Read Ebook: Kertomuksia Intiasta by Kipling Rudyard

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For one hundred and fifty years England was under foreign kings. And although the Norman Conquerors were crowned in Edward the Saxon's Abbey Church at Westminster, not one of them was laid within its walls. But with the fall of the Norman and Angevin kings, better days dawned for England. The Barons at Runnymede had forced King John, the last English Duke of Normandy and Anjou, to grant them the Great Charter--the glory and pride of all English-speaking people. And at John's death his son Henry the Third came to the throne in 1216 as the first English king of a free English people.

The young king prided himself upon his Anglo-Saxon ancestors. He was descended from King Alfred through "the good Matilda," Henry the First's wife. He called his sons by Anglo-Saxon names. His interests, and those of his descendants, were to be concentrated in the island which was now their sole kingdom. He therefore determined to desert the city of Winchester, which his Norman predecessors had made their headquarters, and "to take up his abode in Westminster beside the Confessor's tomb."

During the Norman occupation an irresistible instinct had been drawing the conquerors towards their English subjects, "and therefore towards the dust of the last Saxon king." In Henry the Second's reign Edward the Confessor had been canonized. Many English anniversaries were celebrated yearly in the Abbey. Good Queen Matilda was buried close to her kinsman Edward and Edith the Swanneck, "the first royal personage so interred since the troubles of the conquest."

It was to Henry the Third, however, that the thought came of making the Shrine of the Confessor the centre of a burial place for his race. In addition to his love for all things pertaining to his Saxon ancestry, Henry was passionately devoted to all sacred observances. "Even St. Louis," says Dean Stanley, "seemed to him but a lukewarm Rationalist." He possessed in a very high degree what we nowadays call the artistic sense. Art in all its forms was a complete passion with him; and with his Proven?al wife Eleanor a swarm of foreign artists, painters, sculptors, poets, troubadours, found their way to England. Louis the Ninth was re-building and re-embellishing the Abbey of St. Denys as a place of sepulture for the French kings. Henry had also seen the splendid churches of Amiens, Beauvais, and Reims, in his journeys through France. His English, his religious, and his artistic instincts therefore, all combined to fire his imagination with the idea of making the most glorious shrine for the English king and saint that the world could see.

But now upon the old foundations rose the Abbey we all know and love. In every smallest detail the new church was to be incomparable in beauty. Foreign painters and sculptors expended on it all their cunning. Peter of Rome set to work on the Confessor's Shrine, where you may still read his name, and made it glow with gold, mosaics and enamels, the like of which could not be found in England. And when the wondrous building--"the most lovely and lovable thing in Christendom"--was finished, the Confessor's body was translated on October 13, 1269, from its tomb in front of the High Altar to the splendid shrine prepared for it. The king, now growing old, had gathered his family about him for the last time. Edward, his eldest son, was just on the eve of departure with his wife Eleanor for Palestine to join St. Louis in the Crusades. He, his brother Edmund, and his uncle Richard, king of Germany, "supported the coffin of the Confessor, and laid him in the spot where he has remained ever since." The King himself carried from St. Paul's the sacred relics which the Knights Templars had given him twenty years before, and deposited them behind the shrine, where Henry the Fifth's Chantry now stands.

Dear as the Abbey was to King Henry as a monument of his own piety and taste, and as the shrine of his sainted kinsman, yet he must have loved it even more tenderly for being the resting-place of a little child. The Confessor's Church as you will remember was consecrated on Childermas, the Holy Innocents' Day. And it seems to me not without significance, that the first interment of importance in Henry the Third's new building was that of a child of five years old--his beautiful little daughter Catherine. In 1257, during an insurrection of the Welsh which laid waste the Border, and which the King strove in vain to quell--the kingdom desolated with famine--the Barons mutinous and defiant--Henry's cup of trouble was filled by the death of his little child.

"She was dumb, and fit for nothing," says old Matthew Paris rather cruelly, "though possessing great beauty." The poor queen fell ill and nearly died of grief at the loss of her little deaf and dumb girl, loved all the more dearly no doubt, by reason of her affliction. And her illness, his own want of success against the Welsh, and the little princess's death, so overwhelmed the king with grief as to bring on "a tertian fever, which detained him for a long time at London, whilst at the same time the queen was confined to her bed at Windsor by an attack of pleurisy."

The little Catherine was buried with great pomp in the ambulatory just outside the gate of St. Edmund's Chapel to the south of the Confessor's Shrine, and close to the grand tomb of her uncle, the king's half brother, William de Valence. Her father raised a splendid monument to her memory. It was rich with mosaic and polished slabs of serpentine, in much the same style as his own magnificent tomb on the north of the Confessor's Chapel. A silver image of St. Catherine was placed upon it, for which William de Gloucester, the king's goldsmith, was paid seventy marks. The image of course has vanished, like many other precious things. Most of the mosaic has been picked out. But enough of it and of the polished marbles exist to show the elaborate design of the upper slab, while on the wall above it, under a graceful trefoil-headed arch, are traces of gilding and coloring, which are supposed to be remains of a painting of the Princess Catherine and two brothers who died in their infancy.

Here then is the first memorial of the many "Holy Innocents" who lie in the great Abbey--of the children who found a resting-place among

The princes and the worthies of all sorts;

and whose histories we are about to study together. But Princess Catherine was not the only child whose early death helped to bring King Henry's gray hairs in sorrow to the grave. Before the close of his reign another young life was cut short by a crime so terrible as to win a mention for Westminster from the lips of Dante himself.

In 1271, only two years after the translation of the Confessor, the king's youthful nephew, Prince Henry, son of Richard king of Germany, was returning from the crusade in which St. Louis had died. Charles of Sicily granted a safe conduct to him and to his cousin Philip, son of St. Louis, who was hurrying home to be crowned king of France. But at Viterbo in Italy, while Henry was at mass in the Church of St. Sylvester, he was stabbed during the Elevation of the Host by Guy and Simon, sons of Simon de Montfort. It was a fearful revenge on Henry the Third for the death of their father five years before at the battle of Evesham--for their own banishment--for the seizure of their father's lands and Earldom, which Henry bestowed on his own son Edmund. All Europe was filled with horror at the dreadful deed, a crime almost unheard of in its impiety. The young prince's bones were buried in the monastery of Hayles which his father had founded; while his heart was brought to Westminster, and placed in a golden chalice "in the hand of a statue" near the shrine of Edward the Confessor. The old chronicler Matthew of Westminster adds with deep satisfaction, "One of his murderers, Simon, died this year in a certain castle near the city of Sienna: who during the latter part of his life being, like Cain, accursed of the Lord, was a vagabond and a fugitive on the face of the earth."

Colui fesse in grembo a Dio Lo cuor, che'n su'l Tamigi ancor si cola.

He in God's bosom smote the heart, Which yet is honour'd on the bank of Thames.

The citizens of Viterbo had a picture of the young prince's murder painted on the wall in his memory; "and a certain poet beholding the painting, spoke thus:

FOOTNOTES:

Dean Stanley says in his "Memorials of Westminster," "The bones of such an ox were discovered under the foundations of the Victoria Tower, and red deer, with very fine antlers, below the River Terrace." I derive this from Professor Owen. Bones and antlers of the elk and red deer were also found in 1868 in Broad Sanctuary in making the Metropolitan Railway.

"Memorials of Westminster," Dean Stanley, p. 21.

Lectures delivered in America. Charles Kingsley.

"Memorials of Westminster," Dean Stanley, p. 28.

"Memorials of Westminster," Dean Stanley, p. 46.

"Memorials of Westminster," Dean Stanley, p. 129.

"Memorials of Westminster," Dean Stanley, p. 126.

Street. Essay on Influence of Foreign Art on English Architecture

"Memorials of Westminster Abbey," Dean Stanley, p. 136.

Matthew Paris' Chronicle.

Matthew of Westminster's Chronicle.

"Memorials of Westminster Abbey," Dean Stanley, p. 140.

Cary's Dante.

Matthew of Westminster.

THE CONQUEST OF WALES--PRINCE ALPHONZO.

In our first stroll about Westminster Abbey, we saw its gray walls towering up in the midst of noisy, hurrying London. We stood in the Sacrarium and looked at the foundations of Edward the Confessor's great Norman Church. We learned how Henry the Third built the new and noble Abbey which is standing at this day. We saw how he crowned his long and troubled reign by the translation of the Confessor's body to the gorgeous shrine he had prepared for it. Let us now, standing for a moment beside this shrine, talk of a little boy whose memory is closely boundpelulla koristetusta kukkarosta kourallisen manteleita. "Katso! Me luemme seitsem?n. Jumalan nimess?!"

Hyvin vihaisena ja h?yhenet p?rr?ll??n asetettiin Mian Mittu h?kkins? katolle, ja istuutuen lapsen ja linnun v?liin Ameera musersi ja kuori mantelin hampaillaan, jotka olivat manteliakin valkoisemmat. "T?m? on varma taikakeino, minun el?m?ni; ?l? naura. Katso, min? annan papukaijalle toisen puolikkaan ja Totalle toisen." Mian Mittu nokkasi varovasti toisen puolikkaan Ameeran huulilta, ja h?n suuteli toisen puolikkaan lapsen suuhun, joka s?i sen hitaasti, silm?t kummastelevina. "T?m?n min? teen seitsem?n? p?iv?n?, ja varmaan h?n, joka on meid?n omamme, on kasvava taitavaksi puhujaksi ja viisaaksi. Oi Tota, mik? sinusta tuleekaan, kun kasvat mieheksi ja min? olen harmaap?inen?" Tota veti lihavat jalkansa somasti k?ppyr??n. H?n osasi kontata eik? viitsinyt kuluttaa el?m?ns? kev?tt? turhissa puheissa. H?n tahtoi nyki? Mian Mittu papukaijan h?yheni?.

Kun Tota oli kohonnut arvoasteissa niin paljon, ett? oli saanut hopeaisen vy?n, joka yhdess? h?nen kaulaansa ripustetun neliskulmaisen ja hopeaan piirretyn tenhokalun kanssa muodosti t?rkeimm?n osan h?nen puvustaan, silloin h?n l?ksi k?yd? lyller?im??n vaaralliselle retkelle pihan poikki Pir Khanin luo ja tarjosi h?nelle kaikki kalleutensa palkaksi, jos h?n vain antaisi h?nen ratsastaa edes hiukkasen Holdenin hevosella. Tota oli n?hnyt mummonsakin siten hierovan kauppaa verannalla pikkutavarain kauppiaiden kanssa. Pir Khan itki, asetti tuon pehme?n pikku jalan harmaahapsisen p??ns? p??lle alamaisuutensa merkiksi ja kantoi rohkean seikkailijan takaisin ?itins? syliin, vakuuttaen ett? Totasta oli tuleva monen miehen johtaja, ennenkuin h?nelle partakaan oli kasvanut.

Tuo vastaus her?tti omituisia tunteita Holdenissa ja pani h?net todenteolla miettim??n Totan tulevaisuutta.

H?nen ei olisi tarvinnut siit? huolehtia. Totan el?m? tuotti liian t?ydellist? iloa kest??kseen kauan. Siit? syyst? se otettiin pois, niinkuin monet asiat Intiassa otetaan pois, ?kki? ja aavistamatta. T?m?n talon pikku hallitsija, kuten Pir Khan h?nt? nimitti, k?vi surulliseksi ja valitteli vaivoja, h?n, joka ei tuskista ennen mit??n tiennyt. Ameera, hurjana pelosta, hoiti h?nt? y?t p?iv?t, mutta toisen p?iv?n aamun sarastaessa Intian tavallinen syyskuume sammutti Totan el?m?n. Tuntui vallan mahdottomalta, ett? h?n voisi kuolla, ja Ameera ja Holden eiv?t ensimm?lt? voineet k?sitt??, ett? se todellakin oli kuollut ruumis, joka makasi vuoteella. Sitten Ameera l?i p??t??n huoneen sein??n ja olisi heitt?ytynyt pihakaivoon, ellei Holden v?kivoimalla olisi h?nt? est?nyt.

Ainoastaan yksi armo suotiin Holdenille. Kun h?n ratsasti virastoonsa hele?ss? aamuvalossa, l?ysi h?n siell? odottamassa tavattoman paksun postilaukun, joka vaati tarkkaa miettimist? ja kovaa ty?t?. H?n ei kuitenkaan k?sitt?nyt t?t? jumalien hyvyytt?.

Kun kuula ensin iskee, ei se tuota enemp?? tuskaa kuin jos hyppysill??n hiukan nipist?isi. Runneltu ruumis ei ilmoita vastalausettaan sielulle ennenkuin kymmenen tai viidentoista sekunnin kuluttua. Sitten tulee jano, pakotus ja kuoleman kamppaus ja ??ret?n valitusten paljous. Holden k?sitti tuskansa hitaasti, niinkuin h?n oli k?sitt?nyt onnensakin, ja h?nell? oli sama pakottava tarve salata sen pienimm?tkin j?ljet. Alussa h?nest? tuntui vain, niinkuin jotain olisi irtautunut h?nest? ja ett? Ameera tarvitsi lohdutusta, kun h?n istui tuolla p?? polviin kumarruksissa, v?risten kun Mian Mittu katolla huusi "Tota! Tota!" Lopulta koko h?nen jokap?iv?inen el?m?ns? loukkasi h?nt?. Oli ilmeinen v??ryys, ett? ainoakaan lapsi asemalla oli elossa ja mellasteli iltasilla, kun h?nen oma lapsensa makasi kuolleena. Tuotti polttavaa tuskaa, kun joku niist? kosketti h?nt?, ja kun onnelliset is?t kertoivat lastensa viimeisist? urot?ist?, sattui se h?neen kuin puukon pisto. H?n ei voinut selitt?? tuskaansa. H?nelle ei ollut apua, ei lohdutusta, ei osanottoa, ja Ameera kuljetti h?nt? joka ilta koko itsesyyt?sten helvetin l?pi, joka on valmistettu niille, jotka ovat kadottaneet lapsen ja uskovat, ett? pikkuinen -- pienen pieni -- lis?varovaisuus olisi lapsen pelastanut. Ei ole monta helvetti?, jotka olisivat t?t? pahempia, mutta Holden tuntee henkil?n, joka on t?ydess? j?rjess??n istuutunut miettim??n, voiko vai eik? voi h?nt? syytt?? vaimonsa kuolemasta.

"Ei ket??n voi syytt??. Jumala sen tiet??, ettei voi. Se oli sallittu, ja kuinka me olisimme voineet sit? est??? Se on ollutta ja mennytt?. Anna olleen olla, armas!"

"Rauhoitu, rauhoitu! Itsesi t?hden ja minun t?hteni, jos rakastat minua, rauhoitu."

"T?st? min? n?en, ett? sin? et siit? v?lit?, ja mit?p? sin? v?litt?isitk??n? Valkoisten miesten syd?n on kivest? ja sielu raudasta. Voi, jos olisin mennyt oman kansani miehelle -- vaikka h?n olisi ly?nytkin minua -- enk? milloinkaan olisi sy?nyt muukalaisen leip??!"

"Olenko min? muukalainen, sin? poikani ?iti?"

"Mik?s muu, sahib?... Voi, anna minulle anteeksi -- anna! Kuolema on tehnyt minut hulluksi. Sin? olet minun syd?meni el?m?, ja silmieni valo, ja el?m?ni henki, ja -- ja min? olen ty?nt?nyt sinut luotani, vaikkapa silm?nr?p?ykseksi vain. Jos sin? menet pois, kelt? min? sitten pyyd?n apua? ?l? suutu. Usko minua, se oli tuska, joka puhui, enk? min?, sinun orjasi."

"Sen min? tied?n -- min? tied?n. Meist? kolmesta on nyt vain kaksi j?ljell?. Sit? suuremmalla syyll? meid?n nyt pit?isi koettaa olla yksi."

He istuivat lattialle vanhaan tapaansa. Oli l?mmin y? aikaisin kev??ll?, kalevantulet leimahtelivat taivaan rannalta, ja et??lt? kuului silloin t?ll?in hiljaista ukkosen jyrin??. Ameera nojautui Holdenin syliin.

"Kuiva maa huutaa lehm?n lailla sadetta, ja min? -- min? pelk??n. N?in ei ollut silloin kun me t?hti? luimme. Mutta sin? rakastat minua yht? paljon kuin ennen, vaikka yksi side on katkennut? Vastaa."

"Min? rakastan enemm?n kuin ennen, sill? meid?n yhteinen surumme on uutena siteen?; ja sen sin? tied?t."

Sitten tulivat kyyneleet ja tuo surkea kapina kohtaloa vastaan, kunnes h?n nukkui hiljaa valitellen unissaan ja puristaen oikeata k?sivarttaan likelle ruumistaan, ik??nkuin olisi sill? tahtonut suojella jotain, jota ei ollut siin?.

T?m?n y?n j?lkeen el?m? k?vi hiukan helpommaksi Holdenille. Tuo alituinen suru, jonka kuolema tuotti, pakotti h?net ty?h?n, ja ty? virkisti h?nt? t?ytt?m?ll? h?nen ajatuksensa kahdeksan tai yhdeks?n tuntia p?iv?ss?. Ameera istui yksin kotona ja hautoi suruansa, mutta h?nkin k?vi onnellisemmaksi, kun huomasi, ett? Holden oli tyynempi, kuten naisten tapa on. He tunsivat onnea taas, mutta t?ll? kertaa varovasti.

"Siit? syyst?, ett? me rakastimme Totaa, h?n kuoli. Jumala kadehti meit?", sanoi Ameera. "Min? olen ripustanut suuren mustan saviastian meid?n ikkunaamme torjumaan pahoja silm?yksi? meist?, ja me emme saa huutaa iloamme, vaan meid?n pit?? kulkea hiljaa t?htien alla, muutoin Jumala l?yt?? meid?t. Eik?s se ole hyvin puhuttu, sin? arvoton?"

H?n oli aikonut sanoa: sin? rakastettu, mutta muutti sen n?ytt??kseen t?ten kuinka vakavasti h?n tarkoitti, mit? oli puhunut. Mutta suutelo, joka seurasi tuota uutta nime?, oli semmoinen, ett? mik? jumala tahansa olisi sit? kadehtinut. He kulkivat edestakaisin sanoen: "Se on turhaa -- se on turhaa", ja toivoen ett? kaikki haltiat nyt kuulisivat heit?.

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