St. George and St. Michael

by George MacDonald

  CHAPTER LIV.

  DOMUS DISSOLVITUR.

  Scudamore was now much better, partly from the influence of revivinghopes with regard to Dorothy, for his disposition was such that hedeceived himself in the direction of what he counted advantage; not likeHeywood, who was ever ready to believe what in matters personal toldagainst him. Tom Fool had just been boasting of his exploit in escapingfrom Raglan, and expressing his conviction that Dorothy, whom he hadvaliantly protected, was safe at Wyfern, and Rowland was in consequencedressing as fast as he could to pay her a visit, when Tom caught sightof Richard riding towards the cottage, and jumping up, ran into thechimney corner beyond his mother, who was busy with Scudamore'sbreakfast. She looked from the window, and spied the cause of histerror.

  'Silly Tom!' she said, for she still treated him like a child,notwithstanding her boastful belief in his high position and merits, 'hewill not harm thee. There never was hurt in a Heywood.'

  'Treason, flat treason, witch!' cried the voice of Scudamore from thecloset.

  'Thee of all men, sir Rowland, has no cause to say so,' returnedmistress Rees. 'But come and break thy fast while he talks to thee, andsave the precious time which runneth so fast away.'

  'I might as well be in my grave for any value it hath to me!' saidRowland, who was for the moment in a bad mood. His hope and his faithwere ever ready to fall out, and a twinge in his shoulder was enough toset them jarring.

  'Here comes master Heywood, anyhow,' said the old woman, as Richard,leaving Lady at the gate, came striding up the walk in his great brownboots; 'and I pray you, sir Rowland, to let by-gones be by-gones, for mysake if not for your own, lest thou bring the vengeance of generalFairfax upon my poor house.'

  'Fairfax!' cried Scudamore; 'is that villain come hither?'

  'Sir Thomas Fairfax arrived two days agone, answered mistress Rees.'Alas, it is but too sure a sign that for Raglan the end is near!'

  'Good morrow, mother Rees,' said Richard, looking in at the door,radiant as an Apollo. The same moment out came Scudamore from thecloset, pale as a dying moon.

  'I want my horse, Heywood!' he cried, deigning no preliminaries.

  'Thy horse is at Redware, Scudamore; I carry him not in my pocket. I sawhim yesterday; his flesh hath swallowed a good many of his bones since Ilooked on him last. What wouldst thou with him?'

  'What is that to thee? Let me have him.'

  'Softly, sir Rowland! It is true I promised thee thy liberty, butliberty doth not necessarily include a horse.'

  'Thou wast never better than a shifting fanatic!' cried sir Rowland.

  'An' I served thee as befitted, thou shouldst never see thy horseagain,' returned Richard. 'Yet I promise thee that so soon as Raglanhath fallen, he shall again be thine. Nay, I care not. Tell me whitherthou goest, and--Ha! art thou there?' he cried, interrupting himself ashe caught sight of Tom in the chimney corner; and pausing, he stoodsilent for a moment. '--Wouldst like to hear, thou rascal,' he resumedpresently, 'that mistress Dorothy Vaughan got safe to Wyfern thismorning?'

  'God be praised!' said Tom Fool.

  'But thou shalt not hear it. I will tell thee better if less welcomenews--that I come from conducting her back to Raglan in safety, and haveseen its gates close upon her. Thou shalt have thy horse, sir Rowland,an' thou can wait for him an hour; but for thy ride to Wyfern, that,thou seest, would not avail thee. Thy cousin rode by here this morning,it is true, but, as I say, she is now within Raglan walls, whence shewill not issue again until the soldiers of the parliament enter. It isno treason to tell thee that general Fairfax is about to send his finalsummons ere he storm the rampart.'

  'Then mayst thou keep the horse, for I will back to Raglan on foot,'said Scudamore.

  'Nay, that wilt thou not, for nought greatly larger than a mouse can anymore pass through the lines. Dost think because I sent back thy cousinDorothy, lest she should work mischief outside the walls, I willtherefore send thee back to work mischief within them?'

  'And thou art the man who professeth to love mistress Dorothy!' criedScudamore with contempt.

  'Hark thee, sir Rowland, and for thy good I will tell thee more. It isbut just that as I told thee my doubts, whence thou didst draw hope, Ishould now tell thee my hopes, whence thou mayst do well to draw alittle doubt.'

  'Thou art a mean and treacherous villain!' cried Scudamore.

  'Thou art to blame in speaking that thou dost not believe, sir Rowland.But wilt thou have thy horse or no?'

  'No; I will remain where I am until I hear the worst.'

  'Or come home with me, where thou wilt hear it yet sooner. Thou shalttaste a roundhead's hospitality.'

  'I scorn thee and thy false friendship,' cried Rowland, and turningagain into the closet, he bolted the door.

  That same morning a great iron ball struck the marble horse on his proudhead, and flung it in fragments over the court. From his neck the waterbubbled up bright and clear, like the life-blood of the woundedwhiteness.

  'Poor Molly!' said the marquis, when he looked from hisstudy-window--then smiled at his pity.

  Lord Charles entered: a messenger had come from general Fairfax,demanding a surrender in the name of the parliament.

  'If they had but gone on a little longer, Charles, they might have savedus the trouble,' said his lordship, 'for there would have been nothingleft to surrender.--But I will consider the proposal,' he added. 'Praytell sir Thomas that whatever I do, I look first to have it approved ofthe king.'

  But there was no longer the shadow of a question as to submission. Allthat was left was but the arrangement of conditions. The marquis wasaware that captain Hooper's trenches were rapidly approaching therampart; that six great mortars for throwing shells had been got intoposition; and that resistance would be the merest folly.

  Various meetings, therefore, of commissioners appointed on both sidesfor the settling of the terms of submission took place; and at last, onthe fifteenth of August, they were finally arranged, and the surrenderfixed for the seventeenth.

  The interval was a sad time. All day long tears were flowing, the ladiesdoing their best to conceal, the servants to display them. Every one wasbusy gathering together what personal effects might be carried away. Itwas especially a sad time for lord Glamorgan's children, for they wereold enough not merely to love the place, but to know that they loved it;and the thought that the sacred things of their home were about to passinto other hands, roused in them wrath and indignation as well as grief;for the sense of property is, in the minds of children who have beenborn and brought up in the midst of family possessions, perhaps strongerthan in the minds of their elders.

  As the sun was going down on the evening of the sixteenth, Dorothy, whohad been helping now one and now another of the ladies all day long,having, indeed, little of her own to demand her attention, Dick andMarquis being almost her sole valuables, came from the keep, and wascrossing the fountain court to her old room on its western side. Everyone was busy indoors, and the place appeared deserted. There was astillness in the air that SOUNDED awful. For so many weeks it had beenshattered with roar upon roar, and now the guns had ceased to bellow,leaving a sense of vacancy and doubt, an oppression of silence. The humthat came from the lines outside seemed but to enhance the stillnesswithin. But the sunlight lived on sweet and calm, as if all was well. Itseemed to promise that wrath and ruin would pass, and leave no lastingdesolation behind them. Yet she could not help heaving a great sigh, andthe tears came streaming down her cheeks.

  'Tut, tut, cousin! Wipe thine eyes. The dreary old house is not worthsuch bright tears.'

  Dorothy turned, and saw the marquis seated on the edge of the marblebasin, under the headless horse, whose blood seemed still to well fromhis truncated form. She saw also that, although his words were cheerful,his lip quivered. It was some little time before she could composeherself sufficiently to speak.

  'I marvel your lordship is so calm,' she said.

  'Come hither, Dorothy,' he returned kindly, 'and sit thee down by myside.
Thou wast right good to my little Molly. Thou hast been aministering angel to Raglan and its people. I did thee wrong, and thouforgavest me with a whole heart. Thou hast returned me good for eviltenfold, and for all this I love thee; and therefore will I now tellthee what maketh me quiet at heart, for I am as thou seest me, and myheart is as my countenance. I have lived my life, and have now but todie my death. I am thankful to have lived, and I hope to live hereafter.Goodness and mercy went before my birth, and goodness and mercy willfollow my death. For the ills of this life, if there was no silencethere would be no music. Ignorance is a spur to knowledge. Darkness is apavilion for the Almighty, a foil to the painter to make his shadows. Soare afflictions good for our instruction, and adversities for ouramendment. As for the article of death, shall I shun to meet what shewho lay in my bosom hath passed through? And look you, fair damsel, thouwhose body is sweet, and comely to behold--wherefore should I notrejoice to depart? When I see my house lying in ruins about me, I lookdown upon this ugly overgrown body of mine, the very foundations whereofcrumble from beneath me, and I thank God it is but a tent, and noenduring house even like this house of Raglan, which yet will ere longbe a dwelling of owls and foxes. Very soon will Death pull out thetent-pins and let me fly, and therefore am I glad; for, fair damselDorothy, although it may be hard for thee, beholding me as I am, tocomprehend it, I like to be old and ugly as little as wouldst thou, andmy heart, I verily think, is little, older than thine own. One day,please God, I shall yet be clothed upon with a house that is fromheaven, nor shall I hobble with gouty feet over the golden pavement--ifso be that my sins overpass not mercy. Pray for me, Dorothy, mydaughter, for my end is nigh, that I find at length the bosom of fatherAbraham.'

  As he ended, a slow flower of music bloomed out upon the silence fromunder the fingers of the blind youth hid in the stony shell of thechapel; and, doubtful at first, its fragrance filled at length the wholesunset air. It was the music of a Nunc dimittis of Palestrina. Dorothyknelt and kissed the old man's hand, then rose and went weeping to herchamber, leaving him still seated by the broken yet flowing fountain.

  Of all who prepared to depart, Caspar Kaltoff was the busiest. What bestthings of his master's he could carry with him, he took, but a multitudehe left to a more convenient opportunity, in the hope of which, aloneand unaided, he sunk his precious cabinet, and a chest besides, filledwith curious inventions and favourite tools, in the secret shaft. Butthe most valued of all, the fire-engine, he could not take and would notleave. He stopped the fountain of the white horse, once more set thewater-commanding slave to work, and filled the cistern until he heard itroar in the waste-pipe. Then he extinguished the fire and let thefurnace cool, and when Dorothy entered the workshop for the last time totake her mournful leave of the place, there lay the bones of the mightycreature scattered over the floor--here a pipe, there a valve, here apiston and there a cock. Nothing stood but the furnace and the greatpipes that ran up the grooves in the wall outside, between which therewas scarce a hint of connection to be perceived.

  'Mistress Dorothy,' he said, 'my master is the greatest man inChristendom, but the world is stupid, and will forget him because itnever knew him.'

  Amongst her treasures, chief of them all, even before the gifts of herhusband, lady Glamorgan carried with her the last garments, fromsleeve-ribbons to dainty little shoes and rosettes, worn by her Molly.

  Dr. Bayly carried a bag of papers and sermons, with his doctor's gownand hood, and his best suit of clothes.

  The marquis with his own hand put up his Vulgate, and left his Gowerbehind. Ever since the painful proofs of its failure with the king, hehad felt if not a dislike yet a painful repugnance to the volume, andhad never opened it.

  It was a troubled night, the last they spent in the castle. Not manyslept. But the lord of it had long understood that what could cease tobe his never had been his, and slept like a child. Dr. Bayly, who in hisloving anxiety had managed to get hold of his key, crept in at midnight,and found him fast asleep; and again in the morning, and found him notyet waked.

  When breakfast was over, proclamation was made that at nine o'clockthere would be prayers in the chapel for the last time, and that themarquis desired all to be present. When the hour arrived, he enteredleaning on the arm of Dr. Bayly. Dorothy followed with the ladies of thefamily. Young Delaware was in his place, and 'with organ voice and voiceof psalms,' praise and prayer arose for the last time from the house ofRaglan. All were in tears save the marquis. A smile played about hislips, and he looked like a child giving away his toy. Sir Toby Mathewstried hard to speak to his flock, but broke down, and had to yield theattempt. When the services were over, the marquis rose and said,

  'Master Delaware, once more play thy Nunc dimittis, and so meet me everyone in the hall.'

  Thither the marquis himself walked first, and on the dais seated himselfin his chair of state, with his family and friends around him, and theofficers of his household waiting. On one side of him stood sir RalphBlackstone, with a bag of gold, and on the other Mr. George Wharton, theclerk of the accounts, with a larger bag of silver. Then each of theservants, in turn according to position, was called before him by name,and with his own hand the marquis, dipping now into one bag, now intothe other, gave to each a small present in view of coming necessities:they had the day before received their wages. To each he wished a kindfarewell, to some adding a word of advice or comfort. He then handed thebags to the governor, and told him to distribute their contentsaccording to his judgment amongst the garrison. Last, he ordered everyone to be ready to follow him from the gates the moment the clock struckthe hour of noon, and went to his study.

  When lord Charles came to tell him that all were marshalled, andeverything ready for departure, he found him kneeling, but he rose withmore of agility than he had for a long time been able to show, andfollowed his son.

  With slow pace he crossed, the courts and the hall, which were silent asthe grave, bending his steps to the main entrance. The portcullises wereup, the gates wide open, the drawbridge down--all silent and deserted.The white stair was also vacant, and in solemn silence the marquisdescended, leaning on lord Charles. But beneath was a gallant show, yet,for all its colour and shine, mournful enough. At the foot of the stairstood four carriages, each with six horses in glittering harness, andbehind them all the officers of the household and all the guests onhorseback. Next came the garrison-music of drums and trumpets, then themen-servants on foot, and the women, some on foot and some in waggonswith the children. After them came the waggons loaded with such thingsas they were permitted to carry with them. These were followed by theprincipal officers of the garrison, colonels and captains, accompaniedby their troops, consisting mostly of squires and gentlemen, to thenumber of about two hundred, on horseback. Last came the foot-soldiersof the garrison and those who had lost their horses, in all some fivehundred, stretching far away, round towards the citadel, beyond thesight. Colours were flying and weapons glittering, and though all wassilence except for the pawing of a horse here and there, and the ringingof chain-bridles, everything looked like an ordered march of triumphrather than a surrender and evacuation. Still there was a something inthe silence that seemed to tell the true tale.

  In the front carriage were lady Glamorgan and the ladies Elizabeth,Anne, and Mary. In the carriages behind came their gentlewomen and theirlady visitors, with their immediate attendants. Dorothy, mounted onDick, with Marquis's chain fastened to the pommel of her saddle,followed the last carriage. Beside her rode young Delaware, and hisfather, the master of the horse.

  'Open the white gate,' said the marquis from the stair as he descended.

  The great clock of the castle struck, and with the last stroke of thetwelve came the blast of a trumpet from below.

  'Answer, trumpets,' cried the marquis.

  The governor repeated the order, and a tremendous blare followed, inwhich the drums unbidden joined.

  This was the signal to the warders at the brick gate, and they flung itstwo leaves wide a
part.

  Another blast from below, and in marched on horseback general Fairfaxwith his staff, followed by three hundred foot. The latter drew up oneach side of the brick gate, while the general and his staff went on tothe marble gate.

  As soon as they appeared within it, the marquis, who had halted in themidst of his descent, came down to meet them. He bowed to the general,and said:--

  'I would it were as a guest I received you, sir Thomas, for then might Ihonestly bid you welcome. But that I cannot do when you so shake my poornest that you shake the birds out of it. But though I cannot bid youwelcome, I will notwithstanding heartily bid you farewell, sir Thomas,and I thank you for your courtesy to me and mine. This nut of Raglanwas, I believe, the last you had to crack. Amen. God's will be done.'

  The general returned civil answer, and the marquis, again bowinggraciously, advanced to the foremost carriage, the door of which washeld for him by sir Ralph, the steward, while lord Charles stood by toassist his father. The moment he had entered, the two gentlemen mountedthe horses held for them one on each side of the carriage, lord Charlesgave the word, the trumpets once more uttered a loud cry, the marquis'smoved, the rest followed, and in slow procession lord Worcester and hispeople, passing through the gates, left for ever the house of Raglan,and in his heart Henry Somerset bade the world good-bye.

  General Fairfax and his company ascended the great white stair, crossedthe moat on the drawbridge, passed under the double portcullis andthrough the gates, and so entered the deserted court. All wasfrightfully still; the windows stared like dead eyes--the very housesseemed dead; nothing alive was visible except one scared cat: thecannonade had driven away all the pigeons, and a tile had killed thepatriarch of the peacocks. They entered the great hall and admired itsgoodly proportions, while not a few expressions of regret at thedestruction of such a magnificent house escaped them; then as soldiersthey proceeded to examine the ruins, and distinguish the results wroughtby the different batteries.

  'Gentlemen,' said sir Thomas, 'had the walls been as strong as thetowers, we should have been still sitting in yonder field.'

  In the meantime the army commissioner, Thomas Herbert by name, was busysecuring with the help of his men the papers and valuables, and makingan inventory of such goods as he considered worth removing for sale inLondon.

  Having satisfied his curiosity with a survey of the place, and left aguard to receive orders from Mr. Herbert, the general mounted again androde to Chepstow, where there was a grand entertainment that evening tocelebrate the fall of Raglan, the last of the strongholds of the king.