*CHAPTER VII.*
_*A LITTLE CLOUD OUT OF THE SEA*_*.*
"Coming events cast their shadows before." --CAMPBELL.
It is Monday night, and I am,--Oh, so tired!
The three grand weddings are over. Very beautiful sights they were; andvery pleasant the feasts and the dances; but all is done now, and ifMessire Renaud feels any doubt to-night about his body being himself, Ihave none about mine.
Eschine made a capital bride, in the sense in which a man would use thewords. That is, she looked very nice, and she stood like a statue. Ido not believe she had an idea in her head beyond these: that she wasgoing to be married, that it was a very delightful thing, and that shemust look well and behave becomingly.
Is that the sort of woman that men like? It is the sort that some menseem to think all women are.
But Amaury! If ever I did see a creature more absurd than he, I do notknow who it was. He fidgetted over Eschine's bridal dress precisely asif he had been her milliner. At the very last minute, the garland hadto be altered because it did not suit him.
Most charming of all the weddings was Guy's. Dear Lady Sybil was sobeautiful, and behaved so perfectly, as I should judge of a bride'sbehaviour,--a little soft moisture dimming her dark eyes, and a littlegentle tremulousness in her sweet lips. Her dress was simplyenchanting,--soft and white.
Perhaps Lady Isabel made the most splendid-looking bride of the three;for her dress was gorgeous, and while Lady Sybil's style of beauty is byfar the more artistic and poetical, Lady Isabel's is certainly the moreshowy.
So far as I could judge, the three brides regarded their bridegroomswith very different eyes. To Eschine, he was an accident of the rite; aportion of the ceremony which it would spoil the show to leave out. ToLady Isabel, he was a new horse, just mounted, interesting to try, and apleasant triumph to subdue. But to Lady Sybil, he was the sun andcentre of all, and every thing deserved attention just in proportion asit concerned him.
I almost hope that Eschine does not love Amaury, for I feel sure shewill be very unhappy if she do. As to Messire Homfroy de Tours, I do notthink Lady Isabel will find him a pleasant charger. He is any thing butspirited, and seems to me to have a little of the mule about him--acreature who would be given at times to taking the bit in his teeth, andabsolutely refusing to go a yard further.
And now it is all over,--the pageants, and the feasts, and the dancing.And I cannot tell why I am sad.
How is it, or why is it, that after one has enjoyed any thing very much,one always does feel sad?
I think, except to the bride and bridegroom, a wedding is a verysorrowful thing. I suppose Guy would say that was one of my queernotions. But it looks to me so terribly like a funeral. There is abustle, and a show; and then you wake up, and miss one out of your life.It is true, the one can come back still: but does he come back to beyours any more? I think the instances must be very, very few in whichit is so, and only where both are, to you, very near and dear.
I think Marguerite saw I looked tired and sad.
"There have been light hearts to-day," she said; "and there have beenheavy ones. But the light of to-day may be the heavy of to-morrow; andthe sorrow of to-night may turn to joy in the morning."
"I do feel sorrowful, Margot; but I do not know why."
"My Damoiselle is weary. And all great joy brings a dull, tired feelingafter it. I suppose it is the infirmity of earth. The angels do notfeel so."
"I should like to be an angel," said I. "It must be so nice to fly!"
"And I," said Marguerite; "but not for that reason. I should like tohave no sin, and to see the good God."
"Oh dear!" said I. "That is just what I should not like. In the senseof never doing wrong, it might be all very well: but I should not wantnever to have any amusement, which I suppose thou meanest: and seeingthe good God would frighten me dreadfully."
"Does my Damoiselle remember the time when little Jacquot, Bertrade'sbrother, set fire to the hay-rick by playing with lighted straws?"
"Oh yes, very well. Why, what has that to do with it?"
"Does she recollect how he shrieked and struggled, when Robert andPierre took him and carried him into the hall, for Monseigneur himselfto judge him for his naughtiness?"
"Oh yes, Margot. I really felt sorry for the child, he was soterrified; and yet it was half ludicrous--Monseigneur did not even havehim whipped."
"Yet, if I remember rightly, my Damoiselle was standing by Monseigneur'sside at the very time; and she did not look frightened in the least.Will she allow her servant to ask why?"
"Why should I, Margot? I had done nothing wrong."
"And why is my Damoiselle more like Jacquot than herself, when she comesto think of seeing the good God?"
"Ah!--thou wouldst like me to say, Because I have done wrong, Isuppose."
"Yes; but I think there was another reason as well."
"What was that, Margot?"
"My Damoiselle is Monseigneur's own child. She knows him. He loves her,and she knows it."
"But we are all children of the good God, Margot."
"Will my Damoiselle pardon me? We are all His creatures: not all Hischildren. Oh no, no!"
"O Margot!" said I suddenly, "didst thou note that tall, dark, handsomeknight, who stood on Count Guy's left hand,--Count Raymond of Tripoli?"
"He in the mantle lined with black sable, and gold-barred scarlet hose?"
"That is the man I mean."
"I saw him. Why, if it please my Damoiselle?"
"Didst thou like him?"
"My Damoiselle did not like him?"
Marguerite is very fond of answering one question by another.
"I did not; and I could not tell why."
"Nor I. But I could."
"Then tell me, Margot."
"My Damoiselle, every man has a mark upon his brow which the good Godand His angels can see. But few men see it, and in some it is not easyto see. Many foreheads look blank to our eyes. But sooner or later,one of the two marks is certain to shine forth--either the holy cross ofour Lord, or the badge of the great enemy, the star that fell fromheaven. And what I saw on that man's lofty brow was not the cross ofChrist, but the star of Satan."
"Margot, thy queer fancies!" said I, laughing. "Now tell me, prithee, onwhose forehead, in this house, thou seest the cross."
"The Lady Judith," she answered without the least hesitation; "and Ithink, the Lady Sybil. Let my Damoiselle pardon me if I cannot name anyother, with certainty. I have weak eyes for such sights. I have hopeof Monseigneur Count Guy."
"Margot, Margot!" cried I. "Thou uncharitable old creature, only three!What, not the Lady Queen, nor the Lady Isabel, nor the holy Patriarch!Oh, fie!"
"Let my Damoiselle pardon her servant. The Lady Queen,--ah, I have noright to say. She looks blank, to me. The cross may be there, and Imay be blind. But the Patriarch--no! and the Lady Isabel--the good Godforgive me if I sin, but I believe I see the star on her."
"And on me?" said I, laughing to hide a curious sensation which I felt,much akin to mortification. Yet what did old Marguerite's foolishfancies matter?
I was surprised to see her worn old eyes suddenly fill with tears.
"My sweet Damoiselle!" she said. "The good God bring out the holy crosson the brow that I love so well! But as yet,--if I speak at all, I mustspeak truth--I have not seen it there."
I could not make out why I did not like the Count of Tripoli. He is avery handsome man,--even my partial eyes must admit, handsomer than Guy.But there is a strange look in his eyes, as if you only saw the lid of acoffer, and beneath, inside the coffer, there might be something darkand dangerous. Guy says he is a splendid fellow; but Guy always wasgiven to making sudden friendships, and to imagining all his friends tobe angels until he discovered they were men. I very much doubt theangelic nature of Count Raymond. I do not like him.
But what a queer fancy this is of old Margue
rite's--that Satan putsmarks on some people! Yet I cannot help wishing she had not said thatabout me. And I do not think it was very respectful. She might havesaid something more civil, whatever she thought. Marguerite always willspeak just as she thinks. That is like a villein. It would never dofor us nobles.
Guy has now been Regent of the Holy Land for half a year. Some peopleseem to fancy that he is rather too stern. Such a comical idea!--and ofGuy, of all people. I think I know how it is. Guy is very impulsive inenterprise, and very impetuous in pursuing it. And he sees that duringthe King's illness every thing has gone wrong, and fallen into disorder;and of course it will not do to let things go on so. People must begoverned and kept in their places. Of course they must. Why, if therewere no order kept, the nobles and the villeins would be all mixed upwith each other, and some of the more intelligent and ambitious of thevilleins might even begin to fancy themselves on a par with the nobles.For there is a sort of intelligence in some of those people, though itmust be of quite a different order from the intellect of the nobles. Iused to think villeins never were ambitious. But I have learned latelythat some of them do entertain some such feeling. It must be a mostdangerous idea to get into a villein's head!--though of course, rightand proper enough for a noble. But I cannot imagine why villeins cannotbe contented with their place. Did not Providence make themvilleins?--and if they have plenty of food, and clothing, and shelter,and fire, and a good dance now and then on the village green, and anextra holiday when the Seigneur's daughter is married, or when his soncomes of age,--what can they possibly want more?
I said so to Marguerite.
"Ah, that is all the nobles know!" she answered, quietly enough, butwith some fire in the old eyes. "They do not realise that we are men,just as they are. God sent us into His world, with just as much, bodyand soul, as He did them. We have intellects, and hearts, andconsciences, just like them. ('Just like'--only fancy!) I trust thegood God may not have to teach it them through pain."
"But they ought to be satisfied," said I. "I am perfectly content withmy place in the world. Why are they not contented?"
"It is easier to be content with velvet than duffle," said Margueritemore calmly. "It looks better, and feels softer, too. If my Damoisellewere to try the duffle for a day, perhaps she would complain that itfelt harsh."
"To me, very likely," said I. "But a villein would not have a fine skinlike mine."
"The finest skin does not always cover the finest feelings," saidMarguerite in her dry way.
What a very silly idea! Of course those people cannot have suchfeelings as I have. It would be quite absurd to think so.
I do think, however, that what vexed me most of any thing, was thatAmaury--that silly little boy!--should take it into his head to lectureGuy on the way he chose to govern. As if he could know anything aboutit! Why, he is two whole years younger than Guy. I told him so,feeling really vexed at his impudence; and what should he say but that Iwas seven years younger than he. I know that, but I am a woman; andwomen have always more sense than men. At least, I have more sense thanAmaury. I should be an idiot if I had not.
I have made a discovery to-day which has astonished me. Lady Judith hasa whole Bible, and Psalter too, of her own, not written in Latin, but inher own tongue in which she was born,--that is, Greek. And she saysthat a great part of the Bible--all the holy Evangels, and the writingsof Messeigneurs the holy Apostles--were originally written in Greek. Ialways thought that holy Scripture had been written in Latin. I askedher if Latin were not the language the holy angels spoke, and our Lord,when He was upon earth. She answered, that she did not think we knewwhat language the holy angels spoke, and she should doubt if it were anytongue spoken on earth: but that the good God, and Messeigneurs the holyApostles, she had no doubt at all, spoke Greek. It sounds very strange.
Lady Isabel has had a violent quarrel with her lord, and goes about withset lips and her head erect, as if she were angry with every one.
I almost think Eschine improves upon acquaintance. Not that I find herany cleverer than I expected, but I think she is good-natured, and seemsto have no malice in her. If Amaury storms--as he does sometimes--shejust lets the whirlwind blow over her, and never gives him a cross word.I could not do that. I suppose that is why I admire it in Eschine.
A young nun came this morning to visit Lady Judith--one of her ownOrder. I could not quite understand their conversation. SisterEudoxia--for that is her name--struck me as being the holiest religiousperson I have ever seen. She spoke so beautifully, I thought, about theperfection one could attain to in this life: how one's whole heart andsoul might be so permeated with God, that one might pass through lifewithout committing any deed of sin, or thinking any evil thought. Not,of course, that I could ever attain to such perfection But it soundedvery beautiful and holy.
I was quite surprised to see how constrained, and even cool, Lady Judithwas. It was only yesterday that she assented warmly to old Marguerite'ssaying that no one who served God could love any kind of sin. But withSister Eudoxia--who spoke so much more charmingly on the samesubject--she sat almost silent, and when she did speak, it seemed to berather in dissent than assent. It puzzled me.
When Sister Eudoxia was gone, Lady Sybil said--
"Oh, what happiness, if one could attain to the perfection of livingabsolutely without sin!"
"We shall," answered Lady Judith. "But it will not be in this world."
"But Sister Eudoxia says it might be."
"Ah, my poor Sister Eudoxia!" said Lady Judith sadly. "She has taken upwith a heresy nearly as old as Christianity itself, and worse than thanthat of Messire Renaud de Montluc, because it has so much more truth init. Ay, so much mixture of truth, and so much apparent loveliness, thatit can be no wonder if it almost deceive the very elect. Beware ofbeing entangled in it, my children."
"Heresy, holy Mother!" cried Lady Sybil, with a shocked look. "Ithought I had never heard any one ascribe more of the glory of oursalvation to God than she did. For she said that every thing was donefor us by the good Lord, and that even our perfection was wrought by Himfor us."
"And not by Him in us," said Lady Judith. "The very point of the heresy,my child. Eudoxia sees no distinction between the righteousness donefor us, which is our ground of justification before God, and theholiness wrought in us, which is our conformity to His image. The firstwas finished on the rood, eleven centuries ago: the second goes on inthe heart of every child of God, here and now. She is one of those who,without intending it, or even knowing that they do it, do yet sadly failto realise the work of the Holy Ghost.
"But how much she spoke of the blessed Spirit!" objected Lady Sybil.
"My daughter," said Lady Judith, with a smile, "hast thou not yet foundout the difference between names and things? There are many men whoworship God most devoutly, but it is a God they have made to themselves.Every man on earth is ready to love and serve God with his wholeheart,--if he may set up God after his own pattern. And what thatreally means is, a God as like as possible to himself: who will lookwith perfect complacency on the darling sins which he cherishes, and maythen be allowed to condemn with the utmost sternness all evil passionsto which he is not addicted."
"That sounds _very_ shocking, holy Mother!" said Lady Sybil.
"We are all liable to the temptation," replied Lady Judith, "and are aptto slide into it ere we know it."
We all wrought for a little time in silence, when Lady Sybil said, "Whatdo you call that heresy, holy Mother, into which you say that SisterEudoxia has fallen?"
"If thou wilt look into the vision of the Apostle, blessed John, calledthe Apocalypse," answered Lady Judith, "thou wilt see what Christ ourLord calls it. 'This thou hast, that thou rejectest the teaching of theNicolaitanes, which I hate."'
"But I thought," said Lady Sybil, looking rather surprised, "that thoseNicolaitanes, who were heretics in the early Church, held some veryhorrible doctrines, and led extremely wicked lives? The holy Pat
riarchwas speaking of them, not long ago."
"Ah, my child," said Lady Judith, "men do not leap, but grow, into greatwickedness. Dost thou not see how the doctrine works? First, it ispossible to live and do no sin. Secondly, _I_ can live and do no sin.Thirdly, I do live and not sin. Lastly, when this point isreached,--Whatever my spiritual instinct does not condemn--I being thusperfect--cannot be sin. Therefore, I may do what I please. If I lie,murder, steal--which would be dreadful sins in another--they are no sinsin me, because of my perfection. And is this following Christ?"
"Assuredly not! But does Sister Eudoxia really imagine that?"
"Oh no!" responded Lady Judith. "She has not reached that point.Comparatively few get so far on the road as that. But that is whitherthe road is leading them."
"Then what is the root of the heresy?"
"That which I believe lies at the root of every heresy--rejecting God'sWord, that we may keep our own traditions. The stem may perhaps consistof two things; the want of sufficient lowliness, and the want of a rightknowledge of sin. It is not enough realised that a man's conscience,like all else in him, has been injured by the fall, but conscience islooked on as a heavenly judge, still in its original purity. This, asthou mayest guess, leads to depreciation of the Word of God, andexaltation of the conscience over the Word. And also, it is notproperly seen that while a man lives, the flesh shall live with him, andthe flesh and the renewed spirit must be in perpetual warfare to theend."
"But we know----" said Lady Sybil,--and there she paused.
"'We know'!" repeated Lady Judith, with a smile. "Ah, my child, wethink we know a great deal. And we are like children playing on theseashore, who fancy that they know all that is in the sea, because theyhave scooped up a little sea-water in their hands. There are heightsand depths in God's Word and in God's purposes, which you and I havenever reached yet,--which perhaps we shall never reach. 'For as theheaven is high above the earth, so are His ways higher than our ways,and His thoughts than our thoughts.'"
I was curious to know what Marguerite would say: she always agrees sostrangely with Lady Judith, even when they have not talked the matterover at all. So I said, when I went up to change my dress--
"Margot, dost thou commit sin?"
"My Damoiselle thinks me so perfect, then?" said she, with a rathercomical look.
I could not help laughing.
"Well, not quite, when thou opposest my will," said I; "but dost thouknow, there are some people who say that they live without sin."
"That may be, when to contradict the holy Evangels is a mark ofperfection," said Marguerite drily.
"Well, what hast thou heard about that in thy listening, Margot?" saidI, laughing.
"The first thing I heard perplexed me," said she. "It was of MonseigneurSaint John, who said that he that is born of God doth not commit sin:and it troubled me sorely for a time, since I knew I did sin, and fearedlest I was therefore not born of God. But one day, Father Eudes readagain, from the very same writing, that 'If any man sin, we have anAdvocate with the Father,' and likewise that if we say we have no sin,we are liars. So then I thought, Well! how is this? Monseigneur theholy Apostle would not contradict himself. But still I could not seehow to reconcile them, though I thought and thought, till my brain feltnearly cracked. And all at once, Father Eudes read--thanks be to thegood God!--something from Monseigneur Saint Paul, which put it allright."
"What was that?"
"Ah! I could not get it by heart. It was too difficult, and very long.But it was something like this: that in a Christian man there are twohearts, of which the one, which is from God, does not sin at all; andthe other, which is the evil heart born in us, is always committingsin."
"But, Margot, which of thy two hearts is thyself?"
"Ha! I cannot answer such questions. The good God will know."
"But art thou sure those are not wicked people?"
"Certainly, no. Monseigneur Saint Paul said 'I' and 'me' all through."
"Oh, but, Margot!--he could not have meant himself."
"If he had not meant what he said, I should think he would havementioned it," said Marguerite in her dry, quaint style.
"Well, a holy Apostle is different, of course," said I. "But it looksvery odd to me, that anybody living now should fancy he never doeswrong."
"Ah, the poor soul!" said Marguerite. "The good God knows better, if hedo not."
Lady Sybil's Choice: A Tale of the Crusades Page 7