Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1901-06-18
) Me QUEENS !
! ROSES ~ - !
BY s. Levett Yeats
Copyright, 1901, by S. Levett Yeats {
CHAPTER 1.
HOW POMPoN DECAME AN ORACLE.
BY S. Levett Yeats
CuPyI1gnr, 1SV1, py D. IeVett 1eaS
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Ss-s--'f ERHAPS 1t is because the
IL m ! tragedy Of Fotheringay
II Hi I is still fresh in my mind
|! ~ that my eyes linger sad
II / ly on the faded roses I
have taken from my
i..i cabinet and placed with
tender hands before me.
It Is a week ago since Blancheforet,
Oh his way back from Paris, drew rein
at Besme to give me the news OF that
deed of infamy and left me stunned
and bewildered as he galloped of, red
spurred, to bear the tidings to Male
zieux.
There are those who say she deserv-
ed her death; there are stories, know,
about her, but they lie in their throats
who repeat them, and l blush with
shame for my country that no sword
was drawn to save her who was once
queen of Fra1ce.
AS l stare at the flowers before me
their delicate fragrance returns to
them. They seem to bloom again In
their rich, crimson splendor, and the
memory of that night in June when l
received them from the hands of Mary
of Scotland comes back to me, SO that
my heart is full and my eyes grow
dim.
She was of those women born to be
queens over men; Of those women who
come once in a thousand years, who
are in themselves the embodied spirits
of romance and for whose smile men
would throw aside life, riches, empire,
even honor, as lightly as a wdrnout
glove.
1t was my fate to come within the
range of her power, and did as the
rest. l. the poor gentleman of Quercy,
the kings Jester, dared to love her.
And yet l was not mad. The feeling
In nv heart was as If had met in
flesh and blood that vision Of the per-
feet woman which lies in all mems
souls. There was an immeasurable dis
tance between us. l knew all that. l
nursed no idle hopes. l looked upon
her as shepherd on the mountains
might gaze upon the morning star--as
some wandering angel Of light that had
come to pass away, yet never to be for
gotten.
And so, because Jester must have
something Of the poet in his spirit, l
was accustomed to day dream a little
and used to slip out from the Louvre
into that wilderness Of garden that
stretched as far as the walls Of Paris,
between the Tour de Bois ana the Porte
st. HonOre, and lose myself there In
enchanted dreams. The place exists no
longer l hear. 1t is all changed now,
since the Medicis began the new palace
of the Tuileries, near the tilefields, and
the sweet disorder Of my garden has
given place to sedate parterres, trinity
cut hedges and walks that look like dia-
grams in the book of Euclid that Lor-
gnac used to pore over at college, and
I hated with bitter hatred.
But at the time l speak of, when the
sun was bright and the flowers were
out, except my own home In the faroh
Quercy there was no spot more lovely
to my mind than those neglected walks
where the bindweed and dog rose
starred the hedges, where the celandlne
and red campion made a gay border
to the green rides and from amid its
spotted leaves the cuckoo pint lifted its
purple wand dripping with dew. Here,
on a grassy bank near an old oak,
would lie for hours listening to the
wind in the trees, listening to the hum
Of the city that was so near and yet so
far and building my castles In cloud
land, while Pompon, my ape, gam
boiled In the branches above me. And
here one morning in June / took my
lutte and, with Pompon hobbling grave
ly at my heels, sought my retreat to
eat my lotus and be happy In my
dreams. I had almost come to the old
rose pleasance beyond which lay my
oak when l met Lorgnac face to face
as he stepped through a gap In the
hedge and stood in the middle OF the
path. His drawn sword was In his
hand, and for once the color was out
of his cheek and his lips were set and
hard, making him look, though he was
but five and twenty, man touching
on middle age.
"You cannot pass" he said stif1y
without any other greeting, and while
] stopped for moment in amaze Pom
pom, who knew him well, ran up to
him and began clutcling at his cloak
for caress; but he shook the ape from
him with q curse, saying again:
"You cannot pass, De Besme. 90
back"
He called me by my own name,
which he knew well, for we were next
door neighbors in the Quercy and
sworn friends at college and ever aft
er. Only last night he had hidden me
q laughing adieu, calling me LIE Brus-
quet, the nickname by which I was
known to my intimates and indeed to
all the court, and now here he was,
cold and stiff as q Spaniard, ordering
me of the path as If were a street
beggar.
But l took him quietly. Whistling
Pompon back to me, said:
"Come, Lorgnac! l am only going
to my oak
"You cannot pass" he interrupted,
speaking like machine.
"Tu-dieuw 1 burst out, my temper
rising. 'If 1t is the kings order, l
60 back, but If 1t Is some grasshOpper
you have in your head. monsieur l
clapped my hand to my side. forgetting
that wore but gilded wooden sword,
and as my fingers touched the hilt I
stopped, disconnected, and began to
laugh, and while I laughed Lorgnac
caught the humor Of 1t and began snil'
ing, too, as he stepped forward and put
his hand on my shoulder.
mo, old friend. There must be No
quarrel between us, but I pray you 90
back"
"Is the road then blocked?"
"Yes," he said in q hesitating voice.
And l was about to shrug my shoul.
ders and turn away when there was q
rustllng In the hedge, and a man leap
ed lightly through, saying in an alarm