The Life And Death Of Richard Yea And Nay Volume 91 - Maurice Hewlett (i wanna iguana read aloud txt) 📗
- Author: Maurice Hewlett
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Cunning As The One And As Heedless As The Other, If That Is A Possible
Thing. He Was Arrogant, But His Smile Veiled The Fault; You Saw It Best
In A Sleepy Look He Had. His Blemishes Were Many, His Weaknesses Two. He
Trusted To His Own Force Too Much, And Despised Everybody Else In The
World. Not That He Thought Them Knaves; He Was Certain They Were Fools.
And So Most Of Them Were, No Doubt, But Not All. The First Flush Of Him
Moved Your Admiration: Great Height, Great Colour, The Red And The
Yellow; His Beard Which Ran Jutting To A Point And Gave His Jaw The
Clubbed Look Of A Big Cat's; His Shut Mouth, And Cold Considering Eyes;
The Eager Set Of His Head, His Soft, Padding Motions--A Leopard, A
Hunting Leopard, Quick To Strike, But Quick To Change Purpose. This,
Then, Was Richard Yea-And-Nay, Whom All Women Loved, And Very Few Men.
These Require To Be Trusted Before They Love; And Full Trust Richard
Gave To No Man, Because He Could Not Believe Him Worth It. Women Are
More Generous Givers, Expecting Not Again.
Here Was Jehane Saint-Pol, A Girl Of Two-And-Twenty To His
Two-And-Thirty, Well Born, Well Formed, Greatly Desired Among Her Peers,
Who, Having Let Her Soul Be Stolen, Was Prepared To Cut It Out Of
Herself For His Sake Who Took It, And Let It Die. She Was The Creature
Of His Love, In And Out By Now The Work Of His Hands. God Had Given Her
A Magnificent Body, But Richard Had Made It Glow. God Had Made Her Soul
A Fair Room; But His Love Had Filled It With Light, Decked It With
Flowers And Such Artful Furniture. He, In Fact, As She Very Well Knew,
Had Given Her The Grace To Deal Queenly With Herself. She Knew That She
Would Have Strength To Deny Him, Having Learned The Hardihood To Give
Him Her Soul. Fate Had Carried Her Too Young Into The Arms Of The Most
Glorious Prince In The World. Her Brother, Eudo The Count, Built Castles
On That In His Head. Now She Was To Tumble Them Down. Her Younger
Brother, Eustace, Loved This Splendid Richard. Now She Was To Hurt Him.
What Was To Become Of Herself? Mercy Upon Her, I Believe She Never
Thought Of That. His Honour Was Her Necessity: The Watch-Fires In The
North Told Her The Hour Was At Hand. The Old King Was Come Up With A
Host To Drive His Son To Bed. Richard Must Go, And She Woo Him Out. Son
Of A King, Heir Of A King, He Must Go To The King His Father; And He
Knew He Must Go. Two Days' Maddening Delight, Two Nights' Biting Of
Nails, Miserable Entreaty From Jehane, Grown Newly Pinched And Grey In
The Face, And He Owned It.
He Said To Her The Last Night, 'When I Saw You First, My Queen Of Snows,
In The Tribune At Vézelay, When The Knights Rode By For The Melée, The
Green Light From Your Eyes Shot Me, And Wounded I Cried Out, "That Maid
Or None!"'
She Bowed Her Head; But He Went On. 'When They Throned You Queen Of Them
All Because You Were So Proud And Still, And Had Such A High Untroubled
Head; And When Your Sleeve Was In My Helm, And My Heart In Your Lap, And
Men Fallen To My Spear Were Sent To Kneel Before You--What Caused Your
Cheek To Burn And Your Eyes To Shine So Bright?'
She Hid Her Face. 'Homage Of The Knights! The Love Of Me!' He Cried; And
Then, 'Ah, Jehane Of The Fair Girdle, When I Took You From The Pastures
Of Gisors, When I Taught You Love And Learned From Your Young Mouth What
Love Might Be, I Was Made Man. But Now You Ask Me To Become Dog.' And He
Swore Yet Again He Could Never Leave Her. But She Smiled Proudly, Being
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 1 (Of Count Richard And The Fires By Night) Pg 7In Pain. 'Nay, My Lord, But The Man In You Is Awake, And Not To Leave
You. You Shall Go Because You Are The King's Son, And I Shall Pray For
The New King.' So She Beat Him, And Had Him Weeping Terribly, His Face
In Her Lap. She Wept No More, But Dry-Eyed Kissed Him, And Dry-Lipped
Went To Bed. 'He Said Yea That Time,' Records The Abbot Milo, 'But I
Never Knew Then What She Paid For It. That Was Later.' He Went Next
Morning, And She Saw Him Go.
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 2 (How The Fair Jehane Bestowed Herself) Pg 8Betimes Is Best For An Ugly Business; Your Man Of Spirit Will Always
Rush What He Loathes But Yet Must Do. Count Richard Of Poictou, Having
Made Up His Mind And Confessed Himself Overnight, Must Leave With The
First Cock Of The Morning, Yet Must Take The Sacrament. Before It Was
Grey In The East He Did So, Fully Armed In Mail, With His Red Surcoat Of
Leopards Upon Him, His Sword Girt, His Spurs Strapped On. Outside The
Chapel In The Weeping Mirk A Squire Held His Shield, Another His Helm, A
Groom Walked His Horse. Milo The Abbot Was Celebrant, A Snuffling Boy
Served; The Count Knelt Before The Housel-Cloth Haloed By The Light Of
Two Thin Candles. Hardly Had The Priest Begun His _Introibo_ When Jehane
Saint-Pol, Who Had Been Awake All Night, Stole In With A Hood On Her
Head, And Holding Herself Very Stiffly, Knelt On The Floor. She Joined
Her Hands And Stuck Them Up Before Her, So That The Tips Of Her Fingers,
Pointing Upwards As Her Thoughts Would Fly, Were Nearly Level With Her
Chin. Thus Frozen In Prayer She Remained Throughout The Office; Nor Did
She Relax When At The Elevation Of The Host Richard Bowed Himself To The
Earth. It Seemed As If She Too, Bearing Between Her Hands Her Own Heart,
Was Lifting It Up For Sacrifice And For Worship.
The Count Was Communicated. He Was A Very Religious Man, Who Would
Sooner Have Gone Without His Sword Than His Saviour Upon Any Affairs.
Jehane Saw Him Fed Without A Twitch Of The Lips. She Was In A Great
Mood, A Rapt And Pillared Saint; But When Mass Was Over And His
Thanksgiving To Make, She Got Up And Hid Herself Away From Him In The
Shades. There She Lurked Darkling, And He, Lunging Out, Swept With His
Sword's Point The Very Edge Of Her Gown. She Did Not Hear Him Go, For He
Trod Like A Cat; But She Felt Him Touch Her With The Sword, And
Shuddered Once Or Twice. He Went Out Of The Courtyard At A Gallop.
While The Abbot Was Reciting His Own Thanksgiving Jehane Came Out Of Her
Corner, Minded To Speak With Him. So Much He Divined, Needing Not The
Beckoning Look She Sent Him From Her Guarded Eyes. He Sat Himself Down
By The Altar Of Saint Remy, And She Knelt Beside Him.
'Well, My Daughter?' Says Milo.
'I Think It Is Well,' She Took Him Up.
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 2 (How The Fair Jehane Bestowed Herself) Pg 9
The Abbot Milo, A Red-Faced, Watery-Eyed Old Man, Rheumy And Weathered
Well, Then Opened His Mouth And Spake Such Wisdom As He Knew. He Held Up
His Forefinger Like A Claw, And Used It As If Describing Signs And
Wonders In The Air.
'Hearken, Madame Jehane,' He Said. 'I Say That You Have Done Well, And
Will Maintain It. That Great Prince, Whom I Love Like My Own Son, Is Not
For You, Nor For Another. No, No. He Is Married Already.'
He Hoped To Startle Her, The Old Rhetorician; But He Failed. Jehane Was
Too Dreary.
'He Is Married, My Daughter,' He Repeated; 'And To Whom? Why, To
Himself. That Man From The Birth Has Been A Lonely Soul. He Can Never
Wed, As You Understand It. You Think Him Your Lover! Believe Me, He Is
Not. He Is His Own Lover. He Is Called. He Has A Destiny. And What Is
That? You Ask Me.'
She Did Not, But Rhetoric Bade Him Suppose It. 'Salem Is His Destiny;
Salem Is His Bride, The Elect Lady In Bonds. He Will Not Wed Madame
Alois Of France, Nor You, Nor Any Virgin In Christendom Until That
Spiritual Wedlock Is Consummate. I Should Not Love Him As I Do If I Did
Not Believe It. For Why? Shall I Call My Own Son Apostate? He Is Signed
With The Cross, A Married Man, By Our Saviour!'
He Leaned Back In His Chair, Peering Down At Her To See How She Took It.
She Took It Stilly, And Turned Him A Marble, Storm-Purged Face, A Pair
Of Eyes Which Seemed All Black.
'What Shall I Do To Be Safe?' Her Voice Sounded Worn.
'Safe, My Child?' He Wondered. 'Bless Me, Is Not The Cross Safety?'
'Not With Him, Father.'
This Was Perfectly True, Though Tainted With Scandal, He Thought. The
Abbot, Who Was Trained To Blink All Such Facts, Had To Learn That This
Girl Blinked None. True To His Guidance, He Blinked.
'Go Home To Your Brother, My Daughter; Go Home To Saint-Pol-La-Marche.
At The Worst, Remember That There Are Always Two Arks For A Woman In
Flood-Time, A Convent And A Bed.'
'I Shall Never Choose A Convent,' Said Jehane.
'I Think,' Said The Abbot, 'That You Are Perfectly Wise.'
I Suppose The Alternative Struck A Sudden Terror Into Her; For The Abbot
Abruptly Records In His Book That 'Here Her Spirit Seemed To Flit Out Of
Her, And She Began To Tremble Very Much, And In Vain To Contend With
Tears. I Had Her All Dissolved At My Feet Within A Few Moments. She Was
Very Young, And Seemed Lost.'
'Come, Come,' He Said, 'You Have Shown Yourself A Brave Girl These Two
Days. It Is Not Every Maid Can Sacrifice Herself For A Count Of Poictou,
The Eldest Son Of A King. Come, Come, Let Us Have No More Of This.' He
Hoped, No Doubt, To Brace Her By A Roughness Which Was Far From His
Nature; And It Is Possible That He Succeeded In Heading Off A Mutiny Of
The Nerves. She Was Not Violent Under Her Despair, But Went On Crying
Very Miserably, Saying, 'Oh, What
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