The Geste of Duke Jocelyn Part 7

"So, hey, Folly--Folly, ho!

And here's a song o' Folly, All 'neath the sun Do gladly run Away from Melancholy."

The singing done, she viewed him kinder-eyed, Till eyes met eyes--when she did pout and frown, And chid him that his song was something sad, And vowed so strange a Fool was never seen.

Then did she question him in idle wise As, who he was and whence he came and why?

Whereto the Duke--

My daughter GILLIAN interposeth:

GILL:

Dear father, if you're in the vein, I'd like a little rhyme again; For blank verse is so hard to read, And yours is very blank indeed!

MYSELF:

Girl, when blank verse I write for thee, I write it blank as blank can be.

Stay, I'll declare (no poet franker) No blank verse, Gill, was ever blanker.

But: Since, with your s.e.x's sweet inconstancy, Rhymes now you wish, rhymes now I'll rhyme for thee: As thus, my dear-- Give ear:

Whereto the Duke did instant make reply:

"Sweet lady, since you question me, Full blithely I will answer thee; And, since you fain would merry be, I'll sing and rhyme it merrily:

"Since Mirth's my trade and follies fond, Methinks a fair name were Joconde; And for thy sake I travail make Through briar and brake, O'er fen and lake, The Southward March beyond.

"For I an emba.s.sage do bear, Now unto thee, Yolande the fair, Which emba.s.sy, Now unto thee, Right soothfully, And truthfully, Most full, most free, Explicit I 'll declare.

"Thus: videlicit and to wit, Sith now thou art to wedlock fit-- Both day and night In dark, in light A worthy knight, A lord of might, In his own right, Duke Joc'lyn hight To thine his heart would knit.

"But, since the Duke may not come to thee, I, in his stead, will humbly sue thee; His love each day I will portray As best I may; I'll sue, I'll pray, I'll sing, I'll play, Now grave, now gay, And in this way, I for the Duke will woo thee."

Now, fair Yolanda gazed with wide-oped eyes, And checked sweet breath for wonder and surprise; Then laughed full blithe and yet, anon, did frown, And with slim fingers plucked at purfled gown:

"And is it thou--a sorry Fool," she cried.

"Art sent to win this mighty Duke a bride?"

"E'en so!" quoth he. "Whereof I token bring; Behold, fair maid, Duke Joc'lyn's signet ring."

"Heaven's love!" she cried. "And can it truly be The Duke doth send a mountebank like thee, A Fool that hath nor likelihood nor grace From worn-out shoon unto thy blemished face-- A face so scarred--so hateful that meseems At night 't will haunt and fright me with ill dreams; A slave so base--"

"E'en so!" Duke Joc'lyn sighed, And his marred visage 'neath his hood did hide.

"But, though my motley hath thy pride distressed, I am the Fool Duke Joc'lyn loveth best.

And--ah, my lady, thou shalt never see In all this world a Fool the like of me!"

Thus spake the Duke, and then awhile stood mute, And idly struck sweet chords upon his lute, Watching Yolande's fair, frowning face the while, With eyes that held a roguish, wistful smile.

She, meeting now these eyes of laughing blue, Felt her cheeks burn, and sudden angry grew.

So up she rose in proud and stately fas.h.i.+on, And stamped slim foot at him in sudden pa.s.sion; And vowed that of Duke Joc'lyn she cared naught; That if he'd woo, by him she must be sought; Vowed if he wooed his wooing should be vain, And, as he came, he back should go again.

"For, since the Duke," she cried, "dare send to me A sorry wight, a very Fool like thee, By thy Fool's mouth I bid thee to him say, He ne'er shall win me, woo he as he may; Say that I know him not--"

"Yet," spake Duke Joc'lyn soft, "E'er this, methinks, thou'st seen my lord full oft.

When at the joust thou wert fair Beauty's queen Duke Joc'lyn by thy hand oft crowned hath been."

"True, Fool," she answered, 'twixt a smile and frown, "I've seen him oft, but with his vizor down.

And verily he is a doughty knight, But wherefore doth he hide his face from sight?"

"His face?" quoth Joc'lyn with a gloomy look, "His face, alack!" And here his head he shook; "His face, ah me!" And here Duke Joc'lyn sighed, "His face--" "What of his face?" Yolanda cried.

"A mercy's name, speak--speak and do not fail."

"Lady," sighed Joc'lyn, "thereby hangs a tale, The which, though strange it sound, is verity, That here and now I will relate to thee-- 'T is ditty dire of dismal doating dames, A lay of love-lorn, loveless languishment, And ardent, amorous, anxious anguishment, Full-fed forsooth of fierce and fiery flames; So hark, And mark: In Brocelaunde not long ago, Was born Duke Jocelyn. I trow Not all the world a babe could show, A babe so near divine: For, truth to tell, He waxed so well, So fair o' face, So gay o' grace, That people all, Both great and small, Where'er he went, In wonderment Would stare and stare To see how fair A lad was Jocelyn.

And when to man's estate he came, Alack, fair lady, 't was the same!

And many a lovely, love-lorn dame Would pitiful pant and pine.

These doleful dames Felt forceful flames, The old, the grey, The young and gay, Both dark and fair Would rend their hair, And sigh and weep And seldom sleep; And dames long wed From spouses fled For love of Jocelyn.

Therefore the Duke an oath did take By one, by two, by three, That for these love-lorn ladies' sake No maid his face should see.

And thus it is, where'er he rideth His love-begetting face he hideth."

Now laughed Yolande, her scorn forgotten quite, "Alas!" she cried. "Poor Duke! O woeful plight!

And yet, O Fool, good Fool, full fain am I, This ducal, love-begetting face to spy--"

Quoth Joc'lyn: "Then, my lady, prithee, look!"

And from his bosom he a picture took.

"Since this poor face of mine doth so affright thee Here's one of paint that mayhap shall delight thee.

Take it, Yolande, for thee the craftsmen wrought it, For thee I from Duke Jocelyn have brought it.

If day and night thou 'lt wear it, fair Yolande,"

And speaking thus, he gave it to her hand.

Its golden frame full many a jewel bore, But 't was the face, the face alone she saw.

And viewing it, Yolanda did behold A manly face, yet of a G.o.d-like mould.

Breathless she sate, nor moved she for a s.p.a.ce, Held by the beauty of this painted face; 'Neath drooping lash she viewed it o'er and o'er, And ever as she gazed new charms she saw.

Then, gazing yet, "Who--what is this?" she sighed.

"Paint, lady, paint!" Duke Joc'lyn straight replied, "The painted visage of my lord it shows-- Item: one mouth, two eyes and eke a nose--"

"Nay, Fool," she murmured, "here's a face, meseems, I oft have seen ere now within my dreams; These dove-soft eyes in dreams have looked on me!"

Quoth Joc'lyn: "Yet these eyes can nothing see!"

"These tender lips in accents sweet I've heard!"

Quoth Joc'lyn: "Yet--they ne'er have spoke a word!

But here's a face at last doth please thee well Yet hath no power to speak, see, sigh or smell, Since tongueless, sightless, breathless 't is--thus I A sorry Fool its needs must e'en supply.

And whiles thou doatest on yon painted head My tongue I'll lend to woo thee in its stead.

I'll woo with wit As seemeth fit, Whiles there thou sit And gaze on it.

Whiles it ye see Its voice I'll be And plead with thee, So hark to me: Yolande, I love thee in true loving way; That is, I'll learn to love thee more each day, Until so great my growing love shall grow, This puny world in time 't will overflow.

To-day I love, and yet my love is such That I to-morrow shall have twice as much.

Thus lovingly to love thee I will learn Till thou shalt learn Love's lesson in thy turn, And find therein how sweet this world can be When as I love, thou, love, shall so love me."

"Hush, hus.h.!.+" she sighed, and to her ruddy lip She sudden pressed one rosy finger-tip.

And then, O happy picture! Swift from sight She hid it in her fragrant bosom white.

"O Fool," she cried, "get thee behind yon tree, And thou a very Fool indeed shall see, A knightly fool who sighs and groans in verse And oft-times woos in song, the which is worse."

For now they heard a voice that sung most harsh, That shrilled and croaked like piping frog in marsh, A voice that near and ever nearer drew Until the lordly singer strode in view.

A n.o.ble singer he, both tall and slender,