Two Crowns for America

by Katherine Kurtz

  Pale but composed again, Washington slipped the sword into the scabbard and, at Simon’s gesture, buckled it back around his waist with hands that trembled slightly. Meanwhile, a solemn and serene Ramsay had come forward with a small glass flagon, a towel laid across one forearm. As Simon stepped back, to kneel now at Washington’s left side, Ramsay moved into the place he had vacated. The General straightened on his knees, setting both hands to the sides of the narrow shelf before him to steady his trembling, his eyes drawn to the flagon Ramsay held.

  “In ancient days,” Ramsay said, removing the flagon’s stopper and handing it to the Master, “anointing was given for many things. Kings and priests were anointed, and sacrifices; but the most important anointing, by far, was the anointing with healing balm that brought relief from pain.

  “As physician and healer, then, I give you anointing, not as king or priest or sacrifice, but as a bringer of healing hope to all your people: to bind up the nation’s wounds and make whole the broken.”

  He tipped the flagon briefly against his first two fingers, then pressed them lightly to the General’s forehead. At his touch, Washington’s eyes closed and he reeled slightly on his knees.

  “Be of good cheer, neither be afraid,” Ramsay said softly, shifting his hand to the crown of the General’s head, and lifting the flagon to pour a small amount of oil there as the powdered head bowed. “The Lord shall prosper thee in thy going out and thy coming in. Be thou consecrated to the healing of thy nation’s wounds.”

  A moment he took to spread the oil slightly, handing off the flagon to the Master, laying his hand over the dampened spot as the sharp, clean smell of cedar permeated the room. Then he gently blotted away the excess with the towel from over his arm, took the flagon back from the Master, and withdrew to his previous place. As he did so, the Master rose to receive the small silver-mounted Bible that Simon now produced from an inside pocket. This the Master laid on the shelf before Washington, stepping back then, so that Washington’s view of the All-Seeing Eye was unobstructed.

  “Know that you kneel before The Great Architect of the Universe, to whom you have given your homage in times past,” the Master said. “I ask you now to place your hands upon this Volume of Sacred Law and to pledge your oath to the cause you have chosen to uphold. The mantle you now assume is a sacred one, whose honor must never be tarnished. And because you never have and never shall take a more sacred obligation, I require you to frame this oath in your own words. Take as long as you need, for words of the heart and the soul are not always quickly summoned.”

  The instruction left Washington stunned, for he had not expected this. As the Master slowly moved to his right side, there to kneel facing east like the rest of them, Washington stared for a long moment at the painting on the floor cloth before him—at the All-Seeing Eye, the unfinished pyramid with its thirteen courses, at the thirteen stars and the mottoes that told of a nation aborning. When he finally moved his hands to lay them on Lafayette’s Bible, the marquis dipped the flag so that it fell about the General’s shoulders like the mantle the Master had described.

  Washington started at that, but then his right hand lifted to catch an edge of the flag, to bring it reverently to his lips. Then, with his left hand still resting on the Bible and the right pressing a portion of the flag to his heart, enfolded in red-and-white stripes, he bowed his head in prayer. When he finally spoke, his first words were an echo of the Obligations all of them had sworn at other times and in other places, the more potent for being framed within the familiar phrases.

  “I, George Washington, of my own free will and accord … in presence of Almighty God and this Lodge of most excellent Master Masons, who have come together to do me great service … do hereby and hereon … in addition to my former Obligations … most solemnly and sincerely promise and swear …”

  He paused here to collect his thoughts as he embarked upon the unique specifics of tonight’s oath, the fingers of his left hand clenching convulsively around the silver mounts of the Bible.

  “I most solemnly and sincerely promise and swear that I will keep faith with the Congress of the United States of America and the delegates thereto, from all of the thirteen colonies; that I will faithfully execute the duties of Commander in Chief of the Continental Armies of the United States, both existing now and to be created; that I do this from no desire for personal gain, but for the preservation of the nation’s liberties, that we may be free to determine our own future, in what way seems to us best.”

  He lifted his head slightly, but tears were trickling down his face, and Simon did not think he saw as he went on.

  “I further vow and declare that it is not and has never been my desire to achieve an earthly Crown; that I desire only a victor’s Crown—not for my own glory, but for the saving of the nation’s liberties.

  “To all of this do I pledge my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor. So help me God, and keep me steadfast in the due performance of the same.”

  He bowed his head to kiss the Book, his cheeks wet with tears. When he looked up, he gasped to see Arabella standing directly before him, just inside the ring of candles. Even Simon had not noticed her approach, so engrossed had he been in Washington’s words. She had put aside her dark cloak to reveal a flowing white gown in the Grecian style, girded at the waist with her Masonic apron, her unbound hair tumbling dark around her shoulders. The Sobieski sword was in her right hand, an olive branch in her left, and on her head was a laurel Crown. At Washington’s awed intake of breath, she moved a step closer.

  “I represent the Goddess of Liberty and bear both the sword and the olive branch,” she said quietly. “He who would be my champion and win my Crown of victory must wield the sword to gain the blessings of peace. Are you prepared to do so?”

  Releasing his handful of flag, Washington laid his right hand with the left atop Lafayette’s Bible.

  “I am, God aiding me.”

  “Then go and lay these tokens upon the altar, as further sign of your willingness to take on the burden of my Crown, and pray for strength to bear it to the end, to win the victory it betokens.”

  She waited while he eased stiffly to his feet, eschewing the assistance Simon or the Master would have offered, then set the tokens in his hands—the sword of battle and the olive branch of peace. He bowed to her before slowly setting off across the painted floor cloth, passing carefully between the two candles directly before the altar. His watchers could not see his face, but they could see the tension in his form as he stood before the altar, head bowed.

  At length he gently placed the olive branch atop the square and compasses, then laid the sword across his two hands and set it along the front of the altar. After that he drew to attention, inclining his head stiffly in a formal bow, then turned to come back to them, moving as if in a trance. The Master had risen during his absence and bowed as Washington came back into the circle, gesturing for him to kneel once more, which Washington did.

  Solemnly Arabella came to stand before him, slowly reaching to her head to remove the laurel Crown. Washington’s gray-blue gaze followed her every movement, his hands once again resting on the silver-mounted Bible. He closed his eyes as she brought the Crown above his head, shuddering as it touched his hair. Before she could withdraw, he gently seized her left hand and kissed it, keeping it briefly in his as he whispered, “Thank you, Sister Wallace.”

  She smiled and bobbed him a minute curtsy before pulling back and to the side, for Prince Lucien now was moving before him, withdrawing a folded piece of paper from inside his uniform coat.

  “Your Excellency,” the prince said, bowing slightly as he unfolded the paper. “While you yet rest before this sacred altar, wearing the Crown you have chosen, I am instructed to read you these words from my royal cousin, Charles Edward Stuart.

  “ ‘To General George Washington, Commander in Chief of the American Armies,’ ” he read. “ ‘Your Excellency: I have followed your career with great interest and have applauded y
our forbearance, your devotion to duty, and your courage in the face of great adversity. My respect for your bold accomplishments and my confidence in your ability are matched only by my warm affection for the cause you have espoused. It is the vocation of a leader, whether he be a king, dictator, or something new and not yet named, to be the guardian of his people’s liberties. This is the path you have chosen, and America is fortunate, indeed, to have such a leader. Had I been blessed with such service in 1745, my world might be a far different place; indeed, even your present war might not have had to be fought.

  “ ‘I regret that fortune has not permitted our paths to cross directly. Nonetheless, I send you my warmest felicitations and my most earnest prayers for the success of the American endeavor. May The Great Architect of the Universe prosper your work and keep you steadfast in America’s service. Yours fraternally, Charles.’ ”

  As the prince finished reading, hardly an eye was dry among those who had served Charles Edward Stuart. Washington, who had not, had buried his face in one hand, the other still clasped around Lafayette’s Bible, as much moved as the rest of them. After a moment the Master quietly moved before him, casting a glance at Simon and nodding as he gently set a hand on Washington’s bowed head.

  “Rest now, General,” he whispered. “This part of your work is done. Rest now, and sleep.”

  Washington breathed out with a heavy sigh, the tension going out of him as he slowly sank down on his hunkers. Simon’s arm around his shoulders kept him upright, steadying the lolling head as the Master tilted it upward. The General’s eyes were closed. Smiling faintly, the Master plucked a leaf from the laurel Crown.

  “Rest now,” he repeated softly, “and let the memory of this past hour recede until it remains only as a dream. You will never speak of this dream again, even to those who have shared it with you, but the essence of what you have pledged tonight will remain with you always, and will come to mind whenever you smell the scent of laurel leaves.” He crushed the leaf between his fingers and passed it under Washington’s nose. “Breathe deeply of this scent and remember it, and draw strength from the remembrance in all the years to come.”

  Washington stirred slightly in Simon’s arms as he inhaled deeply of the scent of laurel, but then he subsided into deep slumber.

  Epilogue

  Evidence of the night’s work was quickly dispersed. While Ramsay and the prince set about dismantling the Lodge and restoring the library room to its normal configuration, Arabella withdrew to change clothes and lay out the cold supper she had prepared earlier—though she, Ramsay, and Andrew would not join them. Simon withdrew long enough to fetch Justin from outside, and together the two carried the sleeping Washington into the parlor, where Simon remained to keep watch while Justin lent his assistance in the library. The Master’s last act, before withdrawing from Andrew’s body, was to draw Lafayette apart for a brief exchange that left the young marquis sitting dazed and silent on a chair in the entry hall outside.

  Both Lafayette and the Commander in Chief appeared relaxed and congenial half an hour later, by the time Simon ushered them into the dining room to sit down to supper. Justin served at table, as most junior among them, and the prince played on the pianoforte after they had dined. The tone of their table talk gradually evolved from affable discourse to good-natured banter, for Lafayette poured generous glasses of a fine vintage claret he had brought with him from France. If a pensive note occasionally intruded on the General’s animation, it could easily be ascribed to fatigue, or even anticipation over his young friend’s imminent departure. By the time the party mounted up to ride back to headquarters, the two generals were well mellowed with wine.

  Lafayette left for Philadelphia the next morning. Little more than two months later, he was to make a triumphant return, riding into Washington’s headquarters camp at the head of a crack light cavalry escort.

  “Mon général!” he cried, as he threw himself from his horse and ran to embrace him. “Rochambeau has landed! He has brought you the troops that were promised!”

  The arrival of more than five thousand French troops marked a major turning point in the war for American independence. Little more than a year later, on October 27, 1781, Washington defeated Lord Cornwallis at the Battle of Yorktown but was denied the satisfaction of receiving the sword of a defeated British general when Cornwallis sent a mere brigadier general as deputy in his place. (Washington countered by directing one of his own brigadiers to accept the surrender.) The British troops marched out with colors cased, to a tune called, “The World Turn’d Upside Down.” Yorktown essentially brought an end to the land war, though desultory fighting would continue along the coast and at sea until the official cessation of hostilities in February of 1783.

  On April 30, 1789, George Washington became the first President of the new United States, though there were many who would have preferred to crown him King George I of America. Even at the time of his inauguration, differences remained over whether he should be styled “His Highness, the President of the United States of America, and Protector of their Liberties.”

  But he had gained his laurel wreath—which appeared on American coins as early as 1783 and persisted (as a wreath of wheat) until 1956 on the reverse of the American penny. The All-Seeing Eye in the radiant triangle and the unfinished pyramid of thirteen courses were incorporated into the reverse of the Great Seal of the United States, as were several of the mottoes proposed by “the Professor.” Both sides of the Great Seal may still be seen on the reverse of the American one-dollar bill. Washington’s likeness is on the face of the bill, as are remnants of his laurel wreath. Throughout the rest of his life, he remained an active Freemason, serving as Master of his home lodge at Alexandria, Virginia, and promoting Masonic ideals.

  Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette, returned to France and attempted to moderate some of the excesses of the French Revolution, but he was never as effective as he had been during those months when he rode at the side of his beloved general and helped change the course of the American war for independence.

  Charles Edward Stuart never regained his throne, but he left a legacy of legend for Scottish patriots that endures to this day.

  The treasure of Loch Arkaig is believed never to have been recovered.

  Numerous sources suggest that the design of Washington’s first flag and the Great Seal were inspired by a mysterious figure known only as “the Professor,” here conflated with a similar figure who is said to have inspired the signers of the Declaration of Independence. The latter is mentioned by no less a source than Thomas Jefferson.

  The Count of Saint-Germain remains a figure of mystery, whose influence was to extend into the French Revolution, the Napoleonic era, and perhaps beyond.

  As for the Crown of America—there is little doubt that at some point it was, indeed, offered both to Charles Edward Stuart and to George Washington. The Scottish author John Buchan developed one speculation regarding Charles in his short story, “The Company of the Marjolaine.” A colonel named Lewis Nicola wrote to Washington in May of 1782, outlining the grievances of the army and proposing that Washington be designated king—or perhaps some more suitable title. Washington was horrified and replied that “no occurrence in the war has given me more painful sensations than your information of there being such ideas existing in the army.”

  A third man may have been offered the Crown as well. An unattributed source suggests that in 1786 a committee headed by James Monroe and Alexander Hamilton approached Prince Henry of Prussia, brother of Frederick the Great; but Henry waffled for so long about whether he wanted to live among the strange and savage Americans that the offer was withdrawn in favor of having a President.

  It remains for future generations to determine whether America would have been better served by a government more akin to forms then prevalent in Western Europe or whether the great experiment of democracy will prove the better choice, and that “government of the people, by the people, and for the people s
hall not perish from the earth.”

  Historical Afterword

  When the American colonies began to move toward separation from the Mother Country, the quarrel of the colonists was not with the King but with his ministers. Many and perhaps most Americans were staunch monarchists, loyal to the Crown, and would have been content to remain linked to England but for the growing inclination of Westminster to impose taxes over which the colonists had no say.

  The seeds had been sown for a possible alternative monarchy thirty years earlier, when English Crown forces defeated the Highland army of Prince Charles Edward Stuart, son of James Francis Edward Stuart (the de jure King James III of England, called “The Old Pretender”) and grandson of James II of England, who had been the last male Stuart to occupy the English throne. (Whether Charles Edward’s father was, in fact, the rightful king depends upon which version of his birth one believes. If, as his supporters always maintained, James Francis was truly the son of King James II and Queen Mary of Modena, then his right to the Crown was unquestionable; if, instead, the infant James Francis was smuggled into the Queen’s bed in a warming pan to replace a stillborn child, then ousting James II and his false offspring in favor of his elder daughter and her Dutch husband perhaps can be justified. Supporters of the deposed James—Jacobus in Latin—came to be called Jacobites.)

  Whatever the true parentage of James Francis Stuart, the “Glorious Revolution” of 1688 expelled James II and his queen from England, along with their infant son, and in 1689 set James’s elder daughter Mary and William of Orange (William III of England) on the throne. They had no heirs. Following Mary’s death in 1694, William reigned alone until his own death in 1702, when he was succeeded by Mary’s sister Anne. Following Anne’s death in 1714, also without heir, England turned to the House of Hanover for a non-Catholic successor—which sparked a series of unsuccessful Jacobite risings in 1715, 1719, and finally in 1745, when Prince Charles Edward (“Bonnie Prince Charlie”) took up his father’s cause and, at Culloden, passed from the realm of historical tragedy into legend.