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Long Live the King By: Guy Newell Boothby (1867-1905) |
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BY GUY BOOTHBY Author of "Dr. Nikola," "The Beautiful White Devil," "A Maker of
Nations," "A Bid for Fortune," etc.
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO
[Illustration: "'Farewell, your Majesty,' he said."]
LONG LIVE THE KING!
CHAPTER I.
How strange it seems, after this long lapse of time, to look back upon
those days, and after all that has come between. When I think of the
child whose curious fancies, strange whims, and still stranger life, I
am about to portray, I find myself inclining towards what is certainly a
feeling of bewilderment, and one that might almost be said to be akin to
physical pain. That the little fellow I see in my mind's eye, playing so
happily on the far side of that River of Years, can be myself , the man
sitting in this chair, who, pen in hand, is trying so hard to arrange
his thoughts, is to me scarcely believable. Between the two there looms
so vast a difference, that it would appear as if no possible connecting
link could serve to unite them with each other. Whether I am better or
worse for the change must be left for more competent judges to declare. Looking back, I can scarcely determine which is the first event in my
life that I can recall. I have always declared that I have the very
faintest recollection of being held up by my mother at a window to see
my father present some new colours to his favourite regiment of Guards
in the square below. But if, as they say, that occurrence happened
exactly five and twenty years ago, and the records of the Regiment are
there to prove it, my memory must be a more than ordinarily good one,
seeing that, at the time, I could not have been more than three years of
age. Imperfect though that recollection may be, however, it is quite
certain that I can distinctly recall the day, two years later, when my
brother, the Crown Prince Maximilian, being then a big boy of nine, led
his regiment past my father on parade for the first time. I can also
remember crying bitterly, because I was not permitted to accompany him,
which eagerness on my part, so I have been informed since, was taken by
my mother's Ladies in Waiting to be a sign that a great military career
awaited me. That I have never so far justified either their hopes or
their good opinion of me must be set down by the charitably minded as
the result of a lack of opportunity. In a sense, however, I must confess
it has proved almost true, but how it came about will be told in its
proper place. In the meantime, having a long story to tell, and not much
space to tell it in, it is necessary that I should return to my earliest
recollections with as much speed as possible. To enter upon my story proper, it is only fit that I should commence
with a brief description of the life of my poor father. Maximilian the
Second, King of Pannonia, as all the world is aware, was a monarch
foredoomed to trouble from his cradle. His succession to the throne was
the result of an accident. But for a fatal shot, fired in the excitement
of a wolf hunt, and which stretched the heir lifeless upon the snow, he
would in all human probability never have been called upon to undertake
the responsibilities for which he was, not only by nature, but also by
inclination, so totally unfitted. A scholar of the finest type,
essentially a recluse, more at his ease in his library than in the
Council Chamber, happier when holding a pen than when carrying a sword,
I must admit it is to me a matter of wonderment that he succeeded even
as well as he did. A loveless marriage, thrust upon him by the
exigencies of State, when his inclinations tended in another and very
different direction, marked the next downward step in his career. My
mother was the eldest daughter of Alexander the Tenth, King of Gothia,
and was as ambitious as my father was the reverse. Where he was only too
glad to find an opportunity of effacing himself, she, at first, boldly
courted the admiration of the world... Continue reading book >>
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