The Dragon of Wantley: His Tale

by Owen Wister

  CHAPTER X

  The Great White Christmas at Wantley.

  Now are all the people long awake and out of their beds. Wantley Manoris stirring busily in each quarter of the house and court, and thewhole county likewise is agog. By seven o'clock this morning it wasnoised in every thatched cottage and in every gabled hall that thegreat Dragon had been captured. Some said by Saint George in person,who appeared riding upon a miraculous white horse and speaking atongue that nobody could understand, wherefore it was held to be thelanguage common in Paradise. Some declared Saint George had nothing todo with it, and that this was the pious achievement of Father Anselm.Others were sure Miss Elaine had fulfilled the legend and conqueredthe monster entirely by herself. One or two, hearing the event hadtaken place in Sir Godfrey's wine-cellar, said they thought the Baronhad done it,--and were immediately set down as persons of unsoundmind. But nobody mentioned Geoffrey at all, until the Baron'sinvitations, requesting the honour of various people's presence at themarriage of his daughter Elaine to that young man, were received; andthat was about ten o'clock, the ceremony being named for twelve thatday in the family chapel. Sir Godfrey intended the burning of theDragon to take place not one minute later than half-past eleven.Accordingly, besides the invitation to the chapel, all friends andneighbours whose position in the county or whose intimacy with thefamily entitled them to a recognition less formal and more personal,received a second card which ran as follows: "Sir Godfrey Disseisin athome Wednesday morning, December the twenty-fifth, from half aftereleven until the following day. Dancing; also a Dragon will beroasted. R. S. V. P." The Disseisin crest with its spirited motto,"Saute qui peult," originated by the venerable Primer Disseisin,followed by his son Tortious Disseisin, and borne with so much renownin and out of a hundred battles by a thousand subsequent Disseisins,ornamented the top left-hand corner.

  "I think we shall have but few refusals," said the Rev. Hucbald to SirGodfrey. "Not many will be prevented by previous engagements, Iopine." And the Chaplain smiled benignly, rubbing his hands. He hadpublished the banns of matrimony three times in a lump beforebreakfast. "Which is rather unusual," he said; "but under thecircumstances we shall easily obtain a dispensation."

  "In providing such an entertainment for the county as this will be,"remarked the Baron, "I feel I have performed my duty towards societyfor some time to come. No one has had a dragon at a private housebefore me, I believe."

  "Oh, surely not," simpered the sleek Hucbald. "Not even Lady JumpingJack."

  "Fiddle!" grunted the Baron. "She indeed! Fandangoes!"

  "She's very pious," protested the Rev. Hucbald, whom the ladysometimes asked to fish lunches in Lent.

  "Fandangoes!" repeated the Baron. He had once known her exceedinglywell, but she pursued variety at all expense, even his. As forrefusals, the Chaplain was quite right. There were none. Nobody had aprevious engagement--or kept it, if they had.

  "Good gracious, Rupert!" (or Cecil, or Chandos, as it might be,) eachdame in the county had exclaimed to her lord on opening the envelopebrought by private hand from Wantley, "we're asked to the Disseisinsto see a dragon,--and his daughter married."

  "By heaven, Muriel, we'll go!" the gentleman invariably replied, underthe impression that Elaine was to marry the Dragon, which would be ashow worth seeing. The answers came flying back to Wantley everyminute or two, most of them written in such haste that you could onlyguess they were acceptances. And those individuals who lived so faraway across the county that the invitations reached them too late tobe answered, immediately rang every bell in the house and ordered thecarriage in frantic tones.

  Of _course_ nobody kept any engagement. Sir Guy Vol-au-Vent (and nonebut a most abandoned desperado or advanced thinker would be willing todo such a thing on Christmas) had accepted an invitation to an ambushat three for the slaying of Sir Percy de Resistance. But the ambushwas put off till a more convenient day. Sir Thomas de Brie had beengoing to spend his Christmas at a cock-fight in the Count deGorgonzola's barn. But he remarked to his man Edward, who brought thetrap to the door, that the Count de Gorgonzola might go ---- Nevermind what he remarked. It was not nice; though oddly enough it wasexactly the same remark that the Count had made about Sir Thomas ontelling his own man James to drive to Wantley and drop the cock-fight.All these gentlemen, as soon as they heard the great news, started forthe Manor with the utmost speed.

  Sir Thomas de Brie hastens to accept the Baron's politeInuitation]

  Nor was it the quality alone who were so unanimous in their feelings.The Tenantry (to whom Sir Godfrey had extended a very hospitablebidding to come and they should find standing-room and good meat andbeer in the court-yard) went nearly mad. From every quarter of thehorizon they came plunging and ploughing along. The sun blazed downout of a sky whence a universal radiance seemed to beat upon theblinding white. Could you have mounted up bird-fashion over thecountry, you would have seen the Manor like the centre of some greatwheel, with narrow tracks pointing in to it from the invisible rim ofa circle, paths wide and narrow, converging at the gate, troddenacross the new snow from anywhere and everywhere; and moving alongthese like ants, all the inhabitants for miles around. And throughthe wide splendour of winter no wind blowing, but the sound of chimingbells far and near, clear frozen drops of music in the brittle air.

  Old Gaffer Piers, the ploughman, stumped along, "pretty well foreighty, thanky," as he somewhat snappishly answered to the neighbourswho out-walked him on the road. They would get there first.

  "Wonderful old man," they said as they went on their way, and quicklyresumed their speculations upon the Dragon's capture. Farmer JohnStiles came driving his ox-team and snuffling, for it was pretty cold,and his handkerchief at home. Upon his wagon on every part, likeswallows, hung as many of his relations as could get on. His mother,who had been Lucy Baker, and grandmother Cecilia Kempe, and a litterof cousin Thorpes. But his step-father Lewis Gay and the children ofthe half-blood were not asked to ride; farmer Stiles had bitterlyresented the second marriage. This family knew all the particularsconcerning the Dragon, for they had them from the cook's second cousinwho was courting Bridget Stiles. They knew how Saint George had wakedFather Anselm up and put him on a white horse, and how the Abbot hadthus been able to catch the Dragon by his tail in the air just as hewas flying away with Miss Elaine, and how at that the white horse hadturned into a young man who had been bewitched by the Dragon, and wasgoing to marry Miss Elaine immediately.

  On the front steps, shaking hands with each person who came, was SirGodfrey. He had dressed himself excellently for the occasion;something between a heavy father and an old beau, with a beautifulpart down the back of his head where the hair was. Geoffrey stoodbeside him.

  "My son-in-law that's to be," Sir Godfrey would say. And the gentrywelcomed the young man, while the tenants bobbed him respectfulsalutations.

  "You're one of us. Glad to know you," said Sir Thomas de Brie,surveying the lad with approval.

  Lady Jumping Jack held his hand for a vanishing moment you couldhardly make sure of. "I had made up my mind to hate you for robbing meof my dearest girl," she said, smiling gayly, and fixing him with herodd-looking eyes. "But I see we're to be friends." Then she murmured achoice nothing to the Baron, who snarled politely.

  "Don't let her play you," said he to Geoffrey when the lady had movedon. And he tapped the youth's shoulder familiarly.

  "Oh, I've been through all that sort of thing over in Poictiers,"Geoffrey answered with indifference.

  "You're a rogue, sir, as I've told you before. Ha! Uncle Mortmain, howd'ye do? Yes, this is Geoffrey. Where's my boy Roland? Coming, is he?Well, he had better look sharp. It's after eleven, and I'll wait fornobody. How d'ye do, John Stiles? That bull you sold me 's costingthirty shillings a year in fences. You'll find something ready down bythose tables, I think."

  Hark to that roar! The crowd jostled together in the court-yard, forit sounded terribly close.

  "The Dragon's qu
ite safe in the pit, good people," shouted SirGodfrey. "A few more minutes and you'll all see him."

  The old gentleman continued welcoming the new arrivals, chattingheartily, with a joke for this one and a kind inquiry for the other.But wretched Geoffrey! So the Dragon was to be seen in a few minutes!And where were the monks of Oyster-le-Main? Still, a bold face must bekept. He was thankful that Elaine, after the custom of brides, wasinvisible. The youth's left hand rested upon the hilt of his sword; hewas in rich attire, and the curly hair that surrounded his foreheadhad been carefully groomed. Half-way up the stone steps as he stood,his blue eyes watching keenly for the monks, he was a figure that mademany a humble nymph turn tender glances upon him. Old Piers, theploughman, remained beside a barrel of running ale and drank hishealth all day. For he was a wonderful old man.

  Hither and thither the domestics scurried swiftly, makingpreparations. Some were cooking rare pasties of grouse and ptarmigan,goslings and dough-birds; some were setting great tables in-doors andout; and some were piling fagots for the Dragon's funeral pyre.Popham, with magnificent solemnity and a pair of new calves, gaveorders to Meeson and Welsby, and kept little Whelpdale panting forbreath with errands; while in and out, between everybody's legs, andover or under all obstacles, stalked the two ravens Croak James andCroak Elizabeth, a big white wedding-favour tied round the neck ofeach. To see these grave birds, none would have suspected howfrequently they had been in the mince-pies that morning, though Pophamhad expressly ruled (in somewhat stilted language) that they should"take nothink by their bills."

  "Geoffrey," said the Baron, "I think we'll begin. Popham, tell them tolight that fire there."

  "The guests are still coming, sir," said Geoffrey.

  "No matter. It is half after eleven." The Baron showed his sun-dial,and there was no doubt of it. "Here, take the keys," he said, "andbring the monster out for us."

  "I'll go and put on my armour," suggested the young man. That wouldtake time; perhaps the monks might arrive.

  "Why, the brute's chained. You need no armour. Nonsense!"

  "But think of my clothes in that pit, sir,--on my wedding-day."

  "Pooh! That's the first sign of a Frenchman I've seen in you. Take thekeys, sir."

  The crackle of the kindling fagots came to Geoffrey's ears. He saw theforty men with chains that were to haul the Dragon into the fire.

  "But there's Father Anselm yet to come," he protested. "Surely we waitfor him."

  "I'll wait for nobody. He with his Crusades and rubbish! Haven't I gotthis Dragon, and there's no Crusade?--Ah, Cousin Modus, glad youcould come over. Just in time. The sherry's to your left. Yes, it's avery fine day. Yes, yes, this is Geoffrey my girl's to marry and allthat.--What do I care about Father Anselm?" the old gentleman resumedtestily, when his cousin Modus had shuffled off. "Come, sir."

  He gave the keys into Geoffrey's unwilling hand, and ordered silenceproclaimed.

  "Hearken, good friends!" said he, and all talk and going to and froceased. The tenantry stood down in the court-yard, a mass ofmotionless russet and yellow, every face watching the Baron. Thegentry swarmed noiselessly out upon the steps behind him, theirhandsome dresses bright against the Manor walls. There was a shortpause. Old Gaffer Piers made a slight disturbance falling over withhis cup of ale, but was quickly set on his feet by his neighbours. Thesun blazed down, and the growling of the Dragon came from the pit.

  "Yonder noise," pursued Sir Godfrey, "speaks more to the point than Icould. I'll give you no speech." All loudly cheered at this.

  "Don't you think," whispered the Rev. Hucbald in the Baron's ear,"that a little something serious should be said on such an occasion? Ishould like our brethren to be reminded----"

  "Fudge!" said the Baron. "For thirteen years," he continued, raisinghis voice again, "this Dragon has been speaking for himself. You allknow and I know how that has been. And now we are going to speak forourselves. And when he is on top of that fire he'll know how that is.Geoffrey, open the pit and get him out."

  Again there was a cheer, but a short one, for the spell of expectancywas on all. The young man descended into the court, and the air seemedto turn to a wavering mist as he looked up at the Manor windowsseeking to spy Elaine's face at one of them. Was this to be the end?Could he kiss her one last good-by if disaster was in store for themafter all? Alas! no glimpse of her was to be seen as he moved along,hardly aware of his own steps, and the keys jingling lightly as hemoved. Through the crowd he passed, and a whispering ran in his wakefollowed by deeper silence than before. He reached the edge of thepeople and crossed the open space beyond, passing the leaping blaze ofthe fagots, and so drew near the iron door of the pit. The key wentslowly into the lock. All shrank with dismay at the roar which rentthe air. Geoffrey paused with his hand gripping the key, and therecame a sound of solemn singing over the fields.

  "The monks!" murmured a few under their breath; and silence fellagain, each listening.

  Men's voices it was, and their chanting rose by one sudden step to ahigh note that was held for a moment, and then sank again, mellow likethe harmony of horns in a wood. Then over the ridge fromOyster-le-Main the length of a slow procession began to grow. The graygowns hung to the earth straight with scarce any waving as the menwalked. The heavy hoods reached over each face so there was no tellingits features. None in the court-yard spoke at all, as the broodingfigures passed in under the gateway and proceeded to the door of thebear-pit, singing always. Howlings that seemed born of terror now rosefrom the imprisoned monster; and many thought, "evidently the evilbeast cannot endure the sound of holy words."

  Elaine in her white dress now gazed from an upper window, seeing herlover with his enemies drawing continually closer around him.

  Perhaps it was well for him that his death alone would not have servedto lock their secret up again; that the white maiden in the window isready to speak the word and direct instant vengeance on them and theirdragon if any ill befall that young man who stands by the iron door.

  The song of the monks ended. Sir Godfrey on the steps was wonderingwhy Father Anselm did not stand out from the rest of the gray peopleand explain his wishes. "Though he shall not interrupt the sport,whatever he says," thought the Baron, and cast on the group of holymen a less hospitable eye than had beamed on his other guests.Geoffrey over at the iron door, surrounded by the motionless figures,scanned each hood narrowly and soon met the familiar eyes of Hubert.Hubert's gown, he noticed, bulged out in a manner ungainly andmysterious. "Open the door," whispered that youth. At once Geoffreybegan to turn the key. And at its grinding all held their breath, anda quivering silence hung over the court. The hasty drops pattered downfrom the eaves from the snow that was melting on the roof. Then somestrip of metal inside the lock sprung suddenly, making a sharp song,and ceased. The crowd of monks pressed closer together as the irondoor swung open.

  THE DRAGON MAKETH HIS LAST APPEARANCE]

  What did Geoffrey see? None but the monks could tell. Instantly asingle roar more terrible than any burst out, and the huge horribleblack head and jaws of the monster reared into the view of Sir Godfreyand his guests. One instant the fearful vision in the door-way swayedwith a stiff strange movement over the knot of monks that surroundedit, then sank out of sight among them. There was a sound of jerkingand fierce clanking of chains, mingled with loud chanting of pioussentences. Then a plume of spitting flame flared upward with a mightyroar, and the gray figures scattered right and left. There along theground lay the monster, shrivelled, twisted in dismal coils, and dead.Close beside his black body towered Father Anselm, smoothing the foldsof his gray gown. Geoffrey was sheathing his sword and looking atHubert, whose dress bulged out no longer, but fitted him as usual.

  "We have been vouchsafed a miracle," said Father Anselm quietly, tothe gaping spectators.

  "There'll be no burning," said Geoffrey, pointing to the shrunkenskin. But though he spoke so coolly, and repelled all besiegingdisturbance from the fortress of his calm visage and bearing, as abold and haughty
youth should do, yet he could scarcely hold hisfinger steady as it pointed to the blackened carcase. Then all at oncehis eyes met those of Elaine where she watched from her window, andrelief and joy rushed through him. He stretched his arms towards her,not caring who saw, and the look she sent him with a smile drove allsurrounding things to an immeasurable distance away.

  "Here indeed," Father Anselm repeated, "is a miracle. Lo, the emptyshell! The snake hath shed his skin."

  "This is very disappointing," said Sir Godfrey, bewildered. "Is thereno dragon to roast?"

  "The roasting," replied the Abbot, impressively, "is even now begunfor all eternity." He stretched out an arm and pointed downwardthrough the earth. "The evil spirit has fled. The Church hath takenthis matter into her own hands, and claims yon barren hide as arelic."

  "Well,--I don't see why the Church can't let good sport alone,"retorted Sir Godfrey.

  "Hope she'll not take to breaking up my cock-fights this way,"muttered the Count de Gorgonzola, sulkily.

  "The Church cares nothing for such profane frivolities," observedFather Anselm with cold dignity.

  "At all events, friends," said Sir Godfrey, cheering up, "the countryis rid of the Dragon of Wantley, and we've got a wedding and abreakfast left."

  Just at this moment a young horseman rode furiously into thecourt-yard.

  It was Roland, Sir Godfrey's son. "Great news!" he began at once."Another Crusade has been declared--and I am going. Merry Christmas!Where's Elaine? Where's the Dragon?"

  Father Anselm's quick brain seized this chance. He and his monksshould make a more stately exit than he had planned.

  "See," he said in a clear voice to his monks, "how all is coming truethat was revealed to me this night! My son," he continued, turning toyoung Roland, "thy brave resolve reached me ere thou hadst made it.Know it has been through thee that the Dragon has gone!"

  Upon this there was profound silence.

  "And now," he added solemnly, "farewell. The monks of Oyster-le-Maingo hence to the Holy Land also, to battle for the true Faith. Behold!we have made us ready to meet the toil."

  His haughty tones ceased, and he made a sign. The gray gowns fell tothe snow, and revealed a stalwart, fierce-looking crew in blackarmour. But the Abbot kept his gray gown.

  "You'll stay for the wedding?" inquired Sir Godfrey of him.

  "Our duty lies to the sea. Farewell, for I shall never see thy faceagain."

  He turned. Hubert gathered up the hide of the crocodile and threw afriendly glance back at Geoffrey. Then again raising their song, theblack band slowly marched out under the gate and away over the snowuntil the ridge hid them from sight, and only their singing could beheard in the distant fields.

  "Well," exclaimed Sir Godfrey, "it's no use to stand staring. Now forthe wedding! Mistletoe, go up and tell Miss Elaine. Hucbald, tell theorganist to pipe up his music. And as soon as it's over we'll drinkthe bride's health and health to the bridegroom. 'Tis a lucky thingthat between us all the Dragon is gone, for there's still enough of myBurgundy to last us till midnight. Come, friends, come in, foreverything waits your pleasure!"

  L'ENVOI

  Reader, if thou hast found thy Way thus far, Sure then I've writ beneath a lucky Star; And Nothing so becomes all Journeys' Ends As that the Travellers should part as Friends.