*CHAPTER III.*
_*ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS*_*.*
"All things that can satisfy, Having Jesus, those have I."
So all is over, and Alix is really gone! It was a grand wedding. Thebride was in blue velvet, embroidered in gold, with golden girdle,fermail,[#] and aumoniere; her mantle was of gold-coloured satin, andher under-tunic of black damask. I thought she chose her colours withvery good taste (more than Alix generally does); but one should looknice on one's wedding-day, if one ever is to do. And she did look nice,in her gemmed coronal, and no hood, and all her hair flowing over hershoulders.[#] As for Messire Raymond, I nearly went into fits when Icaught sight of him. The creature had dressed himself in a yellowtunic, with a brick-red super-tunic, and flesh-coloured hose. Then hehad green boots, striped in gold; and a sky-blue mantle studded withgolden stars. Raoul said he must fancy that he was Jupiter, since hehad clad himself with the firmament: but Amaury replied that, with allthat flame-colour, he must be Vulcan, if he were a Pagan deity of anykind. Father Eudes sang the mass, and Father Gilbert, the Lord ofMontbeillard's chaplain, gave the nuptial benediction. I was dressed inpale green and dark violet, and Lady Isabeau in rose-coloured satin.
[#] Brooch.
[#] The costume restricted to brides or to queens at their coronation.
Then came the wedding-feast in the great hall, for which Alix and I hadbeen preparing a week beforehand; (and after all, I am certain Heloiseforgot to put any more sugar in the placentae[#]): and then the hall wascleared, and we danced till supper-time. Then, after supper, theminstrels played; and Lady Isabeau and I, with all the other ladiesthere, went up and put the bride to bed: and after throwing the stockingand all the other ceremonies,--and I am glad to say it did not hitme,[#] but that ugly Elise de la Puissaye,--we came back into the hall,and danced again till it was time to take up the posset.[#] Oh, I wastired when I did get to bed at last! I should not like to be at anotherwedding next week.
[#] Cheesecakes.
[#] The girl hit by the stocking was expected to be married next.
[#] This serving of a posset to the newly-married pair in the night wasa purely French custom.
Well, it really is a very good thing that Alix is gone. I have had somepeace these last two days. And there! if the very last thing she didbefore going was not to do me an ill turn! She went and persuadedMonseigneur to invite Umberge to come and take the reins. Oh, of course_I_ could not be expected to understand anything!--(what sort of acompliment was that to her teaching?)--I was a mere baby, full ofnonsense,--and all on in that way. And when Monseigneur was so good asto say that I did not like the idea of Umberge's coming, and he thoughthe would try what I could do, Alix fairly laughed in his face. As if Iwere fit to decide!--the baby that I was!--she said. Thank you verymuch, Dame Alix de Montbeillard; perhaps I have more sense than yousuppose. At any rate, I am very glad of one thing,--that we have gotrid of _you_.
Oh dear! I wonder whether any body ever thinks that it would be nice toget rid of me? But then I am not disagreeable, like Alix. I am sure Iam not.
Now, why is it that when one gets something one has been wishing for along while, one does _not_ feel satisfied with it? I have been fancyingfor months how pleasant it would be when Alix was gone, and there wouldbe no one to find fault with me. Yet it is not pleasant at all. Ithought it would be peaceful, and it is dull. And only this afternoonRaoul was as cross with me as he could be. Monseigneur took my part, ashe well might, because of course I was right; but still it wasdisagreeable. Why don't I feel more happy?
I thought I would see what Marguerite would say, and I asked her whatshe thought about it. She only smiled, and said,--"Such is the way ofthe world, my Damoiselle, since men forsook the peaceful paths of God."
"But why do things look so much more delightful beforehand than whenthey come?" said I.
"The Damoiselle has a vivid fancy. Does she never find that things lookmore unpleasant at a distance?"
"Well, I don't know--perhaps, sometimes," I said. "But disagreeablethings are always disagreeable."
I suppose something in my face made Marguerite answer--
"Is the coming of the Lady Umberge disagreeable to my Damoiselle?"
"Oh, as to that, I don't care much about it," said I. "But I do want tohear from Guy."
Ay, that is coming to be the cry in my heart now. I want to hear fromGuy! I want to know where he is, and what he is doing, and whether heis made a Count yet, and--Oh dear, dear!--whether that dreadfulbeautiful lady, whom he is to like so much better than me, has appeared.That could not happen to me. I could never love any body better thanGuy.
I should so like a confidante of my own rank and age. Umberge wouldnever do at all, and she is quite fifteen years older than I am. If Ihad had a sister, a year older or younger than myself, that would havebeen about the right thing. Nobody ever was my confidante except Guy.And I wander about his chamber very much as Level does, and feel, Ishould imagine, very much like him when he holds up one paw, and looksup at me, and plainly says with his dog-face,--"Where is he?--and is henever coming back?" And I can only put my cheek down on his great softhead, and stroke his velvet ears, and feel with him. For I know solittle more than he does.
It must be dreadful for dogs, if they want to know!
Here is Umberge at last. She came last night, and Guillot with her, andValence and Aline. They are nice playthings, or would be, if I mighthave my own way. But--I cannot quite understand it--the Umberge who hascome to live here seems quite a different woman from the Umberge whoused to come for an afternoon. She used to kiss me, and call me"darling," and praise my maccaroons. But this Umberge has kept merunning about the house all morning, while she sits in a curule chairwith a bit of embroidery, and says, "Young feet do not tire," and "Youknow where everything is, and you are accustomed to the maids." Itlooks as if she thought I was a superior sort of maid. Then, when ourgracious Lord comes in, she is all velvet, and "dear Elaines" me, andtells him I am such a sweet creature--ready to run about and do anything for any body.
If there is one thing I do despise, it is that sort of woman. Alixnever served me like that. She was sharp, but she was honest. IfMonseigneur praised the placentae, she always told him when I had madethem, and would not take praise for what was not her work.
I shall never be able to get along with Umberge, if this morning is tobe a specimen of every day.
Oh dear! I wish Alix had not gone! And I wish, I wish we could hearfrom Guy!
Things do not go on as smoothly as they used to do. I think Monseigneurhimself sees it now. Umberge is not fond of trouble, and instead ofsuperintending every thing, as Alix did, always seeing after the maids,up early and down late, she just takes her ease, and expects things togo right without any trouble on her part. Why, she never rises in themorning before six, and she spends a couple of hours in dressing. It isno good to tell her of any thing that is wanted, for she seems to expectevery thing to mend itself. Yesterday morning, one of the jacinthsdropped out of the sheet on my bed,[#] and I told Umberge--(Alix wasalways particular about any thing of that kind being reported to herdirectly)--but she only said, "Indeed? Well, I suppose you can sleep aswell without it." But it was last night that Monseigneur seemed vexed.We had guests to supper, and I am sure I did my best to have thingsnice; but every thing seemed to go wrong. Umberge apparently thoughtthe supper would order itself in the first place, and cook itself in thesecond, for beyond telling me to see that all was right, she took nocare about it at all, but sat embroidering. The dining-room was onlyjust ready in time, and the minstrels were half an hour behind time; thepastry was overbaked, and the bread quite cold. There was nosubtlety[#] with the third course, and the fresh rushes would have beenforgotten if I had not asked Robert about them. I was vexed, for Alixwas there herself, and I knew what she would think,--to say nothing ofthe other guests. I do think it is too bad of Umberge to lea
ve me allthe cares and responsibilities of mistress, while she calmlyappropriates the position and the credit, and then scolds me if everything is not perfection. Why, I must go and dress some time; and was itmy fault if Denise left the pies in too long while I was dressing, ordid not attend to my order to have the bread hot[#] at the last minute?I cannot be every where!
[#] How jewels were set in linen sheets is a mystery, but there isabundant evidence of the fact.
[#] Ornamental centre-piece.
[#] It was considered of consequence that the bread at a feast should beas new as possible.
My gracious Lord did not blame me; he asked Umberge and me together howit happened that all these things were wrong: and I declare, if Umbergedid not say, "Elaine had the ordering of it; Monseigneur will please toask her." I am afraid I lost my temper, for I said--
"Yes, Monseigneur, I had the ordering of it, for my fair sister took nocare of any thing; and if I could have had three pairs of hands, andbeen in six places at once, perhaps things might have been right."
Monseigneur only laughed, and patted my head. But this evening I heardhim say to Guillot, just as I was entering the hall--
"Fair Son, thy fair wife puts too much on the child Elaine."
Guillot laughed, rubbed his forehead, and answered--"Fair Father, itwill take more than me to stop her."
"What! canst thou not rule thine own wife?" demanded our gracious Lord.
"Never tried, Monseigneur," said Guillot. "Too late to begin."
And Monseigneur only said, with a sigh,--"I wonder when we shall hearfrom Guy!"
Guillot looked relieved, and (seeing me, I think) they went on to talkof something else.
But everything seems changed since they came. Except for my graciousLord and Amaury and Raoul. It does not feel like home.
Alix rode over this afternoon. I took her to my bower in the turret,and almost directly she asked me,--"How do you get on with our fairsister?"
And I said,--"O Alix! I wish thou wouldst come back!"
She laughed, and replied,--"What would my lord say, child? I thoughtyou were not very comfortable."
"What made thee think so, Alix? Was it Tuesday night?"
"Tuesday night--the supper? I guessed you had seen to it."
"Why?--was it so very bad?" said I, penitently.
"Bad?--it was carelessness and neglect beyond endurance," she said."No, I saw the maids wanted the mistress's eye; and Umberge evidentlyhad not given it; and I thought you had tried to throw yourself into thegap, and--as such an inexperienced young thing would--had failed."
I really was pleased when Alix said that.
"Then thou wert not vexed with me, Alix?"
"Not I. You did your best. I was vexed enough with Umberge. I knewshe was lazy, but I did not expect her to discredit the house likethat."
"She seems quite altered since she came here," I said.
"Ah, you never can tell how people will turn out till you come to livewith them," said Alix. "So you are not so very glad, after all, to loseme, little one?"
I was startled, for I never supposed that Alix had guessed that. I didnot know what to say.
"Why, child, did you think I had no eyes?" she added. "You know youwere glad."
I did what I generally do--hesitated for a moment, and then came outbluntly with the truth--
"Well, Alix, I was glad. But I am not now."
Alix laughed. "That is right," she said; "always tell the plain truth,Elaine. You will find many a time, as you go through life, child, thatthe prettiest pasties are not always the best flavoured, nor theplainest say[#] the worst to wear."
[#] A common quality of silk.
I suppose it is so. But I never should have guessed that I should bewishing for Alix to come back.
"Marguerite," I said one morning as I was dressing, "dost thou think itwould be wrong if I were to pray for a letter from Guy?"
"I cannot think it wrong to pray for anything," she answered, "providedwe are willing that the good God should choose for us in the end."
"Well, but I am not sure that I am willing to have that."
"Is my Damoiselle as wise as the good Lord?"
"Oh no, of course not! But still"----
"But still, my Damoiselle would like always to have her own way."
"Yes, I should, Margot."
"Well, if there be one thing for which I am thankful it is that the goodLord has not given me much of my own way. It would have been very badfor me."
"Perhaps, for a villein, it might," said I; "but nobles are different."
"Possibly, even for the nobles," said Marguerite, "the good Lord mightbe the best chooser."
"But it seems to me, if we left everything in that way, we should neverpray at all."
"Let my Damoiselle pardon me. That we have full trust in a friend'swisdom is scarcely a reason why we should not ask his counsel."
"But the friend cannot know what advice you need. The Lord knows allabout it."
"Does my Damoiselle never tell her thoughts to Monseigneur Guy becausehe knows that she is likely to think this or that?"
"Oh, but it is such pleasure to tell one's thoughts to Guy," I replied."He generally thinks as I do; and when he does not, he talks the thingover with me, and it usually ends in my thinking as he does. Then if Iam sad, he comforts me; and if I am rejoicing, he rejoices with me;and--O Margot! it is like talking to another me."
"My Damoiselle," said Marguerite, with a peculiar smile which I haveseen on her lips before, and never could understand--it is so glad andsunny, yet quiet and deep, as if she were rejoicing over some hiddentreasure which she had all to herself,--"My Damoiselle has said well.'He that is joined to the Lord is one spirit.' 'If we walk in thelight, as He is in the light, we have fellowship one with another.' MyDamoiselle does not yet know what it is to speak out freely all herthoughts to One who is infinitely high and wise, and who loves her withan infinite love. I am but a poor ignorant villein woman: I know verylittle about any thing. Well! I take my ignorant mind to Him who knowsall things, and who can foresee the end from the beginning. I do notknow any grand words to pray with. I just say, 'Sir[#] God, I am verymuch puzzled. I do not know what to do for the best. Put the bestthing into my head. Thou knowest.' Every night, before I go to sleep,the last thing, I say in my heart, 'Sir God, I do not know what is good,and what is evil for me. Thou knowest. Give me the good thingsto-night, and keep the evil ones away.' I suppose, if I were very wiseand clever, I should not make such poor, ignorant prayers. I shouldknow then what would be best to do. Yet I do not think I should be anybetter off, for then I should see so much less of the good Lord. Iwould rather have more of the good God, and less of the quick wit andthe ready tongue."
[#] Though this title will certainly sound strange, if not irreverent,to modern ears, it was meant as the most reverent epithet known to thosewho used it.
It would be nice to feel as Margot does. I cannot think where she gotit But it would never do for me, who am noble, to take pattern from apoor villein. I suppose such thoughts are good for low, ignorantpeople.
What should I have done if I had been born a villein? I cannot imaginewhat it would feel like. I am very glad I was not. But of course Icannot tell what it would feel like, because nobles have thoughts andfeelings of quite a different sort to common people.
I suppose Guy would say that was one of my queer notions. He alwayssays more queer ideas come into my head than any one else's.
O Guy, Guy!--when shall I see thee again? Two whole years, and not aword from thee! Art thou languishing in some Paynim dungeon? Hast thoufallen in some battle? Or has the beautiful lady come, and thy littleLynette is forgotten?
I have been asking Father Eudes to tell me something about the HolyLand, for I want to be able to picture to myself the place where Guy is.And of course Father Eudes can tell, for he knows all about every thing;and he had an uncle who was a holy palmer, and visited the blessedSepulchre, and used to tell
most beautiful legends, he says, about theHoly Land. Beside which, his own father fought for the Sepulchre in thesecond Crusade, and dwelt in that country for several years.
Father Eudes says it is nearly a hundred years since the kingdom ofJerusalem was founded, for it was in the year of our Lord 1099, at thetime of the first Crusade. The first King was the gallant CountGodefroy of Boulogne, who was unanimously chosen by all the Christianwarriors after the Holy City was taken: but he would never call himselfKing, but only "Defender of the Holy Sepulchre." But, alas!--the goodKing Godefroy only reigned one year; and on his death the Princes allassembled in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which they also call theTemple, to elect a successor. And because there were great contentionsamong them, they resolved to decide the choice by lot: and they stoodaround the tomb of our Lord, each holding a long taper, and earnestlybesought the good God that He would cause the taper held by him whoought to be King of Jerusalem to be lighted by miracle. And when theprayer was ended, one of the tapers was found to be burning. It wasthat held by Duke Robert the Courthose, son of Lord William the Norman,who conquered England. But to the horror of all the Princes, DukeRobert blew out the taper, and refused to be King. He said that he wasnot worthy to wear a crown of gold in that place where for his sins ourLord had worn a crown of thorns. And I really have always felt puzzledto know whether he acted very piously or very impiously. So, in theend, the brother of King Godefroy was chosen; but he also left no child,though he reigned eighteen years. But the Lady Ida, his sister, who wasa very wise and preux[#] lady, had a son, and he reigned after his unclefor thirteen years: yet at his death he left four daughters, and no son.And Father Eudes thinks that this showed the displeasure of our Lord,who had willed that the kingdom of Jerusalem should belong to our Lordsthe Kings of England, and they wickedly refused to receive it.
[#] Brave, noble, chivalrous.
For of course it is the bounden duty of all Christian men to rescue theHoly Land out of the hands of Paynims, Jews, and such horrible heretics,who all worship the Devil, and bow down to stocks and stones: since thisland belonged to our Lord Jesus Christ, who was King of it by holy MaryHis mother, and He died seised of the same. For which reason allChristian men, who are the right heirs of our said Lord, ought torecover their inheritance in that land, and not leave it in the hands ofwicked heretics, who have no right to it at all, since they are not thechildren and right heirs of Jesus Christ our Lord.[#]
[#] This singular reasoning is borrowed from Sir John Mandeville.
Well! when King Beaudouin II. was dead, the Holy Land fell to the eldestof his four daughters, who was named the Lady Melisende: and she weddedCount Foulques of Anjou, and from her all the kings since then havecome: so now it seems settled in the line of Anjou. I suppose our Lordsthe Kings of England, therefore, have no right to it any more.
I cannot help feeling sorry that Duke Robert blew out the taper. Iwould not have done it, if it had been mine. I think to be the Queen ofJerusalem would be the grandest thing in all the world--even better thanto be the Empress of Monseigneur the Caesar. Is it not the Land of God?
A letter at last!--a letter from Guy! And he is high in the King'sfavour, and has won booty to the amount of eighteen thousand goldencrowns, and he wants Amaury and me to go to him at once. I keep dancingabout and singing, I am so delighted. And not one word of the beautifullady! That is best of all.
Guy says the King is a mesel,[#] and dwells in chambers to himself; andhe has never been married, so there is no Queen, except the widow of thelate King his father; and she is of the high blood of Messeigneurs theCaesars,[#] but is not the mother of the King. He is like Guy, for hisown mother, who was the Damoiselle de Courtenay, died when he was veryyoung: and he has one sister of the whole blood, who is called the LadySybil; and one sister of the half blood, who is called the Lady Isabel.The Lady Sybil is a widow, though she is younger than Alix: for she wasthe wife of Monseigneur Guillaume, the Marquis of Montferrat, who diedabout the time Guy reached the Holy Land; and she has one child,Monseigneur Beaudouin, named after the King his uncle. The Lady Isabelis not yet married, and she is about fourteen years old. Guy writesthat the King, and the ladies his sisters, and the old Queen, are allvery good to him, and he is prospering marvellously.
[#] Leper.
[#] She was Maria, daughter (some writers say niece) of the EmperorManuel Comnemus.
Guy's letter was brought by a holy palmer, late last night. I am surethe palmer must be a very holy man, for he had scallops fastened to hisshovel-hat, and cross-keys embroidered on his bosom, and bells upon hissleeve, and the holy cross upon his shoulder.[#] His cross was green,so he must be a Fleming.[#] And whenever I came near him, there wassuch a disagreeable smell, that he must, I am sure, be very holy indeed.He told Robert, and Marguerite told me, that he had not changed hisclothes for three whole years. What a holy man he must be! I was veryglad when he gave me his benediction, though I did try to keep as muchto windward of him as I could, and I put a sprig of lavender in myhandkerchief before I asked for it. I am rather afraid Father Eudeswould say it was wicked of me to put that sprig of lavender in myhandkerchief. But really I think I should have felt quite disgusted ifI had not done so. And why should it be holy not to wash one's self?Why don't they always leave babies unwashed, if it be, that they mightgrow up to be holy men and women?
[#] The scallop-shell denoted a pilgrim to the shrine of St. James ofCompostella; the cross-keys, to Rome; the bells, to Canterbury (hencethe "Canterbury bell"); and the cross, to the Holy Sepulchre.
[#] The Flemings wore a green cross, the French a red, the English awhite one. The proverbial "Red Cross Knight," therefore, strictlyspeaking, could not be an Englishman.
I wonder if the angels like smells which we think disagreeable. If theydo, of course that would account for it. Yet one cannot imagine anangel with soiled feathers.
I suppose Guy would say that was another of my queer ideas. Oh, I am sodelighted that we have heard from Guy!
Monseigneur says I must have lots of new dresses to take with me. Ihave been wishing, ever so long, for a fine mantle of black cloth, linedwith minever: and he says I shall have it. And I want a golden girdle,and a new aumoniere.[#] I should like a diaper[#] gown, too,--red andblack; and a shot silk, blue one way, and gold the other.
[#] The bag which depended from the girdle.
[#] This term seems to have indicated stuff woven in any small regularpattern, not flowers.
My gracious Lord asked me what gems I would best like.
"Oh, agate or cornelian, if it please your Nobility," said I, "becausethey make people amiable."
He pinched my ear, and said he thought I was amiable enough: he wouldgive me a set of jacinths.[#]
[#] These gems were believed to possess the properties in question.
"What, to send me to sleep?" said I, laughing.
"Just so," he answered. "Thou art somewhat too wide-awake."
"What do you please to mean, Monseigneur?"
He smiled, but then sighed heavily, and stroked my head.
"Ah, my little Lynette!" he said. "If thy blessed mother had but lived!I know not--truly I know not--whether I act for thy real welfare or not.The good God forgive our blunders, poor blindlings that we are!" And herose and went away.
But of course it must be for my welfare that I should go to Guy, and getsome appointment in the household of one of the Princesses, and seelife, and--well, I don't know about getting married. I might not haveso much of my own way. And I like that dearly. Besides, if I weremarried I could not be always with Guy. I think I won't, on the whole.
I asked Marguerite to-night if she could tell why holy people did notwash: and she said she thought they did.
"Well," said I, "but yonder holy palmer had not taken his clothes offfor three years; and I am sure, Margot, he did not smell nice."
"I think," said Marguerite, "under leave of my Damoiselle, he would havebeen at least as holy if he had change
d them once a month."
"O Margot! is not that heterodoxy?" asked I, laughing.
"Let my Damoiselle pardon her servant--no! Did not Monseigneur SaintPaul himself say that men should wash their bodies with pure water?"
"I am sure I don't know," said I. "I always thought, the holier youwere, and the dirtier. And that is one reason why I always thought,too, that I could never be holy. I should want my hands and face clean,at least."
"Did my Damoiselle think she could never be holy?"
"Yes, I did, Margot, and do."
"Wherefore? Let her forgive her poor servant."
"Oh, holiness seems to mean all sorts of unpleasant things," said I."You must not wash, nor lie on a comfortable bed, nor wear anythingnice, nor dance, nor sing, nor have any pleasure. I don't want to beholy. I really could not do with it, Margot."
"Under my Damoiselle's leave, all those things she has mentioned seem tome to be outside things. And--unless I mistake, for I am but an ignorantcreature--holiness must be something inside. My soul is inside of me;and to clean my soul, I must have something that will go inside to it.The inside principle will be sure to put all the outside thingsstraight, will it not? But I do not see what the outside things can doto the inside--except that sometimes they make us cross. But then it iswe who are wrong, not they."
"Dost thou suppose it is wicked to be cross, Margot?"
"Damoiselle, Father Eudes once read a list of the good things that atrue Christian ought to have in his heart,--there were nine of them:'love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith,meekness, temperance.' I think one cannot have many of them when one iscross and peevish."
"Then thou dost not think it sinful to delight in fine clothes andjewels, and lie in a soft bed, and have dainties for dinner?--for allthose are outside."
"Ha! yes, my Damoiselle. Those are the world's substitute forhappiness."
"Now, what dost thou mean, Margot?" laughed I. "Have I not all thesegood things?--and am I not happy?"
"All these,--ah, yes. But, happy? No, no. My Damoiselle is nothappy."
"Why, what wilt thou say next?" cried I.
"Will my Damoiselle permit her poor servant to ask her a question?"
"Oh yes!--anything thou wilt."
"Then is my Damoiselle quite certain--safely, happily certain--what willbecome of her when she shall die?"
"O Margot, what an ugly question! I hate to think of it Why, I supposeI shall go to Heaven--why should I not? Don't all nobles go there,except those who are very, very wicked?"
"Ha! She hates to think of it? Wherefore?"
"Why, everybody does, of course."
"Let my Damoiselle pardon me. Not I."
"Oh, thou art an old woman, and hast outlived thy youth and itspleasures. No wonder."
"My Damoiselle will find, as life goes on, that the older she grows, themore distasteful that thought becomes to her. That is, unless sheshould learn to be happy, which may the good God grant!"
I could not help laughing heartily. For a young noble maiden like me,to take lessons of a forlorn old creature like Margot, in the art ofbeing happy, did seem so very ridiculous.
"Ah, my Damoiselle may laugh now," said Marguerite in her quiet way;"but I have told the sober truth."
"Oh dear!" said I. "I think I had better sleep on it.--Margot, art thounot very much pleased at the thought of going to the Holy Land?"
"Ah, yes, my Damoiselle, very much. I would dearly like to behold theearth which the feet of the blessed Lord have trodden,--the lake onwhich He walked, and the hill from which He went up. Ah! 'He shall socome'--'this same Jesus'!"
I looked at her in astonishment. The worn old face and sunken eyesseemed alight with some hidden rapture. I could not understand her.
"And the Holy Sepulchre!" I said; for that is holiest of all the holyplaces, as everybody knows.
"Well, I should not so much care to see that," answered Marguerite, tomy surprise. "'He is not there; He is risen.' If a dear friend of minehad gone on a journey, I should not make a pet of the saddle on which herode away. I should rather want not to see it, for it would alwaysremind me that he was gone."
"Marguerite!" exclaimed I, "dost thou not know that a neuvaine offeredat the Holy Sepulchre is of more efficacy than ten offered at any otheraltar?"
"Will my Damoiselle give me leave to wait till I see it? Of course, ifthe good God choose to have it so, there is an end of the matter. But Ithink I would rather be sure. For me, I should like to pray in theChurch of the Nativity, to thank Him for coming as a little babe intothis weary world: and in the Church of the Ascension, to beg Him tohasten His coming again."
"Ah, the Church of the Ascension!" said I. "There are pillars in thatchurch, nearly close to the wall; and the man who can creep between thewall and the pillar has full remission of all his sins."
"Is that in the holy Evangel?" asked Marguerite; but I could not tellher.
"I fancy there may be some mistake about that," she added. "Of course,if it be in the holy Evangel! But it does not look quite of a piecewith what Father Eudes reads. He read one day out of the writing ofMonseigneur Saint John, that the blood of Jesus Christ, the blessedLord, cleansed us from all sin: and another time--I think he said it wasfrom the Evangel of Monseigneur Saint Matthew--he read that if a man didbut ask the good God for salvation, it should be given him. Well! Iasked, and He gave it me. Could He give me anything more?--or would Hebe likely to do it because I crept between a wall and a pillar?"
"Why, Marguerite! Hast thou been listening to some of those wickedLyonnese, that go preaching up and down? Dost thou not know that KingHenry the father hath strictly forbidden any man to harbour one of thatrabble?"
"If it please my Damoiselle, I know nothing at all about them."
"Why, it is a merchant of Lyons, named Pierre Waldo, and a lot more withhim; they go up and down the country, preaching, and corrupting peoplefrom the pure Catholic faith. Hast thou listened to any such preachers,Margot?"
"Ha, my Damoiselle, what know I? There was a Grey Friar at the Cross afew weeks since"----
"Oh, of course, the holy brethren of Saint Augustine are all right,"said I.
"Well, and last Sunday there was a man there, not exactly in a friar'srobe, but clad in sackcloth, as if he were in mourning; but he said nonebut very good words; they were just like the holy Evangel which FatherEudes reads. Very comforting words they were, too. He said the goodLord cared even for the sparrows, poor little things!--and very muchmore for us that trusted Him. I should like to hear him preach again."
"Take care how thou dost!" said I, as I lay down in bed. "I am afraid,Margot, he is one of those Lyonnese serpents."
"Well!" said Marguerite, as she tucked me up, "he had no sting, if hewere."
"No, the sting comes afterwards," said I. "And thou art but a poorvillein, and ignorant, and quite unable to judge which is the truedoctrine of holy Church, and which the wicked heresy that we must shutour ears against."
"True, my Damoiselle," said old Marguerite meekly. "But to say that thedear, blessed Lord cares for His poor servants--no, no!--that is noheresy!"
"What is heresy?" said I. "And what is truth? Oh dear! If one mightknow, one's own self!"
"Ah! Pilatus asked that of the good God, when He stood before hisjudgment-seat. But he did not wait for the answer."
"I wish he had done!" I answered. "Then we might have known it. But Isuppose the good Lord would have told him to submit himself to theChurch. So we should not have been much better off, because we do knowthat."
"We are better off, my Damoiselle," said old Marguerite. "For thoughthe good God did not answer Pilatus--maybe he was not worthy--He didanswer the same question, asked by Monseigneur Saint Thomas. Did not myDamoiselle hear Father Eudes read that in French? It was only a fewweeks ago."
I shook my head. I cannot imagine when or how Marguerite does hear allthese things. I never do. But she went on.
"It
was one day when the good Lord had told Messeigneurs the Apostlesthat He was going to ascend to Heaven: and He said, 'The way ye know.'But Monseigneur Saint Thomas--ah! he was rather like my Damoiselle; hewanted to know!--he replied that they did not know the way. (If he hadnot been a holy apostle, I should not have thought it very civil tocontradict his Seigneur, let alone the good Lord.) But the good God wasnot angry: He saw, I suppose, that Monseigneur Saint Thomas did not meananything wrong, but he wanted to know, like a damoiselle of the House ofLusignan. So He said, 'I am the way, and the truth, and the life: no mancometh unto the Father but by Me.'"
"But I do not see what that means," said I. "Truth cannot be aperson,--a man cannot be a way. Of course it is a figure of speech; butstill I do not see what it means."
I was very sleepy, and I fancy rather cross. Marguerite stooped andkissed my hand, and then turned and put out the light.
"Rest, my fair Damoiselle," she said, tenderly. "And may the good Godshow my darling what it means!"
Lady Sybil's Choice: A Tale of the Crusades Page 3