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And yet, so long as there was beauty, why should a man feel lonely? The answer as to some idiot's riddle was: Because he did. The greater the beauty, the greater the loneliness, for at the back of beauty was harmony, and at the back of harmony was union. Beauty could not comfort if the soul were out of it.
Posthumus hides his passion under a peasant's garb, and Edgar his pride beneath an idiot's rags; Portia wears the apparel of a lawyer, and Rosalind is attired in 'all points as a man'; the cloak-bag of Pisanio changes Imogen to the Youth Fidele; Jessica flees from her father's house in boy's dress, and Julia ties up her yellow hair in fantastic love-knots, and dons hose and doublet; Henry the Eighth woos his lady as a shepherd, and Romeo his as a pilgrim; Prince Hal and Poins appear first as footpads in buckram suits, and then in white aprons and leather jerkins as the waiters in a tavern: and as for Falstaff, does he not come on as a highwayman, as an old woman, as Herne the Hunter, and as the clothes going to the laundry?
"He ain't no deserter," said the idiot's mother savagely, "he wasn't never 'listed." "Then how comes he to drum as he did?" retorted the serjeant. "Our own drummers couldn't beat better."
"Just a fresh idiot's attempt to be funny!" growled Teall, his face now red with mortification. "Laugh, Ted, confound you!" urged Tom Reade. "Laugh! Don't be a grouch." "What you need, Teall," teased Dave Darrin, "is some nerve tonic. You ought not to let yourself get into such bad shape that you almost faint when you hit the ball." For once Ted Teall's ready tongue went back on him.
Finnerty, the popular Warden, quelled the turmoil, and placed the offender under Police protection. For want of the real article, a well-attended procession burnt this idiot's effigy, and thus the great rush ended. It was supposed by some, if I remember rightly, that the fire which gutted nearly half the town had its origin in this effigy-burning. What a blaze that was to be sure!
Hyar ter-day an' thar ter-morrer. Rides light. Two leetle Parrott guns is the most weight he carries." The idiot's eyes began to widen with slow and baffled speculation. "Whut w-whut ails him ter take arter Tangle-foot? W-w " his great loose lips trembled with unformed words as he gazed his eager inquiry from one to another.
Knights of the Garter and Knights of the Golden Fleece, who had hated each other to deadliest rancor with the length of the Continent between them, got friends over a mutually good book on the Rastadt or Foret Noir. Brains that were the powder depot of one-half of the universe let themselves be lulled to tranquil amusement by a fair idiot's coquetry.
It was even the fashion to compare him with Concini in order to heighten the wrath of the public, as if any parallel between the ignoble, foreign paramour of a stupid and sensual queen, and the great statesman, patriot, and jurist of whom civilization will be always proud, could ever enter any but an idiot's brain.
"I did and I shouted, but they were too fast for me and disappeared in the darkness of the underground gallery." M. Richard rose. "That will do, M. Lachenel. "And sack my stable?" "Oh, of course! Good morning." M. Lachenel bowed and withdrew. Richard foamed at the mouth. "Settle that idiot's account at once, please." "He is a friend of the government representative's!" Mercier ventured to say.
More than once the idiot's eyes flashed dangerously at Bert's prank; but, fool though he was, he had sense enough to understand that any outbreak would mean his prompt expulsion and banishment, and so he would restrain himself. One memorable day, however, when Bert least expected or invited it, the demon of insanity broke loose in a manner that might have had serious consequences.
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