The Court Jester

"It is truly a curious ornament," remarked the archduke, turning it so that the light played upon the carved face of the moonstone.

"It is an heirloom of my mother's family, your Grace," returned its owner in a constrained, half-hearted way.

"I have been watching for something to happen to you, Cousin Clotilde," said the jester, "and now you will glide along and be as comfortable as the rest of us. After all, it is a good thing that you put the moonstone in a book that you never open, for if you had found it right away, you never would have accused Cimburga, and if you had not accused Cimburga, she would never have received the purse of gold for her dower, and then she never would have married Karl, for the prudent miller sooner or later would have persuaded his son to marry the weaver's daughter. So let us be thankful that you are not so pious as you think you are, and that you put the pendant in a book where it would have remained for months, perhaps years, if you had not wanted to show it to Cousin Max."

But the Lady Clotilde derived no comfort from the favor she incidentally had done the maid. It never had entered her head that she owed the girl some reparation for the fright she had caused her, and for the humiliating position in which she had been placed, for the Lady Clotilde did not own the kind of a head that would entertain such an idea.

The beds at the castle were most comfortable, being, as Philibert had said, stuffed with the down of many fowls, and that of the Lady Clotilde was hung with the richest brocade, but as she went to it boiling with rage at Philibert, Le Glorieux, Cimburga, the countess, and everybody in the remotest way connected with the moonstone, it was long before sweet sleep visited her eyelids.

But the little princess closed her eyes with a smile, and soon sank into pleasant dreams; she had seen her father, and he was all that her fancy had painted him: he was affectionate, gay, and handsome. He had spoken during the evening of his combats and she knew that he always had vanquished his opponents. He was a true and brave knight, and happy indeed was she in being the daughter of one so worthy and so favored by fortune.

CHAPTER VIII

A ROYAL ALCHEMIST

The object of her greatest desire, the meeting with her father, having been attained, the princess was in no haste to leave Castle Hohenberg, and as the archduke was glad to rest a while from the cares of state, a number of merry days were spent under its hospitable roof, where everything that could be thought of to add to the enjoyment of the guests was done, with probably a vast increase in the housekeeping accounts, for it is expensive to entertain royal visitors.

In the evening there was dancing in the great hall, and it was led by Maximilian, who chose for his partner the prettiest lady in the room, or the oldest and most ill-favored, for he made himself agreeable to all.

When he spoke of taking his departure one of the ladies declared that she would hide his boots and spurs, which would detain him as long as she should see fit to keep him there, for a prince riding away without those useful articles of wearing apparel would present an odd spectacle. This same trick had been played upon Maximilian in another mansion, and he had good-naturedly yielded to the wishes of the mischievous dames and prolonged his stay in consequence. The archduke was friendly to everybody, and on his way to and from the outdoor sports that were arranged for him he chatted affably with any peasant with whom he happened to come in contact, and when we read such things of him we are not surprised that the people adored him.

But, however pleasant it may have been at Castle Hohenberg, there were plenty of other places in Maximilian's wide domain that longed for him or needed him, or both, and ere long the party was ready to continue its journey along the Rhine.

On the morning of their departure Marguerite heard a gay song in the courtyard beneath her window; it was Cimburga, who was going to feed the doves. The birds immediately flew to meet their friend, settling on her shoulders, her head, and the basket in which she had brought their food, the sunlight bringing out the rose tints in the gray of their plumage. The girl scattered the grain with a lavish hand, and then held the end of a crust of bread between her white teeth, turning her face toward her shoulder, upon which two of the most impertinent of the doves had settled, followed by a host of others, who quarreled over the morsel at such a rate that Cimburga, laughing, threw it at them, saying, "Take it, then, greedy ones, since you can not wait."

The Lady Marguerite called to the maid, and the latter glancing upward beheld a picture which she never forgot as long as she lived, and which always seemed to her like the recollection of a beautiful young saint who had come to life in its niche. In the arched window of the gray old castle stood the little princess, her bright uncovered hair like a halo about her face, which beamed upon the maid with a gracious smile. Marguerite was not an angel, as the jester had well said, but to the girl who now gazed upon her, and who had received so great a boon at her hands, she seemed more than human.

The daughter of the Hapsburgs ignored for the moment the gulf that divided her from this child of the people, just as her father often did in similar circumstances. "Are you happy now, Cimburga?" she asked gently.

"Oh, so happy, your gracious Highness, and all thanks to you!" returned the girl. "The mistress has given me a wedding dress of a beautiful blue, the color that belongs to the Blessed Virgin, and we are to be married next week. And Karl's father has found an inn for him farther south, called The Flying Fawn. And I am to be the landlady of an inn!" She paused and looked very serious for a moment at the thought of her new dignity. Then she broke into a peal of laughter at nothing at all, but just from pure happiness.

"I am glad because you are glad, Cimburga," said the princess gently.

"And indeed, your Highness, I shall pray every night to Saint Joseph to send you as good a husband as I have myself," continued the girl earnestly. Marguerite smiled at this, but after all there was many a prince who would not be so kind to his royal wife as humble Karl would be to the maiden of his choice.

At Metz they were greeted by Marguerite's brother, a handsome boy known to history as Philip of Flanders. He was about to go to that country to remain, and so we shall see very little of him in this story.

Everywhere in their own domain the emperor and his daughter had been received with every demonstration of delight by their loyal people, and at Metz they were royally entertained by the Duke of Lorraine, who caused to be given on his wonderful stage a play for their amusement.

It was a very queer theater, or at least it would look so to us to-day, and the plays produced there did not in the least resemble those we are accustomed to see.

Plays in the beginning were given in Latin, and were played in churches on Christmas, Easter, and Good Friday. But when they began to be recited in the language spoken by the people the church would have none of them, and they were performed in the open air. The stage at Metz was nine stories high, and as to whether their costumes were appropriate or the contrary was a question which seemed to trouble the actors very little, and it must have seemed rather odd to see the angel Gabriel appear in a robe that had been worn by his Satanic Majesty in a previous scene. There were a great many people in the play, which must have been very confusing, because of the comic interludes where clowns danced about performing their various antics, which had nothing whatever to do with the play itself. The piece witnessed by Maximilian and his suite lasted for three days, and Le Glorieux declared that he for one was glad when it was finished.

"But you can not see such spectacles every day," said Philibert.

"Thank fortune for that!" said the fool.

"But are you not fond of the drama?"

"Yes, and I am also fond of bread, but I should not like to eat bread every minute for three days."

At Linz they stopped to pay their respects to the old emperor, whom Marguerite never had seen, or at least not since her babyhood, which does not count. Frederick the Third was almost eighty years old now. He had given up the government of the country to his son, and had retired to his palace at Linz, where he pursued his "studies," as he called them, and which he fondly imagined them to be, though to-day his pursuits would make a boy of average intelligence smile broadly.

When Frederick was selected to be the emperor of Austria he thought over the matter for eleven weeks before he could make up his mind to accept the honor thus proffered him. He never has been called a wise or a worthy ruler; quite the contrary, indeed; but the fact that he took time to think the matter over shows that he realized that the duties of his position would not be child's play, and as he had reigned for more than fifty years, it may be supposed that he was rather tired of it by this time. The emperor was a tall, white-haired old man of majestic appearance, with a heavy, protruding under lip. He kissed his son on both cheeks, and saluted his granddaughter in the same way, though without any extravagant display of affection, doubtless having his mind at the moment on his laboratory, where he was engaged in trying a number of experiments, of which writers of his day speak with a great deal of respect, not to say awe.

Wishing to entertain her royal grandfather, Marguerite asked Antoine to sing for him. The old emperor listened with a dreamy expression of countenance, as one who is absorbed in his own thoughts, and when the song was finished he asked his granddaughter and the boys to accompany him to his laboratory, where they were, of course, followed by Le Glorieux.

The laboratory was fitted up with all the appointments that could possibly be suggested by the "studies" of the great man who spent so much of his time within its four walls. There were globes and compasses, and maps of the starry heavens, for the emperor was very learned in astrology. "It was a comet that came to tell me of the birth of the King of the Romans, my son," said he solemnly. "It was necessary that a brave and wise prince should succeed me, and just before his birth a pale light was seen in the sky, which attracted the attention of learned men everywhere, and which proved to be a comet, growing larger and larger each night, reaching its greatest brilliancy on the night of my son's birth. The next night it was less bright, and before many nights it had disappeared!"

The emperor paused here, and no one remarked that this behavior on the part of comets is not unusual. Then he continued, "Until my son was twelve years of age I thought he was going to be either a mute or a fool. There was no sign of any but a very ordinary grade of intelligence, and I lost faith in the glorious predictions regarding him that I had read in the heavens. He learned his lessons only after a series of floggings, and I feared that my realm was to be governed by a weakling. But why should I have doubted the assurance given me by the planets? My son came out of his stupidity as from a dream, and he is now one of the most learned of men. He can address the ambassadors of eight different countries, each in his own language; he can dictate a number of letters at once, each in a different tongue. And the stars have said that Austria will become the mistress of the world."

Although we know that the old emperor left a writing to the effect that his country would exceed all others in greatness, the prediction did not come true, showing that the stars frequently make mistakes.

The visitors examined the contents of the laboratory with great interest. The shelves contained all sorts of bottles and retorts, and the vessels in which he stirred his mixtures were marked with a red cross to keep out the demon, who, it was believed, had an inconvenient and impertinent way of meddling with such things.

The Lady Marguerite held in her hand a red rose, which was given to her by the head gardener, and which, being of a rare variety, was greatly cherished by that functionary, and thought to be a suitable gift, even for a princess. The emperor reached out his hand for the rose, and taking it from her, he popped it into a jar, where it soon became as white as snow. Then, taking it out again, he said, "It would be a pity to spoil a lady's flower," and throwing it into another jar, it became its own rich red again.

This feat seemed almost a miracle to the four spectators who witnessed it, though a chemist to-day would think nothing of it. To make sugar and alcohol out of an old linen shirt, to make all the colors of the rainbow, to say nothing of medicines and perfumes, and a substance many times sweeter than sugar, out of a thing so black and sticky and generally unpromising as coal tar, are a few of the feats accomplished by the chemists of our own time, but which would have made the alchemists of Frederick's day gasp for breath.

"Here," said the emperor, taking up a long slender vial, "is a specific for many ailments, which I have succeeded in making out of a few drops of water. And here," he went on, taking up a yellow piece of parchment covered with hieroglyphics and strange characters, "is a recipe which came to me from the Orient, and said to have been greatly prized by Hermes Tris-me-gistus." He drew out the long name to its fullest extent, and Le Glorieux whispered to Antoine, "Is it not strange that at his age he can remember such things? If I had a friend of that name and wanted to write him a letter, I could never do it in this world, for by the time I had written the first part of the name I would have forgotten the last of it. Yet this old man rattles it off as easily as if he were telling what he would like for breakfast. It must be because the Germans are used to such long words that nothing in that line staggers them."

"This tells how to make gold," said the emperor, regarding the parchment with great satisfaction. "It begins, 'Catch the flying bird and drown it that it may fly no more.' You would be puzzled at the meaning of that sentence, would you not?" he asked, turning with a superior smile to his audience, all of whom murmured a respectful affirmative, save Le Glorieux, who said, "I should say it was directions as to how to prepare a fowl for the spit. Though I should advise cutting its head off, which is a much quicker and more respectable way than to drown it."

"Ha, ha!" cackled the old emperor. "Wiser men than yourself, Fool, might think the same thing. 'The flying bird' means quicksilver, which is very easy to change into gold."

"Since he knows so well how to make gold, I wonder why he is so stingy," whispered the jester to Antoine. The latter shook his head and made no reply, this being a problem too deep for him to solve.

"But the making of gold," went on Frederick, "is attended with great danger. Nature is very jealous of her riches, and conceals her precious metals in the most inaccessible spots, and in trying to make it we are likely to meet with a terrible explosive."

The emperor took a ring from his finger set with a large diamond. "This stone," said he, "is called the 'indomitable one,' for it is the hardest of all. It is the most beautiful of gems, for it has the flash of the emerald, the gleam of the sapphire, and the glow of the ruby. Around the origin of this stone Nature has woven a mystery; she has allied it to charcoal and other black substances. But I can make it by adding colors to pebbles, as I can make rubies, emeralds, and sapphires."

"Did you make the stone in your ring, Grandfather?" asked the princess innocently.

"No," replied the emperor.

"Why does he not show us one that he has made?" whispered Le Glorieux to Antoine, and it certainly seemed as if the proof of this statement should be forthcoming, since, "If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, where is the peck of pickled peppers that Peter Piper picked?" But a writer of his time assures us that Frederick actually made precious stones out of pebbles, so he must have been content to take the emperor's word for it.

"Here," said the royal alchemist, taking up a second scroll of yellow parchment, "is another formula which caused me much trouble and expense to procure. It tells how to make thunder and lightning."

The emperor, with his profound knowledge of the heavens and the secrets of the earth, was an object of too much awe to Le Glorieux to be joked with, as he was in the habit of doing, but he said to Philibert as they left their august host, "Of course, it may be a great pleasure to know how to make thunder and lightning, and a man who is fond of excitement and tired of a quiet life might do it sometimes just to amuse himself. But, speaking for myself, I do not think I should like to mix up such a mess, at least not often."

It was in that same year that the emperor died, leaving Maximilian ruler in name as he had been for some time in fact. He was in possession of the domains of the Hapsburgs, as well as those of the Dukes of Burgundy, and he was served by kings and electors. Still, in spite of his exalted position, he did not become cold and forbidding in his manner, remaining frank and affable as he had been before. Writers have criticised him for his friendly ways, but after all is it not better for a ruler to be the darling of his people than always to be on his dignity, afraid to show a little human friendliness and good feeling?

The year after Maximilian became emperor he was united in marriage to Bianca Sforza, an Italian lady. When this marriage was first mentioned Le Glorieux said to the Lady Marguerite, "I can learn nothing about your new mother save that she is high-tempered, and fond of a certain kind of shellfish. It seems to me there ought to be something more to say about a woman than just that!"

The princess accepted her new mother as a matter of course. This marriage was an affair of mere business; the emperor needed money with which to fight Charles the Eighth of France, and money he would obtain by his marriage with this lady, who was far inferior to her predecessor, Mary of Burgundy, both in education and beauty. Although Frederick had claimed to have discovered the secret of turning quicksilver into gold, he did not seem to have left the recipe behind him, for the purse of his son was always gaunt and longing to be filled.

The Lady Clotilde had not returned to France, as it had been her intention to do; she had found that the climate of Austria agreed with her health to a degree little short of marvelous. She said that there were certain viands that she would not dare to touch in Burgundy, Brittany, or France, but which in the German empire did her all the good in the world. Of course, she was going away soon, next month, or surely the month after; but still the Lady Clotilde lingered on.

Philibert, finding greater advantages here for a young gentleman of rank than in his own country, also remained. It seemed that the Count de Bresse, his father, absorbed in his own schemes – and they were not always innocent ones – had almost forgotten that he owned a son, and the boy was well contented to be thus neglected, being perfectly happy in his new surroundings. In those days nations were almost continually engaged in some kind of turmoil, either fighting each other or trying to make peace, and Austria had its share of such proceedings; but at this time the principal characters of this story saw only the pleasant side of life. Antoine became more and more proficient in his music; Philibert became quite scholarly at the court of this emperor, who surrounded himself with scholars; Le Glorieux amused himself and everybody else, while the princess was put under the care of her tutors, and, taking a leaf from her father's book, was always affable and gracious to her inferiors.

CHAPTER IX

PHILIBERT IN DANGER

Three years had passed. Philibert and Antoine now were tall youths, and Marguerite was a slender, graceful maiden of fifteen.

"I am sorry that she is growing up," said Cunegunda to Le Glorieux.

"Then am I to infer that you are fond of dwarfs?" asked he.

"No, but do you not see that as soon as she becomes a woman she must marry?"

"Most women do," he returned, "and most of them are equally discontented, whether they do or do not."

"And small wonder, since they must marry men," said Cunegunda. Le Glorieux could always throw her into a temper. "I did not marry again, and I am not discontented," she added.

"I have no doubt that you have made many a man discontented by refusing them right and left," said the fool politely.

Cunegunda smiled, but looked serious again as she said dolefully, "Our princess must marry and go to live in a strange land. How I wish that she were merely the child of a nobleman instead of being the daughter of the emperor; then she could remain in Austria. Now she must go away."

"You are getting ready to cry again," said the jester, in an injured tone. "I am supposed to make people laugh. Even his Majesty laughs at me. But there seems to be something about me that makes you cry. If you will tell me what it is I will change it, both for your benefit and my own. That you can not see the point of a joke, no matter if it is as big as my head, is perhaps not your fault; but it seems to me that you might keep from bursting into tears every time you see me or hear the jingle of my bells."

Philibert de Bresse approached; he was dressed in all the grandeur of the time, and a fine sword hung by his side. "What is the trouble with Dame Cunegunda?" he asked.

"Nothing in particular," replied the fool, "save that she wants our princess to marry a hair-dresser, or some person of the kind."

"I said nothing about a hair-dresser, and you know it!" snapped the indignant woman. "I do not want my little lady to go away to a strange country. I am now past middle age, and I am attached to my own land and do not want to leave it."

"I was not aware that the emperor was arranging a foreign match for you," remarked Le Glorieux.

Deeming this piece of satire too trivial to notice, Cunegunda said, "I must go with my lady wherever she goes, for so I promised her mother."

"Is that promise to hold good until she is ninety?" asked Le Glorieux.

"It is to hold good as long as there is breath in my body, and she does not forbid me to accompany her."

"But there is no danger – I mean there is no prospect of the Lady Marguerite's making a foreign marriage?" asked Philibert hastily.

"I am very much inclined to believe that there is," replied Le Glorieux. "If nothing of the kind happens soon, it will not be the fault of that dark-browed Spanish envoy, Don Juan Manuel. He is quiet and cold, but he is always thinking. Not that most people are not always thinking when they are quiet, for few people's brains are swept quite empty of thoughts, but his thinking counts for something. He knows quite well what he is about, does Manuel. He is always talking to our emperor, who listens with a great deal of attention to all that he says, and whatever it is, it will be a good thing for Spain, you can make up your mind to that."

"And who is this Spaniard who has so much influence over the Emperor of Austria?" asked Philibert hotly. "He is a nobody, an ordinary Castilian, who managed to attract the attention of the Queen of Spain, afterward gaining her confidence when he became her secretary."

"Well, that he did gain her confidence, and that he has a good deal of influence over Max, is a fact nevertheless," returned the fool. "The young Prince of the Asturias is of the right age to marry, and will be a suitable match for our princess, and, so far as I am concerned, I am perfectly willing that they should marry, for I think that I should like to live in Spain. The climate is very fine, there would not be so much trouble in keeping warm as there is here, and I am fond of oranges."

"The Spanish match is not made yet, and how do you know that the Lady Marguerite would take you with her, even if she should go to Spain?" asked Cunegunda disdainfully.

"How do I know that she would take her shoes with her to Spain?" he inquired. "I have become a necessity to her; she could not get on without me. Besides that, I was a present to her from the Lady Anne, now Queen of France. If I was valuable when I was the present of a mere duchess, my value has increased tenfold now that I am the gift of a queen. So do not talk any more nonsense about my not going, for I shall be the first one to be considered."