Part 4
Music, do you know, Music will suit you well, I think, because You look so mild, like Laurence being grill'd; Or perhaps music soft and slow, because This is high day of triumph unto me, Is it not, Peter? You are frighten'd, though, Eh! you are pale, because this hurts you much, Whose life was pleasant to you, not like mine, You ruin'd wretch! Men mock me in the streets, Only in whispers loud, because I am Friend of the constable; will this please you, Unhappy Peter? once a-going home, Without my servants, and a little drunk, At midnight through the lone dim lamp-lit streets. A whore came up and spat into my eyes, Rather to blind me than to make me see, But she was very drunk, and tottering back, Even in the middle of her laughter fell And cut her head against the pointed stones, While I lean'd on my staff, and look'd at her, And cried, being drunk. Girls would not spit at you. You are so handsome, I think verily Most ladies would be glad to kiss your eyes, And yet you will be hung like a cur dog Five minutes hence, and grow black in the face, And curl your toes up. Therefore I am glad.
Guess why I stand and talk this nonsense now, With Guesclin getting ready to play chess, And Clisson doing something with his sword, I can't see what, talking to Guesclin though, I don't know what about, perhaps of you. But, cousin Peter, while I stroke your beard, Let me say this, I'd like to tell you now That your life hung upon a game of chess, That if, say, my squire Robert here should beat, Why you should live, but hang if I beat him; Then guess, clever Peter, what I should do then: Well, give it up? why, Peter, I should let My squire Robert beat me, then you would think That you were safe, you know; Eh? not at all, But I should keep you three days in some hold, Giving you salt to eat, which would be kind, Considering the tax there is on salt; And afterwards should let you go, perhaps? No I should not, but I should hang you, sir, With a red rope in lieu of mere grey rope.
But I forgot, you have not told me yet If you can guess why I talk nonsense thus, Instead of drinking wine while you are hang'd? You are not quick at guessing, give it up. This is the reason; here I hold your hand, And watch you growing paler, see you writhe And this, my Peter, is a joy so dear, I cannot by all striving tell you how I love it, nor I think, good man, would you Quite understand my great delight therein; You, when you had me underneath you once, Spat as it were, and said, 'Go take him out,' That they might do that thing to me whereat, E'en now this long time off I could well shriek, And then you tried forget I ever lived, And sunk your hating into other things; While I: St. Denis! though, I think you'll faint, Your lips are grey so; yes, you will, unless You let it out and weep like a hurt child; Hurrah! you do now. Do not go just yet, For I am Alice, am right like her now, Will you not kiss me on the lips, my love?
CLISSON.
You filthy beast, stand back and let him go, Or by God's eyes I'll choke you! [_Kneeling to_ Sir Peter. Fair sir knight I kneel upon my knees and pray to you That you would pardon me for this your death; God knows how much I wish you still alive, Also how heartily I strove to save Your life at this time; yea, he knows quite well, (I swear it, so forgive me!) how I would, If it were possible, give up my life Upon this grass for yours; fair knight, although, He knowing all things knows this thing too, well, Yet when you see his face some short time hence, Tell him I tried to save you.
SIR PETER.
O! my lord, I cannot say this is as good as life, But yet it makes me feel far happier now, And if at all, after a thousand years, I see God's face, I will speak loud and bold, And tell Him you were kind, and like Himself; Sir, may God bless you! Did you note how I Fell weeping just now? pray you, do not think That Lambert's taunts did this, I hardly heard The base things that he said, being deep in thought Of all things that have happen'd since I was A little child; and so at last I thought Of my true lady: truly, sir, it seem'd No longer gone than yesterday, that this Was the sole reason God let me be born Twenty-five years ago, that I might love Her, my sweet lady, and be loved by her; This seem'd so yesterday, to-day death comes, And is so bitter strong, I cannot see Why I was born. But as a last request, I pray you, O kind Clisson, send some man, Some good man, mind you, to say how I died, And take my last love to her: fare-you-well, And may God keep you; I must go now, lest I grow too sick with thinking on these things; Likewise my feet are wearied of the earth, From whence I shall be lifted upright soon. [_As he goes._ Ah me! shamed too, I wept at fear of death; And yet not so, I only wept because There was no beautiful lady to kiss me Before I died, and sweetly wish good speed From her dear lips. O for some lady, though I saw her ne'er before; Alice, my love, I do not ask for; Clisson was right kind, If he had been a woman, I should die Without this sickness: but I am all wrong, So wrong, and hopelessly afraid to die. There, I will go. My God! how sick I am, If only she could come and kiss me now.
_The Hotel de la Barde, Bordeaux._
_The_ Lady Alice de la Barde _looking out of a window into the street_.
No news yet! surely, still he holds his own: That garde stands well; I mind me passing it Some months ago; God grant the walls are strong! I heard some knights say something yestereve, I tried hard to forget: words far apart Struck on my heart something like this; one said: What eh! a Gascon with an English name, Harpdon? then nought, but afterwards: Poictou. As one who answers to a question ask'd, Then carelessly regretful came: No, no. Whereto in answer loud and eagerly, One said: Impossible? Christ, what foul play! And went off angrily; and while thenceforth I hurried gaspingly afraid, I heard: Guesclin; Five thousand men-at-arms; Clisson. My heart misgives me it is all in vain I send these succours; and in good time there Their trumpet sounds: ah! here they are; good knights, God up in Heaven keep you. If they come And find him prisoner, for I can't believe Guesclin will slay him, even though they storm. The last horse turns the corner. God in Heaven! What have I got to thinking of at last! That thief I will not name is with Guesclin, Who loves him for his lands. My love! my love! O, if I lose you after all the past, What shall I do? I cannot bear the noise And light street out there, with this thought alive, Like any curling snake within my brain; Let me just hide my head within these soft Deep cushions, there to try and think it out. [_Lying in the window-seat._ I cannot hear much noise now, and I think That I shall go to sleep: it all sounds dim And faint, and I shall soon forget most things; Yea, almost that I am alive and here; It goes slow, comes slow, like a big mill-wheel On some broad stream, with long green weeds a-sway, And soft and slow it rises and it falls, Still going onward. Lying so, one kiss, And I should be in Avalon asleep, Among the poppies, and the yellow flowers; And they should brush my cheek, my hair being spread Far out among the stems; soft mice and small Eating and creeping all about my feet, Red shod and tired; and the flies should come Creeping o'er my broad eyelids unafraid; And there should be a noise of water going, Clear blue fresh water breaking on the slates, Likewise the flies should creep: God's eyes! God help! A trumpet? I will run fast, leap adown The slippery sea-stairs, where the crabs fight. Ah! I was half dreaming, but the trumpet's true; He stops here at our house. The Clisson arms? Ah, now for news. But I must hold my heart, And be quite gentle till he is gone out; And afterwards: but he is still alive, He must be still alive.
_Enter a_ Squire _of_ Clisson's.
Good day, fair sir, I give you welcome, knowing whence you come.
SQUIRE.
My Lady Alice de la Barde, I come From Oliver Clisson, knight and mighty lord, Bringing you tidings: I make bold to hope You will not count me villain, even if They wring your heart, nor hold me still in hate; For I am but a mouthpiece after all, A mouthpiece, too, of one who wishes well To you and your's.
ALICE.
Can you talk faster, sir, Get over all this quicker? fix your eyes On mine, I pray you, and whate'er you see, Still go on talking fast, unless I fall, Or bid you stop.
SQUIRE.
I pray your pardon then, And, looking in your eyes, fair lady, say I am unhappy that your knight is dead. Take heart, and listen! let me tell you all. We were five thousand goodly men-at-arms, And scant five hundred had he in that hold: His rotten sand-stone walls were wet with rain, And fell in lumps wherever a stone hit; Yet for three days about the barrier there The deadly glaives were gather'd, laid across, And push'd and pull'd; the fourth our engines came; But still amid the crash of falling walls, And roar of lombards, rattle of hard bolts, The steady bow-strings flash'd, and still stream'd out St. George's banner, and the seven swords, And still they cried: St. George Guienne! until Their walls were flat as Jericho's of old, And our rush came, and cut them from the keep.
ALICE.
Stop, sir, and tell me if you slew him then, And where he died, if you can really mean That Peter Harpdon, the good knight, is dead?
SQUIRE.
Fair lady, in the base-court:
ALICE.
What base-court? What do you talk of? Nay, go on, go on; 'Twas only something gone within my head: Do you not know, one turns one's head round quick, And something cracks there with sore pain? go on, And still look at my eyes.
SQUIRE.
Almost alone, There in the base-court fought he with his sword, Using his left hand much, more than the wont Of most knights now-a-days; our men gave back, For wheresoever he hit a downright blow, Some one fell bleeding, for no plate could hold Against the sway of body and great arm; Till he grew tired, and some man (no! not I, I swear not I, fair lady, as I live!) Thrust at him with a glaive between the knees, And threw him; down he fell, sword undermost; Many fell on him, crying out their cries, Tore his sword from him, tore his helm off, and:
ALICE.
Yea, slew him: I am much too young to live, Fair God, so let me die! You have done well, Done all your message gently, pray you go, Our knights will make you cheer; moreover, take This bag of franks for your expenses. [_The Squire kneels._ But You do not go; still looking at my face, You kneel! what, squire, do you mock me then? You need not tell me who has set you on, But tell me only, 'tis a made-up tale. You are some lover may-be or his friend; Sir, if you loved me once, or your friend loved, Think, is it not enough that I kneel down And kiss your feet? your jest will be right good If you give in now; carry it too far, And 'twill be cruel: not yet? but you weep Almost, as though you loved me; love me then, And go to Heaven by telling all your sport, And I will kiss you then with all my heart, Upon the mouth: O! what can I do then To move you?
SQUIRE.
Lady fair, forgive me still! You know I am so sorry, but my tale Is not yet finish'd: So they bound his hands, And brought him tall and pale to Guesclin's tent, Who, seeing him, leant his head upon his hand, And ponder'd somewhile, afterwards, looking up: Fair dame, what shall I say?
ALICE.
Yea, I know now, Good squire, you may go now with my thanks.
SQUIRE.
Yet, lady, for your own sake I say this, Yea, for my own sake, too, and Clisson's sake. When Guesclin told him he must be hanged soon, Within a while he lifted up his head And spoke for his own life; not crouching, though, As abjectly afraid to die, nor yet Sullenly brave as many a thief will die, Nor yet as one that plays at japes with God: Few words he spoke; not so much what he said Moved us, I think, as, saying it, there played Strange tenderness from that big soldier there About his pleading; eagerness to live Because folk loved him, and he loved them back, And many gallant plans unfinish'd now For ever. Clisson's heart, which may God bless! Was moved to pray for him, but all in vain; Wherefore I bring this message: That he waits, Still loving you, within the little church Whose windows, with the one eye of the light Over the altar, every night behold The great dim broken walls he strove to keep!
There my Lord Clisson did his burial well. Now, lady, I will go: God give you rest!
ALICE.
Thank Clisson from me, squire, and farewell! And now to keep myself from going mad. Christ! I have been a many times to church, And, ever since my mother taught me prayers, Have used them daily, but to-day I wish To pray another way; come face to face, O Christ, that I may clasp your knees and pray I know not what; at any rate come now From one of many places where you are, Either in Heaven amid thick angel wings, Or sitting on the altar strange with gems, Or high up in the duskness of the apse; Let us go, You and I, a long way off, To the little damp, dark, Poitevin church. While you sit on the coffin in the dark, Will I lie down, my face on the bare stone Between your feet, and chatter anything I have heard long ago. What matters it So I may keep you there, your solemn face And long hair even-flowing on each side, Until you love me well enough to speak, And give me comfort? yea, till o'er your chin, And cloven red beard the great tears roll down In pity for my misery, and I die, Kissed over by you. Eh Guesclin! if I were Like Countess Mountfort now, that kiss'd the knight, Across the salt sea come to fight for her: Ah! just to go about with many knights, Wherever you went, and somehow on one day, In a thick wood to catch you off your guard, Let you find, you and your some fifty friends, Nothing but arrows wheresoe'er you turn'd, Yea, and red crosses, great spears over them; And so, between a lane of my true men, To walk up pale and stern and tall, and with My arms on my surcoat, and his therewith, And then to make you kneel, O knight Guesclin; And then: alas! alas! when all is said, What could I do but let you go again, Being pitiful woman? I get no revenge, Whatever happens; and I get no comfort: I am but weak, and cannot move my feet, But as men bid me. Strange I do not die. Suppose this has not happen'd after all? I will lean out again and watch for news.
I wonder how long I can still feel thus, As though I watch'd for news, feel as I did Just half-an-hour ago, before this news. How all the street is humming, some men sing, And some men talk; some look up at the house, Then lay their heads together and look grave: Their laughter pains me sorely in the heart; Their thoughtful talking makes my head turn round: Yea, some men sing, what is it then they sing? Eh? Launcelot, and love and fate and death: They ought to sing of him who was as wight As Launcelot or Wade, and yet avail'd Just nothing, but to fail and fail and fail, And so at last to die and leave me here, Alone and wretched; yea, perhaps they will, When many years are past, make songs of us: God help me, though, truly I never thought That I should make a story in this way, A story that his eyes can never see.
[_One sings from outside._]
_Therefore be it believed Whatsoever he grieved, When his horse was relieved, This Launcelot,_
_Beat down on his knee, Right valiant was he God's body to see, Though he saw it not._
_Right valiant to move, But for his sad love The high God above Stinted his praise._
_Yet so he was glad That his son, Lord Galahad, That high joyaunce had All his life-days._
_Sing we therefore then Launcelot's praise again, For he wan crownés ten, If he wan not twelve._
_To his death from his birth He was mickle of worth, Lay him in the cold earth, A long grave ye may delve._
_Omnes homines benedicite! This last fitte ye may see, All men pray for me Who made this history Cunning and fairly._
RAPUNZEL
RAPUNZEL
THE PRINCE, _being in the wood near the tower, in the evening_.
I could not even think What made me weep that day, When out of the council-hall The courtiers pass'd away,--
THE WITCH.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!
RAPUNZEL.
Is it not true that every day She climbeth up the same strange way, Her scarlet cloak spread broad and gay, Over my golden hair?
THE PRINCE.
And left me there alone, To think on what they said: 'Thou art a king's own son, 'Tis fit that thou should'st wed.'
THE WITCH.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!
RAPUNZEL.
When I undo the knotted mass, Fathoms below the shadows pass Over my hair along the grass. O my golden hair!
THE PRINCE.
I put my armour on, Thinking on what they said: 'Thou art a king's own son, 'Tis fit that thou should'st wed.'
THE WITCH.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!
RAPUNZEL.
See on the marble parapet, I lean my brow, strive to forget That fathoms below my hair grows wet With the dew, my golden hair.
THE PRINCE.
I rode throughout the town, Men did not bow the head, Though I was the king's own son: He rides to dream, they said.
THE WITCH.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Wind up your hair!
RAPUNZEL.
See on the marble parapet, The faint red stains with tears are wet; The long years pass, no help comes yet To free my golden hair.
THE PRINCE.
For leagues and leagues I rode, Till hot my armour grew, Till underneath the leaves I felt the evening dew.
THE WITCH.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Weep through your hair!
RAPUNZEL.
And yet: but I am growing old, For want of love my heart is cold; Years pass, the while I loose and fold The fathoms of my hair.
THE PRINCE, _in the morning_.
I have heard tales of men, who in the night Saw paths of stars let down to earth from heaven, Who followed them until they reach'd the light Wherein they dwell, whose sins are all forgiven;
But who went backward when they saw the gate Of diamond, nor dared to enter in; All their life long they were content to wait, Purging them patiently of every sin.
I must have had a dream of some such thing, And now am just awaking from that dream; For even in grey dawn those strange words ring Through heart and brain, and still I see that gleam.
For in my dream at sunset-time I lay Beneath these beeches, mail and helmet off, Right full of joy that I had come away From court; for I was patient of the scoff
That met me always there from day to day, From any knave or coward of them all: I was content to live that wretched way; For truly till I left the council-hall,
And rode forth arm'd beneath the burning sun, My gleams of happiness were faint and few, But then I saw my real life had begun, And that I should be strong quite well I knew.
For I was riding out to look for love, Therefore the birds within the thickets sung, Even in hot noontide; as I pass'd, above The elms o'ersway'd with longing towards me hung.
Now some few fathoms from the place where I Lay in the beech-wood, was a tower fair, The marble corners faint against the sky; And dreamily I wonder'd what lived there:
Because it seem'd a dwelling for a queen, No belfry for the swinging of great bells. No bolt or stone had ever crush'd the green Shafts, amber and rose walls, no soot that tells
Of the Norse torches burning up the roofs, On the flower-carven marble could I see; But rather on all sides I saw the proofs Of a great loneliness that sicken'd me;
Making me feel a doubt that was not fear, Whether my whole life long had been a dream, And I should wake up soon in some place, where The piled-up arms of the fighting angels gleam;
Not born as yet, but going to be born, No naked baby as I was at first, But an armed knight, whom fire, hate and scorn Could turn from nothing: my heart almost burst
Beneath the beeches, as I lay a-dreaming, I tried so hard to read this riddle through, To catch some golden cord that I saw gleaming Like gossamer against the autumn blue.
But while I ponder'd these things, from the wood There came a black-hair'd woman, tall and bold, Who strode straight up to where the tower stood, And cried out shrilly words, whereon behold--
THE WITCH, _from the tower_.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!
THE PRINCE.
Ah Christ! it was no dream then, but there stood (She comes again) a maiden passing fair, Against the roof, with face turn'd to the wood, Bearing within her arms waves of her yellow hair.
I read my riddle when I saw her stand, Poor love! her face quite pale against her hair, Praying to all the leagues of empty land To save her from the woe she suffer'd there.
To think! they trod upon her golden hair In the witches' sabbaths; it was a delight For these foul things, while she, with thin feet bare, Stood on the roof upon the winter night,
To plait her dear hair into many plaits, And then, while God's eye look'd upon the thing, In the very likenesses of Devil's bats, Upon the ends of her long hair to swing.