Under the Rose

by Frederic Stewart Isham

  CHAPTER VII

  THE COURT OF LOVE

  The rough Norman banqueting hall, with its massive rafters, frayedtapestries and rude adornment of bristling heads of savage boars,wide-spreading antlers and other trophies of the chase, had long sincebeen replaced under the king's directions by an apartment more to thesatisfaction of a monarch who was a zealous and lavish patron of thebrilliant Italian school of painting, sculpture and architecture.Those barbarous decorations, celebrating the hunt, had been relegatedto subterranean regions, the walls dismantled, and the room turned overto a corps of artists of such renown as Da Vinci, Francois Clouet, JeanCousin and the half-mad Benvenuto Cellini.

  Where formerly wild boars had snarled with wicked display of yellowtusks from the blackened plaster, now Cleopatra, in the full bloom ofher mature charms, reclined with her stalwart Roman hero in tenderdalliance. Where once the proud and stately head of the majestic staghad hung over door and panel, now classic nymphs bathed in a pellucidpool, and the only horns were those which adorned the head of him who,according to the story, dared gaze through the foliage, and wasrewarded for his too curious interest by--that then common form ofpunishment--metamorphosis.

  Overhead, vast transformation from the great ribbed beams of oak andbarren interspaces, graceful Peri floated on snow-white clouds androguish Cupids swam through the azure depths, to the edification ofnondescript prodigies, who constituted the massive molding, or frame,to the decorative scene. The ancient fireplace, broad and deep, hadgiven way to an ornate mantel of marble; the capacious tankard androtund pewter pot of olden times, suggestive of mighty butts of honestbeer, had been supplanted by goblets of silver and gold, covered withscroll work, arabesques or chiseled figures.

  In this spacious hall, begilt, bemirrored, assembled, on the evening ofthe duke's arrival, Francis, his court and the guest of the occasion.From wide-spreading chandeliers, with their pendent, pear-shapedcrystals, a thousand candles threw a flood of light upon the scene, as'mid trumpet blast and softer strains of harmony, King Francis and goodQueen Eleanor led the way to the royal table; and thereat, shortlyafter, at a signal from the monarch, the company seated themselves.

  At the head of the board was the king; on his right, his lawfulconsort, pale, composed, saintly; on his left, the Countess d'Etampes,rosy, animated, free. Next to the favorite sat the "fairest among thelearned and most learned among the fair," Marguerite, beloved sister ofFrancis, and her second husband, Henry d'Albret, King of Navarre;opposite, Henry the dauphin and his spouse, Catharine de Medici; notfar removed, Diane de Poitiers, whose dark eyes Henry ever openlysought, while Catharine complacently talked affairs of state with thechancellor.

  In the midst of this illustrious company, and further surrounded by aplentiful sprinkling of ruddy cardinals, fat bishops, constables,governors, marshals and ladies, more or less distinguished throughbirth or beauty, the Duke of Friedwald and the Princess Louise were acenter of attraction for the wits whose somewhat free jests the licenseof the times permitted. At the foot of the royal table places had beenprovided for Marot, Caillette, Triboulet, Jacqueline and the duke'sfool.

  The heads and figures of the ladies of the court were for the most partfearfully and wonderfully bedecked. In some instances thehorned-shaped head-dress had been followed by yet loftier steeples,"battlements to combat God with gold, silver and pearls; wherein thelances were great forked pins, and the arrows the little pins." Withmore simplicity, the Princess Louise wore her hair cased in a networkof gold and jewels, and the austere French moralist who assailed thehigher bristling ramparts of vanity would, perhaps, have borne insilence this more modest bastion of the flesh and the devil.

  But the face beneath was a greater danger to those who hold that beautyis a menace to salvation; on her cheek hung the rosy banner of youth;in her eyes shone the bright arrows of conquest. And the duke,discarding his backwardness, as a soldier his cloak before battle,watched the hue that mantled her face, proffered his open breast to theshining lances of her gaze, and capitulated unconditionally before thesmile of victory on her blood-red lips. With his great shoulders, hismassive neck and broad, virile face, he seemed a Cyclops among pygmiesin that gathering of slender courtiers and she but a flower by his side.

  "I thought, Sire, your duke was timorous, bashful as a boy?" murmuredthe Countess d'Etampes to the king.

  "He was--on the road!" answered the king thoughtfully.

  "Then has he marvelously recovered his assurance."

  "In love, Madam, as in battle, the zest grows with the fray," saidFrancis with meaning.

  "And the duke is reputed a brave soldier. He looks very strong, asif--almost--he might succeed with any woman he were minded to carryoff."

  "To carry off!" laughed the monarch. "'Tis he, Madam, who will bebound in tethers! At heart he's shame-faced as a callow younker."

  She wilfully shook her head. "No woman could keep him inleading-strings, your Majesty. There is something domineering, savage,crushing, in his hand. Look at it, on the table there. Is it notmighty as an iron gauntlet? What other man at the board has such abrutal hand? The strength in it makes me shudder. Will she not bendto it; kiss it?"

  With amused superiority Francis regarded his fair neighbor on the left."Women, Madam, are but hasty judges of men," he said, dryly, "and then'tis fancy more than reason which governs their verdict. If the dukeshould seem over-confident, 'tis to hide a certain modesty, and not toappear out of confidence in so large a company."

  "And yet, Sire, at their first meeting he did not comport himself likeone easily put out," persisted the favorite. "''Tis with a cold handyou welcome me, Princess,' he said, noticing her insensibility ofmanner. Then rising he gazed upon her long and deep, as a soldiermight survey a battlefield. 'And yet,' said he, still holding herfingers, 'I'll warrant me warm blood could course through this littlehand.' At that the color rose in her cheek; behold! the statue wastouched with life and she looked at him as drawn against her will. 'Ifmy hand be cold, my Lord,' she answered, courteously, 'it belies thecharacter of your welcome.' Whereupon he laughed like one who has hada victory."

  "Beshrew me," said the king, modifying his last observation, "if womenare not all eyes and ears! I neither heard nor saw all that. A littleconstraint--a natural blush to punctuate their talk--the meeting seemedconventional enough. 'Tis through your own romantic heart you looked,Anne!"

  Quicker circulated the goblets of silver, gold and crystal; fasterbabbled the pretty lips; brighter grew the eyes beneath the stupendoustowers that crowned the heads of the court ladies. All talked at oncewithout disturbing the king, who now whispered soft nothings in the earof the countess. From the other tables in the hall arose a varyingcadence of clatter and laughter, which increased with the noise and dinof the king's own board; a clamor always just subservient to the deeperchorus of the royal party; an accompaniment, as it were, full yetunobtrusive, to the hubbub from the more exalted company. But theprincely uproar growing louder, the grand-masters, grand-chamberlain,gentlemen of the chamber and lesser lights of the church were enabledto carol and make merry with less restraint. The pungent smell ofroses permeated the hall, arising from a screen of shrubbery at one endof the room wherein sang a hundred silver-toned birds.

  At the king's table Caillette recited a merry roundelay, and Tribouletroared out tale after tale, each more full-flavored than the one thatwent before it, flinging smart sayings at marriage, and drawing aludicrous picture of the betrayed husband. Villot, a lily in his hand,which he regarded ever sentimentally, caroled the boisterous espousalsof a yokel and a cinder-wench, while Marot and a bishop contended in aheated argument regarding the translation of a certain passage ofOvid's "Art of Love."

  Singularly pale, unusually tranquil, the duke's fool furtively watchedhis master and the princess. In contrast to his composure,Jacqueline's merriment seemed the more unrestrained; she laughed like awitch; her hands flashed with pretty gestures, and she had so tossedher head, her hair floated around her,
wild and disordered.

  "Why are you so quiet?" she whispered to the duke's fool.

  "Is there not enough merriment, mistress?" he answered, gravely.

  "There can never be any to spare," she said. "And you would do well toremember your office."

  "What do you mean?" he asked, absently.

  "That you have many enemies; that you can not live at court with ajaundiced countenance. Heigh-ho! Alackaday! You should hie yourselfback to the woods and barren wastes of Friedwald, Master Fool."

  Her sparkling glance returned to the exhilarating scene. Well had theassemblage been called a court of love. Now soft eyes invited burningglances, and graceful heads swayed alluringly toward the handsomecavaliers who momentarily had found lodgment in hearts which, likepalaces, had many ante-chambers. From hidden recesses, strains ofmusic filled the room with tinkling passages of sensuous, but illusive,harmony; a dream of ardor, masked in the daintiness of a minuet.

  Upon the back of the princess' chair rested one of the duke's hands;with the other he lifted his glass--a frail thing in fingers betteradapted for a sword-hilt or massive battle mace.

  "Drink, Princess," he said, bending over her, "to--our meeting!"

  Her eyelids fluttered before his look; her breast rose a little. Thescar on his brow held her gaze, as one fascinated, but she drew awayslightly and mechanically sought the tiny golden goblet at her elbow.Dreamily, dreamily, sounded the rhythmical music; heavily, so heavilyhung the perfume in the air! Full of mist seemed the hall; the king,the queen, the countess, all of the party, unreal, fanciful. The touchof the goblet chilled her lips and she put it down quickly.

  "Is not the wine to your liking?" he asked, his hand tightening on herchair. "Perhaps it is too sour for your taste?"

  "Nay; I thought it rather sweet," she answered. "Oh, I meant notthat--"

  "It _is_ sweet wine, Princess," he said, setting down an empty glass."Sweeter than our Austrian vintage. Not white and thin and watery, butred--red as blood--red as your heart's blood--or mine--"

  Crash! from the hand of the duke's jester had fallen a goblet to thefloor. The princess started, turned; for a moment their glancesbridged the distance from where she sat, to the fools' end of thetable; then hers slowly fell; slowly, and she passed a hand, whereonshone the king's ring, across her brow; looked up, as though once moreto span infinity with her gaze, when her eyes fell short and met theduke's. Deliberately he lifted his filled glass.

  "Red as your heart's blood--and mine--my love!" he repeated; and thenstared sharply across the table at his jester.

  Triboulet, swaggering in his chair, so high his feet could not touchthe floor, surveyed the broken glass, the duke and the duke's fool.For some time his vigilant eyes had been covertly studying theunconscious foreign jester, noting sundry signs and symptoms. Nor hadthe princess' look when the goblet had fallen, been lost upon themisshapen buffoon; alert, wide-awake, his mind, quick to suspect,reached a sudden conclusion; a conclusion which by rapid process ofreasoning became a conviction. Privileged to speak where others mustneed be silent, his profession that of prying subtlety, which sparedneither rank nor power so that it raised a laugh, he felt no hesitationin publishing the information he had gleaned by his superior mentalnimbleness.

  "Ho! ho!" he bellowed, the better to attract attention to himself."The duke sent his fool to amuse his betrothed and the fool hath losthis heart to his mistress."

  The king left off his whispering, Catharine turned from the chancellor,Diane ceased furtively to regard Caillette, while the Queen of Navarrelaughed nervously and murmured:

  "Princess and jester! It will make another tale."

  But Henry of Navarre looked gravely down. He, and Francis' queen--apassive spectator at the feast--and a bishop, whose interest lay in atruffled capon, alone followed not the direction of the duke's eyes.The fair favorite of the king clapped her hands, but the monarchfrowned, not having forgotten that night in Fools' hall when the jesterhad appointed rogues to offices.

  "What is this? A fool in love with the princess?" said the king,ominously.

  "Even so, your Majesty," cried Triboulet. "But a moment ago DukeRobert did whisper to his bride-to-be, and the fool's hand trembledlike a leaf and dropped his glass. Tra! la! la! What a situation!Holy Saint-Bagpipe! Here's a comedy in high life!"

  "A comedy!" repeated the duke, and half-rose from his chair, regardinghis fool with surprise and anger.

  Now Triboulet roared. Had he not in the past attained his highposition of favorite jester to the king by his very foolhardihood? Andwere not trusting lovers and all too-confiding husbands the legitimatebutt of all jesting?

  "Look at the fool," he went on exultantly. "Does any one doubt hisguilt? He is silent; he can not speak!"

  And, indeed, the foreign jester seemed momentarily disconcerted,although he strove to appear indifferent.

  "A presumptuous knave!" muttered Francis, darkly. "He saved his neckonce only by a trick."

  "Oh, the duke would not mind, now, if you were to hang him, Sire,"answered Triboulet, blithely.

  "True!" smiled the king. "The question of breach of hospitality mightnot occur. What have you to say, fool?" he continued, turning to theobject of the buffoon's insidious and malicious attack.

  "Laugh!" whispered Jacqueline, furtively pressing the arm of the duke'sfool. "Laugh, or--"

  The touch and her words appeared to arouse him from his lethargy andthe jester arose, but not before the princess, with flaming cheeks, butproud bearing, had cast a quick glance in his direction; a glancehalf-appealing, half-resentful. Idly the joculatrix regarded him, herhands upon the table playing with the glasses, her lips faintlyrepeating the words of a roundelay:

  "For love is madness; While madness rules, Fools in love Remain but fools! Sing hoddy-doddy, Noddy! Remain but fools!"

  With the eyes of the company upon him, the duke's fool impassivelystudied the carven figure on his stick. If he felt fear of the king'sanger, the resentment of his master, or the malice of the dwarf, hiscountenance now did not betray it. He had seemed about to speak, butdid not.

  "Well, rascal, well?" called out the king. "Do you think your wandwill save you, sirrah?" he added impatiently.

  "Why not, Sire?" tranquilly answered the jester.

  The duke's face grew more and more ominous. Still the fool, lookingup, did not quail, but met his master's glance freely, and those whoobserved noted it was the duke who first turned away, although his jawwas set and his great fist clenched. Swiftly the jester's gaze againsought the princess, but she had plucked a spray of blossoms from thetable and was holding it to her lips, mindlessly biting the fragrantleaves; and those who followed the fool's glance saw in her but apicture of languid unconcern such as became a kinswoman of the king.

  Almost imperceptibly the brow of the _plaisant_ clouded, but recoveringhimself, he confronted the king with an enigmatic smile.

  "Why not?" he repeated. "In the Court of Love is not the fool's wandgreater than a king's miter or the pastoral staff of the Abbe de Lys?Besides, Sire," he added quickly, "as a fool takes it, in the Court ofLove, not to love--is treason!"

  "Good!" murmured the bishop, still eating. "Not to love is treason!"

  "Who alone is the culprit? Whose heart alone is filled with umbrage,hatred, pique?"

  "Triboulet! Triboulet, the traitor!" suddenly cried the countess,sprightly as a child.

  "Yes; Triboulet, the traitor!" exclaimed the fool, pointing the wand offolly at the hunchback.

  Even Francis' offended face relaxed. "Positively, I shall never hangthis fellow," he said grimly to Marguerite.

  "Before this tribunal of ladies whose beauty and learning he hasoutraged by his disaffection and spleen, I summon him for trial,"continued the duke's jester. "Triboulet, arise! Illustrious ladies ofthe Court of Love, the offender is in your hands."

  "A little monster!" spoke up Diane with a gesture of aversion, real oraffected.

  "
He is certainly somewhat reprehensible," added the Queen of Navarre,whose tender heart ever inclined to the weaker side.

  "An unconscionable rogue," murmured the bishop, complacently claspinghis fat fingers before him.

  "So he is already tried by the Church and the tribunal," went on the_plaisant_ of the duke. "The Church hath excommunicated him and theCourt of Love--"

  "Will banish him!" exclaimed the countess mirthfully, regarding thecaptious monarch with mock defiance.

  "Yes, banish him; turn him out," echoed Catharine, carelessly.

  "But, your Majesty!" remonstrated the alarmed Triboulet, turning to themonarch whose favor he had that day enjoyed.

  "Appeal not to me!" returned Francis, sternly. "Here Venus rules!"And he gallantly inclined to the countess.

  "Venus at whom he scoffs!" broke in Jacqueline, shrilly, leaning backin her chair with her hands on her hips.

  "You witch!--you sorceress!--it was you who"--he hissed with venomousglance.

  "Hear him!" exclaimed the girl, lightly. "He calls mewitch--sorceress--because, forsooth, I am a woman!"

  "A woman--a devil"--muttered Triboulet between his closed teeth.

  "And now," she cried, rising, impetuously, "he says that women aredevils! What shall we do with him?"

  "Pelt him out!" answered the countess. "Pelt him out!"

  With peals of merriment and triumphant shouts, the court, of oneaccord, directed a fusillade of fruits, nuts and other viands at thehead and person of the raging and hapless buffoon, the countessherself, apple in hand--Eve bent upon vengeance--leading in theassault. The other tables responded with a cross-fire, and heavierarticles succeeded lighter, until after having endured the continuousattack for a few moments as best he might, the unlucky dwarf raised hisarms above his head and fairly fled from the hall, leaving behind inhis haste a bagpipe and his wooden sword.

  "So may all traitors be punished!" said the bishop unctuously, as hereached for a dish of confections that had escaped the fair hands insearch of ammunition.

  "Well," laughed the Countess d'Etampes, "if we have the support of theChurch--"

  "I will confess you, myself, Madam," gallantly retorted the bishop.

  "And all the Court of Love?" asked Marguerite.

  "Ah, your Highness--all?--I am old--in need of rest--but with anassistant or two--"

  "Assistant or two!" interrupted Catharine, imperiously. "Would thetask then be so great?"

  "Nay"--with gentle expostulation--"but you--members of the court--aremany; not your sins."

  "I suppose," whispered Jacqueline to the duke's fool, when theattention of the company was thus withdrawn from the jester's end ofthe table, "you think yourself in fine favor now?"

  "Yes," he answered, absently; "thanks to your suggestion."

  "My suggestion!" she repeated, scornfully. "I gave you none."

  "Well, then, your crossing Triboulet."

  "Oh, that," she replied, picking at a bunch of grapes, "was to defendmy sex, not you."

  "But your warning for me to laugh?"

  "Why," she returned, demurely, "'twas to see you go more gallantly toyour execution. And"--eating a grape--"that is reasonably certain tobe your fate. You've only made a few more enemies to-night--theduke--the--"

  "Name them not, fair Jacqueline," he retorted, indifferent.

  "True; you'll soon learn for yourself," she answered sharply. "I thinkI should prefer to be in Triboulet's place to yours at present."

  "Why," he said, with a strange laugh, "there's a day for the duke and aday for the fool."

  Deliberately she turned from him and sang very softly:

  "For love is madness; (A dunce on a stool!) A king in love, A king and a fool! Sing hoddy-doddy, Noddy! A king and a fool!"

  The monarch bent over the countess; Diane and the dauphin exchangedmessages with their eyes; Catharine smiled on Villot; the princesslistened to her betrothed; and the jestress alone of all the ladiesleaned back and sang, heart-free. But suddenly she again broke off andlooked curiously at the duke's _plaisant_.

  "Why did you not answer them with what was first in your mind?" sheasked.

  "What was that?" he said, starting.

  "How can I tell?" she returned, studying him.

  "You can tell a great deal," he replied.

  "Sing hoddy-doddy, Noddy! The duke and the fool"--

  she hummed, deigning no further words.