A Dash for a Throne. Arthur W. Marchmont
Then he wheeled me round to the light.
"Are you——?"
He stopped short, his face alight with doubt and interrogation.
"I am Heinrich Fischer, an actor—now," I replied.
The last word was quite enough, and the tough old man almost broke down in the delight of recognition. When I explained to him the elaborate processes by which I had changed my figure, looks, and voice, he grew intensely interested in me as a strange experiment, and declared that not a soul in all the world would recognize me.
My visit was a brief one, though he pressed me earnestly to stay with him; and when I would not he said he would come to me at Frankfort, and that I must be his adopted son. But he never came, and we never met again. A letter or two passed between us—I had altered even my handwriting—and then a year later came the news to me that he was dead—had died suddenly in the midst of his work—and that I was left his heir.
This again changed my life, for his fortune gave me abundant means; and as I considered my actor training had been sufficient, I resolved to close that chapter of my life.
It would have been a commonplace affair enough, with an accompaniment of nothing more than a few mutual personal regrets, but for one incident. One of the actresses—a handsome, passionate woman, named Clara Weylin—had done me the quite unsolicited honor to fall violently in love with me; and when, at the time of parting, I could not tell her that we should ever meet again—for I had not the least intention or wish to do so—she was first tearful, then hysterical, and at last vindictively menacing.
"There's a secret about you, Fischer," she cried passionately. "I've always thought so; and, mark me, I'll find it out some day; and then you'll remember this, and your treatment of Clara Weylin. Look to yourself."
I tried to reason away her somewhat theatrical resentment, but she interpreted my words as an indication that she had struck home; and she flung away, with a toss of the head, another threat, and a look of bitter anger. I thought no more of the incident then—though afterward I had occasion enough to recall it; and when the evening brought me a letter from her, couched in very loving terms, I tossed it into the fire with a feeling akin to contempt. The next morning I left the town early, and was off on a purposeless and once more planless ramble.
With the stage I dropped also my stage name, for I had no wish to be known as an ex-play-actor; and as the old doctor's original counsel chanced to occur to me, I turned English. I now let my beard and mustaches grow; and I was satisfied that, with my changed carriage and looks, not a soul in the whole fatherland would recognize in Henry Fisher, a sober-looking English gentleman, travelling for pleasure and literary purposes, the once well-known and dashing naval lieutenant and Court favorite, the Count von Rudloff.
I moved from point to point aimlessly for some months until the vapid, vacuous monotony of the existence sickened and appalled me. Then suddenly chance or Fate opened a gate of life.
CHAPTER II
A GATE OF LIFE
I was droning in the small Rhine town Hamnel, close to Kehl, and struck up a casual acquaintance with a man of about my own age, named von Fromberg, to whom I had been at first attracted somewhat by the fact that in some respects he resembled myself. It happened, too, that one night I was able to render him a little service.
I was walking late near the river when he came rushing up to me to beg me to help him against the attack of a couple of men who were running after him with some angry threats. He was trembling and very much excited, although there did not seem to me to be much cause for fear; for the men sheered off as soon as they saw he was no longer alone.
My companion was greatly agitated, however, and talked, as I thought very absurdly, about my having saved his life. For the next two or three days he would scarcely leave my side; and during that time he poured into my ears much of what was filling his soul. It was only a little soul, and the contents mere tags and patches of dishevelled passion and emotions, though to him all real and disturbing enough.
He was a student and a dreamer, and of course in love. He had in some way got mixed up in some brawling with the men who I had seen pursuing him, and the whole trouble had set his little pulses throbbing and palpitating with the fear of terrible but quite vague consequences.
He told me also his love troubles. The girl he wished to marry was French, and while his people hated the French, her father would only allow him to marry the daughter if he would become a Frenchman. And mingled up with all this was a strange story of family complications. The pith of this was that his uncle, the head of the family, the Prince von Gramberg, a well enough known man, had written to urge him to go at once to the castle, declaring that his instant presence was imperative. Von Fromberg was thus the prey of three sets of emotions—desire to marry the French girl; terror of the men he had in some way provoked; and deadly fear that his uncle would prevent his turning French, and so stop his marriage. The last disquieted him the most.
"He has never seen me," he cried quite passionately, "never even given a thought to me, till I suppose he thinks that, as his son is now dead, I can be of some use to him. And he is such a fire-eating old devil he would think nothing of kidnapping me and shutting me up till I did what he wanted, and gave up my marriage. He loathes everything French."
It was difficult to associate von Fromberg with any very fire-eating kith and kin, but I sympathized vaguely, and soon found out his reasons for giving me his confidence. He wanted me to help him, and the request took a singular shape. He was to be married, and was crossing the frontier to Charmes for the purpose; and as he was very fearful of interruption and pursuit, he wished me to remain in Hamnel for a couple of days in his name.
It sounded ridiculous, and of course I demurred, pointing to a dozen difficulties that might follow. He pressed me very strongly, however, until I had to tell him pretty curtly that I would do nothing of the sort. He was silent a minute and then said:
"Of course it must be as you please, but if I tell people that your name is really von Fromberg and mine Fisher it will not hurt any one."
"I shall very speedily undeceive them," I answered promptly, and thought little more about the matter. But on that day I had to change my residence, and the next morning I found to my annoyance that he had indeed told the people at both houses that my name was in reality von Fromberg and his Fisher.
It was too small a matter to make a fuss about; and as I reflected that the only result would be to let him get married with fewer fears, I kept my anger till we should meet again.
But I little foresaw the consequences.
I was away for several hours in the latter part of the day, walking and sketching, and on my return to the house at night I thought there was something strange in the manner of a servant who met me and said two gentlemen were waiting for me in my room.
"For me?" I said, with some astonishment; for I could not think of any two men in the whole empire likely to come for me.
"Yes, sir, for you. They asked for you first as Herr von Fromberg, then as Mr. Fisher."
"Some more tomfoolery," I thought, as I went up the stairs, and then it flashed across me that they might be connected with the visit von Fromberg had been fearing.
A glance at the two men who rose at my entrance showed me they were at least gentlemen—officers, I thought, in mufti. They were both dark, and one—the elder—carried a beard, the other a heavy mustache only.
"Good evening, gentlemen," I said quietly. "To what do I owe the favor of this visit?"
I was disposed to be on my guard for von Fromberg's sake.