CHAPTER VI
_The Episode Called The Conspiracy of Arnaye_
1. _Policy Tempered with Singing_
"And so," said the Sieur d'Arnaye, as he laid down the letter, "we maylook for the coming of Monsieur de Puysange to-morrow."
The Demoiselle Matthiette contorted her features in an expression ofdisapproval. "So soon!" said she. "I had thought--"
"Ouais, my dear niece, Love rides by ordinary with a dripping spur, andis still as arbitrary as in the day when Mars was taken with a net andamorous Jove bellowed in Europa's kail-yard. My faith! if Love distemperthus the spectral ichor of the gods, is it remarkable that the warmerblood of man pulses rather vehemently at his bidding? It were the leastof Cupid's miracles that a lusty bridegroom of some twenty-and-odd shouldbe pricked to outstrip the dial by a scant week. For love--I might tellyou such tales--"
Sieur Raymond crossed his white, dimpled hands over a well-roundedpaunch and chuckled reminiscently; had he spoken doubtless he would haveleft Master Jehan de Troyes very little to reveal in his ScandalousChronicle: but now, as if now recalling with whom Sieur Raymondconversed, d'Arnaye's lean face assumed an expression of placid sanctity,and the somewhat unholy flame died out of his green eyes. He was like noother thing than a plethoric cat purring over the follies of kittenhood.You would have taken oath that a cultured taste for good living was thechief of his offences, and that this benevolent gentleman had some sixtywell-spent years to his credit. True, his late Majesty, King Louis XI,had sworn Pacque Dieu! that d'Arnaye loved underhanded work so heartilythat he conspired with his gardener concerning the planting of cabbages,and within a week after his death would be heading some treachery againstLucifer; but kings are not always infallible, as his Majesty himself hadproven at Peronne.
"--For," said the Sieur d'Arnaye, "man's flesh is frail, and the devil isvery cunning to avail himself of the weaknesses of lovers."
"Love!" Matthiette cried. "Ah, do not mock me, my uncle! There can be nopretence of love between Monsieur de Puysange and me. A man that I havenever seen, that is to wed me of pure policy, may look for no Alcestis inhis wife."
"You speak like a very sensible girl," said Sieur Raymond, complacently."However, so that he find her no Guinevere or Semiramis or otherloose-minded trollop of history, I dare say Monsieur de Puysange willhold to his bargain with indifferent content. Look you, niece, he, also,is buying--though the saying is somewhat rustic--a pig in a poke."
Matthiette glanced quickly toward the mirror which hung in her apartment.The glass reflected features which went to make up a beauty alreadybe-sonneted in that part of France; and if her green gown was some monthsbehind the last Italian fashion, it undeniably clad one who needed fewadventitious aids. The Demoiselle Matthiette at seventeen was very tall,and was as yet too slender for perfection of form, but her honey-coloredhair hung heavily about the unblemished oval of a countenance whose nosealone left something to be desired; for this feature, though well shaped,was unduly diminutive. For the rest, her mouth curved in anirreproachable bow, her complexion was mingled milk and roses, her blueeyes brooded in a provoking calm; taking matters by and large, the smilethat followed her inspection of the mirror's depths was far fromunwarranted. Catherine de Vaucelles reanimate, you would have sworn; andat the abbey of Saint Maixent-en-Poitou there was a pot-belly monk, aBrother Francois, who would have demonstrated it to you, in anunanswerable ballad, that Catherine's daughter was in consequence allthat an empress should be and so rarely is. Harembourges and BerthaBroadfoot and white Queen Blanche would have been laughed to scorn,demolished and proven, in comparison (with a catalogue of very intimatepersonal detail), the squalidest sluts conceivable, by Brother Francois.
But Sieur Raymond merely chuckled wheezily, as one discovering a fault inhis companion of which he disapproves in theory, but in practice findsflattering to his vanity.
"I grant you, Monsieur de Puysange drives a good bargain," said SieurRaymond. "Were Cleopatra thus featured, the Roman lost the world veryworthily. Yet, such is the fantastic disposition of man that I do notdoubt the vicomte looks forward to the joys of to-morrow no whit morecheerfully than you do: for the lad is young, and, as rumor says, hasbeen guilty of divers verses,--ay, he has bearded common-sense in thevext periods of many a wailing rhyme. I will wager a moderate amount,however, that the vicomte, like a sensible young man, keeps thesewhimsies of flames and dames laid away in lavender for festivals and thelike; they are somewhat too fine for everyday wear."
Sieur Raymond sipped the sugared wine which stood beside him. "Likeany sensible young man," he repeated, in a meditative fashion that washalf a query.
Matthiette stirred uneasily. "Is love, then, nothing?" she murmured.
"Love!" Sieur Raymond barked like a kicked mastiff. "It is verydiscreetly fabled that love was brought forth at Cythera by the oceanfogs. Thus, look you, even ballad-mongers admit it comes of ashort-lived family, that fade as time wears on. I may have a passion forcloud-tatters, and, doubtless, the morning mists are beautiful; but if Igive rein to my admiration, breakfast is likely to grow cold. I deducethat beauty, as represented by the sunrise, is less profitably consideredthan utility, as personified by the frying-pan. And love! A niece of mineprating of love!" The idea of such an occurrence, combined with a fit ofcoughing which now came upon him, drew tears to the Sieur d'Arnaye'seyes. "Pardon me," said he, when he had recovered his breath, "if I speaksomewhat brutally to maiden ears."
Matthiette sighed. "Indeed," said she, "you have spoken very brutally!"She rose from her seat, and went to the Sieur d'Arnaye. "Dear uncle,"said she, with her arms about his neck, and with her soft cheek brushinghis withered countenance, "are you come to my apartments to-night to tellme that love is nothing--you who have shown me that even the roughest,most grizzled bear in all the world has a heart compact of love andtender as a woman's?"
The Sieur d'Arnaye snorted. "Her mother all over again!" he complained;and then, recovering himself, shook his head with a hint of sadness.
He said: "I have sighed to every eyebrow at court, and I tell you thismoonshine is--moonshine pure and simple. Matthiette, I love you toodearly to deceive you in, at all events, this matter, and I have learnedby hard knocks that we of gentle quality may not lightly follow our owninclinations. Happiness is a luxury which the great can very rarelyafford. Granted that you have an aversion to this marriage. Yet considerthis: Arnaye and Puysange united may sit snug and let the world wag;otherwise, lying here between the Breton and the Austrian, we are so manynuts in a door-crack, at the next wind's mercy. And yonder in the South,Orleans and Dunois are raising every devil in Hell's register! Ah, no, mamie; I put it to you fairly is it of greater import that a girl have hercallow heart's desire than that a province go free of Monsieur War andMadame Rapine?"
"Yes, but--" said Matthiette.
Sieur Raymond struck his hand upon the table with considerable heat."Everywhere Death yawps at the frontier; will you, a d'Arnaye, bid himenter and surfeit? An alliance with Puysange alone may save us. Eheu, itis, doubtless, pitiful that a maid may not wait and wed her chosenpaladin, but our vassals demand these sacrifices. For example, do youthink I wedded my late wife in any fervor of adoration? I had never seenher before our marriage day; yet we lived much as most couples do forsome ten years afterward, thereby demonstrating--"
He smiled, evilly; Matthiette sighed.
"--Well, thereby demonstrating nothing new," said Sieur Raymond. "So doyou remember that Pierre must have his bread and cheese; that the cowsmust calve undisturbed; that the pigs--you have not seen the sow I hadto-day from Harfleur?--black as ebony and a snout like a rose-leaf!--mustbe stied in comfort: and that these things may not be, without analliance with Puysange. Besides, dear niece, it is something to be thewife of a great lord."
A certain excitement awoke in Matthiette's eyes. "It must be verybeautiful at Court," said she, softly. "Masques, fetes, tourneys everyday;--and they say the new King is exceedingly gallant--"
Sieur Raymond caught her
by the chin, and for a moment turned herface toward his. "I warn you," said he, "you are a d'Arnaye; andKing or not--"
He paused here. Through the open window came the voice of one singing tothe demure accompaniment of a lute.
"Hey?" said the Sieur d'Arnaye.
Sang the voice:
"_When you are very old, and I am gone, Not to return, it may be you will say-- Hearing my name and holding me as one Long dead to you,--in some half-jesting way Of speech, sweet as vague heraldings of May Rumored in woods when first the throstles sing-- 'He loved me once.' And straightway murmuring My half-forgotten rhymes, you will regret Evanished times when I was wont to sing So very lightly, 'Love runs into debt.'_"
"Now, may I never sit among the saints," said the Sieur d'Arnaye, "ifthat is not the voice of Raoul de Prison, my new page."
"Hush," Matthiette whispered. "He woos my maid, Alys. He often singsunder the window, and I wink at it."
Sang the voice:
_"I shall not heed you then. My course being run For good or ill, I shall have gone my way, And know you, love, no longer,--nor the sun, Perchance, nor any light of earthly day, Nor any joy nor sorrow,--while at play The world speeds merrily, nor reckoning Our coming or our going. Lips will cling, Forswear, and be forsaken, and men forget Where once our tombs were, and our children sing-- So very lightly!--'Love runs into debt.'
"If in the grave love have dominion Will that wild cry not quicken the wise clay, And taunt with memories of fond deeds undone,-- Some joy untasted, some lost holiday,-- All death's large wisdom? Will that wisdom lay The ghost of any sweet familiar thing Come haggard from the Past, or ever bring Forgetfulness of those two lovers met When all was April?--nor too wise to sing So very lightly, 'Love runs into debt.'
"Yet, Matthiette, though vain remembering Draw nigh, and age be drear, yet in the spring We meet and kiss, whatever hour beset Wherein all hours attain to harvesting,-- So very lightly love runs into debt."_
"Dear, dear!" said the Sieur d'Arnaye. "You mentioned your maid'sname, I think?"
"Alys," said Matthiette, with unwonted humbleness.
Sieur Raymond spread out his hands in a gesture of commiseration. "Thisis very remarkable," he said. "Beyond doubt, the gallant beneath has madesome unfortunate error. Captain Gotiard," he called, loudly, "will youascertain who it is that warbles in the garden such queer aliases for ourgood Alys?"
2. _Age Glosses the Text of Youth_
Gotiard was not long in returning; he was followed by two men-at-arms,who held between them the discomfited minstrel. Envy alone could havedescribed the lutanist as ill-favored; his close-fitting garb, whereinthe brave reds of autumn were judiciously mingled, at once set off awell-knit form and enhanced the dark comeliness of features less Frenchthan Italian in cast. The young man now stood silent, his eyes mutelyquestioning the Sieur d'Arnaye.
"Oh, la, la, la!" chirped Sieur Raymond. "Captain, I think you are atliberty to retire." He sipped his wine meditatively, as the men filedout. "Monsieur de Frison," d'Arnaye resumed, when the arras had fallen,"believe me, I grieve to interrupt your very moving and most excellentlyphrased ballad in this fashion. But the hour is somewhat late for melody,and the curiosity of old age is privileged. May one inquire, therefore,why you outsing my larks and linnets and other musical poultry that arenow all abed? and warble them to rest with this pleasing but--if I mayventure a suggestion--rather ill-timed madrigal?"
The young man hesitated for an instant before replying. "Sir," said he,at length, "I confess that had I known of your whereabouts, the birds hadgone without their lullaby. But you so rarely come to this wing of thechateau, that your presence here to-night is naturally unforeseen. As itis, since chance has betrayed my secret to you, I must make bold toacknowledge it; and to confess that I love your niece."
"Hey, no doubt you do," Sieur Raymond assented, pleasantly. "Indeed, Ithink half the young men hereabout are in much the same predicament. But,my question, if I mistake not, related to your reason for chauntingcanzonets beneath her window."
Raoul de Frison stared at him in amazement. "I love her," he said.
"You mentioned that before," Sieur Raymond suggested. "And I agreed, as Iremember, that it was more than probable; for my niece here--though it beI that speak it--is by no means uncomely, has a commendable voice, thewalk of a Hebe, and sufficient wit to deceive her lover into happiness.My faith, young man, you show excellent taste! But, I submit, the purestaffection is an insufficient excuse for outbaying a whole kennel ofhounds beneath the adored one's casement."
"Sir," said Raoul, "I believe that lovers have rarely been remarkable forsanity; and it is an immemorial custom among them to praise the object oftheir desires with fitting rhymes. Conceive, sir, that in your youth, hadyou been accorded the love of so fair a lady, you yourself had scarcelydone otherwise. For I doubt if your blood runs so thin as yet that youhave quite forgot young Raymond d'Arnaye and the gracious ladies whom heloved,--I think that your heart must needs yet treasure the memories ofdivers moonlit nights, even such as this, when there was a great silencein the world, and the nested trees were astir with desire of the dawn,and your waking dreams were vext with the singular favor of some woman'sface. It is in the name of that young Raymond I now appeal to you."
"H'm!" said the Sieur d'Arnaye. "As I understand it, you appeal on theground that you were coerced by the moonlight and led astray by thebird-nests in my poplar-trees; and you desire me to punish youraccomplices rather than you."
"Sir,--" said Raoul.
Sieur Raymond snarled. "You young dog, you know that in the most prosaicbreast a minor poet survives his entombment,--and you endeavor to makecapital of the knowledge. You know that I have a most sincere affectionfor your father, and have even contracted since you came to Arnaye moreor less tolerance for you,--which emboldens you, my friend, to keep meout of a comfortable bed at this hour of the night with an idioticdiscourse of moonlight and dissatisfied shrubbery! As it happens, I amnot a lank wench in her first country dance. Remember that, Raoul deFrison, and praise the good God who gave me at birth a very placabledisposition! There is not a seigneur in all France, save me, but wouldhang you at the crack of that same dawn for which you report yourlackadaisical trees to be whining; but the quarrel will soon be Monsieurde Puysange's, and I prefer that he settle it at his own discretion. Icontent myself with advising you to pester my niece no more."
Raoul spoke boldly. "She loves me," said he, standing very erect.
Sieur Raymond glanced at Matthiette, who sat with downcast head. "H'm!"said he. "She moderates her transports indifferently well. Though, again,why not? You are not an ill-looking lad. Indeed, Monsieur de Frison, I amquite ready to admit that my niece is breaking her heart for you. Thepoint on which I wish to dwell is that she weds Monsieur de Puysangeearly to-morrow morning."
"Uncle," Matthiette cried, as she started to her feet, "such a marriageis a crime! I love Raoul!"
"Undoubtedly," purred Sieur Raymond, "you love the lad unboundedly,madly, distractedly! Now we come to the root of the matter." He sank backin his chair and smiled. "Young people," said he, "be seated, and hearkento the words of wisdom. Love is a divine insanity, in which the suffererfancies the world mad. And the world is made up of madmen who condemn andpunish one another."
"But," Matthiette dissented, "ours is no ordinary case!"
"Surely not," Sieur Raymond readily agreed; "for there was never anordinary case in all the history of the universe. Oh, but I, too, haveknown this madness; I, too, have perceived how infinitely my ownskirmishes with the blind bow-god differed in every respect from all thathas been or will ever be. It is an infallible sign of this frenzy.Surely, I have said, the world will not willingly forget the vision ofChloris in her wedding garments, or the wonder of her last clinging kiss.Or, say Phyllis comes to-morrow: will an uninventive sun dare to rise inthe old, hackneyed fashion on such a day of days? Perish the thought!There will probably be six suns, and, I dare say, a meteor or two
."
"I perceive, sir," Raoul said here, "that after all you have notforgotten the young Raymond of whom I spoke."
"That was a long while ago," snapped Sieur Raymond. "I know a deal moreof the world nowadays; and a level-headed world would be somewhatsurprised at such occurrences, and suggest that for the future Phyllisremain at home. For whether you--or I--or any one--be in love or no is toour fellow creatures an affair of astonishingly trivial import. Not sinceNoe that great admiral, repeopled the world by begetting three sons uponDame Noria has there been a love-business worthy of consideration; nor,if you come to that, not since sagacious Solomon went a-wenching has awise man wasted his wisdom on a lover. So love one another, my children,by all means: but do you, Matthiette, make ready to depart into Normandyas a true and faithful wife to Monsieur de Puysange; and do you, Raoul dePrison, remain at Arnaye, and attend to my falcons more carefully thanyou have done of late,--or, by the cross of Saint Lo! I will clap thewench in a convent and hang the lad as high as Haman!"
Whereon Sieur Raymond smiled pleasantly, and drained his wine-cup as oneconsidering the discussion ended.
Raoul sat silent for a moment. Then he rose. "Monsieur d'Arnaye, you knowme to be a gentleman of unblemished descent, and as such entitled to ahearing. I forbid you before all-seeing Heaven to wed your niece to a manshe does not love! And I have the honor to request of you her hand inmarriage."
"Which offer I decline," said Sieur Raymond, grinning placidly,--"withevery imaginable civility. Niece," he continued, "here is a gentleman whooffers you a heartful of love, six months of insanity, and forty yearsof boredom in a leaky, wind-swept chateau. He has dreamed dreamsconcerning you: allow me to present to you the reality."
With some ceremony Sieur Raymond now grasped Matthiette's hand and ledher mirror-ward. "Permit me to present the wife of Monsieur de Puysange.Could he have made a worthier choice? Ah, happy lord, that shall so soonembrace such perfect loveliness! For, frankly, my niece, is not thatgolden hair of a shade that will set off a coronet extraordinarily well?Are those wondrous eyes not fashioned to surfeit themselves upon thehomage and respect accorded the wife of a great lord? Ouais, the thing isindisputable: and, therefore, I must differ from Monsieur de Frison here,who would condemn this perfection to bloom and bud unnoticed in a paltrycountry town."
There was an interval, during which Matthiette gazed sadly into themirror. "And Arnaye--?" said she.
"Undoubtedly," said Sieur Raymond,--"Arnaye must perish unless Puysangeprove her friend. Therefore, my niece conquers her natural aversion to ayoung and wealthy husband, and a life of comfort and flattery and gayety;relinquishes you, Raoul; and, like a feminine Mettius Curtius, sacrificesherself to her country's welfare. Pierre may sleep undisturbed; and thepigs will have a new sty. My faith, it is quite affecting! And so," SieurRaymond summed it up, "you two young fools may bid adieu, once for all,while I contemplate this tapestry." He strolled to the end of the roomand turned his back. "Admirable!" said he; "really now, that leopard isastonishingly lifelike!"
Raoul came toward Matthiette. "Dear love," said he, "you have chosenwisely, and I bow to your decision. Farewell, Matthiette,--O indomitableheart! O brave perfect woman that I have loved! Now at the last of all, Ipraise you for your charity to me, Love's mendicant,--ah, believe me,Matthiette, that atones for aught which follows now. Come what may, Ishall always remember that once in old days you loved me, and,remembering this, I shall always thank God with a contented heart." Hebowed over her unresponsive hand. "Matthiette," he whispered, "be happy!For I desire that very heartily, and I beseech of our Sovereign Lady--notcaring to hide at all how my voice shakes, nor how the loveliness of you,seen now for the last time, is making blind my eyes--that you may neverknow unhappiness. You have chosen wisely, Matthiette; yet, ah, my dear,do not forget me utterly, but keep always a little place in your heartfor your boy lover!"
Sieur Raymond concluded his inspection of the tapestry, and turned with apremonitory cough. "Thus ends the comedy," said he, shrugging, "with muchfine, harmless talking about 'always,' while the world triumphs.Invariably the world triumphs, my children. Eheu, we are as God made us,we men and women that cumber His stately earth!" He drew his arm throughRaoul's. "Farewell, niece," said Sieur Raymond, smiling; "I rejoice thatyou are cured of your malady. Now in respect to gerfalcons--" said he.The arras fell behind them.
3. _Obdurate Love_
Matthiette sat brooding in her room, as the night wore on. She waspitifully frightened, numb. There was in the room, she dimly noted, aheavy silence that sobs had no power to shatter. Dimly, too, she seemedaware of a multitude of wide, incurious eyes which watched her from everycorner, where panels snapped at times with sharp echoes. The night waswell-nigh done when she arose.
"After all," she said, wearily, "it is my manifest duty." Matthiettecrept to the mirror and studied it.
"Madame de Puysange," said she, without any intonation; then threw herarms above her head, with a hard gesture of despair. "I love him!" shecried, in a frightened voice.
Matthiette went to a great chest and fumbled among its contents. She drewout a dagger in a leather case, and unsheathed it. The light shone evillyscintillant upon the blade. She laughed, and hid it in the bosom of hergown, and fastened a cloak about her with impatient fingers. ThenMatthiette crept down the winding stair that led to the gardens, andunlocked the door at the foot of it.
A sudden rush of night swept toward her, big with the secrecy of dawn.The sky, washed clean of stars, sprawled above,--a leaden, monotonousblank. Many trees whispered thickly over the chaos of earth; to the left,in an increasing dove-colored luminousness, a field of growing maizebristled like the chin of an unshaven Titan.
Matthiette entered an expectant world. Once in the tree-chequeredgardens, it was as though she crept through the aisles of an unlitcathedral already garnished for its sacred pageant. Matthiette heard thequerulous birds call sleepily above; the margin of night was thick withtheir petulant complaints; behind her was the monstrous shadow of theChateau d'Arnaye, and past that was a sullen red, the red of contusedflesh, to herald dawn. Infinity waited a-tiptoe, tense for the comingmiracle, and against this vast repression, her grief dwindled intoirrelevancy: the leaves whispered comfort; each tree-bole hid chucklingfauns. Matthiette laughed. Content had flooded the universe all throughand through now that yonder, unseen as yet, the scarlet-faced sun wastoiling up the rim of the world, and matters, it somehow seemed, couldnot turn out so very ill, in the end.
Matthiette came to a hut, from whose open window a faded golden glowspread out into obscurity like a tawdry fan. From without she peered intothe hut and saw Raoul. A lamp flickered upon the table. His shadowtwitched and wavered about the plastered walls,--a portentous mass ofhead upon a hemisphere of shoulders,--as Raoul bent over a chest, sortingthe contents, singing softly to himself, while Matthiette leaned upon thesill without, and the gardens of Arnaye took form and stirred in theheart of a chill, steady, sapphire-like radiance.
Sang Raoul:
_"Lord, I have worshipped thee ever,-- Through all these years I have served thee, forsaking never Light Love that veers As a child between laughter and tears. Hast thou no more to afford,-- Naught save laughter and tears,-- Love, my lord?
"I have borne thy heaviest burden, Nor served thee amiss: Now thou hast given a guerdon; Lo, it was this-- A sigh, a shudder, a kiss. Hast thou no more to accord! I would have more than this, Love, my lord.
"I am wearied of love that is pastime And gifts that it brings; I entreat of thee, lord, at this last time
"Ineffable things. Nay, have proud long-dead kings Stricken no subtler chord, Whereof the memory clings, Love, my lord?
"But for a little we live; Show me thine innermost hoard! Hast thou no more to give, Love, my lord?"_
4. _Raymond Psychopompos_
Matthiette went to the hut's door: her hands fell irresolutely upon therough surface of it and lay still for a moment. Then with the noise of ahoarse groan the
door swung inward, and the light guttered in a swirl ofkeen morning air, casting convulsive shadows upon her lifted countenance,and was extinguished. She held out her arms in a gesture that was halfmaternal. "Raoul!" she murmured.
He turned. A sudden bird plunged through the twilight without, with aglad cry that pierced like a knife through the stillness which had fallenin the little room. Raoul de Frison faced her, with clenched hands,silent. For that instant she saw him transfigured.
But his silence frightened her. There came a piteous catch in her voice."Fair friend, have you not bidden me--_be happy?_"
He sighed. "Mademoiselle," he said, dully, "I may not avail myself ofyour tenderness of heart; that you have come to comfort me in my sorrowis a deed at which, I think, God's holy Angels must rejoice: but I cannotavail myself of it."
"Raoul, Raoul," she said, "do you think that I have come in--pity!"
"Matthiette," he returned, "your uncle spoke the truth. I have dreameddreams concerning you,--dreams of a foolish, golden-hearted girl, whowould yield--yield gladly--all that the world may give, to be one fleshand soul with me. But I have wakened, dear, to the braver reality,--thatvalorous woman, strong enough to conquer even her own heart that herpeople may be freed from their peril."
"Blind! blind!" she cried.
Raoul smiled down upon her. "Mademoiselle," said he, "I do not doubt thatyou love me."
She went wearily toward the window. "I am not very wise," Matthiettesaid, looking out upon the gardens, "and it appears that God has givenme an exceedingly tangled matter to unravel. Yet if I decide itwrongly I think the Eternal Father will understand it is because I amnot very wise."
Matthiette for a moment was silent. Then with averted face she spokeagain. "My uncle commands me, with many astute saws and pithy sayings, towed Monsieur de Puysange. I have not skill to combat him. Many times hehas proven it my duty, but he is quick in argument and proves what hewill; and I do not think it is my duty. It appears to me a matter whereinman's wisdom is at variance with God's will as manifested to us throughthe holy Evangelists. Assuredly, if I do not wed Monsieur de Puysangethere may be war here in our Arnaye, and God has forbidden war; but I maynot insure peace in Arnaye without prostituting my body to a man I do notlove, and that, too, God has forbidden. I speak somewhat grossly for amaid, but you love me, I think, and will understand. And I, also, loveyou, Monsieur de Frison. Yet--ah, I am pitiably weak! Love tugs at myheart-strings, bidding me cling to you, and forget these other matters;but I cannot do that, either. I desire very heartily the comfort andsplendor and adulation which you cannot give me. I am pitiably weak,Raoul! I cannot come to you with an undivided heart,--but my heart, suchas it is, I have given you, and to-day I deliver my honor into your handsand my life's happiness, to preserve or to destroy. Mother of Christ,grant that I have chosen rightly, for I have chosen now, past retreat! Ihave chosen you, Raoul, and that love which you elect to give me, and ofwhich I must endeavor to be worthy."
Matthiette turned from the window. Now, her bright audacity gone, herardors chilled, you saw how like a grave, straightforward boy she was,how illimitably tender, how inefficient. "It may be that I have decidedwrongly in this tangled matter," she said now. "And yet I think that God,Who loves us infinitely, cannot be greatly vexed at anything His childrendo for love of one another."
He came toward her. "I bid you go," he said. "Matthiette, it is my dutyto bid you go, and it is your duty to obey."
She smiled wistfully through unshed tears. "Man's wisdom!" saidMatthiette. "I think that it is not my duty. And so I disobey you,dear,--this once, and no more hereafter."
"And yet last night--" Raoul began.
"Last night," said she, "I thought that I was strong. I know now it wasmy vanity that was strong,--vanity and pride and fear, Raoul, that for alittle mastered me. But in the dawn all things seem very trivial, savinglove alone."
They looked out into the dew-washed gardens. The daylight was fullgrown,and already the clear-cut forms of men were passing beneath the swayingbranches. In the distance a trumpet snarled.
"Dear love," said Raoul, "do you not understand that you have broughtabout my death? For Monsieur de Puysange is at the gates of Arnaye; andeither he or Sieur Raymond will have me hanged ere noon."
"I do not know," she said, in a tired voice. "I think that Monsieur dePuysange has some cause to thank me; and my uncle loves me, and hisheart, for all his gruffness, is very tender. And--see, Raoul!" She drewthe dagger from her bosom. "I shall not survive you a long while, O manof all the world!"
Perplexed joy flushed through his countenance. "You will dothis--for me?" he cried, with a sort of sob. "Matthiette,Matthiette, you shame me!"
"But I love you," said Matthiette. "How could it be possible, then, forme to live after you were dead?"
He bent to her. They kissed.
Hand in hand they went forth into the daylight. The kindly, familiarplace seemed in Matthiette's eyes oppressed and transformed by theausterity of dawn. It was a clear Sunday morning, at the hightide ofsummer, and she found the world unutterably Sabbatical; only by avigorous effort could memory connect it with the normal life ofyesterday. The cool edges of the woods, vibrant now with multitudinousshrill pipings, the purple shadows shrinking eastward on the dimplinglawns, the intricate and broken traceries of the dial (where they had metso often), the blurred windings of their path, above which brooded thepeaked roofs and gables and slender clerestories of Arnaye, the broadriver yonder lapsing through deserted sunlit fields,--these things laybefore them scarce heeded, stript of all perspective, flat as an openscroll. To them all this was alien. She and Raoul were quite apart fromthese matters, quite alone, despite the men of Arnaye, hurrying towardthe courtyard, who stared at them curiously, but said nothing. A briskwind was abroad in the tree-tops, scattering stray leaves, already dead,over the lush grass. Tenderly Raoul brushed a little golden sycamore leaffrom the lovelier gold of Matthiette's hair.
"I do not know how long I have to live," he said. "Nobody knows that. ButI wish that I might live a great while to serve you worthily."
She answered: "Neither in life nor death shall we be parted now. Thatonly matters, my husband."
They came into the crowded court-yard just as the drawbridge fell. Atroop of horse clattered into Arnaye, and the leader, a young man offrank countenance, dismounted and looked about him inquiringly. Then hecame toward them.
"Monseigneur," said he, "you see that we ride early in honor of yournuptials."
Behind them some one chuckled. "Love one another, young people," saidSieur Raymond; "but do you, Matthiette, make ready to depart intoNormandy as a true and faithful wife to Monsieur de Puysange."
She stared into Raoul's laughing face; there was a kind of anguish in herswift comprehension. Quickly the two men who loved her glanced at eachother, half in shame.
But the Sieur d'Arnaye was not lightly dashed. "Oh, la, la, la!" chuckledthe Sieur d'Arnaye, "she would never have given you a second thought,monsieur le vicomte, had I not labelled you forbidden fruit. As it is, mylast conspiracy, while a little ruthless, I grant you, turns outadmirably. Jack has his Jill, and all ends merrily, like an old song. Iwill begin on those pig-sties the first thing to-morrow morning."
* * * * *
OCTOBER 6, 1519
_"Therefore, like as May month flowereth and flourisheth in manygardens, so in likewise let every man of worship flourish his heart inthis world; first unto God, and next unto the joy of them that hepromiseth his faith unto."_
_The quondam Raoul de Prison stood high in the graces of the Lady Regentof France, Anne de Beaujeu, who was, indeed, tolerably notorious for herpartiality to well-built young men. Courtiers whispered more than thereis any need here to rehearse. In any event, when in 1485 the daughter ofLouis XI fitted out an expedition to press the Earl of Richmond's claimto the English crown, de Puysange sailed from Havre as commander of theFrench fleet. He fought at Bosworth, not discreditably; and a yearafterward, when England
had for the most part accepted Henry VII,Matthiette rejoined her husband.
They never subsequently quitted England. During the long civil wars, dePuysange was known as a shrewd captain and a judicious counsellor to theKing, who rewarded his services as liberally as Tudorian parsimony wouldpermit. After the death of Henry VII, however, the vicomte took littlepart in public affairs, spending most of his time at Tiverton Manor, inDevon, where, surrounded by their numerous progeny, he and Matthiettegrew old together in peace and concord.
Indeed, the vicomte so ordered all his cool love-affairs that, havingtaken a wife as a matter of expediency, he continued as a matter ofexpediency to make her a fair husband, as husbands go. It also seemed tohim, they relate, a matter of expediency to ignore the interpretationgiven by scandalous persons to the paternal friendship extended to Madamede Puysange by a high prince of the Church, during the last five years ofthe great Cardinal Morton's life, for the connection was useful.
The following is from a manuscript of doubtful authenticity still to beseen at Allonby Shaw. It purports to contain the autobiography of WillSommers, the vicomte's jester, afterward court-fool to Henry VIII._
The Line of Love; Dizain des Mariages Page 9
