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"LONG LIVE THE KING!"
BY GUY BOOTHBY
_Author of "Dr. Nikola," "The Beautiful White Devil," "A Maker of
Nations," "A Bid for Fortune," etc._
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO
[Illustration: "'Farewell, your Majesty,' he said."]
LONG LIVE THE KING!
CHAPTER I.
How strange it seems, after this long lapse of time, to look back upon
those days, and after all that has come between. When I think of the
child whose curious fancies, strange whims, and still stranger life, I
am about to portray, I find myself inclining towards what is certainly a
feeling of bewilderment, and one that might almost be said to be akin to
physical pain. That the little fellow I see in my mind's eye, playing so
happily on the far side of that River of Years, can be _myself_, the man
sitting in this chair, who, pen in hand, is trying so hard to arrange
his thoughts, is to me scarcely believable. Between the two there looms
so vast a difference, that it would appear as if no possible connecting
link could serve to unite them with each other. Whether I am better or
worse for the change must be left for more competent judges to declare.
Looking back, I can scarcely determine which is the first event in my
life that I can recall. I have always declared that I have the very
faintest recollection of being held up by my mother at a window to see
my father present some new colours to his favourite regiment of Guards
in the square below. But if, as they say, that occurrence happened
exactly five-and-twenty years ago, and the records of the Regiment are
there to prove it, my memory must be a more than ordinarily good one,
seeing that, at the time, I could not have been more than three years of
age. Imperfect though that recollection may be, however, it is quite
certain that I can distinctly recall the day, two years later, when my
brother, the Crown Prince Maximilian, being then a big boy of nine, led
his regiment past my father on parade for the first time. I can also
remember crying bitterly, because I was not permitted to accompany him,
which eagerness on my part, so I have been informed since, was taken by
my mother's Ladies-in-Waiting to be a sign that a great military career
awaited me. That I have never so far justified either their hopes or
their good opinion of me must be set down by the charitably-minded as
the result of a lack of opportunity. In a sense, however, I must confess
it has proved almost true, but how it came about will be told in its
proper place. In the meantime, having a long story to tell, and not much
space to tell it in, it is necessary that I should return to my earliest
recollections with as much speed as possible.
To enter upon my story proper, it is only fit that I should commence
with a brief description of the life of my poor father. Maximilian the
Second, King of Pannonia, as all the world is aware, was a monarch
foredoomed to trouble from his cradle. His succession to the throne was
the result of an accident. But for a fatal shot, fired in the excitement
of a wolf hunt, and which stretched the heir lifeless upon the snow, he
would in all human probability never have been called upon to undertake
the responsibilities for which he was, not only by nature, but also by
inclination, so totally unfitted. A scholar of the finest type,
essentially a recluse, more at his ease in his library than in the
Council Chamber, happier when holding a pen than when carrying a sword,
I must admit it is to me a matter of wonderment that he succeeded even
as well as he did. A loveless marriage, thrust upon him by the
exigencies of State, when his inclinations tended in another and very
different direction, marked the next downward step in his career. My
mother was the eldest daughter of Alexander the Tenth, King of Gothia,
and was as ambitious as my father was the reverse. Where he was only too
glad to find an opportunity of effacing himself, she, at first, boldly
courted the admiration of the world. Among other things, she insisted
upon all the extremes of court ceremonial being observed, and under her
rule the sleepy old palace woke to new life. Neighbouring Sovereigns
were repeatedly our guests, entertainment followed entertainment, each
conducted on the most lavish scale, until the country, which at first
had inclined towards applause, began to show unmistakable signs of
disapproval. Things were said in the Reichsrath that should have enabled
any one less absorbed in his own private affairs than my father, and
less wilful than my mother, to have seen how foolish was the course each
was pursuing. When, eventually, the Prime Minister of the day, the Count
von Marquart, ventured upon a remonstrance, my mother cut him short with
a hasty speech that was destined to rankle in his heart and to lay the
foundation-stone of the misunderstanding that, for the rest of their
lives, existed between them. Fortunately, however, for the affairs of
men, Time is able to accomplish what argument and diplomacy cannot hope
to achieve. The duties of motherhood, and a long and serious illness,
which followed my advent into the world, put it out of her power to
adhere to the dangerous course she had hitherto been running. Much to
everyone's surprise, when she was fully recovered, it was found that the
craving for excitement, which she had formerly possessed, had completely
left her. The change, however, as is so often the case, came too late;
the mischief was already done. The Pannonians as a race are, so it has
been said, amongst the most undemonstrative of the inhabitants of
Europe. It is possible that this may be so. I am not going to admit or
to combat the accusation. This much, however, is quite certain: if they
are phlegmatic, they are also retentive; and, having once derived an
impression, or allowed themselves to become prejudiced in any given
direction, they seldom, if ever, return to their original condition. For
this reason, while the change in my mother was apparent to all who were
brought into immediate contact with her, and by hearsay to many who were
not, the greater proportion of the populace were of the opinion that
every calamity that befell the nation for years to come was
attributable, either directly or by inference, to her recklessness and
her extravagance in the past. That the great ceremonials and
festivities, balls, concerts, and hunting parties, were no longer to be
witnessed by the public eye, was, in their minds, no sort of proof that
they did not exist. With the strange perversity that so often
characterises the actions of a nation, those who had been most dazzled
and delighted when she had lifted the sombre old court life from its
former stagnation into its then glittering effervescence now constituted
themselves her most bitter accusers. Thus the inevitable drew nearer,
while my mother attended to her nursery with as much devotion as could
have been displayed by any _bourgeoise_ parent, and my father pored over
his books in the north-west tower of the palace, translating Ovid when
he should have been pulling at the ropes of Government, and enjoying the
selfish pleasures of the student when he should have been endeavouring
to prevent the ship of State from foundering. The country, being
delivered over to the mercy of party politics, rushed blindly on towards
the maelstrom that was to engulf it, and with it our devoted family.
Having thus formally introduced my father and mother to your notice, it
is necessary that I should now perform the same ceremony for my brother
and myself. Surely two lads were never more different. Max, the Crown
Prince, was, as I have already remarked, my senior by four years, and
the incarnation, so far as I was concerned, of all that was manly and
heroic. At the time of which I am about to tell you, and which was the
turning point of our fortunes, he was twelve years old, advanced for his
age, and showing promise of development into a tall and powerful man. In
face he resembled our mother more than our father; he had her dark,
piercing eyes, and, if the truth must be told, he was also gifted with a
very large amount of her imperiousness and love of power. It was said
that he was a born ruler of men, and some went even so far as to predict
that when he ascended the throne, Pannonia, under his influence, would
resume her proper place as the leading nation of the earth. But, alas!
how strangely things fall out. That which we count a certainty seldom
comes to pass, while it has become a commonplace amongst us that the
unexpected nearly, if not always, happens. As an example, I must put on
record an incident as strange as, at the time, it was disconcerting.
One day Max and I, accompanied by our tutor, were riding on the road
that leads from the city towards the village of Schartzvam, at the foot
of the mountains. Five miles from home, the pony Max was riding cast a
shoe, and it became necessary for us to call a halt at a blacksmith's
shop, in order that the defect might be remedied. We had dismounted, and
were standing at the door watching the work in hand, when a party of
gipsies made their appearance in the street. The majority had passed us
and turned the corner; only a withered beldame, hobbling along with the
assistance of a stick, remained behind. On seeing us she paused, and,
addressing Max, asked for charity. Upon his giving her a coin she
inquired whether he would like his fortune told in return. Doctor
Liechardt, feeling a certain responsibility in the matter, was about to
order her away, but Max, who had always a touch of the mystical and
romantic in his character, begged him to allow her to remain.
"She shall tell my fortune," he said, taking some money from his pocket
and handing it to the old woman. "Who knows but that she may be able to
give me a hint which may some day be of use to me?"
The worthy doctor, who never willingly thwarted Max in anything, was
perforce compelled to agree. Accordingly he held out his hand, and the
old crone took it. For a few moments she studied its lines attentively.
"You have started on good terms with the world," she began at last.
"Fortune favours you now, but the time will come when she will not, and
you will be obliged to go on your way alone. You have a proud heart, and
desire great things. When the time is ripe, you will walk rough paths,
and will travel to a far country. Your dreams will go with you, but,
when you return, it will be too late. Your heart's desire will have
passed from you. I can say no more."
"You have not said very much," replied Max, with what I could not help
noticing was not his usual laugh. "Nor is what you _have_ told me
encouraging. However, I suppose it will prove as true as most of your
prophecies. And now, Paul, you must have your fortune told. Perhaps you
can find something better in your lucky bag for my brother."
At first I would have drawn back, being at that time rather a timid boy,
but Max's orders were always law to me. I accordingly held out my hand,
at the same time giving the old woman the necessary money wherewith to
cross it. As before, she bent over and studied the palm attentively. I
can see her wrinkled face now, peeping out, with its raven tresses, from
beneath her coloured hood. As soon became apparent, the prophecy in my
case was to be infinitely happier than that she had offered Max. I was
to retain the love of my friends, to enjoy long life, to possess a
beautiful wife, and to see many happy children clustering round my knee.
She had got this far when she looked into my face. What she saw there
appeared to startle her.
"I read it on his hand," she resumed, as though speaking to herself.
Then, looking fixedly at me once more, she continued, but with greater
respect than she had hitherto shown: "Go on and prosper, child; though
they know it not, the people's heart goes with you."
Then, in a strange sing-song voice, and still looking steadfastly at my
face, she repeated the old distich, which has been popular in the
country for many hundreds of years. Translated roughly into English, it
runs somewhat as follows:
"Pannonia's King shall firmly sit,
So long as Michael's Cross doth fit."
After bidding me remember what the gipsy had said, and before we could
stop her, or question her further, she had left us and was hobbling
after her party. Even now I can feel the awkwardness of the next few
moments. It had all been so sudden and so unexpected, that it had taken
us completely by surprise. I was only a child, and I knew I was not to
blame; nevertheless, I looked appealingly at Max as if for forgiveness.
His handsome face was black with passion. Placing my hand upon his arm,
I asked him to forgive me, begging him not to be angry at a gipsy's idle
words, but he threw my hand off, saying that he was scarcely likely to
allow himself to be made angry by an old fool. Be that as it may,
however, for the rest of the ride he held himself aloof from us, only
speaking when he was spoken to, and then with a bitterness that was
older than his years, and, if possible, more uncomfortable than his
silence. In my own mind I believe it was from that day that the
estrangement which afterwards existed for some years between us might be
said to have dated; yet the mere fact that I happened to possess--though
at that time very faintly--the peculiar cross-like indentation between
the brows, that, tradition says, was bequeathed to us by Duke Michael,
the founder of our House, and which it is maintained none but those
destined to rule the kingdom ever possess, should not have made any
difference in our feelings towards each other.
One more digression from the direct path of my narrative, and I shall be
at liberty to proceed at my best pace.
Among certain nobles of the kingdom, and one who commanded an influence
in some quarters, second only to that of the King himself, was Prince
Ferdinand of Lilienhoehe, a brilliant man in every way, but a bitter
enemy of the Ramonyi family. It was his misfortune that he was never
able to allow himself to forget that, more than a hundred years ago, one
of his family had, for a brief period, sat upon the throne of Pannonia,
and this knowledge had proved the evil factor of his life. Out of it he
had permitted an idea to take root and grow, until it had passed beyond
his control. Being well thought of by a certain section of the
community, particularly in the northern portion of the kingdom, where he
had large estates, he did not despair, even now, of accomplishing his
desires. Plotting and scheming were integral parts of his nature, and it
seemed out of his power to check them. It is not of the Prince himself,
however, that I am going to speak, but of his only child, his daughter,
who was destined in the future to play a most important part in the
drama of my life.
One morning, just as we were preparing to leave the palace for our daily
ride, we were the witnesses of what promised to be, and might very
easily have become, a terrible catastrophe. A carriage, drawn by a pair
of handsome horses, had just turned from the Jungferngasse into the
Michael Platz, when something caused them to take fright, and they
dashed off at terrific speed in the direction of the palace. In vain the
coachman, assisted by the groom beside him, endeavoured to restrain the
frightened animals. They had become unmanageable, and it looked as if
nothing could save the carriage, and any one who might be in it, from
annihilation. Even now I can feel the terror that possessed me as I
watched them come dashing headlong across the square, making straight
for the iron gates of the palace. Instinctively I put up my hand to shut
out the sight from my eyes. Then I heard a crash, succeeded by a short
silence which in its turn was broken by the screams of the injured
horses. When I looked again, the guards had turned out, and some of the
men were assisting the coachman, who fortunately was not hurt, with the
animals, while the officer of the day was removing a little girl from
the carriage to the guard-room beside the gates. It was miraculous that
she had not been hurt, for, as it was afterwards discovered, she had
only fainted from the shock she had received. My mother, who had
witnessed all that had transpired from one of the windows, immediately
sent a servant with instructions that the child was to be brought to the
palace, where she could be properly attended to. This was done, and
presently the little one, who had been examined by our own surgeon, was
in my mother's boudoir, recovering from the effects of the fright she
had received. Side by side, unconscious of the part she was one day to
play in our several destinies, Max and I stood and watched her. For
myself, I can say that never in my life before had I seen so dainty and
bewitching a little creature. Beautiful as she is now--the loveliest
woman in Europe, they say, and I believe they speak the truth--she was
even more beautiful then. There was a spirituality about her--a
frailness, if I may so express it--that was almost fairylike.
"You have nothing to fear now, little one," said my mother, who held her
in her arms. "You have had a wonderful escape, and you must thank the
good God for your preservation."
Then, turning to one of the servants, she asked whether he had
discovered whose carriage it was. The man paused for a moment before he
replied.
"Why do you not answer?" my mother inquired. "Surely you must know?"
"I have been given to understand, your Majesty," the man answered
respectfully, "that the carriage was the property of His Highness the
Prince of Lilienhoehe, and that this young lady is his daughter, the
Princess Ottilie."
It was well known in the city that the Prince of Lilienhoehe had at last
reached the end of his treasonable tether, and that, only that day, to
save him further disgrace, he had been given a stated time in which to
quit the country. You may, therefore, imagine the effect the man's words
produced upon us, and my mother in particular. Being a child, I could
not of course understand what it meant, but the name of Lilienhoehe had
of late been of such ominous report in my ears, that I could scarcely
fail to be struck by the importance of the incident. The very title of
the Prince who was to go into exile had an ogreish ring about it for me;
and, though I had been told on good authority that he was a man of
remarkably handsome appearance, possessing the most pleasant manners,
and was devoted to little children, I was very far from crediting the
statement. In my youthful mind a man who was notoriously inimical to my
own family, and who had publicly called my mother the Enemy of Pannonia,
and had stated his wish to have us turned neck and crop out of the
country, could never be anything but a fiend in human shape. To see this
beautiful creature before me, however, and to have it on reliable
evidence that she was his daughter, somewhat disconcerted me. I looked
at the little maid seated in my mother's lap with a fresh curiosity, and
endeavoured to take soundings of the position. It was beyond me,
however. Could she be a second Gerda (I was busy with Hans Andersen at
the time); and would she turn out to be a robber maiden who tickled
reindeers' throats with a sharp knife, and laughed to see their fear? I
was in the midst of my cogitations, and was vaguely wondering what the
Count von Marquart would say if he knew that his enemy's daughter was in
the palace, when the little maid, yearning for younger sympathy, I
suppose, slipped from my mother's knee, and, crossing the room to where
I stood, took possession of my hand.
"I like you," she said, looking up into my face with her beautiful eyes;
and from that moment the pressure of her tiny fingers, and the
remembrance of the look she gave me then, have been among my most
cherished memories.
By my mother's orders, a carriage had been brought for her, and one of
the ladies-in-waiting had been deputed to take her back to her father's
house. While the necessary preparations were being made, we passed out,
still hand-in-hand, into the great vestibule.
It was the first time for more than a hundred years that a Ramonyi and a
Lilienhoehe had walked together, and there were some who looked upon it
as an augury.
It was quite certain that she had not yet altogether recovered from the
shock the accident had given her, for her face was still pale, and her
hand trembled in mine.
"What is your name?" she asked in childish accents, as we stood before
the statue of the Great Founder, the same who had bequeathed to me the
Michael Cross of famous memory.
"Paul," I answered: "Paul Michael George." I gave it in full in order
that the fact might be more clearly impressed upon her memory.
"I shall 'member," she returned gravely; and for the second time she
added--"I like you."
At this moment the carriage made its appearance, and the Baroness
Rabovsdin, to whom my mother had entrusted the responsibility of
conveying the child back to her father's house, went down the steps and
entered it. With a gravity beyond my years, I led Princess Ottilie down
to it, and helped her to her seat beside the Baroness. Then the carriage
drove away, and that was the last I saw of the daughter of the Prince of
Lilienhoehe for many years to come.