Evening Star Newspaper, January 16, 1930, Page 36

4 C—4 THE EVENING STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, THURSDAY, JANUARY 16, 1930. The Romantic Prince By Rafacl Sabatini Copyright, 1929, by North American Newspape: FIRST INSTALLMENT. NTHONY of Egmont contem- plated the world with disap- approval. He had reached the conclusion that it was no place for a gentleman. § Anthony of Egmont ¢ontemplated the world with disapproval, He had Teached the conclusion that it was no place for a gentleman, This happened in 'the year 1467, amid the opulent surroundings of the Burgundian Court, when and where there were abundant grounds for his harsh assumption. Within his cousin, friend and broth- er-in-arms, Charles of Burgundy, it was Anthony's bad or good fortune— who shall say which?—to have been born in the expiring days of the age of chivalry. Almost from birth he had been imbued with the lofty ideals of that age, and in early years he had taken for a pattern that peerless knight, the Sieur Jacques de Lalaing, ‘who was almost the last to uphold the chivalrous tradition. And Lalaing, who might have lived for deeds of high en- deavor, had been stricken down and slain at the age of 33 at Gaveren, in a battle whose sordid purpose was the imposition of a salt tax upon the burghers of Ghent. AS a boy of 10, when newly appoint- ed page to Philip the Good, Anthony had witnessed in the Feast of the Pheasant the last princely endeavor to fan the cocling embers of chivalry into flame and to set on foot a crusade that should rid Christendom of the Turk, to whom Constantinople had lately fallen. He had scen that effort lan- guish and finally perish without a sin- gle knightly blow being struck, and there, it seemed to him, the spirit of «chivalry had finally and utterly expired. Great orders of chivalry still existed. Perhaps the greatest was the Golden Fleece, which the late Duke Philip had founded, and of which Anthony himselt wore the coveted collar, But when that same collar was hung about the mneck of the 20-day-old Charles, a blow ‘was struck at the very foundations of an_institution which demanded that knighthocd should be the acquisition of personal merit alone, to be attained only after a long and arduous physical and spiritual novitiate. Anthony, with a following out ot Guelders, had heen one of ihe allies ‘who had lately (ougn on the Bur- dian side of the War of tne Public ‘eal, a war undertaken on the knight- iy grounds of abolishing extortionate taxation and sefting free from its in- tolerable burden the “poor oppressed le of France.” Because deceived y this pretext, Anthony's disillusion ‘was the greater when the alms of that war of rapacity became arcnt. Bur- gundy's sole interest in t rebellion of the French vassals against their was the retention of Picardy and the cities of the Somme, which the crafty Louis was scheming to restore to the cm!wn o; France, to which they rightly belonged. Ant{:my had fought at Montlhery beside his cousin Charles and he ac- counted it an engagement reflecting Jttle military and no knightly credit upon either side. Instead of the im- agined high-souled pageantry of war, he had beheld war’s stark and piteous Tealities. And since then, his vision of other things, rendered kecner and truer Dby that one terrible glimpse of truth, figures that compo: wit perception of their real quality. Un- der a noble, glittering exterior which had hitherto deceived him, he now dis-: covered —ms fait] ess, vulgar mendacity and sordid avarice. Yet despite all this, he silll clung to cne illusion which lent a ur to the world about him until thé Lady Catharine of Bourbon robbed him of that, and brought him abruptly to the conclusion we have discovered. Already at the time of the War of Public Weal, Charles of Burgundy, who, owing to his father's failing health, had assumed the regency of the Burgundian dominions, was con- cerned with all those measures of statecraft by which a prince consoli- dates his power.- His possessions ex- tending over the two Burgundies, Artois and Flanders, Namur, Brabant, | including M end Antwerp, Lim= bourg, Holland, Zéaland, Hainault and Luxembourg, T him the might- fest prince in ristendom—one whose ducal coronet was ripe for conversion into a royal . Towards this coveted and merited kingship he already steered a course. With the title of King of the Romans, the emperor should presently crown him to a king- dom mightier than any other in Europe, and to Tender his position unassailably secure he was already buttressing it with desirable alliances. By marrying his sister-in-law, Catherine of Bour- ‘bon, to his dear friend and brother-in- arms, Count Anthony, he hi self the endurance cf 'is;‘l Il‘f".nbé already existing between self an the Duchy r(‘J!h_(‘wuemers, to which An- thony w eir. The beauty of the Lady Catharine had conspired with Burgundian aspi- Tations to melt the Lord Anthony's susterity. It was a beauty that had melted the austerity of many men, and was to melt that of yet more. In the case of Count John of Armagnac, that beauty was hardly required to accom- plish so much. For John of Armagnac was entirely without austerity of any kind. Greed-begotten disloyaity to his suzerain, Louls XI of France, had driven him into slilan¢e with Bur- gundy in the War of Public Weal. The alliance subsequently justified his seek- ing the relaxations offered by the Bur- gundian court at Brussels, and the soft eyes of the Lady Catharine. Because in all that concerned a lady to whor he was afflanced, the romantic, dreamy idealist o?ntgll;rl‘(%‘l w“u‘t“, L;lets stage incapable g evil, - came necessary for the duke, himself, to draw his attention to what was passing. Nuw'chnrln of Burgundy was never remarkable for any gifts of mincing diplomacy. He sought the apartments assigned to his cousin in the palace of Brussels one July evening, and found him, to his exasperation, at his studies in his closet, a small chamber whose walls were hung with tapestries from the laoms of Arras. He drove out the page who was in attendance, and came straight to business. “By Baint George, if I were betrothed #8 you are to a lady none too heedful of the honor, I'd at least make my betrothal respected. I would 8o, by | Baint George!” Count Anthony smiled now in tol- erant amusement of the vehemence &0 habitual to his choleric cousin. He spoke in the even, deliberate tones of a voice that was singularly attractive. “Who is it that is lacking in re- i -'v?\(ne? The lady herself. Who Count Anthony came abruptly to his feet, his head thrown back, the color deepening in his face. “It is being sald quite openly that Catharine was the subject of Auxonne's quarrel with d’Epinal, and now there are rumors of bad blood between d'Epinal and Armagnac,’ the duke con- oy 1" Count Anthe ce, “Armagnac!” Coun ony’s voice, ‘usually so musical, was as. harsh as the duke's. “Arfiagnac?” he mll'ed- “For what is that vile dog in [ ‘The duke shrui his massive +shoulders. “Catharine has smiled um " him, I suppose. She is prodigal of smiles. And Armagnac never been known to resist the allurement of a ‘woman's eyes, The fault, Anthony, is urs.’ l‘wcount Anthony stood tense 8 moment, his thumbs hooked into the belt of red | velvet, studded with golden hearts as as walnuts, that girt his. cri gown about him, Newspaper Alliance and Metropolitan T Service. “If you will give me leave, Charles,” he said, after a moment, “I will seek the Lady Catharine at once.” “I'll do more, Anthony. I will con- duct you to her.” ‘Together they came to the gallery above the great hall, where a trcupe of Flemish players were entertaining the assembled court. The players on the dais at the end of the 1 so engaged the attention of the audience that the arrival of the duke and his cousin went unper- celved. It went unperceived also by the Lady Catharine, for all that her atten- tion was nowise bestowed upon the mummers. She occupied a chair almost immediately below the staircase by which our gentlemen had been descend- ing, and where, since Count Anthony had perceived her, they now stood ar- rested midway in their descent, ob~ serving. Her companion, a tall, loose-limbed, youthful fellow, arrogant of bearing, swarthy, black-browed and handsome in a sinister, unpleasant way, was lean- isg upon the back of her chair, his head bowed as he talked until it almost touched her own; and when she looked up into his face, their eyes were scarcely a foot apart. ‘The duke glanced with misgiving at his companion. He had intended that Count Anthony should observe for him- self; but he had hardly expected that there would be quite so much observe, Nor were these two upon the stairs the only observers. The Duchess of Orleans, Count Anthony's kinswoman, sat frowning as she looked sideways at the Lady Catharine; and beside the duchess, frowning also, stood the court- 1y Saint-Pol, at present in Brussels on a mission from King Louis. Raising his eyes, he cleared his throat to attract attention and sound the alarm, and scowled warningly upon the pair. But they were deaf and blind to all but each other. Count Anthony resumed his descent of the stairs quite heedless of the duke’s restraining hand. “Leave this to me,” his highness was muttering, regretting now that he had not taken matters into his own hands from the outset. “Leave me to deal with Armagnac. He shall go home to- morrow, by Saint Georgel!” Count Anthony puzzied him by his answer: “Why, what is he to me, that I could dispute him with you? Mme. Catharine is not yet my wife, for which on my knees I shall render thanks to our lady presently.” And he went on. ‘The comedy on the dais reached its end as the comedy in the hall below took its beginnings. The players had given good entertainment, and, on the closing lines of the epilogue spoken by their leader, applause had greeted them. Flowers, comfits and money fell in a shower about them from their grateful audience, and then the noisy acclamations sank into the din of talk as the groups in the hall broke up, to reform elsewhere and break again, and the movement became general. The Summer daylight was fading. Came servants with tapers, ushered by a chamberlain, to light the flambeau and girandoles, and draw the great curtains, each a masterpiece of Flem- ish art. Men's thoughts began to turn to supper, but none supposed that it was of supper that the Count of Armagnac whispered just then in the Lady Catharine’s ear, invisible under the band of her headdress. Of what- ever it may have been, it provoked the lady’s laughter, which rose above the general hum like & peal of little silvef . At least, that is how yesterday Count Anthony would have described it. This evening he discovered no music in it. He found the sound detestable, :.&en frivolous tinkle of & trivial, hollow d. Looking up and around at that mo- ment, she beheld him, quietly smiling, at her side, and, beyond him, her brother-in-law. Her laughter snapped in the grip of a sudden and instinctive fear; a fear rather of Count Anthony's vague smile than of the duke's obvious displeasure. The count inclined his bare golden head; he bent a little toward her from his graceful, red-swathed height. “Of your charity, madam, share with us the pleasantries of my Lord of Armagnac. Let us laugh with you, madam.” Followed & long and awkward pause, at the end of which the Lady Catherine withdrew her fingers from Armagnac’s arm, sand he, straightening himself stifly, shifted his hand from her shoul- der to the back of her chair. Where- upon Count Anthony cried out in & mockery of courteous chagrin: “But we discompose you. We in- trude. We place a restraint upon you. We disturb fond attitudes. This must not be. Charles, why did you bring me? We are not wanted here.” The unready duke made a noise in his throat. And, meanwhile, his cousin prattled on quite pleasantly: “Madam Catharine is reluctant, then, to repsat the pleasantry which moved her laughter. The pleasantry being my Lord of Armagnac's we can un- derstand her reluctance. His pleas- antries are seldom nice.” Her ladyship’s lovely face, clear-cut in profile as a cameo, was going red and white by turns. The Lord of Armagnac, spurred by the glances of ever-increasing witnesses, swaggered to her rescue, to save her countenance and his own. iy “Do you talk to me, Lord Count?” he challenged. “At you?” Count Anthony's tone sug- gested a faint wonder. His dark eyes grew dreamy as they surveyed the Frenchman. “I spoke of you, pers force. It was unavoidable.” Armagnac ignored the subtle in- nuendo. “You will be wise, my lord, to avoid it in the future.” “Not wise. Fastidious. a pleasant topic, sir.” There was a movement among, the spectators. The fuming duke shoul- dered his cousin aside, to take the stage and plant himself squarely be- fore the foolish pair. By his very presence he checked the Count of Armagnac's, retort. He stormed upon that lovely fool, his sister-in-law, who, in all her life, had never looked love- lier or more foolish. “You have leave to go, Catharine” The dismissal ‘was "harsh, almost con- temptuous. “Away with you! To your room, madam.” 3 She Tose abruptly, like a puppet whose strings'he' had rudely jerked. Finding the Duchess of Orleans at his elbéw, he ‘impressed her into serv- ice. . “Take the little fool hence, Mary. Go_with her.” ‘He seized the Lady Catharine’s arm in his powerful grip and flung her into the arms of the duchess. “Oh, cruelty!” cried Count Anthony. The duke stared at him, his counte- nance almost purple. “To part them,” the count explained, and waved a hand from the Lord of Armagnac to the Lady Catharine, who was retreating now in tears. Tha furious duke walked away, drag- ging with him almost forcibly the scarcely less furious Armagnac. He designed to get him beyond the reach of Count Anthony’s mordant tongue before irreparable damage should be wrought. “My lord,” he said, “it will be better for all concerned that you do not post- pone your intended departure from Brussels.” “Postpone?” quoth Armagnac, had no thought of going. “You have prepared, I understand, to leave tomorrow.” The Frenchman paused at the Bur- gundian’s side. He stared long at his host, cold and haughtily. Then at last, he laughed. “You give me leave?” he sald. “It is a little . . . abrupt.” ‘The duke spread his hands, Jus face grave. “In your interests and my own and those of others.” “And that insolent cousin of yours from Guelders? Does he remain on the field?” “Here is no fieM, my lord.” The duke curbed with difficulty his rising anger. “Nor have I perceived any in- solence. There has been,” he adde: warming as_he ' proceeded, ‘“lack of discretion, which my cousin of Guel- ders is entitled to resent, and which {h:hnu resent with him if carried fur- exs Each stared into the eyes of the other, and the glances of both were hard. Armagnac was the first to bow, as force he must when reason pre- vailed. Yet, when a few years later war flamed forth again between France and Burgundy, and Count John of Armag- You are not who {nac_was found to have sold his sword to King Louls, the catise of this may well have been supplied on that July evening in Brussels. The duke turned away to seek his cousin. But the count had already departed. Eventually the duke found him alone in his cleset, leaning from the open casement and looking out into the turquoise sky of eventide. It was while dreaming here that Count Anthony of Guelders had réach- ed the clear conclusion that the world —his world, at least—was no place for a gentieman, ‘The duke came to fliing a vigorous arm about his neck. “All is most happily concluded,” he announced. ’ “I ‘percelv: the conclusion. Not the happiness.” His tone was wistful and a little weary. It sowed distrust in the ducal mind. Then Count Anthony Sore Throat! Authorities are warning the public that sore throat is prevalent, and not to neglect the condition. At the first sign of any soreness, take immediate steps to ease | the throat and o reduce the infection. | willdoboth! Useit asagargle. Two tablets crushed in four tablespoons of water. repeat until all trace of soreness and inflammation is gone. Take these tablets freely to ward off colds; and for prompt relief of headaches and body aches from colds, exposure, or other causes. can’t harm you, and it does prevent all sorts of needless suffering! Get the genuine tablets, stamped thus: 3 BAYER Bayer Aspirin Relief is immediate, but Bayer Aspirin T AL *Does it Froflt to ask if that which is coi dbt?"m “Ah, but is it? Is it?” ‘It 1s. You may take my word for it.” “Your word, Charles? Your word against my consciousness? You are de- ceived. Or else it is the life of courts that’s false, unreal, rendered so0 by all the ceremonial in which we trammel it ~ “Of your charity, madam, share with us the pleasantries of my Lord of Armagnac.” swung half-round from his contempla- tion of the eventide. “What are we, Charles?” he asked. “Are we real, you and I? Do we live and breathe and act of our own independent wills; or are we but the creatures of a dream— the dream of some vast consciousness other than our own—in which we move, dimly aware of the parts we are set to y, but only in a measure as we play them?"” “Heaven save us!” the duke ejacu- lated, accounting himself confronted by stark Junacy. Count Anthony flun; ward toward the blacl an arm_out- mass of the - 1l | park, the mists, and the sky above in which the stars were palely dawning. “All that is real. It exists and is at peace. But we, Charles—you and I and Armagnac and the Lady Catharine and this court of yours in which all is zreed and lechery—we are not real, for we were and were masters of our wills we would shapé things otherwise. Could Montlhery have been, and all that went to it, before and after? Could Dinant have been and the horrors that were ‘wrought there in the name of knight- hot:d? Could any of this be if we were real and which creeps into the soul of each composing it; by the illusions of er which are its breath; by the traditions of birth and blood which are the empty bubbles in which it is reflected. YFGS, that may be it. We are all actors in this world of courts, Charles; players of parts allotted to us at birth according to the names we bear. Natural we never are. Hence our unreality. And, because we are not natural in ourselves, when nature expresses herself through us despite our oplies and mummeries, she comes .forth travestied and gro- tesque, stressing our unreality.” ‘The duke changed the subject. “Ar- magnac returns to. France tomorrow.” !wt, and incapable of calm judgment. “A pity,” said the count. “A pity? What ails you tonight?” “As T said below, he and your sister- in-law are excellently suited. In your place I'd have played Providence to force a match between them.” - , “In speak- ing 80 of the lady you are to marry?” “Marry?” Count Anthony laughed a little. ‘That dream is over and dis- pelled. And it leaves no pain. But I understand. I was in love with love. The Lady Catharine herself was naught; no more than the armature uj which I modeled the ideal of my dreams.” The duke was roused to fury. “Do you live in a romance, Anthony; or in the world?” Do I live at all?” quoth the exas- perating Anthony. Upon _this the duke disdained to e. He struck directly at the heart of the matter. “Armagnac is going. Catharine shall hear two words from me on the score of prudence which she'll remember.” ‘A prudent conduct to dissemble a wanton heart. Fine linen over a fes- tering sore.” “But i\m are publicly betrothed.” “Let the lady announce that she has changed her mind. Let there be rea- sons of state why each of us should wed elsewhere.” ‘The veins of the duke’s brow stood out congested. For a moment he looked as if he would strike his cousin, he mastered 1t “No more of this,” he said coldly. “You are angry with her the of it again tomorrow.” an mw 1 nE c?um An&nny in accents of one who ques- tions Fate. ‘‘Tomorrow?” “I commend you to consider well your position between this and then.” On that threat, for it amounted to no less, the duke was gone, Count Anthony raised his voice to call after him, “ night, Charles!” But the slamming of the door was his only answer. Alone, Count Anthony turned to the night again, and questioned the dark- ling heavens upon reality. It must exist somewhere hehind this shadowy phantasmagoria of a court, which obscured it precisely as the mists be- low obscured the park. Let him seek this reality, and, if found, be lost in it. He summoned his page, a sleek, well wn lad of 16 of the noble Guelders 'amily of Valburg, who was already ripe for promotion to the rank of esquire. He gave him certain orders concerned with the lad's return to Guelders on the morrow, which plunged him into dismay, Then he sent for the master of his household, his chamberlain, his secretary, his two esquires, and finally the captain of his guard, and the Sum- mer night was far gone before the last otwlzu business with them was trans- acted. From his casement he watched the early dawn breaking over the park and giving form to its dark mass, and he pursued his dream of that world of reality, the promised land toward which he was to set his feet. 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