France -- History -- 15th century -- Juvenile fiction
"I do not think I should like a thing of that kind to happen to me,"
said the fool gravely. "Of course, the loss of my ears would never be
noticed, because my cap covers them, but at the same time I think I
should miss them myself, having always had them, you know. But I do not
think you quite understand just why I am going away. Our mistress is
sending me as a present, a pretty, dainty present, to the young Duchess
of Brittany, and you know it would not be good taste to ill-treat a
present."
"You are a strange present to send to a young lady," remarked the page
sourly. "I warrant she will not be overjoyed with her packet when it
meets her gaze."
"Oh, yes she will," returned Le Glorieux easily. "You see it is
necessary for her to be cheered, for not only have there been frequent
turmoils in her duchy, but there has been a perfect fever of excitement
about her matrimonial arrangements from the day she was born. First they
wanted her to marry one of the little princes of England afterward
smothered by his affectionate Uncle Richard; then it was the Infante of
Spain, and though it now seems settled that she is to marry Maximilian
of Austria, still she must be nervous and unsettled. At any rate, our
mistress wants to do something gracious, and being more than a trifle
close, and not wishing to send a valuable jewel, she sends me in the
care of the Lady Clotilde as the most valuable jewel of her possession."
"Oh, Le Glorieux, take me with you!" pleaded Antoine, forgetting his
sarcasm in his anxiety to share his friend's good fortune. "If you only
will I shall be your debtor for life."
"That would be impossible, my lad. You must remain here to find her
Grace's needle when she drops it, and to lead the life of a nice, tame
pussy-cat."
"I will not!" cried the boy, dashing the tears from his bright eyes. "My
father, who, as you know, died in battle, never intended that I should
grow up thus tamely. Take me with you, oh, Le Glorieux, do!"
"I should like to," replied the jester thoughtfully. "You could ride
beside me and you should fetch your lute and you could sing to me along
the way to make the birds ashamed of themselves. But even if you should
run away, the Lady Clotilde would not let you go with us, for you know
what she is. If she were a peasant woman she would be called sour and
disagreeable, but being a great lady she is simply dignified and firm."
But there are times when we are enabled to get that for which we very
much wish, and it so happened that the Lady Clotilde wanted the boy in
her suite and begged him of the duchess, who willingly acquiesced, for
caring not at all for his musical talent and his handsome face, he was
no more to her than any other page.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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