CHAPTER XXVIII. TEE CROWN PRINCE'S PILGRIMAGE
The day when Olga Loschek should have returned to the city found her tooill to travel. No feigned sickness this, but real enough, a matter offever and burning eyes, and of mutterings in troubled sleep.
Minna was alarmed. She was fond of her mistress, in spite of heroccasional cruelties, and lately the Countess had been strangely gentle.She required little attention, wished to be alone, and lay in her greatbed, looking out steadily at the bleak mountain-tops, to which springnever climbed.
"She eats nothing," Minna said despairingly to the caretaker. "And hereyes frighten me. They are always open, even in the night, but they seemto see nothing."
On the day when she should have returned, the Countess roused herselfenough to send for Black Humbert, fretting in the kitchen below. He hadbelieved that she was malingering until he saw her, but her flushed andhollow cheeks showed her condition.
"You must return and explain," she said. "I shall need more time, afterall." When he hesitated, she added: "There are plenty to watch that I donot escape. I could not, if I would. I have not the strength."
"Time is passing," he said gruffly, "and we get nowhere."
"As soon as I can travel, I will come."
"If madame wishes, I can take a letter."
She pondered over that, interlacing her fingers nervously as shereflected.
"I will send no letter," she decided, "but I will give you a message,which you can deliver."
"Yes, madame."
"Say to the Committee," she began, and paused. She had thought andthought until her brain burned with thinking, but she had found no wayout. And yet she could not at once bring herself to speech. But at lastshe said it: "Say to the Committee that I have reflected and that Iwill do what they ask. As far," she added, "as lies in my power. I canonly--"
"That is all the Committee expects," he said civilly, and with a reliefthat was not lost on her. "With madame's intelligence, to try is tosucceed."
Nevertheless, he left her well guarded. Even Minna, slipping off for anevening hour with a village sweetheart, was stealthily shadowed. Beforethis, fine ladies had changed garments with their maids and escaped fromdivers unpleasantnesses.
Olga Loschek lay in her bed, and always there were bells. The cattlewere being driven up into the mountains for the summer grazing,great, soft-eyed herds, their bells tinkling slowly as they made theirdeliberate, soft-footed progress along the valley; the silvery bells formass; the clock striking the hour with its heavy, vibrating clamor ofbronze.
When she sank into the light sleep of fever, they roused her, orshe slept on; hearing in their tones the great bell of St. Stefan'sannouncing the King's death. Bells, always bells.
At the end of two days she was able to be up again. She moved languidlyabout her room, still too weak to plan. There were times when shecontemplated suicide, but she knew herself to be too cowardly to do morethan dream of it.
And on the fourth day came the Crown Prince of Livonia on a pilgrimage.
The manner of his coming was this:
There are more ways than one of reaching the hearts of an uneasy people.Remission of taxes is a bad one. It argues a mistake in the past,in exacting such tithes. Governments may make errors, but must notacknowledge them. There is the freeing of political prisoners, but that,too, is dangerous, when such prisoners breathe sedition to the veryprison walls.
And there is the appeal to sentiment. The Government, pinning all itshopes to one small boy, would further endear him to the people. Wilystatesman that he was, the Chancellor had hit on this to offset therumors of Hedwig's marriage.
But the idea was not his, although he adopted it. It had had itsbirth in the little room with the Prie-dieu and the stand covered withbottles, had been born of the Sister's belief in the miracles of Etzel.
However, he appropriated it, and took it to the King.
"A pilgrimage!" said the King, when the mater was broached to him. "Forwhat? My recovery? Cannot you let your servant depart in peace?"
"Pilgrimages," observed the Chancellor, "have had marvelous results,sire. I do not insist that they perform miracles, as some believe,"--hesmiled faintly,--"but as a matter of public feeling and a remedy fordiscord, they are sometimes efficacious."
"I see," said the King. And lay still, looking at the ceiling.
"Can it be done safely?" he asked at last.
"The maddest traitor would not threaten the Crown Prince on apilgrimage. The people would tear him limb from limb."
"Nevertheless, I should take all precautions," he said dryly. "A madmanmight not recognize the--er--religious nature of the affair."
The same day the Chancellor visited Prince Ferdinand William Otto, andfound him returned from his drive and busy over Hedwig's photographframe.
"It is almost done," he said. "I slipped over in one or two places, butit is not very noticeable, is it?"
The Chancellor observed it judicially, and decided that the slippingover was not noticeable at all. Except during school hours MissBraithwaite always retired during the Chancellor's visits, and so nowthe two were alone.
"Otto," said the Chancellor gravely, "I want to talk to you veryseriously."
"Have I done anything?"
"No." He smiled. "It is about something I would like you to do. For yourgrandfather."
"I'll do anything for him, sir."
"We know that. This is the point. He has been ill for along time. Veryill."
The boy watched him with a troubled face. "He looks very thin," he said."I get quite worried when I see him."
"Exactly. You have heard of Etzel?"
Prince Ferdinand William Otto's religious instruction was of the best.He had, indeed, heard of Etzel. He knew the famous pilgrimages in order,and could say them rapidly, beginning, the year of Our Lord 915--theEmperor Otto and Adelheid, his spouse; the year of Our Lord 1100,Ulrich, Count of Ruburg; and so on.
"When people are ill," he said sagely, "they go to Etzel to be cured."
"Precisely. But when they cannot go, they send some one else, to prayfor them. And sometimes, if they have faith enough, the holy miraclehappens, and they are cured."
The Chancellor was deeply religious, and although he had planned thepilgrimage for political reasons, for the moment he lost sight of them.What if, after all, this clear-eyed, clean-hearted child could bringthis miracle of the King's recovery? It was a famous shrine, andstranger things had been brought about by less worthy agencies.
"I thought," he said, "that if you would go to Etzel, Otto, and therepray for your grandfather's recovery, it--it would be a good thing."
The meaning of such a pilgrimage dawned suddenly on the boy. His eyesfilled, and because he considered it unmanly to weep, he slid from hischair and went to the window. There he got out his pocket-handkerchiefand blew his nose.
"I'm afraid he's going to die," he said, in a smothered voice.
The Chancellor followed him to the window, and put an arm around hisshoulders. "Even that would not be so terrible, Otto," he said. "Death,to the old, is not terrible. It is an open door, through which theygo gladly, because--because those who have gone ahead are waiting justbeyond it."
"Are my mother and father waiting?"
"Yes, Otto."
He considered. "And my grandmother?"
"Yes."
"He'll be very glad to see them all again."
"Very happy, indeed. But we need him here, too, for a while. You needhim and--I. So we will go and pray to have him wait a little longerbefore he goes away. Hour about it?"
"I'll try. I'm not very good. I do a good many things, you know."
Here, strangely enough, it was the Chancellor who fumbled for hishandkerchief. A vision had come to him of the two of them kneeling sideby side at Etzel, the little lad who was "not very good," and he himselfwith his long years behind him of such things as fill a man's life. Andbecause the open door was not so far ahead for him either, and becausehe believed implicitly in the gre
at Record within the Gate, he shook hisshaggy head.
So the pilgrimage was arranged. With due publicity, of course, and dueprecaution for safety. By train to the foot of the mountains, and thenon foot for the ten miles to Etzel.
On the next day the Crown Prince fasted, taking nothing but bread anda cup of milk. On the day of the pilgrimage, however, having been dulyprepared, and mass having been said at daybreak in the chapel, with allthe Court present, he was given a substantial breakfast. His small legshad a toilsome journey before them.
He went through his preparation in a sort of rapt solemnity. So must theboy crusaders have looked as, starting on their long journey, they facedsouth and east, toward the far-distant Sepulcher of Our Lord.
The King's Council went, the Chancellor, the Mayor of the city, wearingthe great gold chain of his office around his neck, and a handful ofsoldiers,--a simple pilgrimage and the more affecting. There were nostreaming banners, no magnificent vestments. The Archbishop accompaniedthem; and a flag-bearer.
They went on foot to the railway station through lines of kneelingpeople, the boy still rapt; and looking straight ahead, the Chancellorseemingly also absorbed, but keenly alive to the crowds. As he went on,his face relaxed. It was as if the miracle had already happened. Not themiracle for which the boy would pray, but a greater one. Surely thesekneeling people, gazing with moist and kindly eyes at the Crown Prince,could not, at the hot words of demagogues, turn into the mob he feared.But it had happened before. The people who had, one moment, adored theDauphin of France on his balcony at Versailles, had lived to scream forhis life.
On and on, through the silent, crowded streets. No drums; no heralds, nobugles. First the standard-bearer; then the Archbishop, walking with hishead bent; then the boy, alone and bareheaded, holding his small hat inmoist; excited fingers; then the others, the Chancellor and the Mayortogether, the Council, the guard. So they moved along, without speech,grave, reverent, earnest.
At the railway station a man stepped out of the crowd and proffereda paper to the Crown Prince. But he was too absorbed to see it, and amoment later the Chancellor had it, and was staring with hard eyes atthe individual who had presented it. A moment later, without sound,or breach of decorum, the man was between two agents, a prisoner. Thepaper, which the Chancellor read on the train and carefully preserved,was a highly seditious document attacking the Government and ending withthreats.
The Chancellor, who had started in an exalted frame of mind, satscowling and thoughtful during the journey. How many of those who hadknelt on the street had had similar seditious papers in their pockets? Apeople who could kneel, and, kneeling, plot!
The Countess, standing on her balcony and staring down into the valley,beheld the pilgrimage and had thus her first knowledge of it. She wasincredulous at first, and stood gazing, gripping the stone railing withtense hands. She watched, horror-stricken. The Crown Prince, himself,come to Etzel to pray! For his grandfather, of course. Then, indeed,must things be bad with the King, as bad as they could be.
The Crown Prince was very warm. She could see the gleam of hishandkerchief as he wiped his damp face. She could see the effort of histired legs to keep step with the standard-bearer.
The bells again. How she hated them! They rang out now to welcome thepilgrims, and a procession issued from the church door, a lay brotherfirst, carrying a banner, then the fathers, two by two; the boys fromthe church school in long procession. The royal party halted at the footof the street. The fathers advanced. She could make out Father Gregory'sportly figure among them. The bell tolled. The villagers stood inexcited but quiet groups, and watched.
Then the two banners touched, the schoolboys turned, followed by thepriests. Thus led, went the Crown Prince of Livonia to pray for hisgrandfather's life.
The church doors closed behind them.
Olga Loschek fell on her knees. She was shaking from head to foot. Andbecause the religious training of her early life near the shrine hadgiven her faith in miracles, she prayed for one. Rather, she made abargain with God:-- If any word came to her from Karl, any, no matter,to what it pertained, she would take it for a sign, and attempt flight.If she was captured, she would kill herself.
But, if no word came from Karl by the hour of her departure the nextmorning, then she would do the thing she had set out to do, and let himbeware! The King dead, there would be no King. Only over the dead bodiesof the Livonians would they let him marry Hedwig and the throne. Itwould be war.
Curiously, while she was still on her knees, her bargain made, the plancame to her by which, when the time came, the Terrorists were to rousethe people to even greater fury. Still kneeling, she turned it over inher mind. It was possible. More, it could be made plausible, with herassistance. And at the vision it evoked,--Mettlich's horror and rage,Hedwig's puling tears, her own triumph,--she took a deep breath. Revengewith a vengeance, retaliation for old hurts and fresh injuries, thesewere what she found on her knees, while the bell in the valley commencedthe mass, and a small boy; very rapt and very earnest, prayed for hisgrandfather's life.
Yet the bargain came very close to being made the other way that day,and by Karl himself.
Preparations were being made for his visit to Livonia. Ostensibly thisvisit was made because of the King's illness. Much political capitalwas being made of Karl's going to see, for the last time, the long-timeenemy of his house. While rumor was busy, Karnia was more thansatisfied. Even the Socialist Party approved, and their papers, beingmore frank than the others, spoke openly of the chances of a dualkingdom, the only bar being a small boy.
On the day of the pilgrimage Karl found himself strangely restless anduneasy. He had returned to his capital the day before, and had busiedhimself until late that night with matters of state. He had slept well,and wakened to a sense of well-being. But, during the afternoon, hebecame uneasy. Olga Loschek haunted him, her face when he had told herabout the letter, her sagging figure when he had left her.
Something like remorse stirred in him. She had taken great risks forhim. Of all the women he had known, she had most truly and unselfishlyloved him. And for her years of service he had given her contempt. Hereflected, too, that he had, perhaps, made an enemy where he needed afriend. How easy, by innuendo and suggestion, to turn Hedwig againsthim, Hedwig who already fancied herself interested elsewhere.
Very nearly did he swing the scale in which Olga Loschek had hungher bargain with God--so nearly that in the intervals of affixing hissprawling signature to various documents, he drew a sheet of note-papertoward him. Then, with a shrug, he pushed it away. So Olga Loschek losther bargain.
At dawn the next morning the Countess, still pale with illness andburning with fever, went back to the city.