Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WAGER, by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL Poet's Biography First Line: Five years ago in this same garden space Last Line: Claire. Why not a woman's love? Subject(s): Gambling; Kisses; Love - Complaints; Love - Nature Of; Wagering; Betting | ||||||||
TIME, 1650. Twilight The Duke's garden near Tours. CLAIRE DE CHASTEL BLANC, a lady of the Duchess. RENÉ LA TOUR. THE VICOMTE DE LANCIVAL. LA TOUR walks moodily to and fro. LA TOUR. Five years ago in this same garden space I fled the mockery of a smiling face. Upon my soul, I was a love-sick lad; A baser man perchance had won; I had The self-accusing modesty of love, That by its proud humility doth prove How honest is its nature. Since that day Our feet have trod, alas! a diverse way Mine as the devil guided, hers to find A man to match the lightness of her mind. So runs the world; and always, I suppose, The thorns outlast for many a year the rose. What is there memory may care to keep Of her life or of mine? I basely heap Dull days on sorrier yesterdays: what more Is left to me? And yetand yet before I loved this woman and she bade me go For but a love-struck boy, I used to know Far other dreams than such as madly keep The wild days reeling through the hours of sleep. [Pauses. So, here it was I sang my pretty way To steal in sleep a heart was cold by day. How long ago it seems! I used to sing Not very ill. Ah me! How ran the thing? [He sings as he walks. Sleep on! Sleep on! Thou canst not fly; Thou art the gentle thrall of sleep. Thy captured dreams in vain may try The daylight's cold reserve to keep. Sleep on! Those watchful eyes that be Thy maiden sentinels by day No more shall keep their guard for thee, Sweet foes that warned my love away. And I will kiss thee with a song A modest way to kiss! I have it wrong; And all the rest, like love, has taken wings And gone the deuce knows whither. If some things Were like a song, as readily forgot, Man's fate on earth might prove a happier lot. [A servant enters with a letter. LA TOUR takes it and stands in thought, smiling. He opens it in an absent way, not yet reading it. Here is the woman's name I was to learn This morning. Well, I trust the lips that earn My needed ducats are not old. By heaven! That were an insult scarce to be forgiven, A jest to cost some drunken reveller dear. [Glances at the letter. "Claire!Claire de Chastel Blanc." I did not hear That name among the many tossed about On ribald lips last night. Perhaps a doubt, Or the Duke's presence, or a friend who knew To check some reckless sot, held back the crew, Till at the gray of dawn I homeward went, And left them babbling, on a choice intent. [He walks to and fro, in thought, and then slowly tears up the letter, retaining the fragments. Now, I'll not do it! This mad bet of mine, The bastard child of folly and of wine, Has somehow lost to-day its vinous zest, And, in the sober light of morn confessed, Stirs certain memories. Now, there's my lord Her lordwill fume and talk about his sword, And then is just as like as not, I think, To pouch the insult and forget in drink. What of the woman? Wherefore should I spare The lips that spared not me? Why should I care? [Pauses. I will not do it. [As he speaks he casts away the torn paper and wanders aimlessly to and fro in the Duke's garden. Of a sudden he sees Claire seated and busy with the roses lying in her lap. (Aside.) By St. Opportune, Who doth for mischief match the naughty moon! What devil set this trap for me who meant To swear the wager lost, and well content To pay and end it, duly penitent And out of pocket? What would she have lost? The fool who is her lover scarce will miss One kiss subtracted from his sum of bliss. Now, good St. Anthony, who ought to be The friend of men sore tempted, pray for me; You were not tempted, for you knew not love. [Coming up behind CLAIRE, he bends over and kisses her. She starts to her feet. CLAIRE. Now, by dear Marie and all saints above, YouRenékissed me! LA TOUR. Yes, and, on my soul, I'm glad and sorry: that sums up the whole, The sin and penance; larger joy and pain Than ever I shall know in life again. [She is silent. For God's sake, speak to me; say something, Claire. CLAIRE. Your shame lacks courage, sir; how could you dare? LA TOUR. Fate, fortune, luck, have never known to spare Head, heart, or purse of mine. 'T is very rare My follies pay as well. How could I dare? The question's childlike, madam. What! in tears! These were not counted in my list of fears. CLAIRE. An idle gossip warned me yestereve Of this, and you; yet how could I believe Of one who onceno matter. What I said Did cost one shameless cheek its share of red. He little liked my comment; nor would you Who tossed about amid a gambling crew What estimate to put upon a kiss, And set its worth at haply that or this. He, laughing, swore the chivalry of wine Did make you set a double price on mine. You gaily urged, they say, that stolen fruit Is ever sweeter. May I ask, to suit The pretty poetry of tavern hours, If that be also true of stolen flowers? What need to talk? You have the prize you sought, A courteous wager! LA TOUR. Madame, he who brought This garnished story lied. CLAIRE. It matters naught; A man shall question you. LA TOUR. That were but just; In point of fact, I really think he must; And 'twixt a tongue-stab and a rapier-thrust I gladly choose the latter; but why both To punish one who never yet was loath To face a man? Before a mistress' tongue I cry for pity as I did when young. Down goes my flag; I counted not the cost, Else had this silly bet been gladly lost. CLAIRE. Jest if it please you. Better men have died For lighter cause than this. LA TOUR. So, I am tried, Condemned past hope. Ah, Claire, thou ever art The same cold woman. Could I call my heart To witness for me CLAIRE. 'T is a feebler jest. LA TOUR. Perhaps! perhaps! But let me be confessed. Give one decree to die his little hour. The gay temptation of a minute's power Set in my way the honey of a flower; And, by your leave, we'll say it was a rose The bee-god Cupid robbed; and, I suppose, A dainty diet, to be held more sweet Than common clover honey. CLAIRE. You may treat This insult lightly LA TOUR. Madam, I believe Men have kissed women since the days of Eve; 'T is very frequent. Such fair goods, you know, Are bartered, stolen, sold or high or low; The market varies. One may cost a life, A curse, a kingdom, win or lose a wife. [LA TOUR pauses, while CLAIRE stands in silence. Have you no answer, madam? I have tried Love, logic, penitence, have not denied The muse her pretty privilege to defend This naughty brigand here without a friend. Now, what's a kiss that naught can it atone? CLAIRE. The trembling scales of loyal love alone May know to weigh this coin of nature's own. You cast the shadow of a nameless fear, You left the memory of an angry tear. Go! I could wish that you were lying dead, Ay, here, to-night, ere this had need been said. LA TOUR. Am I so surely hated? CLAIRE. Call it hate, Contempta woman's sorrow. [She moves away. LA TOUR. Pray you wait. What if I swear this wager, wildly made, Was lost? Wilt say? CLAIRE. That you were more afraid Than fits a man. LA TOUR. Yes, that may well be said. 'T is you I fear. CLAIRE. Me! There was once an hour, Oh, very long ago, should still have power To hurt you now. What is there more to say? LA TOUR. Yes, there are ghosts no priest has power to lay; One is to-morrow, one is yesterday; Both have your words called up to-night for me. But ghosts like these at least do set one free From such poor scare-souls as an honest blade. That lays all spectres! Madam, undismayed I bow before my judge and glad accept The fate this wretched hour for me has kept. And for De Lancival, I promise he Shall in the quickest blade of Picardy Find naught to hinder what your lips decree. Say,when you think upon this hour and me, "He loved me once." Be that slight epitaph Deep graven where the miserable half Of life's most worthless memories serves to keep Some fading thought of such as, thankful, sleep, And wake no more on earth. CLAIRE. You loved me? LA TOUR. Ay. CLAIRE. How can it be? If once you loved me, why, Why did your folly choose of all who live, Of all fair women, me alone to give This tavern feast a flavor? Pray you go. The modest gentleman I seemed to know In memory, kindly, tender, brave, and true, Died very long ago. He is not you. As willingly would I forget this night And think it also dead. You won the right To claim your wager. LA TOUR. Madam, it is I Shall tell the Viscount, and with me shall die, I promise you, this story. I shall pay With what this wrecked life owns of life. I pray, As God is good, your pardon. Fare you well. CLAIRE. Waitwait a moment. No, you shall not tell. LA TOUR. And why not, madam? CLAIRE. Hush! [DE LANCIVAL approaches, singing. DE LANCIVAL. He kissed her twice, Or was it thrice? Oh, what will kisses fetch? You may buy a score For a louis d'or. Now, that's a pretty catch. Out with it, Claire. What fortune had he? Did he really dare? No need to go, La Tour. We all have heard. Oh, there were bets on it. Right well it stirred The inn's good fellows. I, too, had my bet La Tour would lose. CLAIRE. Indeed! LA TOUR. At what was set My beggared chance of fortune? DE LANCIVAL. I forget. CLAIRE. I, too, am curious. DE LANCIVAL. I am not clear How much it was; a very trifle, dear: Some dozen louishardly worth one's while. CLAIRE. Yet it might set the value of LA TOUR. A smile DE LANCIVAL. Who said a smile? 'T was nothing but a kiss. CLAIRE. They make fair company. Perchance to miss The gracious comment of a smile might take Some value from the lips' resort, and make Their rosy honors less. DE LANCIVAL. What did I bet? [Searches his tablets. I had it yesternight. Just here't was set, Upon my honor! LA TOUR. That's a pious oath That no commandment breaks. DE LANCIVAL. St. Denis! Both Are set to read me riddles. I for one LA TOUR. An easy riddle. Nowhere 'neath the sun On land or sea the thing is found. Pardie! Swear by a thing less mortal. DE LANCIVAL. I make free To think you mock me. But who was it won? LA TOUR. I won, my lord. The trick was neatly done. DE LANCIVAL. You won? Claire! Claire! LA TOUR. Indeed, it so befell, I won my ducats and some thoughts as well A man could do without. CLAIRE. It is not true. The beau sire jestsno courteous thing to do. LA TOUR. By Venus, I have but my word to give. Here as she sat I kissed her, as I live! DE LANCIVAL. Ye saints! The man has luck. Now, when I bring This news to-night, the tavern roof will ring. I never dared as much. To kiss her hand Was my slim ration. I may understand You really kissed her? LA TOUR. Yes. DE LANCIVAL. Wellas one may Kiss any woman for a wager's play; Had she kissed you I should have more to say. CLAIRE. Then take the truth: I kissed him as he lay A-sleeping in the garden. Now, sir, pray, What is it more your lordship has to say? DE LANCIVAL. You kissed La Tour? CLAIRE. I did. DE LANCIVAL. Now, by my sword LA TOUR. That's near kin to cursing. Well, my lord DE LANCIVAL. Is this a jest? CLAIRE. That may somewhat depend On how a maudlin tragedy shall end. LA TOUR. I wait your orders, Viscount. DE LANCIVAL. Nonsense! Why Should you or I for such a trifle die? Yet, as a friend, La Tour, I take fair leave To doubt her story. LA TOUR. Then, my lord,I grieve To put it coarsely,does this lady lie? I wait your answer. Is it she or I? She doth depose to kissing one La Tour. He swears in turn and is devoutly sure He kissed the lady. Neither doth exclude Belief in either. You, my lord, are shrewd. Which is the sinner? CLAIRE. Stay, sir. DE LANCIVAL. You shall hear From me to-morrow. LA TOUR. And why not next year? Had I once loved this gentle lady's face His shrift were short, and small his chance of grace, That dared to think those haughty lips could kiss A man whom, dead, no man on earth would miss Save some poor tapster. Sir, you seem to show Small skill at riddles. Follow me. CLAIRE. No, no. Here must it end. A most unseemly brawl! I'll have no more of it. It does not call For such grave consequences. Let it end. DE LANCIVAL. With all my heart; and now, to surely mend A needless quarrel, I, for one, agree A kiss, my mischief-brewing maid, shall be My own reward, his ransom. CLAIRE. Here must stop This tragedy, which seems inclined to drop To something comic. I have long endured A bond not of my making. Rest assured This day forever breaks it. LA TOUR. And beware, Be very careful that you do not share This tale with tap-room friends. Remember, too, I lost this wager and will pay my due. DE LANCIVAL. When once the wine is out comes folly in. So said the Duke, and bet that you would win And vow you did not. For my lady there, She'll change her mind to-morrow. I can bear My tenth dismissal gaily. [He goes away singing. "I would I were a priest," Quoth the devil; "I would shrive me twice a day And then revel." "I would I were a girl," Quoth the devil, "With a lie in every curl." LA TOUR. He shall rue This insolence. CLAIRE. No, René. What of you? LA TOUR. No more of me. I rid you of a fool Who went his way as unconcerned and cool As though love's perfect roses knew to grow On every hedge. Now have I also earned The tardy wages of a fool, and learned Too late the lesson of a vain regret For what life might have been. CLAIRE. And yetand yet LA TOUR. By heaven, do not trifle with me now! Take care! Think ere you speak. Be very certain, Claire. Hope was so dead. I count it no light thing To give love's winter rose a day of spring. You tremble, hesitate [Voices from a distance call, "Claire, Claire!" LA TOUR seizes her hand as she turns to go. Ah, let me share Your heart's wise counsel, Claire. I pray you spare A man twice hurt. Give me a minute, one [Voices call her. She moves away in haste. You cannot leave me thus. CLAIRE. Sir, I have done. You won your bet. But what, sir, gave the right To think you won a heart? [The voices approach. Enough. Good-night. [LA TOUR looks after her until she is lost behind a hedge in the twilight. LA TOUR. The man is gone to heal his petty smart With wine, sure balsam for a broken heart. A comedy? Perhaps! And, by the rood, The plot unlooked for and the acting shrewd: A stately woman, resolute and sweet, A bragging coward; and, to be complete, This tavern hero, with, one ought to state, King of the stage, Life's greatest actor, Fate! I served her purpose well, and so once more I ever the sad loser as before We part. The usual ending, exeunt all. And for the moral: It doth oft befall One woman pays with usury the debts Of that half-dozen maids a man forgets. [A glove cast over the hedge falls at LA TOUR'S feet; he picks it up. I would it were my lord's. A woman's glove! CLAIRE. What rhymes to that? LA TOUR. By every saint above, How should I know? CLAIRE. 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