Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (633 page)

The Abbot.
— Oh, fair Queen,
The precedent...

The Queen.
Depends on girls in sackcloth!
Good, my lord Abbot, I had thought you wise,
Old learned Churchmen had had better wits.
What you? a man of three-and-ninety years
Who by the very nature of your vows
Are closured out from love... to say a wench
That leads a cow is necessary to
The honour of your Abbey —

The Abbot.
— Lady Queen,
I am an old man; doting I do say:
This wench that leads a cow is necessary
To the honour of our Abbey...

The King.
— Gentle wife,
You have the Abbot on the hip, but sweet,
A-meanwhiles our good Master kneels on thorns.
Lord Abbot, make an end; produce this wench,
This Helen that doth rive our world in twain,
And let our Master make his utter choice.
[At a sign from
Abbot Hugon,
four-and-twenty
acolytes issue out from behind the chair. They strew
white rose petals upon the steps until it is like a hill
of snow. Enter
Tiennette.

The Crowd.
Ah... h... h...
[Tiennette
is dressed like a maiden-queen in white, with a white coif sewn with gold, with a girdle of
silver filigree
,
with white gloves embroidered with
pearls. The
Abbot Hugon
beckons to her to mount
the steps to him. She does so.

The King [to Maître Anseau).
Nay, man, hadst
well be wealthier than we
To set a price on her that led your cow.
[To the Abbot]
If you will do us favour in this thing.
We shall requite you. We are France and Paris....

The Crowd.
Paris and France!...

The King.
And France and Paris have been touchèd home
By fortunes of these lovers.... Hear us roar!...

The Crowd.
Paris and France!

The Abbot.
Ah, sire, what would you do?
You touch yourself by melling in this thing.
If we should blench to this unquiet mob
They would gain strength from broken precedent
Which is a dyke against this hungry sea
Wherein a breach being made, the sea sweeps in
And overwhelms us... overwhelms all France,
The Abbey and the Court —

The Crowd.
Paris and France.

The King [to them).
Nenny, ye lend the Abbot similes
That are not pleasant savoured. Master speak —
[Maître Anseau
has risen to his feet and advances
towards the
Abbot
holding out his arms.

The Queen [to her ladies
). She’s fair; why, yes,
I think she’s fair to see.
She halts a little. But she’s fair, she’s fair.

Ans.
Oh, Father Abbot, oh, you man of God,
If you have any pity in your heart,
If you have any hope of rest to come,
Bethink you, oh, bethink you. It grows late,
You stand upon the very verge of the shade
Death casts upon us. I do know the law
And I have made a vow. But, man of God,
The thing is in your hands. For me remains
No choice. The verdict lies with you. For me...
I have been poor, and I have been a bondsman,
And I am patient, oh! and I can bear.
But oh, you man of God, take heed, take heed.
If you have ever seen a little child,
And if your frozen eyes have thawed to see
The sunlight on the little children’s faces,
Bethink you of the curse you cast upon
The children that that maid shall bear to me.
I have no choice, I have made the vow to God
And I fulfil it. But the little children...
Have you the heart to let them live that life,
Un-named, unknown, to live and die as beasts
That perish; all those tender little things
That God doth mean should burgeon in the light
And with their little laughter sing his praise.

The Abbot.
I am a very ancient man, and stand
Within the shadow, and I stand and say:
The price is fixt.

Ans.
— Accursed rat o’ the Church,
The price is fixt... is fixt. Oh, horrible,
Insensate thirst for gold. Then, oh, thou man,
Thou spider gorging on the brink of hell,
Suck up my gold, my life. But oh, I keep
The better part of me, you cannot touch
The subtle engine God hath pleased to fix
Within my brain, you cannot use the skill
That made me what I am. And that I swear
Not torture, not the rack, not death itself
Shall set in motion. All your Abbey’s rents
For twice a hundred years could never pay
What it shall lose thereby. I am more strong
Than iron’s hard, and the more long-suffering
Than grief is great. For you I might have been
A fashioner of things divine; for you
I shall be but a pack-horse.
[Tiennette,
who had covered her face with her arms
,
stretches out her arms to
Anseau.

Tien.
— Oh, my love,
My lord, my more than life, thou noble man,
Forsake me, oh, forsake me, I did say
“You did not know,” and, oh you did not know.
When you did make your vow. Forsake me, then,
And go your ways —

Ans.
— I cannot go my way;
I have no way but only this with you.

Tien.
There is a way that God hath shown to me —
These last few weeks they have been schooling me
Within their cloisters — and there is a way,
By which, if you do love me more than all,
You shall enjoy me and go free in the end.
For this the law is — they have told me so —
If I should die before a child is born,
You should go free though losing house and store,
The occasion of your serfdom being dead.
And oh, my lord and life,
You shall. But for my sin of laying hands
Upon myself, full surely the Lord God
Shall pardon me, full surely the Lord God
Shall pardon who doth know and weigh all hearts.
[The
Abbot
lays his hand upon her arm.

The Crowd.
You shall not hurt her; we will have you down.
Old Spider... Rat o’ the Church.

The King.
— Ah, make an end,
Lord Abbot, for our dames have eyes all wet.

The Abbot.
The price is fixt.

Ans.
— And I must pay the price.

The Crowd.
You shall not; no, you shall not. We
are the free burgesses of Paris.
[
The
Abbot Hugon
beckons
Maître Anseau
to come
tip to him. He slowly ascends the steps. The thurifers
draw round and a cloud of incense goes tip. The
Monks
chant and the
King
removes his beaver. The
Queen
and her ladies cross themselves.
A great uproar in the hall; the
Soldiers of the Abbey
are thrown down and the
Crowd
breaks through; the
King’s Soldiers
force it back. The sound of bells
comes in from without. Enter the
Bondsmen of the
Abbey
bearing a canopy. The
Abbot
is seen blessing
Anseau
and
Tiennette.
Afterwards they go down
the steps together. A
Monk
beckons them to stand
beneath the canopy
,
which has gold staves with little
silver bells. During this wedding there has been a
constant clamour. Now it falls silent.

The Abbot.
Anseau, thou serf and bondsman of our
Abbey,
Acknowledge that thy goods and life are ours.

Ans.
I do acknowledge it.

The Abbot (to the Bondsmen).
Bare ye his arm,
Up to the elbow. Armourer, set thou on
This bondsman’s wrist the shackle of his state.
[The
Armourer
rivets a silver collar upon the arm of
Anseau.
Whilst he is doing it the
Abbot
descends
the steps and comes to them.

The Abbot.
My hands are very feeble, I am old.
(
To Tiennette
.) Give me some help, thou wife of
the new bondsman.
[
The
Abbot Hugon
undoes the collar from the arm of
Anseau.

The Crowd.
Ah... h... h... What is this? What is this?

The Abbot (to Maître Anscau).
Thou art a master
jeweller. Hast skill
To break the collar from thy new wife’s arm
And not to hurt her?
[Anseau
stands as if amazed. The
Abbot
frees

Tiennette.
Lo, thou burgess’s wife,
How is it, to be free?

The Crowd.
What?... what... What is this?... Are they free?
the curtain falls
Anseau
and
Tiennette
stand
as if amazed.
T
he monks raise their hands in horror.

END OF SCENE III

THE AFTER SCENE

[The Chamber of the
Abbot.
A bare, small
,
whitewashed room. On the floor
,
in a broad ray of sunlight that falls from the barred windows, stand two great gilt shrines. The door of the one is closed; through the half-opened doors of the other one sees an image of the Virgin in the likeness
Tiennette
having a little child upon her arm and a cow kneeling at her feet.

The
Abbot; Two Religious.

The
Abbot
lies with his eyes closed upon a narrow
pallet, a black rosary falling from his clasped hands.

The
Two Religious
stand motionless, their heads
covered by their cowls
,
at his feet.
A long silence in which is heard the cooing of a blue
pigeon on the window-sill. The
Abbot
opens his eyes.

The Abbot.
So ye are there; I sent for you. The end
Is very near me now.
[He makes a weak gesture with one hand as if pointing to the shrines.
You see those things?
What say you, brothers, did I dote? I know,
I say I know, have known this many months
What you have whispered in the refectory.
“The Abbot dotes,” you said, “The Abbot dotes”...
You said I doted; that my heart was touched
By whimperings of lovers. One of you
Shall step into my shoes a short day hence.
Oh, let your dotage work as well as mine
For honour of the Abbey; do but once
One-half of what I did in this one thing!
You said I doted, that my heart was touched.
Nenny, I have a heart, but I am old
And very cunning. I have seen more things
Than most. And I do know my world, I say.
You would have kept him, you. My heart was touched,
In happy hour, I say, my heart was touched,
Mine that has nursed the Abbey’s honour here
As mothers nurse their babes. You would have held
The letter of the law and raised a storm.
That had cast down our house.... The burgesses
Do love us now; this twelvemonth they have brought
More offerings than in a lustre past.
You would have kept the law and raised a storm
That must have shorn us of one-half the rights
We have upon the city. I did know
That, in the acclamations of my mercy
The collar I have set upon their necks
Would gall no withers, yet the precedent
Be riveted. And there is more than this
I gained whose heart was touched by lovers’ tears.
It brought us these two shrines. I tell you, men,
I prophesy who lie at the point of death,
That when all precedents are swept away,
And you and I and all of us become
A little dust that would not fill a cup,
These shrines shall be the glory of the Abbey,
Its chiefest profit and most high renown.
For men shall marvel at the handiwork,
And women tell the story at their work,
And crossed lovers come from all the lands
To make their offerings and shed salt tears
Unto the saints that let their hearts be moved
By these two lovers of the time before.
            
I prophesy,
Upon the point of death, I know my world,
I have been in it for a mort of years....
And one of you shall step into my shoes.
You stand there thinking it; I know my world.
[He closes his eyes, then opens them and looks at the
image of the Virgin.
Oh, blessed child upon thy mother’s arm,
Remember when our Brotherhood is tried...
(To the Religions.)
Go, get ye to your whisperings again
And say I doted...
Brothers, go with God.
Send me a little wine and let me sleep.
[He closes his eyes again. Exeunt the
Religious.
The
blue pigeon flies from the window-sill. Its wings
clatter in the stillness.