The Mitchell capital. (Mitchell, Dakota [S.D.]) 1879-1918, 1903-03-06
He shivered as he thought and cast

He shivered as he thought and cas-
the rose he held away from him.
How cold the Tune air seems, an
these roses smell of graves" H
paused a little till his hopes took hear
again. But If / win, how will it be
l wonder, to marry my hearts desire
to grow old sedately, to live again wit
n children on my knee, q little Fran
co.'s here more honest than his father
a little Katherine there less comel,
than her mother!"
He flung out his hands as II he wer,
dismissing the phantoms Of his fancy
Run away, my dear dream children
to your playground of shadows wher'
you belong, for your father may b.
hanged tomorrow, and he fights foi
love and life tonight"
Villon's reflections were fluttered BY
a sudden blare Of music, and a gaudy
fellow in a pursuivant's coat made his
appearance on the top of the terrace
and ratified blast after blast from his
brazen trumpet. In obedience to the
iong-looked-for signal, a many-colored
crowd of jewellers gushed from the
palace and flowed like a glowing wave
or merry-making down the steps and
into the walks and alleys of the rose
garden. All the strange figures tina.
a freakish fancy could suggest leaped
n danced and shouted in a rapture
of mirth-satyrs and follies, clowns
and devils wheeled idly by, waving
torches, clashing cymbals, Or scream
ing at the top Of their voices, while Sc
dater spirits, masked and muf1ed In
nantes Of soinber hue, moved through
the turnultuous throng and found their
abated pleasure in mystification and
intrigues.
Villon had a mask in his girdle. He
put 1T on and pushing into the press al
lowed himself to drift hither and thith-
er with the eddying currents Of pleas
ure. His fantastic Imagination took
tire from the strang shapes and sounds
about him. The sense Of being III a
dream, which had never deserted him
from the first moment Of his awakened
consciousness in the rose garden, chung
closely about him on this night, and
the jocund figures around him fitted
by as unreal as the phantoms of q
noontide sleep.
Suddenly his attention was arrested
by the sound Of a voice that seemed
familiar to him. A man habited like a
pilgrim from the Holy Land, in long
hood and gabardine of gray, and with
the pilgrims cockleshell on his shoul-
der, had met another masker, habited
like himself. The pair were exchang-
ing salutations, in a speech that the
speakers might we'll assume to be un-
Known to any person in the royal gar
den. The speech, however, jingled very
Familiarity on villon's ear, for the man
was talking in the amazing jargon
which the worshipful company OF
cockleshells had devised for the better
furtherance OF their thievish purposes,
and it appealed to Villon as intimately
as a song that is learned in childhood.
The first pilgrim questioned the other.
What do you carry in your scrip"
And the second answered.:
II carry q cockleshell."
The first pilgrim questioned again:
What do you carry in your hand
And the second responded:
"A foot of steel"
Yet again the first speaker queried:
VIII you drink the kings health?"
And he answer came decisively:
In a fiagon of Burgundy"
Whereat the W pilgrims saiuted
n parted and went their several ways
and We're swallowed up in the motley
masquerade.
Villon's curiosity was piqued to the
quick.
How in heavens name" he asked
himself, docs 1t come to pass that
people speaking the thieves lingo of
the Court of Miracles find themselves
at a feast In the rose garden Of King
LOUISE"
He set himself to try and track down
one or the other Of the mysterious pill
grims, but neither of them was to be
His wanderings brought him
to the fair space at the foot of
the terrace protected by the image of
the god Pan. The place was deserted;
the jewellers had drifted elsewhere. A
lutte lay on the marble seat. Villon
himself and taking up the in
was touching 1t carelessly,
when q light step on the grass arrest
ed him the Gyyanfppf votoo IN tln 1r1,lJ
DUNDEE In his ears, and he found him
self addressed by the Lady Katherine
de Vaucelles, who was attended b. a
number Of fair court ladies'.
II am the voice Of these ladies to
pray for a favor"
Villon bowed low.
MY a is all obedience" he said,
and my heart all homage"
You are a poet, my lord" said
"and this an eve which
should please a poet. Rhyme us a
rhyme which shall match this night of
summer
Villon sighed a little.
INC ryhme ever rhymed was worth
q beam of summer sun or summer
where every man is a nightingale, and |
[ caught there the fever Of improvisa-
What shall I rhyme about?"
Katherine laughed as she pointed to
1er attendant ladies'.
Your suitors are women; therefore.
1othing better nor worse than love"
The burden of the world" Villon
said. Sigh, my Lutte. sigh"
He let his fingers ripple over the
trings, waking the faint wall with a
minor. In q or two !
he began to rectte, touching every now |
then a chord on his lutte to mpha-
the words he spoke:
I wonder in what Isle of Bliss
Apollo's music fills the air;
n what green valley Artemis
For young Endymion spreads the
snare
Venus fingers debonair:
Inc wind has blown them all away
And Pan lies piping in his lair
Where are the Gods Of Yesterday?
Say where the great Semiramis
Sleeps in a rose-red tomb; and where |
The precious lust of Caesar is,
Or Cleopatra's yellow hair:
Where Alexander Do-and-Dare: