 | The Nephew of Charlemagne |  |
IV.
Scene, the same. Enter the Chevalier Walter disguised in the grey robe of a pilgrim; the Lady Bertha, as a beggar, with her face hidden in a fold of her dress; Roland; Sir Lionel, with the torch.Charl.
Hah! here the youngster comes again.
Roland
(advancing).
I bring you here, Sir Charlemagne,
My mother; the lady who, I said,
Should have choice wine, and fine white bread,
And go attired in cloth of grain—
Fool
(aside).
Of other people's, you know—ahem!
Charl.
Draw near, my lords and ladies bright,
And see this Lady, with her Knight,
And her attendant, who appears
A pilgrim somewhat bent with years.
[Bertha and Walter kneel; Roland stands with folded arms.
Rise, madam, rise! But who is he
In pilgrim-grey that bends the knee,
Beside this fair boy?
Bertha.
Oh, my lord,
Not as a beggar at your board
Come I. And yet there is a thing
That I have come to ask the king—
Fool.
Say, emperor. Do you not know
Our lord the Pope hath crowned him so?
Walter.
Pardon! An emperor is a king;
And after years of wandering,
Perchance this Lady bright, like me,
May have forgot some heraldry.
I am a pilgrim, sire, and you
Gave me my pilgrimage to do,
When I should once more see your face.
Fool.
In faith, this jesting is so fine,
That one might almost think it mine.
Charl.
Peace, Fool! I think this is no sport.
What (aside)
may this stranger's words import?
Fool.
My lords and ladies of the court,
This is not sport, but tragedy,
And we will weep for't by-and-by!
A Retainer
(rudely clutching at Bertha whom he uncovers).
Beseech you, madam, for a chance
Of seeing your sweet countenance!
Walter
(seizing him).
Wine-flustered vassal! for your life,
Lay a rude finger on my wife!
Charl.
My sister, and the chevalier!
Fool.
I said the laugh would prove a tear:
I knew that there was something else;
A sort of muffling of the bells
Came over me from head to heel;
Your Fool is mighty quick to feel (sighing);
No pimpernel upon the lea
Foreknows the rain as well as he
When ladies' eyes must redden.
I see
This was well planned. It is a trap.
Bertha.
No, sir; it is the simplest hap
That ever to mortal man befell. Roland—
Roland.
Yes, uncle, I can tell
How it all came about. But first—
Fool.
Yes, do tell me, or I shall burst—
Roland.
Mother must have a cushioned seat,
Yea, and a footstool for her feet.
Walter.
My noble son!
Fool
(rubbing his eyes).
Oh, oh, boohoo!
When fools weep, what should wise men do?
Charl.
(half aside).
Well, I think I begin to foresee
what must be my part in this comedy. I banished
my sister and confiscated her husband's possessions,
because her marriage did not please me; and now
I have, without meaning it, made a public show of
my own flesh and blood. Silence, Fool, with that
blubbering of yours!
[He turns away, with his arms folded, and converses with a priest.
Fool.
I was only trying how it felt to have a good
cry, being tired of laughing all day; but I suppose
being miserable is a luxury of the great,—like these
poor Fool—the sun goes on rising and setting, just
as if he was nobody. Stop—I have wonderful dreams
sometimes, when I lie down with the dogs under
the perches of the falcons, for I dream I am the
Emperor having a brush with the Saxons—stiff
customers; but would you believe it, they never rise
up again after I have put them down. I believe I
should have made a better emperor after all than—
Roland.
Father, why does not my uncle kiss his
sister, and give her a seat on the dais?
[Charlemagne embraces Bertha, and gives his hand to Walter.
Fool.
Yes, uncle, why don't you kiss your sister?
I like to be beforehand in suggesting things. There
is somewhat of the prophet in me. My mantle is a
mistake.
Bertha.
Where, then, is Roland? How busy he
seems out there, talking with that scatter-brains in
cap and bells!
[The Fool leads Roland to the front.
Fool.
Young sir, I know a boy exactly like you—
that is to say, supposing a nephew of the Emperor
can be a boy.
Oh, I am a boy. Is the boy you speak
of exactly like me?
Fool.
He has two good eyes!
Roland.
Well!
Fool.
And two good hands!
Roland.
Well!
Fool.
And a pair of legs, with feet!
Roland.
You mock me, Fool.
Fool.
Not I. And his feet are shoeless, and he goes
in rags.
Roland.
Like me!
Fool.
And he drinks plain water, and eats rye-bread,
and is glad to get a frieze coat to his back.
Roland.
Where does he live, then?
Fool.
I do believe he is a brave, good boy, too.
Roland.
Then I will fly my hawks with him, and
he shall ride my pony, and I will give him some
of my venison, and ask my father if he may have
some wine.
Charl.
Where is our nephew? Come hither,
Roland!
Roland.
I come, uncle! But, Fool, has your boy
such a mother as mine?
[Running up.
(gravely).
I think you had better say
nothing about Roland's mother, Fool.
Fool.
It is my wish and desire so to do, sir.
Now, if I were a learned clerk—confound that
minstrelsy!—I would say something about Father
Adam and Mother Eve. But being only a poor
Fool, and not a word being audible in the din just
now, I shall content myself with an act of imperial
grace. There—we pardon everybody, and do desire
that the festivities may continue!
| The Nephew of Charlemagne | |