"My eyes are failing
me, and he is aiding me with the graving of this border. He has the
knack that no teaching will impart to any of my present journeymen."
"Born, not made," quoth Maximilian. "Nay," as Friedel coloured
deeper at the sense that Ebbo was ashamed of him, "no blushes, my
boy; it is a rare gift. I can make a hundred knights any day, but
the Almighty alone can make a genius. It was this very matter of
graving that led me hither."
For Maximilian had a passion for composition, and chiefly for
autobiography, and his head was full of that curious performance, Der
Weisse Konig, which occupied many of the leisure moments of his life,
being dictated to his former writing-master, Marcus Sauerwein. He
had already designed the portrayal of his father as the old white
king, and himself as the young white king, in a series of woodcuts
illustrating the narrative which culminated in the one romance of his
life, his brief happy marriage with Mary of Burgundy; and he
continued eagerly to talk to Master Gottfried about the mystery of
graving, and the various scenes in which he wished to depict himself
learning languages from native speakers--Czech from a peasant with a
basket of eggs, English from the exiles at the Burgundian court, who
had also taught him the use of the longbow, building from architects
and masons, painting from artists, and, more imaginatively, astrology
from a wonderful flaming sphere in the sky, and the black art from a
witch inspired by a long-tailed demon perched on her shoulder.
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