The Saint's Tragedy Part 22

Bishop. So am I.

You shall to Marpurg with this holy man.

Eliz. Ah, there you speak again like my own uncle.

I'll go--to rest [aside] and die. I only wait To see the bones of my beloved laid In some fit resting-place. A messenger Proclaims them near. O G.o.d!

Bishop. We'll go, my child, And meeting them with all due honour, show In our own wors.h.i.+p, honourable minds.

[Exit Elizabeth.]

A messenger! How far off are they, then?

Serv. Some two days' journey, sir.

Bishop. Two days' journey, and nought prepared?

Here, chaplain--Brother Hippodamas! Chaplain, I say! [Hippodamas enters.] Call the apparitor--ride off with him, right and left-- Don't wait even to take your hawk--Tell my knights to be with me, with all their men-at-arms, at noon on the second day. Let all be of the best, say--the brightest of arms and the newest of garments.

Ma.s.s! we must show our smartest before these crusaders--they'll be full of new fas.h.i.+ons, I warrant 'em--the monkeys that have seen the world. And here, boy [to a page], set me a stoup of wine in the oriel-room, and another for this good monk.

Con. Pardon me, blessedness--but holy rule--

Bishop. Oh! I forgot.--A pail of water and a peck of beans for the holy man!--Order up my equerry, and bid my armourer--vestryman, I mean--look out my newest robes.--Plague on this gout.

[Exeunt, following the Bishop.]

SCENE IV

The Nave of Bamberg Cathedral. A procession entering the West Door, headed by Elizabeth and the Bishop, n.o.bles, etc. Religious bearing the coffin which encloses Lewis's bones.

1st Lady. See! the procession comes--the mob streams in At every door. Hark! how the steeples thunder Their solemn ba.s.s above the wailing choir.

2d Lady. They will stop at the screen.

Knight. And there, as I hear, open the coffin. Push forward, ladies, to that pillar: thence you will see all.

1st Peas. Oh dear! oh dear! If any man had told me that I should ride forty miles on this errand, to see him that went out flesh come home gra.s.s, like the flower of the field!

2d Peas. We have changed him, but not mended him, say I, friend.

1st Peas. Never we. He knew where a yeoman's heart lay! One that would clap a man on the back when his cow died, and behave like a gentleman to him--that never met you after a hailstorm without lightening himself of a few pocket-burners.

2d Peas. Ay, that's your poor-man's plaster: that's your right grease for this world's creaking wheels.

1st Peas. Nay, that's your rich man's plaster too, and covers the mult.i.tude of sins. That's your big pike's swimming-bladder, that keeps him atop and feeding: that's his calling and election, his oil of anointing, his salvum fac regem, his yeoman of the wardrobe, who keeps the velvet-piled side of this world uppermost, lest his delicate eyes should see the warp that holds it.

2d Peas. Who's the warp, then?

1st Peas. We, man, the friezes and fustians, that rub on till we get frayed through with overwork, and then all's abroad, and the nakedness of Babylon is discovered, and catch who catch can.

Old Woman. Pity they only brought his bones home! He would have made a lovely corpse, surely. He was a proper man!

1st Lady. Oh the mincing step he had with him! and the delicate hand on a horse, fingering the reins as St. Cicely does the organ- keys!

2d Lady. And for hunting, another Siegfried.

Knight. If he was Siegfried the gay, she was Chriemhild the grim; and as likely to prove a firebrand as the girl in the ballad.

1st Lady. Gay, indeed! His smiles were like plumcake, the sweeter the deeper iced. I never saw him speak civil word to woman, but to her.

2d Lady. O ye Saints! There was honey spilt on the ground! If I had such a knight, I'd never freeze alone on the chamber-floor, like some that never knew when they were well off. I'd never elbow him off to crusades with my pruderies.

'Pluck your apples while they're ripe, And pull your flowers in May, O!'

Eh! Mother?

Old Woman. 'Till when she grew wizened, and he grew cold, The balance lay even 'twixt young and old.'

Monk. Thus Satan bears witness perforce against the vanities of Venus! But what's this babbling? Carolationes in the holy place?

Tace, vetula! taceas, taceto also, and that forthwith.

Old Woman. Tace in your teeth, and taceas also, begging-box! Who put the halter round his waist to keep it off his neck,--who? Get behind your screen, sirrah! Am I not a burgher's wife? Am I not in the nave? Am I not on my own ground? Have I brought up eleven children, without nurse wet or dry, to be taced nowadays by friars in the nave? Help! good folks! Where be these rooks a going?

Knight. The monk has vanished.

1st Peas. It's ill letting out waters, he finds. Who is that old gentleman, sir, holds the Princess so tight by the hand?

Knight. Her uncle, knave, the Bishop.

1st Peas. Very right, he: for she's almost a born natural, poor soul. It was a temptation to deal with her.

2d Peas. Thou didst cheat her shockingly, Frank, time o' the famine, on those nine sacks of maslin meal.

Knight. Go tell her of it, rascal, and she'll thank you for it, and give you a s.h.i.+lling for helping her to a 'cross.'

Old Woman. Taceing free women in the nave! This comes of your princesses, that turn the world upside down, and demean themselves to hob and n.o.b with these black baldicoots!

Eliz. [in a low voice]. I saw all Israel scattered on the hills As sheep that have no shepherd! O my people!

Who crowd with greedy eyes round this my jewel, Poor ivory, token of his outward beauty-- Oh! had ye known his spirit!--Let his wisdom Inform your light hearts with that Saviour's likeness For whom he died! So had you kept him with you; And from the coming evils gentle Heaven Had not withdrawn the righteous: 'tis too late!

1st Lady. There, now, she smiles; do you think she ever loved him?

Knight. Never creature, but mealy-mouthed inquisitors, and shaven singing birds. She looks now as glad to be rid of him as any colt broke loose.

1st Lady. What will she do now, when this farce is over?

2d Lady. Found an abbey, that's the fas.h.i.+on, and elect herself abbess--tyrannise over hysterical girls, who are forced to thank her for making them miserable, and so die a saint.

Knight. Will you pray to her, my fair queen?