The following year Maximilian found it necessary to take his troops to Italy. The cities of that fair land, instead of being friendly, as they are to-day, were constantly quarreling with each other, and Pisa, the city of the leaning tower, implored the aid of the Emperor of Austria against the pretentions of Florence, the city of flowers.

Le Glorieux, who declared that he had not seen a good rousing fight since the siege of Beauvais, begged to accompany the emperor, and to be allowed to do his full share of fighting, a permission which was granted most willingly.

Philibert de Bresse, who had industriously continued his studies, and who had gained the serious attention of the emperor for the first time when he plucked the edelweiss, was now his Majesty's secretary, and also was to accompany him to Italy. But Antoine, at the bidding of the princess, remained in Vienna, where the court was staying at the time and where, under the tuition of a musical monk, he was accomplishing wonders in the realm of melody.

Philibert was now eighteen and had attained his full growth. He wished that he was to fight instead of to write, that he could be the soldier in armor and clanking spurs instead of the smooth-haired secretary, for he was young and longed for exciting adventure. But it was worth something to be in the confidence of the emperor, and to travel in his present capacity was better than to remain quietly at court.

They were camped near Pistoja, an ancient city at the foot of the Apennines, the headquarters of the emperor being a half-ruined marble palace. Pistoja is to this day rich in ancient sculptures of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and at that time there was an equestrian statue which stood outside the gates of the old palace, about which clung a strange superst.i.tion, which was that occasionally, and when it suited his fancy, the statue had a way of dismounting and wandering about, possibly to rest himself, for several centuries of the same position must prove fatiguing. It was not an especially fine piece of statuary and had not been done by a famous sculptor. In fact, the original of the statue had had it made in order to perpetuate his own memory, but he had lived so long ago that n.o.body remembered just what he had done, which perhaps were not such wonderful feats after all, for the greatest people are the most modest. It represented a man on a big horse with a long mantle spread well out over the tail of his steed, and it went by the name of _Il Capitano_, the captain, no one knowing or caring just what captain it was. And this captain had thrust himself upon the notice of the emperor's soldiers camped in his neighborhood, as you shall presently see.

Coming into the grounds after having taken a message from the emperor to one of the officers, Philibert paused to speak with one of his Majesty's guards. The subject of their conversation was the expected battles of the coming campaign, and the guard said, "I am not afraid of any living man, but I am afraid of the one they call _Il Capitano_."

"You mean the statue on horseback over there?" asked Philibert.

"I do, sir."

"Why should you fear a marble man?" asked the secretary, smiling.

The guard lowered his voice. "Because, sir, he gets off his horse and walks about at night."

Philibert laughed. "A soldier should not listen to such old wives'

tales," said he.

"It is not an old wives' tale, sir," said the man stoutly; "Hans and Ottocar and others who are as brave as the emperor himself, saw _Il Capitano_, and were frightened."

"I went past him a few moments ago and I was not frightened," laughed Philibert.

"But they saw him walking about in the moonlight, sir."

"They were dreaming, or they had been drinking too much Italian wine,"

said young De Bresse as he walked away.

That afternoon the emperor said to his secretary, "De Bresse, I am going to send you to Venice with a message for the doge."

Philibert's heart beat high with exultation, for he knew that this was a mission of trust, and that he possessed the emperor's confidence, else his Majesty would have selected another messenger. The Venetians had promised their aid to Maximilian and the Pisans, but so far they had failed to keep their word. The message was not to be written, lest in case of accident to the bearer it should fall into the wrong hands. The emperor repeated it to his secretary word for word, and gave the latter his seal ring to show that the message was authentic.

Repeating the words of his royal master over and over again in his mind and trying to remember his caution regarding the trip and the best route to take, Philibert hastily prepared for the journey, and mounting one of the best horses available he rode away shortly before nightfall.

He was very happy; he was young, he had the confidence of the emperor, and he was starting out on a trip in which there was considerable risk, a fact which with him added greatly to the charm of the enterprise.

It seems sometimes as if our memory takes a malicious delight in playing tricks with us. It will go to sleep at the very time that it ought to be busiest and then it will wake and mock us. What do you suppose that Philibert's memory said to him, when, after a two hours' ride, he stopped at a stream to allow his horse to refresh itself with a drink of water? It was this, "_You have forgotten the emperor's ring! You left it on the foot of your couch when you were dressing!_"

This was the ghastly truth. In his excitement, delight, and haste, the secretary had placed the ring on his couch, intending to tie it to a cord and hang it around his neck inside of his clothes for the sake of safety, and it was still there! To accomplish the purpose for which he was sent, the ring was absolutely necessary, or his royal master would not have given it to him. There was nothing to be done but to return and find it. It would be very difficult to go to his room without the fact of his presence being reported to his Majesty, who, also, had sharp ears and knew all that was going on around him. And what should he say if he were discovered? Simply that he had forgotten the ring and had come back for it. Yes, that was simple enough, but to the proud and sensitive youth the consequences would be terrible, for he knew that the emperor upon learning the truth would lose all confidence in his sagacity and would send another messenger. "And small wonder, too, since his first one appears to be such a blundering idiot," he thought, with burning cheeks.

Well, he would go back for the ring and if he should be discovered by the emperor there would be nothing to do but to return to his own country in disgrace. So Philibert turned his horse's head in the direction of Pistoja.

It was the hour of midnight when Philibert approached the camp from which he had set forth so joyously that afternoon, a week ago it seemed to him now. For the last few miles he had been tormented by a fear that he could not overcome, a surmise that seemed to be more and more probable as he drew nearer and nearer to his destination. Le Glorieux had a habit of entering the secretary's room, as was the custom of jesters, at whatever hour it pleased him, and if he went there after Philibert left, he would certainly discover the ring, for his sharp eyes saw everything. And he would take the jewel straight to his master; the youth seemed to hear him saying, "Cousin Max, here is your ring that the careless boy left on his bed." Perhaps even now Maximilian had a store of wrath laid up for him!

[Ill.u.s.tration: A tall form was walking before him]

And now how best to pa.s.s the sentinels was a serious problem. Of course knowing his ident.i.ty, they would let him pa.s.s without a question, but how to bribe them to keep his return a secret? He had secured his horse in a clump of trees and was about to approach the first sentinel when he saw an object which for the moment almost stopped the beating of his heart. Plainly distinguishable in the bright moonlight a tall form was walking before him draped in a long mantle. It was the statue, _Il Capitano_, which so frightened him, and Philibert was by no means a coward. Even to the bravest, the sight of a marble statue walking about when it ought to be sitting quietly astride its horse would cause more or less trepidation, for the sight is an unusual one, to say the least.

But glancing backward with the expectation of seeing the horse standing riderless, Philibert discovered that the same old _Capitano_ was still in his saddle, holding his sword stiffly before him, with his long mantle still floating over the tail of his steed, as it had done for n.o.body knew exactly how many centuries.

Then this _Capitano_ was a fraud, a base imitation! Drawing his sword Philibert strode forward and with a quick turn confronted the bold masquerader.

"Another step," said the secretary, "and I shall run you through. If you think to deceive me by this foolery, you are very much mistaken. You are one of the soldiers dressed up for the purpose of stealing from your comrades."

The man sank to his knees and began to plead for mercy. "Oh, sir, please do not betray me. I never have done such a thing before, indeed."

"Do not tell me that; you have been walking about in this guise night after night."

"I mean, sir, that I never have done anything like this until since we have been camped in this place."

"We will not discuss that matter now; I have no time to hear your excuses. I need your disguise for purposes of my own. Give those rags to me; promise to cease your evil practices and to keep my secret, and I will keep yours."

The rascal made the necessary promises, very thankful to get off so easily, and to extricate himself from what at first promised to be a position of great danger. Hastily doffing the long mantle and the white linen which bound his head in imitation of marble hair, he helped to array the young secretary in the disguise; then holding his sword before him in imitation of _Il Capitano_, Philibert marched boldly toward the emperor's quarters.

The sentinel at the gate made no opposition to his entrance, but remained as if frozen to the spot; another crossed himself and fled, and his way being now clear, so far as they were concerned, Philibert cautiously mounted the steps leading to the upper hall, ever in momentary fear of meeting one of the emperor's suite or perhaps even his Majesty himself, as he was obliged to pa.s.s his bedchamber in trying to reach his own. Luck favored him, however, and he reached his own room, where he proceeded to search for the object which had caused him so much anxiety.

The one window of the room was so thickly shaded with vines as to exclude the moonlight, and even if there had been any artificial light available, its use would have been a risk, so Philibert began to run his hand over the couch, very slowly and carefully lest he should knock the ring to the floor, where it would be almost impossible to find it.

He uttered a sigh of relief when his fingers touched a hard object, which turned out to be what he sought, and slipping it on his finger, where it proved to be a snug fit, he was about to depart, when he heard the emperor's voice in the corridor. His disguise would not protect him from Maximilian, who, even if he should believe this strange figure to be _Il Capitano_ himself, would lose no time in running it through with his sword, and the young secretary was not ready to die.

He waited; would the emperor never go? His voice was raised in anger about something. Perhaps he had heard of the appearance of the supposed statue and was seeking it. Concealing himself behind the half-open door, Philibert listened. No, whatever it was it was not a question of _Il Capitano_, and the listener realized that his successor was getting a sound scolding from Maximilian, who had a temper of his own upon occasion.

A paper was missing, the disappearance of which seemed greatly to have irritated the emperor. His voice grew louder and louder as he described it. Then he said, "Here, Le Glorieux, go and look for it in the bedchamber of De Bresse. You will know it by its color; it is a long blue paper, folded lengthwise, with writing across the end of it."

The listener knew quite well of what paper they were speaking; oh, if he could only have put it into the emperor's mind to look for it in a certain drawer in his own room, where, neatly labeled, the secretary had placed it with a number of other doc.u.ments! But here was the fool coming straight toward his room with a torch. With a sudden plunge, Philibert sprang toward the bed and crawled under it, dragging with him the hangings, which were old and frail, as he did so.

"What a mess this room is in," grumbled the jester, as he stumbled over the fallen hangings, coughing violently as the dust from them tickled his throat. "Was he so crazy with joy over his trip that he must pull his couch to pieces before he started?"

Then, as if suspecting that some one might be in the room who had no right there, the jester searched carefully about, finally kneeling to look under the bed. The emperor and his humiliated scribe had now closed their door, and the amazed exclamation of the jester was not heard, as he discovered a booted and spurred foot beneath Philibert's bed.

"And so, Mr. Thief, or Mr. Spy, whichever you are, I have caught you, have I?" asked Le Glorieux coolly.

"Hush!" whispered Philibert.

"I do not in the least doubt that you want me to hush," returned the fool, taking possession of the secretary's sword, which the latter held unsheathed in his hand. "There are some positions in life in which people like to have a great noise made over them, and there are others in which they like to be quiet and retired. This appears to be one of the latter. You evidently do not know how to use this toy since you give it up so easily," went on Le Glorieux scornfully.

"Hush!" whispered his prisoner again. "Do not bawl so loud. It is I, Philibert de Bresse."

"In the name of all the saints in the calendar!" exclaimed the fool as young De Bresse crawled from his hiding-place. "Is this the way you execute your commission? I was proud of you, boy; I had faith in you, and now see what has come of it! Max gave you an opportunity to win his confidence for life, and you wrap yourself up in that dirty old mantle and sneak under the bed! I never so thoroughly realized that I am a fool as I do at this moment, when I find how greatly I was mistaken in Philibert de Bresse!"

"Do you suppose I am doing this of my own accord?" snapped the young secretary, engaged in securing the band of white linen which was ready to fall from his head.

"I do not see anybody forcing you to do it at the point of the sword,"

returned the jester dryly. "The De Bresses are a wild lot and have done many strange things, according to their history, but I never heard of one that was a coward."