her mind would recover its old independence until the sense of freedom
was like an intoxication; when she cried out against God that he was
cruel and unjust in his dealings with his creatures, that he had raised
up and given power to the man who held the rod over her, one who in
God's holy name had committed crimes infinitely greater than hers, and
she refused to submit to him--in spite of it all she could never shake
off the terrible thought that in the end, at God's judgment seat, she
would have to answer for her own dark deeds. She could not be free of
her religion. She was like one who tears a written paper to pieces and
scatters the pieces in anger to see them blown away like snow-flakes on
the wind; who by and by discovers one small fragment clinging to his
garments, and looking at the half a dozen words and half words appearing
on it, adds others from memory or of his own invention. So she with what
was left when she thrust her religion away built for herself a different
one which was yet like the old; and even here in this solitude she was
able to find a house and sacred place for meditation and prayer, in
which she prayed indirectly to the God she was at enmity with. For now
invariably on returning from her ride to her house at Amesbury she would
pay a visit to the Great Stones, the ancient temple of Stonehenge.
Dismounting, she would order her attendants to take her horse away and
wait for her at a distance, so as not to be disturbed by the sound of
their talking. Going in she would seat herself on the central or altar
stone and give a little time to meditation--to the tuning of her mind.
That circle of rough-hewn stones, rough with grey lichen, were the
pillars of her cathedral, with the infinite blue sky for roof, and for
incense the smell of flowers and aromatic herbs, and for music the
far-off faintly heard sounds that came to her from the surrounding
wilderness--the tremulous bleating of sheep and the sudden wild cry of
hawk or stone curlew. Closing her eyes she would summon the familiar
image and vision of the murdered boy, always coming so quickly, so
vividly, that she had brought herself to believe that it was not a mere
creation of her own mind and of remorse, a memory, but that he was
actually there with her. Moving her hand over the rough stone she would
by and by let it rest, pressing it on the stone, and would say, Now I
have your hand in mine, and am looking with my soul's eyes into yours,
listen again to the words I have spoken so many times. You would not be
here if you did not remember me and pity and even love me still. Know
then that I am now alone in the world, that I am hated by the world
because of your bitter death. And there is not now one living being in
the world that I love, for I have ceased to love even my own boy, your
old beloved playmate, seeing that he has long been taken from me and
taught with all others to despise and hate me. And of all those who
inhabit the regions above, in all that innumerable multitude of angels
and saints, and of all who have died on earth and been forgiven, you
alone have any feeling of compassion for me and can intercede for me.
Plead for me--plead for me, O my son; for who is there in heaven or
earth that can plead so powerfully for me that am stained with your
blood!
Then, having finished her prayer, and wiped away all trace of tears and
painful emotions, she would summon her attendants and ride home, in
appearance and bearing still the Elfrida of her great days--the calm,
proud-faced, beautiful woman who was once Edgar's queen.
XI
The time had arrived when Elfrida was deprived of this her one relief
and consolation--her rides on the Downs and the exercise of her religion
at the temple of the Great Stones--when in the second winter of her
residence at Amesbury there fell a greater darkness than that of winter
on England, when the pirate kings of the north began once more to
frequent our shores, and the daily dreadful tale of battles and
massacres and burning of villages and monasteries was heard throughout
the kingdom. These invasions were at first confined to the eastern
counties, but the agitation, with movements of men and outbreaks of
lawlessness, were everywhere in the country, and the queen was warned
that it was no longer safe for her to go out on Salisbury Plain.
The close seclusion in which she had now to live, confined to house and
enclosed land, affected her spirits, and this was her darkest period,
and it was also the turning-point in her life. For I now come to the
strange story of her maid Editha, who, despite her humble position in
the house, and albeit she was but a young girl in years, one, moreover,
of a meek, timid disposition, was yet destined to play an exceedingly
important part in the queen's history.
It happened that by chance or design the queen's maid, who was her
closest attendant, who dressed and undressed her, was suddenly called
away on some urgent matter, and this girl Editha, a stranger to all, was
put in her place. The queen, who was in a moody and irritable state,
presently discovered that the sight and presence of this girl produced a
soothing effect on her darkened mind. She began to notice her when the
maid combed her hair, when sitting with half-closed eyes in profound
dejection she first looked attentively at that face behind her head in
the mirror and marvelled at its fairness, the perfection of its lines
and its delicate colouring, the pale gold hair and strangely serious
grey eyes that were never lifted to meet her own.
What was it in this face, she asked herself, that held her and gave some
rest to her tormented spirit? It reminded her of that crystal stream of
sweet and bitter memories, at Wherwell, on which she used to gaze and in
which she used to dip her hands, then to press the wetted hands to her
lips. It also reminded her of an early morning sky, seen beyond and
above the green dew-wet earth, so infinitely far away, so peaceful with
a peace that was not of this earth.
It was not then merely its beauty that made this face so much to her,
but something greater behind it, some inner grace, the peace of God in
her soul.
One day there came for the queen as a gift from some distant town a
volume of parables and fables for her entertainment. It was beautiful to
the sight, being richly bound in silk and gold embroidery; but on
opening it she soon found that there was little pleasure to be got from
it on account of the difficulty she found in reading the crabbed
handwriting. After spending some minutes in trying to decipher a
paragraph or two she threw the book in disgust on the floor.
The maid picked it up, and after a glance at the first page said it was
easy to her, and she asked if the queen would allow her to read it to
her.
Elfrida, surprised, asked how it came about that her maid was able to
read a difficult script with ease, or was able to read at all; and this
was the first question she had condescended to put to the girl. Editha
replied that she had been taught as a child by a great-uncle, a learned
man; that she had been made to read volumes in a great variety of
scripts to him, until reading had come easy to her, both Saxon and
Latin.
Then, having received permission, she read the first fable aloud, and
Elfrida listening, albeit without interest in the tale itself, found
that the voice increased the girl's attraction for her. From that time
the queen made her read to her every day. She would make her sit a
little distance from her, and reclining on her couch, her head resting
on her hand, she would let her eyes dwell on that sweet saint-like face
until the reading was finished.
One day she read from the same book a tale of a great noble, an
earldoman who was ruler under the king of that part of the country where
his possessions were, whose power was practically unlimited and his word
law. But he was a wise and just man, regardful of the rights of others,
even of the meanest of men, so that he was greatly reverenced and loved
by the people. Nevertheless, he too, like all men in authority, both
good and bad, had his enemies, and the chief of these was a noble of a
proud and froward temper who had quarrelled with him about their
respective rights in certain properties where their lands adjoined.
Again and again it was shown to him that his contention was wrong; the
judgments against him only served to increase his bitterness and
hostility until it seemed that there would never be an end to that
strife. This at length so incensed his powerful overlord that he was
forcibly deprived of his possessions and driven out beggared from his
home. But no punishment, however severe, could change his nature; it
only roused him to greater fury, a more fixed determination to have his
revenge, so that outcast as he was his enmity was still to be feared and
he was a danger to the ruler and the community in general. Then, at
last, the great earl said he would suffer this state of things no
longer, and he ordered his men to go out and seek and take him captive
and bring him up for a final judgment. This was done, and the ruler then
said he would not have him put to death as he was advised to do, so as
to be rid of him once for all, but would inflict a greater punishment on
him. He then made them put heavy irons on his ankles, riveted so that
they should never be removed, and condemned him to slavery and to labour
every day in his fields and pleasure-grounds for the rest of his life.
To see his hated enemy reduced to that condition would, he said, be a
satisfaction to him whenever he walked in his gardens.
These stern commands were obeyed, and when the miserable man refused to
do his task and cried out in a rage that he would rather die, he was
scourged until the blood ran from the wounds made by the lash; and at
last, to escape from this torture, he was compelled to obey, and from
morning to night he laboured on the land, planting and digging and doing
whatever there was to do, always watched by his overseer, his food
thrown to him as to a dog; laughed and jeered at by the meanest of the
servants.
After a certain time, when his body grew hardened so that he could
labour all day without pain, and, being fatigued, sleep all night
without waking, though he had nothing but straw on a stone floor to lie
upon; and when he was no longer mocked or punished or threatened with
the lash, he began to reflect more and more on his condition, and to
think that it would be possible to him to make it more endurable. When
brooding on it, when he repined and cursed, it then seemed to him worse
than death; but when, occupied with his task, he forgot that he was the
slave of his enemy, who had overcome and broken him, then it no longer
seemed so heavy. The sun still shone for him as for others; the earth
was as green, the sky as blue, the flowers as fragrant. This reflection
made his misery less; and by and by it came into his mind that it would
be lessened more and more if he could forget that his master was his
enemy and cruel persecutor, who took delight in the thought of his
sufferings; if he could imagine that he had a different master, a great
and good man who had ever been kind to him and whom his sole desire was
to please. This thought working in his mind began to give him a
satisfaction in his toil, and this change in him was noticed by his
taskmaster, who began to see that he did his work with an understanding
so much above that of his fellows that all those who laboured with him
were influenced by his example, and whatsoever the toil was in which he
had a part the work was better done. From the taskmaster this change
became known to the chief head of all the lands, who thereupon had him
set to other more important tasks, so that at last he was not only a
toiler with pick and spade and pruning knife, but his counsel was sought
in everything that concerned the larger works on the land; in forming
plantations, in the draining of wet grounds and building of houses and
bridges and the making of new roads. And in all these works he acquitted
himself well.
Thus he laboured for years, and it all became known to the ruler, who at
length ordered the man to be brought before him to receive yet another
final judgment. And when he stood before him, hairy, dirty and unkempt,
in his ragged raiment, with toil-hardened hands and heavy irons on his
legs, he first ordered the irons to be removed.
The smiths came with their files and hammers, and with much labour took
them off.
Then the ruler, his powerful old enemy, spoke these words to him: I do
not know what your motives were in doing what you have done in all these
years of your slavery; nor do I ask to be told. It is sufficient for me
to know you have done these things, which are for my benefit and are a
debt which must now be paid. You are henceforth free, and the
possessions you were deprived of shall be restored to you, and as to the
past and all the evil thoughts you had of me and all you did against me,
it is forgiven and from this day will be forgotten. Go now in peace.
When this last word had been spoken by his enemy, all that remained of
the old hatred and bitterness went out of him, and it was as if his soul
as well as his feet had been burdened with heavy irons and that they had
now been removed, and that he was free with a freedom he had never known
before.
When the reading was finished, the queen with eyes cast down remained
for some time immersed in thought; then with a keen glance at the maid's
face she asked for the book, and opening it began slowly turning the
leaves. By and by her face darkened, and in a stern tone of voice she
said: Come here and show me in this book the parable you have just read,
and then you shall also show me two or three other parables you have
read to me on former occasions, which I cannot find.
The maid, pale and trembling, came and dropped on her knees and begged
forgiveness for having recited these three or four tales, which she had
heard or read elsewhere and committed to memory, and had pretended to
read them out of the book.
Then the queen in a sudden rage said: Go from me and let me not see you
again if you do not wish to be stripped and scourged and thrust naked
out of the gates! And you only escape this punishment because the deceit
you have been practising on me is, to my thinking, not of your own
invention, but that of some crafty monk who is making you his
instrument.
Editha, terrified and weeping, hurriedly quitted the room.
By and by, when that sudden tempest of rage had subsided, the
despondence, which had been somewhat lightened by the maid's presence,
came back on her so heavily that it was almost past endurance. She rose
and went to her sleeping-room, and knelt before a table on which stood a
crucifix with an image of the Saviour on it--the emblem of the religion
she had so great a quarrel with. But not to pray. Folding her arms on
the table and dropping her face on them she said: What have I done? And
again and again she repeated: What have I done? Was it indeed a monk who
taught her this deceit, or some higher being who put it in her mind to
whisper a hope to my soul? To show me a way of escape from everlasting
death--to labour in his fields and pleasure-grounds, a wretched slave
with irons on her feet, to be scourged and mocked at, and in this state
to cast out hatred and bitterness from my own soul and all remembrance
of the injuries he had inflicted on me--to teach myself through long
miserable years that this powerful enemy and persecutor is a kind and
loving master? This is the parable, and now my soul tells me it would be
a light punishment when I look at the red stains on these hands, and
when the image of the boy I loved and murdered comes back to me. This
then was the message, and I drove the messenger from me with cruel
threats and insult.
Suddenly she rose, and going hurriedly out, called to her maids to bring
Editha to her. They told her the maid had departed instantly on being
dismissed, and had gone upwards of an hour. Then she ordered them to go
and search for her in all the neighbourhood, at every house, and when
they had found her to bring her back by persuasion or by force.
They returned after a time only to say they had sought for her
everywhere and had failed to find or hear any report of her, but that
some of the mounted men who had gone to look for her on the roads had
not yet returned.
Left alone once more she turned to a window which looked towards
Salisbury, and saw the westering sun hanging low in a sky of broken
clouds over the valley of the Avon and the green downs on either side.
And, still communing with herself, she said: I know that I shall not
endure it long--this great fear of God--I know that it will madden me.
And for the unforgiven who die mad there can be no hope. Only the sight
of my maid's face with God's peace in it could save me from madness. No,
I shall not go mad! I shall take it as a sign that I cannot be forgiven
if the sun goes down without my seeing her again. I shall kill myself
before madness comes and rest oblivious of life and all things, even of
God's wrath, until the dreadful waking.
For some time longer she continued standing motionless, watching the
sun, now sinking behind a dark cloud, then emerging and lighting up the
dim interior of her room and her stone-white, desolate face.
Then once more her servants came back, and with them Editha, who had
been found on the road to Salisbury, half-way there.
Left alone together, the queen took the maid by the hand and led her to
a seat, then fell on her knees before her and clasped her legs and
begged her forgiveness. When the maid replied that she had forgiven her,
and tried to raise her up, she resisted, and cried: No, I cannot rise
from my knees nor loose my hold on you until I have confessed to you and
you have promised to save me. Now I see in you not my maid who combs my
hair and ties my shoe-strings, but one that God loves, whom he exalts
above the queens and nobles of the earth, and while I cling to you he
will not strike. Look into this heart that has hated him, look at its
frightful passions, its blood-guiltiness, and have compassion on me! And
if you, O Editha, should reply to me that it is his will, for he has
said it, that every soul shall save itself, show me the way. How shall I
approach him? Teach me humility!
Thus she pleaded and abased herself. Nevertheless it was a hard task she
imposed upon her helper, seeing that humility, of all virtues, was the
most contrary to her nature. And when she was told that the first step
to be taken was to be reconciled to the church, and to the head of the
church, her chief enemy and persecutor, whose monks, obedient to his
command, had blackened her name in all the land, her soul was in fierce
revolt. Nevertheless she had to submit, seeing that God himself through
his Son when on earth and his Son's disciples had established the
church, and by that door only could any soul approach him. So there was
an end to that conflict, and Elfrida, beaten and broken, although ever
secretly hating the tonsured keepers of her soul, set forth under their
guidance on her weary pilgrimage--the long last years of her bitter
expiation.
Yet there was to be one more conflict between the two women--the
imperious mistress and the humble-minded maid. This was when Editha
announced to the other that the time had now come for her to depart. But
the queen wished to keep her, and tried by all means to do so, by
pleading with her and by threatening to detain her by force. Then
repenting her anger and remembering the great debt of gratitude owing to
the girl, she resolved to reward her generously, to bestow wealth on
her, but in such a form that it would appear to the girl as a beautiful
parting gift from one who had loved her: only afterwards, when they were
far apart, would she discover its real value.
A memory of the past had come to her--of that day, sixteen years ago,
when her lover came to her and using sweet flattering words poured out
from a bag a great quantity of priceless jewels into her lap, and of the
joy she had in the gift. Also how from the day of Athelwold's death she
had kept those treasures put away in the same bag out of her sight. Nor
in all the days of her life with Edgar had she ever worn a gem, though
she had always loved to array herself magnificently, but her ornaments
had been gold only, the work of the best artists in Europe. Now, in
imitation of Athelwold, when his manner of bestowing the jewels had so
charmed her, she would bestow them on the girl.
Accordingly when the moment of separation came and Editha was made to
seat herself, the queen standing over her with the bag in her hand said:
Do you, Editha, love all beautiful things? And when the maid had replied
that she did, the other said: Then take these gems, which are beautiful,
as a parting gift from me. And with that she poured out the mass of
glittering jewels into the girl's lap.
But the maid without touching or even looking at them, and with a cry, I
want no jewels! started to her feet so that they were all scattered upon
the floor.
The queen stared astonished at the face before her with its new look of
pride and excitement, then with rising anger she said: Is my maid too
proud then to accept a gift from me? Does she not know that a single one
of those gems thrown on the floor would be more than a fortune to her?
The girl replied in the same proud way: I am not your maid, and gems are
no more to me than pebbles from the brook!
Then all at once recovering her meek, gentle manner she cried in a voice
that pierced the queen's heart: O, not your maid, only your
fellow-worker in our Master's fields and pleasure-grounds! Before I ever
beheld your face, and since we have been together, my heart has bled for
you, and my daily cry to God has been: Forgive her! Forgive her, for his
sake who died for our sins! And this shall I continue to cry though I
shall see you no more on earth. But we shall meet again. Not, O unhappy
queen, at life's end, but long afterwards--long, long years! long ages!
Dropping on her knees she caught and kissed the queen's hand, shedding
abundant tears on it, then rose and was quickly gone.
Elfrida, left to herself, scarcely recovered from the shock of surprise
at that sudden change in the girl's manner, began to wonder at her own
blindness in not having seen through her disguise from the first. The
revelation had come to her only at the last moment in that proud gesture
and speech when her gift was rejected, not without scorn. A child of
nobles great as any in the land, what had made her do this thing? What
indeed but the heavenly spirit that was in her, the spirit that was in
Christ--the divine passion to save!
Now she began to ponder on those last words the maid had spoken, and the
more she thought of them the greater became her sadness until it was
like the approach of death. O terrible words! Yet it was what she had
feared, even when she had dared to hope for forgiveness. Now she knew
what her life after death was to be since the word had been spoken by
those inspired lips. O dreadful destiny! To dwell alone, to tread alone
that desert desolate, that illimitable waste of burning sand stretching
from star to star through infinite space, where was no rock nor tree to
give her shade, no fountain to quench her fiery thirst! For that was how
she imaged the future life, as a desert to be dwelt in until in the end,
when in God's good time--the time of One to whom a thousand years are as
one day--she would receive the final pardon and be admitted to rest in a
green and shaded place.
Overcome with the agonising thought she sank down on her couch and fell
into a faint. In that state she was found by her women, reclining, still
as death, with eyes closed, the whiteness of death in her face; and
thinking her dead they rushed out terrified, crying aloud and lamenting
that the queen was dead.
XII
She was not dead. She recovered from that swoon, but never from the
deep, unbroken sadness caused by those last words of the maid Editha,
which had overcome and nearly slain her. She now abandoned her
seclusion, but the world she returned to was not the old one. The
thought that every person she met was saying in his or her heart: This
is Elfrida; this is the queen who murdered Edward the Martyr, her
step-son, made that world impossible. The men and women she now
consorted with were the religious and ecclesiastics of all degrees, and
abbots and abbesses. These were the people she loved least, yet now into
their hands she deliberately gave herself; and to those who questioned
her, to her spiritual guides, she revealed all her life and thoughts and
passions, opening her soul to their eyes like a manuscript for them to
read and consider; and when they told her that in God's sight she was
guilty of the murder both of Edward and Athelwold, she replied that they
doubtless knew best what was in God's mind, and whatever they commanded
her to do that should be done, and if in her own mind it was not as they
said this could be taken as a defect in her understanding. For in her
heart she was not changed, and had not yet and never would learn the
bitter lesson of humility. Furthermore, she knew better than they what
life and death had in store for her, since it had been revealed to her
by holier lips than those of any priest. Lips on which had been laid a
coal from the heavenly altar, and what they had foretold would come to
pass--that unearthly pilgrimage and purification--that destiny,
dreadful, ineluctable, that made her soul faint to think of it. Here, on
this earth, it was for her to toil, a slave with heavy irons on her
feet, in her master's fields and pleasure-grounds, and these gowned men
with shaven heads, wearing ropes of beads and crucifixes as emblems of
their authority--these were the taskmasters set over her, and to these,
she, Elfrida, one time queen in England, would bend in submission and
humbly confess her sins, and uncomplainingly take whatever austerities
or other punishments they decreed.
Here, then, at Amesbury itself, she began her works of expiation, and
found that she, too, like the unhappy man in the parable, could
experience some relief and satisfaction in her solitary embittered
existence in the work itself.
Having been told that at this village where she was living a monastery
had existed and had been destroyed in the dreadful wars of two to three
centuries ago, she conceived the idea of founding a new one, a nunnery,
and endowing it richly, and accordingly the Abbey of Amesbury was built
and generously endowed by her.