Although my father, acting on the advice of his Ministers, had taken the decisive step of banishing the Prince of Lilienhoehe from the country, he had not been able altogether to rid himself of the trouble the latter had occasioned. The Ogre had been growing larger and uglier for years, and, on looking back upon it now, I am of the opinion that it was his last, and I cannot help thinking his greatest, imprudence, that brought about the disastrous end. Be that as it may, however, the result was quickly apparent. The contempt the populace felt for us was to be observed in every direction. My father, who seldom left the palace, was not brought into actual contact with it, but I remember on one occasion my mother and I being hooted while driving in the Graben. What we had done to deserve it I cannot say, but the incident was sufficient to show me a side of my mother’s character that I had never encountered before. In her home life she had, as I have observed already, developed into a quiet and loving woman. Now, in the face of danger, her old spirit reasserted itself, and I can recall the flash that lighted her eyes, and the contemptuous curl of her lips, as she faced the crowd that surged about the carriage. Turning to me she took my hand and bade me not be frightened; then, looking at the Baroness Niedervald, who was sitting opposite, and who appeared as if she were about to collapse, added sternly, “I am sure you are not afraid, Madame, so I beg you will not permit them to think so.”

The Baroness, who stood in greater awe of my mother than a thousand street ruffians, pulled herself together, and immediately repaid their jeers with looks of scorn.

Ten minutes later we were back at the Palace once more, and my father had been made acquainted with what had occurred. A curious smile flickered over his sphinx-like face as he heard the news.

“You fed your hounds too well at first, my dear,” he said, with that cynicism that always characterised him. “They are grumbling now because the supply of bones is finished, and they are compelled to fall back on stones.”

I did not realise the force of this allusion then, but it has become more plain to me since. One thing is quite certain it angered my mother beyond measure, and from that time she carried no more complaints to him. Even had she done so, it is doubtful whether it would have been of any use. “Go to von Marquart, your Majesty,” he would have said. “He is the real king; I am only the figurehead the puppet, if you like.”

As a matter of fact the time had gone by for active interference, and all that could now be done was to wait, and to endeavour, as far as possible, to hold the rabble in check, until some new sensation should arise to divert their attention. To make matters worse, the country was split up into factions; thus for every step gained in one place we lost ground elsewhere, and, by propitiating one, we enraged another. Some were for deposing my father outright, and inviting Prince Ferdinand to mount the throne; while others went even so far as to contemplate doing away with Royalty and nobles altogether, and establishing a Republic, in which every man was to be the equal of his fellow, and caste should be swept away entirely. They could not realise the fact that their present ruler, if he had done nothing else, had at least permitted them to enjoy the benefits of peace. He was not ambitious like his neighbour on the north, nor aggressive like his fellow on the south, and in consequence the country flourished as it could not otherwise have hoped to have done. It has often struck me since that a nation is not unlike a defective dam. So long as it holds together it is solid and watertight, but let even the faintest trickle of moisture percolate through its massive sides and more will surely follow; later, a gaping rent will show itself, where first the dampness appeared; then, in one brief instant, before man can prevent it, the mighty flood bursts its bonds, dashes forth and sweeps all the old order away before it.

Being at this time only nine years old, I could not, of course, appreciate the gravity of the situation. But I was quite aware that those I loved were in trouble. It was brought home to me more convincingly by one little incident than by anything else.

It was nine o’clock on a winter’s night. Snow was falling, and the palace courtyard was covered with a white mantle. According to custom, Max and I had been to our mother’s room to bid her good-night, and had crossed the great hall on our way to our own apartments, when, at the top of the grand staircase, we met the Prime Minister, Count von Marquart, ascending. As a rule we were afraid of him; his manner was harsh and overbearing, and it had been wittily observed that there were only two persons in the world, the Count von Marquart and himself, with whom he was on terms of anything approaching intimacy. To-night, however, we noticed that he was disturbed about something. On seeing us, he paused and bade us a polite good-evening. Then, gazing into our faces with those cold, piercing eyes of his, which seemed to look one through, he patted us on the shoulders, heaved a heavy sigh, and muttering “Poor lads, poor lads!” followed the servant along the corridor in the direction of my father’s study.

For the next few days Council followed Council, and from each the Ministers drove away with gloomier faces. I have since learnt that the failure of the crops in the northern provinces, and the consequent dearness and scarcity of bread, had precipitated matters, and forced the hands of those who were really at the bottom of the mischief. Somehow I do not fancy that my father even at this, the gravest crisis of his life, properly realised what the near future had in store for us. Having devoted his attention to other matters for so long, he had lost his grip of the public pulse, and in consequence was unable to realise the deadliness of the disease that was taking possession of his country. Like the dipsomaniac, who, in his own heart, is quite aware that to indulge his craving is to court a certain and most terrible death, my father persisted in his former line of action or shall I say inaction? finding, it would seem, a recondite pleasure in contemplating the approach of ruin. With my mother it was entirely different. Wayward and impetuous as she had once been, she now proved herself, by the feminine rule of contrary, I suppose, the best wife he could have had under the circumstances. Where he was weak, she was strong; she threw herself into the breach, and with counsel and encouragement, and with an insight that marked her as a daughter of a race of rulers, endeavoured, so far as lay in her power, to beat back and outwit the foes who were hemming us in on every side. Upon one person only, and then always excepting on one memorable occasion, the peril in which we stood seemed to produce no outward effect. I allude to Count von Marquart, the man whose personality stands out in that terrible period, clear cut, impressive, and invariably heroic. The waves of discord might dash and break at his feet, the winds of hatred shriek about his devoted head, but, like a lighthouse in a storm, he stood immovable a guiding light to the end.

Though we did not think so at the time, and flattered ourselves that everything would soon be set right, we were nearer the end than we supposed. It was on the sixteenth of December, a date engraved in letters of fire upon my brain, that the climax came. For several days the city had been in an uproar, crowds had paraded the streets, and had even clamoured at the palace gates. So violent did they at last become, that it was necessary that the military should be called out in order to disperse them. But and it was here that the shoe pinched it was unmistakably borne in upon those at the head of affairs, that the army itself was in sympathy with the rioters. For upwards of a week Max and I had not been permitted to leave the palace, the streets being considered unsafe for us at such a time. During the afternoon of the sixteenth a council meeting was held, after attending which the members had been compelled to disperse secretly, and by different doors, for fear the mob should get hold of them. By chance I happened to be near my mother’s boudoir when von Marquart acquainted her with the result of their deliberations. They had never been friends, but at such a time they felt they must cease to be enemies.

“If you will give me warning when it will be necessary for us to start, I will take care to be ready,” I heard my mother say, in answer to a speech of his.

“You may count upon me,” Marquart replied gravely. “I will allow your Majesty as much time as possible.”

Then, having kissed her hand, he withdrew without another word. When he had gone, my mother crossed to the window, and drawing back the curtain, looked out upon the snow-covered Platz. Presently a convulsive sob reached my ears. Proud woman though she was, in the face of this new trouble, her fortitude for the moment deserted her. I emerged from my hiding place and went over to her, slipping my hand into hers. Sinking down upon the window-seat she drew me to her and kissed me passionately.

“Paul, Paul, my little son,” she cried, her voice breaking with tears, “this is my work. It is your mother who has brought about this ruin. And yet God knows I am innocent of any evil intention.”

“Those who say that it is your fault lie, mother,” I began, with an indignation that at any other time would have been ludicrous in one so young. “Max says it is a lie, and when he is king he will punish them. He told me this morning. Don’t cry, mother dear; Max and I will take care of you.”

The unintentional irony of my remark must have occurred to her, for she rose from her seat and walked a few paces away. How bitter her thoughts must have been at that moment! Her husband was alive, and yet her honour was to wait for vengeance until her sons should be come to man’s estate. My little speech, spoken in all good faith, strikes me now as the most cruel indictment yet urged against my father’s memory.

That night, when Max and I were in bed, I told him what I had heard and seen.

“Why doesn’t our father order out the troops and shoot them down?” said bloodthirsty Max. “That was what Maximilian the Seventh did, and they left him in peace. If I were king I would show them no mercy.”

It seemed to me a pity under these circumstances that Max was not upon the throne, for then by his own showing we should have nothing to fear, and should be able to go for our daily rides, instead of being shut up within the palace from morn till night. Then I fell asleep and remembered no more until I was awakened by hearing a stern voice ordering us to get up and dress as quickly as possible. I opened my eyes and to my surprise found the Count von Marquart standing beside my bed. What his presence there, and at such an hour, betokened, I could not for the life of me understand; but such was my respect for him, by day or night, that I did not hesitate to do as he bade me. Half asleep and half awake Max and I huddled on our garments, and, as soon as we were dressed, followed the Count down the stairs to one of the audience chambers leading out of the great hall. There we found my mother and father, dressed for going out. My favourite captain of the Guard, Baron Bathony, covered with snow, entered the vestibule as we crossed it. He shook himself like a great dog, and then, seeing von Marquart standing by the door, hastened towards him. That he had some bad news to report was plain to all of us. It was written on his face.

“Well, sir, what tidings do you bring?” asked von Marquart in a fierce whisper, that was as audible as his usual voice.

“The very worst,” replied Bathony. “The citadel has fallen and the garrison has gone over to the Revolutionists. The enemy are even now marching in the direction of the palace. I have come to warn his Majesty.”

“And his Majesty is infinitely obliged to you,” said my father, who had approached unobserved. “The farce of kingship is played out, and now it is perhaps as well that we should ring the curtain down. What say you, Marquart?”

“I think it is time your Majesty considered the safety of your wife and children,” answered the Prime Minister bluntly. “If you would save their lives it would be as well that you should leave the palace and start on your journey at once. There is no saying how soon the mob may be here, and then escape may be impossible.”

On hearing this my mother rose from her chair. All traces of the agitation I had noticed earlier that evening had left her, and she was as calm and collected as ever I had seen her.

“We are quite ready,” she said. “If your Majesty will give the necessary orders, there need be no further delay.”

“So be it,” remarked my father. Then turning to Max, who had been listening attentively to all that passed between them, he added, in his usual cynical fashion, “I had once hoped, my boy, to have had the pleasure of abdicating in your favour. It would appear that even kings may be mistaken. It is only the Sovereign people who are invariably right. Now, Marquart, if you are quite ready, let us bid the Capital good-bye.”

With Bathony leading, my father and Max following close behind him, my mother and I, hand-in-hand, coming next, and Marquart bringing up the rear, we left the audience chamber and passed across the great hall, under the staring statues, many of which had looked down on at least three generations of our race, and which were destined to be hurled from their pedestals and smashed to atoms within a few hours of our departure. Then out by a side door into the walled-in space called the Guard’s Parade, from the fact that on sunny mornings the band of the Household Regiment was wont to play there. On opening the door we were assailed by the cold blast, which, blowing across the snow, gave us a foretaste of what our journey would be like. The night was fine, and overhead the stars shone brilliantly. The glow of the city lights could be seen on every hand, while in the distance the low hum of the mob fell upon our ears like a wild beast roaring for its prey. This alone served to make us quicken our pace towards a gate on the opposite side of the courtyard, which Bathony unlocked, and which, when we had passed through it, he again secured behind him. Only once in my memory have I heard of a reigning family leaving their palace in so unostentatious a fashion.

Twenty yards or so from the gate, two carriages were drawn up. Towards the first of these Marquart hurried us. The other was for my mother’s maid and my father’s faithful valet, and also for our luggage, of which we could not carry very much. The leave-taking of the two men who had stood by us so faithfully was affecting in the extreme.

“Your Majesty knows the route that has been arranged?” began Marquart. “The men, I pledge myself, are trustworthy, but I should not delay at any place longer than is absolutely necessary for the business in hand. The rebellion is spreading through the country, and one scarcely knows upon whom to pin one’s faith. For your children’s and your Queen’s sake, let me implore you to be careful!”

Even then, at this late hour in the tide of his affairs, my father could not resist a jibe at the other’s expense.

“I must endeavour to remember your advice, Marquart,” he said. “At first it is a little difficult to understand that one is out of leading strings. I suppose, however, I shall get used to being my own master in time.”

To this speech Marquart offered no reply. Taking the hand my mother offered him, he bent over it and kissed it.

“Farewell, your Majesty,” he said, “and when we next meet I pray it may be in happier times.”

Then he took leave of my father and afterwards of Max and myself. Bathony followed suit, and then we entered the carriage and drove rapidly away.

Choosing deserted streets and avoiding every thoroughfare in which there was the remotest chance of our carriages being recognised, we eventually reached the outskirts of the city and took the high-road that leads across the mountains to the town of Aschenberg. So far, admirable success had accompanied us, but it was no sort of guarantee that such good fortune would continue. Hour after hour we rolled along the silent country roads, drawing gradually nearer the mountains, whose snow-clad peaks loomed dense as a wall against the starlit sky.

It had been arranged that we should spend what remained of that night and also the next day at the house of a distant kinsman of the Count von Marquart. On the second night we were to continue our journey, putting up at an inn in the mountains, and so on, as fast as horses could take us, and circumstances would permit, until we should have crossed the border and be in safety. The night was well spent before we reached the mountains, and it wanted only an hour or so to daybreak when we began the climb up the last ascent that led to our refuge for the night. Already the first grey dawn was creeping across the landscape, showing the snow-covered slopes of the mountains on the one side, and the rock-strewn valley on the other, in all their dreary nakedness. Then we looked out of the carriage window and saw the castle itself, standing out on the bold side of the mountain, and commanding a view that is possibly without its equal in all Pannonia. The rusty old drawbridge for this ancient place still possessed one was lowered in readiness for our approach, and since the owner and his three stalwart sons were beside it on the look-out for our coming, it seemed as if our arrival were more anxiously awaited than we imagined. Glad as they were to see us, we were still more pleased to leave the carriage. For two of our number at least the journey must of necessity have been an agonising one. Yet no word of reproach had been spoken on either side.

“I offer your Majesties the heartiest welcome in my power,” said our host, coming forward and bowing before my father and mother. “I would to God it were not under such circumstances.”

“The fortune of war, my dear Count,” replied my father. “Let us be thankful our enemies have allowed us even to live. I believe I am not the first of my House that your castle has sheltered in adverse days. If I am not mistaken my ancestor, Stephen Ramonyi, was its guest in 1553 when but there, the present is sufficient for our needs, without raking up the troubles of the past, and it is rather cold here for such a discussion. Her Majesty and the children are tired after their long journey.”

On hearing this the old man led the way across the great courtyard towards the flight of steps which led up to the main entrance of the castle. I cannot hope to make you understand how the dreariness of the place struck me, and what a chill it set upon my heart. Yet for the time being it meant safety, even life itself, for us.

The Countess received my mother on the steps, and then we passed into the castle together. A meal had been prepared for us, and as soon as we had discarded our wraps we sat down to it. What transpired further I do not know, for, quite worn out, I fell asleep in my chair before I had swallowed half a dozen mouthfuls. When I awoke again I was in bed, and the wind was whistling round the turret as if in mockery of our fallen fortunes.

Next evening, as soon as it was dark, we bade our friends farewell, and once more resumed our journey. It was necessary that, if possible, we should reach a lonely inn on the other side of the mountains before daylight, and the road, so we were informed, was by no means a good one. As we soon discovered, this proved a correct assertion; for a more discouraging thirty miles could scarcely have been found in the length and breadth of the country. In consequence, instead of arriving at our destination, as it was most important we should do, while it was still dark, it was full morning before we came in sight of it. If the castle of Elfrinstein had seemed a lonely spot, this, our second stopping place, was infinitely more so. The inn itself stood within a deep gorge, the rugged sides of which towered some hundreds of feet above its roof. The building was a mere hovel of four rooms, and at one time was much frequented by those engaged in smuggling spirits across the border.

When we drew up at the door, the landlord, an enormous man, possessing the reddest hair I have ever seen on a human being, and a beard that reached almost to his waist, emerged, rubbing his eyes and yawning cavernously. He was followed by a woman, his wife. Together they approached the carriage, and as soon as my father had alighted, knelt before him with bowed heads. The picture seemed so incongruous, so out of keeping with the other attributes of that grim place, that, miserable as we all were for the previous night’s journey had been comfort itself compared with that we had just completed. I don’t think one of us was able to suppress a smile.

“Get up, my friends,” said my father in a kindly tone, “and lead us into the house. We are worn out after our night’s travelling. No one has been this way in search of us, I hope?”

“Not a living soul, your Majesty,” the man replied. “They’d best not come about here now. ’Twould be a bad case for them if they found your Majesties here.”

Having uttered this somewhat ambiguous speech, he led the way into the house, where, it was soon apparent, great preparations had been made for our reception.

It was early in the afternoon when a terrible incident, which came so near our undoing, occurred, and it happened in this way. Being determined that no one should approach the inn during the time we occupied it, our shock-headed friend had stationed one of his sons at the entrance of the defile, with definite instructions to bring the news to him with all speed should he detect the approach of any suspicious persons. For the greater portion of the day the lad saw no one; just when his brother arrived to relieve him, however, they espied approaching them, as rapidly as the rough nature of the ground would permit, a body of horsemen, who presently proved themselves to be soldiers. To rush back to the inn and give the alarm was the work of a few minutes.

“The soldiers! the soldiers!” cried the lads, bursting together into the room where their mother was busily engaged in preparing a last meal for us.

Their father rose to his feet.

“You know what to do, wife?” he said quietly, and then entered the room where we were sitting listening to the dreadful tidings.

“The soldiers are coming, your Majesty,” he remarked, still quite unperturbed. “You must be away before they reach the house.”

“But how is it to be done?” inquired my mother anxiously. “I see no way of escape, and there are the children to be thought of.”

“When the little princes are ready, I’ll show your Majesty a way, never fear,” the man replied, and surely enough, as soon as our outdoor garments had been donned, he took me in his arms and led the way through the house to the back. The great blank wall of the cliff abutted close upon it, but how this was to help us I could not understand. At one place his eldest son was busily engaged removing a pile of brushwood, and making straight for this he put me down and began to assist the boy. When the stack had been partially removed, a circular hole in the cliff, about the size of a large barrel, became apparent.

“If your Majesties will follow me, I don’t think the soldiers will catch you,” he said, and forthwith went down upon all-fours. A moment later the King and Queen of Pannonia and their somewhat fastidious children might have been seen on their hands and knees, crawling into safety, if I may so express it, through a hole in the wall.