The Chronicle of Clemendy/Epilogue
EPILOGUE
HERE, IT appears, the first tome of the Silurian Mythologies comes to an end, and you are at liberty to take off your spectacles (if you have any) and to make use of the expressions made and provided for such occasions. But if you and I have here to grin and say "good-day," I have to part also with my sweet companion, who has come all the way to Cock-Loft Land to help me and to whisper strange stories in my ear; I mean no less an one than the merry Muse of Gwent. There she is standing by the door, my lovely mistress of quaint fancies and odd memories, laughing that magic laugh that makes my landlady look grave when she sees me, since she is of London town and does not understand Silurianism, nor how Muses with flashing eyes and cherry lips come to moping scholars at midnight to comfort them. But some people always put a bad construction on everything they see and hear, and in fact they are very troublesome folks.
But now the joyous maiden must return to her hedgerows, and rivulets, and meadow realm of flowers; since in all likelihood my days and nights will shortly be wholly devoted and given over to weighty matters of state and the service of my lord of Gloucester. For a few days ago His Grace did take me aside into his cabinet, and looking kindly upon me (though some call him a stern and awful noble) said: "Why Master Leolinus you look but sickly, poor gentleman, poor gentleman, I protest you're but a shadow, do not your Abbreviatures bring you in a goodly revenue?" "Not so, Your Grace," answered I, "to the present time I have abbreviated all in vain, and were it not for the hospitality of your table, I know not how I should win through." "How goes it then with your Silurian Histories, with which I am mightily in love by your talk of them, and would by no means have them remain unfinished." "With them, may it please Your Grace, it fares exceedingly well, and this very morning I have made an end of writing the First Journey, containing many agreeable histories and choice discourses." "I believe indeed it will be a rare book, fit to read to the monks of Tintern while they dine. But yet I will have you lay it aside a little, since I have a good piece of preferment for you, an office (or I mistake you) altogether to your taste. What say you, Master Scholar, to the lordship of an Island and no less an Island that Farre Joyaunce in the Western Seas? How stand you thitherwards? Will you take ship presently?" At hearing this, I was, as you may guess, half bewildered with sudden joy, that is apt to bring tears into the eyes of them that have toiled in many a weary struggle with adversity: I could but kneel and kiss His Grace's hand, and say, "My lord." "Enough, enough," said this kind nobleman, "I have long desired this place for you; when you first broke bread with me, I said to my chaplain, 'That man hath in him all the essentials of a Governour, for he eats clean and drinks very dry. Farre Joyaunce shall certainly have him, so soon as my cousin Gwared dies.' And this day the ship came into the river from Sure Haven, bringing letters from the Bishop to the intent that Gwared fell asleep a month ago, and that the people of the Island anxiously await a new Governour. So if you will, the office is your own, the ship Salutation will trip anchor on St. Denys his day, and can bear Leolinus, first of that name since the Conquest, to his Island of Farre Joyaunce."
So it has come to pass that in a few days I shall be bound for Sure Haven in that pleasant island of the west, and shall be forced to put aside my writings that I may advise concerning the duties of my lordship, its law, civil and ecclesiastical, its privileges, tolls, heriots, estovers, and all customary dues. And that I may sooner comprehend them I have much talk with the Paumier de Seigneur, who came in the ship Salutation, and is a high officer in Farre Joyaunce, where the chief disport is tennis-play, and a skilful player more worshipped and honoured than almost anyone. Surely this shall be a Blessed Isle; but ere we drop anchor we shall be, I fear, sorely buffeted by storm and tempest, and shall scarcely sight the castle towers before the clerks are singing the O Sapientia. Nevertheless I am in good hopes of keeping Christmas in my castle aforesaid, and will endeavour to show my subjects what it is to have a Governour that has dwelt in Cock-Loft Land. And then once more to my book that I may make it an ecceptable and a worthy offering to my lord, slowly and artfully brewing my strong ale, storing up in fair bins and vessels my curious sausages, my mangoes hot and sweet, spices, delicate liquors, and choice confections, until at last I have such mauresue fare to offer as shall be very pleasant to the taste, and shall make men come and come again, and insite and spur them to the Silurian Wisdom. So my book shall be shown in the after time, when I am gone to the Abiding Home—"This is the Chronicle of Clemendy, and a curious piece. Master Leolinus, the Silurist, who was sometime Lord of Farre Joyaunce, wrote it; a painful man and mightily addicted to good letters, good ale, and good tobacco."
But here is my Paumier, with his parchments, to advise with me concerning a grant of Water Baylage to the Abbey of St. Michael, and also concerning the ceremonies observed in the island at Christmastide. He tells me that the voyage will surely be a rough and tempestuous one, but with the captain of the Salutation there need be no fear. And so farewell, till the anchor be dropt in the Sure Haven of Farre Joyaunce.
SALUTATION
