THE ARRIVAL OF THE DUKE
Proficient as a poet, bold as a soldier, adroit as a statesman, the
king was, nevertheless, most fitted for the convivial role of host, and
no part that he played in his varied repertoire afforded such
opportunity for the nice display of his unusual talents. History hath
sneered at his rhymes as flat, stale and unprofitable; upon the bloody
field he had been defeated and subsequently imprisoned; clever in
diplomacy, the sagacity of his opponent, Charles, had in truth
overmatched him; yet as the ostentatious Boniface, in grand bib and
tucker, prodigal in joviality and good-fellowship, his reputation rests
without a flaw.
In anticipation of the arrival of the duke and his suite, the monarch
had ordered a series of festivities and entertainments such as would
gratify his desire for pageantry and display, and at the same time do
honor to a guest who was to espouse one of France's fairest wards. To
the castle repaired tailors, embroiderers and goldsmiths to make and
devise garments for knights, ladies, lords and esquires and for the
trapping, decking and adorning of coursers, jennets and palfries.
Bales of silks and satins had been long since conveyed thither from
distant Paris, in anticipation of the coming marriage; and the old
Norman castle that had once resounded with the clashing of arms, the
snap of the cross-bow and the clang of the catapult now echoed with the
merry stir and flurry of peace; a bee-hive of activity wherein were no
drones; marshal, grand master, chancellor and grand chamberlain
preparing for mysteries and hunting parties; dowagers, matrons and
maids making ready for balls and other pastimes.
With this new influx of population to the pleasure palace came a
plentiful sprinkling of wayside minstrels, jugglers, mountebanks,
dulcimer and lute players, street poets who sang the praises of some
fair cobbleress or pretty sausage girl; scamps of students from the
Paris haunts of vice, loose fellows who conned the classical poets by
day and took a purse by night; dancers, dwarfs, and merry men all, not
averse to--
"Haunch and ham, and cheek and chine
While they gurgled their throats with right good wine."
Here sauntered a wit-cracker, a peacock feather in his hand, arm-in-arm
with an impoverished "banquet beagle," or "feast hound;" there passed a
jack in green, a bladder under his arm and a tankard at his belt, with
which latter he begged that sort of alms that flows from a spigot. As
vagrant followers hover on the verge of a camp, or watchful vultures
circle around their prey, so these lower parasites (distinct from the
other well-born, more aristocratic genus of smell-feast) prowled
vigilantly without the castle walls and beyond the limits of the royal
pleasure grounds, finding occasional employment from lackey, valet or
equerry, who, imitating their betters, amused themselves betimes with
some low buffoon or vulgar clown and rewarded him for his gross stories
and antics with a crust and a cup.
Faith, in those thrice happy days, every henchman could whistle to him
his shabby poet, and every ostler hold court in the stable, with a
_visdase_, or ass face, to keep the audience in a roar, and a
nimble-footed trull to set them into ecstasies. But woe betide the
honest wayfarer who strolled beyond the orderly precincts of the king's
walls after dusk; for if some street coxcomb was too drunk to rob him,
or a ribald Latin scholar saw him not, he surely ran into a nest of
pavement tumblers or cellar poets who forthwith stripped him and turned
him loose in the all-insufficient garb of nature.
A fantastic, waggish crew--yet Francis minded them not, so long as they
observed sufficient etiquette to keep their distance from his royal
person and immediate following. This nice decorum, however, be it
said, was an unwritten law with these waifs and scatterlings, knowing
the merry monarch who tolerated them afar would feel no compunction at
hanging them severally, or in squads, from the convenient branches of
the trees surrounding the castle, should the humor seize him that such
summary chastisement were best for their morals and the welfare of the
community. Thus, though bold, were they also shy, drinking humbly from
a black-jack quart in the kitchen and vanishing docilely enough when
the sovereign cook bid them be gone with warm words or by flinging over
them ladles of hot soup.
One bright morning, like rabbits peeping from their holes when they
hear the footfall of the hunter, these field ramblers and wayside
peregrinators were all agog, emerging from grassy cover and thicket
retreat, to gaze open-mouthed after a gay cavalcade that issued from
the castle gate, and rode southward with waving banner and piercing
trumpet note.
"The king, knaves!" cried a grimy estray with bells upon his person
that jingled like those of a Jewish high priest, to a group of players
and gamesters. "Already my mouth waters at the thoughts of the wedding
feast, and the scraps and bones that will be thrown away. There I
warrant you we'll all find hearty cheer."
"Why are fools ever welcome at a wedding?" asked a singing scholar.
"Because there are two in the ceremony, and the rest make the chorus,"
answered a philandering mime.
"And our merry monarch goeth down the road to meet one of the two,"
said a close-cropped rogue.
"Well, he's a brave knight to come so far to yield himself captive--to
a woman," returned the student. "As Horace saith--"
"Thou calumniator! shrimp of a man!" exclaimed a dark-browed drab
dressed like a gipsy, seizing the scholar's short doublet. "An I get
at you--"
"Take the garment, you harridan, not the man," he retorted, slipping
deftly out of the jerkin and dancing away to a safe distance.
"Ha! there's wedded bliss for you!" laughed a man in Franciscan attire,
a rough rascal disguised as one of those priests called "God's fools"
or "Christ's fools." "A week ago, when I married them, they were
billing and cooing. But to your holes, children! When the king
returns he would not have his guest gaze upon such scarecrows and
trollops. Disperse, and Beelzebub take you!" And as the group
scattered the sound of beating horses' hoofs died away in the distance.
Francis was unusually good-humored that day. Apprised by a herald that
the duke and his followers were nearing the castle, he had sent the
messenger back announcing a trysting-place, and now rode forth to meet
his guest and escort him with honor to the castle. Upon a noble steed,
black as night, the monarch sat; the saddle and trappings crimson in
color; the stirrup and bit, of gold; a jaunty plume of white ostrich
feathers waving above the jetty mane. The costume of the king's
stalwart figure displayed a splendid suit of plate armor, enriched with
chased work and ornament in gold, his appearance in keeping with his
character of monarch and knight who sought to revive the spirit of
chivalry at a period when the practical modern tendencies seriously
threatened to undermine the practices and traditions of a once-exalted,
but now fast-failing, institution for the regulation of morals and
conduct.
By his side, less radiant only in comparison with the august monarch,
rode the rank and quality of the realm, with silver and spangles, and
fluttering plumes, scabbards gleaming with jewels, and girdles adorned
with rich settings. Furiously galloping behind came an attenuated
snow-white charger, bearing the hunchback. A bladder dangling over his
shoulder, his bagpipe hanging from his waist, Triboulet bobbed
frantically up and down, clinging desperately to the saddle or winding
his legs about the charger's neck to preserve his equilibrium.
"You would better jog along more quietly, fool," observed a courtier,
warningly, "or you will suffer for it."
"Alas, sir," replied Triboulet, "I stick my spurs into my horse to keep
him quiet, but the more I prick him the more unruly I find the
obstinate beast."
The king, who heard, laughed, and the dwarf's heart immediately
expanded, auguring he should soon be restored to the monarch's favor;
for since the night the buffoon had failed to answer the duke's jester
in Fools' hall Francis had received Triboulet's advances and small
pleasantries with terrifying coldness. In fact, the dwarf had never
passed such an uncomfortable period during his career, save on one
memorable occasion when a band of mischievous pages had set upon him,
carried him to the scaffold and nailed his enormous ears to the beam.
Now, reassured, burning with delight, the jester spurred presumptuously
forward, no longer feeling bound to lag in the rear.
"Go back!" cried an angry knight. "I can not bear a fool on my right."
Triboulet reined in his horse, but pushed ahead on the other side of
the rider who had spoken.
"I can bear it very well," he retorted and found his proud reward in
the company's laughter. The remark, moreover, passed from lip to lip
to the king, and the misshapen jester felt his little cup of happiness
filled once more to the brim; his old prestige seemed coming back to
him; holding his position in the road, he gazed disdainfully at the
disgruntled knight, and the other returned the look with one of hearty
ill-will, muttering an imprecation and warning just above his breath.
"Sire," called out Triboulet, loudly, now above fearing courtier,
knight or any high official of the realm, "the Count de Piseione says
he will beat me to death."
"If he does," good-naturedly answered the king, "I will hang him
quarter of an hour afterward."
"Please, your Majesty, hang him quarter of an hour before."
Thus right pleasantly, with quip and jest, and many a smart sally, did
the monarch and his retinue draw near the meeting spot, where at a fork
of the road, beneath the shade of overhanging branches, were already
assembled a goodly group of soldiers. Beyond them, at a respectful
distance, stood many beasts of burden, heavily laden, the great packs
promising stores of rare and costly gifts. At the head of the troopers
was a thick-set man, with broad shoulders and brawny frame, mounted on
a powerful gray horse. This leader, whom the approaching company
surmised to be the duke, sat motionless as a statue, gazing steadfastly
at the shining armor and gallant figure of the king who spurred to him,
a friendly greeting on his lips. Then, lightly springing to earth and
throwing his bridle to one of his troop, the foreign noble approached
the royal horseman on foot, and, bending his head, knelt before him,
respectfully kissing his hand.
Grim, silent, with hardened faces, the duke's men regarded the scene,
their dusty attire (albeit rich enough beneath the marks of travel),
sun-burned visages and stolid manner in marked contrast with the
bearing and aspect of the king's gay following. One of the alien troop
pulled a red mustachio fiercely and eyed a blithe popinjay of the court
with quizzical superiority; the others remained, stock-still, but
observant.
"I see you are punctual and waiting, noble sir!" said the monarch gaily
when the initial formalities had been complied with. "But that is no
more than should be expected from--an impatient bridegroom." Then,
gazing curiously, yet with penetrating look, on the features of his
guest, who now had arisen: "You appear slightly older than I expected
from the letter of our dear friend and brother, the emperor."
And truly the duke's appearance was that of a man more nearly five and
thirty than five and twenty; his face was brown from exposure and upon
his brow the scar of an old sword wound; yet a fearless, dashing
countenance; an eye that could kindle to headlong passion, and a
thick-set neck and heavy jaw that bespoke the foeman who would battle
to the last breath.
"Older, Sire?" he replied with composure. "That must needs be, since
living in the saddle ages a man."
"Truly," returned the monarch, instinctively laying his hand upon his
sword. "The clash of arms, the thunder of hoofs, the waving
banners--yes, Glory is a seductive mistress who robs us of our youth.
Have I not wooed her and found--gray hairs? Who shall give me back
those days?"
"History, your Majesty, shall give them to posterity," answered the
duke.
"Even those we lost to Charles?" muttered the king, a shadow passing
over his countenance.
"Glory, Sire, is a mistress sometimes fickle in her favors."
"And yet we live but for--" He broke off abruptly, and with the eye of
a trained commander surveyed the duke's men. "Daredevils; daredevils,
all!" he muttered.
"Rough-looking fellows, Sire!" apologized the duke, "but tried and
faithful soldiers. Somewhat dusty and road-worn." And his eyes turned
meaningly to the king's suite; the flashing girdles of silver, the
shining hilts, the gorgeous cloaks and even the adornment of ribbons.
"Nay," said Francis meditatively, "on a rough journey I would fain have
these fire-eaters at my back. They look as though they could cut and
hew."
"Moderately well, your Majesty," answered the duke with modesty.
"Will you mount, noble sir, and ride with me? Yonder is the castle,
and in the castle is a certain fair lady whom you, no doubt, fain would
see."
Long gazed the Duke of Friedwald at the distant venerable pile of
stone; the majestic turrets and towers softly floating in a dreamy
mist; the setting, fresh, woody, green. Long he looked at this
inviting picture and then breathed deeply.
"Ah, Sire, I would the meeting were over," he remarked in a low voice.
"Why so, sir?" asked the king in surprise. "Do you fear you will not
fancy the lady?"
"I fear she may not fancy me," retorted the nobleman, soberly. "Your
own remark, Sire; that I appear older than you had expected?" he
continued, gravely, significantly.
"A recommendation in your favor," laughed the monarch. "I ever prefer
sober manhood to callow youth about me. The one is a prop, stanch,
tried; the other a reed that bends this way and that, or breaks when
you press it too hard."
"I should be lacking in gratitude were I not deeply appreciative of
your Majesty's singular kindness," replied the duke, his face flushing
with pleasure. "But your Majesty knows womankind--"
"Nay; I've studied them a little, but know them not," retorted Francis,
dryly.
"And it is unlikely the lady may find me all her imagination has
depicted," went on the nobleman, with palpable embarrassment. "My
noble master, the emperor, hath--regarding me still as but a stripling
from his own vantage point of age and wisdom--represented me a young
man in his proposals. But though I'm younger than I look, and feel no
older than I am, how young, or how old, shall I seem to the princess?"
"Young enough to be her husband; old enough for her to look up to,"
answered the monarch, reassuringly.
"Again," objected the duke, meditatively regarding the castle, "she may
be expecting a handsome, debonair bridegroom, and when she sees
me"--ruefully surveying himself--"what will she say?"
"What will she say? 'Yes' at the altar. Is it not enough?" Leaning
back in his saddle, the king's face expressed the enjoyment he derived
from the conversation with the backward and too conscientious soldier.
Here was a groom whose wedding promised the court much amusement and
satisfaction in those jovial days of jesting and merry-making.
"Come," resumed the king, encouragingly, "I'll warrant you more forward
in battle."
"Battle!" said the duke. "That's another matter. To see your foeman's
gleaming eyes!--but hers!-- Should they express anger, disdain--"
"Let yours show but the greater wrath," advised the king,
complaisantly. "In love, like cures like! Let me be your physician;
I'll warrant you'll find me proficient."
"I've heard your Majesty hath practised deeply," returned the noble,
readily, in spite of his perplexity.
"Deeply?" Francis lifted his brow. "I am but a superficial student;
master only of the rudiments; no graduate of the college of love.
Moreover, I've heard the letters you exchanged were--ahem!--well-enough
writ. You pressed your suit warmly for one unlearned, a mere novice."
"Because I had seen her face, your Majesty; had it ever before me in
the painted miniature. Any man"--with a rough eloquence and fervor
that impressed the king with the depth of his passion--"could well
worship at that fair shrine, but that she--"
"Forward, I beg you!" interrupted the king. "Womankind are but frail
flesh, sir; easily molded; easily won. She is a woman; therefore,
soft, yielding; yours for the asking. You are over valorous at a
distance; too timorous near her. Approach her boldly, and, though she
were Diana's self, I'll answer for your victory! Eh, Triboulet, are
our ladies cold-hearted, callous, indifferent to merit?"
"Cold-hearted?" answered the dwarf, with a ludicrous expression of
feigned rapture. "Were I to relate--but, no, my tongue is
silent--discretion--your Majesty will understand--"
"Well," said the duke, "with encouragement from the best-favored
scholar in the kingdom and the--ugliest, I should proceed with more
confidence."
"Best-favored!" smirked the little monster. "Really, you flatter me."
"A whimsical fellow, Sire," vouchsafed the nobleman.
"When he is not tiresome," answered the monarch. "On, gentlemen!" And
the cavalcade swept down the road toward the castle. Far behind, with
cracking of whip, followed the mules and their drivers.