*CHAPTER II.*
_*TWO SURPRISES FOR ELAINE*_*.*
"I feel within me A mind above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience." --SHAKSPERE.
I should like to know, if I could find out, what it is that makes Alixhave such a fancy for Lady Isabeau de Montbeillard. I think she is justabominable. She finishes off every sentence with a little cracklinglaugh, which it drives me wild to hear. It makes no difference what itis about. Whether it be, "Dear Damoiselle, how kind you are!" or "Do younot think my lord looks but poorly?" they all end up with "Ha, ha, ha!"Sometimes I feel as though I could shake her like Lovel does the rats.
If Lady Isabeau were like Alix in her ways, I would understand itbetter; but they are totally unlike, and yet they seem to have a fancyfor each other.
As for the Baron, I don't care a bit about him any way. He is likeUmberge in that respect--there is nothing in him either to like ordislike. And if there can be still less of anything than in him, I thinkit is in his brother, Messire Raymond, who sits with his mouth a littleopen, staring at one as if one were a curiosity in a show.
Alix told me this morning that I was too censorious. I am afraid thatlast sentence looks rather like it. Perhaps I had better stop.
The Baron and his lady went with us to the hawking, and so did MessireRaymond; but he never caught so much as a sparrow. Then, after we cameback, I had to try on my new dress, which Marguerite had just finished.It really is a beauty. The under-tunic is of crimson velvet, thesuper-tunic of blue samite embroidered in silver; the mantle of reddishtawny, with a rich border of gold. I shall wear my blue kerchief withit, which Monseigneur gave me last New Year's Day, and my golden girdlestudded with sapphires. The sleeves are the narrowest I have yet had,for the Lady de Montbeillard told Alix that last time she was at theCourt, the sleeves were much tighter at the wrist than they used to be,and she thinks, in another twenty years or so, the pocketing sleeve[#]may be quite out of fashion. It would be odd if sleeves were to be madethe same width all the way down. But the Lady de Montbeillard saw QueenMarguerite[#] when she was at Poictiers, and she says that the Queenwore a tunic of the most beautiful pale green, and her sleeves were theclosest worn by any lady there.
[#] One of the most uncomely and inconvenient vagaries of fashion. Thesleeve was moderately tight from shoulder to elbow, and just below theelbow it went off in a wide pendant sweep, reaching almost to the knee.The pendant part was used as a pocket.
[#] Daughter of Louis VII., King of France, and Constanca of Castilla:wife of Henry, eldest son of Henry II. of England. Her husband wascrowned during his father's life, and by our mediaeval chroniclers isalways styled Henry the Third.
I wish I were a queen. It is not because I think it would be grand, butbecause queens and princesses wear their coronets over their kerchiefsinstead of under. And it is such a piece of business to fasten one'skerchief every morning with the coronet underneath. Marguerite has lesstrouble than I have with it, as she has nothing to fasten but thekerchief. And if it is not done to perfection I am sure to hear of itfrom Alix.
When Marguerite was braiding my hair this morning, I asked her if sheknew why she was made. She was ready enough with her answer.
"To serve you, Damoiselle, without doubt."
"And why was I made, dost thou think, Marguerite? To be served bythee--or to serve some one else?"
"Of course, while the Damoiselle is young and at home, she will serveMonseigneur. Then, when the cavalier comes who pleases Monseigneur andthe good God, he will serve the Damoiselle. And afterwards,--it is theduty of a good wife to serve her lord. And of course, all, nobles andvilleins, must serve the good God."
"Well, thou hast settled it easier than I could do it," said I. "But,Margot, dost thou never become tired of all this serving?"
"Not now, Damoiselle."
"What dost thou mean by that?"
"Ah, there was a time," said Marguerite, and I thought a blush burned onher dear old face, "when I was a young, silly maiden, and very, veryfoolish, Damoiselle."
"Dost thou think all maidens silly, Margot?"
"Very few wise, Damoiselle. My foolish head was full of enviousthoughts, I know that--vain wishes that I had been born a noble lady,instead of a villein maiden. I thought scorn to serve, and would fainhave been born to rule."
"How very funny!" said I. "I never knew villeins had any notions ofthat sort. I thought they were quite content."
"Is the noble Damoiselle always quite content? Pardon me."
"Why, no," said I. "But then, Margot, I am noble, and nobles mayrightfully aspire. Villeins ought to be satisfied with the lot whichthe good God has marked out for them, and with the honour of serving anoble House."
"Ha, Damoiselle! The Damoiselle has used a deep, strong word. Satisfy!I believe nothing will satisfy any living heart of man or woman,--exceptthat one thing."
"What one thing?"
"I am an ignorant villein, my Damoiselle. I do not know the holy Latintongue, as ladies do. But now and then Father Eudes will render somewords of the blessed Evangel into French in his sermon. And he did sothat day--when I was satisfied."
"What was it that satisfied thee, then, Margot?"
"They were words, Father Eudes said, of the good God Himself, when Hewalked on middle earth among us men. 'Come unto Me,' He said, 'all yethat labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'"
"But I do not understand, Marguerite. How did those words satisfythee?"
"The words did not, Damoiselle. But the thing did. I just took theblessed Lord at His word, and went to Him, and, thanks be to His holyName, He gave me rest."
"What dost thou mean, Margot?"
"Will the dear Damoiselle not come and try? She will want rest, someday."
"Had I not better wait till I am tired?" said I, laughingly.
"Ah, yes! we never want rest till we are tired.--But not wait to come tothe merciful Lord. Oh no, no!"
"Nay, I cannot comprehend thee, Margot."
"No, my Damoiselle. She is not likely to know how to come until shewants to do it. When she does want it, the good God will hear theDamoiselle, for He heard her servant."
"Didst thou entreat the intercession of Saint Marguerite?"
"Ah, no. I am but an ignorant old woman. The dear Lord said, 'Comeunto _Me_.' And I thought, perhaps, He meant it. So I just went."
"But how couldst thou, Margot?"
"If it please my Damoiselle, I did it. And if He had been angry, Isuppose He would not have heard me."
"But how dost thou know He did hear thee?"
"When the Damoiselle entreats Monseigneur to give her a silver mark, andhe opens his purse and gives it, is it possible for her to doubt that hehas heard her? The good God must have heard me, because He gave merest."
"I do not understand, Margot, what thou meanest by rest. And I want toknow all about it. Have things given over puzzling thee? Is there somelight come upon them?"
"It seems to me, Damoiselle, if I be not too bold in speaking my poorthoughts"----
"Go on," said I. "I want to know them."
"Then, my Damoiselle, it seems to me that there are two great lights inwhich we may see every thing in this world. The first is a fiercelight, like the sun. But it blinds and dazzles us. The holy angelsperchance can bear it, for it streams from the Throne of God, and theystand before that Throne. But we cannot. Our mortal eyes must behidden in that dread and unapproachable light. And if I mistake not, itis by this light that the Damoiselle has hitherto tried to see things,and no wonder that her eyes are dazzled. But the other light soothesand enlightens. It is soft and clear, like the moonlight, and itstreams from the Cross of Calvary. There the good God paid down, in thered gold of His own blood, the price of our redemption. It must havebeen because He thought it worth while. And if He paid such a price fora poor villein woman like me, He must have wanted me. The Damoisellewould not cast a p
earl into the Vienne for which she had paid a thousandcrowns. And if He cared enough about me to give His life for me, thenHe must care enough to be concerned about my welfare in this lowerworld. The Damoiselle would not refuse a cup of water to him to whomshe was willing to give a precious gem. Herein lies rest. What the goodGod, who thus loves me, wills for me, I will for myself also."
"But, Marguerite, it might be something that would break thine heart."
"Would the blessed Lord not know that? But I do not think He breakshearts that are willing to be His. He melts them. It is the heartsthat harden themselves like a rock which have to be broken."
"But thou wouldst not like something which hurt thee?"
"Not enjoy it--no, no. Did the Damoiselle enjoy the verdigris plasterwhich the apothecary put on her when she was ill three years ago? Yetshe did not think him her enemy, but her friend. Ah, the good God hasHis medicine-chest. And it holds smarting plasters and bitter drugs.But they are better than to be ill, Damoiselle."
"Marguerite, I had no idea thou wert such a philosopher."
"Ah, the noble Damoiselle is pleased to laugh at her servant, who doesnot know what that hard word means. No, there is nothing old Margueriteknows, only how to come to the blessed Lord and ask Him for rest. _He_gave the rest. And He knew how to do it."
I wonder if old Marguerite is not the truest philosopher of us all. Itis evident that things do not puzzle her, just because she lets themalone, and leaves them with God. Still, that is not knowing. And Iwant to know.
Oh, I wish I could tell if it is wicked to want to know!
I wonder if the truth be that there are things which we cannotknow:--things which the good God does not tell us, not because He wishesus to be ignorant, but because He could not possibly make us comprehendthem. But then why did He not make us wiser?--or why does He letquestions perplex us to which we can find no answer?
I think it must be that He does not wish us to find the answer. Andwhy? I will see what idea Marguerite has about that. She seems to gethold of wise notions in some unintelligible way, for of course she isonly a villein, and cannot have as much sense as a noble.
There was that tiresome Messire Raymond in the hall when I went down.He is noble enough, for his mother's mother was a Princess of theCarlovingian[#] blood: but I am sure he has no more sense than he needs.The way in which he says "Ah!" when I tell him anything, justexasperates me. The Baron, his brother, is a shade better, though hewill never wear a laurel crown.[#] Still, he does not say "Ah!"
[#] A descendant of Charlemagne.
[#] The prize of intellect.
I don't like younger brothers. In fact, I don't think I like men of anysort. Except Guy, of course--and Monseigneur. But then other men arenot like them. Guillot, and Amaury, and Raoul rank with the other men.
I wonder if women are very much better. I don't think they are, if I amto look upon Alix and the Lady de Montbeillard as samples.
Oh dear, I wonder why I hate people so! It must be because they arehateful. Does anybody think _me_ hateful? How queer it would be, ifthey did!
I really do feel, to-night, as if I did not know whether I was standingon my feet or on my head. I cannot realise it one bit. Alix going to bemarried! Alix going away from the Castle! And I--I--to be the onlymistress there!
Monseigneur called me down into the hall, as I stood picking the deadleaves from my rose-bushes for a pot-pourri. There was no one in thehall but himself. Well, of course there were a quantity of servitorsand retainers, but they never count for anything. I mean, there wasnobody that is anybody. He bade me come up to him, and he drew meclose, kissed me on the forehead, and stroked down my hair.
"What will my cabbage say to what I have to tell her?" said he.
"Is it something pleasant, Monseigneur?" said I.
"Now, there thou posest me," he answered, "Yes,--in one light. No,--inanother. And in which of the two lights thou wilt see it, I do not yetknow."
I looked up into his face and waited.
"Dost thou like Messire Raymond de Montbeillard?"
"No, Monseigneur," I answered.
"No? Ha! then perchance thou wilt not like my news."
"Messire Raymond has something to do with it?"
"Every thing."
"Well," said I, I am afraid rather saucily, "so long as he does not wantto marry me, I do not much care what he does."
Monseigneur pinched my ear, kissed me, and seemed extremely amused.
"Thee? No, no! Not just yet, my little cabbage. Not just yet! Butsuppose he wanted to marry Alix?"
"Does he want to marry Alix?"
"He does."
"And under your good leave, Monseigneur?"
"Well, yes. I see no good reason to the contrary, my little cat. He isa brave knight, and has a fine castle, and is a real Carlovingian."[#]
[#] Throughout France in the Middle Ages, the Carlovingian blood wasrated at an extravagant value.
"He is a donkey!" said I. "Real, too."
"Ha, hush, then!" replied Monseigneur, yet laughing, and patting mycheek. "Well, well--perhaps not overburdened with brains--how sharpthou art, child, to be sure! (No want of brains in that direction.)But a good, worthy man, my cabbage, and a stalwart knight."
"And when is it to be, Monseigneur?" I asked.
"In a hurry to see the fine dresses?" demanded my gracious Lord, andlaughed again. "Nay, I think not till after Christmas. Time enoughthen. _I_ am in no hurry to lose my housekeeper. Canst thou keep house,my rabbit?--ha, ha! Will there be anything for dinner? Ha, ha, ha,ha!"
I was half frightened, and yet half delighted. Of course, I thought, ifAlix goes away, Umberge will come and reign here. Nobody is likely tothink me old enough or good enough.
"Under your Nobility's good leave, I will see to that," said I.
Monseigneur answered by a peal of laughter. "Ha, ha, ha! Showing hertalons, is she? Wants to rule, my cabbage--does she? A true woman, onmy troth! Ha, ha, ha!"
"If it please you, Monseigneur, why should you come short of dinnerbecause I see about it?"
My gracious Lord laughed more than ever.
"No reason at all, my little rabbit!--no reason at all! Try thy hand,by all means--by all means! So Umberge does not need to come? Ha, ha,ha, ha!"
"Certainly not for me," said I, rather piqued.
"Seriously, my little cat," said he, and his face grew grave. "Wouldstthou rather Umberge did not come? Art thou not friends with her?"
"Oh, as to friends, so-so, la-la,"[#] said I. "But I think I should getalong quite as well without her."
[#] Middling.
"But wouldst thou not weary for a woman's company?"
"I never weary for any company but Guy's," I answered; and I think thetears came into my eyes.
"Is it still Guy?" said he, smiling, but very kindly now. "Always Guy?Well, well! When the time comes--I promised the boy thou shouldst goout to him. We must wait till he writes to say he is ready to receivethee. So Guy stands first, does he?"
I nodded, for my heart was too full to speak. He patted my head again,and let me go. But I thought he looked a little troubled; and I couldnot tell why.
When I came to undress, the same evening, I asked Marguerite if she hadheard the news.
"The Damoiselle Alix was so gracious as to inform me," said she.
"Dost thou like it, Margot?"
"Ha, my Damoiselle! What does it matter what a villein old womanlikes?"
"It matters to me, or I should not have asked thee," said I.
"I trust it will be for the noble Damoiselle's welfare," said she; and Icould get her to say no more.
"Now, Margot, tell me something else," said I. "Why does the good Godnot make all things clear to everybody? What sayest thou?"
"He has not told me why, Damoiselle. Perhaps, to teach my Damoiselle totrust Him. There could be no trust if we always knew."
"But is not knowing better than trusting?" I replied.
"Is it?" responded Marguerite. "Does Monseigneur always take myDamoiselle into his secrets, and never require her to trust him? God isthe great King of all the world. Kings always have secret matters.Surely the King of kings must have His state secrets too."
This seemed putting it on a new footing. I sat and considered thematter, while Marguerite took off my dove cote[#] and unbound my hair.
[#] The rich network which confined the hair; often of gold and preciousstones.
"Still, I don't see why we may not know everything," I said at last.
"Does my Damoiselle remember what stood in the midst of the beautifulGarden of God, wherein Adam and Eva were put to dwell?"
"The tree of knowledge," said I. "True; but that does not help me tothe why. Why might Adam and Eva not eat it?"
"Will my Damoiselle pardon me? I think it does help to the why; but notto the why of the why--which is what she always wants to see. Why Adamand Eva might not eat it, I suppose, was because the good God forbadeit."
"But why, Marguerite?--why?"
"Ha! I am not the good God."
"I do not see it one bit," said I. "Surely knowledge is a good thing."
"Knowledge of good, ay,--which is knowledge of God. The good Lord neverforbids us that. He commands it. But let me entreat my Damoiselle toremember, that this was the tree of knowledge of good _and evil_. Thatwe should know evil cannot be good."
"I do not understand why the good God ever let Satan be at all," said I."And I do not see how Satan came to be Satan, to begin with."
"The blessed Lord knows all about it," said Marguerite. "When myDamoiselle was a little child, I am sure she did not understand why wegave her bitter medicines. But the apothecary knew. Can my Damoisellenot leave all her questions with the good Lord?"
"I want them answered, Margot!" I cried impatiently. "If I knew that Ishould understand when I am dead, I would not so much mind waiting. ButI don't know any thing. And I don't like it."
"Well, I do not know even that much," she replied. "It may be so. Icannot tell. But the good Lord knows--and He loves me."
"How knowest thou that, Marguerite?"
"People don't die for a man, Damoiselle, unless they love him very muchindeed."
"But how dost thou know that it was for thee?"
"It was for sinners: and I am one."
"But not for all sinners, Margot. A great many sinners will go toperdition, Father Eudes says. How canst thou tell if thou art one ofthem or not?"
"Ah, that did perplex me at first. But one day Father Eudes read out ofthe holy Gospel that all who believed in our Lord should have lifeeternal: so that settled it. The sinners that are lost must be thosewho do not believe in our Lord."
"Marguerite! don't we all believe in Him?"
"Let the Damoiselle forgive me if I speak foolishly. But there are twobrothers among the varlets in the hall--Philippe and Robert. Now, Iquite believe that they both exist. I know a good deal about them. Iknow their father and mother, Pierrot and Arlette: and I know thatPhilippe has a large nose and black hair, and he is fond of porpoise;while Robert has brown hair and limps a little, and he likes quinces.Yet, if I wanted to send a crown to my niece Perette, I should feelquite satisfied that Robert would carry it straight to her, while Ishould not dare to give it to Philippe, lest he should go to the nextcabaret and spend it in wine. Now, don't I believe in Robert in a verydifferent way from that in which I believe in Philippe?"
"Why, thou meanest that Robert may be trusted, but Philippe cannot be,"said I. "But what has it to do with the matter?"
"Let the Damoiselle think a moment. Does she simply believe that thegood God is, or does she trust Him?"
"Trust Him!--with what?" said I.
"With yourself, my Damoiselle."
"With myself!" I exclaimed. "Nay, Margot, what dost thou mean now?"
"How does the Damoiselle trust Monseigneur? Has she any care lest heshould fail to provide her with food and clothing suitable to her rank?Does it not seem to her a matter of course that so long as he lives hewill always love her, and care for her, and never forget nor neglecther? Has she ever lain awake at night fretting over the idea thatMonseigneur might give over providing for her or being concerned abouther welfare?"
"What a ridiculous notion!" I cried. "Why, Margot, I simply could notdo it. He is my father."
"And what does my Damoiselle read in the holy Psalter? Is it not 'Likeas a father pitieth his children, even so the Lord pitieth them thatfear Him?' Is He not Our Father?"
"Yes, of course we expect the good God to take care of us," I replied."But then, Margot, it is a different thing. And thou knowest He doesnot always take care of us in that way. He lets all sorts of thingshappen to hurt and grieve us."
"Then, when my Damoiselle is ill, and Monseigneur sends off in hot hastefor Messire Denys to come and bleed her in the foot, he is _not_ takingcare of her? It hurts her, I think."
"Oh, that has to be, Margot. As thou saidst, it is better than beingill."
"And--let my Damoiselle bear with her servant--is there no 'must be'with the good God?"
"But I don't see why, Margot. He could make us well all in a minute.Monseigneur cannot."
"Yet suppose it is better that my Damoiselle should not be made well allin a minute, but should learn by suffering to be patient in sickness,and thankful for her usual good health? Did not Monseigneur Saint Davidsay, 'It is good for me that I have been afflicted'?"
"Oh, what a queer idea!" said I.
"Is it?" quietly answered Marguerite. "I once heard a young noble ladysay, about three years ago, that it was so delightful to feel well againafter being ill, that it really was worth while going through the painto reach it. And I think,--if I may be pardoned the allusion,--I thinkthey called her the Damoiselle Elaine de Lusignan."
I could not help laughing. "Well, I dare say I did say something likeit. But, Margot, it is only when I am getting well that I think so.When I am well, to begin with, I don't want to go through the painagain."
"When my Damoiselle is truly well of the mortal disease of sin, she willnever need to go through the pain again. But that will not be till thesin and the body are laid down together."
"Till we die--dost thou mean that?"
"Till we die."
"O Margot! don't. I hate to think of dying."
"Yes. It is pleasanter to think of living. They are well for whom allthe dying comes first, and the life is hereafter."
"Well, I suppose I shall be all right," said I, jumping into bed."Monseigneur pays my Church dues, and I hear the holy mass sung everyday. I say my prayers night and morning, and in all my life I never wasso wicked as to touch meat on a fast-day. I think, on the whole, I am avery good girl."
"Will my Damoiselle be angry if I ask her whether the good Lord thinksthe same?"
"O Marguerite! how can I know?"
"Because, if Father Eudes read it right, we do know. 'There is nonethat doeth good, no, not one.'"
"Margot, how thou must listen to Father Eudes! I hear him mumbling away,but I never bother my head with what he is saying. He has got to sayit; and I have got to sit there till he has done; that is all. I amusemyself in all sorts of ways--count the bits of glass in the window, orwatch the effect of the crimson and blue light creeping over the stallsand pillars, or think how Saint Agatha would look in a green robeinstead of a purple one. What makes thee listen to all the stuff hesays?"
"My Damoiselle sees that--saving her presence--I am a little like her.I want to know."
"But Father Eudes never tells us anything worth knowing, surely!"
"Ha! Pardon me, my Damoiselle. He reads the true words of the good Godfrom the holy Evangels. Commonly they are in the holy Latin tongue, andthen I can only stand and listen reverently to the strange sounds: thegood God understands, not I. But now and then I suppose the blessed Lordwhispers to Father Eudes to put it into French for a moment: and that iswhat I am listening for all the time.
Then I treasure the words up likesome costly gem; and say them to myself a hundred times over, so that Imay never forget them any more. Oh, it is a glad day for me when FatherEudes says those dear words in French!"
"But how thou dost care about it, Margot! I suppose thou hast so fewthings to think of, and delight in--I have more to occupy me."
"Ah, my Damoiselle! The blessed Lord said that His good word was chokedup and brought no fruit when the cares of other things entered into theheart. No, I have not much to think of but my work, and--three gravesin a village churchyard, and one----And I have not much to delight insave the words of the blessed Lord. Yet--let my Damoiselle bear withme!--I am better off than she."
"O Margot!" And I laughed till the tears came into my eyes. It was soexcessively absurd.
Marguerite took up the lamp.
"May the good God and His angels watch over my sweet Damoiselle," shesaid.
And then she tucked the silken coverlet round me, and put out the lamp,that the light should not keep me awake; and quietly undressed herself,and got into the trundle-bed. And I was asleep almost before she laydown.
But, Oh dear, how ridiculous! Marguerite better off than I am! Thereis no harm in her fancying it, dear old thing; but the comicality of theidea! Why, I dress in velvet and diaper, and she in unshorn wool; and Ilie on a feather-bed, under fustian blankets and satin coverlets, andshe sleeps on straw with a woollen rug over her; and I ride, and hawk,and sing, and dance, and embroider,--and she is hard at all sorts ofrough work from morning to night. Why, she cannot wear a jewel, nor abit of gold, nor have any sort of pleasure except singing and dancing,and she is too old for both. Of course, such things as nobles amusethemselves with are not fit for villeins. But that a villein shouldfancy for a moment that she is better off than a noble--Oh, it is tooabsurd for any thing!
Well, really!--better off than I am!
Lady Sybil's Choice: A Tale of the Crusades Page 2