“No; we applaud you as the most beautiful,” says Manuel.
“Come now, Count Manuel, and do you have done with your silly flatterings, which will never wheedle anything out of me! So you have trapped Queen Freydis in mortal flesh. Therefore I must abide in the body of a human woman, and be subject to your whims, and to your beautiful big muscles, you think, until I lend a spark of Audela’s true life to your ridiculous images. But I will show you better, for I will never give in to you nor to any man breathing.”
In silence Count Manuel regarded the delightful shaping and the clear burning colors of this woman’s face. He said, as if in sadness: “The images no longer matter. It is better to leave them as they are.”
“That is very foolish talk,” Queen Freydis answered, promptly, “for they need my aid if ever any images did. Not that, however, I intend to touch them.”
“Indeed, I forbid you to touch them, fair enemy. For were the images made as animated and lively as I wish them to be, I would be looking at them always, and not caring for any woman: and no woman anywhere would have the power to move me as your beauty moves me now, and I would not be valuing you the worth of an old onion.”
“That is not the truth,” says Freydis, angrily, “for the man who is satisfied with the figure he has made is as great a fool about women as any other man. And who are you to be forbidding me anything?”
“I would have you remember,” said Manuel, very masterfully, “that they are my images, to do with as I wish. Also I would have you remember that, whatever you may pretend to be in Audela, here I am stronger than you.”
Now the proud woman laughed. Defiantly she touched the nearest image, with formal ancient gestures, and you could see the black stone Schamir taking on the colors of an opal. Under her touch the clay image which had the look of Alianora shivered, and drew sobbing breath. The image rose, a living creature that was far more beautiful than human kind, and it regarded Manuel scornfully. Then it passed limping from the enclosure: and Manuel sighed.
“That is a strong magic,” said Manuel: “and this is almost exactly the admirable and significant figure that I desired to make in the world. But, as I now perceive too late, I fashioned the legs of this figure unevenly, and the joy I have in its life is less than the shame that I take from its limping.”
“Such magic is a trifle,” Freydis replied, “although it is the only magic I can perform in an enclosure of buttered willow wands. Now, then, you see for yourself that I am not going to take orders from you. So the figure you have made, will you or nil you, must limp about in all men’s sight, for not more than a few centuries, to be sure, but long enough to prove that I am not going to be dictated to.”
“I do not greatly care, O fairest and most shrewd of enemies. A half-hour since, it seemed to me an important matter to wrest from you this secret of giving life to images. Now I have seen the miracle; I know that for the man who has your favor it is possible to become as a god, creating life, and creating lovelier living beings than any god creates, and beings which live longer, too: and even so, it is not of these things that I am really thinking, but only of your eyes.”
“Why, do you like my eyes!” says Freydis—“you, who if once you could make living images would never be caring about any woman any more?”
But Manuel told her wherein her eyes were different from the eyes of any other person, and more dangerous, and she listened, willingly enough, for Freydis was not a human woman. Thereafter it appeared that a grieving and a great trouble of mind had come upon Manuel because of the loveliness of Freydis, for he made this complaint:
“There is much loss in the world, where men war ceaselessly with sorrow, and time like a strong thief strips all men of all they prize. Yet when the emperor is beaten in battle and his broad lands are lost, he, shrugging, says, ‘In the next battle I may conquer.’ And when the bearded merchant’s ship is lost at sea, he says, ‘The next voyage, belike, will be prosperous.’ Even when the life of an old beggar departs from him in a ditch, he says, ‘I trust to be tomorrow a glad young seraph in paradise.’ Thus hope serves as a cordial for every hurt: but for him who had beheld the loveliness of Freydis there is no hope at all.
“For, in comparison with that alien clear beauty, there is no beauty in this world. He that has beheld the loveliness of Freydis must go henceforward as a hungry person, because of troubling memories: and his fellows deride him enviously. All the world is fretted by his folly, knowing that his faith in the world’s might is no longer firm-set, and that he aspires to what is beyond the world’s giving. In his heart he belittles the strong
