The fool Robert also went, Clothed in loathly garnement, With fox-tails riven all about: Men might him knowen in the rout. An ape rode of his clothing; So foul rode never king. LONGFELLOW And lo! among the menials, in mock state, Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait; His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind, The solemn ape demurely perched behind, King Robert rode, making huge merriment In all the country towns through which they went. Robert witnessed in sullen silence the demonstrations of affectionate regard with which the pope and emperor welcomed their supposed brother; but, at length, rushing forward, he bitterly reproached them for thus joining in an unnatural conspiracy with an usurper. This violent sally, however, was received by his brothers, and by the whole papal court, as an undoubted proof of his madness; and he now learnt for the first time the real extent of his misfortune. His stubbornness and pride gave way, and were succeeded by remorse and penitence. After five weeks in Rome, the emperor, and the supposed king of Sicily, returned to their respective dominions, Robert being still accoutred in his fox-tails, and accompanied by his ape, whom he now ceased to consider as his inferior. When the angel was again at the capital of Sicily, he felt that his mission was accomplished. And when once more within Palermo’s wall, And, seated on the throne in his great hall, He heard the Angelus from the convent towers, As if a better world conversed with ours, He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, And, with a gesture, bade the rest retire; And when they were alone, the Angel said, ‘Art thou the king?’ Then, bowing down his head, King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, And meekly answered him: ‘Thou knowest best! My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, And in some cloister’s school of penitence, Across those stones that pave the way to heaven Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul is shriven!’ The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face A holy light illumined all the place, And through the open window, loud and clear, They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, Above the stir and tumult of the street: ‘He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree!’ And through the chant a second melody Rose like the throbbing of a single string, ‘I am an angel, and thou art the king!’ King Robert, who was standing near the throne, Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone! But all apparelled as in days of old, With ermined mantle, and with cloth of gold; And when his courtiers came they found him there, Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.