The duke's departure from Lille was made very privately at five
o'clock in the morning. He was off before his courtiers were aware of
his last preparations. That was a surprise, but not the only one in
store for those left behind. In order to save every penny for his
journey, Philip ordered radical retrenchment in his household
expenses. The luxurious repasts served to his retainers were abolished
and all alike found themselves forced to restrict their appetites to
the dainties they could purchase with the table allowance accorded
them. "The court's leg is broken," said Michel, the rhetorician.[10]

In his own outlay there was no stinting; the duke's progress was
pompous and stately as was his wont. As he traversed Switzerland,
Berne, Zurich, and Constance asked and obtained permission to show
their friendship with ceremonious receptions. Loud were the cries of
"_Vive Bourgogne_." Equally hospitable were the German cities. Game,
wine, fodder, were offered for the traveller's use at every stage, as
he and his suite rode to the imperial diet.

At Ratisbon, disappointment greeted him. The emperor whom he had come
so far to see in person failed to appear. Unwilling to accede to the
plan of co-operation, afraid to give an open refusal, Frederic
simply avoided hearing the request. Essentially lazy, he shrank from
committing himself to a difficult enterprise, nor was his ambition
tempted by possible glory. It had cost no pang to refuse the crown
of Bohemia and Hungary. But even had he been personally ambitious
he might still have been slow to lend his adherence to the duke's
project, in the not unnatural dread lest the flashing renown of the
greatest duke of the Occident might throw a poor emperor as ally
into the shade. The very warmth of Philip's reception in Germany had
chilled Frederic. From a retreat in Austria, he sent his secretary,