by Antal Szerb
He drew a military decoration from his pocket and stuck it on Baudrieu.
Marcelle appeared, in her full Ortrud costume. It was very restrained. The train was as long as a barge.
“Let’s have a look at you, my girl,” the Count said. “Allow me to apply the final strokes of the brush. Stand over there, so we can see you better. Honoré, give me that illustrated newspaper.”
He jerked his head back, closed one eye, and compared Marcelle with the photograph.
“Perhaps the eyebrows a quarter of a centimetre higher, the mouth just a shade smaller … the nose is fine … the coiffure excellent. Very good, my girl. Your manner must be friendly but at the same time a little aloof, and don’t flirt with Coltor—that might lead to complications—besides, a princess doesn’t do that sort of thing. You will greet him with the rest of us, but must leave before we sit down to discussions. When I say to Coltor, ‘We never doubted it for a moment,’ you must rise and invite the gentlemen to join you upstairs later for a cup of tea, and you can leave the room, attended by our Sandoval.”
Gervaisis gave another of his snorts.
“Quite right, Gervaisis,” said the Count. “This Gervaisis is an invaluable colleague. I almost forgot to say to you gentlemen that in Alturia people greet each other with ‘blessed be the memory of your grandfather’.”
The three Alturians exchanged a look.
“Is that right?” the Major asked. “They certainly did in the middle ages, but not now.”
“How’s that?”
“They say things like ‘good morning’ or ‘your humble servant’.”
“Mr Meyer, you share your countrymen’s habit of always knowing better than everyone else. But I understand, from very reliable sources, that this is how they greet one another. I read it in a Sunday newspaper. So would you all kindly stick to it.”
Marcelle drew the King aside.
“Oscar, you look so beautiful in that costume!”
“You too, my girl, you too,” he replied absent-mindedly. Then a thought suddenly struck him. It occurred to him how, in a very similar situation, he had said exactly the same thing to Princess Ortrud. What was happening? Was it becoming so difficult to distinguish between them?
“You should always go about dressed like that,” she added.
“Would you want me to? Well, take a good look then, Marcelle. Who knows when you’ll have another chance to see me in this coat.”
Coltor stepped into the motorboat, with his two secretaries in tow. He was unusually nervous and talkative.
“If this comes off, it’ll be the biggest deal of my life,” he remarked thoughtfully. “It’ll be difficult; very difficult. I never had a deal collapse so very late in the day as that one did when the Alturian revolution broke out. I must say, the thing didn’t completely surprise me. That morning, after I’d left my house and was going to my office in the car, a huge black cat ran across the road in front of me. I knew at once it would mean trouble.”
The secretaries exchanged glances. His profound superstition was a shared joke between them.
“But the situation is quite different today. When I left my hotel this morning another black cat ran across the road. But immediately a second cat appeared, a tabby. It boxed its ears, and chased it away. So I am quite sure that we’ll have better luck today … unless I’m speaking too soon.”
That thought thoroughly alarmed him and plunged him into a restless silence.
They arrived alongside the Palazzo Pietrasanta.
“You see, gentlemen,” he declared, “the sort of place a real grandee lives in. From a distance the palace may not look much. There’s nothing ostentatious. The only adornment is its noble simplicity, and venerable age.”
At the entrance they were received by Valmier in a wonderful porter’s fur coat and hat; then a uniformed Honoré led them quickly through the main gate into the great hall, where St Germain, Baudrieu and Gervaisis were waiting.
“May the memory of your grandfather be blessed,” they shouted in chorus, as Coltor entered.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked in surprise.
“The usual Alturian greeting,” St Germain explained.
“That’s interesting,” Coltor replied. “I never noticed before. No matter.”
“First, let me introduce you to Monsieur Baudrieu. Monsieur Baudrieu is an expert on international law—renowned throughout Europe—who has travelled here to assist our negotiations. Next to him is the Marquis of Gervaisis, Grand Master of the Order of St Jacob.”
“I knew your dear father,” Gervaisis remarked to Coltor. Coltor was taken aback. No one on the entire planet had ever known his father: including himself.
“Would you gentlemen kindly take a seat while we inform His Highness and Princess Ortrud that you have arrived?”
Marcelle, as Ortrud, attended by Sandoval as the Plantagenet Duchess, made her entrance into the room, and Coltor stepped forward to kiss their hands. St Germain explained that the Princess was maintaining absolute incognito while in Venice.
“The poor things,” he said in a low voice. “They so much wanted to see each other, and the Gracious Empress Hermina could no longer bear to witness her daughter’s unhappiness. Even on royal thrones the hearts that beat are human. But His Highness couldn’t go to Norlandia. It would instantly have become general knowledge and given rise to speculation. Geront I, the present ruler of Alturia, would certainly have condemned it. So that is why they met here, in a neutral country and in the sort of place where you can easily lose yourself in the crowd. So far no one has penetrated His Highness’ incognito, apart from your own sharp-eyed self.”
“Interesting,” said Coltor. “In all my life in Norlandia I never heard of the Plantagenet Duchess.”
“Oh, it’s the collateral line, now quite terminal. But very high-ranking.”
“His Royal Highness King Oliver VII,” announced Valmier, banging his staff three times on the floor.
The King and his aide-de-camp made their entrance. Oliver greeted Coltor warmly.
“Mr Coltor, punctual as ever.”
“Punctuality is the courtesy of Captains of Industry,” St Germain observed.
A polite conversation ensued, and Coltor assured the King that his incognito, like that of Princess Ortrud, would be treated with the greatest respect.
“Then you would maintain silence even if our discussions happened not to produce the desired result?” the King asked.
“Even then, naturally.”
“Mr Coltor, we never doubted it for a moment,” St Germain said in a raised voice.
Marcelle took her cue and made her withdrawal speech:
“My dear Mr Coltor, I would not wish to intrude on your important discussions. I shall return to my rooms on the next floor. I hope you will take a cup of tea with us after your meeting.”
Coltor thanked her for the invitation, and she and Sandoval left. At St Germain’s behest the others seated themselves round the green table, Baudrieu made a show of spreading out his papers, and Gervaisis immediately fell asleep. Then St Germain called on Coltor to outline his proposals.
“I trust,” Coltor began, “we can come to an agreement very swiftly, since there are in effect no grounds of difference between us.”
“Indeed not,” said Honoré, helpfully.
“It is altogether a question,” Coltor continued, “of the original agreement automatically remaining in force, to take effect as soon as His Highness declares his firm intention to return to his ancestral throne and marry Princess Ortrud, which should be considered a sine qua non from the Norlandian side.”
“But my dear Coltor,” the King interrupted with a smile. “That doesn’t depend on me alone.”
“I thought Princess Ortrud … ”
“I’m not thinking of Princess Ortrud, but of my regaining the throne of Alturia … ”
“Oh, excuse me,” Coltor replied, and now he too smiled, with an airy wave of the hand. “That’s something you must be so
good as to leave to us. The present ruler sees his position simply as a burden. He would give it all up quite happily in return for a few interesting pictures. Princess Clodia will receive appropriate compensation in Norlandia. She’ll be given the Governor-Generalship of a colony somewhat larger than Alturia.”
“To live among the natives?”
“Yes.”
“That’ll suit her. She’ll be able to express her manly energy to the full. But Parliament? Government? The people?”
“You must simply leave that to us. I can supply details if you wish. But first, the most important thing is that we come to an agreement in principle.”
“Indeed,” the King replied, in a low, solemn voice. “I am extremely sorry, my dear Mr Coltor, that we have dragged you here. I am compelled to state here and now that I have no intention of coming to terms with you.”
Baudrieu and Honoré, who had been growing increasingly worried that Oscar was doing so much of the talking, now turned pale and glanced at their leader, as did the astonished Coltor. But the Count, with the greatest of composure, declared:
“ … His Highness means that he has no intention of agreeing before we have subjected the treaty to considerable revision.” He paused to stroke his chin, appeared to be lost for a moment in thought, then continued:
“The treaty in its present form does not address the interests of the poorest class of the Alturian people.”
“Hear, hear!” slipped out involuntarily from the Major’s mouth. Now it was the King’s turn to stare at St Germain in amazement. He had not expected this.
“Alturia, most respected sir,” St Germain went on, “is from the social point of view a regrettably backward country. That is why it is His Highness’ greatest wish that the Concern, should it win the monopoly in question, would be required to assume a large burden of responsibility for social welfare in Alturia; at its own expense, that is.”
“Yes indeed,” said the King, looking at St Germain less in astonishment than with a kind of intense joy. Then he himself continued:
“Now listen, Mr Coltor. I have given this matter a great deal of thought ever since. The fishermen and the wine producers will need exemption from all taxes for a period of five years, and the Concern will have to compensate the Treasury for the shortfall. Then, we have to agree the terms on which the fishermen and the wine producers can take out interest-free loans to improve equipment used in production … ”
The King paused for reflection, whereupon St Germain took over again:
“ … and there are five or six other such desiderata, on which His Highness and his entourage in exile have been working, day and night—at a time, I might add, when everyone thought he was simply spending the time in pleasure pursuits—proposals which we are ready to make available to Mr Coltor for his consideration over the next few days, should Mr Coltor indicate his willingness in principle to meet these demands.”
Coltor did not answer. He was thinking, and seemed to be calculating. But it had clearly struck him what a huge opportunity it all meant, even if the treaty came into being subject to these stipulations. He replied:
“Very good. This is something we can discuss. I am in the happy position of being able to make certain concessions.”
“We thank Mr Coltor in advance, and most warmly, for these concessions,” said the King. “But this is still minor; very minor.”
“Hear, hear,” chimed Baudrieu and Honoré. They had been thinking they were going to get nothing from this wonderful outcome.
“Your Highness is clearly thinking,” said St Germain, “that it is hardly possible either to win your country back, or to govern it, without money, and our little royal household in the course of our residence abroad … ”
“Forgive me, my dear Chief Courtier, but that is not among my concerns. There are matters at stake here of far greater importance than questions of money. For example, that the treaty, without reservation or precondition, must be subordinate to the principle of national self-determination. It might be beneficial from the economic point of view, but from the moral standpoint, and that of national pride, it is impossible. An ancestral kingdom, a living monarchy, cannot be made the plaything of a stockmarket company. You would need to amend the treaty to allow for a regular monitoring body, composed of Alturian statesmen and representatives of the people, to exercise a veto should the Concern exceed its powers, and to be responsible for its general working to the Alturian Parliament.”
“Hear, hear,” the Major chipped in now.
“I find it a little strange,” said Coltor, “that we have talked so much about the people and their rights. This is a matter for His Highness on the one hand, and the Concern on the other. In my opinion, the people are a secondary consideration.”
The King raised his voice:
“Mr Coltor, you are wrong. Profoundly wrong. They are the primary consideration. If you really want to know … that’s why … ”
He was going to say, “why I didn’t hold on to the crown. Because I did not know how to help myself, and I had no wish to sell my people into servitude; and, caught between two impossible situations, I chose a third and ran away”.
But instead he remained silent. St Germain had meanwhile intervened:
“ … and that is why, recognising His Highness’ generous and benevolent nature, we have proposed these amendments.”
“Excuse me,” said Coltor, “this insistence on a monitoring body raises one or two difficulties. You cannot subject the accounts and general running of a business enterprise to political control. Business is business, Your Highness, and I can’t have people poking their noses in. If people had ever stuck their noses into my companies I wouldn’t be the Coltor I am today. I’d be a greengrocer in one of the smaller towns in Norlandia.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” the King retorted. “But I am obliged to state, with the greatest possible emphasis, that I absolutely insist on such control in all circumstances.”
“In that case would you kindly allow me a few days to consider the matter, while we move on to discuss the other details?”
“The most I can allow you for reflection is fifteen minutes. Until you accept my terms, I have nothing more to discuss.”
“Of course we can only indulge His Highness if … ” St Germain began, in his smoothly insidious way. But the King interposed sharply:
“Count, you will refrain from interrupting.”
St Germain lapsed into silent astonishment.
“I am not in the habit of having my words cut short. I am doing the talking now.”
He spoke in a quiet, determined voice, standing with one hand resting on the table, in the pose of Louis XIV.
“Splendid!” St Germain whispered to Mawiras-Tendal. “A king to the manner born!”
“I now suspend this meeting. I shall withdraw with my aide-de-camp, to give Mr Coltor time to consider. Count St Germain, you will be so good as to inform me when he has come to his decision.”
With that he strode rapidly and resolutely out of the hall, with Mawiras-Tendal following in his wake.
“So, what do you make of that, my Milán?” he asked, once they had reached one of the more distant rooms and sat down. “What have you to say about these surprising developments?”
“Say, Your Highness? I am barely capable of speech. I didn’t understand a word of any of it.”
“I told you I would trust to the spur of the moment. At first I just wanted to get rid of Coltor. But when St Germain began to suggest we should do something for the Alturian poor, it suddenly hit me: now was my chance to lay down conditions that Coltor could never accept. So I was able to rescue the situation without having to expose St Germain’s people. The only thing I don’t understand, is what put it into St Germain’s head to start talking about the poor—the very people, of course, who should have been the focus of discussion from the outset—the people my own ministers back home never even thought worth considering.”
“It was clearly St Germa
in’s mysterious ancestor talking to him through the mist of time. But the same mysterious ancestor has now thoroughly wrecked the whole deal. So what will become of us now? If Coltor goes home after this, St Germain’s people will beat us to death on the spot.”
“No they won’t. I’ll compensate them. I’ll swear we aren’t con men, we really are Brazilian planters. I’ve got plenty of money and I’ll offer them a large sum. On one condition: that they keep it a secret from Marcelle that they got the money from me, so she can go on believing that I am just poor pathetic Oscar. St Germain will come up with some story or other.”
“Wonderful, truly wonderful!” the Major growled. “There’s just one problem. What will Your Highness do if Coltor actually agrees to set up this monitoring body? If he did, the amended treaty would be better than any you could ever have dreamed of.”
“Don’t worry, my Milán. Coltor won’t agree. If it were simply a question of money he might, because his funds are limitless. But he can’t give way on a matter of principle. He wouldn’t be Coltor if he had let people stick their noses into his business affairs.”
When the King left the meeting Coltor had also withdrawn with his secretaries, to pace up and down in another room and think things over. St Germain remained behind, with his team.
“So what was all that?” Baudrieu asked. “Has Oscar struck out on his own, or has he gone mad?”
“Of course not, my dear friend, of course not,” St Germain replied. “It’s all part of the game. But, in terms of the agenda, you could say everything’s right on course.”
“But what was the point of it all?” Honoré asked, anxiously. “All this spiel about the poor, and all those other nonentities, instead of talking about what we’re going to get? I don’t understand any of it.”
“There are a great many things you don’t understand, my young friend. You can’t sign up just like that to a treaty that will decide the fate of an entire people. You have to give things their proper appearance. It’s much more realistic if we haggle. And you have to admit, Oscar’s acting was sensational. You would really have thought … Anyway, it’ll be time to talk about the dough in just a few minutes.”
