  Unknown to each other in a hostile camp, Spies of two empire nations unallied, These heroes met, princes of East and West, Over a ragged pack of cards, by chance. Never believe what credulous annalists Record you in good faith of that encounter. I was there myself, East’s man, and witnessed all. In the main camp of the Middle Kingdom’s army At a soldier’s mess, shortly before Retreat, East, a pretended trooper, stepping in 10 Glanced round the room, shortly discerning West, Who sat dejected at a corner table. East moved by curiosity or compassion Pulled out his cards, offering West the cut, And West, disguised as a travelling ballad-man, Took and cut; they played together then For half an hour or more; then went their ways. Never believe such credulous annalists As tell you, West for sign of recognition, Greatness to greatness, wit to dexterous wit, 20 With sleight of magic most extraordinary Alters the Duty on his Ace of Spades, Making three-pence three-halfpence; East, it’s said, For a fantastic sly acknowledgment, While his grave eyes betoken no surprise, Makes magic too; presto, the Knave of Hearts Nims the Queen’s rose and cocks it in his cap Furtively, so that only West remarks it. But such was not the fact; contrariwise, When Proteus meets with Proteus, each annuls 30 The variability of the other’s mind. So for this present chance, I take my oath That leaning across and watching the cards close I caught no hint of prestidigitation. Never believe approved biographers Who’ll show a sequence of the games then played, Explaining that the minds of these two princes Were of such subtlety and such nimbleness That Whipperginny on the fall of a card 40 Changed to BÉzique or Cribbage or Piquet, Euchre or ÉcartÉ, then back once more, Each comprehending with no signal shown The opposing fancies of the other’s mind. It’s said, spectators of this play grew dazed, They turned away, thinking the gamesters drunk. But I, who sat there watching, keeping score, Say they observed the rules of but one game The whole bout, playing neither well nor ill But slowly, with their thoughts in other channels, 50 Serene and passionless like wooden men. Neither believe those elegant essayists Who reconstruct the princes’ conversation From grotesque fabrics of their own vain brains. I only know that East gave West a nod, Asking him careless questions about trade; West gave the latest rumours from the front, Raising of sieges, plots and pillages. He told a camp-fire yarn to amuse the soldiers Whereat they all laughed emptily (East laughed too). 60 He sang a few staves of the latest catch, And pulling out his roll of rhymes, unfurled it, Ballads and songs, measured by the yard-rule. But do not trust the elegant essayists Who’d have you swallow all they care to tell Of the riddling speech in painful double entendre That West and East juggled across the cards, So intricate, so exquisitely resolved In polished antithetical periods Solomon himself faced with the Queen of Sheba And Bishop Such, preaching before the King, Joined in one person would have seemed mere trash. I give my testimony beyond refutal, Nailing the lie for all who ask the facts. Pay no heed to those vagabond dramatists Who, to present this meeting on the stage, Would make my Prince, stealthily drawing out A golden quill and stabbing his arm for blood, Scratch on a vellum slip some hasty sentence 80 And pass it under the table; which West signs With his blood, so the treaty’s made between them All unobserved and two far nations wedded While enemy soldiers loll, yawning, around. I was there myself, I say, seeing everything. Truly, this is what passed, that East regarding West with a steady look and knowing him well, For an instant let the heavy soldier-mask, His best protection, a dull cast of face, Light up with joy, and his eyes shoot out mirth. 90 West then knew East, checked, and misdealt the cards. Nothing at all was said, on went the game. But East bought from West’s bag of ballads, after, Two sombre histories, and some songs for dancing. Also distrust those allegorical Painters who treating of this famous scene Are used to splash the skies with lurching Cupids, Goddesses with loose hair, and broad-cheeked Zephyrs; They burnish up the soldiers’ breastplate steel Rusted with languor of their long campaign, 100 To twinkling high-lights of unmixed white paint, Giving them buskins and tall plumes to wear, While hard by, in a wanton imagery, Aquatic Triton thunders on his conch And Satyrs gape from behind neighbouring trees. I who was there, sweating in my shirt-sleeves, For human splendour gave the gods rebuff. Do not believe them, seem they never so wise, Credibly posted with all new research, 110 Those elegant essayists, vagabond dramatists, Authentic and appro |
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