please. And the man’s heart in us we should drug, if we cannot kill it, lest it grow to torment us. I drugged mine, or tried to. It was, perchance, too strong to kill. Yet for all the drugging there were times when it pulsed less sluggishly. That day when they took the cap and bells from you, when they beat you, poor miserable little fool, I jested my best. Had I not jested I would have flung my bauble in the face of the woman who sat there smiling as your cries reached the hall. And the man’s heart suffered torment that day in the dog’s body. Yet Jester I was then, Jester I have been since. Now at last I am man, and wholly man. Death, when his shadow touches us, grants us that much solace.”

He stopped. Peregrine, kneeling by the bed, found no words.

“Custom,” went on Nichol, “is strong upon man; strongest of all, perchance, upon the Jester. Despite our moments of resentment we look for applause. It is our life, our breath. We long for the favour of our master. I have said we are dogs, and when that is said, all is said. Yet the man’s heart may outgrow the dog’s body. You will don the motley; you, too, will fawn upon the hand that strikes you; you, too, will watch with wistful eyes on the desire of your master. Yet if, as I fancy, the day dawns when drugs no longer bring their soothing anodyne to your man’s heart, when the soul within the motley is a soul in prison, then remember that I now have asked your pardon for the heritage you will accept from me. That is all. Now, son, fetch me a priest.”

Of Peregrine’s words e’er he went to fulfil his father’s last behest, I make no record. They were not intended, as may well be guessed, for you or me to know. When they were spoken he rose from his knees, set out for the Abbey of Our Lady of the Cliff.

CHAPTER II THE FOOL’S ENTRY

AND so it came to pass that Peregrine again saw the hall, entered thereto garbed once more in cap and bells. Candour, so he decreed, should be far from his lips, having in his mind the memory of a day now some sixteen years old. It was not for these among whom he should pass his time. Guile, art, cynicism, anything but truth should be used wherewith to fashion the jests, the darts of speech which he should throw abroad. A Jester heedless of applause, of frowns, or smiles, thus he saw himself, wise for the moment in his own conceit.

Here you perceive youth, which sees itself strong to venture, disbelieving the prophecies of age. Yet were it not for venturesome youth we may well believe that little 

 Prev. P 9/135 next