CHAPTER LI

The reader already knows how much these two had to tell one another.

It was a sweet yet bitter day for Margaret, since it brought her a true

friend, and ill news; for now first she learned that Gerard was all

alone in that strange land. She could not think with Denys that he would

come home; indeed he would have arrived before this.

Denys was a balm. He called her his she-comrade, and was always cheering

her up with his formula and hilarities, and she petted him and made

much of him, and feebly hectored it over him as well as over Martin, and

would not let him eat a single meal out of her house, and forbade him to

use naughty words. “It spoils you, Denys. Good lack, to hear such ugly

words come forth so comely a head: forbear, or I shall be angry: so be

civil.” Whereupon Denys was upon his good behaviour, and ludicrous the

struggle between his native politeness and his acquired ruffianism. And

as it never rains but it pours, other persons now solicited Margaret's

friendship. She had written to Margaret Van Eyck a humble letter telling

her she knew she was no longer the favourite she had been, and would

keep her distance; but could not forget her benefactress's past

kindness. She then told her briefly how many ways she had battled for a

living, and in conclusion, begged earnestly that her residence might not

be betrayed, “least of all to his people. I do hate them, they drove

him from me. And even when he was gone, their hearts turned not to me as

they would an if they had repented their cruelty to him.”

The Van Eyck was perplexed. At last she made a confidante of Reicht. The

secret ran through Reicht, as through a cylinder, to Catherine.

“Ay, and is she turned that bitter against us?” said that good woman.

“She stole our son from us, and now she hates us for not running into

her arms. Natheless it is a blessing she is alive and no farther away

than Rotterdam.”

The English princess, now Countess Charolois, made a stately

progress through the northern states of the duchy, accompanied by her

stepdaughter the young heiress of Burgundy, Marie de Bourgogne. Then the

old duke, the most magnificent prince in Europe, put out his splendour.

Troops of dazzling knights, and bevies of fair ladies gorgeously

attired, attended the two princesses; and minstrels, jongleurs, or

story-tellers, bards, musicians, actors, tumblers followed in the train;

and there was fencing, dancing, and joy in every town they shone on.

Richart invited all his people to meet him at Rotterdam and view the

pageant.

They had been in Rotterdam some days, when Denys met Catherine

accidentally in the street, and after a warm greeting on both sides,

bade her rejoice, for he had found the she-comrade, and crowed; but

Catherine cooled him by showing him how much earlier he would have found

her by staying quietly at Tergou, than by vagabondizing it all over

Holland. “And being found, what the better are we? her heart is set dead

against us now.”

“Oh, let that flea stick; come you with me to her house.”

No, she would not go where she was sure of an ill welcome. “Them that

come unbidden sit unseated.” No, let Denys be mediator, and bring the

parties to a good understanding. He undertook the office at once, and

with great pomp and confidence. He trotted off to Margaret and said,

“She-comrade, I met this day a friend of thine.”

“Thou didst look into the Rotter then, and see thyself.”

“Nay, 'twas a female, and one that seeks thy regard; 'twas Catherine,

Gerard's mother.”

“Oh, was it?” said Margaret; “then you may tell her she comes too late.

There was a time I longed and longed for her; but she held aloof in my

hour of most need, so now we will be as we ha' been.”

Denys tried to shake this resolution. He coaxed her, but she was bitter

and sullen, and not to be coaxed. Then he scolded her well; then, at

that she went into hysterics.

He was frightened at this result of his eloquence, and being off his

guard, allowed himself to be entrapped into a solemn promise never to

recur to the subject. He went back to Catherine crestfallen, and

told her. She fired up and told the family how his overtures had been

received. Then they fired up; it became a feud and burned fiercer every

day. Little Kate alone made some excuses for Margaret.

The very next day another visitor came to Margaret, and found the

military enslaved and degraded, Martin up to his elbows in soapsuds,

and Denys ironing very clumsily, and Margaret plaiting ruffs, but with

a mistress's eye on her raw levies. To these there entered an old man,

venerable at first sight, but on nearer view keen and wizened.

“Ah,” cried Margaret. Then swiftly turned her back on him and hid her

face with invincible repugnance. “Oh, that man! that man!”

“Nay, fear me not,” said Ghysbrecht; “I come on a friend's errand. I

bring ye a letter from foreign parts.”

“Mock me not, old man,” and she turned slowly round.

“Nay, see;” and he held out an enormous letter.

Margaret darted on it, and held it with trembling hands and glistening

eyes. It was Gerard's handwriting.

“Oh, thank you, sir, bless you for this, I forgive you all the ill you

ever wrought me.”

And she pressed the letter to her bosom with one hand, and glided

swiftly from the room with it.

As she did not come back, Ghysbrecht went away, but not without a scowl

at Martha. Margaret was hours alone with her letter.

CHAPTER LI

When she came down again she was a changed woman. Her eyes were wet, but

calm, and all her bitterness and excitement charmed away.

“Denys,” said she softly, “I have got my orders. I am to read my lover's

letter to his folk.”

“Ye will never do that?”

“Ay will I.”

“I see there is something in the letter has softened ye towards them.”

“Not a jot, Denys, not a jot. But an I hated them like poison I would

not disobey my love. Denys, 'tis so sweet to obey, and sweetest of all

to obey one who is far, far away, and cannot enforce my duty, but must

trust my love for my obedience. Ah, Gerard, my darling, at hand I might

have slighted thy commands, misliking thy folk as I have cause to do;

but now, didst bid me go into the raging sea and read thy sweet letter

to the sharks, there I'd go. Therefore, Denys, tell his mother I have

got a letter, and if she and hers would hear it, I am their servant; let

them say their hour, and I'll seat them as best I can, and welcome them

as best I may.”

Denys went off to Catherine with this good news. He found the family at

dinner, and told them there was a long letter from Gerard. Then in the

midst of the joy this caused, he said, “And her heart is softened, and

she will read it to you herself; you are to choose your own time.”

“What does she think there are none can read but her?” asked Catherine.

“Let her send the letter and we will read it.”

“Nay, but, mother,” objected little Kate; “mayhap she cannot bear to

part it from her hand; she loves him dearly.”

“What, thinks she we shall steal it?”

Cornelis suggested that she would fain wedge herself into the family by

means of this letter.

Denys cast a look of scorn on the speaker. “There spoke a bad heart,”

said he. “La camarade hates you all like poison. Oh, mistake me not,

dame; I defend her not, but so 'tis; yet maugre her spleen at a word

from Gerard she proffers to read you his letter with her own pretty

mouth, and hath a voice like honey--sure 'tis a fair proffer.”

“'Tis so, mine honest soldier,” said the father of the family, “and

merits a civil reply, therefore hold your whisht ye that be women, and

I shall answer her. Tell her I, his father, setting aside all past

grudges, do for this grace thank her, and would she have double thanks,

let her send my son's letter by thy faithful hand, the which will I

read to his flesh and blood, and will then to her so surely and faithful

return, as I am Eli a Dierich a William a Luke, free burgher of Tergou,

like my forbears, and like them, a man of my word.”

“Ay, and a man who is better than his word,” cried Catherine; “the only

one I ever did foregather.”

“Hold thy peace, wife.”

“Art a man of sense, Eli, a dirk, a chose, a chose(1),”' shouted Denys.

“The she-comrade will be right glad to obey Gerard and yet not face you

all, whom she hates as wormwood, saving your presence. Bless ye, the

world hath changed, she is all submission to-day: 'obedience is honey,'

quoth she; and in sooth 'tis a sweetmeat she cannot but savour, eating

so little on't, for what with her fair face, and her mellow tongue; and

what wi' flying in fits and terrifying us that be soldiers to death, an

we thwart her; and what wi' chiding us one while, and petting us like

lambs t' other, she hath made two of the crawlingest slaves ever you

saw out of two honest swashbucklers. I be the ironing ruffian, t' other

washes.”

“What next?

“What next? why, whenever the brat is in the world I shall rock cradle,

and t' other knave will wash tucker and bib. So, then, I'll go fetch

the letter on the instant. Ye will let me bide and hear it read, will ye

not?”

“Else our hearts were black as coal,” said Catherine.

So Denys went for the letter. He came back crestfallen. “She will not

let it out of her hand neither to me nor you, nor any he or she that

lives.”

“I knew she would not,” said Cornelis.

“Whisht! whisht!” said Eli, “and let Denys tell his story.”

“'Nay,' said I, 'but be ruled by me.' 'Not I,' quoth she. 'Well, but,'

quoth I, 'that same honey Obedience ye spake of.' 'You are a fool,' says

she; 'obedience to Gerard is sweet, but obedience to any other body, who

ever said that was sweet?'

“At last she seemed to soften a bit, and did give me a written paper for

you, mademoiselle. Here 'tis.”

“For me?” said little Kate, colouring.

“Give that here!” said Eli, and he scanned the writing, and said almost

in a whisper, “These be words from the letter Hearken!

“'And, sweetheart, an if these lines should travel safe to thee, make

thou trial of my people's hearts withal. Maybe they are somewhat turned

towards me, being far away. If 'tis so they will show it to thee, since

now to me they may not. Read, then, this letter! But I do strictly

forbid thee to let it from thy hand; and if they still hold aloof from

thee, why, then say nought, but let them think me dead. Obey me in

this; for, if thou dost disrespect my judgment and my will in this, thou

lovest me not.'”

There was a silence, and Gerard's words copied by Margaret here handed

round and inspected.

“Well,” said Catherine, “that is another matter. But methinks 'tis for

her to come to us, not we to her.”

“Alas, mother! what odds does that make?”

“Much,” said Eli. “Tell her we are over many to come to her, and bid her

hither, the sooner the better.”

When Denys was gone, Eli owned it was a bitter pill to him.

“When that lass shall cross my threshold, all the mischief and misery

she hath made here will seem to come in adoors in one heap. But what

could I do, wife? We must hear the news of Gerard. I saw that in thine

eyes, and felt it in my own heart. And she is backed by our undutiful

but still beloved son, and so is she stronger than we, and brings our

noses down to the grindstone, the sly, cruel jade. But never heed.

We will hear the letter; and then let her go unblessed as she came

unwelcome.”

“Make your mind easy,” said Catherine. “She will not come at all.” And a

tone of regret was visible.

Shortly after Richart, who had been hourly expected, arrived from

Amsterdam grave and dignified in his burgher's robe and gold chain,

ruff, and furred cap, and was received not with affection only, but

respect; for he had risen a step higher than his parents, and such steps

were marked in mediaeval society almost as visibly as those in their

staircases.

Admitted in due course to the family council, he showed plainly, though

not discourteously, that his pride was deeply wounded by their having

deigned to treat with Margaret Brandt. “I see the temptation,” said he.

“But which of us hath not at times to wish one way and do another?” This

threw a considerable chill over the old people. So little Kate put in a

word. “Vex not thyself, dear Richart. Mother says she will not come.

“All the better, sweetheart. I fear me, if she do, I shall hie me back

to Amsterdam.”

Here Denys popped his head in at the door, and said--

“She will be here at three on the great dial.”

They all looked at one another in silence.

(1) Anglice, a Thing-em-bob.

CHAPTER LIII

“Nay, Richart,” said Catherine at last, “for Heaven's sake let not this

one sorry wench set us all by the ears: hath she not made ill blood

enough already?”

“In very deed she hath. Fear me not, good mother. Let her come and read

the letter of the poor boy she hath by devilish arts bewitched and then

let her go. Give me your words to show her no countenance beyond decent

and constrained civility: less we may not, being in our own house; and

I will say no more.” On this understanding they waited the foe. She, for

her part, prepared for the interview in a spirit little less hostile.

When Denys brought word they would not come to her, but would receive

her, her lip curled, and she bade him observe how in them every feeling,

however small, was larger than the love for Gerard. “Well,” said she, “I

have not that excuse; so why mimic the pretty burgher's pride, the pride

of all unlettered folk? I will go to them for Gerard's sake. Oh, how I

loathe them!”

Thus poor good-natured Denys was bringing into one house the materials

of an explosion.

Margaret made her toilet in the same spirit that a knight of her day

dressed for battle--he to parry blows, and she to parry glances--glances

of contempt at her poverty, or of irony at her extravagance. Her kirtle

was of English cloth, dark blue, and her farthingale and hose of the

same material, but a glossy roan, or claret colour. Not an inch of

pretentious fur about her, but plain snowy linen wristbands, and

curiously plaited linen from the bosom of the kirtle up to the

commencement of the throat; it did not encircle her throat, but framed

it, being square, not round. Her front hair still peeped in two waves

much after the fashion which Mary Queen of Scots revived a century

later; but instead of the silver net, which would have ill become her

present condition, the rest of her head was covered with a very small

tight-fitting hood of dark blue cloth, hemmed with silver. Her shoes

were red; but the roan petticoat and hose prepared the spectator's mind

for the shock, and they set off the arched instep and shapely foot.

Beauty knew its business then as now.

And with all this she kept her enemies waiting, though it was three by

the dial.

At last she started, attended by her he-comrade. And when they were

halfway, she stopped and said thoughtfully, “Denys!”

“Well, she-general?”

“I must go home” (piteously).

“What, have ye left somewhat behind?”

“What?”

“My courage. Oh! oh! oh!”

“Nay, nay, be brave, she-general. I shall be with you.”

“Ay, but wilt keep close to me when I be there?”

Denys promised, and she resumed her march, but gingerly.

Meantime they were all assembled, and waiting for her with a strange

mixture of feelings.

Mortification, curiosity, panting affection, aversion to her who came to

gratify those feelings, yet another curiosity to see what she was like,

and what there was in her to bewitch Gerard and make so much mischief.

At last Denys came alone, and whispered, “The she-comrade is without.”

“Fetch her in,” said Eli. “Now whisht, all of ye. None speak to her but

I.”

They all turned their eyes to the door in dead silence.

A little muttering was heard outside; Denys's rough organ and a woman's

soft and mellow voice.

Presently that stopped; and then the door opened slowly, and Margaret

Brandt, dressed as I have described, and somewhat pale, but calm and

lovely, stood on the threshold, looking straight before her.

They all rose but Kate, and remained mute and staring.

“Be seated, mistress,” said Eli gravely, and motioned to a seat that had

been set apart for her.

She inclined her head, and crossed the apartment; and in so doing her

condition was very visible, not only in her shape, but in her languor.

Cornelis and Sybrandt hated her for it. Richart thought it spoiled her

beauty.

It softened the women somewhat.

She took her letter out of her bosom, and kissed it as if she had been

alone; then disposed herself to read it, with the air of one who knew

she was there for that single purpose.

But as she began, she noticed they had seated her all by herself like a

leper. She looked at Denys, and putting her hand down by her side, made

him a swift furtive motion to come by her.

He went with an obedient start as if she had cried “March!” and stood

at her shoulder like a sentinel; but this zealous manner of doing it

revealed to the company that he had been ordered thither; and at that

she coloured. And now she began to read her Gerard, their Gerard, to

their eager ears, in a mellow, clear voice, so soft, so earnest, so

thrilling, her very soul seemed to cling about each precious sound. It

was a voice as of a woman's bosom set speaking by Heaven itself.

“I do nothing doubt, my Margaret, that long ere this shall meet thy

beloved eyes, Denys, my most dear friend, will have sought thee out,

and told thee the manner of our unlooked for and most tearful parting.

Therefore I will e'en begin at that most doleful day. What befell him

after, poor faithful soul, fain, fain would I hear, but may not. But I

pray for him day and night next after thee, dearest. Friend more stanch

and loving had not David in Jonathan, than I in him. Be good to him, for

poor Gerard's sake.”

At these words, which came quite unexpectedly to him, Denys leaned his

head on Margaret's high chair, and groaned aloud.

She turned quickly as she sat, and found his hand, and pressed it.

And so the sweetheart and the friend held hands while the sweetheart

read.

“I went forward all dizzied, like one in an ill dream; and presently a

gentleman came up with his servants, all on horseback, and had liked to

have rid o'er me. And he drew rein at the brow of the hill, and sent

his armed men back to rob me. They robbed me civilly enough and took my

purse and the last copper, and rid gaily away. I wandered stupid on, a

friendless pauper.”

There was a general sigh, followed by an oath from Denys.

“Presently a strange dimness came o'er me; I lay down to sleep on the

snow. 'Twas ill done, and with store of wolves hard by. Had I loved thee

as thou dost deserve, I had shown more manhood. But oh, sweet love, the

drowsiness that did crawl o'er me desolate, and benumb me, was more than

nature. And so I slept; and but that God was better to us, than I to

thee or to myself, from that sleep I ne'er had waked; so all do say.

I had slept an hour or two, as I suppose, but no more, when a hand did

shake me rudely. I awoke to my troubles. And there stood a servant girl

in her holiday suit. 'Are ye mad,' quoth she, in seeming choler, 'to

sleep in snow, and under wolves' nosen? Art weary o' life, and not long

weaned? Come, now, said she, more kindly, 'get up like a good lad;' so

I did rise up. 'Are ye rich, or are ye poor?' But I stared at her as one

amazed. 'Why, 'tis easy of reply,' quoth she. 'Are ye rich, or are ye

poor?' Then I gave a great, loud cry; that she did start back. 'Am I

rich, or am I poor? Had ye asked me an hour agone, I had said I am rich.

But now I am so poor as sure earth beareth on her bosom none poorer.

An hour agone I was rich in a friend, rich in money, rich in hope and

spirits of youth; but now the Bastard of Burgundy hath taken my friend,

and another gentleman my purse; and I can neither go forward to Rome nor

back to her I left in Holland. I am poorest of the poor.' 'Alack!' said

the wench. 'Natheless, an ye had been rich ye might ha' lain down again

in the snow for any use I had for ye; and then I trow ye had soon fared

out o' this world as bare as ye came into it. But, being poor, you are

our man: so come wi' me.' Then I went because she bade me, and because I

recked not now whither I went. And she took me to a fine house hard by,

and into a noble dining-hall hung with black; and there was set a table

with many dishes, and but one plate and one chair. 'Fall to!' said she,

in a whisper. 'What, alone?' said I. 'Alone? And which of us, think ye,

would eat out of the same dish with ye? Are we robbers o' the dead?'

Then she speered where I was born. 'At Tergou,' said I. Says she, 'And

when a gentleman dies in that country, serve they not the dead man's

dinner up as usual, till he be in the ground, and set some poor man to

it?' I told her, 'nay.' She blushed for us then. Here they were better

Christians.' So I behoved to sit down. But small was my heart for meat.

Then this kind lass sat by me and poured me out wine; and tasting it,

it cut me to the heart Denys was not there to drink with me. He doth so

love good wine, and women good, bad, or indifferent. The rich, strong

wine curled round my sick heart; and that day first I did seem to

glimpse why folk in trouble run to drink so. She made me eat of every

dish. ''Twas unlucky to pass one. Nought was here but her master's daily

dinner.' 'He had a good stomach, then,' said I. 'Ay, lad, and a good

heart. Leastways, so we all say now he is dead; but, being alive, no

word on't e'er heard I.' So I did eat as a bird, nibbling of every dish.

And she hearing me sigh, and seeing me like to choke at the food, took

pity and bade me be of good cheer. I should sup and lie there that

night. And she went to the hind, and he gave me a right good bed; and I

told him all, and asked him would the law give me back my purse. 'Law!'

quoth he; 'law there was none for the poor in Burgundy. Why, 'twas the

cousin of the Lady of the Manor, he that had robbed me. He knew the

wild spark. The matter must be judged before the lady; and she was quite

young, and far more like to hang me for slandering her cousin, and a

gentleman, and a handsome man, than to make him give me back my own.

Inside the liberties of a town a poor man might now and then see the

face of justice; but out among the grand seigneurs and dames--never.'

So I said, 'I'll sit down robbed rather than seek justice and find

gallows.' They were all most kind to me next day; and the girl proffered

me money from her small wage to help me towards Rhine.”

“Oh, then, he is coming home! he is coming home!” shouted Denys,

interrupting the reader. She shook her head gently at him, by way of

reproof.

“I beg pardon, all the company,” said he stiffly.

“'Twas a sore temptation; but being a servant, my stomach rose against

it. 'Nay, nay,' said I. She told me I was wrong. ''Twas pride out o'

place; poor folk should help one another; or who on earth would?' I said

if I could do aught in return 'twere well; but for a free gift, nay: I

was overmuch beholden already. Should I write a letter for her? 'Nay, he

is in the house at present,' said she. 'Should I draw her picture, and

so earn my money?' 'What, can ye?' said she. I told her I could try; and

her habit would well become a picture. So she was agog to be limned, and

give it her lad. And I set her to stand in a good light, and soon made

sketches two, whereof I send thee one, coloured at odd hours. The other

I did most hastily, and with little conscience daub, for which may

Heaven forgive me; but time was short. They, poor things, knew no

better, and were most proud and joyous; and both kissing me after their

country fashion, 'twas the hind that was her sweetheart, they did bid me

God-speed; and I towards Rhine.”

Margaret paused here, and gave Denys the coloured drawing to hand round.

It was eagerly examined by the females on account of the costume, which

differed in some respects from that of the Dutch domestic: the hair was

in a tight linen bag, a yellow half kerchief crossed her head from ear

to ear, but threw out a rectangular point that descended the centre of

her forehead, and it met in two more points over her bosom. She wore a

red kirtle with long sleeves, kilted very high in front, and showing a

green farthingale and a great red leather purse hanging down over it;

red stockings, yellow leathern shoes, ahead of her age; for they were

low-quartered and square-toed, secured by a strap buckling over the

instep, which was not uncommon, and was perhaps the rude germ of the

diamond buckle to come.

Margaret continued:--

“But oh! how I missed my Denys at every step! often I sat down on the

road and groaned. And in the afternoon it chanced that I did so set me

down where two roads met, and with heavy head in hand, and heavy heart,

did think of thee, my poor sweetheart, and of my lost friend, and of the

little house at Tergou, where they all loved me once; though now it is

turned to hate.”

Catherine. “Alas! that he will think so.”

Eli. “Whisht, wife!”

“And I did sigh loud, and often. And me sighing so, one came carolling

like a bird adown t' other road. 'Ay, chirp and chirp,' cried I

bitterly. 'Thou has not lost sweetheart, and friend, thy father's

hearth, thy mother's smile, and every penny in the world.' And at last

he did so carol, and carol, I jumped up in ire to get away from his most

jarring mirth. But ere I lied from it, I looked down the path to see

what could make a man so lighthearted in this weary world; and lo! the

songster was a humpbacked cripple, with a bloody bandage o'er his eye,

and both legs gone at the knee.”

“He! he! he! he! he!” went Sybrandt, laughing and cackling.

Margaret's eyes flashed: she began to fold the letter up.

“Nay, lass,” said Eli, “heed him not! Thou unmannerly cur, offer't but

again and I put thee to the door.”

“Why, what was there to gibe at, Sybrandt?” remonstrated Catherine more

mildly. “Is not our Kate afflicted? and is she not the most content of

us all, and singeth like a merle at times between her pains? But I am

as bad as thou; prithee read on, lass, and stop our gabble wi' somewhat

worth the hearkening.”

“'Then,' said I, 'may this thing be?' And I took myself to task.

'Gerard, son of Eli, dost thou well to bemoan thy lot, thou hast youth

and health; and here comes the wreck of nature on crutches, praising

God's goodness with singing like a mavis?'”

Catherine. “There you see.”

Eli. “Whisht, dame, whisht!”

“And whenever he saw me, he left carolling and presently hobbled up and

chanted, 'Charity, for love of Heaven, sweet master, charity,' with

a whine as piteous as wind at keyhole. 'Alack, poor soul,' said I,

'charity is in my heart, but not my purse; I am poor as thou.' Then he

believed me none, and to melt me undid his sleeve, and showed a sore

wound on his arm, and said he, 'Poor cripple though I be, I am like to

lose this eye to boot, look else.' I saw and groaned for him, and to

excuse myself let him wot how I had been robbed of my last copper.

Thereat he left whining all in a moment, and said, in a big manly voice,

'Then I'll e'en take a rest. Here, youngster, pull thou this strap: nay,

fear not!' I pulled, and down came a stout pair of legs out of his back;

and half his hump had melted away, and the wound in his eye no deeper

than the bandage.

“Oh!” ejaculated Margaret's hearers in a body.

“Whereat, seeing me astounded, he laughed in my face, and told me I

was not worth gulling, and offered me his protection. 'My face was

prophetic,' he said. 'Of what?' said I. 'Marry,' said he, 'that its

owner will starve in this thievish land.' Travel teaches e'en the young

wisdom. Time was I had turned and fled this impostor as a pestilence;

but now I listened patiently to pick up crumbs of counsel. And well I

did: for nature and his adventurous life had crammed the poor knave with

shrewdness and knowledge of the homelier sort--a child was I beside him.

When he had turned me inside out, said he, 'Didst well to leave France

and make for Germany; but think not of Holland again. Nay, on to

Augsburg and Nurnberg, the Paradise of craftsmen: thence to Venice, an

thou wilt. But thou wilt never bide in Italy nor any other land, having

once tasted the great German cities. Why, there is but one honest

country in Europe, and that is Germany; and since thou art honest, and

since I am a vagabone, Germany was made for us twain.' I bade him make

that good: how might one country fit true men and knaves! 'Why, thou

novice,' said he, 'because in an honest land are fewer knaves to bite

the honest man, and many honest men for the knave to bite. I was in

luck, being honest, to have fallen in with a friendly sharp. Be my pal,'

said he; 'I go to Nurnberg; we will reach it with full pouches. I'll

learn ye the cul de bois, and the cul de jatte, and how to maund, and

chaunt, and patter, and to raise swellings, and paint sores and ulcers

on thy body would take in the divell.' I told him shivering, I'd liever

die than shame myself and my folk so.”

Eli. “Good lad! good lad!”

“Why, what shame was it for such as I to turn beggar? Beggary was an

ancient and most honourable mystery. What did holy monks, and bishops,

and kings, when they would win Heaven's smile? why, wash the feet of

beggars, those favourites of the saints. 'The saints were no fools,' he

told me. Then he did put out his foot. 'Look at that, that was washed by

the greatest king alive, Louis, of France, the last Holy Thursday that

was. And the next day, Friday, clapped in the stocks by the warden of

a petty hamlet.' So I told him my foot should walk between such high

honour and such low disgrace, on the same path of honesty, please

God. Well then, since I had not spirit to beg, he would indulge my

perversity. I should work under him, he be the head, I the fingers.

And with that he set himself up like a judge, on a heap of dust by the

road's side, and questioned me strictly what I could do. I began to say

I was strong and willing. 'Ba!' said he, 'so is an ox. Say, what canst

do that Sir Ox cannot?' I could write; I had won a prize for it. 'Canst

write as fast as the printers?' quo' he, jeering. 'What else?' I could

paint. 'That was better.' I was like to tear my hair to hear him say so,

and me going to Rome to write. I could twang the psaltery a bit. 'That

was well. Could I tell stories?' Ay, by the score. 'Then,' said he, 'I

hire you from this moment.' 'What to do?' said I. 'Nought crooked, Sir

Candour,' says he. 'I will feed thee all the way and find thee work; and

take half thine earnings, no more.' 'Agreed,' said I, and gave my hand

on it, 'Now, servant,' said he, 'we will dine. But ye need not stand

behind my chair, for two reasons--first I ha' got no chair; and next,

good fellowship likes me better than state.' And out of his wallet he

brought flesh, fowl, and pastry, a good dozen of spices lapped in flax

paper, and wine fit for a king. Ne'er feasted I better than out of this

beggar's wallet, now my master. When we had well eaten I was for going

on. 'But,' said he, 'servants should not drive their masters too hard,

especially after feeding, for then the body is for repose, and the mind

turns to contemplation;' and he lay on his back gazing calmly at the

sky, and presently wondered whether there were any beggars up there.

I told him I knew but of one, called Lazarus. 'Could he do the cul de

jatte better than I?' said he, and looked quite jealous like. I told him

nay; Lazarus was honest, though a beggar, and fed daily of the crumbs

fal'n from a rich man's table, and the dogs licked his sores. 'Servant,'

quo' he, 'I spy a foul fault in thee. Thou liest without discretion: now

the end of lying being to gull, this is no better than fumbling with the

divell's tail. I pray Heaven thou mayest prove to paint better than thou

cuttest whids, or I am done out of a dinner. No beggar eats crumbs, but

only the fat of the land; and dogs lick not a beggar's sores, being made

with spearwort, or ratsbane, or biting acids, from all which dogs, and

even pigs, abhor. My sores are made after my proper receipt; but no dog

would lick e'en them twice. I have made a scurvy bargain: art a cozening

knave, I doubt, as well as a nincompoop.' I deigned no reply to this

bundle of lies, which did accuse heavenly truth of falsehood for not

being in a tale with him. He rose and we took the road; and presently

we came to a place where were two little wayside inns, scarce a furlong

apart. 'Halt,' said my master. 'Their armories are sore faded--all the

better. Go thou in; shun the master; board the wife; and flatter her inn

sky high, all but the armories, and offer to colour them dirt cheap.'

So I went in and told the wife I was a painter, and would revive her

armories cheap; but she sent me away with a rebuff. I to my master. He

groaned. 'Ye are all fingers and no tongue,' said he; 'I have made a

scurvy bargain. Come and hear me patter and flatter.' Between the two

inns was a high hedge. He goes behind it a minute and comes out a decent

tradesman. We went on to the other inn, and then I heard him praise it

so fulsome as the very wife did blush. 'But,' says he, 'there is one

little, little fault; your armories are dull and faded. Say but the

word, and for a silver franc my apprentice here, the cunningest e'er

I had, shall make them bright as ever. Whilst she hesitated, the rogue

told her he had done it to a little inn hard by, and now the inn's face

was like the starry firmament. 'D'ye hear that, my man?' cries she,

'“The Three Frogs” have been and painted up their armories; shall “The

Four Hedgehogs” be outshone by them?' So I painted, and my master stood

by like a lord, advising me how to do, and winking to me to heed him

none, and I got a silver franc. And he took me back to 'The Three

Frogs,' and on the way put me on a beard and disguised me, and

flattered 'The Three Frogs,' and told them how he had adorned 'The Four

Hedgehogs,' and into the net jumped the three poor simple frogs, and I

earned another silver franc. Then we went on and he found his crutches,

and sent me forward, and showed his “cicatrices d'emprunt,” as he called

them, and all his infirmities, at 'The Four Hedgehogs,' and got both

food and money. 'Come, share and share,' quoth he: so I gave him one

franc. 'I have made a good bargain,' said he. 'Art a master limner, but

takest too much time.' So I let him know that in matters of honest craft

things could not be done quick and well. 'Then do them quick,' quoth he.

And he told me my name was Bon Bec; and I might call him Cul de Jatte,

because that was his lay at our first meeting. And at the next town my

master, Cul de Jatte, bought me a psaltery, and set himself up again

by the roadside in state like him that erst judged Marsyas and Apollo,

piping for vain glory. So I played a strain. 'Indifferent well,

harmonious Bon Bec,' said he haughtily. 'Now tune thy pipes.' So I did

sing a sweet strain the good monks taught me; and singing it reminded

poor Bon Bec, Gerard erst, of his young days and home, and brought the

water to my een. But looking up, my master's visage was as the face of

a little boy whipt soundly, or sipping foulest medicine. 'Zounds, stop

that bellyache blether,' quoth he, 'that will ne'er wile a stiver out

o' peasants' purses; 'twill but sour the nurses' milk, and gar the kine

jump into rivers to be out of earshot on't. What, false knave, did I buy

thee a fine new psaltery to be minded o' my latter end withal? Hearken!

these be the songs that glad the heart, and fill the minstrel's purse.'

And he sung so blasphemous a stave, and eke so obscene, as I drew away

from him a space that the lightning might not spoil the new psaltery.

However, none came, being winter, and then I said, 'Master, the Lord

is debonair. Held I the thunder, yon ribaldry had been thy last, thou

foul-mouthed wretch.'

“'Why, Bon Bec, what is to do?' quoth he. 'I have made an ill bargain.

Oh, perverse heart, that turneth from doctrine.' So I bade him keep

his breath to cool his broth, ne'er would I shame my folk with singing

ribald songs. 'Then,' says he sulkily, 'the first fire we light by the

wayside, clap thou on the music box! so 'twill make our pot boil for the

nonce; but with your,

Good people, let us peak and pine,

Cut tristful mugs, and miaul and whine

Thorough our nosen chaunts divine,

never, never, never. Ye might as well go through Lorraine crying,

Mulleygrubs, Mulleygrubs, who'll buy my Mulleygrubs!' So we fared on,

bad friends. But I took a thought, and prayed him hum me one of his

naughty ditties again. Then he brightened, and broke forth into ribaldry

like a nightingale. Finger in ears stuffed I. 'No words; naught but the

bare melody.' For oh, Margaret, note the sly malice of the Evil One!

Still to the scurviest matter he wedded the tunablest ditties.”

Catherine. “That is true as Holy Writ.”

Sybrandt. “How know you that, mother?”

Cornelis. “He! he! he!”

Eli. “Whisht, ye uneasy wights, and let me hear the boy. He is wiser

than ye; wiser than his years.”

“'What tomfoolery is this,' said he; yet he yielded to me, and soon I

garnered three of his melodies; but I would not let Cul de Jatte wot the

thing I meditated. 'Show not fools nor bairns unfinished work,' saith

the byword. And by this time 'twas night, and a little town at hand,

where we went each to his inn; for my master would not yield to put

off his rags and other sores till morning; nor I to enter an inn with

a tatterdemalion. So we were to meet on the road at peep of day, and

indeed, we still lodged apart, meeting at morn and parting at eve

outside each town we lay at. And waking at midnight and cogitating, good

thoughts came down to me, and sudden my heart was enlightened. I called

to mind that my Margaret had withstood the taking of the burgomaster's

purse. ''Tis theft,' said you; 'disguise it how ye will.' But I must

be wiser than my betters; and now that which I had as good as stolen,

others had stolen from me. As it came so it was gone. Then I said,

'Heaven is not cruel, but just;' and I vowed a vow, to repay our

burgomaster every shilling an' I could. And I went forth in the morning

sad, but hopeful. I felt lighter for the purse being gone. My master was

at the gate becrutched. I told him I'd liever have seen him in another

disguise. 'Beggars must not be choosers,' said he. However, soon he bade

me untruss him, for he felt sadly. His head swam. I told him forcefully

to deform nature thus could scarce be wholesome. He answered none; but

looked scared, and hand on head. By-and-by he gave a groan, and rolled

on the ground like a ball, and writhed sore. I was scared, and wist

not what to do, but went to lift him; but his trouble rose higher and

higher, he gnashed his teeth fearfully, and the foam did fly from his

lips; and presently his body bended itself like a bow, and jerked and

bounded many times into the air. I exorcised him; it but made him

worse. There was water in a ditch hard by, not very clear; but the poor

creature struggling between life and death, I filled my hat withal, and

came flying to souse him. Then my lord laughed in my face. 'Come, Bon

Bec, by thy white gills, I have not forgotten my trade.' I stood with

watery hat in hand, glaring. 'Could this be feigning?' 'What else?' said

he. 'Why, a real fit is the sorriest thing; but a stroke with a feather

compared with mine. Art still betters nature.' 'But look, e'en now blood

trickleth from your nose,' said I. 'Ay, ay, pricked my nostrils with a

straw.' 'But ye foamed at the lips.' 'Oh, a little soap makes a mickle

foam.' And he drew out a morsel like a bean from his mouth. 'Thank thy

stars, Bon Bec,' says he, 'for leading thee to a worthy master. Each day

his lesson. To-morrow we will study the cul de bois and other branches.

To-day, own me prince of demoniacs, and indeed of all good fellows.'

Then, being puffed up, he forgot yesterday's grudge, and discoursed

me freely of beggars; and gave me, who eftsoons thought a beggar was a

beggar, and there an end, the names and qualities of full thirty sorts

of masterful and crafty mendicants in France and Germany and England;

his three provinces; for so the poor, proud knave yclept those kingdoms

three; wherein his throne it was the stocks I ween. And outside the next

village one had gone to dinner, and left his wheelbarrow. So says he,

'I'll tie myself in a knot, and shalt wheel me through; and what with

my crippledom and thy piety, a-wheeling of thy poor old dad, we'll bleed

the bumpkins of a dacha-saltee.' I did refuse. I would work for him; but

no hand would have in begging. 'And wheeling an “asker” in a barrow, is

not that work?' said he; 'then fling yon muckle stone in to boot: stay,

I'll soil it a bit, and swear it is a chip of the holy sepulchre; and

you wheeled us both from Jerusalem.' Said I, 'Wheeling a pair o' lies,

one stony, one fleshy, may be work, and hard work, but honest work 'tis

not. 'Tis fumbling with his tail you wot of. And,' said I, 'master, next

time you go to tempt me to knavery, speak not to me of my poor old dad.'

Said I, 'You have minded me of my real father's face, the truest man in

Holland. He and I are ill friends now, worse luck. But though I offend

him shame him I never will.' Dear Margaret, with this knave' saying,

'your poor old dad,' it had gone to my heart like a knife. ''Tis well,'

said my master gloomily; 'I have made a bad bargain.' Presently he

halts, and eyes a tree by the wayside. 'Go spell me what is writ on

yon tree.' So I went, and there was nought but a long square drawn in

outline. I told him so. 'So much for thy monkish lore,' quoth he. A

little farther, and he sent me to read a wall. There was nought but a

circle scratched on the stone with a point of nail or knife, and in the

circle two dots. I said so Then said he, 'Bon Bec, that square was a

warning. Some good Truand left it, that came through this village faring

west; that means “dangerous.” The circle with the two dots was writ by

another of our brotherhood; and it signifies as how the writer, soit

Rollin Trapu, soit Triboulet, soit Catin Cul de Bois, or what not, was

becked for asking here, and lay two months in Starabin.' Then he broke

forth. 'Talk: of your little snivelling books that go in pouch. Three

books have I, France, England, and Germany; and they are writ all over

in one tongue, that my brethren of all countries understand; and that

is what I call learning. So sith here they whip sores, and imprison

infirmities, I to my tiring room.' And he popped behind the hedge, and

came back worshipful. We passed through the village, and I sat me down

on the stocks, and even the barber's apprentice whets his razor on a

block, so did I flesh my psaltery on this village, fearing great cities.

I tuned it, and coursed up and down the wires nimbly with my two wooden

strikers; and then chanted loud and clear, as I had heard the minstrels

of the country,

'Qui veut ouir qui veut Savoir,'

some trash, I mind not what. And soon the villagers, male and female,

thronged about me; thereat I left singing, and recited them to the

psaltery a short but right merry tale out of 'the lives of the saints,'

which it is my handbook of pleasant figments and this ended, instantly

struck up and whistled one of Cul de Jatte's devil's ditties, and played

it on the psaltery to boot. Thou knowest Heaven hath bestowed on me a

rare whistle, both for compass and tune. And with me whistling bright

and full this sprightly air, and making the wires slow when the tune did

gallop, and tripping when the tune did amble, or I did stop and shake on

one note like a lark i' the air, they were like to eat me; but looking

round, lo! my master had given way to his itch, and there was his hat

on the ground, and copper pouring in. I deemed it cruel to whistle the

bread out of poverty's pouch; so broke off and away; yet could not get

clear so swift, but both men and women did slobber me sore, and smelled

all of garlic. 'There, master,' said I, 'I call that cleaving the divell

in twain and keeping his white half.' Said he, 'Bon Bec, I have made

a good bargain.' Then he bade me stay where I was while he went to the

Holy Land. I stayed, and he leaped the churchyard dike, and the sexton

was digging a grave, and my master chaffered with him, and came back

with a knuckle bone. But why he clept a churchyard Holy Land, that I

learned not then, but after dinner. I was colouring the armories of a

little inn; and he sat by me most peaceable, a cutting, and filing, and

polishing bones, sedately; so I speered was not honest work sweet? 'As

rain water,' said he, mocking. 'What was he a making?' 'A pair of bones

to play on with thee; and with the refuse a St. Anthony's thumb and

a St. Martin's little finger, for the devout.' The vagabone! And now,

sweet Margaret, thou seest our manner of life faring Rhineward. I with

the two arts I had least prized or counted on for bread was welcome

everywhere; too poor now to fear robbers, yet able to keep both master

and man on the road. For at night I often made a portraiture of the

innkeeper or his dame, and so went richer from an inn; the which it is

the lot of few. But my master despised this even way of life. 'I love

ups and downs,' said he. And certes he lacked them not. One day he would

gather more than I in three; another, to hear his tale, it had rained

kicks all day in lieu of 'saltees,' and that is pennies. Yet even then

at heart he despised me for a poor mechanical soul, and scorned my arts,

extolling his own, the art of feigning.

“Natheless, at odd times was he ill at his ease. Going through the town

of Aix, we came upon a beggar walking, fast by one hand to a cart-tail,

and the hangman a lashing his bare bloody back. He, stout knave, so

whipt, did not a jot relent; but I did wince at every stroke; and my

master hung his head.

“'Soon or late, Bon Bec,' quoth he. 'Soon or late.' I, seeing his

haggard face, knew what he meaned. And at a town whose name hath slipped

me, but 'twas on a fair river, as we came to the foot of the bridge he

halted, and shuddered. 'Why what is the coil?' said I. 'Oh, blind,' said

he, 'they are justifying there.' So nought would serve him but take a

boat, and cross the river by water. But 'twas out of the frying-pan, as

the word goeth. For the boatman had scarce told us the matter, and that

it was a man and a woman for stealing glazed windows out of housen, and

that the man was hanged at daybreak, and the quean to be drowned, when

lo! they did fling her off the bridge, and fell in the water not far

from us. And oh! Margaret, the deadly splash! It ringeth in mine ears

even now. But worse was coming; for, though tied, she came up and cried

'Help! help!' and I, forgetting all, and hearing a woman's voice cry

'Help!' was for leaping in to save her; and had surely done it, but the

boatman and Cul de Jatte clung round me, and in a moment the bourreau's

man, that waited in a boat, came and entangled his hooked pole in her

long hair, and so thrust her down and ended her. Oh! if the saints

answered so our cries for help! And poor Cul de Jatte groaned; and I

sat sobbing, and beat my breast, and cried, 'Of what hath God made men's

hearts?'”

The reader stopped, and the tears trickled down her cheeks. Gerard

crying in Lorraine, made her cry at Rotterdam. The leagues were no more

to her heart than the breadth of a room.

Eli, softened by many touches in the letter, and by the reader's womanly

graces, said kindly enough, “Take thy time, lass. And methinks some of

ye might find her a creepie to rest her foot, and she so near her own

trouble.”

“I'd do more for her than that an I durst,” said Catherine. “Here,

Cornelis,” and she held out her little wooden stool, and that worthy,

who hated Margaret worse than ever, had to take the creepie and put it

carefully under her foot.

“You are very kind, dame,” she faltered. “I will read on; 'tis all I can

do for you in turn.

“Thus seeing my master ashy and sore shaken, I deemed this horrible

tragic act came timeously to warn him, so I strove sore to turn him from

his ill ways, discoursing of sinners and their lethal end. 'Too late!'

said he, 'too late!' and gnashed his teeth. Then I told him 'too late'

was the divell's favourite whisper in repentant ears. Said I--

'The Lord is debonair,

Let sinners nought despair.'

'Too late!' said he, and gnashed his teeth, and writhed his face, as

though vipers were biting his inward parts. But, dear heart, his was a

mind like running water. Ere we cleared the town he was carolling, and

outside the gate hung the other culprit, from the bough of a little

tree, and scarce a yard above the ground. And that stayed my vagabone's

music. But ere we had gone another furlong, he feigned to have dropped

his, rosary, and ran back, with no good intent, as you shall hear.

I strolled on very slowly, and often halting, and presently he came

stumping up on one leg, and that bandaged. I asked him how he could

contrive that, for 'twas masterly done. 'Oh, that was his mystery. Would

I know that, I must join the brotherhood.' And presently we did pass

a narrow lane, and at the mouth on't espied a written stone, telling

beggars by a word like a wee pitchfork to go that way. ''Tis yon

farmhouse,' said he: 'bide thou at hand.' And he went to the house, and

came back with money, food, and wine. 'This lad did the business,' said

he, slapping his one leg proudly. Then he undid the bandage, and with

prideful face showed me a hole in his calf you could have put your neef

in. Had I been strange to his tricks, here was a leg had drawn my last

penny. Presently another farmhouse by the road. He made for it. I stood,

and asked myself, should I run away and leave him, not to be shamed in

my own despite by him? But while I doubted, there was a great noise,

and my master well cudgelled by the farmer and his men, came towards me

hobbling and holloaing, for the peasants had laid on heartily. But more

trouble was at his heels. Some mischievous wight loosed a dog as big as

a jackass colt, and came roaring after him, and downed him momently. I,

deeming the poor rogue's death certain, and him least fit to die, drew

my sword and ran shouting. But ere I could come near, the muckle dog had

torn away his bad leg, and ran growling to his lair with it; and Cul de

Jatte slipped his knot, and came running like a lapwing, with his hair

on end, and so striking with both crutches before and behind at unreal

dogs as 'twas like a windmill crazed. He fled adown the road. I followed

leisurely, and found him at dinner. 'Curse the quiens,' said he. And not

a word all dinner time but 'Curse the quiens!'

“I said, I must know who' they were, before I would curse them.

“'Quiens? why, that was dogs. And I knew not even that much? He had made

a bad bargain. Well, well,' said he, 'to-morrow we shall be in Germany.

There the folk are music bitten, and they molest not beggars, unless

they fake to boot, and then they drown us out of hand that moment, curse

'em!' We came to Strasbourg. And I looked down Rhine with longing heart.

The stream how swift! It seemed running to clip Sevenbergen to its soft

bosom. With but a piece of timber and an oar I might drift at my ease to

thee, sleeping yet gliding still. 'Twas a sore temptation. But the fear

of an ill welcome from my folk, and of the neighbours' sneers, and the

hope of coming back to thee victorious, not, as now I must, defeated and

shamed, and thee with me, it did withhold me; and so, with many sighs,

and often turning of the head to look on beloved Rhine, I turned

sorrowful face and heavy heart towards Augsburg.”

“Alas, dame, alas! Good master Eli, forgive me! But I ne'er can win over

this part all at one time. It taketh my breath away. Welladay! Why did

he not listen to his heart? Had he not gone through peril enow, sorrow

enow? Well-a-day! well-a-day!”

The letter dropped from her hand, and she drooped like a wounded lily.

Then there was a clatter on the floor, and it was little Kate going on

her crutches, with flushed face, and eyes full of pity, to console her.

“Water, mother,” she cried. “I am afeared she shall swoon.”

“Nay, nay, fear me not,” said Margaret feebly. “I will not be so

troublesome. Thy good-will it maketh me stouter hearted, sweet mistress

Kate. For, if thou carest how I fare, sure Heaven is not against me.”

Catherine. “D'ye hear that, my man!”

Eli. “Ay, wife, I hear; and mark to boot.”

Little Kate went back to her place, and Margaret read on.

“The Germans are fonder of armorials than the French. So I found work

every day. And whiles I wrought, my master would leave me, and doff his

raiment and don his rags, and other infirmities, and cozen the world,

which he did clepe it 'plucking of the goose:' this done, would meet me

and demand half my earnings; and with restless piercing eye ask me would

I be so base as cheat my poor master by making three parts in lieu of

two, till I threatened to lend him a cuff to boot in requital of his

suspicion; and thenceforth took his due, with feigned confidence in my

good faith, the which his dancing eye belied. Early in Germany we had

a quarrel. I had seen him buy a skull of a jailer's wife, and mighty

zealous a polishing it. Thought I, 'How can he carry yon memento,

and not repent, seeing where ends his way?' Presently I did catch him

selling it to a woman for the head of St. Barnabas, with a tale had

cozened an Ebrew. So I snatched it out of their hands, and trundled it

into the ditch. 'How, thou impious knave,' said I, 'wouldst sell for

a saint the skull of some dead thief, thy brother?' He slunk away. But

shallow she did crawl after the skull, and with apron reverently dust

it for Barnabas, and it Barabbas; and so home with it. Said I, 'Non vult

anser velli, sed populus vult decipi.'”

Catherine. “Oh, the goodly Latin!”

Eli. “What meaneth it?”

Catherine. “Nay, I know not; but 'tis Latin; is not that enow? He was

the flower of the flock.”

“Then I to him, 'Take now thy psaltery, and part we here, for art a

walking prison, a walking hell.' But lo! my master fell on his knees,

and begged me for pity's sake not turn him off. 'What would become of

him? He did so love honesty.' 'Thou love honesty?' said I. 'Ay,' said

he, 'not to enact it; the saints forbid. But to look on. 'Tis so fair

a thing to look on. Alas, good Bon Bec,' said he; 'hadst starved

peradventure but for me. Kick not down thy ladder! Call ye that just?

Nay, calm thy choler! Have pity on me! I must have a pal; and how could

I bear one like myself after one so simple as thou? He might cut my

throat for the money that is hid in my belt. 'Tis not much; 'tis not

much. With thee I walk at mine ease; with a sharp I dare not go before

in a narrow way. Alas! forgive me. Now I know where in thy bonnet lurks

the bee, I will ware his sting; I will but pluck the secular goose. 'So

be it,' said I. 'And example was contagious: he should be a true man by

then we reached Nurnberg. 'Twas a long way to Nurnberg.' Seeing him so

humble, I said, 'well, doff rags, and make thyself decent; 'twill

help me forget what thou art.' And he did so; and we sat down to our

nonemete. Presently came by a reverend palmer with hat stuck round with

cockle shells from Holy Land, and great rosary of beads like eggs of

teal, and sandals for shoes. And he leaned a-weary on his long staff,

and offered us a shell apiece. My master would none. But I, to set him

a better example, took one, and for it gave the poor pilgrim two batzen,

and had his blessing. And he was scarce gone, when we heard savage

cries, and came a sorry sight, one leading a wild woman in a chain, all

rags and howling like a wolf. And when they came nigh us, she fell to

tearing her rags to threads. The man sought an alms of us, and told us

his hard case. 'Twas his wife stark raving mad; and he could not work in

the fields, and leave her in his house to fire it, nor cure her could

be without the Saintys' help, and had vowed six pounds of wax to St.

Anthony to heal her, and so was fain beg of charitable folk for the

money. And now she espied us, and flew at me with her long nails, and

I was cold with fear, so devilish showed, her face and rolling eyes and

nails like birdys talons. But he with the chain checked her sudden,

and with his whip did cruelly lash her for it, that I cried, 'Forbear!

forbear! She knoweth not what she doth;' and gave him a batz. And being

gone, said I, 'Master, of those twain I know not which is the more

pitiable.' And he laughed in my face, 'Behold thy justice, Bon Bec,'

said he. 'Thou railest on thy poor, good, within an ace of honest

master, and bestowest alms on a “vopper.”' 'Vopper,' said I, 'what is

a vopper?' 'why, a trull that feigns madness. That was one of us, that

sham maniac, and wow but she did it clumsily. I blushed for her and

thee. Also gavest two batzen for a shell from Holy Land, that came

no farther than Normandy. I have culled them myself on that coast by

scores, and sold them to pilgrims true and pilgrims false, to gull flats

like thee withal.' 'What!' said I; 'that reverend man?' 'One of us!'

cried Cul de Jatte; 'one of us! In France we call them “Coquillarts,”

but here “Calmierers.” Railest on me for selling a false relic now and

then, and wastest thy earnings on such as sell nought else. I tell thee,

Bon Bec,' said he, 'there is not one true relic on earth's face. The

Saints died a thousand years agone, and their bones mixed with the

dust; but the trade in relics, it is of yesterday; and there are forty

thousand tramps in Europe live by it; selling relics of forty or fifty

bodies; oh, threadbare lie! And of the true Cross enow to build Cologne

Minster. Why, then, may not poor Cul de Jatte turn his penny with the

crowd? Art but a scurvy tyrannical servant to let thy poor master from

his share of the swag with your whoreson pilgrims, palmers and friars,

black, grey, and crutched; for all these are of our brotherhood, and of

our art, only masters they, and we but poor apprentices, in guild.' For

his tongue was an ell and a half.

“'A truce to thy irreverend sophistries,' said I, 'and say what company

is this a coming.' 'Bohemians,' cried he, 'Ay, ay, this shall be the

rest of the band.' With that came along so motley a crew as never your

eyes beheld, dear Margaret. Marched at their head one with a banner on

a steel-pointed lance, and girded with a great long sword, and in velvet

doublet and leathern jerkin, the which stuffs ne'er saw I wedded afore

on mortal flesh, and a gay feather in his lordly cap, and a couple of

dead fowls at his back, the which, an the spark had come by honestly, I

am much mistook. Him followed wives and babes on two lean horses, whose

flanks still rattled like parchment drum, being beaten by kettles and

caldrons. Next an armed man a-riding of a horse, which drew a cart full

of females and children; and in it, sitting backwards, a lusty

lazy knave, lance in hand, with his luxurious feet raised on a holy

water-pail, that lay along, and therein a cat, new kittened, sat glowing

o'er her brood, and sparks for eyes. And the cart-horse cavalier had on

his shoulders a round bundle, and thereon did perch a cock and crowed

with zeal, poor ruffler, proud of his brave feathers as the rest, and

haply with more reason, being his own. And on an ass another wife and

new-born child; and one poor quean a-foot scarce dragged herself along,

so near her time was she, yet held two little ones by the hand, and

helplessly helped them on the road. And the little folk were just a

farce; some rode sticks, with horses' heads, between their legs, which

pranced and caracoled, and soon wearied the riders so sore, they stood

stock still and wept, which cavaliers were presently taken into cart and

cuffed. And one, more grave, lost in a man's hat and feather, walked in

Egyptian darkness, handed by a girl; another had the great saucepan on

his back, and a tremendous three-footed clay-pot sat on his head

and shoulders, swallowing him so as he too went darkling led by his

sweetheart three foot high. When they were gone by, and we had both

laughed lustily, said I, 'Natheless, master, my bowels they yearn for

one of that tawdry band, even for the poor wife so near the downlying,

scarce able to drag herself, yet still, poor soul, helping the weaker on

the way.'

Catherine. “Nay, nay, Margaret. Why, wench, pluck up heart. Certes thou

art no Bohemian.”

Kate. “Nay, mother, 'tis not that, I trow, but her father. And, dear

heart, why take notice to put her to the blush?”

Richart. “So I say.”

“And he derided me. 'Why, that is a “biltreger,”' said he, 'and you

waste your bowels on a pillow, or so forth.' I told him he lied. 'Time

would show,' said he, 'wait till they camp.' And rising after meat and

meditation, and travelling forward, we found them camped between two

great trees on a common by the wayside; and they had lighted a great

fire, and on it was their caldron; and one of the trees slanting o'er

the fire, a kid hung down by a chain from the tree-fork to the fire,

and in the fork was wedged an urchin turning still the chain to keep the

meat from burning, and a gay spark with a feather in his cap cut up

a sheep; and another had spitted a leg of it on a wooden stake; and a

woman ended chanticleer's pride with wringing of his neck. And under

the other tree four rufflers played at cards and quarrelled, and no word

sans oath; and of these lewd gamblers one had cockles in his hat and was

my reverend pilgrim. And a female, young and comely, and dressed like a

butterfly, sat and mended a heap of dirty rags. And Cul de Jatte said,

'Yon is the “vopper,”' and I looked incredulous and looked again, and it

was so, and at her feet sat he that had so late lashed her; but I ween

he had wist where to strike, or woe betide him; and she did now oppress

him sore, and made him thread her very needle, the which he did with

all humility; so was their comedy turned seamy side without; and Cul de

Jatte told me 'twas still so with 'voppers' and their men in camp; they

would don their bravery though but for an hour, and with their tinsel,

empire, and the man durst not the least gainsay the 'vopper,' or she

would turn him off at these times, as I my master, and take another

tyrant more submissive. And my master chuckled over me. Natheless we

soon espied a wife set with her back against the tree, and her hair

down, and her face white, and by her side a wench held up to her eye a

newborn babe, with words of cheer, and the rough fellow, her husband,

did bring her hot wine in a cup, and bade her take courage. And just

o'er the place she sat, they had pinned from bough to bough of those

neighbouring trees two shawls, and blankets two, together, to keep the

drizzle off her. And so had another poor little rogue come into the

world; and by her own particular folk tended gipsywise, but of the

roasters, and boilers, and voppers, and gamblers, no more noticed, no,

not for a single moment, than sheep which droppeth her lamb in a field,

by travellers upon the way. Then said I, 'What of thy foul suspicions,

master? over-knavery blinds the eye as well as over-simplicity.' And he

laughed and said, 'Triumph, Bon Bec, triumph. The chances were nine in

ten against thee.' Then I did pity her, to be in a crowd at such a

time; but he rebuked me. 'I should pity rather your queens and royal

duchesses, which by law are condemned to groan in a crowd of nobles and

courtiers, and do writhe with shame as, well as sorrow, being come of

decent mothers, whereas these gipsy women have no more shame under their

skins than a wolf ruth, or a hare valour. And, Bon Bec,' quoth he, 'I

espy in thee a lamentable fault. Wastest thy bowels, wilt have none left

for thy poor good master which doeth thy will by night and day.' Then

we came forward; and he talked with the men in some strange Hebrew cant

whereof no word knew I; and the poor knaves bade us welcome and denied

us nought. With them, and all they had, 'twas lightly come and lightly

go; and when we left them, my master said to me 'This is thy first

lesson, but to-night we shall lie at Hansburgh. Come with me to the

“rotboss” there, and I'll show thee all our folk and their lays,

and especially “the lossners,” “the dutzers,” “the schleppers,” “the

gickisses,” “the schwanfelders, whom in England we call “shivering

Jemmies,” “the suntvegers,” “the schwiegers,” “the joners,” “the

sesseldegers,” “the gensscherers,” in France “marcandiers or rifodes,”

“the veranerins,” “the stabulers,” with a few foreigners like ourselves,

such as “pietres,” “francmitoux,” “polissons” “malingreux,” “traters,”

“rufflers,” “whipjalks,” “dommerars,” “glymmerars,” “jarkmen,”

“patricos,” “swadders,” “autem morts,” “walking morts” 'Enow,' cried I,

stopping him, 'art as gleesome as the Evil One a counting of his imps.

I'll jot down in my tablet all these caitiffs and their accursed names:

for knowledge is knowledge. But go among them, alive or dead, that will

I not with my good will. Moreover,' said I, 'what need? since I have a

companion in thee who is all the knaves on earth in one?' and thought to

abash him but his face shone with pride, and hand on breast he did bow

low to me. 'If thy wit be scant, good Bon Bec, thy manners are a charm.

I have made a good bargain.' So he to the 'rotboss,' and I to a decent

inn, and sketched the landlord's daughter by candle-light, and started

at morn batzen three the richer, but could not find my master, so

loitered slowly on, and presently met him coming west for me, and

cursing the quiens. Why so? Because he could blind the culls but not

the quiens. At last I prevailed on him to leave cursing and canting,

and tell me his adventure. Said he, 'I sat outside the gate of yon

monastery, full of sores, which I sho'ed the passers-by. Oh, Bon Bec,

beautifuller sores you never saw; and it rained coppers in my hat.

Presently the monks came home from some procession, and the convent dogs

ran out to meet them, curse the quiens!' 'What, did they fall on thee

and bite thee, poor soul?' 'Worse, worse, dear Bon Bec. Had they

bitten me I had earned silver. But the great idiots, being, as I think,

puppies, or little better, fell on me where I sat, downed me, and fell

a licking my sores among them. As thou, false knave, didst swear the

whelps in heaven licked the sores of Lazybones, a beggar of old.' 'Nay,

nay,' said I, 'I said no such thing. But tell me, since they bit thee

not, but sportfully licked thee, what harm?' 'What harm, noodle; why,

the sores came off.' 'How could that be?' 'How could aught else be? and

them just fresh put on. Did I think he was so weak as bite holes in his

flesh with ratsbane? Nay, he was an artist, a painter, like his servant,

and had put on sores made of pig's blood, rye meal, and glue. So when

the folk saw my sores go on tongues of puppies, they laughed, and I

saw cord or sack before me. So up I jumped, and shouted, “A miracle a

miracle! The very dogs of this holy convent be holy, and have cured me.

Good fathers,” cried I, “whose day is this?” “St. Isidore's,” said one.

“St. Isidore,” cried I, in a sort of rapture. “Why, St. Isidore is

my patron saint: so that accounts.” And the simple folk swallowed my

miracle as those accursed quiens my wounds. But the monks took me inside

and shut the gate, and put their heads together; but I have a quick ear,

and one did say, “Caret miraculo monasterium,” which is Greek patter,

leastways it is no beggar's cant. Finally they bade the lay brethren

give me a hiding, and take me out a back way and put me on the road, and

threatened me did I come back to the town to hand me to the magistrate

and have me drowned for a plain impostor. “Profit now by the Church's

grace,” said they, “and mend thy ways.” So forward, Bon Bec, for my life

is not sure nigh hand this town.' As we went he worked his shoulders,

'Wow but the brethren laid on. And what means yon piece of monk's cant,

I wonder?' So I told him the words meant 'the monastery is in want of a

miracle,' but the application thereof was dark to me. 'Dark,' cried

he, 'dark as noon. Why, it means they are going to work the miracle,

my miracle, and gather all the grain I sowed. Therefore these blows on

their benefactor's shoulders; therefore is he that wrought their scurry

miracle driven forth with stripes and threats. Oh, cozening knaves!'

Said I, 'Becomes you to complain of guile.' 'Alas, Bon Bec,' said he, 'I

but outwit the simple, but these monks would pluck Lucifer of his

wing feathers.' And went a league bemoaning himself that he was not

convent-bred like his servant 'He would put it to more profit;' and

railing on quiens. 'And as for those monks, there was one Above.'

'Certes,' said I, 'there is one Above. What then?' 'Who will call those

shavelings to compt, one day,' quoth he. 'And all deceitful men' said

I. At one that afternoon I got armories to paint: so my master took the

yellow jaundice and went begging through the town, and with his oily

tongue, and saffron-water face, did fill his hat. Now in all the towns

are certain licensed beggars, and one of these was an old favourite

with the townsfolk: had his station at St. Martin's porch, the greatest

church: a blind man: they called him blind Hans. He saw my master

drawing coppers on the other side the street, and knew him by his tricks

for an impostor, so sent and warned the constables, and I met my master

in the constables' hands, and going to his trial in the town hall. I

followed and many more; and he was none abashed, neither by the pomp

of justice, nor memory of his misdeeds, but demanded his accuser like a

trumpet. And blind Hans's boy came forward, but was sifted narrowly by

my master, and stammered and faltered, and owned he had seen nothing,

but only carried blind Hans's tale to the chief constable. 'This is but

hearsay,' said my master. 'Lo ye now, here standeth Misfortune backbit

by Envy. But stand thou forth, blind Envy, and vent thine own lie.' And

blind Hans behoved to stand forth, sore against his will. Him did my

master so press with questions, and so pinch and torture, asking him

again and again, how, being blind, he could see all that befell, and

some that befell not, across a way; and why, an he could not see, he

came there holding up his perjured hand, and maligning the misfortunate,

that at last he groaned aloud and would utter no word more. And an

alderman said, 'In sooth, Hans, ye are to blame; hast cast more dirt of

suspicion on thyself than on him.' But the burgomaster, a wondrous fat

man, and methinks of his fat some had gotten into his head, checked him,

and said, 'Nay, Hans we know this many years, and be he blind or not,

he hath passed for blind so long, 'tis all one. Back to thy porch, good

Hans, and let the strange varlet leave the town incontinent on pain of

whipping.' Then my master winked to me; but there rose a civic officer

in his gown of state and golden chain, a Dignity with us lightly prized,

and even shunned of some, but in Germany and France much courted, save

by condemned malefactors, to wit the hangman; and says he, 'Ant please

you, first let us see why he weareth his hair so thick and low.' And his

man went and lifted Cul de Jatte's hair, and lo, the upper gristle of

both ears was gone. 'How is this knave? quoth the burgomaster. My

master said carelessly, he minded not precisely: his had been a life of

misfortunes and losses. When a poor soul has lost the use of his leg,

noble sirs, these more trivial woes rest lightly in his memory.' When

he found this would not serve his turn, he named two famous battles,

in each of which he had lost half an ear, a fighting like a true man

against traitors and rebels. But the hangman showed them the two cuts

were made at one time, and by measurement. ''Tis no bungling soldiers'

work, my masters,' said he, ''tis ourn.' Then the burgomaster gave

judgment: 'The present charge is not proven against thee; but, an thou

beest not guilty now, thou hast been at other times, witness thine ears.

Wherefore I send thee to prison for one month, and to give a florin

towards the new hall of the guilds now a building, and to be whipt

out of the town, and pay the hangman's fee for the same.' And all the

aldermen approved, and my master was haled to prison with one look of

anguish. It did strike my bosom. I tried to get speech of him, but the

jailer denied me. But lingering near the jail I heard a whistle, and

there was Cul de Jatte at a narrow window twenty feet from earth. I went

under, and he asked me what made I there? I told him I was loath to go

forward and not bid him farewell. He seemed quite amazed; but soon his

suspicious soul got the better. That was not all mine errand. I told him

not all: the psaltery: 'Well, what of that?' 'Twas not mine, but his; I

would pay him the price of it. 'Then throw me a rix dollar,' said he.

I counted out my coins, and they came to a rix dollar and two batzen.

I threw him up his money in three throws, and when he had got it all

he said, softly, 'Bon Bec.' 'Master,' said I. Then the poor rogue was

greatly moved. 'I thought ye had been mocking me,' said he; 'oh, Bon

Bec, Bon Bec, if I had found the world like thee at starting I had put

my wit to better use, and I had not lain here.' Then he whimpered out,

'I gave not quite a rix dollar for the jingler;' and threw me back that

he had gone to cheat me of; honest for once, and over late; and so, with

many sighs, bade me Godspeed. Thus did my master, after often baffling

men's justice, fall by their injustice; for his lost ears proved not his

guilt only, but of that guilt the bitter punishment: so the account was

even; yet they for his chastisement did chastise him. Natheless he was a

parlous rogue. Yet he holp to make a man of me. Thanks to his good wit

I went forward richer far with my psaltery and brush, than with yon as

good as stolen purse; for that must have run dry in time, like a big

trough, but these a little fountain.”

Richart. “How pregnant his reflections be; and but a curly pated lad

when last I saw him. Asking your pardon, mistress. Prithee read on.”

“One day I walked alone, and sooth to say, lighthearted, for mine honest

Denys sweetened the air on the way; but poor Cul de Jatte poisoned

it. The next day passing a grand house, out came on prancing steeds

a gentleman in brave attire and two servants; they overtook me. The

gentleman bade me halt. I laughed in my sleeve; for a few batzen were

all my store. He bade me doff my doublet and jerkin. Then I chuckled

no more. 'Bethink you, my lord,' said I, ''tis winter. How may a poor

fellow go bare and live? So he told me I shot mine arrow wide of his

thought, and off with his own gay jerkin, richly furred, and doublet to

match, and held them forth to me. Then a servant let me know it was a

penance. 'His lordship had had the ill luck to slay his cousin in their

cups.' Down to my shoes he changed with me; and set me on his horse like

a popinjay, and fared by my side in my worn weeds, with my psaltery on

his back. And said he, 'Now, good youth, thou art Cousin Detstein; and

I, late count, thy Servant. Play the part well, and help me save my

bloodstained soul! Be haughty and choleric, as any noble; and I will be

as humble as I may.' I said I would do my best to play the noble. But

what should I call him? He bade me call him nought but Servant. That

would mortify him most, he wist. We rode on a long way in silence; for

I was meditating this strange chance, that from a beggar's servant had

made me master to a count, and also cudgelling my brains how best I

might play the master, without being run through the body all at one

time like his cousin. For I mistrusted sore my spark's humility; your

German nobles being, to my knowledge, proud as Lucifer, and choleric

as fire. As for the servants, they did slily grin to one another to see

their master so humbled.”

“What is that?”

A lump, as of lead, had just bounced against the door, and the latch was

fumbled with unsuccessfully. Another bounce, and the door swung inwards

with Giles arrayed in cloth of gold sticking to it like a wasp. He

landed on the floor, and was embraced; but on learning what was going

on, trumpeted that he would much liever hear of Gerard than gossip.

Sybrandt pointed to a diminutive chair.

Giles showed his sense of this civility by tearing the said Sybrandt

out of a very big one, and there ensconced himself gorgeous and glowing.

Sybrandt had to wedge himself into the one, which was too small for the

magnificent dwarf's soul, and Margaret resumed. But as this part of the

letter was occupied with notices of places, all which my reader probably

knows, and if not, can find handled at large in a dozen well-known

books, from Munster to Murray, I skip the topography, and hasten to that

part where it occurred to him to throw his letter into a journal. The

personal narrative that intervened may be thus condensed.

He spoke but little at first to his new companions, but listened to pick

up their characters. Neither his noble Servant nor his servants could

read or write; and as he often made entries in his tablets, he impressed

them with some awe. One of his entries was, “Le peu que sont les

hommes.” For he found the surly innkeepers licked the very ground

before him now; nor did a soul suspect the hosier's son in the count's

feathers, nor the count in the minstrel's weeds.

This seems to have surprised him; for he enlarged on it with the naivete

and pomposity of youth. At one place, being humbly requested to present

the inn with his armorial bearings, he consented loftily; but painted

them himself, to mine host's wonder, who thought he lowered himself

by handling brush. The true count stood grinning by, and held the

paint-pot, while the sham count painted the shield with three

red herrings rampant under a sort of Maltese cross made with two

ell-measures. At first his plebeian servants were insolent. But this

coming to the notice of his noble one, he forgot what he was doing

penance for, and drew his sword to cut off their ears, heads included.

But Gerard interposed and saved them, and rebuked the count severely.

And finally they all understood one another, and the superior mind

obtained its natural influence. He played the barbarous noble of that

day vilely. For his heart would not let him be either tyrannical or

cold. Here were three human beings. He tried to make them all happier

than he was; held them ravished with stories and songs, and set Herr

Penitent and Co. dancing with his whistle and psaltery. For his own

convenience he made them ride and tie, and thus pushed rapidly through

the country, travelling generally fifteen leagues a day.

DIARY.

“This first day of January I observed a young man of the country to meet

a strange maiden, and kissed his hand, and then held it out to her. She

took it with a smile, and lo! acquaintance made; and babbled like old

friends. Greeting so pretty and delicate I ne'er did see. Yet were they

both of the baser sort. So the next lass I saw a coming, I said to my

servant lord, 'For further penance bow thy pride; go meet yon base-born

girl; kiss thy homicidal hand, and give it her, and hold her in

discourse as best ye may.' And my noble Servant said humbly, 'I shall

obey my lord.' And we drew rein and watched while he went forward,

kissed his hand and held it out to her. Forthwith she took it smiling,

and was most affable with him, and he with her. Presently came up a band

of her companions. So this time I bade him doff his bonnet to them, as

though they were empresses; and he did so. And lo! the lasses drew up as

stiff as hedgestakes, and moved not nor spake.”

Denys. “Aie! aie! aie Pardon, the company.”

“This surprised me none; for so they did discountenance poor Denys. And

that whole day I wore in experimenting these German lasses; and 'twas

still the same. An ye doff bonnet to them they stiffen into statues;

distance for distance. But accost them with honest freedom, and with

that customary, and though rustical, most gracious proffer, of the

kissed hand, and they withhold neither their hands in turn nor their

acquaintance in an honest way. Seeing which I vexed myself that Denys

was not with us to prattle with them; he is so fond of women.” (“Are you

fond of women, Denys?”) And the reader opened two great violet eyes upon

him with gentle surprise.

Denys. “Ahem! he says so, she-comrade. By Hannibal's helmet, 'tis their

fault, not mine. They will have such soft voices, and white skins, and

sunny hair, and dark blue eyes, and--”

Margaret. (Reading suddenly.) “Which their affability I put to profit

thus. I asked them how they made shift to grow roses in yule? For know,

dear Margaret, that throughout Germany, the baser sort of lasses wear

for head-dress nought but a 'crantz,' or wreath of roses, encircling

their bare hair, as laurel Caesar's; and though of the worshipful,

scorned, yet is braver, I wist, to your eye and mine which painters be,

though sorry ones, than the gorgeous, uncouth, mechanical head-gear of

the time, and adorns, not hides her hair, that goodly ornament fitted

to her head by craft divine. So the good lasses, being questioned close,

did let me know, the rosebuds are cut in summer and laid then in great

clay-pots, thus ordered:--first bay salt, then a row of buds, and over

that row bay salt sprinkled; then, another row of buds placed crosswise;

for they say it is death to the buds to touch one another; and so on,

buds and salt in layers. Then each pot is covered and soldered tight,

and kept in cool cellar. And on Saturday night the master of the house,

or mistress, if master be none, opens a pot, and doles the rosebuds out

to every female in the house, high or low, withouten grudge; then

solders it up again. And such as of these buds would full-blown roses

make, put them in warm water a little space, or else in the stove, and

then with tiny brush and soft, wetted in Rhenish wine, do coax them till

they ope their folds. And some perfume them with rose-water. For, alack,

their smell it is fled with the summer; and only their fair bodyes lie

withouten soul, in tomb of clay, awaiting resurrection.

“And some with the roses and buds mix nutmegs gilded, but not by my good

will; for gold, brave in itself, cheek by jowl with roses, is but yellow

earth. And it does the eye's heart good to see these fair heads of hair

come, blooming with roses, over snowy roads, and by snow-capt hedges,

setting winter's beauty by the side of summer's glory. For what so

fair as winter's lilies, snow yclept, and what so brave as roses? And

shouldst have had a picture here, but for their superstition. Leaned a

lass in Sunday garb, cross ankled, against her cottage corner, whose

low roof was snow-clad, and with her crantz did seem a summer flower

sprouting from winter's bosom. I drew rein, and out pencil and brush to

limn her for thee. But the simpleton, fearing the evil eye, or glamour,

claps both hands to her face and flies panic-stricken. But indeed, they

are not more superstitious than the Sevenbergen folk, which take thy

father for a magician. Yet softly, sith at this moment I profit by

this darkness of their minds; for, at first, sitting down to write this

diary, I could frame nor thought nor word, so harried and deaved was I

with noise of mechanical persons, and hoarse laughter at dull jests of

one of these particoloured 'fools,' which are so rife in Germany. But

oh, sorry wit, that is driven to the poor resource of pointed ear-caps,

and a green and yellow body. True wit, methinks, is of the mind. We

met in Burgundy an honest wench, though over free for my palate, a

chambermaid, had made havoc of all these zanies, droll by brute force.

Oh, Digressor! Well then, I to be rid of roaring rusticalls, and

mindless jests, put my finger in a glass and drew on the table a great

watery circle; whereat the rusticalls did look askant, like venison at

a cat; and in that circle a smaller circle. The rusticalls held their

peace; and besides these circles cabalistical, I laid down on the table

solemnly yon parchment deed I had out of your house. The rusticalls held

their breath. Then did I look as glum as might be, and muttered

slowly thus 'Videamus--quam diu tu fictus morio--vosque veri

stulti--audebitis--in hac aula morari, strepitantes ita--et olentes: ut

dulcissimae nequeam miser scribere.' They shook like aspens, and stole

away on tiptoe one by one at first, then in a rush and jostling, and

left me alone; and most scared of all was the fool: never earned jester

fairer his ass's ears. So rubbed I their foible, who first rubbed mine;

for of all a traveller's foes I dread those giants twain, Sir Noise, and

eke Sir Stench. The saints and martyrs forgive my peevishness. Thus I

write to thee in balmy peace, and tell thee trivial things scarce worthy

ink, also how I love thee, which there was no need to tell, for well

thou knowest it. And oh, dear Margaret, looking on their roses, which

grew in summer, but blow in winter, I see the picture of our true

affection; born it was in smiles and bliss, but soon adversity beset

us sore with many a bitter blast. Yet our love hath lost no leaf, thank

God, but blossoms full and fair as ever, proof against frowns, and

jibes, and prison, and banishment, as those sweet German flowers a

blooming in winter's snow.

“January 2.--My servant, the count, finding me curious, took me to the

stables of the prince that rules this part. In the first court was a

horse-bath, adorned with twenty-two pillars, graven with the prince's

arms; and also the horse-leech's shop, so furnished as a rich apothecary

might envy. The stable is a fair quadrangle, whereof three sides filled

with horses of all nations. Before each horse's nose was a glazed

window, with a green curtain to be drawn at pleasure, and at his tail a

thick wooden pillar with a brazen shield, whence by turning of a pipe he

is watered, and serves too for a cupboard to keep his comb and rubbing

clothes. Each rack was iron, and each manger shining copper, and each

nag covered with a scarlet mantle, and above him his bridle and saddle

hung, ready to gallop forth in a minute; and not less than two hundred

horses, whereof twelve score of foreign breed. And we returned to our

inn full of admiration, and the two varlets said sorrowfully, 'Why were

we born with two legs?' And one of the grooms that was civil and had of

me trinkgeld, stood now at his cottage-door and asked us in. There we

found his wife and children of all ages, from five to eighteen, and had

but one room to bide and sleep in, a thing pestiferous and most uncivil.

Then I asked my Servant, knew he this prince? Ay, did he, and had often

drunk with him in a marble chamber above the stable, where, for table,

was a curious and artificial rock, and the drinking vessels hang on its

pinnacles, and at the hottest of the engagement a statue of a horseman

in bronze came forth bearing a bowl of liquor, and he that sat nearest

behoved to drain it. ''Tis well,' said I: 'now for thy penance, whisper

thou in yon prince's ear, that God hath given him his people freely, and

not sought a price for them as for horses. And pray him look inside the

huts at his horse-palace door, and bethink himself is it well to house

his horses, and stable his folk.' Said he, ''Twill give sore offence.'

'But,' said I, 'ye must do it discreetly and choose your time.' So he

promised. And riding on we heard plaintive cries. 'Alas,' said I, 'some

sore mischance hath befallen some poor soul: what may it be?' And we

rode up, and lo! it was a wedding feast, and the guests were plying the

business of drinking sad and silent, but ever and anon cried loud and

dolefully, 'Seyte frolich! Be merry.'

“January 3.--Yesterday between Nurnberg and Augsburg we parted company.

I gave my lord, late Servant, back his brave clothes for mine, but his

horse he made me keep, and five gold pieces, and said he was still my

debtor, his penance it had been slight along of me, but profitable. But

his best word was this: 'I see 'tis more noble to be loved than feared.'

And then he did so praise me as I blushed to put on paper; yet, poor

fool, would fain thou couldst hear his words, but from some other pen

than mine. And the servants did heartily grasp my hand, and wish me good

luck. And riding apace, yet could I not reach Augsburg till the

gates were closed; but it mattered little, for this Augsburg it is

an enchanted city. For a small coin one took me a long way round to

a famous postern called der Einlasse. Here stood two guardians, like

statues. To them I gave my name and business. They nodded me leave to

knock; I knocked; and the iron gate opened with a great noise and hollow

rattling of a chain, but no hand seen nor chain; and he who drew the

hidden chain sits a butt's length from the gate; and I rode in, and the

gate closed with a clang after me. I found myself in a great building

with a bridge at my feet. This I rode over and presently came to a

porter's lodge, where one asked me again my name and business, then rang

a bell, and a great portcullis that barred the way began to rise, drawn

by a wheel overhead, and no hand seen. Behind the portcullis was a thick

oaken door studded with steel. It opened without hand, and I rode into a

hall as dark as pitch. Trembling there a while, a door opened and showed

me a smaller hall lighted. I rode into it: a tin goblet came down from

the ceiling by a little chain: I put two batzen into it, and it went

up again. Being gone, another thick door creaked and opened, and I

rid through. It closed on me with a tremendous clang, and behold me in

Augsburg city. I lay at an inn called 'The Three Moors,' over an hundred

years old; and this morning, according to my way of viewing towns to

learn their compass and shape, I mounted the highest tower I could

find, and setting my dial at my foot surveyed the beautiful city: whole

streets of palaces and churches tiled with copper burnished like gold;

and the house fronts gaily painted and all glazed, and the glass so

clean and burnished as 'tis most resplendent and rare; and I, now first

seeing a great city, did crow with delight, and like cock on his ladder,

and at the tower foot was taken into custody for a spy; for whilst I

watched the city the watchman had watched me. The burgomaster received

me courteously and heard my story; then rebuked he the officers. 'Could

ye not question him yourselves, or read in his face? This is to make our

city stink in strangers' report.' Then he told me my curiosity was of a

commendable sort; and seeing I was a craftsman and inquisitive, bade

his clerk take me among the guilds. God bless the city where the very

burgomaster is cut of Soloman's cloth!

“January 5.--Dear Margaret, it is a noble city, and a kind mother to

arts. Here they cut in wood and ivory, that 'tis like spider's work, and

paint on glass, and sing angelical harmonies. Writing of books is quite

gone by; here be six printers. Yet was I offered a bountiful wage to

write fairly a merchant's accounts, one Fugger, a grand and wealthy

trader, and hath store of ships, yet his father was but a poor weaver.

But here in commerce, her very garden, men swell like mushrooms. And he

bought my horse of me, and abated me not a jot, which way of dealing is

not known in Holland. But oh, Margaret, the workmen of all the guilds

are so kind and brotherly to one another, and to me. Here, methinks,

I have found the true German mind, loyal, frank, and kindly, somewhat

choleric withal, but nought revengeful. Each mechanic wears a sword. The

very weavers at the loom sit girded with their weapons, and all Germans

on too slight occasion draw them and fight; but no treachery: challenge

first, then draw, and with the edge only, mostly the face, not with Sir

Point; for if in these combats one thrust at his adversary and hurt him,

'tis called ein schelemstucke, a heinous act, both men and women turn

their backs on him; and even the judges punish thrusts bitterly, but

pass over cuts. Hence in Germany be good store of scarred faces, three

in five at least, and in France scarce more than one in three.

“But in arts mechanical no citizens may compare with these. Fountains

in every street that play to heaven, and in the gardens seeming trees,

which being approached, one standing afar touches a spring, and

every twig shoots water, and souses the guests to their host's much

delectation. Big culverins of war they cast with no more ado than our

folk horse-shoes, and have done this fourscore years. All stuffs they

weave, and linen fine as ours at home, or nearly, which elsewhere

in Europe vainly shall ye seek. Sir Printing Press--sore foe to poor

Gerard, but to other humans beneficial--plieth by night and day, and

casteth goodly words like sower afield; while I, poor fool, can but sow

them as I saw women in France sow rye, dribbling it in the furrow grain

by grain. And of their strange mechanical skill take two examples. For

ending of exemplary rogues they have a figure like a woman, seven feet

high, and called Jung Frau; but lo, a spring is touched, she seizeth the

poor wretch with iron arms, and opening herself, hales him inside

her, and there pierces him through and through with two score lances.

Secondly, in all great houses the spit is turned not by a scrubby boy,

but by smoke. Ay, mayst well admire, and judge me a lying knave. These

cunning Germans do set in the chimney a little windmill, and the smoke

struggling to wend past, turns it, and from the mill a wire runs through

the wall and turns the spit on wheels; beholding which I doffed my

bonnet to the men of Augsburg, for who but these had ere devised to bind

ye so dark and subtle a knave as Sir Smoke, and set him to roast Dame

Pullet?

“This day, January 8, with three craftsmen of the town, I painted a pack

of cards. They were for a senator, in a hurry. I the diamonds. My queen

came forth with eyes like spring violets, hair a golden brown, and

witching smile. My fellow-craftsmen saw her, and put their arms round

my neck and hailed me master. Oh, noble Germans! No jealousy of a

brother-workman: no sour looks at a stranger; and would have me spend

Sunday with them after matins; and the merchant paid me so richly as I

was ashamed to take the guerdon; and I to my inn, and tried to paint

the queen of diamonds for poor Gerard; but no, she would not come like

again. Luck will not be bespoke. Oh, happy rich man that hath got her!

Fie! fie! Happy Gerard that shall have herself one day, and keep house

with her at Augsburg.

“January 8.--With my fellows, and one Veit Stoss, a wood-carver, and

one Hafnagel, of the goldsmiths' guild, and their wives and lasses,

to Hafnagel's cousin, a senator of this free city, and his stupendous

wine-vessel. It is ribbed like a ship, and hath been eighteen months in

hand, and finished but now, and holds a hundred and fifty hogsheads, and

standeth not, but lieth; yet even so ye get not on his back, withouten

ladders two, of thirty steps. And we sat about the miraculous mass, and

drank Rhenish from it, drawn by a little artificial pump, and the lasses

pinned their crantzes to it, and we danced round it, and the senator

danced on its back, but with drinking of so many garausses, lost his

footing and fell off, glass in hand, and broke an arm and a leg in the

midst of us. So scurvily ended our drinking bout for this time.

“January 10.--This day started for Venice with a company of merchants,

and among them him who had desired me for his scrivener; and so we are

now agreed, I to write at night the letters he shall dict, and other

matters, he to feed and lodge me on the road. We be many and armed, and

soldiers with us to boot, so fear not the thieves which men say lie on

the borders of Italy. But an if I find the printing press at Venice, I

trow I shall not go unto Rome, for man may not vie with iron.

“Imprimit una dies quantum non scribitur anno. And, dearest, something

tells me you and I shall end our days at Augsburg, whence going, I shall

leave it all I can--my blessing.

“January 12.--My master affecteth me much, and now maketh me sit with

him in his horse-litter. A grave good man, of all respected, but sad

for loss of a dear daughter, and loveth my psaltery: not giddy-faced

ditties, but holy harmonies such as Cul de Jatte made wry mouths at. So

many men, so many minds. But cooped in horse-litter and at night writing

his letters, my journal halteth.

“January 14.--When not attending on my good merchant, I consort with

such of our company as are Italians, for 'tis to Italy I wend, and I

am ill seen in Italian tongue. A courteous and a subtle people, at meat

delicate feeders and cleanly: love not to put their left hand in the

dish. They say Venice is the garden of Lombardy, Lombardy the garden of

Italy, Italy of the world.

“January 16.-Strong ways and steep, and the mountain girls so girded up,

as from their armpits to their waist is but a handful. Of all the garbs

I yet have seen, the most unlovely.

“January 18.-In the midst of life we are in death. Oh! dear Margaret,

I thought I had lost thee. Here I lie in pain and dole, and shall

write thee that, which read you it in a romance ye should cry, 'Most

improbable!' And so still wondering that I am alive to write it, and

thanking for it God and the saints, this is what befell thy Gerard.

Yestreen I wearied of being shut up in litter, and of the mule's slow

pace, and so went forward; and being, I know not why, strangely full

of spirit and hope, as I have heard befall some men when on trouble's

brink, seemed to tread on air, and soon distanced them all. Presently I

came to two roads, and took the larger; I should have taken the smaller.

After travelling a good half-hour, I found my error, and returned; and

deeming my company had long passed by, pushed bravely on, but I could

not overtake them; and small wonder, as you shall hear. Then I was

anxious, and ran, but bare was the road of those I sought; and night

came down, and the wild beasts a-foot, and I bemoaned my folly; also I

was hungered. The moon rose clear and bright exceedingly, and presently

a little way off the road I saw a tall windmill. 'Come,' said I, 'mayhap

the miller will take ruth on me.' Near the mill was a haystack, and

scattered about were store of little barrels; but lo they were not

flour-barrels, but tar-barrels, one or two, and the rest of spirits,

Brant vein and Schiedam; I knew them momently, having seen the like in

Holland. I knocked at the mill-door, but none answered. I lifted the

latch, and the door opened inwards. I went in, and gladly, for the night

was fine but cold, and a rime on the trees, which were a kind of lofty

sycamores. There was a stove, but black; I lighted it with some of the

hay and wood, for there was a great pile of wood outside, and I know

not how, I went to sleep. Not long had I slept, I trow, when hearing a

noise, I awoke; and there were a dozen men around me, with wild faces,

and long black hair, and black sparkling eyes.”

Catherine. “Oh, my poor boy! those black-haired ones do still scare me

to look on.”

“I made my excuses in such Italian as I knew, and eking out by

signs. They grinned. 'I had lost my company.' They grinned. 'I was an

hungered.' Still they grinned, and spoke to one another in a tongue I

knew not. At last one gave me a piece of bread and a tin mug of wine,

as I thought, but it was spirits neat. I made a wry face and asked for

water: then these wild men laughed a horrible laugh. I thought to fly,

but looking towards the door it was bolted with two enormous bolts of

iron, and now first, as I ate my bread, I saw it was all guarded too,

and ribbed with iron. My blood curdled within me, and yet I could

not tell thee why; but hadst thou seen the faces, wild, stupid, and

ruthless. I mumbled my bread, not to let them see I feared them; but oh,

it cost me to swallow it and keep it in me. Then it whirled in my brain,

was there no way to escape? Said I, 'They will not let me forth by

the door; these be smugglers or robbers.' So I feigned drowsiness, and

taking out two batzen said, 'Good men, for our Lady's grace let me lie

on a bed and sleep, for I am faint with travel.' They nodded and grinned

their horrible grin, and bade one light a lanthorn and lead me. He took

me up a winding staircase, up, up, and I saw no windows, but the wooden

walls were pierced like a barbican tower, and methinks for the same

purpose, and through these slits I got glimpses of the sky, and thought,

'Shall I e'er see thee again?' He took me to the very top of the mill,

and there was a room with a heap of straw in one corner and many empty

barrels, and by the wall a truckle bed. He pointed to it, and went

downstairs heavily, taking the light, for in this room was a great

window, and the moon came in bright. I looked out to see, and lo, it

was so high that even the mill sails at their highest came not up to my

window by some feet, but turned very slow and stately underneath, for

wind there was scarce a breath; and the trees seemed silver filagree

made by angel craftsmen. My hope of flight was gone.

“But now, those wild faces being out of sight, I smiled at my fears:

what an if they were ill men, would it profit them to hurt me?

Natheless, for caution against surprise, I would put the bed against the

door. I went to move it, but could not. It was free at the head, but at

the foot fast clamped with iron to the floor. So I flung my psaltery on

the bed, but for myself made a layer of straw at the door, so as none

could open on me unawares. And I laid my sword ready to my hand. And

said my prayers for thee and me, and turned to sleep.

“Below they drank and made merry. And hearing this gave me confidence.

Said I, 'Out of sight, out of mind. Another hour and the good Schiedam

will make them forget that I am here.' And so I composed myself to

sleep. And for some time could not for the boisterous mirth below.

At last I dropped off. How long I slept I knew not; but I woke with a

start: the noise had ceased below, and the sudden silence woke me. And

scarce was I awake, when sudden the truckle bed was gone with a loud

clang all but the feet, and the floor yawned, and I heard my psaltery

fall and break to atoms, deep, deep, below the very floor of the mill.

It had fallen into a well. And so had I done, lying where it lay.”

Margaret shuddered and put her face in her hands. But speedily resumed.

“I lay stupefied at first. Then horror fell on me, and I rose, but stood

rooted there, shaking from head to foot. At last I found myself looking

down into that fearsome gap, and my very hair did bristle as I peered.

And then, I remember, I turned quite calm, and made up my mind to die

sword in hand. For I saw no man must know this their bloody secret and

live. And I said, 'Poor Margaret!' And I took out of my bosom, where

they lie ever, our marriage lines, and kissed them again and again. And

I pinned them to my shirt again, that they might lie in one grave with

me, if die I must. And I thought, 'All our love and hopes to end thus!'”

Eli. “Whisht all! Their marriage lines? Give her time! But no word. I

can bear no chat. My poor lad!”

During the long pause that ensued Catherine leaned forward and passed

something adroitly from her own lap under her daughter's apron who sat

next her.

“Presently thinking, all in a whirl, of all that ever passed between us,

and taking leave of all those pleasant hours, I called to mind how one

day at Sevenbergen thou taughtest me to make a rope of straw. Mindest

thou? The moment memory brought that happy day back to me, I cried out

very loud: 'Margaret gives me a chance for life even here.' I woke from

my lethargy. I seized on the straw and twisted it eagerly, as thou didst

teach me, but my fingers trembled and delayed the task. Whiles I wrought

I heard a door open below. That was a terrible moment. Even as I twisted

my rope I got to the window and looked down at the great arms of the

mill coming slowly up, then passing, then turning less slowly down, as

it seemed; and I thought, 'They go not as when there is wind: yet, slow

or fast, what man rid ever on such steed as these, and lived. Yet,' said

I, 'better trust to them and God than to ill men.' And I prayed to Him

whom even the wind obeyeth.

“Dear Margaret, I fastened my rope, and let myself gently down, and

fixed my eye on that huge arm of the mill, which then was creeping up

to me, and went to spring on to it. But my heart failed me at the pinch.

And methought it was not near enow. And it passed calm and awful by. I

watched for another; they were three. And after a little while one crept

up slower than the rest methought. And I with my foot thrust myself in

good time somewhat out from the wall, and crying aloud 'Margaret!' did

grip with all my soul the wood-work of the sail, and that moment was

swimming in the air.”

Giles. “WELL DONE! WELL DONE!”

“Motion I felt little; but the stars seemed to go round the sky, and then

the grass came up to me nearer and nearer, and when the hoary grass was

quite close I was sent rolling along it as if hurled from a catapult,

and got up breathless, and every point and tie about me broken. I rose,

but fell down again in agony. I had but one leg I could stand on.”

Catherine. “Eh! dear! his leg is broke, my boy's leg is broke.”

“And e'en as I lay groaning, I heard a sound like thunder. It was the

assassins running up the stairs. The crazy old mill shook under them.

They must have found that I had not fallen into their bloody trap, and

were running to despatch me. Margaret, I felt no fear, for I had now

no hope. I could neither run nor hide; so wild the place, so bright the

moon. I struggled up all agony and revenge, more like some wounded wild

beast than your Gerard. Leaning on my sword hilt I hobbled round; and

swift as lighting, or vengeance, I heaped a great pile of their hay

and wood at the mill door; then drove my dagger into a barrel of their

smuggled spirits, and flung it on; then out with my tinder and lighted

the pile. 'This will bring true men round my dead body,' said I.

'Aha!' I cried, 'think you I'll die alone, cowards, assassins! reckless

fiends!' and at each word on went a barrel pierced. But oh, Margaret!

the fire fed by the spirits surprised me: it shot up and singed my

very hair, it went roaring up the side of the mill, swift as falls

the lightning; and I yelled and laughed in my torture and despair, and

pierced more barrels and the very tar-barrels, and flung them on. The

fire roared like a lion for its prey, and voices answered it inside from

the top of the mill, and the feet came thundering down, and I stood

as near that awful fire as I could, with uplifted sword to slay and

be slain. The bolt was drawn. A tar-barrel caught fire. The door was

opened. What followed? Not the men came out, but the fire rushed in

at them like a living death, and the first I thought to fight with was

blackened and crumpled on the floor like a leaf. One fearsome yell, and

dumb for ever. The feet ran up again, but fewer. I heard them hack with

their swords a little way up at the mill's wooden sides; but they had

no time to hew their way out: the fire and reek were at their heels, and

the smoke burst out at every loophole, and oozed blue in the moonlight

through each crevice. I hobbled back, racked with pain and fury. There

were white faces up at my window. They saw me. They cursed me. I cursed

them back and shook my naked sword: 'Come down the road I came,' I

cried. 'But ye must come one by one, and as ye come, ye die upon this

steel.' Some cursed at that, but others wailed. For I had them all at

deadly vantage. And doubtless, with my smoke-grimed face and fiendish

rage, I looked a demon. And now there was a steady roar inside the mill.

The flame was going up it as furnace up its chimney. The mill caught

fire. Fire glimmered through it. Tongues of flame darted through each

loophole and shot sparks and fiery flakes into the night. One of the

assassins leaped on to the sail, as I had done. In his hurry he missed

his grasp and fell at my feet, and bounded from the hard ground like

a ball, and never spoke, nor moved again. And the rest screamed like

women, and with their despair came back to me both ruth for them and

hope of life for myself. And the fire gnawed through the mill in placen,

and shot forth showers of great flat sparks like flakes of fiery snow;

and the sails caught fire one after another; and I became a man again

and staggered away terror-stricken, leaning on my sword, from the sight

of my revenge, and with great bodily pain crawled back to the road.

And, dear Margaret, the rimy trees were now all like pyramids of

golden filagree, and lace, cobweb fine, in the red firelight. Oh! most

beautiful! And a poor wretch got entangled in the burning sails, and

whirled round screaming, and lost hold at the wrong time, and hurled

like stone from mangonel high into the air; then a dull thump; it was

his carcass striking the earth. The next moment there was a loud crash.

The mill fell in on its destroyer, and a million great sparks flew up,

and the sails fell over the burning wreck, and at that a million more

sparks flew up, and the ground was strewn with burning wood and men. I

prayed God forgive me, and kneeling with my back to that fiery shambles,

I saw lights on the road; a welcome sight. It was a company coming

towards me, and scarce two furlongs off. I hobbled towards them. Ere I

had gone far I heard a swift step behind me. I turned. One had escaped;

how escaped, who can divine? His sword shone in the moonlight. I feared

him. Methought the ghosts of all those dead sat on that glittering

glaive. I put my other foot to the ground, maugre the anguish, and fled

towards the torches, moaning with pain, and shouting for aid. But what

could I do He gained on me. Behooved me turn and fight. Denys had taught

me sword play in sport. I wheeled, our swords clashed. His clothes

they smelled all singed. I cut swiftly upward with supple hand, and his

dangled bleeding at the wrist, and his sword fell; it tinkled on the

ground. I raised my sword to hew him should he stoop for't. He stood

and cursed me. He drew his dagger with his left; I opposed my point and

dared him with my eye to close. A great shout arose behind me from true

men's throats. He started. He spat at me in his rage, then gnashed his

teeth and fled blaspheming. I turned and saw torches close at hand.

Lo, they fell to dancing up and down methought, and the

next-moment-all-was-dark. I had--ah!”

Catherine. “Here, help! water! Stand aloof, you that be men!”

Margaret had fainted away.

CHAPTER LIV

When she recovered, her head was on Catherine's arm, and the honest half

of the family she had invaded like a foe stood round her uttering rough

homely words of encouragement, especially Giles, who roared at her that

she was not to take on like that. “Gerard was alive and well, or he

could not have writ this letter, the biggest mankind had seen as yet,

and,” as he thought, “the beautifullest, and most moving, and smallest

writ.”

“Ay, good Master Giles,” sighed Margaret feebly, “he was alive. But how

know I what hath since befallen him? Oh, why left he Holland to go among

strangers fierce as lions? And why did I not drive him from me sooner

than part him from his own flesh and blood? Forgive me, you that are his

mother!”

And she gently removed Catherine's arm, and made a feeble attempt to

slide off the chair on to her knees, which, after a brief struggle with

superior force, ended in her finding herself on Catherine's bosom. Then

Margaret held out the letter to Eli, and said faintly but sweetly, “I

will trust it from my hand now. In sooth, I am little fit to read any

more-and-and--loth to leave my comfort;” and she wreathed her other arm

round Catherine's neck.

“Read thou, Richart,” said Eli: “thine eyes be younger than mine.”

Richart took the letter. “Well,” said he, “such writing saw I never. A

writeth with a needle's point; and clear to boot. Why is he not in my

counting-house at Amsterdam instead of vagabonding it out yonder!”

“When I came to myself I was seated in the litter, and my good merchant

holding of my hand. I babbled I know not what, and then shuddered awhile

in silence. He put a horn of wine to my lips.”

Catherine. “Bless him! bless him!”

Eli. “Whisht!”

“And I told him what had befallen. He would see my leg. It was sprained

sore, and swelled at the ankle; and all my points were broken, as I

could scarce keep up my hose, and I said, 'Sir, I shall be but a burden

to you, I doubt, and can make you no harmony now; my poor psaltery it

is broken;' and I did grieve over my broken music, companion of so many

weary leagues. But he patted me on the cheek, and bade me not fret; also

he did put up my leg on a pillow, and tended me like a kind father.

“January 19.--I sit all day in the litter, for we are pushing forward

with haste, and at night the good, kind merchant sendeth me to bed, and

will not let me work. Strange! whene'er I fall in with men like fiends,

then the next moment God still sendeth me some good man or woman, lest I

should turn away from human kind. Oh, Margaret! how strangely mixed they

be, and how old I am by what I was three months agone. And lo! if good

Master Fugger hath not been and bought me a psaltery.”

Catherine. “Eli, my man, an yon merchant comes our way let us buy a

hundred ells of cloth of him, and not higgle.”

Eli. “That will I, take your oath on't!”

While Richart prepared to read, Kate looked at her mother, and with a

faint blush drew out the piece of work from under her apron, and sewed

with head depressed a little more than necessary. On this her mother

drew a piece of work out of her pocket, and sewed too, while Richart

read. Both the specimens these sweet surreptitious creatures now first

exposed to observation were babies' caps, and more than half finished,

which told a tale. Horror! they were like little monks' cowls in shape

and delicacy.

“January 20.--Laid up in the litter, and as good as blind, but halting

to bait, Lombardy plains burst on me. Oh, Margaret! a land flowing

with milk and honey; all sloping plains, goodly rivers, jocund meadows,

delectable orchards, and blooming gardens; and though winter, looks

warmer than poor beloved Holland at midsummer, and makes the wanderer's

face to shine, and his heart to leap for joy to see earth so kind and

smiling. Here be vines, cedars, olives, and cattle plenty, but three

goats to a sheep. The draught oxen wear white linen on their necks, and

standing by dark green olive-trees each one is a picture; and the folk,

especially women, wear delicate strawen hats with flowers and leaves

fairly imitated in silk, with silver mixed. This day we crossed a river

prettily in a chained ferry-boat. On either bank was a windlass, and a

single man by turning of it drew our whole company to his shore, whereat

I did admire, being a stranger. Passed over with us some country folk.

And an old woman looking at a young wench, she did hide her face with

her hand, and held her crucifix out like knight his sword in tourney

dreading the evil eye.

“January 25.--Safe at Venice. A place whose strange and passing beauty

is well known to thee by report of our mariners. Dost mind too how Peter

would oft fill our ears withal, we handed beneath the table, and he

still discoursing of this sea-enthroned and peerless city, in shape a

bow, and its great canal and palaces on piles, and its watery ways plied

by scores of gilded boats; and that market-place of nations, orbis,

non urbis, forum, St. Mark, his place? And his statue with the peerless

jewels in his eyes, and the lion at his gate? But I, lying at my window

in pain, may see none of these beauties as yet, but only a street,

fairly paved, which is dull, and houses with oiled paper and linen,

in lieu of glass, which is rude; and the passers-by, their habits and

their gestures, wherein they are superfluous. Therefore, not to miss my

daily comfort of whispering to thee, I will e'en turn mine eyes inward,

and bind my sheaves of wisdom reaped by travel. For I love thee so, that

no treasure pleases me not shared with thee; and what treasure so good

and enduring as knowledge? This then have I, Sir Footsore, learned, that

each nation hath its proper wisdom, and its proper folly; and methinks,

could a great king, or duke, tramp like me, and see with his own eyes,

he might pick the flowers, and eschew the weeds of nations, and go home

and set his own folk on Wisdom's hill. The Germans in the north were

churlish, but frank and honest; in the south, kindly and honest too.

Their general blot is drunkenness, the which they carry even to mislike

and contempt of sober men. They say commonly, 'Kanstu niecht sauffen und

fressen so kanstu kienem hern wol dienen.' In England, the vulgar sort

drink as deep, but the worshipful hold excess in this a reproach, and

drink a health or two for courtesy, not gluttony, and still sugar the

wine. In their cups the Germans use little mirth or discourse, but ply

the business sadly, crying 'Seyte frolich!' The best of their drunken

sport is 'Kurlemurlehuff,' a way of drinking with touching deftly of the

glass, the beard, the table, in due turn, intermixed with whistlings

and snappings of the finger so curiously ordered as 'tis a labour of

Hercules, but to the beholder right pleasant and mirthful. Their topers,

by advice of German leeches, sleep with pebbles in their mouths. For,

as of a boiling pot the lid must be set ajar, so with these fleshy

wine-pots, to vent the heat of their inward parts: spite of which many

die suddenly from drink; but 'tis a matter of religion to slur it, and

gloze it, and charge some innocent disease therewith. Yet 'tis more a

custom than very nature, for their women come among the tipplers, and

do but stand a moment, and as it were, kiss the wine-cup; and are indeed

most temperate in eating and drinking, and of all women, modest and

virtuous, and true spouses and friends to their mates; far before our

Holland lasses, that being maids, put the question to the men, and being

wived, do lord it over them. Why, there is a wife in Tergou, not far

from our door. One came to the house and sought her man. Says she,

'You'll not find him: he asked my leave to go abroad this afternoon, and

I did give it him.'”

Catherine. “'Tis sooth! 'tis sooth! 'Twas Beck Hulse, Jonah's wife. This

comes of a woman wedding a boy.”

“In the south where wine is, the gentry drink themselves bare; but not

in the north: for with beer a noble shall sooner burst his body than

melt his lands. They are quarrelsome, but 'tis the liquor, not the mind;

for they are none revengeful. And when they have made a bad bargain

drunk, they stand to it sober. They keep their windows bright; and

judge a man by his clothes. Whatever fruit or grain or herb grows by the

roadside, gather and eat. The owner seeing you shall say, 'Art welcome,

honest man.' But an ye pluck a wayside grape, your very life is in

jeopardy. 'Tis eating of that Heaven gave to be drunken. The French are

much fairer spoken, and not nigh so true-hearted. Sweet words cost them

nought. They call it payer en blanche.”

Denys. “Les coquins! ha! ha!”

“Natheless, courtesy is in their hearts, ay, in their very blood. They

say commonly, 'Give yourself the trouble of sitting down.' And such

straws of speech show how blows the wind. Also at a public show, if you

would leave your seat, yet not lose it, tie but your napkin round the

bench, and no French man or woman will sit here; but rather keep the

place for you.”

Catherine. “Gramercy! that is manners. France for me!”

Denys rose and placed his hand gracefully to his breastplate.

“Natheless, they say things in sport which are not courteous, but

shocking. 'Le diable t'emporte!' 'Allez au diable!' and so forth. But

I trow they mean not such dreadful wishes: custom belike. Moderate in

drinking, and mix water with their wine, and sing and dance over their

cups, and are then enchanting company. They are curious not to drink

in another man's cup. In war the English gain the better of them in the

field; but the French are their masters in attack and defence of cities;

witness Orleans, where they besieged their besiegers and hashed them

sore with their double and treble culverines; and many other sieges in

this our century. More than all nations they flatter their women, and

despise them. No. She may be their sovereign ruler. Also they often hang

their female malefactors, instead of drowning them decently, as other

nations use. The furniture in their inns is walnut, in Germany only

deal. French windows are ill. The lower half is of wood, and opens; the

upper half is of glass, but fixed; so that the servant cannot come at

it to clean it. The German windows are all glass, and movable, and shine

far and near like diamonds. In France many mean houses are not glazed

at all. Once I saw a Frenchman pass a church without unbonneting. This

I ne'er witnessed in Holland, Germany, or Italy. At many inns they show

the traveller his sheets, to give him assurance they are clean, and warm

them at the fire before him; a laudable custom. They receive him kindly

and like a guest; they mostly cheat him, and whiles cut his throat.

They plead in excuse hard and tyrannous laws. And true it is their law

thrusteth its nose into every platter, and its finger into every pie.

In France worshipful men wear their hats and their furs indoors, and

go abroad lighter clad. In Germany they don hat and furred cloak to go

abroad; but sit bareheaded and light clad round the stove.

“The French intermix not the men and women folk in assemblies, as we

Hollanders use. Round their preachers the women sit on their heels in

rows, and the men stand behind them. Their harvests are rye, and flax,

and wine. Three mules shall you see to one horse, and whole flocks of

sheep as black as coal.

“In Germany the snails be red. I lie not. The French buy minstrelsy,

but breed jests, and make their own mirth. The Germans foster their set

fools, with ear-caps, which move them to laughter by simulating madness;

a calamity that asks pity, not laughter. In this particular I deem that

lighter nation wiser than the graver German. What sayest thou? Alas!

canst not answer me now.

“In Germany the petty laws are wondrous wise and just. Those against

criminals, bloody. In France bloodier still; and executed a trifle more

cruelly there. Here the wheel is common, and the fiery stake; and under

this king they drown men by the score in Paris river, Seine yclept. But

the English are as peremptory in hanging and drowning for a light fault;

so travellers report. Finally, a true-hearted Frenchman, when ye chance

on one, is a man as near perfect as earth affords; and such a man is my

Denys, spite of his foul mouth.”

Denys. “My foul mouth! Is that so writ, Master Richart?”

Richart. “Ay, in sooth; see else.”

Denys (inspecting the letter gravely). “I read not the letter so.”

Richart. “How then?”

Denys. “Humph! ahem why just the contrary.” He added: “'Tis kittle work

perusing of these black scratches men are agreed to take for words. And

I trow 'tis still by guess you clerks do go, worthy sir. My foul mouth!

This is the first time e'er I heard on't. Eh, mesdames?”

But the females did not seize the opportunity he gave them, and burst

into a loud and general disclaimer. Margaret blushed and said nothing;

the other two bent silently over their work with something very like a

sly smile. Denys inspected their countenances long and carefully. And

the perusal was so satisfactory, that he turned with a tone of injured,

but patient innocence, and bade Richart read on.

“The Italians are a polished and subtle people. They judge a man, not by

his habits, but his speech and gesture. Here Sir Chough may by no

means pass for falcon gentle, as did I in Germany, pranked in my noble

servant's feathers. Wisest of all nations in their singular temperance

of food and drink. Most foolish of all to search strangers coming into

their borders, and stay them from bringing much money in. They should

rather invite it, and like other nations, let the traveller from taking

of it out. Also here in Venice the dames turn their black hair yellow by

the sun and art, to be wiser than Him who made them. Ye enter no Italian

town without a bill of health, though now is no plague in Europe. This

peevishness is for extortion's sake. The innkeepers cringe and fawn, and

cheat, and in country places murder you. Yet will they give you clean

sheets by paying therefor. Delicate in eating, and abhor from putting

their hand in the plate; sooner they will apply a crust or what not.

They do even tell of a cardinal at Rome, which armeth his guest's left

hand with a little bifurcal dagger to hold the meat, while his knife

cutteth it. But methinks this, too, is to be wiser than Him, who made

the hand so supple and prehensile.”

Eli. “I am of your mind, my lad.”

“They are sore troubled with the itch. And ointment for it, unguento per

la rogna, is cried at every corner of Venice. From this my window I saw

an urchin sell it to three several dames in silken trains, and to two

velvet knights.”

Catherine. “Italy, my lass, I rede ye wash your body i' the tub

o' Sundays; and then ye can put your hand i' the plate o' Thursday

withouten offence.”

“Their bread is lovely white. Their meats they spoil with sprinkling

cheese over them; O, perversity! Their salt is black; without a lie. In

commerce these Venetians are masters of the earth and sea; and govern

their territories wisely. Only one flaw I find; the same I once heard

a learned friar cast up against Plato his republic: to wit, that here

women are encouraged to venal frailty, and do pay a tax to the State,

which, not content with silk and spice, and other rich and honest

freights, good store, must trade in sin. Twenty thousand of these

Jezebels there be in Venice and Candia, and about, pampered and honoured

for bringing strangers to the city, and many live in princely palaces of

their own. But herein methinks the politic signors of Venice forget what

King David saith, 'Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh

but in vain.' Also, in religion, they hang their cloth according to the

wind, siding now with the Pope, now with the Turk; but aye with the god

of traders, mammon hight. Shall flower so cankered bloom to the world's

end? But since I speak of flowers, this none may deny them, that they

are most cunning in making roses and gilliflowers to blow unseasonably.

In summer they nip certain of the budding roses and water them not. Then

in winter they dig round these discouraged plants, and put in cloves;

and so with great art rear sweet-scented roses, and bring them to market

in January. And did first learn this art of a cow. Buds she grazed in

summer, and they sprouted at yule. Women have sat in the doctors' chairs

at their colleges. But she that sat in St. Peter's was a German. Italy

too, for artful fountains and figures that move by water and enact life.

And next for fountains is Augsburg, where they harness the foul knave

Smoke to good Sir Spit, and he turneth stout Master Roast. But lest any

one place should vaunt, two towns there be in Europe, which, scorning

giddy fountains, bring water tame in pipes to every burgher's door, and

he filleth his vessels with but turning of a cock. One is London,

so watered this many a year by pipes of a league from Paddington, a

neighbouring city; and the other is the fair town of Lubeck. Also the

fierce English are reported to me wise in that they will not share their

land and flocks with wolves; but have fairly driven those marauders into

their mountains. But neither in France, nor Germany, nor Italy, is a

wayfarer's life safe from the vagabones after sundown. I can hear of no

glazed house in all Venice; but only oiled linen and paper; and behind

these barbarian eyelets, a wooden jalosy. Their name for a cowardly

assassin is 'a brave man,' and for an harlot, 'a courteous person,'

which is as much as to say that a woman's worst vice, and a man's worst

vice, are virtues. But I pray God for little Holland that there an

assassin may be yclept an assassin, and an harlot an harlot, till

domesday; and then gloze foul faults with silken names who can!”

Eli (with a sigh). “He should have been a priest, saving your presence,

my poor lass.”

“January 26.--Sweetheart, I must be brief, and tell thee but a part of

that I have seen, for this day my journal ends. To-night it sails for

thee, and I, unhappy, not with it, but to-morrow, in another ship, to

Rome.

“Dear Margaret, I took a hand litter, and was carried to St. Mark his

church. Outside it, towards the market-place, is a noble gallery, and

above it four famous horses, cut in brass by the ancient Romans, and

seem all moving, and at the very next step must needs leap down on the

beholder. About the church are six hundred pillars of marble, porphyry,

and ophites. Inside is a treasure greater than either, at St. Denys,

or Loretto, or Toledo. Here a jewelled pitcher given the seigniory by a

Persian king, also the ducal cap blazing with jewels, and on its crown

a diamond and a chrysolite, each as big as an almond; two golden crowns

and twelve golden stomachers studded with jewels, from Constantinople;

item, a monstrous sapphire; item, a great diamond given by a French

king; item, a prodigious carbuncle; item, three unicorns' horns. But

what are these compared with the sacred relics?

“Dear Margaret, I stood and saw the brazen chest that holds the body of

St. Mark the Evangelist. I saw with these eyes and handled his ring, and

his gospel written with his own hand, and all my travels seemed light;

for who am I that I should see such things? Dear Margaret, his sacred

body was first brought from Alexandria, by merchants in 810, and then

not prized as now; for between 829, when this church was builded, and

1094, the very place where it lay was forgotten. Then holy priests

fasted and prayed many days seeking for light, and lo! the Evangelist's

body brake at midnight through the marble and stood before them. They

fell to the earth; but in the morning found the crevice the sacred body

had burst through, and peering through it saw him lie. Then they took

and laid him in his chest beneath the altar, and carefully put back the

stone with its miraculous crevice, which crevice I saw, and shall gape

for a monument while the world lasts. After that they showed me the

Virgin's chair, it is of stone; also her picture, painted by St. Luke,

very dark, and the features now scarce visible. This picture, in time of

drought, they carry in procession, and brings the rain. I wish I had

not seen it. Item, two pieces of marble spotted with John the Baptist's

blood; item, a piece of the true cross, and of the pillar to which

Christ was tied; item, the rock struck by Moses, and wet to this hour;

also a stone Christ sat on, preaching at Tyre; but some say it is the

one the patriarch Jacob laid his head on, and I hold with them, by

reason our Lord never preached at Tyre. Going hence, they showed me

the state nursery for the children of those aphrodisian dames, their

favourites. Here in the outer wall was a broad niche, and if they bring

them so little as they can squeeze them through it alive, the bairn

falls into a net inside, and the state takes charge of it, but if too

big, their mothers must even take them home again, with whom abiding

'tis like to be mali corvi mali ovum. Coming out of the church we met

them carrying in a corpse, with the feet and face bare. This I then

first learned is Venetian custom, and sure no other town will ever rob

them of it, nor of this that follows. On a great porphyry slab in the

piazza were three ghastly heads rotting and tainting the air, and in

their hot summers like to take vengeance with breeding of a plague.

These were traitors to the state, and a heavy price--two thousand

ducats--being put on each head, their friends had slain them and brought

all three to the slab, and so sold blood of others and their own faith.

No state buys heads so many, nor pays half so high a price for that

sorry merchandise. But what I most admired was to see over against the

Duke's palace a fair gallows in alabaster, reared express to bring him,

and no other, for the least treason to the state; and there it stands in

his eye whispering him memento mori. I pondered, and owned these signors

my masters, who will let no man, not even their sovereign, be above the

common weal. Hard by, on a wall, the workmen were just finishing, by

order of the seigniory, the stone effigy of a tragical and enormous act

enacted last year, yet on the wall looks innocent. Here two gentle folks

whisper together, and there other twain, their swords by their side.

Four brethren were they, which did on either side conspire to poison the

other two, and so halve their land in lieu of quartering it; and at a

mutual banquet these twain drugged the wine, and those twain envenomed a

marchpane, to such good purpose that the same afternoon lay four 'brave

men' around one table grovelling in mortal agony, and cursing of one

another and themselves, and so concluded miserably, and the land, for

which they had lost their immortal souls, went into another family. And

why not? it could not go into a worse.

“But O, sovereign wisdom of bywords! how true they put the finger on

each nation's, or particular's, fault.

“Quand Italie sera sans poison

Et France sans trahison

Et l'Angleterre sans guerre,

Lors sera le monde sans terre.”

Richart explained this to Catherine, then proceeded: “And after this

they took me to the quay, and presently I espied among the masts one

garlanded with amaranth flowers. 'Take me thither,' said I, and I let

my guide know the custom of our Dutch skippers to hoist flowers to

the masthead when they are courting a maid. Oft had I scoffed at this

saying, 'So then his wooing is the earth's concern. But now, so far from

the Rotter, that bunch at a masthead made my heart leap with assurance

of a countryman. They carried me, and oh, Margaret! on the stern of that

Dutch boy, was written in muckle letters,

RICHART ELIASSOEN, AMSTERDAM.

'Put me down,' I said; 'for our Lady's sake put me down.' I sat on the

bank and looked, scarce believing my eyes, and looked, and presently

fell to crying, till I could see the words no more. Ah me, how they went

to my heart, those bare letters in a foreign land. Dear Richart! good,

kind brother Richart! often I have sat on his knee and rid on his back.

Kisses many he has given me, unkind word from him had I never. And there

was his name on his own ship, and his face and all his grave, but good

and gentle ways, came back to me, and I sobbed vehemently, and cried

aloud, 'Why, why is not brother Richart here, and not his name only?' I

spake in Dutch, for my heart was too full to hold their foreign tongues,

and

Eli. “Well, Richart, go on, lad, prithee go on. Is this a place to halt

at?”