do not leave him; and much I wish, dear knight, you found it possible
to make the same promise. To think of the world without him, is to
think of a very sad thing; but he is rarely mistaken, and in his
opinion he will pass during the spring of next year. Then such as
desire to stay and proceed with their lives after his fashion, will
do so; but not a few of the rising generation propose to explore the
world. Whether their discoveries will turn their feet hither again, who
can say? For my part I was in a mind to stop among those I love and
cherish here; but after your astounding information, it is clearly my
duty to go home, reveal my birth-mark and claim my parentage.”
“I agree with you, Camilla,” declared Sir Jasper, for it was a Sunday
on which these words were spoken, and the knight and the lady returned,
side by side, to the Castle from Morning Prayer.
“It is our Lavender Dragon’s own wish that I should do so,” she
continued. “Indeed, since he has learned the truth about me, he has
even raised the question whether I do well to tarry at all. But my
father and mother have waited so many years that it cannot harm them to
bide still longer in ignorance; and I will never leave L.D. while he
lives. I owe him the little wisdom I possess, and I shall strive to
plan my future life by his precepts wherever I may spend it.”
A vision of amazing beauty stole into the thoughts of Sir Jasper. He
pictured himself returning to the West country with a bride; he saw the
great houses of Tracey and Pomeroy gloriously united; he pictured the
joy of all concerned, the rejoicings, the largesse flying in silver
showers, even the red Devon ox, roasted whole, and the morris dances,
cudgel play, bull baiting and other delights of Merrie England proper
to such an occasion. Incidentally he saw a ring fence round the two
manors.
But he kept these dreams to himself. He had reached a stage at which
the next step must be a declaration of marriage, or speedy departure,
and he suspected that the lady was of the same opinion. But still he
hesitated, until it wanted but three days before the month was ended
and his undertaking to remain at Dragonsville absolved. He felt in dire
need of another opinion at this juncture, for spiritual uneasiness
overtook him in the night watches and he doubted whether these earthly
ambitions much became him. To consult George Pipkin was idle. The
squire had already become affianced to Sally Slater, and the folk
congratulated both man and woman, for George, a resourceful person and
quick to respond to friendship, became a favourite from the first. He
knew Sir Jasper’s plight very well indeed, for his master could not
conceal it. In truth everybody was alive to the situation and when,
finally, the lovesick fellow determined to lay the matter before L.D.
himself, his host showed no surprise. They spoke together after knight
and dragon had bathed side by side in the great central fountain,
before breakfast on a cloudless morning of July; and while the rising
sun glittered over the rose and azure scales of the larger animal and
quickly dried them, Sir Jasper, having resumed his garments, explained
the problem and humbly invited comments and a solution.
“I, of course, am an ‘intellectual’ and apologise for it,” answered
L.D. “It is comparatively easy to write, or lecture, eat hay, drink
water and tell everybody else what they ought to do. This rule of life
gives those who practise it enormous satisfaction and induces them to
suppose that they are the only people who really much matter to the
cosmic scheme. But as I find that to devour red meat, drink red wine
and do things, instead of telling other people to do them, is much
more difficult, my admiration has always been reserved for such as
themselves attempt to advance the work of the world. To pull down is
easier than to build up, and I am entirely on the side of those who
would build, even if their building be faulty; while they who snap and
snarl and spew opposition on everybody who is honestly seeking to help
distracted humanity, leave me cold--even for the cold-blooded reptile,
which I happen to be. In a word it may be said that the heart of man
seeks to build, while the brain of him is chiefly concerned to destroy
the existing order. Both are right and both are vital; and when they
work together in the light of reason, good things must happen. But when
will they?
“Now, you are of the thick-headed, but warm-hearted, order of men who
want to get on with it. And you have fallen in love with a maiden
suited to you in every possible way. She belongs to your own order,
though that matters nothing; but what does matter is that she also
belongs to your own sort of intelligence. She prays to the same God, as
far as it can be said that any two people have the same idea of what
their Maker means; she enjoys the same humanist outlook; she resents
the same wrongs and evils; she is quite as determined as yourself to
leave the world better than she finds it. What more seemly and fitting,
then, than that you twain should wed and presently go forth, nerved and
heartened each by the other, in the glory of a shared love, a shared
trust, and a shared duty to the world? She has already made you happier
than she found you, though at present you do not look it; and you have
brought into her delightful life a deep and mysterious quickening and
wakened her noblest emotions. Thus you have both made the world happier
than you found it already, and what is worrying you is a chimera, a
vague and futile echo of that melancholy hoot, a vanished order of
Christians raised from their burrows, caves and catacombs. The idea
of these estimable, but mistaken, cenobites you will recollect. They
held no happiness seemly in this life, and accounted human love the
invention of the Devil. They did their best to depopulate the earth;
but their claim and clamour were alike unavailing in the face of
Nature, and to-day we all, I think, admit that it is a very seemly and
blessed thing for a healthy man to marry the right woman and to take
a hand in the next generation. But that is a subject not likely to
interest you for the moment. Therefore place your heart at Petronell’s
feet, and if she prove willing to pick it up, wed her, stay with me, as
she intends to do, until I go underground--somewhere about the breaking
of the leaf next year--and then seek your relations together, and go on
doing your duty to the best of your united powers.”
“You have greatly heartened me, my noble friend,” answered Sir Jasper.
“It is almost beyond the dreams of ambition that such a maiden can
stoop to such a man; but I will at least summon courage to approach
her; and if the answer doom me to everlasting sorrow, you will not take
it amiss that I mount my steed, don my armour and go hence.”
“Certainly not,” replied the devious dragon, who already knew that
Petronell loved the lad with devotion. “If she say you nay, I shall be
the first to speed the parting guest.”
Within a week, however, the young people were betrothed, much to their
own delight and the satisfaction of the entire community. The Lavender
Dragon, who never lost an occasion to bring his friends together,
proclaimed a banquet and entertainment of unexampled splendour to
celebrate this engagement, and it was swiftly planned that both Sir
Jasper and his squire should be wedded in the same hour, upon a day
after the harvest had been reaped.
Nicholas Warrender, the dragon’s old seneschal, was master of
the ceremonies on the occasion of this public entertainment; all
Dragonsville came to L.D.’s revel, and features of the joyful event
were certain performances which followed a great midday meal. There
was dancing; there was singing; there were athletic sports and trials
of strength and dexterity. But the special attraction, and that most
vividly remembered, remained to the credit of Sir Jasper and his bride,
George Pipkin and the Lavender Dragon himself.
The knight, his lady and his squire each obliged with a song; while
L.D. told the people a new story.
Sir Jasper’s betrothed sang first, and accompanied herself upon a
lute. The lyric had been composed for that instrument, and Petronell
sang with great charm and natural feeling, though, as she confessed,
there was nothing to admire in either the words, or the music. Yet it
happened that this was the only song she knew: her foster-mother had
taught it to her in childhood.
_SONG FOR A LUTE_
“Margery, Merle and Aveline--
And rarest, fairest Aveline,
Loveliest maids that ever were seen--
Loveliest ever seen,
Wandered beneath the hunter’s moon--
The red, uprising hunter’s moon,
For to find the fairies and beg a boon--
Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling!
Ting! Ting! Ting-a-ling!
Beg for a pixy boon.
“There came a boy along the way--
A pretty boy along the way,
And Margery stopped with him to play--
Margery stopped to play.
Her sisters went through dimpsy light,
By dingles dim through dimpsy light,
And tears of one were falling bright--
Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling!
Ting! Ting! Ting-a-ling!
Tears, they were falling bright.
“A convent by the way they trod--
The dark and dusky path they trod,
Drew weeping Merle at the will of God--
Merle by the will of God.
She entered, and she bides there yet--
A sainted nun she bides there yet,
For love of the boy that Margery met--
Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling!
Ting! Ting! Ting-a-ling!
Boy that Margery met.
“But Aveline by beck and glen--
By starry beck and moony glen
Won to the holt of the pixy men--
Haunt of the pixy men.
And thus spake they to Aveline--
To rarest, fairest Aveline,
‘When the King sees you, he’ll forget the Queen!’
Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling!
Ting! Ting! Ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling!
‘King shall forget the Queen!’”
Everybody applauded Petronell’s singing and refrained from criticising
the song; but Sir Jasper held the accompaniment to be very beautiful,
and the dragon, who used an ear-trumpet on special occasions, declared
the melody tuneful, and hoped that the lady would sing it many times
to him, so that he might better appreciate it; for of music he knew
nothing.
Then Sir Jasper, having indicated to Petronell the tune which she must
play upon her lute to accompany his song, made ready.
“I will give you ‘The Charm,’” he said, “and, though it is long since I
had occasion to sing and I am much out of practice, I will do my best.”
He proceeded in a not unmusical baritone.
_THE CHARM_
“When chafers drone their litany
And pray, ‘Oh, Father, grant that we
From airy-mouse delivered be,’
Go seek--go seek the Charm.
“Under the sky, when a star shoots,
Beneath an oak, when owlet hoots,
Gather ye simples, dig ye roots
To build--to build the Charm.
“That glassy ghost upon a thorn--
The raiment of a snake outworn--
Must backward through the dark be borne
To feed--to feed the Charm.
“A glow-worm--she whose gentle light
Glimmers green-gold upon the night,
Beside yon churchyard aconite--
Shall help--shall help the Charm.
“One willow from the cradle take,
Where a boy baby lies awake,
And splinters off a coffin break
To fortify the Charm.
“A tarnished silver chalice bring
Dead gossips gave at christening,
And dip the moonlight from a spring
To crown--to crown the Charm.
“This much, God wot, a child might do,
Yet all must fail if haply you
Lack a child’s faith, so trusting, true
To bless--to bless the Charm.
“Many the spells of high degree
And fruitful happiness, we see
All lost for faith to set them free
And work--and work the Charm.”
“An excellent song with an excellent moral,” declared Nicholas
Warrender. “But rather monotonous.”
“That is my fault,” confessed Sir Jasper. “If I had sung it better, I
think that you would have liked it better.”
“Or if I had played it better,” added the musician.
Then spoke Sally Slater, who was going to marry Master Pipkin.
“If you please, dear L.D., I don’t think you will like George’s song,
and it may be better if he is silent.”
“Why, Sally?” asked the dragon kindly. “I do not think that George
would sing anything unfit for our ears.”
“That’s just what he’s going to do,” declared Sally, whose face was red
and whose eyes were anxious.
“Explain before you proceed, George,” suggested Sir Jasper.
“It’s like this,” said the squire. “I’m not wishful to sing if none is
wishful to hear. To be honest, the song is about a louse--and why not?”
“There’s not a louse in Dragonsville,” declared the seneschal with
conviction.
“Nevertheless, there are many elsewhere,” replied George, “and God made
them for His own dark purposes.”
The dragon spoke.
“Numerous creatures are quite familiar to us,” he said, “and not a few
seek the hospitality of our homes and persons, whether we cold-shoulder
them or no. They have their own methods of circumventing our hostility,
and the black-beetle persists from generation to generation; the rat
survives, with a determined resistance, despite all that we do against
him; the wolf still makes shift to rear his family and trouble our
shepherds; while many lesser things cling closer than a brother and
will not be denied. Let us by all means pursue our warfare against
them; but let us be just to our enemies, and if some human poet has
struck his lyre to the body-louse, that is his affair. I see no
objection to hearing what he has to say upon the subject with an open
mind.”
Thus encouraged, George stood forth; but Petronell did not offer to
accompany him.
“The song is in two parts, if you please,” explained Pipkin. “The first
part is the louse talking to his Maker.”
He then sang these words in a deep and sonorous bass, which the dragon
had no difficulty in hearing.
_A CHAT_
_Pediculus_
“Almighty One, I grieve to find
That in your everlasting nous,
For reasons hidden from my mind,
Your servant you have made a louse.
“It was your parasitic whim
All creatures that on earth do dwell,
Whether they walk, or fly, or swim,
Should each one give some brother hell.
“From royal lion to agile flea,
Your all-embracing scheme was laid;
From genus homo down to me
The case is thus I am afraid.
“But man’s the super-louse of earth;
He crawls its face, deflowers, defames,
Devours, destroys, brings rapine, dearth,
Deliriums and deaths and shames.
“So what were meaner, viler, worse
Than my hard fate--a louse of lice!
Oh, Father of the Universe,
It isn’t nice; it isn’t nice!”
The singer here broke off and addressed the Lavender Dragon. He felt
conscious that the audience was against him.
“That’s what the creature said to the Creator, your honour; and now,
whether they like it or no, I’m going to sing what he got for his
answer.”
“Certainly, George; one side is only good till we hear the other,”
answered L.D. courteously, and Pipkin finished thus:
_Omnipotence_
“My humble friend, take heart of grace;
There’s many a miracle of Mine
Compared with which your homely race
May honestly be said to shine.
“You are a polished gem beside
The micrococcus I have made;
Your shapely stature, easy stride
Put bacillus quite in the shade.
“But they, and you, and such small fry
Of matter fashioned to assail
Humanity, stand fairly high
In your Creator’s social scale.
“My master-piece and prime device--
My highest flight and true top-hole
Of loathsome horror--are the lice
I send to bite the human soul.
“Could them you see, your heart would freeze
Such loathly spectacles to view.
Be of good cheer: compared with these,
A little gentleman are you!”
There was an ominous silence and nobody applauded.
“I told you they’d hate it,” said Sally.
“A painful theme, George,” declared the dragon. “Nevertheless I am glad
to have heard the song. There is truth in it; but like so many other
true things---- You might write the words from George’s dictation,
Petronell, then I will consider them in private. Do not, however, sing
it again. Sally will teach you some sunnier ditties. Your voice is
admirable.”
After further conversation upon this subject, during which George found
the sense of the company against him and learned, to his confusion,
from Father Lazarus, that his performance approached, if it did not
actually attain blasphemy, the seneschal called for silence and the
dragon made a few remarks before telling his story.
“As you know,” he said, “all my stories have a moral, and the story
that dares to convey a moral must be extra good, or young people
naturally scorn it and grown-up people decline to hear it. A time
is fast coming when no story will be permitted any moral whatever,
and those who attempt stories with morals will be derided for their
pains; but I belong to the old guard in this matter, and the adventure
of a mighty monarch I am now about to relate, cannot be denied its
conclusions. Understand, however, that I do not draw them. I leave them
entirely to the listener, who shall apply or ignore them as he may
prefer.”
The dragon then told his tale, slowly and solemnly. He was himself so
impressed by its moral implications, that he quite failed to see the
funny side, or if he did see it, he pretended not to do so.
SESOSTRIS
This was the name given by the Greeks to that very distinguished
King of Egypt, more generally known as Rameses II, and I shall tell
you a pleasing incident in his career, which reveals this great man
to have possessed an element of common sense rarely met with among
early potentates, who possessed supreme power and held life and death
in their hands. Sesostris enjoyed a plenitude of might and glory
sufficient to turn the head of any lesser king, nor did he deny himself
a certain amount of barbaric licence, or decline to accept what passed
for pleasure in those remote times.
For example, consider the chariot that he used upon great occasions
of State, and, what is still more wonderful to tell, the animals that
drew it. The vehicle itself was constructed of gold and ivory and
composed entirely of the fruits won from victorious invasions. It had
been encrusted with magnificent gems--ruby, sapphire, and diamond--and
cunningly wrought to flash its splendour even on a dull day. Sesostris
himself drove his coach and four and he never failed to attract a
multitude of shouting admirers, for not horse or ass, zebu or zebra,
ostrich or cameleopard drew him. Four captive kings strained at the
harness; and though Sesostris swung and cracked a formidable whip
behind these fallen rulers, in justice to a great man we record that he
never touched his team with it. Such an equipage was not contrived for
speed, but arrogant pomp alone.
Never the stars in all their courses had witnessed any such tremendous
sight as these royal slaves dragging Sesostris about the streets of
Thebes, or Luxor. Tyrants were they, made prisoners in war, and even
their own old subjects would sometimes travel to see this astounding
turn-out, and tremble to witness their monarchs transformed into beasts
of burden.
Of these four rulers condemned to this appalling penalty for unsuccess,
one was a Syrian of ripe age. He occupied the near off position, and
upon an occasion when Sesostris proceeded to offer sacrifice for a good
Nile at the temple of Apis, the royal driver observed this chieftain
cast repeated back glances of extraordinary interest and awe at the
golden wheel of the chariot immediately behind him.
“O King,” enquired Sesostris, pulling up, “do you find anything amiss?”
“Not so, Glory of the Earth, and Life of your People,” answered the
Syrian humbly.
“Then what are you staring at?” asked the ruler of Egypt.
“Sire,” replied the elder. “It happens that we may live a great part of
our lives with some familiar, necessary object and then, suddenly, at
chance prompting of the intellect, or flash of intuition, perceive in
the everyday thing a fresh meaning, an added significance, that lifts
our homely invention to new and notable seriousness, if not solemnity.”
“There is nothing in the least solemn about a chariot wheel, though,
seeing that the spokes were fashioned out of the tusks of your late
herd of white elephants, they doubtless turn your thoughts to gravity,”
replied Sesostris.
“They do indeed,” confessed his royal slave. “But it is the operation
rather than construction of these ivory spokes that gives me my great
thought. Herein I find a parable of enormous significance, and only
wonder how the mightiest brain on the earth at this moment has failed
to note it.”
“You refer to me, no doubt,” replied Sesostris, “and you may rest
assured that I have not missed the meaning of the wheel in our affairs.
Surely the wheel of the potter and the wheel of the vehicle are
landmarks in all human history.”
“There is even more than that I have discerned,” answered the Syrian,
“for behold, as the wheel turns round, how the spoke now nighest earth
slowly ascends until it is above all the other spokes and pointing
heavenwards; but even in the moment of its highest ascension, steadily
and certainly, as the wheel comes full circle, it sinks and sinks,
until it is upon the earth again, while another has taken its pride of
place aloft. O, Glory of the Universe and Topmost Spoke in the Wheel
of the Children of Men, does not this formidable spectacle appal your
heart and chill the purple blood in your most honourable veins?”
Doubtless a lesser man might have resented such a sermon at such a time
and commanded the preacher to lay hold and get on with his task; but
Sesostris, if his mind was not of that majestic dimension his oriental
flatterer pretended, had none the less a very keen wit, and the parable
was well calculated to challenge his practical wisdom and sense of
reality. For a moment he remained silent, weighing the measure of the
thing spoken; and then, with a certain impulsive and honest habit of
mind peculiar to him, he spoke.
“Hear us, my people, and you, our steeds, also give ear. The thing
that this learned tyrant of the East has imparted to us, we find to
be rich with great meaning; and since the grass is never allowed to
grow beneath our royal feet, we determine from this moment to change
our mode of traction, and travel henceforth in a manner more fitted
to human reason and kingly decorum. Greater is that monarch who walks
afoot than he who subjects any fellow man to the indignity of the
shafts.”
Amazed all listened, and then Sesostris turned to his captives and
spoke with a swift and regal generosity.
“Kings,” said he, “we had permitted ourselves to overlook the way of
fate and the immutable vicissitude of every human lot. This grey-haired
Syrian is exceedingly right, even though he has proved us to be
exceedingly wrong. Depart in peace, free men--all four of you! Return
to your nations, that you may govern them with justice and mercy; and
take along with you from our treasure houses, wondrous gifts for each
wife and child, together with rations for your journeys and an escort
worthy of the occasion and its demands. And never more, in this, or
little and uncertain life, let warfare and hatred arise between us to
mar our future friendship.”
He descended from his chariot, embraced each bewildered monarch and
kissed the aged Syrian on both cheeks. Then, raising his hand to stay
the shout of applause lifted around him by the younger generation of
his people, for his counsellors were rather quiet, he spoke again.
“Henceforward, Egypt, when our chariot passes in affairs demanding
circumstance and glory, it shall be drawn by two grey donkeys, in token
of that common sense which is at the root of all progress honestly to
be described as royal. And may they never find any need to talk to us!”
This ended the story of the Lavender Dragon, and the company streamed
out over the Castle grounds, to enjoy dancing, archery, quarterstaff
and other diversions. L.D. himself presented the prizes--a bunch of
flowers for each maiden, a wreath of oak leaves for the men.
IX
_ANOTHER DRAGON GIVES A LOUDER ROAR_
The event of the autumn at Dragonsville was the erection of two
dwellings, one for Sir Jasper and his bride, the other for George
Pipkin, Sally Slater and her sons. According to the custom of the
country, Sir Jasper was allowed no hand in his own habitation; but he
worked as diligently as the rest to make his squire’s future home both
dignified and comfortable. Petronell, too, lent her aid, and when the
walls were raised she painted beautiful pictures inside them; while
upon a knoll hard by, overlooking the river, George Pipkin and half a
hundred willing workers erected a considerable villa for the knight and
his lady.
The weddings were arranged for an early date in October; but while yet
the sun held strength to make the autumn foliage gay and gild the
ripening berries on briar and thorn, there came a remarkable visitor to
Dragonsville.