A ROYAL FIASCO.
(HISTORICAL ANECDOTES.)
A village on the coast of northern Germany, where the Elbe flows into the North Sea, was my birthplace, its parsonage, my childhood's home.
Two great earth-dikes which sheltered our village from fierce southwesterly gales were the only barrier standing between untold thousands of lives and watery graves, for the coasts of Holland and northern Germany are below the level of high tides.
It is known that through inundations caused by breaks in these levees, occurring as late as the tenth and eleventh centuries of our era more than three hundred thousand persons with all their domestic cattle were drowned over night.
These dikes which extend for many miles along the banks of the river were erected by the systematic herculean toil of generations of our ancestors.
According to a popular tradition it was Rolof, the dwarf, a thrall of Vulcan, who taught my forefathers the art of forging tools from iron ore, enabling them to battle successfully against the might of Neptune.
They blunted the angry sea-god's trident with their plows and shovels and repulsed him at the very threshold of his element, stemming the inroads of hungry seas with their stupendous handiwork which still stands intact, an imposing monument to the memory of my forebears, being their children's children's most precious inheritance.
On the soil which my ancestors reclaimed from the sea they founded their homes and sowed grasses and cereals.
But ere long a dire calamity came over the land, for at the command of the revengeful Neptune his mermaids spewed sea-foam into the river's fresh water addling it with their fish-tails into a nasty brine.
Luckily the good dwarf who in his youth had served his term of apprenticeship at the court of King Gambrinus and was therefore master of the noble craft of brewing kindly taught my forefathers to brew a foaming draught from the malt of barleycorn, which thereafter they drank instead of water.
And now all seafaring men who navigate the river Elbe between Cuxhaven and Hamburg are still troubled with a tremendous thirst which nothing but foaming lager beer may quench.
The founding of the village's church dates from the conversion of Saxon tribes who inhabited that country. The chapel's original walls were built of rock, but its newer part was constructed of brick-work during the fourteenth century.
Our domicile, the parsonage, although not quite as ancient, was a very picturesque ruin with its moss-covered roof of thatched straw, under which a flock of sparrows made their homes; but a modern building, how prosaic-looking it might be, or deficient in uniqueness and the charm of its surroundings, would undeniably have made a better, more sanitary and comfortable residence.
Mother, at least, thought this when father landed her, his blushing bride at the ancient parsonage in a rain storm which compelled them to retire for the night under the shelter of an umbrella; and thus the honeymoon of their married life waxed with uncommon hardship.
Later the old leaky house received a tile roof, part of it was removed and with it the room where first I saw the light of day.
That was a cold day for father indeed, as there was another mouth to be fed then, a very serious problem for a poor parson to solve.
When my aunt remarked that I looked like a "monk" father eyed me thoughtfully, saying: "Perhaps there is something to Darwin's theory after all," but mother took me to her arms, withering her sister with scornful glances of her flashing eyes. "Certainly does he look like a monk, the poor little tiddledee-diddy darling," she said; "what else would you expect of him, being the son of a preacher and a descendant of priests?"
On a certain fateful summer day when assembled at dinner we heard the rumble of wheels as an imperial post-chaise hove into view, lumbering lazily past the parsonage.
The postillion's horn sounded a letter-call and my sisters rushed out, racing over our lawn to the gate, in order to take the message. They returned with a large envelope bearing great official seals, both girls struggling for its possession and fighting like cats for the privilege of carrying the precious document. Mother's face was wreathed in smiles of ecstacy.
"Your salary, papa," she whispered, but father was very solemn. "No, dear, it is not due," he answered. He took the missive from my sister's hands and turned it over and over, guessing at its contents until mother who was favored with more of that quality which is commonly called "presence of mind" urged him to open it, and see.
An ashen pallor spread over father's countenance, the letter dropped from his hand and he would have fallen if mother had not caught him in her arms. She grabbed the evil message, slipping it into the bosom of her gown, where it could do no further harm.
Then she guided father's faltering steps to the sanctity of his studio, where he wrote his sermons and closed the door.
My sisters availed themselves of the opportunity to make a raid on mother's pantry, but I, poor little innocent, waited in the corridor for mother's return, dreading to hear the worst. I heard my dear father groan aloud and bemoan his fate and listened to mother's soothing sympathetic words as she begged father to be calm and bear it like a man and a Christian.
When at last mother came out I flew to her. She took me to her arms, kissing my tear-stained face.
"Poor little boy," she said, "cheer up and you shall have a big cookie, don't you cry!"
"Oh, mamma," I faltered, "will papa die?"
"No, sonny, that he won't," said she with a determined glint of her eyes and a twitching of the corners of her mouth, "for I won't let him; but he does suffer anguish!"
"Oh, tell me, mamma, what misfortune has befallen us," I cried.
"It is very sad," said mother. "Your father, who is the finest speaker in the country, has been commanded by a worshipful senate and most honorable civic corporation of the Free City of Hamburg to appear before the visiting king in full dress, and officiate as orator of the day at a reception to be tendered his majesty by our city"—here mother broke down completely, overwhelmed by grief and wept copiously into her handkerchief.
"Oh, oh," I wailed, "do say it, mamma!"
"And—and your father has no coat!" she sobbed. "Poor man, he fears disgrace and dreads the loss of preferment and of a royal decoration, perhaps. He will have to feign sickness as an excuse for his absence; but I hope he realizes now how degraded and unhappy I must feel with my last year's gowns and made-over millinery—and your poor sister's ancient bonnets, I dare not look at them any longer!"
"But papa has a coat," I said, "a royal Prince Albert!"
"True," answered mother, "but it has no swallow's tails!"
"A Prince Albert has no swallow-tails?" I gasped wonderingly; "but it has great, long tails, surely!"
"Oh, now I see," an idea flashing through my mind; "it has cock-tails, has it, mamma, and it can't swallow them, can it, mamma?"
"Oh my, oh my!" screamed mother, "you are the funniest little chap to ask me questions. Go, ask pussy!"
Then I went into the back yard to interview my favorite playmate, our big, black tomcat, and aroused him from his cat nap. But he blinked sleepily only, saying nothing.
However, speech was not to be denied me in that manner, for I held the combination which unlocks the portals of silence. I gave the handle a double twist and he spat and spluttered: "Sh—sh—sht—t—t!"
As may be imagined, my father passed a sleepless night in the solitude of his studio. He wrestled with a host of demons and made a good fight of it; for finally in the small hours of morning he overcame the evil spirit of worldly ambition and with true Christian humility, his soul purified by vanquished temptation, resigned himself unreservedly, good man that he was, to the mandate of a cruel fate. He began to write his sermon for the Sabbath, and being spiritually chastened and battle-sore, naturally his thoughts dwelt on melancholy topics. Therefore, he took the text of his sermon from the Lamentations of Jeremiah, chapter 3, v. I:
"I am the man that hath seen affliction by the rod of His wrath."
It may be stated here that on the next Sabbath, from "firstly" to "seventhly" for two long hours father pondered over the uncertainties of earthly life, and that on this occasion he delivered the most effective sermon of his pastoral career.
When father had written his sermon he resumed work on an unfinished volume of historical sketches which he prepared for future publication.
Meantime mother, who was busy with a pleasanter task was correspondingly cheerful. She altered father's "Prince Albert" into a stately full-dress coat, ripping up its waist-seams, and pinned back the skirts of the coat into the proper claw-hammer shape.
Then she took that other garment which goes with the long waistcoat and the full-dress coat of a courtier's suit, in hand.
This article had not been mentioned before by anyone, as there was a goodly supply of it known to be in mother's wardrobe. Deftly cutting the lace away, a few inches above the knees she placed some mother-of-pearl buttons and bows of ribbons and with few stitches fashioned a beautiful pair of courtier's small clothes, or knickerbockers, for father's use.
Father had begun a description of the battle of Waterloo, for nothing so touched a responsive chord in his mind as the recording of a most fearful catastrophe, the direst calamity known to history, nor served as well to alleviate by comparison his mind's distress and mortification.
Just as he wrote the sentence, "Alas for Napoleon, here set his lucky star; not only was his misfortune repeated, but also his final downfall accomplished when Blucher's tardy cavalry appeared on the field, turning the tide of battle in favor of the British"—in came mother with happy, triumphant laughter, unfolding and flaunting to the breeze the so anxiously wished-for full-dress suit.
"Julia, darling, you have saved the day, oh you are so clever," shouted father, joyfully embracing her; "but I say!" he exclaimed in startled surprise, "where on earth did you get this—er—trousseau? Do you really think I shall need those?"
"Yes, indeed you shall, dearest, when you are going to court," replied mother. "Here you have everything needed except the silken hose which you must buy."
"But you have a plenty of long-limbed stockings," said father, wrinkling his brow.
"My good man, look here now!" answered mother, bristling, "well enough you know that all my stockings are very old and holey!"
"Oh, darn them!" growled father testily.
"Wilhelm, do you wish the king to see my stockings then?" cried mamma, angrily.
"But, my dear, you know that he can't see, as he is stone-blind," said father.
"So he is, Wilhelm, and for that very reason he could not find the throne of England," snapped mother, "but never was he blind as you to his queenly wife's unfashionable appearance, nor was he ever deaf to her demands for something decent to wear!"
And mother, as always when it came to ultimate extremes, finally gained her point, for father loved her dearly and dared not deny her.
On the following day arrived the king, for whose reception our township had made grand preparations. Festoons of evergreen decorated the roadway from the parsonage to the opposite house, and mother and my sisters were stationed at our gate with an abundance of roses to strew in the king's path.
From the steeple pealed the chimes, heralding his majesty's arrival. He traveled in an open landau, which was drawn by six milk-white Arabian steeds and surrounded by a select escort of young men who were his subjects and served as his guard of honor.
They wore scarfs of the royal colors over breasts and shoulders.
A courtier sat on either side of the king for the purpose of advising him and to direct his movements.
Poor man, he turned his sightless white eyes on us, bowing to the ladies in acknowledgment of their curtesies and roses.
This king was very unlike his royal namesake predecessors, as he was pitied by everyone and not envied or hated. I must confess to having been sorely disappointed with this sight of royalty, for I thought a king must be an extraordinary being, expecting to see a double-header, as kings and queens are pictured on playing cards, the kings holding scepters in their left hands and bearing a ball with their right, but I saluted and shouted as everyone else did, and when my sisters pelted the royal equipage with their roses I shied my cap at his majesty, at which the people who saw this laughed as loudly as they dared in the presence of a king. I expected also to see a military display, but there were no soldiers present, because the king traveled "incognito," which means that it was forbidden to reveal his royal identity. He was supposed to be a plain nobleman merely, "Herr von Beerstein" for instance.
But a king, who is human after all, may wish to enjoy himself as others do and desire to associate occasionally with ordinary people. So "Herr von Beerstein" goes to a beer garden in quest of a pleasing companion who is readily found, for he has money to burn and invests it freely.
An obliging bar-maid introduces him to her lovely cousin and they retire to a lonely seat in the most secluded spot of the garden.
"Herr von Beerstein" now places his heart and purse in the keeping of his gentle companion, who calls directly for "zwei beers."
Now follows a repetition of the old, old legend that yet is always new and ever recurring in the romance of mutual love on sight, two hearts beating as one and in the love that laughs at locksmiths, but as the course of true love seldom runs smooth, now with the maiden's oft repeated calls for "lager" "Herr von Beerstein" grows by stages sentimental, incautious and then so reckless that "presto!" before he is aware of any danger to himself he has stopped Cupid's fatal dart with his royal personal circumference. Maddened with pain he exhibits symptoms of a most violent passion and becomes very aggressive. But the cunning maid appeals to the protecting presence of Fritz, the waiter, with other calls for beer, whispering in the ear of her love-lorn swain: "Nine, mine lieber Herr von Beerstein, ven you has married me once alretty, nicht wahr? Ach vas, den shall you kiss me yet some more, yaw!"
Thus she tantalizes the poor man until he becomes desperate under the strain of an unrequited love and as a last resort he places his hand over his heart, bares the bosom of his shirt and exposes the insignia of royalty, flashing the sovereign's star before her eyes. Humbly, overcome with shame and remorse at the thought of having trifled with her king's affections, and prompted by her pitiful exaggerated notion of loyalty the poor thing kneels before his majesty, craving his pardon.
With royal hands the king uplifts her, graciously kissing her rosebud mouth and when she says: "Your majesty's slightest wish is a command to me, your servant!" and is about to surrender her loveliness to Cupid's forces and temporarily lose her heart, but her soul forever—in the very nick of time comes her guardian-angel to the rescue.
When she, poor little gray dove, lies trembling in the royal falcon's talons a head rises up and peeps over the fence, for the royal star has been seen through a crack between the boards, its knowing, sly grin passing into the lusty shout:
"Heil dem koenig, hoch, hoch!"
An excited crowd rushes from all directions, cheering: "Ein, zwei, drei, hurrah!" while a constable places the damsel under arrest, charging her with lese majeste. When, however, his majesty intercedes most graciously the your lady is promptly released, and restored to freedom.
But the constable's fee that she must pay—in earthly power, not even a king can save her from it, for that is a "trinkgeld" and she pays it from the royal purse.
On the evening of the king's arrival I accompanied my father to the castle where the reception royal took place. There were no ladies present on this occasion. The king was, as has been said, totally blind, but indulged in the curious habit of feigning to have an unimpaired eye sight and pretended to admire scenic objects which had been pointed out to him beforehand as though he really saw them, carrying out this illusion to the extent of ridiculousness. It is said that at a hunt-meet a courtier incurred his royal displeasure through these incautious words: "Sire, you shot this hare from a next to impossible distance, condescend to feel how fat it is!"
As the poor man failed to say "See how fat," he fell promptly into disfavor, which is equivalent to being blacklisted in our country.
The king's general behaviour suggests that he deemed his blindness not merely to be a most regrettable misfortune, but that he regarded it as a deserved culpable affliction.
When a small boy I was told that he lost his eyesight through an act of charity. He drew a purse from his pocket, intending to give a beggar an aim when his horse shied violently, causing the steel-beaded tassels of the purse to injure his eyes.
Later, as I grew older, I heard a different tale:
The king as a student, then being crown-prince of the realm, found pleasure in looking at the wine which was red, and at a pair of eyes that were blue and shone like heavenly stars, oh so gently and tenderly! But he looked, alas, once too often—into eyes that blazed with lurid flames of hate and fury—the terrible eyes of the green-eyed monster. There came a flash as of lightning with a loud report and he saw stars that fell fiercely fast until they vanished under a cloud of awful gloom in the hopeless despair of perpetual night; but the glorious luminous star of day for him shone not again, nevermore, on earth! To this day I know not which version tells the truth.
The castle's grand hall was overflowing with people. I followed in the wake of father, who had fallen into line, advancing gradually toward the august presence of a crowned king. Nervously father awaited his turn to bask for one anxious moment in the sunshine of royal favor and touch a king's hand.
I slipped away unperceived to the kitchen, knowing well the premises of this fine old castle which was kept in good repair by the city of Hamburg, its present owner. It had been won by conquest of arms in 1394 A.D. from the noble family "Von Lappe."
The principal occupation of these knights was the waylaying and robbing of merchants; but the wrecking of ships was their favorite, most profitable pastime.
The kitchen was in the basement of the castle and great in size, its floor paved with slabs of stone, the walls and ceilings were paneled in oak. On one side of the room were stone-hearths with blazing fires, over which hung pots and brazen kettles. Game and meats broiled on spits, there being no cook-stoves in those days. Heavy doors, strapped with great wrought iron hinges and studded with ornamental scroll-work led into pantries and cellars.
The place swarmed with liveried servants and cooks; also the king had brought his "chef de cuisine and own butler. The latter, a lordly Englishman, was a grand, haughty person who superintended the extravagant preparations for the entertainment of royalty.
A maid conducted me to a corner where I was out of harm's way and regaled me with delicacies when the courses were served, oh it was fine! The chef prepared certain dishes for the king and I saw the butler taste of the viands that were placed on crown-marked dishes of porcelain and gold. He also tasted the king's wine.
When at last I grew sleepy, kind maids arranged a couch of snowy linen for me, and I slept until the banquet royal was over when the guests returned to their homes.
But me lord, the butler, eyed me with questioning curiosity.
"Aw me lad, h'and where did your father get 'is blooming costume?" he asked.
"Mother supplied it, good sir," I answered.
"Hi say, me lad," he laughed, "your mother h'is a grand lydie, you tike me word for h'it; h'in h'England they would decorate that suit with the h'order h'of the garter!"
"Honi soit, qui mal y pense!" I lisped.