Chapter V

Then, as the passion of old Gris GrillonA wave swift swelling, grew to highest heightAnd snapped a foaming consummation forthWith salty hissing, came the friar throughThe mass. A stillness of white faces wroughtA transient death on all the hands and breastsOf all the crowd, and men and women stood,One instant, fixed, as they had died upright.Then suddenly Lord Raoul rose up in selleAnd thrust his dagger straight upon the breastOf Gris Grillon, to pin him to the wall;But ere steel-point met flesh, tall Jacques GrillonHad leapt straight upward from the earth, and inThe self-same act had whirled his bow by endWith mighty whirr about his head, and struckThe dagger with so featly stroke and fullThat blade flew up and hilt flew down, and leftLord Raoul unfriended of his weapon.ThenThe fool cried shrilly, "Shall a knight of FranceGo stabbing his own cattle?" And Lord Raoul,Calm with a changing mood, sat still and called:"Here, huntsmen, 'tis my will ye seize the hindThat broke my dagger, bind him to this treeAnd slice both ears to hair-breadth of his head,To be his bloody token of regretThat he hath put them to so foul employAs catching villainous breath of strolling priestsThat mouth at knighthood and defile the Church."The knife . . . . .To place the edge . . .Mary! the blood! it oozes sluggishly,Scorning to come at call of blade so base.Sathanas! He that cuts the ear has leftThe blade sticking at midway, for to turnAnd ask the Duke "if 'tis not doneThus far with nice precision," and the DukeLeans down to see, and cries, "'tis marvellous nice,Shaved as thou wert ear-barber by profession!"Whereat one witling cries, "'tis monstrous fit,In sooth, a shaven-pated priest should haveA shaven-eared audience;" and another,"Give thanks, thou Jacques, to this most gracious DukeThat rids thee of the life-long dread of lossOf thy two ears, by cropping them at once;And now henceforth full safely thou may'st dareThe powerfullest Lord in France to touchAn ear of thine;" and now the knave o' the knifeSeizes the handle to commence again, and sawsAnd . . ha! Lift up thine head, O Henry! Friend!'Tis Marie, walking midway of the street,As she had just stepped forth from out the gateOf the very, very Heaven where God is,Still glittering with the God-shine on her! Look!And there right suddenly the fool looked upAnd saw the crowd divided in two ranks.Raoul pale-stricken as a man that waitsGod's first remark when he hath died intoGod's sudden presence, saw the cropping knaveA-pause with knife in hand, the wondering folkAll straining forward with round-ringed eyes,And Gris Grillon calm smiling while he prayedThe Holy Virgin's blessing.Down the laneBetwixt the hedging bodies of the crowd,Of springy clouds, and bore straight on towardThe Duke. On him her eyes burned steadilyWith such gray fires of heaven-hot commandAs Dawn burns Night away with, and she heldHer white forefinger quivering aloftAt greatest arm's-length of her dainty arm,In menace sweeter than a kiss could beAnd terribler than sudden whispers areThat come from lips unseen, in sunlit room.So with the spell of all the Powers of SenseThat e'er have swayed the savagery of hot bloodRaying from her whole body beautiful,She held the eyes and wills of all the crowd.Then from the numbed hand of him that cut,The knife dropped down, and the quick fool stole inAnd snatched and deftly severed all the withesUnseen, and Jacques burst forth into the crowd,And then the mass completed the long breathThey had forgot to draw, and surged uponThe centre where the maiden stood with soundOf multitudes of blessings, and Lord RaoulRode homeward, silent and most pale and strange,Deep-wrapt in moody fits of hot and cold.(End of Chapter V.)

May the maiden,Violet-ladenOut of the violet sea,Comes and hoversOver lovers,Over thee, Marie, and me,Over me and thee.

Day the stately,Sunken latelyInto the violet sea,Backward hoversOver lovers,Over thee, Marie, and me,Over me and thee.

Night the holy,Sailing slowlyOver the violet sea,Stars uncoversOver lovers,Stars for thee, Marie, and me,Stars for me and thee.