The girl kept silence. She sat erect in the tumbled bed, her handsclasping her knees, and appeared to deliberate what Dame Ysabeau hadsaid. The plentiful brown hair fell about this Rosamund's face, whichwas white and shrewd. "A part of what you say, madame, I understand.I know that Gregory Darrell loves me, yet I have long ago acknowledgedhe loves me but as one pets a child, or, let us say, a spaniel whichreveres and amuses one. I lack his wit, you comprehend, and so henever speaks to me all that he thinks. Yet a part of it he tells me,and he loves me, and with this I am content. Assuredly, if they giveme to Sarum I shall hate Sarum even more than I detest him now. Andthen, I think, Heaven help me! that I would not greatly grieve-- Oh,you are all evil!" Rosamund said; "and you thrust thoughts into my mindI may not grapple with!"
"You will comprehend them," the Queen said, "when you know yourself achattel, bought and paid for."
The Queen laughed. She rose, and either hand strained toward heaven."You are omnipotent, yet have You let me become that into which I amtransmuted," she said, very low.
Anon she began, as though a statue spoke through motionless and pallidlips. "They have long urged me, Rosamund, to a deed which by onestroke would make me mistress of these islands. To-day I looked onGregory Darrell, and knew that I was wise in love--and I had but tocrush a filthy worm to come to him. Eh, and I was tempted--!"
The fearless girl said: "Let us grant that Gregory loves you verygreatly, and me just when his leisure serves. You may offer him acushioned infamy, a colorful and brief delirium, and afterwarddemolishment of soul and body; I offer him contentment and a levellife, made up of tiny happenings, it may be, and lacking both inabysses and in skyey heights. Yet is love a flame wherein must thelover's soul be purified, as an ore by fire, even to its own discredit;and thus, madame, to judge between us I dare summon you."
"Child, child!" the Queen said, tenderly, and with a smile, "you arebrave; and in your fashion you are wise; yet you will never comprehend.But once I was in heart and soul and body all that you are to-day; andnow I am Queen Ysabeau. Assuredly, it would be hard to yield my singlechance of happiness; it would be hard to know that Gregory Darrell mustpresently dwindle into an ox well-pastured, and garner of life no morethan any ox; but to say, 'Let this girl become as I, and garner thatwhich I have garnered--!' Did you in truth hear nothing, Rosamund?"
"Why, nothing save the wind."
"Strange!" said the Queen; "since all the while that I have talked withyou I have been seriously annoyed by shrieks and various imprecations!But I, too, grow cowardly, it maybe-- Nay, I know," she said, and in aresonant voice, "that I am by this mistress of broad England, until myson--my own son, born of my body, and in glad anguish, Rosamund--knowsme for what I am. For I have heard-- Coward! O beautiful sleekcoward!" the Queen said; "I would have died without lamentation and Iwas but your plaything!"
"Madame Ysabeau--!" the girl stammered, and ran toward her, for thegirl had risen, and she was terrified.
"To bed!" said Ysabeau; "and put out the lights lest he come presently.Or perhaps he fears me now too much to come to-night. Yet the nightapproaches, none the less, when I must lift some arras and find himthere, chalk-white, with painted cheeks, and rigid, and smiling veryterribly, or look into some mirror and behold there not myself buthim--and in that instant I will die. Meantime I rule, until my sonattains his manhood. Eh, Rosamund, my only son was once so tiny, andso helpless, and his little crimson mouth groped toward me, helplessly,and save in Bethlehem, I thought, there was never any child more fair--But I must forget all that, for even now he plots. Hey, God ordersmatters very shrewdly, my Rosamund."
And timidly the girl touched one shoulder. "In part, I understand,madame and Queen."
"You understand nothing," said Ysabeau; "how should you understandwhose breasts are yet so tiny? Nay, put out the light! though I dreadthe darkness, Rosamund--For they say that hell is poorly lighted--andthey say--" Then Queen Ysabeau shrugged. Herself blew out each lamp.
"We know this Gregory Darrell," the Queen said in the darkness, andaloud, "ay, to the marrow we know him, however steadfastly we blink,and we know the present turmoil of his soul; and in common-sense whatchance have you of victory?"
"None in common-sense, madame, and yet you go too fast. For man is abeing of mingled nature, we are told by those in holy orders, and hislife here but one unending warfare between that which is divine in himand that which is bestial, while impartial Heaven attends as arbiter ofthe cruel tourney. Always his judgment misleads the man, and hisfaculties allure him to a truce, however brief, with iniquity. Hissenses raise a mist about his goings, and there is not an endowment ofthe man but in the end plays traitor to his interest, as of His wisdomGod intends; so that when the man is overthrown, God the Eternal Fathermay, in reason, be neither vexed nor grieved if only he takes heart torise again. And when, betrayed and impotent, the man elects to fightout the allotted battle, defiant of common-sense and of the counsellorswhich God Himself accorded, I think that they hold festival in heaven."
"A very pretty sermon," said the Queen, and with premeditation yawned.
Followed a silence, vexed only on the purposeless September winds; butI believe that neither of these two slept with an inappropriateprofundity.
About dawn one of the Queen's attendants roused Sir Gregory Darrell andpresently conducted him into the hedged garden of Ordish, where Ysabeauwalked in tranquil converse with Lord Berners. The old man was in highgood-humor.
"My lad," said he, and clapped Sir Gregory upon the shoulder, "youhave, I do protest, the very phoenix of sisters. I was never happier."And he went away chuckling.
The Queen said in a toneless voice, "We ride for Blackfriars now."
Darrell responded, "I am content, and ask but leave to speak, andbriefly, with Dame Rosamund before I die."
Then the woman came more near to him. "I am not used to beg, butwithin this hour you die, and I have loved no man in all my life savingonly you, Sir Gregory Darrell. Nor have you loved any person as youloved me once in France. Nay, to-day, I may speak freely, for with youthe doings of that boy and girl are matters overpast. Yet were itotherwise--eh, weigh the matter carefully! for absolute mistress ofEngland am I now, and entire England would I give you, and such love asthat slim, white innocence has never dreamed of would I give you,Gregory Darrell--No, no! ah, Mother of God, not you!" The Queenclapped one hand upon his lips.
"Listen," she quickly said, as a person in the crisis of panic; "Ispoke to tempt you. But you saw, and clearly, that it was the sicklywhim of a wanton, and you never dreamed of yielding, for you love thisRosamund Eastney, and you know me to be vile. Then have a care of me!The strange woman am I of whom we read that her house is the way tohell, going down to the chambers of death. Yea, many strong men havebeen slain by me, and futurely will many others be slain, it may be;but never you among them, my Gregory, who are more wary, and moremerciful, and know that I have need to lay aside at least onecomfortable thought against eternity."
"I concede you to have been unwise--" he hoarsely said.
About them fell the dying leaves, of many glorious colors, but the airof this new day seemed raw and chill.
Then Rosamund came through the opening in the hedge. "Nay, choose,"she wearily said; "the woman offers life and empery and wealth, and itmay be, even a greater love than I am capable of giving you. I offer adishonorable death within the moment."
And again, with that peculiar and imperious gesture, the man flung backhis head, and he laughed. "I am I! and I will so to live that I mayface without shame not only God, but even my own scrutiny." He wheeledupon the Queen and spoke henceforward very leisurely. "I love you; allmy life long I have loved you, Ysabeau, and even now I love you: andyou, too, dear Rosamund, I love, though with a difference. And everyfibre of my being lusts for the power that you would give me, Ysabeau,and for the good which I would do with it in the England I or RogerMortimer must rule; as every fibre of my being lusts for the man that Iwould
be could I choose death without debate, and for the man which youwould make of me, my Rosamund.
"The man! And what is this man, this Gregory Darrell, that his welfarebe considered?--an ape who chatters to himself of kinship with thearchangels while filthily he digs for groundnuts! This much I know, atbottom, durst I but be honest.
"Yet more clearly do I perceive that this same man, like all hisfellows, is a maimed god who walks the world dependent upon many wiseand evil counsellors. He must measure, and to a hair's-breadth, everycontent of the world by means of a bloodied sponge, tucked somewhere inhis skull, which is ungeared by the first cup of wine and ruined by thetouch of his own finger. He must appraise all that he judges with nobetter instruments than two bits of colored jelly, with a bunglingmakeshift so maladroit that the nearest horologer's apprentice couldhave devised a more accurate device. In fine, he is under penaltycondemned to compute eternity with false weights and to estimateinfinity with a yardstick: and he very often does it. For though, 'Ifthen I do that which I would not I consent unto the law,' saith eventhe Apostle; yet the braver Pagan answers him, 'Perceive at last thatthou hast in thee something better and more divine than the thingswhich cause the various effects and, as it were, pull thee by thestrings.'
"There lies the choice which every man must make--or rationally, as hisreason goes, to accept his own limitations and make the best of hisallotted prison-yard? or stupendously to play the fool and swear evento himself (while his own judgment shrieks and proves a flat denial),that he is at will omnipotent? You have chosen long ago, my poor proudYsabeau; and I choose now, and differently: for poltroon that I am!being now in a cold drench of terror, I steadfastly protest I am notmuch afraid, and I choose death, madame."
It was toward Rosamund that the Queen looked, and smiled a littlepitifully. "Should Queen Ysabeau be angry or vexed or very cruel now,my Rosamund? for at bottom she is glad."
More lately the Queen said: "I give you back your plighted word. Iride homeward to my husks, but you remain. Or rather, the Countess ofFarrington departs for the convent of Ambresbury, disconsolate in herwidowhood and desirous to have done with worldly affairs. It is mostnatural she should relinquish to her beloved and only brother all herdower-lands--or so at least Messire de Berners acknowledges. Here,then, is the grant, my Gregory, that conveys to you those lands ofRalph de Belomys which last year I confiscated. And this tediousMessire de Berners is willing now--nay, desirous--to have you for ason-in-law."
About them fell the dying leaves, of many glorious colors, but the airof this new day seemed raw and chill, what while, very calmly, DameYsabeau took Sir Gregory's hand and laid it upon the hand of RosamundEastney. "Our paladin is, in the outcome, a mortal man, and thereforeI do not altogether envy you. Yet he has his moments, and you arecapable. Serve, then, not only his desires but mine also, dearRosamund."
There was a silence. The girl spoke as though it was a sacrament. "Iwill, madame and Queen."
Thus did the Queen end her holiday.
A little later the Countess of Farrington rode from Ordish with all hertrain save one; and riding from that place, where love was, she sangvery softly, and as to herself.
Sang Ysabeau:
"_As with her dupes dealt Circe Life deals with hers, pardie! Reshaping without mercy, And shaping swinishly, To wallow swinishly, And for eternity--_
"_Though, harder than the witch was, Life, changing ne'er the whole, Transmutes the body, which was Proud garment of the soul, And briefly drugs the soul, Whose ruin is her goal--_
"_And means by this thereafter A subtler mirth to get, And mock with bitterer laughter Her helpless dupes' regret, Their swinish dull regret For what they half forget._"
And within the hour came Hubert Frayne to Ordish, on a foam-speckedhorse, as he rode to announce to the King's men the King's barbaricmurder overnight, at Berkeley Castle, by Queen Ysabeau's order.
"Ride southward," said Lord Berners, and panted as they buckled on hisdisused armor; "but harkee, Frayne! if you pass the Countess ofFarrington's company, speak no syllable of your news, since it is notconvenient that a lady so thoroughly and so praiseworthily--Lord, Lord,how I have fattened!--so intent on holy things, in fine, should haveher meditations disturbed by any such unsettling tidings. Hey,son-in-law?"
Sir Gregory Darrell laughed, and very bitterly. "He that is withoutblemish among you--" he said. Then they armed completely.
THE END OF THE FOURTH NOVEL
V
The Story of the Housewife
"_Selh que m blasma vostr' amor ni m defen Non podon far en re mon cor mellor, Ni'l dous dezir qu'ieu ai de vos major, Ni l'enveya' ni'l dezir, ni'l talen._"
THE FIFTH NOVEL.--PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT DARES TO LOVE UNTHRIFTILY, AND BY THE PRODIGALITY OF HER AFFECTION SHAMES TREACHERY, AND COMMON-SENSE, AND HIGH ROMANCE, QUITE STOLIDLY; BUT, AS LOVING GOES, IS OVERTOPPED BY HER MORE STOLID SQUIRE.
The Story of the Housewife
In the year of grace 1326, upon Walburga's Eve, some three hours aftersunset (thus Nicolas begins), had you visited a certain garden on theoutskirts of Valenciennes, you might there have stumbled upon a big,handsome boy, prone on the turf, where by turns he groaned and ventedhimself in sullen curses. The profanity had its poor palliation. Heirto England though he was, you must know that his father in the fleshhad hounded him from England, as more recently his uncle Charles theHandsome had driven him from France. Now had this boy's mother and hecome as suppliants to the court of that stalwart nobleman Sire William(Count of Hainault, Holland, and Zealand, and Lord of Friesland), wheretheir arrival had evoked the suggestion that they depart at theirearliest convenience. To-morrow, then, these footsore royalties, theQueen of England and the Prince of Wales, would be thrust out-o'-doorsto resume the weary beggarship, to knock again upon the obdurate gatesof this unsympathizing king or that deaf emperor.
Accordingly the boy aspersed his destiny. At hand a nightingalecarolled as though an exiled prince were the blithest spectacle themoon knew.
There came through the garden a tall girl, running, stumbling in herhaste. "Hail, King of England!" she panted.
"Do not mock me, Philippa!" the boy half-sobbed. Sulkily he rose tohis feet.
"No mockery here, my fair sweet friend. Nay, I have told my father allwhich happened yesterday. I pleaded for you. He questioned me veryclosely. And when I had ended, he stroked his beard, and presentlystruck one hand upon the table. 'Out of the mouth of babes!' he said.Then he said: 'My dear, I believe for certain that this lady and herson have been driven from their kingdom wrongfully. If it be for thegood of God to comfort the afflicted, how much more is it commendableto help and succor one who is the daughter of a king, descended fromroyal lineage, and to whose blood we ourselves are related!' Andaccordingly he and your mother have their heads together yonder,planning an invasion of England, no less, and the dethronement of yourwicked father, my Edward. And accordingly--hail, King of England!"The girl clapped her hands gleefully, what time the nightingale sang on.
But the boy kept momentary silence. Even in youth the Plantagenetswere never handicapped by excessively tender hearts; yesterday in theshrubbery the boy had kissed this daughter of Count William, in partbecause she was a healthy and handsome person, and partly, and withconsciousness of the fact, as a necessitated hazard of futurity. Well!he had found chance-taking not unfortunate. With the episode asfoundation, Count William had already builded up the future queenshipof England. A wealthy count could do--and, as it seemed, was now intrain to do--indomitable deeds to serve his son-in-law; and now thebeggar of five minutes since foresaw himself, with this girl's love asladder, mounting to the high habitations of the King of England, theLord of Ireland, and the Duke of Aquitaine. Thus they would herald him.
So he embraced the girl. "Hail, Queen of England!" said the Prince;and then, "If I forget--" His voice broke awkwardly. "My dear, ifever I forget--!" Their lips met now, what time the night
ingalediscoursed as on a wager.
Presently was mingled with the bird's descant low singing of anotherkind. Beyond the yew-hedge as these two stood silent, breast tobreast, passed young Jehan Kuypelant, the Brabant page, fitting to theaccompaniment of a lute his paraphrase of the song which Archilochus ofSicyon very anciently made in honor of Venus Melaenis, the tender Venusof the Dark.
At a gap in the hedge the Brabanter paused. His melody was hastilygulped. You saw, while these two stood heart hammering against heart,his lean face silvered by the moonlight, his mouth a tiny abyss.Followed the beat of lessening footsteps, while the nightingaleimprovised his envoi.
But earlier Jehan Kuypelant also had sung, as though in rivalry withthe bird.
Sang Jehan Kuypelant:
"_Hearken and heed, Melaenis! For all that the litany ceased When Time had taken the victim, And flouted thy pale-lipped priest, And set astir in the temple Where burned the fire of thy shrine The owls and wolves of the desert-- Yet hearken, (the issue is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!_
"_For I have followed, nor faltered-- Adrift in a land of dreams Where laughter and loving and wonder Contend as a clamor of streams, I have seen and adored the Sidonian, Implacable, fair and divine-- And bending low, have implored thee To hearken, (the issue is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!_"