Читать книгу A Mummer's Throne - Fred M. White - Страница 4

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The physicians' account of the condition of General Rutzstin was not in the least disturbing. The aged warrior was suffering from a compression which was merely a matter of time. He had to be kept perfectly quiet for a day or two, during which period it would be indiscreet to worry him with the affairs of state. And, indeed, the count was on the happy borderland when nothing matters, and even the dinning clash of nations comes dull and muffled to the ear. To all this the young king listened with resignation. Besides, he had seen his beloved chancellor in similar case many times before. That war-scarred old body was by no means exhausted yet, and, doubtless, Count Rutzstin would live to weather many a plot and storm yet.

With his mind easy and his brain full of eager expectation, his Majesty returned to his private apartments to dine. He was dressed now even as an ordinary gentleman should be. He had considerately dismissed his staff to their own devices, preferring to dine alone with Prince Florizel. Even his own pampered valet had been accorded a holiday, for the king had given a hint to the effect that he intended to retire early after an evening spent with affairs of the State. Altogether an exemplary monarch.

But the door of the cabinet was closed now, and the two were discussing their dinner together, assisted by an ordinary hotel waiter who knew nothing of the language which obtains in the mountains of Montenana. Therefore, the young men could discuss their plans openly, and without the fear of voracious halfpenny newspapers before their eyes. They had dined and wined discreetly. Their young blood was judiciously warm with the vintage of champagne, and all the world lay rosy fair before them. Imagination is not one of the gifts of youth, and the pair seated there could not guess at the tremendous consequences which sooner or later might arise as the fruit of their innocent adventures. The night was fading now to darkness. The lights of the fair city lay at their feet twinkling invitingly like sirens, luring them on to the land of excitement and adventure which lay outside the rims of electric stars.

"Have you made up your mind?" Florizel asked.

"Oh, I have thought it all out," the king exclaimed. "I don't think anybody is likely to recognise us. We are going to the Oderon Theatre in the first instance to see Nita Reinhardt. I have been reading all about her in the papers. She is a young actress who has taken the whole city by storm. She is playing in a piece called 'The Mummer's Throne.' They say she is absolutely perfect and plays the queen to the life."

"I have read the book," Florizel said, "the book on which the play was founded. It is the story of a simple, beautiful country girl who finds her way to the throne. It is a charming story, and the way in which the girl's character is developed is wonderfully done. On the whole, we might do much more harm."

"We might," the king said half regretfully. "When I think of the opportunity that Providence has put at my disposal, I marvel at my discretion. Still, we ought to see some fun later on when we come to sup at one of the cafes. I have locked my bedroom door and made an arrangement with one of the waiters so that I can get in by the window. For the first time since we left Harrow, Florizel, we are really going to enjoy ourselves. Can't you hear the city calling? Can't you hear the voice of the siren? I can."

On the whole, Prince Florizel rather thought he could. They set out, presently, on foot, and made their way in the direction of the Oderon Theatre. In their simple evening dress of black and white they passed unnoticed. They found themselves presently seated in the first row of the stalls just as the curtain was drawing up on the play which had set a whole nation talking, and which was drawing crowded houses nightly. It was a romantic play, fantastic, and, in places, decidedly unconvincing. For it rarely happens in real life that a daughter of the soil, however beautiful and however romantic, finds her way till her feet rest upon the footsteps of a throne. But here was a girl, little more than a child, whose native genius swept all those barriers away. By one of the freaks of Fate which appear to be almost peculiar to the stage Nita Reinhardt had had her chance quite unexpectedly. She had made the most of it almost from the first moment when she stood dazed and trembling in the flare of the footlights she had appealed irresistibly to her audience. In the first act she was shown in her simple country home, an imaginative child educated beyond her years and her station, and anxious to try a world which lay beyond the simple hollyhocks and primroses that bounded her father's garden. Then, gradually, the story developed till the one chance of a century came and a throne was placed at the girl's disposal. It was at this point that the young actress rose to the occasion and stamped herself as the one great emotional expert of her generation. Could she carry it through? Would she be worthy of the honour which had been thrust upon her? Wasn't it her duty to stay at home, or was this a call from Providence to save her suffering nation? The whole house hung on every word. The silence was tense and painful. Seated there with his hands gripped tight on the arms of his stall, the King of Montenana watched the play of the emotions with breathless interest. He had never seen a girl so bewitching and beautiful. She was fair and tall and queenly enough, and she was absolutely devoid of make-up. She seemed to grow more regal, and her mind appeared to expand as gradually she yielded to Fate and took up what she deemed to be the Heavenly mandate. And then Fritz of Montenana saw before him not an actress playing a part, but a real queen who feels the mantle of responsibility heavy upon her shoulders. The curtain came down on the third act and the whole house rocked with applause. The place shimmered with diamonds and pearls, the perfumed breath of the house seemed to creep into the young king's veins and intoxicated him. He turned eagerly to his companion.

"I am glad we did not miss this," he exclaimed. "Did you ever see anything like it before? And to think that I have been losing all this kind of thing merely to please old Rutzstin! Now, isn't she a queen? With our experience of courts, we ought to know the real article when we see it. How different she is to the dressed-up blue-eyed dolls that one sees hanging round the royal palaces on the look out for husbands! Florizel, I must know that girl."

"Better not," Prince Florizel said, fumbling feebly in the direction of prudence. "I wouldn't if I were you. For all she looks so young and innocent on the stage, I daresay, when she is washed she is forty and probably has a husband and a house full of children in the background."

But he of Montenana laughed the idea to scorn.

"She is not more than twenty at the outside. You never heard a middle-aged woman with a voice like that. And look at her eyes! Why, if she were my queen, I should never have trouble with the revolutionary party again. I should send my consort to make friends with them, and in future they would be my most devoted and loyal subjects. Don't you think we might manage to get behind. If you let the authorities know who we are, they would probably stretch a point. But shut up now; the curtain is going up again."

Here was the queen upon her throne at last--regal, magnificent, and filled with the one impulse to do the right thing to her adopted people. Here she was surrounded by enemies and intrigues, a sovereign to her finger tips struggling against the destiny which she knew to be inevitable. She was disillusioned now. She knew that her consort was no more than a feeble, dissolute creature. She knew that she was dishonoured and abandoned. And so the thing went on till the inevitable climax came, and the tragedy which had been branded on her forehead from the first was enacted. She had her audience in the hollow of her hand now. She played upon their feelings and emotions as a master plays upon some favourite instrument.

Fritz of Montenana sat there entranced. His eyes were focussed on the stage. He saw his own kingdom in little pictured there. The whole stage was crowded now. Here was a multitude of revolutionists carrying torches, and presently one of them touched some light draperies in the wings. Like a flash the flame crept along, and almost before the audience noticed it the stage was in a blaze. It was all done in the twinkling of an eye. There was a wild rush on both sides of the curtain, the fall of a piece of heavy carpentry as the stage hands tore the scenery away, and the actress lay there prone and insensible upon the boards, stunned by a blow from a batten. It seemed like a dream to the king afterwards. But he was across the foot lights and on the stage. He had the lovely form and figure in his arms. He could feel her heart beating against his own. He noted the subtle scent of her long fair hair. It was one of those glorious unforgotten moments possible to youth, but to middle age never. He was acting in a play of his own now, himself taking the leading part. As he stood there with that slender, white figure in his arms he called to the audience to keep their seats, for the danger was over now, and the fireproof curtain came down quickly.

She opened her eyes at length, those eyes of heavenly blue that seemed to have a depth in then like lakes under summer trees. A divine blush spread over her features. Her lips moved.

"How good of you," she murmured. "How brave and kind and thoughtful. I saw you in the audience to-night. They will be proud of you when they hear of this at home."

"You recognise me, then?" the king asked.

"O, yes, your Majesty. You are the King of Montenana."