"He is asleep," he whispered, beckoning8 me to be quiet. "The early rising and the ride have tired him. A noble-hearted boy, Monsieur—loving, brave, unselfish. I think he will grow to be a good man, a hard thing for one born great. Some day Navarre will bless Gaston de Foix. Speak softly, though indeed a thunderclap would hardly waken him now, he sleeps so sound."
"So much the better, he has still far to ride. All the better, too, for now we can talk more freely. Father Paul, what does this say?"
It was wonderful how his eyes lightened. At Morsigny he had made no parade of learning, but, hiding it out of sight, had lowered his talk to the level of our ignorance. But the scrawl9 of Latin was to him as the face of his mistress to a devout10 lover, and it was with a kind of quaint11 reverence12 that he took the crumpled13 paper, smoothing out the creases14 tenderly.
"This, my son? Where did this come from?"
"I found it a while back. It is Basque, is it not?"
"Basque! No, no, Latin, and, I think, better in the letter than in the spirit."
"Latin! and that I should have taken it for Basque! I shall have to go to school again. What does it say, Father? Curiosity always has an itch15 for the unknown."
"That, too, is the gift of God, or how would learning grow? But this—this is foolish, or worse. Numquid vivet? Non vivet. Morte morietur, sed statim interficies. Oh, my son, that is not good! Either it is part of some horoscope, a sinful wresting16 of their secrets from the stars, or else an unhappy soul has sold himself to Satan for a necromantic17 prophesy18, and such a prophesy!"
"But, Father," I cried, almost forgetting both love and reverence in impatience19, "what, is it?—what is it?"
"Hush20!" he whispered, shaking a warning finger at me. "Remember the child; we must not disturb his sleep. This is the meaning: 'Shall he live? He shall not live! Let him die the death, thou shalt surely kill him.' Either a foolish jest," he went on, stooping over the paper, "or a spark from Hell, and at times the one is not far from being the other. The Latin is sound enough as Latin goes in these degenerate21 days; that is what I meant by saying the letter was better than the spirit. It is the reverse of the text. The letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life. Here it is the letter that is sound and wholesome22, but the spirit killeth. Note the terseness23 of it. Either the necromantic or the devil, his master, was—oh! my son, my son, what is the matter? Art thou ill? Faint? The sun this morning? Jesu! What is it?"
How could I answer? How could I do more than stand aghast? What a plot it was! What a damnable, cunning plot! What a playing on the passions—love, greed, vengeance24, and what passed with the King for piety25! What an interweaving of life and death and the powers of Hell! Oh, what cunning, what damnable cunning! If a bribe26 will buy this houseless, ragged27 wretch28, this friendless outcast from his class, then there is Solignac and the old lands of his house waiting for him in Flanders. If love will hold him obedient, here is his mistress hostage to my mercy, the mercy of Louis of France! the mercy of the rack in Plessis and Tristan's House of the Great Nails, that all may know this is the King's vengeance for a duty unfulfilled! Or perhaps hate will move him! Then take Jan Meert, take my own ancient tool, who has never known a scruple29 to trip him in my service—take him, and do as you list by him. Or if these fail, if Navarre outbribes me, if a new love quenches30 the old, if revenge grows cold, there still remains31 the Cross of Saint Lo whereon who swears falsely perishes both in this world and the next. Remember the child! said Brother Paul, his finger on his lips. Remember him? Would God I could forget him!
Something of this was in my face, but not to be read aright by the gentle heart beside me, for Brother Paul took me in his arms, fearing I would fall, and how could a priest of God knowingly so hold one sworn to shed innocent blood? But I put him aside.
"The paper, quick!" and snatching it from his hand, I tore it into fragments too small to be pieced together again. I do not pretend I had any clear plan in my head; a blind instinct often moves us, and it is only later we understand why we did thus and thus.
But what Brother Paul failed to read in my face he gathered from the sudden violence of the act, though dimly. What mind as innocent as his could, on the instant, plumb32 to such an infamy33? Again, being his Master's servant, he took me in his arms, laying his hands upon my shoulders, his grey face all lined with sorrow.
"You, Son Gaspard? Ah! I see, I see! Satan hath desired to sift34 thee as wheat, but I have prayed to the Father for thee. There, on the Grey Leap, I prayed; He has ventured his life to repair my fault, give me his life, O Father, spare him and give me his Greater Life. And so it shall be. I know it by faith, and if we could not know by faith, how could we live at all? Tell me your trouble, my son. Am I not Father Paul, God's Priest, and your friend? Confess yourself, and remember you speak not to me, but in the secret ear of God."
And I spoke35. Kneeling between his knees as he sat upon a settle, I told him all from the beginning. What passed between us at the first is for no man's curiosity. Then, that being done with, and we back in the world again, the world in which men must use their lame36 wits and feeble understandings as best they can, I, tramping up and down the room, cried,
"But what next? I cannot see what next; it is all dark."
"No, no," said Paul, "not all dark, never all dark. No, my son, no; the Lord God never leaves a soul in the All Dark. Somewhere, somewhere, there is a gleam, and that gleam is an inspiration. Is it love? Follow it, my son, follow it. Duty? Then follow duty. A clean conscience? In God's name, follow it wherever it leads. Who am I to say more? The gleam is the one divine thing in us, therefore follow the gleam, follow it, follow it."
"It is easy for you, sitting there, to say so," and pausing in my walk, I stood over him; "but the arm of that cunning devil in Plessis can reach, as he told me, from Arragon to England, and from the verge38 of the Empire to the sea in the west. Gleam? There is no gleam."
"There is your oath, my son."
"My oath? An oath taken in blindness is no oath."
But Brother Paul shook his head.
"A Christian man's oath is the honour of his soul. When you swore your oath at Plessis there was always an alternative you could follow."
"To return?"
"To return," he repeated.
"But—that is death?"
"I said it was the honour of the soul. The ancient tongue has a motto, Prius mori quam fidem fallere. Sooner die than break faith—faith with God and all that is best in ourselves, faith with that unhappy woman who for no fault of hers, for no cause but that she loved you, stands to-day in your place. Were you Paulus and I Son Gaspard, I would go back to Plessis—and die. Not that I dare to judge for you."
"I cannot see it," I cried, the love of life and the love of Suzanne both strong within me. Was her rose not buckled39 to my bonnet40? "Father! Father! Is there a God at all that we men are put to such straits?"
Priest though he was, he did not so much as utter a rebuke41, but, rising, he laid his hands upon my shoulders as he had done almost at the first.
"I am not afraid of your doubt, for listen to this, my son: the man who has never greatly doubted will never greatly believe, never greatly love, never, even, greatly live. Every doubt a man puts under him is a step nearer to perfect faith, perfect love, and perfect life. Again I say, I cannot judge for you. But because doubt is a devil who must be fought alone and in the desert of solitude42, I will go outside the door—outside the door, but never outside your life. The Lord bless thee, and keep thee! the Lord——" and then he slipped off into his beloved Latin, ending in det tibi pacem.
Softly lifting the latch43 and softly closing it, he was gone.
Pacem! That was peace. But where was I to find peace? Unless such a peace as lay so coldly at the foot of the Grey Leap that it had chilled 'Tuco's courage. From Arragon to England, from the Empire to the sea, Louis would find me out. Return to Plessis? I knew what that meant. Peace! It was easy for a priest to say Peace, peace! easy for the man who ran no risks to say Follow the gleam! but for me not so easy.
Just then Gaston turned on the bed, drawing a deep sigh of placid44 rest and contentment; Gaston, the child of whom Louis had written, Thou shalt surely kill him! Gaston, helpless and asleep. He shall die and not live, said Louis of France; his life for yours! Yet Paul had left him in my charge without a plea, without a pledge, without even the tremor45 of a troubled doubt. That moved me to my very depths.
To be thought capable of a great action, of a great sacrifice, makes both possible. I do not mean the sparing of the child. Thank God, that was never in doubt! But the fulness of Brother Paul's faith meant this to me: I trust you to do that which is highest, let come what may. That meant, return to Morsigny, put the child in safety, and humble yourself in the eyes of the woman you love; ride then to Plessis, and say: Here am I, let the woman I have ceased to love—no! the woman I have never loved—let her go her way. That meant—God knows what next, but nothing that a man could think upon without a shiver. If the woman who had done no wrong would writhe46 and scream and curse for what the King would call my treachery, what might not the traitor47 expect? And yet, that way shone the gleam, and another's faith in me gave me faith in myself.
But it was a relief to have the excuses of voices outside the door to put thought aside and find refuge in activity. It was Martin, come for orders as I had bidden him. Back to Morsigny, and with as little delay as possible, seemed the best plan. Once the boy was again safe behind its walls my responsibility ended. Yes, Morsigny first, and for that day it was my wisdom to look no further, lest I should see too much and be afraid.
But while I debated how best to avoid an altercation48 with the man who called himself Jean Volran, Volran's voice came from the stairhead with Martin answering loudly, roughly, as if in altercation; then followed a scuffle, the sound of a fall, and again Martin's voice:
"Monsieur Gaspard! Monsieur Gaspard! Quick! quick!"
He was standing37 at the stairhead, his back to me, his shoulders crouched49, his knees bent50, the right foot advanced, and both elbows hugging his ribs51. I could not see it, but from his attitude I knew his sword was out, hidden by the bulk of his body. Back against the wall, where the well of the stairs made an angle, was Brother Paul, his arms raised in astonished protest; above the line of the topmost step jean Volran was rising to his knees where Martin had flung him.
"There is some roguery, Monsieur Gaspard," said Martin, but though he heard the latch click he was too wary52 of fence to turn his head. "This fellow, who an hour ago was a thieving inn-keeper, has now a sword at his hip——"
"You blundering fool!" said Volran, rising and shaking himself. "You took me unawares, but you shall pay me as fully53 as if you did it aforethought. Monsieur de Helville, there are only two of you, but I have four, and we seven can laugh at La Voulle."
"This fellow," went on Martin, as if Volran had never spoken, "this fellow came up here three at a stride, and was told by Father Paul you were busy. He would not take No for an answer, but tried to bustle54 us, so I tipped him downstairs to teach him patience."
"Monsieur de Helville, it is the King's business, and there is no time to waste," cut in Volran. "Bid this chattering55 idiot of yours be silent. You two can never hold the boy, and you know it. But we will help you. Come, sir, finish what brought you to La Voulle."
Putting Martin aside, I took his place on the top step.
"Have no fear, Jean Volran, or whoever you are, we two can hold the boy safe as far as Morsigny."
"Morsigny?"
"I said Morsigny."
"Morsigny? Then for what have I wasted three months in this rat-hole of a La Voulle? That you might march the Count de Foix into the town, and then march him home again? Was it for that the King sent you to Navarre?"
"That is between myself and the King, as I told you once already to-day, but the Count de Foix goes back to Morsigny."
"Mad!" said he. "Stark56 mad!" In his eagerness he came up a step or two, one hand stretched out before him as if to grip my attention and hold it. "Do you know who it is you deride57? Whose face you slap? It is Louis'—Louis'. Why, man, he will crush you as I would a fly."
"Keep your distance," answered I; "you are five and we are two, but we have the vantage, and in narrow stairs two are as good as twenty. Come up but one step more, and Father Paul will shout A Rescue! from the window behind, and then you will be the flies."
"Better do it without waiting," said Martin. "Rouse the town, Father, or they may attack us on the road."
But I held the priest back.
"Not yet; I have a use for Monsieur Volran's life, and, liar58 though he is, I will trust his word. In spite of the trade he follows, there is enough of the gentleman in him for that. You see how it is, Monsieur Jean Volran? Let Father Paul put his head out o' window and shout, and there's an end to you and your four; with the townsfolk below and us above, it's a choice of rope or steel. Swear that neither you nor any of your four will molest59 us on the road, and, for aught I care, you may all go to the devil."
"Or to Plessis," said Martin.
"I mean to Plessis; that is my use for him. Do you swear, Monsieur Volran?"
For a moment he hesitated, glancing down the lower flight of stairs to the hall below. That his four transformed scullions were waiting him there, I knew, for they could not keep their clumsy feet quiet on the flagging, and he was calculating chances.
"Be ready, Father," said I softly. "If he stirs even an inch upward, shout Murder! Navarre to the rescue! Navarre! Navarre!"
But there was no need. With a snarl60 and a stamp of the foot he stepped back to the landing.
"Do you think this ends it?" he cried, shaking both fists up at us, his face all twisted with passion. "By God! No!"
"Do you swear, Monsieur Volran?"
"Swear?" he frothed. "What can I do but swear? Yes; Louis can pay to-day's debt better than I can, and so I swear. Oh, what a payment that will be! What a payment! What a payment! God send me there to hear you curse the bribe that has bought to-day's treachery."
"No bribe," answered I a little huskily, for the venom61 of his exultation62 shook my nerve more than any threat could have done. "But tell the King this: Gaspard Hellewyl has failed to fulfil his mission, and according to his oath returns to Plessis by the road of his Majesty's choosing."
"To Plessis!" answered Volran incredulously. "Bah! Why add a lie to treason? To Plessis!" and in his contempt he laughed.
But from behind, Brother Paul laid his hands upon my shoulders, drawing me back into his embrace until I felt the throb63 of his heart.
"It is the gleam, my son; God be praised, who never leaves us in the dark."
"It is my oath, Father; and you, Monsieur, do you carry your message to the King."
For a moment Jean Volran stood watching me curiously64; then he drew himself up and raised his sword to the salute65.
"Till we meet in Plessis, Monsieur."
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1
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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meddled
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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detriment
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| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
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8
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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9
scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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13
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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14
creases
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹 | |
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itch
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| n.痒，渴望，疥癣；vi.发痒，渴望 | |
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wresting
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| 动词wrest的现在进行式 | |
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necromantic
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| 降神术的，妖术的 | |
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prophesy
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| v.预言；预示 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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terseness
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| 简洁，精练 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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quenches
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| 解（渴）( quench的第三人称单数 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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sift
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| v.筛撒，纷落，详察 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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43
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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44
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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46
writhe
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| vt.挣扎，痛苦地扭曲；vi.扭曲，翻腾，受苦；n.翻腾，苦恼 | |
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47
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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48
altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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49
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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51
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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52
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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53
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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54
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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55
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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56
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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57
deride
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| v.嘲弄，愚弄 | |
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58
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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59
molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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60
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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61
venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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62
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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63
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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64
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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65
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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