by J. C. Snaith
CHAPTER XXV
THE FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE
It was past two o'clock when the _partie_ was dissolved. No sooner hadour guests retired to their repose than Mrs. Arbuthnot turnedenthusiastically to her lord.
"What a perfectly lovely old man! Such charm, such distinction; sokind, so unaffected, and oh, so simple! There is something in being aking, after all."
"Things are not always what they seem, _mon enfant_," I remarkeduneasily.
"He is a perfect old darling."
"He is one of the deepest men in Europe, as all the world knows."
"He is a dear."
"Personally, I have no wish to meet him in a lonely lane on a darknight, if I should happen to have anything upon me that I cared tolose."
"Why, goose, you are jealous!"
"Put not your trust in princes, my child." And, reluctantly enough, Iconfided Fitz's piece of advice.
Howbeit, I was more than half prepared for Mrs. Arbuthnot's queenlikeindignation.
"What do you mean, Odo?" said she, majestically. The outraged delicacyof a De Vere Vane-Anstruther is a very majestic thing.
"Either you promise, or I don't sleep over the stables."
"This is all the doing of Fitz! He has an insane prejudice."
"Fitz is a very shrewd fellow, and he knows our guest rather betterthan either of us. You must not forget that kings are kings inIllyria."
"I don't understand."
"You must promise, even if you don't."
"I shall do nothing of the kind. It is a humiliating suggestion.Besides, it is all so _bourgeois_."
"I was waiting for that. But, whatever it is, I have quite made up mymind. Either you promise, or I don't sleep over the stables."
"Then I refuse; absolutely and unconditionally I refuse," said Mrs.Arbuthnot, with what can only be described as _hauteur_.
It was our first _impasse_ in the course of six years of doubleharness. I have never disguised from myself that I am a weak mortal.Mrs. Arbuthnot has never disguised it from me either. The habit ofyielding more or less gracefully to the imperious will of the superiorhalf of my entity had become second nature. But there was a voicewithin that would not have me give way.
"Absolutely and unconditionally! I consider it odious. And why shouldyou insult me in this manner----"
The star of my destiny was rising to the heights of the tragedy queen.
"If you would only make the effort to understand, my child," I saidpatiently, "what is implied in your own admission that there issomething in being a king, after all!"
"You are insanely jealous. He is a perfect dear, and he is old enoughto be one's grandfather."
For once, however, I was adamant. Together we ascended the stairs;together we entered her ladyship's chamber. There was not adequateaccommodation for the two of us. The best rooms had been placed at thedisposal of Fitz and his wife, and of the King and his Chancellor.Leading out of this apartment, however, was a small dressing-room witha sofa in it. I opened the door and, as I did so, delivered my finalultimatum.
"Irene, you will either do as you are asked, else I spend the rest ofthe night in there."
"Pray do as, you choose." Mrs. Arbuthnot was pale with indignation."But I shall not lock the door."
"So be it."
Leaving the door of the dressing-room slightly ajar, I lay down on thesofa just as I was, and composed myself for slumber as well as anentirely ridiculous situation would permit. Precisely how it had comeabout it was hard to determine, but I was prepared to inflict upon myoverwrought self, for the events of that long day had been many andremarkable, a still further amount of bodily discomfort. But Fitz'shint had overthrown a married man, a father of a family, and a countymember, whatever the sense of humour had to say about it all.
In the process of time I forgot sufficiently the dull tumult of mybrain and the throbbing of my arm for my jaded nerves to be lulled intoan uneasy doze. How long I had been oblivious of my surroundings I donot know, but quite suddenly a cry seemed to break in upon my senses.I awoke with a start.
The room was in total darkness save for a thread of light which camethrough the partially open door of the adjoining chamber. But soundsand a voice proceeded from it.
I rose from my sofa and listened at the threshold.
"Little milady, little Irene."
The pleading accents were familiar, and paternal. I pushed open thedoor and entered the room. A distracted vision with streaming hair andin a white nightgown was sitting up in bed; while candle in hand amagnificent figure in a blue silk Oriental robe over a brilliant yellowsleeping-suit was confronting her.
"Little milady. Little Irene."
I fumbled for the knob of the electric light, found it and turned it up.
I was face to face with a subtle and smiling visage. There wasastonishment in it, it is true, but it was also full of humour andbenevolence.
"Why, my friend," said Ferdinand the Twelfth in his most paternalmanner, "pray what are _you_ doing here?"
I confess that I could find no answer to the royal inquiry.
In the circumstances it was not easy to know what reply to make.Indeed so completely was I taken aback that I could not find a word tosay. Coolly enough the King stood regarding me with that bland andsubtle countenance. But as those smiling eyes measured me they gave me"to think." I carried one arm in a sling, I was without a weapon, andthe Father of his People was a man of exceptional physical power.
As a measure of precaution, I reached pensively for the poker.
A transitory gleam flitted across the King's face, but the royalcountenance was still urbane.
"Madame should have locked her door," he said, with an air of humorousreproach. "Dat is a good custom we haf in Illyria."
"Your Majesty must forgive us," said I, without permitting my glance tostray towards the half-terrified vision that was so near to me, "if weappear _bourgeois_. The fact is, we are not so familiar as we shouldlike to be with the usages of the great world."
The King laughed heartily.
"There is nothing to forgive, my good friend," he said with an air ofsplendid magnanimity. "But Madame should certainly have locked herdoor. However, let us not bear malice."
With a superbly graceful gesture, in which the paternal and thehumorous were delightfully mingled, the King withdrew.
Horror and incredulity contended in the eyes of Mrs. Arbuthnot. But Idid not think well to spare her the reverberation of my triumph.
"There is something in being a king, after all, _mon enfant_."
Mrs. Arbuthnot was only able to gasp.
"Do not let us blame him; he is the Father of his People. Butapparently it would seem that that which may be _bourgeois_ in the eyesof the matrons of the Crackanthorpe Hunt is really the highest breedingin Illyria."
Thereupon I laid down the poker as pensively as I had taken it up,sought to compose the star of my destiny, who was beginning to weepsoftly, and bade her good morning.
Outside the door I lingered a moment to hear the key click in the lockin the most unmistakable manner.
With the aid of a candle I made my way to my temporary quarters overthe stables. The hour was a quarter to five. Little time was left forfurther repose, but it was used to such advantage that it was notwithout difficulty that my servant was able to rouse me at a quarter toeight. By the time I was putting the finishing touches to my toilet Iwas informed that Count Zhygny was below, inspecting the horses.
Count Zhygny, to give our illustrious guest his _nom de guerre_, which,like nearly all Illyrian proper names, it is well not to attempt topronounce as it is spelt, was stroking the fetlocks of Daydream with anair of knowingness when I joined him. Dressed in a suit of tweeds anda green felt hat, he looked the picture of restless energy. Seen inthe light of day he was far older than he had appeared the previousnight. Hollows were revealed in his cheeks, and there were pouchesunder his eyes. His hands shook and his brow had many lines, but everyone of hi
s many inches was instinct with a natural force.
His greeting was frank and hearty and as cordial as you please. Therewas not a trace of resentment or embarrassment. But, from the manlyease of his bearing, it was abundantly clear that the king could do nowrong.
He linked his arm through mine, and together we strolled in tobreakfast. At the sideboard I helped him to bacon and tomatoes, andMrs. Arbuthnot gave him coffee.
The manner of "little milady" was perhaps a thought constrained whenshe received his Majesty's matutinal greeting. To encourage her hepinched her ear playfully.
Mrs. Fitz did not grace this movable feast, and Fitz and the Chancellorwere rather late.
"You have taken a long time over your devotions, Schalk," said theKing. "I am glad it does not cost me these pains to keep on good termswith heaven."
"I also, sir," said Schalk drily.
"I see you have the English _Times_ there, Schalk. What is the newsthis morning?"
The Chancellor adjusted a pair of gold pince-nez and began to readaloud from that organ of opinion.
"'Blaenau, Wednesday evening. The Illyrian Land Bill was read a secondtime in the House of Deputies this afternoon.'"
"Ha, that is important," said the King, laughing. "What awell-informed journal is the English _Times_! Do you approve of theIllyrian Land Bill, Schalk?"
"Since I had the honour of drafting it, sir, to your dictation, Icannot do less than endorse it."
"And read a second time already, says the English _Times_, in the Houseof Deputies. I always say they have some of the best minds of thekingdom in the Lower House."
"Trust them to know what is good for themselves," said Schalk sourly.
It was tolerably clear, from the Chancellor's manner, that his royalmaster was enjoying a little private baiting.
"Why, Schalk," he said, "I believe you are still harping on ClauseThree."
"I have never reverted, sir, from my original view," said theChancellor, "that under Clause Three the peasantry is getting far morethan is good for it. I have always felt, sir, as you are aware, thatthis is a concession to the pestilential agrarian agitator, and I feelsure the First Chamber will proclaim this opinion also."
"Well, well, Schalk," said the King cheerfully, "is it not the functionof the First Chamber to disagree with the Second, and what is theLittle Father for except to soothe their quarrels by flattering bothand agreeing with neither?"
"Your Majesty is pleased to speak in riddles," said the Chancellor,with gravity.
"What a cardinal you would have made, Schalk!" said his master. "Butif you have really made up your mind about Clause Three, we must lookat it again. I agree with you that it is not good for growing childrento eat all the cake. We must keep a little for their elders, becausethey like cake too, it appears."
"Everyone is fond of cake," said the Chancellor sententiously, "butthere is never quite enough to go round, unfortunately."
"That is a happy phrase of Schalk's," said the King, making theconversation general with his amused air; "'the pestilential agrarianagitator.' Have you that kind of animal in England?"
"We are infested with him, sir," said the member for the UppingdonDivision of Middleshire, the owner of a modest thousand or so of acres."The people for the land, and the land for the people! The countryreeks of it."
"It is the same everywhere," said the King. "A great world movement isupon us. The wise can detect the voice of the future in the cry of thepeople, but there are some who stuff wool in their ears, eh, Schalk?"
Ferdinand the Twelfth assumed a port of indulgent sagacity. Thishalf-serious, half-bantering fragment of his discourse, and half adozen in a similar tenor to which it was my privilege to listen, seemedto establish one fact clearly. It was that the King was not the slaveof his ministers. He was a man with a keen outlook upon his time,deliberately unprogressive, not in response to the reactionary forcesby which he was surrounded, but because he held that it was not goodfor the world to go too fast.
His article of faith was simple enough, and in his conduct he did nothesitate to embody it. He conceived it to be the highest good forevery people to have a king; a wise, patient and beneficent law-giverto correct the excesses of faction; one to stand at the helm to steerthe ship of state through troubled waters.
Whether his conception of the monarchical condition was right or wrong,he was able to enforce it with all the weight of his personality. Hebelieved profoundly in the divine right. In the assurance of his owninfallibility he seemed to admit no limit to his own freedom of action.
He believed that the future of his country was in his hands. It was inorder to conserve it that he had come to England in this singular andunexpected manner. Having chosen a Royal Consort for his onlydaughter, she whose act of revolt was but a manifestation ofsovereignty carried to a higher power, he was prepared come what may toenforce his will.
All through this little history I have tried to show how comedy strovewith tragedy as the play was unfolded. The spectators were never quitesure which way the cat would jump. Infinite opportunity for laughterwas provided, but underneath this merriment lay that which was too deepfor tears. Viewed upon the surface, the precipitation into our midstof such an elemental figure as Ferdinand the Twelfth was food for aninextinguishable jest, but the reverse of the medal must not beoverlooked.
Every hour the King spent under our roof was a slow-drawn torture forFitz and his wife. Holding the romantic belief that they weretwin-souls whom destiny had linked irrevocably together, they wereeverything to one another. But running counter to this faith werethose incalculable hereditary forces which the King with incomparablepower and address was marshalling against it.
Now was the time for the Princess to yield. In his own person the Kinghad come to demand of her that once and for all she should take up theburden of her heritage. If now she declined to heed, the days of theMonarchy were numbered.
It was only too clear to us onlookers that a terrible contest was beingwaged. In two or three brief days the Princess seemed worn to ashadow; the look of wildness was again in her eyes: her whole bearingconfessed an overwhelming mental stress.
Fitz also suffered greatly. And his travail was not rendered less bythe fact that Ferdinand did not scruple to make a personal appeal.
About the third night of his ordeal, Fitz accompanied me to my quartersover the stables.
"Arbuthnot," he said, sinking into a chair, "I have been thinking thisthing out as well as I can with the help of Ferdinand, and he has mademe see that my rights in the matter are not quite what I thought theywere. I do not complain. He has talked to me as a father might to ason, and he has brought me to see that our position in the sight of Godmay not be quite what we judged it to be."
I was hardly prepared for such a speech on the lips of Fitz. That itshould fall from them so simply gave me an enlarged idea of the forcesthat were being brought to bear upon him.
