Bells and Pomegranates, First Series/France
II.—FRANCE.
i.Christ God who savest man, save mostOf men Count Gismond who saved me!Count Gauthier, when he chose his post,Chose time and place and companyTo suit it; when he struck at lengthMy honour's face 'twas with full strength.
ii.And doubtlessly ere he could drawAll points to one, he must have schemed!That miserable morning sawFew half so happy as I seemed,While being dressed in Queen's arrayTo give our Tourney prize away.
iii.I thought they loved me, did me graceTo please themselves; 'twas all their deed;God makes, or fair or foul, our face;If showing mine so caused to bleedMy Cousins' hearts, they should have droppedA word, and all the play had stopped.
iv.They, too, so beauteous! Each a queenBy virtue of her brow and breast; Not needing to be crowned, I mean,As I do. E'en when I was dressedHad either of them spoke, insteadOf glancing sideways with still head!
v.But no: they let me laugh, and singMy birthday song quite through, adjustThe last rose in my garland, flingA last look on the mirror, trustMy arms to each an arm of theirs,And so descend the castle-stairs—
vi.And come out on the morning-troopOf merry friends who kissed my cheek,And called me queen, and made me stoopUnder the canopy—(a streakThat pierced it, of the outside sun,Powdered with gold its gloom's soft dun)—
vii.And they could let me take my stateAnd foolish throne amid applauseOf all come there to celebrateMy Queen's day—Oh, I think the causeOf much was, they forgot no crowdMakes up for parents in their shroud!
viii.Howe'er that be, all eyes were bentUpon me, when my Cousins cast Theirs down; 'twas time I should presentThe victor with his . . . there, 'twill lastNo long time . . the old mist againBlinds me . . but the true mist was rain.
ix.See! Gismond's at the gate, in talkWith his two boys: I can proceed.Well, at that moment, who should stalkForth calmly (to my face, indeed)But Gauthier, and he thundered "Stay!"And all did stay. "No crowns, I say!"
x."Bring torches! Wind the penance-sheet"About her! Let her shun the chaste,"Or lay herself before their feet!"Shall she, whose body I embraced"A night long, queen it in the day?"For Honour's sake no crowns, I say!"
xi.I? What I answered? As I live,I never though there was such thingAs answer possible to give.What says the body when they springSome monstrous torture-engine's wholeStrength on it? No more says the soul.
xii.Till out strode Gismond; then I knewThat I was saved. I never met His face before, but, at first view,I felt quite sure that God had setHimself to Satan; who would spendA minute's mistrust on the end?
xiii.He strode to Gauthier, in his throatGave him the lie, then struck his mouthWith one back-handed blow that wroteIn blood men's verdict there. North, South,East, West, I looked. The lie was dead,And damned, and truth stood up instead.
xiv.This glads me most, that I enjoyedThe heart of the joy, nor my contentIn watching Gismond was alloyedBy any doubt of the event:God took that on him—me he bidWatch Gismond for my part: I did.
xv.Did I not watch him while he letHis armourer just brace his greaves,Rivet his hauberk, on the fretThe while! His foot . . my memory leavesNo least stamp out, nor how anonHe pulled his ringing gauntlets on.
xvi.And e'en before the trumpet's soundWas finished there lay prone the Knight, Prone as his lie, upon the ground:My Knight flew at him, used no sleightOf the sword, but open-breasted drove,Cleaving till out the truth he clove.
xvii.Which done, he dragged him to my feetAnd said "Here die, but end thy breath"In full confession, lest thou fleet"From my first, to God's second death!"Say, hast thou lied?" And, "I have lied"To God and her," he said, and died.
xviii.Then Gismond, kneeling to me, asked—What safe my heart holds tho' no wordCould I repeat now, if I taskedMy powers for ever, to a thirdDear even as you are. Pass the restUntil I sank upon his breast.
xix.Over my head his arm he flungAgainst the world; and scarce I feltHis sword, that dripped by me and swung,A little shifted in its belt,For he began to say the whileHow South our home lay many a mile.
xx.So 'mid the shouting multitudeWe two walked forth to never more Return. My cousins have pursuedTheir life untroubled as beforeI vexed them. Gauthier's dwelling-placeGod lighten! May his soul find grace!
xxi.Our elder boy has got the clearGreat brow; tho' when his brother's blackFull eye shows scorn, it . . . Gismond here?And have you brought my tercel back?I just was telling AdelaHow many birds it struck since May.