The Court Jester

CHAPTER V

THE WONDERFUL WISDOM OF PITTACUS

To go away at that moment, to leave the hated soil of France forevermore, was now the ardent desire of the little princess, but even royal ladies can not always do as they would like, and she was made to realize that some days must elapse before it would be possible for her to set out for her own country, where her father and her brother would be waiting for her.

The chief delight of the princess at this time was in listening to the songs of Burgundy as sung by the tuneful voice of Antoine. Anne of Beaujeu entered her apartments one morning when the boy was singing his Burgundian chansons. That cold and dignified lady was quite favorably impressed by the singer's talent, and requested him to sing a well-known French song.

"Madame," said the princess, "I shall be pleased to have my page sing for you anything that you may fancy, but you will pardon me if I leave the room while he sings of the glories of France!" And she walked out with her head held high in the air.

Cunegunda was now utterly happy. Her migraine had been cured, thanks to Saint Roch or to the change of air and scene necessitated by the journey to his shrine, and she was going to return to her beloved country.

"Ah, there is a land governed by a majestic ruler, a man who looks like a sovereign," said she proudly. "But the kings of France, pouf! The old king, who was alive when we came, looked like an old peasant, with his claw-like hands and his awkward legs, and the present one, who in the very bloom of his youth should be ruddy and handsome, has a large head and is undersized and is not at all kingly in appearance."

"But let us think only of the real man shut inside of that unprepossessing shell," said Le Glorieux, adding, "There is that clever sentence again; I was afraid I had forgotten it."

"I do not see anything so very clever about it," retorted Dame Cunegunda; "anybody could have thought it out."

"Anybody might think out things, my good Frau," he replied, "but it is the knowing just when to say them that counts. But I have very bad news for you, and instead of discussing my wonderful gift of always being able to say the right thing at the right time, I really should be bathed in tears."

"Has something dreadful happened to my father? Has news come from Austria?" asked Marguerite, in alarm.

"By no means. Calm yourself, my little princess. The King of the Romans may be at this moment climbing the cliffs to surprise the wary chamois, or he may be defying some unlucky knight to mortal combat in the tournament."

"Then it must have been decided that we are to remain in France," cried Cunegunda. "Oh, unlucky was the day that we ever set foot in this unholy land! I might have known that there was no such good luck for me as to leave it!"

"Now you are preparing to cry," said the jester reproachfully, "and if there is anything in this world I dislike to see it is a woman with her face all wrinkled up ready for a boohoo. Your face is round and rosy, and looks well enough when you let it alone, but ever since I have become acquainted with you, you have been ready to weep at a moment's warning; you have shed at least a barrel of tears, and what good has it done you? Learn a lesson of me and smile at things instead of crying about them."

"I never should want to smile had I so wide a mouth as yours," retorted Cunegunda, forgetting in her indignation that she had not yet learned the news that Le Glorieux had come to tell.

"My mouth is the right width for a man of my height," returned he, "and could not be improved upon. But to return to the matter in hand, I will say right here and now that we are going to sail away as soon as the good ships can be made ready for us."

"Then, what is your news? be not so long about telling it," said Marguerite, knitting her straight brows into a frown.

"It is, alas, alas, that Clotilde is going with us to the domains of your royal grandfather!"

"This is news, indeed. Why must she go?"

"It appears that the new Queen of France, who so cleverly slipped into your place, my little princess, and caught the crown as it was about to settle itself upon your golden head – let me see, where was I?"

"What of the Queen of France?" asked Marguerite.

"Oh, yes; Anne wants a lady of her own kin to accompany you to your native country, to escort you, to watch over you; and Clotilde, you know, is a relative of Anne's, though they are about as much alike as Pandora, my hawk, is like a meek little dove. Nature makes a mistake sometimes and links the wrong people together by the ties of blood; I do not know why, but so it is. I had hoped that the shores of France and the sour face of Clotilde would disappear together from my view, but perfect happiness is possible for no one, and moreover, I never was very lucky."

"If the Lady Clotilde is a relative of the young Queen of France, how does it happen that she has lived so long in Burgundy?" asked Cunegunda.

"My good friend," replied the jester, "you may have forgotten that sometimes even the sourest of women have an opportunity to marry. They manage it, I think, by the aid of witchcraft, and in her youth the sharp black eyes of Clotilde captivated a Burgundian noble who afterward was killed in the wars, and probably was glad of it, considering the life she must have led him."

A number of proverbs have been suggested by the fact that people often appear upon the scene while they are being talked about, and just as he finished his sentence the Lady Clotilde parted the curtains that hung at the doorway. She looked as pleased as her usually stern countenance would permit, and she was accompanied by a boy about fourteen years of age. This boy, afterward Duke of Savoy, and called Philibert the Handsome, was so beautiful that it was a joy to look upon him. The contour of his head, his straight nose, and his well-cut lips were as perfect as if they had been carved from marble by the skillful, loving hand of a sculptor, while his brilliant coloring, his dark and shining eyes, were made still more attractive by the expression of his countenance, which was frank and pleasing. For those days, when men and women vied with each other in the selection of gaudy colors, he was quite plainly clad, wearing a suit of dark velvet with no ornaments whatever.

"I wish to present to your Highness a young relative of mine," announced the Lady Clotilde. "He is Philibert, son of the Count de Bresse of Savoy."

The boy kissed the hand Marguerite extended to him, and the Lady Clotilde continued, "His father is an ally, as your Highness probably knows, of the King of France."

"To gain my favor it is not necessary to be an ally of France," said Marguerite shortly.

"And you are right, Madame," replied the boy quickly. "Were I in my father's place never again would I draw my sword for France, for nations as well as gentlemen should keep their promises."

This reply pleased the princess so much that her heart was won at once, and she smiled brightly upon the boy as Le Glorieux said, "And now tell me, Cousin Clotilde, how this young gentleman happens to be of your kin. He does not resemble you in the least."

"I am not so sure about that," said the lady. "On the contrary, I think that he looks quite as I did at his age, and even now I can trace a great resemblance between his countenance and my own."

"Your eyes are very sharp, my lady, and you possess the gift of seeing things that are visible to no one else," replied the jester.

"So I have been told," she responded, taking the remark as a compliment. "Philibert's mother was a relative of my own, and this is the first time I have seen the lad, who, young as he is, his father takes with him to the wars."

"I wish," said Marguerite shyly, "that your father would ally himself with Austria, since you no longer feel friendly toward France."

Philibert colored with pleasure as he replied, "Indeed, your Highness, I should like it of all things, but my father must do as he thinks best."

"Would you like to go to Austria for a time, Philibert?" asked the Lady Clotilde, who seemed to be in an unusually obliging mood. Then she added, "A visit to a foreign court is of great advantage to a youth of rank, and I will see what I can do to induce your father to allow you to make the journey in my company."

There was no need for the boy to make a reply to this question, his beaming face and sparkling eyes being sufficient to convince any who cared to know that the very thought of such a trip made him happy, and the Lady Clotilde left the room with the words of Le Glorieux ringing in her ears, "She will succeed in her attempt, for those who do not obey our Cousin Clotilde from love do so from fear," a doubtful compliment to which she paid no attention. She was quite pleased with the thought of procuring the companionship of this handsome and gracious boy, who, she felt confident, would reflect great credit upon herself.

"Oh, you will be permitted to go with us, I am sure of it!" cried the little princess enthusiastically. "Have you ever sailed in a ship?"

"No, Madame," replied the boy; "I have never been on the sea."

"Nor I, since I can remember it," returned she, "but I long to make a voyage. It must be fine to be so far away from land as to see nothing but the sky and the foam-capped waves, to be on the dark, cold sea and yet be snug and comfortable."

"Once when I was a boy I made a trip on the sea," remarked Le Glorieux, "and I remember that there were times when I was not so snug and comfortable as I could have wished. Believe me, my little princess, you would be much happier traveling on land this time of year than you would be out on the stormy seas. But France will send you home in whatever way it best pleases her, and we shall have but little to say about it."

And it so happened that it was deemed best to send the little princess back to her father by land instead of intrusting her to the sea. This was a disappointment to Marguerite, though she was glad to know that they were to start at once. Already the palace of Amboise was being refitted and refurnished in a style of great magnificence for the new queen, who would not come to occupy it until after her coronation at St. Denis. There was an atmosphere of joy throughout the kingdom in anticipation of the new régime, which was expected to be very different from the terrible days of the previous reign.

Lady Clotilde, who, as the jester had remarked, always managed in some way to get what she wanted, succeeded in persuading the Count de Bresse to allow his son to accompany her to Austria, and it was with light hearts that the party set out on the journey, for a trip that has something pleasant at the end of it is always begun joyously, and there is ever a feeling of exhilaration in the thought of seeing a new country. To the little princess her native land would be as an unknown country, for to her it was not even a memory. Not for a moment did she forget her grudge against France. At the first stop they made, when a glass of wine was offered her with an apology for its sourness, she said with a curl of her red lips, "Even the wine is sour in a country that can not keep its promises." And the day they passed through Arras, the town where the treaty was concluded that was to unite her to Charles, and the people ran out with cries of greeting, she turned her head away with a contemptuous reply.

As soon as they crossed the line that divided France from Flanders, Le Glorieux put spurs to his steed and advanced to the side of the litter in which the princess was seated.

"Little Cousin," said he. The curtains were parted and Marguerite's pretty face smiled at him. "You are now in your very own land of Flanders," said he, "the country your mother brought to Austria as her dower."

"And I am glad to be here," replied she. "I could kiss the very soil of the land that is my own!"

The jester now gradually fell behind, and once more rode at the rear of the procession. "Why do you always ride so far behind?" asked Philibert, checking his own horse to wait for Le Glorieux.

"Do you want me to tell you the real reason?" asked the fool.

"Certainly I do."

"It is because I wish to spare the feelings of Pittacus."

"The legs, rather," laughed the boy.

"I mean exactly what I say – the feelings," persisted the fool. "Do you not think that a donkey can have feelings as well as a person? Of course he can," he went on, answering his own question. "And do you not think that he is greatly humiliated in a company like this?"

"What is there to humiliate him?" asked Antoine, who rode on the other side of the jester.

"Why, look you, many of the other steeds are mounted by the nobility and bear the richest trappings, while poor unfortunate Pittacus has nothing but a common saddle. Do you not suppose that it cuts him to the heart when he notices the contrast? How would either of you feel to mingle with a gay company where jewels flashed and velvets shimmered, while you wore the coarsest fustian?"

"We should not like it, of course," replied Philibert, "but what does a donkey know about such things?"

"If you should ask him about it, you would be very soon convinced of the truth of what I have told you, by the reply that he would make," said Le Glorieux.

"Then let us ask him," said Antoine, and immediately raised his voice, saying, "Pittacus, do you mind whether or not you are wearing gay trappings? If you do, just move your right ear." But the donkey refused to make a sign.

"What did I tell you?" asked Antoine mockingly. "He does not know or care what kind of a saddle you have placed on his back."

"He did not hear you," replied the jester.

"I should like to know why he did not hear me; what are such long ears for, if not for use?"

"If you will stop a moment you will see that he will answer me," said Le Glorieux.

"He can not understand conversation when he is walking," said Philibert, laughing.

"Nor well enough to make a reply even when he is standing still," remarked Antoine. "A donkey is nothing but a donkey, and you can make nothing more out of him."

"There are some donkeys, two legged ones, that can not understand things that are told them," retorted the jester, "but if you will stop a moment, you will see that he will answer me. Pittacus is haughty and particular in the choice of his friends, and he will not reply to every jackanapes who asks him a question."

The three stopped and Le Glorieux dismounted, and going close to the donkey's ear, he said, "Pittacus, joy of my heart, it makes you very unhappy to see the other horses dressed so gay while you are wearing your plain old saddle and blanket, I know it does. If I am right, just move your right ear, Pittacus." And Pittacus did move his right ear, and that quite vigorously.

"Now what have you to say?" asked his master triumphantly.

"You touched him with the point of your dagger and that was the cause of it," said Philibert.

"I did nothing of the kind. See, I will ask him the same question again with my hands clasped behind me. If you meant what you said just now, move your right ear again, Pittacus." Again the donkey's long ear moved as before, and, mounting him, the fool said with great satisfaction, "I hope you will believe a thing when you have seen it with your own eyes, and perhaps you will be careful in what you say about him in his presence."

"I do not see that we need to be so very cautious in what we say, since he does not seem to understand what is said to him, even by you, until the question is bawled into his ear," said Philibert.

"He does not take the trouble to answer unless some one he respects talks into his ear; in fact, he hears no questions asked by ordinary people, but he would hear any gossip about himself, for all that," replied Le Glorieux.

Antoine was very much surprised at the superior intelligence of the donkey, but he did not pursue the subject further. It was a popular belief at this period that animals actually could talk on Christmas Eve, and if this were true, he did not see any reason why they should not be able to move their ears in reply to a question at any time of the year. But Philibert, although he kept perfectly quiet regarding the matter, suspected the truth, which was that with the word "Pittacus" at the end of the sentence the jester blew into the donkey's ear, which caused the animal to move his generous organ of hearing. He was also convinced that it was not the sensitiveness of the animal to the fine trappings of the other horses that kept him in the rear, but that it was because he was too fat and lazy to keep up a brisk pace.

It was a tiresome journey, though they stopped at the towns, and sometimes were entertained at the mansion of some noble family along the route. Not far from Cologne the princess called to Le Glorieux, who, though there were plenty of attendants to see that she was comfortable, was in the habit of riding forward once in a while to make sure that she needed nothing, "I am told that we are not far from Castle Hohenberg," said she. "Ask two of the gentlemen to ride on and notify them of our coming."

"May I accompany them?" asked the fool.

"Certainly, if you like."

"And I should like to exchange horses with one of the guards."

"Why?"

"Because my donkey, Pittacus, is so sensitive."

"Sensitive?" repeated the princess, looking puzzled.

"Pittacus, little Cousin, is perfectly well aware of the shabbiness of his wardrobe, and to prance into a castle courtyard caparisoned as he is, with two other horses that are well dressed, would be more painful to him than to enter in a crowd where he would not be so likely to be noticed."

"Just as you please," replied the princess, smiling. "One of the guards will exchange steeds with you."

"See the fibs your utter indolence and indifference force me to tell," muttered the fool, as he rode away from the litter. "It is I who am sensitive, and on account of your slowness, but all this does not seem to have the least effect upon you or to make you go a jot faster."

Having exchanged with one of the guards, who did not seem at all anxious to make the trade, Le Glorieux galloped gayly away with the two gentlemen, very glad to be one of the first to arrive at the castle.

Wrapped in his robes of crimson, the sun was sinking behind the forest trees when Le Glorieux and his two companions came in sight of the family seat of the Von Hohenbergs. The building was a grim old structure, turreted and rugged, which had seen two centuries come and go, and seemed able to greet many more. Some youths and maidens who had been to the wood to gather fagots were singing and chattering as if the world for them had not a care, though they possessed but the mere necessaries of life. The count and countess had not yet returned from the chase, so the strangers were informed by the haughty seneschal, who immediately softened and almost groveled when informed that the Lady Marguerite of Hapsburg was about to honor the castle with her presence, while every being under that roof seemed to be on the alert to put the best foot foremost, in order properly to receive the little princess. Even Le Glorieux was treated with a degree of deference that caused him to throw back his shoulders and strut about with a great deal of pride.

Soon the sound of a hunting horn was heard, and a company of ladies and gentlemen dashed through the gate with hawks on their wrists and followed by hounds. They seemed more quiet and less happy than the fagot-gatherers, Le Glorieux thought, and he wondered if they were really as happy as those young people who were working for their daily bread.

The Count and Countess Von Hohenberg were very pleasant elderly people, with a large family of sons and daughters, and a number of relatives who always lived with them, so their household was a very large one. They were charmed to hear of the unexpected arrival of the princess, who with her suite soon rode through the gates and received a hearty welcome. A bright fire was snapping in the broad fireplace of the great hall, and did its part in cheering the fatigued and chilled travelers. The guests were conducted to their rooms, which, if they did not contain the luxuries afforded by the sleeping apartments in the mansions of the rich of the present day, were at least comfortable, though the huge beds, with their ghostly hangings, looked as if they might invite the nightmare.

It was a merry company which surrounded the supper table, where Marguerite was, of course, given the seat of honor. Great indignation was expressed at the double insult offered their country by France. "I have heard," said the count, "that Austria has taken up an alliance with England and Spain, so France may learn to fear the house of Hapsburg and its powerful friends."

"And France is no longer governed by the sly and scheming Louis, but by the weakling Charles," said one of the gentlemen.

"I think you are wrong to call Charles a weakling," remarked Le Glorieux, who was sitting on a low stool at the side of his mistress, with his plate in his lap. "Charles has a dimple in his chin, which may mean weakness, but he also has a nose of great size, which may mean anything that is bad for his neighbors."

Just as he finished this speech a mournful shriek was heard outside, which very nearly made the fool drop his plate. "What was that horrible noise?" he gasped.

"It was only the wind whistling about the turrets," replied the count, laughing. "The night is growing colder and the wind is rising."

"I thought it was the wail of a witch," said the jester.

"Send for Antoine that he may sing the witch song he gave us one night in Rennes," said the Lady Marguerite. "It is like the howl of the wind."

A servant was sent to fetch the boy, who came with his lute and took a seat by the fire, where he sang the witch song to such words as suited his fancy, for he was not playing a joke upon his friend as when he had sung at the court of Brittany, but was now anxious to please this merry company of ladies and gentlemen. He told how a beauteous maiden with a lovely voice was carried away one dark night by a witch, and changed into a nightingale, where, lingering about her former home, she nightly poured forth the woes of her heart in song. This production received such high praise from the listeners that Antoine blushed very red, and did not know whether to look up the chimney or at the floor, to hide his confusion. Upon learning that he had set his own words to his own music, one of the ladies wanted to know whether the story was true, and if the unhappy maiden really had been thus bewitched. But Antoine was obliged to admit that he had not a personal acquaintance with the nightingale maiden, intimating that the young woman was merely a creature of his imagination. To-day this would seem a strange question to ask in all seriousness, but, as has already been said, the existence of witches and hobgoblins was taken as a matter of course in those days.

Then they began to talk of the tricks played by witches, and while none of the company could say that he or she ever had actually seen a witch, still almost everybody had a story to tell that had been related by people who had seen those mysterious and treacherous females.

"My mother often talked with witches," said the Lady Clotilde in that decided way of hers which seemed to defy anybody to doubt her word. "And they caused her a great deal of annoyance," she went on. "One day when my mother was fastening a veil to her cap, a witch suddenly appeared and said, 'Oh, what a pretty cap! And that lace is as delicate as frostwork! Let me try it on, do!' And before my mother could say 'yes' or 'no,' the witch had snatched the cap and put it on her head, and with a shrill laugh vanished through the keyhole!"

"How did she get the cap through the keyhole?" asked Le Glorieux.

"That is no more wonderful than getting herself through the keyhole, is it?" asked the lady tartly, annoyed by the query.

"No," returned the fool, "I do not think it is."

"Then do not interrupt with silly questions," said she.

"I can tell a story of something that happened over a hundred years ago, in this very house, to one of my husband's ancestors," said the countess. Everybody shivered with expectancy, while the wind outside howled louder than ever; Antoine turned his back to the fire so that it would not be convenient for anything to grab him from that direction, while even Philibert, who was two years older, and who sat beside the countess, regretted vaguely that the dagger at his side would be of no avail against witches. For it seemed that if such creatures ever would feel an inclination to meddle with the affairs of mortals, this old castle with its vast rooms and dark corners would be the scene of their liveliest performances.