The Talisman by Walter Scott (important books to read TXT) 📗

Lest too much of this officer's wisdom should become tiresome, the Duke's other shoulder was occupied by his HOFF-NARR, or court-jester, called Jonas Schwanker, who made almost as much noise with his fool's cap, bells, and bauble, as did the orator, or man of talk, with his jingling baton.

These two personages threw out grave and comic nonsense alternately; while their master, laughing or applauding them himself, yet carefully watched the countenance of his noble guest, to discern what impressions so accomplished a cavalier received from this display of Austrian eloquence and wit. It is hard to say whether the man of wisdom or the man of folly contributed most to the amusement of the party, or stood highest in the estimation of their princely master; but the sallies of both seemed excellently well received. Sometimes they became rivals for the conversation, and clanged their flappers in emulation of each other with a most alarming contention; but, in general, they seemed on such good terms, and so accustomed to support each other's play, that the SPRUCH-SPRECHER often condescended to follow up the jester's witticisms with an explanation, to render them more obvious to the capacity of the audience, so that his wisdom became a sort of commentary on the buffoon's folly. And sometimes, in requital, the HOFF-NARR, with a pithy jest, wound up the conclusion of the orator's tedious harangue.

Whatever his real sentiments might be, Conrade took especial care that his countenance should express nothing but satisfaction with what he heard, and smiled or applauded as zealously, to all appearance, as the Archduke himself at the solemn folly of the SPRUCH-SPRECHER and the gibbering wit of the fool. In fact, he watched carefully until the one or other should introduce some topic favourable to the purpose which was uppermost in his mind.

It was not long ere the King of England was brought on the carpet by the jester, who had been accustomed to consider Dickon of the Broom (which irreverent epithet he substituted for Richard Plantagenet) as a subject of mirth, acceptable and inexhaustible. The orator, indeed, was silent, and it was only when applied to by Conrade that he observed, “The GENISTA, or broom-plant, was an emblem of humility; and it would be well when those who wore it would remember the warning.”

The allusion to the illustrious badge of Plantagenet was thus rendered sufficiently manifest, and Jonas Schwanker observed that they who humbled themselves had been exalted with a vengeance. “Honour unto whom honour is due,” answered the Marquis of Montserrat. “We have all had some part in these marches and battles, and methinks other princes might share a little in the renown which Richard of England engrosses amongst minstrels and MINNE-SINGERS. Has no one of the joyeuse science here present a song in praise of the royal Archduke of Austria, our princely entertainer?”

Three minstrels emulously stepped forward with voice and harp. Two were silenced with difficulty by the SPRUCH-SPRECHER, who seemed to act as master of the revels, and a hearing was at length procured for the poet preferred, who sung, in high German, stanzas which may be thus translated:—

“What brave chief shall head the forces, Where the red-cross legions gather? Best of horsemen, best of horses, Highest head and fairest feather.”

Here the orator, jingling his staff, interrupted the bard to intimate to the party—what they might not have inferred from the description—that their royal host was the party indicated, and a full-crowned goblet went round to the acclamation, HOCH LEBE DER HERZOG LEOPOLD! Another stanza followed:—

“Ask not Austria why, 'midst princes, Still her banner rises highest; Ask as well the strong-wing'd eagle, Why to heaven he soars the highest.”

“The eagle,” said the expounder of dark sayings, “is the cognizance of our noble lord the Archduke—of his royal Grace, I would say—and the eagle flies the highest and nearest to the sun of all the feathered creation.”

“The lion hath taken a spring above the eagle,” said Conrade carelessly.

The Archduke reddened, and fixed his eyes on the speaker, while the SPRUCH-SPRECHER answered, after a minute's consideration, “The Lord Marquis will pardon me—a lion cannot fly above an eagle, because no lion hath got wings.”

“Except the lion of Saint Mark,” responded the jester.

“That is the Venetian's banner,” said the Duke; “but assuredly that amphibious race, half nobles, half merchants, will not dare to place their rank in comparison with ours.”

“Nay, it was not of the Venetian lion that I spoke,” said the Marquis of Montserrat, “but of the three lions passant of England. Formerly, it is said, they were leopards; but now they are become lions at all points, and must take precedence of beast, fish, or fowl, or woe worth the gainstander.”

“Mean you seriously, my lord?” said the Austrian, now considerably flushed with wine. “Think you that Richard of England asserts any pre-eminence over the free sovereigns who have been his voluntary allies in this Crusade?”

“I know not but from circumstances,” answered Conrade. “Yonder hangs his banner alone in the midst of our camp, as if he were king and generalissimo of our whole Christian army.”

“And do you endure this so patiently, and speak of it so coldly?” said the Archduke.

“Nay, my lord,” answered Conrade, “it cannot concern the poor Marquis of Montserrat to contend against an injury patiently submitted to by such potent princes as Philip of France and Leopold of Austria. What dishonour you are pleased to submit to cannot be a disgrace to me.”

Leopold closed his fist, and struck on the table with violence.

“I have told Philip of this,” he said. “I have often told him that it was our duty to protect the inferior princes against the usurpation of this islander; but he answers me ever with cold respects of their relations together as suzerain and vassal, and that it were impolitic in him to make an open breach at this time and period.”

“The world knows that Philip is wise,” said Conrade, “and will judge his submission to be policy. Yours, my lord, you can yourself alone account for; but I doubt not you have deep reasons for submitting to English domination.”

“I submit!” said Leopold indignantly—“I, the Archduke of Austria, so important and vital a limb of the Holy Roman Empire—I submit myself to this king of half an island, this grandson of a Norman bastard! No, by Heaven! The camp and all Christendom shall see that I know how to right myself, and whether I yield ground one inch to the English bandog.—Up, my lieges and merry men; up and follow me! We will—and that without losing one instant—place the eagle of Austria where she shall float as high as ever floated the cognizance of king or kaiser.”

With that he started from his seat, and amidst the tumultuous cheering of his guests and followers, made for the door of the pavilion, and seized his own banner, which stood pitched before it.

“Nay, my lord,” said Conrade, affecting to interfere, “it will blemish your wisdom to make an affray in the camp at this hour; and perhaps it is better to submit to the usurpation of England a little longer than to—”

“Not an hour, not a moment longer,” vociferated the Duke; and with the