Therefore, with many tears (for this business impressed upon them what was soon to happen), the people began to dig a mighty pit, one hundred yards long, twenty-five yards broad and twenty yards deep. It yawned beside the grove of budding hawthorns which covered the tumulus of his wife; and L.D. lived to see the scented glory of the may before he passed.
There was an incident at the early digging and, for the first and only time, Dicky Gollop, the jester, made the Lavender Dragon laugh. For while the monster inspected his grave, as yet but five feet deep, Dicky failed to see where he was stepping and fell in backwards. Thus at last he reached to his ambition, though in a left-handed sort of manner, and genuinely entertained his master.
After the completion of this work the Lavender Dragon failed rapidly, and there came a day in June when with the dawn he died. About him were assembled the seneschal and other old men and women, Father Lazarus, Sir Jasper and Petronell, Sir Claude and Doctor Doncaster, who ministered to the expiring monster. The Lavender Dragon’s last words were not forgotten by those who heard them.
“Fetch the trolley, while I have strength to crawl upon it,” he said. “It will save you much trouble afterwards.”
They obeyed, and with an expiring effort, L.D. stretched his bulk upon the vehicle and lost consciousness. His heart heaved behind the mighty ribs a little longer; then the beat grew slow and stopped; the blinds of his lids rolled down slowly over the fading opals of his eyes, and he was quite dead.
XII
BUTTERFLIES
UPON THE night after the funeral, as though to indicate that the old order had changed for ever, the walls of Dragonsville fell to the earth and the empire of the Lavender Dragon ceased to exist as a separate kingdom, defended and preserved behind its own ramparts. An immense restlessness already infected the people, and when it was known that the walls had crumbled, many feared and many rejoiced. The young would lead away their kinsfolk into the outer world, and not a few consented to accompany them; but others remained and hoped that they might be permitted to do so. Of these were Nicholas Warrender, who took now the lead at the wish of all, with George Pipkin for his right-hand man. Sir Claude of the Strong Shield also determined to spend the balance of his time in tending the dragon’s grave.
As for Sir Jasper of Pomeroy and his fair wife, they set forth on a cloudless morning in hope to find welcome and waken far-spreading happiness at home in the West-country; while many from Pongley-in-the-Marsh and elsewhere also returned to their places, somewhat over-sanguine that the message of goodwill and good tidings they brought might reconcile their heirs to their return.
Father Lazarus remained at Dragonsville, and it was in connection with this honourable and faithful man that the first hard words were spoken within that township after the decease of the founder.
Sir Jasper was just about to depart upon his long journey southward when this unfortunate thing happened. He rode his piebald charger, and Lady Petronell sat beside him on her riding-horse, a powerful and mettlesome beast. One accompanied them, having his own steed and a second, whereon their trifling luggage was bestowed. He was a lad born and bred at Dragonsville, who had entered the knight’s service. The priest, with Nicholas Warrender, Sir Claude, George Pipkin and many others, collected to bid the voyagers god-speed, and as he drank the stirrup cup, Sir Jasper spoke of their departed friend.
“May his humane and gentle spirit enter into us, and help us to advance the happiness of a weary world,” said he.
“It has done so,” declared his wife. “None who enjoyed knowledge of our dear dragon can ever be quite the same afterwards.”
“Be sure that we shall yet welcome him in a place of perfect happiness when it is our turn,” asserted Sir Claude with an unusual ray of hope; but Father Lazarus sighed and refused to echo any such sentiment.
“A vain aspiration,” he answered. “We must be brave in this matter and not palter with conscience. None can feel greater grief than myself to recognise the truth; but the truth is ever unassailable. In a word, L.D. has gone where the bad dragons go, since there is no appointed place for good dragons, and it were vain to deceive ourselves and pretend otherwise. To this fate is he fallen, not because he himself was bad—far from it—I never met such a saintly character on two feet, let alone four; but because, having brain and wit to choose the right path, he preferred to remain upon the wrong one; and virtue is of nothing worth that springs from foundations that will not bear the test of Faith.”
The seneschal snorted, and Sir Jasper spoke.
“Haply he will be pitied and pardoned in credit of his good works,” ventured the knight.
“Alas! We have the highest authority for refusing to believe any such thing,” replied Father Lazarus sadly. “He would be the first to own it himself.”
“Out on you!” cried Nicholas Warrender, his eye flashing and his white beard a-bristle. “What manner of man are you to deny salvation to your benefactor and first friend? Did not the Almighty make you both, and make him worth a thousand of you?”
They wrangled so that they forgot to bid the parting pair “farewell,” and Sir Jasper, who lacked not sympathy for either side, rode forward with his wife and left them to it. But neither convinced the other, since they had entered upon that age-long argument, wherein only a time yet to come shall declare the victory.
* * * * *
For six generations after his disappearance the dragon’s grave continued to be a scene of pilgrimage; and then his rede was forgotten and the things he had attempted to do no longer remembered. He sank into a myth, and his castle and his city crumbled away under the sleights of time. The owl hooted in his dining hall; the bat hung aloft in his sleeping chamber; and presently the ivy, with steadfast might, dragged all down until not one stone remained upon another. Then did the watchful Woods of Blore, finding no hindrance, creep forward with sapling legions that swiftly bulked to trees and so engulfed and swallowed that happy valley, until all evidence of man and his labour alike disappeared.
Yet even to this day, at the season of high summer, the wanderer with faith may chance upon a knoll still open to the sky, and find the great mound bright in a robe of scented lavender, agleam with vanessa butterflies—black and scarlet, crimson and purple. The living jewels dance in sunshine and fragrance, and round about sing birds and patter the furry creatures of the wild.
Beneath lie the bones of a vast saurian—that excellent mystery known to the Dark Ages as the Lavender Dragon; and since all history is but an echo and a reverberation, it may happen that his theory shall yet revive to challenge the mind of man, and his practice be again attempted.
We have made a measure of progress since the days of Dragonsville, and the fact that we are so widely, keenly alive to the need for yet swifter advance is the most hopeful thing about us. There speaks the evolution of our moral nature, wakening from long dalliance; there moves the spirit of good will, struck into a cruel coma by the torment of recent years. Mighty powers are they, to help humanity correct its values, purify its ambitions and seek those ideals of generosity, abnegation and selfless purpose, without which no pathway of advancement through darkness into day can be discovered. Dawn is upon the mountain tops and, as the sun arises, light will descend into the homes and heart of mankind—because it can do no other.
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The Lavender Dragon Page 11