Orrain: A Romance by S. Levett Yeats

  CHAPTER XVIII

  DR. JOHANNES CABALLUS

  I made all arrangements betimes for an early start the next morning;and, with a remembrance of what had passed between us last night,ordered a table, with one cover only, to be set for mademoiselle nearthe window of the dining-room. Then I went out into the garden towhile away the time there until my charge was ready for the journey.

  There was a little walk outside the open window, through which I couldsee all that passed within the dining-room. Here I paced backwards andforwards, reflecting on the events of the past few hours. I could, ofcourse, see that for some reason or other Diane had apparently brokenwith De Ganache. It was not a trick of heartless coquetry--for that Igave her credit. Yet the change had been so swift and sudden that itwas difficult to assign any other reason for it. So far as I wasconcerned I was sure my affair was utterly hopeless; but the air of theItalian campaign would doubtless cure me, and I almost caught myselfwishing that I had lost the game last night and was free to turn myhorse's head where I listed.

  In this disjointed thought I passed some time, and it was well afternine o'clock that Diane came forth from her room. Through the window Isaw her descending the stair, and, not wishing to intrude, withdrew tothe extreme end of the walk, where I began to be interested in theoperations of a spider weaving his web in a rose bush. I could,however, see into the room, and observed Diane stop near the table,hesitate a little, and then sit down. Pechaud began to flutter aroundher, but after a little she rose, and coming to the window lookedstraight out at me. My spider had by this time vanished into thepetals of a half-open rose, and turning I met Diane's look, and liftedmy hat in formal greeting, remaining, however, where I was, as I wasdetermined to keep the position she had assigned to me.

  "Monsieur Broussel!"

  "Mademoiselle!" And now I stepped up to the window.

  "Will you let me know when we start?"

  "As soon as ever you are rested sufficiently, mademoiselle."

  My tone was coldly polite, and there was equal indifference in hervoice.

  "It is very good of you to say this; but now that I have decided to goto Paris the sooner it is over the better."

  "The horses are ready."

  "Then, perhaps, we had better start."

  "I am at your service, mademoiselle." And a quarter of an hour laterwe were on our way once again. I did not take the direct road byChatellerault, but turned half westward, intending to enter Touraine byway of Chinon, and then to follow the route by which I had come toPoitiers.

  It was a summer day, such as can only be met with in France. Overheadbillowy white clouds rolled and piled in the sapphire blue of the sky.A wind, fresh and cool, blew from the west, sweeping over the plain,hissing into the crests of the yellow broom and purple loosestrife, andbending them into lines of colour that chased each other like wavesover the grey-green moorland. As we left the plain and came to theundulating lands of northern Poitou, where the country twisted down tothe Bienne, the hedgerows, all glimmering in gold and green, and gaywith blossoming thorn, were awake with the song of the thrush and theblack-cap. We had passed Lencloitre on our left, and in that dip, darkwith walnut-trees, lay the little hamlet of Razines, which had so manymemories for me.

  Up to now neither mademoiselle nor I had exchanged a word, as I rodewell in the rear of our party, sending Capus, who knew the country, tolead us. Diane had so far kept her word, and rode behind Capus insilence. At intervals I pushed a little to one side and watched her,and now and again, as we came to a turn or a bend in the road, I sawher full and fairly, but she never so much as glanced in my direction.A little farther on we skirted some rising ground, and there, to ourhalf-left, lay Richelieu, the smoke still rising from its burninghouses, and, caught by the wind, stretching out in a long horsetailacross the country. Mademoiselle reined up and watched the scene for alittle, our party halting behind her. As we did so we heard a loudneigh, and a riderless horse, the saddlery still on him, came out ofsome stunted trees and trotted towards us. At a sign from me one of mymen caught the horse and freed him of his bit and saddle, whilst Igalloped up to the trees, upon which half a dozen or so of ravens weresitting. When I reached them I found what I expected there, and thehideous birds croaked down on me as if in derision, for what was lyingthere was past all aid of man. I came back as I went, and Diane asked:

  "Is there anyone there, monsieur?"

  "No, mademoiselle. And 'tis almost time for our midday halt; a littlefarther on and we will rest."

  Diane turned her horse's head, and I was about to turn back once moreto my place when she said in a low tone:

  "Monsieur, I have something to say to you."

  I bowed, and rode up beside her. And we let the men go onward,dropping together to the place I had left in the rear.

  "Monsieur," she said after a little, "I have been trying to say what Iwant all the morning. I want you to forgive me for the cruel words Iused to you last night. I--I never meant them." She was flushed andtrembling as she spoke, and I saw the tears in her eyes. I lifted myhat at her words.

  "Mademoiselle, after all you were right. I am but Bertrand Broussel, acitizen of Paris, as you know, and you----"

  "Oh yes; I know all that; but, oh! I feel hot with shame when I thinkof my words. Monsieur, say you forgive me!"

  "With all my heart, mademoiselle! Think no more of it, I pray you."And then, to change the subject, I pointed to a grove of trees in frontof us. "There, mademoiselle, is where we halt for an hour or so. Whatsay you to a race there?"

  "Are you not afraid of that?"

  "I will risk it," I said. And, with a laugh, she touched her Normanwith the whip, and I kept Lizette pounding after her, until she pulledup, flushed and hot, near the trees, beside which the Mable purled past.

  "Beaten again," she said as I came up.

  "It is my fate." And, pulling up, I pointed to the river. "Do youremember this river, mademoiselle?"

  "The Mable!" And she shuddered. "But surely it was not here that wecrossed on that awful night?"

  "No; some miles lower down." And then I helped her to dismount, andattended to the horses, whilst she borrowed my sword, and tying her'kerchief to the point signalled to our men to come on.

  There are days when all that happens is trivial, yet the memory ofwhich is ever to be marked in white; and this was such an one to me. Ilet myself forget the impossible during that brief two hours' halt; norever had I known Diane so gracious. We spoke much of Paris. She hadnever seen the great city nor the Court, and I told her what I knew,though my knowledge of the Louvre was a little old. As a child she hadseen the Queen once--on the day of the Lists of Amboise--and wonderedwhether she were altered.

  "She is much the same. Time has dealt gently with her."

  "Is it true that in secret she is of our--I mean my faith?"

  "It is said that she favours the new religion, but I know not if thisis true. It is certain, however, that she has never joined in thepersecution, and 'tis said that both D'Andelot and Marot owed theirescape to her."

  "And you, monsieur--are you too of the faith?"

  "Mademoiselle, I think, if the truth be told, that men who, likemyself, have lived much in the world do not bind themselves in theirhearts to this faith or to that, whatever they profess with their lips."

  "But, monsieur----"

  "Listen, mademoiselle. This does not mean that we do not know howinfinite is the distance between us and God nor how hard the road is toHis throne."

  "There is the path of faith, monsieur."

  "That is the path we search for, sometimes unconsciously; and perhaps,with God's aid, I may find it ere I die."

  Then there was a silence, and after that the talk drifted to otherthings. And I but mention this conversation because it was due to itand it alone that I was set upon the track that led to the True Road.

  A little later Pierrebon, who was indulging his appetite for a goodsleep, awoke from his nap, and discovered i
t was time to be moving.So, fording the river, we took our way north. Towards sunset we sawthe walls of the priory of Ile Bouchard, around which clustered thehouses of the village, like barnacles to a galley's side. On arrivalhere I craved the hospitality of the good monks for the night, and thiswas readily afforded us. Early the following morning, having biddenfarewell to our kind hosts, we looked our last on the grey pile, halfmonastery and half fortress, and went our way through the stuntedforest that straggled downward to the Vienne. Between these narrowstrips of woodland, through which the path wound, rose ragged knollsclad in short, dark green juniper, and here and there were brightsplashes of colour, where flowering wild weeds clustered at the basesof the brown ribs of rock that stood up starkly over all. We crossedthe river by the ferry between Auche and Riviere, where the littleVeude falls into the Vienne, and halted for a space on a bluff tosurvey the landscape. At this hour of the morning, with the air sogay, the sky so blue, and the sun so bright, the lights were still softenough to allow the whole beauty of the scene to be strongly felt. Atour feet the river went dancing along in a sweeping blue curve, itsleft bank clothed with rich vineland, and on its right a belt offorest--the outskirts of the forest of Chinon--which stretched, a seaof green, grey, and dim, mysterious purples, to the far-distant Loire.There, on its wooded height, the pentice roofs glistening in thesunlight, stood Chinon, with its triple castle, so full of the memoriesof history; and all around spread the wide Tourangeais.

  "Tourangeaux, Angevins Bons esprits et bons vins,"

  sang Capus, grizzled old war-dog though he was, and, the spirit of themorning seizing us, we urged our horses down the slope, and scurriedthrough the forest towards Chinon.

  After a little we slackened pace and went on slowly, until, towardsmidday, when about half a league--or perhaps less--from Chinon, we cameupon a roadside inn, all covered with climbing roses in bloom, whilstthe air was full of the cooing of numberless pigeons that circledaround and perched upon a dovecote that looked like a tower. Heremademoiselle stopped, declaring that she would travel no farther thatday; and accordingly, having made arrangements for our accommodation, Iwalked out with Diane into a long, straggling garden that lay at theback of the house. At the extreme end of the garden was asummer-house, and on entering this we found it occupied by an old man,who sat reading therein. We were about to draw back, but he rose,leaning upon a stout stick, and very courteously invited us to beseated. His hooded black cassock, and the tonsure which was visible,as he had removed his cap, marked the priest. He was very feeble, aswe could see, though his eyes, bright and piercing, contrastedstrangely with the deadly pallor of his cheeks. A straggling greymoustache and beard partly concealed his mouth, which was set in asmile half mirthful and half sardonic. I put him down as the cure of aneighbouring hamlet, as he gave us the benediction, and invited us tojoin him, saying as he did so:

  "Mademoiselle, I have long looked in dreamland for the lady who wouldbe chosen above all others as Abbess of Thelema--and now, behold! youhave come!" Plucking a rose as he spoke he bowed with old-world grace,and held it out with a shaking hand to Diane, who took it with a flushon her face, and thanks on her lips, but a puzzled look in her eyes.

  "I see, Monsieur le Cure," I said, "you are an admirer of DoctorRabelais."

  "He is the most intimate friend I have, and, as you are doubtlessaware, the Doctor is a townsman of Chinon."

  "That, perhaps, is his book you are reading?"

  "Alas, no! 'tis merely a Hebrew lexicon I was studying to decide adispute I have with my friend Doctor Johannes Caballus of theUniversity of Orange; but--you are learned in Hebrew, monsieur?"

  "I cannot say I am," I laughed, "though we meet on common ground inadmiration of Rabelais."

  "In that case, monsieur, you and mademoiselle must be my guests atdinner. It is almost the hour, and we will dine here." And withoutwaiting for a reply he seized a small handbell that lay beside him andrang it. In a little the host appeared, and the cure turned to him:

  "Is dinner, as I ordered it, ready?"

  "Monsieur!"

  "Then serve it here, and set the table for four. Mayhap the DoctorJohannes Caballus may join us. Let me see what there is for dinner.Ah! three sucking-pigs, and a fourth to follow in quince sauce, sixcapons, twelve pigeons, twelve quails, four legs of mutton _en brunepate_, twelve sweetbreads, four tongues, four veal----"

  But the landlord had fled, and Diane was staring with wide-open eyes,whilst I confess I thought that we had a harmless lunatic before us.

  "Perhaps, monsieur, we have Gargantua dining with us?"

  "That would be but a flea-bite to him. But there is the DoctorCaballus." And pushing aside the roses he pointed before him; all wecould see was a sleek mule sunning itself in a patch of green.

  "There is only a mule there," said Diane.

  "True; but he is a Doctor of Laws of the University of Orange. I musttell you that the estimable beast is the property of Doctor Rabelais,who permits me to use him, being, as I said, a friend of friends to me.It so happened that the University of Orange conferred degrees onpayment of fees without seeing or testing the candidate. My friendRabelais, who loves a merry jest, sent them the money for a Doctor'sdegree for one Johannes Caballus, the same being his mule. And in duecourse the parchment came; and so our friend there is as much a Doctorof Laws as my lords the Bishops of Seez or Montpelier. But here comesour dinner."

  I need not say that the dinner was not the feast for giants that wasordered; but, though it was plentiful, all that our old friend couldeat was a little dish of peas fried in fat, which he washed down withthin wine and water. He kept all the talk to himself, delighting uswith a thousand merry quibbles and jests, until, finally, he called forhis mule, saying that he must depart.

  "Mademoiselle," he said as he wished us farewell, "you are going on along journey, and I on a much longer, but I know that wherever you arethere will be the house of Thelema." And as I helped him to pull hisdomino over his shoulders he whispered in my ear: "_Beati qui in dominomoriuntur_."

  Then, slowly and painfully mounting his mule, and chuckling at his grimjest, he ambled away, the landlord bowing respectfully to him as hepassed.

  "Who is he?" asked Diane.

  "That, mademoiselle," said our host, "is the Doctor Rabelais, whosename is honoured as that of the King here. He has a small estatecalled La Deviniere hard by, and comes here at times for his health.He returns to Paris to-morrow; but he will never come back--that Iknow." And he shook his head sorrowfully.

  * * * * * *

  We never met again, for Rabelais died a month later; but in my libraryat Orrain, which now contains close upon a hundred volumes, I have acopy of his works bound in red velvet, and clasped with silver. Norever do I touch it without thinking of that rose-clad summer-house inthe old garden in Touraine.