The White Rose of Langley. Emily Sarah Holt

of seuene the laste ueniauncis (vengeances, plagues), and he spak with me and seide, come thou and I schal schewe to thee the spousesse (bride) the wyf of the lombe. And he took me up in spirit into a greet hill and high, and he schewide to me the hooli cite ierusalem comynge doun fro heuene of god, hauynge the cleerte (glory) of god; and the light of it lyk a precious stoon as the stoon iaspis (jasper), as cristal. And it hadde a wall greet and high hauynge twelue ghatis (gates), and in the ghatis of it twelue aungelis and names writen yn that ben the names of twelue lynagis (lineages, tribes) of the sones of israel. Fro the eest three ghatis, and fro the north three ghatis, and fro the south three ghatis, and fro the west three ghatis. And the wall of the citee hadde twelue foundamentis, and in hem the twelue names of twelue apostlis and of the lombe. And he that spak with me hadde a goldun mesure of a rehed (reed) that he schulde mete the citee and the ghatis of it and the wall. And the citee was sett in a square, and the lengthe of it is so mych as mych as is the brede (breadth), and he mat (meted, measured) the citee with the rehed bi furlongis twelue thousyndis, and the highthe and the lengthe and breede of it ben euene. And he maat (meted, measured) the wallis of it of an hundride and foure and fourti cubitis bi mesure of man, that is, of an aungel. And the bilding of the wall thereoff was of the stoon iaspis and the citee it silff was cleen gold lyk cleen glas. And the foundamentis of the wal of the cite weren ourned (adorned) with al precious stoon, the firste foundament iaspis, the secound saphirus, the thridde calsedonyus, the fourthe smaragdus (emerald), the fifthe sardony (sardonyx), the sixte sardyus (ruby), the seuenthe crisolitus, the eighthe berillus, the nynthe topasius, the tenthe crisopassus, the elleuenthe iacinctus (jacinth), the tweluethe amiatistus (amethyst). And twelue ghatis ben twelue margaritis (pearls) bi ech (each), and ech ghate was of ech (each) margarite and the streetis of the citee weren cleen gold as of glas ful schinynge. And I saigh no temple in it, for the lord god almyghti and the lomb is temple of it, and the citee hath not nede of sunne neither moone that thei schine in it, for the cleerite of god schal lightne it, and the lombe is the lanterne of it, and the kyngis of erthe schulen bringe her glorie and onour into it. And the ghatis of it schulen not be closid bi dai, and nyght schal not be there, and thei schulen bringe the glorie and onour of folkis into it, neither ony man defouled and doynge abomynacioun and leesyng (lying) schal entre into it, but thei that ben writun in the book of lyf and of the lombe.”

      When the soft, quiet voice ceased, it was like the sudden cessation of sweet music to the enchanted ears of little Maude. The child was very imaginative, and in her mental eyes the City had grown as she listened, till it now lay spread before her—the streets of gold, and the gates of pearl, and the foundations of precious stones. Of any thing typical or supernatural she had not the faintest idea. In her mind it was at once settled that the City was London, and yet was in some dreamy way Jerusalem; for of any third city Maude knew nothing. The King, of course, had his Palace there; and a strong desire sprang up in the child’s mind to know whether the royal mistress, who was to her a kind of far-off fairy queen, had a palace there also. If so—but no! it was too good to be true that Maude would ever go to wash the golden pans and diamond dishes which must be used in that City.

      “Mistress!” said Maude to her new friend, after a short silence, during which both were thinking deeply.

      The lady brought her eyes down to the child from the sky, where they had been fixed, and smiled a reply to the appeal.

      “Would you tell me, of your grace, whether our Lady mistresshood’s graciousness hath in yonder city a dwelling?”

      Maude wondered exceedingly to see tears slowly gather in the sapphire eyes.

      “God grant it, little maid!” was, to her, the incomprehensible answer.

      “And if so were, Mistress, counteth your Madamship that our said puissant Lady should ever lack her pans cleansed yonder?”

      “Wherefore, little maid?” asked the lady very gently.

      “Because, an’ I so might, I would fain dwell in yonder city,” said Maude, with glittering eyes.

      “And thy work is to cleanse pans?”

      Little Maude sighed heavily. “Ay, yonder is my work.”

      “Which thou little lovest, as methinks.”

      “Should you love it, Mistress, think you?” demanded Maude.

      “Truly, little maid, that should I not,” answered the lady. “Now tell me freely, what wouldst liefer do?”

      “Aught that were clean and fair and honest!” (pretty) said Maude confidentially, her eyes kindling again. “An’ they lack any ’prentices in that City, I would fain be bound yonder. Verily, I would love to twine flowers, or to weave dovecotes (the golden nets which confined ladies’ hair), or to guard brave gowns with lace, and the like of that, an’ I could be learned. Save that, methinks, over there, I would be ever and alway a-gazing from the lattice.”

      “Wherefore?”

      “And yet I wis not,” added Maude, thinking aloud. “Where the streets be gold, and the gates margarites, what shall the gowns be?”

      “Pure, bright stones (see Note 3), little maid,” said the lady. “But there be no ’prentices yonder.”

      “What! be they all masters?” said the child.

      “ ‘A kingdom and priests,’ ” she said. “But there be no ’prentices, seeing there is no work, save the King’s work.”

      Little Maude wondered privately whether that were to sew stars upon sunbeams.

      “But there shall not enter any defouled thing into that City,” pursued the lady seriously; “no leasing, neither no manner of wrongfulness.”

      Little Maude’s face fell considerably.

      “Then I could not go to cleanse the pans yonder!” she said sorrowfully. “I did tell a lie once to Mistress Drew.”

      “Who is Mistress Drew?” enquired the lady.

      The child looked up in astonishment, wondering how it came to pass that any one living in Langley Palace should not know her who, to Maude’s apprehension, was monarch of all she surveyed—inside the kitchen.

      “She is Mistress Ursula Drew, that is over me and Parnel.”

      “Doth she cleanse pans?” said the lady smilingly.

      “Nay, verily! She biddeth us.”

      “I see—she is queen of the kitchen. And is there none over her?”

      “Ay, Master Warine.”

      “And who is over Master Warine?”

      A question beyond little Maude’s power to answer.

      “The King must be, of force,” said she meditatively. “But who is else—saving his gracious mastership and our Lady her mistresshood—in good sooth I wis not.”

      The lady looked at her for a minute with a smile on her lips. Then, a little to Maude’s surprise, she clapped her hands. A handsomely attired woman—to the child’s eyes, the counterpart of the lady who had been talking with her—appeared in the doorway.

      “Señora!” she said, with a reverence.

      The two ladies thereupon began a conversation, in a language totally incomprehensible to little Maude. They were both Spanish by birth, and they were speaking their own tongue. They said:—

      “Dona Juana, is there any vacancy among my maids?”

      “Señora, we live to fulfil your august pleasure.”

      “Do you think this child could be taught fine needlework?”

      “The Infanta has only to command.”

      “I wish it tried, Dona Juana.”

      “I lie at the Infanta’s feet.”

      The lady turned back to Maude.

      “Thy