Part 11

“He turned to Eve, narrowing his eyes till they shone like slits of fire.

“‘And you stand cramped on this pedestal, beloved Lady?’

“‘Because of Lilith—that only! She, at all events, shall not have him. And think of his morals!’”

(“Aha!” said Joan, with intense conviction.)

“The Serpent mused and curved his shining head toward Eve.

“‘If you will allow me to say so, I have always regretted that you never finished that apple, and that my cousin Lilith has never tasted it at all,’ he murmured. ‘A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, as certain also of your own poets have said.’

“‘I have sometimes thought so, too,’ Eve replied mournfully; ‘and there is a word that now and then flashes across my brain like an echo from the past, but I can never quite recall it. It might explain matters. Still, it is no use talking. That apple rotted long ago, and if the Tree is still growing, which I doubt, there is always a guard of flying infantry at the Gate. It is easier to get out than in where Eden is concerned.’

“The Serpent smiled blandly.

“‘You have evidently forgotten that, by arrangement with the Governing Body, I have always free ingress and egress. Look here!’

“He unfolded his iridescent coils, and there lay within them—shining, mystic, wonderful, against his velvet bloom—two Apples.

“There was no hesitation, for each was equally weary of Adam’s requirements; and, snatching each an Apple, they ate.

“But the Fruit has grown bitter since the days of the Garden. There is nothing so bitter as knowledge. Their lips were wried, and the tears came, and still they ate until not an atom remained. The Serpent watched. For a moment each stared upon the other, trembling like a snared bird, wild thoughts coming and going in the eyes of the Barren Woman and the Mother of all Living. Then Eve stretched out her arms, and Lilith flung herself into them, and they clung together, weeping.

“And the Serpent opened his eyes until they shone like sun, moon, and stars all melted into one; and he said, ‘Ladies, the word you are seeking is, I think, _Combination_.’ And smiling subtly, he went away.

“So Eve descended from her pedestal and trampled it; and Lilith broke the rod of her evil enchantments; and they walked hand in hand, blessing the world.

“Adam meanwhile was shooting,—big game, little game,—and, amid the pressure of such important matters, never paid any attention to this trifle. But this was the beginning of what will be the biggest trade-union the world will ever see. All the women who matter will be within it, and the black-legs outside will be the women who don’t count. So now you see why men will not much longer have a run (literally) for their money. Adam may have to put up with it, for he never ate the Apple as Eve and Lilith have done, and therefore does not know so much about the things of real importance. Unless indeed the Serpent— But we won’t think of that until it happens.

“Now, my dear Joan, whether all this is a good or a bad thing, who can tell? The Serpent undoubtedly shuffled the cards; and who the Serpent is and what are his intentions, are certainly open questions. Some believe him to be the Devil, but the minority think his true name is Wisdom. All one really can say is that the future lies on the knees of the gods, and that among all men the Snake is the symbol of Knowledge, and is therefore surrounded with fear and hatred.

“Now that’s the story, and don’t you think there’s a kind of moral?”

I waited for a comment. Joan was in deep meditation.

“Do you know,” she said slowly, “it’s the truest thing I ever heard. It’s as true as taxes. But where do _you_ come in?”

“I wasn’t thinking of us,” I said hurriedly. “I merely meant—if you wished to be more attractive——”

“Attractive!”—with her little nose in the air. “I guess it’s you that will have to worry about your attractions, if that comes along. I won’t waste any more time on you to-day. I’ve got to think this out, and talk it out, too, with Inez and Janet.”

She rose and began to pull on her gloves, but absently.

I felt exactly like a man who has set a time-fuse in a powder magazine. The Serpent himself must have possessed me when I introduced his wisdom to a head cram-full of it already.

“It’s the merest nonsense, Joan. It isn’t in the Talmud. The Serpent never thought of it. I made it all up.”

“You couldn’t. It isn’t in you. Or, if you did, it was an inspiration from on high.”

“From below,” I said weakly.

She smiled to herself—a dangerous smile.

“I must go. And you really were a little less dull than usual. Come again on Tuesday. The moral of it all is, so far, that the poets are really worth cultivating. I will begin with you!”

She flashed away like a humming bird, and I retired, to read my Schopenhauer. But the serious question is—shall I go on Tuesday?

STATELY JULIA A STORY OF ENCHANTMENTS

STATELY JULIA

A STORY OF ENCHANTMENTS

(A letter from Mr. Amyand Tylliol to his friend, Mr. Endymion Porter at the Court of his Majesty, King Charles the First.)

To my kind and constant friend, that lover of the Muses, Mr. Endymion Porter, to whose understanding heart all confidences may be carried, these presents to bring my news.

Since you marvel at the delay of your humble servant needs must I tell you of a singular hap which hath befallen. Yet no hurt, therefore be not distrest, for all is well. And truth it is that I have met a most ingenious gentleman, and this is the marrow of what I would say.

For, prospering in my journey, I did reach Exeter, and there in the shadow of the Cathedral Church, transacted my affair with Mr. Delander as foreseen. And a right fair and noble church it is, rich beyond imagining with images of kings and bishops, queens and holy martyrs.

From Mr. Stephen Delander (who quarters the arms of Tylliol with his own from an alliance in the days of Queen Elizabeth of blessed memory, and therefore calls cousin with me) have I received most hospitable entertainment, and noble conversation enriched with such sparkling gems of poesy and rhetoric as cannot be told in words. And hence is he become my singular good friend and as such to be remembered and cherished. His house lies in the Cathedral precincts and is by all the city known as Domus Domini, the Lord’s House, since it belonged to the foundation of the Cathedral in days now like to be forgot.

And ’tis a house delightful to the fancy, in a very small garden set with a few sombre trees, enlightened with clove-gilly flowers and roses, and box hedges with winding walks among the turf. Within, deep-windowed, with grave and handsome plenishing and great store of books clothing the walls, and all of a sober discretion that bespeaks a gentleman of lineage and parts. And over it towers the cathedral church the which (looking upward) appears to swim in the blue as though native to the skies, and sheds from its mighty bells a voice of warning over the clustering city with every passing hour, for a _memento mori_.

A place indeed for the feeding of pensive musing and the relishing of the fair-zoned Muses even as in the groves of Academe.

So, business concluded, ’twas the habit of Mr. Delander and myself to sit in the oriel commanding the cathedral and to hold sweet discourse, with a flagon of right Canary between us, and from one of these exchanges sprang my delay.

For he, talking of the writing of the rare Master Ben Jonson, spoke as follows:

“A poet indeed, but sure Mr. Tylliol, being a lover of verse and a trafficker in its niceties, knows we have here in this rude Devonshire a poet—nay, what say I?—_the_ poet of women and flowers and elves that skip by moonlight, with like delights of the phantasy, such as rare Ben or even the rarer Master Shakespeare cannot excel?”

“Lord, sir!” says I. “I stand amazed. I knew it not. Who may the gentleman be?”

“I would not have you think,” he responded, “that this gentleman hath the choir note of our young Milton, nor yet the plenteous invention of Will Shakespeare. ’Tis a country Muse, but exquisite. A muse withal that hath been to town and drest her lovely limbs in lawns and silks, and wears pomander beads in her bosom. A Muse whose blush is claret and cream commingled. And as I said, exquisite. A voice of Castaly.”

“And what does the gentleman in the wilds and what is he?” asked I, a-tip-toe with curiosity, for well you know my passion for these rarities. And hastily I added:

“Hath your honour any taste or relish of his verse at hand to whet my appetite? For with poetry as with manners—from one can all be told.”

He mused a moment smiling, then recited thus:

“TO A LADY SINGING

“So smooth, so sweet, so silvery is thy voice As, could they hear, the damned would make no noise, But listen to thee walking in thy chamber, Melting melodious words to lutes of amber.”

“O rare!” cried I, clapping my hands. “A right music, like drops of honey distilling from the comb. Was this a happy chance, or may the gentleman summon the delicate Ariel when he will?”

He smiled, indulgent:

“Since you compare the lines with honey, hear yet again.” I sat elate.

“As Julia once a-sleeping lay It chanced a bee did fly that way. For some rich flower he took the lip Of Julia, and began to sip. But when he felt he sucked from thence Honey (and in the quintessence) He drank so much he scarce could stir And Julia took the pilferer!

“Sweet Lady-flower, I never brought Hither the least one thieving thought. But taking those rare lips of yours For some fresh fragrant luscious flowers, I thought I there might take a taste Where so much sirop ran to waste. Besides, know this,—‘I never sting The flower that gives me nourishing.’ This said, he laid his little scrip Of honey ’fore her Ladyship, And told her (as some tears did fall) That this he took and that was all. At which she smiled and bade him go And take his bag; but this much know When next he came a-pilfering so, He should from her full lips derive Honey enough to fill his hive.”

“’Tis a pure seed-pearl,” said I. “Small but Orient. And now, Mr. Delander my worthy friend, tell me where hides this shepherd of the enchanted pipe, for if, as you say, in Devon, then Devon I will not quit till with these tickling ears have I listened to his sweet pipings. And if Julia be his neighbour, as we may suppose— O, sir, speak by the cards and tell me true!”

“There is,” he responded, “in this His Majesty’s shire of Devon, a very savage forest, yet with no trees,—known as the Forest of Dartmoor. And well may I call it savage, for there do savages harbour that would make as little to slit a man’s throat and cast him in a slough as I to toss this nut-shell. Of the roads to these parts, least said soonest mended—sooner indeed than they. But know that around this execrable miscreant of a Dartmoor lie little lovely villages full of a sweet civility of flowers and hives of bees, and kine and pretty maids to milk ’em. And above all there is one called Dean Prior and of this the spiritual shepherd is Mr. Robert Herrick.”

“Sure his crook is wreathed with roses and the pretty lambs of the flock have nought to fear from their shepherd,” says I.

“I take your meaning, Mr. Tylliol, and yet—[he paused here with a peculiar sweet smile]—though you might decipher much from his verses of Julias, Dianemes, Perillas, and other charming ladies, and he is much accused as a loose liver, ’tis possible to read his riddle wrong. Go therefore and see him. I have known another who did this and returned surprised. Yet cross not Dartmoor on your life, but go softly below it where honest folk live. Also, a coach goes down two days hence within two miles of the village and with it a riding guard. Take your stout nag, and so God bless you and send you a happy meeting with a man not commonly to be accosted.”

’Twas in vain for me to beshrew and becall myself for the veriest ass between this and London, and doubtless I had flinched from so great an enterprise but that Mr. Delander poured verses more and more mellifluous into mine ears until at last I was as Ulysses, drunk with the fierce wine of the Sirens’ voices, and there being no mast whereto to bind me and Mr. Delander full of laughing incitements, I set forth to follow the track of music as a bee the track of the unseen rose’s perfume.

Of the roads I forbear to speak, and the harbourage by the way would willingly forget, but the air was sweet and fragrant with earliest summer and the fields yet gilt with cowslips and I spied a few late primroses lingering about the roots of trees in the shy copses. Also, an exceeding delicate flower like a silver star, that made sweet constellation in the lush grass. And could the courtesies of London be imported I know not where a man might better fleet the hours than in this warm and languid shire of Devon.

So, on the fourth day we observed a wild mountain stream, browner than October ale, that rushing danced to meet us, breaking in a thousand showers, spray, and rillets among its rocks—a lovely thing to see and hear—the youngest surely of the bright nymphs of the hills.

“And this,” says the guard of the coach, “is the Dean Burn, and not far off the Vicarage, and the few houses of the village are far down the road where we shall presently come. So here, worshipful sir, we leave you.”

Then, being arrived and the coach still standing to discharge certain packets for the parson I spied a comely man in middle age coming to meet us.

He was drest in hodden grey, clean but simple, his head bare and the sunshine on it, and his eyes smiled with his mouth. And in that first sight I gave my liking to Mr. Herrick, and so has it continued.

I presented my letter from Mr. Delander, and of the cordial of my welcome need I not to speak.

“Nay, what favour?” said he. “Sure to a rustic that once knew London, pinioned here to rude rocks and trees, ’tis like a scent of the kindly civil streets to see an accomplished gentleman. Blush not, sir, for so I have it under Mr. Delander’s hands and seal, and I know no better judge. ’Tis little I can give, but my pleasant maid, Prudence Baldwin, hath a bed with sun-bleacht sheets in waiting for the traveller, and my roof is weather-proof, and my little creeking hen, foreseeing a friend, hath made shift to lay her long white egg, and this rascally riveret that I have abused in verse, yet love, hath provided fresh-dewed cresses for our meat. If with these and a very little more, my guest’s hunger can be satiate, then welcome again—thrice welcome to Dean Prior.”

With gladness I accepted, for the welcome was as much in his eye as on his lip, and so we came to the low house seated in a small garden gay with gilliflowers, culver-keys, sops-in-wine, lad’s love, and all the outspread courtiers that pay homage to the rose. And roses he had, great store, both damask and white, and the party-coloured York and Lancaster—to the which he drew my notice.

Lord, what a little house, and poor though neat, and yet with sparkles of money here and there in a rich picture or two, and a settle and chest carved by no ’prentice hand, and a worn but costly velvet cloak thrown over the back. And a clock, grave as Time himself, with a dial curiously illustrated with mottoes and cherubims. And before entering I took notice that a sun-dial stood in the garden, with this verse engraved[2] so as the gnomon should point the lesson:

[2] The inscription on the sun-dial is my own. L. Adams Beck.

“Shine, Sun of Righteousness, with beam more bright Than this great dawn my dial doth invite, And as the gnomon’s shadow doth incline To tread his steps, let my sprite follow thine.”

Which methought a devout reflection pleasing to Christian ears, and so I said, but he smiling put it by.

And now with a handsome curtsey Mrs. Prue met us, coming from her kitchen, a kindly buxom woman with flowered skirt pulled up through her pockets, and a cap white as the foam on Dean Burn, and in her hospitable hand a little server, she pressing us to drink a cup of ale before our dinner served. And so showed me to my little cell with lavender stuck in the windows, and sheets that might have wrapt the smooth limbs of the divine Julia, though I dare to say they never did. And since the bed was spread with down pulled from the Vicar’s own geese it invited a pure and honest slumber.

But, marry! when we came to dine, that I thought should have been on eggs and cresses at the best, here was a surprise.

For before Master Vicar were laid two smoking trouts, broiled to a turn over sea-coals.

“And of these,” says mine host, “you may eat fearless, for they were caught in Dean Burn, and of all clean livers commend me to the trout that is indeed a dainty monsieur; and these inhabit in water clear as crystal beams, unlike those degenerate fish that scavenge in Thames. And moreover, these hands took them this morning, for I am a brother of the rod, and love to sit a-angling and a-musing.”

And needs must I say that these trout with Mrs. Prue’s sauce, the rich droppings of the fish mixed with fresh sweet butter and the yolk of an egg, was a dish for feasting Gods.

’Twas followed by a bird trapt on the moor, of a reddish flesh and _haut gout_ very delicious, and what should come after that but a junket with nutmegs grated and clouted cream—so yellow, thick and mellow that I praised and commended and Mr. Herrick heapt my platter until I cried quarter.

“Cream of cowslips,” says he, “for the meadows whence it was drawn are gilt with their fragrant blossoms and the leisurely cows lie among them and crush their sweetness as well as devour it. And if you condescend later to taste it with a crust of Mrs. Prue’s bread and her marmalet of crab-apples, you shall say it is good honest country fare if simple.”

I rose content from a meal excelling all the varieties of rich men’s tables, and on his proposal we sat a while under his honey-suckle bower to look upon the prospect and digest our meat seemly, while Mrs. Prue moved softly about the house clearing and cleansing.

And seeing the moment favourable, I adventured a question much in my mind.

“Sir, in your divine and honey-golden verse, recited to me by our common friend, Mr. Delander, you speak with opprobrium of this rude Devonshire. Yet here I come and find you set amid delights of soul and body such as a king might envy. Is it true that you, looking on these sweet hills and meadows, this singing riveret and the hues and scents of your garden, can wish yourself in the noise and foulness of towns? Resolve me this doubt, for, trust me, it perplexes me.”

He smiled a little.

“Why, sir, is a poet wiser than another that he should not long for the rainbow a field away? You are to take notice that when I lived in London I abused the smells and sights and craved for country quiet. And now I have it ’tis the other way about. But in all good soberness this is the better life and I know it. Here is the eye enlarged to beauty, the ear attuned to music celestial, and the company, though not choicely good, is innocent, and if evil, hath no tinsel to hide its native ugliness.”

He paused a moment as though to digest his thoughts and added:

“Here we rise with Chanticleer and make the lamb our curfew, and the day’s small cares ended and our souls committed to the Keeper who sleeps not, we slumber discharged of griefs. And if our food be plain the seasoning is thanks.

“God, to my little meal and oil Add but a bit of flesh to boil, And Thou my pipkinet shalt see Give a wave-offering unto Thee.”

He smiled so cheerfully that I enquired:

“Your own verse, reverend sir?”

“My own. My Muse is not always concerned with ladies’ eyes nor with the revels of Mab and Oberon whereof I have also delighted to write. She kneels sometimes, face veiled. And these I call my Noble Numbers.”

There was a moment’s silence, so great that through the singing of the water I might hear the cropping of Clover-lips, his red cow. ’Twas not long however before I resumed.

“Then, sir, the country is now your choice preferred?”

“I said not so. Nay, I long sometimes for the town. But I know and scarce know how, that my lot will be cast there again for some sad years, and then I shall return here to lay my bones in peace among my people.”

“Was this revealed to you in dream, sir? But this question is overbold. Few men reveal their dreams.”

“Mine,” says he, “are so chaste as I dare tell them. Yes, in a dream. Doubtless induced by the present discontents which will wreck our good King Charles and many lesser with him.”

We discoursed of these, and with each word I liked mine host the better, until his gentleness emboldened me so much that at the last I said;

“And where, worthy sir, are the houses of the lovely and wealthy ladies who keep you good company in summer sunshine and winter snow? Where dwells the stately Mistress Julia, bright and straight as a garden tulip, a flower which I confess the Roman name of Julia calls always to my sight. Where the sparkling-eyed lady Dianeme, the shy Anthea, the delicate Perilla light as a woodland anemone, and all this shining garden of sweets that your muse commends to our worship? Let me own nor blush for’t, that my journey, though undertaken to their poet, was seasoned also with the hope to kiss their feet.”

“Sir, you did well. The Hesperides are worth even a journey to Devon. And doubtless you shall see the stately Julia, and the bright Anthea and all the fair choir, but not yet. And now will I repeat you my latest homage to one of these ladies, and then I must needs visit my sick while you sit in the meadow and watch the milkmaid at her fragrant labour.

“THE CURIOUS COVENANT

“Mine eyes like clouds were drizzling rain, And as they thus did entertain The gentle beams from Julia’s light To mine eyes levelled opposite, O thing admired!—there did appear A curious rainbow smiling there, Which was the covenant that she No more would drown mine eyes or me.”

“O exquisite felicity!” cried I with delight. “And did it not move your empress to mercy?”

“It moved her, sir!” he answered with a subdued laughter. “And now must I forth. Entertain yourself, I pray you.”

He went toward the village, bearing in his hand a well-stored panier brought forth by Mrs. Prue, in the which I might espy little pots and pipkins clearly bespeaking a charitable heart. And when he disappeared I took in hand the rod he commended to me and did go a-angling in the Dean Burn.

But the sun was bright and the water like dancing diamonds and its song so dulcet that even with my good will I would fain leave the silly trout in their crystal house, and so I e’en turned over in the short sweet-smelling grass and there fell asleep and dreamed of Julia with her smooth rubious lips and velvet cheek, and of the banquets of elves and their midnight rejoicings, but dimly and with the sound of water in it all, until I fell in the very deeps of slumber and dreamed no more.

Suddenly and soon as it seemed, but was not, I heard a voice soft as a cushat’s call me, and looking up drowsily beheld a pretty milkmaid summon Clover-lips and Pretty Primrose, and they responded slow but obedient.