The Shame of Motley: being the memoir of certain transactions in the life of Lazzaro Biancomonte, of Biancomonte, sometime fool of the court of PesaroSabatini, Rafael
History
The Shame of Motley: being the memoir of certain transactions in the life of Lazzaro Biancomonte, of Biancomonte, sometime fool of the court of Pesaro
It was a brave thing when it was done; a finer and worthier poetical
achievement than any that I had yet encompassed, and that night, after
they had supped, as merrily as though Duke Valentino had never been
heard of, and whilst they were still sitting at their wine, I got me a
lute and stole down to the banqueting hall.
I announced myself by leaping on a table and loudly twanging the
strings of my instrument. There was a hush, succeeded by a burst of
acclamation. They were in a high good-humour, and the Fool with a new
song was the very thing they craved.
When silence was restored I began, and whilst my fingers moved
sluggishly across the strings, striking here and there a chord, I
recited the epic I had penned. My voice swelled with a feverish
enthusiasm whose colossal irony none there save one could guess. He, at
first surprised, grew angry presently, as I could see by the cloud that
had settled on his brow. Yet he restrained himself, and the rest of the
company were too enthralled by the breathless quality of my poem to
bestow their glances on any countenance save mine.
Madonna Paola sat upon the Lord of Pesaro’s right, and her blue eyes
were round and her lips parted with enthusiasm as I proceeded. And when
presently I came to that point in the fight betwixt Giovanni and Ramiro
del’ Orca, when Ramiro, having broken down the Lord Giovanni’s visor,
was on the point of driving his sword into his adversary’s face, I saw
her shrink in a repetition of the morning’s alarm, and her bosom heaved
more swiftly, as though the issue of that combat hung now upon my lines
and she were made anxious again for the life of the man whom she had
learnt to love.
I finished on a slow and stately rhythm, my voice rising and falling
softly, after the manner of a Gregorian chant, as I dwelt on the piety
that had succeeded the Lord of Pesaro’s brave exploits, and how upon
his return from the stricken field he had repaired straight to his
closet, his battered and bloody harness on his back, that he might
kneel ere he disarmed and render thanks to God for the victory
vouchsafed him.
On that “Te Deum” I finished softly, and as my voice ceased and the
vibration of my last chord melted away, a thunder of applause was my
reward.
Men leapt from their chairs in their enthusiasm, and crowded round the
table on which I was perched, whilst, when presently I sprang down, one
noble woman kissed me on the lips before them all, saying that my mouth
was indeed a mouth of gold.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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