Chapter III
Lord Raoul was riding castleward from field.At left hand rode his lady and at rightHis fool whom he loved better; and his bird,His fine ger-falcon best beloved of all,Sat hooded on his wrist and gently swayedTo the undulating amble of the horse.Guest-knights and huntsmen and a noisy trainOf loyal-stomached flatterers and their squiresClattered in retinue, and aped his pace,And timed their talk by his, and worked their eyesBy intimation of his glance, with greatAnd drilled precision.Then said the fool:“’Twas a brave flight, my lord, that last one! brave.Didst note the heron once did turn about,And show a certain anger with his wing,And make as if he almost dared, not quite,To strike the falcon, ere the falcon him?A foolish damnable advised bird,Yon heron! What? Shall herons grapple hawks?God made the herons for the hawks to strike,And hawk and heron made he for lords’ sport.”“What then, my honey-tongued Fool, that knowestGod’s purposes, what made he fools for?”“ForTo counsel lords, my lord. Wilt hear me proveFools’ counsel better than wise men’s advice?”“Aye, prove it. If thy logic fail, wise fool,I’ll cause two wise men whip thee soundly.”“So:`Wise men are prudent: prudent men have careFor their own proper interest; therefore theyAdvise their own advantage, not another’s.But fools are careless: careless men care notFor their own proper interest; therefore theyAdvise their friend’s advantage, not their own.’Now hear the commentary, Cousin Raoul.This fool, unselfish, counsels thee, his lord,Go not through yonder square, where, as thou see’stYon herd of villeins, crick-necked all with strainOf gazing upward, stand, and gaze, and takeWith open mouth and eye and ear, the quipsAnd heresies of John de Rochetaillade.”Lord Raoul half turned him in his saddle round,And looked upon his fool and vouchsafed himWhat moiety of fastidious wondermentA generous nobleness could deign to giveTo such humility, with eye superbWhere languor and surprise both showed themselves,Each deprecating t’other.“Now, dear knave,Be kind and tell me—tell me quickly, too,—Some proper reasonable ground or cause,Nay, tell me but some shadow of some cause,Nay, hint me but a thin ghost’s dream of cause,(So will I thee absolve from being whipped)Why I, Lord Raoul, should turn my horse asideFrom riding by yon pitiful villein gang,Or ay, by God, from riding o’er their headsIf so my humor serve, or through their bodies,Or miring fetlocks in their nasty brains,Or doing aught else I will in my Clermont?Do me this grace, mine Idiot.”“Please thy WisdomAn thou dost ride through this same gang of boors,’Tis my fool’s-prophecy, some ill shall fall.Lord Raoul, yon mass of various flesh is fusedAnd melted quite in one by white-hot wordsThe friar speaks. Sir, sawest thou ne’er, sometimes,Thine armorer spit on iron when ’twas hot,And how the iron flung the insult back,Hissing? So this contempt now in thine eye,If it shall fall on yonder heated surfaceMay bounce back upward. Well: and then? What then?Why, if thou cause thy folk to crop some villein’s ears,So, evil falls, and a fool foretells the truth.Or if some erring crossbow-bolt should breakThine unarmed head, shot from behind a house,So, evil falls, and a fool foretells the truth.”“Well,” quoth Lord Raoul, with languid utterance,“’Tis very well—and thou’rt a foolish fool,Nay, thou art Folly’s perfect witless man,Stupidity doth madly dote on thee,And Idiocy doth fight her for thy love,Yet Silliness doth love thee best of all,And while they quarrel, snatcheth thee to herAnd saith `Ah! ’tis my sweetest No-brains: mine!’—And ’tis my mood to-day some ill shall fall.”And there right suddenly Lord Raoul gave reinAnd galloped straightway to the crowded square,—What time a strange light flickered in the eyesOf the calm fool, that was not folly’s gleam,But more like wisdom’s smile at plan well laidAnd end well compassed. In the noise of hoofsSecure, the fool low-muttered: “`Folly’s love!’So: `Silliness’ sweetheart: no-brains:’ quoth my Lord.Why, how intolerable an ass is heWhom Silliness’ sweetheart drives so, by the ear!Thou languid, lordly, most heart-breaking Nought!Thou bastard zero, that hast come to power,Nothing’s right issue failing! Thou mere `pooh’That Life hath uttered in some moment’s pet,And then forgot she uttered thee! Thou gapIn time, thou little notch in circumstance!”