Majesty Part 16

"Yes, my boy.... You will soon be twenty-two. Papa married much later in life, but he had many brothers. They are dead. Uncle Xaverius is in his monastery. And we--papa and I--are not ever likely to have any more children, Othomar."

She put her arms about him and drew him to her. She whispered:

"We have no one but you, my boy, and our little Berengar. And ... papa therefore thinks that you ought to marry. We want an hereditary prince, a Count of Lycilia...."

His eyes became moist; he laid his head against her:

"Two to become emperor? Berengar, if I should be gone before him: is not that enough, mamma?"

She smilingly shook her head in denial. No, that was not certainty enough for the house of Czyrkiski-Xanantria.

"Mamma," he said, gently, "when sociologists speak of the social question, they deplore that so many children are born among the proletariate and they even hold the poor parents, who have nothing else but their love, responsible for the greater social misery which they cause through those children. Does not this reproach really affect us also? Or do you think an emperor so happy?"

Her brow became overcast.

"You are in one of your gloomy moods, Othomar. For G.o.d's sake, my boy, do not give way to them. Do not philosophize so much; accept life as it has been given to you. That is the only way in which to bear it. Do not reflect whether you will be happy, when you are emperor, but accept the fact that you must become emperor in your turn."

"Very well, for myself: but why children, mamma?"

"What sovereign allows his house to die out, Othomar? Do not be foolish.

Cling to tradition: that is all in all to us. Don't have such strange ideas upon this question. They are not those of a future--I had almost said--autocrat; they are not those of a monarch. You understand, Othomar, do you not? You must, you must marry...."

Her voice sounded more decided than usual, sounded almost hard.

"And, dearest boy," she continued, "thank the circ.u.mstances and marry now, as quickly as possible. Our relations with foreign countries are at this moment such that there are no particular indications as to whom you ought to marry. You can more or less pick and choose. For you are the crown-prince of a great empire, my boy, of one of the greatest empires in Europe...."

He tried to speak; she continued, hurriedly:

"I repeat, you can--very nearly--choose. You don't know how much that means. Appreciate this, appreciate the circ.u.mstances. Travel to all the courts of Europe that are worth considering. Use your eyes, make your choice. There are pretty princesses in England, in Austria...."

Othomar closed his eyes an instant, as though exhausted with weariness:

"Later on, mamma," he whispered.

"No, my boy," said the empress, "do not speak of later on, do not put off. Think it over. Think how you will order your journey and whom you will take with you and then talk it over with papa and Myxila. Will you promise?"

He just pressed his head against her and promised, with a weary smile.

"But what's the matter with you, my boy?" she asked. "What is it?"

His eyes grew moist.

"I don't know, mamma. I am so tired sometimes...."

"Aren't you well?"

"Yes, I'm all right, but I am so tired...."

"But why, my child?"

He began to sob softly:

"Tired ... of everything ... mamma."

She looked at him for a long time, shook her head slowly, disapprovingly.

"Forgive me, mamma," he stammered, wiping his eyes. "I shan't give way like this again...."

"You promised me that once before, Othomar dear."

He leant his head against her once more, like a child:

"No, really," he declared, caressingly, "I really will resist it. It is not right of me, mamma. I will employ myself more, I shall grow stronger. I swear to you I shall grow stronger for your sake...."

She again looked long in his eyes, with her pure smile. Utter tenderness went out from her to him; he felt that he would never love any one so much as his mother. Then she took him in her arms and pressed him close against her:

"I accept your promise and I thank you ... my poor boy!" she whispered through her kiss.

At this moment there came a buzz of young voices, as though from birds set free, out of the park, through the open windows. The tripping of many little feet grated on the gravel. A high, shrill, childish voice suddenly rang with furious words from among the others; the others were silent....

The empress started with a shock that was electric. She drew herself up hastily, deadly pale:

"Berengar!" she cried; and her voice died away.

"And I shall tell his majesty what a scoundrel you are and then we'll see! Then we'll see, then we'll see!..."

The empress trembled as she leant out of the window. She saw ten or eleven little boys; they looked perplexed.

"Where is his highness?" she asked.

"His highness is over there, ma'am!" shyly answered a little count, pointing to the back-court, which the empress could not see.

"But what is happening? What a noise to make! Send his highness here at once! Berengar! Berengar!"

His highness, Berengar, was called and came. He pa.s.sed through the little dukes and counts and looked up at the window through which his mother was leaning. He was a small, st.u.r.dily built, vigorous little chap; his face was crimson with indignation, his two small, furious eyes were like two black sparks.

"Berengar, come here!" cried the empress. "What is all this? Why can't you play without quarrelling?"

"I'm not quarrelling, mamma, but ... but I shall tell papa ... and ...

and then we'll see! Then we'll ..."

"Berengar, come in here at once, through the palace, at once!" commanded the empress.

Othomar looked out from behind the empress at the group of boys. He saw Berengar speak a word of apology to the biggest little duke and disappear through the back-court.

A minute later, the boy entered the room.

"Berengar," said the empress, "it's very bad manners to make such a noise in the park ... and just behind the palace too."