The Puppet Crown Read online

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  THE PUPPET CROWN

  by Harold MacGrath

  TO THE MEMORY OF THAT GOOD FRIEND AND COMRADE OF MY YOUTH MY FATHER

  CONTENTS

  I. THE SCEPTER WHICH WAS A STICK II. THE COUP D'ETAT OF COUSIN JOSEF III. AN EPISODE TEN YEARS AFTER IV. AN ADVENTURE WITH ROYALTY V. BEHIND THE PUPPET BOOTH VI. MADEMOISELLE OF THE VEIL VII. SOME DIALOGUE, AN SPRAINED ANKLE, AND SOME SOLDIERS VIII. THE RED CHATEAU IX. NOTHING MORE SERIOUS THAN A HOUSE PARTY X. BEING OF LONG RIDES, MAIDS, KISSES AND MESSAGES XI. THE DENOUEMENT XII. WHOM THE GODS DESTROY AND A FEW OTHERS XIII. BEING OF COMPLICATIONS NOT RECKONED ON XIV. QUI M'AIME, AIME MON CHIEN XV. IN WHICH FORTUNE BECOMES CARELESS AND PRODIGAL XVI. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE ARCHBISHOP'S PLACE AND AFTER XVII. SOME PASSAGES AT ARMS XVIII. A MINOR CHORD AND A CHANGE OF MOVEMENT XIX. A CHANCE RIDE IN THE NIGHT XX. THE LAST STAND OF A BAD SERVANT XXI. A COURT FETE AT THE RED CHATEAU XXII. IN WHICH MAURICE RECURS TO OFFENBACH XXIII. A GAME OF POKER AND THE STAKES XXIV. THE PRISONER OF THE RED CHATEAU XXV. THE FORTUNES OF WAR XXVI. A PAGE FORM TASSO XXVII. WORMWOOD AND LEESXXVIII. INTO THE HANDS OF AUSTRIA XXIX. INTO STILL WATERS AND SILENCE

  Ah Love! Could you and I with Him conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire Would not we shatter it to bits--and then Re-mold it nearer to the Heart's desire!

  --Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

  CHAPTER I. THE SCEPTER WHICH WAS A STICK

  The king sat in his private garden in the shade of a potted orange tree,the leaves of which were splashed with brilliant yellow. It was highnoon of one of those last warm sighs of passing summer which now andthen lovingly steal in between the chill breaths of September. Thevelvet hush of the mid-day hour had fallen.

  There was an endless horizon of turquoise blue, a zenith pellucid asglass. The trees stood motionless; not a shadow stirred, save that whichwas cast by the tremulous wings of a black and purple butterfly, which,near to his Majesty, fell, rose and sank again. From a drove of wildbees, swimming hither and thither in quest of the final sweets of theyear, came a low murmurous hum, such as a man sometimes fancies he hearswhile standing alone in the vast auditorium of a cathedral.

  The king, from where he sat, could see the ivy-clad towers of thearchbishop's palace, where, in and about the narrow windows, gray andwhite doves fluttered and plumed themselves. The garden sloped gentlydownward till it merged into a beautiful lake called the Werter See,which, stretching out several miles to the west, in the heart of thethick-wooded hills, trembled like a thin sheet of silver.

  Toward the south, far away, lay the dim, uneven blue line of the ThalianAlps, which separated the kingdom that was from the duchy that is, andthe duke from his desires. More than once the king leveled his gazein that direction, as if to fathom what lay behind those lordly ruggedhills.

  There was in the air the delicate odor of the deciduous leaves which,every little while, the king inhaled, his eyes half-closed and hisnostrils distended. Save for these brief moments, however, there restedon his countenance an expression of disenchantment which came ofthe knowledge of a part ill-played, an expression which described aconsciousness of his unfitness and inutility, of lethargy and wearinessand distaste.

  To be weary is the lot of kings, it is a part of their royalprerogative; but it is only a great king who can be weary gracefully.And Leopold was not a great king; indeed, he was many inches short ofthe ideal; but he was philosophical, and by the process of reason heescaped the pitfalls which lurk in the path of peevishness.

  To know the smallness of the human atom, the limit of desire, theexistence of other lives as precious as their own, is not the philosophywhich makes great kings. Philosophy engenders pity; and one whopossesses that can not ride roughshod over men, and that is the businessof kings.

  As for Leopold, he would rather have wandered the byways of Kant thanstudied royal etiquette. A crown had been thrust on his head and ascepter into his hand, and, willy-nilly, he must wear the one and wieldthe other. The confederation had determined the matter shortly beforethe Franco-Prussian war.

  The kingdom that was, an admixture of old France and newer Austria, wasa gateway which opened the road to the Orient, and a gateman must beplaced there who would be obedient to the will of the great travelers,were they minded to pass that way. That is to say, the confederationwanted a puppet, and in Leopold they found a dreamer, which served aswell. That glittering bait, a crown, had lured him from his peacefulOsian hills and valleys, and now he found that his crown was of strawand his scepter a stick.

  He longed to turn back, for his heart lay in a tomb close to his castlekeep, but the way back was closed. He had sold his birthright. So hepermitted his ministers to rule his kingdom how they would, and gavehimself up to dreams. He had been but a cousin of the late king, whereasthe duke of the duchy that is had been a brother. But cousin Josefwas possessed of red hair and a temper which was redder still, and,moreover, a superlative will, bending to none, and laughing at those whotried to bend him.

  He would have been a king to the tip of his fiery hair; and it was forthis very reason that his subsequent appeals for justice and his rightsfell on unheeding ears. The confederation feared Josef; therefore theydispossessed him. Thus Leopold sat on the throne, while his Highness bithis nails and swore, impotent to all appearances.

  Leopold leaned forward from his seat. In his hand he held a riding stickwith which he drew shapeless pictures in the yellow gravel of the path.His brows were drawn over contemplative eyes, and the hint of a soursmile lifted the corners of his lips. Presently the brows relaxed, andhis gaze traveled to the opposite side of the path, where the Britishminister sat in the full glare of the sun.

  In the middle of the path, as rigid as a block of white marble, reposeda young bulldog, his moist black nose quivering under the repeatedattacks of a persistent insect. It occurred to the king that there wasa resemblance between the dog and his master, the Englishman. The sameheavy jaws were there, the same fearless eyes, the same indomitablecourage for the prosecution of a purpose.

  A momentary regret passed through him that he had not been turned froma like mold. Next his gaze shifted to the end of the path, where ayoung Lieutenant stood idly kicking pebbles, his cuirass flaming in thedazzling sunshine. Soon the drawing in the gravel was resumed.

  The British minister made little of the three-score years which wereclosing in on him, after the manner of an army besieging a citadel. Hewas full of animal exuberance, and his eyes, a trifle faded, it mustbe admitted, were still keenly alive and observant. He was big ofbone, florid of skin, and his hair--what remained of it--was wiry andbleached. His clothes, possibly cut from an old measure, hung looselyabout the girth--a sign that time had taken its tithe. For thirty-fiveyears he had served his country by cunning speeches and bursts of fineoratory; he had wandered over the globe, lulling suspicions here andarousing them there, a prince of the art of diplomacy.

  He had not been sent here to watch this kingdom. He was touching adeeper undercurrent, which began at St. Petersburg and moved towardCentral Asia, Turkey and India, sullenly and irresistibly. And now histask was done, and another was to take his place, to be a puppet amongpuppets. He feared no man save his valet, who knew his one weakness, thelove of a son on whom he had shut his door, which pride forbade him toopen. This son had chosen the army, when a fine diplomatic career hadbeen planned--a small thing, but it sufficed. Even now a word from anhumbled pride would have reunited father and son, but both refused tospeak this word.

  The diplomat in turn watched the king as he engaged in the aimlessdrawing. His meditation grew retrospective, and h
is thoughts ran backto the days when he first befriended this lonely prince, who had come toEngland to learn the language and manners of the chill islanders. He hadbeen handsome enough in those days, this Leopold of Osia, gay and eager,possessing an indefinable charm which endeared him to women and made himrespected of men. To have known him then, the wildest stretch offancy would never have placed him on this puppet throne, surroundedby enemies, menaced by his adopted people, rudderless and ignorant ofstatecraft.

  "Fate is the cup," the diplomat mused, "and the human life the ball,and it's toss, toss, toss, till the ball slips and falls into eternity."Aloud he said, "Your Majesty seems to be well occupied."

  "Yes," replied the king, smiling. "I am making crowns and scratchingthem out again--usurping the gentle pastime of their most ChristianMajesties, the confederation. A pretty bauble is a crown, indeed--at adistance. It is a fine thing to wear one--in a dream. But to possess onein the real, and to wear it day by day with the eternal fear of layingit down and forgetting where you put it, or that others plot to stealit, or that you wear it dishonestly--Well, well, there are worse thingsthan a beggar's crust."

  "No one is honest in this world, save the brute," said the diplomat,touching the dog with his foot. "Honesty is instinctive with him, forhe knows no written laws. The gold we use is stamped with dishonesty,notwithstanding the beautiful mottoes; and so long as we barter andsell for it, just so long we remain dishonest. Yes, you wear your crowndishonestly but lawfully, which is a nice distinction. But is any crownworn honestly? If it is not bought with gold, it is bought with liesand blood. Sire, your great fault, if I may speak, is that you haven'tcontinued to be dishonest. You should have filled your private coffers,but you have not done so, which is a strange precedent to establish. Youshould have increased taxation, but you have diminished it; you shouldhave forced your enemy's hand four years ago, when you ascended thethrone, but you did not; and now, for all you know, his hand may betoo strong. Poor, dishonest king! When you accepted this throne, whichbelongs to another, you fell as far as possible from moral ethics.And now you would be honest and be called dull, and dream, while yourministers profit and smile behind your back. I beg your Majesty'spardon, but you have always requested that I should speak plainly."

  The king laughed; he enjoyed this frank friend. There was an essence oftruth and sincerity in all he said that encouraged confidence.

  "Indeed, I shall be sorry to have you go tomorrow," he said, "for Ibelieve if you stayed here long enough you would truly make a king ofme. Be frank, my friend, be always frank; for it is only on the base offrankness that true friendship can rear itself."

  "You are only forty-eight," said the Englishman; "you are young."

  "Ah, my friend," replied the king with a tinge of sadness, "it is notthe years that age us; it is how we live them. In the last four years Ihave lived ten. To-day I feel so very old! I am weary of being a king.I am weary of being weary, and for such there is no remedy. Truly I wasnot cut from the pattern of kings; no, no. I am handier with a book thanwith a scepter; I'd liever be a man than a puppet, and a puppet I am--afigurehead on the prow of the ship, but I do not guide it. Who care forme save those who have their ends to gain? None, save the archbishop,who yet dreams of making a king of me. And these are not my people whosurround me; when I die, small care. I shall have left in the passingscarce a finger mark in the dust of time."

  "Ah, Sire, if only you would be cold, unfriendly, avaricious. Be stoneand rule with a rod of iron. Make the people fear you, since they refuseto love you; be stone."

  "You can mold lead, but you can not sculpture it; and I am lead."

  "Yes; not only the metal, but the verb intransitive. Ah, could the firesof ambition light your soul!"

  "My soul is a blackened grate of burnt-out fires, of which only a coalremains."

  And the king turned in his seat and looked across the crisp greenlawns to the beds of flowers, where, followed by a maid at a respectfuldistance, a slim young girl in white was cutting the hardy geraniums,dahlias and seed poppies.

  "God knows what her legacy will be!"

  "It is for you to make it, Sire."

  Both men continued to remark the girl. At length she came towardthem, her arms laden with flowers. She was at the age of ten, with abeautiful, serious face, which some might have called prophetic.Her hair was dark, shining like coal and purple, and gossamer in itsfineness; her skin had the blue-whiteness of milk; while from under longblack lashes two luminous brown eyes looked thoughtfully at the world.She smiled at the king, who eyed her fondly, and gave her unengaged handto the Englishman, who kissed it.

  "And how is your Royal Highness this fine day? he asked, patting thehand before letting it go.

  "Will you have a dahlia, Monsieur?" With a grave air she selected aflower and slipped it through his button-hole.

  "Does your Highness know the language of the flowers?" the Englishmanasked.

  "Dahlias signify dignity and elegance; you are dignified, Monsieur, anddignity is elegance."

  "Well!" cried the Englishman, smiling with pleasure; "that is turned asadroitly as a woman of thirty."

  "And am I not to have one?" asked the king, his eyes full of paternallove and pride.

  "They are for your Majesty's table," she answered.

  "Your Majesty!" cried the king in mimic despair. "Was ever a fathertreated thus? Your Majesty! Do you not know, my dear, that to me'father' is the grandest title in the world?"

  Suddenly she crossed over and kissed the king on the cheek, and he heldher to him for a moment.

  The bulldog had risen, and was wagging his tail the best he knew how. Ifthere was any young woman who could claim his unreserved admiration,it was the Princess Alexia. She never talked nonsense to him in theirrambles together, but treated him as he should be treated, as an animalof enlightenment.

  "And here is Bull," said the princess, tickling the dog's nose with ascarlet geranium.

  "Your Highness thinks a deal of Bull?" said the dog's master.

  "Yes, Monsieur, he doesn't bark, and he seems to understand all I say tohim."

  The dog looked up at his master as if to say: "There now, what do youthink of that?"

  "To-morrow I am going away," said the diplomat, "and as I can not verywell take Bull with me, I give him to you."

  The girl's eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Monsieur, shall I take him now?"

  "No, but when I leave your father. You see, he was sent to me by my sonwho is in India. I wish to keep him near me as long as possible. My son,your Highness, was a bad fellow. He ran away and joined the army againstmy wishes, and somehow we have never got together again. Still, I'vea sneaking regard for him, and I believe he hasn't lost all his filialdevotion. Bull is, in a way, a connecting link."

  The king turned again to the gravel pictures. These Englishmen werebeyond him in the matter of analysis. Her Royal Highness smiled vaguely,and wondered what this son was like. Once more she smiled, then movedaway toward the palace. The dog, seeing that she did not beckon, laydown again. An interval of silence followed her departure. The thoughtof the Englishman had traveled to India, the thought of the king toOsia, where the girl's mother slept. The former was first to rouse.

  "Well, Sire, let us come to the business at hand, the subject of my lastinformal audience. It is true, then, that the consols for the loanof five millions of crowns are issued to-day, or have been, since themorning is passed?"

  "Yes, it is true. I am well pleased. Jacobi and Brother have agreed toplace them at face value. I intend to lay out a park for the public atthe foot of the lake. That will demolish two millions and a half. Theremainder is to be used in city improvements and the reconstruction ofthe apartments in the palace, which are too small. If only you knew whata pleasure this affords me! I wish to make my good city of Bleiberg athing of beauty--parks, fountains, broad and well paved streets."

  "The Diet was unanimous in regard to this loan?"

  "In fact they suggested it, and I was much in favor."

 
; "You have many friends there, then?"

  "Friends?" The king's face grew puzzled, and its animation faded away."None that I know. This is positively the first time we ever agreedabout anything."

  "And did not that strike you as rather singular?"

  "Why, no."

  "Of course, the people are enthusiastic, considering the old rate oftaxation will be renewed?" The diplomat reached over and pulled thedog's ears.

  "So far as I can see," answered the king, who could make nothing of thisinterrogatory.

  "Which, if your Majesty will pardon me, is not very far beyond yourbooks."

  "I have ministers."

  "Who can see farther than your Majesty has any idea."

  "Come, come, my friend," cried the king good-naturedly; "but a momentgone you were chiding me because I did nothing. I may not fill mycoffers as you suggested, but I shall please my eye, which is something.Come; you have something to tell me."

  "Will your Majesty listen?"

  "I promise."

  "And to hear?"

  "I promise not only to listen, but to hear," laughing; "not only tohear, but to think. Is that sufficient?"

  "For three years," began the Englishman, "I have been England'srepresentative here. As a representative I could not meddle withyour affairs, though it was possible to observe them. To-day I am anunfettered agent of self, and with your permission I shall talk to youas I have never talked before and never shall again."

  The diplomat rose from his seat and walked up and down the path, hishands clasped behind his back, his chin in his collar. The bulldogyawned, stretched himself, and followed his master, soberly andthoughtfully. After a while the Englishman returned to his chair and satdown. The dog gravely imitated him. He understood, perhaps better thanthe king, his master's mood. This pacing backward and forward was alwaysthe forerunner of something of great importance.

  During the past year he had been the repository of many a secret. Well,he knew how to keep one. Did not he carry a secret which his masterwould have given much to know? Some one in far away India, after puttinghim into the ship steward's care, had whispered: "You tell the governorthat I think just as much of him as ever." He had made a desperateeffort to tell it the moment he was liberated from the box, but hehad not yet mastered that particular language which characterized hismaster's race.

  "To begin with," said the diplomat, "what would your Majesty say if Ishould ask permission to purchase the entire loan?"