One thing is certain in our Northern land —

Allow that birth or valour, wealth or wit,

Give each precedence to their possessor,

Envy, that follows on such eminence,

As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck’s trace,

Shall pull them down each one.

SIR DAVID LINDSAY.

Leopold, Grand Duke of Austria, was the first possessor of that noble country to whom the princely rank belonged. He had been raised to the ducal sway in the German Empire on account of his near relationship to the Emperor, Henry the Stern, and held under his government the finest provinces which are watered by the Danube. His character has been stained in history on account of one action of violence and perfidy, which arose out of these very transactions in the Holy Land; and yet the shame of having made Richard a prisoner when he returned through his dominions; unattended and in disguise, was not one which flowed from Leopold’s natural disposition. He was rather a weak and a vain than an ambitious or tyrannical prince. His mental powers resembled the qualities of his person. He was tall, strong, and handsome, with a complexion in which red and white were strongly contrasted, and had long flowing locks of fair hair. But there was an awkwardness in his gait which seemed as if his size was not animated by energy sufficient to put in motion such a mass; and in the same manner, wearing the richest dresses, it always seemed as if they became him not. As a prince, he appeared too little familiar with his own dignity; and being often at a loss how to assert his authority when the occasion demanded it, he frequently thought himself obliged to recover, by acts and expressions of ill-timed violence, the ground which might have been easily and gracefully maintained by a little more presence of mind in the beginning of the controversy.

Not only were these deficiencies visible to others, but the Archduke himself could not but sometimes entertain a painful consciousness that he was not altogether fit to maintain and assert the high rank which he had acquired; and to this was joined the strong, and sometimes the just, suspicion that others esteemed him lightly accordingly.

When he first joined the Crusade, with a most princely attendance, Leopold had desired much to enjoy the friendship and intimacy of Richard, and had made such advances towards cultivating his regard as the King of England ought, in policy, to have received and answered. But the Archduke, though not deficient in bravery, was so infinitely inferior to Coeur de Lion in that ardour of mind which wooed danger as a bride, that the King very soon held him in a certain degree of contempt. Richard, also, as a Norman prince, a people with whom temperance was habitual, despised the inclination of the German for the pleasures of the table, and particularly his liberal indulgence in the use of wine. For these, and other personal reasons, the King of England very soon looked upon the Austrian Prince with feelings of contempt, which he was at no pains to conceal or modify, and which, therefore, were speedily remarked, and returned with deep hatred, by the suspicious Leopold. The discord between them was fanned by the secret and politic arts of Philip of France, one of the most sagacious monarchs of the time, who, dreading the fiery and overbearing character of Richard, considering him as his natural rival, and feeling offended, moreover, at the dictatorial manner in which he, a vassal of France for his Continental domains, conducted himself towards his liege lord, endeavoured to strengthen his own party, and weaken that of Richard, by uniting the Crusading princes of inferior degree in resistance to what he termed the usurping authority of the King of England. Such was the state of politics and opinions entertained by the Archduke of Austria, when Conrade of Montserrat resolved upon employing his jealousy of England as the means of dissolving, or loosening at least, the league of the Crusaders.

The time which he chose for his visit was noon; and the pretence, to present the Archduke with some choice Cyprus wine which had lately fallen into his hands, and discuss its comparative merits with those of Hungary and of the Rhine. An intimation of his purpose was, of course, answered by a courteous invitation to partake of the Archducal meal, and every effort was used to render it fitting the splendour of a sovereign prince. Yet the refined taste of the Italian saw more cumbrous profusion than elegance or splendour in the display of provisions under which the board groaned.

The Germans, though still possessing the martial and frank character of their ancestors — who subdued the Roman Empire — had retained withal no slight tinge of their barbarism. The practices and principles of chivalry were not carried to such a nice pitch amongst them as amongst the French and English knights, nor were they strict observers of the prescribed rules of society, which among those nations were supposed to express the height of civilization. Sitting at the table of the Archduke, Conrade was at once stunned and amused with the clang of Teutonic sounds assaulting his ears on all sides, notwithstanding the solemnity of a princely banquet. Their dress seemed equally fantastic to him, many of the Austrian nobles retaining their long beards, and almost all of them wearing short jerkins of various colours, cut, and flourished, and fringed in a manner not common in Western Europe.

Numbers of dependants, old and young, attended in the pavilion, mingled at times in the conversation, received from their masters the relics of the entertainment, and devoured them as they stood behind the backs of the company. Jesters, dwarfs, and minstrels were there in unusual numbers, and more noisy and intrusive than they were permitted to be in better regulated society. As they were allowed to share freely in the wine, which flowed round in large quantities, their licensed tumult was the more excessive.

All this while, and in the midst of a clamour and confusion which would better have become a German tavern during a fair than the tent of a sovereign prince, the Archduke was waited upon with a minuteness of form and observance which showed how anxious he was to maintain rigidly the state and character to which his elevation had entitled him. He was served on the knee, and only by pages of noble blood, fed upon plate of silver, and drank his Tokay and Rhenish wines from a cup of gold. His ducal mantle was splendidly adorned with ermine, his coronet might have equalled in value a royal crown, and his feet, cased in velvet shoes (the length of which, peaks included, might be two feet), rested upon a footstool of solid silver. But it served partly to intimate the character of the man, that, although desirous to show attention to the Marquis of Montserrat, whom he had courteously placed at his right hand, he gave much more of his attention to his SPRUCH-SPRECHER— that is, his man of conversation, or SAYER-OF-SAYINGS— who stood behind the Duke’s right shoulder.

This personage was well attired in a cloak and doublet of black velvet, the last of which was decorated with various silver and gold coins stitched upon it, in memory of the munificent princes who had conferred them, and bearing a short staff to which also bunches of silver coins were attached by rings, which he jingled by way of attracting attention when he was about to say anything which he judged worthy of it. This person’s capacity in the household of the Archduke was somewhat betwixt that of a minstrel and a counsellor. He was by turns a flatterer, a poet, and an orator; and those who desired to be well with the Duke generally studied to gain the good-will of the SPRUCH-SPRECHER.

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 banner in his hand, and followed by his shouting guests and attendants, marched hastily to the central mount, from which the banner of England floated, and laid his hand on the standard-spear, as if to pluck it from the ground.

“My master, my dear master!” said Jonas Schwanker, throwing his arms about the Duke, “take heed — lions have teeth —”

“And eagles have claws,” said the Duke, not relinquishing his hold on the banner-staff, yet hesitating to pull it from the ground.

The speaker of sentences, notwithstanding such was his occupation, had nevertheless some intervals of sound sense. He clashed his staff loudly, and Leopold, as if by habit, turned his head towards his man of counsel.

“The eagle is king among the fowls of the air,” said the SPRUCH-SPRECHER, “as is the lion among the beasts of the field — each has his dominion, separated as wide as England and Germany. Do thou, noble eagle, no dishonour to the princely lion, but let your banners remain floating in peace side by side.”

Leopold withdrew his hand from the banner-spear, and looked round for Conrade of Montserrat, but he saw him not; for the Marquis, so soon as he saw the mischief afoot, had withdrawn himself from the crowd, taking care, in the first place, to express before several neutral persons his regret that the Archduke should have chosen the hours after dinner to avenge any wrong of which he might think he had a right to complain. Not seeing his guest, to whom he wished more particularly to have addressed himself, the Archduke said aloud that, having no wish to breed dissension in the army of the Cross, he did but vindicate his own privileges and right to stand upon an equality with the King of England, without desiring, as he might have done, to advance his banner — which he derived from emperors, his progenitors — above that of a mere descendant of the Counts of Anjou; and in the meantime he commanded a cask of wine to be brought hither and pierced, for regaling the bystanders, who, with tuck of drum and sound of music, quaffed many a carouse round the Austrian standard.

This disorderly scene was not acted without a degree of noise, which alarmed the whole camp.

The critical hour had arrived at which the physician, according to the rules of his art, had predicted that his royal patient might be awakened with safety, and the sponge had been applied for that purpose; and the leech had not made many observations ere he assured the Baron of Gilsland that the fever had entirely left his sovereign, and that, such was the happy strength of his constitution, it would not be even necessary, as in most cases, to give a second dose of the powerful medicine. Richard himself seemed to be of the same opinion, for, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, he demanded of De Vaux what present sum of money was in the royal coffers.

The baron could not exactly inform him of the amount.

“It matters not,” said Richard; “be it greater or smaller, bestow it all on this learned leech, who hath, I trust, given me back again to the service of the Crusade. If it be less than a thousand byzants, let him have jewels to make it up.”

“I sell not the wisdom with which Allah has endowed me,” answered the Arabian physician; “and be it known to you, great Prince, that the divine medicine of which you have partaken would lose its effects in my unworthy hands did I exchange its virtues either for gold or diamonds.”

“The Physician refuseth a gratuity!” said De Vaux to himself. “This is more extraordinary than his being a hundred years old.”

“Thomas de Vaux,” said Richard, “thou knowest no courage but what belongs to the sword, no bounty and virtue but what are used in chivalry. I tell thee that this Moor, in his independence, might set an example to them who account themselves the flower of knighthood.”

“It is reward enough for me,” said the Moor, folding his arms on his bosom, and maintaining an attitude at once respectful and dignified, “that so great a king as the Melech Ric [Richard was thus called by the Eastern nations.] should thus speak of his servant. — But now let me pray you again to compose yourself on your couch; for though I think there needs no further repetition of the divine draught, yet injury might ensue from any too early exertion ere your strength be entirely restored.”

“I must obey thee, Hakim,” said the King; “yet believe me, my bosom feels so free from the wasting fire which for so many days hath scorched it, that I care not how soon I expose it to a brave man’s lance. — But hark! what mean these shouts, and that distant music, in the camp? Go, Thomas de Vaux, and make inquiry.”

“It is the Archduke Leopold,” said De Vaux, returning after a minute’s absence, “who makes with his pot-companions some procession through the camp.”

“The drunken fool!” exclaimed King Richard; “can he not keep his brutal inebriety within the veil of his pavilion, that he must needs show his shame to all Christendom? — What say you, Sir Marquis?” he added, addressing himself to Conrade of Montserrat, who at that moment entered the tent.

“Thus much, honoured Prince,” answered the Marquis, “that I delight to see your Majesty so well, and so far recovered; and that is a long speech for any one to make who has partaken of the Duke of Austria’s hospitality.”

“What! you have been dining with the Teutonic wine-skin!” said the monarch. “And what frolic has he found out to cause all this disturbance? Truly, Sir Conrade, I have still held you so good a reveller that I wonder at your quitting t............