Part 13
The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry 210 To the children merrily skipping by, --Could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. But how the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, 215 As the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters! However, he turned from South to West, And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, 220 And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast. "He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop!" 225 When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the Piper advanced and the children followed, And when all were in to the very last, 230 The door in the mountain-side shut fast. Did I say, all? No! One was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say,-- 235 "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me. For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, 240 Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, 245 And their dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey-bees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagles' wings: And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, 250 The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more!" 255
XIV
Alas, alas! for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says that heaven's gate Opes to the rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye[260] takes a camel in! 260 The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South, To offer the Piper, by word of mouth, Wherever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went, 265 And bring the children behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, And Piper and dancers were gone forever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly 270 If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, "And so long after what happened here On the Twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:" 275 And the better in memory to fix The place of the children's last retreat, They called it the Pied Piper's Street-- Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor. 280 Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church-window painted 285 The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe 290 Of alien people who ascribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbors lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison 295 Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why, they don't understand.
XV
So, Willy, let me and you be wipers 300 Of scores out with all men--especially pipers! And, whether they pipe us free fróm rats or fróm mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise!
HERVÉ RIEL
I
On the sea and at the Hogue,[260] sixteen hundred ninety-two, Did the English fight the French,--woe to France! And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance,[261] 5 With the English fleet in view.
II
'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville. Close on him fled, great and small, Twenty-two good ships in all; 10 And they signalled to the place "Help the winners of a race! Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or, quicker still, Here's the English can and will!"
III
Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board; 15 "Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they: "Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored, Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, 20 And with flow at full beside? Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide. Reach the mooring? Rather say, While rock stands or water runs, Not a ship will leave the bay!" 25
IV
Then was called a council straight, Brief and bitter the debate: "Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, For a prize to Plymouth Sound[262]? 30 Better run the ships aground!" (Ended Damfreville his speech.) "Not a minute more to wait! Let the Captains all and each Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! 35 France must undergo her fate.
V
"Give the word!" But no such word Was ever spoke or heard; For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these --A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate--first, second, third? 40 No such man of mark, and meet With his betters to compete! But a simple Breton sailor pressed[263] by Tourville[264] for the fleet, A poor coasting-pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese.[265]
VI
And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel: 45 "Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues? Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, 'Twixt the offing here and Grève where the river disembogues? Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? 50 Morn and eve, night and day, Have I piloted your bay, Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues! Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way! 55 Only let me lead the line, Have the biggest ship to steer, Get this 'Formidable' clear, Make the others follow mine, And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, 60 Right to Solidor past Grève, And there lay them safe and sound; And if one ship misbehave, --Keel so much as grate the ground, Why, I've nothing but my life,--here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel. 65
VII
Not a minute more to wait. "Steer us in, then, small and great! Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief. Captains, give the sailor place! He is Admiral, in brief. 70 Still the north-wind, by God's grace! See the noble fellow's face As the big ship, with a bound, Clears the entry like a hound, Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound! 75 See, safe through shoal and rock, How they follow in a flock, Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, Not a spar that comes to grief! The peril, see, is past, 80 All are harbored to the last, And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"--sure as fate, Up the English come--too late!
VIII
So, the storm subsides to calm: They see the green trees wave 85 On the heights o'erlooking Grève. Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. "Just our rapture to enhance, Let the English rake the bay, Gnash their teeth and glare askance 90 As they cannonade away! 'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!" How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's countenance! Out burst all with one accord, "This is Paradise for Hell! 95 Let France, let France's King Thank the man that did the thing!" What a shout, and all one word, "Hervé Riel!" As he stepped in front once more, 100 Not a symptom of surprise In the frank blue Breton eyes, Just the same man as before.
IX
Then said Damfreville, "My friend, I must speak out at the end, 105 Though I find the speaking hard. Praise is deeper than the lips: You have saved the King his ships, You must name your own reward. 'Faith, our sun was near eclipse! 110 Demand whate'er you will, France remains your debtor still. Ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not Damfreville."
X
Then a beam of fun outbroke On the bearded mouth that spoke, 115 As the honest heart laughed through Those frank eyes of Breton blue: "Since I needs must say my say, Since on board the duty's done, And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?-- 120 Since 'tis ask and have, I may-- Since the others go ashore-- Come! A good whole holiday! Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" That he asked and that he got,--nothing more. 125
XI
Name and deed alike are lost: Not a pillar nor a post In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell; Not a head in white and black On a single fishing smack, 130 In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell. Go to Paris: rank on rank Search the heroes flung pell-mell On the Louvre, face and flank! 135 You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel. So, for better and for worse, Hervé Riel, accept my verse! In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the Belle Aurore! 140
DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI
THE WHITE SHIP
Henry I[266] of England--25th Nov., 1120
By none but me can the tale be told, The butcher of Rouen,[267] poor Berold. (_Lands are swayed by a king on a throne._) 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea, Yet the tale can be told by none but me. 5 (_The sea hath no king but God alone._)
King Henry held it as life's whole gain That after his death his son should reign.
'Twas so in my youth I heard men say, And my old age calls it back to-day. 10
King Henry of England's realm was he, And Henry Duke of Normandy.
The times had changed when on either coast "Clerkly Harry" was all his boast.[268]
Of ruthless[269] strokes full many an one 15 He had struck to crown himself and his son; And his elder brother's eyes were gone.[270]
And when to the chase his court would crowd, The poor flung ploughshares on his road, And shrieked: "Our cry is from King to God!" 20
But all the chiefs of the English land Had knelt and kissed the Prince's hand.
And next with his son he sailed to France To claim the Norman allegiance:
And every baron in Normandy 25 Had taken the oath of fealty.[271]
'Twas sworn and sealed, and the day had come When the King and the Prince might journey home:
For Christmas cheer is to home hearts dear, And Christmas now was drawing near. 30
Stout Fitz-Stephen came to the King,-- A pilot famous in seafaring;
And he held to the King in all men's sight, A mark of gold for his tribute's right.
"Liege[272] Lord! my father guided the ship 35 From whose boat your father's[273] foot did slip When he caught the English soil in his grip,
"And cried: 'By this clasp I claim command O'er every rood[274] of English land!'
"He was borne to the realm you rule o'er now 40 In that ship with the archer carved at her prow:
"And thither I'll bear an' it be my due, Your father's son and his grandson too.
"The famed White Ship is mine in the bay; From Harfleur's harbor[275] she sails to-day, 45
"With masts fair-pennoned as Norman spears And with fifty well-tried mariners."
Quoth the King: "My ships are chosen each one, But I'll not say nay to Stephen's son.
"My son and daughter and fellowship 50 Shall cross the water in the White Ship."
The King set sail with the eve's south wind, And soon he left that coast behind.
The Prince and all his, a princely show, Remained in the good White Ship to go. 55
With noble knights and with ladies fair, With courtiers and sailors gathered there, Three hundred living souls we were:
And I Berold was the meanest hind[276] In all that train to the Prince assign'd. 60
The Prince was a lawless shameless youth; From his father's loins he sprang without ruth:
Eighteen years till then had he seen, And the devil's dues in him were eighteen.
And now he cried: "Bring wine from below; 65 Let the sailors revel ere yet they row:
"Our speed shall o'ertake my father's flight Though we sail from the harbor at midnight."
The rowers made good cheer without check; The lords and ladies obeyed his beck; 70 The night was light and they danced on the deck.
But at midnight's stroke they cleared the bay, And the White Ship furrowed the water-way.
The sails were set, and the oars kept tune To the double flight of the ship and the moon: 75
Swifter and swifter the White Ship sped Till she flew as the spirit flies from the dead:
As white as a lily glimmered she Like a ship's fair ghost upon the sea.
And the Prince cried, "Friends, 'tis the hour to sing! 80 Is a songbird's course so swift on the wing?"
And under the winter stars' still throng, From brown throats, white throats, merry and strong, The knights and the ladies raised a song.
A song,--nay, a shriek that rent the sky, 85 That leaped o'er the deep!--the grievous cry Of three hundred living that now must die.
An instant shriek that sprang to the shock As the ship's keel felt the sunken rock.
'Tis said that afar--a shrill strange sigh-- 90 The King's ships heard it and knew not why.
Pale Fitz-Stephen stood by the helm 'Mid all those folk that the waves must whelm.
A great King's heir for the waves to whelm And the helpless pilot pale at the helm! 95
The ship was eager and sucked athirst, By the stealthy stab of the sharp reef pierced,
And like the moil[277] round a sinking cup, The waters against her crowded up.
A moment the pilot's senses spin,-- 100 The next he snatched the Prince 'mid the din, Cut the boat loose, and the youth leaped in.
A few friends leaped with him, standing near. "Row! the sea's smooth and the night is clear!"
"What! none to be saved but these and I?" 105 "Row, row as you'd live! All here must die!"
Out of the churn of the choking ship, Which the gulf grapples and the waves strip, They struck with the strained oars' flash and dip.
'Twas then o'er the splitting bulwarks' brim 110 The Prince's sister screamed to him.
He gazed aloft still rowing apace, And through the whirled surf he knew her face.
To the toppling decks clave one and all As a fly cleaves to a chamber-wall. 115
I Berold was clinging anear; I prayed for myself and quaked with fear, But I saw his eyes as he looked at her.
He knew her face and he heard her cry, And he said, "Put back! she must not die!" 120
And back with the current's force they reel Like a leaf that's drawn to a water-wheel.
'Neath the ship's travail they scarce might float, But he rose and stood in the rocking boat.
Low the poor ship leaned on the tide: 125 O'er the naked keel as she best might slide, The sister toiled to the brother's side.
He reached an oar to her from below, And stiffened his arms to clutch her so. 130 And "Saved!" was the cry from many a throat.
And down to the boat they leaped and fell: It turned as a bucket turns in a well, And nothing was there but the surge and swell.
The Prince that was and the King to come, 135 There in an instant gone to his doom,
In spite of all England's bended knee And maugre[278] the Norman fealty!
He was a Prince of lust and pride; He showed no grace till the hour he died. 140
When he should be king, he oft would vow, He'd yoke the peasant to his own plough. O'er him the ships score their furrows now.
God only knows where his soul did wake, But I saw him die for his sister's sake. 145
By none but me can the tale be told, The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. (_Lands are swayed by a king on a throne._)
'Twas a royal train put forth to sea, Yet the tale can be told by none but me. 150 (_The sea hath no king but God alone._)
And now the end came o'er the waters' womb Like the last great Day that's yet to come.
With prayers in vain and curses in vain, The White Ship sundered on the mid-main: 155
And what were men and what was a ship Were toys and splinters in the sea's grip.
I Berold was down in the sea; And passing strange though the thing may be, Of dreams then known I remember me. 160
Blithe is the shout on Harfleur's strand When morning lights the sails to land:
And blithe is Honfleur's[279] echoing gloam When mothers call the children home:
And high do the bells of Rouen beat 165 When the Body of Christ[280] goes down the street.
These things and the like were heard and shown In a moment's trance 'neath the sea alone;
And when I rose, 'twas the sea did seem, And not these things, to be all a dream. 170
The ship was gone and the crowd was gone, And the deep shuddered and the moon shone:
And in a strait grasp my arms did span The mainyard rent from the mast where it ran; And on it with me was another man. 175
Where lands were none 'neath the dim sea-sky, We told our names, that man and I.
"O I am Godefroy l'Aigle hight,[281] And son I am to a belted knight."
"And I am Berold the butcher's son 180 Who slays the beasts in Rouen town."
Then cried we upon God's name, as we Did drift on the bitter winter sea.
But lo! a third man rose o'er the wave, And we said, "Thank God! us three may He save!" 185
He clutched to the yard with panting stare, And we looked and knew Fitz-Stephen there.
He clung, and "What of the Prince?" quoth he. "Lost, lost!" we cried. He cried, "Woe on me!" And loosed his hold and sank through the sea. 190
And soul with soul again in that space We two were together face to face:
And each knew each, as the moment sped, Less for one living than for one dead:
And every still star overhead 195 Seemed an eye that knew we were but dead.
And the hours passed; till the noble's son Sighed, "God be thy help! my strength's foredone[282]!
"O farewell, friend, for I can no more!" "Christ take thee!" I moaned; and his life was o'er. 200
Three hundred souls were all lost but one, And I drifted over the sea alone.
At last the morning rose on the sea Like an angel's wing that beat tow'ds me.
Sore numbed I was in my sheepskin coat; 205 Half dead I hung, and might nothing note, Till I woke sun-warmed in a fisher-boat.
The sun was high o'er the eastern brim As I praised God and gave thanks to Him.
That day I told my tale to a priest, 210 Who charged me, till the shrift[283] were releas'd, That I should keep it in mine own breast.
And with the priest I thence did fare To King Henry's court at Winchester.[284]
We spoke with the King's high chamberlain, 215 And he wept and mourned again and again, As if his own son had been slain:
And round us ever there crowded fast Great men with faces all aghast:
And who so bold that might tell the thing 220 Which now they knew to their lord the King? Much woe I learned in their communing.
The King had watched with a heart sore stirred For two whole days, and this was the third:
And still to all his court would he say, 225 "What keeps my son so long away?"
And they said: "The ports lie far and wide That skirt the swell of the English tide;
"And English cliffs are not more white Than her women are, and scarce so light 230 Her skies as their eyes are blue and bright;
"And in some port that he reached from France The Prince has lingered for his pleasaunce."[285]
But once the King asked: "What distant cry Was that we heard 'twixt the sea and sky?" 235
And one said: "With suchlike shouts, pardie[286] Do the fishers fling their nets at sea."
And one: "Who knows not the shrieking quest When the sea-mew misses its young from its nest?"