Chapter XXXI. "The Son of Stefan Loristan"

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　When a party composed of two boys attended by a big soldierlyman-servant and accompanied by two distinguished-looking, elderlymen, of a marked foreign type, appeared on the platform ofCharing Cross Station they attracted a good deal of attention.In fact, the good looks and strong, well-carried body of thehandsome lad with the thick black hair would have caused eyes toturn towards him even if he had not seemed to be regarded as sospecial a charge by those who were with him. But in a countrywhere people are accustomed to seeing a certain manner andcertain forms observed in the case of persons--however young--whoare set apart by the fortune of rank and distinction, and wherethe populace also rather enjoys the sight of such demeanor, itwas inevitable that more than one quick-sighted looker-on shouldcomment on the fact that this was not an ordinary group ofindividuals."See that fine, big lad over there!" said a workman, whosehead, with a pipe in its mouth, stuck out of a third-classsmoking carriage window. "He's some sort of a young swell, I'lllay a shillin'! Take a look at him," to his mate inside.The mate took a look. The pair were of the decent, polytechnic-educated type, and were shrewd at observation."Yes, he's some sort of young swell," he summed him up. "Buthe's not English by a long chalk. He must be a young Turk, orRussian, sent over to be educated. His suite looks like it. Allbut the ferret-faced chap on crutches. Wonder what he is!"A good-natured looking guard was passing, and the first manhailed him."Have we got any swells traveling with us this morning?" heasked, jerking his head towards the group. "That looks like it.Any one leaving Windsor or Sandringham to cross from Doverto-day?"The man looked at the group curiously for a moment and then shookhis head."They do look like something or other," he answered, "but noone knows anything about them. Everybody's safe in BuckinghamPalace and Marlborough House this week. No one either going orcoming."No observer, it is true, could have mistaken Lazarus for anordinary attendant escorting an ordinary charge. If silence hadnot still been strictly the order, he could not have restrainedhimself. As it was, he bore himself like a grenadier, and stoodby Marco as if across his dead body alone could any one approachthe lad."Until we reach Melzarr," he had said with passion to the twogentlemen,--"until I can stand before my Master and behold himembrace his son--behold him--I implore that I may not lose sightof him night or day. On my knees, I implore that I may travel,armed, at his side. I am but his servant, and have no right tooccupy a place in the same carriage. But put me anywhere. Iwill be deaf, dumb, blind to all but himself. Only permit me tobe near enough to give my life if it is needed. Let me say tomy Master, `I never left him.' ""We will find a place for you," the elder man said, "and ifyou are so anxious, you may sleep across his threshold when wespend the night at a hotel.""I will not sleep!" said Lazarus. "I will watch. Supposethere should be demons of Maranovitch loose and infuriated inEurope? Who knows!""The Maranovitch and Iarovitch who have not already swornallegiance to King Ivor are dead on battlefields. The remainderare now Fedorovitch and praising God for their King," was theanswer Baron Rastka made him.But Lazarus kept his guard unbroken. When he occupied the nextcompartment to the one in which Marco traveled, he stood in thecorridor throughout the journey. When they descended at anypoint to change trains, he followed close at the boy's heels, hisfierce eyes on every side at once and his hand on the weaponhidden in his broad leather belt. When they stopped to rest insome city, he planted himself in a chair by the bedroom door ofhis charge, and if he slept he was not aware that nature hadbetrayed him into doing so.If the journey made by the young Bearers of the Sign had been astrange one, this was strange by its very contrast. Throughoutthat pilgrimage, two uncared-for waifs in worn clothes hadtraveled from one place to another, sometimes in third- orfourth-class continental railroad carriages, sometimes in joltingdiligences, sometimes in peasants' carts, sometimes on foot byside roads and mountain paths, and forest ways. Now, twowell-dressed boys in the charge of two men of the class whoseorders are obeyed, journeyed in compartments reserved for them,their traveling appurtenances supplying every comfort that luxurycould provide.The Rat had not known that there were people who traveled in sucha manner; that wants could be so perfectly foreseen; thatrailroad officials, porters at stations, the staff ofrestaurants, could be by magic transformed into active and eagerservants. To lean against the upholstered back of a railwaycarriage and in luxurious ease look through the window at passingbeauties, and then to find books at your elbow and excellentmeals appearing at regular hours, these unknown perfections madeit necessary for him at times to pull himself together and giveall his energies to believing that he was quite awake. Awake hewas, and with much on his mind "to work out,"--so much, indeed,that on the first day of the journey he had decided to give upthe struggle, and wait until fate made clear to him such thingsas he was to be allowed to understand of the mystery of StefanLoristan.What he realized most clearly was that the fact that the son ofStefan Loristan was being escorted in private state to thecountry his father had given his life's work to, was never for amoment forgotten. The Baron Rastka and Count Vorversk were ofthe dignity and courteous reserve which marks men of distinction.Marco was not a mere boy to them, he was the son of StefanLoristan; and they were Samavians. They watched over him, not asLazarus did, but with a gravity and forethought which somehowseemed to encircle him with a rampart. Without any air ofsubservience, they constituted themselves his attendants. Hiscomfort, his pleasure, even his entertainment, were their privatecare. The Rat felt sure they intended that, if possible, heshould enjoy his journey, and that he should not be fatigued byit. They conversed with him as The Rat had not known that menever conversed with boys,--until he had met Loristan. It wasplain that they knew what he would be most interested in, andthat they were aware he was as familiar with the history ofSamavia as they were themselves. When he showed a disposition tohear of events which had occurred, they were as prompt to followhis lead as they would have been to follow the lead of a man.That, The Rat argued with himself, was because Marco had lived sointimately with his father that his life had been more like aman's than a boy's and had trained him in mature thinking. Hewas very quiet during the journey, and The Rat knew he wasthinking all the time.The night before they reached Melzarr, they slept at a town somehours distant from the capital. They arrived at midnight andwent to a quiet hotel."To-morrow," said Marco, when The Rat had left him for thenight, "to-morrow, we shall see him! God be thanked!""God be thanked!" said The Rat, also. And each saluted theother before they parted.In the morning, Lazarus came into the bedroom with an air sosolemn that it seemed as if the garments he carried in his handswere part of some religious ceremony."I am at your command, sir," he said. "And I bring you youruniform."He carried, in fact, a richly decorated Samavian uniform, and thefirst thing Marco had seen when he entered was that Lazarushimself was in uniform also. His was the uniform of an officerof the King's Body Guard."The Master," he said, "asks that you wear this on yourentrance to Melzarr. I have a uniform, also, for youraide-de-camp."When Rastka and Vorversk appeared, they were in uniforms also.It was a uniform which had a touch of the Orient in itspicturesque splendor. A short fur-bordered mantle hung by ajeweled chain from the shoulders, and there was much magnificentembroidery of color and gold."Sir, we must drive quickly to the station," Baron Rastka saidto Marco. "These people are excitable and patriotic, and HisMajesty wishes us to remain incognito, and avoid all chance ofpublic demonstration until we reach the capital." They passedrather hurriedly through the hotel to the carriage which awaitedthem. The Rat saw that something unusual was happening in theplace. Servants were scurrying round corners, and guests werecoming out of their rooms and even hanging over the balustrades.As Marco got into his carriage, he caught sight of a boy abouthis own age who was peeping from behind a bush. Suddenly hedarted away, and they all saw him tearing down the street towardsthe station as fast as his legs would carry him.But the horses were faster than he was. The party reached thestation, and was escorted quickly to its place in a specialsaloon- carriage which awaited it. As the train made its way outof the station, Marco saw the boy who had run before them rush onto the platform, waving his arms and shouting something with wilddelight. The people who were standing about turned to look athim, and the next instant they had all torn off their caps andthrown them up in the air and were shouting also. But it was notpossible to hear what they said."We were only just in time," said Vorversk, and Baron Rastkanodded.The train went swiftly, and stopped only once before they reachedMelzarr. This was at a small station, on the platform of whichstood peasants with big baskets of garlanded flowers andevergreens. They put them on the train, and soon both Marco andThe Rat saw that something unusual was taking place. At onetime, a man standing on the narrow outside platform of thecarriage was plainly seen to be securing garlands and handing upflags to men who worked on the roof."They are doing something with Samavian flags and a lot offlowers and green things!" cried The Rat, in excitement."Sir, they are decorating the outside of the carriage,"Vorversk said. "The villagers on the line obtained permissionfrom His Majesty. The son of Stefan Loristan could not beallowed to pass their homes without their doing homage.""I understand," said Marco, his heart thumping hard against hisuniform. "It is for my father's sake."At last, embowered, garlanded, and hung with waving banners, thetrain drew in at the chief station at Melzarr."Sir," said Rastka, as they were entering, "will you stand upthat the people may see you? Those on the outskirts of the crowdwill have the merest glimpse, but they will never forget."Marco stood up. The others grouped themselves behind him. Therearose a roar of voices, which ended almost in a shriek of joywhich was like the shriek of a tempest. Then there burst forththe blare of brazen instruments playing the National Hymn ofSamavia, and mad voices joined in it.If Marco had not been a strong boy, and long trained in self-control, what he saw and heard might have been almost too much tobe borne. When the train had come to a full stop, and the doorwas thrown open, even Rastka's dignified voice was unsteady as hesaid, "Sir, lead the way. It is for us to follow."And Marco, erect in the doorway, stood for a moment, looking outupon the roaring, acclaiming, weeping, singing and swayingmultitude-- and saluted just as he had saluted The Squad, lookingjust as much a boy, just as much a man, just as much a thrillingyoung human being.Then, at the sight of him standing so, it seemed as if the crowdwent mad--as the Forgers of the Sword had seemed to go mad on thenight in the cavern. The tumult rose and rose, the crowd rocked,and leapt, and, in its frenzy of emotion, threatened to crushitself to death. But for the lines of soldiers, there would haveseemed no chance for any one to pass through it alive."I am the son of Stefan Loristan," Marco said to himself, inorder to hold himself steady. "I am on my way to my father."Afterward, he was moving through the line of guarding soldiers tothe entrance, where two great state-carriages stood; and there,outside, waited even a huger and more frenzied crowd than thatleft behind. He saluted there again, and again, and again, onall sides. It was what they had seen the Emperor do in Vienna.He was not an Emperor, but he was the son of Stefan Loristan whohad brought back the King."You must salute, too," he said to The Rat, when they got intothe state carriage. "Perhaps my father has told them. It seemsas if they knew you."The Rat had been placed beside him on the carriage seat. He wasinwardly shuddering with a rapture of exultation which was almostanguish. The people were looking at him--shouting at him--surelyit seemed like it when he looked at the faces nearest in thecrowd. Perhaps Loristan--"Listen!" said Marco suddenly, as the carriage rolled on itsway. "They are shouting to us in Samavian, `The Bearers of theSign!'That is what they are saying now. `The Bearers of the Sign.' "They were being taken to the Palace. That Baron Rastka and CountVorversk had explained in the train. His Majesty wished toreceive them. Stefan Loristan was there also.The city had once been noble and majestic. It was somewhatOriental, as its uniforms and national costumes were. There weredomed and pillared structures of white stone and marble, therewere great arches, and city gates, and churches. But many ofthem were half in ruins through war, and neglect, and decay.They passed the half-unroofed cathedral, standing in the sunshinein its great square, still in all its disaster one of the mostbeautiful structures in Europe. In the exultant crowd were stillto be seen haggard faces, men with bandaged limbs and heads orhobbling on sticks and crutches. The richly colored nativecostumes were most of them worn to rags. But their wearers hadthe faces of creatures plucked from despair to be lifted toheaven."Ivor! Ivor!" they cried; "Ivor! Ivor!" and sobbed withrapture.The Palace was as wonderful in its way as the white cathedral.The immensely wide steps of marble were guarded by soldiers. Thehuge square in which it stood was filled with people whom thesoldiers held in check."I am his son," Marco said to himself, as he descended from thestate carriage and began to walk up the steps which seemed soenormously wide that they appeared almost like a street. Up hemounted, step by step, The Rat following him. And as he turnedfrom side to side, to salute those who made deep obeisance as hepassed, he began to realize that he had seen their faces before."These who are guarding the steps," he said, quickly under hisbreath to The Rat, "are the Forgers of the Sword!"There were rich uniforms everywhere when he entered the palace,and people who bowed almost to the ground as he passed. He wasvery young to be confronted with such an adoring adulation androyal ceremony; but he hoped it would not last too long, and thatafter he had knelt to the King and kissed his hand, he would seehis father and hear his voice. Just to hear his voice again, andfeel his hand on his shoulder!Through the vaulted corridors, to the wide-opened doors of amagnificent room he was led at last. The end of it seemed a longway off as he entered. There were many richly dressed people whostood in line as he passed up toward the canopied dais. He feltthat he had grown pale with the strain of excitement, and he hadbegun to feel that he must be walking in a dream, as on each sidepeople bowed low and curtsied to the ground.He realized vaguely that the King himself was standing, awaitinghis approach. But as he advanced, each step bearing him nearerto the throne, the light and color about him, the strangeness andmagnificence, the wildly joyous acclamation of the populaceoutside the palace, made him feel rather dazzled, and he did notclearly see any one single face or thing."His Majesty awaits you," said a voice behind him which seemedto be Baron Rastka's. "Are you faint, sir? You look pale."He drew himself together, and lifted his eyes. For one fullmoment, after he had so lifted them, he stood quite still andstraight, looking into the deep beauty of the royal face. Thenhe knelt and kissed the hands held out to him--kissed them bothwith a passion of boy love and worship.The King had the eyes he had longed to see--the King's hands werethose he had longed to feel again upon his shoulder--the King washis father! the "Stefan Loristan" who had been the last ofthose who had waited and labored for Samavia through five hundredyears, and who had lived and died kings, though none of them tillnow had worn a crown!His father was the King!It was not that night, nor the next, nor for many nights that thetelling of the story was completed. The people knew that theirKing and his son were rarely separated from each other; that thePrince's suite of apartments were connected by a private passagewith his father's. The two were bound together by an affectionof singular strength and meaning, and their love for their peopleadded to their feeling for each other. In the history of whattheir past had been, there was a romance which swelled theemotional Samavian heart near to bursting. By mountain fires, inhuts, under the stars, in fields and in forests, all that wasknown of their story was told and retold a thousand times, withsobs of joy and prayer breaking in upon the tale.But none knew it as it was told in a certain quiet but statelyroom in the palace, where the man once known only as "StefanLoristan," but whom history would call the first King Ivor ofSamavia, told his share of it to the boy whom Samavians had astrange and superstitious worship for, because he seemed sosurely their Lost Prince restored in body and soul--almost thekingly lad in the ancient portrait--some of them half believedwhen he stood in the sunshine, with the halo about his head.It was a wonderful and intense story, that of the long wanderingsand the close hiding of the dangerous secret. Among all thosewho had known that a man who was an impassioned patriot waslaboring for Samavia, and using all the power of a great mind andthe delicate ingenuity of a great genius to gain friends andfavor for his unhappy country, there had been but one who hadknown that Stefan Loristan had a claim to the Samavian throne.He had made no claim, he had sought--not a crown--but the finalfreedom of the nation for which his love had been a religion."Not the crown!" he said to the two young Bearers of the Signas they sat at his feet like schoolboys--"not a throne. `TheLife of my life--for Samavia.' That was what I worked for--whatwe have all worked for. If there had risen a wiser man inSamavia's time of need, it would not have been for me to remindthem of their Lost Prince. I could have stood aside. But no manarose. The crucial moment came--and the one man who knew thesecret, revealed it. Then--Samavia called, and I answered."He put his hand on the thick, black hair of his boy's head."There was a thing we never spoke of together," he said. "Ibelieved always that your mother died of her bitter fears for meand the unending strain of them. She was very young and loving,and knew that there was no day when we parted that we were sureof seeing each other alive again. When she died, she begged meto promise that your boyhood and youth should not be burdened bythe knowledge she had found it so terrible to bear. I shouldhave kept the secret from you, even if she had not so imploredme. I had never meant that you should know the truth until youwere a man. If I had died, a certain document would have beensent to you which would have left my task in your hands and mademy plans clear. You would have known then that you also were aPrince Ivor, who must take up his country's burden and be readywhen Samavia called. I tried to help you to train yourself forany task. You never failed me.""Your Majesty," said The Rat, "I began to work it out, andthink it must be true that night when we were with the old womanon the top of the mountain. It was the way she looked at--at HisHighness.""Say `Marco,' " threw in Prince Ivor. "It's easier. He wasmy army, Father."Stefan Loristan's grave eyes melted."Say `Marco,' " he said. "You were his army--and more--whenwe both needed one. It was you who invented the Game!""Thanks, Your Majesty," said The Rat, reddening scarlet. "Youdo me great honor! But he would never let me wait on him when wewere traveling. He said we were nothing but two boys. I supposethat's why it's hard to remember, at first. But my mind went onworking until sometimes I was afraid I might let something out atthe wrong time. When we went down into the cavern, and I saw theForgers of the Sword go mad over him--I knew it must be true.But I didn't dare to speak. I knew you meant us to wait; so Iwaited.""You are a faithful friend," said the King, "and you havealways obeyed orders!"A great moon was sailing in the sky that night--just such a moonas had sailed among the torn rifts of storm clouds when thePrince at Vienna had come out upon the balcony and the boyishvoice had startled him from the darkness of the garden below.The clearer light of this night's splendor drew them out on abalcony also--a broad balcony of white marble which looked likesnow. The pure radiance fell upon all they saw spread beforethem--the lovely but half-ruined city, the great palace squarewith its broken statues and arches, the splendid ghost of theunroofed cathedral whose High Altar was bare to the sky.They stood and looked at it. There was a stillness in which allthe world might have ceased breathing."What next?" said Prince Ivor, at last speaking quietly andlow. "What next, Father?""Great things which will come, one by one," said the King, "ifwe hold ourselves ready."Prince Ivor turned his face from the lovely, white, broken city,and put his brown hand on his father's arm."Upon the ledge that night--" he said, "Father, you remember--?" The King was looking far away, but he bent his head:"Yes. That will come, too," he said. "Can you repeat it?""Yes," said Ivor, "and so can the aide-de-camp. We've said ita hundred times. We believe it's true. `If the descendant ofthe Lost Prince is brought back to rule in Samavia, he will teachhis people the Law of the One, from his throne. He will teachhis son, and that son will teach his son, and he will teach his.And through such as these, the whole world will learn the Orderand the Law.' "