 Chapter 53 Part 2 of The Cloyster and the Half by Charles Reid. Eli, softened by many touches in the letter and by the reader's womanly graces, said kindly enough, take thy time, lass, and me thinks some of you might find her creepy to rest her foot, and she so near her own trouble. I'll do more for her than that, and I durst, said Catherine. Here Cornelis, and she held out her little wooden stool, and that worthy who hated Margaret worse than ever, had to take the creepy and put it carefully under her foot. You are very kind, Dame, she faltered. I will read on. Tis all I can do for you in turn. Thus seeing my master Ashey and Sore shaken, I deemed this horrible tragic act came timelessly to warn him. So I strove Sore to turn him from his ill ways, Discoursing of sinners and their lethal end. Too late, said he, too late, and gnashed his teeth. Then I told him, too late was the devil's favourite whisper in repentant ears, said I, The Lord is debonair, let sinners not despair. Too late, said he, and gnashed his teeth, And writhed his face as though vipers were biting his inward parts. But, dear heart, his was a mind like running water. ere we cleared the town he was carrelling, And outside the gate hung the other culprit, from the bow of a little tree, And scarce a yard above the ground. And that stayed my vagabond's music. But ere we had gone another furlong, he feigned to have dropped his rosary, and ran back with no good intent, as you shall hear. I strolled on very slowly, and often halting, and presently he came stomping up on one leg, and that bandaged. I asked him how he could contrive that, for it was masterly done. Oh, that was his mystery! Would I know that? I must join the brotherhood. And presently we did pass a narrow lane, and at the mouth-aunt espied a written stone, telling beggars by a word like a wee pitchfork, to go that way. Tis yarn farmhouse, said he, by thou at hand. And he went to the house, and came back with money, food, and wine. This lad did the business, said he, slapping his one leg proudly. Then he undid the bandage, and with prideful face showed me a hole in his calf you could have put your neef in. Had I been strange to his tricks, here was a leg had drawn my last penny. Presently another farmhouse by the road. He made for it. I stood and asked myself, should I run away and leave him, not to be shamed in my own despite by him? But while I doubted, there was a great noise, and my master, well cudgled by the farmer and his men, came towards me hobbling and hollowing, for the peasants had laid on heartily. But more trouble was at his heels. Some mischievous white loosed a dog as big as a jackass colt, and came roaring after him, and downed him momently. I, deeming the poor rogue's death certain, and him least fit to die, drew my sword and ran shouting. But ere I could come near, the muckled dog had torn away his bad leg, and ran growling to his lair with it. And Kuldejat slipped his knot, and came running like a lap-wing with his hair on end, and so striking with both crutches before and behind at unreal dogs as twas like a windmill crazed. He fled down the road. I followed leisurely and found him at dinner. Curse the queens, said he, and not a word all dinner-time, but curse the queens. I said I must know who they were before I would curse them. Why, that was dogs. And I knew not even that much. He had made a bad bargain. Well, well, said he, to-morrow we shall be in Germany. There the folk are music-bitten, and they molest not beggars unless they fake to boot, and then they drown us out of hand that moment cursome. We came to Strasbourg, and I looked down Rhine with longing heart. The stream, how swift! It seemed running to clip Sevenberg into its soft bosom. With but a piece of timber and an oar I might drift at my ease to thee, sleeping yet gliding still. T'was a sore temptation. But the fear of an ill-welcome from my folk, and of the neighbour's sneers, and the hope of coming back to thee victorious, not, as now I must, defeated and shamed, and thee with me, it did withhold me, and so with many sighs, and often turning of the head to look on beloved Rhine. I turned sorrowful face and heavy heart towards Augsburg. Alas, Dame! alas! could master Eli, forgive me! But I ne'er can win over this part all at one time. It taketh my breath away, well a day. Why did he not listen to his heart? Had he not gone through peril I know, sorrow I know, well a day, well a day? The letter dropped from her hand, and she drooped like a wounded lily. Then there was a clatter on the floor, and it was little Kate going on her crutches, with flushed face and eyes full of pity, to console her. Water-mother! she cried, I am afraid she shall swoon. Nay, nay, fear me not! said Margaret Feebly. I will not be so troublesome. Thy good will it maketh me stouter heart, and sweet Mistress Kate, for if thou carest how I fare, sure heaven is not against me. Catherine, do you hear that, my man? Eli, I wife, I hear, and mark to boot. Little Kate went back to her place, and Margaret read on. The Germans are fonder of armorials than the French, so I found work every day, and whilst I wrought my master would leave me, and doff his raiment, and don his rags, and other infirmities, and cousin the world, which he did cleep it plucking of the goose. This done would meet me and demand half my earnings, and with restless piercing eye ask me, would I be so base as cheat my poor master by making three parts in lieu of two, till I threatened to lend him a cuff to boot in requital of his suspicion. And thenceforth took his dew, with feigned confidence in my good faith, the which his dancing eye belied. Early in Germany we had a quarrel. I had seen him by a skull of a jailer's wife, and mighty zealots are polishing it. Thought I, how can he carry on memento, and not repent, seeing where ends his way? Presently I did catch him selling it to a woman for the head of Saint Barnabas, with a tail had cousin'd an ebrew, so I snatched it out of their hands, and trundled it into the ditch. How, thou impious knave, said I, would sell for a saint a skull of some dead thief thy brother? He slumped away. But shallow she did crawl after the skull, and with apron reverently dusted for Barnabas, and it barabas, and so home with it, said I, non-vault answer velly, said populace-vault dechipy. Catherine, oh, the goodly Latin, Eli, what meaneth it? Catherine, nay, I know not, but this Latin, is not that I know. He was the flower of the flock. Then I to him, take now thy sultory and part we here, for art a walking prison, a walking hell. But lo, my master fell on his knees, and begged me for pity's sake not turn him off. What would become of him? He did so love honesty, thou love honesty, said I. I said he, not to enact it, the saints forbid, but to look on, to so fair a thing to look on. Alas, good Bonbeck, said he, had starved peradventure, but for me, kick not down thy ladder! Will ye that just, nay, calm thy collar, have pity on me, I must have a pal, and how could I bear one like myself after one so simple as thou? He might cut my throat for the money that is hid in my belt. It is not much, it is not much, but with thee I walk at my knees. With a sharp I dare not go before in a narrow way. Alas, forgive me! Now I know where, in thy bonnet lurks the bee, I will wear his sting, I will but pluck the secular goose. So be it, said I, an example was contagious, he should be a true man by then we reached Nuremberg, to us a long way to Nuremberg. Seeing him so humble, I said, well, doff rags, and make thyself decent, to help me forget what thou art. And he did so, and we sat down to our non-a-meat. Presently came by a reverent palmer, with hat stuck round with cockleshells from Holy Land, and great rosary of beads like eggs of teal, and sandals for shoes. And he leaned a weary on his long staff, and offered us a shell apiece. My master would none, but I, to set him a better example, took one, and for it gave the poor pilgrim two batson, and had his blessing. And he was scarce gone when we heard savage cries, and came a sorry sight, one leading a wild woman in a chain, all rags and howling like a wolf. And when they came nigh us, she felt it tearing her rags to threads. The man sought an arms of us, and told us his hard case. To us his wife, stark raving mad, and he could not work in the fields, and leave her in his house to fire it, nor cure her, could be without the sainties' help, and had vowed six pounds of wax to St. Anthony to heal her. And so was feign beg of charitable folk for the money. Now she aspired us, and flew at me with her long nails, and I was cold with fear, so devilish showed her face, and rolling eyes, and nails like birdies' talons. But he with the chain checked her sudden, and with his whip did cruelly lash her for it, that I cried for bear, for bear, she knoweth not what she doth, and gave him a bat. And being gone, said I, master, of those twain I know not which is the more pitiable. And he laughed in my face, Behold thy justice-ponbeck, said he, thou railest on thy poor, good, within an ace of honest master, and bestowest arms on a vopper. Vopper, said I, what is a vopper? Why a troll at feign's madness, that was one of us, that sham maniac, and wow, but she did it clumsily. I blushed for her, and thee, also gave us two batson for a shell from Holy Land that came no farther than Normandy, I have culled them myself on that coast by scores, and sold them to pilgrims true and pilgrims false, to gull-flats like thee with all. What said I, that reverent man? One of us cried cul-de-jot. One of us, in France we call them coquillards, but here calmières, railest on me for selling a false relic now and again, and wasteest thy earnings on such a sell, nor else? I tell thee, bondec, said he, there is not one true relic on earth's face. The saints died a thousand years ago, and their bones mixed with the dust, but the trade in relics it is of yesterday, and there are forty thousand tramps in Europe live by it. Seeing relics of forty or fifty bodies, oh, Fredbear lie, and of the true cross, you know, to build cologne minster. Why, then, may not poor cul-de-jot turn his penny with the crowd? Art but a scurvy, tyrannical servant, to let thy poor master from his share of the swag, with your horse and pilgrims, palmers and friars, black, grey, and crutched, for all these are of our brotherhood and of our art, only master's they, and we but poor apprentices, in guild, for his tongue was an hell and a half. A truce to thy irreverent sophistries, said I, and say what company is this a-coming? Bohemians, cried he, aye, aye, this shall be the rest of the band. And with that came along so motley a crew as never your eyes beheld, dear Margaret. Marched at their head, one with a banner on a steel-pointed lance, and girded with a great long sword, and in velvet doublet and leathern jerkin, for which stuffs ne'er so I wedded a foal on mortal flesh, and a gay feather in his lordly cap, and a couple of dead fouls at his back, for which, and the spark had come by honestly, I am much mistook. Him followed wives and babes on two lean horses, whose flanks still rattled like parchment-drum, being beaten by kettles and cauldrons. Next an armed man, a riding of a horse, which drew a cart full of females and children, and in it, sitting backwards, a lusty, lazy, knave, lance in hand with his luxurious feet raised on a holy water-pail, that lay along, and there in a cat, newly kittened, sat glowing over her brood, and sparks for eyes. And the cart-horse cavalier had on his shoulders a round bundle, and thereon did perch a cock, and crowed with zeal, poor ruffler, proud of his brave feathers as a rest, and haply with more reason being his own, and on an arse, another wife and new-born child, and one poor queen, a foot scarce dragged herself along so near her time was she, yet held two little ones by the hand, and helplessly helped them on the road. And the little folk were just a farce. Some road-sticks, with horses' heads between their legs, which pranced and caracold, and soon wearied the riders so-so, they stood stockstill and wept, which cavaliers were presently taken into cart and cuffed. And one more grave, lost in a man's heart and feather, walked in Egyptian darkness, handed by a girl, another had the great sauce-burn on his back, and a tremendous three-footed clay-pot sat on his head and shoulders, swallowing him, so as he too went darkling, led by his sweet-heart, three-foot eye. When they were gone by, and we had both laughed lustily, said I, nevertheless, master, my bowels they yearn for one of that tawdry band, even for the poor wife so near the down-lying, scarce able to drag herself, yet still poor soul helping the weaker on the way. Catherine, nay, nay, Margaret, why wench pluck apart, surty's thou art no bohemian. Kate, nay, mother, it is not that, I trove, but her father, and dear heart, why take notice to put her to the blush? Richard, so I say, and he derided me. Why, that is a built-reggar, said he, and you waste your bowels on a pillow, or so forth, I told him he lied. Time would show, said he, wait till they camp, and rising after meet and meditation, and travelling forward we found them camped between two great trees on a common by the wayside, and they had lighted a great fire, and on it was their cauldron, and one of the trees slanting over the fire, a kid hung down by a chain from the tree-fork to the fire, and in the fork was wedged an urchin turning still the chain to keep the meat from burning, and a gay spark, with a feather in his cap, cut up a sheep, and another had spitted a leg of it on a wooden stake, and a woman ended chanter-clear as bride with ringing of his neck, and under the other tree, four rufflers played at cards and quarrelled, and no word sands oath, and of these lewd gamblers one had cockles in his hat, and was my reverent pilgrim, and a female, young and comely, and dressed like a butterfly, sat and mended a heap of dirty rags, and Kuldeshat said, Yon is the Vopper, and I looked incredulous and looked again, and it was so, and at her feet sat he that had so late lashed her, but I wean he had wistware to strike, or woe betide him, and she did now oppress him, so, and made him thread her very needle, for which he did with all humility. So was their comedy turned seamy side without, and Kuldeshat told me, to a still so with Voppers and their men in camp, they would don their bravery, though, but for an hour, and with their tinsel empire, and the man durst not the least gainsay the Vopper, or she would turn him off at these times, as I, my master, and take another tyrant more submissive, and my master chuckled over me, nonetheless, we soon aspired a wife set with her back against the tree, and her hair down, and her face white, and by her side a wench held up to her eye, a newborn babe with words of cheer, and the rough fellow, her husband, did bring her hot wine in a cup, and bade her take courage. And just o'er the place she sat, they had pinned from bow to bow of those neighbouring trees, two shawls, and blankets two together to keep the drizzle off her. And so had another poor little rogue come into the world, and by her own particular folk tended gypsy-wise, but of the roasters, and boilers, and Voppers, and gamblers, no more noticed, no not for a single moment, than sheep which throppeth her lamb in a field, by travellers upon the way. Then said I, what of thy foul suspicions, master? Over-navery blinds the eye, as well as over-simplicity. And he laughed, and said, Triumph, Pongbeck, Triumph, that chances were nine in ten against thee. Then I did pity her to be in a crowd at such a time, but he repulked me, I should pity rather your queens and royal duchesses, which, by law, are condemned to groan in a crowd of nobles and courtiers, and do writhe with shame, as well as sorrow, being come of decent mothers, whereas these gypsy women have no more shame under their skins than a wolf-truth or a hair-valla. And, Bonbeck, Quothee, I aspire in thee a lamentable fault. Wasteest thy bowels, wilt have none left for thy poor good master, which doeth thy will by night and day. Then we came forward, and he talked with the men in some strange Hebrew cant, whereof no word knew I. And the poor knaves but us welcome and denied us naught. With them, and all they had, twas lightly come and lightly go. And when we left them, my master said to me, This is thy first lesson, but tonight we shall lie at Hansburg. Come with me to the rot-boss there, and I'll show thee all our folk and their lays, and especially the Losners, the Dutzers, the Schleppers, the Gikises, the Schwanfelders, whom in England we call shivering jammies, the Suntvegas, the Schvegas, the Jonas, the Sessledegas, the Gensheras, in France, Marc-Condiers, or Rifauds, the Veronairens, the Stabulas, with a few foreigners like ourselves, such as Pietres, Franck-Mittoux, Paulissons, Malin-Greux, Traitors, Gruffless, Whip-Jolks, Domaras, Glimmaras, Jarkmen, Patrickos, Swaders, Autumn Morts, Walking Morts, and no, I cried stopping him, Arthas Gleesam as the evil one accounting of his imps. I'll jot down in my tablet all these catiffs and their accursed names, for knowledge is knowledge, but go among them alive or dead that will I not with my good will. Moreover said I, what need, since I have a companion in thee who is all the naives on earth in one, and thought to abash him, but his face shone with pride, and hand on breast he did bow low to me. If thy wit be scant, good Bonbeck, thy manners are a charm, I have made a good bargain. So he to the rot-boss, and I to a decent in, and sketched the landlord's daughter by candlelight, and started at Morn, Batson, three the richer, but could not find my master, so loitered slowly on, and presently met him coming west for me, and cursing the queens. Why so? Because he could blind the culls, but not the queens. At last I prevailed on him to leave cursing and canting, and tell me his adventure. Said he, I sat outside the gate of Yon Monastery, full of sores, which I showed the passers-by. Oh, Bonbeck, beautiful as sores you never saw! And it rained coppers in my heart. Presently the monks came home from some procession, and the convent dogs ran out to meet them, cursed the queens. What, did they fall on thee, and bite thee, poor soul? Worse, worse, dear Bonbeck, had they bitten me, I had earned silver. But the great idiots, being, as I think, puppies, or a little better, fell on me where I sat, downed me, and fell a-licking my sores among them. As thou, false knave, did swear the welps in heaven, licked the sores of lazy bones a beggar of old, nay-nay, said I, I said no such thing. But tell me, since they bit thee not, but sportfully licked thee, what harm? What harm, noodle, why the sores came off? How could that be? How could ought else be? And them just fresh put on? Did I think he was so weak as bite-holes in his flesh with rat's bane? Nay, he was an artist, a painter, like his servant, and had put on sores made of pig's blood, rye-meal, and glue. So when the folk saw my sores go on tongues of puppies, they laughed, and I saw cord or sack before me. So up I jumped and shouted, A miracle, a miracle, the very dogs of this holy convent be holy, and have cured me. Good fathers, cried I, whose day is this? St. Isidore's, said one, St. Isidore cried I in a sort of rapture, Why, St. Isidore is my patron saint, so that accounts. And the simple folk swallowed my miracle, as those accursed queens my wounds. But the monks took me inside and shut the gate, and put their heads together. But I have a quick ear, and one did say, Caret miraculo monasterium, which is Greek pata, least ways it is no beggars can't. Finally they bade the lay-brethren give me a hiding, and take me out a back way, and put me on the road, and threatened me, did I come back to the town, to hand me to the magistrates, and have me drowned for a plain impostor. Prophet now, by the church's grace, said they, and mend thy ways. So forward, Bonbeck, for my life, is not sure nigh hand this down. As we went, he worked his shoulders. Wow, but the brethren laid on, and what means yon piece of monks can't I wonder? So I told him the words meant, the monastery is in want of a miracle. But the application thereof was dark to me. Dark? cried he. Dark is noon. Why it means they are going to work the miracle, my miracle, and gather all the grain I sowed. Therefore these blows on their benefactors' shoulders. Therefore is he that wrought their scurry miracle, driven forth with stripes and threats? Oh, cosening knaves! Said I, becomes you to complain of guile. Alas, Bonbeck! said he! I but outwit the simple, but these monks would pluck lucifer of his wing-feathers. And went a league bemoaning himself that he was not convent bread like his servant. He would put it to more profit, and railing on queens. And as for those monks, there was one above. 30s, said I, there is one above. What then? Who will call those shavlings to compt one day? Quoth he, and all deceitful men, said I. At one that afternoon I got armouries to paint. So my master took the yellow jaundice, and went begging through the town, and with his oily tongue, and saffron-water face, did fill his hat. Now in all the towns are certain licensed beggars. And one of these was an old favourite with the town's folk, had his station at St. Martin's porch, the greatest church. A blind man, they called him Blind Hans. He saw my master drawing coppers on the other side of the street, and knew him by his tricks for an impostor. So sent and warned the constables, and I met my master in the constables' hands, and going to his trial in the town hall. I followed, and many more. And he was none abashed, neither by the pomp of justice, nor memory of his misdeeds, but demanded his accuser, like a trumpet. And Blind Hans's boy came forward, but was sifted narrowly by my master, and stammered and faltered, and owned he had seen nothing, but only carried Blind Hans's tail to the chief constable. This is but hearsay, said my master. Lo, ye know, here standeth misfortune, back-bit by envy. But stand thou forth, Blind Envy, and vent thine own lie. And Blind Hans, behold to stand forth, saw against his will. Him did my master so press with questions, and so pinch and torture, asking him again and again how, being blind, he could see all that befell, and some that befell not, across away, and why, and he could not see, he came there holding up his purge at hand, and maligning the misfortunate, that at last he groan'd aloud, and would utter no word more. And an alderman said, in sooth Hans, ye ought to blame, hast cast more dirt of suspicion on thyself than on him. But the burgamaster, a wondrous fat man, and me thinks of his fat, some had gotten into his head, checked him, and said, Nay, Hans, we know this many years, and be he blind or not, he hath passed for blind so long, till all won. Back to thy porch, good Hans, and let the strange violet leave the town incontinent on pain of whipping. Then my master winked to me. But there rose a civic officer, in his gown of state, and golden chain, a dignity with us lightly prized, and even shunned of some, but in Germany and France, much courted, save by condemned malafactors, to wit the hangman. And says he, aunt, please you, first let us see why he weareth his hair so thick and low. And his man went, and lifted cul-de-jat's hair, and low the upper gristle of both ears was gone. How is this, Nay, quoth the burgamaster? My master said carelessly, he minded not precisely. His had been a life of misfortunes and losses. When a poor soul has lost the use of his leg noble sirs, these more trivial woes rest lightly in his memory. When he found this would not serve his turn, he named two famous battles, in each of which he had lost half a year, a fighting like a true man against traitors and rebels. But the hangman showed him the two cuts were made at one time, and by measurement. "'Tis no bungling soldier's work, my master,' said he. "'Tis our own.' Then the burgamaster gave judgment. The present charge is not proven against thee, but, and thou beest not guilty now, thou hast been at other times witness thine ears. Wherefore I send thee to prison for one month, and to give a flooring towards the new hall of the guilds now a building, and to be whipped out of the town, and pay the hangman's fee for the same, and all the aldermen approved. And my master was hailed to prison with one look of anguish. "'It did strike my bosom. I tried to get speech of him, but the jailer denied me. But lingering near the jail, I heard a whistle. And there was Kuldejat at a narrow window, twenty feet from earth. I went under, and he asked me, what made I there? I told him I was loath to go forward and not bid him farewell. He seemed quite amazed, but soon his suspicious soul got the better. That was not all, my narend. I told him not all. The sultry, well, what of that? It was not mine, but his. I would pay him the price of it. Then throw me a rick's dollar, said he. I counted out my coins, and they came to a rick's dollar, and two batson. I threw him up his money, in three throws. And when he had got it all, he said softly, Bunbeck, master, said I, then the poor rogue was greatly moved. I thought he had been mocking me, said he. Oh, Bunbeck, Bunbeck, if I had found the world like thee at starting, I had put my wit to better use. And I had not lain here. Then he whimpered out, I gave not quite a rick's dollar for the jingler, and threw me back, that he had gone to cheat me of. Honest for once, and over late, and so with many sighs, bad me God-speed. Thus did my master, after often baffling men's justice, fall by their injustice. For his lost ears proved not his guilt only, but of that guilt the bitter punishment. So the account was even, yet they for his chastisement did chastise him. Nonetheless, he was a barless rogue, yet he hoped to make a man of me. Thanks to his good wit, I went forward richer far with my sultry and brunette. Richer far with my sultry and brush than with Yon as good as stolen purse. For that must have run dry in time like a big trough, but these a little fountain. Richard, how pregnant his reflections be, and but a curly-painted lad, when last I saw him, asking your pardon, mistress, prithee read on, One day I walked alone and soothed to say light-hearted, for my honest denny sweetened the air on the way, but poor Kuldejat poisoned it. The next day, passing a grand-house, out came on prancing steeds a gentleman in brave attire, and two servants. They overtook me. The gentleman bad me halt. I laughed in my sleeve, for a few batson were all my store. He bad me doth my doublet and jerken. Then I chuckled no more. Be-think you, my lord! said I, to his winter. How may a poor fellow go bare and live? So he told me I shot my narrow wide of his thought, and off with his own gay jerken, richly furred, and doublet to match, and held them forth to me. Then a servant let me know it was a penance. His lordship had had the ill-luck to slay his cousin in their cups. Down to my shoes he changed with me, and set me on his horse like a pop-in-jay, and fared by my side in my worn weeds, with my sultry on his back. And said he, now good youth, thou art cousin Dechdine, and I late count thy servant. Play the part well, and help me save my blood-stained soul. Be haughty and choleric as any noble, and I will be as humble as I may. I said I would do my best to play the noble, but what should I call him? He bad me call him naught but servant. That would mortify him most, he whist. We rode on a long way in silence, for I was meditating this strange chance, that from a beggar's servant had made me master to account, and also cuddling my brains how best I might play the master, without being run through the body all at one time like his cousin. For I mistrusted so my sparks' humility, your German nobles being to my knowledge proud as Lucifer, and choleric as fire. As for the servants, they did slyly grin to one another to see their master so humbled. What is that? A lump, as of lead, had just bounced against the door, and the latch was fumbled with unsuccessfully. Another bounce, and the door swung inwards, with giles arrayed in cloth of gold sticking to it like a wasp. He landed on the floor, and was embraced, but on learning what was going on, trumpeted that he would much leave a hear of Gerard than Gossip. Cybrant pointed to a diminutive chair. Giles showed his sense of this civility by tearing the said Cybrant out of a very big one, and there ensconced himself gorgeous and glowing. Cybrant had to wedge himself into the one, which was too small for the magnificent dwarf's soul, and Margaret resumed. But as this part of the letter was occupied with notices of places, all which my reader probably knows, and if not confined handled at large in a dozen well-known books from Munster to Murray, I skipped the topography, and hastened to that part where it occurred to him to throw his letter into a journal. The personal narrative that intervened may be thus condensed. He spoke but little at first to his new companions, but listened to pick up their characters. Neither his noble servant nor his servants could read or write, and as he often made entries in his tablets he impressed them with some awe. One of his entries was Le Beurre Casson Les Hommes, for he found the surly incubers licked the very ground before him now, nor did his soul suspect the hosier's son in the Count's feathers nor the Count in the minstrel's weeds. This seems to have surprised him, for he enlarged on it with the naivety and pomposity of youth. At one place, being humbly requested to present the in with his armorial bearings, he consented loftily, but painted them himself, to my host's wonder, who thought he lowered himself by handling brush. The true Count stood grinning by and held the paint pot, while the sham Count painted the shield with three red herrings rampant under a sort of Maltese cross made with two L-measures. At first his plebeian servants were insolent, but this, coming to the notice of his noble one, he forgot what he was doing penance for, and drew his sword to cut off their ears, heads included. But Gerard interposed and saved them, and rebuked the Count severely. And finally they all understood one another, and the superior mind obtained its natural influence. He played the barbarous noble of that day vilely, for his heart would not let him be either tyrannical or cold. Here were three human beings, he tried to make them all happier than he was, held them ravished with stories and songs, and set hair penant and company dancing with his whistle and sultry. For his own convenience he made them ride and tie, and thus pushed rapidly through the country, travelling generally fifteen leagues a day. End of chapter 53 part 2, Recording by Tom Denham Chapter 53 of The Cloyster and the Hearth by Charles Reid This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham, Diary This first day of January I observed a young man of the country to meet a strange maiden, and kissed his hand, and then held it out to her. She took it with a smile and low acquaintance-made, and babbled like old friends. Greeting so pretty and delicate, I ne'er did see. Yet were they both of the baser sort? So the next last I saw a coming, I said to my servant Lord, For further penance, bow thy pride, go meet yon base-born girl, kiss thy homicidal hand, and give it to her, and hold her in discourse as best ye may. And my noble servant said humbly, I shall obey my Lord. And we drew rain and watched while he went forward, kissed his hand, and held it out to her. Forthwith she took it smiling, and was most affable with him, and he with her. Presently came up a band of her companions, so this time I'd bat him off his bonnet to them, as though they were empresses. And he did so, and lo the lasses drew up as stiff as head-stakes, and moved not nor spake. Denis, aye, aye, aye, pardon the company! This surprised me none, for so they did discountenance poor Denis. And that whole day I wore in experimenting these German lasses, and trust still the same. And ye doth bonnet to them, they stiffen into statues, distance for distance, but accost them with honest freedom, and with that customary, and though rustical, most gracious proffer of the kissed hand, and they withhold neither their hands in turn, nor their acquaintance in an honest way. Seeing which I vexed myself, that Denis was not with us to prattle with them, he is so fond of women. Are you fond of women, Denis? And the reader opened two great violet eyes upon him, with gentle surprise. Denis, ahem! He says so, she comrade, by Hannibal's helmet, to their fault not mine. They will have such soft voices, and white skins, and sunny hair, and dark blue eyes, and Margaret reading suddenly, which their affability I put to profit thus. I asked them how they made shift to grow roses in yule, for no, dear Margaret, that throughout Germany the baser sort of lasses, wear for headdress, not but a crantz, or wreath of roses, encircling their bare hair, as laurel seizes. And though of the worshipful scorned, yet is braver I whisked, to your ironed mind which painters be, though sorry ones, than the gorgeous uncouth mechanical headgear of the time, and adorns not hide her hair, that goodly ornament fitted to her head by craft divine. So the good lasses being questioned close did let me know, the rose buds are cut in summer, and laid then in great clay pots, thus ordered. First bay salt, then a row of buds, and over that row bay salt sprinkled, then another row of buds placed crosswise, for they say it is death to the buds to touch one another, and so on, buds and salt in layers. Then each pot is covered and soldered tight, and kept in cool cellar. And on Saturday night the master of the house, or mistress, if master be none, opens a pot, and doles the rose buds out to every female in the house, high or low, without and grudge. Then solders it up again. And such as of these buds would full-blown roses make, put them in warm water a little space, or else in the stove, and then with tiny brush and soft, wetted in rainish wine, to coax them till they open their folds. And some perfume them with rose water, for alak their smell it is fled with the summer, and only their fair bodies lie without in soul, in tomb of clay awaiting resurrection. And some with the roses and buds mix not mags gilded, but not by my goodwill, for gold brave in itself cheek by jar with roses is but yellow earth. And it does the eye's heart good, to see these fair heads of hair come, blooming with roses over snowy roads, and by snow-capped hedges, setting winter's beauty by the side of summer's glory. For what so fair as winter's lilies, snow eclept, and what so brave as roses? And shouldst have had a picture here, but for their superstition. Lean the lass in Sunday garb cross-ankled against her cottage corner, whose low roof was snow-clad, and with her cramps did seem a summer flower sprouting from winter's bosom. I drew rain, and out pencil and brush to limb her for thee. But the simpleton, fearing the evil eye, or glamour, claps both hands to her face, and flies panic-stricken. But indeed they are not more superstitious than the seven bergen folk, which take thy father for a magician. Yet softly, sith at this moment I profit by this darkness of their minds, for at first, sitting down to write this diary, I could frame nor thought nor word, so harried and div'd was I with noise of mechanical persons, and hoarse laughter at dull jests of one of these party-coloured fools, which are so rife in Germany. But oh, sorry wit, that is driven to the poor resource of pointed ear-caps, and a green and yellow body. True wit, me thinks, is of the mind. We met in burgundy an honest wench, though over-free for my pallet, a chambermaid had made havoc of all these zanies, droll by brute force. Oh, digressor! Well, then, I, to be rid of roaring rusticalls and mindless jests, put my finger in a glass, and drew on the table a great watery circle, whereat the rusticalls did look a scant, like venison at a cat, and in that circle a smaller circle. The rusticalls held their peace, and besides these circles cabalistical I laid down on the table solemnly, young parchment deed I had out of your house. The rusticalls held their breath. Then did I look as glum as might be, and muttered slowly thus, Vidiamus, quam di you tu fictus morio, Vosque veri stultae, odibaites, in haq aula morarei, strepitantes ita et olentes, Uggiulcissime nequea mais ascribere. They shook like aspens, and stole away on tiptoe, one by one at first, then in a rush, and jostling, and left me alone. And most scared of all was the fool, never earned jester fairer his asses ears. So rubbed I their foible, who first rubbed mine, for of all a traveller's foes I dread those giants twain, sir noise, and eek, sir stench. The saints and martyrs forgive my peevishness. Thus I write to thee in barmy peace, and tell the trivial things scarce worthy ink, also how I love thee, which there was no need to tell, for well thou knowest it. And, O dear Margaret, looking on their roses, which grew in summer but blow in winter, I see the picture of our true affection. Born it was in smiles and bliss, but soon adversity beset us sore with many a bitter blast. Yet our love hath lost no leaf, thank God, but blossoms full and fair as ever, proof against frowns and jibes and prison, and banishment, as those sweet German flowers are blooming in winter's snow. January 2 My servant, the Count, finding me curious, took me to the stables of the Prince that rules this part. In the first court was a horse-bath adorned with twenty-two pillars, graven with the Prince's arms, and also the horse-leachers' shop, so furnished as a rich apothecary might envy. The stable is a fair quadrangle, whereof three sides filled with horses of all nations. Before each horse's nose was a glazed window, with a green curtain to be drawn at pleasure, and at his tail a thick wooden pillar, with a brazen shield, wence by turning of a pipe he has watered, and serves two for a cupboard to keep his comb and rubbing-cloths. Each rack was iron, and each manger shining copper, and each nag covered with a scarlet mantle, and above him his bridle and saddle-hung, ready to gallop forth in a minute, and not less than two hundred horses, whereof twelve score of foreign breed, and we returned to our inn full of admiration, and the two violets said sorrowfully, Why were we born with two legs? And one of the grooms that were civil and had of me drink-gelt, stood now at his cottage-door and asked us in. There we found his wife and children of all ages from five to eighteen, and had but one room to bide and sleep in, a thing pestiferous and most uncivil. Then I asked my servant, knew he this prince? Ah, he did, and had often drunk with him in a marble chamber above the stable, wherefore table was a curious and artificial rock, and the drinking vessels hang on its pinnacles, and at the hottest of the engagement a statue of a horseman in bronze game forth, bearing a bowl of liquor, and he that sat nearest behoved to drain it. Tis well, said I, now for thy penance, whisper thou in yorn prince's ear, that God hath given him his people freely, and not sought a price for them as for horses, and pray him, look inside the huts at his horse-palace-door, and bethink himself, it is well to house his horses, and stable his folk. Said he, twill give, sore offence, but, said I, ye must do it discreetly, and choose your time. So he promised, and riding on we heard plaintive cries. Alas, said I, some sore mischance hath befallen some poor soul, what may it be? And we rode up and low, it was a wedding-feast, and the guests were plying the business of drinking, sad and silent, but ever and on cried loud and dolefully. Saite frolich, be merry! January 3 Yesterday, between Nuremberg and Augsburg, we parted company. I gave my lord, late servant, back his brave clothes for mine, but his horse he made me keep, and five gold pieces, and said he was still my debtor, his penance, it had been slight along of me, but profitable. But his best word was this, I see it is more noble to be loved than feared. And then he did so praise me, as I blushed to put on paper, yet poor fool would fain now couldst hear his words, but from some other pen than mine. And the servants did heartily grasp my hand and wish me good luck, and riding apace, yet could I not reach Augsburg till the gates were closed. But it mattered little for this Augsburg it is an enchanted city, for a small coin one took me a long way round to a famous poston called de Einlasse. Here stood two guardians like statues. To them I gave my name and business. They nodded me, leave to knock. I knocked. And the iron gate opened with a great noise and hollow rattling of a chain, but no hand seen nor chain. And he who drew the hidden chain sits a but's length from the gate, and I rode in, and the gate closed with a clang after me. I found myself in a great building with a bridge at my feet. This I rode over, and presently came to a porter's lodge, where one asked me again, my name and business, then rang a bell and a great portcullus that barred the way began to rise, drawn by a wheel overhead and no hand seen. Behind the portcullus was a thick oaken door studded with steel. It opened without hand, and I rode into a hall as dark as pitch. Trembling there a while, a door opened and showed me a smaller hall lighted. I rode into it, a tin goblet came down from the ceiling by a little chain. I put two batson in it, and it went up again. Being gone another thick door creaked and opened, and I rid through. It closed on me with a tremendous clang and behold me in Augsburg City. I lay at an inn called the Three Moors, over an hundred years old, and this morning, according to my way of viewing towns to learn their compass and shape, I mounted the highest tower I could find, and setting my dial at my foot, surveyed the beautiful city. Whole streets of palaces and churches tiled with copper burnished like gold, and the house fronts gaily painted and all glazed, and the glass so clean and burnished as to his most resplendent and rare, and I now first seeing a great city did crow with delight, and like cock on his ladder, and at the lower foot was taken into custody for a spy, for whilst I watched the city the watchman had watched me. He, the Burger Master, received me courteously and heard my story, then rebuked he the officers. Could ye not questioning me yourselves or read in his face? This is to make our city stinking, strangers report. Then he told me my curiosity was of a commendable sort, and seeing I was a craftsman and inquisitive, but his clock take me among the guilds. God bless the city where the very Burger Master is cut of Solomon's cloth. January 5 Dear Margaret, it is a noble city and a kind mother to arts. Here they cut in wood and ivory that is like spider's work, and paint on glass, and sing angelical harmonies. Writing of books is quite gone by. Here be six printers! Yet was I offered a bountiful wage to write fairly emergent accounts, one fugger, a grand and wealthy trader, and half store of ships, yet his father was but a poor weaver. But here in commerce her very garden, men swell like mushrooms. And he bought my horse of me, and abated me not a jot, which way of dealing is not known in Holland. But, oh Margaret, the workmen of all the guilds are so kind and brotherly to one another, and to me. Hear me, thinks, I have found the true German mind, loyal, frank, and kindly, somewhat choleric with all, but not revengeful. Each mechanic wears a sword. The very weavers at the looms sit girded with their weapons, and all Germans, on too slight occasion, draw them and fight. But no treachery, challenge first, then draw, and with the edge only, mostly the face, not with self-point. For if, in these combats, one thrust at his adversary and hurt him, it is called ein Schelmstücke, a heinous act. Both men and women turn their backs on them, and even the judges punish thrusts bitterly, but pass over cuts. Hence, in Germany, be good store of scarred faces, three in five at least, and in France, scarce more than one in three. But in arts mechanical, no citizens may compare with these. Fountains in every street that play to heaven, and in the gardens seeming trees, which being approached, one standing afar, touches a spring, and every twig shoots water, and sows as the guests to their hosts much delectation. Big culverines of war they cast with no more ado than our folk horseshoes, and have done this four score years. All stuffs they weave, and linen fine as ours at home, or nearly, which elsewhere in Europe vainly shall ye seek. Sir printing-press, saw foe to poor Gérard, but to other humans beneficial, plioth by night and day, and casteth goodly words like sower afield. While I, poor fool, can but sew them as I saw women in France so rye, dribbling it in the furrow grain by grain, and of their strange mechanical skill take two examples. For ending of exemplary rogues, they have a figure like a woman, seven feet high, and called Jungfrau. But lo, a spring is touched, she seeseth the poor wretch with iron arms, and opening herself hails him inside her, and there pierces him through and with two score lances. Secondly, in all great houses the spit is turned, not by a scrubby boy, but by smoke. I must well admire and judge me a lying knave. These cunning Germans do set in the chimney a little windmill, and the smoke struggling to wend past turns it, and from the mill a wire runs through the wall and turns the spit on wheels, beholding which I doffed my bonnet to the men of Augsburg. For who but these had air devised to bind ye so dark and subtle a knave as sir smoke, and set him to roasts dame pullet? This day, January 8, with three craftsmen of the town, I painted a pack of cards. They were for a senator in a hurry. I the diamonds. My queen came forth with eyes like spring violets, hair a golden brown and a twitching smile. My fellow craftsmen saw her, and put their arms round my neck, and hailed me master. O noble Germans, no jealousy of a brother workman, no sour looks at a stranger, and would have me spend Sunday with them after matins, and the merchant paid me so richly, as I was ashamed to take the gaird on. And I to my inn, and tried to paint the queen of diamonds for poor Gerard, but no, she would not come like again. Luck will not be bespoke. O happy rich man that hath got her. Fie, fie, happy Gerard that shall have herself one day, and keep house with her at Augsburg. January 8, with my fellows, and one white stoss, a wood-collar, and one half-nargle of the goldsmith's guild, and their wives and lasses, to half-nargle's cousin, a senator of this free city, and his stupendous wine-vessel. It is ribbed like a ship, and hath been eighteen months in hand, and finished but now, and holds a hundred and fifty hogs-heads, and standeth not but lieth. Yet even so, ye get not on his back, without and ladders, two of thirty steps. And we sat about the miraculous mass, and drank rainish from it, drawn by a little artificial pump, and the lasses pinned their crances to it, and we danced round it, and the senator danced on its back, but with drinking of so many garouses, lost his footing, and fell off glass in hand, and broke an arm and a leg in the midst of us. So scurvily ended our drinking bout for this time. January 10, this day, started for Venice, with a company of merchants, and among them him who had desired me for his scrivener. And so we are now agreed, I to write at night the letters he shall dict, and other matters, he to feed and lodge me on the road. We be many, and armed, and soldiers with us to boot, so fear not the thieves which men say lie on the borders of Italy. But and if I find the printing press at Venice, I throw I shall not go on to Rome, for man may not vie with iron. Imprimit una diais quantum non scribitur anno. And dearest, something tells me, you and I shall end our days at Augsburg, whence going I shall leave it all I can. My blessing! January 12, my master effecteth me much, and now maketh me sit with him in his horse-litter, a grave good man, of all respected, but sad for the loss of a dear daughter, and loveth my sultry, not giddy-faced ditties, but holy harmonies, such as cul-de-jatte, made rye mouths at. So many men, so many minds. But cooped in horse-litter, and at night writing his letters, my journal halteth. January 14, when not attending on my good merchant, I consort with such of our company as our Italians, for tis to Italy I wend, and I am ill-seen in Italian tongue. A courteous and a subtle people, at meet delicate feeders and cleanly, love not to put their left hand in the dish. They say Venice is the garden of Lombardy, Lombardy the garden of Italy, Italy of the world. January 16, strong ways and steep, and the mountain girls so girded up, as from their armpits to their waist is but a handful. Of all the garbs I yet have seen, the most unlovely. January 18, in the midst of life we are in death. Oh, dear Margaret, I thought I had lost thee. Here I lie in pain and dull, and shall write thee that which, read you it in a romance, you should cry most improbable. And so still wondering that I am alive to write it, and thanking for it God and the saints, this is what befell thy Gerard. Yes, Dreen, I wearied of being shut up in litter, and of the mule's slow pace, and so went forward in being, I know not why, strangely full of spirit and hope, as I have heard before some men when on troubles brink, seemed to tread on air, and soon distanced them all. Presently I came to two roads and took the larger. I should have taken the smaller. After travelling a good half-hour I found my error and returned, and deeming my company had long passed by, pushed bravely on, but I could not overtake them, and small wonder as you shall hear. Then I was anxious and ran, but bare was the road of those I sought, and night came down, and the wild beasts afoot, and I bemoaned my folly. Also I was hungered. The moon rose clear and bright exceedingly, and presently a little way off the road, I saw a tall windmill. Come, said I, may have the miller will take Ruth on me. Near the mill was a haystack, and scattered about were store of little barrels, but lo they were not flower barrels, but tar barrels, one or two, and the rest of spirits, brandvene, and skidam. I knew them momently, having seen the like in Holland. I knocked at the mill door, but none answered. I lifted the latch, and the door opened inwards. I went in, and gladly, for the night was fine, but cold, and a rhyme on the trees which were a kind of lofty sycamores. There was a stove, but black. I lighted it with some of the hay and wood, for there was a great pile of wood outside, and I know not how. I went to sleep. Not long had I slept, I throw. When hearing a noise I awoke, and there were a dozen men around me with wild faces, and long black hair, and black sparkling eyes. Catherine, oh my poor boy, those black-haired ones do still scare me to look on. I made my excuses in such Italian as I knew, and eking out by signs. They grinned. I had lost my company. They grinned. I wasn't hungry. Still they grinned, and spoke to one another in a tongue I knew not. At last one gave me a piece of bread, and a tin mug of wine, as I thought, but it was spirits, neat. I made a writhe face, and asked for water. Then these wild men laughed a horrible laugh. I thought to fly, but looking towards the door, it was bolted with two enormous bolts of iron, and now first as I ate my bread I saw it was all guarded too, and ribbed with iron. My blood curdled within me, and yet I could not tell thee why. But hadst thou seen her faces, wild, stupid, and ruthless? I mumbled my bread. Not to let them see I feared them, but oh it cost me to swallow it, and keep it in me. Then it whirled in my brain. Was there no way to escape? Said I. They will not let me forth by the door, these bee-smugglers or robbers. So I feigned drowsiness, and taking out two baths, and said, Good men, for our ladies' grace let me lie on a bed and sleep, for I am faint with travel. They nodded and grinned there, horrible grin, and bade one light a lanthorn and lead me. He took me up a winding staircase, up, up, and I saw no windows, I saw no windows, but the wooden walls were pierced like a Barbican tower, and me thinks for the same purpose, and through these slits I got glimpses of the sky, and thought, Shall I air see thee again? He took me to the very top of the mill, and there was a room with a heap of straw in one corner, and many empty barrels, and by the wall a truckle-bed. He pointed to it and went downstairs heavily, taking the light, for in this room was a great window, and the moon came in bright. I looked out to see, and lo it was so high that even the mill sails at their highest came not up to my window by some feet, but turned very slowly and stately underneath. For wind there was scarcer breath, and the trees seemed silver filigree made by angel craftsmen. My hope of flight was gone, but now, those wild faces being out of sight, I smiled at my fears. What an if they were ill men, would it profit them to hurt me? Nevertheless, for caution against surprise, I would put the bed against the door. I went to move it, but could not. It was free at the head, but at the foot, fast clamped with iron to the floor. So I flung my sultry on the bed, but for myself made a layer of straw at the door, so as none could open on me unawares. And I laid my sword ready to my hand, and I said my prayers for thee and me, and turned to sleep. Below they drank and made merry, and hearing this gave me confidence, said I, out of sight, out of mind, another hour, and the good ski-dome will make them forget that I am here. And so I composed myself to sleep, and for some time could not for the boisterous mirth below. At last I dropped off. How long I slept, I knew not, but I woke with a start. The noise had ceased below, and the sudden silence woke me, and scarce was I awake when sudden the truckle bed was gone with a loud clang all but the feet, and the floor yawned, and I heard my sultry fall and break to atoms deep, deep below the very floor of the mill. It had fallen into a well, and so had I done lying where it lay. Margaret shuddered and put her face in her hands, but speedily resumed, I lay stupefied at first. Then horror fell on me, and I rose, but stood rooted there, shaking from head to foot. At last I found myself looking down into that fearsome gap, and my very head in bristle as I peered. And then I remember I turned quite calm and made up my mind to die sword in hand. For I saw no man must know this their bloody secret and live. And I said, poor Margaret, and I took out of my bosom where they ever lie, our marriage-lines, and kissed them again and again, and I pinned them to my shirt again, that they might lie in one grave with me if die I must. And I thought, all our love and hopes to end thus. Eli wished all their marriage-lines, give her time, but no word, I can bear no chat, my poor lad. During the long pause that ensued Catherine leaned forward and passed something adroitly from her own lap under her daughter's apron, who sat next to her. Presently thinking all in a whirl of all that ever passed between us, and taking leave of all those pleasant hours, I called to mind how one day at Sevenberg and thou taughtest me to make a rope of straw. Mindest thou? The moment memory brought that happy day back to me, I cried out very loud, Margaret gives me a chance for life even here. I woke from my lethargy, I seized on the straw and twisted it eagerly, as thou did teach me, but my fingers trembled and delayed the task. While I wrought I heard a door open below. That was a terrible moment. Even as I twisted my rope, I got to the window and looked down at the great arms of the mill, coming slowly up, then passing, then turning less slowly down, as it seemed, and I thought, they go not as when there is wind, yet, slow or fast, what man rid ever on such steed as these and lived? Yet, said I, better trust to them and God than to ill men, and I prayed to him whom even the wind obeyeth. Dear Margaret, I fastened my rope and let myself gently down, and fixed my eye on that huge arm of the mill, which then was creeping up to me, and went to spring on to it, but my heart failed me at the pinch, and me thought it was not nearer now, and it passed calm and awful by. I watched for another. They were three, and after a little while one crept up slower than the rest, me thought, and I with my foot thrust myself in good time, somewhat out from the wall and crying aloud, Margaret, did grip with all my soul the woodwork of the sail, and that moment was swimming in the air. Giles, well done, well done! Motion I felt little, but the stars seemed to go round the sky, and then the grass came up to me nearer and nearer, and when the hoary grass was quite close, I was sent rolling along it, as if hurled from a catapult, and got up breathless, and every point and tie about me broken. I rose, but fell down again in agony. I had but one leg I could stand on. Catherine, hey, dear, his leg is broke, my boy's leg is broke, and in as I lay groaning I heard a sound like thunder. It was the assassins running up the stairs. The crazy old mills shook under them. They must have found that I had not fallen into their bloody trap, and were running to dispatch me. Margaret, I felt no fear, for I had now no hope. I could neither run nor hide, so wild the place, so bright the moon. I struggled up all agony in revenge, more like some wounded wild beast than your Gerard. Leaning on my sword-hilt, I hobbled round, and swift as lightning or vengeance, I heaped a great pile of their hay and wood at the mill door, then drove my dagger into a barrel of their smuggled spirits, and flung it on, then out with my tinder, and lighted the pile. This will bring true men round my dead body, said I. Aha! I cried, think you I'll die alone, cowards assassins, reckless fiends, and at each word on went a barrel pierced. But, oh Margaret, the fire fed by the spirit surprised me. It shot up and singed my very hair. It went roaring up the side of the mill, swift as falls the lightning, and I yelled and laughed in my torture and despair, and pierced more barrels, and the very tar barrels, and flung them on. The fire roared like a lion for its prey, and voices answered it inside from the top of the mill, and a feat came thundering down, and I stood as near that awful fire as I could, with uplifted sword to slay and be slain. The bolt was drawn, a tar barrel caught fire, the door was opened. What followed? Not the men came out, but the fire rushed in at them, like a living death, and the first I thought to fight with was blackened and crumpled on the floor like a leaf. One fearsome yell, and dumb for ever. The feat ran up again, but fewer. I heard them hack with their swords a little way up at the mill's wooden sides, but they had no time to hew their way out. The fire and reek were at their heels, and the smoke burst out at every loophole, and oozed blue in the moonlight, through each crevice. I hobbled back, wracked with pain and fury. There were white faces up at my window. They saw me, they cursed me. I cursed them back, and shook my naked sword. Come down the road, I came, I cried, but ye must come one by one, and as ye come, ye die upon this steel. Some cursed at that, but others wailed, for I had them all at deadly vantage. And doubtless, with my smoke-grimed face and fiendish rage, I looked at demon. And now there was a steady roar inside the mill. The flame was going up it, as furnace up its chimney. The mill caught fire. Fire glimmered through it. Tongues of flame darted through each loophole, and shot sparks and fiery flakes into the night. One of the assassins leaped onto the sail, as I had done. In his hurry he missed his grasp, and fell at my feet, and bounded from the hard ground like a ball, and never spoke, nor moved again. And the rest screamed like women, and with their despair came back to me both Ruth for them, and hope of life for myself. And the fire gnawed through the mill in Playson, and shot forth showers of great, flat sparks like flakes of fiery snow. And the sails caught fire one after another, and I became a man again, and staggered away, terror-stricken, leaning on my sword from the sight of my revenge. And with great bodily pain crawled back to the road. And, dear Margaret, the rhymy trees were now all like pyramids of golden filigree, and lace cobweb fine in the red firelight. Oh, most beautiful! And a poor wretch got entangled in the burning sails, and whirled round screaming, and lost hold at the wrong time, and hurled like stone from manganelle, high into the air, then a dull thump. It was his carcass striking the earth. The next moment there was a loud crash, the mill fell in on its destroyer, and a million great sparks flew up, and the sails fell over the burning wreck, and at that a million more sparks flew up, and the ground was strewn with burning wood and men. I prayed God forgive me, and kneeling with my back to that fiery shambles, I saw lights on the road, a welcome sight. It was a company coming towards me, and scarce two furlongs off. I hobbled towards them. Air I had gone far, I heard a swift step behind me. I turned. One had escaped. How escaped, who can divine? His sword shone in the moonlight. I feared him. Me thought the ghosts of all those dead sat on that glittering glaive. I put my other foot to the ground, morgri the anguish, and fled towards the torches, moaning with pain and shouting for aid. But what could I do? He gained on me. Behoove me turn and fight. Denny had taught me sword play in sport. I wheeled, our swords clashed, his clothes. They smelled all singed. I cut swiftly upward with supple hand, and his dangled bleeding at the wrist, and his sword fell. It tinkled on the ground. I raised my sword to hue him should he stoop for it. He stood and cursed me. He drew his dagger with his left. I opposed my point and dared him with my eye to close. A great shout arose behind me from true men's throats. He started. He spattered me in his rage, then gnashed his teeth, and fled, blaspheming. I turned, and saw torches close at hand. Lo, they fell to dancing up and down, me thought, and the next moment all was dark. I had, ah, Catherine, here, hell, water, stand aloof, you that be men. Margaret had fainted away. End of chapter 53 part 3, recording by Tom Denham.