TRIPPING THE MEASURES OF THE EGG-DANCE
Ferdinand and Isabella were very kind to the young Princess of the
Asturias, and insisted that she should remain with them. Some writers
see a selfish motive in this invitation, saying that the royal couple
feared to have Austria's daughter escape from their influence, that they
wished to control her future, lest she should make a marriage directly
opposed to the interests of Spain. But why not give them the credit of
being really kind-hearted, and of wanting the society of the girl-widow,
whom they must have loved for their son's sake if not for her own?
But Marguerite longed for her home and for her father, and one day Le
Glorieux found her weeping in one of the myrtle walks of the Alcazar
gardens. "You are crying in this beautiful twilight," said he, "when the
nightingales are just beginning to sing, and you are close beside roses
which could not be any redder and which have a fragrance that almost
makes one drunk. Look at the goldfishes in that fountain, look at that
tree loaded down with oranges, which, though they are of a kind that is
not good to eat, make a fine show. Look through the trees at that
beautiful palace where you have but to utter a word and your wish is
granted, and then have the heart to weep!"
But the princess continued to sob.
"We did not have half so many comforts in your father's empire," he went
on. "The time we went to hunt the chamois with Max we found no luxuries
in The Hunter's Rest. We were warm and comfortable and that was about
all; all you could do was to run about with your ladies and work at your
embroidery while the men hunted. Do you remember how gay Max was when he
came back, and how he told about the chamois, and----"
"Oh, do not talk of it!" cried the princess, interrupting him. "Why must
you make me more wretched than I was before you came?"
Cunegunda came along the walk with a mantilla of fine black lace over
her arm; this she threw, Spanish fashion, over the head and shoulders of
her young mistress. "You have been making her cry!" she said
reproachfully, to the jester.
"That is a fine thing to say, when I have been talking myself hoarse to
keep her from crying! But, of course, you always blame me with
everything."
"You were making her cry; I heard you, and I heard what she said,"
insisted the woman. "You were talking about the inn in the Tyrol."
"I do not deny it. I did it for the purpose of contrast. Think of that
mean little inn and the cold snow, then think of this marble palace and
these flowers."
"If one is right on the inside, it does not much matter what is on the
outside," replied the woman. "When the heart is comfortable everything
is bright to the eyes."
"You do not weep as much as you used to do, Cunegunda," said the jester,
looking at her thoughtfully. "Even the sight of me does not make you cry
any more."
"I control my tears for the sake of my young mistress, who weeps so
much," returned Cunegunda with dignity.
"You have some good points, I must say," replied the fool.
The princess had now dried her eyes, and had drawn the folds of the
mantilla closer about her face. "I want to go home," said she. "All of
my ladies and gentlemen want to go home. They hate the restraint of the
Spanish court; and I want to see my father."
"This is the first time I have mentioned it," said the fool, "but I also
want to go home. I want to see Max and I want to see that little wretch
of an Antoine, and Pittacus, and Pandora."
"And we will go," cried Marguerite, rising to her feet with a new light
sparkling in her eyes. "I will write to the emperor, my father, at once,
and we will set out at the earliest possible moment."
And again did the daughter of Maximilian return to him, still only a
princess, for it was destined that she should never wear the crown of a
queen. But when she beheld her native land, and the handsome, kindly
face of her father once more, she was as happy as one whose most
ambitious dreams had been realized.
Le Glorieux said, "At last we really have left Clotilde behind, and as
Don Geronimo Bartolomeo Zurriago y Escafusa says he never will go out of
his native land again, we may safely conclude that Clotilde is a fixture
in Spain." The jester was affectionately embraced by Antoine, who
declared himself overjoyed to see his old friend again, but their master
was disgusted to find that Pandora and Pittacus received him with their
usual cold indifference.
One day, in the following spring time, Marguerite said to Le Glorieux:
"Cunegunda is once more suffering from migraine, and thinks that nothing
will cure her but another pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint Roch. She
thinks that when she was there before she did not give enough time to
her prayer, being in too great haste to leave; otherwise she would have
been cured permanently. I am often depressed and weary, and I think the
journey will benefit me. So I shall go with such of my household as I
shall need."
"It is a long journey to make for Cunegunda's sake," observed the
jester.
"Cunegunda has been one of my best friends throughout my life," replied
the princess, "so why should I not strive to please her? But as I said
before, it is not altogether upon her account that I want to go. I wish
to be taken out of myself. The world is not so happy a place as it used
to be."
"Little Cousin, I do not often ask a favor of you, do I?" asked the
fool.
"No, Le Glorieux, a fact which would make me the more inclined to grant
you one now."
"I want you to let me have a man and a horse," he replied.
"For what purpose?"
"I wish to send a message to the young Duke of Savoy. He lost a valuable
jewel when he was with us, and I want to tell him where he can find it."
"Perhaps it is between the leaves of his prayer-book," said the
princess, smiling. "But if you have an idea where this wonderful jewel
is, why can you not find it and send it to him?"
"There are certain reasons why such an act on my part would be out of
the question," returned the jester. "But if you do not want to let me
have the man and the horse, we will say nothing more about it."
"I do not object in the least, Le Glorieux. Send as many messengers as
you like to Savoy."
They set out from the historic city of Aix-la-Chapelle, where the court
was staying at the time, and even at the end of the first day's travel
the princess expressed herself as being wonderfully benefited with the
journey.
[Illustration: They approached a hostelry]
Late on the following afternoon as they approached a hostelry where they
expected to stay the night, they noticed a queer-looking animal painted
on the sign-board and before they were sufficiently near to read the
name beneath it, they began to speculate as to what it could be.
"I should say it was a horse," said the princess.
"And I," said the jester, who rode at her side, "should call it a calf
in convulsions."
Coming nearer they read the sign, which was "The Flying Fawn." So many
things had happened since she had heard the name that the princess had
forgotten it, but as they drew up and the pretty landlady came to the
door, Le Glorieux exclaimed, "Cimburga!"
Yes, it was Frau Obermeister, as Cimburga was now called, and she was
followed by her tall husband, both almost doubting the evidence of their
senses when they beheld the princess. Even before the latter alighted
from her mule Cimburga ran out and was about to press the hem of
Marguerite's robe to her lips when the princess reached out her hand,
which the landlady kissed, saying, "Oh, gracious lady, I never have
forgotten your face, which is now more beautiful than ever. And never
have I ceased to offer the prayer I told you of, and my little daughter,
although she can scarcely lisp the words, offers petitions to the
Blessed Virgin for your health and happiness, for she has learned that
it is to your goodness that we owe all that we now have."
"Happiness is a strange thing," remarked Le Glorieux afterward to
Cimburga. "You and Karl living in this snug inn, with your two chubby
children, have plenty of it, while the Lady Marguerite, even when she
wedded the Prince of the Asturias, had not found it."
"It will yet come to her; she is still very young, and my prayers will
be answered," replied Cimburga simply.
Castle Hohenberg was a good many miles north of The Flying Fawn, but
Cimburga had heard one piece of news from that hospitable household
which, when she told it to him, surprised the fool greatly. The
seneschal had married the housekeeper shortly after the visit of the
emperor.
"I can not believe it!" cried Le Glorieux. "Why, those two were always
quarreling!"
"And so they were," she agreed, "but now, I am told, they never speak an
unpleasant word to each other."
Speaking of this marriage to his mistress, when they had resumed their
journey, the jester said, "For a couple who were ready to scratch each
other's eyes out before marriage, to be perfectly angelic afterward, is
nothing less than a miracle."
She replied, "Hohenberg is the place for miracles. Think of Saint
Monica."
"Which was not a miracle, after all," replied the fool; and then he told
her the truth regarding that night's strange occurrence, as it had been
related to him by Philibert, adding, "He did it because you had prayed
for her, little Cousin."
It was, as the jester had said, a long journey, but at length they
reached the end of it, and Cunegunda made frequent visits to the shrine
of Saint Roch, declaring even after the first one that the pain was much
less severe than it had been.
Everything about the old inn was much as it had been at their first
visit, though the little Mary had become a great chatterbox, and this
time was able to thank the princess for the present of a gold piece.
Anne, the queen-duchess, was staying for a time in one of her castles in
the province of Brittany, it being her custom to visit her domain as
often as she could make it convenient to do so. Hearing of the presence
at the inn of the Princess of the Asturias, she sent to her an
invitation, offering the hospitality of her roof for the Easter season.
Although the King of France and the Emperor of Austria had been enemies,
the princess and the queen had not shared the ill feeling, and history,
which as a rule makes out people to have been worse than they really
were, admits that the two ladies ever were friendly to each other and
that they sometimes exchanged presents.
The King of France was away with his soldiers, and as the royal little
ones had remained in the palace of Amboise, it was not difficult to
imagine that time had remained stationary and that the fair chatelaine
of the castle was still simply the Lady Anne, Duchess of Brittany.
Fetes and entertainments were arranged in honor of the guest, and happy
were the hours that Anne and Marguerite spent together.
On Easter Monday the people for miles around met in the valley to engage
in the customary games of the season. The married men entertained
themselves with archery, the prize for the best shot being considered
worth winning. The archers shot at a cask of wine, and he who was so
fortunate as to pierce the wood was permitted to put his lips to the
aperture thus made, and to drink of the amber liquid until he was
satisfied, the others taking their turn when he had finished. But the
young people craved something more exciting than the mere drinking of
wine, and their gay laughter rang out joyously and vigorously as they
went through their native dances.
The princess from her place beside her royal hostess enjoyed the scene
thoroughly. Finally began the most exciting dance of the day. A hundred
eggs were scattered over the ground and two youths chose their partners
and began the figure. Although on the surface a trivial matter and one
to provoke laughter, this dance was a very serious affair to those who
engaged in it; for the couple who could skip over the eggs, glide
between them, twirl about them in the many turns required by the dance,
without breaking or cracking an egg, might marry each other in spite of
the opposition of parents or guardians. Each couple was allowed three
trials, and the dance being successfully concluded, none had a right to
say "Nay" to the union.
While the merrymaking was at its height the sound of a hunter's horn was
heard ringing through the forest, and soon there appeared a company of
men on horseback and in brilliant uniforms. At their head rode a
beautiful youth attired in the rich costume affected by the nobles of
the time, who, leaping from his horse, bent a graceful knee to the
queen, requesting her hospitality. It was granted at once, for this was
Philibert the Handsome, Duke of Savoy!
He bowed low before the princess and gave a friendly greeting to the
others, but to Le Glorieux he murmured, "The jewel about which you wrote
me I have come to claim."
The dance, which had ceased when the hunters appeared upon the scene,
was now resumed with greater merriment than before, and after watching
them intently for a while Marguerite said wistfully, "Would that I might
try that dance."
Then Philibert once more inclined his graceful figure and said, "Madame,
will you permit me to be your partner?"
This was equivalent to an offer of marriage, and his followers and her
own became wildly enthusiastic. Cries were heard of "Austria and Savoy!"
and it seemed to Le Glorieux that in his joy his own cry must have rung
to the very skies, while cheer upon cheer rent the air.
[Illustration: The Princess placed her hand in his]
The princess placed her hand in his and the comely pair took their
places. There was a serious task before them. They must dance around and
over and between those eggs without breaking any, and that, too, with
many eyes intently watching them. The members of noble families were
accustomed to dance; the little feet of the lady could poise as lightly
as thistle-down, while the knight was graceful in every step. When the
dance was ended not a single egg had been touched!
Exercise in the open air had deepened the tint on the cheek of the
princess. Philibert bent his head and whispered something in her ear.
"Yes," said she, smiling brightly, "let us follow the custom of the
country."
"Philibert has found his jewel," said Le Glorieux, "and I have helped
him to get it."
"What jewel do you mean?" asked the princess.
"What should I mean, but yourself, fair lady? You are the jewel he
always has admired. I am nothing but a fool, but I am not blind."
One year from that day the two were married. To their guests they gave
as souvenirs gold and silver eggs filled with spices, which they called
Easter eggs, and which the natives of Savoy claim was the origin of the
pleasant custom of giving eggs at that season.
And Philibert and Marguerite never had occasion to regret that happy day
in the forest, when, forgetting everything save that their hearts were
beating with the joy of youth, they together tripped the measures of the
egg-dance.
THE END