Patience Worth — The Prose Part 1
THE PROSE
“Word meeteth word, and at touch o’ me, doth spell to thee.
”—PATIENCE WORTH.
Strictly speaking, there is no prose in the compositions of Patience Worth.
That which I have here classified as prose, lacks none of the essential elements of poetry, except a continuity of rhythm.
The rhythm is there, the iambic measure which she favors being fairly constant, but it is broken by sentences and groups of sentences that are not metrical, and while it would not be difficult to arrange most of this matter in verse form, I am inclined to think that to the majority it will read smoother and with greater ease as prose.
Nevertheless, as will be seen, it is poetry.
The diction is wholly of that order, and it is filled with strikingly vivid and agreeable imagery.
There is, however, this distinction: most of the matter here classed as prose is dramatic in form and treatment, and each composition tells a story—a story with a definite and well-constructed plot, dealing with real and strongly individualized people, and mingling humor and pathos with much effectiveness.
They bring at once a smile to the face and a tear to the eye.
They differ, too, from the poetry, in that they have little or no apparent spiritual significance.
They are stories, beautiful stories, unlike anything to be found in the literature of any country or any time, but, except in the shadowy figure of “The Stranger,” they do not rise above the things of earth.
That is not to say, however, that they are not spiritual in the intellectual or emotional sense of the word, as distinguished from the soul relation.
At the end of an evening a year and a half after Patience began her work, she said: “Thy hearth is bright.
I fain would knit beside its glow and spinn a wordy tale betimes.
” At the next sitting she began the “wordy tale.
” Up to that time she had offered nothing in prose form but short didactic pieces, such as will appear in subsequent chapters of this book, and the circle was lost in astonishment at the unfolding of this story, so different in form and spirit from anything she had previously given.
Her stories are, as already stated, dramatic in form.
Indeed they are condensed dramas.
After a brief descriptive introduction or prologue, all the rest is dialogue, and the scenes are shifted without explanatory connection, as in a play.
In the story of “The Fool and the Lady” which follows, the fool bids adieu to the porter of the inn, and in the next line begins a conversation with Lisa, whom he meets, as the context shows, at some point on the road to the tourney.
It is the change from the first to the second act or scene, but no stage directions came from the board, no marks of division or change of scene, nor names of persons speaking, except as indicated in the context.
In reproducing these stories, no attempt has been made to put them completely in the dramatic form for which they were evidently designed, the desire being to present them as nearly as possible as they were received; but to make them clearer to the reader the characters are identified, and shift of scene or time has been indicated.
THE FOOL AND THE LADY
And there it lay, asleep.
A mantle, gray as monk’s cloth, its covering.
Dim-glowing tapers shine like glowflies down the narrow winding streets.
The sounds of early morning creep through the thickened veil of heavy mist, like echoes of the day afore.
The wind is toying with the threading smoke, and still it clingeth to the chimney pot.
There stands, beyond the darkest shadow, the Inn of Falcon Feather, her sides becracked with sounding of the laughter of the king and gentlefolk, who barter song and story for the price of ale.
Her windows sleep like heavy-lidded eyes, and her breath doth reek with wine, last drunk by a merry party there.
The lamp, now blacked and dead, could boast to ye of part to many an undoing of the unwary.
The roof, o’er-hanging and bepeaked, doth ’mind ye of a sleeper in his cap.
The mist now rises like a curtain, and over yonder steeple peeps the sun, his face washed fresh in the basin of the night.
His beams now light the dark beneath the palsied stair, and rag and straw doth heave to belch forth its baggage for the night.
* * * * * (_Fool_) “Eh, gad!
’Tis morn, Beppo.
Come, up, ye vermin; laugh and prove thou art the fool’s. An ape and jackass are wearers of the cap and bells.
Thou wert fashioned with a tail to wear behind, and I to spin a tale to leave but not to wear.
For the sayings of the fool are purchased by the wise.
My crooked back and pegs are purses—the price to buy my gown; but better far, Beppo, to hunch and yet to peer into the clouds, than be as strong as knights are wont to be, and belly, like a snake, amongst the day’s bright hours.
“Here, eat thy crust.
’Tis funny-bread, the earnings of a fool.
“I looked at Lisa as she rode her mount at yesternoon, and saw her skirt the road with anxious eyes.
Dost know for whom she sought, Beppo?
Not me, who, breathless, watched behind a flowering bush to hide my ugliness.
Now laugh, Beppo, and prove thou art the fool’s!
“But ’neath these stripes of color I did feel new strength, and saw me strided on a black beside her there.
And, Beppo, knave, thou didst but rattle at thy chain, and lo, the shrinking of my dream!
“But we do limp quite merrily, and could we sing our song in truer measure—thou the mimic, and I the fool?
Thine eyes hold more for me than all the world, since hers do see me not.
“We two together shall flatten ’neath the tree in yonder field and ride the clouds, Beppo, I promise ye, at after hour of noon.
“See!
Tonio has slid the shutter’s bolt!
I’ll spin a song and bart him for a sup.
” * * * * * (_Tonio_) “So, baggage, thou hast slept aneath the smell thou lovest best!
” (_Fool_) “Oh, morrow, Tonio.
The smell is weak as yester’s unsealed wine.
My tank doth tickle with the dust of rust, and yet methinks thou would’st see my slattern stays to rattle like dry bones, to please thee.
See, Beppo cryeth!
Fetch me then a cup that I may catch the drops—or, here, I’ll milk the dragon o’er thy door!
” (_Tonio_) “Thou scrapple!
Come within.
’Tis he who loveth not the fool who doth hate his God.
” (_Fool_) “I’m loth to leave my chosen company.
Come, Beppo, his words are hard, but we do know his heart.
“A health to thee, Antonio.
Put in thy wine one taste of thy heart’s brew and I need not wish ye well.
“To her, Beppo.
Come, dip and take a lick.
“Tonio, hast heard that at a time not set as yet the tournament will be?
Who think ye rides the King’s lance and weareth Lisa’s colors?
Blue, Tonio, and gold, the heavens’ garb—stop, Beppo, thou meddling pest!
Antonio, I swear those bits of cloth are but patches I have pilfered from the ragheap adown the alleyway.
I knew not they were blue.
And this is but a tassel dropt from off a lance at yester’s ride.
I knew not of its tinselled glint, I swear!
“So, thou dost laugh?
Ah, Beppo, see, he laughs!
And we too, eh?
But do we laugh the same?
Come, jump!
Thy pulpit is my hump.
Aday, Antonio!
” (_Antonio_) “Aday, thou fool, and would I had the wisdom of thy ape.
” * * * * * (_On the Road to the Tournament.
_) (_Lisa_) “Aday, fool!
” (_Fool_) “Ah, lady fair, hath lost the silver of thy laugh, and dost thee wish me then to fetch it thee?
” (_Lisa_) “Yea, jester.
Thou speaketh wisely; for may I ripple laughter from a sorry heart?
Now tease me, then.
” (_Fool_) “A crooked laugh would be thy gift should I tease it with a crooked tale; and, lady, didst thee e’er behold a crooked laugh—one which holds within its crook a tear?
” (_Lisa_) “Oh, thou art in truth a fool.
I’d bend the crook and strike the tear away.
” (_Fool_) “Aye, lady, so thou wouldst.
But thou hast ne’er yet found thy lot to bear a crook held staunch within His hand!
Spring rain would be thy tears—a balm to buy fresh beauties.
And the fool?
Ah, his do dry in dust, e’en before they fall!
” (_Lisa_) “Pish, jester, thy tears would paint thy face to crooked lines, and thee wouldst laugh to see the muck.
My heart doth truly sorry.
Hast heard the King hath promised me as wages for the joust?
And thee dost know who rideth ’gainst my chosen?
” (_Fool_) “Aye, lady, the crones do wag, and I do promise ye they wear their necks becricked to see his palfrey pass.
They do tell me that his sumpter-cloth doth trail like a ladies’ robe.
” (_Lisa_) “Yea, fool, and pledge me thy heart to tell it not, I did broider at its hem a thrush with mine own tress—a song to cheer his way, a wing to speed him on.
” (_Fool_) “Hear, Beppo, how she prates!
Would I were a posey wreath and Beppo here a fashioner of song.
We then would lend us to thy hand to offer as a token.
But thou dost know a fool and ape are ever but a fool and ape.
I’m off to chase thy truant laugh.
Who cometh there?
The dust doth rise like storm-cloud along the road ahead, and ’tis shot with glinting.
Oh, I see the mantling flush of morning put to shame by the flushing of thy cheek!
See, he doth ride with helmet ope.
Its golden bars do clatter at the jolt, and—but stop, Beppo, she heareth not!
We, poor beggars, thee and me—an ape with a tail and a fool with a heart!
“See, Beppo, I did tear a rose to tatters but to fling its petals ’neath her feet.
They tell me that his lance doth bear a ribband blue and a curling lock of gold—and yet he treads the earth!
Let’s then away!
The world may sorrow But the fool must laugh.
’Tis blessed grain That hath no chaff.
To love an ape Is but to ape at love.
I sought a hand, And found—a glove!
“Beppo, laugh, and prove thyself the fool’s!
I fain would feel the yoke, lest I step too high.
“Come, we’ll seek the shelt’ring tree.
I’ve in my kit a bit of curd.
Thy conscience need not prick.
I swear that Tonio, the rogue, did see me stow it there!
“Ah, me, ’tis such a home for fools, the earth.
And they that are not fools are apes.
“I see the crowd bestringing ’long the road, and yonder clarion doth bid the riders come.
Well, Beppo, do we ride?
Come, chere, we may tramp our crooked path and ride astraddle of a cloud.
“She doth love him, then; and even now the horn doth sound anew—and she the prize!
“I call the God above to see the joke that fate hath played; for I do swear, Beppo, that when he rides he carries on his lance-point this heart.
“I fret me here, but dare I see the play?
Yea, ’tis a poor fool that loveth not his jest.
“I go, Beppo; I know not why, save I do love her so.
“I’ll bear my hunch like a badge of His colors and I shall laugh, Beppo, shall laugh at losing.
He loves me well, else why didst send me thee?
“The way seems over long.
“They parry at the ring!
I see her veil to float like cloud upon the breeze.
“She sees me not.
I wonder that she heareth not the thumping of my heart.
My eyes do mist.
Beppo, look thou!
Ah, God, to see within her eyes the look of thine!
“They rank!
And hell would cool my brow, I swear.
Beppo, as thou lovest me, press sorely on my hump!
Her face, Beppo, it swayeth everywhere, as a garden thick with bloom—a lily, white and glistening with a rain of tears.
My heart hath torn asunder, that I know.
“The red knight now doth cast!
O Heaven turn his lance!
“’Tis put!
“And now the blue and gold!
Wait, brother ape!
Hold, in the name of God!
Straight!
’Tis tie!
Can I but stand?
“I—ah, lady, he doth ride full well.
May I but steady thee?
My legs are wobbled but—my hand, dear lady, lest ye sink.
(”Beppo, ’tis true she seeth me!
) “Thy hand is cold.
I wager you he wins.
He puts a right too high.
Thy thrush is singing; hear ye not his song?
His wing doth flutter even now.
Ah, he is fitting thee—— “I do but laugh to feel the tickle of a feathering jest.
An age before he puts!
A miss!
A tie!
Ah, lady, should’st thee win I’ll laugh anew and even then will laugh at what thee knowest not.
“The red knight!
God weight his charger’s hoof!
(My God, Beppo, she did kiss my hand!
) “He’s off!
Beppo, cling!
” (_Lisa_) “The fool!
Look ye, the fool and ape!
Oh heaven stop their flight!
He’s well upon them!
Blind me, lest I die!
He’s charged anew, but missed!
What, did his mantle fall?
That shape that lieth!
Come!
” (_Lisa, to her knight_) “So, thou, beloved, didst win me right!
Where go they with the litter?
” (_Knight_) “The fool, my lady, and a chattering ape, did tempt to jest a charger in the field.
We found them so.
He lives but barely.
” (_Enter Fool upon litter.
_) (_Fool_) “Aday, my lady fair!
And hast thee lost the silver of thy laugh and bid me fetch it thee?
The world doth hold but fools and lovers, folly sick.
” (_Lisa_) “His eye grows misty.
Fool, I know thee as a knave and love thee as a man.
” (_Fool_) “’Tis but a patch, Beppo, a patch and tassel from a lance ...
but we did ride, eh?
Laugh, Beppo, and prove thou art the fool’s!
I
laugh anew, lest my friends should know me not.
Beppo, I dream of new roads, but thou art there!
And I do faint, but she ...
did kiss my hand....
Aday ...
L—a—d—y. ” * * * * * Very soon after the completion of this story Patience began another one, a Christmas story, a weird, mystical tale of medieval England, having for its central theme a “Stranger” who is visible only to Lady Marye of the Castle.
The stranger is not described, nor does he speak a word, but he is presumedly the Christ.
There are descriptions of the preparations for the Christmas feast at this lordly stronghold of baronial days, and the coarse wit of the castle servants and the drunken profanity of their master, “John the Peaceful,” form a vivid contrast to the ethereal Lady Marye and the simple love of the herder’s family at the foot of the hill.
There are striking characters and many beautiful lines in this story, but it is not as closely woven nor as coherent in plot as the story of the fool and the lady.
THE STRANGER
’Twas at white season o’ the year, the shrouding o’ spring and summerstide.
Steep, rugged, was the path, and running higher on ahead to turret-topped and gated castle o’ the lordly state o’ John the Peaceful, where Lady Marye whiled away the dragging day at fingering the regal.
[2] Footnote 2: Regal.
A small portable pipe organ used in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
It was played with one hand while the bellows was worked with the other.
From sheltered niche she looked adown the hillside stretching ’neath.
The valley was bestir.
A shepherd chided with gentle word his flock, and gentle folk did speak o’ coming Christ-time.
Timon, the herder’s hut, already hung with bitter sweets, and holly and fir boughs set to spice the air.
* * * * * “Timon, man, look ye to the wee lambs well, for winter promiseth a searching night.
” Thus spake Leta, who stands, her babe astride her hip.
“And come ye then within.
I have a brew that of a truth shall tickle at thy funny bone.
Bring then a bundle o’ brush weed that we may ply the fire.
I vow me thy boots are snow carts, verily!
“Hast seen the castle folk?
And fetched ye them the kids?
They breathe it here that the boar they roast would shame a heiffer.
All of the sparing hours today our Leta did sniff her up the hill; nay, since the dawning she hath spread her smock and smirked.
“Leta, thou art such a joy!
Thou canst wish the winter-painted bough to bloom, and like the plum flowers falls the snow.
Fetch thee a bowl and put the bench to table-side.
Thy sire wouldst sup.
Go now and watch aside the crib.
Perchance thee’lt catch a glimpse o’ heaven spilled from Tina’s dream.
“Timon, man, tell me now the doings o’ the day.
I do ettle[3] for a spicey tale.
” Footnote 3: Ettle.
In this case, to have a strong desire.
(_Timon_) “Well, be it so then, minx.
I did fell the kids at sun-wake, and thee’lt find the skins aneath the cape I cast in yonder corner there.
And I did catch a peep aslaunch[4] at mad Lady Marye, who did play the pipes most mournfully.
They tell me she doth look a straining to this cot of ours.
And what think ye, Leta?
She doth only smile when she doth see our wee one’s curls to glint.
And ever she doth speak of him who none hath seen.
’Tis strange, think ye not?
” Footnote 4: Aslaunch.
Aslant or obliquely.
As we would now say, “Out of the corner of the eye.
” (_Leta_) “Nay, Timon, I full oft do pause and peer on high to see her at the summertide.
Like a swan she bendeth, all white, amid her garden ’long the lake, and even ’tempts to come adown the path to us below.
And ever at her heels the pea-fowl struts.
“She ne’er doth see my beckoning, but do I come with Tina at my breast she doth smile and wave and sway her arms a-cradle-wise.
“They tell, but breathlessly, that she doth sadly say the Stranger bideth here.
” (_Timon_) “I’ll pit my patch ’gainst purse o’ gold, that ‘Mad Marye’ fitteth her as surely as ‘Peaceful John’ doth fit her sire.
Thee knowest ’peace’ to him is of his cutting, and ’piece’ doth patch his ripping.
“They’ve bid a feast at Christ-night, and ye shouldst see the stir!
I
fain would see Sir John at good dark on that eve, besmeared with boar grease and soaked with ale, his mouth adrip with filth, and every peasant there who serves his bolts shall hit.
And Lady Marye setteth like a lily under frost!
“Leta, little one, thine eyes do blink like stars beshadowed in a cloudy veil.
Come, bend thy knee and slip away to dream!
” (_Little Leta prays_) “Vast blue above, wherein the angels hide; and moon, his lamp o’ love; and cloud fleece white—art thou the wool to swaddle Him?
And doth His mother bide upon a star-beam that leadeth her to thee?
I bless Thy name and pray Thee keep my sire to watch full well his flock.
And put a song in every coming day; my Tina’s coo, and mother’s song at eve.
Goodnight, sweet night!
I know He watcheth thee and me.
” (_Timon_) “He heareth thee, my Leta.
Watch ye the star on high.
See ye, it winketh knowingly.
God rest ye, blest.
” (_At the Castle.
_) (_Lady Marye_) “And I the Lady Marye, o’ the lord’s estate!
Jana, fetch me a goblet that I drink.
” (_Jana_) “Aye, lady.
A wine, perchance?
” (_Lady Marye_) “Nay, for yester thou didst fetch me wine, and I did cast it here upon the flags.
Its stain thee still canst see.
Shouldst thou fetch a goblet filled to brim with crystal drops, and I should cast it here, the greedy stone would sup it up, and where be then the stain?
Think ye the stone then the wiser o’ the two?
“I but loosed my fancy from its tether to gambol at its will, and they do credit me amiss.
I weave not with strand upon a wheel.
’Tis not my station.
Nay, I dally through the day with shuttle-cock and regal—a fitting play for yonder babe.
“Jana, peer ye to the valley there.
Doth see the Stranger?
He knocketh at the sill o’ yonder cot.
“I saw him when the cotter locked the sheep to tap a straying ewe who lagged, and he did enter as the cotter stepped within—unbidden, Jana, that I swear—and now he knocketh there!
” (_Jana_) “Nay, lady, ’tis but a barish limb that reacheth o’er the door.
The cotter heedeth not, ye see.
” (_Lady Marye_) “I do see him now to enter, and never did he turn!
