Complete Works of George Moore

by George Moore

  The sound of the organistrum woke her from her reverie, and she saw Astrolabe going towards the low wall over against the river to play his instrument, his audience the boatmen that passed up and down the current in the great barges. He will weary of this convent, she said, he will weary of me; and the pang that came into her heart hurt like the stroke of a knife. One day he will leave us, mayhap with these gleemen, who will make a singing boy of him, and in her own restless imagination she heard his words: I want to live among men, and once more she began to think that the boy was but an image of his father mentally as well as physically, the same high darling rounded brow overhanging the strangely eager eyes. I am hardly represented in him at all, a look now and again; he is all his father. And Héloïse was jealous of Abélard, and asked why he should have possessed himself so completely of his offspring. And seeing Astrolabe sitting on the convent wall singing to his organistrum, his eyes fixed on the great brown sails of the loaded barges that the wind was bringing up the river quickly, she began to wonder when Abélard would step ashore, saying to herself: men return if they be not dead, and of all in the springtide; why not Abélard? The grass is green along the river bank, the reeds and flags are in flower, the poplars well past their russet hue. But we are not as they. My life, is it over and done? Can it be so? Affrighted, she passed into the convent, and at the same moment a ship steered towards the bank. What ho! boy, cried one of the motley crew on board. Thou playest an organistrum well; wouldst come with us and play it? To which Astrolabe answered: my mother lives here, and though I would like well to sail on the river I cannot do so, having promised her not to leave the shore. Whereupon there was whispering among the gleemen in the barge, of which Astrolabe took no account, his attention being fixed on a hat trimmed with tall feathers bending in the breeze. He admired, too, a jacket trimmed with streaming ribbons and decorated with many coloured rosettes. Shall I wear a pea-green jacket, he cried out, if mother lets me come with you? Wilt give me a pea-green or a peach-coloured jacket? Any colour that is to thy taste thou shalt have and hose of red and blue, cried the gleemen. The wallet that thou wearest would be too big for me, said Astrolabe. Hast no smaller one? To which the gleemen said there was one that he could wear comfortably. And what shall I put into it? he enquired. All manner of fruit and bread and onions, and maybe a chicken or a rabbit from the hedgerows. Astrolabe had seen them cooking on the barges as they went up and down the river, and answered: may I cook my rabbit or my chicken as we sail? At which all the gleemen laughed till Astrolabe felt a little ashamed, thinking he had said something foolish. But he was reconciled to himself, when the man with the peacocks’ feathers in his hat said: thy rabbit and thy chicken will go into the common pot and thou’lt eat with us. If I’m to eat with you I’ll run to mother, for indeed I cannot go without telling her. Be not in such a hurry, little man, but tell us first who lives with thee in you building. You building is a convent, said Astrolabe, and the rule is St. Benedict. A convent, cried the tall man, as he jumped ashore. And where didst thy organistrum come from, and who taught thee to play it? A gleeman who was with us all the winter sleeping in the wood shed. But he was sent away by the Prioress to sleep with our gardener, Cherriez, who lives in the village in the fields on the other side of the Paris road. And why was he sent away from the wood shed, little man? He lighted ferns and nearly burnt us out one night, Astrolabe answered, and he began to tell how the convent had escaped, and how the old man, who left them a couple of months gone by, died on the roadside. Cherriez, our gardener, found him, and he brought me Denis’s organistrum. Old Denis! one of the gleemen cried. But the tall man who wore the peacocks’ feathers did not remember the dead gleeman until the others stepped forward to recall the old man to his memory by many facts. It may be, he said, that the reverend ladies in the convent would like a little instruction in music now that Denis has gone whither there is neither music nor dancing. But I thought that heaven was all music, Astrolabe answered innocently, at which remark the gleemen laughed, raising the thought into his mind that perhaps they did not all hope, or perhaps even wish, to go to heaven. If that were so, he hoped they wouldn’t tell the Prioress, who, if they did, wouldn’t listen to their music.

  Can you tell stories of the Crusades? he asked. Troth and faith we can, they cried. Have we not come from Palestine? Then you’ll be welcome here, for the Prioress’s husband, the Comte Godfrey de Chatillon — At which name the gleemen became in their turn serious and said: show us the way to the front door of the convent and we will ask admittance. Follow the river’s bank till you come to the lane-way, he replied; it will take you to the high road, and if you turn to the left, you’ll be at the convent door. Meanwhile I’ll run up through the orchard and tell them you’re here. The Prioress is very ill, he said, stopping suddenly and returning to the gleemen, but I’ll ask mother to try to persuade her to allow you to play your instruments in the quadrangle. But will you let me try the flute when the entertainment is done before you leave? Yes, thou shalt try all our instruments, cried the chief gleeman. Said Astrolabe: then thou mayest be sure I’ll cling on to the mothers: there are three, and my own mother — the Prioress, Mother Hilda, and Mother Ysabeau, who looks after our food. And the drink, interrupted a gleeman; is there wine in the convent? There is indeed, Astrolabe answered, and now — Now stop a minute, cried the chief gleeman as the boy was going away. Give the Prioress my name; tell her that the Comte Mathieu de Rodebœuf, just returned from Palestine after fighting the Saracens for the Holy Sepulchre, waits upon her. Comte Mathieu de Rodebœuf, come from the Holy Land! The Prioress will let us have the entertainment, you may be certain of that.

  And he ran up the broad walk, arriving at the convent breathless, saying to one of the sisters: tell the Prioress at once that the Comte Mathieu de Rodebœuf is at the front door, and if he is not there now he will be in a few minutes. The Prioress, the porteress answered, is not strong enough to see anybody. But, cried Astrolabe, he has come from Jerusalem, the great Comte Mathieu de Rodebœuf, with his gleemen, so thou must go at once to the Prioress, for we should never be forgiven by her if the Comte were sent away without her knowledge. These words did not seem to admit of question, and Astrolabe said he would run on and find the other mothers, for the Prioress might leave them to conclude the matter, she being ill.

  It seemed to Astrolabe that luck was on his side, for in the cloister he met his mother walking with Mother Hilda. On their way to church, he said to himself, for they waved him aside. But Astrolabe would not be silenced, and insisted that they should hear that the Comte de Rodebœuf was at their doors with all his gleemen. Héloïse shook her head, but when she heard that the Comte Mathieu de Rodebœuf had just arrived from the Holy Land she conferred with Mother Hilda, who promised to speak to Mother Ysabeau. They will play all their instruments, Astrolabe cried, clinging to his mother’s rosary, and leading her by it; and when they entered the passage on to which the Prioress’s door opened, Héloïse said: do not speak so loud, the Prioress may be asleep or resting. They were met by Mother Ysabeau, who stood barring their way; the Prioress is as strong to-day, she said, as she was yesterday. My son, Héloïse answered, has just brought the news that Comte Mathieu de Rodebœuf has returned from Jerusalem and would speak with the Prioress. The Comte Mathieu de Rodebœuf, from my country, from Arras, the Prioress answered quickly: he may bring news — Mother Prioress, Astrolabe began, but Héloïse laid her hand upon his mouth and told the story herself, how the Comte Mathieu de Rodebœuf, at the head of a band of gleemen, stopped their boat to listen to Astrolabe, who was playing his organistrum at the end of the broad walk. And they would like, she continued, to give an entertainment in the quadrangle.

  An entertainment in the quadrangle, the Prioress repeated, and feeling that she was not equal to giving a decision in a matter so strange and unexpected that morning, she said: I should like to hear what Mothers Ysabeau and Hilda think.

  You will enjoy it, Mother Prioress, Astrolabe cried. There are great gi
ttern and rebeck players amongst them. Dost think I shall, dear boy? What I shall enjoy most are four boards, she rejoined, in an undertone, forgetful of the quickness of young ears, and the thought that we are all nailed between boards like Denis (Cherriez nailed something up the day that Denis died) came into his mind, chasing all the brightness out of his face, causing him to cling to his mother’s habit, though he had but half understood. It was some time before he whispered to her: dost think, mother, that she’ll say yes? Mother Ysabeau’s face told Héloïse that at least one mother would raise an objection; and the Prioress, too, feared that it would be difficult to win Mother Ysabeau’s consent, a thing that she regretted, for if I refuse to allow the entertainment, she said to herself, the Comte Mathieu de Rodebœuf may go away in anger without seeing me. And then, turning to Mother Ysabeau, she said: I knew the Comte Mathieu de Rodebœuf’s father, and I knew the Comte himself when he was a child; and it seems hard to refuse to see men who went to the Holy Land willing to lay down their lives for the cross. I should not like to commit myself to such a refusal. But these crusaders are gleemen, and we have gained some knowledge of a gleeman this winter, Mother Ysabeau answered dryly. But, Mother Ysabeau, the Prioress replied, the Comte Mathieu de Rodebœuf is a trouvère, which is different from a gleeman, and, as I have told you, I knew his father, and I knew ‘the Comte himself when he was a child; our estates were by each other, our castles visible from the ramparts over the tops of the trees. I can see you’re in favour of allowing the entertainment, so I will say no more, Mother Ysabeau replied. But, Mother Ysabeau, I’m not willing to conclude, but would wish that you and the other mothers should meet here in my room so that I may hear what you all have to say. Mother Prioress, I have no wish to withstand your will. You wish to speak with the Comte Mathieu de Rodebœuf, and if you refuse the entertainment the Comte would not be in the same humour to see you as he would if you received his company. If the other mothers are in agreement my prejudices may be set aside. But might it not be well to speak to our chaplain, Stephen, on the subject? On that point I am not in agreement with you, Mother Ysabeau, the Prioress answered; the direction of the convent is with us and not with our chaplain, who, although an excellent man, cannot understand many things that are plain to us. But, Mother Prioress, I would not have you overtax your strength. My strength is not worth considering, the Prioress returned, and if the mothers agree that the entertainment is to be allowed, I will come down to the cloister to hear the minstrels; my presence will be necessary, and of my health, I think I can speak with more certainty than another. I have some business, my dear Héloïse, with Mother Ysabeau, and shall be glad if thou’lt go in search of Mother Hilda. May we say, Mother Prioress, that you are for the music? cried Astrolabe. Tell Mother Hilda, the Prioress added, if thou canst find her, that I would speak with her.

  I think we shall get our entertainment, Astrolabe said as soon as they had crossed the threshold and the door was shut behind them. For I’ve taught Mother Hilda to play my organistrum, and Sister Josiane likes music too. Mother Ysabeau is against us, but that won’t matter if the other mothers are for us.