NO. 79
MAXIMILIAN had submitted quietly to his arrest and subsequent
incarceration in cell No. 79. More from shame than from prudence,
he was careful to avoid betraying his identity to those around him,
whether the Socialists, in whose eyes he must have appeared a deceiver,
or the police, to whom his presence might seem too much like a freak
of madness. His wisest course was evidently to wait till he was alone
in his cell, and then endeavour to communicate privately with his
Ministers. Nevertheless, it was with a feeling of deep disquietude that
he heard the iron-bound door clang to upon him, and the key grate in
the lock.
No sooner did he find himself left alone than he gave way to a burst of
anger.
“This ends my submission to the Chancellor!” he cried, striding wildly
up and down the narrow limits of the chamber. “The moment I am out
of here I will get rid of him, and have a Minister who will obey me
instead of thwarting and defying me. Why not Moritz? He seems to have
brains, and not to be a mere fossil like Von Sigismark. I must sound
him on the first opportunity, and find whether he is willing to act.”
For some time he continued to pace the floor, storming against his
captivity, and revolving the means of procuring his release. Deep down
in his heart there was a faint, undefined dread as to whether release
would be so much a matter of course as he had assumed; whether the cell
in which he found himself might not prove the ante-room to another and
a more terrible prison. But the presence of this shadowy dread he would
not recognise, curbing his thoughts and forcing them to dwell on the
punishment he should award his disobedient Chancellor.
While he was still restlessly moving to and fro, he heard steps in the
corridor outside, and the rattling of a key placed in the lock. The
door was opened, and a warder came in, followed by the individual who
had just been entered as Hans Trübner in the governor’s book.
“What does this mean?” demanded the King, angrily, with something of a
royal air.
“The prison is full, sir,” returned the warder with some respect, “and
we are obliged to put two prisoners in every cell.”
With that he turned and went out again, locking the door after him.
Maximilian made an effort to restrain his indignation.
“Are you one of the Socialists?” he asked the new-comer, who had
advanced towards him.
“I was arrested along with the others,” answered the stranger, speaking
as to a comrade, but with a certain deference which caused Maximilian
to regard him with a closer scrutiny.
“May I ask your name?”
“I am called Hans Trübner. And you?”
The King repeated the name he had himself assumed. They sat down and
entered into conversation.
After a few remarks had been exchanged on the probable result of the
evening’s events Herr Trübner turned to the subject of Johann’s address.
“What did you think of Johann Mark?” he asked. “Do you believe there is
any good to be got out of King Maximilian?”
“Why not?” was the answer. “Why should not the King be as sincere as we
are?”
“Because his interests are totally opposed to ours. We are republicans,
aiming to overthrow royalty, and deprive him of his crown.”
“That does not make it impossible to sympathise with you. Kings have
laid down their crowns before now of their own accord. Look at Charles
the Fifth, and again at the Emperor Diocletian.”
“But they were men of mature years, worn out with labours, who sought
for repose in their declining years,” objected Herr Trübner.
“Then what do you say to the example of Çakya-Muni, the Buddha, who
forsook his palace and his wife and newly born son, to devote himself
to the task of finding a cure for the misery of his fellow-men?”
“True, but he was animated by a religious impulse.”
“And is not Socialism also a religion?” returned Maximilian, his voice
taking a more and more earnest tone, as though he perceived a grave
importance underlying this strange debate. “Is every one who departs
from the narrow line of selfish interest, under the influence of this
new spirit of our times, to be branded as a hypocrite--or a madman?”
Herr Trübner darted a questioning glance at his companion, as he
replied--
“Then you seriously suggest that his Majesty--that Maximilian--has
passed through something like a religious conversion, which has led
him, or will lead him to throw in his lot with the Socialists?”
“It is surely one explanation.”
“It is a very strange one.”
“Is anything too strange to believe of a prince of the line of Astolf?”
This bitter remark seemed completely to bewilder the King’s
fellow-prisoner. He stared at Maximilian strangely, and sank his voice
almost to a whisper as he put the next question.
“Pardon me if I hardly know how to take your words. Of course I know
the hereditary tendencies of the royal house; but do you suggest that
there may be some connection between those sad tendencies and this new
attitude of the King towards our party?”
Maximilian had grown paler, but he preserved the composure of his
voice, as he replied--
“I have always understood that scientists traced a sort of connection
between religious enthusiasm and actual mania. Where are we to draw
the line between sanity and insanity? What do you say yourself? Are
not all men insane on some point? And if the great multitude remain in
a condition of dull stupidity all their lives, and perish under the
weight of their own incapacity, are they, therefore, more sane than the
man whose excess of mental activity sometimes leads him into acts of
extravagance?”
The other seemed to listen appreciatively to this reasoning. But at its
close he shook his head.
“No doubt you are right in the main. No doubt in many cases the line
may be a difficult one to draw. But there are other cases in which
madness is as clearly marked a disease as cancer or small-pox. And this
is especially so where the disease is proved to be hereditary in a
family.”
Maximilian’s manner became slightly more agitated. For a moment he
spoke as if forgetting his assumed character.
“Ah, that is it!” he exclaimed passionately. “That is the true
hereditary curse, not the madness, but the suspicion it engenders in
others’ minds! In the case of an ordinary individual you see nothing
serious in a little eccentricity, a certain degree of enthusiasm; you
may sneer at him, you may even admire him. But when you are told that
his grandfather cut his throat, or his great-grandfather died in an
asylum, then you shake your head and whisper, ‘Beware of him! He is
showing the hereditary tendency. He is going mad!’”
He stopped, and glanced with a certain apprehension at his listener.
But the other showed no sign of surprise at this outbreak. On the
contrary, he appeared to have been considerably impressed by the King’s
words, as he sat with bent head and eyes drooped towards the ground.
“Then what do you think really,” he said, at length, directing his gaze
once more at Maximilian, “is the King’s state of mind?”
“I think he is as mad as most other men, and as mad as he ever will
be,” was the cynical response.
And, as if unwilling to prolong the conversation, Maximilian rose from
his seat, and again began restlessly pacing the narrow limits of the
chamber.
His fellow-prisoner sat on, watching him silently. A little time
afterwards the door of the cell was again opened.
A strange warder appeared, who cast his eye indifferently over the two
prisoners, as he inquired--
“Which of you is named Hans Trübner?”
The man so designated instantly rose, and, in obedience to the warder’s
instructions, followed him from the cell.
Left to himself, Maximilian, who had taken no outward notice of the
incident, flung himself at full length on the floor and groaned aloud.
Presently he raised his head sharply, and cast alarmed glances over the
walls and ceiling of the room. Then he rose quickly and settled himself
in a calmer attitude on a chair. Hardly had he done so when the sound
of the door being unlocked again broke upon his ear.
He turned round, and saw the door open to admit the Minister of the
Interior. He came in quietly, closed the door behind him, and stood in
front of the King.
Herr Moritz had taken his measures with some skill, to avoid giving
rise to suspicions on the part of the governor of the prison, or any of
the subordinate agents whom it was necessary to employ.
Acting in pursuance of the scheme originally submitted by him to
Princess Hermengarde and the Chancellor, he had meant to use the
Socialist meeting as a trap in which to catch the King’s Socialist
companion, and thus learn his master’s whereabouts. But as soon as he
learnt through a trusted spy that Maximilian himself had entered the
hall of meeting, he had determined on the bold step of arresting all
present, rightly judging that the King would refrain from disclosing
himself at the first, and that he would thus have an opportunity of at
once carrying out the second and more delicate part of his task. Part
of his proceedings has been already described. It only remained for the
Minister, after allowing a suitable time to elapse, to return to the
prison, and inform the governor that he had received secret information
which made it desirable for him to privately examine the prisoner
entered as Karl Josef. To avoid provoking curiosity he did not make any
direct reference to the other inmate of No. 79, but contrived to meet
him, and exchange a few hurried whispers with him, in one of the prison
corridors. It was immediately after this that he presented himself
before the King.
Maximilian’s first feeling on beholding the Minister was one of angry
astonishment. But almost instantaneously he contrived to quell all
outward signs of excitement. Assuming his most stern and distant
manner, he demanded--
“Well, sir, why are you here?”
“I have come to ask if your Majesty has any commands for me,” was the
Minister’s calm reply.
“How did you know I was here?” was his next question.
“I thought it was my duty to know it, Sire. Your disappearance caused
some uneasiness in the palace, and knowing something of the dangers to
which your Majesty’s person might be exposed among the revolutionists
in Mannhausen, I ventured to take precautions for your safety.”
“In other words, you have had me watched.”
“Only by the most trusted of my officers, Sire, on whose discretion I
can entirely rely.”
“This is a pretty state of affairs. Can I not go about in my own
capital without being dogged by police spies?”
“Your Majesty had given me no orders. It is the duty of my Department
to watch over your safety, and in the absence of any express
prohibition I did not dare to leave your Majesty without protection.
There is no crowned head in Europe, Sire, except the Queen of England,
who is not similarly watched. And even she is, on the rare occasions
when she visits her capital.”
“And why is she not watched? Because her people are free,” said the
King, sharply.
The Minister permitted himself a faint smile.
“The English are a strange race, Sire. It is the best country to be a
rebel in, and the worst one to be a ruler in, that I know.”
Maximilian returned to a former remark of the Minister’s.
“You talk of having no orders. You have disobeyed the only order I did
give you. I said that no more proceedings were to be taken against the
Socialists without my express authority, and you have dared to make
these wholesale arrests.”
“I have to humbly ask your Majesty’s pardon. It is true that I received
that order, and I fully intended to obey it. Unfortunately, not
anticipating that any step of this kind was in immediate contemplation
by the police, I neglected to give them instructions in time. It
appears that they acted on their ordinary principles, which are to
watch all meetings, and break them up directly they become seditious. I
am given to understand that language disrespectful to your Majesty was
being freely indulged in on this occasion, and those in charge had, of
course, no idea that your Majesty was present.”
Maximilian frowned sullenly at this rather lame explanation. But to
express open disbelief in it must have meant the immediate resignation
of the Minister, probably of the entire Ministry--in short, a
declaration of open war. And he was still on the wrong side of the
door of No. 79. Nor were these the only considerations present to his
mind, as he rather ungraciously responded--
“Well, sir, I will say no more on the subject. You will of course order
the immediate release of all the persons arrested at the meeting.”
Herr Moritz bowed.
“Your Majesty has only to sign an order to that effect.”
The King looked somewhat relieved. Then a sudden thought seemed to
cross his mind, and he gave a bitter smile. An instant after his manner
changed again, and he addressed Herr Moritz in a more friendly tone
than he had yet used.
“Be seated; I have something more to say to you.”
Up till now the Minister had remained standing. He now obeyed the King
with an expression of face which showed that he, too, felt that a
critical moment had been safely passed.
“What is your age, Herr Moritz?”
“Forty-four, Sire,” replied the Minister, with an intonation of
surprise at the question.
“And the Count von Sigismark’s?”
Herr Moritz instantly became grave.
“I believe, seventy-one or two.”
“Exactly; the older a man is the more difficult it is for him to
receive new ideas. It has occurred to me once or twice lately that I
have been rather unreasonable in expecting Von Sigismark to appreciate
my views on the subject of social reform. Possibly if I had discussed
them with you in the first place we should have been more likely to
understand each other.”
“I should esteem it an honour to listen to your views at any time,
Sire. At the same time, of course my position forbids me to initiate
any practical steps which are not sanctioned by my chief.”
The King caught at what looked like a hint in these words.
“If that means that in order to secure your active assistance I must
alter existing arrangements, I see no reason why that should not be
done. The Count has been Chancellor a good many years, but it is time
that he thought of making way for a younger man.”
Herr Moritz raised his hand deprecatingly.
“I fear I have misled you, Sire. I could not willingly accept any
arrangements which included the dismissal of the Count von Sigismark.”
“Why?”
“Because, but for the Count, I should now be a government clerk at a
thousand florins a-year. He has made me what I am; I owe everything to
him.”
Maximilian bit his lip, and then gave vent to a deep sigh.
“I have found one faithful man in my kingdom,” he murmured, “and he is
faithful to my enemy!”
“Do not say that, Sire!” remonstrated Moritz. “I am certain that the
Chancellor would not oppose your Majesty in anything unless he believed
it was against your own interests.”
Maximilian’s only reply was a mournful smile. Then, rising to his feet,
he observed--
“We are forgetting the release of the prisoners, and it is very late.
Make out an order at once for me to sign, and send on a confidential
messenger to the palace to prepare rooms for me to-night. I shall sleep
in Mannhausen and return to Neustadt in the morning.”
“You shall be obeyed, Sire.”
The Minister quitted the cell, and in less than half an hour afterwards
the astonished governor found himself passing out his crowd of inmates
as quickly as he had passed them in.