Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (632 page)

The Fat Burgess.
Sir, it would seem that you know
not the lamentable story. It is in this way, sir...
[His voice is lost in the noise of the crowd. He can be
seen gesticulating. The
Thin Burgess
interrupts
him. They discuss in dumb show; the wives join the
discussion. Then a lull.

The Fat Burgess.
And so, sir, the King’s Chamberlain, owing to our Master great sums for a pouncet-box set in onion stones...

The Thin Burgess.
Neighbour, you mislead. I have
it from Maître Anseau himself. The pouncet-box
was paid for. It was out of the great love the Chamberlain bore our master....

The Fat Burgess. Well, he
it as you will, neighbour.
For love or debt the King’s Chamberlain hies him
with Maître Anseau to the Abbot. And the crafty
Abbot...

The Crowd.
Pestilence carry off Abbot Hugon...
May the plague take him off ere he take one of our
free burgesses for a serf.

The Fat Burgess.
This crafty Abbot will not abate
one jot; but sitteth as mum as a fox in a drain. The
Master offereth great fortunes for this wench. But
the Abbot will have him for a serf if he marry her,
thinking to gain for the Abbey the incomparable skill of...

The Thin Burgess.
Neighbour, you mistake. It is
a matter of principle.
[To the Stranger).
Sir, the thing is thus. This
Abbot would enslave all us free burgesses and he
makes with our Master a beginning. He hath other
wenches for all us burgesses —

The Wife of the Thin Burgess.
Oh, the guile, the guile....

The Fat Burgess.
Principle or no principle, the
matter stands thus. Maître Anseau going again to
the Clerk’s Meadow finds there no Tiennette. For,
sir, our’prentices having planned to carry her off in
their despite, these wicked priests did have her
clapped up close. Since which time our Master
hath been suffered to see her only through a little grille —

The Thin Burgess.
See the craft of it. This is to
whet his appetite.

The Fat Burgess’s Wife.
Oh, sir, they say it be pitiful to see them there. They do buss the bars of each
side and the tears do run, do run like juice from a
roasting capon. A did use to be a lusty man, and now
A’s grown so pale, so pale —

The Fat Burgess.
He eats not...

The Thin Burgess.
Sleeps not.

The Fat Burgess.
Does no work...

The Thin Burgess.
Sighs and groans.

The Fat Burgess.
Raves and swears...

The Thin Burgess.
And the crux of the matter is:
to-day he shall make his final choice, whether to
have the Tiennette and a serf’s life, or leave her and take to...
A Loud Voice.
The King has gone to the Abbey —

The Crowd.
Maître Anseau. Maî....tre An... seau —

The Thin Burgess.
The King, sir, doth owe our
Master great sums and shall intercede for him —

The Fat Burgess.
I do wager ten yards of white
velvet to a bodkin he do leave her to go her way and he his.

The Wife of the Thin Burgess.
I do wager fourscore and two of my fatting capons he do have her —

The Voice again.
The King has gone to the Abbey —

The Crowd.
Maître Anseau... Maître Anseau —

The Fat Burgess.
Be it a wager...

The Wife of the Thin Burgess.
Be it a wager and
shake hands upon it —
[A great uproar behind; the crowd sways backwards and
forwards, then opens.
Maître Anseau
is seen to be
mounting a white jennet from the steps of his house.

The Crowd.
To the Abbey, to the Abbey... (
They run off.)

The Stranger.
I shall be killed; I shall be killed —
My hat is gone.

END OF SCENE II

SCENE III

[The Great Hall in the Abbey of Saint Germain. To
L. very large doors
,
opened and showing through
their arches an apple close, red apples lying in heaps
on the turf below whitened tree trunks. Facing the
doors the Abbot’s chair. Swallows fly in and out
among the gilded beams of the tall roof.

The
Abbot Hugon, Monks, Cross-bearer.
Behind
—
The Crowd, Soldiers of the Abbey, King’s Soldiers;

Afterwards
— Bondsmen of the Abbey.

The
Abbot Hugon,
a very old man. His shaven face,
very brown
,
small and dried, hangs forward on his
breast
,
a richly-jewelled mitre pressing it down. He
is seated in his chair facing the open doors. The
Monks
are round his chair which stands high on stone steps.

The
Crowd
is being pressed in place at the back of the

Hall by the
Soldiers of the Abbey,
who set their
halberd staves across the faces. The
King’s Soldiers
look on laughing. A great uproar. A flourish of
trumpets sounds without; the
Abbot
is assisted to
his feet and gives the benediction towards the doors.

Enter the
King of France.
He rides a black stallion
into the hall
;
the
Queen
in a white litter borne by
two white mules. The curtains of the litter and the
clothes of the mules are sewn with golden fleur-de-lis,
the mules are shod with gold. A trail of lords and
ladies follow them. The
King’s Chamberlain
comes to stand by the head of the Kings horse.

The Crowd.
The King... the King. Do you see the
King?... Now the Queen. Ah... h... h...
[The
King
salutes the
Abbot
who blesses him again.

Their lips can be seen to move, but what they say is
lost in the exclamations of the
Crowd —
The
King
bends to speak to his
Chamberlain,
who exit. The
Q
ueen
puts her head out of the litter.

The Crowd.
The Queen... Do you see the Queen?
... Ah... h... h...
[The
Chamberlain
returns with
Anseau dit le
Tourangeau,
who kneels in the space between the
King
and the
Abbot.

The Crowd
(
a great cry).
Ha, Maître Anseau,
Maître Anseau. A free man. No serf... no serf....
[It grows silent. The voice of the
King
is heard as if
continuing a speech.

The King.
— Be of good courage, man.
My lord the Abbot will have need of us
Upon a day.

The Crowd.
Huzza... hear the King... the King —

The King.
For in the end, we are the King of
France.
If what men say be true we are more poor
Than you are. Therefore courage, man, look up.
Set a high price and with a smiling face
Cast down that price. Lord Abbot name it him,
He’s stores of gold, they say. Now, Master, rise.
Stand up, man, and unpouch. Lord Abbot, name
The lowest ransom.

The Abbot.
— Sire, the price is fixt.

The Crowd.
Strangle that Abbot. Cast him down to us.

The Abbot.
The price is fixt. There is one only price.
I am the servant of the Abbey’s fame,
Glory, renown and ancient heritages.
Our statutes fix the price, I can no more.
We live in troublous times; the breakers roar
Against the ship o’ the Church; the times are evil;
And I a feeble, poor old man who stand
By the grace of God at the helm. What would you have?
To bate one jot of our enforced rights
Were to cast down into that raging sea
One of the sails we trust to for our voyage
And final harbouring. The price is fixt.

The Crowd.
Let us unfix it. Cast him down to us.

The King.
You hear him, Master?

Ans.
— Oh, I hear him, sire.

The King (to his Chamberlain).
You should be
famous to defeat the laws,
To find out quibbles; cheat the statutes’ due,
What say you?

The Chamberlain.
Sire, I can but what I can.
The Abbot is too strong;’tis manifest
That he who’s certain of the whole would be
Ill skilled at bargaining to take a part.
The Abbot’s case is that. And for the rest:
I’ve argued with our Master; I have said:
“Good Master, think, the world is very large,
And full t’o’erflowing of dames passing fair.”
I’ve told him that the tenth part of his goods
Would purchase him the name of nobleman,
Another tenth a lady to his bed,
The noblest and the fairest in the land.
What would you have? The man is made of iron
And will not bend; the Abbot will not break,
And I have wasted breath.

The King.
— Good madam Queen,
Entreat my lord the Abbot for these lovers.

The Queen.
My lord, I’ve done a many things for you,
Have broidered copes, have made my ladies sew.
Your altar cloths with pearls. Beseech you now
Have pity on these lovers.

The Abbot.
— Oh, fair Queen,
In that I am a man I pity them.
In that I am God’s servant I must shut
My eyes, my ears, my heart. Since there have been
An abbey in this place, and monks and bondsmen —
As who should say: Through all the mists of time.
It hath not been decreed that there should fall
A burgess of the city to the Abbey.
If now this precedent should be despised
There would not...

The Queen.
Oh, a truce to precedent.
What is this wench? A girl who leads a cow;
In sackcloth. Doth the honour of the Abbey
Depend on girls in sackcloth?