A crown of straw

by Allen Upward

It was known that thousands of men had been at work in the lovely valley. Part of the mountain had been levelled to obtain a site for the palace and the extensive gardens which spread away from the border of the lake. Another part had been cut away to make room for a magnificent road, broad and smooth as the boulevards of a capital, and bordered with trees and waterfalls and vistas of artificially embellished landscape. In one place an immense stretch of forest had to be cleared; in another, huge trees, selected for their size and beauty, had to be transplanted from distant regions. The whole of the lake, some ten or twelve square miles of water, had first to be drained away that its bed might be deepened and cleansed from weeds, and then to be refilled, and kept at a constant high level by means of immense dams of masonry, and by the construction of artificial water-courses, and the laying of miles of underground pipes. Its waters had to be stocked with rare fish from all the rivers of Europe and America, and its banks to be lined here and there with costly marble quays, to facilitate landing from the sumptuous pleasure craft, built of priceless woods, which were transported thither across the mountains. A net-work of canals lined with marble, ran through the gardens, and on their smooth waters exquisite boats inlaid with ivory, and shaped like swans and dolphins, glided past Chinese towers, and kiosks, and crystal caves from which concealed musicians were to pour out melodies upon the voyager’s ear. At one time it had actually been in contemplation to connect these canals with a larger one extending the whole way to the river Rhine, but another kingdom had to be crossed, and the compensation demanded by its government was so enormous that even Maximilian stopped short, and the dream of making a seaport in the heart of the German highlands was abandoned.

All that art could desire or science execute had been done to render the palace itself one of the wonders of the world. In mere size it was inferior to the state palace in Mannhausen, far inferior to such huge piles as Versailles and the Roman Vatican. A poet does not build like a conqueror. Maximilian’s object had not been to stupefy mankind, but to delight himself. Almost more wealth had been lavished on the wonderful accessories than on the main edifice—that is to say, on the aviaries, the hothouses, and above all on the unique and gorgeous theatre destined for the production of the grandest works of Mozart and Beethoven and Bernal. But it was in the beauty of its design, and the perfection of its finish, that Seidlingen rose superior to every other palace on the globe. The barrack-like stateliness of Potsdam, the homely majesty of Windsor, were alike put out of the comparison. It was the complete and final fusion of the mediæval and the classic, a Gothic castle breathed upon by the spirit of the Renaissance, and transformed into a dazzling temple of art. Beneath stretched broad terraces and solemn colonnades, above soared fairy-like turrets and thin spires of delicate tracery. It was the beauty and glory of the South, brooded over by the deep immortal spirit of the North.

And now the rumour ran that Seidlingen was finished, and that the King was about to go and take possession. This was the signal for the discontent, which had long been gathering head, to break into a ferment. The revolutionary societies redoubled their activity, recruits came flocking to them in shoals, and already the more daring minds spoke of open insurrection against the royal Government. It only remained for some one man, more daring than the rest, to give the signal of revolt.

This was the crisis for which Johann had long been waiting. He called together the members of his own brotherhood, which had renewed its numbers, and producing the very weapon which had been provided ten years before for the assassination of Leopold, boldly demanded that it should be loaded once more. His comrades consented, and by his own desire he was entrusted with the carrying out of the society’s sentence. The dawn of the following day saw him set forth from Mannhausen, carrying in his breast the sealed pistol, and bound for the place where the Court was then in residence.

Stopping on his way at Franz Gitten’s cottage, what he had learned there confirmed his resolution, and he had come away armed, as he believed, with a fresh justification for the deed he was going to commit.

He had hardly settled himself in what seemed to be a secure hiding-place, when a door opened at the far end of the gallery, and Maximilian and Bernal entered arm-in-arm.

The King had discarded the dress he had worn for his walk through the forest, and was now clad in a plain suit of black velvet, trimmed with deep lace ruffles at the throat and wrists. The only mark of his rank was a small cap of the same stuff which he wore, while his companion was bare-headed.

As if he had changed his mood with his clothes, the young man came in laughing and rallying his friend.

“Why, Auguste, what nonsense you talk! Did you hear Von Stahlen’s latest? He declares that the Steinketel has jilted me! He thinks I have been cut out by Von Hardenburg. It is lucky that Seidlingen will be ready for me to retire to, to hide my despair.”

Auguste did not seem quite to share his friend’s cheerfulness. His face wore a troubled expression.