A crown of straw

As the door of the cabinet closed, leaving Maximilian by himself, with the ensigns of his monarchy strewed upon the table and the floor, the clock of the Castle began to strike ten.

Before the notes had finished, a solitary horseman came riding swiftly down the road which formed the main approach to the Castle. He had come through the guarded gateway on the crest of the hill without a check, all the sentinels having presented arms as he went silently past them at full speed. He pulled up his reeking horse at the steps leading up into the Castle, and dismounted alone.

At this moment a loud splash was heard in the lake, followed by a solitary cry.

Immediately the great doors were opened with a clang, and a crowd of servants and guards came running out, with torches in their hands, and shouting confused directions to each other. They streamed down to the margin of the water, the lights tossing above their heads like banners as they went. Here they scattered, some searching up and down the edges of the lake, while others tumbled hastily into the boats which lay moored along the marble quay, and pushed themselves off from the shore. The torches gleamed fitfully, first in the air and then in the dark mirror of the water, as the boats glided to and fro, with a noise of oars, and every now and then a muttered direction from men standing up in the bows. Over all towered the high wall of the Castle, its lighted windows showing out brilliantly against the gloom of the night. And the casement of one window was open, and flapped slowly overhead, like the wing of some huge bird of prey, and moaned. Finally, there was a subdued shout, the wandering lights on the water gathered together in an awfully narrow ring about one point, and one of the boats tilted slightly, as some weight was slowly dragged in over the side. Then the boats came back, rowing heavily to the shore, and from the foremost boat a burden was lifted, and laid with reverence upon the bank.

The stranger, who had stood watching all this time, uncovered his head, and stepped forward to look at the dead body. Then he solemnly crossed himself, and went on his way into the Castle.

By this time a new misfortune had befallen Johann.

Hardly had he left the precincts of the Castle, when he ran almost into the arms of two soldiers who were aimlessly straying through the gardens. He was quickly recognised, and the pair at once took him into their custody, and carried him before the Chancellor, who ordered him to be detained in strict confinement.

The news of his arrest quickly spread, and it was not long before it reached the ears of Dorothea. She at once sought the presence of the Princess Regent.

During these last few days a secret estrangement had sprung up between Hermengarde and her favourite. Though without any true idea of the Princess’s share in the fall of Maximilian, Dorothea could not help perceiving that her patroness was to some extent hostile to the poor King, and the confidence she had formerly felt in her friendship had received a great shock. The absorption of the Princess in the cares of her new situation had kept them apart a good deal, and when they met, the girl could no longer greet Hermengarde with the same frank affection as before, and Hermengarde, on her part, shrank more into herself, and no longer indulged in the occasional touches of tenderness by which she had won Dorothea’s heart.

But on the present occasion all these restraints were brushed aside. Dorothea rushed in, and fell kneeling before her mistress, crying—

“Madam, Johann has come back, and they have made him a prisoner!”

The stern features of the Regent were irradiated by a smile of a softness rarely seen there.

“Have no fear my child,” she said soothingly. “Did I not tell you that, whatever happened, I was your friend.”

And lifting her up, she sounded a gong for the page, whom she despatched with strict orders to have Johann brought before her at once.

“And now,” she said, turning to Dorothea, “I have something to say to your cousin which I do not wish you to hear. Go into my bedroom while I receive him.”

Dorothea went through a door behind the Princess, still too much moved to be able to express her gratitude in words. She had scarcely disappeared when the outer door opened and admitted Karl.

His face told the Princess all.

“Maximilian is dead?” she said.

“Yes, Madam. He threw himself out of the window of his room into the lake. His body is being dragged for by the soldiers.”

Hermengarde crossed herself.

“Go and tell the Chancellor that I desire his attendance immediately.”

The awe-struck wretch departed, and she sank down upon a seat, a prey to the most conflicting emotions.

The arrival of Johann Mark disturbed her reflections. He was accompanied by two guards, whom the Princess haughtily dismissed.

“Herr Mark,” she said, “we have never met before, but I have reason to think you regard me as your enemy. Nevertheless I have sent for you to tell you that you are a free man. The Chancellor will be here immediately, and I shall direct him to make you out a free pardon for everything which may have been laid to your charge.”

The prisoner gazed at her in bewilderment. Was this the woman whom every one regarded as the embodiment of selfishness and unscrupulous ambition?

“Madam, I must tell you,” he said at length, “that, if you release me, I shall renew my efforts on behalf of the King.”

Hermengarde gravely shook her head.

“King Maximilian is no more. My son is now King of Franconia.”

Johann broke down, and the Princess allowed him time to recover himself, watching him soberly the while.

“I do not wonder at your emotion,” she said. “I wish that my son might have such friends.”

“But why, Madam,” asked Johann, as soon as he could speak—“why do you show me this unexpected kindness?”

“I do it at the request of your cousin Dorothea,” was the answer. “She has a deep affection for you. I do not know whether it is returned.”

“It is indeed,” was the warm response. “Ah, Madam, since you are so good as to interest yourself in Dorothea, may I entreat you to watch over her here? Her father is not fit to have charge of her.”

“I know that. But you, have you never thought of taking his place by a dearer right?”

“Madam, I will confess the truth to you. Such an idea never came into my mind till the other day. I was even guilty of urging her to accept the offers of the King. When she refused finally, she admitted to me that it was because she loved another. And then, for the first time, a light seemed to strike into my own heart, and I found out, too late, that I loved her myself.”

Hermengarde’s sombre face relaxed once more.

“Foolish young man,” she said softly, “did you never think who it was that had won your little playmate’s heart?”

The young man started, a joyful glow broke out over his features. The Princess went quickly to the bedroom door, opened it, and brought forth the blushing Dorothea.

“Here is your cousin, child. He has not yet found out whom it is you are in love with.”

One look between the two was enough. They were folded in each other’s arms.

The Princess detached a string of magnificent diamonds from her neck.

“Here is my wedding present,” she said, casting it round the young girl. “Now go, and if you sometimes hear evil things said of Hermengarde of Schwerin-Strelitz, remember that she was your friend.”

And bestowing a last kiss upon Dorothea’s cheek, she pushed them out of the room.

The Chancellor came in directly afterwards. He found the Princess in her most haughty mood.

“You have heard of my nephew’s sad fate,” she said briefly, “and you are no doubt making all the necessary arrangements for the proclamation of my son.”

“I am, Madam.”

“While I remember it, I desire you will at once make out a full and complete pardon for Johann Mark. I have ordered him to be set at liberty.”

The Chancellor ventured to remonstrate.

“Are you aware, Madam, of the serious character of this man?”

“Yes, sir, I am. But I have found a remedy for all that. He is now my very good friend.”

Still the Chancellor faintly objected. He could not so soon forego his vengeance on the man who had done so much to thwart him.

“Your Royal Highness bears in mind the consequences of the unhappy event which has just taken place. There will have to be—of course as a matter of form—a fresh appointment in regard to the Regency.”

“Of course, and in regard to the Chancellorship too, I presume,” retorted Hermengarde, sharply. “In the mean time, we both hold our offices, and if it is my last act as Regent and your last act as Chancellor, I order you to make out this pardon.”

“You shall be obeyed, Madam,” replied the Count. And he kept his word.

Secure in her son’s accession, Hermengarde now thought the time was come to throw off the mask she had worn so long.

“There is another consequence of this event which your loyalty will no doubt be quick to recognise,” she said.

The Chancellor bowed, as one who knew what was coming.

“I refer of course to my son’s marriage. As King of Franconia, this is now a matter which has passed out of our hands, and we must be prepared to sacrifice our private wishes to the interests of the State.”

“Quite so, Madam. I anticipated that you would be compelled to take this view, and it does not find me unprepared. I may before long have the honour of soliciting your Royal Highness’s favour for a marriage between my daughter and Herr Moritz.”

“I shall be much gratified to be present at it,” replied Hermengarde. “I have some reason to hope, I may tell you privately, that the Kaiser may be induced to bestow one of his sisters on the King.”

Used as he was to Court duplicity, the Count could not repress a slight grimace at this cool intimation.

“An admirable arrangement,” he said, preparing to withdraw; “but, as you have said, Madam, this matter has now passed out of our hands.”

As soon as he was gone Hermengarde rose, and proceeded to seek out her son in his own rooms. At the door of the sleeping-room she was stopped by an attendant, who said—

“His Majesty is asleep. He has been unwell, and the doctor has given the strictest orders that he is not to be disturbed.”

Hermengarde showed some slight alarm.

“I hope it is nothing serious?” she said.

“I believe not, Madam.”

“Well, I will not disturb him. Send the doctor to me.”

She returned thoughtfully towards her own room. On the threshold she encountered Karl.

“Well, has the body been found?”

“Oh, yes, Madam. But, pardon my asking, does your Royal Highness know that the Privy Council is in session?”

“The Privy Council! Without my authority! Take me there at once!”

Karl led the way, heartily cursing himself for having played so blindly into the hands of the Princess.

At the door of the Council-room, the guards would have stopped her, but the imperious woman literally thrust them aside, and forced her way into the room.

The whole of the Councillors staying in the Castle were present. But there was one addition to the number assembled on the last occasion, a man whom Hermengarde had never seen before, tall, dark, with iron-grey hair, and an expression of the most profound melancholy on his countenance. He sat in a chair at the head of the Council table, with the old Chancellor on his right hand, and had just finished affixing his signature to a parchment when the Princess burst in upon them.

At first this personage clearly failed to recognise the Princess. But the Chancellor leant over and whispered in his ear. He at once rose, the other Councillors following his example.

“Come in, Madam,” he said gravely. “We were about to send to desire your presence. Will you take that seat.” And he pointed to one near himself.

“What does all this mean?” demanded Hermengarde, disdaining the proffered seat. “I do not know who you are, sir.”

“My name is Frederick von Astolf. You have perhaps heard of me as the Count von Eisenheim.”

Hermengarde turned pale, and gazed blankly around her. Still she preserved her wrathful tone.

“I presume you have a right to be here, as a Privy Councillor, my lord. But why has the Council met without my authority?”

The Count von Eisenheim turned to the Chancellor, with a glance signifying a desire that he should answer the question. Von Sigismark eagerly complied, and his voice had in it a ring of a long-suppressed resentment.

“It is my duty, Madam, as Chancellor, to call the Council together on a demise of the crown, in order to proclaim the new sovereign. In this case, moreover, we had also to appoint a Regent.”

“Well?” It seemed to Hermengarde that she could scarcely breathe.

“The Council has proclaimed your son King, by the style of Ernest V. And it has declared his Royal Highness Frederick Leopold von Astolf, Regent.”

Hermengarde’s eyes flashed with fury.

“Be careful, sir. Be careful, gentlemen. By what right have you passed me over?”

The Chancellor again gave the answer.

“By the family statutes of the House of Astolf, and by the Franconian Constitution, the Regency goes of right to the next heir to the crown. It would have been illegal to appoint you, Madam.”

The Princess began to realise the bitter truth. She had been completely outwitted by the servile courtier. He had been preparing this blow from the very first.

“Enough,” she said, with some dignity. “I will not say more to you, now. In two years my son will take the government into his own hands, and then your authority will be over.”

“I fear not, Madam.” It was the Regent who spoke, and Hermengarde, looking at him, saw the deep mournfulness on his face assume a new and dreadful significance. And then, before anything could happen, she was aware of the presence of the tall, spare figure, clad in its long black coat, the sight of which, walking across the gardens of Neustadt on a memorable morning, had fallen like a blight upon Maximilian’s heart. And she reeled back, and sank bereft of spirit upon the ground with the slow deliberate words beating like hammers upon her brain: “Madam, the King, your son, is mad!”