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The Fortunes of Garin. Mary Johnston
Читать онлайн.Название The Fortunes of Garin
Год выпуска 0
isbn 4064066232733
Автор произведения Mary Johnston
Жанр Языкознание
Издательство Bookwire
They passed a screen of fruit trees and came upon a vision first of formal paths with grass, flowers, and aromatic herbs between, then of a wide raised space, stage or dais, of the smoothest turf that ever was. It had a backing of fruit trees, and behind these of grey wall and parapet, and it was attained by shallow steps of stone. On these, and on low seats and cushions and on banks of turf, sat or half-reclined men and women, for the most part youthful or in the prime of life. Others stood; others, men and women, away from the raised part, strolled through the garden that here was formal and here maintained a studied rusticity. The men wore neither armour nor weapons, save, maybe, a dagger. Men and women were very richly dressed, for even where was perpetual state, this was an occasion.
In a greater space than a confined castle garden they would not have seemed so many; as it was there appeared a throng. In reality there might be a hundred souls. The castle was as populous as an ant-heap, but here was only the garland of the castle. The duke who was seeking a mate had with him the very spice-pink of his own court. He and they were of the garden. The festival that was made for him had drawn neighbouring barons and knights, vassals of Gaucelm. There was no time when such a court failed to entertain travellers of note, wandering knights, envoys of sorts, lords going in state to Italy on the one hand, to France or Spain or England on the other. Of such birds of passage several were in the garden. And there were troubadours of more than local fame, poets so great that they travelled with their own servants and jongleurs. When the bishop came with two canons in his train there were churchmen. And, moving or seated, glowed bright dames and damosels.
But in the centre sat Alazais, and she seemed, indeed, of Venus’s meinie. She was a fair beauty, with deep-red, perfect lips, and a curve of cheek and throat to make men tremble. Her long brown eyes, set well apart, had a trick of always looking from between half-shut lids. Her limbs spoke the same languor, and yet she had strength, strength, it seemed, of a pard or a great serpent. She was not pard and she was not serpent; she was not evil. She was—Alazais, and they all sang to her. Even though they did not name her name; even though they used other names.
There were four chairs of state, though not set arow. Only two were occupied—that in which sat ivory-and-gold Alazais, and that in which sat the duke who had come to view Prince Gaucelm’s daughter. The duke sat over against Alazais, with a strip of green grass between. He was not beautiful: he had a shrunk form and a narrow, weazened face. But he stared at the beauty before him, and a slight shiver went through him with a fine prickling. “Madonna!” he thought. “If the other were his wife, and this his daughter!”
Ugo came to the green level. Alazais rose to greet him and the duke followed her. He had informed himself in the politics of Roche-de-Frêne: he knew that though now there was peace between prince and bishop, it had not always been so and might not be so again. The duke was no great statesman, but to every one, at the moment, he was as smooth as an innate, cross-grained imperiousness would let him be. A fair seat was found for my lord bishop, the two canons and the secretary standing behind him.
“Ah, my lord,” said Alazais, “you are good to grace our idle time! Our poets have sung and will sing again, and then myself and all these ladies are pledged to judge of a great matter. Sir Gilles de Valence, what is the matter?”
The troubadour addressed bent the knee. “Princess, the history of Madame Dido, and if she were not the supremest servant of Love who would not survive, not the death but the leave-taking of her knight, Messire Æneas, but made a pyre and burned herself thereon! And of her example, as lover, to fair ladies, and if they should not, emulating her—in a manner of figure and not, most fair, with actual flames!—withdraw themselves, as it were, from being and existence throughout the time that flows between the leave-taking and coming again of their knights. And of Messire Æneas, and if Love truly had him in bonds.”
“Truly, a fair matter!” said Ugo, with hidden scorn. “Here are the prince and the Princess Audiart!”
Dais and garden broke off their talk, turned with a flash of colour and a bending movement toward the lord of the land.
Gaucelm the Fortunate came upon the scene with an easy quietness. He was a large man, wearing a bliaut of dark silk, richly belted, and around his hair, that was a silvering brown, a fillet or circlet of gold. There breathed about him something easy, humorous, wise. He did not talk much, but what he said was to the purpose. Now he had a profound and brooding look, and now his eye twinkled. In small things he gave way; where he saw it his part to be firm he was firm enough. Though he listened to many, the many did not for ever see their way taken. He may have been religious, but he exhibited little or nothing of his time’s religiosity. He had a stilly way of liking the present minute and putting much into it. He did not laugh too easily, but yet he seemed to find amusement in odd corners where none else looked for it. He was not fond of state, but relaxed it when he could, yet kept dignity. He came now into the castle garden with but a few attending, and beside him, step for step, moved the young princess, his daughter Audiart.
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