THE END OF THE THIRD NOVEL
IV
The Story of the Choices
"Sest fable es en aquest mon Semblans al homes que i son; Que el mager sen qu'om pot aver So es amar Dieu et sa mer, E gardar sos comendamens."
THE FOURTH NOVEL.--YSABEAU OF FRANCE, DESIROUS OF DISTRACTION, LOOKS FOR RECREATION IN THE TORMENT OF A CERTAIN KNIGHT, WHOM SHE PROVES TO BE NO MORE THAN HUMAN; BUT IN THE OUTCOME OF HER HOLIDAY HE CONFOUNDS THIS QUEEN BY THE WIT OF HIS REPLY.
The Story of the Choices
In the year of grace 1327 (thus Nicolas begins) you could have found inall England no lovers more ardent in affection or in despair moreaffluent than Rosamund Eastney and Sir Gregory Darrell. She was LordBerners' only daughter, a brown beauty, and of extensive repute, thanksto such among her retinue of lovers as were practitioners of the GayScience and had scattered broadcast innumerable Canzons in her honor;and Lord Berners was a man who accepted the world as he found it.
"Dompnedex!" the Earl was wont to say; "in sincerity I am fond ofGregory Darrell, and if he chooses to make love to my daughter that isnone of my affair. The eyes and the brain preserve a proverbialwarfare, which is the source of all amenity, for without lady-servicethere would be no songs and tourneys, no measure and no good breeding;and, in a phrase, a man delinquent in it is no more to be valued thanan ear of corn without the grain. Nay, I am so profoundly an admirerof Love that I can never willingly behold him slain, of a surfeit, byMatrimony; and besides, the rapscallion could not to advantage exchangepurses with Lazarus; and, moreover, Rosamund is to marry the Earl ofSarum a little after All Saints' day."
"Sarum!" people echoed. "Why, the old goat has had two wives already!"
And the Earl would spread his hands. "One of the wealthiest persons inEngland," he was used to submit.
Thus it fell out that Sir Gregory came and went at his own discretionas concerned Lord Berners' fief of Ordish, all through those gustytimes of warfare between Sire Edward and Queen Ysabeau, until at lastthe Queen had conquered. Lord Berners, for one, vexed himself notinordinately over the outcome of events, since he protested the King'sarmament to consist of fools and the Queen's of rascals; and had withentire serenity declined to back either Dick or the devil.
It was in the September of this year, a little before Michaelmas, thatthey brought Sir Gregory Darrell to be judged by the Queen, fornotoriously the knight had been Sire Edward's adherent. "Death!"croaked Adam Orleton, who sat to the right hand, and, "Young deSpencer's death!" amended the Earl of March, with wild laughter; butYsabeau leaned back in her great chair--a handsome woman, stouteningnow from gluttony and from too much wine--and regarded her prisonerwith lazy amiability, and devoted the silence to consideration of howscantily the man had changed.
"And what was your errand in Figgis Wood?" she demanded in theultimate--"or are you mad, then, Gregory Darrell, that you dare ridepast my gates alone?"
He curtly said, "I rode for Ordish."
Followed silence. "Roger," the Queen ordered, sharply, "give me thepaper which I would not sign."
The Earl of March had drawn an audible breath. The Bishop of Londonsomewhat wrinkled his shaggy brows, as a person in shrewd and epicureanamusement, what while she subscribed the parchment within the moment,with a great scrawling flourish.
"Take, in the devil's name, the hire of your dexterities," saidYsabeau, and pushed this document with her wet pen-point toward March,"and ride for Berkeley now upon that necessary business we know of.And do the rest of you withdraw, saving only my prisoner--my prisoner!"she said, and laughed not very pleasantly.
"'MY PRISONER!' SHE SAID" _Painting by Howard Pyle_]
Followed another silence. Queen Ysabeau lolled in her carven chair,considering the comely gentleman who stood before her, fettered, at thepoint of shameful death. There was a little dog in the room which hadcome to the Queen, and now licked the palm of her left hand, and thesoft lapping of its tongue was the only sound you heard. "So at perilof your life you rode for Ordish, then, messire?"
The tense man had flushed. "You have harried us of the King's partyout of England--and in reason I might not leave England without seeingher."
"My friend," said Ysabeau, as half in sorrow, "I would have pardonedanything save that." She rose. Her face was dark and hot. "By Godand all His saints! you shall indeed leave England to-morrow and theworld as well! but not without a final glimpse of this same Rosamund.Yet listen: I, too, must ride with you to Ordish--as your sister,say--Gregory, did I not hang last April the husband of your sister?Yes, Ralph de Belomys, a thin man with eager eyes, the Earl ofFarrington he was. As his widow will I ride with you to Ordish, uponcondition you disclose to none at Ordish, saving only, if you will,this quite immaculate Rosamund, even a hint of our merry carnival. Andto-morrow (you will swear according to the nicest obligations of honor)you must ride back with me to encounter--that which I may devise. ForI dare to trust your naked word in this, and, moreover, I shall takewith me a sufficiency of retainers to leave you no choice."
Darrell knelt before her. "I can do no homage to Queen Ysabeau; yetthe prodigal hands of her who knows that I must die to-morrow andcunningly contrives, for old time's sake, to hearten me with a sight ofRosamund, I cannot but kiss." This much he did. "And I swear in allthings to obey her will."
"O comely fool!" the Queen said, not ungently, "I contrive, it may be,but to demonstrate that many tyrants of antiquity were only bunglers.And, besides, I must have other thoughts than that which now occupiesmy heart: I must this night take holiday, lest I go mad."
Thus did the Queen arrange her holiday.
"Either I mean to torture you to-morrow," Dame Ysabeau said, presently,to Darrell, as these two rode side by side, "or else I mean to freeyou. In sober verity I do not know. I am in a holiday humor, and itis as the whim may take me. But you indeed do love this RosamundEastney? And of course she worships you?"
"It is my belief, madame, that when I see her I tremble visibly, and myweakness is such that a child has more intelligence than I--and towardsuch misery any lady must in common reason be a little compassionate."
Her hands had twitched so that the astonished palfrey reared. "Idesign torture," the Queen said; "ah, I perfect exquisite torture, foryou have proven recreant, you have forgotten the maid Ysabeau--Le Desirdu Cuer, was it not, my Gregory?"
His palms clutched at heaven. "That Ysabeau is dead! and all true joyis destroyed, and the world lies under a blight wherefrom God hasaverted an unfriendly face in displeasure! yet of all wretched personsexistent I am he who endures the most grievous anguish, for daily Ipartake of life without any relish, and I would in truth deem himausterely kind who slew me now that the maiden Ysabeau is dead."
She shrugged, although but wearily. "I scent the raw stuff of aPlanh," the Queen observed; "_benedicite!_ it was ever your way, myfriend, to love a woman chiefly for the verses she inspired." And shebegan to sing, as they rode through Baverstock Thicket.
Sang Ysabeau:
"_Man's love hath many prompters, But a woman's love hath none; And he may woo a nimble wit Or hair that shames the sun, Whilst she must pick of all one man And ever brood thereon-- And for no reason, And not rightly,--_
"_Save that the plan was foreordained (More old than Chalcedon, Or any tower of Tarshish Or of gleaming Babylon), That she must love unwillingly And love till life be done, He for a season, And more lightly._"
So to Ordish in that twilight came the Countess of Farrington, with aretinue of twenty men-at-arms, and her brother Sir Gregory Darrell.Lord Berners received the party with boisterous hospitality.
"And the more for that your sister is a very handsome woman," wasRosamund Eastney's comment. The period appears to have been aftersupper, and she sat with Gregory Darrell in not the most brilliantcorner of the main hall.
The wretched man leaned forward, bit his nether-lip, and then with asudden splurge of speech informed her of the sorry masquerade. "
Theshe-devil designs some horrible and obscure mischief, she plans I knownot what."
"Yet I--" said Rosamund. The girl had risen, and she continued with anodd inconsequence. "You have told me you were Pembroke's squire whenlong ago he sailed for France to fetch this woman into England--"
"Which you never heard!" Lord Berners shouted at this point. "Jasper,a lute!" And then he halloaed, more lately, "Gregory, Madame deFarrington demands that racy song you made against Queen Ysabeau duringyour last visit."
Thus did the Queen begin her holiday.
It was a handsome couple which came forward, hand quitting hand a shadetoo tardily, and the blinking eyes yet rapt; but these two were notoverpleased at being disturbed, and the man in particular was troubled,as in reason he well might be, by the task assigned him.
"Is it, indeed, your will, my sister," he said, "that I shouldsing--this song?"
"It is my will," the Countess said.
And the knight flung back his comely head and laughed. "What I havewritten I shall not disown in any company. It is not, look you, of myown choice that I sing, my sister. Yet if she bade me would I singthis song as willingly before Queen Ysabeau, for, Christ aid me! thesong is true."
Sang Sir Gregory:
"_Dame Ysabeau, la prophecie Que li sage dit ne ment mie, Que la royne sut ceus grever Qui tantost laquais sot aymer--_"
and so on. It was a lengthy ditty and in its wording notoversqueamish; the Queen's career in England was detailed without anystuttering, and you would have found the catalogue unhandsome. Yet SirGregory sang it with an incisive gusto, though it seemed to him tocountersign his death-warrant; and with the vigor that a mangled snakesummons for its last hideous stroke, it seemed to Ysabeau regretful ofan ancient spring.
_Nicolas gives this ballad in full, but, and for obvious reasons, histranslator would prefer to do otherwise._
Only the minstrel added, though Lord Berners did not notice it, afire-new peroration.
Sang Sir Gregory:
"_Ma voix mocque, mon cuer gemit-- Peu pense a ce que la voix dit, Car me membre du temps jadis Et d'ung garson, d'amour surpris, Et d'une fille--et la vois si-- Et grandement suis esbahi._"
And when Darrell had ended, the Countess of Farrington, withoutspeaking, swept her left hand toward her cheek and by pure chancecaught between thumb and forefinger the autumn-numbed fly that hadannoyed her. She drew the little dagger from her girdle andmeditatively cut the buzzing thing in two. Then she flung thefragments from her, and resting the dagger's point upon the arm of herchair, one forefinger upon the summit of the hilt, consideratelytwirled the brilliant weapon.
"This song does not err upon the side of clemency," she said at last,"nor by ordinary does Queen Ysabeau."
"That she-wolf!" said Lord Berners, comfortably. "Hoo, MadameGertrude! since the Prophet Moses wrung healing waters from a rockthere has been no such miracle recorded."
"We read, Messire de Berners, that when the she-wolf once acknowledgesa master she will follow him as faithfully as any dog. Nay, mybrother, I do not question your sincerity, yet you sing with the voiceof an unhonored courtier. Suppose Queen Ysabeau had heard your songall through and then had said--for she is not as the run ofwomen--'Messire, I had thought till this there was no thorough man inEngland saving Roger Mortimer. I find him tawdry now, and--I remember.Come you, then, and rule the England that you love as you may love nowoman, and rule me, messire, for I find even in your cruelty--England!bah, we are no pygmies, you and I!'" the Countess said with a greatvoice; "'yonder is squabbling Europe and all the ancient gold ofAfrica, ready for our taking! and past that lies Asia, too, and itspainted houses hung with bells, and cloud-wrapt Tartary, wherein wetwain may yet erect our equal thrones, whereon to receive the tributaryemperors! For we are no pygmies, you and I.'" She paused and morelately shrugged. "Suppose Queen Ysabeau had said this much, mybrother?"
Darrell was more pallid, as the phrase is, than a sheet, and the lutehad dropped unheeded, and his hands were clenched.
"I would answer, my sister, that as she has found in England but oneman, I have found in England but one woman--the rose of all the world."His eyes were turned at this toward Rosamund Eastney. "And yet," theman stammered, "for that I, too, remember--"
"Nay, in God's name! I am answered," the Countess said. She rose, indignity almost a queen. "We have ridden far to-day, and to-morrow wemust travel a deal farther--eh, my brother? I am a trifle overspent,Messire de Berners." And her face had now the weary beauty of anidol's.
So the men and women parted. Madame de Farrington kissed her brotherin leaving him, as was natural; and under her caress his stalwartperson shuddered, but not in repugnance; and the Queen went bedwardregretful of an ancient spring and singing hushedly.
Sang Ysabeau:
"_Were the All-Mother wise, life (shaped anotherwise) Would be all high and true; Could I be otherwise I had been otherwise Simply because of you, Who are no longer you._
"_Life with its pay to be bade us essay to be What we became,--I believe Were there a way to be what it was play to be I would not greatly grieve... And I neither laugh nor grieve!_"
Ysabeau would have slept that night within the chamber of RosamundEastney had either slept at all. As concerns the older I say nothing.The girl, though soon aware of frequent rustlings near at hand, layquiet, half-forgetful of the poisonous woman yonder. The girl was nowfulfilled with a great blaze of exultation; to-morrow Gregory must die,and then perhaps she might find time for tears; but meanwhile, beforeher eyes, the man had flung away a kingdom and life itself for love ofher, and the least nook of her heart ached to be a shade more worthy ofthe sacrifice.
After it might have been an hour of this excruciate ecstasy theCountess came to Rosamund's bed. "Ay," the woman hollowly began, "itis indisputable that his hair is like spun gold and that his eyesresemble sun-drenched waters in June. And that when this Gregorylaughs God is more happy. Ma belle, I was familiar with the routine ofyour meditations ere you were born."
Rosamund said, quite simply: "You have known him always. I envy thecircumstance, Madame Gertrude--you alone of all women in the world Ienvy, since you, his sister, being so much older, must have known himalways."
"I know him to the core, my girl," the Countess answered, and afterwardsat silent, one bare foot jogging restlessly; "yet am I two years thejunior-- Did you hear nothing, Rosamund?"
"Nay, Madame Gertrude, I heard nothing."
"Strange!" the Countess said; "let us have lights, since I can nolonger endure the overpopulous darkness." She kindled, with twitchingfingers, three lamps and looked in vain for more. "It is as yet darkyonder, where the shadows quiver very oddly, as though they would risefrom the floor--do they not, my girl?--and protest vain things. Nay,Rosamund, it has been done; in the moment of death men's souls havetravelled farther and have been visible; it has been done, I tell you.And he would stand before me, with pleading eyes, and reproach me in avoice too faint to reach my ears--but I would see him--and his gropinghands would clutch at my hands as though a dropped veil had touched me,and with the contact I would go mad!"
"Madame Gertrude!" the girl now stammered, in communicated terror.
"Poor innocent dastard!" the woman said, "I am Ysabeau of France." Andwhen Rosamund made as though to rise, in alarm, Queen Ysabeau caughther by the shoulder. "Bear witness when he comes I never hated him.Yet for my quiet it was necessary that it suffer so cruelly, thescented, pampered body, and no mark be left upon it! Eia! even now hesuffers! Nay, I have lied. I hate the man, and in such fashion as youwill comprehend only when you are Sarum's wife."
"Madame and Queen!" the girl said, "you will not murder me!"
"I am tempted!" the Queen hissed. "O little slip of girlhood, I amtempted, for it is not reasonable you should possess everything that Ihave lost. Innocence you have, and youth, and untroubled eyes, andquiet dreams, and the glad beauty of the devil, and Gregory Darrell'slove--" Now Ysabeau sat
down upon the bed and caught up the girl'sface between two fevered hands. "Rosamund, this Darrell perceiveswithin the moment, as I do, that the love he bears for you is but whathe remembers of the love he bore a certain maid long dead. Eh, youmight have been her sister, Rosamund, for you are very like her. Andshe, poor wench--why, I could see her now, I think, were my eyes notblurred, somehow, almost as though Queen Ysabeau might weep! But shewas handsomer than you, since your complexion is not overclear, praiseGod!"
Woman against woman they were. "He has told me of his intercourse withyou," the girl said, and this was a lie flatfooted. "Nay, kill me ifyou will, madame, since you are the stronger, yet, with my dyingbreath, Gregory has loved but me."
"Ma belle," the Queen answered, and laughed bitterly, "do I not knowmen? He told you nothing. And to-night he hesitated, and to-morrow,at the lifting of my finger, he will supplicate. Throughout his lifehas Gregory Darrell loved me, O white, palsied innocence! and he ismine at a whistle. And in that time to come he will desert you,Rosamund--though with a pleasing Canzon--and they will give you to thegross Earl of Sarum, as they gave me to the painted man who was of lateour King! and in that time to come you will know your body to be yourhusband's makeshift when he lacks leisure to seek out other recreation!and in that time to come you will long at first for death, andpresently your heart will be a flame within you, my Rosamund, aninsatiable flame! and you will hate your God because He made you, andhate Satan because in some desperate hour he tricked you, and hate allmasculinity because, poor fools, they scurry to obey your whim! andchiefly hate yourself because you are so pitiable! and devastation onlywill you love in that strange time which is to come. It is adjacent,my Rosamund."
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