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 Series Editors’ Preface

The series Contemporary Issues in Education Studies is timely for its critical
exploration of education in this period of accelerating change. Responding
to this challenge, the books in the series have titles that correspond closely
to the needs of students taking a wide range of courses and modules within
Education Studies and related fields such as teacher education. Education
Studies is an important subject area that should be at the heart of many fac-
ulties of education. There is a need for relevant, core texts within Education
Studies, which explore and critique contemporary issues across the discipline
and challenge prevailing discourses of what education is about. We also need
to provide students with strong theoretical perspectives and frameworks,
focusing on relevant literature in an accessible and readable format.
We set the authors of this series a number of challenges in terms of what to
include in their text. Therefore, each book addresses a contemporary issue in
education and has an international rather than just an English focus. The texts
are structured to provide a clear grasp of the topic and to provide an overview
of research, current debates, and perspectives. Contextualized extracts from
important primary texts ensure readers’ exposure to dominant contemporary
theories in the field of education, by demystifying essential vocabulary and
educational discourse, enabling the education student to engage with these
texts in a meaningful way. The extensive and appropriate literature review
in each text gives a firm base for contextualizing the subject and promoting
understanding at multiple levels.
This series is grounded in a strong conceptual, theoretical framework and
is presented in an accessible way. Each book uses approaches such as case
studies, reflective exercises, and activities that encourage and support student
learning. Key relevant and contemporary questions are inserted throughout
each chapter to extend the readers’ thinking and understanding. Furthermore,
additional material is also provided in the companion website to each book.
Robin Shields is Senior Lecturer in Education Studies (Global Education)
in the School of Education at Bath Spa University, UK. He obtained his BA
at the University of California, Santa Cruz, United States, and his Ph.D. also
at the University of California, Los Angeles, United States. His teaching and

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 Series Editors’ Preface ix
research interests broadly focus on international development and the globali-
zation of education. Robin has worked in international development, mainly
in Nepal. Moreover, this has included research consultancy for UNESCO
and working as programme coordinator for NGO Relief International.
Furthermore, his work and research involves the use of Information and
Communication Technologies (ICT) for education in low income countries.
Robin’s current research concerns international student flows in higher edu-
cation, examining what the patterns in these flows reveal about larger proc-
esses of globalization.
Robin’s book provides a contemporary focus on global and international
educational issues. The importance of comparative education is underlined
through similarities and differences that develop our understanding of our
own educational professional practice. Robin’s thematic approach also relates
to more than two counties and that global reach is, we both feel, one of this
book’s advantages and strengths. The author also encourages the reader to use
individual chapters as stand-alone texts rather than reading the whole book
sequentially. We also feel that the book offers much more than an in-depth
introduction to global and international issues in education studies. As we
have asked all of our other authors, Robin also provides examples of critical
analysis of assumptions, values and beliefs that underlie both education pol-
icy and practice. His book will appeal to both researchers and practitioners
across a range of academic subjects and we feel that the market for this book
will truly be international.
Since this is the last book in our series, we would like to thank all the
authors of the seven books. We would also like to thank the teams at
Continuum/Bloomsbury who have always been helpful and understanding as
we have both worked within increasingly changing education environments.
We continue to ask both our readers and students to keep thinking critically
and have open minds to the possibilities and opportunities in relation to con-
temporary issues in education.
Simon-Pratt Adams
Richard Race
Chelmsford and Athens, July 2012

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 Acknowledgements

I have enjoyed a great deal of support from my colleagues at Bath Spa

University in writing this book. I would like to thank Dan Davies, Stephen
Ward, Alan Howe, Andy Bord, Graham Downes, Fiona Maine, Darren
Garside, Christina Slade, Jodi Anderson and Christine Eden.
I am also extremely lucky to enjoy the support of inspiring and committed
colleagues around the globe, who have been vital in helping to develop the
content for this book. I would like to thank Jeremy Rappleye, Stephen Carney,
Edith Omwami, Val Rust, Tejendra Pherali, Susan Robertson, Karen Edge,
Terra Sprague, Richard Budd, Lizzi Milligan, Patrick Turner, Chiao-Ling
Chien, Amy Armstrong, Rebecca Edwards and Mahabir Pun for their encour-
agement and support.
I would also like to thank Richard Race and Simon Pratt-Adams, the series
editors, for their guidance, and David Blundell for his essential role in mak-
ing this book possible. In addition, I am very thankful to Alison Baker and
Rosie Pattinson at Bloomsbury for their support, patience and commitment
and the team at Newgen for their dedication and attention to detail.
Finally, I would like to thank my family for their support during the writ-
ing of this book, particularly my wife Gayatri, and my daughter Nandini to
whom this book is dedicated.

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 Abbreviations

ASEAN Association of South East Asian Nations

AusAID Australian Agency for International Development
CIDA Canadian International Development Agency
DANIDA Danish International Development Agency
DFID Department for International Development (United Kingdom)
ECTS European Credit Transfer System
EFA Education for All
EHEA European Higher Education Area
FFE Food for Education (Bangladesh)
FTI Fast-Track Initiative (World Bank)
GATS General Agreement on Trade in Services
GDP Gross Domestic Product
GTZ Gesellschaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit
(German Agency for International Development)
HDI Human Development Index
ICT Information and Communication Technology
ICT4D Information and Communication Technology for Development
IIT Indian Institute of Technology
IMF International Monetary Fund
INEE Inter-Agency Network for Education in Emergencies
ITU International Telecommunication Union
JICA Japan International Cooperation Agency
KAM Knowledge Assessment Methodology (World Bank)
KEI Knowledge Economy Index (World Bank)
MDG Millennium Development Goals
NGO Non-governmental Organization
NORAD Norwegian Agency for Development Cooperation
OBHE Observatory on Borderless Higher Education
OECD Organization of Economic Cooperation and Development
OLPC One Laptop per Child
PISA Programme for International Student Assessment
PRSP Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper

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 xii Abbreviations

STEM Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics

TIMSS Trends in International Mathematics and Science Studies
TRIPS Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights
UNDP United Nations Development Programme
UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and
Cultural Organization
UNICEF United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund
USAID United States Agency for International Development
VLE Virtual Learning Environment
WSIS World Summit on Information Society
WTO World Trade Organization

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 Introduction

Chapter Outline
Learning and knowing 1
Comparative and international education 2
Global discourses on education 5
Overview of the book 7
Useful websites 8

Learning and knowing

In the traditions of Zen Buddhism, a kōan is a short story that promotes
contemplation and guides meditation. Consider the following kōan recorded
by Nyogen Senzaki in 1919:

Nan-in, a Japanese master . . . received a university professor who came to

inquire about Zen. Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor’s cup full, and
then kept on pouring.
The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself.
‘It is overfull. No more will go in!’
‘Like this cup’, Nan-in said, ‘you are full of your own opinions and
speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?’
(Senzaki, 1919/2010)

This kōan illustrates a key theme of this book: it shows that learning is
often the process of ‘unknowing’ what one thinks one knows. Freire (1970)
points out that although some conceptualizations of education focus on the

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 2 Globalization and International Education

acquisition of new facts and information, it is often the act of questioning

previously held beliefs that is more important and worthwhile. To use the
metaphor of the kōan, no learner has a completely empty cup; she or he will
come to any educational setting with a set of values, assumptions and beliefs
that are built upon a lifetime of experience as well as wider social and cul-
tural traditions. Often these beliefs and assumptions are unrecognized by
the learner; education is the process of critical analysis and reflection that
reveals them.
Applied to the context of international education, the metaphor of the kōan
has particular relevance. When studying the education system of another
country or culture, a common set of questions often arises: Which country
has the best education system? What set of educational policies and practices
work best? However, these questions contain assumptions and implicit values
that limit and constrain one’s understanding. To ask which country has the
best education system presupposes that ‘good education’ in one country is
also good for others; to ask what works best assumes that policies and prac-
tices that work well in one country will also work well in others.
In the spirit of the Zen kōan, this book critically analyses the assump-
tions, beliefs and principles that underlie educational policy and practice
on the global level. It discusses key issues and trends that are either interna-
tional (involving two or more countries) or global (involving large parts of
the world) in scope in a way that identifies what Nan-in calls ‘opinions and
speculations’ (Senzaki, 1919/2010). Ultimately, the book contributes to an
understanding of how education both constitutes and is shaped by the wider
world.

Comparative and international

education
The study of education in other societies is not new: examples of philos-
ophers comparing education systems date back to writings from ancient
Greece, and for many centuries the writings of travellers abroad included
detailed descriptions of how foreign societies educated their youth (Phillips
and Schwiesfurth, 2008). However, it was not until the publication of Equisse
et Vues Préliminaires d’un Ouvrage sur l’Éducation Comparée (Sketch and
Preliminary Views for a Work of Comparative Education) by Marc-Antoine

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 Introduction 3
Jullien in 1817 that the term ‘comparative education’ first emerged, and not
until the late nineteenth century that academics began to speak of com-
parative education as a distinct field of study (Bray, 2003). Since then, activ-
ity in the field has steadily increased: beginning with the Comparative and
Education Society in the United States, societies and organizations devoted
to the study of comparative education were founded in many countries. The
year 1957 saw the publication of the first issue of Comparative Education
Review, the first academic journal devoted to the study of comparative edu-
cation and a leading journal in the field even today (Bray, 2003). By the
1960s, many universities had established professorships, courses of study
and academic departments related to comparative and international edu-
cation (Phillips and Schweisfurth, 2008). Today there are many journals
devoted to comparative education (including Comparative Education,
Compare, Research in Comparative and International Education, the
International Review of Education and others), and academic societies and
conferences devoted to comparative education enjoy strong memberships
and attendance (Carney, 2010).
Early work in the field of comparative education was guided by practical
concerns as scholars sought to find educational policies and practices that
could be borrowed or assimilated in their own national context. Reflecting
this priority, in 1900 Michael Sadler, an early researcher in comparative
education, asked ‘What can we learn from the study of foreign systems?’
(cited in Steiner-Khamsi, 2004b:201). While such practical questions remain
important, the field has also expanded to address issues of a more academic
nature. Thus, contemporary research in comparative education examines the
relationship between education and other aspects of society across different
countries, and seeks to explain differences, commonalities and trends.
As an academic field of study, comparative education has been character-
ized by its interdisciplinary nature. Rather than relying exclusively on its own
body of theory, comparative education draws upon and synthesizes theoretical
perspectives from other disciplines, including sociology, history, economics,
political science, history and anthropology. This interdisciplinary approach
is both a weakness and strength: on the one hand research draws upon key
topics and theories from these other disciplines, meaning that there is some-
times little overlap and engagement within published research, which has
given rise to criticisms that the field is ill-defined and lacks focus (Philips and
Schweisfurth, 2008; Novoa, 1998). On the other hand, the interdisciplinary

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 4 Globalization and International Education

approach has also ensured that researchers have constant access to new ideas,
theories and methods from a number of academic fields, ensuring contempo-
rary relevance and preventing isolation.
This interdisciplinary nature is complemented by a pluralistic approach
to methodology and epistemology. Researchers have taken vastly different
(often opposing) views on what constitutes valid knowledge and on how that
knowledge should be obtained. Much research (e.g. Kandel, 1935; Holmes,
1981) has been guided by a humanist, interpretive approach to research, which
uses qualitative data and historical analysis to situate a country’s education
system within its national sociocultural context (Arnove, 1999). However an
alternative approach – first advocated by George Bereday (1957) – argues for
a research paradigm that more closely resembles the methods of the physi-
cal sciences (Phillips and Schweisfurth, 2008). Rather than interpreting
qualitative data, this approach involves analysis of variables (e.g. enrolment
rates, economic output) across many countries (Arnove, 1999). The goal of
this approach is to establish relationships between these variables that exist
outside and independent of any national context, or as Harold Noah (2006)
argues, ‘to get rid of the names of countries . . . and substitute . . . the names of
variables’. While differences in methodology persist in the field today, heated
debate on the topic has gradually subsided, replaced with a pluralism that
recognizes the respective strengths and limitations of each approach (Phillips
and Schweisfurth, 2008).
The field of comparative education is founded on certain assumptions; to
use the metaphor of the kōan, its cup not entirely empty. In particular, the
very notion of comparative research is founded upon the belief that societies
(including nation-states) are discrete, separate entities that can be isolated
and compared with one another. However, contemporary social life is char-
acterized by interactions that cross national boundaries: the kōan illustrates
how key educational moments are often the result of an encounter between
two different cultures (in the case of the kōan, the cultures of Zen Buddhism
and Western academia). In response to this, Sklair argues that contemporary
societies ‘cannot be adequately studied at the level of nation-states, that is,
in terms of each country and its inter-national relations, but instead need
to be seen in terms of global processes’ (Sklair, 1999:143). This conceptuali-
zation challenges the comparative perspective, which has traditionally used
the nation-state as the unit of analysis, and requires an approach to studying
education on the global level.

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 Introduction 5

Global discourses on education

One way in which educational thought and practice have transcended the
boundaries of the nation-state is through discourses on education that have
become global in their reach. Consequentially, much of this book is devoted
to the analysis of discourses on aspects of education, but the concept of ‘dis-
course’ itself is a complex one. It is rendered more opaque by its ambiguity:
writers use the term ‘discourse’ in different ways and understand it to mean
different things (Phillips and Jørgenson, 2002).
In the strictest sense, the term ‘discourse’ refers to the use of lan-
guage in everyday situations, including both spoken and written language
(Fairclough, 1995). It originates in the field of applied linguistics, which dif-
ferentiates the study of language as it is actually used (in speech and writ-
ing) from the study of its underlying grammatical structure (Phillips and
Jørgenson, 2002). However, discourse analysis goes beyond linguistics, as
‘texts can never be understood or analysed in isolation – they can only be
understood in relation to webs of other texts and in relation to the social
context’ (Phillips and Jørgenson, 2002:70). Thus, a key focus of discourse
analysis is on understanding how language relates to the wider social con-
text in which it is situated.
In this sense, discourse encapsulates not only patterns of language use, but
also the worldview – the understandings, opinions, beliefs, and assumptions –
that gave rise to them. Within this worldview, certain ‘facts’ are regarded
as common sense, as axiomatic principles that do not need justification or
explanation (Fairclough, 1995). To use the metaphor from the Zen kōan that
opened this chapter, discourse is the tea that was in the professor’s cup. To
illustrate this concept, consider the following three examples of the discourse
on ‘world-class’ education (italics added by author):

z ‘If we hope to maintain a world-class economy . . . we will need world-class

schools’ (Gove, 2010): Michael Gove, secretary of state for Education in England
and Wales, writing on the United Kingdom’s performance on the OECD’s
Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA – see Chapter 6).
z ‘Countries are striving to develop “world-class universities” that will spearhead
the development of a knowledge-based economy’ (Salmi, 2009:18): a report
from the World Bank titled The Challenge of Establishing World-Class
Universities.

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 6 Globalization and International Education

z ‘A world-class education is the single most important factor in determining not just
whether our kids can compete for the best jobs but whether America can out-
compete countries around the world’ (Whitehouse, 2011): US President Barack
Obama speaking at an education roundtable discussion on 18 July 2011.

All three examples invoke a common discourse of world-class education, but

what is more significant than the phrase itself is the common set of under-
standings that they share. In all cases, education is linked to the creation of
skills that enable a country to compete in the global economy. The discourse
on world-class education embeds certain values: education is associated with
economic benefits and purpose, free market economics and international
competition are accepted as the natural order of the world. While these beliefs
are not specifically articulated, it is precisely this tacit acceptance – a founda-
tion of ‘common-sense’ that does not need to be defended – that characterizes
the discourse.
In addition to revealing implicit worldviews, discourse analysis also
provides insight into relationships of power. French social theorist Michel
Foucault (1975) argues that powerful groups are able to control discourse,
to normalize certain ideas and values while excluding alternative conceptu-
alizations of reality. As a result, struggles for social power are fought in the
domain of discourse, as competing interests vie to establish their respective
worldviews as natural, logical and inevitable. For example, there are many
alternative discourses to that of world-class education discussed above: one
could argue that a world-class education promotes social cohesion, ethical
behaviour, or environmental sustainability. However, powerful actors (in this
case politicians and the World Bank) are able to dominate this discourse to
promote one particular view of world-class education: that which produces
global economic competitiveness. Alternative discourses are marginalized
through their omission from prominent documents, policies and speeches.
The example of world-class education also demonstrates how certain
educational discourses have become global in their scope; both patterns of
speech and the worldviews that give rise to them are shared by individuals
and institutions around the world. Although those quoted on world-class
education share no formal relationship, they hold a common view of edu-
cation that transcends and exists independently of national boundaries and
national education systems. Analysis of these discourses provides one way to
overcome the limitations of a state-centric comparative approach and under-
stand education from a truly global perspective.

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 Introduction 7

Overview of the book

This book provides a discussion and analysis of contemporary issues in edu-
cation studies that are global or international in scope. It does so through a
thematic approach: each chapter introduces a key topic, discusses important
aspects of that topic, and illustrates its relevance through concrete examples.
Strictly speaking, an international topic is one that relates to two or more
countries, but most of those discussed in this book involve many countries
throughout the world. Many are ‘global’ in the sense that they are not the result
of the policies or efforts of any single country, government or organization.
For this reason, the book is not comparative in its approach although it does
draw extensively upon research from the field of comparative education.
The book is intended primarily for students of Education Studies, although
it is also suitable for those studying related subjects (e.g. sociology, interna-
tional relations, political science) – trainee teachers, educators and practi-
tioners, and readers with a general interest in the subject matter. In order
to support a variety of learning contexts, group discussion questions are
included at the end of each chapter. While the chapters are intended to be
read sequentially, readers seeking specific information on a particular topic
could consult individual chapters without reading the entire book.
The first three chapters are devoted to one prominent discourse on inter-
national education: that of education and development. Combining historical
and thematic approaches, Chapter 1 looks at how the link between education,
economic growth and national development was constructed in the decades
following World War II. Chapter 2 looks at shifts in the discourse on edu-
cation and development in recent decades, with more emphasis placed on
education as a human right and a means to poverty reduction. Chapter 3
discusses critical perspectives on education and international development,
showing that the very concept of development is much more complex than
is often acknowledged. Chapter 4 introduces an emerging area of research:
the relationship between education and conflict. This topic is complemented
with a discussion of a new field of practice: the provision of education in
conflict-affected and post-conflict societies.
The final four chapters focus on the globalization of education: increasing
convergence, integration and international flows in educational policy and
practice throughout large areas of the world. Chapter 5 begins this discussion
by looking at theoretical perspectives on globalization: while scholars gen-
erally agree that education is increasingly globalized, they provide differing

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 8 Globalization and International Education

and often opposing explanations of why this is occurring. Chapter 6 analyses

the new importance placed on education in discourses on the global knowl-
edge economy, with particular emphasis on international achievement tests.
The following two chapters examine aspects of globalization and education
in greater depth: Chapter 7 discusses information and communication tech-
nology (ICT) in international education, and Chapter 8 discusses the globali-
zation of higher education.
These chapters offer the reader an in-depth introduction to global and
international issues in Education Studies. Of equal importance, they provide
a critical analysis of assumptions, values and beliefs that underlie educational
policy and practice. This forms an excellent starting point for further inde-
pendent research and analysis or professional work in related fields.

Useful websites
http://baice.ac.uk – The British Association for International and Comparative Education. Last accessed
on 4 May 2012.
http://bit.ly/ComparativelySpeaking – A documentary on the first 50 years of the Comparative and
International Education Society produced by Teachers College at Columbia University. Last
accessed on 4 May 2012.
http://cies.us – The Comparative and International Education Society. Last accessed on 4 May 2012.

9781441150196_Intro_Final_txt_print.indd 8 11/2/2012 2:55:15 PM

 Education and International
Development 1
Chapter Outline
Introduction 9
Education and colonial rule 10
Birth of the ‘development era’ 11
Human capital and modernization theories 14
Aid agencies 16
Case studies: Nepal and Zambia 18
Summary 20
Useful websites 21

Introduction
In the latter half of the twentieth century, a new way of conceptualizing edu-
cation took hold. In many parts of the world – particularly in European colo-
nies that had recently won independence – education was linked to countries’
social and economic development. As part of this conceptualization, a new
field of practice in international education emerged, which sought to spur
improvement in living standards by increasing the availability and quality
of education. This chapter discusses the emergence of international develop-
ment education as a domain of theory and practice. It begins by describing
education in colonial societies and then turns to early work in international
development following World War II. The chapter gives an overview of key
theories that informed early development work and describes the growth of
development organizations at the national and international levels. Finally,

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 10 Globalization and International Education

it offers two illustrative case studies that demonstrate how the expansion of
education was associated with development efforts in Nepal and Zambia.

Education and colonial rule

If one had used the term ‘international development’ at the turn of the twen-
tieth century, it is doubtful whether it would have been clearly understood
by anyone. Any form of systematic cooperation between countries to reduce
poverty and create economic growth throughout the world did not yet exist.
Instead, colonial models of governance dominated international politics:
the great majority of Africa and Asia were ruled by European powers, either
directly or indirectly. Britain ruled most of contemporary India, Pakistan
and Bangladesh, as well as large parts of Africa and the Caribbean, while
France controlled much of west and north Africa. By 1914, Europe’s major
colonial powers controlled 35 per cent of the world’s land area (Bassett and
Winter-Nelson, 2010:109).
In the eyes of European colonial powers such as Britain, France and
Belgium, the colonial relationship was mutually beneficial and natural: colo-
nized societies benefited from supposedly superior European governance,
while the colonizing countries obtained access to low-cost raw materials and
basic labour. ‘Development’, or the systematic improvement of living condi-
tions in colonized societies, was a relatively minor aspect of this relationship.
Although colonial government came to accept some responsibility for the
welfare of colonized people, the extent of development was relatively lim-
ited and never intended to put colonized territories on equal footing with
European countries (Abbott, 1971).
Education figured largely in the policies and activities of colonial govern-
ments. For example, the British colonial government in contemporary India
established educational administrations that took some responsibility for start-
ing schools, although priority was given to the children of British parents. By
the turn of the twentieth century, universities had been established in Calcutta
and Mumbai, although less than 5 per cent of the population received formal
education (Gallego, 2010:228). Lord Curzon, viceroy and governor-general of
India, speaking at a conference in 1905, laid out a vision for education in India
that focused on employment and national progress, claiming:

Education is required not primarily as the instrument of culture, of the source

of learning, but as the key to employment, the condition of all national

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the slight figure. Then he made answer; and the indifference, the
placidity, of his manner was inconceivably galling:—
“True—I should not usurp his Majesty’s great privileges. But, pray,
let me pass, Vidame—I have business with Master Sergeant Stafford,
and I am already late, I fear, for my tryst.”
“Nay, milord, you shall not pass!—My lord, this is my tryst. It has
been your pleasure to heap injuries on me, and on more than one
score you owe me redress. We meet, at last, oh, at last! upon
ground where the royal ordinance no longer stands between us. My
Lord Viscount Rockhurst—” He was feverishly stripping his glove
from his left hand as he spoke; but the Lord Constable, with a single
gesture, swept him and his argument from the path with no more
emotion than that of a man who rids himself of an importunate fly.
With the same measured step he then resumed his course up the
garden alley.
For a second the Vidame stood, staring after him, paralysed with
rage. A faint snigger—of mingled relief and amusement—from the
watcher on the bench started him to fresh action, as the prick of the
spur starts the mettled horse. In a couple of leaps he had overtaken
the stately figure, and Sir Paul Farrant wheeled round to gaze after
the pair, astonishment as much as prudence keeping him rooted to
his place. Enguerrand dashed the glove at Lord Rockhurst’s feet. The
first impulse had aimed it at the face; but something stronger than
himself, which the while only increased his fury, prevented the youth
from offering this supreme insult to one whom years and honours
and personal dignity placed apart even in the King’s presence.
“My lord, you—because I am a stranger, because I am, forsooth,
young enough to be your son (à Dieu ne plaise!), you imagine you
can treat me at your will and pleasure; insult me at your mood.… I
stand, however, a man before you, my Lord Constable—with a name
as good as yours. I demand my satisfaction.… My lord, I charge you,
defend yourself!”
 The young heart beat so fast, rose so high in his throat, that the
words pulsed from his lips in jerks, broken with quick breaths. He
drew his rapier with an almost frenzied gesture as he spoke; dashing
baldrick and scabbard on one side; falling back to swing the blade
with dire menace and then springing forward again, high-poised,
tiptoe, only the elementary rules of honour keeping him from assault
until his enemy should have likewise unsheathed.
A second or two, marked by the lad’s panting, Lord Rockhurst
fixed him through half-closed eyelids. Then, without a word, with a
dexterous, irresistible, upstroke of his cane, he knocked the weapon
from the fierce hand. The springy steel fell and bounded like a live
thing on the flagged path, to drop again, quivering, close to
Rockhurst, who, with a lightning swiftness unexpected from one of
such majestic bearing, instantly clapped his foot upon it.
Then the whole precincts of the garden, it seemed, were filled
with the thunder of his voice:—
“Malapert…!” The Lord Constable’s brows were now drawn over
his keen eyes in a withering frown. “This cane of mine should teach
your youthship better manners were it not for this same
strangerhood of yours, on which you thus presume! Aye, and you
should have remembered this day, even with stripes, but that some
freak of your Maker’s hath given you, graceless lad as you are,
Vidame, a singular look of my own gracious son. For his so sweet
sake … thou varlet … I spare thee. Yet will this hour have taught
thee that his Majesty’s officers are not to be molested with impunity
—that the Page of the Wine Flagon can have no satisfaction to
demand of the King’s Lord Constable, what though his petty vanity
may be a-smarting from some imagined slights.—Slights, quotha!
Young master,—there can be no slights from me to you…! And for
this insolence of yours to me, take you home this memento.”
With another of his startlingly sudden movements, Rockhurst
stooped for the hilt of the sword that lay bent under his foot; and
snapped the blade in twain, with as much ease as one may snap a
twig. Tossing the hilt back at the Vidame’s feet, he went on—and it
seemed that his anger had but gathered in intensity with the action:
—
“Hang yonder stump of steel in your bedchamber: it may serve to
remind you of a fruitful lesson learned in the Temple Gardens—how
the satisfaction fit for a pert page’s receiving is a sound whipping,
and how you, of my mercy, escaped receiving it!”
He stepped from the broken blade, passed the boy’s rigid figure so
closely and indifferently as to brush him with his cloak, and set his
deliberate way again toward the Temple Hall.

The Vidame stood stricken with impotent passion, sick well-nigh to

swooning with the violence of his fury in conflict with his complete
helplessness; white as wax, his boyish face distorted, his eyes blood-
injected, swimming in tears; a white foam at the corners of his
mouth, his lips drawn back in voiceless execration. The nails of his
clenched hands drove themselves into the flesh. It was not until Paul
Farrant rose and laid his hand on his shoulder that the palsy was
broken.
The Vidame shook the touch furiously from him. His bloodshot
eyes rolled from the broken weapon on the path to the other’s face,
on which a malicious pleasure in his successful friend’s mortification
was but ill concealed by a scarcely more tolerable air of sympathy.
Had it not been for the mutilation of his weapon, Paul Farrant’s life’s
blood might well have assuaged the Frenchman’s ecstasy of hatred
at that moment.
Then the floodgates were loosed. Foaming, the tide of passion
leaped from Enguerrand’s mouth with an eloquence that betrayed
his race. Usually silent, the Vidame de Joncelles, encompassed with
an almost northern reserve, yet was through his mother a child of
the south; and at this hour all the exuberance of the warm land, all
the acrid passion that only its children can feel and which, felt, must
find word expression, broke from him in torrents of imprecations and
curses, half French, half English:—
 “Go thy way, then, my merry Rockhurst—go, Rakehell Rockhurst!
Ha, Rakehell thou mayst be, but forget not then that I am Little
Satan, and you but the servant of my Great Father!… Go thy way,
sanctimonious hypocrite, you of the grave face and grey-sprinkled
hair, hoary in corruption! You, put me out of your path…! My hour
will come, my hour will come, my hour will come! Faugh! I spit at
thee; my clean blade was too fair for thee, thou coward, thou bully,
hiding behind thy state and thy years…! And that prate of paternity!
I, like thy son?… Had I within my veins a drop of thy coward, hateful
blood, I’d drain them and die laughing that I was rid of thee! Look at
the great man…! Look! Watch the reverend seigneur! See how
yonder wretches make way for my Lord Constable!—My Lord
Coward!… Look you, Sir Paul, is it not an admirable spectacle? The
King’s friend, the mighty in council, the example to the Court! Hi, my
Lord Rockhurst—Hi, thou pattern of nobility—what of my sister, what
of Jeanne de Mantes?… And afraid to fight the brother! Look, look,
friends! Ha, he’s old enough to be my father, and my sister—’tis his
boast! I, like his son, forsooth? And my sister has but a year of life
more than mine! O, que l’âge a ses privilèges! Oh, how that paternal
heart beats to high thoughts! Curse thee, burn thee, drown thee …
coward!”
Stragglers in the garden, attracted by the wild clamours, had now
begun to gather. Up the slimy steps, from the ’Friars, like obscene
beasts venturing furtively from their lairs, the frowzy, arrogant heads
of thieving bullies,—“Knights of the Posts” and “Copper Captains,”—
scenting a profitable quarrel, began to emerge. And these were
shadowed by dismal shapes of womanhood, such as in those haunts
were never far from the scenes of strife, like to the hovering carrion
bird.
The Vidame, in his paroxysm, cared as little whether his words
were flung to the solitary winds or to a thousand listeners. As the
Lord Constable’s cloaked figure disappeared altogether from view
under the Hall archway of the Inner Temple, the boy’s outburst
culminated in an almost eastern flight of malediction:—
 “May your shadow bring a blight wherever it falls…! May your
loves, your hopes, your desires be bitter as ashes…! May your own
flesh and blood turn against you! May you blast the life of your own
son till he wishes he had never been born! Curse you…! May your
own flesh and blood curse you! May you want and never get—seek
and never find! May your pillow be haunted and your waking a
horror! May your wine-cup poison you and the pest follow you and
break out under your footsteps! May fire consume your pride and
your hair grow white in misery, in dishonour, and then may Death be
deaf to your call—!”
He fell back against a tree, breath failing on his lips; flung one arm
against the bole and rested his brow upon it. Then the tears which
his fire of rage had burned from his eyelids threatened to overwhelm
him in the weakness that follows on all such unnatural paroxysms.
Sir Paul Farrant stood a moment, dubious. He glanced from the
figure against the lime tree to the dingy rabble that were drawing
ever closer in grinning curiosity and unholy expectation.—In sooth
(was the thought gathering strength in his mind) the little new star
of Court favour seemed like to be quenched! Yonder was the lucky
youth (to dare to beard the Lord Constable.… It had been safer,
almost, to have affronted the King!) broken by a mere twist of that
strong hand!
A couple of Templars, grave-looking young men, had halted a few
paces away; and now, with a low-voiced murmur to one another and
an angry glance of scorn flung at the gentry that the clamour had
gathered from below the steps into their trim gardens, they passed
on their way.
Farrant was quick to read the omen. Henceforth, it seemed,
Enguerrand de Joncelles, the King’s favourite, would have to seek
associates in such doubtful and dangerous company rather than
among gentlemen of standing who had a care for their reputation
and advancement.—The sprightly Vidame … threatened with a
whipping—aha!
 So Sir Paul replaced his beaver with a hasty gesture and,
cautiously treading, took path across the turf toward the water-gate,
where he reckoned to find his skiff in waiting. The while his friend
wept corrosive tears against the bark of the lime tree.
The “Brothers of the Huff,” the Daughters of Joy, and other good
companions of Alsatia, who had awaited, expecting sport, glanced at
each other in disappointment. Upon the disappearance of the
Templars, one of their number made a dash for the silver hilt on the
ground; closely hustled by a second, swift to perceive the intention.
This latter had to be content, however, with the broken blade, and a
scuffle would have ensued had not a burly personage, who seemed
to have authority among them, put an end to the dispute by
possessing himself of the spoils and hustling the others back to the
stairway.
A girl in tawdry finery now tripped stealthily toward the young
man, who was so completely lost in the abstraction of his misery to
all his surroundings, that he never felt the nimble touch that drew
from his pocket the laced handkerchief, nor woke to actuality until
her screech of laughter rang into his ears.
Here another woman sprang from the watchful group at the head
of the stairs and flung herself between the pilferer and the Vidame,
as he stood staring, white-faced and shaken.
“As for you,” cried she, “march!”
The outflung gesture that accompanied the words seemed to cow
the thieving strumpet.
As the girl slunk away, cursing “French Joan and her tantrums,”
yet in evident awe of her, the newcomer put forth her hand and
touched the Vidame’s wrist.
Looking at her, dazed, he recognised Laperrière’s black-browed
sister: a strange, sinister figure of uncertain age, and with sullen
remains of what must have been great beauty, who was wont to sit
moodily stitching in the little antechamber to the fencing master’s
room. She had never a word for him as he passed daily to and fro,
but a long, deep look: the same look was now plunging into his
eyes. Having gained his attention, she dropped her hand from his
and, folding her arms with a gesture of some dignity, began, in
French, low-voiced and rapid:—
“Hate! Hatred! Oh, la haine…! I have known it, my young lord! But
nothing my brother can teach or do will help you here! What use is
the sword and the skill of it against him who will not fight?”
Enguerrand stared at her. Then into his fixed glance of despair
sprang a sudden kindling flash, in response to the strong, devouring
gaze that still held his.
“You cursed too loud, mon joli seigneur. Oh, too loud…! When one
wants revenge, one must be silent!”
“Revenge…!” echoed Enguerrand, with such a cry as a despairing
lover might give as he echoed his mistress’s call.
“Hush!” said she whom Alsatia called French Joan, two brown
fingers on her lips.
She bent forward, lowering her voice still more, although the
mocking rabble that pressed about them, only kept at bay by her
hard and watchful eyes, could have made nothing of her foreign
speech:—
“Yet you spoke well,” she went on. “‘May the wine-cup poison you!
—May the pest follow you and break out under your footsteps…!’ A
man may find that in his cup which will give him quick passage … as
quick and quicker than the pest, believe me. He might have drunk,
and the wine have lain as pleasant on his tongue as ever; and, lo!—
before he can call for his second draught the pest, it seems, has
stilled his heart—or so will every one say in these days: swooning,
mortal sweat and burning fire, death, all within the hour.… The pest,
indeed, all who had seen it would swear. Not a sign lacking: except
that it strikes so quick, so quick—no time for remedies! And yet ’tis
not the pest. It holds within a small thimble. He, mon joli seigneur. A
treasure for those who understand hate. My brother brought back
his best sword-passes from Italy—I brought back better … the
acquetta … eh, my pretty lord? The Tofana drops, for them you
hate…! You may trust me … they have been tried: else, maybe, we
should not be here … and your luck would thereby be the less. If
fate gave you the chance of mixing such a cup for the one you
curse, what would you give to fate?”
“All I possess,” whispered the Vidame, hotly. “Anything she asked!”
Again the deep, inscrutable eyes brooded upon him. Then French
Joan showed her white teeth in a smile that gave a kind of lurid
beauty to her dark face.
“Well, we shall see,” she said; “maybe I shall ask much, maybe I
shall ask little.… Give me your hand, my pretty gentleman,” she
cried, raising her voice into sonorousness again, and speaking in
broken English: “I will lead you back to my brother’s. I have a cordial
for such weakness.—Lean on me!”
Jeers and shouts responded from the greasy steps.
“Lean on French Joan, Master Frenchman! French Joan has a
cordial for weak gentlemen!”
“Marry!” cried the girl who had stolen the kerchief, “will he come
out alive again, think ye, masters?”
“Rather him than me, with French Joan!” roared the youngest
ruffler, clapping his arms around her waist.

II
THE VENETIAN GLASS

“Little Satan,” said Charles, “a plague on all women, I say!”

The King’s page started from the gloomy muse in which he had
been gazing out of the window recess of the royal room in Whitehall,
at the flowing tide below.
“Amen—your Majesty!” he answered, with an attempt at
sprightliness, the impotence of which brought a frown to the
discontented face turned upon him. “As the times go, your Majesty’s
wish carries the charm of possibility.… If all one hears be true, the
plague hath taken already not a few—”
“Little Satan,” said the King, “many sins can be pardoned to your
infernal reputation; but there is one, Odd’s fish! unforgivable.… You
are growing monstrous dull, you are tedious. You lack tact, too, by
the Lord! Fie, is it page’s business to put his master in mind of what
he had better forget?—The veriest young cit would know better than
to prate in our ears of what they would fain be deaf to.… Gadzooks,
little boy, did we pick you out, think you, French and pert and
joyous, for our Page of the Bottle, that you might ape our long-faced
puritan ways and go mooning about our person, clapping your hand
to your heart, sighing like furnace or lover?”
Here a chuckle shook the long, lazy figure sunk in the Flemish
chair.
“Is it love? Marry, it can be but love! Little Satan in love!” cried the
King, avid, in the deep weariness of his existence, for the slightest
pretence of amusement. “Come, confess—Dan Cupid has shot his
arrow into that sulphureous young heart of thine! My little devil’s in
love—and being in love, has been as dull company, these three
weeks, as any angel that ever flapped wings.”
The Vidame had left the window recess and now stood before the
King. His hand had indeed gone to his heart, with what seemed an
habitual gesture. He dropped it by his side and hung his head; a dull
colour crept into his cheeks and faded again. Never burdened with
any superfluity of flesh, he yet had grown noticeably thin these three
weeks, and the healthy pallor of his face had been replaced by
feverish tints as of one wasted by haunting, unsatisfied fires.
His royal master surveyed him, half irritably, half concernedly:—
“Come, little Enguerrand—the name of the cruel, the obdurate
one?”
The page again arrested with a jerk the involuntary motion of his
hand to his breast, flung back his head and suddenly laughed.
 “Your Majesty, she is beautiful, if dark; and I believe that I shall
kiss her on the lips before long.”
But Charles, though the most easy-going of monarchs, could
rebuke undue liberty by a mere upraising of one heavy eyebrow.
This sign of displeasure and the silence with which he received his
page’s seemingly pert answer brought the blood leaping again into
Enguerrand’s wasted cheek. If he could hate, this passionate youth,
he could also love; and he loved Charles with an intensity only
second to his hatred for the Lord Constable. He shook his curls over
his face to hide his confusion.
Charles yawned and sank a fraction lower in his great chair. For a
man who demanded but one thing of life,—that it should run even,—
fate was playing him sorry tricks these days. Sickness and discontent
were growing apace in the kingdom, money difficulties were
pressing increasingly upon him, the progress of the war was
doubtful, the quarrels of the Stewart and the Castlemaine made
Whitehall a place of vast discomfort; and, besides, there were the
interlacing circles of intrigue spun about him by consort, children,
brother, ministers, divines, ruined loyalists, aspiring mistresses.
“Odd’s fish! Little Satan,” he resumed, good-humoured even in his
exacerbation, “can you not consult your Great Father and find me an
hour’s diversion?”
“Will your Majesty be pleased to survey the present of Venetian
glass sent by his Majesty of France?—The chandelier has been
suspended from the ceiling of the small supper room, the great
mirror hung upon the wall, and the drinking vessels laid out on the
buffet—according to your Majesty’s order. I saw it done this
morning.”
“Pshaw!” said the King.
When these instructions had been given, he had planned a
discreet party in the newly adorned chamber. But, two had heard of
an invitation that one only had received. And the royal temper was
still smarting from the consequent recriminations. He thought back
on the distasteful scene, now, with renewed injury:—
“Gad, I’ll banish the petticoats … though, by the Mass, the
periwigs are little better! I shall have Buckingham drawing on
Hamilton for the privilege of annexing my Venetian glass!” He
chuckled bitterly at the sense of his own too easy good nature. “I
trust they’ve nailed the mirror fast,” he cried aloud; “I am told it is
mighty fine.”

Yet there was one of his chosen companions who had never
sought for either advancement or booty, and who had a humour that
fitted well with his own in these moods of reaction, when the
voluptuary yielded to cynical melancholy.
“Why,” exclaimed Charles, suddenly lifting himself in his seat with
an animation he had not hitherto shown, “it is a week or more since
I have seen my ‘Merry Rockhurst.’ Get you to the Tower, Little Satan,
as fast as your black wings can carry you. Bid my Lord Constable to
the rescue. Tell him I am dull, que je m’ennuie, Vidame, et qu’il
vienne s’ennuyer avec moi, for I am persuaded he is as dull as I am.
’Tis the fate of good wit in a weary world. How now—not gone?”
“Sire,” said the lad, in a toneless voice, “Lord Rockhurst is at
Whitehall. I saw him at his writing but just now, as I passed the
Window of his apartment.”
“All the better fortune! Haste, then,” said the King. “But hark ye,
Little Satan: Rockhurst alone! God forbid there should be a flounce
near our presence to-night! Bid the Lord Constable come and crack a
bottle with us as in the old days of Flanders.”
A rueful grin spread over his saturnine countenance. Castlemaine
and Stewart had been overmuch for him this morning in their
division: united, against a new rival—no, the thought was beyond
the pale of contemplation!
Once outside, in the great corridor, filled already with evening
gloom, Enguerrand paused:—
 “Bid the Lord Constable come and crack a bottle with us…!” The
boy flung back his head and breathed sharply, through dilated
nostrils, as if scenting ecstasy. His moment,—so long brooded upon,
desired with such acrid ardour,—was it at last within his grasp? His
hand went up to his breast with that gesture that had attracted the
King’s notice. Aye, there it lay over his heart, the tiny phial of French
Joan! Day and night he felt it, burning, biting into his soul; day and
night he heard it whispering, urging, at once tormenting and
delighting. Since that horrible hour in the Temple Gardens, it was all
he had left to look for in the world. His life, shamed in his own eyes,
was a worthless thing. That other life once swept away, nothing
would matter that could befall him, be it death or disgrace. He went
to sleep every night holding the phial against his heart.… His
Vengeance, dark and beautiful…! as the lover holds his lady’s
guerdon. The moment, was it actually drawing at hand when he was
to kiss her on the lips?
He gave a sudden laugh—secret-sounding yet triumphant, the
abandoned laugh of the madman over his obsession—which startled
a sleeping page at the end of the passage as with a sense of terror
in the air, and he set off running on his errand, past the astonished
servants.

When he reached the Lord Constable’s Whitehall apartment, by

the Holbein gateway, his lordship was still sitting at his table in the
dusk, apparently absorbed in some deep revery; so deep indeed that
he stared at Enguerrand with unseeing eyes. The white-haired
servant had twice to repeat the announcement: “The King’s page,
my lord, with a command from his Majesty,” before his master
roused himself to attention. Then the Lord Constable turned his fine
head questioningly toward the messenger.
Enguerrand bowed low, tasting, in a kind of inner intoxication, the
full sense of his own irony:—
“His Majesty bids you to supper, my lord, to crack—these are his
Majesty’s own words—a bottle of Rhenish, as in the old days of
Flanders. His Majesty is melancholy and—commands that you come
and be melancholy with him.”
The faintest shadow of a smile passed over the grave, listening
countenance. Any one who once came under the gaze of those
brilliant, haunting eyes of the Lord Constable’s could well conceive
that such an order was of easy obedience. He sat in melancholy, as
his royal master sat in tedium: hence the subtle pleasantry of ‘my
Merry Rockhurst.’
“Thank you, Vidame,” said he, half rising, with a formal inclination
of the head. “Inform his Majesty, if you please, that I attend
instantly.”
The French boy had to pause outside the gateway door, to battle
with the suffocating rage that suddenly invaded him. Rather would
he have received fresh insults from his enemy than this perfect
courtesy—a courtesy which at once seemed to remember and to
pass over. In that last glance that rested upon him, in that deep,
brooding look, there had almost lurked (or so he thought) pity. Pity!
Enguerrand tore open the ruffle at his throat and gasped for breath.
Then, as swiftly as it had come, the paroxysm passed. Weakling,
to waste his energies on fruitless curses! Was not his hour nigh, and
did he not need the cool head, the steady hand, the quick eye?… He
once had offered his honour and his sword for a chivalrous test …
they both had been broken and cast from him.… Vastly well! Now
would he pass the secret thrust for which there is no parry! He
fastened his ruffle again with fingers that now scarcely trembled.
And, as he ran back to the royal apartment, he broke shrilly into a
stave of song: that same frondeur lilt that had tickled the royal ears
from Sister Jeanne’s lips on yonder night when she had met fortune
and jilted her—at the King’s supper party:—

“La Tour, prends garde, la Tour, prends garde,

De te laisser abattre…!”

rose the high notes.

 “Master Page,” said a yeoman sternly, “have you taken leave of
your wits? The King is within.…”
“I know, I know,” said Enguerrand, poising himself for a moment
on one springing foot, and looking back over his shoulder like some
light Mercury in satin and ringlet. “I know, good old greybeard, and
’tis I serve his Majesty’s supper to-night!”
Then, as he leaped forward again, he took up the song, under his
breath, this time, and in English,—

“Tower, have a care, O Tower, beware!”

Halfway down the corridor he paused once more, and once more
looked back:—
“Look out for my Lord Constable of the Tower, you, Master
Beefeater … for he sups with the King to-night!”
His laugh echoed as he disappeared in the antechamber.
“A murrain on these French crickets to whom his Majesty is fain to
give what should belong to honest English lads!” grumbled the
yeoman, as he ordered his halbert with a thud. “’Tis mercy we have
such gentlemen as my Lord Constable about the person—to keep
balance. And here indeed comes my noble lord.”
Rockhurst halted a second beside the old yeoman. The gnarled
hand that grasped the halbert had lost one finger: Rockhurst knew
in what fight. Kings may forget what leal subjects have suffered for
them, and ladies what lovers have sighed and served, but the
captain forgets not the man who has stood in his ranks. Rockhurst’s
hair was turning grey and the yeoman’s was white—but they had
been young together in the days of Edge Hill.
“A sultry evening, good Ashby,” said the Lord Constable, with his
kind, sad eyes on the rugged face that crimsoned with joy under the
honour.
“Aye, my lord—aye!” muttered the yeoman in gruff tones. (For the
more your Englishman’s heart is touched, the gruffer rings his voice.)
“There’s storm brewing, or so my old wounds tell me, my lord.”
“Aye, aye,”—Rockhurst took up the sound, as he walked on,—“the
storm keeps brewing, and our old wounds keep aching.”
The veteran looked after him:—
“God save your honour!”

III
THE PHIAL OF ACQUETTA

The bunches of wax candles were lit in the parlour reserved for
the King’s intimate gatherings. Across the outside vision of lowering
sky and of black water, spangled with tossing lights, citron-yellow
curtains were drawn.
The new Venetian chandelier sparkled with delicate opalescent
tints as it hung over the supper table: there were pink roses and
green leaves, amber flowers and blue, most wondrously wrought in
glass upon its twisted branches. The cluster of goblets on the buffet,
shot with gold, had the glow of jewels. Two cups stood out from the
rest: each had a fantastic sea-horse with dragon tail for its base,
supporting on its grotesque head—gaping-jawed with red-curved
tongue—a bowl as fine and as miraculously coloured as a bubble.
This delicate, magic array of colour and sheen was reflected in a
great mirror which filled the panel of the wall behind the table.
This last of the Venice gifts was of severer art than the rest; and
where it did not hold the bubble splendour repeated in its depths, it
shone coldly, crystal and silver, from the dark wainscot.
Charles was momentarily lifted out of his heavy mood by
amusement and curiosity.
“Marry!” he said, “if these be our cousin of France’s leavings, what
must be the treasure he has kept! Look up, my lord, this mirror—’tis
a curious and pretty piece, and reflects the light a hundred times
more gaily than our silver and bronze. And the drinking gear
yonder…! The Apocalypse itself in glass!”
He strode to the side-table and laid a finger against the fair cheek
of one of the goblets—then he glanced up and caught sight of his
own dark visage in the new mirror. The gleam of satisfaction
instantly vanished from the long and melancholy countenance.
“And gad, my lord,” he cried, “if you think I shall be left as much
as this little tass, within a week! Oh—there’ll be one whose face will
look vastly better than mine in yonder mirror; and another whose
tiring-room can never be bright again without such a toy as yon!”
He turned and snapped his fingers impatiently toward the soft-
footed servants who came and went between the door and the
sideboard with viands and flasks.
“Away with them, away with them! We’ll sit together as in old
times—eh, my merry Rockhurst?—and keep but Little Satan there to
fill a cup.”
“I oft waited on you, alone, in Holland and elsewhere, sire,”
responded the Lord Constable’s deep voice.
“Aye, aye,” said the King, in the same half-testy, half good-
humoured manner. “But we have a demon handy to-night. Tush,
man,” proceeded he, flinging himself into the leathern chair and
shaking out the Flemish napkin, “things are better with us, and
things are worse with us; let us drink and remember—and drink and
forget! Ha, my lord, we oft had neither pasty nor capon in those
days—but I’ll say that for thee, Harry, you were master cellarer, and
you never let me lack decent wine—”
“My liege,” said Rockhurst, a note of tenderness creeping in
through his grave tones, “we had to pledge a great cause, and the
wine had to be worthy of the cup!”
“Truly,” said Charles. “I mind me of a certain yellow Rhenish: it
had a smack—where you got it I never knew, Harry, but it had a
smack!—The cause, say you? Plague on your hypocritical gravity…!
Tush, man, we drank to black eyes and blue, to trim ankles and
laughing tongues. Those were the days of that jade Lucy … ha, the
pair of eyes! And what shall we pledge to-night?”
“Why, then, the old days, your Majesty.”
“Aye—the old days, good days … and all the better, being past!
None can say I am an ambitious sovereign—eh, my solemn
Constable? I ask no more of my people than that they should never
send me on my travels again.… ’Tis modest, patriarchal—a home-
keeping sovereign! No one can accuse me of not spending my
substance among my subjects!”
“Indeed and indeed, no, sire!” said Rockhurst, without the
slightest twinkle in his straight look. “As for spending, my liege, your
Majesty has indeed a royal mastery of the art.”
“Go to!” said the King. “Wet that too dry humour of thine with a
draught.—Nay, Little Satan, none of your dark-liveried claret to-
night; we’ll have the merry yellow wine in yonder long flagon. Away
with this dull glass, too.—Go, play with the Apocalypse. Those
dragon beakers, I’ll swear they’ll hold half the flagon apiece.—And
you shall have a brimmer and drink it to the last drop, my Lord
Constable, for if I’m never to have you a merry dog again, by the
Lord, I’ll have you a drunk one!—Vidame, I say you shall see my
reverend Lord Constable drunk, and have something to laugh at to
your dying day—for ’tis then the solemnest villain that ever
staggered on human legs.”
Enguerrand had been a presence in the room as noiseless as a
spirit. Yet every word that passed between the two men—the
sovereign and his old comrade—had added intensity to his
murderous passion. The boy loved the King. Unhappy, abnormal
creature! He could neither love nor hate in reason, was as much
racked with jealousy of his master’s regard as a lover of his
mistress’s favour. Every look of old familiar friendship that Charles
flung at Lord Rockhurst, every easy word, proclaiming a sympathy
and confidence that placed them almost on brotherly equality, was
as a lash on the raw wound of his pride—a spur to his leaping
hatred.
At the King’s command he filled one of the dragon beakers from
the long-necked bottle with a singular precision, though his hand
was cold as ice, and his pulse beat to suffocation in his throat. He
set the wonderful glass—more wonderful than ever now, with the
golden liquid shining within its flanks—beside the King’s plate.
“Odd’s fish—a truly royal cup! As I live, the fair half of the bottle!…
Now, boy, the other half to my Lord Constable.”

Over by the sideboard, under the cold gleam of the mirror, the
King’s page paused a second, and his hand went a last time to his
breast. Out, little phial! It lay in the hollow of his palm, no larger
than a lady’s thimble. Break, silken thread! His moment had come:
the lover would kiss his dark mistress on the lips! There was buzzing
as of a thousand angry bees in his ears.… He never noted how still
the room had grown. Now his hand hovered over the rim of the full
beaker—a strange gesture, as of the priest blessing the cup…!
“Little Satan.…” said the King.
Though neither loud nor sharp, there was something so singular in
Charles’s voice that Rockhurst started from his wonted abstraction.
As for Enguerrand, he was struck full into his heart. Involuntarily
he straightened his hand and the empty phial fell lightly on the
carpet. He remained a moment staring into nothingness; then slowly
raised his eyes, and met the King’s eyes in the Venetian mirror.
Charles’s face in the glass … his glance was terrible! Terrible, too,
was his voice as he spoke again, though it was lower than usual,
and very distinct, very quiet:—
“Bring me that cup, Little Satan.”
And as the boy mechanically lifted the dragon goblet and turned
round, holding it in both hands, for it was brimming, Charles leaned
across the table and passed the twin cup, his own, toward
Rockhurst, who sat in wonder.
“The King should have the fuller draught,” he said. “Why do you
wait there, Little Satan?—Bring me that cup, that I may pledge my
noble friend the Lord Constable.”
With this Enguerrand heard his doom. Had the King ordered him
to torture and death he could not have punished him so mortally as
by this quiet order.
A second more he stood, with fascinated eyes, staring at his
beloved master: there was not the faintest answer in Charles’s
relentless gaze. Then a dreadful smile broke on the young face.
Without a word Enguerrand de Joncelles lifted the beaker to his own
lips and drank.
It was a long draught, and every gulp was an effort to the
constricted throat. Yet there was no interruption; and for a
seemingly endless span of silence and tension the boy stood and
drew the death into himself—his eyes, over the lovely, fragile rim,
fixed in agony upon the King.
Charles made no sign, but waited.
When the last drop was drained, Enguerrand unclasped his fingers
on either side. The dragon glass fell and was shivered.
Here Rockhurst leaped to his feet.
“Good God, your Majesty!” he exclaimed. “What is this?”
“Sit down again,” said the King, coldly. “The Vidame de Joncelles
has voluntarily assumed to-night a new service about our person. It
is a service which hath fallen into desuetude at the Court of England.
And the young gentleman has proved a greedy taster and a clumsy
one.—I am still waiting for my wine.”
Rockhurst’s gaze went in deep uneasiness from Charles’s face, set
in lines of unwonted severity, to the livid countenance of the boy,
who leaned back against the sideboard, scarce able to support
himself.
“Your pardon, sire,” he began, pushing back his own cup—“the
matter can scarce remain.…”
But his sovereign again interrupted him, this time with the royal
peremptoriness which admits of no discussion:—
“There is but one thing we will not pardon, and it is that you add
to our tedium: we commanded your presence here to-night that you
might share it, not to increase it. But, meanwhile we are waiting,—
Monsieur de Joncelles,”—and for the first time he raised his voice
sharply,—“we are waiting.”
The boy passed his hand across his forehead and dashed back the
curls that were already growing damp. That the King should have no
pity on him, and yet spare him thus—it was befitting one whom he
had worshipped from the very first for his true royalty. A kind of
fierce pride awoke in him and spurred him to meet his death in a
manner worthy of such clement cruelty. Though the lights were
beginning to swim before his eyes and he rather groped than saw,
he contrived to open a second flask and fill another of the Venetian
beakers.
Then—for French Joan had been faithful, and swift was the
working of her gift—he had to make a heroic effort to bring the glass
to the King. But the very fierceness of the effort, final flare of an
indomitable spirit, carried the failing body through.
Enguerrand came to the table with measured step, although it
seemed to him he trod illimitable air; went down slowly on one knee
and uplifted his rigid hands, clasping the substance he no longer felt.
The ultimate action of his life was the yielding of the cup into the
King’s hand.
As the King took and drank, the boy fell.
“Why, the lad has swooned…! some aqua vitæ!” exclaimed
Rockhurst.
 But Charles flung out his hand with his rare gesture of command:
—
“Nay, my lord.—He is dead, or dying. Little Satans do not do their
work by halves. He is dead or soon will be.—Odd’s fish!” added the
King, after a moment’s frowning meditation, “when you lured that
linnet, his sister, to sing for you in the Tower, Harry, you little
thought her song was to have such an echo!”
Rockhurst stared for a moment horror-stricken—his glance roamed
from the broken beaker to the cups on the table and thence to
Enguerrand’s convulsed face. A glimmering of the truth began to
dawn upon him; the mystery was dissolving before a tragic and
dreadful light. Even in the midst of the King’s words he dropped on
one knee to raise the prone figure. The livid head fell limply back
over his arm. The King cast one look down and averted his eyes.
“Away with him!” he cried, in an explosion of nervous irritability.
“Away with him! Call whomsoever you want to carry him, do what
you list, get what physician you wish,—the lad’s dead, and ’tis the
end of it! You understand, I’ll not hear another word about the
matter.… Gadzooks! what a finish to a tedious day! Away with him, I
command you, my Lord Rockhurst!”
Rockhurst, who had half risen at the King’s sharp tones, now bent
once more down and gathered the inert form into his arms.
“Will your Majesty, then, open the door for me?” he said, in a low
voice.
The King sprang up from his chair, dashing his napkin on one side,
and flung open the door with an angry hand.
The slam of its closing echoed down the great corridors. So would
Charles ever shut the unpleasant episode out from his life. Yet he
had not quite succeeded: as he went moodily back to the table, his
foot struck against the empty little phial. With precaution, placing
the napkin between it and his palm, he held it to the light. It was
wrought of Italian glass, with twisted lines of blue and red, not much
larger than a filbert nut.
 A vision swam before his eyes: Rockhurst’s face, upturned as he
had but just now seen that of his French page; and, like it, livid in
the hues of death.
“Little Satan! …” he said aloud.
It was the last time that the words were ever to cross his lips. He
cast the phial out through the open window and heard the faint
splintering crash echo from the flags below.

Rockhurst had taken but a few steps down the passage, when
some inexplicable impression bade him pause and glance down at
his sad burden.
The light from one of the wall sconces fell full on the boy’s face: a
subtle change, that was scarcely so much a quiver as a composing
of all the features, was passing over it, driving away the terrible
pinched look of agony and restoring something of its youthful
beauty. Then Enguerrand opened his eyes and stared up into the
Lord Constable’s countenance. Rockhurst had never before met
those eyes but that he had found hatred in them. At this supreme
moment there was no hatred, only a kind of desolate wonder. Then,
even as their gaze met, the soul that seemed to seek his was gone;
the eyes wondered no more.
Rockhurst stood still, an intolerable pain at his heart. It was
almost as if he held his own son’s dead body on his breast. The ring
of the yeoman’s halbert, the tramp of his heavy foot, roused him
from the revery. He strode forward a few steps more.
“Ho, Ashby,” he called, “I have need of thee!”
“Nay, in God’s mercy,” cried the old man, drawing near, “that is
never the French lad!”
He laid the halbert against the wall, and hastened to relieve his
captain from the burden. Then, as he felt one of the small hands,
cold and limp:—
 “Dead, and dead in very surety! Why, ’tis not an hour since he
passed me, singing like a swallow on the wing, and hopping for all
like a squirrel.”

Very serious was the face of the King’s physician, and pale his
cheek, as he lifted himself suddenly from the examination of the
corpse that had been laid on my Lord Constable’s bed, in the room
by the gateway.
He turned hastily and, forgetting all decorum, pushed not only the
yeoman, who was awaiting his orders, but my lord himself, from the
chamber.
“We can do nothing—the boy is dead!”
Then he leaned over and breathed rather than spoke into
Rockhurst’s ear the single word, “Plague.” Adding aloud, the while
fumbling in his pocket for his pomander box:—
“One of those monstrous, sudden cases we are told of—but which
I confess I have never seen! Merciful heavens … in Whitehall! Your
lordship must submit instantly to fumigation. Aye, and yonder
yeoman, too, who carried the body.” This between prolonged sniffs
at the pierced lid of his pomander box. “Pray, my lord, inhale of this,
deep—and you, too, fellow, after his lordship! And the burial must be
early in the morn—poor lad! And, my lord, I beseech let it be in
secret. Oh, we must hold our tongues about this, my Lord
Constable! The sickness in Whitehall, and in his Majesty’s very
apartment!… Not a word to his Majesty! The lad has died of a fit—a
rush to the head. Tut, tut—the truth must be kept secret indeed!”
Rockhurst had listened with immovable countenance.
“Aye,” he said gravely, “it shall be kept secret.”
And, after inhaling the pomander box with due solemnity, he
handed it to yeoman Ashby. But as soon as the physician, taking a
hurried congé, had left the anteroom, he laid his hand on the old
soldier’s shoulder:—
 “Never fear, man, neither you nor I shall catch the sickness
whereof this poor youth died, you can take your captain’s word for
warrant. Nevertheless, I charge thee, speak no word, but, as the
physician hath it—a rush to the head!”

Yet rumour ran abroad, as rumour will. And Sir Paul Farrant,
hearing of his whilom friend’s tragic death, had never a doubt that it
was in those haunts of Alsatia that he had first met the distemper—
and himself started off to the pure airs of Farrant Chace, where he
spent a dismal month watching for symptoms.
Over the grave, in Tothill Fields, where the passionate, revengeful
heart lay now in quietude, a stone was erected by the Lord
Constable’s order, which set forth the Vidame de Joncelle’s names
and titles, and recorded he had died in the flower of his age,
honoured by the King’s regard.
LADY CHILLINGBURGH’S LAST
CARD-PARTY
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