A crown of straw

The Princess Hermengarde was one of those characters of whom much is said but little is known.

It was said that she was proud. It was believed that she was ambitious. It was admitted that she had once been beautiful. In the days before her marriage, when she was still the heiress to the Duchy of Schwerin-Strelitz, she had been flattered with the title of the belle of Europe. In her thirty-sixth year she was still handsome and commanding, but the youthful loveliness had disappeared. What years had failed to do had been wrought more surely by disappointed hope and wounded pride. In the words of Count von Stahlen, the Court wit, the Princess Hermengarde was an old woman of middle age.

Her mortifications had begun, when she was still under twenty, with the birth of a male heir to her father’s Grand Duchy. Before that event she had been looked upon as one of the most brilliant matches in Europe, and Austrian archdukes and British princes of the blood were said to have made overtures for her hand. When the blow fell which reduced her at one stroke to a position of insignificance, two royal wooers, who had been contending for her smiles immediately before, withdrew from their courtship with a precipitation which, in a lower class of life, might have exposed them to the suspicion of being fortune hunters. One of them went off in hot haste to St. Petersburg, where he was just in time to secure a Grand Duchess of the house of Romanoff. The other, not quite so fortunate, fell back upon a Scandinavian princess.

It was while still smarting from these insulting desertions, that Hermengarde had consented to accept the hand of Otto, the younger brother of Leopold IX. The match was a brilliant enough one in the fallen state of her fortunes, though far different to such an alliance as had seemed at one time within her reach. At this time Maximilian, Leopold’s only child, was a delicate boy of twelve, and there being no other life between Prince Otto and the throne, his wife might still cherish the possibility of one day reigning over a kingdom.

But the unfortunate young Princess had not yet exhausted the enmity of fortune. Within a few months of their marriage, Otto began to show traces of that savage cruelty which seemed to be part of the hereditary taint in the Franconian line. For a long time his proud young wife submitted in silence, and allowed no hint of her sufferings to reach the outside world. But when her son was born, and her husband’s senseless brutality went so far as to threaten the infant, her maternal instinct and her ambition together took arms, and she faced her tyrant with unexpected courage. Strange things were related in the gossip of the Court concerning the scenes which took place between the Franconian Prince and the mother of his child. The miserable state of affairs culminated, it was said, in the haughty Princess fleeing at midnight from her apartments, clad in little beside a cloak, and bearing her child in her arms, to take refuge in the quarters of the Baron von Sigismark, Comptroller of the Household, and his wife, from the murderous violence of her husband.

Immediately afterwards Prince Otto went mad, or rather his madness was officially announced. Hermengarde went into retirement, devoting herself to the training of her son; but after the deaths of her husband and of King Leopold, she had returned to the Court, where she lived on good terms with her nephew, and discharged some of the functions which would have fallen to a queen-consort, had Maximilian been married.

Her apartments in the left wing of the Castle of Neustadt corresponded in situation with those occupied by the King himself in the right wing, and looked out over the decorated gardens to the belt of forest beyond. On this particular afternoon the Princess had been sitting in the window of her boudoir, gazing abstractedly out upon the park, while a look of deep thought rested on her proud features. It was her habit to sit thus, with her chin resting upon her hand. In the days of her youthful triumphs, a portrait of her, in this attitude, had been circulated all over Europe, and perhaps it was this recollection which had caused her to adopt the posture as a favourite one ever since. By-and-by she had tired of waiting alone, and struck a small silver gong by her side.

The summons was obeyed by the page in attendance.

“Karl Fink has not been here?” inquired the Princess.

“No, Madam, not yet.”

“Go and see who is in the ante-room, and bring me word.”

The page darted off, and immediately returned. “The Count von Sigismark has just come, your Royal Highness. He is talking with the Lady Gertrude.”

“Ah! Is there no one else outside?”

“No, Madam. Count von Stahlen and Baron von Hardenburg have just gone away.”

“Good,” Hermengarde dismissed the lad with a nod, and then stood considering for a few seconds. Presently she lifted her head, and moved quietly towards the outer room.

The Count von Sigismark was the same personage whose protection she had sought fifteen years before. He was of a type which is fast disappearing in constitutionally-governed countries—a courtier statesman. Under King Leopold he had held the post of Comptroller of the Household, and in that capacity had neglected no opportunity of quietly serving the heir to the throne. Maximilian stood in need of kindness, and was not ungrateful for it. His first act of authority on ascending the throne had been to raise Von Sigismark from the rank of baron to that of count, and by a rapid course of promotion, the fortunate Comptroller soon found himself exalted to the highest position in the State as Chancellor of Franconia, and head of the Government. His powers had long been practically unchecked by interference from his royal master, and the epigrammatist Von Stahlen had gone so far as to give him the nickname of “the Regent”—a dangerous compliment, with which the cautious old Count was by no means pleased.

The favour which he enjoyed under Maximilian did not lead the wary courtier to neglect those in whose hands the power of the future might lie. While the present King remained without a direct heir, Hermengarde’s young son stood next in the succession to the throne. The Chancellor had carefully kept up his friendship with the Princess, and had induced her to receive his daughter Gertrude into her household. The Count was now a widower, and Gertrude was his only child.

The two young gentlemen with whom he had found his daughter engaged on this occasion were well-known characters in the Court. One has already been mentioned as its recognised wit; the other was his inseparable companion and admirer, whose business in life was to publish to the world the masterpieces of epigram which fell from his friend’s lips. These epigrams were thought by some to have more personality than point. It was Von Stahlen who had invented for Maximilian the sobriquet of “King of the Fairies.” This was complimentary, but most of his shafts were barbed with satire. Thus he had described Franconia in her relations with Prussia as “the kettle tied to the dog’s tail,” and had characterised the diplomacy of the Chancellor as “irritating efforts to soothe Bismarck.” Most people failed to see anything clever in these sayings, but everybody felt that it would be unpleasant to have the indefatigable Von Hardenburg spreading similar remarks about themselves. The Count von Stahlen was therefore universally dreaded and disliked, and was the most sought-after man in the whole Court.

Even Gertrude had not escaped his railing tongue. Having neglected him recently under the influence of some flattering attentions from King Maximilian himself, he had taken his revenge by referring to her as “the royal milkmaid”—a galling allusion to the fact that the fortunes of the Sigismarks had been founded less than three hundred years before by a dairyman in Mannhausen.

It was only natural that the beauty should now show herself extraordinarily gracious to her returning admirer. Seated on a low chair beside the couch on which she was leaning, the Count was just finishing an anecdote deeply to the discredit of a noblewoman who happened to be Gertrude’s bosom friend, when they were interrupted by the entrance of Von Sigismark.

“For shame!” laughed Gertrude, rising to greet her father. “How dare you tell me such things! You know the Viscountess is my friend.”

“The very reason why I repeated it to you,” retorted the wit. “I know that with you it will go no further. Good morning, Chancellor.”

The Minister included both young men in a sombre recognition. Then he turned to his daughter.

“Is the Princess well to-day?”

“Yes. Shall I let her know you are here?”

“Presently. I want a word with you first.”

Von Stahlen and his companion took the hint.

“Will you excuse us, Lady Gertrude?” said the Count, with laboured courtesy. “Von Hardenburg and I have an important appointment—political business. I hope, Chancellor, you will not think that you have driven us away.”

And, preserving a smile of bland innocence, he retired, his henchman walking after him with ill-suppressed delight.

The old Chancellor followed them to the door with a scowl.

“These young fools are growing unbearable,” he remarked severely. “You should not encourage them so much. They can do you no good. Von Stahlen has nearly run through his inheritance, and the other never had any inheritance to run through.”

“They are nothing to me,” was the reply. “I find the Count amusing sometimes, that is all.”

“Well, do not be seen with them too much. The King might hear of it.”

“The King?” Gertrude turned a startled look on her father.

“I said the King. I think you know what I mean.”

“Father! Do you really think he cares—that he notices—what I do?”

The Chancellor nodded.

“I am sure of it. I have watched him for some time, and, unless I am deceived, he thinks more of you than he has yet thought of any other woman.”

A bright blush came on the girl’s face.

“Do you really think so? I have sometimes thought—and yet, lately, I have doubted again. But, after all, even if the King did care for me, what could come of it?”

Her father indulged in a deep smile.

“What should you say if a crown came of it?” He rather whispered than spoke the words.

“Oh, no! You cannot be in earnest? Surely the King would not marry any one not of royal blood?”

“Perhaps so. And yet perhaps not so.” The old Count cast a cautious look around him before going on. “You know the cloud that rests upon the race of Astolf: their alliance is not very eagerly sought. The other reigning houses remember the fate of Maximilian’s father, and of his grandfather, and of his uncle Otto.”

“Father!”—there was a note of real fear in the girl’s voice—“you do not mean that you think the King is affected by such a taint?”

“Heaven forbid! I have never thought anything of the kind. Maximilian is not like his House. But nevertheless the possibility is there, and he may find it easier to choose a queen among his own subjects than abroad.”

Before the subdued girl could make any further answer, a door opened at the end of the apartment.

“Hush!” whispered the Chancellor, hastily. “Not a hint of this before the Princess. Remember that the King’s marriage means to her an obstacle between her son and the throne.”

And assuming an air in which cheerful friendliness was only tempered by the proper admixture of deference, he turned to greet Hermengarde.

On her part, the Princess approached him rather with the air of an old friend than a superior in rank.

“I am so glad to find you here, my dear Chancellor,” she said graciously. “It must be so pleasant for you to snatch a few minutes from the dry affairs of State for the society of our dear Gertrude. I only hope that you will not mind my joining in your talk?”

“You do us too much honour, Madam,” was the courtier’s answer. “But I feel sure that you will approve of the advice I have been giving my daughter—not to listen too much to the empty talk of the young fops who haunt the Court.”

“You are quite right, Count,” said Hermengarde, with an approving nod. “You have a right to look higher for your daughter. Your rank and services to the State entitle you to expect no ordinary son-in-law. And you, too, Gertrude,” she continued, fixing her keen gaze on the girl’s telltale face, “perhaps you have already fixed your thoughts on some suitor of pretensions lofty enough to satisfy even your father’s just ambition for you.”

“Madam,” Gertrude stammered out, “I have no thoughts in the matter, except to obey my father.”

“An admirable answer!” exclaimed the Princess, lightly. “Count, I congratulate you on your child. I only hope mine will prove as obedient. But I am forgetting what I was about to say to you. Have you been much in the company of the King lately?”

The Chancellor lifted his head and darted a swift glance at her, and then drew back a couple of inches, with the instinctive movement of one who feels himself on dangerous ground.

“Not more than usual, Madam. There has been nothing to take me specially into his Majesty’s company.”

“Quite so. And you have not noticed anything unusual in his demeanour—anything that has led you to suspect that something important was going on?”

This time the Minister failed to conceal his nervous apprehension.

“I confess I fail to understand you, Madam. So far as I know, the King has been engaged in his ordinary pursuits. Of course, he is a good deal taken up with the preparations for taking possession of this new palace of his at Seidlingen.”

The Princess watched Von Sigismark keenly as he spoke, and a slight look of scorn passed across her countenance, to be instantly replaced by an indulgent smile.

“I see that I am about to astonish you. What should you say if I were to tell you that I have discovered that my nephew is in love?”

In spite of his habitual caution, the old Count could not resist the impulse to turn and look at his daughter, who, on her part, utterly failed to conceal her embarrassment from the keen eyes of the Princess. Before either of them could speak, Hermengarde followed up her thrust.

“Come, I see that I have surprised you both. Yet I should have thought that you, at least, Gertrude, would have noticed something.”

“I, Madam?” The unfortunate girl could say no more, so completely did she feel herself at the mercy of her royal tormentor.

“Yes, come; you are not going to pretend that you know nothing about my nephew’s feelings. Why, it is not two months since the whole Court believed that he had lost his heart to you.”

The Chancellor felt it was time for him to come to his daughter’s rescue.

“Surely your Royal Highness is jesting? My daughter would never dare to entertain such an idea. Every one knows that a king of Franconia must marry in his own rank.”

Hermengarde shrugged her shoulders.

“Kings of Franconia do strange things sometimes,” she retorted with significance. “But I see that you are both in the dark. Yet this affair has been going on now for several weeks, though it has only come to my knowledge within the last few days.”

Gertrude made an effort to rally her courage and take part in the conversation.

“Perhaps it is the Baroness von Steinketel that you refer to, Madam?” she timidly suggested.

Hermengarde smiled. The Baroness, a fat, overdressed woman of about forty, whose chief attraction consisted in a never-failing flow of animal spirits, had made herself the laughing-stock of the Court by her undisguised attempts to attract the notice of Maximilian. It was easy to see what a consolation it would have been to Gertrude to have no worse rival than this.

“I had better enlighten you at once,” said the Princess. “My eccentric nephew has not looked so high as the Baroness von Steinketel. He has bestowed his affections on a young peasant girl, the daughter of one of the royal foresters.”

The countenance of her two listeners underwent a change. On the Chancellor’s face the expression of anxiety was succeeded by one of relief.

“I understand you, Madam. Thank Heaven it is no worse! I confess that you seriously alarmed me. But, of course, a mere intrigue of that kind need not be taken very seriously. Gertrude, perhaps it would be better if you were to ask the Princess’s leave to retire.”

“Stay, do not be too confident,” interposed the Princess, warningly; “I am afraid this affair may turn out to be more serious than you think. You have heard the tale of King Cophetua. For my part I should not be surprised at anything on the part of Maximilian.”

The Minister started, and gazed at Hermengarde in alarm, as if to ascertain whether any graver meaning lurked beneath her words. She returned a look as serious as his own, and proceeded to enlighten him.

“The name of this young girl is Dorothea Gitten, and her father’s lodge is on the other side of the forest, scarcely two miles away. Every day for the past month and more, my nephew has been going there. If he takes a servant as escort, he leaves him at the edge of the wood, and enters the forester’s garden alone. There he sits by the hour in an arbour, pretending to drink cider, while the charming Dorothea keeps him company. All the time he treats her with as much respect as if she were a princess. In short the whole proceeding appears like a regular courtship, which may have the most surprising consequences.”

If Hermengarde had hoped to surprise the Chancellor into any hasty expression of opinion, however, she was disappointed. The old courtier listened to her in silence, striving to regain his composure in order to think the matter over at his leisure. At the close of her narrative, he remarked in his most diplomatic tone—

“I am greatly obliged by your confidence, Madam. I recognise the importance of what you have told me, which will of course remain a strict secret for the present. It is too soon to come to any decision on it as yet. Our best course, no doubt, will be to watch quietly, and wait.”

The Princess smiled rather scornfully.

“I dare say you are right, my dear Chancellor. However, I am glad to think that the responsibility no longer rests on my shoulders. Think the matter over, and come to me again.”

Von Sigismark took the implied dismissal, and bowed himself out with every demonstration of respect.

“So much for the father,” murmured the Princess to herself. “Now for the daughter.”

She was about to address Gertrude aloud, when the page rapped at the door and announced that Karl Fink was in attendance.

Hermengarde’s eyes lit up with satisfaction.

“Let him come in at once,” she commanded. “Gertrude, I should like you to hear what this young man has to say.”

And the next minute the young forester in the green livery stood before them.