Dom Manuel still did not say anything. The time, as has been noted, was just after supper, and as the high Count and his wife sat over the remnants of this meal, a minstrel was making music for them.
“You are not very cheerful company, I must say,” Niafer observed, in a while, “although I do not for a moment doubt your yellow-haired friend will find you gay enough—”
“No, Niafer, I am not happy tonight.”
“Yes, and whose fault is it? I told you not to take two helpings of that beef.”
“No, no, dear snip, it is not indigestion, but rather it is that music, which is plaguing me.”
“Now, Manuel, how can music bother anybody! I am sure the boy plays his violin very nicely indeed, especially when you consider his age.”
Said Manuel:
“Yes, but the long low sobbing of the violin, troubling as the vague thoughts begotten by that season wherein summer is not yet perished from the earth, but lingers wanly in the tattered shrines of summer, speaks of what was and of what might have been. A blind desire, the same which on warm moonlit nights was used to shake like fever in the veins of a boy whom I remember, is futilely plaguing a gray fellow with the gray wraiths of innumerable old griefs and with small stinging memories of long-dead delights. Such thirsting breeds no good for staid and aging men, but my lips are athirst for lips whose loveliness no longer exists in flesh, and I thirst for a dead time and its dead fervors to be reviving, so that young Manuel may love again.
“Tonight now surely somewhere, while this music sets uncertain and probing fingers to healed wounds, an aging woman, in everything a stranger to me, is troubled just thus futilely, and she too remembers what she half forgets. ‘We that of old were one, and shuddered heart to heart, with our young lips and our souls too made indivisible,’—thus she is thinking, as I think—‘has life dealt candidly in leaving us to potter with half measures and to make nothing of severed lives that shrivel far apart?’ Yes, she tonight is sad as I, it well may be; but I cannot rest certain of this, because there is in young love a glory so bedazzling as to prevent the lover from seeing clearly his co-worshipper, and therefore in that dear time when we served love together I learned no more of her than she of me.
“Of all my failures this is bitterest to bear, that out of so much grieving and aspiring I have gained no assured knowledge of the woman herself, but must perforce become lachrymose over such perished tinsels as her quivering red lips and shining hair! Of youth and love is there no more, then, to be won than virginal breasts and a small white belly yielded to the will of the lover, and brief drunkenness, and afterward such puzzled yearning as now dies into acquiescence, very much as the long low sobbing of that violin yonder dies into stillness now the song is done?”
So it was that gray Manuel talked in a half voice, sitting there resplendently robed in gold and crimson, and twiddling between his fingers a goose-feather.
“Yes,” Niafer said, presently, “but, for my part, I think he plays very nicely indeed.”
Manuel gave an abrupt slight jerking of the head. Dom Manuel laughed. “Dear snip,” said he, “come, honestly now, what have you been meditating about while I talked nonsense?”
“Why, I was thinking I must remember to look over your flannels the first thing tomorrow, Manuel, for everybody knows what that damp English climate is in autumn—”
“My dearest,” Manuel said, with grave conviction, “you are the archetype and flawless model of all wives.”
XXXIV
Farewell to Alianora
Now Dom Manuel takes ship and goes into England: and for what happened there we have no authority save the account which Dom Manuel rendered on his return to his wife.
Thus said Dom Manuel:
He went straight to Woodstock, where the King and Queen then were. At Woodstock Dom Manuel was handsomely received, and there he passed the month of September—
(“Why need you stay so long, though?” Dame Niafer inquired.
“Well,” Manuel explained, “one thing led to another, as it were.”
“H’m!” Niafer remarked.)
He had presently a private talk with the Queen. How was she dressed? As near as Manuel recalled, she wore a green mantle fastened in front with a square fermoir of gems and wrought gold; under it, a close fitting gown of gold-diapered brocade, with tight sleeves so long that they half covered her hands, something like mitts. Her crown was of floriated trefoils surmounting a band of rubies. Of course, though, they might have been only garnets—
(“And where was it that she dressed up in all this finery to talk with you in private?”
“Why, at Woodstock, naturally.”
“I know it was at Woodstock, but whereabouts at Woodstock?”
“It was by a window, my dear, by a window with panes of white glass and wooden lattices and a pent covered with lead.”
“Your account is very circumstantial, but where was the window?”
“Oh, now I understand you! It was in a room.”
“What sort of room?”
“Well, the walls were covered with gay frescoes from Saxon history; the fireplace was covered with very handsomely carved stone dragons; and the floor was covered with new rushes. Indeed, the Queen has one of the neatest bedrooms I have ever seen.”
“Ah, yes,” said Niafer: “and what did you talk about during the time that you spent in your dear friend’s bedroom?”)
Well, he found all going well with Queen Alianora (Dom Manuel continued) except that she had not yet provided an heir for the English throne, and it was this alone which was troubling her. It was on account of this that she had sent for Count Manuel.
“It
