Chapter 151
He groaned.
"There, forgive me for nagging; I am but a woman: you would not have been so cruel to your own flesh and blood knowingly, would you?"
"Oh, no."
"Well then, know that thy brother Sybrandt lies in my charge with a broken back, fruit of thy curse."
"Mea culpa! mea culpa!"
"He is very penitent; be yourself and forgive him this night!"
"I have forgiven him long ago."
"Think you he can believe that from any mouth but yours? Come! he is but about two b.u.t.ts' length hence."
"So near? Why where?"
"At Gouda manse. I took him there yestreen. For I know you, the curse was scarce cold on your lips when you repented it" (Gerard nodded a.s.sent), "and I said to myself, Gerard will thank me for taking Sybrandt to die under his roof; he will not beat his breast and cry mea culpa, yet grudge three footsteps to quiet a withered brother on his last bed.
He may have a bee in his bonnet, but he is not a hypocrite, a thing all pious words and uncharitable deeds."
Gerard literally staggered where he sat at this tremendous thrust.
"Forgive me for nagging," said she. "Thy mother too is waiting for thee.
Is it well done to keep her on thorns so long? She will not sleep this night. Bethink thee, Gerard, she is all to thee that I am to this sweet child. Ah, I think so much more of mothers since I had my little Gerard.
She suffered for thee, and nursed thee, and tended thee from boy to man.
Priest, monk, hermit, call thyself what thou wilt, to her thou art but one thing; her child."
"Where is she?" murmured Gerard, in a quavering voice.
"At Gouda manse, wearing the night in prayer and care."
Then Margaret saw the time was come for that appeal to his reason she had purposely reserved till persuasion should have paved the way for conviction. So the smith first softens the iron by fire; and then brings down the sledge hammer.
She showed him, but in her own good straightforward Dutch, that his present life was only a higher kind of selfishness; spiritual egotism.
Whereas a priest had no more right to care only for his own soul than only for his own body. That was not _his_ path to heaven. "But," said she, "whoever yet lost his soul by saving the souls of others? the Almighty loves him who thinks of others, and when He shall see thee caring for the souls of the folk the duke hath put into thine hand, He will care ten times more for thy soul than He does now."
Gerard was struck by this remark. "Art shrewd in dispute," said he.
"Far from it," was the reply, "only my eyes are not bandaged with conceit.[L] So long as Satan walks the whole earth, tempting men, and so long as the sons of Belial do never lock themselves in caves, but run like ants, to and fro, corrupting others, the good man that skulks apart, plays the devil's game, or at least gives him the odds: thou a soldier of Christ? ask thy comrade Denys, who is but a soldier of the duke, ask him if ever he skulked in a hole and shunned the battle because forsooth in battle is danger as well as glory and duty. For thy sole excuse
"Certes; such as it is."
"And hast thou laid it out? or buried it? To whom hast thou preached these seven months? to bats and owls? Hast buried it in one hole with thyself and thy once good wits.
"The Dominicans are the friars Preachers. 'Tis for preaching they were founded; so thou art false to Dominic as well as to his master.
"Do you remember, Gerard, when we were young together, which now are old before our time, as we walked handed in the fields, did you but see a sheep cast, ay three fields off, you would leave your sweetheart (by her good will), and run and lift the sheep for charity? Well then, at Gouda is not one sheep in evil plight, but a whole flock; some cast, some strayed, some sick, some tainted, some a being devoured, and all for the want of a shepherd. Where is their shepherd? lurking in a den like a wolf; a den in his own parish, out fie! out fie!
"I scented thee out, in part, by thy kindness to the little birds. Take note, you Gerard Elia.s.soen must love something, 'tis in your blood; you were born to't. Shunning man you do but seek earthly affection a peg lower than man."
Gerard interrupted her. "The birds are G.o.d's creatures, his innocent creatures, and I do well to love them, being G.o.d's creatures."
"What, are they creatures of the same G.o.d that we are, that he is who lies upon thy knee?"
"You know they are."
"Then what pretence for shunning us and being kind to them? Sith man is one of the animals, why pick him out to shun? Is't because he is of animals the paragon? What, you court the young of birds, and abandon your own young? Birds need but bodily food, and, having wings, deserve scant pity if they cannot fly and find it. But that sweet dove upon thy knee, he needeth not carnal only, but spiritual food. He is thine as well as mine: and I have done my share. He will soon be too much for me, and I look to Gouda's parson to teach him true piety and useful lore. Is he not of more value than many sparrows?"
Gerard started and stammered an affirmation. For she waited for his reply.
"You wonder," continued she, "to hear me quote holy writ so glib. I have pored over it this four years, and why? Not because G.o.d wrote it, but because I saw it often in thy hands ere thou didst leave me. Heaven forgive me; I am but a woman. What thinkest thou of this sentence? 'Let your work so s.h.i.+ne before men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father which is in heaven!' What is a saint in a sink better than 'a light under a bushel'?
"Therefore, since the sheep committed to thy charge bleat for thee and cry: 'Oh desert us no longer, but come to Gouda manse;' since I, who know thee ten times better than thou knowest thyself, do pledge my soul it is for thy soul's weal to go to Gouda manse,--since duty to thy child, too long abandoned, call thee to Gouda Manse,--since thy sovereign, whom holy writ again bids thee honour, sends thee to Gouda manse,--since the Pope, whom the Church teaches thee to revere, hath absolved thee of thy monkish vows, and orders thee to Gouda manse--"
"Ah?"
"Since thy grey-haired mother watches for thee in dole and care, and turneth oft the hour-gla.s.s and sigheth sore that thou comest so slow to her at Gouda manse,--since thy brother, withered by thy curse, awaits thy forgiveness and thy prayers for his soul, now lingering in his body, at Gouda manse,--take thou up in thine arms the sweet bird wi' crest of gold that nestles to thy bosom, and give me thy hand; thy sweetheart erst and wife, and now thy friend, the truest friend to thee this night that ere man had; and come with me to Gouda manse!"
"IT IS THE VOICE OF AN ANGEL!" cried Clement loudly.
"Then hearken it, and come forth to Gouda manse!"
The battle was won.
Margaret lingered behind, cast her eye rapidly round the furniture, and selected the Vulgate and the psaltery. The rest she sighed at, and let it lie. The breastplate and the cilice of bristles she took and dashed with feeble ferocity on the floor. Then, seeing Gerard watch her with surprise from the outside, she coloured and said: "I am but a woman: 'little' will still be 'spiteful.'"
"Why enc.u.mber thyself with those? They are safe."
"Oh, she had a reason."
And with this they took the road to Gouda parsonage. The moon and stars were so bright, it seemed almost as light as day.
Suddenly Gerard stopped. "My poor little birds!"
"What of them?"
"They will miss their food. I feed them every day."
"The child hath a piece of bread in his cowl. Take that and feed them now, against the morn."
"I will. Nay, I will not. He is as innocent, and nearer to me and to thee."
Margaret drew a long breath. "'Tis well. Hadst taken it, I might have hated thee; I am but a woman."