He had not been sent here to watch this kingdom.He was touching a deeper undercurrent, which began at St.Petersburg and moved toward Central Asia, Turkey and India, sullenly and irresistibly.
And now his task was done, and another was to take his place, to be a puppet among puppets.He feared no man save his valet, who knew his one weakness, the love of a son on whom he had shut his door, which pride forbade him to open.This son had chosen the army, when a fine diplomatic career had been planned--a small thing, but it sufficed.Even now a word from an humbled pride would have reunited father and son, but both refused to speak this word.
The diplomat in turn watched the king as he engaged in the aimless drawing.His meditation grew retrospective, and his thoughts ran back to the days when he first befriended this lonely prince, who had come to England to learn the language and manners of the chill islanders.He had been handsome enough in those days, this Leopold of Osia, gay and eager, possessing an indefinable charm which endeared him to women and made him respected of men.To have known him then, the wildest stretch of fancy would never have placed him on this puppet throne, surrounded by enemies, menaced by his adopted people, rudderless and ignorant of statecraft.
"Fate is the cup," the diplomat mused, "and the human life the ball, and it's toss, toss, toss, till the ball slips and falls into eternity." Aloud he said, "Your Majesty seems to be well occupied.""Yes," replied the king, smiling."I am making crowns and scratching them out again-- usurping the gentle pastime of their most Christian Majesties, the confederation.A pretty bauble is a crown, indeed--at a distance.It is a fine thing to wear one--in a dream.But to possess one in the real, and to wear it day by day with the eternal fear of laying it down and forgetting where you put it, or that others plot to steal it, or that you wear it dishonestly--Well, well, there are worse things than a beggar's crust.""No one is honest in this world, save the brute," said the diplomat, touching the dog with his foot."Honesty is instinctive with him, for he knows no written laws.The gold we use is stamped with dishonesty, notwithstanding the beautiful mottoes; and so long as we barter and sell for it, just so long we remain dishonest.Yes, you wear your crown dishonestly but lawfully, which is a nice distinction.But is any crown worn honestly? If it is not bought with gold, it is bought with lies and blood.Sire, your great fault, if I may speak, is that you haven't continued to be dishonest.You should have filled your private coffers, but you have not done so, which is a strange precedent to establish.You should have increased taxation, but you have diminished it; you should have forced your enemy's hand four years ago, when you ascended the throne, but you did not;and now, for all you know, his hand may be too strong.Poor, dishonest king! When you accepted this throne, which belongs to another, you fell as far as possible from moral ethics.And now you would be honest and be called dull, and dream, while your ministers profit and smile behind your back.I beg your Majesty's pardon, but you have always requested that I should speak plainly."The king laughed; he enjoyed this frank friend.There was an essence of truth and sincerity in all he said that encouraged confidence.
"Indeed, I shall be sorry to have you go tomorrow," he said, "for I believe if you stayed here long enough you would truly make a king of me.Be frank, my friend, be always frank; for it is only on the base of frankness that true friendship can rear itself.""You are only forty-eight," said the Englishman; "you are young.""Ah, my friend," replied the king with a tinge of sadness, "it is not the years that age us; it is how we live them.In the last four years I have lived ten.To-day I feel so very old! Iam weary of being a king.I am weary of being weary, and for such there is no remedy.Truly I was not cut from the pattern of kings; no, no.I am handier with a book than with a scepter; I'd liever be a man than a puppet, and a puppet I am--a figurehead on the prow of the ship, but I do not guide it.Who care for me save those who have their ends to gain? None, save the archbishop, who yet dreams of making a king of me.And these are not my people who surround me; when I die, small care.I shall have left in the passing scarce a finger mark in the dust of time.""Ah, Sire, if only you would be cold, unfriendly, avaricious.Be stone and rule with a rod of iron.Make the people fear you, since they refuse to love you; be stone.""You can mold lead, but you can not sculpture it; and I am lead.""Yes; not only the metal, but the verb intransitive.Ah, could the fires of ambition light your soul!""My soul is a blackened grate of burnt-out fires, of which only a coal remains."And the king turned in his seat and looked across the crisp green lawns to the beds of flowers, where, followed by a maid at a respectful distance, a slim young girl in white was cutting the hardy geraniums, dahlias and seed poppies.
"God knows what her legacy will be!"
"It is for you to make it, Sire."
Both men continued to remark the girl.At length she came toward them, her arms laden with flowers.She was at the age of ten, with a beautiful, serious face, which some might have called prophetic.Her hair was dark, shining like coal and purple, and gossamer in its fineness; her skin had the blue-whiteness of milk; while from under long black lashes two luminous brown eyes looked thoughtfully at the world.She smiled at the king, who eyed her fondly, and gave her unengaged hand to the Englishman, who kissed it.
"And how is your Royal Highness this fine day? he asked, patting the hand before letting it go.
