MADAME, seeing
me pacific and unresentful,
no doubt judged
that I was deceived by her excuse;
for her fright dissolved away,
and she was soon so importunate
to have me give an exhibition
and kill somebody, that the thing
grew to be embarrassing. However,
to my relief she was presently
interrupted by the call to prayers.
I will say this much for the
nobility: that, tyrannical, murderous,
rapacious, and morally rotten
as they were, they were deeply
and enthusiastically religious.
Nothing could divert them from
the regular and faithful performance
of the pieties enjoined by the
Church. More than once I had
seen a noble who had gotten his
enemy at a disadvantage, stop
to pray before cutting his throat;
more than once I had seen a noble,
after ambushing and despatching
his enemy, retire to the nearest
wayside shrine and humbly give
thanks, without even waiting
to rob the body. There was to
be nothing finer or sweeter in
the life of even Benvenuto Cellini,
that rough-hewn saint, ten centuries
later. All the nobles of Britain,
with their families, attended
divine service morning and night
daily, in their private chapels,
and even the worst of them had
family worship five or six times
a day besides. The credit of
this belonged entirely to the
Church. Although I was no friend
to that Catholic Church, I was
obliged to admit this. And often,
in spite of me, I found myself
saying, "What would this country
be without the Church?"
After prayers
we had dinner in a great banqueting
hall which
was lighted by hundreds of grease-jets,
and everything was as fine and
lavish and rudely splendid as
might become the royal degree
of the hosts. At the head of
the hall, on a dais, was the
table of the king, queen, and
their son, Prince Uwaine. Stretching
down the hall from this, was
the general table, on the floor.
At this, above the salt, sat
the visiting nobles and the grown
members of their families, of
both sexes, -- the resident Court,
in effect -- sixty-one persons;
below the salt sat minor officers
of the household, with their
principal subordinates: altogether
a hundred and eighteen persons
sitting, and about as many liveried
servants standing behind their
chairs, or serving in one capacity
or another. It was a very fine
show. In a gallery a band with
cymbals, horns, harps, and other
horrors, opened the proceedings
with what seemed to be the crude
first-draft or original agony
of the wail known to later centuries
as "In the Sweet Bye and Bye." It
was new, and ought to have been
rehearsed a little more. For
some reason or other the queen
had the composer hanged, after
dinner.
After this music, the priest
who stood behind the royal table
said a noble long grace in ostensible
Latin. Then the battalion of
waiters broke away from their
posts, and darted, rushed, flew,
fetched and carried, and the
mighty feeding began; no words
anywhere, but absorbing attention
to business. The rows of chops
opened and shut in vast unison,
and the sound of it was like
to the muffled burr of subterranean
machinery.
The havoc continued an hour
and a half, and unimaginable
was the destruction of substantials.
Of the chief feature of the feast
-- the huge wild boar that lay
stretched out so portly and imposing
at the start -- nothing was left
but the semblance of a hoop-skirt;
and he was but the type and symbol
of what had happened to all the
other dishes.
With the pastries and so on,
the heavy drinking began -- and
the talk. Gallon after gallon
of wine and mead disappeared,
and everybody got comfortable,
then happy, then sparklingly
joyous -- both sexes, -- and
by and by pretty noisy. Men told
anecdotes that were terrific
to hear, but nobody blushed;
and when the nub was sprung,
the assemblage let go with a
horse-laugh that shook the fortress.
Ladies answered back with historiettes
that would almost have made Queen
Margaret of Navarre or even the
great Elizabeth of England hide
behind a handkerchief, but nobody
hid here, but only laughed --
howled, you may say. In pretty
much all of these dreadful stories,
ecclesiastics were the hardy
heroes, but that didn't worry
the chaplain any, he had his
laugh with the rest; more than
that, upon invitation he roared
out a song which was of as daring
a sort as any that was sung that
night.
By midnight everybody was fagged
out, and sore with laughing;
and, as a rule, drunk: some weepingly,
some affectionately, some hilariously,
some quarrelsomely, some dead
and under the table. Of the ladies,
the worst spectacle was a lovely
young duchess, whose wedding-eve
this was; and indeed she was
a spectacle, sure enough. Just
as she was she could have sat
in advance for the portrait of
the young daughter of the Regent
d'Orleans, at the famous dinner
whence she was carried, foul-mouthed,
intoxicated, and helpless, to
her bed, in the lost and lamented
days of the Ancient Regime.
Suddenly, even while the priest
was lifting his hands, and all
conscious heads were bowed in
reverent expectation of the coming
blessing, there appeared under
the arch of the far-off door
at the bottom of the hall an
old and bent and white-haired
lady, leaning upon a crutch-stick;
and she lifted the stick and
pointed it toward the queen and
cried out:
"The wrath
and curse of God fall upon
you, woman without
pity, who have slain mine innocent
grandchild and made desolate
this old heart that had nor chick,
nor friend nor stay nor comfort
in all this world but him!"
Everybody crossed himself in
a grisly fright, for a curse
was an awful thing to those people;
but the queen rose up majestic,
with the death-light in her eye,
and flung back this ruthless
command:
"Lay hands
on her! To the stake with her!"
The guards left their posts
to obey. It was a shame; it was
a cruel thing to see. What could
be done? Sandy gave me a look;
I knew she had another inspiration.
I said:
"Do what you
choose."
She was up and facing toward
the queen in a moment. She indicated
me, and said:
"Madame, HE
saith this may not be. Recall
the commandment,
or he will dissolve the castle
and it shall vanish away like
the instable fabric of a dream!"
Confound it, what a crazy contract
to pledge a person to! What if
the queen --
But my consternation subsided
there, and my panic passed off;
for the queen, all in a collapse,
made no show of resistance but
gave a countermanding sign and
sunk into her seat. When she
reached it she was sober. So
were many of the others. The
assemblage rose, whiffed ceremony
to the winds, and rushed for
the door like a mob; overturning
chairs, smashing crockery, tugging,
struggling, shouldering, crowding
-- anything to get out before
I should change my mind and puff
the castle into the measureless
dim vacancies of space. Well,
well, well, they WERE a superstitious
lot. It is all a body can do
to conceive of it.
The poor queen was so scared
and humbled that she was even
afraid to hang the composer without
first consulting me. I was very
sorry for her -- indeed, any
one would have been, for she
was really suffering; so I was
willing to do anything that was
reasonable, and had no desire
to carry things to wanton extremities.
I therefore considered the matter
thoughtfully, and ended by having
the musicians ordered into our
presence to play that Sweet Bye
and Bye again, which they did.
Then I saw that she was right,
and gave her permission to hang
the whole band. This little relaxation
of sternness had a good effect
upon the queen. A statesman gains
little by the arbitrary exercise
of iron-clad authority upon all
occasions that offer, for this
wounds the just pride of his
subordinates, and thus tends
to undermine his strength. A
little concession, now and then,
where it can do no harm, is the
wiser policy.
Now that the queen was at ease
in her mind once more, and measurably
happy, her wine naturally began
to assert itself again, and it
got a little the start of her.
I mean it set her music going
-- her silver bell of a tongue.
Dear me, she was a master talker.
It would not become me to suggest
that it was pretty late and that
I was a tired man and very sleepy.
I wished I had gone off to bed
when I had the chance. Now I
must stick it out; there was
no other way. So she tinkled
along and along, in the otherwise
profound and ghostly hush of
the sleeping castle, until by
and by there came, as if from
deep down under us, a far-away
sound, as of a muffled shriek
-- with an expression of agony
about it that made my flesh crawl.
The queen stopped, and her eyes
lighted with pleasure; she tilted
her graceful head as a bird does
when it listens. The sound bored
its way up through the stillness
again.
"What is it?" I
said.
"It is truly
a stubborn soul, and endureth
long. It is many
hours now."
"Endureth what?"
"The rack.
Come -- ye shall see a blithe
sight. An he yield
not his secret now, ye shall
see him torn asunder."
What a silky smooth hellion
she was; and so composed and
serene, when the cords all down
my legs were hurting in sympathy
with that man's pain. Conducted
by mailed guards bearing flaring
torches, we tramped along echoing
corridors, and down stone stairways
dank and dripping, and smelling
of mould and ages of imprisoned
night -- a chill, uncanny journey
and a long one, and not made
the shorter or the cheerier by
the sorceress's talk, which was
about this sufferer and his crime.
He had been accused by an anonymous
informer, of having killed a
stag in the royal preserves.
I said:
"Anonymous
testimony isn't just the right
thing, your Highness.
It were fairer to confront the
accused with the accuser."
"I had not
thought of that, it being but
of small consequence.
But an I would, I could not,
for that the accuser came masked
by night, and told the forester,
and straightway got him hence
again, and so the forester knoweth
him not."
"Then is this
Unknown the only person who
saw the stag killed?"
"Marry, NO
man SAW the killing, but this
Unknown saw this hardy
wretch near to the spot where
the stag lay, and came with right
loyal zeal and betrayed him to
the forester."
"So the Unknown
was near the dead stag, too?
Isn't it just
possible that he did the killing
himself? His loyal zeal -- in
a mask -- looks just a shade
suspicious. But what is your
highness's idea for racking the
prisoner? Where is the profit?"
"He will not
confess, else; and then were
his soul lost.
For his crime his life is forfeited
by the law -- and of a surety
will I see that he payeth it!
-- but it were peril to my own
soul to let him die unconfessed
and unabsolved. Nay, I were a
fool to fling me into hell for
HIS accommodation."
"But, your
Highness, suppose he has nothing
to confess?"
"As to that,
we shall see, anon. An I rack
him to death
and he confess not, it will peradventure
show that he had indeed naught
to confess -- ye will grant that
that is sooth? Then shall I not
be damned for an unconfessed
man that had naught to confess
-- wherefore, I shall be safe."
It was the stubborn unreasoning
of the time. It was useless to
argue with her. Arguments have
no chance against petrified training;
they wear it as little as the
waves wear a cliff. And her training
was everybody's. The brightest
intellect in the land would not
have been able to see that her
position was defective.
As we entered the rack-cell
I caught a picture that will
not go from me; I wish it would.
A native young giant of thirty
or thereabouts lay stretched
upon the frame on his back, with
his wrists and ankles tied to
ropes which led over windlasses
at either end. There was no color
in him; his features were contorted
and set, and sweat-drops stood
upon his forehead. A priest bent
over him on each side; the executioner
stood by; guards were on duty;
smoking torches stood in sockets
along the walls; in a corner
crouched a poor young creature,
her face drawn with anguish,
a half-wild and hunted look in
her eyes, and in her lap lay
a little child asleep. Just as
we stepped across the threshold
the executioner gave his machine
a slight turn, which wrung a
cry from both the prisoner and
the woman; but I shouted, and
the executioner released the
strain without waiting to see
who spoke. I could not let this
horror go on; it would have killed
me to see it. I asked the queen
to let me clear the place and
speak to the prisoner privately;
and when she was going to object
I spoke in a low voice and said
I did not want to make a scene
before her servants, but I must
have my way; for I was King Arthur's
representative, and was speaking
in his name. She saw she had
to yield. I asked her to indorse
me to these people, and then
leave me. It was not pleasant
for her, but she took the pill;
and even went further than I
was meaning to require. I only
wanted the backing of her own
authority; but she said:
"Ye will do
in all things as this lord
shall command. It is
The Boss."
It was certainly a good word
to conjure with: you could see
it by the squirming of these
rats. The queen's guards fell
into line, and she and they marched
away, with their torch-bearers,
and woke the echoes of the cavernous
tunnels with the measured beat
of their retreating footfalls.
I had the prisoner taken from
the rack and placed upon his
bed, and medicaments applied
to his hurts, and wine given
him to drink. The woman crept
near and looked on, eagerly,
lovingly, but timorously, --
like one who fears a repulse;
indeed, she tried furtively to
touch the man's forehead, and
jumped back, the picture of fright,
when I turned unconsciously toward
her. It was pitiful to see.
"Lord," I said, "stroke
him, lass, if you want to.
Do anything
you're a mind to; don't mind
me."
Why, her eyes were as grateful
as an animal's, when you do it
a kindness that it understands.
The baby was out of her way and
she had her cheek against the
man's in a minute. and her hands
fondling his hair, and her happy
tears running down. The man revived
and caressed his wife with his
eyes, which was all he could
do. I judged I might clear the
den, now, and I did; cleared
it of all but the family and
myself. Then I said:
"Now, my friend,
tell me your side of this matter;
I know the
other side."
The man moved his head in sign
of refusal. But the woman looked
pleased -- as it seemed to me
-- pleased with my suggestion.
I went on --
"You know of
me?"
"Yes. All do,
in Arthur's realms."
"If my reputation
has come to you right and straight,
you
should not be afraid to speak."
The woman broke in, eagerly:
"Ah, fair my
lord, do thou persuade him!
Thou canst an thou
wilt. Ah, he suffereth so; and
it is for me -- for ME! And how
can I bear it? I would I might
see him die -- a sweet, swift
death; oh, my Hugo, I cannot
bear this one!"
And she fell to sobbing and
grovelling about my feet, and
still imploring. Imploring what?
The man's death? I could not
quite get the bearings of the
thing. But Hugo interrupted her
and said:
"Peace! Ye
wit not what ye ask. Shall
I starve whom I love,
to win a gentle death? I wend
thou knewest me better."
"Well," I said, "I
can't quite make this out.
It is a puzzle.
Now --"
"Ah, dear my
lord, an ye will but persuade
him! Consider how
these his tortures wound me!
Oh, and he will not speak! --
whereas, the healing, the solace
that lie in a blessed swift death
--"
"What ARE you
maundering about? He's going
out from here a free
man and whole -- he's not going
to die."
The man's white face lit up,
and the woman flung herself at
me in a most surprising explosion
of joy, and cried out:
"He is saved!
-- for it is the king's word
by the mouth
of the king's servant -- Arthur,
the king whose word is gold!"
"Well, then
you do believe I can be trusted,
after all.
Why didn't you before?"
"Who doubted?
Not I, indeed; and not she."
"Well, why
wouldn't you tell me your story,
then?"
"Ye had made
no promise; else had it been
otherwise."
"I see, I see....
And yet I believe I don't quite
see, after
all. You stood the torture and
refused to confess; which shows
plain enough to even the dullest
understanding that you had nothing
to confess --"
"I, my lord?
How so? It was I that killed
the deer!"
"You DID? Oh,
dear, this is the most mixed-up
business that
ever --"
"Dear lord,
I begged him on my knees to
confess, but --"
"You DID! It
gets thicker and thicker. What
did you want him
to do that for?"
"Sith it would
bring him a quick death and
save him all
this cruel pain."
"Well -- yes,
there is reason in that. But
HE didn't want the
quick death."
"He? Why, of
a surety he DID."
"Well, then,
why in the world DIDN'T he
confess?"
"Ah, sweet
sir, and leave my wife and
chick without bread
and shelter?"
"Oh, heart
of gold, now I see it! The
bitter law takes the
convicted man's estate and beggars
his widow and his orphans. They
could torture you to death, but
without conviction or confession
they could not rob your wife
and baby. You stood by them like
a man; and YOU -- true wife and
the woman that you are -- you
would have bought him release
from torture at cost to yourself
of slow starvation and death
-- well, it humbles a body to
think what your sex can do when
it comes to self-sacrifice. I'll
book you both for my colony;
you'll like it there; it's a
Factory where I'm going to turn
groping and grubbing automata
into MEN." |