Books: The Puppet Crown
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Harold MacGrath >> The Puppet Crown
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"And you did it all alone," she said, softly; "all alone."
"O, I had the advantage; I was not expected. It was all over
before they knew what had happened."
"And you had the courage to take a poor dog's part? Did you know
whose dog it was?"
"Yes, your Highness, I recognized him."
A secret gladness stole into her heart, and to cover the flame
which again rose to her cheeks, she bent and smoothed the dog's
head. This gave Maurice an opportunity to look at her. What a
beautiful being she was! He was actually sitting beside her,
breathing the same air, listening to her voice. She exhaled a
delicate perfume such as incorporates itself in persons of high
degree and becomes a natural emanation, an incense vague and
indescribable. He felt that he was gazing on the culmination of
youth, beauty, and elegance. . . Yes, Fitzgerald was right. To
beggar one's self for love; honor and life, and all to the winds
if only love remained.
Presently she straightened, and he centered his gaze on the back
of the groom.
"Monsieur, place your hat upon your head," smiling. "We have
entered the Strasse, and I should not like to embarrass you with
the attention of the citizens."
He put on his hat. The impulse came to tell her all that he knew
in regard to the kingdom's affairs; but his voice refused its
offices. Besides, it was too late; the carriage was rolling into
the Platz, and in a moment more it drew up before the terrace of
the Continental Hotel. Maurice stepped out and bared his head.
"This evening, Monsieur, at nine, I shall expect to see you at
the archbishop's reception to the corps diplomatique." A hand
was extended toward him. He did not know what to do about it. "I
am offering you my hand to kiss, Monsieur Carewe; it is a
privilege which I do not extend to all."
As he touched it to his lips, he was sure that a thousand pairs
of eyes were centered on him. The truth is, there were less than
one hundred. It was the first time in many months that the Crown
Princess had stopped before the Continental Hotel. To the guests
it was an event; and some even went as far as to whisper that
the handsome young man was Prince Frederick, incognito.
"God save your Royal Highness," said Maurice, at loss for other
words. He released her hand and stepped back.
"Until this evening, then, Monsieur;" and the royal barouche
rolled away.
"Who loves me, loves my dog," said Maurice, as he sped to his
room.
CHAPTER XV
IN WHICH FORTUNE BECOMES CARELESS AND PRODIGAL
On the night prior to the arrival of Maurice in Bleiberg, there
happened various things of moment.
At midnight the chancellor left the palace, after having
witnessed from a window the meeting of the cuirassiers and the
students, and sought his bed; but his sleep was burdened with
troubled dreams. The clouds, lowering over his administration,
thickened and darkened. How many times had he contemplated
resigning his office, only to put aside the thought and toil on?
Defeat in the end was to be expected, but still there was ever
that star of hope, a possible turn in affairs which would carry
him on to victory. Victory is all the sweeter when it seems
impossible. Prince Frederick had disappeared, no one knew where,
the peasant girl theory could no longer be harbored, and the
wedding was but three days hence. The Englishman had not stepped
above the horizon, and the telegrams to the four ends of the
world returned unanswered. Thus, the chancellor stood alone; the
two main props were gone from under. As he tossed on his pillows
he pondered over the apparent reticence and indifference of the
archbishop.
All was still in the vicinity of the palaces. Sentinels paced
noiselessly within the enclosures. In the royal bedchamber the
king was resting quietly, and near by, on a lounge, the state
physician dozed. The Captain of the household troop of
cuirassiers nodded in the ante-room.
Only the archbishop remained awake. He sat in his chamber and
wrote. Now and then he would moisten his lips with watered wine.
Sometimes he held the pen in midair, and peered into the
shapeless shadows cast by the tapers, his broad forehead shining
and deep furrows between his eyes. On, on he wrote. Perhaps the
archbishop was composing additional pages to his memoirs, for
occasionally his thin lips relaxed into an impenetrable smile.
There was little quiet in the lower town, especially in the
locality of the university. Old Stuler's was filled with smoke,
students and tumult. Ill feeling ran high. There were many
damaged heads, for the cuirassiers had not been niggard with
their sabers.
A student walked backward and forward on the stage, waving
wildly with his hands to command attention. It was some time
before he succeeded.
"Fellow-students, brothers of freedom and comrades," he began.
"All this must come to an end, and that at once. Our personal
liberty is endangered. Our rights are being trodden under foot.
Our ancient privileges are being laughed at. It must end." This
declaration was greeted by shouts, sundry clattering of pewter
lids and noisy rappings of earthenware on the tables. "Have we
no rights as students? Must we give way to a handful of beggarly
mercenaries? Must we submit to the outlawing of our customs and
observances? What! We must not parade because the king does not
like to be disturbed? And who are the cuirassiers?" Nobody
answered. Nobody was expected to answer. "They are Frenchmen of
hated memory--Swiss, Prussians, with Austrian officers. Are we
or are we not an independent state? If independent, shall we
stand by and see our personal liberties restricted? No! I say no!
"Let us petition to oust these vampires, who not only rob us of
our innocent amusements, but who are fed by our taxes. What
right had Austria to dictate our politics? What right had she to
disavow the blood and give us these Osians? O, my brothers,
where are the days of Albrecht III of glorious memory? He
acknowledged our rights. He was our lawful sovereign. He
understood and loved us." This burst of sentiment was slightly
exaggerative, if the history of that monarch is to be relied on;
but the audience was mightily pleased with this recollection. It
served to add to their distemper and wrath against the Osian
puppet. "And where are our own soldiers, the soldiers of the
kingdom? Moldering away in the barracks, unnoticed and forgotten.
For the first time in the history of the country foreigners
patrol the palaces. Our soldiers are nobodies. They hold no
office at court save that of Marshal, and his voice is naught.
Yet the brunt of the soldier's life falls on them. They watch at
the frontiers, tireless and vigilant, while the mercenaries riot
and play. Brothers, the time has come for us to act. The army is
with us, and so are the citizens. Let ours be the glory of
touching the match. We are brave and competent. We are drilled.
We lack not courage. Let us secretly arm and watch for the
opportunity to strike a blow for our rights. Confusion to the
Osians, and may the duchess soon come into her own!"
He jumped from the stage, and another took his place; the
haranguing went on. The orators were serious and earnest; they
believed themselves to be patriots, pure and simple, when in
truth they were experiencing the same spirit of revolt as the
boy whose mother had whipped him for making an unnecessary noise,
or stealing into the buttery.
While the excitement was at its height, a man, somewhat older
than the majority of the students, entered the bar-room from the
street, and lounged heavily against the railing. His clothes
were soiled and wrinkled, blue circles shadowed his eyes, which
were of dull jet, the corners of his mouth drooped dejectedly,
and his oily face, covered with red stubble, gave evidences of a
prolonged debauch.
"Wine, Stuler, wine!" he called, laying down a coin, which
gleamed dimly yellow in the opalescent light. "And none of your
devilish vinegars and scums."
Stuler pounced on the coin and rubbed it between his palms.
"Gold, Johann, gold?"
"Aye, gold; and the last of a pocketful, curse it! What's this
noise about?" with a gesture, toward the hall.
"The boys were in the Platz and had a brush with those damned
cuirassiers. They'll play a harder game yet." Stuler always took
sides with the students, on business principles; they
constituted his purse. "Tokayer?"
"No; champagne. Aye, these damned cuirassiers shall play a hard
game ere the week is done, or my name is not Johann Kopf. They
kicked me out of the palace grounds yesterday; me, me, me!"
hammering the oak with his fist.
"Who?"
"Von Mitter, the English-bred dog! I'll kill him one of these
days. Is it play to-night, or are they serious?" nodding again
toward the hall.
"Go in," said Stuler, "and look at some of those heads; a look
will answer the purpose."
Johann followed this advice. The picture he saw was one which
agreed with the idea that had come into his mind. He returned to
the bar-room. and drank his wine thirstily, refilled the glass
and emptied it. Stuler shook his head. Johann was in a bad way
when he gulped wine instead of sipping it. Yet it was always so
after a carouse.
"Where have you been keeping yourself the past week?" he asked.
If the students were his purse, Johann was his budget of news.
"You ask that?" surlily. "You knew I had money; you knew that I
was off somewhere spending it--God knows where, I don't. Another
bottle of wine. There's enough left from the gold to pay for it."
Stuler complied. Johann's thirst seemed in no way assuaged; but
soon the sullen expression, the aftermath of his spree, was
replaced by one of reckless jollity. His eyes began to sparkle.
"A great game, Stuler; they're playing a great game, and you and
I will be in at the reaping. The town is quiet, you say? The
troops have ceased murmuring, eh? A lull that comes before the
storm. And when it breaks--and break it will!--gay times for you
and me. There will be sacking. I have the list of those who lean
toward the Osians. There will be loot, old war dog!"
Stuler smiled indulgently; Johann was beginning to feel the wine.
Perhaps he was to learn something. "Yes, 'twill be a glorious
day."
"A week hence, and the king goes forth a bankrupt."
"If he lives," judiciously.
"Dead or alive, it matters not which; he goes."
"And the wedding? What is it I hear about Prince Frederick and
the peasant girl?"
Johann laughed. "There will be no wedding."
"And the princess?"
"A pretty morsel, a tidbit for the king that is to be."
"The king that--eh, Johann, are you getting drunk so soon?"
Stuler exclaimed. "I know of no king--"
Johann reached over and caught the innkeeper's wrist. The grasp
was no gentle one. "Listen, that was a slip of the tongue.
Repeat it, and that for your life! Do you understand, my friend?"
"Gott in--"
"Do you understand?" fiercely.
"Yes, yes!" Stuler wiped his face with his apron.
"Good, if you understand. It was naught but a slip of the tongue,"
nonchalantly. "In a little week, my friend, your till will
have no vulgar silver in it; gold, yellow gold."
"And the duchess?" with hesitance. The budget of news to-night
was not of the usual kind.
Johann did not answer, save by a shrug.
The perturbation of the old man was so manifestly beyond control
that he could not trust his legs. He dropped on the stool,
giving his grizzled head a negative shake. "I would that you had
made no slip of the tongue, Johann," he murmured. "Gott, what is
going on? The princess was not to wed, to be sure, but the
duchess passed --a king besides--"
"Silence!" enjoined Johann. "Stuler, I am about to venture on a
daring enterprise, which, if successful, will mean plenty of
gold. Come with me into your private office, where we shall not
be interrupted nor overheard." He vaulted the bar. Stuler looked
undecided. "Come!" commanded Johann. With another shake of his
head Stuler took down the tallow dip, unlocked the door, and
bade Johann pass in. He caught up another bottle and glass and
followed. Without a word he filled the glass and set it down
before Johann, who raised it and drank, his beady eyes flashing
over the rim of the glass and compelling the innkeeper to
withdraw his gaze.
"Well?" said Stuler, uneasily.
"I need you." Johann finished his glass with moderate slowness.
"Your storehouse on the lake is empty?"
"Yes, but--"
"I shall want it, two nights from this, in case Madame the
duchess does not conquer the Englishman. I shall want two
fellows who will ask no questions, but who will follow my
instructions to the letter. It is an abduction."
"A nasty business," was Stuler's comment. "You have women to
thank for your present occupation, Johann."
"Stuler, you are a fool. It is not a woman; it is a crown."
"Eh?" Stuler's eyes bulged.
"A crown. The duchess may remain a duchess. Who is master in
Bleiberg to-day? At whose word the army moves or stands? At
whose word the Osians fall or reign? On whom does the duchess
rely? Who is king in deed, if not in fact? Who will find means
to liquidate the kingdom's indebtedness, whoever may be the
creditor? Pah! the princess may marry, but the groom will not be
Prince Frederick. The man she will marry will be the husband of
a queen, and he will be a king behind a woman's skirts. It is
what the French call a coup d'etat. She will be glad to marry;
there is no alternative. She will submit, if only that her
father may die in peace."
"And this king?" in a whisper.
"You are old, Stuler; you remember many things of the past. Do
you recollect a prince of a noble Austrian house by the name of
Walmoden, once an aide to the emperor, who was cashiered from
the army and exiled for corresponding with France?"
Stuler's hand shook as he brushed his forehead. "Yes, I
recollect. He fought against the Prussians in the Franco-
Prussian war, then disappeared, to be heard of again as living
in a South American republic. But what has he to do with all
this? Ah, Johann, this is deep water."
"For those who have not learned to swim. You will aid me? A
thousand crowns--two hundred pieces of gold like that which has
just passed from my pocket into yours. It is politics."
"But the sacking of the town?"
"A jest. If Madame the duchess conquers the Englishman, the king
that is to be will pay her. Then, if she wages war Austria can
say nothing for defending ourselves."
"And Walmoden?" Stuler struck his forehead with his fist as if
to pound it into a state of lucidity. "Where is he? It is a
stone wall; I can see nothing."
"Beauvais."
"Beauvais!" Stuler half rose from his chair, but sank again.
"Exactly. This play, for some reason unexplained, is the price
of his reestablishment into the graces of the noble Hapsburgs.
Between us, I think the prince is playing a game for himself.
But who shall blame him?"
"The devil! I thought Austria was very favorable to the Osian
house."
"Favorable or not, it is nothing to us."
"Well, well, it's a thousand crowns," philosophically.
"That's the sentiment," laughed Johann. "It is not high treason,
it is not lese majeste; it is not a crime; it is a thousand
crowns. Votre sante, as the damned French say!" swallowing what
was left of the wine. "And then, it is purely patriotic in us,"
with a deceitful smile.
"The storehouse is yours, and the men. Now tell me how 'tis to
be played."
"Where does her Royal Highness go each Thursday evening,
accompanied by her eternal cuirassiers, von Mitter and
Scharfenstein?"
"Where but to see her old nurse Elizabeth? But two men will not
be enough. Von Mitter and Scharfenstein--"
"Will as usual remain at the carriage. But what's to prevent the
men from gaining entrance by the rear?--carrying off her
Highness that way, passing through the alley and making off, to
be a mile away before the cuirassiers even dream of the attempt?"
"After all, I'd rather the duchess."
"We can not all be kings and queens." Johann got up and slapped
Stuler familiarly on the shoulder. "Forget not the gold, the
yellow gold; little heaps of it to finger, to count, and to
spend."
Stuler's eyes gleamed phosphorescently. There was the strain of
the ancient marauder in his veins; gold easily gotten. He opened
the door, and Johann passed out, swaying. The wine was taking
hold of him. He turned into the hall, while Stuler busied
himself with the spigots. Some one discovered the spy, and
called him by name; it was caught up by others, and there were
numerous calls for a speech.
As a socialist Johann was well known about the lower town.
Besides, five years gone, he himself had been a student and a
brother of freedom. He had fought a dozen successful duels, and
finally had been expelled from the university for beating a
professor who had objected to his conduct in the presence of
ladies. Other ill reports added to his popularity. To be popular
in this whimsical world of ours, one has either to be very good
or very bad. Johann was not unwilling to speak. Stuler had given
him the cue; the cuirassiers. His advice was secretly to arm and
hold in readiness. As this was the substance of the other
speeches, Johann received his meed of applause.
"And let us not forget the bulldog; let us kill him, too," cried
one of the auditors; "the prodigal bulldog, who has lived on our
fatted calves."
This was unanimously adopted. The bulldog was not understood;
and he smacked of the English. Then, too, the bulldog roamed too
freely in the royal enclosures; and, until late years,
trespassers fared badly. The students considered that their
privileges extended everywhere; the dog, not being conversant
with these privileges, took that side which in law is called the
benefit of a doubt.
After his speech Johann retired to the bar-room. What he desired
most of all was a replenished purse. Popular he was; but the
students knew his failings, among which stood prominently that
of a forgetful borrower. They would buy him drinks, clothes and
food, if need be, but they would not lend him a stiver. And he
could not borrow from Stuler, whose law was only to trust.
Johann gambled, and wine always brought back the mad fever for
play. The night before he had lost rather heavily, and he wanted
to recover his losses. Rouge-et-noir had pinched him; he would
be revenged on the roulette. All day long combinations and
numbers danced before his eyes. He had devised several plans by
which to raise money, but these had fallen through. Suddenly he
smiled, and beckoned to Stuler.
"Stuler, how much will you advance me," he asked, "on a shotgun
worth one hundred crowns?"
"A shotgun worth one hundred crowns? Ten."
Johann made a negative gesture. "Fifty or none. You can sell it
for seventy-five in the morning. So could I, only I want the
money to-night."
"If you want wine--" began Stuler.
"I want money."
Stuler scratched his nose. "Bring the gun to me. If it is worth
what you say, I'll see what I can do."
"In an hour;" and Johann went out. A cold thin rain was falling,
and a dash of it in the face had a cooling effect. Somehow, the
exhilaration of the wine was gone, and his mood took a sullen
turn. Money! he was ever in need of money. He cursed his ill
luck. He cursed the cause of it--drink. But for drink he would
not have been plain Johann Kopf, brawler, outcast, spy, disowned
by his family and all save those who could use him. He remained
standing in the doorway, brooding.
At last he drew his collar about his throat and struck off, a
black shadow in a bank of gray. When he reached that part of the
street opposite the Grand Hotel, he stopped and sought shelter
under an awning. The night patrol came clattering down the
street. It passed quickly, and soon all was still again. Johann
stepped out and peered up and down. The street was deserted. All
the hotel windows were in gloom, save a feeble light which
beamed from the office windows.
Would it be robbery? He had not yet stooped to that. But he
could hear the ivory ball clatter as it fell into the lucky
numbers. He had a premonition that he would win if he stuck to a
single combination. He would redeem the gun, replace it, and no
one would be any the wiser. If his numbers failed him. . . . .
No matter. He determined to cross the Rubicon. He traversed the
street and disappeared into the cavernous alley, shortly to loom
up in the deserted courtyard of the hotel. He counted the
windows on the first floor and stopped at the fourth. That was
the window he must enter. Noiselessly he crept along the walls,
stopping now and then to listen. There was no sound except the
monotonous dripping of the rain, which was growing thinner and
colder.
Presently he came across the ladder he was seeking. He raised it
to the required height, and once more placed his hand to his ear.
Silence. He mounted the rounds to the window, which he found
unfastened. In another moment he was in the room. Not an object
could he see, so deep was the darkness. If he moved without
light he was likely to stumble, and heydey to his fifty crowns,
not to say his liberty for many days to come. He carefully drew
the blinds and struck a match. The first object which met his
gaze was a fallen candle. This he lit and when the glare of the
flame softened, all the corners of the room stood out. Nowhere
was there any sign of a gun. He gave vent to a half-muttered
curse. Some one had pilfered the gun, or the proprietor was
keeping it until the Englishman returned from the duchy. But he
remembered that there were two guns, one of which the Englishman
did not use in the hunting expeditions.
So he began a thorough search. It meant fifty crowns, green
baize and the whims of fortune. Cautiously he moved between the
fallen chairs. He looked behind the bed, under the dresser, but
without success. His hand closed savagely around the candle, and
he swore inaudibly. He threw back the bed coverings, not that he
expected to find anything, but because he could vent his rage on
these silent, noiseless things. When he lifted the mattress it
was then he took a deep breath and smiled. What he saw was a gun
case. He drew it from under. It was heavy; his fifty crowns were
inside. Next he picked up a candlestick and stuffed the candle
into it, and laid a quilt against the threshold of the door so
that no light would pierce the corridor.
"This is the gun the Englishman did not use in the hunting
expeditions," he thought. "If it is out of repair, as he said it
was, my fifty crowns are not so many pfennige. The devil! it
must be a valuable piece of gunsmithing, to hide it under the
bedclothes. Let me see if my crowns are for the picking."
He investigated forthwith. The hammers and the triggers worked
smoothly. He unlocked the breech and held the nozzles toward the
candle light --and again cursed. The barrels were clogged up.
Notwithstanding, he plucked forth the cleaning-rod and forced it
into one of the tubes. There was a slight resistance, and
something fluttered to the floor and rolled about. The second
tube was treated likewise, with the same result. Johann laughed
silently. The fifty crowns were tangible; he could hear them
jingling in his pocket, and a pretty music they made. He
returned the leather case to its original place and devoted his
attention to the cylinder-shaped papers on the floor.
For a quarter of an hour Johann remained seated on the floor, in
the wavering candle light, forgetful of all save the delicate
tracings of steel engraving, the red and green inks, the great
golden seal, the signatures, the immensity of the ciphers which
trailed halfway across each crackling parchment. He counted
sixteen of them in all. Four millions of crowns. . . . He was
rich, rich beyond all his wildest dreams.
He rose, and restored the gun to its case. Fifty crowns? No, no!
A hundred thousand, not a crown less; a hundred thousand! all
thoughts of the green baize and the rattle of the roulette ball
passed away. There was no need to seek fortune; she had come to
him of her own free will. Wine, Gertrude of the opera, Paris and
a life of ease; all these were his. A hundred thousand crowns, a
hundred thousand florins, two hundred thousand francs, two
hundred thousand marks! He computed in all monetary
denominations; in all countries it was wealth.
Something rose and swelled in his throat, and he choked
hysterically. A voice whispered "No, not a hundred thousand;
four millions!" But reason, though it tottered, regained its
balance, and he saw the utter futility of attempting to dispose
of the orders on the government independently. His hands
trembled; he could scarcely hold this vast treasure. Twice, in
his haste to pocket the certificates, they slipped from his
grasp and scattered. How those six syllables frolicked in his
mind! A hundred thousand crowns!
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