here was once a proud and selfish monarch, named King Robert, who ruled over the kingdom of Sicily. One of his brothers was the mighty Pope Urbane, and the other the rich Emperor Valmond, and King Robert spent as lavishly and held even a more magnificent court than either of them. But the Sicilian monarch was not beloved by his subjects, for he treated them all with disdain, and in fact only looked on them as mere slaves, whose duty it was to carry out all his orders, no matter at what inconvenience to themselves.

One evening King Robert sat in state in the royal chapel and listened idly to the priests chanting the service. Clad in his magnificent robes he looked every inch a king, but his handsome face was marred by its look of conceit and weariness. He soon grew tired of listening to the service and let his thoughts wander, but suddenly his ear was caught by some Latin words which were repeated over and over again, and, turning to a learned clerk who stood near him, he asked: "What mean these words?"

The learned man at once made reply: "He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and has exalted them of low degree."

"'Tis well," said King Robert scornfully, "that such treason is only uttered by priests and in the Latin tongue. My subjects, whether priests or common people, know full well that there is no power which can hurl me from my throne." Saying these words he yawned and leaned back in his throne, and soon, lulled by the monotonous chanting, he fell fast asleep.

When he awoke it was late at night. All the lights in the church had been extinguished, except a few flickering candles, which were burning before the shrine of some saint. The King started up from his seat and gazed with anger and amazement round the empty church. He groped his way towards the great door, but it was locked; then he shouted for assistance, uttered angry threats, and hammered against the door, but all in vain. At length the sexton, who lived hard by, was roused by the tumult, and, fearful lest thieves or some drunken revelers had made their way into the church, he came to the door, lantern in hand, and cried in a quavering voice: "Who is there?"

"Open the door; 'tis I, the King!" shouted King Robert, almost choking with rage.

"This is some drunken rogue," muttered the sexton, as, with trembling fingers, he fumbled for the key. Pushing open the door, he stood timidly aside, and suddenly the disheveled figure of a man without cloak or hat rushed wildly past him. He neither turned nor spoke, but passed swiftly out into the darkness of the night, and the bewildered sexton soon lost sight of him.

Despoiled of his kingly garments, breathless and splashed with mire, King Robert rushed on till he came to the palace gates. He strode through the courtyard, thrusting aside the men-servants and pages who tried to bar his path, and hurried up the broad marble staircase. Rapidly he passed through the royal apartments, his face white with anger rendered still more ghastly by the glare of the torches; he heeded no one, nor stopped in his headlong course till he reached the great banqueting-hall.

Here a grand feast was in progress, and the hall blazed with the light of thousands of wax candles. And to Robert's utter amazement, on the throne sat another king wearing his robes and crown, and, to all outward appearance, King Robert himself. None present, not even Robert himself, recognized that the supposed king was an angel in disguise. Wearied of the King's evil ways he had come down to earth to punish the monarch of Sicily and humble his pride, and this was the way he had chosen to carry out his purpose.

For a while the throneless King gazed with mingled anger and astonishment at the angel, who met his glance with a look of compassion, and then said: "Who art thou, and why comest thou hither?" to which the King haughtily replied: "I am the King, and come to claim my throne from the impostor who usurps it."

At these audacious words the guests sprang up in anger and drew their swords to slay the man who dared speak thus to the King, but the angel answered calmly: "Thou art not the King, but henceforth thou shalt be the king's jester and wear cap and bells and motley. As counselor thou shalt lead an ape, and thou shalt obey my servants and wait on my hench-men."

No sooner said than done. Deaf to King Robert's cries, prayers, and entreaties, the men-at-arms thrust him from the hall. A group of tittering pages ran before him and threw wide open the great folding-doors. And now the King's heart was filled with alarm, for he heard shouts of rude laughter and mocking cries of "Long live the King!" and he realized that no one in the kingdom either knew or cared who he really was.

Thrust from out his palace, the outcast King was led to some small shed adjoining the stables. A door was opened, an armful of straw thrown down within, and here he was bidden to sleep. When he awoke the next morning he thought to himself it must all have been a dream, but, as he turned his head, his couch of straw rustled beneath him, and he heard the horses neighing in the stable hard by. Beside his bed lay cap and bells and the parti-colored dress of a court-jester and in one corner of the bare cell sat a shivering, chattering ape. Then King Robert realized that it was not a dream but a dreadful reality, and that the most wretched beggar in the kingdom would have scorned to change places with the poor jester—the butt and laughing-stock of every underling at court.

Days lengthened into months, and, under the angel's wise government, a time of prosperity returned to Sicily and the land produced rich harvests of corn and wine. The people no longer groaned under the burden of taxation, and the King's ministers rejoiced greatly at the welcome change which had come over their young master.

Meanwhile the real King Robert yielded sullenly to his fate. Mocked at by all, his only friend the ape, his food the scraps left by others, his heart was still haughty, his pride unsubdued. And when sometimes the angel meeting him would ask, half in jest, half in earnest, "Art thou the King?" he would draw himself up and fling back the haughty answer: "I am, I am the King!"

Almost three years had passed away when there came ambassadors from Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, to the King of Sicily, saying that their brother, Pope Urbane, had summoned them both by letter to the city of Rome to celebrate Easter week with him there.

The angel received his guests with great joy and gave them rich presents of velvet cloaks lined with ermine, rings, and rare jewels. Then he made his preparations and set out with his retinue over the sea to the land of Italy. Crowds of people came out to watch the progress of the royal procession. The horses had gold and silver trappings, jeweled bridles, the knights wore velvet cloaks and waving plumes, and their silver spurs glittered in the sun. Then came the angel-monarch in rich attire surrounded by his counselors and the flower of his knights. The men-at-arms and servants brought up the rear of the procession, and among them, on a shambling piebald steed, his ape perched behind him and his cloak of foxtails flapping in the wind, rode the jester-king—a strange sight which caused unbounded merriment in all the country towns through which the procession passed.

Arrived in Rome, the Emperor and his supposed brother were received with great pomp in the great square before St. Peter's. Little did the Pope dream, as he bestowed his blessing and prayers on his younger brother, that he was entertaining an angel unawares.

Suddenly a wild, unkempt figure rushed from among the crowd and into the royal assembly. Forcing his way to the place where the Pope was seated he cried loudly, "I am your brother Robert, King of Sicily. This man who stands before you in my semblance is an impostor disguised as the King. Do you not know me? Is there no voice within you that says I speak truly, and that I am indeed your brother?"

The Pope made no reply, but gazed with troubled look at the angel's unruffled face. Then the Emperor Valmond laughed and said:

"Brother, methinks you have strange taste to keep a madman for your court-jester!"

It seemed quite evident to the bystanders that what the Emperor said was very true, and once more, baffled and disgraced, the poor jester was roughly thrust back among the wondering crowd.

The week was spent in prayer and stately rejoicing till at length Easter Sunday dawned upon the world. The presence of the angel filled the city with gladness and the hearts of men with piety. Even the wretched jester felt the influence of some gracious power, and, kneeling on the floor of his cell, he humbly bowed his head in prayer. He felt new strength rising within him, and new resolves, strangely meek ones for so proud a King, were made by him on that glorious Easter morn.

The next day the three royal brothers bade each other farewell. Emperor Valmond made his way northward to his kingdom by the Danube, while the angel journeyed southward through the towns of Italy. Once more the people marveled at the magnificence of his train, and once more the jester became the laughing-stock of all the watching crowds, but he rode on unheeding. His mad anger was stilled and he began at last to realize that he had indeed deserved his dreadful punishment.

When the town of Salerno was reached the journey was continued by sea, and soon the royal retinue was safe within the walls of Palermo. Seated on his throne in the great hall, the angel listened dreamily to the convent bells, which sounded to him like voices from another world.

Presently he roused himself from his meditations, and, with a gesture of his hand, bade the rest of the court retire, and beckoned the jester to draw near him. When the two were left alone, the angel said: "Art thou the King?"

King Robert crossed his hands upon his breast, and, bending his head, answered meekly: "Thou knowest best. My sins are very heavy; let me go at once and do penance in a cloister. There I will school my spirit to humility, and walk barefooted across the stones till my guilty soul is shriven."

The angel smiled, and his radiant face seemed to illumine the hall with a holy light. Then loud and clear through the open window the monks were heard chanting in the chapel hard by: "He has put down the mighty from their seat, and has exalted them of low degree."

And through the chant rose a second melody, a single melodious voice, and the King seemed to hear the words: "I am an angel, and thou art the King."

King Robert, who was standing near the throne, at length ventured to lift his eyes, and, behold! he was alone in the hall! Looking round in wonderment, his eye was caught by his attire; instead of the sorry garb of the jester he was clothed in royal robes of ermine and cloth of gold.

Kneeling at the foot of the throne, King Robert gave heartfelt thanks to the Divine Power which had taught him the error of his ways, and, when his courtiers came to seek their royal master, they found him still kneeling, absorbed in silent prayer.