audience and speaking in a solemn voice: "_mutatis mutandis, horresco
referens, da locum melioribus, dux femina facti, humanum est errare, nil
nisi cruce, graviora manent, post nubila Phoebus, sunt lachrimae rerum,
vae victis_."
The last words came with a quiver of the voice, and many wept, for they
did not understand his folly. Then My Lord Rector turned to the fair
body of women students and spoke, seeing only the face of little
Clementine:--
"_Feminae praeclarissimae, credo quia impossibile est, inest Clementia
forti, crede quod habes et habeo, sic itur ad astra, toga virilis, vita
sine literis mors est, varium et mutabile semper femina, vade in
pace_," and with this there was hardly a dry eye in the house. So the
new university was opened.
Needless to say, the success of the undertaking was great. Throughout
the land, bower and hall and dell were left empty, for the maidens had
all gone to the capital to get learning. They no longer wrought fair
figures in the embroidery frames in the great halls of their ancestral
castles, or polished the armor of father and brother, or brewed cordials
for the sick over the glowing coals. They no longer wandered in gowns of
green on their palfreys by hill or dale for the joy of going. By
hundreds they bowed their fair heads before the philosophers as they
lectured, taking notes upon the tablets of their minds, for they did not
know how to write. My Lord Rector, when he spoke, could find no room
large enough to contain his audiences, so he lectured only on sunshiny
days, and stood on a platform in the centre of the great court; and
words of grave nonsense fell from his lips as the light fell on golden
hair or brown. So intently did the maidens listen that they did not
smell the fragrance of the flowers crushed beneath their feet, wild rose
and lily and violet, nor did they hear the beat of the wings of startled
birds, nor see red crest, or golden wing, or blue, flash across the sky.
Being a cunning man and keen, My Lord Rector had left to the flocking
students the choice of the lectures that they should pursue.
"Let them but manage it themselves," he said, smiling wickedly, at a
private audience with the King, "and we shall see great things."
So the maidens met in assembly and consulted gravely together, and
conferred with Rector and with faculty, and presently many branches of
learning were established and all was going with great vigor. Each
student chose for herself what course she should pursue, and it was
pretty to see how maiden whims worked out into hard endeavor.
Black-haired Sylvie specialized in dramatics, for she made, with her
sweeping locks, an excellent tragedy queen; Natalie in athletics, and
she took the standing high-jump better than any knight in Christendom;
golden-haired Amelie devoted all her time to fiddling and giglology, and
soon became proficient; Virginie, of the brown eyes, took ping-pong and
fudge; blue-eyed Sidonie, acrostics and charades; Dorothée took
chattering and cheering, and soon her sweet voice could be heard above
the noise of building, or the roar of battle; while little Clementine
worked at all branches of frivology, and became a great favorite, for in
looks and in manner and in taste she represented that which is most
pleasing in woman.
To tell of all they did and learned and thought would be too long a
tale, and, moreover, the records of much of it have perished, but men
say that their life was both strenuous and merry, and that womankind
blossomed out into new beauty of face and form and mind. The infinite
range of opportunity has been but faintly shadowed forth in the hints
already given; and to those who philosophized and those who poetized,
those who took societies and those who took cuts, life was one long
burst of irrelevant, joyous activity. Most zealous of all the students
was little Clementine. Ceaselessly alert, she listened with upturned
face to lectures in the great flower-grown court; with infantile
audacity she ventured out into vast unknown realms of thought, and
puckered her white forehead in trying to work out the unutterable
syllable. Now she walked the cloisters where the shadow of carven leaf
and tendril fell on her hair, studying a parchment; and again, in
moments of relaxation, she rode her dog-eared pony fast and furiously.
To some this animal may seem strange, but there were many queer
creatures in those days, as Sir John Maundeville tells.
It came to pass, no one knows how, that nothing done by little
Clementine escaped the notice of My Lord Rector, for his eyes followed
her always. When he lectured, he lectured to Clementine; whether he said
words of Latin or of the vulgar tongue, he spoke them to her eyes; and
he was ashamed of the learned nonsense he was speaking when he gazed on
Clementine. Sleeping, he saw her walking so-and-so under the shadow of
Gothic arch with leaf shadows on her face, and he dreamed of taking the
parchment from her white fingers and--But here he always woke, though he
tried to dream farther. Clearly, something had happened to him that
neither his experience as Sir Fool nor as Lord Rector had prepared him
to understand.
Save for this haunting thought, he was very gay behind a solemn face.
Dearly he loved his task, and none but the King and himself heard the
faint tinkle of bells from under his scholar's cap. Always they greeted
each other with Latin words, and they had many conferences wherein they
chuckled together over the success of their plan, for they knew that
they had drawn all these women forth to follow after the very shadow of
learning, and that the end would leave them more ignorant than before.
Always, however, in these moments of mirth, like a stab at the heart
came to the Lord Rector the thought of deception practiced upon
Clementine. Her trusting eyes, lifted to him in uttermost faith,
reproached him by night and by day. If, by force, he put his conscience
from him, he was sure to see her face as she listened, hiding in the
recesses of her heart the silly words he said. Once, as she went alone
toward the lodgings, and he followed at a great distance, a foot-pad set
upon her in a dark corner, where a stone stairway gave shelter to
thieves, and My Lord Rector, rushing forward, struck lustily about him
right and left and felled the knave, taking from him the lady's netted
purse and giving it back to her. She said no word save one of thanks,
but after, when her eyes were raised, he saw that a new light had been
added to the old, and that little Clementine reverenced him not only as
a learned man, but as a brave one, too.
So weeks drifted by, and months, and then came a great event, for the
maidens had determined to carry out a custom that belonged to that olden
time and formed the final test of the scholar. All agreed that
Clementine, brave, childish, perverse little Clementine, should initiate
the new audacity. Therefore, one early morning, when the first rays of
the sun were just peeping over the high stone city wall, she might have
been observed stealing in academic garb of black over her white dress to
the great oak, iron-studded door of the old Palace of Justice. Here,
with a stone, she hammered a long parchment, and she established herself
hard by, so that all who saw her knew that she was there to defend
against all comers the theses she had nailed up. Now there were eight,
and they ran as follows:--
1. That the ineffable and the intangible are not the same.
2. That all that is not, is, and all that seems to be, is not.
3. That--but it would be foolish to transcribe all the theses that
little Clementine defended, for no one would understand. Suffice it to
say that they were subtle beyond the mind of man, and clothed in words
drawn from the deep abyss of the inane, where unborn thought goes ever
crying for birth. One by one her six sisters came against her and
argued, but to no avail, for little Clementine, no less skillful than
David of yore, gathered together verb and adjective and slung them so
unerringly that antagonist after antagonist went down, and she, often
snubbed as being but the youngest, stood forth in the eyes of the
admiring crowd a victor.
The picture that she made, standing against that gray stone wall flecked
with green moss, with a grinning gargoyle leaning down toward her, was
very sweet. In little Clementine the brown hair and the golden hair, the
brown eyes and the gray eyes, of the family met in a peculiarly
bewitching combination that had a chameleon quality of color constantly
changing. Moreover, as she argued in well-chosen words, she was
unconsciously establishing the unspoken thesis:--
That four dimples may exist at the same time in a maiden's face without
seeming too many.
This My Lord Rector saw, and something gave way within him. When the
argument was over and the audience was departing, he called Clementine
to him inside the gate as one who would ask something, and then stood
speechless. The maiden, who was flushed and weary, lifted her scholar's
cap, and he saw, in the locks of hair that were neither brown nor gold,
pearls woven; and above the collar of the gown showed the embroidered
white samite of her dress.
"Little Clementine," said My Lord Rector, "your student life is almost
done. Does that fact cause rejoicing?"
"Nay," said Clementine, casting down her eyes.
"Shall you grieve for anything left behind?"
"Ay," said the maiden.
"And what?" asked My Lord Rector.
"The learned lectures, the dissertations, the wise words," said
Clementine, looking up and dimpling.
"And any special ones?" asked he, wondering if she heard about him the
jingle of bells.
"Ay," said Clementine, smoothing her gown with slim white fingers and
setting her lips together. Not another word would she say, though the
great man begged humbly.
"Clementine," asked My Lord Rector, changing the subject, "shall you
ever wed?"
"If the right man comes," said the maiden.
"And what must he be?"
"He must be very wise."
"Am I wise, little one?" asked the Rector.
"Wisest of all," answered the maiden, whispering.
Then he took her white hand in his and said softly, "_Amo. Amas?_" but
Clementine did not understand a word of Latin. Looking up, however, she
saw something she did understand, and then My Lord Rector bent and
kissed her hand, wisely using the old, old way of wooing that was found
before words, Latin or other, were invented.
Then Clementine drew back trembling and looked, and behold, he who had
been but a wonderful voice was changed, and she saw that he was a man,
and young, and comely, with merry eyes touched with sadness, and a mouth
whose curves were both cynical and sweet.
"Why, why should you choose me?" asked the maiden, in a voice that shook
for reverence.
"Because you are so adorably foolish!" cried the lover, forgetting, and
that was a mistaken speech, which mere words could not explain away.
It was agreed between them that none should know what had befallen until
the day when old Count Benoît and his Lady Myriel came up to the city to
take home their seven daughters, for their work was counted done. So the
two lived a glad life, though they spoke but seldom; often a glance of
the eyes made food for both day and night. All the time My Lord Rector's
conscience pricked him more and more, until he could no longer bear it,
and one day, coming upon Clementine where she passed the path by the
rippling river, near three willow trees that were freshly leaved out,
for it was spring, he told her the tale of how he and the King had
deceived womankind, and, with torture of spirit, confessed himself the
King's Fool. Then Clementine looked up at him with eyes where the gray
and the brown seemed flecked with green, perchance from the shadow of
the willows, and said firmly:--
"I have always seen that they who call themselves fools are the least
so," nor could he ever after by any words of confession shake her
steadfast faith in his wisdom.
At last came the day when Count Benoît arrived, and with him cousins and
other kin from far and near, for all would know something of the strange
new ways in the city. At lecture hour all crowded together in the great
hall, and again the King was there upon the dais, solemn of look, but
merry of heart, for his eyes twinkled under his heavy eyebrows as he
looked at the fair, fresh faces before him, innocent of thought as any
other maidens' faces, and he chuckled to think how he and his dear Fool
had outwitted them all. Then he looked with affection at his trusty
philosophers who stood near in silk robes with slashes of velvet and
hoods of rainbow colors, and he thanked heaven that had given him strong
supporters in the crisis that had threatened his kingdom. Gazing upon
the assembled audience of friends and kinsfolk, he rejoiced to think
that for them, as for him, the country had been saved.
But My Lord Rector was speaking in the Latin tongue, "_ad hoc gradum
admitto ..._," and Sylvie, Natalie, Amelie, Virginie, Sidonie, Dorothée,
and little Clementine, with all the other maidens who had frolicked with
them merrily so long a time, arose, as pretty a sight to see as ever
king in Christendom had before him, and their new honors fell upon
untroubled white foreheads. Then there was sound of rejoicing, and light
shone through the stained windows on the glad faces and gay garments of
the people assembled there; and suddenly, lo! My Lord Rector stepped
from his high place and went to take the hand of little Clementine. With
eyes cast down she followed him, and now she was rosy and now pale, and
so the two kneeled at the feet of the king under the canopy.
"We two do crave your Majesty's blessing," said My Lord Rector, "on our
betrothal."
Then a ripple of wonder and of laughter ran through the great hall, and
his Majesty, smiling, blessed them with extended hands, and as they
rose, he bent forward with a twinkle, whispering:--
"You have done well, My Lord Rector, in carrying out your purpose. It is
pity that you may not marry them all."
For the first time he found no answering jest in his favorite's eyes,
and would have inquired why, but the philosopher who stood nearest, and
had caught the whisper, smiled, and taking Sylvie's hand, led her to the
foot of the throne, saying:--
"But I, your Majesty, may wed this lady with the King's consent, for she
has given hers." Then a second philosopher led forth Natalie, and a
third Amelie, and a fourth Virginie, and a fifth Sidonie, and a sixth
Dorothée, and behold! the seven sisters were again kneeling before the
throne awaiting the King's blessing, but with their lovers at their
sides.
Then his Majesty leaned back his head and roared with laughter till the
vaulted ceiling reëchoed, and tears of mirth ran down his cheeks and
shone upon his beard, and all laughed with him, though they knew not
why, all save My Lord Rector, whose face wore the saddest look a man may
wear.
"Now, was this planned among you?" asked his Majesty.
Then they shook their heads, and each philosopher said:--
"Forsooth, I thought I was the only one," and with that the King roared
again.
In the bustle that followed, when old Count Benoît and his Lady Myriel
hung upon the necks of their seven daughters in turn, the King tapped
the Lord Rector upon the arm.
"You have builded even better than the promise said," whispered his
Majesty. "From this blow shall the aggressive intellect of woman not
arise."
But the Rector looked gloomily upon him and knelt again, and begged that
his Majesty would release him from further service that he might go to
the wars.
"Two parts of the Fool have I played for your Majesty," said the man
bitterly, "and from both I would be released, for you and I have done a
great wrong."
Little Clementine had drawn nearer, and many-colored light of purple and
crimson and gold fell on her fair face and parted lips as she looked in
wonder at her lover. Then the King saw and understood, and he was
ashamed.
"Nay, My Lord Rector," he said, bending low, "what we have done of wrong
we will right. You shall even go on with the task set before you, and
that that you do lack of a wise man shall this woman's faith make good."
THE GENTLE ROBBER
THE
GENTLE ROBBER
[Illustration]
Once there was a robber bold--not that he looked bold, for he had the
gentlest of manners and the most persuasive tongue. It was with a
certain manly shyness that he approached his victims, and his voice was
very low and soft as he convinced them how greatly to their interest it
would be to hand over their purses, so that many went on through the
green forest paths with empty pockets, it is true, but with eyes full of
tears of gratitude for the benefactor who had held them up.
"Pray don't mention it!" said the Robber Chief, as he deprecatingly
thrust into his wallet the purses he had taken and heard the outpoured
thanks. "It is nothing, nothing! You would have done as much for me at
any time if you had"--he never finished his sentence, but the wistful
admiration of the man with empty pockets always added the right
clause--"if you had had the brains."
Now the Gentle Robber, it need hardly be said, was highly successful in
his chosen calling, or, as he put it, "the holy saints had given him
rich possessions." He had started out moderately in a remote corner of
the forest, as became a young and unassuming retail cut-purse, but soon
his domain extended from his own retired dell to the adjacent glade, and
the merry outlaw who had prospered there gave up the business and became
a scrivener's clerk. It was not long before the Robber Chief owned the
whole forest: the title-deeds, to be sure, belonged to the Abbey, which
lay in a fat green meadow at the edge of the wood, but the monks could
not work the forest as the robber could, and whatever harvest of gold
and of silver, of jewels, of rich cloths from the packs of merchants of
the East was to be gathered there, this one man reaped in his own
apologetic way, which always seemed to beg pardon of those who were
despoiled, for doing them so much good at one time. Soon the country
round the forest was his, and yokel, franklin, and squire, Sir Bertram
from the Castle, and the Prior from the Abbey, began to render him
accounts, and it came to pass that the Bishop at the capital city,
Mertoun, and the King upon his throne, and the strong nobles about him
trembled at the robber's name, for the waves of his power flowed out
until they met the waves of the sea.
Dearly the Gentle Robber loved his work in all its aspects, and he was
master of its least details. A brave fight with a sturdy yeoman going
home from market with a half-year's gains was joy to him, and merry in
his ears was the sound of the thwack, thwack, thwack of the oaken staves
as they fell on head and shoulders; an encounter with a rich merchant's
train brought him naught but exhilaration, and the deft, swift hand that
emptied the pack and purse thrilled as it went about its chosen task.
There was slow, sensuous pleasure in stripping off the garments of
knight and of squire and leaving their limbs uncovered to the cold.
Daintiest amusement of all was the spoiling of widow and of orphan:
something of the ascetic lingered in the bosom of the Robber Chief, and
rare and delicate was the task of emptying the scantily furnished
larder, of carrying away the worn clothes, and the single jewel saved
from the wreck of happier days. He found delight in feeling about his
knees the clasp of the thin arms of the naked orphan as it wept for
food, for genius knows no distinction of small and great, and yeoman and
squire, knight and merchant, widow and orphan alike, thrilled him with a
sense of his power, and through their cries sang in his ear the word
"success."
In the course of time it came to pass that he became the chief support
of the kingdom which he had caused to totter as he swept its riches into
his own bulging pockets. When he came to court, as he sometimes did,
wearing grave apparel and showing a modest face, the King leaned
lovingly upon him; was he not financing the war with Binnamere and
causing a half-dozen universities, which had but lately come into
fashion, to rise in different parts of the land? The Bishop conferred
weightily with him in quiet corners; was he not building the great
cathedral which was to be the glory of the city throughout coming ages?
"Nay, nay, nay!" said the Bishop, waving a white, jeweled hand as the
Chief began to divulge some of his larger plans. "Tell me not of thy
wicked schemes! Thy methods I must condemn utterly, but if thou bringest
me the money, well, I can at least see to it that it be not used for bad
purposes. And speaking of money, we need for the walls of the apse a
hundred bags of gold. Dost thou think thou couldst manage it?"
"Ay," said the Gentle Robber, and that night he despoiled nine men,
killing three that resisted longest, for he was a great lover of Holy
Church, and a devout believer, nor could she ask of him any service that
he would not perform.
Now the lust for gold is a strange thing. There be that gather it
together into stockings and go hungry and dirty to the day's end for
gold, and that is the miser's lust. There be that win it and spend it
again freely for delicate food and fiery drink, and this is the
sensualist's lust. There be that get it by cruel means and scatter it
abroad on church and hospital, and this is the philanthropist's lust,
which possessed the Robber Chief. Gold and jewels were piled so high in
his forest cave that he could not see out of its window, and he hardly
knew whether winter snow or the shadow of flickering leaves lay on the
ground, nor could hungry church nor greedy halls of learning lessen his
piles of treasure enough to let the sunlight in.
Far on the edge of the kingdom to eastward lived blunt Sir Guy of
Lamont, and his son and heir was a young squire, Louis by name, who had
grown up much alone, wandering in the greenwood that circled the castle.
Strong of arm and lusty he grew, yet cared not for the hunt, for he was
friend to fox and hare, and the wild deer knew and loved him. Living
close to spreading oak and delicate beech, among green leaves and
nesting things, he began to wear the look of those who see more than
meets the eye, and knight and franklin chaffed him as he sat apart while
they grew merry over mug of ale or glass of wine in his father's hall.
As he dreamed his dreams and thought his thoughts, rumors of the deeds
of the Robber Chief floated to his ears, and he was sorely puzzled. It
was a wandering merchant who brought the tale, spreading out his stuffs
of velvet and of silk over table and settle and chair, and showing three
great fresh sword-cuts on his arm as he spoke:--
"Andrew, my brother, lost his head in the encounter, and it was severed
by a single blow, but I escaped, though there be few that may."
[Illustration: HE BEGAN TO WEAR THE LOOK OF THOSE WHO SEE MORE THAN
MEETS THE EYE]
With that he recounted all the tales that he had heard in his wanderings
of the wrong-doing of this man, and they were many. Sir Guy listened
with "Zounds!" and "'Sdeath!" but the youth said never a word of pity or
of blame; yet, when the story-teller had finished, he marveled at the
lad's eyes. They were gray eyes, with lashes dark and long, and the look
in them was as the look in the eyes of a gentle beast when he is hurt to
the death; then came to them the sudden fire of the avenger of misdeeds.
"My hour has come to fight," said young Louis of Lamont to the great
stag that licked his hand that evening in the forest as the sun went
down in golden haze. "Men do not know this cruel wrong; I must go to
tell them, and mayhap lead them forth with banner and with sword."