书城公版The Cloister and the Hearth
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第170章

And we drew rein 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 bade him doff his bonnet to them, as though they were empresses; and he did so.And lo! the lasses drew up as stiff as hedgestakes, and moved not nor spake."Denys."Aie! aie! aie Pardon, the company.""This surprised me none; for so they did discountenance poor Denys.And that whole day I wore in experimenting these German lasses; and 'twas still the same.An ye doff bonnet to them they stiffen into statues; distance for distance.But accost them with honest *******, 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 Denys was not with us to prattle with them; he is so fond of women." ("Are you fond of women, Denys?") And the reader opened two great violet eyes upon him with gentle surprise.

Denys."Ahem! he says so, she-comrade.By Hannibal's helmet, 'tis their fault, not mine.They will have such soft voices, and white skins, and sunny hair, and dark blue eyes, andMargaret.(Reading suddenly.) "Which their affability I put to profit thus.I asked them how they made shift to grow roses in yule? For know, dear Margaret, that throughout Germany, the baser sort of lasses wear for head-dress nought but a 'crantz,' or wreath of roses, encircling their bare hair, as laurel Caesar's;and though of the worshipful, scorned, yet is braver, I wist, to your eye and mine which painters be, though sorry ones, than the gorgeous, uncouth, mechanical head-gear of the time, and adorns, not hides her hair, that goodly ornament fitted to her head by craft divine.So the good lasses, being questioned close, did let me know, the rosebuds 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 rosebuds out to every female in the house, high or low, withouten 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 Rhenish wine, do coax them till they ope their folds.And some perfume them with rose-water.

For, alack, their smell it is fled with the summer; and only their fair bodyes lie withouten soul, in tomb of clay, awaiting resurrection.

"And some with the roses and buds mix nutmegs gilded, but not by my good will; for gold, brave in itself, cheek by jowl 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-capt hedges, setting winter's beauty by the side of summer's glory.For what so fair as winter's lilies, snow yclept, and what so brave as roses? And shouldst have had a picture here, but for their superstition.Leaned a lass in Sunday garb, cross ankled, against her cottage corner, whose low roof was snow-clad, and with her crantz did seem a summer flower sprouting from winter's bosom.I drew rein, and out pencil and brush to limn her for thee.But the ******ton, 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 Sevenbergen folk, which take thy father for a magician.Yet softly, sith at this moment Iprofit 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 deaved was I with noise of mechanical persons, and hoarse laughter at dull jests of one of these particoloured '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, methinks, is of the mind.We met in Burgundy an honest wench, though over free for my palate, 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 askant, 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 yon 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 'Videamus - quam diu tu fictus morio - vosque veri stulti- audebitis - in hac aula morari, strepitantes ita - et olentes: ut dulcissimae nequeam miser scribere.' 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 ass's 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 eke Sir Stench.The saints and martyrs forgive my peevishness.Thus I write to thee in balmy peace, and tell thee trivial things scarce worthy ink, also how I love thee, which there was no need to tell, for well thou knowest it.And oh, 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 a blooming in winter's snow.