THE FOUR P.P.[314]

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PALMER.[315] Now God be here; who keepeth this place?
Now by my faith I cry you mercy;
Of reason I must sue for grace,
My rudeness showeth me[316] so homely.
Whereof your pardon axed and won,
I sue you[317], as courtesy doth me bind,
To tell this, which shall be begun,
In order as may come best in mind.
I am a Palmer, as ye[318] see,
Which of my life much part have[319] spent
In many a fair and far[320] country.
As Pilgrims do of good intent.
At Jerusalem[321] have I been
Before Christ's blessed sepulchre:
The mount of Calvary have I seen[322],
A holy place, you may be sure.
To Jehosaphat and Olivet[323]
On foot, God wot, I went right bare:
Many a salt tear did I sweat,
Before thy carcase could [324] come there.
Yet have I been at Rome also,
And gone the stations [325] all a-row:
St Peter's shrine and many mo,
Than, if I told all, ye do know.
Except that there be any such,
That hath been there, and diligently
Hath taken heed, and marked much,
Then can they speak as much as I.
Then at the Rhodes[326] also I was;
And round about to Amias.[327]
At St Uncumber and St Trunnion;[328]
At St Botoph[329] and St Anne of Buxton.[330]
On the hills of Armenia, where I saw[331] Noe's ark;[332]
With holy Job, and St George in Southwark;[333]
At Waltham[334] and at Walsingham;[335]
And at the good rood[336] of Dagenham[337];
At Saint Cornelys[338]; at Saint James in Gales[339];
And at Saint Wenefrid's well[340] in Wales;
At our Lady of Boston;[341] at Saint Edmund's burgh;[342]
And straight to Saint Patrick's Purgatory[343];
At Redburne,[344] and at the blood of Hales,[345]
Where pilgrims' pains right much avails;
At Saint David's,[346] and at Saint Denis;[347]
At Saint Matthew, and Saint Mark in Venice;[348]
At Master John Shorn at Canterbury;[349]
The great God of Catwade,[350] at King Henry[351]
At Saint Saviour's;[352] at our lady of Southwell;[353]
At Crome,[354] at Willesden,[355] and at Muswell;[356]
At Saint Richard,[357] and at Saint Rock;[358]
And at Our Lady that standeth in the oak.[359]
To these, with other many one,
Devoutly have I prayed and gone,
Praying to them to pray for me
Unto the blessed Trinity,
By whose prayers and my daily pain
I trust the sooner to obtain[360]
For my salvation, grace, and mercy.
For be ye sure I think surely,[361]
Who seeketh saints for Christ's sake,
And namely such as pain do take
On foot, to punish their[362] frail body,
Shall thereby merit more highly
Than by anything done by man.

PARDONER.[363] And when ye have gone as far as ye[364] can,
For all your labour and ghostly intent,
Ye[365] will come home as wise as ye went.

PALMER. Why, sir, despised ye pilgrimage?

PARDONER. Nay,[366] fore God, sir, then did I rage;
I think ye right well occupied,
To seek these saints on every side.
Also your pain[367] I not dispraise it;
But yet I discommend your wit:
And ere[368] we go, even so shall ye,
If you in this will answer me.
I pray you show what the cause is,
Ye went all these pilgrimages?

PALMER. Forsooth, this life I did begin
To rid the bondage of my sin:
For which these saints rehearsed ere this
I have both sought and seen, i-wis;
Beseeching them to bear record
Of all my pain unto the Lord,
That giveth all remission,
Upon each man's contrition;
And by their good mediation,
Upon mine[369] humble submission,
I trust to have in very deed
For my soul health the better speed.

PARDONER. Now is your own confession likely
To make yourself[370] a fool quickly.
For I perceive ye would obtain
No other[371] thing for all your pain,
But only grace your soul to save:
Now mark in this what wit ye have!
To seek so far, and help so nigh;
Even here at home is remedy;
For at your door myself doth dwell,
Who could have saved your soul as well;
As all your wide wandering shall do,
Though ye went thrice to Jericho.
Now since ye might have sped at home,
What have ye won by running[372] at Rome?

PALMER. If this be true that ye have moved,
Then is my wit indeed reproved.
But let us hear first what ye are?

PARDONER. Truly I am a pardoner.

PALMER. Truly a pardoner! that may be true;
But a true pardoner doth not ensue.
Right seldom is it seen, or never,
That truth and pardoners dwell together,
For be your pardons never so great,
Yet them to enlarge ye will not let
With such lies that ofttimes, Christ wot,
Ye seem to have that ye have not.
Wherefore I went myself to the self thing
In every place and without saying:
Had as much pardon there assuredly,
As ye can promise me here doubtfully.
Howbeit, I think ye do but scoff:[373]
But if ye had all the pardon ye speak[374] of,
And no whit of pardon granted
In any place where I have haunted:
Yet of my labour I nothing repent;
God hath respect how each time is spent;
And as in his knowledge all is regarded,
So by his goodness all is rewarded.

PARDONER. By the[375] first part of this last tale,
It seemeth ye came of late[376] from the ale.
For reason on your side so far doth fail,
That ye leave reasoning,[377] and begin to rail.
Wherein you[378] forget your own part clearly,
For you[379] be as untrue as I:
And in one point ye are beyond me,
For you[380] may lie by authority,
And all that have[381] wandered so far,
That no man can be their controller.
And where you[382] esteem your labour so much,
I say yet again my pardons are[383] such,
That if there were a thousand souls on a heap,
I would bring them to heaven as good cheap.[384]
As ye have brought yourself on pilgrimage,
In the least[385] quarter of your voyage,
Which is[386] far a side heaven, by God:
There your labour and pardon is odd.
With small cost and without any pain,
These pardons bring[387] them to heaven plain;
Give me but a penny or two pence,
And as soon as the soul departeth hence,
In half-an-hour, or threequarters at the most,
The soul is in heaven with the Holy Ghost.

'POTHECARY. Send ye any souls to heaven by water?

PARDONER. If we do,[388] sir, what is the matter?

'POTHECARY. By God, I have a dry soul should thither;
I pray you let our souls go to heaven together,
So busy you twain be in soul's health;
May not a 'pothecary come in by stealth?
Yes, that I will,[389] by St Anthony,
And, by the leave of this company,
Prove ye false knaves both, ere[390] we go,
In part of your sayings, as this, lo!
Thou by thy travail thinkest heaven to get:
And thou by pardons and relics countest no let,[391]
To send thine own soul to heaven sure;
And all other whom thou list to procure.
If I took an action, then were they blank;
For like thieves the knaves[392] rob away my thank.
All souls in heaven having relief,
Shall they thank your crafts? nay, thank mine chief.
No soul, ye know, entereth heaven-gate,
Till from the body he be separate:
And whom have ye known die honestly,[393]
Without help of the 'pothecary?
Nay, all that cometh to our handling,
Except ye happen to come to hanging;
That way perchance ye shall not mister[394]
To go to heaven without a glister.
But be ye sure I would be woe,[395]
If[396] ye should chance to beguile me so.
As good to lie with me a-night,
As hang abroad in the moonlight.
There is no choice to flee my hand,
But, as I said, into the band.
Since of our souls the multitude
I send to heaven, when all is viewed,
Who should but I then altogether
Have thank of all their coming thither?

PARDONER. If ye killed a thousand in an hour's space,
When come they to heaven dying out of grace?[397]

'POTHECARY. If a thousand pardons about your necks were tied,
When come they to heaven, if they never died?

PALMER. Long life after good works indeed
Doth hinder man's receipt of mead;
And death before one duty done,
May make us think we die too soon.
Yet better tarry a thing than[398] have it;
Than go too soon, and vainly crave it.

PARDONER. The longer ye dwell in communication,
The less shall ye like this imagination.
For ye[399] may perceive, even at the first chop,
Your tale is trapped in such a stop.
That at the least ye seem worse than we.

'POTHECARY. By the mass, I hold us nought all three.

[Enter Pedlar.

PEDLAR. By our lady, then have I gone wrong;
And yet to be here I thought it long.

'POTHECARY. Ye have gone wrong no whit,
I praise your fortune and your wit,
That can direct you so discreetly
To plant you in this company.
Thou a Palmer, and thou a Pardoner,
I a 'Pothecary.

PEDLAR. And I a Pedlar.

'POTHECARY. Now, on my faith, well watched;
Where the devil were we four hatched?

PEDLAR. That maketh no matter, since we be matched,
I could be merry if that I had catched
Some money for part of the ware in my pack.

'POTHECARY. What the devil hast thou there at thy back?

PEDLAR. What! dost thou not know that every pedlar
In all kind of trifles[400] must be a meddler?
Specially in women's triflings;
Those use we chiefly[401] above all things,
Which things to see, if ye be disposed,
Behold what ware here is disclosed!
This gear showeth itself in such beauty,
That each man thinketh[402] it saith, Come, buy me!
Look where yourself can like to be chooser,
Yourself shall make price, though I be loser.
Is here[403] nothing for my father Palmer?
Have ye not a wanton in a corner,
For all your walking to holy places?
By Christ, I have heard of as strange cases.
Who liveth in love, and love would win,
Even at this pack he must begin.
Wherein[404] is right many a proper token,
Of which by name part shall be spoken:
Gloves, pins, combs, glasses unspotted,
Pomades, hooks, and laces knotted;[405]
Brooches, rings, and all manner of beads;
Laces,[406] round and flat, for women's heads;
Needles, thread, thimble, shears, and all such knacks,[407]
Where lovers be, no such things lacks:
Sipers[408], swathbands,[409] ribbons, and sleeve laces,
Girdles, knives, purses, and pincases.

'POTHECARY. Do women buy their pincases of you?

PEDLAR. Yea, that they do, I make God a vow.

'POTHECARY. So mot I thrive then for my part,
I beshrew thy knave's naked heart,
For making my wife's pincase so wide,
The pins fall out, they cannot abide:
Great pins she must have, one or other;
If she lose one, she will find another.
Wherein I find cause to complain:
New pins to her pleasure and to my pain!

PARDONER. Sir, ye seem well-seen in women's causes!
I pray you tell me what causeth this:
That women, after their arising,[410]
Be so long in their apparelling?

PEDLAR. Forsooth, women have many lets,
And they be masked in many nets:
As frontlets,[411] fillets, partlets,[412] and bracelets;
And then their bonnets and their poignets:[413]
By these lets and nets the let is such,
That speed is small when haste is much.

'POTHECARY. Another cause why they come not forward,
Which maketh them daily to draw backward;
And yet[414] is a thing they cannot forbear;
The trimming and pinning up their gear;
Specially their fiddling with the tail-pin;
And when they would have it pricked[415] in,
If it chance to double in the cloth,
Then be they[416] wood[417], and sweareth[418] an oath.
Till it stand right they will not forsake it,
Thus though it may not, yet would[419] they make it.
But be ye sure they do but defer it;
For when they would make it, oft times mar it.
But prick them and pin them as nice[420] as ye will,
And yet will they look for pinning still.
So that I durst hold with you a joint,
Ye shall never have them at a full[421] point.

PEDLAR. Let women's matters pass, and mark mine:
Whatever their points be, these points be fine.
Wherefore, if ye be willing to buy,
Lay down money, come, off[422] quickly.

PALMER. Nay, by my troth, we be like friars;
We are but beggars, we be no buyers.

PARDONER. Sir, ye may show your ware for your mind.
But I think ye shall no profit find.

PEDLAR. Well, though this journey acquit no cost,
Yet think I not my labour lost:
For, by the faith of my body,
I like full well this company.
Up shall this pack, for it is plain
I came not hither all for gain.
Who may not play one day in a week,
May think his thrift is far to seek.
Devise what pastime that ye think best,
And make ye sure to find me prest.[423]

'POTHECARY. Why, be ye so universal,
That ye can do whatsoever ye shall?

PEDLAR. Sir, if ye list for to oppose me,
What I can do, then shall you see.

'POTHECARY. Then tell me this: are you perfit in drinking?

PEDLAR. Perfit in drinking? as may be wished by thinking.

'POTHECARY. Then, after your drinking, how fall ye to winking?

PEDLAR. Sir, after drinking, while the shot[424] is tinking;
Some heads be swimming,[425] but mine will be sinking,
And upon drinking my eyes will be pinking:
For winking to drinking is alway linking.

'POTHECARY. Then drink and sleep you can well do;
But if ye were desired thereto,
I pray you tell me, can you sing?

PEDLAR. Sir, I have some sight in singing.

'POTHECARY. But is your breast[426] any thing sweet?

PEDLAR. Whatever my breast be, my voice is meet.

'POTHECARY. That answer showeth you a right singing man.
Now what is your will, good father, then?

PALMER. What helpeth will, where is no skill?

PARDONER. And what helpeth skill, where is no will[427]!

'POTHECARY. For will or skill, what helpeth it,
Where forward knave be lacking wit[428]?
Leave off this curiosity.
And who that list, sing after me. [Here they sing.

PEDLAR. This liketh me well, so mot I the.

PARDONER. So help me God, it liketh not me.
Where company is met and well agreed,
Good pastime doth right well indeed.
But who can sit in daliance,
Men sit in such a variance?
As we were set, ere[429] ye came in,
Which strife this man did first begin;
Alleging that such men as use
For love of God, and not[430] refuse
On foot to go from place to place
A pilgrimage, calling for grace,
Shall in that pain with penitence
Obtain discharge of conscience:
Comparing that life for the best
Induction to your endless rest.
Upon these words[431] our matter grew:
For if he could avow them true,
As good to be a gardener.
As for to be a pardoner.
But when I heard him so far wide,
I then approached and replied:
Saying this, that this[432] indulgence,
Having the foresaid penitence,
Dischargeth man of all offence
With much more profit than this pretence.
I ask but twopence at the most;
I-wis this is not very great cost,
And from[433] all pain without despair,
My soul for to keep[434] even in his chair,
And when he dieth, he may be sure
To come to heaven even at pleasure.
And more than heaven he cannot[435] get,
How far soever he list to jet.
Then is his pain more than his wit,
To walk[436] to heaven, since he may sit.
Sir, as we were in this contention,
In came this daw with his invention;
Reviling us, himself avaunting,
That all the souls to heaven ascending
Are most bound to the 'pothecary,
Because he helpeth most men to die,
Before which death he saith indeed,
No soul in heaven can have his mede.

PEDLAR. Why, do 'pothecaries kill men?

'POTHECARY. By God, men say so, now and then.

PEDLAR. And I thought ye would not have mit
To make them live as long as ye list.

'POTHECARY. As long as we list? nay, as long as they can.

PEDLAR. So might we live without you then.

'POTHECARY. Yea, but yet it is[437] necessary
For to have a 'pothecary:
For when ye feel your conscience ready,
I can send you to heaven[438] quickly.
Wherefore, concerning our matter here,
Above these twain I am best clear;
And if ye[439] list to take me so,
I am content: you and no mo
Shall be our judge as in this case,
Which of us three shall take the best place.

PEDLAR. I neither will judge thee best nor worst;
For be ye blest or be ye curst,
Ye know it is no whit my sleight
To be a judge in matters of weight.
It behoveth no pedlars nor proctors
To take on them judgment as doctors:
But if your minds be only set
To work for soul-health, ye be well met:
For each of you somewhat doth show,
That souls toward heaven by you do grow.
Then if ye can so well agree,
To continue together all three;
And all you three obey one will,
Then all your minds ye may fulfil.
As if ye came all to one man,
Who should go pilgrimage[440] more than he can?
In that ye, Palmer, as deputy,[441]
May clearly discharge him, parde;
And for all other sins once had contrition,
Your pardons giveth him full remission.
And then ye, Master 'Pothecary,
May send him to heaven by and by.

'POTHECARY. If he taste this box nigh about the prime,
By the mass, he is in heaven ere evensong time.
My craft is such, that I can right well
Send my friends to heaven and myself to hell.
But, sirs, mark this man, for he is wise,
Who[442] could devise such a device:
For if we three may be as one,
Then be we[443] lords everychone;
Between us all could not be mist
To save the souls of whom we list.
But for good order, at a word,
Twain of us must wait on the third.

'POTHECARY. And unto that I do agree,
For both you twain shall wait on me.[444]

PARDONER. What chance is this, that such an elf
Command two knaves beside himself?
Nay, nay, my friend, that will not be;
I am too good to wait on thee.

PALMER. By our lady, and I would be loth
To wait on the better of you both.

PEDLAR. Yet be ye sure for all this doubt,
This waiting must be brought about.
Men cannot prosper, wilfufly led;
All things decay,[445] where is no head.
Wherefore, doubtless, mark what I say,
To one of you three twain must obey.
And since ye cannot agree in voice,
Who shall be head, there is no choice
But to devise some manner thing,
Wherein ye all be like conning;
And in the same who can do best,
The other twain do make them prest,
In every thing of his intent,
Wholly[446] to be at commandment.
And now have I found one mastery,[447]
That ye can do indifferently;
And is nother selling nor buying,
But even on very lying.
And all ye three can lie as well,
As can the falsest devil in hell.
And though afore ye heard me grudge
In greater matters to be your judge,
Yet in lying I can some skill,[448]
And if I shall be judge, I will
And be you sure, without flattery,
Where my conscience findeth the mastery,
There shall my judgment straight be found,
Though I might win a thousand pound.

PALMER. Sir, for lying, though I can do it:
Yet am I both for to go to it.

PEDLAR. Ye have no[449] cause for fear, be bold,[450]
For ye may here[451] lie uncontrolled.
And ye in this have good advantage,
For lying is your common usage.
And you in lying be well sped,
For all your craft doth stand in falsehood.
Ye need not care who shall begin;
For each of you may hope to win.
Now speak all three even as ye find:
Be ye agreed to follow my mind?

PALMER. Yea, by my troth, I am content.

PARDONER. Now, in good faith, and I assent.

'POTHECARY. If I denied, I were a noddy; For all is mine, by God's body, [Here the 'Pothecary hoppeth.

PALMER. Here were a hopper to hop for the ring!
But, sir,[452] this gear goeth not by hopping.

'POTHECARY. Sir, in this hopping I will hop so well,
That my tongue shall hop better[453] than my heel:
Upon which hopping I hope, and not doubt it,
To hop[454] so, that ye shall hop[455] without it.[456]

PALMER. Sir, I will neither boast ne brawl.
But take such fortune as may fall:
And if ye win this mastery,
I will obey you quietly:
And sure I think that quietness
In any man is great riches
In any manner company,
To rule or be ruled[457] indifferently.

PARDONER. By that boast thou seemest a beggar indeed,
What can thy quietness help us at need?
If we should starve, thou hast not, I think,
One penny to buy us one pot of drink.
Nay, if riches might rule the roost,
Behold what cause I have to boast!
Lo, here be[458] pardons half a dozen,
For ghostly riches they have no cousin.
And moreover to me they bring
Sufficient succour for my living.
And here be[459] relics of such a kind,
As in this world no man can[460] find,
Kneel down all three, and when ye leave kissing,
Who list to offer shall have my blessing.
Friends, here shall ye see even anon
Of All-Hallows the blessed jaw-bone,[461]
Kiss it hardily with good devotion.

'POTHECARY. This kiss shall bring us much promotion.
Foh, by St Saviour, I never kissed a worse;
Ye were as good kiss All-Hallows' arse;
For, by All-Hallows, yet me-thinketh,
That All-Hallows' breath stinketh.

PALMER. Ye judge All-Hallows' breath unknown:
If any breath stink, it is your own.

'POTHECARY. I know mine own breath from All-Hallows,
Or else it were time to kiss the gallows.

PARDONER. Nay, sirs, behold, here may ye see
The great toe of the Trinity:
Who to this toe any money voweth,
And once may roll it in his mouth,
All his life after, I undertake,
He shall never be vexed with the toothache.[462]

'POTHECARY. I pray you turn that relic about:
Either[463] the Trinity had the gout,
Or else, because it is three toes in one,
God made it as much[464] as three toes alone.

PARDONER. Well, let that pass, and look upon this.
Here is a relic that doth not miss
To help the least as well as the most:
This is a buttock-bone of Pentecost.

'POTHECARY. By Christ, and yet for all your boast,
This relic hath beshitten the roast.

PARDONER. Mark well this relic: here is a whipper,
My friends[465] unfeigned: here[466] is a slipper
Of one of the Seven Sleepers, be sure.[467]
Doubtless this kiss shall do you great pleasure;
For all these two days it shall so ease you,
That none other savours shall displease you.

'POTHECARY. All these two days! nay, all these[468] two years;
For all the savours that may come here
Can be no worse; for at a word
One of the seven sleepers trod in a turd.

PEDLAR. Sir, me-thinketh your devotion is but small.

PARDONER. Small! marry me-thinketh he hath none at all.

'POTHECARY. What the devil care I what ye think?
Shall I praise relics, when they stink?

PARDONER. Here is an eye-tooth of the Great Turk.
Whose eyes be once set on this piece of work,
May happily lese part of his eyesight,
But not till he be blind outright.

'POTHECARY. Whatsoever any other man seeth,
I have no devotion unto[469] Turks' teeth:
For although I never saw a greater,
Yet me-thinketh I have seen many better.

PARDONER. Here is a box full of humble bees,
That stang Eve as she sat on her knees,
Tasting the fruit to her forbidden.
Who kisseth the bees within this hidden,
Shall have as much pardon of right,
As for any relic he kissed this night.

PALMER. Sir, I will kiss them with all my heart.

'POTHECARY. Kiss them again, and take my part,
For I am not worthy: nay, let be:
Those bees that stung Eve shall not sting me.

PARDONER. Good friends, I have yet here[470] in this glass,
Which on the drink at the wedding was
Of Adam and Eve undoubtedly.
If ye honour this relic devoutly,
Although ye thirst no whit the less,
Yet shall ye drink the more, doubtless:
After which drinking ye shall be as meet
To stand on your head as on your feet.

'POTHECARY. Yea, marry, now I can[471] you thank;[472]
In presence of this—the rest be blank.
Would God this relic had come rather:[473]
Kiss that relic well, good father.
Such is the pain that ye palmers take
To kiss the pardon-bowl for the drink sake.
O holy yeast, that looketh full sour and stale,
For God's body, help me to a cup of ale.
The more I behold[474] thee, the more I thirst:
The oftener I kiss thee, the more like to burst.
But since I kiss thee so devoutly,
Hire me,[475] and help me with drink, till I die.
What, so much praying and so little speed?

PARDONER. Yea, for God knoweth when it is need
To send folks drink; but, by St Anthony,
I ween he hath sent you too much already.

'POTHECARY. If I have never the more for thee,
Then be thy relics no riches to me;
Nor to thyself, except they be
More beneficial than I can see.
Richer is one box of this triacle,[476]
Than all thy relics, that do no miracle.
If thou hadst prayed but half so much to me,
As I have prayed to thy relics and thee,
Nothing concerning mine occupation,
But straight should have wrought one[477] operation:
And as in value I pass you an ace,
So here lieth much richness in little space.
I have a box of rhubarb here,
Which is as dainty as it is dear.
So[478] help me God and halidom,
Of this I would not give a dram
To the best friend I have in England's ground,
Though he would give me twenty pound.
For though the stomach do it abhor,
It purgeth you clean from the choler;
And maketh your stomach sore to walter,
That ye shall never come to the halter.

PEDLAR. Then is that medicine a sovereign thing
To preserve a man from hanging.

'POTHECARY. If ye will taste but this crumb that ye see,
If ever ye be hanged, never trust me.
Here have I diapompholicus,
A special ointment, as doctors discuss,
For a fistula or for a canker:
This ointment is even shot-anchor;[479]
For this medicine[480] helpeth one and other,
Or bringeth them in case that they need no other.
Here is a syrapus de Byzansis,
A little thing is enough of this;
For even the weight of one scruple
Shall[481] make you as strong as a cripple.
Here are others, as diosfialios,
Diagalanga
and sticados,
Blanka, manna, diospoliticon
,
Mercury sublime and metridaticon,
Pellitory and arsefetita;
Cassy and colloquintita.
These be[482] the things that break all strife
Between man's sickness and his life.
From all pain these shall you deliver,
And set you even at rest for ever.
Here is a medicine no mo like the same,
Which commonly is called thus by name
Alikakabus or Alkakengy,
A goodly thing for dogs that be[483] mangy.
Such be these medicines, that I can
Help a dog as well as a man.
Not one thing here particularly,
But worketh universally;
For it doth me as much good, when I sell it,
As all the buyers that taste it or smell it.
Now since my medicines be so special,
And in one operation so general,
And ready to work whensoever they shall,
So that in riches I am principal;
If any reward may entreat ye,
I beseech your maship be good to[484] me,
And ye shall have a box of marmalade,
So fine that you may dig it with a spade.

PEDLAR. Sir, I thank you; but your reward
Is not the thing that I regard:
I must and will be indifferent;
Wherefore proceed in your intent.

'POTHECARY. Now if I wist this wish no sin,
I would to God I might begin.

'PARDONER. I am content that thou lie first.

PALMER. Even so am I; now[485] say thy worst.
Now let us hear, of all thy lies,
The greatest lie thou mayst devise.
And in the fewest words thou can.

'POTHECARY. Forsooth, ye be[486] an honest man.

PEDLAR. There said ye much, but yet no lie.

PARDONER. Now lie ye both, by Our Lady.
Thou liest in boast of his honesty,
And he hath lied in affirming thee.

'POTHECARY. If we both he, and ye say true,
Then of these lies your part adieu!
And if ye win, make none avaunt,
For you are sure of one ill servant.
You may perceive by the words he gave,
He taketh your maship[487] but for knave.
But who told truth[488] or lied indeed,
That will I know, ere[489] we proceed.
Sir, after that I first began
To praise you for an honest man,
When ye affirmed it for no lie:[490]
Now, by your[491] faith, speak even truly;
Thought ye your affirmation true?

PALMER. Yea, marry, for I would ye knew,
I think myself an honest man.

'POTHECARY. What thought ye in the contrary then?

PARDONER. In that I said the contrary,
I think from truth I did not vary.

'POTHECARY. And what of my words?

PARDONER. I thought ye lied.

'POTHECARY. And so thought I, by God that died.
Now have you twain each for himself laid,
That none[492] hath lied, but both true said:
And of us twain none hath denied,
But both affirmed that I have lied.
Now since both ye[493] the truth confess,
How that I lied, do bear witness,
That twain of us may soon agree,[494]
And that the lier the winner must be,
Who could provide such evidence,
As I have done in this pretence?
Me-thinketh this matter sufficient
To cause you to give judgment;
And to give me the mastery,
For ye perceive these knaves cannot lie.

PALMER. Though nother[495] of us yet had lied,
Yet what we can do is untried;
For as yet we have devised nothing,
But answered you and given you hearing.

PEDLAR. Therefore I have devised one way,
Whereby all three your minds may say,
For each of you one tale shall tell,
And which of you telleth most marvÈl,
And most unlikest[496] to be true,
Shall most prevail, whatever ensue.

'POTHECARY. If ye be set on marvelling,
Then shall ye hear a marvellous thing.
And though, indeed, all be not true,
Yet sure the most part shall be new.
I did a cure no longer ago,
But in anno domini millesimo,
On a woman young and so fair,
That never have I seen a gayer.
God save all women of[497] that likeness.
This wanton had the falling sickness,
Which by descent came lineally,
For her mother had it naturally:
Wherefore this woman to recure,
It was more hard, ye may be sure.
But though I boast my craft is such,
That in such things I can do much:
How oft she fell were much to report;
But her head so giddy, and her belly so short,
That, with the twinkling of an eye,
Down would she fall even by and by.
But ere[498] she would arise again,
I showed much practice much to my pain.
For the tallest man within this town
Could[499] not with ease have broken her swoon.
Although for life I did not doubt her,
Yet I did take more pains[500] about her,
Than I would take with my own sister.
Sir, at the last I gave her a glister:
I thrust a tampion in her tewell,[501]
And bade her keep it for a jewel;
But I knew there[502] it was too heavy to carry,
That I sure was it would not tarry:
For where gunpowder is once fired,
The tampion will no lenger be hired:
Which was well seen in time of this chance,
For when I had charged this ordnance,
Suddenly, as it had thundered,
Even at a clap loosed her bombard.[503]
Now mark, for here beginneth the revel:
This tampion flew ten long mile level,
To a fair castle of lime and stone,
For strength I know not such a one,
Which stood upon a hill full high,
At foot whereof a river ran by,
So deep, till chance had it forbidden,
Well might the Regent[504] there have ridden.
But when this tampion at this[505] castle did light,
It put the castle so fair to flight,
That down they came each upon other,
No stone left standing, by God's mother!
But rolled down so fast the hill
In such a number, and so did fill
From bottom to brim, from shore to shore,
This foresaid river so deep before,
That who list now to walk thereto,
May wade it over and wet no shoe.
So was this castle laid wide open,
That every man might see the token.
But in a good hour may these[506] words be spoken
After the tampion on the walls was wroken,
And piece by piece in pieces broken.
And she delivered with such violence
Of all her inconvenience,
I left her in good health and lust;
And so she doth continue, I trust.

PEDLAR. Sir, in your cure I can nothing tell;
But to your[507] purpose ye have said well.

PARDONER. Well, sir, then mark what I can say.
I have been a pardoner many a day,
And done greater[508] cures ghostly
Than ever he did bodily.
Namely this one, which ye shall hear,
Of one departed within this seven year,
A friend of mine, and likewise I
To her again was as friendly:
Who fell so sick so suddenly,
That dead she was even by and by,
And never spake with priest nor clerk,
Nor had no whit of this holy work;
For I was thence, it could not be,
Yet heard I say she asked for me.
But when I bethought me how this chanced,
And that I have to heaven avanced
So many souls to me but strangers,
And could not keep my friend from dangers,
But she to die so dangerously,
For her soul-health especially;
That was the thing that grieved me so,
That nothing could release my woe,
Till I had tried even out of hand,
In what estate her soul did stand.
For which trial, short tale to make,
I took this journey for her sake.[509]
Give ear, for here beginneth the story:
From hence I went to Purgatory,
And took with me this gear in my fist,
Whereby I may do there what I list.
I knocked and was let in quickly:
But, Lord, how low the souls made curtesy;
And I to every soul again
Did give a beck[510] them to retain,
And asked them this question then,
If that the soul of such a woman
Did late among them there appear?
Whereto they said, she came not here.
Then feared I much it was not well;
Alas, thought I, she is in hell;
For with her life I was so acquainted,
That sure I thought she was not sainted.
With this it chanced me to sneeze;
Christ help, quoth a soul that lay for his fees.
Those words, quoth I, thou shalt not lese;
Then with these pardons of all degrees
I paid his toll and set him so quit,
That straight to heaven he took his flight,
And I from thence to hell that night,
To help this woman, if I might;
Not as who saith by authority,
But by the way of entreaty.
And first to the devil that kept the gate
I came, and spake after this rate:
All hail, sir devil, and made low curtesy:
Welcome, quoth he thus smilingly.[511]
He knew me well, and I at last
Remembered him since long time past:
For, as good hap would have it chance,
This devil and I were of old acquaintance;
For oft, in the play of Corpus Christi,[512]
He hath played the devil at Coventry.
By his acquaintance and my behaviour,
He showed to me right friendly favour,
And to make my return the shorter,
I said to this devil: Good master porter,
For all old love, if it lie in your power,
Help me to speak with my lord and your.
Be sure, quoth he, no tongue can tell,
What time thou couldst have come so well:
For as on[513] this day Lucifer fell,
Which is our festival in hell.
Nothing unreasonable craved this day,
That shall in hell have any nay.
But yet beware thou come not in,
Till time thou may[514] thy passport win.
Wherefore stand still, and I will wit,[515]
If I can get thy safe-conduit.
He tarried not, but shortly got it
Under seal, and the Devil's hand at it,
In ample wise, as ye shall hear;
Thus it began: Lucifer,
By the power of God, chief devil of hell,
To all the devils that there do dwell
And every of them, we send greeting,
Under strait charge and commanding,
That they aiding and assistant be
To such a Pardoner, and named me,
So that he may at liberty
Pass safe without any[516] jeopardy,
Till that he be from us extinct,
And clearly out of hell's precinct.
And his pardon to keep in safeguard,
We will they lie in the porter's ward.
Given in the furnace of our palace,
In our high court of matters of malice,
Such a day and year of our reign.
God save the devil, quoth I, amain.[517]
I trust this writing to be sure:
Then put thy trust, quod he, in ure[518],
Since thou art sure to take no harm.
This devil and I walked arm in arm
So far, till he had brought me thither,
Where all the devils of hell together
Stood in array in such apparel,
As for that day there meetly fell.
Their horns well-gilt, their claws full clean,
Their tails well-kempt, and, as I ween,
With sothery[519] butter their bodies annointed;
I never saw devils so well appointed.[520]
The master-devil sat in his jacket,
And all the souls were playing at racket.
None other rackets they had in hand,
Save every soul a good firebrand:
Wherewith they played so prettily,
That Lucifer laughed merrily;
And all the residue of the fiends[521]
Did laugh thereat full well like friends.[522]
But of my friend I saw no whit,
Nor durst not ask for her as yet.
Anon all this rout was brought in silence,
And I by an usher brought in presence
Of Lucifer; then low, as well I could,[523]
I kneeled, which he so well allowed,
That thus he becked, and, by St Anthony,
He smiled on me well-favouredly,
Bending his brows as broad as barn-doors,
Shaking his ears as rugged as burrs;
Rolling his eyes as round as two bushels;
Flashing the fire out of his nosthrils;
Gnashing his teeth so vaingloriously,
That me-thought time to fall to flattery,
Wherewith I told, as I shall tell:
O pleasant picture! O prince of hell!
Feutred[524] in fashion abhominable,
And since that is inestimable
For me to praise thee worthily.
I leave of praise, as unworthy
To give thee praise, beseeching thee
To hear my suit, and then to be
So good to grant the thing I crave;
And, to be short, this would I have:
The soul of one which hither is flitted,
Delivered[525] hence, and to me remitted.
And in this doing, though all be not quit,
Yet in some part I shall[526] deserve it,
As thus: I am a pardoner,
And over souls as controller,
Thorough out the earth my power doth stand,
Where many a soul lieth on my hand,
That speed in matters as I use them,
As I receive them or refuse them.
Whereby what time thy pleasure is,
I[527] shall requite any part of this,
The least devil here that can come thither,
Shall choose a soul and bring him hither.
Ho,[528] ho! quoth the devil, we are well pleased;
What is his name thou wouldst have eased?
Nay, quoth I, be it good or evil,
My coming is for a she devil.
What callst her, quoth he, thou whoreson?[529]
Forsooth, quoth I, Margery Corson.
Now, by our honour, said Lucifer,
No devil in hell shall withhold her;
And if thou wouldest have twenty mo,
Wert not for justice, they should go.
For all we[530] devils within this den
Have more to do with two women,
Than with all the charge we have beside;
Wherefore, if thou our friend will be tried,
Apply thy pardons to women so,
That unto us there come no mo.
To do my best I promised by oath;
Which I have kept, for, as the faith goeth,
At this day[531] to heaven I do procure
Ten women to one man, be sure.
Then of Lucifer my leave I took,
And straight unto the master-cook
I was had into the kitchen,
For Margery's office was therein.
All things handled there discreetly,
For every soul beareth office meetly:
Which might be seen to see her sit
So busily turning of the spit.
For many a spit here hath she turned,
And many a good spit hath she burned:
And many a spitful hot hath roasted,
Before the meat could be half roasted,
And ere the meat were half-roasted indeed,
I took her then fro the spit with speed.
But when she saw this brought to pass,
To tell the joy wherein she was!
And of all the devils, for joy how they
Did roar at her delivery!
And how the chains in hell did ring.
And how all the souls therein did sing;
And how we were brought to the gate,
And how we took our leave thereat,
Be sure lack of time suffereth not
To rehearse the twentieth part of that,
Wherefore, this tale to conclude briefly,
This woman thanked me chiefly,
That she was rid of this endless death,
And so we departed on Newmarket-heath.
And if that any man do mind her,
Who lists to seek her, there shall he find her.

PEDLAR. Sir, ye have sought her wonders[532] well,
And where ye found her as ye tell,
To hear the chance ye had[533] in hell,
I find ye were in great peril.[534]

PALMER. His tale is all much perilous;[535]
But part is much more marvellous:
As where he said the devils complain,
That women put them to such pain.
Be their conditions so crooked and crabbed,
Frowardly fashioned, so wayward and wrabbed. [536]
So far in division, and stirring such strife,
That all the devils be weary of their life.
This[537] in effect he told for[538] truth.
Whereby much marvel to me ensueth,
That women in hell such shrews can be,
And here so gentle, as far as I see.
Yet have I seen many a mile,
And many a woman in the while.
Not one good city, town, or borough
In Christendom, but I have been thorough,
And this I would ye should understand,
I have seen women five hundred thousand:
And oft with them have long time tarried.[539]
Yet in all places where I have been,
Of all the women that I have seen,
I never saw nor knew in my conscience
Any one woman out of patience.

'POTHECARY. By the mass, there is a great lie.

PARDONER. I never heard a greater, by our Lady.

PEDLAR. A greater! nay, know ye any so great?

PALMER. Sir, whether that I lose or get,
For my part judgment shall be prayed.

PARDONER. And I desire, as he hath said.

'POTHECARY. Proceed, and ye shall be obeyed.

PEDLAR. Then shall not judgment be delayed,
Of all these three, if each man's tale
In Paul's Churchyard were set on sale,
In some man's hand that hath the sleight,
He should sure sell these tales by weight;
For as they weigh, so be they worth,
But which weigheth best, to that now forth.
Sir, all the tale that ye did tell
I bear in mind, and yours as well:
And as ye saw the matter meetly,
So lied ye both well and discreetly;
Yet were your lies with the least, trust me;
For if ye had said ye had made flee
Ten tampions out of ten women's tails,
Ten times ten mile to ten castles or jails,
And filled ten rivers ten times so deep,
As ten of that which your castle-stones did keep;
Or if ye ten times had bodily
Fet[540] ten souls out of purgatory;
And ten times so many out of hell:
Yet, by these ten bones, I could right well,
Ten times sooner all that believed,
Than the tenth part of that he hath meved.

'POTHECARY. Two knaves before one lacketh two knaves of five:[541]
Then one, and then one, and both knaves alive.
Then two, and then two, and three at a cast,
Thou knave, and thou knave, and thou knave at last.
Nay knave, if ye try me by number,
I will as knavishly you accumber[542]
Your mind is all on your privy tithe,
For all in ten me-thinketh your wit li'th.
Now ten times I beseech him that high sits,
Thy wife's ten commandments may search thy five wits.
Then ten of my turds in ten of thy teeth,
And ten on thy nose, which every man seeth;
And twenty times ten this wish I would
That thou hadst been hanged at ten year old:
For thou goest about to make me a slave.
I will thou know that I am a gentle[543] knave.
And here is another shall take my part.

PARDONER. Nay, first I beshrew your knave's heart,
Ere I take part in your knavery:
I will speak fair, by our[544] lady.
Sir, I beseech your maship to be
As good as ye can[545] be unto me.

PEDLAR. I would be glad to do you good,
And him also, be he ever so wood;[546]
But doubt you not I will now do
The thing my conscience leadeth me to.
Both your tales I take for impossible,
Yet take I his farther incredible.
Not only the thing itself alloweth it,
But also the boldness thereof avoweth it.
I know not where your tale to try;
Nor yours, but in hell or purgatory.
But his boldness hath faced a lie,
That may be tried even in this company.
As if ye list to take this order,
Among the women in this border,
Take three of the youngest, and three of the oldest,
Three of the hottest, and three of the coldest,
Three of the wisest, and three of the shrewdest,
Three of the chastest, and three of the lewdest,[547]
Three of the lowest, and three of the highest,
Three of the farthest, and three of the nighest,
Three of the fairest, and three of the maddest,
Three of the foulest, and three of the saddest,
And when all these threes be had asunder
Of each three, two justly by number
Shall be found shrews, except this fall,
That ye hap to find them shrews all.
Himself for truth all this doth know,
And oft hath tried some of this row;
And yet he sweareth by his conscience,
He never saw woman break patience.
Wherefore, considered with true intent,
His lie to be so evident,
And to appear so evidently,
That both you affirmed it a lie;
And that my conscience so deeply
So deep hath sought this thing to try,
And tried it with mind indifferent;
Thus I award by way of judgment:
Of all the lies ye all have spent,
His lie to be most excellent.

PALMER. Sir, though ye were bound of equity
To do as ye have done to me,
Yet do I thank you of your pain,
And will requite some part again.

PARDONER. Marry, sir, ye can no less do,
But thank him as much as it cometh to;
And so will I do for my part.
Now a vengeance on thy knave's heart,
I never knew a pedlar a judge before,
Nor never will trust pedling knave more.
What doest thou there, thou whoreson noddy?

'POTHECARY. By the mass, learn to make courtesy:
Courtesy before, and courtesy behind him,
And then on each side, the devil blind him!
Nay, when ye[548] have it perfitly,
Ye shall have the devil and all of courtesy:
But it is not soon learned, gentle[549] brother,
One knave to make courtesy to another.
Yet when I am angry, that is the worst,
I shall call my master knave at the first.

PALMER. Then would some master perhaps clout ye,
But, as for me, ye need not doubt ye;
For I had liever[550] be without ye,
Than have such business about ye.

'POTHECARY. So help me God, so were ye better;
What, should a beggar be a jetter?[551]
It were no whit your honesty
To have us twain jet after ye.

PARDONER. Sir, be your sure he telleth you true,
If we should wait, this would ensue:
It would be said, trust me at a word,
Two knaves made[552] courtesy to the third.

PEDLAR. Now, by my troth, to speak my mind,
Since they be so both to be assigned,[553]
To let them lose I think it best.
And so shall ye live the better[554] in rest.

PALMER. Sir, I am not on them so fond,
To compel them to keep their bond;
And since ye list not to wait on me,
I clearly of waiting do discharge ye.

PARDONER. Marry, sir, I heartily thank you.

'POTHECARY. And likewise I, to God I vow.[555]

PEDLAR. Now be ye all even as ye began;
No man hath lost, nor no man hath wan.
Yet in the debate wherewith ye began,
By way of advice I will speak as I can.
I do perceive that pilgrimage
Is chief[556] the thing ye have in usage;
Whereto in effect, for the love of Christ,
Ye have, or should have been enticed:
And who so doth with such intent,
Doth well declare his time well-spent.
And so do ye in your pretence,
If ye procure thus[557] indulgence
Unto your neighbours charitably,
For love of them in God only.
All this may be right well applied
To show[558] you both well occupied:
For though ye walk not both one way,
Yet walking thus, this dare I say,
That both your walks come to one[559] end;
And so for all that do pretend
By aid of God's grace to ensue
Any manner kind of virtue;
As some great alms for to give:
Some, in wilful poverty to live:
Some, to make highways and such like[560] works,
And some to maintain priests and clerks
To sing and pray for soul departed:
These, with all other virtues well marked,
Although they be of sundry kinds,
Yet be they not used with sundry minds.
But as God only doth all those move,
So every man only for his love,
With love and dread obediently
Worketh in these virtues uniformly.
Thus every virtue, if we list to scan,
Is pleasant to God and thankful to man.
And who that, by grace of the Holy Ghost,
To any one virtue is moved most,
That man by that grace that one apply,
And therein serve God most plentifully,[561]
Yet not that one so far wide to wrest:
So liking the same, to mislike the rest.
For who so wresteth, his work is in vain;
And even in that case I perceive you twain:
Liking your virtue in such wise,
That each other's virtue ye do despise.
Who walketh this way for God, would find him,
The farther they seek him, the farther behind him.
One kind of virtue to despise another,
Is like as the sister might hang the brother.

'POTHECARY. For fear lest such perils[562] to me might fall,
I thank God I use no virtue at all.

PEDLAR. That is of all the very worst way;
For more hard it is, as I have heard say,
To begin virtue where none is pretended,
Than where it is begun, th' abuse to be mended.
How be it, ye be[563] not all to begin,
One sign of virtue ye are entered in:
As this, I suppose ye did say true,
In that ye said ye use no virtue.
In the which words I dare well report,
You are well beloved of all this sort,
By your railing here openly
At pardons and relics so lewdly.

'POTHECARY. In that I think my fault not great;
For all that he hath I know counterfeit.

PEDLAR. For his and all other that ye know feigned,
You be not[564] counselled nor constrained
To any such thing in any such case,
To give any reverence in any such place.
But where ye doubt, the truth not knowing.
Believing the best, good may be growing,
In judging the best, no harm at the least;
In judging the worst, no good at the best.
But best in these things it seemeth to me,
To make[565] no judgment upon ye;
But as the church doth judge or take them,
So do ye receive or forsake them.
And so be you sure ye cannot err,
But may be a fruitful follower.

'POTHECARY. Go ye before, and as I am true man,
I will follow as fast as I can.

PARDONER. And so will I, for he hath said so well,
Reason would we should follow his counsel.

PALMER. Then to our reason God give us his grace,
That we may follow with faith so firmly
His commandments, that we may purchase
His love, and so consequently
To believe his church fast and faithfully;
So that we may, according to his promise,
Be kept out of error in any wise.
And all that hath scaped[566] us here by negligence,
We clearly revoke and forsake it;
To pass the time in this without offence,
Was the cause why the Maker did make it;
And so we humbly beseech you to take it,
Beseeching our Lord to prosper you all
In the faith of his Church Universal.[567]

A new Enterlude called Thersytes. This Enterlude followynge dothe declare howe that the greatest boesters are not the greatest doers.

THE NAMES OF THE PLAYERS.

THERSITES, a boster. MATER, a mother.
MULCIBER, a smyth. MILES, a knyght.
TELEMACHUS, a childe.

[Col.] Imprinted at London, by John Tysdale and are to be solde at hys shop in the vpper ende of Lvmbard streete, in Alhallowes Churche yarde neare vntoo grace church. 4°. Black letter.

lue eyes had a lazy, good-natured expression.

"There you go! Always quarrelling!" said he, in a languid, friendly tone. "And in Heaven's name, what about?"

"Well, the fact is, mother thinks that a Grecian nose would suit me better, while I am quite satisfied with the one that I have got."

Sanine looked down his nose and, laughing, grasped the other's big, soft hand.

"So, I should say!" exclaimed Maria Ivanovna, pettishly.

Novikoff laughed merrily; and from the green thicket, came a gentle echo in reply, as if some one yonder heartily; shared his mirth.

"Ah! I know what it is! Worrying about your future."

"What, you, too?" exclaimed Sanine, in comic alarm.

"It just serves you right."

"Ah!" cried Sanine. "If it's a case of two to one, I had better clear out."

"No, it is I that will soon have to clear out," said Maria Ivanovna with sudden irritation at which she herself was vexed. Hastily removing her saucepan of jam, she hurried into the house, without looking back. The terrier jumped up, and with ears erect watched her go. Then it rubbed its nose with its front paw, gave another questioning glance at the house and ran off into the garden.

"Have you got any cigarettes?" asked Sanine, delighted at his mother's departure.

Novikoff with a lazy movement of his large body produced a cigarette- case.

"You ought not to tease her so," said he, in a voice of gentle reproof.
"She's an old lady."

"How have I teased her?"

"Well, you see—"

"What do you mean by 'well, you see?' It is she who is always after me. I have never asked anything of anybody, and therefore people ought to leave me alone."

Both remained silent.

"Well, how goes it, doctor?" asked Sanine, as he watched the tobacco- smoke rising in fantastic curves above his head.

Novikoff, who was thinking of something else, did not answer at once.

"Badly."

"In what way?"

"Oh! in every way. Everything is so dull and this little town bores me to death. There's nothing to do."

"Nothing to do? Why it was you that complained of not having time to breathe!"

"That is not what I mean. One can't be always seeing patients, seeing patients. There is another life besides that."

"And who prevents you from living that other life?"

"That is rather a complicated question."

"In what way is it complicated? You are a young, good-looking, healthy man; what more do you want?"

"In my opinion that is not enough," replied Novikoff, with mild irony.

"Really!" laughed Sanine. "Well, I think it is a very great deal."

"But not enough for me," said Novikoff, laughing in his turn. It was plain that Sanine's remark about his health and good looks had pleased him, and yet it had made him feel shy as a girl.

"There's one thing that you want," said Sanine, pensively.

"And what is that?"

"A just conception of life. The monotony of your existence oppresses you; and yet, if some one advised you to give it all up, and go straight away into the wide world, you would be afraid to do so."

"And as what should I go? As a beggar? H .. m!"

"Yes, as a beggar, even! When I look at you, I think: there is a man who in order to give the Russian Empire a constitution would let himself be shut up in Schlusselburg [Footnote: A fortress for political prisoners.] for the rest of his life, losing all his rights, and his liberty as well. After all, what is a constitution to him? But when it is a question of altering his own tedious mode of life, and of going elsewhere to find new interests, he at once asks, 'how should I get a living? Strong and healthy as I am, should I not come to grief if I had not got my fixed salary, and consequently cream in my tea, my silk shirts, stand-up collars, and all the rest of it?' It's funny, upon my word it is!"

"I cannot see anything funny in it at all. In the first case, it is the question of a cause, an idea, whereas in the other—"

"Well?"

"Oh! I don't know how to express myself!" And Novikoff snapped his fingers.

"There now!" said Sanine, interrupting. "That's how you always evade the point. I shall never believe that the longing for a constitution is stronger in you than the longing to make the most of your own life."

"That is just a question. Possibly it is."

Sanine waved his hand, irritably.

"Oh! don't, please! If somebody were to cut off your finger, you would feel it more than if it were some other Russian's finger. That is a fact, eh?"

"Or a cynicism," said Novikoff, meaning to be sarcastic when he was merely foolish.

"Possibly. But, all the same, it is the truth. And now though in Russia and in many other States there is no constitution, nor the slightest sign of one, it is your own unsatisfactory life that worries you, not the absence of a constitution. And if you say it isn't, then you're telling a lie. What is more," added Sanine, with a merry twinkle in his eyes, "you are worried not about your life but because Lida has not yet fallen in love with you. Now, isn't that so?"

"What utter nonsense you're talking!" cried Novikoff, turning as red as his silk shirt. So confused was he, that tears rose to his calm, kindly eyes.

"How is it nonsense, when besides Lida you can see nothing else in the whole world? The wish to possess her is written in large letters on your brow."

Novikoff winced perceptibly and began to walk rapidly up and down the path. If anyone but Lida's brother had spoken to him in this way it would have pained him deeply, but to hear such words from Sanine's mouth amazed him; in fact at first he scarcely understood them.

"Look here," he muttered, "either you are posing, or else—"

"Or else—what?" asked Sanine, smiling.

Novikoff looked aside, shrugged his shoulders, and was silent. The other inference led him to regard Sanine as an immoral, bad man. But he could not tell him this, for, ever since their college days, he had always felt sincere affection for him, and it seemed to Novikoff impossible that he should have chosen a wicked man as his friend. The effect on his mind was at once bewildering and unpleasant. The allusion to Lida pained him, but, as the goddess whom he adored, he could not feel angry with Sanine for speaking of her. It pleased him, and yet he felt hurt, as if a burning hand had seized his heart and had gently pressed it.

Sanine was silent, and smiled good-humouredly.

After a pause he said:

"Well, finish your statement; I am in no hurry!"

Novikoff kept walking up and down the path, as before. He was evidently hurt. At this moment the terrier came running back excitedly and rubbed against Sanine's knees, as if wishful to let every one know how pleased he was.

"Good dog!" said Sanine, patting him.

Novikoff strove to avoid continuing the discussion, being afraid that Sanine might return to the subject which for personally was the most interesting in the whole world. Anything that did not concern Lida seemed le to him—dull.

"And—where is Lidia Petrovna?" he asked mechanically, albeit loth to utter the question that was uppermost in his mind.

"Lida? Where should she be? Walking with officers on the boulevard, where all our young ladies are to be found at this time of day."

A look of jealousy darkened his face, as Novikoff asked:

"How can a girl so clever and cultivated as she waste her time with such empty-headed fools?"

"Oh! my friend," exclaimed Sanine, smiling, "Lida is handsome, and young, and healthy, just as you are; more so, in fact, because she has that which you lack—keen desire for everything. She wants to know everything, to experience everything—why, here she comes! You've only got to look at her to understand that. Isn't she pretty?"

Lida was shorter and much handsomer than her brother. Sweetness combined with supple strength gave to her whole personality charm and distinction. There was a haughty look in her dark eyes, and her voice, of which she was proud, sounded rich and musical. She walked slowly down the steps, moving with the lithe grace of a thoroughbred, while adroitly holding up her long grey dress. Behind her, clinking their spurs, came two good-looking young officers in tightly-fitting riding- breeches and shining top-boots.

"Who is pretty? Is it I?" asked Lida, as she filled the whole garden with the charm of her voice, her beauty and her youth. She gave Novikoff her hand, with a side-glance at her brother, about whose attitude she did not feel quite clear, never knowing whether he was joking or in earnest. Grasping her hand tightly, Novikoff grew very red, but his emotions were unnoticed by Lida, used as she was to his reverent, bashful glance that never troubled her.

"Good evening, Vladimir Petrovitch," said the elder, handsomer and fairer of the two officers, rigid, erect as a spirited stallion, while his spurs clinked noisily.

Sanine knew him to be Sarudine, a captain of cavalry, one of Lida's most persistent admirers. The other was Lieutenant Tanaroff, who regarded Sarudine as the ideal soldier, and strove to copy everything he did. He was taciturn, somewhat clumsy, and not so good-looking as Sarudine. Tanaroff rattled his spurs in his turn, but said nothing.

"Yes, you!" replied Sanine to his sister, gravely.

"Why, of course I am pretty. You should have said indescribably pretty!" And, laughing gaily, Lida sank into a chair, glancing again at Sanine. Raising her arms and thus emphasizing the curves of her shapely bosom, she proceeded to remove her hat, but, in so doing, let a long hat-pin fall on the gravel, and her veil and hair became disarranged.

"Andrei Pavlovitch, do please help me!" she plaintively cried to the taciturn lieutenant.

"Yes, she's a beauty!" murmured Sanine, thinking aloud, and never taking his eyes off her. Once more Lida glanced shyly at her brother.

"We're all of us beautiful here," said she.

"What's that? Beautiful? Ha! Ha!" laughed Sarudine, showing his white, shining teeth. "We are at best but the modest frame that serves to heighten the dazzling splendour of your beauty."

"I say, what eloquence, to be sure!" exclaimed Sanine, in surprise.
There was a slight shade of irony in his tone.

"Lidia Petrovna would make anybody eloquent," said Tanaroff the silent, as he tried to help Lida to take off her hat, and in so doing ruffled her hair. She pretended to be vexed, laughing all the while.

"What?" drawled Sanine. "Are you eloquent too?"

"Oh! let them be!" whispered Novikoff, hypocritically, though secretly pleased.

Lida frowned at Sanine, to whom her dark eyes plainly said:

"Don't imagine that I cannot see what these people are. I intend to please myself. I am not a fool any more than you are, and I know what I am about."

Sanine smiled at her.

At last the hat was removed, which Tanaroff solemnly placed on the table.

"Look! Look what you've done to me, Andrei Pavlovitch!" cried Lida half peevishly, half coquettishly. "You've got my hair into such a tangle! Now I shall have to go indoors."

"I'm so awfully sorry!" stammered Tanaroff, in confusion.

Lida rose, gathered up her skirts, and ran indoors laughing, followed by the glances of all the men. When she had gone they seemed to breathe more freely, without that nervous sense of restraint which men usually experience in the presence of a pretty young woman. Sarudine lighted a cigarette which he smoked with evident gusto. One felt, when he spoke, that he habitually took the lead in a conversation, and that what he thought was something quite different from what he said.

"I have just been persuading Lidia Petrovna to study singing seriously.
With such a voice, her career is assured."

"A fine career, upon my word!" sullenly rejoined Novikoff, looking aside.

"What is wrong with it?" asked Sarudine, in genuine amazement, removing the cigarette from his lips.

"Why, what's an actress? Nothing else but a harlot!" replied Novikoff, with sudden heat. Jealousy tortured him; the thought that the young woman whose body he loved could appear before other men in an alluring dress that would exhibit her charms in order to provoke their passions.

"Surely it is going too far to say that," replied Sarudine, raising his eyebrows.

Novikoff's glance was full of hatred. He regarded Sarudine as one of those men who meant to rob him of his beloved; moreover, his good looks annoyed him.

"No, not in the least too far," he retorted. "To appear half nude on the stage and in some voluptuous scene exhibit one's personal charms to those who in an hour or so take their leave as they would of some courtesan after paying the usual fee! A charming career indeed!"

"My friend," said Sanine, "every woman in the first instance likes to be admired for her personal charms."

Novikoff shrugged his shoulders irritably.

"What a silly, coarse statement!" said he.

"At any rate, coarse or not, it's the truth," replied Sanine. "Lida would be most effective on the stage, and I should like to see her there."

Although in the others this speech roused a certain instinctive curiosity, they all felt ill at ease. Sarudine, who thought himself more intelligent and tactful than the rest, deemed it his duty to dispel this vague feeling of embarrassment.

"Well, what do you think the young lady ought to do? Get married? Pursue a course of study, or let her talent be lost? That would be a crime against nature that had endowed her with its fairest gift."

"Oh!" exclaimed Sanine, with undisguised sarcasm, "till now the idea of such a crime had never entered my head."

Novikoff laughed maliciously, but replied politely enough to Sarudine.

"Why a crime? A good mother or a female doctor is worth a thousand times more than an actress."

"Not at all!" said Tanaroff, indignantly.

"Don't you find this sort of talk rather boring?" asked Sanine.

Sarudine's rejoinder was lost in a fit of coughing. They all of them really thought such a discussion tedious and unnecessary; and yet they all felt somewhat offended. An unpleasant silence reigned.

Lida and Maria Ivanovna appeared on the verandah. Lida had heard her brother's last words, but did not know to what they referred.

"You seem to have soon become bored!" cried she, laughing. "Let us go down to the river. It is charming there, now."

As she passed in front of the men, her shapely figure swayed slightly, and there was a look of dark mystery in her eyes that seemed to say something, to promise something.

"Go for a walk till supper-time," said Maria Ivanovna.

"Delighted," exclaimed Sarudine. His spurs clinked, as he offered Lida his arm.

"I hope that I may be allowed to come too," said Novikoff, meaning to be satirical, though his face wore a tearful expression.

"Who is there to prevent you?" replied Lida, smiling, at him over her shoulder.

"Yes, you go, too," exclaimed Sanine. "I would come with you if she were not so thoroughly convinced that I am her brother."

Lida winced somewhat, and glanced swiftly at Sanine, as she laughed, a short, nervous laugh.

Maria Ivanovna was obviously displeased.

"Why do you talk in that stupid way?" she bluntly exclaimed. "I suppose you think it is original?"

"I really never thought about it at all," was Sanine's rejoinder.

Maria Ivanovna looked at him in amazement. She had never been able to understand her son; she never could tell when he was joking or in earnest, nor what he thought or felt, when other comprehensible persons felt and thought much as she did herself. According to her idea, a man was always bound to speak and feel and act exactly as other men of his social and intellectual status were wont to speak and feel and act. She was also of opinion that people were not simply men with their natural characteristics and peculiarities, but that they must be all cast in one common mould. Her own environment encouraged and confirmed this belief. Education, she thought, tended to divide men into two groups, the intelligent and the unintelligent. The latter might retain their individuality, which drew upon them the contempt of others. The former were divided into groups, and their convictions did not correspond with their personal qualities but with their respective positions. Thus, every student was a revolutionary, every official was bourgeois, every artist a free thinker, and every officer an exaggerated stickler for rank. If, however, it chanced that a student was a Conservative, or an officer an Anarchist, this must be regarded as most extraordinary, and even unpleasant. As for Sanine, according to his origin and education he ought to have been something quite different from what he was; and Maria Ivanovna felt as Lida, Novikoff and all who came into contact with him felt, that he had disappointed expectation. With a mother's instinct she quickly saw the impression that her son made on those about him; and it pained her.

Sanine was aware of this. He would fain have reassured her, but was at a loss how to begin. At first he thought of professing sentiments that were false, so that she might be pacified; however, he only laughed, and, rising, went indoors. There, for a while, he lay on his bed, thinking. It seemed as if men wished to turn the whole world into a sort of military cloister, with one set of rules for all, framed with a view to destroy all individuality, or else to make this submit to one vague, archaic power of some kind. He was even led to reflect upon Christianity and its fate, but this bored him to such an extent that he fell asleep, and did not wake until evening had turned to night.

Maria Ivanovna watched him go, and she, too, sighing deeply, became immersed in thought. Sarudine, so she said to herself, was obviously paying court to Lida, and she hoped that his intentions were serious.

"Lida's already twenty, and Sarudine seems to be quite a nice sort of young man. They say he'll get his squadron this year. Of course, he's heavily in debt—But oh! why did I have that horrid dream? I know it's absurd, yet somehow I can't get it out of my head!"

This dream was one that she had dreamed on the same day that Sarudine had first entered the house. She thought that she saw Lida, dressed all in white, walking in a green meadow bright with flowers.

Maria Ivanovna sank into an easy chair, leaning her head on her hand, as old women do, and she gazed at the darkening sky. Thoughts gloomy and tormenting gave no respite, and there was an indefinable something caused her to feel anxious and afraid.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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