The next morning at ten o’clock the Emperor and his guests entered the
great brown and gold and crimson throne room with its imposing frieze
of Hapsburg rulers, its illustrated genealogy of the blended houses of
Hapsburg and Lorraine, crowned so naïvely with Maximilian and Carlotta,
its eleven graceful chandeliers, and its meagre and apologetic throne.
This the Emperor, in the full-dress uniform of an Austrian general,
ascended with no apparent sense of its incongruity, thankful, no doubt,
that it stood ready for the occasion. Before it was a table spread
with a formidable-looking document. On either side of the throne stood
the archdukes and the ministers, also in full uniform. The Primate, in
his robes of ceremony, faced the Emperor, and Fessenden stood close
to the table, his father beside him. The rain had passed, the gay
southern sunshine flooded the fine room, where, for the first time in
its history, an emperor stood on its mockery of a throne. It had been
built for balls and other functions of young and wealthy royalty, and
in those days the crimson tapestries had not been woven.
A moment after the Emperor had taken his position on the throne,
Ranata, accompanied by Alexandra, and for the last time by an
Obersthofmeisterin, entered and walked proudly up the room. She
wore, not the sombre frock her father had had in mind when he issued
the imperial fiat that she should marry in travelling-dress, but
an elaborate and beautiful costume of white cloth. The Emperor
scowled, but felt himself helpless, for she also wore a hat, albeit
with plumes that were truly imperial, and framing and enhancing a
beauty which might have been conventionalized and half obscured by
orange-blossoms and lace. She wore the pearls which her skin always
seemed to reflect, her eyes sparkled, there was a faint pink in her
cheeks, a deeper hue in her lips, and she had never borne herself with
a more subtle blending of triumphant beauty and the dower of eight
centuries of kings. She looked so happy that even her relatives smiled
in involuntary sympathy, although they had never disapproved of a
Hapsburg more. As for Fessenden, who had been beating a light tattoo on
the table, staring at the document, he stood suddenly erect, his eyes
flashing their pride and delight; and when they stood together before
the throne they seemed to fill the room with their victorious youth,
and to obliterate every memory of failure and tragedy.
The Emperor stood speechless for almost two moments. Age might have
atrophied his power to suffer, and religion and philosophy have long
since taught him to accept the inevitable with little more than a sigh;
nevertheless, in these moments he felt a hot tide of youthful rebellion
rise from mould and mildew, and of all the crosses he had been called
upon to lift to his shoulders this seemed to him the heaviest. The
stillness was so intense that many made a quick movement of uneasiness.
The Emperor recovered himself, and in cold grave tones called upon all
present to witness that his daughter renounced her rights and titles,
and, with her betrothed, all pretensions to the thrones of Austria
and Hungary. The terms of the renunciation were then read aloud by
the prime-minister of Austria, the Primate administered the oath, the
affianced couple signed the document, and Ranata for the moment felt
nameless and bewildered.
But the signatures having been witnessed with due solemnity, the party
went at once to the little Jerusalem chapel, and Fessenden gave Ranata
what her father had taken from her; and, so the Americans and the man
in him believed, far more besides. There was no breakfast, for that
would involve the drinking of healths with their flowered expressions
of approval, their reiterated good wishes and will. The moment the
brief ceremony was over the Emperor led the way out to the terrace,
and down the long flight to that other terrace whose lower steps were
in the sea. A boat--its rowers with tossed oars--awaited the newly
wed, and beyond was the yacht in gala dress of flags and banners and
pennants.
Fessenden and Ranata were the last to leave the castle. The others
stood stiff and straight beside the two short flights of steps leading
into the water, the Emperor on the right and slightly in front. The
windows in this angle of the castle were suddenly alive with servants,
not wholly unsympathetic, but no flunkies lined the long flight to the
lower terrace as the bridal couple descended. Did Ranata think of the
stately ceremonies in the Hofburg, the dim and perfumed magnificence
of St. Stephen’s, the joyous pealing of all the bells in Vienna, the
procession to the church of prelates, and military, and royalty in the
six-horsed coaches of gilt and glass, that the world had come to see,
the congratulations of every sovereign in Europe--all that would have
been hers had she married as an Archduchess of Austria is expected to
marry? Perhaps; for she was human, and a woman; but doubtless she also
reflected that she had spent a goodly part of her life avoiding, with
dexterity or obstinacy, such a wedding-day as that; and, Fessenden
Abbott remaining unknown to her, she never would have married at all.
But any such fugitive reflections were routed by the prospect of the
impending farewell with her father; for the moment her very happiness
seemed blighted. It was true she had known him little, that her more
congenial older sisters had appropriated what love had not been shocked
out of him, but until these last weeks she had had little to forgive,
and indirectly she owed her happiness to him; for she had laid its
foundations in the period of liberty he granted her. And he was her
father, nor was it likely she would ever see him again. He stood like
a soldier, staring at the yacht, nothing betraying the genial kindness
of his nature. When Ranata, with her husband, reached the landing, the
Emperor turned and appeared about to favor her with another of the cold
and courteous bows which had been her portion of late; but she saw that
he was maintaining the severity of his countenance with an effort, and
she approached him and put up her lips timidly. He took her in his arms
then and held her closely, and told her that he forgave her, and hoped
she would be happy. After that her relatives came forward and embraced
her, the other Austrians kissed her hand for the last time, and then
Mr. Abbott and Alexandra went with her down the water-steps and into
the boat.
“Good-bye, sir, and thank you,” said Fessenden, as he shook hands with
his father-in-law. He was turning away when he faced about again. “I
should like to tell you,” he added, “that I am not superstitious--and
neither is Ranata.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the Emperor. “Well--I am glad--I am very glad.”