r toiled onward a long file of baggage-mules.

As the train advanced into the more settled regions of the country it
became evident that the personage thus convoyed was not a prisoner, but a
person of the highest consequence. On each side of the road the people
assembled to see him pass, with a show of deep respect. At the towns along
the route the great lords of the neighborhood gathered in his honor, and
in the cities the traveller was greeted by respectful deputations of
officials. When Burgos was approached the great constable of Castile, with
a strong retinue of attendants, came to meet him, and when he passed
through the illuminated streets of that city the bells rang out in merry
peals, while enthusiastic people filled the streets.

It was not a prisoner to the law, but a captive to gout, who thus passed
in slow procession through the lands and cities of Spain. It was the royal
Charles, King of Spain and the Netherlands, Emperor of Germany, and
magnate of America, at that time the greatest monarch in Europe, lord of a
realm greater than that of Charlemagne, who made his way with this small
following and in this simple manner through the heart of his Spanish
dominions. He had done what few kings have done before or since,
voluntarily thrown off his crown in the height of his power,--weary of
reigning, surfeited with greatness,--and retired to spend the remainder of
his life in privacy, to dwell far from the pomp of courts in a simple
community of monks.

The next principal halting-place of the retired monarch was the city of
Valladolid, once the capital of the kingdom and still a rich and splendid
place, adorned with stately public buildings and the palaces of great
nobles. Here he remained for some time resting from his journey, his house
thronged with visitors of distinction. Among these, one day, came the
court fool. Charles touched his cap to him.

"Welcome, brother," said the jester; "do you raise your hat to me because
you are no longer emperor?"

"No," answered Charles, "but because this sorry courtesy is all I have
left to give you."

On quitting Valladolid Charles seemed to turn his back finally on the
world, with all its pomps and vanities. Before leaving he took his last
dinner in public, and bade an affectionate farewell to his sisters, his
daughter, and his grandson, who had accompanied him thus far in his
journey. A large train of nobles and cavaliers rode with him to the gates
of the city, whe