Harold MacGrath - The Princess Elopes
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Harold MacGrath >> The Princess Elopes
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"I haven't the slightest idea of what you are talking about," he said,
mightily discouraged. "I never saw this country till Monday, and never
want to see it again."
"From what are you running away then?"--skeptically.
"I am running away from a man who slapped me in the face,"--bitterly;
and all his wrongs returned to him.
"Indeed!"--derisively.
"Yes, I!" He thrust out both his great arms miserably. "I'm a
healthy-looking individual, am I not, to be running away from anything?"
"Especially after having been a soldier in the Spanish War. Why did
you tell me that your name was Scharfenstein?"
"Heaven on earth, it _is_ Scharfenstein! I'm simply taking my chance
on another man's passports."
"I am unconvinced,"--ungraciously. She was, however, inordinately
happy; at the sight of the picture of woe on his face all her trust in
him returned. She believed every word he said, but she wanted to know
everything.
"Very well; I see that I must tell you everything to get back into your
good graces--Fraeulein von Heideloff."
"If you _ever_ were in my good graces!"
Graphically he recounted the adventure at Mueller's. He was a capital
story-teller, and he made a very good impression.
"If it hadn't been for the princess' eloping I should not have been
here," he concluded, "for my friend would have had a waiter bring me
that chair."
"The princess' eloping!"--aghast.
"Why, yes. It seems that she eloped to-night; so the report came from
the palace."
The girl sat tight, as they say; then suddenly she burst into
uncontrollable laughter. It was the drollest thing she had ever heard.
She saw the duke tearing around the palace, ordering the police hither
and thither, sending telegrams, waking his advisers and dragging them
from their beds. My! what a hubbub! Suddenly she grew serious.
"Have you the revolver still?"
"Yes."
"Toss it out of the window; quick!"
"But--"
"Do as I say. They will naturally search you at the frontier."
He took out the revolver and gazed regretfully at it, while the girl
could not repress a shudder.
"What a horrible-looking thing!"
"I carried it all through the war."
"Throw it away and buy a new one."
"But the associations!"
"They will lock you up as a dangerous person." She let down the window
and the cold night air rushed in. "Give it to me." He did so. She
flung it far into the night. "There, that is better. Some day you
will understand."
"I shall never understand anything in this country--What are _you_
running away from?"
"A man with a red nose."
"A red nose? Are they so frightful here as all that?"
"This one is. He wants--to marry me."
"Marry you!"
"Yes; rather remarkable that any man should desire me as a wife, isn't
it?"
He saw that she was ironical. Having nothing to say, he said nothing,
but looked longingly at the vacant space beside her.
She rested her chin upon the sill of the window and gazed at the stars.
A wild rush of the wind beat upon her face, bringing a thousand vague
heavy perfumes and a pleasant numbing. How cleverly she had eluded the
duke's police! What a brilliant idea it had been to use her private
carriage key to steal into the carriage compartment long before the
train was made up! It had been some trouble to light the lamps, but in
doing so she had avoided the possible dutiful guard. He _had_ peered
in, but, seeing that the lamps were lighted, concluded that one of his
fellows had been the rounds.
The police would watch all those who entered or left the station, but
never would they think to search a carriage into which no one had been
seen to enter. But oh, what a frightful predicament she was in! All
she possessed in the world was a half-crown, scarce enough for her
breakfast. And if she did not find her governess at once she would be
lost utterly, and in Dresden! She choked back the sob. Why couldn't
they let her be? She didn't want to marry any one--that is, just yet.
She didn't want her wings clipped, before she had learned what a fine
thing it was to fly. She was young.
"Oh!"
"What is it?" she said, turning.
"I have something of yours," answered Max, fumbling in his pocket,
grateful for some excuse to break the silence. "You dropped your purse
this morning. Permit me to return it to you. I hadn't the remotest
idea how I was going to return it. In truth, I had just made up my
mind to keep it as a souvenir."
She literally snatched it from his extended hand.
"My purse! My purse! And I thought it was gone for ever!" hugging it
hysterically to her heart. She feverishly tried to unlatch the clasps.
"You need not open it," he said quietly, even proudly, "I had not
thought of looking into it, even to prove your identity."
"Pardon! I did not think. I was so crazy to see it again." She laid
the purse beside her. "You see," with an hysterical catch in her
voice, "all the money I had in the world was in that purse, and I was
running away without any money, and only Heaven knows what misfortunes
were about to befall me. There were, and are, a thousand crowns in the
purse."
"A thousand crowns?"
"In bank-notes. Thank you, thank you! I am so happy!"--clasping her
hands. Then, with a smile as warm as the summer's sun, she added: "You
may--come and sit close beside me. You may even smoke."
Max grew light-headed. This was as near Heaven as he ever expected to
get.
"Open your purse and look into it," he said. "I'm a brute; you are
dying to do so."
"May I?"--shyly.
Then it came into Max's mind, with all the brilliancy of a dynamo
spark, that this was the one girl in all the world, the ideal he had
been searching for; and he wanted to fall at her feet and tell her so.
"Look!" she cried gleefully, holding up the packet of bank-notes.
"I wish," he said boyishly, "that you didn't have any money at all, so
I could help you and feel that you depended upon me."
She smiled. How a woman loves this simple kind of flattery! It tells
her better what she may wish to know than a thousand hymns sung in
praise of her beauty.
But even as he spoke a chill of horror went over Max. He put his hand
hurriedly into his vest-pocket. Fool! Ass! How like a man! In
changing his clothes at the consulate he had left his money, and all he
had with him was some pocket change.
The girl saw his action and read the sequence in the look of dismay
which spread over his face.
"You have no money either?" she cried. She separated the packet of
notes into two equal parts. "Here!"
He smiled weakly.
"Take them!"
"No, a thousand times, no! I have a watch, and there's always a
pawnbroker handy, even in Europe."
"You offered to help me," she insisted.
"It is not quite the same."
"Take quarter of it."
"No. Don't you understand? I really couldn't."
"One, just one, then!" she pleaded.
An idea came to him. "Very well; I will take one." And when she gave
it to him he folded it reverently and put it away.
"I understand!" she cried. "You are just going to keep it; you don't
intend to spend it at all. Don't be foolish!"
"I shall notify my friend, when we reach Doppelkinn, that I am without
funds, and he will telegraph to Dresden."
"Your friends were very wise in sending you away as they did. Aren't
you always getting into trouble?"
"Yes. But I doubt the wisdom of my friends in sending me away as they
did,"--with a frank glance into her eyes. How beautiful they were, now
that the sparkle of mischief had left them!
She looked away. If only Doppelkinn were young like this! She sighed.
"Can they force one to marry in this country?" he asked abruptly.
"When one is in my circumstances."
He wanted to ask what those circumstances were, but what he said was:
"Is there anything I can do to help you?"
"You are even more helpless than I am,"--softly. "If you are caught
you will be imprisoned. I shall only suffer a temporary loss of
liberty; my room will be my dungeon-keep." How big and handsome and
strong he looked! What a terrible thing it was to be born in purple!
"Tell me about yourself."
His hand strayed absently toward his upper vest-pocket, and then fell
to his side. He licked his lips.
"Smoke!" she commanded intuitively. "I said that you might."
"I can talk better when I smoke," he advanced rather lamely. "May I,
then?"--gratefully.
"I command it!"
Wasn't it fine to be ordered about in this fashion? If only the train
might go on and on and on, thousands of miles! He applied a match to
the end of his cigar and leaned back against the cushion.
"Where shall I begin?"
"At the beginning. I'm not one of those novel readers who open a book
at random. I do not appreciate effects till I have found out the
causes. I want to know everything about you, for you interest me."
He began. He told her that he was a German by birth and blood. He had
been born either in Germany or in Austria, he did not know which. He
had been found in Tyrol, in a railway station. A guard had first
picked him up, then a kind-hearted man named Scharfenstein had taken
him in charge, advertised for his parents and, hearing nothing, had
taken him to America with him.
"If they catch you," she interrupted, "do not under any consideration
let them know that you were not born in the United States. Your friend
the American consul could do nothing for you then."
"Trust me to keep silent, then." He continued: "I have lived a part of
my life on the great plains; have ridden horses for days and days at a
time. As a deputy sheriff I have arrested desperadoes, have shot and
been shot at. Then I went East and entered a great college; went in
for athletics, and wore my first dress-suit. Then my foster-parent
died, leaving me his fortune. And as I am frugal, possibly because of
my German origin, I have more money than I know what to do with." He
ceased.
"Go on," she urged.
"When the Spanish War broke out I entered a cavalry regiment as a
trooper. I won rank, but surrendered it after the battle of Santiago.
And now there are but two things in the world I desire to complete my
happiness. I want to know who I am."
"And the other thing?"
"The other thing? I can't tell _you_ that!"--hurriedly.
"Ah, I believe I know. You have left some sweetheart back in America."
All her interest In his narrative took a strange and unaccountable
slump.
"No; I have often admired women, but I have left no sweetheart back in
America. If I had I should now feel very uncomfortable."
Somehow she couldn't meet his eyes. She recognized, with vague anger,
that she was glad that he had no sweetheart. Ah, well, nobody could
rob her of her right to dream, and this was a very pleasant dream.
"The train is slowing down," he said suddenly.
"We are approaching the frontier." She shaded her eyes and searched
the speeding blackness outside.
"How far is it to the capital?" he asked.
"It lies two miles beyond the frontier."
Silence fell upon them, and at length the train stopped with a jerk.
In what seemed to them an incredibly short time a guard unlocked the
door.
He peered in.
"Here they are, sure enough, your Excellency!" addressing some one in
the dark beyond.
An officer from the military household of the Prince of Doppelkinn was
instantly framed in the doorway. The girl tried to lower her veil; too
late.
"I am sorry to annoy your Highness," he began, "but the grand duke's
orders are that you shall follow me to the castle. Lieutenant, bring
two men to tie this fellow's hands,"--nodding toward Scharfenstein.
Max stared dumbly at the girl. All the world seemed to have slipped
from under his feet.
"Forgive me!" she said, low but impulsively.
"What does it mean?" His heart was very heavy.
"I am the Princess Hildegarde of Barscheit, and your entering this
carriage has proved the greatest possible misfortune to you."
He stared helplessly--And everything had been going along so
nicely--the dinner he had planned in Dresden, and all that!
"And they believe," the girl went on, "that I have eloped with you to
avoid marrying the prince." She turned to the officer in the doorway.
"Colonel, on the word of a princess, this gentleman is in no wise
concerned. I ran away alone."
Max breathed easier.
"I should be most happy to believe your Highness, but you will honor my
strict observance of orders." He passed a telegram to her.
_Search train for Doppelkinn. Princess has eloped. Arrest and hold
pair till I arrive on special engine._
_Barscheit._
The telegraph is the true arm of the police. The princess sighed
pathetically. It was all over.
"Your passports," said the colonel to Max.
Max surrendered his papers. "You need not tie my hands," he said
calmly. "I will come peaceably."
The colonel looked inquiringly at the princess.
"He will do as he says."
"Very good. I should regret to shoot him upon so short an
acquaintance." The colonel beckoned for them to step forth.
"Everything is prepared. There is a carriage for the convenience of
your Highness; Herr Ellis shall ride horseback with the troop."
Max often wondered why he did not make a dash for it, or a running
fight. What he had gone through that night was worth a good fight.
"Good-by," said the princess, holding out her hand.
Scharfenstein gravely bent his head and kissed it.
"Good-by, Prince Charming!" she whispered, so softly that Max scarcely
heard her.
Then she entered the closed carriage and was driven up the dark,
tree-enshrouded road that led to the Castle of Doppelkinn.
"What are you going to do with me?" Max asked, as he gathered up the
reins of his mount.
"That we shall discuss later. Like as not something very unpleasant.
For one thing you are passing under a forged passport. You are _not_
an American, no matter how well you may speak that language. You are a
German."
"There are Germans in the United States, born and bred there, who speak
German tolerably well," replied Max easily. He was wondering if it
would not be a good scheme to tell a straightforward story and ask to
be returned to Barscheit. But that would probably appeal to the
officer that he was a coward and was trying to lay the blame on the
princess.
"I do not say that I can prove it," went on the colonel; "I simply
affirm that you are a German, even to the marrow."
"You have the advantage of the discussion." No; he would confess
nothing. If he did he might never see the princess again. . . . The
princess! As far away as yonder stars! It was truly a very
disappointing world to live in.
"Now, then, forward!" cried the colonel to his men, and they set off at
a sharp trot.
From time to time, as a sudden twist in the road broke the straight
line, Max could see the careening lights of the princess' carriage. A
princess! And he was a man without a country or a name!
X
The castle of the prince of Doppelkinn rested in the very heart of the
celebrated vineyards. Like all German castles I ever saw or heard of,
it was a relic of the Middle Ages, with many a crumbling, useless tower
and battlement. It stood on the south side of a rugged hill which was
gashed by a narrow but turbulent stream, in which lurked the rainbow
trout that lured the lazy man from his labors afield. (And who among
us shall cast a stone at the lazy man? Not I!) If you are fortunate
enough to run about Europe next year, as like as not you will be
mailing home the "Doppelkinn" post-card.
More than once I have wandered about the castle's interior, cavernous
and musty, strolled through its galleries of ancient armor, searched
its dungeon-keeps, or loitered to soliloquize in the gloomy judgment
chamber. How time wars upon custom! In olden times they created pain;
now they strive to subdue it.
I might go into a detailed history of the Doppelkinns, only it would be
absurd and unnecessary, since it would be inappreciable under the name
of Doppelkinn, which happens to be, as doubtless you have already
surmised, a name of mine own invention. I could likewise tell you how
the ancient dukes of Barscheit fought off the insidious flattery of
Napoleon, only it is a far interest, and Barscheit is simply a
characteristic, not a name. Some day I may again seek a diplomatic
mission, and what government would have for its representative a teller
of tales out of school?
It was, then, to continue the fortunes and misfortunes of Max
Scharfenstein, close to midnight when the cavalcade crossed the old
moat-bridge, which hadn't moved on its hinges within a hundred years.
They were not entering by the formal way, which was a flower-bedded,
terraced road. It was the rear entrance. The iron doors swung outward
with a plaintive moaning, like that of a man roused out of his sleep,
and Max found himself in an ancient guard-room, now used as a kind of
secondary stable. The men dismounted.
"This way, Herr Ellis," said the colonel, with a mocking bow. He
pointed toward a broad stone staircase.
"All I ask," said Max, "is a fair chance to explain my presence here."
"All in due time. Forward! The prince is waiting, and his temper may
not be as smooth as usual."
With two troopers in front of him and two behind, Max climbed the steps
readily enough. They wouldn't dare kill him, whatever they did. He
tried to imagine himself the hero of some Scott or Dumas tale, with a
grim cardinal somewhere above, and oubliettes and torture chambers
besetting his path. But the absurdity of his imagination, so
thoroughly Americanized, evoked a ringing laughter. The troopers eyed
him curiously. He might laugh later, but it was scarcely probable. A
tramp through a dark corridor and they came to the west wing of the
castle. It was here that the old prince lived, comfortably and
luxuriously enough, you may take my word for it.
A door opened, flooding the corridor with light. Max felt himself
gently pushed over the threshold. He stood in the great living-room of
the modern Doppelkinns. The first person he saw was the princess. She
sat on an oriental divan. Her hands were folded; she sat very erect;
her chin was tilted ominously; there was so little expression on her
pale face that she might have been an incomplete statue. But Max was
almost certain that there was just the faintest flicker of a smile in
her eyes as she saw him enter. Glorious eyes! (It is a bad sign when
a man begins to use the superlative adjectives!)
The other occupant of the room was an old man, fat and bald, with a
nose like a russet pear. He was stalking--if it is possible for a
short man to stalk--up and down the length of the room, and, judging
from the sonorous, rumbling sound, was communing half-aloud.
Betweenwhiles he was rubbing his tender nose, carefully and lovingly.
When a man's nose resembles a russet pear it generally is tender.
Whoever he was, Max saw that he was vastly agitated about something.
This old gentleman was (or supposed he was) the last of his line, the
Prince of Doppelkinn, famous for his wines and his love of them. There
was, so his subjects said, but one tender spot in the heart of this old
man, and that was the memory of the wife of his youth. (How the years,
the good and bad, crowd behind us, pressing us on and on!) However,
there was always surcease in the cellars--that is, the Doppelkinn
cellars.
"Ha!" he roared as he saw the blinking Max. "So this is the fellow!"
He made an eloquent gesture. "Your Highness must be complimented upon
your good taste. The fellow isn't bad-looking."
"When you listen to reason, Prince," replied the girl calmly, "you will
apologize to the gentleman and give him his liberty."
"Oh, he is a gentleman, is he?"
"You might learn from him many of the common rules of
courtesy,"--tranquilly.
"Who the devil are you?" the prince demanded of Max.
"I should be afraid to tell you. I hold that I am Max Scharfenstein,
but the colonel here declares that my name is Ellis. Who are you?"
Max wasn't the least bit frightened. These were not feudal times.
The prince stared at him. The insolent puppy!
"I am the prince."
"Ah, your serene Highness,"--began Max, bowing.
"I am not called 'serene'"--rudely. "The grand duke is 'serene.'"
"Permit me to doubt that," interposed the girl, smiling.
Max laughed aloud, which didn't improve his difficulties any.
"I have asked you who you are!" bawled the prince, his nose turning
purple.
"My name is Max Scharfenstein. I am an American. If you will wire the
American consulate at Barscheit, you will learn that I have spoken the
truth. All this is a mistake. The princess did not elope with me."
"His papers give the name of Ellis," said the colonel, touching his cap.
"Humph! We'll soon find out who he is and what may be done with him.
I'll wait for the duke. Take him into the library and lock the door.
It's a hundred feet out of the window, and if he wants to break his
neck, he may do so. It will save us so much trouble. Take him away;
take him away!" his rage boiling to the surface.
The princess shrugged.
"I can't talk to you either," said the prince, turning his glowering
eyes upon the girl. "I can't trust myself."
"Oh, do not mind me. I understand that your command of expletives is
rather original. Go on; it will be my only opportunity." The princess
rocked backward and forward on the divan. Wasn't it funny!
"Lord help me, and I was perfectly willing to marry this girl!" The
prince suddenly calmed down. "What have I ever done to offend you?"
"Nothing," she was forced to admit.
"I was lonely. I wanted youth about. I wanted to hear laughter that
came from the heart and not from the mind. I do not see where I am to
be blamed. The duke suggested you to me; I believed you to be willing.
Why did you not say to me that I was not agreeable? It would have
simplified everything."
"I am sorry," she said contritely. When he spoke like this he wasn't
so unlovable.
"People say," he went on, "that I spend most of my time in my
wine-cellars. Well,"--defiantly,--"what else is there for me to do? I
am alone." Max came within his range of vision. "Take him away, I
tell you!"
And the colonel hustled Max into the library.
"Don't try the window," he warned, but with rather a pleasant smile.
He was only two or three years older than Max. "If you do, you'll
break your neck."
"I promise not to try," replied Max. "My neck will serve me many years
yet."
"It will not if you have the habit of running away with persons above
you in quality. Actions like that are not permissible in Europe." The
colonel spoke rather grimly, for all his smile.
The door slammed, there was a grinding of the key in the lock, and Max
was alone.
The library at Doppelkinn was all the name implied. The cases were low
and ran around the room, and were filled with romance, history,
biography, and even poetry. The great circular reading-table was
littered with new books, periodicals and illustrated weeklies. Once
Doppelkinn had been threatened with a literary turn of mind, but a bad
vintage coming along at the same time had effected a permanent cure.
Max slid into a chair and took up a paper, turning the pages at
random.--What was the matter with the room? Certainly it was not
close, nor damp, nor chill. What was it? He let the paper fall to the
floor, and his eyes roved from one object to another.--Where had he
seen that Chinese mask before, and that great silver-faced clock?
Somehow, mysterious and strange as it seemed, all this was vaguely
familiar to him. Doubtless he had seen a picture of the room
somewhere. He rose and wandered about.
In one corner of the bookshelves stood a pile of boy's books and some
broken toys with the dust of ages upon them. He picked up a row of
painted soldiers, and balanced them thoughtfully on his hand. Then he
looked into one of the picture-books. It was a Santa Claus story; some
of the pictures were torn and some stuck together, a reminder of
sticky, candied hands. He gently replaced the book and the toys, and
stared absently into space. How long he stood that way he did not
recollect, but he was finally aroused by the sound of slamming doors
and new voices. He returned to his chair and waited for the
denouement, which the marrow in his bones told him was about to
approach.
It seemed incredible that he, of all persons, should be plucked out of
the practical ways of men and thrust into the unreal fantasies of
romance. A hubbub in a restaurant, a headlong dash into a carriage
compartment, a long ride with a princess, and all within three short
hours! It was like some weird dream. And how the deuce would it end?
He gazed at the toys again.
And then the door opened and he was told to come out. The grand duke
had arrived.
"This will be the final round-up," he laughed quietly, his thought
whimsically traveling back to the great plains and the long rides under
the starry night.
XI
The Grand Duke of Barscheit was tall and angular and weather-beaten,
and the whites of his eyes bespoke a constitution as sound and hard as
his common sense. As Max entered he was standing at the side of
Doppelkinn.
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