by E R Eddison
‘His grace told me,’ said Bellafront, ‘they will charge a big boat if the humour take them, supposing it to be a fish. And that human flesh they distaste, but will yet rush upon a swimmer in the water if he stir a muscle, supposing, from the motion, ’tis fish. This when they be hungry. And can at one snap take his leg off at the thigh. But I think he invented this to fright me.’
‘Ay, believe not all he tells you,’ Amalie said; and Bellafront reddened to the roots of her hair that, caught in a shaft of sunlight from the window, became a live fire in its heavy splendour, thick, long, close-braided on her head, and red-hot Titian colour, near the like of her mistress’s own.
The Duchess saw, while they talked and jested, how Zapheles’s sallow hatchet-face was at every while returning toward my Lady Fiorinda in an admiration undisguised: a strange trick in him, who was of all men noted for a soured bachelor wedded to simple life, and an inveterate back-biter of women.
‘I love the comedy,’ she said, laying her hand on the Chancellor’s sleeve, ‘of Zapheles behaving himself so unlike himself in the enemy’s camp.’
Beroald shrugged. ‘It is but one more pair of wings at the candle-flame,’ he said under his breath. ‘They come and go till they be singed.’
The Duchess’s words, chancing upon a pause in the general talk, were not unheard by Zapheles. He whispered behind his hand to Fiorinda, ‘She means, I have no eye for those others. Well, if it be, may I not study in what books I will?’
Fiorinda caught the Duchess’s eye and said in her most languefied tones, plainly, for all to hear, ‘My lord Zapheles says this behaviour is but his ordinary: that, should it appear otherwise, ’tis but that he finds me to be (as, to his thinking, all sane beings ought to be) altogether unwomanly. And therefore he would deign to take notice only of me alone. I have had left-handed compliments ere now, but this I think the curiousest.’ Upon which outrageous speech, spoken with so much elegance and forced innocency of idle and lazy grace, the Duchess could not but fall a-laughing.
Zapheles, stroking his beard and putting on as good a face as he might, found no better rejoinder than say lamely to the Duchess, ‘I said no such thing.’
‘But you think it,’ said Fiorinda.
There was a deep seduction in her voice but when he turned to her, a bed of snakes in the mockery of her lips. ‘True,’ replied he, ‘I did think it (does that wring your withers?): until your ladyship said it. But, by your saying it (though I grant you’re too deep skilled in manners to roll your eye at me), I perceive that underneath you’re but as the rest.’
‘Very prettily complimented. I, too, am disappointed. I had even begun to think you a remarkable man.’
‘You would not find yourself alone in that opinion.’
‘I was even so silly as begin to be almost persuaded there might be found in you that singularity, not to be wholly eat up with your own self-conceit.’
‘Will you not speak louder? Let ’em hear how fishwifely you can rail.’
‘But it was foolish in me to imagine so unnatural a monstrosity,’ she said, and the same honeyedness, overlying bee-stings of silent laughter, was on every smoothly spoken word. Then, a little louder: ‘Quelle est la difference, monsieur, entre un elephant et une puce?’
He looked at her in silence, half angry, half at a loss, as a fox should look, ears down, toward some undefinable and teasing presence the menace of which is felt but hid far from view.
‘Un elephant peut avoir des puces; mais une puce ne peut pas avoir des elephants. I sometimes question whether I be not myself an exceptional puce.’
Amalie’s cheek dimpled to the shadow of a smile. It passed, and her eyes still rested, sweet and dubious and searching, on Fiorinda. Zapheles said sulkily, ‘I’ll talk with your ladyship more on these matters when you have not an audience to use against me.’
‘Pray do my lord,’ said she lightly. ‘I shall heartily look forward to it.’
Dinner being done, Zapheles took his leave. The others walked awhile in the garden. Amalie, when she had Fiorinda to herself, said to her suddenly, ‘Do you like Lord Zapheles? Is he a friend of yours?’
‘Does your grace? Is he by chance a friend of your grace’s?’
The Duchess, set then at a non plus, looked round upon her. Fiorinda was bended down as she spoke, to pluck a purple blossom of lenten rose from a great bunch which grew beside the path. She stood up again, holding the flower to her nostrils to take the scent, looking the while in the Duchess’s eye with so unruffled a demeanour and into so much sweetness of pensivity on her lips that the Duchess, if she were disposed to take offence, changed her mind and but said, ‘I think you are well suited to one another.’
‘I am honoured by your grace’s kindly interest in my affairs. ’Las it hath no scent, or I no sense of it.’ She made as if to have dropped the flower: as upon second thoughts, fastened it in her bosom.
‘I would not be so uncivil,’ said the Duchess, ‘as claim any particular interest.’
‘I think he is a man. Howe’er that be, he amuses me.’
‘Is that what men are made for?’
‘I think probably so.’
‘An illuminating answer.’
‘I hope, madam, it does not scandalize you?’
‘Not in the smallest. Only I understand you, and myself, better than I did.’
Fiorinda very slowly smiled. There was that in her eyes now that made Amalie, after a moment’s wrestling with them, avert her own. ‘If I may be permitted to speak my thought, I would guess that your noble excellence views them mainly as I do,’ said she, ‘And (to do justice to your beauty and other high qualities besides) with precisely as much justification.’
‘I think it a hateful doctrine.’
‘I am glad you should think so. Even and it be pure error, it enhances your grace’s charm.’
BARGANAX’S FISHING TRIP LASTS FROM DECEMBER 774 TO MID-MARCH 775 AZC. BEFORE THE DUKE’S HOMECOMING, BEROALD AND MORVILLE MEET IN ZAVANA, AND AFTER THIS MEETING MORVILLE LEARNS OF FIORINDA IN AN IDLE CONVERSATION WITH BARRIAN, ZAPHELES, AND MELATES:
The Chancellor: (Long talk with Morville in Zayana upon some question arising out of Emmius Parry’s will. Some property of Deïaneira’s which has been claimed by the Chancellor for the crown but the Vicar wants it to revert to him. It is complicated by being mixed up with some claims of the Duke’s (the name of Alzulma?). The Chancellor is impressed with Morville’s modesty and intelligent firm handling of the business.) ‘Fact is, until the Duke is back, my hands are full: Medor brings me dozens of difficulties unwilling to settle them uncovered. The Duke was not expected home from the West till Wednesday March 18th: but here’s letters this morning saying he’s advanced it to a week earlier, that’s day after tomorrow, so as to hold his presence on Friday 13th. If you can divert yourself here for a while, come and see me in Zemry Ashery today fortnight. I think I can give you an answer then to take back to the Vicar: nothing official and binding, but enough to help him judge how the land lies.’
Morville, coming out from the Chancellor, meets Barrian, Melates, Zapheles.
Barrian: Well, what speed, my Lord Morville?
Morville: I took your advice, my Lord. The Chancellor used me very honourable: I never spoke so long with his excellence before. He is a hard man to deal with?
Zapheles: A man of iron body and mind [ … ] as full with [ … ] as a spider with poison. The devil speaks in him.
Morville: Well, I’m to see him again when he’s studied the thing: Sunday March 22, in his own home.
Zapheles: Oho? Look out you be not catched there by his charmer.
Morville: What’s that?
Zapheles: Barrian can tell you best.
Barrian: Pah, that’s an old story. I’ve forgotten it.
Morville: (with self-engrossed curiosity) I ought to know.
Melates: Enough if you remember; keep away from his treasure chamber. And be not dazzled with that diamond he keeps there. ’Twill cut you if you tou
ch it. His (Barrian’s) cut is raw yet, howso a try to pretend otherwise.
Barrian: Well, I must bid you good morning: I have an appointment.
Zapheles: But not in Zemry Ashery I hope? (exit Barrian)
Morville: I’ve heard the tales. But I’m not a fisher in those waters.
Zapheles: A woman-hater? I could kiss you for it!
Morville: O, no hate. I’ll wed one day, for the good of the family: ’tis common practice. But women are women, and I never had sleepless nights for any woman, nor will neither.
Melates: Barrian was badly bit. Would’ve hung up his hat there, but puss scratched him properly and sent him away with his tail between his legs.
Zapheles: Keep off, sweet youth. Be caught by her and live withal? Why I’d as lief go a courting of [ … ] wife.
Morville: Who’s that?
Zapheles: [ … ] A beast that eateth patient husbands.
AT THE END OF FEBRUARY 775 AZC, DUKE BARGANAX COMMUNICATES WITH HIS OFFICERS:
The month ended, and the Duke of Zayana, putting off at every few days the date of his return, still tarried in the west at his sea-fishing. In the first days of March came Barrian from the west: brought commands to Medor from his Grace that they must expect him about three weeks hence, and in the meanwhile prepare [masques] and revels in Acrozayana against his homecoming.
ON 30 MAY 1945, EDDISON DRAFTED AN INCOMPLETE CONVERSATION IN WHICH FIORINDA TELLS DOCTOR VANDERMAST OF HER INTENTION TO ATTEND THE MASQUERADE BALL THAT MEDOR HAS PLANNED FOR BARGANAX’S HOMECOMING. CONSIDERING FIORINDA’S HABITUALLY RECLUSIVE LIFE IN ZEMRY ASHERY, HER DESIRE TO GO IS A CURIOUS INCLINATION:
Fiorinda with Doctor Vandermast in Zemry Ashery—
Fiorinda: Indeed my Lord Zapheles told me of these intended revels, and pestereth me still to go meet him there and look upon them. Ladies all to go masked. It would amuse me. I gather you are to be the master of the revels?
Vandermast: Yes, I have framed up some fantasticoes.
Fiorinda: I’ll go, but not tell my brother. I’ve heard so much of what’s done in the palace and been so thwarted when I would see for myself, I’m resolved I’ll go. Do you advise me to?
Vandermast: I always advise your ladyship to follow your own inclinations. I can’t always understand them, but [sic]
ON 25 MAY 1945, EDDISON PLANNED THE PAIRINGS FOR CONVERSATIONS AT THE MASQUERADE BALL THAT MEDOR PREPARES FOR 17 MARCH 775 AZC:
Fiorinda goes to masked ball in Zayana
Overhears Barrian reporting to Barganax about her (‘faint praise’).
—[Barrian says to the Duke: ‘O no: not the mysterious lady mewed up in Zemry Ashery. I saw her when you were away: a very commonplace person. Handsome? O yes, but so so. Affected: full of herself: spiteful. No presence, like that. Voice quite different, too.’]
Duke making love to Bellafront—
Bellafront – ‘I like you better in this mood.’
Duke – ‘I’m like a hunting leopard: better in my mood when starved. Starved now.’
Bellafront – (bring out her mindlessness, and sensual charms: a nice good girl, but after all only one of the ‘dishes of hers’ served up by the Marchioness of Monferrato).
Pantasilia – (very episodic, this): huffed by Duke’s attentions to Bellafront: Melates rises on her horizon.
Masked Ball: very unusual: a conceit of the Duke’s.
Every guest must bring a lady with him. She is to be masked and no inquiries made as to her identity.
Zapheles brings Fiorinda.
Melates brings Pantasilia.
Medor brings Rosalura.
Perantor brings some light-o-love of his own, who deserts him for the Duke at one stage, and causes much rage to Bellafront.
?Vandermast there with Anthea.
ON THE SAME DAY THAT HE MADE THE OUTLINE ABOVE, EDDISON REVISED SOME NOTES, FIRST WRITTEN ON 30 APRIL 1945, ABOUT BARGANAX’S RELATIONSHIPS WITH BELLAFRONT AND PANTASILIA:
Barganax’s education by Heterasmene had made him have ‘such a way’ with women that they always fell in love with him. This in a fair way to spoil him: also to bore him with such easy preys.
Bellafront (who was in her ascendant March–June 775 [AZC]) quite unintelligent but indefatigably sensual. She is indeed the subject of the 129th Sonnet. Barganax always ‘past reason’ hates her ex post facto, and always returns like moth to flame. She is stupid, tactless, unrestrained: a lovely animal, and Barganax comes back to her as the drunkard to the bottle. But her lack of artistry and her excessive ‘forth comingness’ grate upon him increasingly (if only intermittently and subconsciously).
Pantasilia also his mistress, but she is a restful . Also, their affairs are less passionate, more sleepy and lazy. In March or (?) April he notices Melates is falling under the spell of this quiet luxurious peony-like beauty, and unobtrusively resigns in Melates’s favour. (This shows his principle – never violated till the case of Morville arrives – of never hunting in another man’s preserves.)
BETWEEN 25 MAY AND 1 JUNE 1945, EDDISON DRAFTED MORE DETAILED NOTES FOR THE MASQUERADE BALL:
Evening of the Masque in Zayana.
Torchlight procession through the town up to the citadel, after supper. Masque is by the lady guests and Dr Vandermast (as ‘an ambassador from beyond the Hyperborean Mountains’) ‘presents’ it. Enter to a slow music, grotescoes playing their lutes: jewels: candle-holders. Dr Vandermast craves leave for ‘their ladies to come in’.
(Guests and 25 ladies) – They come in, all masked. One by one the ladies play die with the Duke: he wins in turn and gets all their money: and in turn each lady plays then against one of the guests, and wins: after which she is his partner for the evening. Bellafront at last plays and wins all his money from the Duke: he pours it out before her on the table from a golden goblet: then a little boy (as Cupid) shoots at her and then unmasks her: Bellafront is enthroned beside the Duke as Queen of the revels.
After she has won his money at dice and is seated by him as Queen of the revels, Bellafront (according to the rules) still wears her mask.
Bellafront: Are you glad it is me?
Duke: I knew you, before you spoke, spite of your visard.
Bellafront: By my lips?
Duke: Never have a painter for your lover if you mean to cheat him. He can see through taffeta as you through clear glass.
Bellafront: And you’re glad of me?
Duke: Part of me is.
Bellafront: Only part?
Duke: Care not: ’tis the part your heart is on.
Bellafront: Your grace seems a little short and cynical. I hope you love me as you swore you did.
Duke: Loving goes by haps.
Bellafront: So cold as that? I’d as well a stayed in Memison. Better, with all the work I had to persuade her noble excellence give me leave for tonight.
Duke: O foolish girl. How should I know whether I love you? Give me that mouth to try (she does so). Hath that answered you?
Bellafront: Yes (much stirred). But you talk so strange.
Duke: ’Tis t’other part talks.
Bellafront: What’s true then?
Duke: That you are, in all my former misled life, the sweetest card-conny-catcher that ever turned up ace.
Bellafront: That’s better. But how says t’other part?
Duke: That here is the great bur again, commonly more known than commended.
Bellafront: I hate it: and you, for so cruel a lie.
Duke: Kiss again, then, and unsay it.
Bellafront: No, I hate you for it. Unsay it first.
Duke: (laughing) Come, come. If such a thing I did utter out of my distractions, ’tis easy unsaid. But your lips must help mine to unsay it. (Kisses her again.)
(Barrian comes to them) I see your Grace is merrily disposed and sets us good example.
Duke: Ay, Barrian!
All rise now and tables removed. Series of dances, in which all take part: first the lords in a line and the masked ladies facing them: then each with
his lady. Dances for a time, then two by two sitting out in alcoves and lights lowered: stars of various colours wandering about in the hollow roof, like tame comets. Barganax and Bellafront: her mindlessness and sensual charms.
Pantasilia and Melates.
Perantor and lady (who deserts him to talk to the Duke, to Bellafront’s annoyance).
Then Car of Night enters: great crystal, colour of a black diamond: throned on it, in dusky cloak and hood, and with black mask like the rest – Night. Drawn by four beasts – unicorn, water-horse, flying bull, owl-headed tigress.
Car halts before the Duke: the lady casts off her hood and cloak as the wandering stars descend and circle about her head in an aureole. She is masked with a mask of moleskin, and the green light of her eyes burns in the eyeholes. She is in a flowing gown from waist downward made all of raven’s feathers and black cock’s feathers, some with stag beetles’ wings and spangles of ebony and jet, and a girdle of filigree silver set thick with black diamonds and black pearls. From hip to throat and from throat to finger-joints she was clad in a skin-tight garment made of the skins of black adders: her throat and neck and the lower part of her face were bared to view, of a dazzling fairness against this black and the black of her hair, that was piled high on her head and bound with enchanter’s nightshade.
Beside this, the tips of her fingers alone were bared, armed with claws of gold like a lioness’s claws expansed.
Fiorinda insists on going home early – before the fun becomes too fast and furious. On the way home, Zapheles proposes again, and they make their platonic pact: [She makes terms with him as cynic with cynic: he is right about women, and she too (upon her experience with Baias) right about men. ‘Come then, let’s be friends and mock the world together, keeping ourselves uninfested by this madness. I hate you when you begin to show signs of this common disease: as yourself – i.e. when you scorn mankind and womankind both – I delight in you.’]
Beroald knows all about her going to Zayana: waits up for her return (not that he ever went to bed early) and cross examines her. Fiorinda gives impressions that she has had enough of this ‘nightclub’ atmosphere and considers the Duke a mere philanderer. Beroald decides she should marry Morville.
