A Monk of Fife<br />Being the Chronicle Written by Norman Leslie of Pitcullo, Concerning Marvellous, Andrew Lang [speld decodable readers TXT] 📗

might, for never had my master wrought so well.  Now, as I studied on the paintings, I well saw that my master had drawn the angel of the pennon in the likeness of his own daughter Elliot.  Wonderful it was to see her fair face and blue eyes, holy and humble, with the gold halo round her head.

“Ah, love,” I said, “that banner I could follow far, pursuing fame and the face of my lady!”

With that we fell into such dalliance and kind speech as lovers use, wholly rapt from the world in our happiness.

Even then, before we so much as heard his step at the door, my master entered, and there stood we, my arm about her neck and hers about my body, embracing me.

He stood with eyes wide open, and gave one long whistle.

“Faith!” he cried, “our surgery hath wrought miracles!  You are whole beyond what I looked for; but surely you are deaf, for my step is heavy enough, yet, me thinks, you heard me not.”

Elliot spoke no word, but drawing me very heedfully to a settle that was by the side of the room, she fled without looking behind her.

“Sir,” I said, as soon as she was gone, “I need make no long story—”

“Faith, no!” he answered, standing back from the banner and holding his hands at each side of his eyes, regarding his work as limners do.  “You twain, I doubt not, were smitten senseless by these great masterpieces, and the thought of the holy use to which they were made.”

“That might well have been, sir, but what we had covenanted to tell you this day we have told unwittingly, methinks, already.  I could not be in your daughter’s company, and have the grace of her gentle ministerings—”

“But you must stand senseless before her father’s paintings?  Faith, you are a very grateful lad!  But so it is, and I am not one of those blind folk who see not what is under their eyes.  And now, what now?  Well, I can tell you.  You are to be healed, and follow these flags to war, and win your spurs, and much wealth by ransoms, and so make my lass your lady.  Is it not so?”

I was abashed by his “bourdes,” and could say nought, for, being still very weak, the tears came into my eyes.  Then he drew near me, limping, and put his hand on my shoulder, but very gently, saying—

“Even so be it, my son, as better may not be.  ’Tis no great match, but I looked, in this country, for nothing nobler or more wealthy.  That my lass should be happy, and have one to fend for her, there is my affair, and I am not one of those fathers who think to make their daughters glad by taking from them their heart’s desire.  So cheer up!  What, a man-at-arms weeping!  Strange times, when maids lead men-at-arms and men-at-arms weep at home!”

With these words he comforted me, and made me welcome, for indeed he was a kind man and a wise; so many there are that cause shrewd sorrow when there should be joy in their houses!  This was never his way, and wise do I call him, for all that has come and gone.

In a little time, when I had thanked him, and shown him, I trow, how he stood in my love, he bade me go to my chamber and be at rest, saying that he must take thought as to how matters stood.

“For you are not yet fit to bear arms, nor will be for these many days.  Nor is it seemly, nor our country’s custom, that my maid should dwell here in the house with you, as things are between you, and I must consider of how I may bestow her till you march with your troop, if marching there is to be.”

This I dared not gainsay, and so I went to my chamber with a heart full of grief and joy, for these hours that are all of gladness come rarely to lovers, and to me were scantly measured.  Perchance it was for my soul’s welfare, to win me from the ways of the world.

But to Elliot and me that night bore no joy, but sorrow, albeit passing.  At supper we met, indeed, but she stayed with us not long after supper, when my master, with a serious countenance, told me how he had taken counsel with a very holy woman, of his own kin, widow of an archer, and how she was going on pilgrimage to our Lady of Puy en Velay, by reason of the jubilee, for this year Good Friday and the Annunciation fell on the same day.

“To-morrow she sets forth, and whatsoever prayer can do for France and the King shall be done.  Always, after this day of jubilee, they say that strange and great matters come to pass.  That there will be strange matters I make no doubt, for when before, save under holy Deborah in Scripture, did men follow a woman to war?  May good come of it!  However it fall out, Elliot is willing to go on pilgrimage, for she is very devout.  Moreover, she tells me that it had been in her mind before, for the mother of that Maid is to be at Puy, praying for her daughter, as, certes, she hath great need, if ever woman had.  And Elliot is fain to meet her and devise with her about the Maid.  And for you, you still need our nursing, and the sooner you win strength, the nearer you are to that which you would win.  Still, I am sorry, lad, for I remember my courting days and the lass’s mother, blessings on her!”

To all this I could make no answer but that his will was mine; and so the day ended in a mingling of gladness and sorrow.

CHAPTER X—HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS OUT OF ALL COMFORT

My brethren the good Benedictine Fathers here in Pluscarden Priory, are wont betimes to be merry over my penitents, for all the young lads and lasses in the glen say they are fain to be shriven by old Father Norman and by no other.

This that my brethren report may well be true, and yet I take no shame in the bruit or “fama.”  For as in my hot youth I suffered sorrows many from love, so now I may say, like that Carthaginian queen in Maro, “miseris succurrere disco.”  The years of the youth of most women and men are like a tourney, or jousts courteous, and many fall in the lists of love, and many carry sorer wounds away from Love’s spears, than they wot of who do but look on from the safe seats and secure pavilions of age.  Though all may seem but a gentle and joyous passage of arms, and the weapons that they use but arms of courtesy, yet are shrewd blows dealt and wounds taken which bleed inwardly, perchance through a whole life long.  To medicine these wounds with kind words is, it may be, part of my poor skill as a healer of souls in my degree, and therefore do the young resort to Father Norman.

Some confessors there be who laugh within their hearts at these sorrows of lovers, as if they were mere “nugae” and featherweights: others there are who wax impatient, holding all love for sin in some degree, and forgetting that Monseigneur St. Peter himself was a married man, and doubtless had his own share of trouble and amorous annoy when he was winning the lady his wife, even as other men.  But if I be of any avail (as they deem) in the healing of hearts, I owe my skill of that surgery to remembrance of the days of my youth, when I found none to give me comfort, save what I won from a book that my master had in hand to copy and adorn, namely, “The Book of One Hundred Ballades, containing Counsel to a Knight, that he should love loyally”; this counsel offered by Messire Lyonnet de Coismes, Messire Jehan de Mailly, the Sieur d’Yvry, and many other good knights that were true lovers.  Verily, in sermons of preachers and lives of holy men I found no such comfort.

Almost the sorest time of my sorrowing was for very grief of heart when Elliot set forth on pilgrimage to Puy en Velay, for we were but newly come together; “twain we were with one heart,” as a maker sang whom once I met in France ere I came back to Scotland; sweetly could he make, but was a young clerk of no godly counsel, and had to name Maître Françoys Villon.  Our heart was one, the heart of Elliot and mine own, and lo! here, in a day, it was torn asunder and we were set apart by the wisdom of men.

I remember me how I lay wakeful on the night before the day when Elliot should depart.  Tossing and turning, I lay till the small fowls brake forth with their songs, and my own thought seemed to come and go, and come again in my head, like the “ritournelle” of the birds.  At last I might not endure, but rose and attired myself very early, and so went down into the chamber.  Thither presently came Elliot, feigning wonder to find me arisen, and making pretence that she was about her housewiferies, but well I wot that she might sleep no more than I.  The old housewife coming and going through the room, there we devised, comforting each other with hopes and prayers; indeed we sorely wanted comfort, because never till we were wed, if ever that should be, might we have such solace of each other’s presence as we desired.  Then I brought from the workshop a sheet of vellum and colours, and the painting tools, and so fashioned a little picture of her, to wear within the breast of my doublet.  A rude thing it was and is, for what gold, however finely handled, could match with her golden hair, whereof, at my desire, she gave me a lock; and of all worldly gear from my secular life, these and the four links of my mother’s chain alone are still mine, and where my heart is there is my treasure.  And she, too, must clip a long curl of my hair, for as yet it was not cut “en ronde,” as archers use to wear it, but when she came again, she said she would find me shrewdly shaven, and then would love me no longer.  Then she laughed and kissed me, and fell to comforting me for that she would not be long away.

“And in three months or four,” she said, “the King will be sacred at Rheims, and the Maid will give you red wine to drink in Paris town, and the English will be swept into the sea, and then we shall have peace and abundance.”

“And then shall we be wedded, and never part,” I cried; whereat she blushed, bidding me not be over bold, for her heart might yet change, and so laughed again; and thus we fleeted the time, till her father came and sent her about disposing such things as she must take with her.  Among these she was set on carrying her jackanapes, to make her merry on the road, though here I was of another counsel.  For in so great a gathering there must be many gangrel folk, and among them, peradventure, the violer woman, who would desire to have the creature given back to her.  But, if it were so, Elliot said she would purchase the jackanapes, “for I am no lifter of other men’s cattle, as all you Scots are, and I am fain to own my jackanapes honestly.”

So she carried him with her, the light chain about her wrist, and he riding on her saddle-bow, for presently, with many banners waving and with singing of hymns, came the troop who wended together on pilgrimage.  Many townsfolk well armed were there to guard their women; the flags of all the crafts were on the wind; the priests carried blessed banners; so with this goodly company, and her confessor, and her father’s old kinswoman, Elliot rode away.  The jackanapes was screeching on her saddle-bow, her yellow hair was lifted on her shoulder with the light breeze; her father rode the first two stages with them.  Merry enough they seemed that went, and the bells were chiming, but I was left alone, my heart empty, or only full of useless longings.  I betook myself, therefore, to a chapel hard by, and there made my orisons for their safety and for good speed to the Maid and her holy enterprise.

Thereafter there was no similitude for me and my unhappy estate, save that of a dog who has lost his master in a strange place,