Chapter XX. Marco Goes to the Opera

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　Their next journey was to Munich, but the night before they leftParis an unexpected thing happened.To reach the narrow staircase which led to their bedroom it wasnecessary to pass through the baker's shop itself.The baker's wife was a friendly woman who liked the two boylodgers who were so quiet and gave no trouble. More than onceshe had given them a hot roll or so or a freshly baked littletartlet with fruit in the center. When Marco came in thisevening, she greeted him with a nod and handed him a small parcelas he passed through."This was left for you this afternoon," she said. "I see youare making purchases for your journey. My man and I are verysorry you are going.""Thank you, Madame. We also are sorry," Marco answered, takingthe parcel. "They are not large purchases, you see."But neither he nor The Rat had bought anything at all, though theordinary-looking little package was plainly addressed to him andbore the name of one of the big cheap shops. It felt as if itcontained something soft.When he reached their bedroom, The Rat was gazing out of thewindow watching every living thing which passed in the streetbelow. He who had never seen anything but London was absorbed bythe spell of Paris and was learning it by heart."Something has been sent to us. Look at this," said Marco.The Rat was at his side at once. "What is it? Where did itcome from?"They opened the package and at first sight saw only several pairsof quite common woolen socks. As Marco took up the sock in themiddle of the parcel, he felt that there was something insideit-- something laid flat and carefully. He put his hand in anddrew out a number of five-franc notes--not new ones, because newones would have betrayed themselves by crackling. These were oldenough to be soft. But there were enough of them to amount to asubstantial sum."It is in small notes because poor boys would have only smallones. No one will be surprised when we change these," The Ratsaid.Each of them believed the package had been sent by the greatlady, but it had been done so carefully that not the slightestclue was furnished.To The Rat, part of the deep excitement of "the Game" was theworking out of the plans and methods of each person concerned.He could not have slept without working out some scheme whichmight have been used in this case. It thrilled him tocontemplate the difficulties the great lady might have foundherself obliged to overcome."Perhaps," he said, after thinking it over for some time, "shewent to a big common shop dressed as if she were an ordinarywoman and bought the socks and pretended she was going to carrythem home herself. She would do that so that she could take theminto some corner and slip the money in. Then, as she wanted tohave them sent from the shop, perhaps she bought some otherthings and asked the people to deliver the packages to differentplaces. The socks were sent to us and the other things to someone else. She would go to a shop where no one knew her and noone would expect to see her and she would wear clothes whichlooked neither rich nor too poor."He created the whole episode with all its details and explainedthem to Marco. It fascinated him for the entire evening and hefelt relieved after it and slept well.Even before they had left London, certain newspapers had sweptout of existence the story of the descendant of the Lost Prince.This had been done by derision and light handling--by treating itas a romantic legend.At first, The Rat had resented this bitterly, but one day at ameal, when he had been producing arguments to prove that thestory must be a true one, Loristan somehow checked him by his ownsilence."If there is such a man," he said after a pause, "it is wellfor him that his existence should not be believed in--for sometime at least."The Rat came to a dead stop. He felt hot for a moment and thenfelt cold. He saw a new idea all at once. He had been making amistake in tactics.No more was said but, when they were alone afterwards, he pouredhimself forth to Marco."I was a fool!" he cried out. "Why couldn't I see it formyself! Shall I tell you what I believe has been done? There issome one who has influence in England and who is a friend toSamavia. They've got the newspapers to make fun of the story sothat it won't be believed. If it was believed, both theIarovitch and the Maranovitch would be on the lookout, and theSecret Party would lose their chances. What a fool I was not tothink of it! There's some one watching and working here who is afriend to Samavia.""But there is some one in Samavia who has begun to suspect thatit might be true," Marco answered. "If there were not, Ishould not have been shut in the cellar. Some one thought myfather knew something. The spies had orders to find out what itwas.""Yes. Yes. That's true, too!" The Rat answered anxiously."We shall have to be very careful."In the lining of the sleeve of Marco's coat there was a slit intowhich he could slip any small thing he wished to conceal and alsowished to be able to reach without trouble. In this he hadcarried the sketch of the lady which he had torn up in Paris.When they walked in the streets of Munich, the morning aftertheir arrival, he carried still another sketch. It was the onepicturing the genial- looking old aristocrat with the sly smile.One of the things they had learned about this one was that hischief characteristic was his passion for music. He was a patronof musicians and he spent much time in Munich because he lovedits musical atmosphere and the earnestness of its opera-goers."The military band plays in the Feldherrn-halle at midday. Whensomething very good is being played, sometimes people stop theircarriages so that they can listen. We will go there," saidMarco."It's a chance," said The Rat. "We mustn't lose anything likea chance."The day was brilliant and sunny, the people passing through thestreets looked comfortable and homely, the mixture of old streetsand modern ones, of ancient corners and shops and houses of theday was picturesque and cheerful. The Rat swinging through thecrowd on his crutches was full of interest and exhilaration. Hehad begun to grow, and the change in his face and expressionwhich had begun in London had become more noticeable. He hadbeen given his "place," and a work to do which entitled him tohold it.No one could have suspected them of carrying a strange and vitalsecret with them as they strolled along together. They seemedonly two ordinary boys who looked in at shop windows and talkedover their contents, and who loitered with upturned faces in theMarien- Platz before the ornate Gothic Rathaus to hear the eleveno'clock chimes play and see the painted figures of the King andQueen watch from their balcony the passing before them of theautomatic tournament procession with its trumpeters and tiltingknights. When the show was over and the automatic cock brokeforth into his lusty farewell crow, they laughed just as anyother boys would have laughed. Sometimes it would have been easyfor The Rat to forget that there was anything graver in the worldthan the new places and new wonders he was seeing, as if he werea wandering minstrel in a story.But in Samavia bloody battles were being fought, and bloody planswere being wrought out, and in anguished anxiety the Secret Partyand the Forgers of the Sword waited breathlessly for the Sign forwhich they had waited so long. And inside the lining of Marco'scoat was hidden the sketched face, as the two unnoticed lads madetheir way to the Feldherrn-halle to hear the band play and seewho might chance to be among the audience.Because the day was sunny, and also because the band was playinga specially fine programme, the crowd in the square was largerthan usual. Several vehicles had stopped, and among them wereone or two which were not merely hired cabs but were thecarriages of private persons.One of them had evidently arrived early, as it was drawn up in agood position when the boys reached the corner. It was a bigopen carriage and a grand one, luxuriously upholstered in green.The footman and coachman wore green and silver liveries andseemed to know that people were looking at them and their master.He was a stout, genial-looking old aristocrat with a sly smile,though, as he listened to the music, it almost forgot to be sly.In the carriage with him were a young officer and a little boy,and they also listened attentively. Standing near the carriagedoor were several people who were plainly friends oracquaintances, as they occasionally spoke to him. Marco touchedThe Rat's coat sleeve as the two boys approached."It would not be easy to get near him," he said. "Let us goand stand as close to the carriage as we can get without pushing.Perhaps we may hear some one say something about where he isgoing after the music is over."Yes, there was no mistaking him. He was the right man. Each ofthem knew by heart the creases on his stout face and the sweep ofhis gray moustache. But there was nothing noticeable in a boylooking for a moment at a piece of paper, and Marco sauntered afew steps to a bit of space left bare by the crowd and took alast glance at his sketch. His rule was to make sure at thefinal moment. The music was very good and the group about thecarriage was evidently enthusiastic. There was talk and praiseand comment, and the old aristocrat nodded his head repeatedly inapplause."The Chancellor is music mad," a looker-on near the boys saidto another. "At the opera every night unless serious affairskeep him away! There you may see him nodding his old head andbursting his gloves with applauding when a good thing is done.He ought to have led an orchestra or played a 'cello. He is toobig for first violin."There was a group about the carriage to the last, when the musiccame to an end and it drove away. There had been no possibleopportunity of passing close to it even had the presence of theyoung officer and the boy not presented an insurmountableobstacle.Marco and The Rat went on their way and passed by the Hof-Theater and read the bills. "Tristan and Isolde" was to bepresented at night and a great singer would sing Isolde."He will go to hear that," both boys said at once. "He willbe sure to go."It was decided between them that Marco should go on his questalone when night came. One boy who hung around the entrance ofthe Opera would be observed less than two."People notice crutches more than they notice legs," The Ratsaid. "I'd better keep out of the way unless you need me. Mytime hasn't come yet. Even if it doesn't come at all I've--I'vebeen on duty. I've gone with you and I've been ready- that's whatan aide-de- camp does."He stayed at home and read such English papers as he could layhands on and he drew plans and re-fought battles on paper.Marco went to the opera. Even if he had not known his way to thesquare near the place where the Hof-Theater stood, he couldeasily have found it by following the groups of people in thestreets who all seemed walking in one direction. There werestudents in their odd caps walking three or four abreast, therewere young couples and older ones, and here and there wholefamilies; there were soldiers of all ages, officers and privates;and, when talk was to be heard in passing, it was always talkabout music.For some time Marco waited in the square and watched thecarriages roll up and pass under the huge pillared portico todeposit their contents at the entrance and at once drive away inorderly sequence. He must make sure that the grand carriage withthe green and silver liveries rolled up with the rest. If itcame, he would buy a cheap ticket and go inside.It was rather late when it arrived. People in Munich are notlate for the opera if it can be helped, and the coachman drove uphurriedly. The green and silver footman leaped to the ground andopened the carriage door almost before it stopped. TheChancellor got out looking less genial than usual because he wasafraid that he might lose some of the overture. A rosy-cheekedgirl in a white frock was with him and she was evidently tryingto soothe him."I do not think we are really late, Father," she said. "Don'tfeel cross, dear. It will spoil the music for you."This was not a time in which a man's attention could be attractedquietly. Marco ran to get the ticket which would give him aplace among the rows of young soldiers, artists, male and femalestudents, and musicians who were willing to stand four or fivedeep throughout the performance of even the longest opera. Heknew that, unless they were in one of the few boxes whichbelonged only to the court, the Chancellor and his rosy-cheekeddaughter would be in the best seats in the front curve of thebalcony which were the most desirable of the house. He soon sawthem. They had secured the central places directly below thelarge royal box where two quiet princesses and their attendantswere already seated.When he found he was not too late to hear the overture, theChancellor's face become more genial than ever. He settledhimself down to an evening of enjoyment and evidently forgoteverything else in the world. Marco did not lose sight of him.When the audience went out between acts to promenade in thecorridors, he might go also and there might be a chance to passnear to him in the crowd. He watched him closely. Sometimes hisfine old face saddened at the beautiful woe of the music,sometimes it looked enraptured, and it was always evident thatevery note reached his soul.The pretty daughter who sat beside him was attentive but not soenthralled. After the first act two glittering young officersappeared and made elegant and low bows, drawing their heelstogether as they kissed her hand. They looked sorry when theywere obliged to return to their seats again.After the second act the Chancellor sat for a few minutes as ifhe were in a dream. The people in the seats near him began torise from their seats and file out into the corridors. The youngofficers were to be seen rising also. The rosy daughter leanedforward and touched her father's arm gently."She wants him to take her out," Marco thought. "He will takeher because he is good-natured."He saw him recall himself from his dream with a smile and then herose and, after helping to arrange a silvery blue scarf round thegirl's shoulders, gave her his arm just as Marco skipped out ofhis fourth-row standing-place.It was a rather warm night and the corridors were full. By thetime Marco had reached the balcony floor, the pair had issuedfrom the little door and were temporarily lost in the movingnumbers.Marco quietly made his way among the crowd trying to look as ifhe belonged to somebody. Once or twice his strong body and hisdense black eyes and lashes made people glance at him, but hewas not the only boy who had been brought to the opera so he feltsafe enough to stop at the foot of the stairs and watch those whowent up and those who passed by. Such a miscellaneous crowd asit was made up of--good unfashionable music-lovers mixed here andthere with grand people of the court and the gay world.Suddenly he heard a low laugh and a moment later a hand lightlytouched him."You did get out, then?" a soft voice said.When he turned he felt his muscles stiffen. He ceased to slouchand did not smile as he looked at the speaker. What he felt wasa wave of fierce and haughty anger. It swept over him before hehad time to control it.A lovely person who seemed swathed in several shades of softviolet drapery was smiling at him with long, lovely eyes.It was the woman who had trapped him into No. 10 Brandon Terrace.