King Robert of Sicily

King Robert of Sicily was at church one evening attended as usual by a great train of gallant knights and trusty squires and ladies of the court. As he sat proudly in his high place, dressed in rich and beautiful robes, he thought not so much of the service as of his own importance and state. Not only was he a king himself, but he was brother to the Pope and to Valmond, Emperor of Germany. Presently his attention was attracted by the chant that the priests were singing. It was the Magnificat. Over and over again they repeated the words, “_Deposuit potentes de sede, et exaltavit humiles._” King Robert had heard the chant many times before, but now he found himself wondering what this particular phrase meant. A learned man was at his side, and the king spoke to him. “What do those words mean?” he asked. “He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree,” replied the scholar. “It is well that such words are sung in Latin and only by the priests,” muttered King Robert, scornfully. “Be it known to both priests and people that there is no power that can push me from my throne.” He leaned back in his seat yawning and soon fell asleep, lulled by the monotonous chant. Now, it was St. John’s eve and on that day strange and unlooked for things happen. When King Robert awoke from his nap it was night and he was alone in the church. The service was over and the priests and every one else except himself had gone. The great building was dark but for the little lamps which were kept burning constantly before the images of the saints. King Robert started from his seat and looked around in amazement. All was still. He groped his way down the long aisle to the door; he took hold of the handle and tried to turn it; the door was locked. He called and listened for an answer but none came. He knocked and he shouted, but to no purpose. Growing angrier every minute, he cried out threats and complaints and the sound of his own voice came back to him echoing from the roofs and the walls. It was as though he were being mocked by unseen hearers. After what seemed a long time, the knocking and the shouting brought the sexton to the church door. He came with his lantern suspecting that thieves were in the church. “Who is there?” he called. “Open the door at once,” commanded the king, who was almost beside himself with rage. “It is I, the king.” The sexton trembled and waited to hear more before putting the great key in the lock. He thought that there must be a madman within. “Art thou afraid?” cried the king. “It is a drunken vagabond,” muttered the old man and, turning the key, he flung the door wide open. A figure leaped past him in the darkness. It was King Robert, but the sexton did not dream of that for the figure was half-naked and forlorn. The king’s gorgeous robes had disappeared, his hat and his cloak were gone and he did not look like himself at all. Without a word or a look at the sexton he sped down the street. Bare-headed and breathless and splashed with mud, Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane and of Valmond, Emperor of Germany, reached his palace gate—the gate that he had entered in triumph so many times. He thundered for admittance, boiling with rage and half-mad with an overpowering sense of his wrongs. Through the gate he rushed and across the courtyard, thrusting aside every one who stood in his way, upsetting pages, and overwhelming guards. Past them all and up the broad stairway he hurried and then sped through the long halls. He paid no attention to the calls and the cries which pursued him, and did not pause until he reached the banquet room. There on a dais sat another king wearing Robert’s robes, his crown and his signet-ring. His features were like Robert’s and so was his form, but he possessed a majesty and an exalted look which the real king lacked. The room, always well lighted, shone with an unusual brilliancy and the atmosphere was full of fragrance. An Angel had taken the place of the king, and although no one was conscious of the change every one present vaguely felt the improvement. Robert stood speechless before the miracle. Then his surprise gave way to anger at seeing another in his place. The Angel spoke first. “Who art thou, and why comest thou here?” he asked benignly, meeting Robert’s threatening look with one of almost divine compassion. “I am the king,” answered Robert indignantly, “and I have come to claim my throne from the impostor who is on it.” As he stood before the Angel, Robert did not look at all royal, and his clothing made such a difference in his appearance that the courtiers did not notice even a resemblance to their king, and took him for a stranger. At his bold words they sprang angrily from their seats and drew their swords to put him to death for his insolence. The Angel was unmoved. He signed to the courtiers to sheath the weapons that they had drawn in his defense. “No, thou art not the king,” he said to Robert. “Thou art the king’s jester and henceforth thou shalt wear bells and cap and a scalloped cape and lead a monkey about by a string. Thou shalt obey my servants and wait on my men.” In those days every king kept a jester or a fool whose duty it was to amuse his master and the court. Often the jester was not quite right in his mind and for that reason said odd things which would not have occurred to entirely sane people, and he was allowed to make speeches which would have been rebuked if they had come from others. Thus the Angel treated Robert’s claim as a jest. The attendants were delighted with the new joke. Paying no attention except laughter to Robert’s cries and explanations, they thrust him from the banquet hall and down the stairs. A crowd of pages ran before him throwing the doors wide open with mock ceremony, while the boisterous men-at-arms shouted “Long live the King” with noisy glee. How he got through the evening King Robert hardly knew. He was so tired when he was shown at last to his comfortless straw bed that he slept better than he had done many a night on his royal couch. The next morning he awoke with the day. “What a curious dream I have had,” he exclaimed sleepily. But it was no dream. Straw rustled as he turned his head and by his side were the cap and bells which he was to put on. His room was bare, its walls were discolored, and presently he heard horses stamping in their near-by stalls. He was in a stable. The monkey was there, too; King Robert saw the horrid thing grinning and chattering in a corner. His past life seemed far away. He had to begin to live again, this time the butt and the jest of the palace. Days came and went, and the Angel still sat on the throne. The island of Sicily prospered under his reign. The crops were good, the vintage was abundant and the people were happy. King Robert yielded to fate, but he did not yield willingly. He became sullen and silent and was a sorry jester in spite of his gay dress and his jingling bells and the chattering monkey. The courtiers mocked him in innumerable ways and the nimble pages played pranks on him; he had to be content with scraps from the tables of his masters, and the monkey was his only friend. Sometimes the Angel asked him, as though in jest, “Art thou the king?” and Robert, still defiant, replied haughtily, “I am, I am the king!” Almost three years passed. Then messengers came from Valmond, Emperor of Germany, to tell King Robert that their brother, Pope Urbane, summoned him to come on Holy Thursday to his city, Rome. The Angel welcomed the ambassadors with fitting ceremony, and gave them magnificent presents, embroidered vests, velvet mantles, rare jewels and costly rings. Not only were his guests messengers from the great Valmond but they were mighty nobles. As soon as he could get ready the Angel went with the ambassadors and a mighty train of followers over the sea to Italy. As the procession travelled along crowds gathered to watch its progress. Never had there been seen a more gorgeous assembly. The Angel and his courtiers and the ambassadors were dressed in splendid garments with gold and gems and laces and embroideries and velvets and satins and nodding plumes, each one according to his state, and their horses were resplendent with gold and silver and jeweled bridles. After them rode the servants, less fine but equally gay, and among the lowliest of these was poor Robert riding in mock state on an awkward piebald pony. As the ridiculous steed shambled along, his rider’s cloak of fox-tails flapped in the wind and his bells jingled. The king was very unhappy and his face showed it, but it was only a joke for a jester to look disconsolate and people were no more sorry for him than for the solemn monkey who perched demurely by his side and aped his ways. In all the country towns through which they went the gaping crowds stared at them and laughed. The Pope received the Angel and the emperor with pomp. Trumpets sounded a welcome and banners waved joyously, as they met on St. Peter’s square. The Pope embraced and blessed his brothers, as he thought, for even he did not know that he was entertaining an Angel. While prayers and rejoicing were at their height Robert the jester burst through the crowd and rushed into the presence of the Pope and his guests. “I am the king,” he cried, addressing the Pope, “look and behold in me Robert, your brother, King of Sicily. That man who looks like me and wears my robes and my crown is an impostor. Do you not know me? Does nothing tell you that we are akin?” Robert was desperate. This seemed his last chance of regaining his rights. He was appealing to the highest authority in the world. The Pope looked troubled. He turned silently from Robert to the Angel with searching glances. The Angel met his scrutiny with perfect serenity. Valmond only laughed. “It is strange sport to have a madman for thy jester,” he said to the Angel, whom he believed to be his brother. The baffled jester was hustled back into the crowd. He was in disgrace and suffered punishment for his untimely joke. Holy Week went by in solemn state, and Easter Sunday came. On that blessed morning the city was radiant with light even before the sun rose. The Angel’s presence made Rome bright, and filled men’s hearts with love and goodness. They felt as though Christ had indeed risen from the dead and were ready to devote themselves to him with fresh zeal. Even the jester, as he opened his eyes to the marvelous light felt within his heart a power that he had never felt before. What mattered it that his bed was straw? He fell on his knees beside it and prayed to the risen Christ. When the visit was ended Valmond returned to Germany and the Angel and his train once more flashed along the towns of Italy and then set sail for Sicily. When they reached home the Angel occupied the throne as before. Robert could not understand it but he was humbled and no longer felt angry and bitter. One evening when the convent bells were ringing for prayer the Angel beckoned to Robert to draw near and signed to the attendants to leave the room. When they were alone the Angel turned to Robert and asked with less sternness than ever before, “Art thou the king?” King Robert bowed his head meekly and crossed his hands upon his breast. “Thou knowest best,” he said. “I have sinned. Let me go away from here and spend the rest of my days in a convent cell. There, kneeling on stones, I will beg heaven to forgive my pride.” The Angel smiled and the place was filled with a heavenly light. At the same moment through the open windows came the chant of the monks: “He has put down the mighty from their seat And has exalted them of low degree.” King Robert understood it at last. Then above the measured tones of the singers rose another voice, one of heavenly sweetness. It said: “I am an Angel, thou art the king.” The king lifted his eyes. He was alone. No longer was he dressed in the motley attire of a jester, but he was in royal robes such as he used to wear, in velvet and ermine and cloth of gold. When the courtiers came back to the room they found their king on his knees, absorbed in silent prayer.