CHAPTER XXXVI
"In prison, sir; good lack, for what misdeed?"
"Well, she is a witness, and may be a necessary one."
"Why, Messire Bailiff," put in Denys, "you lay not all your witnesses bythe heels I trow."
The alderman, pleased at being called bailiff, became communicative."In a case of blood we detain all testimony that is like to give us legbail, and so defeat justice, and that is why we still keep the womenfolk. For a man at odd times hides a week in one mind, but a woman, ifshe do her duty to the realm o' Friday, she shall undo it afore Sunday,or try. Could you see yon wench now, you should find her a-blubberingat having betrayed five males to the gallows. Had they been females,we might have trusted to a subpoena. For they despise one another.And there they show some sense. But now I think on't, there were otherreasons for laying this one by the heels. Hand me those depositions,young sir." And he put on his glasses. "Ay! she was implicated; she wasone of the band."
A loud disclaimer burst from Denys and Gerard at once.
"No need to deave me," said the alderman. "Here 'tis in black and white.'Jean Hardy (that is one of the thieves), being questioned, confessedthat--humph? Ay, here 'tis. 'And that the girl Manon was the decoy,and her sweetheart was Georges Vipont, one of the band; and hanged lastmonth: and that she had been deject ever since, and had openly blamedthe band for his death, saying if they had not been rank cowards, he hadnever been taken, and it is his opinion she did but betray them out ofvery spite, and--
"His opinion," cried Gerard indignantly; "what signifies the opinionof a cut-throat, burning to be revenged on her who has delivered him tojustice? And an you go to that, what avails his testimony? Is a thiefnever a liar? Is he not aye a liar? and here a motive to lie? Revenge,why, 'tis the strongest of all the passions. And oh, sir, what madnessto question a detected felon and listen to him lying away an honestlife--as if he were a true man swearing in open day, with his true handon the Gospel laid!"
"Young man," said the alderman, "restrain thy heat in presence ofauthority! I find by your tone you are a stranger. Know then that inthis land we question all the world. We are not so weak as to hope toget at the truth by shutting either our left ear or our right."
"And so you would listen to Satan belying the saints!"
"Ta! ta! The law meddles but with men and women, and these cannotutter a story all lies, let them try ever so. Wherefore we shut not thebarn-door (as the saying is) against any man's grain. Only having takenit in, we do winnow and sift it. And who told you I had swallowed thethief's story whole like fair water? Not so. I did but credit so muchon't as was borne out by better proof."
"Better proof?" and Gerard looked blank. "Why, who but the thieves wouldbreathe a word against her?"
"Marry, herself."
"Herself, sir? what, did you question her too?"
"I tell you we question all the world. Here is her deposition can youread?--Read it yourself, then."
Gerard looked at Denys and read him Manon's deposition.
"I am a native of Epinal. I left my native place two years ago becauseI was unfortunate: I could not like the man they bade me. So my fatherbeat me. I ran away from my father. I went to service. I left servicebecause the mistress was jealous of me. The reason that she gave forturning me off was, because I was saucy. Last year I stood in themarketplace to be hired with other girls. The landlord of 'The FairStar' hired me. I was eleven months with him. A young man courted me. Iloved him. I found out that travellers came and never went away again.I told my lover. He bade me hold my peace. He threatened me. I found mylover was one of a band of thieves. When travellers were to be robbed,the landlord went out and told the band to come. Then I wept and prayedfor the travellers' souls. I never told. A month ago my lover died.
"The soldier put me in mind of my lover. He was bearded like him I hadlost. I cannot tell whether I should have interfered, if he had had nobeard. I am sorry I told now."
The paper almost dropped from Gerard's hands. Now for the first time hesaw that Manon's life was in mortal danger. He knew the dogged law, andthe dogged men that executed it. He threw himself suddenly on his kneesat the alderman's feet. "Oh, sir! think of the difference between thosecruel men and this poor weak woman! Could you have the heart to send herto the same death with them; could you have the heart to condemn us tolook on and see her slaughtered, who, but that she risked her life forours, had not now been in jeopardy? Alas, sir! show me and my comradesome pity, if you have none for her, poor soul. Denys and I be true men,and you will rend our hearts if you kill that poor simple girl. Whatcan we do? What is left for us to do then but cut our throats at hergallows' foot?"
The alderman was tough, but mortal; the prayers and agitation of Gerardfirst astounded, then touched him. He showed it in a curious way. Hebecame peevish and fretful. "There, get up, do," said he. "I doubtwhether anybody would say as many words for me. What ho, Daniel!go fetch the town clerk." And on that functionary entering from anadjoining room, "Here is a foolish lad fretting about yon girl. Canwe stretch a point? say we admit her to bear witness, and question herfavourably."
The town clerk was one of your "impossibility" men.
"Nay, sir, we cannot do that: she was not concerned in this business.Had she been accessory, we might have offered her a pardon to bearwitness."
Gerard burst in, "But she did better. Instead of being accessory, shestayed the crime; and she proffered herself as witness by running hitherwith the tale."
"Tush, young man, 'tis a matter of law." The alderman and the clerk thenhad a long discussion, the one maintaining, the other denying, that shestood as fair in law as if she had been accessory to the attempt onour travellers' lives. And this was lucky for Manon: for the alderman,irritated by the clerk reiterating that he could not do this, and couldnot that, and could not do t'other, said "he would show him he could doanything he chose," And he had Manon out, and upon the landlord of "TheWhite Hart" being her bondsman, and Denys depositing five gold pieceswith him, and the girl promising, not without some coaxing from Denys,to attend as a witness, he liberated her, but eased his conscience bytelling her in his own terms his reason for this leniency.
"The town had to buy a new rope for everybody hanged, and present itto the bourreau, or compound with him in money: and she was not in hisopinion worth this municipal expense, whereas decided characters likeher late confederates, were." And so Denys and Gerard carried her off,Gerard dancing round her for joy, Denys keeping up her heart byassuring her of the demise of a troublesome personage, and she weepinginauspiciously. However, on the road to "The White Hart" the publicfound her out, and having heard the whole story from the archers, whonaturally told it warmly in her favour, followed her hurrahing andencouraging her, till finding herself backed by numbers she plucked upheart. The landlord too saw at a glance that her presence in the innwould draw custom, and received her politely, and assigned her an upperchamber: here she buried herself, and being alone rained tears again.
Poor little mind, it was like a ripple, up and down, down and up, up anddown. Bidding the landlord be very kind to her, and keep her a prisonerwithout letting her feel it, the friends went out: and lo! as theystepped into the street they saw two processions coming towards themfrom opposite sides. One was a large one, attended with noise and howlsand those indescribable cries by which rude natures reveal at odd timesthat relationship to the beasts of the field and forest, which at othertimes we succeed in hiding. The other, very thinly attended by a fewnuns and friars, came slow and silent.
The prisoners going to exposure in the market-place. The gathered bonesof the victims coming to the churchyard.
And the two met in the narrow street nearly at the inn door, and couldnot pass each other for a long time, and the bier, that bore the relicsof mortality, got wedged against the cart that carried the men who hadmade those bones what they were, and in a few hours must die for itthemselves. The mob had not the quick intelligence to be at once struckwith this stern meeting: but at last a woman
cried, "Look at your work,ye dogs!" and the crowd took it like wildfire, and there was a horribleyell, and the culprits groaned and tried to hide their heads upon theirbosoms, but could not, their hands being tied. And there they stood,images of pale hollow-eyed despair, and oh how they looked on the bier,and envied those whom they had sent before them on the dark road theywere going upon themselves! And the two men who were the cause of bothprocessions stood and looked gravely on, and even Manon, hearing thedisturbance, crept to the window, and, hiding her face, peeped tremblingthrough her fingers, as women will.
This strange meeting parted Denys and Gerard. The former yieldedto curiosity and revenge, the latter doffed his bonnet, and piouslyfollowed the poor remains of those whose fate had so nearly been hisown. For some time he was the one lay mourner: but when they had reachedthe suburbs, a long way from the greater attraction that was filling themarket-place, more than one artisan threw down his tools, and morethan one shopman left his shop, and touched with pity or a sense of ourcommon humanity, and perhaps decided somewhat by the example of Gerard,followed the bones bareheaded, and saw them deposited with the prayersof the Church in hallowed ground.
After the funeral rites Gerard stepped respectfully up to the cure, andoffered to buy a mass for their souls.
Gerard, son of Catherine, always looked at two sides of a penny: and hetried to purchase this mass a trifle under the usual terms, on accountof the pitiable circumstances. But the good cure gently but adroitlyparried his ingenuity, and blandly screwed him up to the market price.
In the course of the business they discovered a similarity ofsentiments. Piety and worldly prudence are not very rare companions:still it is unusual to carry both so far as these two men did. Theircollision in the prayer market led to mutual esteem, as when knightencountered knight worthy of his steel. Moreover the good cure loved abit of gossip, and finding his customer was one of those who had foughtthe thieves at Domfront, would have him into his parlour and hear thewhole from his own lips. And his heart warmed to Gerard, and he said"God was good to thee. I thank Him for't with all my soul. Thou arta good lad." He added drily, "Shouldst have told me this tale in thechurchyard. I doubt, I had given thee the mass for love. However," saidhe (the thermometer suddenly falling), "'tis ill luck to go back upon abargain. But I'll broach a bottle of my old Medoc for thee: and fewbe the guests I would do that for." The cure went to his cupboard, andwhile he groped for the choice bottle, he muttered to himself, "At theirold tricks again!"
"Plait-il?" said Gerard.
"I said nought. Ay, here 'tis."
"Nay, your reverence. You surely spoke: you said, 'At their old tricksagain!'"
"Said I so in sooth?" and his reverence smiled. He then proceeded tobroach the wine, and filled a cup for each. Then he put a log of wood onthe fire, for stoves were none in Burgundy. "And so I said 'At their oldtricks!' did I? Come, sip the good wine, and, whilst it lasts, story forstory, I care not if I tell you a little tale."
Gerard's eyes sparkled.
"Thou lovest a story?"
"As my life."
"Nay, but raise not thine expectations too high, neither. 'Tis but afoolish trifle compared with thine adventures."
THE CURE'S TALE.
"Once upon a time, then, in the kingdom of France, and in the duchyof Burgundy, and not a day's journey from the town where now we sita-sipping of old Medoc, there lived a cure. I say he lived; but barely.The parish was small, the parishioners greedy; and never gave theircure a doit more than he could compel. The nearer they brought him to adisembodied spirit by meagre diet, the holier should be his prayers intheir behalf. I know not if this was their creed, but their practicegave it colour.
"At last he pickled a rod for them.
"One day the richest farmer in the place had twins to baptize. The curewas had to the christening dinner as usual; but ere he would baptizethe children, he demanded, not the christening fees only, but the burialfees. 'Saints defend us, parson, cried the mother; 'talk not of burying!I did never see children liker to live.' 'Nor I,' said the cure, 'thepraise be to God. Natheless, they are sure to die, being sons of Adam,as well as of thee, dame. But die when they will, 'twill cost themnothing, the burial fees being paid and entered in this book.' 'For allthat 'twill cost them something,' quoth the miller, the greatest wagin the place, and as big a knave as any; for which was the biggest Godknoweth, but no mortal man, not even the hangman. 'Miller, I tell theenay,' quo' the cure. 'Parson, I tell you ay,' quo' the miller. ''Twillcost them their lives.' At which millstone conceit was a great laugh;and in the general mirth the fees were paid and the Christians made.
"But when the next parishioner's child, and the next after, and all, hadto pay each his burial fee, or lose his place in heaven, discontent didsecretly rankle in the parish. Well, one fine day they met insecret, and sent a churchwarden with a complaint to the bishop, and athunderbolt fell on the poor cure. Came to him at dinner-time a summonsto the episcopal palace, to bring the parish books and answer certaincharges. Then the cure guessed where the shoe pinched. He left his foodon the board, for small his appetite now, and took the parish books andwent quaking.
"The bishop entertained him with a frown, and exposed the plaint.'Monseigneur,' said the cure right humbly, 'doth the parish allege manythings against me, or this one only?' 'In sooth, but this one,' said thebishop, and softened a little. 'First, monseigneur, I acknowledge thefact.' ''Tis well,' quoth the bishop; 'that saves time and trouble. Nowto your excuse, if excuse there be.' 'Monseigneur, I have been cure ofthat parish seven years, and fifty children have I baptized, and buriednot five. At first I used to say, "Heaven be praised, the air of thisvillage is main healthy;" but on searching the register book I found'twas always so, and on probing the matter, it came out that of thoseborn at Domfront, all, but here and there one, did go and get hanged atAix. But this was to defraud not their cure only, but the entire Churchof her dues, since "pendards" pay no funeral fees, being buried in air.Thereupon, knowing by sad experience their greed, and how they grudgethe Church every sou, I laid a trap to keep them from hanging; for,greed against greed, there be of them that will die in their beds liketrue men ere the Church shall gain those funeral fees for nought.'Then the bishop laughed till the tears ran down, and questioned thechurchwarden, and he was fain to confess that too many of the parish didcome to that unlucky end at Aix. 'Then,' said the bishop, 'I do approvethe act, for myself and my successors; and so be it ever, till theymend their manners and die in their beds.' And the next day came theringleaders crestfallen to the cure, and said, 'Parson, ye were evengood to us, barring this untoward matter: prithee let there be no illblood anent so trivial a thing.' And the cure said, 'My children, I wereunworthy to be your pastor could I not forgive a wrong; go in peace, andget me as many children as may be, that by the double fees the cure youlove may miss starvation.'
"And the bishop often told the story, and it kept his memory of the curealive, and at last he shifted him to a decent parish, where he can offera glass of old Medoc to such as are worthy of it. Their name it is notlegion."
A light broke in upon Gerard, his countenance showed it.
"Ay!" said his host, "I am that cure: so now thou canst guess why I said'At their old tricks.' My life on't they have wheedled my successor intoremitting those funeral fees. You are well out of that parish. And so amI."
The cure's little niece burst in, "Uncle, the weighing--la! a stranger!"And burst out.
The cure rose directly, but would not part with Gerard.
"Wet thy beard once more, and come with me."
In the church porch they found the sexton with a huge pair of scales,and weights of all sizes. Several humble persons were standing by, andsoon a woman stepped forward with a sickly child and said, "Be it heavybe it light, I vow, in rye meal of the best, whate'er this child shallweigh, and the same will duly pay to Holy Church, an if he shall casthis trouble. Pray, good people, for this child, and for me his motherhither come in dole and care!"
The child wa
s weighed, and yelled as if the scale had been the font.
"Courage! dame," cried Gerard. "This is a good sign. There is plenty oflife here to battle its trouble."
"Now, blest be the tongue that tells me so," said the poor woman. Shehushed her ponderling against her bosom, and stood aloof watching,whilst another woman brought her child to scale.
But presently a loud, dictatorial voice was heard, "Way there, make wayfor the seigneur!"
The small folk parted on both sides like waves ploughed by a lordlygalley, and in marched in gorgeous attire, his cap adorned by a featherwith a topaz at its root, his jerkin richly furred, satin doublet, redhose, shoes like skates, diamond-hilted sword in velvet scabbard, andhawk on his wrist, "the lord of the manor." He flung himself into thescales as if he was lord of the zodiac as well as the manor: whereat thehawk balanced and flapped; but stuck: then winked.
While the sexton heaved in the great weights, the cure told Gerard, "Mylord had been sick unto death, and vowed his weight in bread and cheeseto the poor, the Church taking her tenth."
"Permit me, my lord; if your lordship continues to press your lordship'sstaff on the other scale, you will disturb the balance."
His lordship grinned and removed his staff, and leaned on it. The curepolitely but firmly objected to that too.
"Mille diables! what am I to do with it, then?" cried the other.
"Deign to hold it out so, my lord, wide of both scales."
When my lord did this, and so fell into the trap he had laid forHoly Church, the good cure whispered to Gerard. "Cretensis incidit inCretensem!" which I take to mean, "Diamond cut diamond." He then saidwith an obsequious air, "If that your lordship grudges Heaven fullweight, you might set the hawk on your lacquey, and so save a pound."
"Gramercy for thy rede, cure," cried the great man, reproachfully."Shall I for one sorry pound grudge my poor fowl the benefit of HolyChurch? I'd as lieve the devil should have me and all my house as her,any day i' the year."
"Sweet is affection," whispered the cure.
"Between a bird and a brute," whispered Gerard.
"Tush!" and the cure looked terrified.
The seigneur's weight was booked, and Heaven I trust and believe did notweigh his gratitude in the balance of the sanctuary. For my unlearnedreader is not to suppose there was anything the least eccentric in theman, or his gratitude to the Giver of health and all good gifts. Menlook forward to death, and back upon past sickness with different eyes.Item, when men drive a bargain, they strive to get the sunny side ofit; it matters not one straw whether it is with man or Heaven they arebargaining. In this respect we are the same now, at bottom, as we werefour hundred years ago: only in those days we did it a grain or two morenaively, and that naivete shone out more palpably, because, in that rudeage, body prevailing over mind, all sentiments took material forms.Man repented with scourges, prayed by bead, bribed the saints with waxtapers, put fish into the body to sanctify the soul, sojourned in coldwater for empire over the emotions, and thanked God for returning healthin 1 cwt. 2 stone 7 lb 3 oz. 1 dwt. of bread and cheese.
Whilst I have been preaching, who preach so rarely and so ill, the goodcure has been soliciting the lord of the manor to step into the church,and give order what shall be done with his great-great-grandfather.
"Ods bodikins! what, have you dug him up?"
"Nay, my lord, he never was buried."
"What, the old dict was true after all?"
"So true that the workmen this very day found a skeleton erect in thepillar they are repairing. I had sent to my lord at once, but I knew hewould be here."
"It is he! 'Tis he!" said his descendant, quickening his pace. "Let usgo see the old boy. This youth is a stranger, I think."
Gerard bowed.
"Know then that my great-great-grandfather held his head high and beingon the point of death, revolted against lying under the aisle with hisforbears for mean folk to pass over. So, as the tradition goes, he sworehis son (my great-grandfather), to bury him erect in one of the pillarsof the church" (here they entered the porch). "'For,' quoth he, 'NO BASEMAN SHALL PASS OVER MY STOMACH.' Peste!" and even while speaking, hislordship parried adroitly with his stick a skull that came hopping athim, bowled by a boy in the middle of the aisle, who took to his heelsyelling with fear the moment he saw what he had done. His lordshiphurled the skull furiously after him as he ran, at which the cure gave ashout of dismay and put forth his arm to hinder him, but was too late.
The cure groaned aloud. And as if this had evoked spirits of mischief,up started a whole pack of children from some ambuscade, and unseen, butheard loud enough, clattered out of the church like a covey rising in athick wood.
"Oh! these pernicious brats," cried the cure. "The workmen cannot go totheir nonemete but the church is rife with them. Pray Heaven they havenot found his late lordship; nay, I mind, I hid his lordship under aworkmen's jerkin, and--saints defend us! the jerkin has been moved."
The poor cure's worst misgivings were realized: the rising generationof the plebians had played the mischief with the haughty old noble. "Thelittle ones had jockeyed for the bones oh," and pocketed such of them asseemed adapted for certain primitive games then in vogue amongst them.
"I'll excommunicate them," roared the curate, "and all their race."
"Never heed," said the scapegrace lord: and stroked his hawk; "there isenough of him to swear by. Put him back! put him back!"
"Surely, my lord, 'tis your will his bones be laid in hallowed earth,and masses said for his poor prideful soul?"
The noble stroked his hawk.
"Are ye there, Master Cure?" said he. "Nay, the business is too old:he is out of purgatory by this time, up or down. I shall not drawmy purse-strings for him. Every dog his day. Adieu, Messires, adieu,ancestor;" and he sauntered off whistling to his hawk and caressing it.
His reverence looked ruefully after him.
"Cretensis incidit in Cretensem," said he sorrowfully. "I thought Ihad him safe for a dozen masses. Yet I blame him not, but that youngne'er-do-weel which did trundle his ancestor's skull at us: for whocould venerate his great-great-grandsire and play football with hishead? Well it behoves us to be better Christians than he is." So theygathered the bones reverently, and the cure locked them up, and forbadethe workmen, who now entered the church, to close up the pillar, till heshould recover by threats of the Church's wrath every atom of my lord.And he showed Gerard a famous shrine in the church. Before it were theusual gifts of tapers, etc. There was also a wax image of a falcon, mostcuriously moulded and coloured to the life, eyes and all. Gerard's eyefell at once on this, and he expressed the liveliest admiration. Thecure assented. Then Gerard asked, "Could the saint have loved hawking?"
The cure laughed at his simplicity. "Nay, 'tis but a statuary hawk. Whenthey have a bird of gentle breed they cannot train, they make his image,and send it to this shrine with a present, and pray the saint to workupon the stubborn mind of the original, and make it ductile as wax: thatis the notion, and methinks a reasonable one, too."
Gerard assented. "But alack, reverend sir, were I a saint, methinks Ishould side with the innocent dove, rather than with the cruel hawk thatrends her."
"By St. Denys you are right," said the cure. "But, que voulez-vous?the saints are debonair, and have been flesh themselves, and know man'sfrailty and absurdity. 'Tis the Bishop of Avignon sent this one."
"What! do bishops hawk in this country?"
"One and all. Every noble person hawks, and lives with hawk on wrist.Why, my lord abbot hard by, and his lordship that has just parted fromus, had a two years' feud as to where they should put their hawks downon that very altar there. Each claimed the right hand of the altar forhis bird."
"What desecration!"
"Nay! nay! thou knowest we make them doff both glove and hawk to takethe blessed eucharist. Their jewelled gloves will they give to a servantor simple Christian to hold: but their beloved hawks they will put downon no place less than the altar."
Gerar
d inquired how the battle of the hawks ended.
"Why, the abbot he yielded, as the Church yields to laymen. He searchedancient books, and found that the left hand was the more honourable,being in truth the right hand, since the altar is east, but lookswestward. So he gave my lord the soi-disant right hand, and contentedhimself with the real right hand, and even so may the Church stilloutwit the lay nobles and their arrogance, saving your presence."
"Nay, sir, I honour the Church. I am convent bred, and owe all I haveand am to Holy Church."
"Ah, that accounts for my sudden liking to thee. Art a gracious youth.Come and see me whenever thou wilt."
Gerard took this as a hint that he might go now. It jumped with his ownwish, for he was curious to hear what Denys had seen and done all thistime. He made his reverence and walked out of the church; but wasno sooner clear of it than he set off to run with all his might: andtearing round a corner, ran into a large stomach, whose owner clutchedhim, to keep himself steady under the shock; but did not release hishold on regaining his equilibrium.
"Let go, man," said Gerard.
"Not so. You are my prisoner."
"Prisoner?"
"Ay."
"What for, in Heaven's name?"
"What for? Why, sorcery."
"SORCERY?"
"Sorcery."