CHAPTER XVIII. OLD ADELBERT
Old Adelbert of the Opera had lost his position. No longer, a sausage inhis pocket for refreshment, did he leave his little room daily for theOpera. A young man, who made ogling eyes at Olga, of the garde-robe, andwho was not careful to keep the lenses clean, had taken his place.
He was hurt in his soldier's soul. There was no longer a place in thekingdom for those who had fought for it. The cry was for the young. Andeven in the first twenty-four hours a subtle change went on in him. Hisloyalty, on which he had built his creed of life, turned to bitterness.
The first day of his idleness he wandered into the back room of thecobbler's shop near by, where the butter-seller from the corner, themaker of artificial flowers for graves, and the cobbler himself weregathered, and listened without protest to such talk as would have rousedhim once to white anger.
But the iron had not yet gone very deep, and one thing he would notpermit. It was when, in the conversation, one of them attacked the King.Then indeed he was roused to fury.
"A soldier and a gentleman," he said. "For him I lost this leg of mine,and lost it without grieving. When I lay in the hospital he himselfcame, and--"
A burst of jeering laughter greeted this, for he had told it many times.Told it, because it was all he had instead of a leg, and although hecould not walk on it, certainly it had supported him through many years.
"As for the little Crown Prince," he went on firmly, "I have seen himoften. He came frequently to the Opera. He has a fine head and a brightsmile. He will be a good king."
But this was met with silence.
Once upon a time a student named Haeckel had occasionally backed him upin his defense of the royal family. But for some reason or other Haeckelcame no more, and old Adelbert missed him. He had inquired for himfrequently.
"Where is the boy Haeckle?" he had asked one day. "I have not seen himlately."
No one had replied. But a sort of grim silence settled over the littleroom. Old Adelbert, however, was not discerning.
"Perhaps, as a student, he worked too hard" he had answered his ownquestion. "They must both work and play hard, these students. A fine lotof young men. I have watched them at the Opera. Most of them preferredItalian to German music."
But, that first day of idleness, when he had left the cobbler's, heresolved not to return. They had not been unfriendly, but he had seen atonce there was a difference. He was no longer old Adelbert of the Opera.He was an old man only, and out of work.
He spent hours that first free afternoon repairing his frayed linen andhis shabby uniform, with his wooden leg stretched out before him and hispipe clutched firmly in his teeth. Then, freshly shaved and brushed, hestarted on a painful search after work. With no result. And, indeed, hewas hopeless before he began. He was old and infirm. There was littlethat he had even the courage to apply for.
True, he had his small pension, but it came only twice a year, and wassent, intact, to take care of an invalid daughter in the country. Thatwas not his. He never used a penny of it. And he had saved a trifle,by living on air; as the concierge declared. But misfortunes come inthrees, like fires and other calamities. The afternoon of that very daybrought a letter, saying that the daughter was worse and must havean operation. Old Adelbert went to church and burned a candle for herrecovery, and from there to the bank, to send by registered mail thesurgeon's fee.
He was bankrupt in twenty-four hours.
That evening in his extremity he did a reckless thing. He wrote a letterto the King. He spent hours over it, first composing it in pencil andthen copying it with ink borrowed from the concierge. It began "Sire,"as he had learned was the form, and went on to remind His Majesty,first, of the hospital incident, which, having been forty years ago,might have slipped the royal memory. Then came the facts--his lostposition, his daughter, the handicap of his wooden leg. It ended with aplea for reinstatement or, failing that, for any sort of work.
He sent it, unfolded, in a large flat envelope, which also he hadlearned was the correct thing with kings, who for some reason or otherdo not like folded communications. Then he waited. He considered that afew hours should bring a return.
No answer came. No answer ever came. For the King was ill, andsecretaries carefully sifted the royal mail.
He waited all of the next day, and out of the mixed emotions of his soulconfided the incident of the letter to Humbert, in his bureau below.
The concierge smiled in his beard. "What does the King care?" hedemanded. "He will never see that letter. And if he did--you have livedlong, my friend. Have you ever known the King to give, or to do anythingbut take? Name me but one instance."
And that night, in the concierge's bureau, he was treated to manyincidents, all alike. The Government took, but gave nothing. As wellexpect blood out of a stone. Instances were given, heartlessness piledon heartlessness, one sordid story on another.
And as he listened there died in old Adelbert's soul his flaming lovefor his sovereign and his belief in him. His eyes took on a hard andhaunted look. That night he walked past the Palace and shook his fist atit. He was greatly ashamed of that, however, and never repeated it. Buthis soul was now an open sore, ready for infection.
And Black Humbert bided his time.
On the day of the excursion to the fortress old Adelbert decided toappeal to his fellow lodger, Herman Spier. Now and then, when he wasaffluent, he had paid small tribute to Herman by means of the campcookery on which he prided himself.
"A soldier's mess!" he would say, and bring in a bowl of soup, or aslice of deer meat, broiled over hot coals in his tiny stove. "Eat it,man. These restaurants know nothing of food."
To Herman now he turned for advice and help. It was difficult to findthe clerk. He left early, and often came home after midnight in acurious frame of mind, a drunkenness of excitement that was worse thanthat of liquor.
Herman could not help him. But he eyed the old soldier appraisingly. Heguessed shrewdly the growing uneasiness behind Adelbert's brave front.If now one could enlist such a man for the Cause, that would be worthdoing. He had talked it over with the concierge. Among the veterans theold man was influential, and by this new policy of substituting freshblood for stale, the Government had made many enemies among them.
"In a shop!" he said coldly. "With that leg? No, my friend. Two legs arehardly enough for what we have to do."
"Then, for any sort of work. I could sweep and clean."
"I shall inquire," said Herman Spier. But he did not intend to. He hadother plans.
The old man's bitterness had been increased by two things. First,although he had been dismissed without notice, in the middle of theweek, he had been paid only up to the hour of leaving. That was agrievance. Second, being slow on his feet, one of the royal motorcarshad almost run him down, and the police had cursed him roundly for beingin the way.
"Why be angry?" observed the concierge, on this being reported to him."The streets are the King's. Who are the dogs of pedestrians but thosethat pay the taxes to build them?"
At last he determined to find Haeckel, the student. He did not know hisChristian name, nor where he lodged. But he knew the corps he belongedto, by his small gray cap with a red band.
He was very nervous when he made this final effort. Corps houses werecurious places, he had heard, and full of secrets. Even the greatprofessors from the University might not enter without invitation. Andhis experience had been that students paid small respect to uniforms orto age. In truth, he passed the building twice before he could summoncourage to touch the great brass knocker. And the arrogance of itsclamor, when at last he rapped, startled him again. But here at least heneed not have feared.
The student who was also doorkeeper eyed him kindly. "Well, comrade?" hesaid.
"I am seeking a student named Haeckel, of this corps," said old Adelbertstoutly.
And had violated all etiquette, too, had he but known it!
"Haeckle?" repeated the doorkeeper. "I think--come in, comrade. I willinq
uire."
For the name of Haeckel was, just then, one curiously significant.
He disappeared, and old Adelbert waited. When the doorkeeper returned,it was to tell him to follow him, and to lead the way downstairs.
There dawned on the old man's eyes a curious sight. In a long basementroom were perhaps thirty students, each armed with a foil, and wearing awire mask. A half dozen lay figures on springs stood in the center in alow row, and before these perspiring youths thrust and parried. Some ofthem, already much scarred, stood and watched. This, then, was wherethe students prepared themselves for duels. Here they fought the mimicbattles that were later on to lead to the much-prized scars.
Old Adelbert stared with curious, rather scornful eyes. The rapier hedetested. Give him a saber, and a free field, and he would show them.Even yet, he felt, he had not lost his cunning. And the saber requirescunning as well as strength.
Two or three students came toward him at once. "You are seekingHaeckle?" one of them asked.
"I am. I knew him, but not well. Lately, however, I have thought--is hehere?"
The students exchanged glances. "He is not here," one said. "Where didyou know him?"
"He came frequently to a shop I know of--a cobbler's shop, aneighborhood meeting-place. A fine lad. I liked him. But recently he hasnot come, and knowing his corps, I came here to find him."
They had hoped to learn something from him, and he knew nothing. "He hasdisappeared," they told him. "He is not at his lodging, and he has lefthis classes. He went away suddenly, leaving everything. That is all weknow."
It sounded sinister. Old Adelbert, heavy-hearted, turned away andclimbed again to the street. That gateway was closed, too. And he felt apang of uneasiness. What could have happened to the boy? Was the world,after all, only a place of trouble?
But now came good fortune, and, like evil, it came not singly. Theoperation was over, and his daughter on the mend. The fee was paid also.And the second followed on the heels of the first.
He did not like Americans. Too often, in better days, had he heard themerits of the American republic compared with the shortcomings of hisown government. When, as happened now and then, he met the Americanfamily on the staircase, he drew sharply aside that no touch ofrepublicanism might contaminate his uniform.
On that day, however, things changed.
First of all, he met the American lad in the hallway, and was pleased tosee him doff his bit of a cap. Not many, nowadays, uncovered a head tohim. The American lad was going down; Adelbert was climbing, one step ata time, and carrying a small basket of provisions.
The American boy, having passed, turned, hesitated, went back. "I'd liketo carry that for you, if you don't mind."
"Carry it?"
"I am very strong," said the American boy stoutly.
So Adelbert gave up his basket, and the two went up. Four long flightsof stone stairs led to Adelbert's room. The ascent took time andpatience.
At the door Adelbert paused. Then, loneliness overcoming prejudice,"Come in," he said.
The bare little room appealed to the boy. "It's very nice, it?" he said."There's nothing to fall over."
"And but little to sit on," old Adelbert added dryly. "However, twopeople require but two chairs. Here is one."
But the boy would not sit down. He ranged the room, frankly curious,exclaimed at the pair of ring doves who lived in a box tied to thewindow-sill, and asked for crumbs for them. Adelbert brought bread fromhis small store.
The boy cheered him. His interest in the old saber, the intentness withwhich he listened to its history, the politeness with which he ignoredhis host's infirmity, all won the old man's heart.
These Americans downstairs were not all bad, then. They were too rich,of course. No one should have meat three times a day, as the meat-sellerreported they did. And they were paying double rent for the apartmentbelow. But that, of course, they could not avoid, not knowing the realcharge.
The boy was frankly delighted. And when old Adelbert brought forth fromhis basket a sausage and, boiling it lightly, served him a slice betweentwo pieces of bread, an odd friendship was begun that was to haveunforeseen consequences. They had broken bread together.
Between the very old and the very young come sometimes these strongaffections. Perhaps it is that age harkens back to the days of itsyouth, and by being very old, becomes young again. Or is it thatchildren are born old, with the withered, small faces of all the past,and must, year by year, until their maturity, shed this mantle of age?
Gradually, over the meal, and the pigeons, and what not, old Adelbertunburdened his heart. He told of his years at the Opera, where he hadkept his glasses clean and listened to the music until he knew by hearteven the most difficult passages. He told of the Crown Prince, whoalways wished opera-glasses, not because he needed them, but because heliked to turn them wrong end before, and thus make the audience appearat a great distance. And then he told of the loss of his position.
The American lad listened politely, but his mind was on the CrownPrince. "Does he wear a crown?" he demanded. "I saw him once in acarriage, but I think he had a hat."
"At the coronation he will wear a crown."
"Do people do exactly what he tells them?"
Old Adelbert was not certain. He hedged, rather. "Probably, whenever itis good for him."
"Huh! What's the use of being a prince?" observed the boy, who had heardof privileges being given that way before. "When will he be a king?"
"When the old King dies. He is very old now. I was in a hospital once,after a battle. And he came in. He put his hand on my shoulder,like this" he illustrated it on the child's small one--and said--Considering that old Adelbert no longer loved his King, it is strange torecord that his voice broke.
"Will he die soon?" Bobby put in. He found kings as much of a novelty asto Prince Ferdinand William Otto they were the usual thing. Bobby's ideaof kings, however, was of the "off with his head" order.
"Who knows? But when he does, the city will learn at once. The greatbell of the Cathedral, which never rings save at such times, will toll.They say it is a sound never to be forgotten. I, of course, have neverheard it. When it tolls, all in the city will fall on their knees andpray. It is the custom." Bobby, reared to strict Presbyterianism andaccustomed to kneeling but once a day, and that at night beside hisbed, in the strict privacy of his own apartment, looked rather startled."What will they pray for?" he said.
And old Adelbert, with a new bitterness, replied that the sons of kingsneeded much prayer. Sometimes they were hard and did cruel things.
"And then the Crown Prince will be a king," Bobby reflected. "If I werea king, I'd make people stand around. And I'd have an automobile and runit myself. But has the Crown Prince only a grandfather, and no father?"
"He died--the boy's father. He was murdered, and the Princess his motheralso."
Bobby's eyes opened wide. "Who did it?"
"Terrorists," said old Adelbert. And would not be persuaded to say more.
That night at dinner Bobby Thorpe delivered himself of quite a speech.He sat at the table, and now and then, when the sour-faced governesslooked at her plate, he slipped a bit of food to his dog, which waitedbeside him.
"There's a very nice old man upstairs," he said. "He has a fine sword,and ring-doves, and a wooden leg. And he used to rent opera-glasses tothe Crown Prince, only he turned them around. I'm going to try that withyours, mother. We had sausage together, and he has lost his position,and he's never been on the Scenic Railway, father. I'd like some ticketsfor him. He would like riding, I'm sure, because walking must be prettyhard. And what I want to know is this: Why can't you give him a job,father?"
Bobby being usually taciturn at the table, and entirely occupied withfood, the family stared at him.
"What sort of a job, son? A man with one leg!"
"He doesn't need legs to chop tickets with."
The governess listened. She did not like Americans. Barbarians theywere, and these were of the middle cl
ass, being in trade. For a scenicrailway is trade, naturally. Except that they paid a fat salary, withan extra month at Christmas, she would not be there. She and Pepy, themaid, had many disputes about this. But Pepy was a Dalmatian, and didnot matter.
"He means the old soldier upstairs," said Bobby's mother softly. She wasa gentle person. Her eyes were wide and childlike, and it was a sort ofreligion of the family to keep them full of happiness.
This also the governess could not understand.
"So the old soldier is out of work," mused the head of the family. Head,thought the governess! When they wound him about their fingers! Sheliked men of sterner stuff. In her mountain country the men did asthey wished, and sometimes beat their wives by way of showing theirauthority. Under no circumstances, she felt, would this young man everbeat his wife. He was a weakling.
The weakling smiled across the table at the wife with the soft eyes."How about it, mother?" he asked. "Shall the firm of 'Bobby and I' offerhim a job?"
"I would like it very much," said the weakling's wife, dropping her eyesto hide the pride in them.
"Suppose," said the weakling, "that you run up after dinner, Bob, andbring him down. Now sit still, young man, and finish. There's no suchhurry as that."
And in this fashion did old Adelbert become ticket-chopper of theAmerican Scenic Railway.
And in this fashion, too, commenced that odd friendship between him andthe American lad that was to have so vital an effect on the very lifeitself of the Crown Prince Ferdinand William Otto of Livonia.
Late that evening, old Adelbert's problem having been solved, Pepy themaid and Bobby had a long talk. It concerned itself mainly with kings.Pepy sat in a low chair by the tiled stove in the kitchen, and knitted astocking with a very large foot.
"What I want to know is this," said Bobby, swinging his legs on thetable: "What are the Terrorists?"
Pepy dropping her knitting, and stared with open mouth. "What know youof such things?" she demanded.
"Well, Terrorists killed the Crown Prince's father, and--"
Quite suddenly Pepy leaped from her chair, and covered Bobby's mouthwith her hand. "Hush!" she said, and stared about her with frightenedeyes. The door into the dining-room was open, and the governess satthere with a book. Then, in a whisper: "They are everywhere. No oneknows who they are, nor where they meet." The superstition of hermountains crept into her voice. "It is said that they have theassistance of the evil one, and that the reason the police cannot findthem is because they take the form of cats. I myself," she went onimpressively, "crossing the Place one night late, after spending theevening with a friend, saw a line of cats moving in the shadows. Oneof them stopped and looked at me." Pepy crossed herself. "It had a facelike the Fraulein in there."
Bobby stared with interest through the doorway. The governess did looklike a cat. She had staring eyes, and a short, wide face. "Maybe's she'sone of them," he reflected aloud.
"Oh, for God's sake, hush!" cried Pepy, and fell to knitting rapidly.Nor could Bobby elicit anything further from her. But that night, inhis sleep, he saw a Crown Prince, dressed in velvet and ermine, beingsurrounded and attacked by an army of cats, and went, shivering, tocrawl into his mother's bed.