“Thanks for the old Platonist’s remarks,” said Herbert. “I could have wished them more elaborate, were not Schiller’s Fridolin waiting for the conclusion of them, to come upon our stage.”
“I will give you, then, one form of Schiller’s ballad.”
When Martin was emperor of Rome, his uncle Malitius was steward of his household, and his nephew Fulgentius, his only sister’s son, an orphan, was his constant attendant, his cup-bearer at meals, and his page of his chamber. For Martin loved his nephew, and was kind to him; and regarded him as his own child, for he was not a father. Malitius hated this Fulgentius; seeing that if he should succeed to the kingdom, his own son would lose that crown which he had so long regarded as his by right of inheritance. Day and night he thought how he might cause Martin to discard Fulgentius.
“My lord,” said he with a face of assumed distress, one day to the emperor, “it is with great pain, my lord, that I speak unto you, but in that I am thy true servant, it is my duty to warn my sovereign of any thing that lessens his honor and repute.”
“Will my lord,” rejoined the steward with apparent anxiety, “keep what I shall tell him a secret between him and me?”
“If thou wishest it, Malitius,” said the emperor.
“Oh, my dear lord, how ungrateful is the world,” began the steward.
“Well, well, that is as it may be,” rejoined the emperor; “but to your secret, the sun is rising high in the heavens, and my horses wait me.”
“Ha!” said Martin, “Fulgentius; what of him?”
“I grieve to say, my lord, he most ungratefully defames you among his companions, speaking ill of your habits, and especially of your breath, and saying that it is death to him to serve you.”
“If I could but prove this,” muttered the emperor.
“Remark him, my lord, when he next serves you with the cup, and if he turns away his head when he gives you the goblet, be sure that he so accuses, and thus endeavors to make the bystanders believe that his accusation is true.”
“It is well,” replied the emperor; “go, good Malitius, we will remember your advice.”
Then went the steward unto Fulgentius, and spoke kindly to him, and professed, as a friend and a near relative, to warn him how nearly he was about to lose the good wishes of Martin, and perhaps forfeit his succession to the throne.