OF THE KNIGHTING OF NORMAN PRICE
Do diddle di do,
Poor Jim Jay
Got stuck fast
In yesterday.
_Peacock Pie._
The madman on the throne seemed to know Norman's guide, for he showed no
surprise, but asked immediately:
"Whom hast thou with thee, O last courtier of the Court of the
Kradendas?"
"A young squire, O my liege the King, who will devote his life to rescue
the house of the Kradenda from infamy and harm," said the beggar.
"He is young, but our need is great. Above all, we need brave men. We
need such men as have made Alsander what it is. Tell me," he continued,
turning to Norman, "are you brave or fearful?"
"You should humour him," whispered the old man to Norman, who,
astonished at the whole scene, and especially at this antiquated and
abrupt form of address, did not know what to reply. "He is in the
middle ages. For him this hall is still hung with cloth of gold, but he
knows that his courtiers have left him, and fears treachery--and, above
all, magic. He is a brave man, my liege the King," added the old man
aloud.
"Let him speak for himself, then, and do not whisper so much to him in
my presence. Sir stranger, are you afraid of dragons?"
"Of none," said Norman, vaguely wondering if he were telling the truth.
"O well, O very well," said the King. "I have need of the strong and
resolute. Too long has my kingdom lain in ashes and ruin; too long have
I been pent up in this dismal room, a powerless captive, I, the son of
the Kradendas! I tell you there has been foul treachery and foul black
magic. But it shall end. I will no longer be the sport of a thing who
flaps his wings in my face. But his hour has come. No more scales and
fins for me. Listen closely. I will whisper to you the vital secret. I
had it in a dream. You have only to hit him in the fifth rib. But,
whatever you do, do not let him change his shape. You can catch him this
evening. Wait behind the curtain. He comes here always at seven o'clock
to play chess with me, squares and squares and squares."
"I will be there in waiting."
"Will you take an oath to be bold in my cause, to fight for me, and to
serve me faithfully, and my Queen?"
"I will have every care of your Majesty and of your Majesty's kingdom,"
said Norman, keeping up the spirit of the thing at a further hint from
his companion, despite his disgust.
"I think you are not of this country," observed the King. "Come you from
North or South, or from the rising or from the setting?"
"From the North, your Majesty," replied the boy.
"Fair scion of the North, I will swear you have no lies upon your lips.
What is your name?"
"Norman, if it please your Majesty."
"And are you Knight?"
"I am but squire, your Majesty."
"Then, my deliverer, since for years no one has cared for my ruined
Majesty, save this, my last, my oldest, my only courtier, for my leech I
count not; since you alone have proffered your service to a deserted and
broken King, I am filled with good intentions towards you and propose to
bestow upon you now at this moment the ancient and honourable
distinction of knighthood, that you may bear me homage. Once more, will
you swear to serve me faithfully?"
"Oh, certainly," said Norman, the more uncomfortable in that there was
something rather noble about the King's madness.
"Then kneel," said the King, rising, as he said the words, in all his
battered splendour, with the deep seriousness of a young child at play.
Solemnly and almost gracefully, with the wooden sword that a wise
supervision allowed him, he dubbed Norman Knight, according to the
famous custom of chivalry, which even in England is not quite dead.
"Rise, Sir Norman," he cried exultantly. "I have long waited for you, my
deliverer and friend, for you and for this hour. I have no doubt of your
valour: I have every confidence in your success. And as soon as the
Dragon is killed the spell will be broken: as soon as the spell is
broken my courtiers will return: as soon as my courtiers return their
wives will come with them, and troops of beautiful women will kiss my
hand. Every morning I will hunt to the sound of the horn--up the valley,
down the valley, after the wild boar. Every evening we will eat his
succulent flesh in this my ancestral hall. We will fill this room with
pageantry yet, and hold such a feast as this cracked ceiling has not
supervised for many a long year. And we will put cushions on this
uncomfortable throne, and gild it over so as to have it more in keeping
with our state and dignity. On the day you kill the Dragon, Knight of
the North, all; the cathedral bells shall ring and the fountains shall
run with wine, and the populace will shout and brandish flowers all day
and wave lanterns all the night. But, ah...."
The voice dropped from ecstasy to fear and went on in a muddled murmur:
"But kill that Dragon soon, Knight of the North. Go out to him soon, go
out this evening, before dusk. I would not pass another night like
yesternight, with his eyes staring in through my head. He is a basilisk:
his glance is death: go quickly. O go quickly--leave my presence--slay
that dreadful beast!"
"We will go and slay him at once," replied the old man. "Come, young
Englishman," he added in an aside, "I am willing enough to take the
hint. I have no taste for this spectacle."
"Above all," the King cried after them, "bring me his head." As they
turned and looked back from the door they saw that the King had again
collapsed into his throne, and was again working his lips in silence.
Not till they were out in the garden again did Norman speak.
"What does it all mean? Who are you, and what have you shown me?" asked
the lad. "This morning the world was as ordinary as a sixpenny magazine:
and now my head is turning, and I am walking not like a man in a dream,
but, what is worse, like a man in a painted picture. Those flowers are
fatal and those walls fantastic. Quick, tell me, what does it all mean?
The sunshine is grimacing."
"You have seen," said the stranger, "the Secret of the Picturesque. For
now we must talk up on a higher plane."
"Damn the higher plane: tell me who you are. But there, do you think I
didn't know it all the time? You can be none other but that...."
"Not a word," said his companion, cutting him dead short. "You did not
know it till now, when I intended to let you know. By '_it_' I mean
either the Secret of the Picturesque or what you meant by '_it_.'
Besides, it's not true that I am this or am that; that depends on what I
am."
"Puzzle me no longer: talk plain sense," implored Norman.
"Surely my words are plain enough. What is it you want to know?"
"Your name and history."
"I have no name, but my friends are allowed to call me the Old Man. My
history is a dead secret. But if you are in earnest and willing to talk
on the higher plane, I will explain to you the meaning of my remark
about the Secret of the Picturesque."
"I am willing," said Norman in desperate bewilderment, and eager to hear
any explanation about anything.
His guide seemed as mad as the King and needed humouring no less.
"Come to this bench then," said the Old Poet, "and I will illustrate my
meaning with a fable of my own composition."
And taking a manuscript from his pocket, without waiting for a word of
acquiescence from Norman, who was getting very hungry, he read as
follows:
"There was a man (so majestically
made that I knew him at once to be
the type of Man) walking along a
narrow pathway that led from the
valley up towards the hills,
following a stream. As he strode
along two enchanting girls came
flying from the South, poised on
dragonfly wings; one of them had a
lyre in her hand, which she played
merrily, and the other an antique
scroll painted over with a
multitude of amusing and delicate
figures. The man was obviously
pleased at the arrival of these
spirits; he rejoiced in their
companionship (as who would not?),
and they all three sang and laughed
together on the way. So intent was
he on their diverting frolics that
while crossing a narrow bridge of
planks he nearly fell over into the
river, and as time went on, and the
pathway began to ascend the
hillside more abruptly, I wondered
if he was not beginning to find
their company a little tedious. For
while one of them buffeted him over
the eyes with her playful wings,
the other flung her robe, for
amusement, round his naked body,
and embarrassed his movements.
However, he got rid of their
teasing very soon, and at a point
where the path entered a dense
forest and they had no room to
spread their wings I saw him laugh
at their discomfiture. The track
grew no better upon leaving the
forest, for it was cut in the side
of a precipice. The two maidens
flew with weary and trembling wings
over the horrible gulf, or else
tore their dresses and bruised
their feet trying to follow over
the rocks. The man was hindered by
them still, for he had to help
them, and to judge by his slow
progress and perpetual stumbling he
was no skilled mountaineer. I
wondered what miracle had preserved
him as I watched his perilous
ascent; and finally I saw that his
right hand was grasping another
hand, which had no visible body.
"Very naturally, when they arrived
at a little dell very high up in
the mountain, where there was a
withered tree and a little moss,
the girls implored the man to take
a little refreshment. But the
man's attention was fixed on the
last portion of the ascent, a
steep snow slope, at the top of
which a black rock rose sheer out
of the snow; let into the rock was
a glittering brass door. So he
refused to dawdle, and, gripping
the hand, he began climbing at
once. The women summoned all their
courage and followed on foot: they
were too tired to fly any more;
and now one, and now the other,
was glad of their companion's free
left arm. At last they came to the
door; the mysterious hand touched
a spring; the door flew open to
divine music and some one bade the
traveller enter.
"But he turned away his eyes
resolutely from the superb
enchantments of the cave, and
swore he would go back unless he
could take with him the girls of
the dragonfly wings, for the sake
and memory of their old and sweet
companionship. The poor fairies
were bedraggled and muddy, their
pretty wings hung limply down
their backs; they could hardly
smile when the man kissed them.
"'They cannot be admitted without
initiation,' said the person to
whom the hand belonged, 'and they
will not endure.'
"'We will endure any pain, if we
may only come in with the Man,'
they cried both together, and bent
forward trying to pass in and to
penetrate the depths of the cavern
with longing looks.
"The hand persuaded the traveller
to go inside the cave, and
promised that his friends should
follow. He obeyed, but taking no
notice of its beauties stood
listening behind the door. He
heard the whistling of a scourge
and gasps of pain. Then quiet; the
door opened, and there appeared
his two companions, yet changed,
and with a deep fire in their
eyes: and they had eagle pinions
in the place of dragonfly wings."
"That is very charming indeed," said Norman. "But does it quite explain
your remark?"
"If you were to read Plato with attention," said the old man, "you would
acquire the habit of seizing the point of a parable."
"I have read the New Testament."
"But this is philosophy."
"And I am sure," said Norman, "that had Plato written that story you
have told me, it would have acquired a great reputation. But as for the
connexion of the parable and your remark, I conceive that in both you
show a dislike of the picturesque, or pretty considering it the foe of
beauty."
"The picturesque, my son, _is_ the beautiful but only a section thereof.
In this fable I have represented it as miniature beauty. The other fable
of the picturesque I have no need to write; it is written over the world
from the columns of Baalbek to the arches of Tintern and blazed on every
stone of Alsander."
"You mean the picturesque which is decaying beauty?"
"I do," said the old man.
"I understand you, venerable Sir, but why are you so passionate about it
all?"
"Don't you see, boy, I love Alsander with a love a little different from
the love of the tourist who comes to photograph the ruins. Oh! I have
worked for her; but she is dying, dying, dying like a rose on a sapless
tree."
"I am afraid you are right," said Norman, sadly. "After what you have
shown me I have no hope for unfortunate Alsander."
"Impudent tourist! Do not dare blaspheme against the Queen of cities!"
growled the old man. There is more hope radiating from a wayside shrine
of Alsander than from all the ten-million heretic barns of your greedy
North.
But Norman was used by now to these intermittent bursts of fury. "At all
events," he rejoined, "Alsander is no place for an Englishman. I have
had enough of it. I have to-day seen its last and most tragic secret.
To-morrow I will go."
"You are not going so soon?" There was real dismay in the old man's
voice.
"By the first train to-morrow."
"Oh no, no, no! You must stay. I did not mean to speak so soon as this,
but I must tell you now. I have great plans for you--a fine work--a
whole future. Come: sit on this bench a moment, let me talk to you in
earnest. O you cannot possibly be allowed to go at once. Do you not
realize the deep seriousness that lies beneath all my mannerisms? Do you
think that it was to satisfy a traveller's curiosity that I showed you
that poor, miserable madman seated on his throne?"
"I do not know why you showed me the King or why you ever disturbed my
life or why you ever do anything you do. But as for work, I prefer to
find it for myself. And without wishing to offend you, I want to leave
this place. I do not want to be involved in your mysterious schemes."
Norman spoke stiffly. The old man alarmed him.
"I will thicken the mysteries round your head like clouds before I
permit you to leave Alsander, Norman Price."
"Then it _is_ you," said Norman, startled at the sound of his name. "You
are the old fellow who bought the tin of Menodoron off me months ago at
Blaindon. You are the tramp who sent me to Alsander. And now you have
got me to Alsander you want to drive me to perdition. But I am not going
to have my life upset by you any more."
And Norman rose from the bench and confronted the old man with folded
arms.
"Indeed, are you not?" was the reply. "Come, I promise you a rare
adventure."
"What adventure?"
"I'm not going to spoil the first chapter of the story by looking up the
last page. Trust and obey me as you trusted and obeyed me before--the
greybeard with the blue eyes. Did my advice turn out so badly? Do you
presume to tell me that you are sorry I drove you to Alsander?"
"Oh, as for that, I've had a glorious journey. But the time has come for
me to go. I have no money left. And I have personal reasons."
"I know, I know." The old man tapped with his stick. "Some pretty wench,
is that the matter? Has it come to this so soon?"
"You have guessed rightly."
"Foolish boy. Is such a game worth your pursuing--you with a mind! Not
to mention that it's poor sport hunting doves. There's but one way for
such as you with a maid. Try the intellect first--then ask the heart.
Love's ways are folded in the mind. Second-rate poets may walk in their
gardens prelassing up and down, singing you songs of the scholar that
loved a farmer's girl. But you and I are wise enough to know love from
lust, Norman Price. Lust has her whims, even her selections--that I
grant you: but shall she delude us into taking her for Love?"
"Lust is a great Goddess as well as Love."
"It may be; but she is a great foe of reasonable men. And Love comprises
all her power and many other powers besides. But, believe me, your
difficulty is not a disaster, and tact can meet it, and I swear you will
learn what love means before you leave Alsander."
"Your promises are pretty bold, especially that last one, my Poet.
However, if you promise me good sport, of course I will stay a little
longer in Alsander."
"I have one bag full of promises and one full of fulfilments," smiled
the old man, "and they both weigh pretty well the same. But first you
have a promise to make to me."
"Which is?"
"That you will maintain the most absolute, the most impenetrable secrecy
concerning what you have seen this afternoon, including the very
existence of such persons as myself and the King of Alsander."
"A reasonable and not unexpected request. Of course I give you my word
of honour to keep silent. But reveal your next mystery, Signore!"
"What is a revealed mystery, except for the Church? All I care to let
you know is that if you prove your mettle you shall be allowed to help
in the regeneration of Alsander."
"A political scheme--is that it? But how am I to prove my mettle?"
"Wait and you will see."
"Tell me at least," rejoined Norman, "what is to be my immediate
conduct. How am I to make the first step of this sublime journey?"
"Return to your lodging, rise, eat, walk, sleep, and flirt a little less
than usual, and await events."
"Is that all?"
"Not quite all. I have another very fanciful request to make. Are you
what the ancients call a good hypocrite, that is to say, an accomplished
actor? For there is a delicate piece of acting which I would like you to
perform. I want you by gradual degrees to raise a little mystery about
yourself. I want you to insinuate with a hint here and a whisper there
that you are a personage, a man with a past, a nobleman in disguise, at
all events not quite what you seem. Let the honest folk you dwell with
begin to imagine that there is some secret about your arrival in
Alsander."
"My dear sir, what a very odd idea!"
"You will be full of odd ideas in a few weeks' time. I only hope that
you will succeed in this the first of your tasks, and that you have not
already been too explicit concerning your origin and identity. Play the
lost millionaire or the ruined marquis. Become quickly a marked man--a
man at whose approach the townsfolk whisper.
"This is a harlequin's game," said Norman, indignantly.
"Well, the world's a ball, and out of shape at that: there's no need to
be ashamed of mummery. If you don't like it leave it: but I should be
extremely sorry, and you would miss the occasion of your life. Come,
now!"
They passed through the castle gate. The sentries appeared to be still
asleep, leaning against the archway, their lances propped on their
drowsy bodies. The castle square was deserted as ever. Halfway across
the old man stopped--seized Norman by the lapel of his coat and
observed, "By the way, you ought to give that girl a handsome present!"
"What queer jumps you do make in the conversation, to be sure!"
exclaimed Norman. "When your great and secret scheme has enriched me, no
doubt I shall make her a very magnificent present. But I can't see the
immediate necessity, and at present I am pretty short of cash."
"Never mind the cash. Go to a little shop in a back lane opposite the
cathedral and ask to see fine presents for fine ladies. He buys stolen
goods, sells cheap, gives unlimited credit to anyone who says 'The Poet
sent me.'"
"Why, I have already noticed that little shop," cried Norman. "It
contains all sorts of trash, and the other day I found a few old books
exposed in the window, and an old Amsterdam Petronius among them."
"Yes. Those pretty old vellum bound classics, I should tell you, must be
bought with caution and bought cheap. They have no intrinsic value if
you want to sell them again. But he has all sorts of treasures; I can
recommend him to you strongly. By the way, it may seem odd of me to ask,
but will you excuse me a moment?"
"Certainly," said Norman, and the old man walked swiftly away from him
and hurried up a back street. Norman kept wondering why his guide was so
insistent on the question of the present. He then wondered why he had
gone, and then, as minutes went on, he wondered why he had not returned.
He looked up the back street. There was no trace of his strange
companion, who evidently did not intend to reappear, and had taken this
odd way of vanishing.
"Well," said Norman to himself as he paced home pondering on the
fantastic events of the afternoon, "in this fair city of Alsander at
least I can pass as sane!"