Aloysius Bertrand, translated by
James Weeks / Messire Jean
“A
grave figure whose gold chain and
white ring announced his
authority.”
WALTER SCOTT, The Abbot
“Messire Jean,” said the Queen, “go look into the palace courtyard, and
tell
me why those two greyhounds are fighting.” And he goes down there.
And when he arrives, the Senechal gives a good talking to the hounds,
who
are fighting over a hambone.
But now they’re tearing off his black breeches and snapping at his red
stockings. They knock him over like a man with the gout tumbling over
his
crutches.
He cries for help and the court halberdiers come running, but the
muzzles of
the greyhounds have already burrowed into the dainty purse of the good
man.
Meanwhile, the Queen has grown weak with laughter, watching from her
window, dressed in her tall wimple from Malines, which is crisp and
clean
and as tightly pleated as a fan.
“And why are they fighting, Messire?”
“They are fighting, Madame, for the honor of calling you the most
beautiful,
and the wisest, and the grandest princess in creation.”
CUE: A Journal of Prose
Poetry
Winter 2004, Volume I, Issue I