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TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN.

BY ALFRED NOYES.

VI. THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN.

PART II.

"THE high State Funeral
Was held on Lammas Day. A wondrous sight
For Peterborough! For myself, I found
Small satisfaction in a catafalque

That carried a dummy coffin. None the less,
The pedlar thought that as a Solemn Masque,
Or Piece of Purple Pomp, the thing was good,
And worthy of a picture in his rhymes;
The more because he said it shadowed forth
The ironic face of Death.

The Masque, indeed,
Began before we buried her. For a host

Of Mourners-Lords and Ladies-on Lammas eve
Panting with eagerness of pride and place,
Arrived in readiness for the morrow's pomp,
And at the Bishop's Palace they found prepared
A mighty supper for them, where they sat
All at one table. In a Chamber hung

With scutcheons and black cloth, they drank red wine
And feasted, while the torches and the queen

Crept through the darkness of Northampton lanes.

At seven o'clock on Lammas Morn they woke,
After the Queen was buried; and at eight
The Masque set forth, thus pictured in the rhymes
With tolling bells, which on the pedlar's lips
Had more than paid his lodging: Thus he spake it,
Slowly, sounding the rhymes like solemn bells,
And tolling, in between, with lingering tongue:-

Toll!-From the Palace the Releevants creep,-
A hundred poor old women, nigh their end,
Wearing their black cloth gowns, and on each head
An ell of snow-white holland which, some said,
Afterwards they might keep,

-Ah, Toll-with nine new shillings each to spend,
For all the trouble that they had, and all
The sorrow of walking to this funeral.

Toll-And the Mourning Cloaks in purple streamed
Following, a long procession, two by two,

Her Household first. With these, Monsieur du Preau
Her French Confessor, unafraid to show

The golden Cross that gleamed

About his neck, warned what the crowd might do
Said I will wear it, though I die for it!
So subtle in malice was that Jesuit.

Toll!-Sir George Savile in his Mourner's Gown
Carried the solemn Cross upon a Field
Azure, and under it by a streamer borne
Upon a field of Gules, an Unicorn
Argent and, lower down,

A scrolled device upon a blazoned shield,

Which seemed to say-I AM SILENT TILL THE END!—
Toll Toll!-IN MY DEFENCE, GOD ME DEFEND !

Toll!-and a hundred poor old men went by,

Followed by two great Bishops.-Toll, ah toll!Then, with White Staves and Gowns, four noble lords; Then sixteen Scots and Frenchmen with drawn swords; Then, with a Bannerol,

Sir Andrew Noel, lifting to the sky

The Great Red Lion. Then the Crown and Crest
Borne by a Herald on his glittering breast.

And now-ah now, indeed, the deep bell tolls!-
That empty Coffin, with its velvet pall,
Borne by six Gentlemen, under a canopy
Of purple, lifted by four knights, goes by.
The Crown Imperiall

Burns on the Coffin-head. Four Bannerols
On either side, uplifted by four squires,
Roll on the wind their rich heraldic fires.

Toll! The Chief Mourner-the fair Russell !-toll !—
Countess of Bedford-toll!-they bring her now,
Weeping under a purple Cloth of State,
Till, halting there before the Minster Gate,
Having in her control

The fair White Staves of office, with a bow

She gives them to her two great Earls again,
Then sweeps them onward in her mournful train.

Toll! At the high Cathedral door the Quires

Meet them and lead them, singing all the while
A mighty Miserere for her soul!

Then, as the rolling organ-toll, ah toll!—
Floods every glimmering aisle

With ocean-thunders, all those knights and squires
Bring the false Coffin to the central nave
And set it in the Catafalque o'er her grave.

The Catafalque was made in Field-bed wise

Valanced with midnight purple, fringed with gold: All the Chief Mourners on dark thrones were set Within it, as jewels in some huge carcanet:

Above was this device

IN MY DEFENCE, GOD ME DEFEND, inscrolled

Round the rich Arms of Scotland, as to say
'Man judged me. I abide the Judgment Day.'"

The sexton paused anew. All looked at him,
And at his wrinkled, grim, earth-coloured hand,
As if, in that dim light, beclouded now
With blue tobacco-smoke, they thought to see
The smouldering ruby again.

"Ye know," he said,

"How master William Wickham preached that day?"

Ford nodded. "I have heard of it. He showed

Subtly, O very subtly, after his kind,

That the white Body of Beauty such as hers
Was in itself Papistical, a feast,

A fast, an incense, a burnt-offering,

And an Abomination in the sight

Of all true Protestants. Why, her very name

Was Mary!"

"Ay, that's true, that's very true!" The sexton mused. "Now that's a strange deep thought! The Bishop missed a text in missing that.

Her name, indeed, was Mary!"

"Did you find

Your keys again?" "Ay, sir, I found them!" "Where?" "Strange you should ask me that! After the throng Departed, and the Nobles were at feast,

All in the Bishop's Palace-a great feast
And worthy of their sorrow-I came back
Carrying my uncle's second bunch of keys

To look the doors and search, too, for mine own.
'Twas growing dusk already, and as I thrust
The key into the look, the great grey porch
Grew cold upon me, like a tomb.

I pushed
Hard at the key-then stopped-with all my flesh
Freezing, and half in mind to fly; for, sirs,
The door was looked already, and-from within!

I drew the key forth quietly and stepped back
Into the Churchyard, where the graves were warm
With sunset still, and the blunt carven stones
Lengthened their homely shadows, out and out,
To Everlasting. Then I plucked up heart,
Seeing the foot-prints of that mighty Masque
Along the pebbled path. A queer thought came
Into my head that all the world without
Was but a Masque, and I was creeping back,
Back from the Mourner's Feast to Truth again.
Yet-I grew bold, and tried the Southern door.
'Twas looked,' but held no key on the inner side
To foil my own, and softly, softly, click,

I turned it, and with heart, sirs, in my mouth,
Pushed back the studded door and entered in

...

Stepped straight out of the world, I might have said, Out of the dusk into a night so deep, So dark, I trembled like a child. . . .

And then

I was aware, sirs, of a great sweet wave
Of incense. All the gloom was heavy with it,
As if her Papist Household had returned

To pray for her poor soul; and, my fear went.
But either that strange incense weighed me down,
Or else from being sorely over-tasked,

A languor came upon me, and sitting there
To breathe a moment, in a velvet stall,

I closed mine eyes.

A moment, and no more,
For then I heard a rustling in the nave,
And opened them; and, very far away,
As if across the world, in Rome herself,
I saw twelve tapers in the solemn East,
And saw, or thought I saw, cowled figures kneel
Before them, in an incense-cloud.

And then,

Maybe the sunset deepened in the world

Of masques without-clear proof that I had closed
Mine eyes but for a moment, sirs, I saw
As if across a world-without-end tomb,
A tiny jewelled glow of crimson panes
Darkening and brightening with the West.

And then,
Then I saw something more-Queen Mary's vault,
And it was open!

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Then, I heard a voice,

A strange deep broken voice, whispering love

In soft French words, that clasped and clung like hands;
And then-two shadows passed against the West,

Two blurs of black against that crimson stain,
Slowly, O very slowly, with bowed heads,
Leaning together, and vanished into the dark
Beyond the Catafalque.

Then I heard him pray,-
And knew him for the man that prayed to me,-
Pray as a man prays for his love's last breath!
And then, O sirs, it caught me by the throat,
And I, too, dropped upon my knees and prayed;
For, as in answer to his prayer, there came
A moan of music, a mighty shuddering sound
From the great organ, a sound that rose and fell
Like seas in anger, very far away;

And then a peal of thunder, and then it seemed,
As if the graves were giving up their dead,
A great cowled host of shadows rose and sang:—

'Dies iræ, dies illa,

Solvet sæclum in favilla,
Teste David cum Sibylla.'

I heard her sad, sad, little, broken voice,
Out in the darkness. 'Ay, and David, too,
His blood is on the floors of Holyrood,

To speak for me.' Then that great ocean-sound
Swelled to a thunder again, and heaven and earth
Shrivelled away; and in that huge slow hymn
Chariots were driven forth in flaming rows,
And terrible trumpets blown from deep to deep.
'Judex ergo cum sedebit,

Quidquid latet ad parebit,
Nil inultum remanebit.'

And then, ah then, the heart of heaven was hushed,
And-in the hush-it seemed an angel wept,
Another Mary wept, and gathering up

All our poor wounded, weary, way-worn world,
Even as a Mother gathers up her babe,

Soothed it against her breast, and rained her tears
On the pierced feet of God, and melted Him
To pity, and over His feet poured her deep hair.
And then-O, think you, sirs, could it be She
That sang?-one sad, sad, little broken voice:-
'Recordare, Jesu pie,

Quod sum causa Tuæ viæ,
Ne me perdas illâ die.'

The music died away. The shadows knelt.
And then I heard a rustling nigh the tomb,
And heard-and heard-or dreamed I heard-farewells,
Farewells for everlasting, deep farewells,

Bitter as blood, darker than any death.

And, at the last, as in a kiss, one breath,

One agony of sweetness, like a sword

For sharpness, drawn along a soft white throat;
And, for its terrible sweetness, like a sigh
Across great waters, very far away,-

Sweetheart!

And then, like doors, like world-without-end doors
That shut for Everlasting, came a clang,

And ringing, echoing, through the echo of it,
One terrible cry that plucked my heart-strings out,
Mary! And on the closed and silent tomb,

Where there were two, one shuddering shadow lay,
And then-I, too,-reeled, swooned and knew no more.

Sirs, when I woke, there was a broad bright shaft
Of moonlight, slanting through an Eastern pane

VOL. CXCII.-NO. MCLXII.

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