In his retinue was a troop of comedians, a court fool, two dwarfs for luck, seven cooks, three alchemists and an astrologer.  Like the old woman who lived in a shoe, he had so many children he didn’t know what to do.  One of his sons married a princess of the House of Saxony, another son was a cardinal, and a daughter married into the House of Lorraine.  He had alliances and close relations with every reigning family of Europe.  The sister of his wife, Marie de Medici, became “King of France,” as Talleyrand avers, and had a mad, glad, sad, bad, jolly time of it.

Wherever the Duke of Mantua went, there too went Annibale Chieppo, the Minister of State.  This man had a calm eye, a quiet pulse, and could locate any man or woman in his numerous retinue at any hour of the day or night.  He was a diplomat, a soldier, a financier.

You could not reach the Duke until you had got past Chieppo.

And the Duke of Mantua had much commonsense—­for in spite of envy and calumny and threat he never lost faith in Annibale Chieppo.

No success in life is possible without a capable first mate.  Chieppo was king of first mates.

He was subtle as Richelieu and as wise as Wolsey.

When Peter Paul Rubens, aged twenty-three, arrived at Venice, the Duke of Mantua and his train were there.  Rubens presented his credentials to Chieppo, and the Minister of State read them, looked upon the handsome person of the young man, proved for himself he had decided talent as a painter, put him through a civil-service examination—­and took him into favor.  Such a young man as this, so bright, so courtly, so talented, must be secured.  He would give the entire Court a new thrill.

“Tomorrow,” said the Minister of State, “tomorrow you shall be received by the Duke of Mantua and his court!”

* * * * *

The ducal party remained at Venice for several weeks, and when it returned to Mantua, Rubens went along quite as a matter of course.  From letters that he wrote to his brother Philip, as well as from many other sources, we know that the art collection belonging to the Duke of Mantua was very rich.  It included works by the Bellinis, Correggio, Leonardo da Vinci, Andrea del Sarto, Tintoretto, Titian, Paoli Veronese, and various others whose names have faded away like their colors.

Rubens had long been accustomed to the ways of polite society.  The magnificence of his manner, and the fine egotism he showed in his work, captivated the Court.  The Duke was proud of his ward and paraded him before his artistic friends as the coming man, incidentally explaining that it was the Duke of Mantua who had made him and not he himself.