Sophy of Kravonia: A Novel

by Anthony Hope

  II

  AT THE GOLDEN LION

  It was the evening of the King's name-day. There was a banquet at thePalace, and the lights in its windows twinkled in sympathetic responseto the illuminations which blazed on the public buildings and principalresidences of Slavna. Everywhere feasting and revelry filled the night.The restaurant of the Hotel de Paris was crowded, every seat on itsterrace occupied; the old Inn of the Golden Lion, opposite the barracksin the Square of St. Michael, a favorite resort of the officers of thegarrison, did a trade no less good; humbler hostelries were full ofprivate soldiers, and the streets themselves of revellers male andfemale, military and civil, honest and dishonest, drunk and sober.Slavna had given itself up to a frolic; for, first, a _fete_ is a_fete_, no matter what its origin; secondly, King Alexis was the mostpopular man in his dominions, though he never did a decent day's workfor them; lastly, there is often no better way to show how much you hateone man than by making a disproportionate fuss about another. It waswell understood that by thus honoring King Alexis, its Monarch, by thusvociferously and untiringly wishing him the longest of reigns, Slavnawas giving a stinging back-hander to Prince Sergius, its titular Princeand Commandant. You would see the difference when the Prince's day cameround! When General Stenovics pointed to the lights gleaming across theKrath from the Palace windows and congratulated his Royal Highness onthe splendid popularity of the reigning House, the Prince's smile maywell have been ironical.

  "I shall go and see all this merriment for myself at close quarterspresently, General," said he. "I think the Commandant had best return tothe city to-night as early as the King will allow."

  "An admirable devotion to duty, sir," answered the General gravely, andwithout any effort to dissuade the zealous Prince.

  But even in this gay city there was one spot of gloom, one place wheresullen rancor had not been ousted by malicious merriment. The firstcompany of his Majesty's Guards was confined to its barracks in theSquare of St. Michael by order of the Commandant of Slavna; this byreason of high military misdemeanors--slackness when on duty, riotingand drunkenness when on leave; nor were the officers any better than themen. "You are men of war in the streets, men of peace in the ranks,"said the Commandant to them that morning in issuing his decree. "Youshall have a quiet evening to think over your short-comings." The orderwas reported to the King; he sighed, smiled, shook his head, said that,after all, discipline must be vindicated, and looked at his son withmingled admiration and pity. Such a faculty for making himself, otherpeople, and things in general uncomfortable! But, of course, discipline!The Commandant looked stern, and his father ventured on no opposition orappeal. General Stenovics offered no remonstrance either, although hehad good friends in the offending company. "He must do as he likes--solong as he's Commandant," he said to Markart.

  "May I go and see them and cheer them up a bit, sir, instead of comingwith you to the Palace?" asked that good-natured young man.

  "If his Royal Highness gives you leave, certainly," agreed the General.

  The Commandant liked Markart. "Yes--and tell them what fools they are,"he said, with a smile.

  Markart found the imprisoned officers at wine after their dinner; themen had resigned themselves to fate and gone to bed. Markart deliveredhis message with his usual urbane simplicity. Lieutenant Rastatz giggleduneasily--he had a high falsetto laugh. Lieutenant Sterkoff frownedpeevishly. Captain Mistitch rapped out a vicious oath and brought hisgreat fist down on the table. "The evening isn't finished yet," he said."But for this cursed fellow I should have been dining with Vera at theHotel de Paris to-night!"

  Whereupon proper condolences were offered to their Captain by hissubalterns, who, in fact, held him in no small degree of fear. He was ahuge fellow, six feet three and broad as a door; a great bruiser and aduellist of fame; his nickname was Hercules. His florid face was flushednow with hot anger, and he drank his wine in big gulps.

  "How long are we to stand it?" he growled. "Are we school-girls?"

  "Come, come, it's only for one evening," pleaded Markart. "One quietevening won't hurt even Captain Hercules!"

  The subalterns backed him with a laugh, but Mistitch would have none ofit. He sat glowering and drinking still, not to be soothed and decidedlydangerous. From across the square came the sound of music and singingfrom the Golden Lion. Again Mistitch banged the table.

  "Listen there!" he said. "That's pleasant hearing while we're shut uplike rats in a trap--and all Slavna laughing at us!"

  Markart shrugged his shoulders and smoked in silence; to argue with theman was to court a quarrel; he began to repent of his well-meant visit.Mistitch drained his glass.

  "But some of us have a bit of spirit left, and so Master Sergius shallsee," he went on. He put out a great hand on either side and caughtSterkoff and Rastatz by their wrists. "We're the fellows to show him!"he cried.

  Sterkoff seemed no bad choice for such an enterprise--a wiry, activefellow, with a determined, if disagreeable, face, and a nasty squint inhis right eye. But Rastatz, with his slim figure, weak mouth, and highlaugh, promised no great help; yet in him fear of Mistitch mightovercome all other fear.

  "Yes, we three'll show him! And now"--he rose to his feet, dragging thepair up with him--"for a song and a bottle at the Golden Lion!"

  Rastatz gasped, even Sterkoff started. Markart laughed: it could benothing more than a mad joke. Cashiering was the least punishment whichwould await the act.

  "Yes, we three together!" He released them for a moment and caught uphis sword and cap. Then he seized Rastatz's wrist again and squeezed itsavagely. "Come out of your trap with me, you rat!" he growled, insavage amusement at the young man's frightened face.

  Sterkoff gained courage. "I'm with you, Hercules!" he cried. "I'm forto-night--the devil take to-morrow morning!"

  "You're all drunk," said Markart, in despairing resignation.

  "We'll be drunker before the night's out," snarled Mistitch. "And if Imeet that fellow when I'm drunk, God help him!" He laughed loudly. "Thenthere might be a chance for young Alexis, after all!"

  The words alarmed Markart. Young Count Alexis was the King's son byCountess Ellenburg. A chance for young Alexis!

  "For Heaven's sake, go to bed!" he implored.

  Mistitch turned on him. "I don't want to quarrel with anybody in Slavnato-night, unless I meet one man. But you can't stop me, Markart, andyou'll only do mischief by trying. Now, my boys!"

  They were with him--Sterkoff with a gleam in his squinting eye, Rastatzwith a forced, uneasy giggle and shaking knees. Mistitch clapped them onthe back.

  "Another bottle apiece and we'll all be heroes!" he cried. "Markart, yougo home to your mamma!"

  Though given in no friendly way, this advice was wise beneath itsmetaphor. But Markart did not at once obey it. He had no more authoritythan power to interfere; Mistitch was his senior officer, and he had nospecial orders to act. But he followed the three in a fascinatedinterest, and with the hope that a very brief proof of his freedom wouldcontent the Captain. Out from the barracks the three marched. The sentryat the gate presented arms, but tried to bar their progress. With aguffaw and a mighty push Mistitch sent him sprawling. "The Commandantwants us, you fool!" he cried--and the three were in the square.

  "What the devil will come of this business?" thought Markart, as hefollowed them over the little bridge which spanned the canal, and thenceto the door of the Golden Lion. Behind them still he passed the seats onthe pavement and entered the great saloon. As Mistitch and hiscompanions came in, three-fourths of the company sprang to their feetand returned the salute of the new-comers; so strongly military incomposition was the company--officers on one side of a six-feet-highglass screen which cut the room in two, sergeants and their inferiors onthe other. A moment's silence succeeded the salute. Then a young officercried: "The King has interfered?" It did not occur to anybody that theCommandant might have changed his mind and reversed his decree; for goodor evil, they knew him too well to think of that.

  "The Kin
g interfered?" Mistitch echoed, in his sonorous, rolling, thickvoice. "No; we've interfered ourselves, and walked out! Does any oneobject?"

  He glared a challenge round. There were officers present of superiorrank--they drank their beer or wine discreetly. The juniors broke into aringing cheer; it was taken up and echoed back from behind the glassscreen, to which a hundred faces were in an instant glued, over which,here and there, the head of some soldier more than common tall suddenlyprojected.

  "A table here!" cried Mistitch. "And champagne! Quick! Sit down, myboys!"

  A strange silence followed the impulsive cheers. Men were thinking.Cheers first, thoughts afterwards, was the order in Slavna as in manyother cities. Now they recognized the nature of this thing, the fatefulchange from sullen obedience to open defiance. Was it only a drunkenfrolic--or, besides that, was it a summons to each man to choose hisside? Choosing his side might well mean staking his life.

  A girl in a low-necked dress and short petticoats began a song from araised platform at the end of the room. She was popular, and the song afavorite. Nobody seemed to listen; when she ended, nobody applauded.Mistitch had been whispering with Sterkoff, Rastatz sitting silent,tugging his slender, fair mustache. But none of the three had omitted topay their duty to the bottle; even Rastatz's chalky face bore a patch ofred on either cheek. Mistitch rose from his chair, glass in hand.

  "Long life to the King!" he shouted. "That's loyal, isn't it? Ay,immortal life!"

  The cheers broke out again, mingled with laughter. A voice cried: "Hardon his heir, Captain Hercules!"

  "Ay!" Mistitch roared back. "Hard as he is on us, my friend!"

  Another burst of cheering--and again that conscience-smitten silence.

  Markart had found a seat, near the door and a good way from theredoubtable Mistitch and his companions. He looked at his watch--it wasnearly ten; in half an hour General Stenovics would be leaving thePalace, and it was meet that he should know of all this as soon aspossible. Markart made up his mind that he would slip away soon; butstill the interest of the scene, the fascination of this prelude--suchit seemed to him--held his steps bound.

  Suddenly a young man of aristocratic appearance rose from a table at theend of the room, where he had been seated in company with a pretty andsmartly dressed girl. A graceful gesture excused him to his faircompanion, and he threaded his way deftly between the jostling tables towhere Mistitch sat. He wore Court dress and a decoration. Markartrecognized in the young man Baron von Hollbrandt, junior Secretary ofthe German Legation in Slavna.

  Hollbrandt bowed to Mistitch, with whom he was acquainted, then bentover the giant's burly back and whispered in his ear.

  "Take a friend's advice, Captain," he said. "I've been at the Palace,and I know the Prince had permission to withdraw at half-past nine. Hewas to return to Slavna then--to duty. Come, go back. You've had yourspree."

  "By the Lord, I'm obliged to you!" cried Mistitch. "Lads, we're obligedto Baron von Hollbrandt! Could you tell me the street he means to comeby? Because"--he rose to his feet again--"we'll go and meet him!"

  Half the hall heard him, and the speech was soon passed on to any out ofhearing. A sparse cheer sputtered here and there, but most were silent.Rastatz gasped again, while Sterkoff frowned and squinted villanously.Hollbrandt whispered once more, then stood erect, shrugged hisshoulders, bowed, and walked back to his pretty friend. He sat down andsqueezed her hand in apology; the pair broke into laughter a momentlater. Baron von Hollbrandt felt that he at least had done his duty.

  The three had drunk and drunk; Rastatz was silly, Sterkoff vicious, thegiant Mistitch jovially and cruelly reckless, exalted not only by liquorbut with the sense of the part he played. Suddenly from behind the glassscreen rose a mighty roar:

  "Long live Mistitch! Down with tyrants! Long live Captain Hercules!"

  It was fuel to the flames. Mistitch drained his glass and hurled it onthe floor.

  "Well, who follows me?" he cried.

  Half the men started to their feet; the other half pulled them down.Contending currents of feeling ran through the crowd; a man was recklessthis moment, timid the next; to one his neighbor gave warning, toanother instigation. They seemed poised on the point of a greatdecision. Yet what was it they were deciding? They could not tell.

  Markart suddenly forgot his caution. He rushed to Mistitch, with hishands out and "For God's sake!" loud on his lips.

  "You!" cried Mistitch. "By Heaven! what else does your General want?What else does Matthias Stenovics want? Tell me that!"

  A silence followed--of dread suspense. Men looked at one another in fearand doubt. Was that true which Mistitch said? They felt as ordinary menfeel when the edge of the curtain is lifted from before high schemes oron intrigues of the great.

  "If I should meet the Prince to-night, wouldn't there be news forStenovics?" cried Mistitch, with a roar of laughter.

  If he should meet the Prince! The men at the tables could not make uptheir minds to that. Mistitch they admired and feared, but they fearedthe proud Prince, too; they had many of them felt the weight of hisanger. Those who had stood up sank back in their places. One pot-belliedfellow raised a shout of hysterical laughter round him by rubbing hisfat face with a napkin and calling out: "I should like just one minuteto think about that meeting, Captain Hercules!"

  Markart had shrunk back, but Mistitch hurled a taunt at him and at allthe throng.

  "You're curs, one and all! But I'll put a heart in you yet! And now"--heburst into a new guffaw--"my young friends and I are going for a walk.What, aren't the streets of Slavna free to gentlemen? My friends and Iare going for a walk. If we meet anybody on the pavement--well, he musttake to the road. We're going for a walk."

  Amid a dead silence he went out, his two henchmen after him. He andSterkoff walked firm and true--Rastatz lurched in his gait. A thousandeyes followed their exit, and from five hundred throats went up a longsigh of relief that they were gone. But what had they gone to do? Thecompany decided that it was just as well for them, whether collectivelyor as individuals, not to know too much about that. Let it be hoped thatthe cool air outside would have a sobering effect and send them home tobed! Yet from behind the glass screen there soon arose again a busymurmur of voices, like the hum of a beehive threatened with danger.

  "A diplomatic career is really full of interest, ma chere," observedBaron von Hollbrandt to his fair companion. "It would be difficult tosee anything so dramatic in Berlin!"

  His friend's pretty blue eyes lit up with an eager intensity as she tookthe cigarette from between her lips. Her voice was full of joyfulexcitement:

  "Yes, it's to death between that big Mistitch and the Prince--the bloodof one or both of them, you'll see!"

  "You are too deliciously Kravonian," said Hollbrandt, with a laugh.

  Outside, big Mistitch had crossed the canal and come to the corner wherethe Street of the Fountain opens on to St. Michael's Square. "What sayyou to a call at the Hotel de Paris, lads?" he said.

  "Hist!" Sterkoff whispered. "Do you hear that step--coming up the streetthere?"

  The illuminations burned still in the Square and sent a path of lightdown the narrow street. The three stopped and turned their heads.Sterkoff pointed. Mistitch looked--and smacked his ponderous thigh.