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A FOOL OF ROMANCE. Pardo, the royal fool of Ver dezia, sat upon the stone wall of the palace garden, in the shade of a gnarled apple tree, strumming ridiculous discords upon his two stringed lute.As the puff and powder ladies of the court strolled by, Pardo quickened his mad jan gle, and sang audacious quips to red daubed cheeks or to a finely penciled eyebrows mayhap. And the royal Vendezian beauties laughed, in silvery ripples, for Pardo, who had come to the court at the time the war with Arthuris began, was a great fool—by all odds the greatest fool they had known at the court of King Solis. But anow there came a lady, who strolled with her golden ringleted head bowed pensive ly and a look in her blue eyes as of one who wanders in the halls of golden memory or dreams of impossible things. When the Princess Sonia stood opposite to the fool upon the wall, she looked steadily into his dancing eyes of gray. “Pardo,” she said, with a shake of her fair head, “hast never a sol emn moemnt? Art ever a prating fool? The fool shook his belled head, setting up a soft tinkling. ‘And of what worth is a sober fool, your highness? The king would hurl the Iron crown at me—and then the king a fool would be.” The jester laughed at this and struck his broken lute a lick that snapped another string. But the Princess Sonia did not smile. “Though a fool, thou dost not fool me,” she murmured, and Pardo, the jester, roared. “Now, by my cap and tinkling bells, I would sing it in the court of the dancers that the Princess Sonia is herself a punster, were it not”— and here the jester's tones grew serious—‘that she is all that is beautiful and gracious and noth ing that is not.”’ And this time the jester did not laugh nor twang his battered instrument. The Princess Sonia grew redder. “T'was meaning,” she explained, “that there be moments when thou droppest thy foolish babble, seem ing wondrous sad. It is then I like thee best.” At the last, the princess’ tones were infinitely tender, and the clown hung upon every word. “Thou art more lovely than the flowers of the garden, than the twinkling stars and the moon that floodeth the earth in shimmering silver,” he murmured, not like a fool shook speak. The princess looked sharply at him. “It is this that puzzles me,” she said. “Why art thou at times a fool and at other times not a fool? And doth the true man men speak when thou callest the chamberlain a mud-in-the-face, or when thou speakest as a romance knight?” And the lady sighed, movingly. She was very young. The jester sprang from the wall, letting his fute fall into a bed of yellow roses. ‘Dear lady,” he ask ed softly, “couldst love a fool?” The Princess Sonia blushed. “Nay—but thou art no fool.” “Couldst love me were taught besides a fool?” The princess looked away. “With thy prattle and thy eternal babble, how is one to know?” “I will show thee,” declared the jester, “but if thou lovest me there is no more war between Verdezia and Arthuris.” The lady drew back. “Now I know thou art a fool. For war there hath been for months and ever will be.” The jester smiled sadly and tugged at his white sleeve. A red fleur-de-lis showed plainly upon the soft skin. ‘And now,” he mur mured, “what saveth your high ness?” But the princess had given a lit tle scream. “The old fleur-de-lis of Arthuris—the birthmark—and thou art—” “The Prince of Arthuris,” said the jester, very softly and with bowed head. And the princess and “DEAR LADY,” HE SAID, “COULD IT LOVE A FOOL? the fool were silent for many mo ments. Finally the princess asked trem ulously: “But how—and why—and your life! The king would have slain thee.” The jester smiled pensively, very unlike a fool. “I know—but I love thee.” “But never hadst thou seen me,” objected the princess. “The fame of your beauty,” said the jester, “is as the fame of the red rose of Andria. And I came in this way, none knowing me here. Is it well?” The princess was silent for more fateful moments and a slight wind, stirring in the garden, blew pink apple blossoms upon her yellow hair. When she at last looked up, there was a light in her eyes that spoke of peace between Verdezia and Arthuris, and the jester, see ing, took her hand. “It is well,” said the princess, with a little sigh.
Newspaper Details
Spokane Press
Spokane, Washington, US
Mon, Jan 18, 1909
Page 4
Full Page
Clipped by
Dawn W.
USA 24 Jan 2026
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