The Life And Death Of Richard Yea And Nay Volume 91 - Maurice Hewlett (i wanna iguana read aloud txt) 📗
- Author: Maurice Hewlett
Book online «The Life And Death Of Richard Yea And Nay Volume 91 - Maurice Hewlett (i wanna iguana read aloud txt) 📗». Author Maurice Hewlett
Because He Hated The Father, Or Because He Hated The Son? Or Because He
Served Prince John? Let That Alone For A Moment. This Story Of Alois: It
Must Be, He Thought, Either True Or False, But Was No Invention Of
Bertran's. Whichever It Was, King Philip Would Make War Upon King Henry,
Not Upon Richard; Since, Wanting Timber, You Cut At The Trunk, Not At
The Branches. He Believed Bertran So Far, That The Count Of Poictou Was
In His Country, And King Henry With A Host In His. War Between Philip
And The Count Was A Foolishness. Peace Between The Count And King Henry
Was Another. Don Sancho Believed (Since He Believed In God) That Old
King Henry Was At Death's Door; And He Saw Above All Things That, If The
Scandal Was Reasonably Founded, There Would Be A Bachelor Prince
Spoiling For Wedlock. On All Grounds, Therefore, He Decided To Write
Privily To His Kinswoman, Queen Eleanor Of England.
And So He Did, To A Very Different Tune From That Imagined By Bertran,
The Letter Which Follows:--
'Madame (Sister And Aunt),' He Wrote, 'This Day Has Brought Tidings To
My Private Ear Whereat In Part I Mourn With You, And Rejoice In Part, As
A Wise Physician Who, Hearing Of Some Great Lover In The Article Of
Death, Knows That He Has Both The Wit And The Remedy To Work His Cure.
Madame, With A Hand Upon My Heart I May Certify The Flow Of My Blood For
The Causes, Serious And Horrific, Which Have Led To Strife Between Your
Exalted Lord And Most Dear Consort In Christ Jesus, My Lord Henry The
Pious King Of England (Whom God Assoil) And His August Neighbour Of
France. But, Madame (Sister And Aunt), It Is No Less My Comfort To
Affirm That The Estate Of Your Noble Son, The Count Of Poictou, No Less
Moves My Anguish. What, Madame! So Fierce A Youth And So Strenuous,
Widowed Of His Hopeful Bed! The Face Of Paris With The Fate Of Menelaus!
The Sweet Accomplishments Of King David (Chief Of Trobadors) And The
Ignominy Of The Husband Of Bathsheba! You See That My Eloquence Burns Me
Up; And Verily, Madame (Sister And Aunt), The Hot Coal Of The Wrath Of
Your Son Has Touched My Mouth, So That At The Last I Speak With My
Tongue.
'I Ask Myself, Madame, Why Do Not The Virgins Of Christendom Arise And
Offer Their Unrifled Zones To His Noble Fingers? Sister And Aunt, There
Is One At Least, In Navarre, Who So Arises. I Offer My Child Berengère,
Called By Trobadors (Because Of Her Chaste Seclusion) Frozen Heart, To
Be Thawed In The Sun Of Your Son. I Offer, Moreover, My Great Fiefs Of
Oliocastro, Cingovilas, Monte Negro, And Sierra Alba As Far As Agreda;
And A Dowry Also Of 60,000 Marks In Gold Of Byzance, To Be Numbered By
Three Bishops, One Each Of Our Choosing, And The Third To Be Chosen By
Our Lord And Ghostly Father The Pope. And I Offer To You, Madame (Sister
And Aunt), The Devotion Of A Brother And Nephew, The Right Hand Of
Concord, And The Kiss Of Peace. I Pray God Daily To Preserve Your
Celsitude.--From Our Court Of Pampluna, Etc. Under The Privy Signet Of
The King Himself--Sanchius Navarrensium Rex, Sapiens, Pater Patriæ,
Pius, Catholicus.'
This Done, And Means Taken For Sure Despatch, He Sends For The Virgin
In Question, And Embracing Her With One Arm, Holds Her Close To His
Knee.
'My Child,' He Says, 'You Are To Be Wedded To The Greatest Prince Now On
Life, The Pattern Of Chivalry, The Mirror Of Manly Beauty, Heir To A
Great Throne. What Do You Say To This?'
The Virgin Kept Her Eyes Down; A Very Faint Flush Of Rose Troubled Her
Cheek.
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 15 (Last Tenzon_ Of Bertran De Born) Pg 85'I Am In Your Hands, Sire,' She Said, Whereupon Don Sancho Enfolded Her.
'You Are In My Arms, Dear Child,' He Testified. 'Your Lord Will Be King
Of England, Duke Of Normandy And Aquitaine, Count Of Anjou, Poictou, And
Maine, And Lord Of Some Island In The Western Sea Whose Name I Have
Forgotten. He Is Also The Subject Of Prophecy, Which (As The Arabians
Know Very Well) Declares That He Will Rule Such An Empire As Alexander
Never Saw, Nor The Mighty Charles Dreamed Of. Does This Please You, My
Child?'
'He Is A Very Great Lord,' Said Berengère, 'And Will Be A Great King. I
Hope To Serve Him Faithfully.'
'By Saint James, And So You Shall!' Cried The Happy Don Sancho. 'Go, My
Child, And Say Your Prayers. You Will Have Something To Pray About At
Last.'
She Was The Only Daughter He Had Left, Exorbitantly Loved; A Little
Creature Too Much Brocaded To Move, Cold As Snow, Pious As A Virgin
Enclosed, With Small Regular Features Like A Fairy Queen's. She Had A
Narrow Mind, And Small Heart For Meeting Tribulation, Which, Indeed, She
Seemed Never Likely To Know. Sometimes, Being In Her Robes Of State,
Crusted With Gems, Crowned, Coifed, Ringed, She Looked Like Nothing So
Much As A Stiff Doll-Goddess Set In Glass Over An Altar. It Was Thus She
Showed Her Best, When With Fixed Eyes And A Frigid Smile She Stood Above
The Court, An Unapproachable Glittering Star Set In The Clear Sky Of A
Night To Give Men Hopes Of An Ordered Heaven. It Was Thus Bertran De
Born Had Seen Her, When For A Time His Hot And Wrong Heart Was At Rest,
And He Could Look On A Creature Of This World Without Desire To Mar It.
Half In Mockery, Half In Love, He Called Her Frozen Heart. Later On, You
Remember, He Called Jehane Bel Vezer. He Was The Nicknamer Of Europe In
His Day.
So Now, Or Almost So, He Saw Her New Come From Her Father's Side--A
Little Flushed, But Very Much The Great Small Lady, Ma Dame Berengère Of
Navarre.
'The Sun Shines Upon My Frozen Heart,' Said Bertran. She Gave Him Her
Hand To Kiss.
'No Heart Of Yours Am I, Bertran,' She Said; 'But Chosen For A King.'
'A King, Lady! Whom Then?'
She Answered, 'A King To Be. My Lord Richard Of Poictou.'
He Clacked His Tongue On His Palate, And Bolted This Pill As Best He
Could. Bad Was Best. He Saw Himself Made Newly So Great A Fool That He
Dared Not Think Of It. If He Had Known At That Time Of Richard's Dealing
With Jehane Saint-Pol, You May Be Sure He Would Have Squirted Some
Venom. But He Knew Nothing At All About It; And As To The Other Affair,
Even He Dared Not Speak.
'A Great Lord, A Hot Lord, A Very Strenuous Lord!' He Said In Jerks. It
Was All There Was To Say.
'He Is A Prince Who Might Claim A Lady's Love, I Suppose,' Said
Berengère, With Considering Looks.
'Ho Ho! And So He Has!' Cried Bertran. 'I Assure Your Grace He Is No
Novice. Many He Has Claimed, And Many Have Claimed Him. Shall I Number
Them?'
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 15 (Last Tenzon_ Of Bertran De Born) Pg 86
'I Beg That You Will Not,' She Said, Stiffening Herself. So Bertran
Grinned His Rage. But He Had One Thing To Say.
'This Much I Will Tell You, Princess. The Name I Give Him Is
Yea-And-Nay: Beware Of It. He Is Ever Of Two Minds: Hot Head And Cold
Heart, Flaming Heart And Chilled Head. He Will Be For God And The Enemy
Of God; Will Expect Heaven And Tamper With Hell. With Rage He Will Go
Up, Laughing Come Down. Ho! He Will Be For You And Against You; Eager,
Slow; A Wooer, A Scorner; A Singer Of Madrigals, Ah, And A Croaker
Afterwards. There Is No Stability In Him, Neither Length Of Love Nor Of
Hate, No Bottom, Little Faith.' Berengère Rose.
'You Vex Yourself, Bertran, And Me Also,' She Said. 'It Is Ill Talking
Between A Prince And His Friend.'
'Am I Not Your Friend Then, My Lady?' He Asked Her With Bitterness.
'You Cannot Be The Friend Of A Prince, Bertran,' Said Berengère Calmly.
His Muttered 'O God, The True Word!' Sufficed Him For Thought All His
Road From Navarre. He Went, As You Know Already, To Poictiers, Where
Richard Was Making Festival With Jehane.
But When, Unhappy Liar, He Found Out The Truth, It Came Too Late To Be
Of Service To His Designs. Don Sancho, He Learned, Was Beforehand With
Him Even There, Fully Informed Of The Outrage At Gisors And The Marriage
At Poictiers, With Very Clear Views Of The Worth Of Each Performance.
Bertran, Gnashing His Teeth, Took Up The Service Of The Man He Loathed;
Gnashing His Teeth, He Let Richard Kiss Him In The Lists And Shower
Favours Upon Him. When Presents Of Stallions Came From Navarre He Began
To See What Don Sancho Was About. Any Meeting Of Richard And That
Profound Schemer Would Have Been Bertran's Ruin. So When Richard Was
King, He Judged It Time To Be Off.
'Now Here,' Says Abbot Milo, Dealing With The Same Topics, 'I Make An
End Of Bertran De Born, Who Did Enough Mischief In His Life To Give
Three Kings Wretchedness--The Young King Henry, And The Old King Henry,
And The New King Richard. If He Was Not The Thorn Of Anjou, Whose Thorn
Was He? Some Time Afterwards He Died Alone And Miserable, Having Seen
(As He Thought) All His Plots Miscarry, The Object Of His Hatred Do The
Better For His Evil Designs, And The Object Of His Love The Better
Without Them. He Was Cast Off. His Peers Were At The Holy War, His Enemy
On A Throne. There Had Arisen A Generation Which Shrugged At His Eld,
And Remained One Which Still Thought Him A Misgoverned Youth. Great Poet
He Was, Great Thief, And A Silly Fool. So There's An End Of Him: Let Him
Be.'
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 16 (Conversation In England Of Jehane The Fair) Pg 87
It Was In The Gules Of August, We Read, That King Richard Set Out For
His Duchy And Kingdom, On Horseback, Riding Alone, Splendid In Red And
Gold; Countess Jehane In A Litter; His True Brother And His
Half-Brother, His Bishops, His Chancellor, And His Friends With Him,
Each According To His Degree. They Went By Alençon,
Comments (0)