Martyrja of the crowns

And in whose name, under whose auspices this whole great campaign was launched, the good VII. Emperor Charles, as he lives in the glory world during it?

II. Simultaneously with the offensive movement of Frederick’s army, the emperor was returned to the capital of Bavaria.

Once again, you could occupy the old residence of the architect Péter Kandid, made by masterpiece, and take yourself up the beautiful «imperial staircase» along the magnificent audience hall, the hall of mirrors and the gallery of a hundred steps, adorned with portraits of Bavarian rulers; all armored, militant figures, with royal powers, marshal witches in their hands; next to them on the table is the crown; some also have two.

There, towards the end of the long gallery, you can deposit yourself in an armchair littered with armchairs; opposite his own portrait, on which the brush of the artist George Des Marés excelled.-89-There you can see yourself in the imperial ornament, placing one hand on your hip and the other on the German imperial crown. There are even two other crowns lurking in its shadow.

Yes! These are all his crowns. Below the portrait is the czimei and its name inscribed: «Serenissimus, potentissimus, ac invictissimus Princeps Carolus VII. Dei Gratia Romanorum Imperator, semper Augustus, Rex Germaniæ & Bohemiæ, utriusque Bavariæ, Archidux Austriæ »and others and others.

And he only envies the one thing of the portrait that he can stand on his feet in such a southern way! He can only sit in a chair, even then only with his right leg resting on a backrest, wrapped between a waxed canvas and cotton wool. Gout is tormented by not taking a break day and night.

The chief courtman comes, starting to compliment from afar, and brings in his cute leather wallet the military reports that have recently arrived with a baton. He reads them before the emperor, who makes a funnel out of his hand in front of his ear to hear better while moaning big ones; woe to my knees, woe to prick!

We should be happy with the coverage I received; but this face can no longer express joy: in its features pain, discouragement, annoyance are petrified.

Here is King Congratulations’ congratulatory letter. I wish you a happy new year.

“Happy New Year.”

You could only wish for a happy new day!

There is an answer to this. The secretary is already holding the pen.

But as the great man takes a breath to dictate, he immediately takes out the evil catarrh, every word is interrupted by a cough. Your nurse is already trained to help; he taps the middle of the majestic man’s back with the palm of his hand until the cough is subdued below.

The welcome letter was written in the meantime.-90-

Does the emperor look around anxiously to see if there is yet any rulerial fact to be done?

There is a whole bunch of appeals. Wounded citizens deprived of all their property by the murderous, burning campaign, widows and orphans whose breadwinner fell. All of this is instructed for charity commission.

It is good luck that this unpleasant theme is interrupted by the arrival of the confessing father. Everyone must retreat from this. The emperor is left alone with him for a long hour. Even a man who cannot move his hand or foot can have many sins to confess. The spoken word, the thought, of the owner of the crowns is also an action. Good or bad deed! And this is determined by the priest.

The emperor’s face was quite red when his chaplain was gone, but the chaplain’s was pale. He didn’t give him the absolute.

It was a secret what they talked to each other, the subject of which was not to be known to anyone, not even the Chancellor.

However, the spiritual upheaval had a beneficial effect on the emperor’s life organization. Her blood moved again, her phlegm ruptured. He had a confidential man, the happiest he had seen around him: his court cook. There was no secrecy before that. If this famous man had written a diary, he would have left an extremely interesting read for posterity.

VII. Emperor Charles was a great connoisseur of the concept of the time; for in this age human food would not accept those foods poisoned with all kinds of spices and acids, oils. And in compiling these was a great artist, Master Kuncz. And it was a real pleasure for the emperor to consult with his chef over such delicacies.

“I really like that you didn’t give the absoluteness, his majesty synergized. At least you don’t have to be out a week-91-I fast twice. I hate fish and snails.

Master Kuncz then presented his kitchen plan for today. Full of warm-blooded animals and plants that bear the mark of the sun. Nothing grown under the Saturn mark, like spinach and Jerusalem artichokes.

Drinks include «aurum potabile» (potable gold) and «aqua regalis» (royal water).

– Think about it, Kuncz! He even wished I could reconcile with my son! With the crooked! Who doesn’t like bravery. He’s running from war. He befriends my enemies. I hear that as soon as I die, he immediately makes peace with the queen: she throws away my crowns. These precious crowns, why I fought so much! What I wore so proudly! He doesn’t need any. Bring a Roman imperial crown! Bring a Czech crown! Ah! only I could still ride a horse!

Master Kuncz adjusted the conversation to a regular wheelchair with the report that the barnacles had already arrived from Verona.

Then the mind of the sick emperor took another direction.

– The artichoke is an expensive delicacy; therefore money must be given. And the imperial box office is now empty! No! Not a baczen in it. We will starve to death.

Then, to comfort the tall patient, the state saddle was brought out: it was opened. It was full of gold. See that he will not starve to death.

He grabbed the gold. He transferred it from one section of the crate to the other, counting how many days it took.

– Thirty! No more. In thirty days we have nothing to eat. I can go beg with my crowns.

He was comforted by his environment: thirty days is a great time, during which great things can happen. Maria Theresa will pay hefty military compensation.

– Yes! Yes. The chaplain told me not to worry-92-because of the distant times; because I will no longer be worth the charge of the moon of the future. But I don’t want to die! What will happen to my crowns if my son gets in my place?

The lunch brought up then comforted him. He could not eat with his fingers clenched from gout: his nurse had to be fed with a spoon. And he had an immoderate appetite. While eating, drinking, forgetting his physical aches and pains.

“They wouldn’t make marzipan like that in paradise!”

And immediately after a hearty lunch, the physical pains come out: the stomach swells, the stone kicks in, the kneecap burns throbbing.

They are hastily sent to the doctors. All three are nearby; they surround the patient like a witch triangle.

One has a black wig, the other is gray, and the third is red.

The black wig cures all illnesses externally, with patches and blisters, smoking and cauterizing, revitalizing balms and sprays. His latest panacea is to wrap the skin of a vividly skinned white goat on the sore gouty member, from which the gout disappears unmistakably.

A trained therapist in a gray wig. He judges the diagnosis of every problem from the colors, clouds and sediments of the urine – he infallibly applies his recipes to it, which, dissatisfied with the products of the animal, plant and mineral worlds, uses the components of mythological dragons and basiliskes.

The red wig is finally a rationalist doctor. He has already realized the thesis that medicinal herbs and animal parts have signatures. Therefore, he who has a stone problem must be sweated in a bath cooked from the herbs of the «stone crumb» (saxifraga) and «stone core» (lithospermum),-93- to smoke: these scatter the stones, as they themselves are animal stones.

And in the midst of many scholarly councils and debates, the patient, who is being killed to death, is moaning and wailing, and in his mind comes the saying, “I would give all my crowns now for a healing arcana!”

At last the red wig echoes this clever saying:

“Nothing would use it in healing the troubles of the noble patient as much as replacing your stay here under our harsh climate with those under a warmer zone; if, for example, I moved to Nice.

The emperor laughed, coughed, and raged at the same time.

– Oh you asinus in folio! Let me go to Nice, where now Austrians, Italians, French, Spaniards are fighting on each other’s backs! Don’t you know there’s a war there now?

The scientist man stared hard. Well, it certainly wasn’t in his field.

– I admire that there may be a war in Italy; though Paracelsus wrote that the food of figs and the drink of pomegranate have such a calming effect that even the tigers are tamed from its use.

(Of course, it just depends on the tigers not eating the figs and sucking out their pomegranate.)

Surgical torture follows; vascular cutters, cuffs, catheters, blisters. Finally, cures for all diseases. Under the influence of the poppy, at least a forced dream descends on the patient’s nerve. But that opium-giving dream once again evokes terrible visions on his brain. He dreams of a funeral. He breaks the crypt door when he wakes up. He chuckles, “I don’t want to die yet! Where will my crowns be! »

One evening, his minister interrupted the sick emperor’s armor with an urgent letter, sending all other mortals beside him.-94-

The letter II. Frederick wrote from his headquarters – Glatz.

In this, the king was aware with his imperial patron that this year’s campaign was over – badly. The Czech Republic had to be left there. The French let down their allies. The Prussian army marches home to Brandenburg, Pomerania. The emperor can see what to do.

“Well, I want to die now,” said the crown martyr.

And he stood his word.

The next morning he was brought in vain to smoke the waking borax: he did not wake up to any life-stimulating arkanum. He left his crowns here.