Читать книгу Nightcap and Plume - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 17

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On the morning of August 16th, 1772 General Rudbeck, Government Commissioner in Scania arrived in Stockholm in a coach drawn by six foaming horses and flung out a furious tale; the South was in revolt and a line of bayonets had turned him back from Kristianstad. It had been impossible to get a message in to the Commandant of the fort, Captain Hellichus, for the hostile troops confronting him had been Pomeranians unable to speak a word of the Swedish language. The General had acted incompetently for he had been sent by the government to inquire into rumours of trouble in Scania, rumours that had arisen from an ambiguous letter written by Gustaf III to Louis XV and intercepted by an English agent; Sir John Goodrich had put it before Baron Pechlin who had used it to rouse the baffled Riksdag against the King. A month had passed and nothing effectual had been done, then Rudbeck himself had gone dozing in a coach, without an escort and now had returned to the capital with this incoherent tale; there was no news from Baron Sprengtporten, who had been sent to Finland with his Borga dragoons, partly to overawe the Grand Duchy, partly to banish a possibly dangerous man from the capital, but the same day as General Rudbeck's indignant return to Stockholm, Lieutenant Boltenstjerna arrived from Prince Karl, commanding the forces in Scania, sent to that province by the King under a pretence of keeping order, the young messenger had come post from Landskrona with an official despatch for the government; His Royal Highness, at the head of the Scanian forces was marching on the rebellious city of Kristianstad and hoped soon to restore order. Sewn into his saddle the daring soldier had a letter for the King, that he delivered when he had a private audience with His Majesty, who listened keenly to his account of the false rising. Karl had been as good as his promise, so had Toll who was responsible for the revolt in Kristianstad but whose name even was not known to the Government; Gustaf read the message from his brother who was undertaking so difficult and perilous an enterprise; he recalled the silver ducat they had broken and divided when they had parted and the quick clasp of Karl's long hand. He wrote laconically, repeating, as in a sly jest, some of the words he had used the last time they had conferred in secret at Madame Arfmedsson's little house.

"I shall soon advance on Kristianstad, to-day I act for the Riksdag, to-morrow I shall be accounted a rebel. Relying on your Majesty's friendship I risk my position and life and hope this affair ends as well as it has begun. Your Majesty recalls my request—that if matters go wrong and I retire in good order to Hamburg, I may have a draft, for I have to rely on the garrison chests for the payment of the troops."

The King thanked Lieutenant Boltenstjerna, advised him not to remain in Stockholm—"The British Minister's suspicions increase, you might be arrested and I should not be able to protect you." These words confessed his utter isolation; he had no one but himself on whom to rely; the first moves of the revolt had been successful, but his hand had been forced by Goodrich's skilful spies; the letter to Louis XV insinuating his intentions into a courteous flourish of grateful compliments had not been incriminating, Gustaf had been too prudent, but it had roused a storm of conjecture and surmise that could not much longer be evaded.

The King took out his tablets, that never left his person and ran over the dates pencilled there—May 29th the Coronation and the letter to Madame d'Egmont sent under cover to M. Hermensen, rue neuve des bons-enfants, Paris, the speech from the market place after his crowning, nothing but routine hypocrisy was expected, but he had spoken sincerely, with passion, the effect of his oratory, his personality had been tremendous, he could have roused the people by a few more such orations but the Riksdag had foiled him by declaring he must not speak again outside the Riddarhuset, then the secret message brought by a faithful agent from Toll that he had secured Captain Hellichus, and the retreat of himself and Karl to Loka, where Karl Scheffer had drawn up the plan of the new constitution, then Goran Sprengtporten returning to his regiment in Finland and Karl leaving for Scania. Captain Henrik of Trolle was to have roused Finland, he had safely reached the Grand Duchy in his fine well armed man o' war, but the Finns were apathetic and suspicious, Baron Jakob Sprengtporten and his dragoons were needed to overawe them, then the Riksdag, alarmed by Goodrich's grim warning, had sent Sprengtporten and his Borga regiment carefully trained by himself just where he wanted to go, Finland. He had secured Helsingfors and Sveaborg at once, Gustaf smiled as he came to that date, the ninth of the present month of August; finely tricked, the Riksdag had sent the arch conspirator exactly where he wished to be. So far, a smooth course, the King added the present date—August 16th—"Rudbeck and Boltenstjerna arrive in Stockholm" and gazed at it keenly.

One factor that no one could forsee or depend on had gone wrong—the weather; Sprengtporten was detained off the coast of Finland, his troopships lying at anchor without a puff of wind to stir the smooth sea. But nothing would detain the regiments of Uplanders, loyal to the government, officered by men hostile to the King, who had been summoned by Rudbeck, acting on private advice from Goodrich, Osterman and Pechlin, to the capital.

Not only was Gustaf isolated, he was likely to be surrounded—if the revolt failed in the capital, Karl would not be able to hold Scania, a victorious Riksdag would arrest him and all those who had openly declared for him—supposing he could not accomplish that retreat on Hamburg? Sprengtporten was useless until a Swedish wind rose, Count Scheffer had fled to his seaboard castle, this showing his opinion that the royal plot had failed, Field Marshal Fersen, able and honourable opponent on whom the King had relied in his capacity of Colonel of the Guards to keep order in Stockholm, had secretly deserted his post and was hiding on his Ostrogotland estates cautiously watching the weather vanes; Saltza, an officer in Sprengtporten's confidence, with much influence in the Guards had closed himself in his chamber, declaring he was too crippled by gout to get into his clothes.

The King had only a few junior naval and military officers who were in the plot, (but of whose fidelity he could not be sure) on whom to rely, and a few trustworthy but helpless civilians, Beylon, Schorderheim, the seeress and the alchemist. There was no one to whom he could turn, even for comfort, his neglected queen would be shy, alarmed, incredulous if he were to tell her his interests and ask her for a word of support, his mother would betray him to Pechlin because she would believe the Government to be the winning side, Gustaf Armfelt, young Axel Fersen, Sergel, Munck, Essen, men of talent, grace and charm, to whom Gustaf had played the lavish patron he disdained to involve in a bold enterprise that might mean the rack, the pulley, the hangman, the block for all. Besides he was not one who wished to lean on others, he needed now tools, loyal followers, not confidants.

Yet he was touched to a poignant distress by a sign from an ally he had forgotten; he had stood alone for a moment, after Karl's messenger had left him, in the audience chamber and stared out of the low window at the set calm of the azure day when Aurora Lowenhjelm, who had been long waiting for this chance, had glided up to him and shown him some close woven wreaths of white and crimson roses hanging on her smooth, dimpled arm.

"Look, sire, these are for the alabaster statues in the gardens—I hope before they fade a wind will rise from Finland." She curtseyed into her muslin hoops; though they were alone in the vast rooms her discretion was complete as she added in a whisper: "Your Majesty had heard from Prince Karl?" A month's secret anxiety showed in her pleading eyes; the King smiled to think that in those dimpled hands, on those soft lips lay all his fortunes—how many of his suspicious enemies would gladly hear what she could tell.

He was too accomplished a flatterer to thank her for her loyalty, or to allow her to suspect that he had forgotten her; serenely he voiced the confidence he did not feel and watched her move away, graceful, mournful as a deserted white bird, across the shining floor of waxed wood.