Complete Works of Ford Madox Ford, page 359
And as they came more towards the centre of the town, having wound through innumerable alleys and lanes, the shadow of the immense cathedral began to fall upon them. Here there were one or two houses of stone, and below such as were still of mud there were huge cellars, with great steps going down to them, so that you could perceive bales of cloth set out to attract customers, men weaving at looms, or great joints of meat hanging upon hooks. Over these cellars there were suspended signs — gilded suns, boys painted green and brown, swans all white or unicorns all white, but with collars and horns gilded. From these cellars there would emerge stout men in green jerkins or red surcoats furred with white lambswool. Upon their heads they wore head-dresses of four or five yards of cloth, folded together and falling down over their ears upon the one side. Their thumbs they would stick into their belts of leather, and from the cellar steps behind them, upon a level with their calves, would appear the broad white hoods and the wondering eyes of their wives.
They passed under a narrow gateway, and came into an open space with small houses, mostly of stone, and some of two storeys, dotted under the protection of the enormous cathedral, like little vessels in the convoy of a great galleon here and there in the shadow. The spire towered up into the serene blue of the sky; round the top, like an untidy cluster of mistletoe, there was a scaffolding, with upon it the tiny figures of men at work. And around and below the spire the great white nave of the cathedral rose up clear-chiselled, and decorated with the figures of saints as if it had been an immense jewel casket.
At the door of the cathedral the Lady Dionissia abandoned Mr. Sorrell, leaving him in charge of an old man in a black, furred garment, who was going to lead him to the place where the Dean was. She herself was going back into the town to purchase a preparation of the juice of fir trees which was said to be sovereign for hardening and strengthening the hands of warriors, and she went away between the little houses, her men-at-arms around her, one of them leading Mr. Sorrell’s horse.
Mr. Sorrell followed his guide into a bright, gaudy place that was the interior of the cathedral. The immense pillars were painted a strong blue, and the little pillars running up them were bright scarlet; the high windows through which the sun fell were all in violent, crude and sparkling colours, and these colours, thrown down, seemed to splash a prismatic spray all over the floor, which was of bright yellow tiles.
Mr. Sorrell exclaimed:
“My God!”
For although his head was full of his mission to the Dean, to the exclusion of all other thoughts, nevertheless he had so confidently conceived of a cathedral as all grey, solemn, and ancient, that he could not but be overcome. Here was such newness — here was such a brilliant profusion of colours, that even the vastness of the building seemed to be lost. Far up in the choir was a great glare of gold utensils, and there many candles burnt, flickering and twinkling in the draughts from unfinished windows, and it was only when he noticed how small the men around him seemed that he understood how great was the building, whose roof, so far above his head, was all of grass-green, picked out with the bright golden images of angels, of serene queens, and of grinning fiends. The men all around him were talking at the tops of their voices, so as to be heard the one above the other. An old peasant in a black hood was screaming into the ear of a townsman in a green cape, that if he sold corn for less than a penny a quarter, ruin would fall upon his roof; the townsman shouted back that his neighbour Jenkyn had bought corn for three-farthings from Will of the Dyke. A man with roses in his hair, his hood thrown back, and a musical instrument of yellow wood with a black neck slung at his left side, was telling the news from Devizes and the west to a dozen men and women of the better sort. A horse-merchant, with a great whip, was extolling the merits of his mare called Joan. This animal had carried three fat persons from Swindon to Salisbury in an afternoon. Her price could not be less than twenty-two shillings. Two journeymen butchers, seated on the ground with their backs against a pillar and their long flesh-knives falling from their belts, were drinking from a black leathern flagon turn by turn, and talking at the tops of their voices about the bad women of Fallow. And with the constant coming and going of the people, and the clapping of the great doors, all this place was like a sea of sounds that echoed, eddied, and trembled beneath the coloured distances of the lofty roof.
Pushing his way through the crowd in the aisle, where it was mostly small hucksters who had brought little baskets and frails of cherries or of eggs to sell, the old guide held Mr. Sorrell by the stuff of his sleeve and pulled him along.
In the wall of a lofty side-chapel, that was painted all blue with gilt stars, the old man opened a little door, and they came out into the sudden peace of cloisters. Here walls were frescoed in gold and red, with scenes from the life of Our Lady. Before each of the pillars of the long corridors there stood a monk or a chaplain reading in a book. Sometimes there were two, holding their heads together and whispering. One monk was painting the music in a psaltery. The sunlight poured down to the bright grass of the one side; the great tower of the cathedral went away up into space. A peacock with its bright hues paced slowly over the grass, its tail spreading far behind and its crowned head erect. Upon a long bench in the farther wall there sat many of the chapter clergy. They leant their heads together and whispered and laughed, for that day was blood-letting day, and they were permitted to take their ease. One of them was feeding a number of pigeons with peas that he dropped one by one to the ground, laughing with pleasure to see how the pretty blue creatures crowded one upon the other, and telling his neighbour that this should be a lesson to them against the sin of gluttony.
Beyond another little door Mr. Sorrell and his guide came into a sunlit garden. Here there were paved walks of stone, plots of grass, and little low fences of trelliswork along which there grew a great profusion of red and white striped roses. A white deer that had about its neck a collar of gold came trotting towards them, and it was followed by a brown monkey that sprang on to the gown of Mr. Sorrell’s guide and felt in his pockets for food. In the middle of this garden there stood a fair house all of squared stones. It was of three storeys, and had five high gables. In the large stone hall of the ground floor five boys were playing ball. These were the Dean’s pages, and upstairs in a little room sat the Dean, to whom his lean chaplain was reading a book of the travels of Dares and Dictys.
“Ha!” the Dean exclaimed, and pleasure showed itself upon his face, “you are come to tell me more prophecies! I had rather hear you than many books.” For this Dean was a man with an insatiable taste for hearing tales, and, above all, prophecies. Mr. Sorrell reflected for a moment.
“Holy man of God,” he said — for he had already so far learnt his manners—”I am come to buy very valuable advice. I will have your advice first, and then I will pay for it by telling you what I know.” The Dean looked serious for a moment, then he smiled all over his broad and comfortable face, and sent away the chaplain and the old man who had brought Mr. Sorrell there. Mr. Sorrell sat down on a wooden chest, and looked round the room whilst he collected his words, for he wished to be very precise. The room contained several chests with great locks of iron, some shelves upon which were a few books bound in vellum, a great reading pulpit, the chair with the back to it upon which the Dean sat, and a little three-legged stool which had lately served the chaplain.
The windows were square and of transparent talc, for the Dean was a very wealthy man and could afford himself such luxuries. These windows let through a soft and golden light in the summer, and in the winter they served marvellously to keep out the draughts. So it was said of a pleasant and kind woman in that country, that she was as warm as the Dean of Salisbury’s bower.
For the first time since he had been in those parts, Mr. Sorrell felt that he was about to conduct a sane and ordinary business interview. The Dean smiled upon him indulgently, his hands folded upon his comfortable stomach, and, making no more words about it, he said:
“I desire to marry the Lady Dionissia.”
The Dean surveyed him for a moment or two of silence.
“I do not understand why you should desire to marry her. Besides, she is married already.”
“But you understand,” Mr. Sorrell said, “that I desire to do things respectably.”
The Dean looked at him rather blankly.
“I do not understand that word,” he said. “I have never heard it.”
“Why, it means,” Mr. Sorrell answered — and he racked his brain for a French word with which to make his meaning clear—”it means decently, in order...” The Dean threw his head back and laughed.
“That you can hardly do, for it is neither decent nor in order to desire to marry a lady who is already married.”
“I desire to do it,” Mr. Sorrell said, “with the sanction of the Church.”
“That, of course,” the Dean said seriously, “is another matter.”
He was silent for some moments, and then he said:
“Can you not be persuaded to abandon this endeavour? For I am sure you may enjoy, if you have not enjoyed already, all the little delights of love.”
Mr. Sorrell attempted an “Oh!” of scandalised protest, but the Dean waved it aside with one fat hand.
“For consider,” he said, “what troubles this shall bring upon the head of you and of this gentle lady. What outcries will there not be; what journeyings backwards and forwards to Rome; what rages of fathers and husbands and cousins! I am sure the Lady Dionissia is not of one mind with you.”
“The Lady Dionissia thinks as I desire her to think,” Mr. Sorrell said. “Hitherto she has not given much thought to such things; but she listens to my desires, and I desire that this should be arranged decently and in order.”
The Dean looked at him with an air of pleasant mystification.
“This is a very strange matter,” he said, “but I cannot find that it is discreditable in you to desire to have the blessing of the Church upon your union. Nevertheless, it is strange and unnatural.”
“Such, nevertheless, is my desire,” Mr. Sorrell said obstinately. And then, his troubles overcoming him, he began to speak with an eloquence that he had never really known before.
“Sir,” he said, “this desire is so strong in me that I am a changed man. I no longer know myself. At night I cannot sleep for thinking of it, and by day I can give no attention to matters which should occupy my thoughts. I find myself sighing and groaning when I walk alone in the fields.”
‘“I think you do not walk very often alone in the fields,” the Dean said pleasantly.
“In short,” Mr. Sorrell continued, “my nights are unbearable, and my days are like my nights, so that if I cannot find relief I think I shall lose my reason.” Leaning back in his chair, the Dean continued to smile pleasantly and amiably.
“Well, I have heard the tales of many lovers, and they are all much alike — all tales of sighing and groaning and sleepless nights, and walking alone in fields, and complaining and calling upon death to end their pains.”
“But I have never called upon death,” Mr. Sorrell said. “I desire to have life and peace.”
“That is the most godly thing I have heard you say,” the Dean commented, “for most lovers desire self murder, which is a mortal sin against the laws of the Church. But this is a very whimsical and comical affair, for most lovers complain and call upon death because their ladies are ungentle, do not give ear to their suits, spurn their lovers, or are shut up in strong castles by fathers, mothers, or cruel and ungentle husbands. But you sigh and groan because of obstacles that you yourself have set up to the crowning of your desires. Now tell me this. You have had, since you have been here, many amourettes with ladies who were not married, but I have not heard that for these you desired the sanction of the Church.”
“Oh, my God,” Mr. Sorrell said, in tones which exhibited both shame and horror, “how can you mention these things in the same breath with my passion for this lady, who is like a thing holy and set apart? Since I have known her well....”
“Yes, yes,” the Dean interrupted, “I have heard of such feelings, but I have never known them fall so suddenly upon any sinful man.”
“It has been like a thunderbolt,” Mr. Sorrell said, “like an avalanche.”
“I do not know what an avalanche is” the Dean answered, “but indeed it has been very sudden. And I might congratulate you upon your return to a greater chastity of life were it not that I foresee, arising from that sudden change, a great many troubles for this gentle lady whom I regard as my ward. That you were preparing for some such step I was well assured; but I thought it would rather have been that, getting yourselves into disguises and laying hands upon such money as you may take, you would have gone away together to other lands.”
“That, too, we had thought of,” Mr. Sorrell said; “but you will admit that it is much more satisfactory to put matters upon a proper footing. The responsibility would have been too great. How could I take her bright and splendid life into my hands, when for all I know at any moment I may disappear back to where I came from?”
“But supposing that marriage is broken, and you yourself married to her,” the Dean asked, “what would the marriage profit her if you should disappear, as you say, to the place from which you came?”
Mr. Sorrell passed his hands over his eyes. He was perplexed and worried. “Of course, it is not very much to offer her,” he said, “but she would at least have the benefit of a name and a position.”
The Dean shrugged his shoulders very slightly.
“Oh, I know,” Mr. Sorrell said, “it is miserably little to offer, but what can I do? As a gentleman I know I ought to go away, to take myself out of her life. But I have not the strength of mind; besides, where could I go to?”
The Dean appeared no longer to be listening to him. At last he said slowly:
“And how do the offerings of the faithful and the grateful come in?”
“In the last two weeks,” Mr. Sorrell said, “there have been brought to me innumerable pigs, sheep, eggs, cheeses, firkins of butter, and yards of cloth for the poorer sort of people, and from the better class, in the last fortnight, forty-seven pounds in gold and silver.” The Dean leant slightly forward.
“And the disposition of this gold and silver, and these beasts and food?” he asked.
Mr. Sorrell considered for a moment; having been prompted by Dionissia, he knew his ground very well. And this was business.
“Man of God,” he said slowly, and with unconcern, “as for the beasts, and the meat, these I have given to the Lady Blanche. And it has been decreed that if in the end the custody of the cross falls to the Lady Blanche, then these sheep and other beasts shall be considered to be hers, and the Lady Dionissia shall pay the Lady Blanche for the food and lodging of herself and men. For they are all now, for greater safety, and better to practise feats of arms, living in the castle of Stapleford.”
The Dean nodded his head slowly.
“So much I knew,” he said; “but if the cross falls to the Lady Dionissia?”
“Then,” Mr. Sorrell answered, “such beasts and food as the Lady Blanche has had shall be considered as the Lady Dionissia’s payment for her food and lodging.”
“That seems to be a very reasonable arrangement,” the Dean said. “But still, it appears to me that the Church is left out in the matter of geese and cheeses.”
“No, no,” Mr. Sorrell answered, “that too has been thought of. For I am aware that such miracles are in a sense Church matters, and that if I had not the sanction of the Church these things could not take place, for I might be turned away and discredited. So that already, as you know, we have made separate offerings of food and cloth to the chapter; and now such things come in so fast that the pigsties, the sheep-pens, the larders, the cellars, and the butteries of Stapleford Castle are all overflowing. And for the sustenance of the people of the castle one-fourth of these provisions is more than sufficient, so that three-fourths of them we will very willingly give to the chapter.”
“That is well for the chapter,” the Dean said. “But how is it as to the gold and silver?”
“For that,” Mr. Sorrell said, “in these six weeks I have had given me ninety pounds. In the first four weeks it was forty-three, in the last two, as I have told you, it was forty-seven. The forty-three pounds are in a bag which is carried by one of the Lady Dionissia’s retainers. It is now in the city of Salisbury, and will presently be brought here as an offering to the Church.”
The Dean leant still further forward.
“To the Church?” he asked.
“Man of God,” Mr. Sorrell said, “I am a stranger here, and it is with difficulty and only in a stilted manner that I speak the language. But I considered that the Church and the most eminent pillar of the Church are one and the same. So that when I said that these forty-three pounds would be given to the Church, I meant they would be given to yourself.”
The Dean nodded slowly.
“And for the future?” he asked.
“For the future,” Mr. Sorrell said, “we had determined to give in that proportion to the Church — that is to say, of every ninety pounds, forty-three.”
“It would be better,” the Dean said warily, “if the proportion were forty-seven to the Church, and forty-three to yourselves.”
Mr. Sorrell seemed to himself once more to be a publisher negotiating percentages with a bookseller.
“That, too, might be possible,” he said, “if your Holiness could bring about the dissolution of the Lady Dionissia’s marriage before the return of her husband from the war.”
The Dean considered for a time.
“That, I think, will be very difficult,” he said, “for at the most the gentle knights will be three months at the war, and the hearing of your cause at Rome will take a long time, even though I report most favourably upon it. And it is a fit and proper thing that the Church should have the major part. This will be a very difficult matter to argue.”
