The Forest Lovers

The clear-cold eyes of the Countess Isabel looked long at him before

she said--"Do I then show love to the Saints and give God honour, Lord

Abbot, by helping you swing your villeins? Pit and gallows, pillory

and tumbril! You go too far."

"Dear lady," said he, "I go no further, if I have them, than my

Sisters of Gracedieu. That hedged community of Christ's brides hath

all these commodities and more, even the paramount privilege of

Sanctuary, which is an appanage of the very highest in the Holy Fold.

And I must consider it as scarcely decent, as (by the Mass) not seemly

at all, that your Holy Thorn, this sainted sprig of your planting,

should lack the power to prick. Our people, madam, do indeed expect

it. It is not much. Nay!"--for he saw his Lady frown and heard her

toe-taps again--"indeed, it is not much. A little pit for your female

thief to swim at large, for your witch and bringer-in of hell's

ordinances; a decent gallows a-top for your proper male rascal; a

pillory for your tenderer blossom of sin while he qualify for an airy

crown, or find space for repentance and the fruits of true contrition;

lastly, a persuasive tumbril, a close lover for your incorrigible

wanton girls--homely chastisement such as a father Abbot may bestow,

and yet wear a comely face, and yet be loved by those he chasteneth.

Madam, is this too much for so great a charge as ours? We of Holy

Thorn nurture the good seed with scant fortune, being ridden down by

evil livers, deer-stealers, notorious persons, scandalous persons. A

little pit, therefore! a little limber gallows!"

But the Countess mused with her hand to her chin, by no means

persuaded. She was still a young woman, and a very lonely one; her

great prerogatives (which she took seriously) tired her to death, but

the need of exercising them through other people was worst of all. Now

she said doubtfully, "I have no reason in especial to trust you,

Abbot."

The Abbot, who knew better than she how true this was, bit his lip and

remained silent. He was a very comely man and leaned much to

persuasion, particularly with women. He was always his own audience:

the check, therefore, amounted to exposure, almost put him to open

shame. The Countess went on to ask, who in particular of his villeins

he had dread of, who was turbulent, who a deer-stealer, who notorious

as a witch or wise woman, who wanton and a scandalous liver? And here

the Abbot was apt with his names. There was Red Sweyn, half an outlaw

already, and by far too handy with his hunting-knife; there was

Pinwell, as merry a little rogue as ever spoiled for a cord. There

were Rogerson and Cutlaw; there was Tom Sibby, the procuress. Mald

also, a withered malignant old wife, who had once blighted a year's

increase by her dealing with the devil. Here was stuff for gallows,

pit and pillory, all dropping-ripe for the trick. For tumbril, he went

on (watching his adversary like a cat), "who so proper as black-haired

Isoult, witch, and daughter of a witch, called by men Isoult la

Desirous--and a gaunt, half-starved, loose-legged baggage she is," he

went on; "reputed of vile conversation for all the slimness of her

years--witch, and a witch's brat."