Chapter 15
Section 15 of Imaginary Conversations by Walter Savage Landor. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Section 15. Leofric, Godiva, and Bishop. Narrator read by Michelle Eaton. Leofric read by Todd.
Godiva, read by Savannah Alday Bishop, read by David Olsen Leofric rides into Coventry with his young bride. None of the conversations excel this in loveliness. There is a dearth in the land, my sweet Leofric.
Remember how many weeks of drought we have had, even in the deep pastures of Leitershire, and how many Sundays we have heard the same prayers for rain, and supplications that it would please the lord in his mercy to turn aside his anger from the poor pining cattle you my dear husband have imprisoned more than one malefactor for leaving his dead ox in the public way and other hinds have fled before you out of the traces in which they and their sons and their daughters and happily their old fathers and mothers were dragging the abandoned way homeward
although we were accompanied by many brave spearmen and skilful archers it was perilous to pass the creatures which the farm-yard dogs driven from the hearth by the poverty of their masters were tearing and devouring while others bitten and lame to fill the air either with long and deep howls or sharp and quick barkings as they struggled with hunger and feebleness or were exasperated by heat and pain nor could the thyme from the heath nor the bruised branches of the fir-tree extinguish or abate the foul odour and now godiva my darling thou art afraid we should be eaten up before we enter the gates of coventry or perchance that in the gardens there are no roses to greet thee no sweet herbs for thy mat and pillow heovrig i have no such fears this is the month of roses i find them everywhere since my blessed marriage they and all other sweet herbs i know not why seem to greet me wherever i look at them as though they knew and expected me surely they cannot feel that i am fond of them
oh light laughing simpleton but what wouldst thou i came not hither to pray and yet if praying would satisfy thee or remove the drought i would ride up straightway to san michel and pray until morning i would do the same only overick but god hath turned away his ear from holier lips than mine would my own dear husband hear me if i implored him for what is easier to accomplish what he can do like god how what is it i would not in the first hurry of your wrath appeal to you my loving lord in behalf of these unhappy men who have offended you unhappy is that all herm unhappy they must surely be to have offended you so grievously what a soft air-breeze over us how quiet and serene and still in evening how calm are the heavens and the earth shall none enjoy them not even we my liovric the sun is ready to set let it never set o liovric on your anger these are not my words they are better than mine should they lose their virtue from my unworthiness in uttering them
godiva wouldst thou plead to me for rebels they have then drawn the sword against you indeed i knew it not they have omitted to send me my dues established by my ancestors well knowing of our nuptials and of the charges and festivities they require and that in a season of such scarcity my own lands are insufficient if they were starving as they said they were must i starve too is it not enough to lose my vassals enough oh god too much too much may you never lose them give them life peace comfort contentment there are those among them who kissed me in my infancy and who blessed me at the baptism of font me overig me overig the first old man i meet i shall think is one of those and i shall think on the blessing he gave and ah me on the blessing i bring back to him my heart will bleed or burst and he will weep at it he will weep poor soul for the wife of a cruel lord who denounces vengeance on him who carries death into his family
We must hold solemn festivals. We must indeed. Well then? Is the clamorousness that succeeds the death of God's dumb creatures our crowded halls, our slaughtered cattle festivals,
our maddening songs and giddy dances and hiring praises from party-colored coats? Can the voice of a minstrel tell us better things of ourselves than our own internal one might tell us? Or can his breath make our breath softer and sleep? o my beloved let everything be a joyance to us it will if we will sad is the day and worse must follow when we hear the blackbird in the garden and do not throb with joy
but the auric the high festival is strewn by the servant of god upon the heart of man it is gladness it is thanksgiving it is the orphan the starveling pressed to the bosom and bidden as its first commandment to remember its benefactor we will hold this festival the guests are ready we may keep it up for weeks and months and years together and always be the happier and the richer for it the beverage of this feast o leovric is sweeter than bee or flower or vine can give us it flows from heaven and in heaven will it abundantly be poured out again to him who pours it out here abundantly thou art wild i have indeed lost myself some power some good kind power melts me body and soul and voice into tenderness and love o my husband we must obey it look upon me look upon me lift your sweet eyes from the ground i will not cease to supplicate i dare not we may think upon it
i'll never say that what think upon goodness when you can be good let not the infants cry for sustenance the mother of our blessed lord will hear them us never never afterward here comes the bishop we are but one mile from the walls why dismountest thou no bishop can expect it godiva my honour and rank among men are humbled by this earl goodwin will hear of it up up The bishop hath seen it. He urges his horse onward. Dost thou not hear him now upon the solid turf behind thee? Never, nor never will I rise, Oliovric, until you remit this most impious task,
this tax on hard labor, on hard life. Turn round. See how the fat nag canters as to the tune of a sinner's psalm, slow and hard breathing. What reason or right can the people have to complain while their bishop's steed is so sleek and well capresoned.
Inclination to change, desire to abolish old usages? Up, up for shame! They shall smart for it, idlers. Sir Bishop, I must blush for my young bride. My husband, my husband, will you pardon the city?
Sir Bishop, I could not think you would have seen her in this plight. Will I pardon? Yea, Godiva, by the holy rood will I pardon the city, When thou ridest naked at noontime through the streets? My dear cruelly Ulfric, where's the heart you gave me?
It was not so. Can mine have hardened it? Earl, thou abashest thy spouse. She turneth pale and weepeth. Lady Godiva, peace be with thee. Thanks, holy man. Peace will be with me when peace is with your city.
did you hear my lord's cruel word i did lady will you remember it and pray against it will thou forget it daughter i am not offended angel of peace and purity but treasure it up in your heart deem it an incense good only when it is consumed and spent ascending with prayer and sacrifice and now what was it christ save us that he will pardon the city when thou ridest naked through the streets at noon did he swear an oath he sware by the holy rood my redeemer thou hast heard it save the city we are now upon the beginning of the pavement these are the suburbs let us think of feasting we may pray afterwards to-morrow we shall rest no judgments then to-morrow the overig none we will carouse the saints of heaven have given me strength and confidence my prayers are heard the heart of my beloved is now softened ay ay say dearest the overick is there indeed no other hope no other mediation
i have sworn besides thou hast made me redden and turned my face away from thee and all the knaves have seen it this adds to the city's crime i have blushed too the overick and was not rash nor obdurate but thou my sweetest art given to blushing there is no conquering it in thee i wish thou hadst not alighted so hastily and roughly it has shaken down a sheaf of thy hair take heed thou sittest not upon it lest it anguish thee well done it mingleth now sweetly with a cloth of gold upon the saddle running here and there as if it had life and faculties and business and were working thereupon some newer and cunninger device o my beauteous eve there is a paradise about thee the world is refreshed as thou movest and breathest on it i cannot see or think of evil where thou art I could throw my arms even here about thee.
No signs for me? No shaking of sunbeams? No reproof or frown of wonderment? I will say it now, then, for worse. I could close with my kisses,
thou half-open lips, I, and those lovely and loving eyes, before the people. Tomorrow you shall kiss me, and I shall bless you for it.
I shall be very pale, for tonight I must fast and pray. I do not hear thee. The voices of the folk are so loud under this archway. God help them, good kind souls. I hope they will not crowd about me so to-morrow. Holy Ulverick, could my name be forgotten, and yours alone remembered?
But perhaps my innocence may save me from approach. And how many is innocent or unfair in famine? No eye will open on me but fresh from tears. What a young mother for so large a family! Shall my youth harm me? Under God's hand it gives me courage. Ah, when will the morning come? Ah, when will the noon be over? The story of Godiva at one of whose festivals or fairs I was present in my boyhood has always
much interested me and I wrote a poem on it sitting I remember by the square pool at rugby when I showed it to the friend in whom I had most confidence he began to scoff at the subject and on reaching the last line his laughter was loud and immoderate this conversation has brought both laughter and stanza back to me and the earnestness with which I entreated and implored my friend not to tell the lads, so heart-strickenly and desperately was I ashamed. The verses are
these, if anyone else should wish another laugh at me, in every hour, in every mood, O lady, it is sweet and good, to bathe the soul in prayer, and at the close of such a day, when we have ceased to bless and pray, to dream on thy long hair. May the peppermint be still growing on the bank in that place. End of section 15.
