CHAPTER TWO.
THE MISTS CLEAR AWAY.
"Nec tecum possum vivere, nec sine te."
Martial.
One at least of the ladies who had disturbed Elaine's hilarity did notlook a person of whom it was necessary to be afraid. She was a matronlywoman of middle age, bearing the remains of extreme beauty. She had agood-natured expression, and she rather shrank back, as if she werethere on sufferance only. But the other, who came forward into theroom, was tall, spare, upright, and angular, with a face which struckClarice as looking very like verjuice.
"Agatha!" called the latter, sharply; and, laying her hand, not gently,on Elaine's shoulder, she gave her a shake which rapidly reduced her togravity.
"Ye weary, wretched giglots, what do ye thus laughing and tittering,when I have distinctly forbidden the same?--Agatha!--Know ye not thatall ye be miserable sinners, and this lower world a vale of tears?--Agatha!"
"Truly, Cousin Meg," observed the other lady, now coming forward,"methinks you go far to make it such."
"Agatha might have more sense," returned her acetous companion. "I havebidden her forty times o'er to have these maids well ordered, and minehouse as like to an holy convent as might be compassed; and here is shenone knows whither--taking her pleasure, I reckon--and these caitiffhildings making the very walls for to ring with their wicked foolishlaughter!--Agatha! bring me hither the rod. I will see if a goodwhipping bring not down your ill-beseen spirits, mistress!"
Elaine turned pale, and cast a beseeching glance at the pleasanter ofthe ladies.
"Nay, now, Cousin Meg," interposed she, "I pray you, let not this myfirst visit to Oakham be linked with trouble to these young maids. I amwell assured you know grey heads cannot be well set on green shoulders."
"Lady, I am right unwilling to deny any bidding of yours. But I dodesire of you to tell me if it be not enough to provoke a saint toswear?"
"What! to hear a young maid laugh, cousin? Nay, soothly, I would notthink so."
Mistress Underdone had entered the room, and, after dropping a courtesyto each of the ladies, stood waiting the pleasure of her mistress.Clarice was slowly coming to the conclusion, with dire dismay, that thesharp-featured, sharp-tongued woman before her was no other than theLady Margaret of Cornwall, her lovely lady with the pathetic eyes.
"Give me the rod, Agatha," said the Countess, sternly.
"Nay, Cousin Meg, I pray you, let Agatha give it to me."
"_You'll_ not lay on!" said the Countess, with a contortion of her lipswhich appeared to do duty for a smile.
"Trust me, I will do the right thing," replied Queen Blanche, taking therod which Mistress Underdone presented to her on the knee. "Now.Elaine, stand out here."
Elaine, very pale and preternaturally grave, placed herself in therequired position.
"Say after me. `I entreat pardon of my Lady for being so unhappy as tooffend her.'"
Elaine faltered out the dictated words.
"Kiss the rod," said the Queen.
She was immediately obeyed.
"Now, Cousin Meg, for my sake, I pray you, let that suffice."
"Well, Lady, for _your_ sake," responded the Countess, with apparentreluctance, looking rather like a kite from whose talons the Queen hadextracted a sparrow intended for its dinner.
"Sit you in this chamber, Cousin Meg?" asked the Queen, taking a curulechair as she spoke--the only one in the room.
"Nay, Lady. 'Tis mine hour for repeating the seven penitential psalms.I have no time to waste with these giglots."
"Then, I pray you, give me leave to abide here myself for a season."
"You will do your pleasure, Lady. I only pray of you to keep them fromlaughing and such like wickedness."
"Nay, for I will not promise that for myself," said Queen Blanche, witha good-tempered smile. "Go your ways, Meg; we will work no evil."
The Countess turned and stalked out of the door again. And Clarice'sfirst castle in the air fell into pieces behind her.
"Now, Agatha, I pray thee shut the door," said the Queen, "that weoffend not my Cousin Margaret's ears in her psalms. Fare ye all well,my maids? Thy face is strange to me, child."
Clarice courtesied very low. "If it please the Lady Queen, I am butjust come hither."
She had to tell her name and sundry biographical particulars, and then,suddenly looking round, the Queen said, "And where is Heliet?"
"Please it the Lady Queen, in my chamber," said Mistress Underdone.
"Bid her hither, good Agatha--if she can come."
"That can she, Lady."
Mistress Underdone left the room, and in another minute the regular tapof approaching crutches was audible. Clarice imagined their wearer tobe some old woman--perhaps the mother of Mistress Underdone. But assoon as the door was opened again, she was surprised and touched toperceive that the sufferer who used them was a girl little older thanherself. She came up to Queen Blanche, who welcomed her with a smile,and held her hand to the girl's lips to be kissed. This was her onlyway of paying homage, for to her courtesying and kneeling were alikeimpossible.
Clarice felt intuitively, as she looked into Heliet's face, that herewas a girl entirely different from the rest. She seemed as if Naturehad intended her to be tall, but had stopped and stunted her when onlyhalf grown. Her shoulders were unnaturally high, and one leg wasconsiderably shorter than the other. Her face was not in any waybeautiful, yet there was a certain mysterious attraction about it.Something looked out of her eyes which Clarice studied without beingable to define, but which disposed her to keep on looking. They weredark, pathetic eyes, of the kind with which Clarice had gifted her veryimaginary Countess; but there was something beyond the pathos.
"It looks," thought Clarice, "as if she had gone through the pathos andthe suffering, and had come out on the other side--on the shore of theGolden Land, where they see what everything meant, and are satisfied."
There was very little time for conversation before the supper-bell rang.Queen Blanche made kind inquiries concerning Heliet's lameness andgeneral health, but had not reached any other subject when the sound ofthe bell thrilled through the room. The four girls rapidly folded uptheir work, as though the summons were welcome. Queen Blanche rose anddeparted, with a kindly nod to all, and Heliet, turning to Clarice,said, "Wilt thou come down with me? I cannot go fast, as thou mayestsee; but thou wilt sit next to me, and I can tell thee anything thoumayest wish to know."
Clarice thankfully assented, and they went down the spiral staircasetogether into the great hall, where three tables were spread. At thehighest and smallest, on the dais, were already seated the Queen and theCountess, two gentlemen, and two priests. At the head of the secondstood Mistress Underdone, next to whom was Diana, and Heliet led upClarice to her side. They faced the dais, so that Clarice could watchits distinguished occupants at her pleasure. Tables for meals, at thatdate, were simply boards placed on trestles, and removed when the repastwas over. On the table at the dais was silver plate, then a rareluxury, restricted to the highest classes, the articles being spoons,knives, plates, and goblets. There were no forks, for only one fork hadever then been heard of as a thing to eat with, and this had been theinvention of the wife of a Doge of Venice, about two hundred yearsprevious, for which piece of refinement the public rewarded the lady byconsidering her as proud as Lucifer. Forks existed, both in the form ofspice-forks and fire-forks, but no one ever thought of eating with themin England until they were introduced from Italy in the reign of Jamesthe First, and for some time after that the use of them marked either atraveller, or a luxurious, effeminate man. Moreover, there were noknives nor spoons provided for helping one's self from the dishes. Eachperson had a knife and spoon for himself, with which he helped himselfat his convenience. People who were very delicate and particular wipedtheir knives on a piece of bread before doing so, and licked theirspoons all over. When these were the practices of fastidious people,the proceedings of those who were not such may be discr
eetly left toimagination. The second table was served in a much more ordinarymanner. In this instance the knife was iron and the spoon pewter, theplate a wooden trencher (never changed), and the drinking-cup of horn.In the midst of the table stood a pewter salt-cellar, formed like acastle, and _very_ much larger than we use them now.
This salt-cellar acted as a barometer, not for weather, but for rank.Every one of noble blood, or filling certain offices, sat above thesalt.
With respect to cooking our fathers had some peculiarities. They atemany things that we never touch, such as porpoises and herons, and theyused all manner of green things as vegetables. They liked their breadhot from the oven (to give cold bread, even for dinner, was a shabbyproceeding), and their meat much underdone, for they thought thatoverdone meat stirred up anger. They mixed most incongruous thingstogether; they loved very strong tastes, delighting in garlic andverjuice; they never appear to have paid the slightest regard to theirdigestion, and they were, in the most emphatic sense, not teetotallers.
The dining-hall, but not the table, was decorated with flowers, andsingers, often placed in a gallery at one end, were employed the wholetime. A gentleman usher acted as butler, and a yeoman was always athand to keep out strange dogs, snuff candles, and light to bed theguests, who were not always in a condition to find their way upstairswithout his help. The hours at this time were nine or ten o'clock fordinner (except on fast-days, when it was at noon), and three or four forsupper. Two meals a day were thought sufficient for all men who werenot invalids. The sick and women sometimes had a "rear-supper" at sixo'clock or later. As to breakfast, it was a meal taken only by somepersons, and then served in the bedchamber or private boudoir atconvenience. Wine, with bread sopped in it, was a favourite breakfast,especially for the old. Very delicate or exceptionally temperate peopletook milk for breakfast; but though the Middle Ages present us withexamples of both vegetarians and total abstainers, yet of both therewere very few indeed, and they were mainly to be found among thereligious orders.
In watching the illustrious persons on the dais one thing struck Clariceas extremely odd, which would never be thought strange in the nineteenthcentury. It was the custom in her day for husband and wife to sittogether at a meal, and, the highest ranks excepted, to eat from thesame plate. But the Earl and Countess of Cornwall were on oppositesides of the table, with one of the priests between them. Claricethought they must have quarrelled, and softly demanded of Heliet if thatwere the case.
"No, indeed," was Heliet's rather sorrowful answer. "At least, not morethan usual. The Lady of Cornwall will never sit beside her baron, and,as thou shalt shortly see, she will not even speak to him."
"Not speak to him!" exclaimed Clarice.
"I never heard her do so yet," said Heliet.
"Does he entreat her very harshly?"
"There are few gentlemen more kindly or generous towards a wife. Nay,the harsh treatment is all on her side."
"What a miserable life to live!" commented Clarice.
"I fear he finds it so," said Heliet.
The dillegrout, or white soup, was now brought in, and Clarice, beinghungry, attended more to her supper than to her mistress for a time.But during the next interval between the courses she studied her master.
He was a tall and rather fine-looking man, with a handsome face and agentle, pleasant expression.
There certainly was not in his exterior any cause for repulsion. Hishair was light, his eyes bluish-grey. He seemed--or Clarice thought soat first--a silent man, who left conversation very much to others; butthe decidedly intelligent glances of the grey eyes, and an occasionaltwinkle of fun in them when any amusing remark was made, showed that hewas not in the least devoid of brains.
Clarice thought that the priest who sat between the Earl and Countesswas a far more unprepossessing individual than his master. He was aFranciscan friar, in the robe of his order; while the friar who sat onthe other side of the Countess was a Dominican, and much more agreeableto look at.
At this juncture the Earl of Lancaster, who bore a strong familylikeness to his cousin, the Earl of Cornwall--a likeness which extendedto character no less than person--inquired of the latter if any news hadbeen heard lately from France.
"I have had no letters lately," replied his host; and, turning to theCountess, he asked, "Have you, Lady?"
Now, thought Clarice, she must speak to him. Much to her surprise, theCountess, imagining, apparently, that the Franciscan friar was herquestioner, answered, [Note 1], "None, holy Father."
The friar gravely turned his head and repeated the words to the Earl,though he must have heard them. And Clarice became aware all at oncethat her own puzzled face was a source of excessive amusement to her_vis-a-vis_, Elaine. Her eyes inquired the reason.
"Oh, I know!" said Elaine, in a loud whisper across the table. "I knowwhat perplexes thee. They are all like that when they first come. Itis such fun to watch them!"
And she did not succeed in repressing a convulsion behind herhandkerchief, even with the aid of Diana's "Elaine! do be sensible."
"Hush, my maid," said Mistress Underdone, gently. "If the Lady see theelaugh--"
"I shall be sent away without more supper, I know," said Elaine,shrugging her shoulders. "It is Clarice who ought to be punished, notI. I cannot help laughing when she looks so funny."
Elaine having succeeded in recovering her gravity without attracting thenotice of the Countess, Clarice devoured her helping of salt beef alongwith much cogitation concerning her mistress's singular ways. Still,she could not restrain a supposition that the latter must have supposedthe priest to speak to her, when she heard the Earl say, "I hear fromGeoffrey Spenser, [Note 2], that our stock of salt ling is beyond whatis like to be wanted. Methinks the villeins might have a cade or twothereof, my Lady."
And again, turning to the friar, the Countess made answer, "It shall beseen to, holy Father;" while the friar, with equal composure, as thoughit were quite a matter of course, repeated to the Earl, "The Lady willsee to it, my Lord."
"Does she always answer him so?" demanded Clarice of Heliet, in anastonished whisper. "Always," replied Heliet, with a sad smile. "Butsurely," said Clarice, her amazement getting the better of her shyness,"it must be very wanting in reverence from a dame to her baron!"
Clarice's ideas of wifely duty were of a very primitive kind. Unboundedreverence, unreasoning obedience, and diligent care for the husband'scomfort and pleasure were the main items. As for love, in the sense inwhich it is usually understood now, that was an item which simply mightcome into the question, but it was not necessary by any means. Parents,at that time, kept it out of the matter as much as possible, andregarded it as more of an encumbrance than anything else.
"It is a very sad tale, Clarice," answered Heliet, in a low tone. "Heloves her, and would cherish her dearly if she would let him. But thereis not any love in her. When she was a young maid, almost a child, sheset her heart on being a nun, and I think she has never forgiven herbaron for being the innocent means of preventing her. I scarcely knowwhich of them is the more to be pitied."
"Oh, he, surely!" exclaimed Clarice.
"Nay, I am not so sure. God help those who are unloved! but, far more,God help those who cannot love! I think she deserves the morecompassion of the two."
"May be," answered Clarice, slowly--her thoughts were running so fastthat her words came with hesitation. "But what shouldst thou say to onethat had outlived a sorrowful love, and now thought it a happy chancethat it had turned out contrary thereto?"
"It would depend upon how she had outlived it," responded Heliet,gravely.
"I heard one say, not many days gone," remarked Clarice--not meaning tolet Heliet know from whom she had heard it--"that when she was young sheloved a squire of her father, which did let her from wedding with him;and that now she was right thankful it so were, for he was killed on thefield, and left never a plack behind him, and she was far better off,being now wed unto a gentleman of wea
lth and substance. What shouldstthou say to that?"
"If it were one of any kin to thee I would as lief say nothing to it,"was Heliet's rather dry rejoinder.
"Nay, heed not that; I would fain know."
"Then I think the squire may have loved her, but so did she never him."
"In good sooth," said Clarice, "she told me she slept many a night on awet pillow."
"So have I seen a child that had broken his toy," replied Heliet,smiling.
Clarice saw pretty plainly that Heliet thought such a state of thingswas not love at all.
"But how else can love be outlived?" she said.
"Love cannot. But sorrow may be."
"Some folks say love and sorrow be nigh the same."
"Nay, 'tis sin and sorrow that be nigh the same. All selfishness issin, and very much of what men do commonly call love is but pureselfishness."
"Well, I never loved none yet," remarked Clarice.
"God have mercy on thee!" answered Heliet.
"Wherefore?" demanded Clarice, in surprise.
"Because," said Heliet, softly, "`he that loveth not knoweth not God,for God is charity.'"
"Art thou destined for the cloister?" asked Clarice.
Only priests, monks, and nuns, in her eyes, had any business to talkreligiously, or might reasonably be expected to do so.
"I am destined to fulfil that which is God's will for me," was Heliet'ssimple reply. "Whether that will be the cloister or no I have not yetlearned."
Clarice cogitated upon this reply while she ate stewed apples.
"Thou hast an odd name," she said, after a pause.
"What, Heliet?" asked its bearer, with a smile. "It is taken from thename of the holy prophet Elye, [Elijah] of old time."
"Is it? But I mean the other."
"Ah, I love it not," said Heliet.
"No, it is very queer," replied Clarice, with an apologetic blush, "veryodd--Underdone!"
"Oh, but that is not my name," answered Heliet, quickly, with a littlelaugh; "but it is quite as bad. It is Pride."
Clarice fancied she had heard the name before, but she could notremember where.
"But why is it bad?" said she. "Then I reckon Mistress Underdone hathbeen twice wed?"
"She hath," said Heliet, answering the last question first, as peopleoften do, "and my father was her first husband. Why is pride evil?Surely thou knowest that."
"Oh, I know it is one of the seven deadly sins, of course," respondedClarice, quickly; "still it is very necessary and noble."
Heliet's smile expressed a mixture of feelings. Clarice was not thefirst person who has held one axiom theoretically, but has practicallybehaved according to another.
"The Lord saith that He hates pride," said the lame girl, softly. "How,then, can it be necessary, not to say noble?"
"Oh, but--" Clarice went no further.
"But He did not mean what He said?"
"Oh, yes, of course!" said Clarice. "But--"
"Better drop the _but_," said Heliet, quaintly. "And Father Bevis isabout to say grace."
The Dominican friar rose and returned thanks for the repast, and thecompany broke up, the Earl and Countess, with their guests, leaving thehall by the upper door, while the household retired by the lower.
The preparations for sleep were almost as primitive as those for meals.Exalted persons, such as the Earl and Countess, slept in handsomebedsteads, of the tent form, hung with silk curtains, and spread withcoverlets of fur, silk, or tapestry. They washed in silver basins, withewers of the same costly metal; and they sat, the highest rank in curulechairs, the lower upon velvet-cove red forms or stools. But ordinarypeople, of whom Clarice was one, were not provided for in this luxuriousstyle. Bower-maidens slept in pallet-beds, which were made extremelylow, so as to run easily under one of the larger bedsteads, and thus beput out of the way. All beds rejoiced in a quantity of pillows. Ourancestors made much more use of pillows and cushions than we--a facteasily accounted for, considering that they had no softly-stuffedchairs, but only upright ones of hard carved wood. But Clarice's sheetswere simple "cloth of Rennes," while those of her mistress were set withjewels. Her mattress was stuffed with hay instead of wool; she hadneither curtains nor fly-nets, and her coverlet was of plain cloth,unwrought by the needle. In the matter of blankets they fared alikeexcept as to quality. But in the bower-maidens' chamber, where all thegirls slept together, there were no basins of any material. Early inthe morning a strong-armed maid came in, bearing a tub of water, whichshe set down on one of the coffers of carved oak which stood at the footof each bed and held all the personal treasures of the sleeper. Then,by means of a mop which she brought with her, she gently sprinkled everyface with water, thus intimating that it was time to get up. The tubshe left behind. It was to provide--on the principle of "first come,first served"--for the ablutions of all the five young ladies, thougheach had her personal towel. Virtue was thus its own reward, thelaziest girl being obliged to content herself with the dirtiest water.It must, however, be remembered that she was a fastidious damsel whowashed more than face and hands.
They then dressed themselves, carefully tying their respective amuletsround their necks, without which proceeding they would have anticipatedall manner of ill luck to befall them during the day. These articleswere small boxes of the nature of a locket, containing either a littledust of one saint, a shred of the conventual habit of another, or a fewverses from a gospel, written very minutely, and folded up extremelysmall. Then each girl, as she was ready, knelt in the window, andgabbled over in Latin, which she did not understand, a Paternoster, tenAves, and the Angelical Salutation, not unfrequently breaking eagerlyinto the conversation almost before the last Amen had left her lips.Prayers over, they passed into the sitting-room next door, where theygenerally found a basket of manchet bread and biscuits, with a large jugof ale or wine. A gentleman usher called for Mistress Underdone and hercharges, and conducted them to mass in the chapel. Here they usuallyfound the Earl and Countess before them, who alone, except the priests,were accommodated with seats. Each girl courtesied first to the altar,then to the Countess, and lastly to the Earl, before she took herallotted place. The Earl always returned the salutation by a quietinclination of his head. The Countess sat in stony dignity, and nevertook any notice of it. Needlework followed until dinner, after whichthe Countess gave audience for an hour to any person desiring to seeher, and usually concluded it by a half-hour's nap. Further needlework,for such as were not summoned to active attendance on their mistress ifshe went out, lasted until vespers, after which supper was served.After supper was the recreation time, when in most houses thebower-maidens enjoyed themselves with the gentlemen of the household ingames or dancing in the hall; but the Lady Margaret strictly forbade anysuch frivolous doings in her maidens. They were still confined to theirown sitting-room, except on some extraordinary occasion, and the onlyamusements allowed them were low-toned conversation, chess, draughts, orillumination. Music, dancing (even by the girls alone), noisy games ofall kinds, and laughter, the Countess strictly forbade. The practicalresult was that the young ladies fell back upon gossip andghost-stories, until there were few nights in the year when Roisia wouldhave dared to go to bed by herself for a king's ransom. An hour beforebed-time wine and cakes were served. After this Mistress Underdonerecited the Rosary, the girls making the responses, and at eighto'clock--a late hour at that time--they trooped off to bed. All wereexpected to be in bed and all lights out by half-past eight. Theunlucky maiden who loitered or was accidentally hindered had to finishher undressing in the dark.
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Note 1. This strange habit of the Countess is a fact, and sorelydistressed the Earl, as he has himself put on record, though with allhis annoyance he shows himself quite conscious of the comicality of theproceeding.
Note 2. The _depenseur_, or family provider. Hence comes the name ofLe Despenser, which, therefore,
should not be spelt Despencer.