THE PORTREEVE'S GAUDY-DAY
I—The Preparation
IN THE midst of the journey of my mortal life, I sent one day letters to three friends of mine, asking them to come to me at Clemendy, and make merry with me for a little while; ere the honeysuckle and the roses had fallen to earth once more. For it must be understood that I had been taking a dip into the Devil's Bath; and being recovered was willing to celebrate my happy case in some fitting and joyful manner. I know not whether any of you who may read the Silurian Mythologies have ever had a plunge into this same Balneum Diaboli; but if not let me tell you 'tis a mighty hot fountain; and yet has lumps of ice floating in it that freeze the heart while the head's on fire. In fine 'tis a bath to be remembered all the days of a man's life, a bath held in especial abhorrence by Silurists, because, whenas they are in it, they laugh little, drink less, and will scarce say "thank you" if a pretty lass beckon with her finger, and pout her lips into shapes never so enticing. And, as it is well known in what esteem Love, Ale, and Laughter are held by the good folk of Gwent, you may conceive how sorely sick they must be to have no relish for these delights, and even to rail against them and to blaspheme; uttering all manner of waspish censures against broad grins, brown bowls, and cherry lips. It is in these sad times when Beelzebub takes us by the neck, dips us under, and asks, "How do you like that?" that we say sour and ill-natured things against everybody, pry into matters which should be covered with leaves like the baskets in Ceres' Pomp, and find fault with everything. Others write books while they are soused in the Bath; works full of unpleasant doctrines and sad moralities to the intent that our Mortal Life is a pitiful Tragic Show, full of tears, and sighing, and sorrow; instead of the true, veracious, and Silurian position, namely that it is the drollest, merriest, wildest, most fantastical comedy; a comedy better than any that the witty clerk Aristophanes invented for the men of Athens, and rigged out with the rarest jokes, trickeries, brawls, intrigues, miz-mazes, counterfeits, gods-from-the-machine, choruses, waggeries, oil-flasks, wine-skins, masks, and music. This is what it really is, tho' when one is in the Devil's Bath it seems quite different; but then it is silly to touch the quill at such a season, and can only waste time, ink, and paper.
And since I had come once more to my right reason, and the blue sky opened no more for me a pall of blackness, as I have said, I bade my friends come and sleep for a few nights under my roof, that we all of us might get some gladness whilst we were able. And on the appointed day I waited for them, sitting in an elbow chair set in the shade of the lawn, and had on a little table beside me a flagon of wine, a cup, and the famous books called The Red Book of Rabanus, and The Joyous Inventions of the Monk Galliardus. With these good fellows I passed the afternoon, lying well back in my stall with my legs stretched out, reading with grave delight the pleasant adventures of the Seigneur of Ville-aux-Echelles and Madam Amalaswonda, and the wonderful history of the Rose-Chapter held in the Abbey of Arsanno on the Vigil of St. Ypocras. And amongst other strange relations I read as follows from the Periphrasis of the Spanish friar, Antonio of Calvados; the which plainly declares the delight taken in our land by the nations oversea:
