +us go to Paris, lad, and start afresh." + +Montigny grinned. "I shall certainly go to Paris," he said. "Friends wait +for me there,--Guy Tabary, Petit Jehan and Colin de Cayeux. We are +planning to visit Guillaume Coiffier, a fat priest with some six hundred +crowns in the cupboard. You will make one of the party, François." + +"René, René," said the other, "my heart bleeds for you." + +Again Montigny grinned. "You think a great deal about blood nowadays," he +commented. "People will be mistaking you for such a poet as was crowned +Nero, who, likewise, gave his time to ballad-making and to murdering +fathers of the Church. Eh, dear Ahenabarbus, let us first see what the +Rue Saint Jacques has to say about your recent gambols. After that, I +think you will make one of our party." + + +5. "_Yeulx sans Pitié!_" + +There was a light crackling frost under foot the day that François came +back to the Rue Saint Jacques. Upon this brisk, clear January day it was +good to be home again, an excellent thing to be alive. + +"Eh, Guillemette, Guillemette," he laughed. "Why, lass--!" + +"Faugh!" said Guillemette Moreau, as she passed him, nose in air. "A +murderer, a priest-killer." + +Then the sun went black for François. Such welcoming was a bucket of +cold water, full in the face. He gasped, staring after her; and pursy +Thomas Tricot, on his way from mass, nudged Martin Blaru in the ribs. + +"Martin," said he, "fruit must be cheap this year. Yonder in the gutter +is an apple from the gallows-tree, and no one will pick it up." + +Blaru turned and spat out, "Cain! Judas!" + +This was only a sample. Everywhere François found rigid faces, sniffs, +and skirts drawn aside. A little girl in a red cap, Robin Troussecaille's +daughter, flung a stone at François as he slunk into the cloister of +Saint Benoit-le-Bétourné. In those days a slain priest was God's servant +slain, no less; and the Rue Saint Jacques was a respectable God-fearing +quarter of Paris. + +"My father!" the boy cried, rapping upon the door of the Hôtel de la +Porte-Rouge; "O my father, open to me, for I think that my heart is +breaking." + +Shortly his foster-father, Guillaume de Villon, came to the window. +"Murderer!" said he. "Betrayer of women! Now, by the caldron of John! how +dare you show your face here? I gave you my name and you soiled it. Back +to your husks, rascal!" + +"O God, O God!" François cried, one or two times, as he looked up into +the old man's implacable countenance. "You, too, my father!" + +He burst into a fit of sobbing. + +"Go!" the priest stormed; "go, murderer!" + +It was not good to hear François' laughter. "What a world we live in!" +he giggled. "You gave me your name and I soiled it? Eh, Master Priest, +Master Pharisee, beware! _Villon_ is good French for _vagabond_, an +excellent name for an outcast. And as God lives, I will presently drag +that name through every muckheap in France." + +Yet he went to Jehan de Vaucelles' home. "I will afford God one more +chance at my soul," said François. + +In the garden he met Catherine and Noël d'Arnaye coming out of the house. +They stopped short. Her face, half-muffled in the brown fur of her cloak, +flushed to a wonderful rose of happiness, the great eyes glowed, and +Catherine reached out her hands toward François with a glad cry. + +His heart was hot wax as he fell before her upon his knees. "O heart's +dearest, heart's dearest!" he sobbed; "forgive me that I doubted you!" + +And then for an instant, the balance hung level. But after a while, +"Ysabeau de Montigny dwells in the Rue du Fouarre," said Catherine, in a +crisp voice,--"having served your purpose, however, I perceive that +Ysabeau, too, is to be cast aside as though she were an old glove. +Monsieur d'Arnaye, thrash for me this betrayer of women." + +Noël was a big, handsome man, like an obtuse demi-god, a foot taller +than François. Noel lifted the boy by his collar, caught up a stick and +set to work. Catherine watched them, her eyes gemlike and cruel. + +François did not move a muscle. God had chosen. + +After a little, though, the Sieur d'Arnaye flung François upon the +ground, where he lay quite still for a moment. Then slowly he rose +to his feet. He never looked at Noël. For a long time Francois +stared at Catherine de Vaucelles, frost-flushed, defiant, incredibly +beautiful. Afterward the boy went out of the garden, staggering like +a drunken person. + +He found Montigny at the Crowned Ox. "René," said François, "there is no +charity on earth, there is no God in Heaven. But in Hell there is most +assuredly a devil, and I think that he must laugh a great deal. What was +that you were telling me about the priest with six hundred crowns in his +cupboard?" + +René slapped him on the shoulder. "Now," said he, "you talk like a man." +He opened the door at the back and cried: "Colin, you and Petit Jehan and +that pig Tabary may come out. I have the honor, messieurs, to offer you a +new Companion of the Cockleshell--Master François de Montcorbier." + +But the recruit raised a protesting hand. "No," said he,--"François +Villon. The name is triply indisputable, since it has been put upon me +not by one priest but by three." + + +6. _"Volia l'Estat Divers d'entre Eulx"_ + +When the Dauphin came from Geneppe to be crowned King of France, there +rode with him Noël d'Arnaye and Noël's brother Raymond. And the +longawaited news that Charles the Well-Served was at last servitor to +Death, brought the exiled Louis post-haste to Paris, where the Rue Saint +Jacques turned out full force to witness his triumphal entry. They +expected, in those days, Saturnian doings of Louis XI, a recrudescence of +the Golden Age; and when the new king began his reign by granting Noël a +snug fief in Picardy, the Rue Saint Jacques applauded. + +"Noël has followed the King's fortunes these ten years," said the Rue +Saint Jacques; "it is only just. And now, neighbor, we may look to see +Noel the Handsome and Catherine de Vaucelles make a match of it. The +girl has a tidy dowry, they say; old Jehan proved wealthier than the +quarter suspected. But death of my life, yes! You may see his tomb in +the Innocents' yonder, with weeping seraphim and a yard of Latin on it. +I warrant you that rascal Montcorbier has lain awake in half the prisons +in France thinking of what he flung away. Seven years, no less, since he +and Montigny showed their thieves' faces here. La, the world wags, +neighbor, and they say there will be a new tax on salt if we go to war +with the English." + +Not quite thus, perhaps, ran the meditations of Catherine de Vaucelles +one still August night as she sat at her window, overlooking the acacias +and chestnuts of her garden. Noël, conspicuously prosperous in blue and +silver, had but now gone down the Rue Saint Jacques, singing, clinking +the fat purse whose plumpness was still a novelty. That evening she had +given her promise to marry him at Michaelmas. + +This was a black night, moonless, windless. There were a scant half-dozen +stars overhead, and the thick scent of roses and mignonette came up to +her in languid waves. Below, the tree-tops conferred, stealthily, and the +fountain plashed its eternal remonstrance against the conspiracy they +lisped of. + +After a while Catherine rose and stood contemplative before a long mirror +that was in her room. Catherine de Vaucelles was now, at twenty-three, in +the full flower of her comeliness. Blue eyes the mirror showed +her,--luminous and tranquil eyes, set very far apart; honey-colored hair +massed heavily about her face, a mouth all curves, the hue of a +strawberry, tender but rather fretful, and beneath it a firm chin; only +her nose left something to be desired,--for that feature, though +well-formed, was diminutive and bent toward the left, by perhaps the +thickness of a cobweb. She might reasonably have smiled at what the +mirror showed her, but, for all that, she sighed. + +"O Beauty of her, whereby I am undone," said Catherine, wistfully. "Ah, +God in Heaven, forgive me for my folly! Sweet Christ, intercede for me +who have paid dearly for my folly!" + +Fate grinned in her weaving. Through the open window came the sound of a +voice singing. + +Sang the voice: + +_"O Beauty of her, whereby I am undone! +O Grace of her, that hath no grace for me! +O Love of her, the bit that guides me on +To sorrow and to grievous misery! +O felon Charms, my poor heart's enemy--"_ + +and the singing broke off in a fit of coughing. + +Catherine had remained motionless for a matter of two minutes, her head +poised alertly. She went to the gong and struck it seven or eight times. + +"Macée, there is a man in the garden. Bring him to me, Macée,--ah, love +of God, Macée, make haste!" + +Blinking, he stood upon the threshold. Then, without words, their lips +met. + +"My king!" said Catherine; "heart's emperor!" + +"O rose of all the world!" he cried. + +There was at first no need of speech. + +But after a moment she drew away and stared at him. François, though he +was but thirty, seemed an old man. His bald head shone in the +candle-light. His face was a mesh of tiny wrinkles, wax-white, and his +lower lip, puckered by the scar of his wound, protruded in an eternal +grimace. As Catherine steadfastly regarded him, the faded eyes, +half-covered with a bluish film, shifted, and with a jerk he glanced over +his shoulder. The movement started a cough tearing at his throat. + +"Holy Macaire!" said he. "I thought that somebody, if not Henri Cousin, +the executioner, was at my heels. Why do you stare so, lass? Have you +anything to eat? I am famished." + +In silence she brought him meat and wine, and he fell upon it. He ate +hastily, chewing with his front teeth, like a sheep. + +When he had ended, Catherine came to him and took both his hands in hers +and lifted them to her lips. "The years have changed you, François," she +said, curiously meek. + +François put her away. Then he strode to the mirror and regarded it +intently. With a snarl, he turned about. "The years!" said he. "You are +modest. It was you who killed François de Montcorbier, as surely as +Montcorbier killed Sermaise. Eh, Sovereign Virgin! that is scant cause +for grief. You made François Villon. What do you think of him, lass?" + +She echoed the name. It was in many ways a seasoned name, but +unaccustomed to mean nothing. Accordingly François sneered. + +"Now, by all the fourteen joys and sorrows of Our Lady! I believe that +you have never heard of François Villon! The Rue Saint Jacques has not +heard of François Villon! The pigs, the gross pigs, that dare not peep +out of their sty! Why, I have capped verses with the Duke of Orleans. The +very street-boys know my Ballad of the Women of Paris. Not a drunkard in +the realm but has ranted my jolly Orison for Master Cotard's Soul when +the bottle passed. The King himself hauled me out of Meung gaol last +September, swearing that in all France there was not my equal at a +ballad. And you have never heard of me!" + +Once more a fit of coughing choked him mid-course in his indignant +chattering. + +She gave him a woman's answer: "I do not care if you are the greatest +lord in the kingdom or the most sunken knave that steals ducks from Paris +Moat. I only know that I love you, François." + +For a long time he kept silence, blinking, peering quizzically at her +lifted face. She did love him; no questioning that. But presently he +again put her aside, and went toward the open window. This was a matter +for consideration. + +The night was black as a pocket. Staring into it, François threw back his +head and drew a deep, tremulous breath. The rising odor of roses and +mignonette, keen and intolerably sweet, had roused unforgotten pulses in +his blood, had set shame and joy adrum in his breast. + +The woman loved him! Through these years, with a woman's unreasoning +fidelity, she had loved him. He knew well enough how matters stood +between her and Noel d'Arnaye; the host of the Crowned Ox had been +garrulous that evening. But it was François whom she loved. She was +well-to-do. Here for the asking was a competence, love, an ingleside of +his own. The deuce of it was that Francois feared to ask. + +"--Because I am still past reason in all that touches this ignorant, +hot-headed, Pharisaical, rather stupid wench! That is droll. But love is +a resistless tyrant, and, Mother of God! has there been in my life a day, +an hour, a moment when I have not loved her! To see her once was all that +I had craved,--as a lost soul might covet, ere the Pit take him, one +splendid glimpse of Heaven and the Nine Blessed Orders at their fiddling. +And I find that she loves me--me! Fate must have her jest, I perceive, +though the firmament crack for it. She would have been content enough +with Noel, thinking me dead. And with me?" Contemplatively he spat out of +the window. "Eh, if I dared hope that this last flicker of life left in +my crazy carcass might burn clear! I have but a little while to live; if +I dared hope to live that little cleanly! But the next cup of wine, the +next light woman?--I have answered more difficult riddles. Choose, then, +François Villon,--choose between the squalid, foul life yonder and her +well-being. It is true that starvation is unpleasant and that hanging is +reported to be even less agreeable. But just now these considerations are +irrelevant." + +Staring into the darkness he fought the battle out. Squarely he faced the +issue; for that instant he saw François Villon as the last seven years +had made him, saw the wine-sodden soul of François Villon, rotten and +weak and honeycombed with vice. Moments of nobility it had; momentarily, +as now, it might be roused to finer issues; but François knew that no +power existent could hearten it daily to curb the brutish passions. It +was no longer possible for François Villon to live cleanly. "For what am +I?--a hog with a voice. And shall I hazard her life's happiness to get me +a more comfortable sty? Ah, but the deuce of it is that I so badly need +that sty!" + +He turned with a quick gesture. + +"Listen," François said. "Yonder is Paris,--laughing, tragic Paris, who +once had need of a singer to proclaim her splendor and all her misery. +Fate made the man; in necessity's mortar she pounded his soul into the +shape Fate needed. To king's courts she lifted him; to thieves' hovels +she thrust him down; and past Lutetia's palaces and abbeys and taverns +and lupanars and gutters and prisons and its very gallows--past each in +turn the man was dragged, that he might make the Song of Paris. He could +not have made it here in the smug Rue Saint Jacques. Well! the song is +made, Catherine. So long as Paris endures, François Villon will be +remembered. Villon the singer Fate fashioned as was needful: and, in this +fashioning, Villon the man was damned in body and soul. And by God! the +song was worth it!" + +She gave a startled cry and came to him, her hands fluttering toward his +breast. "François!" she breathed. + +It would not be good to kill the love in her face. + +"You loved François de Montcorbier. François de Montcorbier is dead. The +Pharisees of the Rue Saint Jacques killed him seven years ago, and that +day François Villon was born. That was the name I swore to drag through +every muckheap in France. And I have done it, Catherine. The Companions +of the Cockleshell--eh, well, the world knows us. We robbed Guillamme +Coiffier, we robbed the College of Navarre, we robbed the Church of Saint +Maturin,--I abridge the list of our gambols. Now we harvest. René de +Montigny's bones swing in the wind yonder at Montfaucon. Colin de Cayeux +they broke on the wheel. The rest--in effect, I am the only one that +justice spared,--because I had diverting gifts at rhyming, they said. +Pah! if they only knew! I am immortal, lass. _Exegi monumentum_. Villon's +glory and Villon's shame will never die." + +He flung back his bald head and laughed now, tittering over that +calamitous, shabby secret between all-seeing God and François Villon. She +had drawn a little away from him. This well-reared girl saw him exultant +in infamy, steeped to the eyes in infamy. But still the nearness of her, +the faint perfume of her, shook in his veins, and still he must play the +miserable comedy to the end, since the prize he played for was to him +peculiarly desirable. + +"A thief--a common thief!" But again her hands fluttered back. "I drove +you to it. Mine is the shame." + +"Holy Macaire! what is a theft or two? Hunger that causes the wolf to +sally from the wood, may well make a man do worse than steal. I could +tell you--For example, you might ask in Hell of one Thevenin Pensete, who +knifed him in the cemetery of Saint John." + +He hinted a lie, for it was Montigny who killed Thevenin Pensete. Villon +played without scruple now. + +Catherine's face was white. "Stop," she pleaded; "no more, François,--ah, +Holy Virgin! do not tell me any more." + +But after a little she came to him, touching him almost as if with +unwillingness. "Mine is the shame. It was my jealousy, my vanity, +François, that thrust you back into temptation. And we are told by those +in holy orders that the compassion of God is infinite. If you still care +for me, I will be your wife." + +Yet she shuddered. + +He saw it. His face, too, was paper, and François laughed horribly. + +"If I still love you! Go, ask of Denise, of Jacqueline, or of Pierrette, +of Marion the Statue, of Jehanne of Brittany, of Blanche Slippermaker, of +Fat Peg,--ask of any trollop in all Paris how François Villon loves. You +thought me faithful! You thought that I especially preferred you to any +other bed-fellow! Eh, I perceive that the credo of the Rue Saint Jacques +is somewhat narrow-minded. For my part I find one woman much the same as +another." And his voice shook, for he saw how pretty she was, saw how she +suffered. But he managed a laugh. + +"I do not believe you," Catherine said, in muffled tones. "François! You +loved me, François. Ah, boy, boy!" she cried, with a pitiable wail; "come +back to me, boy that I loved!" + +It was a difficult business. But he grinned in her face. + +"He is dead. Let François de Montcorbier rest in his grave. Your voice is +very sweet, Catherine, and--and he could refuse you nothing, could he, +lass? Ah, God, God, God!" he cried, in his agony; "why can you not +believe me? I tell you Necessity pounds us in her mortar to what shape +she will. I tell you that Montcorbier loved you, but François Villon +prefers Fat Peg. An ill cat seeks an ill rat." And with this, +tranquillity fell upon his soul, for he knew that he had won. + +Her face told him that. Loathing was what he saw there. + +"I am sorry," Catherine said, dully. "I am sorry. Oh, for high God's +sake! go, go! Do you want money? I will give you anything if you will +only go. Oh, beast! Oh, swine, swine, swine!" + +He turned and went, staggering like a drunken person. + +Once in the garden he fell prone upon his face in the wet grass. About +him the mingled odor of roses and mignonette was sweet and heavy; the +fountain plashed interminably in the night, and above him the chestnuts +and acacias rustled and lisped as they had done seven years ago. Only he +was changed. + +"O Mother of God," the thief prayed, "grant that Noël may be kind to +her! Mother of God, grant that she may be happy! Mother of God, grant +that I may not live long!" + +And straightway he perceived that triple invocation could be, rather +neatly, worked out in ballade form. Yes, with a separate prayer to each +verse. So, dismissing for the while his misery, he fell to considering, +with undried cheeks, what rhymes he needed. + + * * * * * + +JULY 17, 1484 + +"_Et puis il se rencontre icy une avanture merveilleuse, c'est que le +fils de Grand Turc ressemble ŕ Cléonte, ŕ peu de chose prés_." + + +_Noël d'Arnaye and Catherine de Vaucelles were married in the September +of 1462, and afterward withdrew to Noël's fief in Picardy. There Noël +built him a new Chateau d'Arnaye, and through the influence of Nicole +Beaupertuys, the King's mistress, (who was rumored in court by-ways to +have a tenderness for the handsome Noël), obtained large grants for its +maintenance. Madame d'Arnaye, also, it is gratifying to record, appears +to have lived in tolerable amity with Sieur Noël, and neither of them +pried too closely into the other's friendships. + +Catherine died in 1470, and Noël outlived her but by three years. Of the +six acknowledged children surviving him, only one was legitimate--a +daughter called Matthiette. The estate and title thus reverted to Raymond +d'Arnaye, Noël's younger brother, from whom the present family of Arnaye +is descended. + +Raymond was a far shrewder man than his predecessor. For ten years' +space, while Louis XI, that royal fox of France, was destroying feudalism +piecemeal,--trimming its power day by day as you might pare an +onion,--the new Sieur d'Arnaye steered his shifty course between France +and Burgundy, always to the betterment of his chances in this world +however he may have modified them in the next. At Arras he fought beneath +the orifiamme; at Guinegate you could not have found a more staunch +Burgundian: though he was no warrior, victory followed him like a +lap-dog. So that presently the Sieur d'Arnaye and the Vicomte de +Puysange--with which family we have previously concerned ourselves--were +the great lords of Northern France. + +But after the old King's death came gusty times for Sieur Raymond. It is +with them we have here to do_. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +_The Episode Called The Conspiracy of Arnaye_ + + +1. _Policy Tempered with Singing_ + +"And so," said the Sieur d'Arnaye, as he laid down the letter, "we may +look for the coming of Monsieur de Puysange to-morrow." + +The Demoiselle Matthiette contorted her features in an expression of +disapproval. "So soon!" said she. "I had thought--" + +"Ouais, my dear niece, Love rides by ordinary with a dripping spur, and +is still as arbitrary as in the day when Mars was taken with a net and +amorous Jove bellowed in Europa's kail-yard. My faith! if Love distemper +thus the spectral ichor of the gods, is it remarkable that the warmer +blood of man pulses rather vehemently at his bidding? It were the least +of Cupid's miracles that a lusty bridegroom of some twenty-and-odd should +be pricked to outstrip the dial by a scant week. For love--I might tell +you such tales--" + +Sieur Raymond crossed his white, dimpled hands over a well-rounded +paunch and chuckled reminiscently; had he spoken doubtless he would have +left Master Jehan de Troyes very little to reveal in his Scandalous +Chronicle: but now, as if now recalling with whom Sieur Raymond +conversed, d'Arnaye's lean face assumed an expression of placid sanctity, +and the somewhat unholy flame died out of his green eyes. He was like no +other thing than a plethoric cat purring over the follies of kittenhood. +You would have taken oath that a cultured taste for good living was the +chief of his offences, and that this benevolent gentleman had some sixty +well-spent years to his credit. True, his late Majesty, King Louis XI, +had sworn Pacque Dieu! that d'Arnaye loved underhanded work so heartily +that he conspired with his gardener concerning the planting of cabbages, +and within a week after his death would be heading some treachery against +Lucifer; but kings are not always infallible, as his Majesty himself had +proven at Peronne. + +"--For," said the Sieur d'Arnaye, "man's flesh is frail, and the devil is +very cunning to avail himself of the weaknesses of lovers." + +"Love!" Matthiette cried. "Ah, do not mock me, my uncle! There can be no +pretence of love between Monsieur de Puysange and me. A man that I have +never seen, that is to wed me of pure policy, may look for no Alcestis in +his wife." + +"You speak like a very sensible girl," said Sieur Raymond, complacently. +"However, so that he find her no Guinevere or Semiramis or other +loose-minded trollop of history, I dare say Monsieur de Puysange will +hold to his bargain with indifferent content. Look you, niece, he, also, +is buying--though the saying is somewhat rustic--a pig in a poke." + +Matthiette glanced quickly toward the mirror which hung in her apartment. +The glass reflected features which went to make up a beauty already +be-sonneted in that part of France; and if her green gown was some months +behind the last Italian fashion, it undeniably clad one who needed few +adventitious aids. The Demoiselle Matthiette at seventeen was very tall, +and was as yet too slender for perfection of form, but her honey-colored +hair hung heavily about the unblemished oval of a countenance whose nose +alone left something to be desired; for this feature, though well shaped, +was unduly diminutive. For the rest, her mouth curved in an +irreproachable bow, her complexion was mingled milk and roses, her blue +eyes brooded in a provoking calm; taking matters by and large, the smile +that followed her inspection of the mirror's depths was far from +unwarranted. Catherine de Vaucelles reanimate, you would have sworn; and +at the abbey of Saint Maixent-en-Poitou there was a pot-belly monk, a +Brother François, who would have demonstrated it to you, in an +unanswerable ballad, that Catherine's daughter was in consequence all +that an empress should be and so rarely is. Harembourges and Bertha +Broadfoot and white Queen Blanche would have been laughed to scorn, +demolished and proven, in comparison (with a catalogue of very intimate +personal detail), the squalidest sluts conceivable, by Brother François. + +But Sieur Raymond merely chuckled wheezily, as one discovering a fault in +his companion of which he disapproves in theory, but in practice finds +flattering to his vanity. + +"I grant you, Monsieur de Puysange drives a good bargain," said Sieur +Raymond. "Were Cleopatra thus featured, the Roman lost the world very +worthily. Yet, such is the fantastic disposition of man that I do not +doubt the vicomte looks forward to the joys of to-morrow no whit more +cheerfully than you do: for the lad is young, and, as rumor says, has +been guilty of divers verses,--ay, he has bearded common-sense in the +vext periods of many a wailing rhyme. I will wager a moderate amount, +however, that the vicomte, like a sensible young man, keeps these +whimsies of flames and dames laid away in lavender for festivals and the +like; they are somewhat too fine for everyday wear." + +Sieur Raymond sipped the sugared wine which stood beside him. "Like +any sensible young man," he repeated, in a meditative fashion that was +half a query. + +Matthiette stirred uneasily. "Is love, then, nothing?" she murmured. + +"Love!" Sieur Raymond barked like a kicked mastiff. "It is very +discreetly fabled that love was brought forth at Cythera by the ocean +fogs. Thus, look you, even ballad-mongers admit it comes of a +short-lived family, that fade as time wears on. I may have a passion for +cloud-tatters, and, doubtless, the morning mists are beautiful; but if I +give rein to my admiration, breakfast is likely to grow cold. I deduce +that beauty, as represented by the sunrise, is less profitably considered +than utility, as personified by the frying-pan. And love! A niece of mine +prating of love!" The idea of such an occurrence, combined with a fit of +coughing which now came upon him, drew tears to the Sieur d'Arnaye's +eyes. "Pardon me," said he, when he had recovered his breath, "if I speak +somewhat brutally to maiden ears." + +Matthiette sighed. "Indeed," said she, "you have spoken very brutally!" +She rose from her seat, and went to the Sieur d'Arnaye. "Dear uncle," +said she, with her arms about his neck, and with her soft cheek brushing +his withered countenance, "are you come to my apartments to-night to tell +me that love is nothing--you who have shown me that even the roughest, +most grizzled bear in all the world has a heart compact of love and +tender as a woman's?" + +The Sieur d'Arnaye snorted. "Her mother all over again!" he complained; +and then, recovering himself, shook his head with a hint of sadness. + +He said: "I have sighed to every eyebrow at court, and I tell you this +moonshine is--moonshine pure and simple. Matthiette, I love you too +dearly to deceive you in, at all events, this matter, and I have learned +by hard knocks that we of gentle quality may not lightly follow our own +inclinations. Happiness is a luxury which the great can very rarely +afford. Granted that you have an aversion to this marriage. Yet consider +this: Arnaye and Puysange united may sit snug and let the world wag; +otherwise, lying here between the Breton and the Austrian, we are so many +nuts in a door-crack, at the next wind's mercy. And yonder in the South, +Orléans and Dunois are raising every devil in Hell's register! Ah, no, ma +mie; I put it to you fairly is it of greater import that a girl have her +callow heart's desire than that a province go free of Monsieur War and +Madame Rapine?" + +"Yes, but--" said Matthiette. + +Sieur Raymond struck his hand upon the table with considerable heat. +"Everywhere Death yawps at the frontier; will you, a d'Arnaye, bid him +enter and surfeit? An alliance with Puysange alone may save us. Eheu, it +is, doubtless, pitiful that a maid may not wait and wed her chosen +paladin, but our vassals demand these sacrifices. For example, do you +think I wedded my late wife in any fervor of adoration? I had never seen +her before our marriage day; yet we lived much as most couples do for +some ten years afterward, thereby demonstrating--" + +He smiled, evilly; Matthiette sighed. + +"--Well, thereby demonstrating nothing new," said Sieur Raymond. "So do +you remember that Pierre must have his bread and cheese; that the cows +must calve undisturbed; that the pigs--you have not seen the sow I had +to-day from Harfleur?--black as ebony and a snout like a rose-leaf!--must +be stied in comfort: and that these things may not be, without an +alliance with Puysange. Besides, dear niece, it is something to be the +wife of a great lord." + +A certain excitement awoke in Matthiette's eyes. "It must be very +beautiful at Court," said she, softly. "Masques, fętes, tourneys every +day;--and they say the new King is exceedingly gallant--" + +Sieur Raymond caught her by the chin, and for a moment turned her +face toward his. "I warn you," said he, "you are a d'Arnaye; and +King or not--" + +He paused here. Through the open window came the voice of one singing to +the demure accompaniment of a lute. + +"Hey?" said the Sieur d'Arnaye. + +Sang the voice: + +"_When you are very old, and I am gone, +Not to return, it may be you will say-- +Hearing my name and holding me as one +Long dead to you,--in some half-jesting way +Of speech, sweet as vague heraldings of May +Rumored in woods when first the throstles sing-- +'He loved me once.' And straightway murmuring +My half-forgotten rhymes, you will regret +Evanished times when I was wont to sing +So very lightly, 'Love runs into debt.'_" + +"Now, may I never sit among the saints," said the Sieur d'Arnaye, "if +that is not the voice of Raoul de Prison, my new page." + +"Hush," Matthiette whispered. "He woos my maid, Alys. He often sings +under the window, and I wink at it." + +Sang the voice: + +_"I shall not heed you then. My course being run +For good or ill, I shall have gone my way, +And know you, love, no longer,--nor the sun, +Perchance, nor any light of earthly day, +Nor any joy nor sorrow,--while at play +The world speeds merrily, nor reckoning +Our coming or our going. Lips will cling, +Forswear, and be forsaken, and men forget +Where once our tombs were, and our children sing-- +So very lightly!--'Love runs into debt.' + +"If in the grave love have dominion +Will that wild cry not quicken the wise clay, +And taunt with memories of fond deeds undone,-- +Some joy untasted, some lost holiday,-- +All death's large wisdom? Will that wisdom lay +The ghost of any sweet familiar thing +Come haggard from the Past, or ever bring +Forgetfulness of those two lovers met +When all was April?--nor too wise to sing +So very lightly, 'Love runs into debt.' + +"Yet, Matthiette, though vain remembering +Draw nigh, and age be drear, yet in the spring +We meet and kiss, whatever hour beset +Wherein all hours attain to harvesting,-- +So very lightly love runs into debt."_ + +"Dear, dear!" said the Sieur d'Arnaye. "You mentioned your maid's +name, I think?" + +"Alys," said Matthiette, with unwonted humbleness. + +Sieur Raymond spread out his hands in a gesture of commiseration. "This +is very remarkable," he said. "Beyond doubt, the gallant beneath has made +some unfortunate error. Captain Gotiard," he called, loudly, "will you +ascertain who it is that warbles in the garden such queer aliases for our +good Alys?" + + +2. _Age Glosses the Text of Youth_ + +Gotiard was not long in returning; he was followed by two men-at-arms, +who held between them the discomfited minstrel. Envy alone could have +described the lutanist as ill-favored; his close-fitting garb, wherein +the brave reds of autumn were judiciously mingled, at once set off a +well-knit form and enhanced the dark comeliness of features less French +than Italian in cast. The young man now stood silent, his eyes mutely +questioning the Sieur d'Arnaye. + +"Oh, la, la, la!" chirped Sieur Raymond. "Captain, I think you are at +liberty to retire." He sipped his wine meditatively, as the men filed +out. "Monsieur de Frison," d'Arnaye resumed, when the arras had fallen, +"believe me, I grieve to interrupt your very moving and most excellently +phrased ballad in this fashion. But the hour is somewhat late for melody, +and the curiosity of old age is privileged. May one inquire, therefore, +why you outsing my larks and linnets and other musical poultry that are +now all abed? and warble them to rest with this pleasing but--if I may +venture a suggestion--rather ill-timed madrigal?" + +The young man hesitated for an instant before replying. "Sir," said he, +at length, "I confess that had I known of your whereabouts, the birds had +gone without their lullaby. But you so rarely come to this wing of the +chateau, that your presence here to-night is naturally unforeseen. As it +is, since chance has betrayed my secret to you, I must make bold to +acknowledge it; and to confess that I love your niece." + +"Hey, no doubt you do," Sieur Raymond assented, pleasantly. "Indeed, I +think half the young men hereabout are in much the same predicament. But, +my question, if I mistake not, related to your reason for chaunting +canzonets beneath her window." + +Raoul de Frison stared at him in amazement. "I love her," he said. + +"You mentioned that before," Sieur Raymond suggested. "And I agreed, as I +remember, that it was more than probable; for my niece here--though it be +I that speak it--is by no means uncomely, has a commendable voice, the +walk of a Hebe, and sufficient wit to deceive her lover into happiness. +My faith, young man, you show excellent taste! But, I submit, the purest +affection is an insufficient excuse for outbaying a whole kennel of +hounds beneath the adored one's casement." + +"Sir," said Raoul, "I believe that lovers have rarely been remarkable for +sanity; and it is an immemorial custom among them to praise the object of +their desires with fitting rhymes. Conceive, sir, that in your youth, had +you been accorded the love of so fair a lady, you yourself had scarcely +done otherwise. For I doubt if your blood runs so thin as yet that you +have quite forgot young Raymond d'Arnaye and the gracious ladies whom he +loved,--I think that your heart must needs yet treasure the memories of +divers moonlit nights, even such as this, when there was a great silence +in the world, and the nested trees were astir with desire of the dawn, +and your waking dreams were vext with the singular favor of some woman's +face. It is in the name of that young Raymond I now appeal to you." + +"H'm!" said the Sieur d'Arnaye. "As I understand it, you appeal on the +ground that you were coerced by the moonlight and led astray by the +bird-nests in my poplar-trees; and you desire me to punish your +accomplices rather than you." + +"Sir,--" said Raoul. + +Sieur Raymond snarled. "You young dog, you know that in the most prosaic +breast a minor poet survives his entombment,--and you endeavor to make +capital of the knowledge. You know that I have a most sincere affection +for your father, and have even contracted since you came to Arnaye more +or less tolerance for you,--which emboldens you, my friend, to keep me +out of a comfortable bed at this hour of the night with an idiotic +discourse of moonlight and dissatisfied shrubbery! As it happens, I am +not a lank wench in her first country dance. Remember that, Raoul de +Frison, and praise the good God who gave me at birth a very placable +disposition! There is not a seigneur in all France, save me, but would +hang you at the crack of that same dawn for which you report your +lackadaisical trees to be whining; but the quarrel will soon be Monsieur +de Puysange's, and I prefer that he settle it at his own discretion. I +content myself with advising you to pester my niece no more." + +Raoul spoke boldly. "She loves me," said he, standing very erect. + +Sieur Raymond glanced at Matthiette, who sat with downcast head. "H'm!" +said he. "She moderates her transports indifferently well. Though, again, +why not? You are not an ill-looking lad. Indeed, Monsieur de Frison, I am +quite ready to admit that my niece is breaking her heart for you. The +point on which I wish to dwell is that she weds Monsieur de Puysange +early to-morrow morning." + +"Uncle," Matthiette cried, as she started to her feet, "such a marriage +is a crime! I love Raoul!" + +"Undoubtedly," purred Sieur Raymond, "you love the lad unboundedly, +madly, distractedly! Now we come to the root of the matter." He sank back +in his chair and smiled. "Young people," said he, "be seated, and hearken +to the words of wisdom. Love is a divine insanity, in which the sufferer +fancies the world mad. And the world is made up of madmen who condemn and +punish one another." + +"But," Matthiette dissented, "ours is no ordinary case!" + +"Surely not," Sieur Raymond readily agreed; "for there was never an +ordinary case in all the history of the universe. Oh, but I, too, have +known this madness; I, too, have perceived how infinitely my own +skirmishes with the blind bow-god differed in every respect from all that +has been or will ever be. It is an infallible sign of this frenzy. +Surely, I have said, the world will not willingly forget the vision of +Chloris in her wedding garments, or the wonder of her last clinging kiss. +Or, say Phyllis comes to-morrow: will an uninventive sun dare to rise in +the old, hackneyed fashion on such a day of days? Perish the thought! +There will probably be six suns, and, I dare say, a meteor or two." + +"I perceive, sir," Raoul said here, "that after all you have not +forgotten the young Raymond of whom I spoke." + +"That was a long while ago," snapped Sieur Raymond. "I know a deal more +of the world nowadays; and a level-headed world would be somewhat +surprised at such occurrences, and suggest that for the future Phyllis +remain at home. For whether you--or I--or any one--be in love or no is to +our fellow creatures an affair of astonishingly trivial import. Not since +Noé that great admiral, repeopled the world by begetting three sons upon +Dame Noria has there been a love-business worthy of consideration; nor, +if you come to that, not since sagacious Solomon went a-wenching has a +wise man wasted his wisdom on a lover. So love one another, my children, +by all means: but do you, Matthiette, make ready to depart into Normandy +as a true and faithful wife to Monsieur de Puysange; and do you, Raoul de +Prison, remain at Arnaye, and attend to my falcons more carefully than +you have done of late,--or, by the cross of Saint Lo! I will clap the +wench in a convent and hang the lad as high as Haman!" + +Whereon Sieur Raymond smiled pleasantly, and drained his wine-cup as one +considering the discussion ended. + +Raoul sat silent for a moment. Then he rose. "Monsieur d'Arnaye, you know +me to be a gentleman of unblemished descent, and as such entitled to a +hearing. I forbid you before all-seeing Heaven to wed your niece to a man +she does not love! And I have the honor to request of you her hand in +marriage." + +"Which offer I decline," said Sieur Raymond, grinning placidly,--"with +every imaginable civility. Niece," he continued, "here is a gentleman who +offers you a heartful of love, six months of insanity, and forty years +of boredom in a leaky, wind-swept château. He has dreamed dreams +concerning you: allow me to present to you the reality." + +With some ceremony Sieur Raymond now grasped Matthiette's hand and led +her mirror-ward. "Permit me to present the wife of Monsieur de Puysange. +Could he have made a worthier choice? Ah, happy lord, that shall so soon +embrace such perfect loveliness! For, frankly, my niece, is not that +golden hair of a shade that will set off a coronet extraordinarily well? +Are those wondrous eyes not fashioned to surfeit themselves upon the +homage and respect accorded the wife of a great lord? Ouais, the thing is +indisputable: and, therefore, I must differ from Monsieur de Frison here, +who would condemn this perfection to bloom and bud unnoticed in a paltry +country town." + +There was an interval, during which Matthiette gazed sadly into the +mirror. "And Arnaye--?" said she. + +"Undoubtedly," said Sieur Raymond,--"Arnaye must perish unless Puysange +prove her friend. Therefore, my niece conquers her natural aversion to a +young and wealthy husband, and a life of comfort and flattery and gayety; +relinquishes you, Raoul; and, like a feminine Mettius Curtius, sacrifices +herself to her country's welfare. Pierre may sleep undisturbed; and the +pigs will have a new sty. My faith, it is quite affecting! And so," Sieur +Raymond summed it up, "you two young fools may bid adieu, once for all, +while I contemplate this tapestry." He strolled to the end of the room +and turned his back. "Admirable!" said he; "really now, that leopard is +astonishingly lifelike!" + +Raoul came toward Matthiette. "Dear love," said he, "you have chosen +wisely, and I bow to your decision. Farewell, Matthiette,--O indomitable +heart! O brave perfect woman that I have loved! Now at the last of all, I +praise you for your charity to me, Love's mendicant,--ah, believe me, +Matthiette, that atones for aught which follows now. Come what may, I +shall always remember that once in old days you loved me, and, +remembering this, I shall always thank God with a contented heart." He +bowed over her unresponsive hand. "Matthiette," he whispered, "be happy! +For I desire that very heartily, and I beseech of our Sovereign Lady--not +caring to hide at all how my voice shakes, nor how the loveliness of you, +seen now for the last time, is making blind my eyes--that you may never +know unhappiness. You have chosen wisely, Matthiette; yet, ah, my dear, +do not forget me utterly, but keep always a little place in your heart +for your boy lover!" + +Sieur Raymond concluded his inspection of the tapestry, and turned with a +premonitory cough. "Thus ends the comedy," said he, shrugging, "with much +fine, harmless talking about 'always,' while the world triumphs. +Invariably the world triumphs, my children. Eheu, we are as God made us, +we men and women that cumber His stately earth!" He drew his arm through +Raoul's. "Farewell, niece," said Sieur Raymond, smiling; "I rejoice that +you are cured of your malady. Now in respect to gerfalcons--" said he. +The arras fell behind them. + + +3. _Obdurate Love_ + +Matthiette sat brooding in her room, as the night wore on. She was +pitifully frightened, numb. There was in the room, she dimly noted, a +heavy silence that sobs had no power to shatter. Dimly, too, she seemed +aware of a multitude of wide, incurious eyes which watched her from every +corner, where panels snapped at times with sharp echoes. The night was +well-nigh done when she arose. + +"After all," she said, wearily, "it is my manifest duty." Matthiette +crept to the mirror and studied it. + +"Madame de Puysange," said she, without any intonation; then threw her +arms above her head, with a hard gesture of despair. "I love him!" she +cried, in a frightened voice. + +Matthiette went to a great chest and fumbled among its contents. She drew +out a dagger in a leather case, and unsheathed it. The light shone evilly +scintillant upon the blade. She laughed, and hid it in the bosom of her +gown, and fastened a cloak about her with impatient fingers. Then +Matthiette crept down the winding stair that led to the gardens, and +unlocked the door at the foot of it. + +A sudden rush of night swept toward her, big with the secrecy of dawn. +The sky, washed clean of stars, sprawled above,--a leaden, monotonous +blank. Many trees whispered thickly over the chaos of earth; to the left, +in an increasing dove-colored luminousness, a field of growing maize +bristled like the chin of an unshaven Titan. + +Matthiette entered an expectant world. Once in the tree-chequered +gardens, it was as though she crept through the aisles of an unlit +cathedral already garnished for its sacred pageant. Matthiette heard the +querulous birds call sleepily above; the margin of night was thick with +their petulant complaints; behind her was the monstrous shadow of the +Chateau d'Arnaye, and past that was a sullen red, the red of contused +flesh, to herald dawn. Infinity waited a-tiptoe, tense for the coming +miracle, and against this vast repression, her grief dwindled into +irrelevancy: the leaves whispered comfort; each tree-bole hid chuckling +fauns. Matthiette laughed. Content had flooded the universe all through +and through now that yonder, unseen as yet, the scarlet-faced sun was +toiling up the rim of the world, and matters, it somehow seemed, could +not turn out so very ill, in the end. + +Matthiette came to a hut, from whose open window a faded golden glow +spread out into obscurity like a tawdry fan. From without she peered into +the hut and saw Raoul. A lamp flickered upon the table. His shadow +twitched and wavered about the plastered walls,--a portentous mass of +head upon a hemisphere of shoulders,--as Raoul bent over a chest, sorting +the contents, singing softly to himself, while Matthiette leaned upon the +sill without, and the gardens of Arnaye took form and stirred in the +heart of a chill, steady, sapphire-like radiance. + +Sang Raoul: + +_"Lord, I have worshipped thee ever,-- +Through all these years +I have served thee, forsaking never +Light Love that veers +As a child between laughter and tears. +Hast thou no more to afford,-- +Naught save laughter and tears,-- +Love, my lord? + +"I have borne thy heaviest burden, +Nor served thee amiss: +Now thou hast given a guerdon; +Lo, it was this-- +A sigh, a shudder, a kiss. +Hast thou no more to accord! +I would have more than this, +Love, my lord. + +"I am wearied of love that is pastime +And gifts that it brings; +I entreat of thee, lord, at this last time + +"Inčffable things. +Nay, have proud long-dead kings +Stricken no subtler chord, +Whereof the memory clings, +Love, my lord? + +"But for a little we live; +Show me thine innermost hoard! +Hast thou no more to give, +Love, my lord?"_ + + +4. _Raymond Psychopompos_ + +Matthiette went to the hut's door: her hands fell irresolutely upon the +rough surface of it and lay still for a moment. Then with the noise of a +hoarse groan the door swung inward, and the light guttered in a swirl of +keen morning air, casting convulsive shadows upon her lifted countenance, +and was extinguished. She held out her arms in a gesture that was half +maternal. "Raoul!" she murmured. + +He turned. A sudden bird plunged through the twilight without, with a +glad cry that pierced like a knife through the stillness which had fallen +in the little room. Raoul de Frison faced her, with clenched hands, +silent. For that instant she saw him transfigured. + +But his silence frightened her. There came a piteous catch in her voice. +"Fair friend, have you not bidden me--_be happy?_" + +He sighed. "Mademoiselle," he said, dully, "I may not avail myself of +your tenderness of heart; that you have come to comfort me in my sorrow +is a deed at which, I think, God's holy Angels must rejoice: but I cannot +avail myself of it." + +"Raoul, Raoul," she said, "do you think that I have come in--pity!" + +"Matthiette," he returned, "your uncle spoke the truth. I have dreamed +dreams concerning you,--dreams of a foolish, golden-hearted girl, who +would yield--yield gladly--all that the world may give, to be one flesh +and soul with me. But I have wakened, dear, to the braver reality,--that +valorous woman, strong enough to conquer even her own heart that her +people may be freed from their peril." + +"Blind! blind!" she cried. + +Raoul smiled down upon her. "Mademoiselle," said he, "I do not doubt that +you love me." + +She went wearily toward the window. "I am not very wise," Matthiette +said, looking out upon the gardens, "and it appears that God has given +me an exceedingly tangled matter to unravel. Yet if I decide it +wrongly I think the Eternal Father will understand it is because I am +not very wise." + +Matthiette for a moment was silent. Then with averted face she spoke +again. "My uncle commands me, with many astute saws and pithy sayings, to +wed Monsieur de Puysange. I have not skill to combat him. Many times he +has proven it my duty, but he is quick in argument and proves what he +will; and I do not think it is my duty. It appears to me a matter wherein +man's wisdom is at variance with God's will as manifested to us through +the holy Evangelists. Assuredly, if I do not wed Monsieur de Puysange +there may be war here in our Arnaye, and God has forbidden war; but I may +not insure peace in Arnaye without prostituting my body to a man I do not +love, and that, too, God has forbidden. I speak somewhat grossly for a +maid, but you love me, I think, and will understand. And I, also, love +you, Monsieur de Frison. Yet--ah, I am pitiably weak! Love tugs at my +heart-strings, bidding me cling to you, and forget these other matters; +but I cannot do that, either. I desire very heartily the comfort and +splendor and adulation which you cannot give me. I am pitiably weak, +Raoul! I cannot come to you with an undivided heart,--but my heart, such +as it is, I have given you, and to-day I deliver my honor into your hands +and my life's happiness, to preserve or to destroy. Mother of Christ, +grant that I have chosen rightly, for I have chosen now, past retreat! I +have chosen you, Raoul, and that love which you elect to give me, and of +which I must endeavor to be worthy." + +Matthiette turned from the window. Now, her bright audacity gone, her +ardors chilled, you saw how like a grave, straightforward boy she was, +how illimitably tender, how inefficient. "It may be that I have decided +wrongly in this tangled matter," she said now. "And yet I think that God, +Who loves us infinitely, cannot be greatly vexed at anything His children +do for love of one another." + +He came toward her. "I bid you go," he said. "Matthiette, it is my duty +to bid you go, and it is your duty to obey." + +She smiled wistfully through unshed tears. "Man's wisdom!" said +Matthiette. "I think that it is not my duty. And so I disobey you, +dear,--this once, and no more hereafter." + +"And yet last night--" Raoul began. + +"Last night," said she, "I thought that I was strong. I know now it was +my vanity that was strong,--vanity and pride and fear, Raoul, that for a +little mastered me. But in the dawn all things seem very trivial, saving +love alone." + +They looked out into the dew-washed gardens. The daylight was fullgrown, +and already the clear-cut forms of men were passing beneath the swaying +branches. In the distance a trumpet snarled. + +"Dear love," said Raoul, "do you not understand that you have brought +about my death? For Monsieur de Puysange is at the gates of Arnaye; and +either he or Sieur Raymond will have me hanged ere noon." + +"I do not know," she said, in a tired voice. "I think that Monsieur de +Puysange has some cause to thank me; and my uncle loves me, and his +heart, for all his gruffness, is very tender. And--see, Raoul!" She drew +the dagger from her bosom. "I shall not survive you a long while, O man +of all the world!" + +Perplexed joy flushed through his countenance. "You will do +this--for me?" he cried, with a sort of sob. "Matthiette, +Matthiette, you shame me!" + +"But I love you," said Matthiette. "How could it be possible, then, for +me to live after you were dead?" + +He bent to her. They kissed. + +Hand in hand they went forth into the daylight. The kindly, familiar +place seemed in Matthiette's eyes oppressed and transformed by the +austerity of dawn. It was a clear Sunday morning, at the hightide of +summer, and she found the world unutterably Sabbatical; only by a +vigorous effort could memory connect it with the normal life of +yesterday. The cool edges of the woods, vibrant now with multitudinous +shrill pipings, the purple shadows shrinking eastward on the dimpling +lawns, the intricate and broken traceries of the dial (where they had met +so often), the blurred windings of their path, above which brooded the +peaked roofs and gables and slender clerestories of Arnaye, the broad +river yonder lapsing through deserted sunlit fields,--these things lay +before them scarce heeded, stript of all perspective, flat as an open +scroll. To them all this was alien. She and Raoul were quite apart from +these matters, quite alone, despite the men of Arnaye, hurrying toward +the courtyard, who stared at them curiously, but said nothing. A brisk +wind was abroad in the tree-tops, scattering stray leaves, already dead, +over the lush grass. Tenderly Raoul brushed a little golden sycamore leaf +from the lovelier gold of Matthiette's hair. + +"I do not know how long I have to live," he said. "Nobody knows that. But +I wish that I might live a great while to serve you worthily." + +She answered: "Neither in life nor death shall we be parted now. That +only matters, my husband." + +They came into the crowded court-yard just as the drawbridge fell. A +troop of horse clattered into Arnaye, and the leader, a young man of +frank countenance, dismounted and looked about him inquiringly. Then he +came toward them. + +"Monseigneur," said he, "you see that we ride early in honor of your +nuptials." + +Behind them some one chuckled. "Love one another, young people," said +Sieur Raymond; "but do you, Matthiette, make ready to depart into +Normandy as a true and faithful wife to Monsieur de Puysange." + +She stared into Raoul's laughing face; there was a kind of anguish in her +swift comprehension. Quickly the two men who loved her glanced at each +other, half in shame. + +But the Sieur d'Arnaye was not lightly dashed. "Oh, la, la, la!" chuckled +the Sieur d'Arnaye, "she would never have given you a second thought, +monsieur le vicomte, had I not labelled you forbidden fruit. As it is, my +last conspiracy, while a little ruthless, I grant you, turns out +admirably. Jack has his Jill, and all ends merrily, like an old song. I +will begin on those pig-sties the first thing to-morrow morning." + + * * * * * + +OCTOBER 6, 1519 + +_"Therefore, like as May month flowereth and flourisheth in many +gardens, so in likewise let every man of worship flourish his heart in +this world; first unto God, and next unto the joy of them that he +promiseth his faith unto."_ + + +_The quondam Raoul de Prison stood high in the graces of the Lady Regent +of France, Anne de Beaujeu, who was, indeed, tolerably notorious for her +partiality to well-built young men. Courtiers whispered more than there +is any need here to rehearse. In any event, when in 1485 the daughter of +Louis XI fitted out an expedition to press the Earl of Richmond's claim +to the English crown, de Puysange sailed from Havre as commander of the +French fleet. He fought at Bosworth, not discreditably; and a year +afterward, when England had for the most part accepted Henry VII, +Matthiette rejoined her husband. + +They never subsequently quitted England. During the long civil wars, de +Puysange was known as a shrewd captain and a judicious counsellor to the +King, who rewarded his services as liberally as Tudorian parsimony would +permit. After the death of Henry VII, however, the vicomte took little +part in public affairs, spending most of his time at Tiverton Manor, in +Devon, where, surrounded by their numerous progeny, he and Matthiette +grew old together in peace and concord. + +Indeed, the vicomte so ordered all his cool love-affairs that, having +taken a wife as a matter of expediency, he continued as a matter of +expediency to make her a fair husband, as husbands go. It also seemed to +him, they relate, a matter of expediency to ignore the interpretation +given by scandalous persons to the paternal friendship extended to Madame +de Puysange by a high prince of the Church, during the last five years of +the great Cardinal Morton's life, for the connection was useful. + +The following is from a manuscript of doubtful authenticity still to be +seen at Allonby Shaw. It purports to contain the autobiography of Will +Sommers, the vicomte's jester, afterward court-fool to Henry VIII._ + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +_The Episode Called The Castle of Content_ + + +1. _I Glimpse the Castle_ + +"And so, dearie," she ended, "you may seize the revenues of Allonby with +unwashed hands." + +I said, "Why have you done this?" I was half-frightened by the sudden +whirl of Dame Fortune's wheel. + +"Dear cousin in motley," grinned the beldame, "'twas for hatred of Tom +Allonby and all his accursed race that I have kept the secret thus long. +Now comes a braver revenge: and I settle my score with the black spawn of +Allonby--euh, how entirely!--by setting you at their head." + +"Nay, I elect for a more flattering reason. I begin to suspect you, +cousin, of some human compunction." + +"Well, Willie, well, I never hated you as much as I had reason to," she +grumbled, and began to cough very lamentably. "So at the last I must make +a marquis of you--ugh! Will you jest for them in counsel, Willie, and +lead your henchman to battle with a bawdy song--ugh, ugh!" + +Her voice crackled like burning timber, and sputtered in groans that +would have been fanged curses had breath not failed her: for my aunt +Elinor possessed a nimble tongue, whetted, as rumor had it, by the +attendance of divers Sabbats, and the chaunting of such songs as honest +men may not hear and live, however highly the succubi and warlocks and +were-cats, and Satan's courtiers generally, commend them. + +I squinted down at one green leg, scratched the crimson fellow to it with +my bauble, and could not deny that, even so, the witch was dealing +handsomely with me to-night. + +'Twas a strange tale which my Aunt Elinor had ended, speaking swiftly +lest the worms grow impatient and Charon weigh anchor ere she had done: +and the proofs of the tale's verity, set forth in a fair clerkly +handwriting, rustled in my hand,--scratches of a long-rotted pen that +transferred me to the right side of the blanket, and transformed the +motley of a fool into the ermine of a peer. + +All Devon knew I was son to Tom Allonby, who had been Marquis of Falmouth +at his uncle's death, had not Tom Allonby, upon the very eve of that +event, broken his neck in a fox-hunt; but Dan Gabriel, come post-haste +from Heaven had with difficulty convinced the village idiot that Holy +Church had smiled upon Tom's union with a tanner's daughter, and that +their son was lord of Allonby Shaw. I doubted it, even as I read the +proof. Yet it was true,--true that I had precedence even of the great +Monsieur de Puysange, who had kept me to make him mirth on a shifty diet, +first coins, then curses, these ten years past,--true that my father, +rogue in all else, had yet dealt equitably with my mother ere he +died,--true that my aunt, less honorably used by him, had shared their +secret with the priest who married them, maliciously preserving it till +this, when her words fell before me as anciently Jove's shower before the +Argive Danaë, coruscant and awful, pregnant with undreamed-of chances +which stirred as yet blindly in Time's womb. + +A sick anger woke in me, remembering the burden of ignoble years this hag +had suffered me to bear; yet my so young gentility bade me avoid reproach +of the dying peasant woman, who, when all was said, had been but ill-used +by our house. Death hath a strange potency: commanding as he doth, +unquestioned and unchidden, the emperor to have done with slaying, the +poet to rise from his unfinished rhyme, the tender and gracious lady to +cease from nice denying words (mixed though they be with pitiful sighs +that break their sequence like an amorous ditty heard through the strains +of a martial stave), and all men, gentle or base, to follow Death's gaunt +standard into unmapped realms, something of majesty enshrines the +paltriest knave on whom the weight of Death's chill finger hath fallen. I +doubt not that Cain's children wept about his deathbed, and that the +centurions spake in whispers as they lowered Iscariot from the +elder-tree: and in like manner the reproaches which stirred in my brain +had no power to move my lips. The frail carnal tenement, swept and +cleansed of all mortality, was garnished for Death's coming; and I could +not sorrow at his advent here: but I perforce must pity rather than +revile the prey which Age and Poverty, those ravenous forerunning hounds +of Death yet harried, at the door of the tomb. + +Running over these considerations in my mind, I said, "I forgive you." + +"You posturing lack-wit!" she returned, and her sunk jaws quivered +angrily. "D'ye play the condescending gentleman already! Dearie, your +master did not take the news so calmly." + +"You have told him?" + +I had risen, for the wried, and yet sly, malice of my aunt's face was +rather that of Bellona, who, as clerks avow, ever bore carnage and +dissension in her train, than that of a mortal, mutton-fed woman. Elinor +Sommers hated me--having God knows how just a cause--for the reason that +I was my father's son; and yet, for this same reason as I think, there +was in all our intercourse an odd, harsh, grudging sort of tenderness. + +She laughed now,--flat and shrill, like the laughter of the damned heard +in Hell between the roaring of flames. "Were it not common kindness to +tell him, since this old sleek fellow's fine daughter is to wed the +cuckoo that hath your nest? Yes, Willie, yes, your master hath known +since morning." + +"And Adeliza?" I asked, in a voice that tricked me. + +"Heh, my Lady-High-and-Mighty hath, I think, heard nothing as yet. She +will be hearing of new suitors soon enough, though, for her father, +Monsieur Fine-Words, that silky, grinning thief, is very keen in a +money-chase,--keen as a terrier on a rat-track, may Satan twist his neck! +Pshutt, dearie! here is a smiling knave who means to have the estate of +Allonby as it stands; what live-stock may go therewith, whether +crack-brained or not, is all one to him. He will not balk at a drachm or +two of wit in his son-in-law. You have but to whistle,--but to whistle, +Willie, and she'll come!" + +I said, "Eh, woman, and have you no heart?" + +"I gave it to your father for a few lying speeches," she answered, "and +Tom Allonby taught me the worth of all such commerce." There was a smile +upon her lips, sister to that which Clytemnestra may have flaunted in +welcome of that old Emperor Agamemnon, come in gory opulence from the +sack of Troy Town. "I gave it--" Her voice rose here to a despairing +wail. "Ah, go, before I lay my curse upon you, son of Thomas Allonby! +But do you kiss me first, for you have just his lying mouth. So, that is +better! And now go, my lord marquis; it is not fitting that death +should intrude into your lordship's presence. Go, fool, and let me die +in peace!" + +I no longer cast a cautious eye toward the whip (ah, familiar unkindly +whip!) that still hung beside the door of the hut; but, I confess, my +aunt's looks were none too delectable, and ancient custom rendered her +wrath yet terrible. If the farmers thereabouts were to be trusted, I knew +Old Legion's bailiff would shortly be at hand, to distrain upon a soul +escheat and forfeited to Dis by many years of cruel witchcrafts, close +wiles, and nameless sorceries; and I could never abide unpared nails, +even though they be red-hot. Therefore, I relinquished her to the village +gossips, who waited without, and I tucked my bauble under my arm. + +"Dear aunt," said I, "farewell!" + +"Good-bye, Willie!" said she; "I shall often laugh in Hell to think of +the crack-brained marquis that I made on earth. It was my will to make a +beggar of Tom's son, but at the last I play the fool and cannot do it. +But do you play the fool, too, dearie, and"--she chuckled here--"and have +your posture and your fine long words, whatever happens." + +"'Tis my vocation," I answered, briefly; and so went forth into +the night. + + +2. _At the Ladder's Foot_ + +I came to Tiverton Manor through a darkness black as the lining of +Baalzebub's oldest cloak. The storm had passed, but clouds yet hung +heavy as feather-beds between mankind and the stars; as I crossed the +bridge the swollen Exe was but dimly visible, though it roared beneath +me, and shook the frail timbers hungrily. The bridge had long been +unsafe: Monsieur de Puysange had planned one stronger and less hazardous +than the former edifice, of which the arches yet remained, and this was +now in the making, as divers piles of unhewn lumber and stone attested: +meanwhile, the roadway was a makeshift of half-rotten wood that even in +this abating wind shook villainously. I stood for a moment and heard the +waters lapping and splashing and laughing, as though they would hold it +rare and desirable mirth to swallow and spew forth a powerful marquis, +and grind his body among the battered timber and tree-boles and dead +sheep swept from the hills, and at last vomit him into the sea, that a +corpse, wide-eyed and livid, might bob up and down the beach, in quest of +a quiet grave where the name of Allonby was scarcely known. The +imagination was so vivid that it frightened me as I picked my way +cat-footed through the dark. + +The folk of Tiverton Manor were knotting on their nightcaps, by this; but +there was a light in the Lady Adeliza's window, faint as a sick glowworm. +I rolled in the seeded grass and chuckled, as I thought of what a day or +two might bring about, and I murmured to myself an old cradle-song of +Devon which she loved and often sang; and was, ere I knew it, carolling +aloud, for pure wantonness and joy that Monsieur de Puysange was not +likely to have me whipped, now, however blatantly I might elect to +discourse. + +Sang I: + +_"Through the mist of years does it gleam as yet-- +That fair and free extent +Of moonlit turret and parapet, +Which castled, once, Content? + +"Ei ho! Ei ho! the Castle of Content, +With drowsy music drowning merriment +Where Dreams and Visions held high carnival, +And frolicking frail Loves made light of all,-- +Ei ho! the vanished Castle of Content!"_ + +As I ended, the casement was pushed open, and the Lady Adeliza came upon +the balcony, the light streaming from behind her in such fashion as made +her appear an angel peering out of Heaven at our mortal antics. Indeed, +there was always something more than human in her loveliness, though, to +be frank, it savored less of chilling paradisial perfection than of a +vision of some great-eyed queen of faery, such as those whose feet glide +unwetted over our fen-waters when they roam o' nights in search of unwary +travellers. Lady Adeliza was a fair beauty; that is, her eyes were of the +color of opals, and her complexion as the first rose of spring, blushing +at her haste to snare men's hearts with beauty; and her loosened hair +rippled in such a burst of splendor that I have seen a pale brilliancy, +like that of amber, reflected by her bared shoulders where the bright +waves fell heavily against the tender flesh, and ivory vied with gold in +beauty. She was somewhat proud, they said; and to others she may have +been, but to me, never. Her voice was a low, sweet song, her look that of +the chaste Roman, beneficent Saint Dorothy, as she is pictured in our +Chapel here at Tiverton. Proud, they called her! to me her condescensions +were so manifold that I cannot set them down: indeed, in all she spoke +and did there was an extreme kindliness that made a courteous word from +her of more worth than a purse from another. + +She said, "Is it you, Will Sommers?" + +"Madonna," I answered, "with whom else should the owls confer? It is a +venerable saying that extremes meet. And here you may behold it +exemplified, as in the conference of an epicure and an ostrich: though, +for this once, Wisdom makes bold to sit above Folly." + +"Did you carol, then, to the owls of Tiverton?" she queried. + +"Hand upon heart," said I, "my grim gossips care less for my melody than +for the squeaking of a mouse; and I sang rather for joy that at last I +may enter into the Castle of Content." + +The Lady Adeliza replied, "But nobody enters there alone." + +"Madonna," said I, "your apprehension is nimble. I am in hope that a +woman's hand may lower the drawbridge." + +She said only "You--!" Then she desisted, incredulous laughter breaking +the soft flow of speech. + +"Now, by Paul and Peter, those eminent apostles! the prophet Jeremy never +spake more veraciously in Edom! The fool sighs for a fair woman,--what +else should he do, being a fool? Ah, madonna, as in very remote times +that notable jester, Love, popped out of Night's wind-egg, and by his +sorcery fashioned from the primeval tangle the pleasant earth that sleeps +about us,--even thus, may he not frame the disorder of a fool's brain +into the semblance of a lover's? Believe me, the change is not so great +as you might think. Yet if you will, laugh at me, madonna, for I love a +woman far above me,--a woman who knows not of my love, or, at most, +considers it but as the homage which grateful peasants accord the +all-nurturing sun; so that, now chance hath woven me a ladder whereby to +mount to her, I scarcely dare to set my foot upon the bottom rung." + +"A ladder?" she said, oddly: "and are you talking of a rope ladder?" + +"I would describe it, rather," said I, "as a golden ladder." + +There came a silence. About us the wind wailed among the gaunt, deserted +choir of the trees, and in the distance an owl hooted sardonically. + +The Lady Adeliza said: "Be bold. Be bold, and know that a woman loves +once and forever, whether she will or no. Love is not sold in the shops, +and the grave merchants that trade in the ultimate seas, and send forth +argosies even to jewelled Ind, to fetch home rich pearls, and strange +outlandish dyes, and spiceries, and the raiment of imperious queens of +the old time, have bought and sold no love, for all their traffic. It is +above gold. I know"--here her voice faltered somewhat--"I know of a woman +whose birth is very near the throne, and whose beauty, such as it is, +hath been commended, who loved a man the politic world would have none +of, for he was not rich nor famous, nor even very wise. And the world +bade her relinquish him; but within the chambers of her heart his voice +rang more loudly than that of the world, and for his least word said she +would leave all and go with him whither he would. And--she waits only for +the speaking of that word." + +"Be bold?" said I. + +"Ay," she returned; "that is the moral of my tale. Make me a song of it +to-night, dear Will,--and tomorrow, perhaps, you may learn how this +woman, too, entered into the Castle of Content." + +"Madonna--!" I cried. + +"It is late," said she, "and I must go." + +"To-morrow--?" I said. My heart was racing now. + +"Ay, to-morrow,--the morrow that by this draws very near. Farewell!" She +was gone, casting one swift glance backward, even as the ancient +Parthians are fabled to have shot their arrows as they fled; and, if the +airier missile, also, left a wound, I, for one, would not willingly have +quitted her invulnerate. + +3. _Night, and a Stormed Castle_ + +I went forth into the woods that stand thick about Tiverton Manor, where +I lay flat on my back among the fallen leaves, dreaming many dreams to +myself,--dreams that were frolic songs of happiness, to which the papers +in my jerkin rustled a reassuring chorus. + +I have heard that night is own sister to death; now, as the ultimate torn +cloud passed seaward, and the new-washed harvest-moon broke forth in a +red glory, and stars clustered about her like a swarm of golden bees, I +thought this night was rather the parent of a new life. But, indeed, +there is a solemnity in night beyond all jesting: for night knits up the +tangled yarn of our day's doings into a pattern either good or ill; it +renews the vigor of the living, and with the lapsing of the tide it draws +the dying toward night's impenetrable depths, gently; and it honors the +secrecy of lovers as zealously as that of rogues. In the morning our +bodies rise to their allotted work; but our wits have had their season in +the night, or of kissing, or of junketing, or of high resolve; and the +greater part of such noble deeds as day witnesses have been planned in +the solitude of night. It is the sage counsellor, the potent physician +that heals and comforts the sorrows of all the world: and night proved +such to me, as I pondered on the proud race of Allonby, and knew that in +the general record of time my name must soon be set as a sonorous word +significant, as the cat might jump, for much good or for large evil. + +And Adeliza loved me, and had bidden me be bold! I may not write of what +my thoughts were as I considered that stupendous miracle. + +But even the lark that daily soars into the naked presence of the sun +must seek his woven nest among the grass at twilight; and so, with many +yawns, I rose after an hour of dreams to look for sleep. Tiverton Manor +was a formless blot on the mild radiance of the heavens, but I must needs +pause for a while, gazing up at the Lady Adeliza's window, like a hen +drinking water, and thinking of divers matters. + +It was then that something rustled among the leaves, and, turning, I +stared into the countenance of Stephen Allonby, until to-day Marquis of +Falmouth, a slim, comely youth, and son to my father's younger brother. + +"Fool," said he, "you walk late." + +"Faith!" said I, "instinct warned me that a fool might find fit company +here,--dear cousin." He frowned at the word, for he was never prone to +admit the relationship, being in disposition somewhat precise. + +"Eh?" said he; then paused for a while. "I have more kinsmen than I knew +of," he resumed, at length, "and to-day spawns them thick as herrings. +Your greeting falls strangely pat with that of a brother of yours, +alleged to be begot in lawful matrimony, who hath appeared to claim the +title and estates, and hath even imposed upon the credulity of Monsieur +de Puysange." + +I said, "And who is this new kinsman?" though his speaking had brought my +heart into my mouth. "I have many brethren, if report speak truly as to +how little my poor father slept at night." + +"I do not know," said he. "The vicomte had not told me more than half the +tale when I called him a double-faced old rogue. Thereafter we +parted--well, rather hastily!" + +I was moved with a sort of pity, since it was plainer than a pike-staff +that Monsieur de Puysange had bundled this penniless young fellow out of +Tiverton, with scant courtesy and a scantier explanation. Still, the +wording of this sympathy was a ticklish business. I waved my hand upward. +"The match, then, is broken off, between you and the Lady Adeliza?" + +"Ay!" my cousin said, grimly. + +Again I was nonplussed. Since their betrothal was an affair of rank +conveniency, my Cousin Stephen should, in reason, grieve at this +miscarriage temperately, and yet if by some awkward chance he, too, +adored the delicate comeliness asleep above us, equity conceded his taste +to be unfortunate rather than remarkable. Inwardly I resolved to bestow +upon my Cousin Stephen a competence, and to pick out for him somewhere a +wife better suited to his station. Meanwhile a silence fell. + +He cleared his throat; swore softly to himself; took a brief turn on the +grass; and approached me, purse in hand. "It is time you were abed," said +my cousin. + +I assented to this. "And since one may sleep anywhere," I reasoned, "why +not here?" Thereupon, for I was somewhat puzzled at his bearing, I lay +down upon the gravel and snored. + +"Fool," he said. I opened one eye. "I have business here"--I opened +the other--"with the Lady Adeliza." He tossed me a coin as I sprang +to my feet. + +"Sir--!" I cried out. + +"Ho, she expects me." + +"In that case--" said I. + +"The difficulty is to give a signal." + +"'Tis as easy as lying," I reassured him; and thereupon I began to sing. + +Sang I: + +_"Such toll we took of his niggling hours +That the troops of Time were sent +To seise the treasures and fell the towers +Of the Castle of Content. + +"Ei ho! Ei ho! the Castle of Content, +With flaming tower and tumbling battlement +Where Time hath conquered, and the firelight streams +Above sore-wounded Loves and dying Dreams,-- +Ei ho! the vanished Castle of Content!"_ + +And I had scarcely ended when the casement opened. + +"Stephen!" said the Lady Adeliza. + +"Dear love!" said he. + +"Humph!" said I. + +Here a rope-ladder unrolled from the balcony and hit me upon the head. + +"Regard the orchard for a moment," the Lady Adeliza said, with the +wonderfullest little laugh. + +My cousin indignantly protested, "I have company,--a burr that +sticks to me." + +"A fool," I explained,--"to keep him in countenance." + +"It was ever the part of folly," said she, laughing yet again, "to be +swayed by a woman; and it is the part of wisdom to be discreet. In any +event, there must be no spectators." + +So we two Allonbys held each a strand of the ladder and stared at the +ripening apples, black globes among the wind-vext silver of the leaves. +In a moment the Lady Adeliza stood between us. Her hand rested upon mine +as she leapt to the ground,--the tiniest velvet-soft ounce-weight that +ever set a man's blood a-tingle. + +"I did not know--" said she. + +"Faith, madonna!" said I, "no more did I till this. I deduce but now that +the Marquis of Falmouth is the person you discoursed of an hour since, +with whom you hope to enter the Castle of Content." + +"Ah, Will! dear Will, do not think lightly of me," she said. "My +father--" + +"Is as all of them have been since Father Adam's dotage," I ended; "and +therefore is keeping fools and honest horses from their rest." + +My cousin said, angrily, "You have been spying!" + +"Because I know that there are horses yonder?" said I. "And fools +here--and everywhere? Surely, there needs no argent-bearded Merlin come +yawning out of Brocheliaunde to inform us of that." + +He said, "You will be secret?" + +"In comparison," I answered, "the grave is garrulous, and a death's-head +a chattering magpie; yet I think that your maid, madonna,--" + +"Beatris is sworn to silence." + +"Which signifies she is already on her way to Monsieur de Puysange. She +was coerced; she discovered it too late; and a sufficiency of tears and +pious protestations will attest her innocence. It is all one." I winked +an eye very sagely. + +"Your jesting is tedious," my cousin said. "Come, Adeliza!" + +Blaise, my lord marquis' French servant, held three horses in the +shadow, so close that it was incredible I had not heard their trampling. +Now the lovers mounted and were off like thistledown ere Blaise put foot +to stirrup. + +"Blaise," said I. + +"Ohé!" said he, pausing. + +"--if, upon this pleasurable occasion, I were to borrow your horse--" + +"Impossible!" + +"If I were to take it by force--" I exhibited my coin. + +"Eh?" + +"--no one could blame you." + +"And yet perhaps--" + +"The deduction is illogical," said I. And pushing him aside, I mounted +and set out into the night after my cousin and the Lady Adeliza. + + +4. _All Ends in a Puff of Smoke_ + +They rode leisurely enough along the winding highway that lay in the +moonlight like a white ribbon in a pedlar's box; and staying as I did +some hundred yards behind, they thought me no other than Blaise, being, +indeed, too much engrossed with each other to regard the outer world very +strictly. So we rode a matter of three miles in the whispering, moonlit +woods, they prattling and laughing as though there were no such monster +in all the universe as a thrifty-minded father, and I brooding upon many +things beside my marquisate, and keeping an ear cocked backward for +possible pursuit. + +In any ordinary falling out of affairs they would ride unhindered to +Teignmouth, and thence to Allonby Shaw; they counted fully upon doing +this; but I, knowing Beatris, who was waiting-maid to the Lady Adeliza, +and consequently in the plot, to be the devil's own vixen, despite an +innocent face and a wheedling tongue, was less certain. + +I shall not easily forget that riding away from the old vicomte's +preparations to make a match of it between Adeliza and me. About us the +woods sighed and whispered, dappled by the moonlight with unstable +chequerings of blue and silver. Tightly he clung to my crupper, that +swart tireless horseman, Care; but ahead rode Love, anterior to all +things and yet eternally young, in quest of the Castle of Content. The +horses' hoofs beat against the pebbles as if in chorus to the Devon +cradle-song that rang idly in my brain. 'Twas little to me--now--whether +the quest were won or lost; yet, as I watched the Lady Adeliza's white +cloak tossing and fluttering in the wind, my blood pulsed more strongly +than it is wont to do, and was stirred by the keen odors of the night and +by many memories of her gracious kindliness and by a desire to serve +somewhat toward the attainment of her happiness. Thus it was that my +teeth clenched, and a dog howled in the distance, and the world seemed +very old and very incurious of our mortal woes and joys. + +Then that befell which I had looked for, and I heard the clatter of +horses' hoofs behind us, and knew that Monsieur de Puysange and his men +were at hand to rescue the Lady Adeliza from my fine-looking young +cousin, to put her into the bed of a rich fool. So I essayed a gallop. + +"Spur!" I cried;--"in the name of Saint Cupid!" + +With a little gasp, she bent forward over her horse's mane, urging him +onward with every nerve and muscle of her tender body. I could not keep +my gaze from her as we swept through the night. Picture Europa in her +traverse, bull-borne, through the summer sea, the depths giving up their +misshapen deities, and the blind sea-snakes writhing about her in hideous +homage, while she, a little frightened, thinks resolutely of Crete beyond +these unaccustomed horrors and of the god desirous of her contentation; +and there, to an eyelash, you have Adeliza as I saw her. + +But steadily our pursuers gained on us: and as we paused to pick our way +over the frail bridge that spanned the Exe, their clamor was very near. + +"Take care!" I cried,--but too late, for my horse swerved under me as I +spoke, and my lord marquis' steed caught foot in a pile of lumber and +fell heavily. He was up in a moment, unhurt, but the horse was lamed. + +"You!" cried my Cousin Stephen. "Oh, but what fiend sends me this +burr again!" + +I said: "My fellow-madmen, it is all one if I have a taste for +night-riding and the shedding of noble blood. Alack, though, that I have +left my brave bauble at Tiverton! Had I that here, I might do such deeds! +I might show such prowess upon the person of Monsieur de Puysange as +your Nine Worthies would quake to hear of! For I have the honor to inform +you, my doves, that we are captured." + +Indeed, we were in train to be, for even the two sound horses were +well-nigh foundered: Blaise, the idle rogue, had not troubled to provide +fresh steeds, so easy had the flitting seemed; and it was conspicuous +that we would be overtaken in half an hour. + +"So it seems," said Stephen Allonby. "Well! one can die but once." Thus +speaking, he drew his sword with an air which might have been envied by +Captain Leonidas at Thermopylae. + +"Together, my heart!" she cried. + +"Madonna," said I, dismounting as I spoke, "pray you consider! With +neither of you, is there any question of death; 'tis but that Monsieur de +Puysange desires you to make a suitable match. It is not yet too late; +his heart is kindly so long as he gets his will and profit everywhere, +and he bears no malice toward my lord marquis. Yield, then, to your +father's wishes, since there is no choice." + +She stared at me, as thanks for this sensible advice. "And you--is it you +that would enter into the Castle of Content?" she cried, with a scorn +that lashed. + +I said: "Madonna, bethink you, you know naught of this man your father +desires you to wed. Is it not possible that he, too, may love--or may +learn to love you, on provocation? You are very fair, madonna. Yours is a +beauty that may draw a man to Heaven or unclose the gates of Hell, at +will; indeed, even I, in my poor dreams, have seen your face as bright +and glorious as is the lighted space above the altar when Christ's blood +and body are shared among His worshippers. Men certainly will never cease +to love you. Will he--your husband that may be--prove less susceptible, +we will say, than I? Ah, but, madonna, let us unrein imagination! +Suppose, were it possible, that he--even now--yearns to enter into the +Castle of Content, and that your hand, your hand alone, may draw the bolt +for him,--that the thought of you is to him as a flame before which honor +and faith shrivel as shed feathers, and that he has loved you these many +years, unknown to you, long, long before the Marquis of Falmouth came +into your life with his fair face and smooth sayings. Suppose, were it +possible, that he now stood before you, every pulse and fibre of him +racked with an intolerable ecstasy of loving you, his heart one vast +hunger for you, Adeliza, and his voice shaking as my voice shakes, and +his hands trembling as my hands tremble,--ah, see how they tremble, +madonna, the poor foolish hands! Suppose, were it possible,--" + +"Fool! O treacherous fool!" my cousin cried, in a fine rage. + +She rested her finger-tips upon his arm. "Hush!" she bade him; then +turned to me an uncertain countenance that was half pity, half wonder. +"Dear Will," said she, "if you have ever known aught of love, do you not +understand how I love Stephen here?" + +But she did not any longer speak as a lord's daughter speaks to the fool +that makes mirth for his betters. + +"In that case," said I,--and my voice played tricks,--"in that case, may +I request that you assist me in gathering such brushwood as we may find +hereabout?" + +They both stared at me now. "My lord," I said, "the Exe is high, the +bridge is of wood, and I have flint and steel in my pocket. The ford is +five miles above and quite impassable. Do you understand me, my lord?" + +He clapped his hands. "Oh, excellent!" he cried. + +Then, each having caught my drift, we heaped up a pile of broken boughs +and twigs and brushwood on the bridge, all three gathering it together. +And I wondered if the moon, that is co-partner in the antics of most +rogues and lovers, had often beheld a sight more reasonless than the +foregathering of a marquis, a peer's daughter, and a fool at dead of +night to make fagots. + +When we had done I handed him the flint and steel. "My lord," said I, +"the honor is yours." + +"Udsfoot!" he murmured, in a moment, swearing and striking futile sparks, +"but the late rain has so wet the wood that it will not kindle." + +I said, "Assuredly, in such matters a fool is indispensable." I heaped +before him the papers that made an honest woman of my mother and a +marquis of me, and seizing the flint, I cast a spark among them that set +them crackling cheerily. Oh, I knew well enough that patience would coax +a flame from those twigs without my paper's aid, but to be patient does +not afford the posturing which youth loves. So it was a comfort to wreck +all magnificently: and I knew that, too, as we three drew back upon the +western bank and watched the writhing twigs splutter and snap and burn. + +The bridge caught apace and in five minutes afforded passage to nothing +short of the ardent equipage of the prophet Elias. Five minutes later the +bridge did not exist: only the stone arches towered above the roaring +waters that glistened in the light of the fire, which had, by this, +reached the other side of the river, to find quick employment in the +woods of Tiverton. Our pursuers rode through a glare which was that of +Hell's kitchen on baking-day, and so reached the Exe only to curse vainly +and to shriek idle imprecations at us, who were as immune from their +anger as though the severing river had been Pyriphlegethon. + +"My lord," I presently suggested, "it may be that your priest +expects you?" + +"Indeed," said he, laughing, "it is possible. Let us go." Thereupon they +mounted the two sound horses. "Most useful burr," said he, "do you follow +on foot to Teignmouth; and there--" + +"Sir," I replied, "my home is at Tiverton." + +He wheeled about. "Do you not fear--?" + +"The whip?" said I. "Ah, my lord, I have been whipped ere this. It is +not the greatest ill in life to be whipped." + +He began to protest. + +"But, indeed, I am resolved," said I. "Farewell!" + +He tossed me his purse. "As you will," he retorted, shortly. "We thank +you for your aid; and if I am still master of Allonby--" + +"No fear of that!" I said. "Farewell, good cousin marquis! I cannot weep +at your going, since it brings you happiness. And we have it on excellent +authority that the laughter of fools is as the crackling of thorns under +a pot. Accordingly, I bid you God-speed in a discreet silence." + +I stood fumbling my cousin's gold as he went forward into the night; but +she did not follow. + +"I am sorry--" she began. She paused and the lithe fingers fretted with +her horse's mane. + +I said: "Madonna, earlier in this crowded night, you told me of love's +nature: must my halting commentary prove the glose upon your text? Look, +then, to be edified while the fool is delivered of his folly. For upon +the maternal side, love was born of the ocean, madonna, and the ocean is +but salt water, and salt water is but tears; and thus may love claim +love's authentic kin with sorrow. Ay, certainly, madonna, Fate hath +ordained for her diversion that through sorrow alone we lovers may attain +to the true Castle of Content." + +There was a long silence, and the wind wailed among the falling, +tattered leaves. "Had I but known--" said Adeliza, very sadly. + +I said: "Madonna, go forward and God speed you! Yonder your lover waits +for you, and the world is exceedingly fair; here is only a fool. As for +this new Marquis of Falmouth, let him trouble you no longer. 'Tis an +Eastern superstition that we lackbrains are endowed with peculiar gifts +of prophecy: and as such, I predict, very confidently, madonna, that you +will see and hear no more of him in this life." + +I caught my breath. In the moonlight she seemed God's master-work. Her +eyes were big with half-comprehended sorrow, and a slender hand stole +timorously toward me. I laughed, seeing how she strove to pity my great +sorrow and could not, by reason of her great happiness. I laughed and was +content. "As surely as God reigns in Heaven," I cried aloud, "I am +content, and this moment is well purchased with a marquisate!" + +Indeed, I was vastly uplift and vastly pleased with my own nobleness, +just then, and that condition is always a comfort. + +More alertly she regarded me; and in her eyes I saw the anxiety and the +wonder merge now into illimitable pity. "That, too!" she said, smiling +sadly. "That, too, O son of Thomas Allonby!" And her mothering arms were +clasped about me, and her lips clung and were one with my lips for a +moment, and her tears were wet upon my cheek. She seemed to shield me, +making of her breast my sanctuary. + +"My dear, my dear, I am not worthy!" said Adeliza, with a tenderness I +cannot tell you of; and presently she, too, was gone. + +I mounted the lamed horse, who limped slowly up the river bank; very +slowly we came out from the glare of the crackling fire into the cool +darkness of the autumn woods; very slowly, for the horse was lamed and +wearied, and patience is a discreet virtue when one journeys toward +curses and the lash of a dog-whip: and I thought of many quips and jests +whereby to soothe the anger of Monsieur de Puysange, and I sang to myself +as I rode through the woods, a nobleman no longer, a tired Jack-pudding +whose tongue must save his hide. + +Sang I: + +_"The towers are fallen; no laughter rings +Through the rafters, charred and rent; +The ruin is wrought of all goodly things +In the Castle of Content. + +"Ei ho! Ei ho! the Castle of Content, +Rased in the Land of Youth, where mirth was meant! +Nay, all is ashes 'there; and all in vain +Hand-shadowed eyes turn backward, to regain +Disastrous memories of that dear domain,-- +Ei ho! the vanished Castle of Content!"_ + + * * * * * + +MAY 27, 1559 + +_"'O welladay!' said Beichan then, +'That I so soon have married thee! +For it can be none but Susie Pie, +That sailed the sea for love of me.'"_ + + +_How Will Sommers encountered the Marchioness of Falmouth in the +Cardinal's house at Whitehall, and how in Windsor Forest that noble lady +died with the fool's arms about her, does not concern us here. That is +matter for another tale. + +You are not, though, to imagine any scandal. Barring an affair with Sir +Henry Rochford, and another with Lord Norreys, and the brief interval in +1525 when the King was enamored of her, there is no record that the +marchioness ever wavered from the choice her heart had made, or had any +especial reason to regret it. + +So she lived and died, more virtuously and happily than most, and found +the marquis a fair husband, as husbands go; and bore him three sons and +a daughter. + +But when the ninth Marquis of Falmouth died long after his wife, in the +November of 1557, he was survived by only one of these sons, a junior +Stephen, born in 1530, who at his father's demise succeeded to the title. +The oldest son, Thomas, born 1531, had been killed in Wyatt's Rebellion +in 1554; the second, George, born 1526, with a marked look of the King, +was, in February, 1556, stabbed in a disreputable tavern brawl. + +Now we have to do with the tenth Marquis of Falmouth's suit for the hand +of Lady Ursula Heleigh, the Earl of Brudenel's co-heiress. You are to +imagine yourself at Longaville Court, in Sussex, at a time when Anne +Bullen's daughter was very recently become Queen of England._ + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +_The Episode Called In Ursula's Garden_ + + +1. Love, and Love's Mimic + +Her three lovers had praised her with many canzonets and sonnets on that +May morning as they sat in the rose-garden at Longaville, and the +sun-steeped leaves made a tempered aromatic shade about them. Afterward +they had drawn grass-blades to decide who should accompany the Lady +Ursula to the summer pavilion, that she might fetch her viol and sing +them a song of love, and in the sylvan lottery chance had favored the +Earl of Pevensey. + +Left to themselves, the Marquis of Falmouth and Master Richard Mervale +regarded each the other, irresolutely, like strange curs uncertain +whether to fraternize or to fly at one another's throat. Then Master +Mervale lay down in the young grass, stretched himself, twirled his thin +black mustachios, and chuckled in luxurious content. + +"Decidedly," said he, "your lordship is past master in the art of +wooing; no university in the world would refuse you a degree." + +The marquis frowned. He was a great bluff man, with wheat-colored hair, +and was somewhat slow-witted. After a little he found the quizzical, +boyish face that mocked him irresistible, and he laughed, and unbent from +the dignified reserve which he had for a while maintained portentously. + +"Master Mervale," said the marquis, "I will be frank with you, for you +appear a lad of good intelligence, as lads run, and barring a trifle of +affectation and a certain squeamishness in speech. When I would go +exploring into a woman's heart, I must pay my way in the land's current +coinage of compliments and high-pitched protestations. Yes, yes, such +sixpenny phrases suffice the seasoned traveler, who does not +ostentatiously display his gems while traveling. Now, in courtship, +Master Mervale, one traverses ground more dubious than the Indies, and +the truth, Master Mervale, is a jewel of great price." + +Master Mervale raised his eyebrows. "The truth?" he queried, gently. "Now +how, I wonder, did your lordship happen to think of that remote +abstraction." For beyond doubt, Lord Falmouth's wooing had been that +morning of a rather florid sort. + +However, "It would surely be indelicate," the marquis suggested, "to +allow even truth to appear quite unclothed in the presence of a lady?" He +smiled and took a short turn on the grass. "Look you, Master Mervale," +said he, narrowing his pale-blue eyes to slits, "I have, somehow, a +disposition to confidence come upon me. Frankly, my passion for the Lady +Ursula burns more mildly than that which Antony bore the Egyptian; it is +less a fire to consume kingdoms than a candle wherewith to light a +contented home; and quite frankly, I mean to have her. The estates lie +convenient, the families are of equal rank, her father is agreed, and she +has a sufficiency of beauty; there are, in short, no obstacles to our +union save you and my lord of Pevensey, and these, I confess, I do not +fear. I can wait, Master Mervale. Oh, I am patient, Master Mervale, but, +I own, I cannot brook denial. It is I, or no one. By Saint Gregory! I +wear steel at my side, Master Mervale, that will serve for other purposes +save that of opening oysters!" So he blustered in the spring sunlight, +and frowned darkly when Master Mervale appeared the more amused than +impressed. + +"Your patience shames Job the Patriarch," said Master Mervale, "yet, it +seems to me, my lord, you do not consider one thing. I grant you that +Pevensey and I are your equals neither in estate nor reputation; still, +setting modesty aside, is it not possible the Lady Ursula may come, in +time, to love one of us?" + +"Setting common sense aside," said the marquis, stiffly, "it is possible +she may be smitten with the smallpox. Let us hope, however, that she may +escape both of these misfortunes." + +The younger man refrained from speech for a while. Presently, "You liken +love to a plague," he said, "yet I have heard there was once a cousin of +the Lady Ursula's--a Mistress Katherine Beaufort--" + +"Swounds!" Lord Falmouth had wheeled about, scowled, and then tapped +sharply upon the palm of one hand with the nail-bitten fingers of the +other. "Ay," said he, more slowly, "there was such a person." + +"She loved you?" Master Mervale suggested. + +"God help me!" replied the marquis; "we loved each other! I know not how +you came by your information, nor do I ask. Yet, it is ill to open an old +wound. I loved her; let that suffice." With a set face, he turned away +for a moment and gazed toward the high parapets of Longaville, +half-hidden by pale foliage and very white against the rain-washed sky; +then groaned, and glared angrily into the lad's upturned countenance. +"You talk of love," said the marquis; "a love compounded equally of +youthful imagination, a liking for fantastic phrases and a disposition +for caterwauling i' the moonlight. Ah, lad, lad!--if you but knew! That +is not love; to love is to go mad like a star-struck moth, and afterward +to strive in vain to forget, and to eat one's heart out in the +loneliness, and to hunger--hunger--" The marquis spread his big hands +helplessly, and then, with a quick, impatient gesture, swept back the +mass of wheat-colored hair that fell about his face. "Ah, Master +Mervale," he sighed, "I was right after all,--it is the cruelest plague +in the world, and that same smallpox leaves less troubling scars." + +"Yet," Master Mervale said, with courteous interest, "you did not marry?" + +"Marry!" His lordship snarled toward the sun and laughed. "Look you, +Master Mervale, I know not how far y'are acquainted with the business. It +was in Cornwall yonder years since; I was but a lad, and she a +wench,--Oh, such a wench, with tender blue eyes, and a faint, sweet voice +that could deny me nothing! God does not fashion her like every +day,--_Dieu qui la fist de ses deux mains_, saith the Frenchman." The +marquis paced the grass, gnawing his lip and debating with himself. +"Marry? Her family was good, but their deserts outranked their fortunes; +their crest was not the topmost feather in Fortune's cap, you understand; +somewhat sunken i' the world, Master Mervale, somewhat sunken. And I? My +father--God rest his bones!--was a cold, hard man, and my two elder +brothers--Holy Virgin, pray for them!--loved me none too well. I was the +cadet then: Heaven helps them that help themselves, says my father, and I +ha'n't a penny for you. My way was yet to make in the world; to saddle +myself with a dowerless wench--even a wench whose least 'Good-morning' +set a man's heart hammering at his ribs--would have been folly, Master +Mervale. Utter, improvident, shiftless, bedlamite folly, lad!" + +"H'm!" Master Mervale cleared his throat, twirled his mustachios, and +smiled at some unspoken thought. "We pay for our follies in this +world, my lord, but I sometimes think that we pay even more dearly for +our wisdom." + +"Ah, lad, lad!" the marquis cried, in a gust of anger; "I dare say, as +your smirking hints, it was a coward's act not to snap fingers at fate +and fathers and dare all! Well! I did not dare. We parted--in what +lamentable fashion is now of little import--and I set forth to seek my +fortune. Ho, it was a brave world then, Master Mervale, for all the tears +that were scarce dried on my cheeks! A world wherein the heavens were as +blue as a certain woman's eyes,--a world wherein a likely lad might see +far countries, waggle a good sword in Babylon and Tripolis and other +ultimate kingdoms, beard the Mussulman in his mosque, and at last fetch +home--though he might never love her, you understand--a soldan's daughter +for his wife,-- + +_With more gay gold about her middle +Than would buy half Northumberlee."_ + +His voice died away. He sighed and shrugged. "Eh, well!" said the +marquis; "I fought in Flanders somewhat--in Spain--what matter where? +Then, at last, sickened in Amsterdam, three years ago, where a messenger +comes to haul me out of bed as future Marquis of Falmouth. One brother +slain in a duel, Master Mervale; one killed in Wyatt's Rebellion; my +father dying, and--Heaven rest his soul!--not over-eager to meet his +Maker. There you have it, Master Mervale,--a right pleasant jest of +Fortune's perpetration,--I a marquis, my own master, fit mate for any +woman in the kingdom, and Kate--my Kate who was past human +praising!--vanished." + +"Vanished?" The lad echoed the word, with wide eyes. + +"Vanished in the night, and no sign nor rumor of her since! Gone to seek +me abroad, no doubt, poor wench! Dead, dead, beyond question, Master +Mervale!" The marquis swallowed, and rubbed his lips with the back of his +hand. "Ah, well!" said he; "it is an old sorrow!" + +The male animal shaken by strong emotion is to his brothers an +embarrassing rather than a pathetic sight. Master Mervale, lowering his +eyes discreetly, rooted up several tufts of grass before he spoke. Then, +"My lord, you have known of love," said he, very slowly; "does there +survive no kindliness for aspiring lovers in you who have been one of us? +My lord of Pevensey, I think, loves the Lady Ursula, at least, as much as +you ever loved this Mistress Katherine; of my own adoration I do not +speak, save to say that I have sworn never to marry any other woman. Her +father favors you, for you are a match in a thousand; but you do not love +her. It matters little to you, my lord, whom she may wed; to us it +signifies a life's happiness. Will not the memory of that Cornish +lass--the memory of moonlit nights, and of those sweet, vain aspirations +and foiled day-dreams that in boyhood waked your blood even to such +brave folly as now possesses us,--will not the memory of these things +soften you, my lord?" + +But Falmouth by this time appeared half regretful of his recent outburst, +and somewhat inclined to regard his companion as a dangerously plausible +young fellow who had very unwarrantably wormed himself into Lord +Falmouth's confidence. Falmouth's heavy jaw shut like a trap. + +"By Saint Gregory!" said he; "if ever such notions soften me at all, I +pray to be in hell entirely melted! What I have told you of is past, +Master Mervale; and a wise man does not meditate unthriftily upon +spilt milk." + +"You are adamant?" sighed the boy. + +"The nether millstone," said the marquis, smiling grimly, "is in +comparison a pillow of down." + +"Yet--yet the milk was sweet, my lord?" the boy suggested, with a faint +answering smile. + +"Sweet!" The marquis' voice had a deep tremor. + +"And if the choice lay between Ursula and Katherine?" + +"Oh, fool!--Oh, pink-cheeked, utter ignorant fool!" the marquis groaned. +"Did I not say you knew nothing of love?" + +"Heigho!" Master Mervale put aside all glum-faced discussion, with a +little yawn, and sprang to his feet. "Then we can but hope that +somewhere, somehow, Mistress Katherine yet lives and in her own good time +may reappear. And while we speak of reappearances--surely the Lady Ursula +is strangely tardy in making hers?" + +The marquis' jealousy when it slumbered slept with an open ear. "Let us +join them," he said, shortly, and he started through the gardens with +quick, stiff strides. + + +2. _Song-guerdon_ + +They went westward toward the summer pavilion. Presently the marquis +blundered into the green gloom of the maze, laid out in the Italian +fashion, and was extricated only by the superior knowledge of Master +Mervale, who guided Falmouth skilfully and surely through manifold +intricacies, to open daylight. + +Afterward they came to a close-shaven lawn, where the summer pavilion +stood beside the brook that widened here into an artificial pond, spread +with lily-pads and fringed with rushes. The Lady Ursula sat with the Earl +of Pevensey beneath a burgeoning maple-tree. Such rays as sifted through +into their cool retreat lay like splotches of wine upon the ground, and +there the taller grass-blades turned to needles of thin silver; one +palpitating beam, more daring than the rest, slanted straight toward the +little head of the Lady Ursula, converting her hair into a halo of misty +gold, that appeared out of place in this particular position. She seemed +a Bassarid who had somehow fallen heir to an aureole; for otherwise, to +phrase it sedately, there was about her no clamant suggestion of +saintship. At least, there is no record of any saint in the calendar who +ever looked with laughing gray-green eyes upon her lover and mocked at +the fervor and trepidation of his speech. This the Lady Ursula now did; +and, manifestly, enjoyed the doing of it. + +Within the moment the Earl of Pevensey took up the viol that lay beside +them, and sang to her in the clear morning. He was sunbrowned and very +comely, and his big, black eyes were tender as he sang to her sitting +there in the shade. He himself sat at her feet in the sunlight. + +Sang the Earl of Pevensey: + +_"Ursula, spring wakes about us-- +Wakes to mock at us and flout us +That so coldly do delay: +When the very birds are mating, +Pray you, why should we be waiting-- +We that might be wed to-day! + +"'Life is short,' the wise men tell us;-- +Even those dusty, musty fellows +That have done with life,--and pass +Where the wraith of Aristotle +Hankers, vainly, for a bottle, +Youth and some frank Grecian lass._ + +"Ah, I warrant you;--and Zeno +Would not reason, now, could he know +One more chance to live and love: +For, at best, the merry May-time +Is a very fleeting play-time;-- +Why, then, waste an hour thereof? + +"Plato, Solon, Periander, +Seneca, Anaximander, +Pyrrho, and Parmenides! +Were one hour alone remaining +Would ye spend it in attaining +Learning, or to lips like these? + +"Thus, I demonstrate by reason +Now is our predestined season +For the garnering of all bliss; +Prudence is but long-faced folly; +Cry a fig for melancholy! +Seal the bargain with a kiss"_ + +When he had ended, the Earl of Pevensey laughed and looked up into the +Lady Ursula's face with a long, hungry gaze; and the Lady Ursula laughed +likewise and spoke kindly to him, though the distance was too great for +the eavesdroppers to overhear. Then, after a little, the Lady Ursula bent +forward, out of the shade of the maple into the sun, so that the sunlight +fell upon her golden head and glowed in the depths of her hair, as she +kissed Pevensey, tenderly and without haste, full upon the lips. + + +3. _Falmouth Furens_ + +The Marquis of Falmouth caught Master Mervale's arm in a grip that made +the boy wince. Lord Falmouth's look was murderous, as he turned in the +shadow of a white-lilac bush and spoke carefully through sharp breaths +that shook his great body. + +"There are," said he, "certain matters I must immediately discuss with my +lord of Pevensey. I desire you, Master Mervale, to fetch him to the spot +where we parted last, so that we may talk over these matters quietly and +undisturbed. For else--go, lad, and fetch him!" + +For a moment the boy faced the half-shut pale eyes that were like coals +smouldering behind a veil of gray ash. Then he shrugged his shoulders, +sauntered forward, and doffed his hat to the Lady Ursula. There followed +much laughter among the three, many explanations from Master Mervale, +and yet more laughter from the lady and the earl. The marquis ground his +big, white teeth as he listened, and he appeared to disapprove of so +much mirth. + +"Foh, the hyenas! the apes, the vile magpies!" the marquis observed. He +heaved a sigh of relief, as the Earl of Pevensey, raising his hands +lightly toward heaven, laughed once more, and departed into the +thicket. Lord Falmouth laughed in turn, though not very pleasantly. +Afterward he loosened his sword in the scabbard and wheeled back to seek +their rendezvous in the shadowed place where they had made sonnets to +the Lady Ursula. + +For some ten minutes the marquis strode proudly through the maze, +pondering, by the look of him, on the more fatal tricks of fencing. In a +quarter of an hour he was lost in a wilderness of trim yew-hedges which +confronted him stiffly at every outlet and branched off into innumerable +gravelled alleys that led nowhither. + +"Swounds!" said the marquis. He retraced his steps impatiently. He cast +his hat upon the ground in seething desperation. He turned in a different +direction, and in two minutes trod upon his discarded head-gear. + +"Holy Gregory!" the marquis commented. He meditated for a moment, then +caught up his sword close to his side and plunged into the nearest +hedge. After a little he came out, with a scratched face and a scant +breath, into another alley. As the crow flies, he went through the maze +of Longaville, leaving in his rear desolation and snapped yew-twigs. He +came out of the ruin behind the white-lilac bush, where he had stood and +had heard the Earl of Pevensey sing to the Lady Ursula, and had seen +what followed. + +The marquis wiped his brow. He looked out over the lawn and breathed +heavily. The Lady Ursula still sat beneath the maple, and beside her was +Master Mervale, whose arm girdled her waist. Her arm was about his neck, +and she listened as he talked eagerly with many gestures. Then they both +laughed and kissed each other. + +"Oh, defend me!" groaned the marquis. Once more he wiped his brow, as he +crouched behind the white-lilac bush. "Why, the woman is a second +Messalina!" he said. "Oh, the trollop! the wanton! Oh, holy Gregory! Yet +I must be quiet--quiet as a sucking lamb, that I may strike afterward as +a roaring lion. Is this your innocence, Mistress Ursula, that cannot +endure the spoken name of a spade? Oh, splendor of God!" + +Thus he raged behind the white-lilac bush while they laughed and kissed +under the maple-tree. After a space they parted. The Lady Ursula, still +laughing, lifted the branches of the rearward thicket and disappeared +in the path which the Earl of Pevensey had taken. Master Mervale, +kissing his hand and laughing yet more loudly, lounged toward the +entrance of the maze. + +The jackanapes (as anybody could see), was in a mood to be pleased with +himself. Smiles eddied about the boy's face, his heels skipped, +disdaining the honest grass; and presently he broke into a glad little +song, all trills and shakes, like that of a bird ecstasizing over the +perfections of his mate. + +Sang Master Mervale: + +_"Listen, all lovers! the spring is here +And the world is not amiss; +As long as laughter is good to hear, +And lips are good to kiss, +As long as Youth and Spring endure, +There is never an evil past a cure +And the world is never amiss. + +"O lovers all, I bid ye declare +The world is a pleasant place;-- +Give thanks to God for the gift so fair, +Give thanks for His singular grace! +Give thanks for Youth and Love and Spring! +Give thanks, as gentlefolk should, and sing, +'The world is a pleasant place!'"_ + +In mid-skip Master Mervale here desisted, his voice trailing into +inarticulate vowels. After many angry throes, a white-lilac bush had been +delivered of the Marquis of Falmouth, who now confronted Master Mervale, +furiously moved. + + +4. _Love Rises from un-Cytherean Waters_ + +"I have heard, Master Mervale," said the marquis, gently, "that love +is blind?" + +The boy stared at the white face, that had before his eyes veiled rage +with a crooked smile. So you may see the cat, tense for the fatal spring, +relax and with one paw indolently flip the mouse. + +"It is an ancient fable, my lord," the boy said, smiling, and made as +though to pass. + +"Indeed," said the marquis, courteously, but without yielding an inch, +"it is a very reassuring fable: for," he continued, meditatively, "were +the eyes of all lovers suddenly opened, Master Mervale, I suspect it +would prove a red hour for the world. There would be both tempers and +reputations lost, Master Mervale; there would be sword-thrusts; there +would be corpses, Master Mervale." + +"Doubtless, my lord," the lad assented, striving to jest and have done; +"for all flesh is frail, and as the flesh of woman is frailer than that +of man, so is it, as I remember to have read, the more easily entrapped +by the gross snares of the devil, as was over-well proved by the +serpent's beguiling deceit of Eve at the beginning." + +"Yet, Master Mervale," pursued the marquis, equably, but without smiling, +"there be lovers in the world that have eyes?" + +"Doubtless, my lord," said the boy. + +"There also be women in the world, Master Mervale," Lord Falmouth +suggested, with a deeper gravity, "that are but the handsome sepulchres +of iniquity,--ay, and for the major part of women, those miracles which +are their bodies, compact of white and gold and sprightly color though +they be, serve as the lovely cerements of corruption." + +"Doubtless, my lord. The devil, as they say, is homelier with that sex." + +"There also be swords in the world, Master Mervale?" purred the marquis. +He touched his own sword as he spoke. + +"My lord--!" the boy cried, with a gasp. + +"Now, swords have at least three uses, Master Mervale," Falmouth +continued. "With a sword one may pick a cork from a bottle; with a sword +one may toast cheese about the Twelfth Night fire; and with a sword one +may spit a man, Master Mervale,--ay, even an ambling, pink-faced, lisping +lad that cannot boo at a goose, Master Mervale. I have no inclination, +Master Mervale, just now, for either wine or toasted cheese." + +"I do not understand you, my lord," said the boy, in a thin voice. + +"Indeed, I think we understand each other perfectly," said the marquis. +"For I have been very frank with you, and I have watched you from behind +this bush." + +The boy raised his hand as though to speak. + +"Look you, Master Mervale," the marquis argued, "you and my lord of +Pevensey and I be brave fellows; we need a wide world to bustle in. Now, +the thought has come to me that this small planet of ours is scarcely +commodious enough for all three. There be purgatory and Heaven, and yet +another place, Master Mervale; why, then, crowd one another?" + +"My lord," said the boy, dully, "I do not understand you." + +"Holy Gregory!" scoffed the marquis; "surely my meaning is plain enough! +it is to kill you first, and my lord of Pevensey afterward! Y'are +phoenixes, Master Mervale, Arabian birds! Y'are too good for this world. +Longaville is not fit to be trodden under your feet; and therefore it is +my intention that you leave Longaville feet first. Draw, Master +Mervale!" cried the marquis, his light hair falling about his flushed, +handsome face as he laughed joyously, and flashed his sword in the +spring sunshine. + +The boy sprang back, with an inarticulate cry; then gulped some dignity +into himself and spoke. "My lord," he said, "I admit that explanation may +seem necessary." + +"You will render it, if to anybody, Master Mervale, to my heir, who will +doubtless accord it such credence as it merits. For my part, having two +duels on my hands to-day, I have no time to listen to a romance out of +the Hundred Merry Tales." + +Falmouth had placed himself on guard; but Master Mervale stood with +chattering teeth and irresolute, groping hands, and made no effort to +draw. "Oh, the block! the curd-faced cheat!" cried the marquis. "Will +nothing move you?" With his left hand he struck at the boy. + +Thereupon Master Mervale gasped, and turning with a great sob, ran +through the gardens. The marquis laughed discordantly; then he followed, +taking big leaps as he ran and flourishing his sword. + +"Oh, the coward!" he shouted; "Oh, the milk-livered rogue! Oh, you +paltry rabbit!" + +So they came to the bank of the artificial pond. Master Mervale swerved +as with an oath the marquis pounced at him. Master Mervale's foot caught +in the root of a great willow, and Master Mervale splashed into ten feet +of still water, that glistened like quicksilver in the sunlight. + +"Oh, Saint Gregory!" the marquis cried, and clasped his sides in noisy +mirth; "was there no other way to cool your courage? Paddle out and be +flogged, Master Hare-heels!" he called. The boy had come to the surface +and was swimming aimlessly, parallel to the bank. "Now I have heard," +said the marquis, as he walked beside him, "that water swells a man. Pray +Heaven, it may swell his heart a thousandfold or so, and thus hearten him +for wholesome exercise after his ducking--a friendly thrust or two, a +little judicious bloodletting to ward off the effects of the damp." + +The marquis started as Master Mervale grounded on a shallow and rose, +dripping, knee-deep among the lily-pads. "Oh, splendor of God!" cried +the marquis. + +Master Mervale had risen from his bath almost clean-shaven; only one +sodden half of his mustachios clung to his upper lip, and as he rubbed +the water from his eyes, this remaining half also fell away from the +boy's face. + +"Oh, splendor of God!" groaned the marquis. He splashed noisily into +the water. "O Kate, Kate!" he cried, his arms about Master Mervale. +"Oh, blind, blind, blind! O heart's dearest! Oh, my dear, my dear!" +he observed. + +Master Mervale slipped from his embrace and waded to dry land. "My +lord,--" he began, demurely. + +"My lady wife,--" said his lordship of Falmouth, with a tremulous smile. +He paused, and passed his hand over his brow. "And yet I do not +understand," he said. "Y'are dead; y'are buried. It was a frightened boy +I struck." He spread out his strong arms. "O world! O sun! O stars!" he +cried; "she is come back to me from the grave. O little world! small +shining planet! I think that I could crush you in my hands!" + +"Meanwhile," Master Mervale suggested, after an interval, "it is I that +you are crushing." He sighed,--though not very deeply,--and continued, +with a hiatus: "They would have wedded me to Lucius Rossmore, and I could +not--I could not--" + +"That skinflint! that palsied goat!" the marquis growled. + +"He was wealthy," said Master Mervale. Then he sighed once more. "There +seemed only you,--only you in all the world. A man might come to you in +those far-off countries: a woman might not. I fled by night, my lord, by +the aid of a waiting-woman; became a man by the aid of a tailor; and set +out to find you by the aid of such impudence as I might muster. But luck +did not travel with me. I followed you through Flanders, Italy, +Spain,--always just too late; always finding the bird flown, the nest yet +warm. Presently I heard you were become Marquis of Falmouth; then I gave +up the quest." + +"I would suggest," said the marquis, "that my name is Stephen;--but why, +in the devil's name, should you give up a quest so laudable?" + +"Stephen Allonby, my lord," said Master Mervale, sadly, "was not Marquis +of Falmouth; as Marquis of Falmouth, you might look to mate with any +woman short of the Queen." + +"To tell you a secret," the marquis whispered, "I look to mate with one +beside whom the Queen--not to speak treason--is but a lean-faced, yellow +piece of affectation. I aim higher than royalty, heart's +dearest,--aspiring to one beside whom empresses are but common hussies." + +"And Ursula?" asked Master Mervale, gently. + +"Holy Gregory!" cried the marquis, "I had forgot! Poor wench, poor wench! +I must withdraw my suit warily,--firmly, of course, yet very kindlily, +you understand, so as to grieve her no more than must be. Poor +wench!--well, after all," he hopefully suggested, "there is yet +Pevensey." + +"O Stephen! Stephen!" Master Mervale murmured; "Why, there was never any +other but Pevensey! For Ursula knows all,--knows there was never any +more manhood in Master Mervale's disposition than might be gummed on with +a play-actor's mustachios! Why, she is my cousin, Stephen,--my cousin and +good friend, to whom I came at once on reaching England, to find you, +favored by her father, pestering her with your suit, and the poor girl +well-nigh at her wits' end because she might not have Pevensey. So," said +Master Mervale, "we put our heads together, Stephen, as you observe." + +"Indeed," my lord of Falmouth said, "it would seem that you two wenches +have, between you, concocted a very pleasant comedy." + +"It was not all a comedy," sighed Master Mervale,--"not all a comedy, +Stephen, until to-day when you told Master Mervale the story of Katherine +Beaufort. For I did not know--I could not know--" + +"And now?" my lord of Falmouth queried. + +"H'm!" cried Master Mervale, and he tossed his head. "You are very +unreasonable in anger! you are a veritable Turk! you struck me!" + +The marquis rose, bowing low to his former adversary. "Master Mervale," +said the marquis, "I hereby tender you my unreserved apologies for the +affront I put upon you. I protest I was vastly mistaken in your +disposition and hold you as valorous a gentleman as was ever made by +barbers' tricks; and you are at liberty to bestow as many kisses and +caresses upon the Lady Ursula as you may elect, reserving, however, a +reasonable sufficiency for one that shall be nameless. Are we friends, +Master Mervale?" + +Master Mervale rested his head upon Lord Falmouth's shoulder, and sighed +happily. Master Mervale laughed,--a low and gentle laugh that was vibrant +with content. But Master Mervale said nothing, because there seemed to be +between these two, who were young in the world's recaptured youth, no +longer any need of idle speaking. + + * * * * * + +JUNE 1, 1593 + +_"She was the admirablest lady that ever lived: therefore, Master Doctor, +if you will do us that favor, as to let us see that peerless dame, we +should think ourselves much beholding unto you."_ + + +_There was a double wedding some two weeks later in the chapel at +Longaville: and each marriage appears to have been happy enough. + +The tenth Marquis of Falmouth had begotten sixteen children within +seventeen years, at the end of which period his wife unluckily died in +producing a final pledge of affection. This child, a daughter, survived, +and was christened Cynthia: of her you may hear later. + +Meanwhile the Earl and the Countess of Pevensey had propagated more +moderately; and Pevensey had played a larger part in public life than was +allotted to Falmouth, who did not shine at Court. Pevensey, indeed, has +his sizable niche in history: his Irish expeditions, in 1575, were once +notorious, as well as the circumstances of the earl's death in that year +at Triloch Lenoch. His more famous son, then a boy of eight, succeeded to +the title, and somewhat later, as the world knows, to the hazardous +position of chief favorite to Queen Elizabeth. + +"For Pevensey has the vision of a poet,"--thus Langard quotes the lonely +old Queen,--"and to balance it, such mathematics as add two and two +correctly, where you others smirk and assure me it sums up to whatever +the Queen prefers. I have need of Pevensey: in this parched little age +all England has need of Pevensey." + +That is as it may have been: at all events, it is with this Lord +Pevensey, at the height of his power, that we have now to do._ + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +_The Episode Called Porcelain Cups_ + + +1. _Of Greatness Intimately Viewed_ + +"Ah, but they are beyond praise," said Cynthia Allonby, enraptured, "and +certainly you should have presented them to the Queen." + +"Her majesty already possesses a cup of that ware," replied Lord +Pevensey. "It was one of her New Year's gifts, from Robert Cecil. Hers +is, I believe, not quite so fine as either of yours; but then, they tell +me, there is not the like of this pair in England, nor indeed on the +hither side of Cataia." + +He set the two pieces of Chinese pottery upon the shelves in the south +corner of the room. These cups were of that sea-green tint called +celadon, with a very wonderful glow and radiance. Such oddities were the +last vogue at Court; and Cynthia could not but speculate as to what +monstrous sum Lord Pevensey had paid for this his last gift to her. + +Now he turned, smiling, a really superb creature in his blue and gold. +"I had to-day another message from the Queen--" + +"George," Cynthia said, with fond concern, "it frightens me to see you +thus foolhardy, in tempting alike the Queen's anger and the Plague." + +"Eh, as goes the Plague, it spares nine out of ten," he answered, +lightly. "The Queen, I grant you, is another pair of sleeves, for an +irritated Tudor spares nobody." + +But Cynthia Allonby kept silence, and did not exactly smile, while she +appraised her famous young kinsman. She was flattered by, and a little +afraid of, the gay self-confidence which led anybody to take such +chances. Two weeks ago it was that the terrible painted old Queen had +named Lord Pevensey to go straightway into France, where, rumor had it, +King Henri was preparing to renounce the Reformed Religion, and making +his peace with the Pope: and for two weeks Pevensey had lingered, on one +pretence or another, at his house in London, with the Plague creeping +about the city like an invisible incalculable flame, and the Queen asking +questions at Windsor. Of all the monarchs that had ever reigned in +England, Elizabeth Tudor was the least used to having her orders +disregarded. Meanwhile Lord Pevensey came every day to the Marquis of +Falmouth's lodgings at Deptford: and every day Lord Pevensey pointed out +to the marquis' daughter that Pevensey, whose wife had died in childbirth +a year back, did not intend to go into France, for nobody could foretell +how long a stay, as a widower. Certainly it was all very flattering.... + +"Yes, and you would be an excellent match," said Cynthia, aloud, "if that +were all. And yet, what must I reasonably expect in marrying, sir, the +famous Earl of Pevensey?" + +"A great deal of love and petting, my dear. And if there were anything +else to which you had a fancy, I would get it for you." + +Her glance went to those lovely cups and lingered fondly. "Yes, dear +Master Generosity, if it could be purchased or manufactured, you would +get it for me--" + +"If it exists I will get it for you," he declared. + +"I think that it exists. But I am not learned enough to know what it is. +George, if I married you I would have money and fine clothes and gilded +coaches, and an army of maids and pages, and honor from all men. And you +would be kind to me, I know, when you returned from the day's work at +Windsor--or Holyrood or the Louvre. But do you not see that I would +always be to you only a rather costly luxury, like those cups, which the +Queen's minister could afford to keep for his hours of leisure?" + +He answered: "You are all in all to me. You know it. Oh, very well do you +know and abuse your power, you adorable and lovely baggage, who have kept +me dancing attendance for a fortnight, without ever giving me an honest +yes or no." He gesticulated. "Well, but life is very dull in Deptford +village, and it amuses you to twist a Queen's adviser around your +finger! I see it plainly, you minx, and I acquiesce because it delights +me to give you pleasure, even at the cost of some dignity. Yet I may no +longer shirk the Queen's business,--no, not even to amuse you, my dear." + +"You said you had heard from her--again?" + +"I had this morning my orders, under Gloriana's own fair hand, either to +depart to-morrow into France or else to come to-morrow to Windsor. I need +not say that in the circumstances I consider France the more wholesome." + +Now the girl's voice was hurt and wistful. "So, for the thousandth time, +is it proven the Queen's business means more to you than I do. Yes, +certainly it is just as I said, George." + +He observed, unruffled: "My dear, I scent unreason. This is a high +matter. If the French King compounds with Rome, it means war for +Protestant England. Even you must see that." + +She replied, sadly: "Yes, even I! oh, certainly, my lord, even a +half-witted child of seventeen can perceive as much as that." + +"I was not speaking of half-witted persons, as I remember. Well, it +chances that I am honored by the friendship of our gallant Bearnais, and +am supposed to have some claim upon him, thanks to my good fortune last +year in saving his life from the assassin Barriere. It chances that I may +perhaps become, under providence, the instrument of preserving my fellow +countrymen from much grief and trumpet-sounding and throat-cutting. +Instead of pursuing that chance, two weeks ago--as was my duty--I have +dangled at your apron-strings, in the vain hope of softening the most +variable and hardest heart in the world. Now, clearly, I have not the +right to do that any longer." + +She admired the ennobled, the slightly rapt look which, she knew, denoted +that George Bulmer was doing his duty as he saw it, even in her +disappointment. "No, you have not the right. You are wedded to your +statecraft, to your patriotism, to your self-advancement, or christen it +what you will. You are wedded, at all events, to your man's business. You +have not the time for such trifles as giving a maid that foolish and +lovely sort of wooing to which every maid looks forward in her heart of +hearts. Indeed, when you married the first time it was a kind of +infidelity; and I am certain that poor, dear mouse-like Mary must have +felt that often and over again. Why, do you not see, George, even now, +that your wife will always come second to your real love?" + +"In my heart, dear sophist, you will always come first. But it is not +permitted that any loyal gentleman devote every hour of his life to +sighing and making sonnets, and to the general solacing of a maid's +loneliness in this dull little Deptford. Nor would you, I am sure, desire +me to do so." + +"I hardly know what I desire," she told him ruefully. "But I know that +when you talk of your man's business I am lonely and chilled and far +away from you. And I know that I cannot understand more than half your +fine high notions about duty and patriotism and serving England and so +on," the girl declared: and she flung wide her lovely little hands, in a +despairing gesture. "I admire you, sir, when you talk of England. It +makes you handsomer--yes, even handsomer!--somehow. But all the while I +am remembering that England is just an ordinary island inhabited by a +number of ordinary persons, for the most of whom I have no particular +feeling one way or the other." + +Pevensey looked down at her for a while with queer tenderness. Then he +smiled. "No, I could not quite make you understand, my dear. But, ah, why +fuddle that quaint little brain by trying to understand such matters as +lie without your realm? For a woman's kingdom is the home, my dear, and +her throne is in the heart of her husband--" + +"All this is but another way of saying your lordship would have us cups +upon a shelf," she pointed out--"in readiness for your leisure." + +He shrugged, said "Nonsense!" and began more lightly to talk of other +matters. Thus and thus he would do in France, such and such trinkets +he would fetch back--"as toys for the most whimsical, the loveliest, +and the most obstinate child in all the world," he phrased it. And +they would be married, Pevensey declared, in September: nor (he gaily +said) did he propose to have any further argument about it. Children +should be seen--the proverb was dusty, but it particularly applied to +pretty children. + +Cynthia let him talk. She was just a little afraid of his +self-confidence, and of this tall nobleman's habit of getting what he +wanted, in the end: but she dispiritedly felt that Pevensey had failed +her. Why, George Bulmer treated her as if she were a silly infant; and +his want of her, even in that capacity, was a secondary matter: he was +going into France, for all his petting talk, and was leaving her to shift +as she best might, until he could spare the time to resume his +love-making.... + + +2. _What Comes of Scribbling_ + +Now when Pevensey had gone the room seemed darkened by the withdrawal of +so much magnificence. Cynthia watched from the window as the tall earl +rode away, with three handsomely clad retainers. Yes, George was very +fine and admirable, no doubt of it: even so, there was relief in the +reflection that for a month or two she was rid of him. + +Turning, she faced a lean, dishevelled man, who stood by the Magdalen +tapestry scratching his chin. He had unquiet bright eyes, this +out-at-elbows poet whom a marquis' daughter was pleased to patronize, and +his red hair was unpardonably tousled. Nor were his manners beyond +reproach, for now, without saying anything, he, too, went to the window. +He dragged one foot a little as he walked. + +"So my lord Pevensey departs! Look how he rides in triumph! like lame +Tamburlaine, with Techelles and Usumcasane and Theridamas to attend him, +and with the sunset turning the dust raised by their horses' hoofs into a +sort of golden haze about them. It is a beautiful world. And truly, +Mistress Cyn," the poet said, reflectively, "that Pevensey is a very +splendid ephemera. If not a king himself, at least he goes magnificently +to settle the affairs of kings. Were modesty not my failing, Mistress +Cyn, I would acclaim you as strangely lucky, in being beloved by two fine +fellows that have not their like in England." + +"Truly, you are not always thus modest, Kit Marlowe--" + +"But, Lord, how seriously Pevensey takes it all! and takes himself in +particular! Why, there departs from us, in befitting state, a personage +whose opinion as to every topic in the world is written legibly in the +carriage of those fine shoulders, even when seen from behind and from so +considerable a distance. And in not one syllable do any of these opinions +differ from the opinions of his great-great-grandfathers. Oho, and hark +to Deptford! now all the oafs in the Corn-market are cheering this +bulwark of Protestant England, this rising young hero of a people with no +nonsense about them. Yes, it is a very quaint and rather splendid +ephemera." + +The daughter of a marquis could not quite approve of the way in which +this shoemaker's son, however talented, railed at his betters. "Pevensey +will be the greatest man in these kingdoms some day. Indeed, Kit Marlowe, +there are those who say he is that much already." + +"Oh, very probably! Still, I am puzzled by human greatness. A century +hence what will he matter, this Pevensey? His ascent and his declension +will have been completed, and his foolish battles and treaties will have +given place to other foolish battles and treaties, and oblivion will have +swallowed this glistening bluebottle, plumes and fine lace and stately +ruff and all. Why, he is but an adviser to the queen of half an island, +whereas my Tamburlaine was lord of all the golden ancient East: and what +does my Tamburlaine matter now, save that he gave Kit Marlowe the subject +of a drama? Hah, softly though! for does even that very greatly matter? +Who really cares to-day about what scratches were made upon wax by that +old Euripides, the latchet of whose sandals I am not worthy to unloose? +No, not quite worthy, as yet!" + +And thereupon the shabby fellow sat down in the tall leather-covered +chair which Pevensey had just vacated: and this Marlowe nodded his +flaming head portentously. "Hoh, look you, I am displeased, Mistress Cyn, +I cannot lend my approval to this over-greedy oblivion that gapes for +all. No, it is not a satisfying arrangement, that I should teeter +insecurely through the void on a gob of mud, and be expected by and by to +relinquish even that crazy foothold. Even for Kit Marlowe death lies in +wait! and it may be, not anything more after death, not even any lovely +words to play with. Yes, and this Marlowe may amount to nothing, after +all: and his one chance of amounting to that which he intends may be +taken away from him at any moment!" + +He touched the breast of a weather-beaten doublet. He gave her that queer +twisted sort of smile which the girl could not but find attractive, +somehow. He said: "Why, but this heart thumping here inside me may stop +any moment like a broken clock. Here is Euripides writing better than I: +and here in my body, under my hand, is the mechanism upon which depend +all those masterpieces that are to blot the Athenian from the reckoning, +and I have no control of it!" + +"Indeed, I fear that you control few things," she told him, "and that +least of all do you control your taste for taverns and bad women. Oh, I +hear tales of you!" And Cynthia raised a reproving forefinger. + +"True tales, no doubt." He shrugged. "Lacking the moon he vainly cried +for, the child learns to content himself with a penny whistle." + +"Ah, but the moon is far away," the girl said, smiling--"too far to hear +the sound of human crying: and besides, the moon, as I remember it, was +never a very amorous goddess--" + +"Just so," he answered: "also she was called Cynthia, and she, too, was +beautiful." + +"Yet is it the heart that cries to me, my poet?" she asked him, softly, +"or just the lips?" + +"Oh, both of them, most beautiful and inaccessible of goddesses." Then +Marlowe leaned toward her, laughing and shaking that disreputable red +head. "Still, you are very foolish, in your latest incarnation, to be +wasting your rays upon carpet earls who will not outwear a century. Were +modesty not my failing, I repeat, I could name somebody who will last +longer. Yes, and--if but I lacked that plaguey virtue--I would advise you +to go a-gypsying with that nameless somebody, so that two manikins might +snatch their little share of the big things that are eternal, just as the +butterfly fares intrepidly and joyously, with the sun for his torchboy, +through a universe wherein thought cannot estimate the unimportance of a +butterfly, and wherein not even the chaste moon is very important. Yes, +certainly I would advise you to have done with this vanity of courts and +masques, of satins and fans and fiddles, this dallying with tinsels and +bright vapors; and very movingly I would exhort you to seek out Arcadia, +travelling hand in hand with that still nameless somebody." And of a +sudden the restless man began to sing. + +Sang Kit Marlowe: + +_"Come live with me and be my love, +And we will all the pleasures prove +That hills and valleys, dales and fields, +Woods or steepy mountain yields. + +"And we will sit upon the rocks, +And see the shepherds feed their flocks +By shallow rivers, to whose falls +Melodious birds sing madrigals--"_ + +But the girl shook her small, wise head decisively. "That is all very +fine, but, as it happens, there is no such place as this Arcadia, where +people can frolic in perpetual sunlight the year round, and find their +food and clothing miraculously provided. No, nor can you, I am afraid, +give me what all maids really, in their heart of hearts, desire far more +than any sugar-candy Arcadia. Oh, as I have so often told you, Kit, I +think you love no woman. You love words. And your seraglio is tenanted by +very beautiful words, I grant you, though there is no longer any Sestos +builded of agate and crystal, either, Kit Marlowe. For, as you may +perceive, sir, I have read all that lovely poem you left with me last +Thursday--" + +She saw how interested he was, saw how he almost smirked. "Aha, so you +think it not quite bad, eh, the conclusion of my _Hero and Leander_?" + +"It is your best. And your middlemost, my poet, is better than aught else +in English," she said, politely, and knowing how much he delighted to +hear such remarks. + +"Come, I retract my charge of foolishness, for you are plainly a wench +of rare discrimination. And yet you say I do not love you! Cynthia, you +are beautiful, you are perfect in all things. You are that heavenly +Helen of whom I wrote, some persons say, acceptably enough. How strange +it was I did not know that Helen was dark-haired and pale! for certainly +yours is that immortal loveliness which must be served by poets in life +and death." + +"And I wonder how much of these ardors," she thought, "is kindled by my +praise of his verses?" She bit her lip, and she regarded him with a hint +of sadness. She said, aloud: "But I did not, after all, speak to Lord +Pevensey concerning the printing of your poem. Instead, I burned your +_Hero and Leander_." + +She saw him jump, as under a whip-lash. Then he smiled again, in that wry +fashion of his. "I lament the loss to letters, for it was my only copy. +But you knew that." + +"Yes, Kit, I knew it was your only copy." + +"Oho! and for what reason did you burn it, may one ask?" + +"I thought you loved it more than you loved me. It was my rival, I +thought--" The girl was conscious of remorse, and yet it was remorse +commingled with a mounting joy. + +"And so you thought a jingle scribbled upon a bit of paper could be your +rival with me!" + +Then Cynthia no longer doubted, but gave a joyous little sobbing +laugh, for the love of her disreputable dear poet was sustaining the +stringent testing she had devised. She touched his freckled hand +caressingly, and her face was as no man had ever seen it, and her +voice, too, caressed him. + +"Ah, you have made me the happiest of women, Kit! Kit, I am almost +disappointed in you, though, that you do not grieve more for the loss of +that beautiful poem." + +His smiling did not waver; yet the lean, red-haired man stayed +motionless. "Why, but see how lightly I take the destruction of my +life-work in this, my masterpiece! For I can assure you it was a +masterpiece, the fruit of two years' toil and of much loving +repolishment--" + +"Ah, but you love me better than such matters, do you not?" she asked +him, tenderly. "Kit Marlowe, I adore you! Sweetheart, do you not +understand that a woman wants to be loved utterly and entirely? She wants +no rivals, not even paper rivals. And so often when you talked of poetry +I have felt lonely and chilled and far away from you, and I have been +half envious, dear, of your Heros and Helens and your other +good-for-nothing Greek minxes. But now I do not mind them at all. And I +will make amends, quite prodigal amends, for my naughty jealousy: and my +poet shall write me some more lovely poems, so he shall--" + +He said: "You fool!" + +And she drew away from him, for this man was no longer smiling. + +"You burned my _Hero and Leander_! You! you big-eyed fool! You lisping +idiot! you wriggling, cuddling worm! you silken bag of guts! had not even +you the wit to perceive it was immortal beauty which would have lived +long after you and I were stinking dirt? And you, a half-witted animal, a +shining, chattering parrot, lay claws to it!" Marlowe had risen in a sort +of seizure, in a condition which was really quite unreasonable when you +considered that only a poem was at stake, even a rather long poem. + +And Cynthia began to smile, with tremulous hurt-looking young lips. "So +my poet's love is very much the same as Pevensey's love! And I was right, +after all." + +"Oh, oh!" said Marlowe, "that ever a poet should love a woman! What jokes +does the lewd flesh contrive!" Of a sudden he was calmer; and then rage +fell away from him like a dropped cloak, and he viewed her as with +respectful wonder. "Why, but you sitting there, with goggling innocent +bright eyes, are an allegory of all that is most droll and tragic. Yes, +and indeed there is no reason to blame you. It is not your fault that +every now and then is born a man who serves an idea which is to him the +most important thing in the world. It is not your fault that this man +perforce inhabits a body to which the most important thing in the world +is a woman. Certainly it is not your fault that this compost makes yet +another jumble of his two desires, and persuades himself that the two are +somehow allied. The woman inspires, the woman uplifts, the woman +strengthens him for his high work, saith he! Well, well, perhaps there +are such women, but by land and sea I have encountered none of them." + +All this was said while Marlowe shuffled about the room, with bent +shoulders, and nodding his tousled red head, and limping as he walked. +Now Marlowe turned, futile and shabby looking, just where a while ago +Lord Pevensey had loomed resplendent. Again she saw the poet's queer, +twisted, jeering smile. + +"What do you care for my ideals? What do you care for the ideals of that +tall earl whom for a fortnight you have held from his proper business? or +for the ideals of any man alive? Why, not one thread of that dark hair, +not one snap of those white little fingers, except when ideals irritate +you by distracting a man's attention from Cynthia Allonby. Otherwise, he +is welcome enough to play with his incomprehensible toys." + +He jerked a thumb toward the shelves behind him. + +"Oho, you virtuous pretty ladies! what all you value is such matters as +those cups: they please the eye, they are worth sound money, and people +envy you the possession of them. So you cherish your shiny mud cups, and +you burn my _Hero and Leander_: and I declaim all this dull nonsense over +the ashes of my ruined dreams, thinking at bottom of how pretty you are, +and of how much I would like to kiss you. That is the real tragedy, the +immemorial tragedy, that I should still hanker after you, my Cynthia--" + +His voice dwelt tenderly upon her name. His fever-haunted eyes were +tender, too, for just a moment. Then he grimaced. + +"No, I was wrong--the tragedy strikes deeper. The root of it is that +there is in you and in all your glittering kind no malice, no will to do +harm nor to hurt anything, but just a bland and invincible and, upon the +whole, a well-meaning stupidity, informing a bright and soft and +delicately scented animal. So you work ruin among those men who serve +ideals, not foreplanning ruin, not desiring to ruin anything, not even +having sufficient wit to perceive the ruin when it is accomplished. You +are, when all is done, not even detestable, not even a worthy peg whereon +to hang denunciatory sonnets, you shallow-pated pretty creatures whom +poets--oh, and in youth all men are poets!--whom poets, now and always, +are doomed to hanker after to the detriment of their poesy. No, I concede +it: you kill without pre-meditation, and without ever suspecting your +hands to be anything but stainless. So in logic I must retract all my +harsh words; and I must, without any hint of reproach, endeavor to bid +you a somewhat more civil farewell." + +She had regarded him, throughout this preposterous and uncalled-for +harangue, with sad composure, with a forgiving pity. Now she asked him, +very quietly, "Where are you going, Kit?" + +"To the Golden Hind, O gentle, patient and unjustly persecuted virgin +martyr!" he answered, with an exaggerated bow--"since that is the part in +which you now elect to posture." + +"Not to that low, vile place again!" + +"But certainly I intend in that tavern to get tipsy as quickly as +possible: for then the first woman I see will for the time become the +woman whom I desire, and who exists nowhere." And with that the +red-haired man departed, limping and singing as he went to look for a +trull in a pot-house. + +Sang Kit Marlowe: + +_"And I will make her beds of roses +And a thousand fragrant posies; +A cap of flowers, and a kirtle +Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. + +"A gown made of the finest wool +Which from our pretty lambs we pull; +Fair-lined slippers for the cold, +With buckles of the purest gold--"_ + + +3. _Economics of Egeria_ + +She sat quite still when Marlowe had gone. + +"He will get drunk again," she thought despondently. "Well, and why +should it matter to me if he does, after all that outrageous ranting? He +has been unforgivably insulting--Oh, but none the less, I do not want to +have him babbling of the roses and gold of that impossible fairy world +which the poor, frantic child really believes in, to some painted woman +of the town who will laugh at him. I loathe the thought of her laughing +at him--and kissing him! His notions are wild foolishness; but I at least +wish that they were not foolishness, and that hateful woman will not care +one way or the other." + +So Cynthia sighed, and to comfort her forlorn condition fetched a +hand-mirror from the shelves whereon glowed her green cups. She touched +each cup caressingly in passing; and that which she found in the mirror, +too, she regarded not unappreciatively, from varying angles.... Yes, +after all, dark hair and a pale skin had their advantages at a court +where pink and yellow women were so much the fashion as to be common. Men +remembered you more distinctively. + +Though nobody cared for men, in view of their unreasonable behavior, and +their absolute self-centeredness.... Oh, it was pitiable, it was +grotesque, she reflected sadly, how Pevensey and Kit Marlowe had both +failed her, after so many pretty speeches. + +Still, there was a queer pleasure in being wooed by Kit: his insane +notions went to one's head like wine. She would send Meg for him again +to-morrow. And Pevensey was, of course, the best match imaginable.... No, +it would be too heartless to dismiss George Buhner outright. It was +unreasonable of him to desert her because a Gascon threatened to go to +mass: but, after all, she would probably marry George, in the end. He +was really almost unendurably silly, though, about England and freedom +and religion and right and wrong and things like that. Yes, it would be +tedious to have a husband who often talked to you as though he were +addressing a public assemblage.... Yet, he was very handsome, +particularly in his highflown and most tedious moments; that year-old son +of his was sickly, and would probably die soon, the sweet forlorn little +pet, and not be a bother to anybody: and her dear old father would be +profoundly delighted by the marriage of his daughter to a man whose wife +could have at will a dozen céladon cups, and anything else she chose to +ask for.... + +But now the sun had set, and the room was growing quite dark. So Cynthia +stood a-tiptoe, and replaced the mirror upon the shelves, setting it +upright behind those wonderful green cups which had anew reminded her of +Pevensey's wealth and generosity. She smiled a little, to think of what +fun it had been to hold George back, for two whole weeks, from +discharging that horrible old queen's stupid errands. + + +4. _Treats Philosophically of Breakage_ + +The door opened. Stalwart young Captain Edward Musgrave came with a +lighted candle, which he placed carefully upon the table in the +room's centre. + +He said: "They told me you were here. I come from London. I bring +news for you." + +"You bring no pleasant tidings, I fear--" + +"As Lord Pevensey rode through the Strand this afternoon, on his way +home, the Plague smote him. That is my sad news. I grieve to bring such +news, for your cousin was a worthy gentleman and universally respected." + +"Ah," Cynthia said, very quiet, "so Pevensey is dead. But the Plague +kills quickly!" + +"Yes, yes, that is a comfort, certainly. Yes, he turned quite black in +the face, they report, and before his men could reach him had fallen from +his horse. It was all over almost instantly. I saw him afterward, hardly +a pleasant sight. I came to you as soon as I could. I was vexatiously +detained--" + +"So George Bulmer is dead, in a London gutter! It seems strange, +because he was here, befriended by monarchs, and very strong and +handsome and self-confident, hardly two hours ago. Is that his blood +upon your sleeve?" + +"But of course not! I told you I was vexatiously detained, almost at your +gates. Yes, I had the ill luck to blunder into a disgusting business. The +two rapscallions tumbled out of a doorway under my horse's very nose, +egad! It was a near thing I did not ride them down. So I stopped, +naturally. I regretted stopping, afterward, for I was too late to be of +help. It was at the Golden Hind, of course. Something really ought to be +done about that place. Yes, and that rogue Marler bled all over a new +doublet, as you see. And the Deptford constables held me with their +foolish interrogatories--" + +"So one of the fighting men was named Marlowe! Is he dead, too, dead in +another gutter?" + +"Marlowe or Marler, or something of the sort--wrote plays and sonnets and +such stuff, they tell me. I do not know anything about him--though, I +give you my word, now, those greasy constables treated me as though I +were a noted frequenter of pot-houses. That sort of thing is most +annoying. At all events, he was drunk as David's sow, and squabbling +over, saving your presence, a woman of the sort one looks to find in that +abominable hole. And so, as I was saying, this other drunken rascal dug a +knife into him--" + +But now, to Captain Musgrave's discomfort, Cynthia Allonby had begun to +weep heartbrokenly. + +So he cleared his throat, and he patted the back of her hand. "It is a +great shock to you, naturally--oh, most naturally, and does you great +credit. But come now, Pevensey is gone, as we must all go some day, and +our tears cannot bring him back, my dear. We can but hope he is better +off, poor fellow, and look on it as a mysterious dispensation and that +sort of thing, my dear--" + +"Oh, Ned, but people are so cruel! People will be saying that it was I +who kept poor Cousin George in London this past two weeks, and that but +for me he would have been in France long ago! And then the Queen, +Ned!--why, that pig-headed old woman will be blaming it on me, that +there is nobody to prevent that detestable French King from turning +Catholic and dragging England into new wars, and I shall not be able to +go to any of the Court dances! nor to the masques!" sobbed Cynthia, "nor +anywhere!" + +"Now you talk tender-hearted and angelic nonsense. It is noble of you to +feel that way, of course. But Pevensey did not take proper care of +himself, and that is all there is to it. Now I have remained in London +since the Plague's outbreak. I stayed with my regiment, naturally. We +have had a few deaths, of course. People die everywhere. But the Plague +has never bothered me. And why has it never bothered me? Simply because I +was sensible, took the pains to consult an astrologer, and by his advice +wear about my neck, night and day, a bag containing tablets of toads' +blood and arsenic. It is an infallible specific for men born in February. +No, not for a moment do I wish to speak harshly of the dead, but sensible +persons cannot but consider Lord Pevensey's death to have been caused by +his own carelessness." + +"Now, certainly that is true," the girl said, brightening. "It was really +his own carelessness and his dear lovable rashness. And somebody could +explain it to the Queen. Besides, I often think that wars are good for +the public spirit of a nation, and bring out its true manhood. But then +it upset me, too, a little, Ned, to hear about this Marlowe--for I must +tell you that I knew the poor man, very slightly. So I happen to know +that to-day he flung off in a rage, and began drinking, because somebody, +almost by pure chance, had burned a packet of his verses--" + +Thereupon Captain Musgrave raised heavy eyebrows, and guffawed so +heartily that the candle flickered. "To think of the fellow's putting it +on that plea! when he could so easily have written some more verses. That +is the trouble with these poets, if you ask me: they are not practical +even in their ordinary everyday lying. No, no, the truth of it was that +the rogue wanted a pretext for making a beast of himself, and seized the +first that came to hand. Egad, my dear, it is a daily practise with these +poets. They hardly draw a sober breath. Everybody knows that." + +Cynthia was looking at him in the half-lit room with very flattering +admiration.... Seen thus, with her scarlet lips a little +parted--disclosing pearls,--and with her naive dark eyes aglow, she was +quite incredibly pretty and caressable. She had almost forgotten until +now that this stalwart soldier, too, was in love with her. But now her +spirits were rising venturously, and she knew that she liked Ned +Musgrave. He had sensible notions; he saw things as they really were, and +with him there would never be any nonsense about toplofty ideas. Then, +too, her dear old white-haired father would be pleased, because there was +a very fair estate.... + +So Cynthia said: "I believe you are right, Ned. I often wonder how they +can be so lacking in self-respect. Oh, I am certain you must be right, +for it is just what I felt without being able quite to express it. You +will stay for supper with us, of course. Yes, but you must, because it is +always a great comfort for me to talk with really sensible persons. I do +not wonder that you are not very eager to stay, though, for I am probably +a fright, with my eyes red, and with my hair all tumbling down, like an +old witch's. Well, let us see what can be done about it, sir! There was a +hand-mirror--" + +And thus speaking, she tripped, with very much the reputed grace of a +fairy, toward the far end of the room, and standing a-tiptoe, groped at +the obscure shelves, with a resultant crash of falling china. + +"Oh, but my lovely cups!" said Cynthia, in dismay. "I had forgotten they +were up there: and now I have smashed both of them, in looking for my +mirror, sir, and trying to prettify myself for you. And I had so fancied +them, because they had not their like in England!" + +She looked at the fragments, and then at Musgrave, with wide, innocent +hurt eyes. She was really grieved by the loss of her quaint toys. But +Musgrave, in his sturdy, common-sense way, only laughed at her +seriousness over such kickshaws. + +"I am for an honest earthenware tankard myself!" he said, jovially, as +the two went in to supper. + + * * * * * + +1905-1919 + +_"Tell me where is fancy bred Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, +how nourished?... Then let us all ring fancy's knell."_ + + + + +CHAPTER X + +_The Envoi Called Semper Idem_ + + +1. _Which Baulks at an Estranging Sea_ + +Here, then, let us end the lovers' comedy, after a good precedent, with +supper as the denouement. _Chacun ira souper: la comédie ne peut pas +mieux finir._ + +For epilogue, Cynthia Allonby was duly married to Edward Musgrave, and he +made her a fair husband, as husbands go. That was the upshot of +Pevensey's death and Marlowe's murder: as indeed, it was the outcome of +all the earlier-recorded heart-burnings and endeavors and spoiled dreams. +Through generation by generation, traversing just three centuries, I have +explained to you, my dear Mrs. Grundy, how divers weddings came about: +and each marriage appears, upon the whole, to have resulted +satisfactorily. Dame Melicent and Dame Adelaide, not Florian, touched the +root of the matter as they talked together at Storisende: and the trio's +descendants could probe no deeper. + +But now we reach the annals of the house of Musgrave: and further +adventuring is blocked by R. V. Musgrave's monumental work _The Musgraves +of Matocton_. The critical may differ as to the plausibility of the +family tradition (ably defended by Colonel Musgrave, pp. 33-41) that +Mistress Cynthia Musgrave was the dark lady of Shakespeare's Sonnets, and +that this poet, also, in the end, absolved her of intentional malice. +There is none, at any event, but may find in this genealogical classic a +full record of the highly improbable happenings which led to the +emigration of Captain Edward Musgrave, and later of Cynthia Musgrave, to +the Colony of Virginia; and none but must admire Colonel Musgrave's +painstaking and accurate tracing of the American Musgraves who descended +from this couple, down to the eve of the twentieth century. + +It would be supererogatory, therefore, for me to tell you of the various +Musgrave marriages, and to re-dish such data as is readily accessible on +the reference shelves of the nearest public library, as well as in the +archives of the Colonial Dames, of the Society of the Cincinnati, and of +the Sons and Daughters of various wars. It suffices that from the +marriage of Edward Musgrave and Cynthia Allonby sprang this well-known +American family, prolific of brave gentlemen and gracious ladies who in +due course, and in new lands, achieved their allotted portion of laughter +and anguish and compromise, very much as their European fathers and +mothers had done aforetime. + +So I desist to follow the line of love across the Atlantic; and, for the +while at least, make an end of these chronicles. My pen flags, my ink +runs low, and (since Florian wedded twice) the Dizain of Marriages is +completed. + + +2. _Which Defers to Various Illusions_ + +I have bound up my gleanings from the fields of old years into a modest +sheaf; and if it be so fortunate as to please you, my dear Mrs. +Grundy,--if it so come about that your ladyship be moved in time to +desire another sheaf such as this,--why, assuredly, my surprise will be +untempered with obduracy. The legends of Allonby have been but lightly +touched upon: and apart from the _Aventures d'Adhelmar_, Nicolas de Caen +is thus far represented in English only by the _Roi Atnaury_ (which, to +be sure, is Nicolas' masterpiece) and the mutilated _Dizain des Reines_ +and the fragmentary _Roman de Lusignan_. + +But since you, madam, are not Schahriah, to give respite for the sake of +an unnarrated tale, I must now without further peroration make an end. +Through the monstrous tapestry I have traced out for you the windings of +a single thread, and I entreat you, dear lady, to accept it with +assurances of my most distinguished regard. + +And if the offering be no great gift, this lack of greatness, believe me, +is due to the errors and limitations of the transcriber alone. + +For they loved greatly, these men and women of the past, in that rapt +hour wherein Nature tricked them to noble ends, and lured them to skyey +heights of adoration and sacrifice. At bottom they were, perhaps, no more +heroical than you or I. Indeed, neither Florian nor Adhelmar was at +strict pains to act as common-sense dictated, and Falstaff is scarcely +describable as immaculate: Villon thieved, Kit Marlowe left a wake of +emptied bottles, and Will Sommers was notoriously a fool; Matthiette was +vain, and Adelais self-seeking, and the tenth Marquis of Falmouth, if you +press me, rather a stupid and pompous ass: and yet to each in turn it was +granted to love greatly, to know at least one hour of magnanimity when +each was young in the world's annually recaptured youth. + +And if that hour did not ever have its sequel in precisely the +anticipated life-long rapture, nor always in a wedding with the person +preferred, yet since at any rate it resulted in a marriage that turned +out well enough, in a world wherein people have to consider expediency, +one may rationally assert that each of these romances ended happily. +Besides, there had been the hour. + +Ah, yes, this love is an illusion, if you will. Wise men have protested +that vehemently enough in all conscience. But there are two ends to every +stickler for his opinion here. Whether you see, in this fleet hour's +abandonment to love, the man's spark of divinity flaring in momentary +splendor,--a tragic candle, with divinity guttering and half-choked among +the drossier particles, and with momentary splendor lighting man's +similitude to Him in Whose likeness man was created,--or whether you, +more modernly, detect as prompting this surrender coarse-fibred Nature, +in the Prince of Lycia's role (with all mankind her Troiluses to be +cajoled into perpetuation of mankind), you have, in either event, +conceded that to live unbefooled by love is at best a shuffling and +debt-dodging business, and you have granted this unreasoned, transitory +surrender to be the most high and, indeed, the one requisite action which +living affords. + +Beyond that is silence. If you succeed in proving love a species of +madness, you have but demonstrated that there is something more +profoundly pivotal than sanity, and for the sanest logician this is a +disastrous gambit: whereas if, in well-nigh obsolete fashion, you confess +the universe to be a weightier matter than the contents of your skull, +and your wits a somewhat slender instrument wherewith to plumb +infinity,--why, then you will recall that it is written _God is love_, +and this recollection, too, is conducive to a fine taciturnity. + + +EXPLICIT LINEA AMORIS + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Line of Love, by James Branch Cabell + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LINE OF LOVE *** + +This file should be named 8lnlv10.txt or 8lnlv10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8lnlv11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8lnlv10a.txt + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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