Domnei | Page 4

THE ROMANCE OF LUSIGNAN OF THAT FORGOTTEN MAKER
IN THE FRENCH TONGUE, MESSIRE NICOLAS DE CAEN. HERE
BEGINS THE TALE WHICH THEY OF POICTESME NARRATE
CONCERNING DAME MELICENT, THAT WAS DAUGHTER TO
THE GREAT COUNT MANUEL.

PART ONE
PERION How Perion, that stalwart was and gay, Treadeth with sorrow
on a holiday, Since Melicent anon must wed a king: How in his heart
he hath vain love-longing, For which he putteth life in forfeiture, And
would no longer in such wise endure; For writhing Perion in Venus'
fire So burneth that he dieth for desire.

1.
How Perion Was Unmasked
Perion afterward remembered the two weeks spent at Bellegarde as in
recovery from illness a person might remember some long fever dream
which was all of an intolerable elvish brightness and of incessant
laughter everywhere. They made a deal of him in Count Emmerick's
pleasant home: day by day the outlaw was thrust into relations of mirth
with noblemen, proud ladies, and even with a king; and was all the
while half lightheaded through his singular knowledge as to how
precariously the self-styled Vicomte de Puysange now balanced
himself, as it were, upon a gilded stepping-stone from infamy to
oblivion.
Now that King Theodoret had withdrawn his sinister presence, young
Perion spent some seven hours of every day alone, to all intent, with
Dame Melicent. There might be merry people within a stone's throw,
about this recreation or another, but these two seemed to watch aloofly,
as royal persons do the antics of their hired comedians, without any
condescension into open interest. They were together; and the jostle of
earthly happenings might hope, at most, to afford them matter for
incurious comment.
They sat, as Perion thought, for the last time together, part of an
audience before which the Confraternity of St. Médard was enacting a
masque of The Birth of Hercules. The Bishop of Montors had returned
to Bellegarde that evening with his brother, Count Gui, and the

pleasure-loving prelate had brought these mirth-makers in his train.
Clad in scarlet, he rode before them playing upon a lute--unclerical
conduct which shocked his preciser brother and surprised nobody.
In such circumstances Perion began to speak with an odd purpose,
because his reason was bedrugged by the beauty and purity of Melicent,
and perhaps a little by the slow and clutching music to whose progress
the chorus of Theban virgins was dancing. When he had made an end
of harsh whispering, Melicent sat for a while in scrupulous
appraisement of the rushes. The music was so sweet it seemed to
Perion he must go mad unless she spoke within the moment.
Then Melicent said:
"You tell me you are not the Vicomte de Puysange. You tell me you are,
instead, the late King Helmas' servitor, suspected of his murder. You
are the fellow that stole the royal jewels--the outlaw for whom half
Christendom is searching--"
Thus Melicent began to speak at last; and still he could not intercept
those huge and tender eyes whose purple made the thought of heaven
comprehensible.
The man replied:
"I am that widely hounded Perion of the Forest. The true vicomte is the
wounded rascal over whose delirium we marvelled only last Tuesday.
Yes, at the door of your home I attacked him, fought him--hah, but
fairly, madame!--and stole his brilliant garments and with them his
papers. Then in my desperate necessity I dared to masquerade. For I
know enough about dancing to estimate that to dance upon air must
necessarily prove to everybody a disgusting performance, but
pre-eminently unpleasing to the main actor. Two weeks of safety till
the Tranchemer sailed I therefore valued at a perhaps preposterous rate.
To-night, as I have said, the ship lies at anchor off Manneville."
Melicent said an odd thing, asking, "Oh, can it be you are a less
despicable person than you are striving to appear!"

"Rather, I am a more unmitigated fool than even I suspected, since
when affairs were in a promising train I have elected to blurt out, of all
things, the naked and distasteful truth. Proclaim it now; and see the late
Vicomte de Puysange lugged out of this hall and after appropriate
torture hanged within the month." And with that Perion laughed.
Thereafter he was silent. As the masque went, Amphitryon had newly
returned from warfare, and was singing under Alcmena's window in the
terms of an aubade, a waking-song. "Rei glorios, verais lums e
clardatz--" Amphitryon had begun. Dame Melicent heard him through.
And after many ages, as it seemed to Perion, the soft and brilliant and
exquisite mouth was pricked to motion.
"You have affronted, by an incredible imposture and beyond the reach
of mercy, every listener in this hall. You have injured me most deeply of
all persons here. Yet it is